Slumming

“You can take the girl out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the girl.”

 

That can be translated one of two ways; either it means that the girl will always be a little bit ghetto or the girl will always feel a little bit ghetto. One is a little bit bad ass, and the other is a little bit sad.

When you have grown up with lack or lackluster circumstances, you might always feel a little bit beneath other people–even if you aren’t–even if you “make good” in life. That feeling is always still there, just beneath the surface though you might try to squash it, have forgotten it or pretend it’s not there.

There has been a time or two (or three or four) when I have felt like the lesser person in the pair. It could have been because they had more money than me, or because they actually thought they were better than me, or sometimes because they actually were better than me.

It’s been a little while since I have had that feeling. That cold ball in the pit of the stomach, like fear except different. It was shame. And disappointment. But mostly shame.

I don’t feel like I usually have a shame problem. I have done a lot of work in the area of giving myself a break. If you feel like you want to work on that, I highly recommend Daring Greatly by Brene’ Brown. That book has been an amazing tool and I have gone back to it several times for a refresher on being okay with my level of achievement and accomplishment in life.

But today,  I felt the feeling sneak itself right into my rib cage. I shared something with an old friend. Something I felt a little proud about. They took a look around and didn’t say anything negative, but I saw the look flicker across their face. I thought to myself, oh yeah, they are fancy now, they like and expect nice things. The moment passed in real-time but continued simmering in my mind, until I no longer felt proud of my accomplishment. What I considered an accomplishment, they thought an expense. What I considered independence, they considered lacking. Like they had poop on their shoe. My cool thing was poop.

What does this have to do with dating, you might be thinking a you read this. Well, I’ll tell you, it has everything to do with dating. If an encounter with someone leaves you feeling lesser in any way, don’t bother with it. It will lead to shame, heartache and a destruction of your self-esteem.  You will find yourself constantly striving to be good enough for them, when you really only need to be good enough for you. The right person will see you as good enough no matter where you are on your journey. If dating them makes you think they are slumming, walk away.

Now if you want to go slumming, that can be fun. Just make sure to be kind.

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I might be here (my actual feet)

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But feel like I am here

           

The Guy With All the Ghosts

Brad* (not his real name) was is one haunted man. He lives with the Ghost of Relationship Past. It happens to be a ghost of marriage past, turned into ex-wife present, with equals him being chained to her and it’s a big ol’ mess. But he was non-judgmental, and a painter, and truthful to a fault, things I like. So…..I gave it a shot.

I met Brad in the early days of Snatch.com. He was socially awkward, not at all charming, but adorably rumpled, artsy, and weirdly interesting. In my phone, he was listed as Adorably Rumbled Brad, inspired by one of my go-to chick flicks, My Best Friend’s Wedding.

I met ARB at a downtown restaurant one warm, April Sunday. I had tried to lure him out the night before at a very cool author reading, but he was too nervous and was adamant that he was terrible in social situations. In fact, he was so nervous about our pending date that I called him the night before so we could get comfortable with each other. By the end of the call, we were both less nervous.

But next day, I arrived at the restaurant first and called my friend. I was so nervous. The most nervous I have been on almost any date. I saw him drive up and got out to meet him. Ugh I was so nervous, but he clearly was too. We had lunch, the conversation was nice and flowed easily. We walked around downtown for bit afterwards. It went well.

We chatted a for a few weeks or so. He said I was pushy so I backed off. Then he said he didn’t think he should be dating right now, (he was right) but he wanted to be friends. (Friend zoned for $100 Alex!!) I agreed. I wasn’t terribly hurt or upset. I was pretty sure being his friend was the right move. He was interesting and spontaneous and comfortable, but I didn’t dare let my guard down knowing that he was still tangled up in the past, so there was no chemistry.  We remained in touch and met up a few more times. Then, he disappeared.

Fast forward a couple of months. I hear from him. He has been going through some stuff (with her, the ex-wife.) It would be cool if we hung out. Okay, I say. We make plans, we hang out, we chat a bit, then he’s gone again.

Fast forward a couple of months. Repeat previous paragraph. Do that a couple more times.

At this point I back all the way off. No Instagram likes, no texts, not anything. Then out of the blue, I hear from him again. It would be cool to hang out, he was wondering how I’ve been. So we work on plans but due to busy schedules they don’t happen right away. Then, within two weeks, she’s back again…… Damn Brad!!

I back off. We’ll see what happens next.

Ghost  Actual photo of ARB…..

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I am a huge fan of vulnerability. I know, I know…..

 

 

 

 

 

Tell Me What You Want (What You Really, Really Want)

This weekend I spent some time with a friend who is excellent at creating extra deep conversations. Afterwards as I mulled,  I again addressed the question I often ask myself in relation to the dating thing- what do I really want?

Not who. I’m not writing a recipe for my fairy godmother.  Sure, I have a list,  but that thing would be forgotten faster than the last Ariana Grande song if things clicked in that magical way. 

I mean what. Bare bones, down to the bottom of my heart-midnight-whisper-prayer want. Then I question it again, is that really what I want?

It’s not the same as what I think I want, what I think I need, after another exhausting week when I felt like I never stop hustling, those weak  moments when I just want to be in this with someone, or need a shoulder to rest my head for a moment while I catch my breath. And it’s not the same as what I think I want, after my head has been on the pillow for hours,  and the only sounds are ticking clocks and my own breathing, surrounded by extra pillows and the night streaked with the heaviness of feeling alone. Those aren’t real, in the realm of wants. Those are gaps. Gaps that can be filled- should be filled- by other things rather than trying to fit someone into my world like the corner piece that finishes a jigsaw puzzle. 

So what is it then?

Some of my favorite friends are great models for relationship goals. When I figure out what I want, I hope it’s like their marriage. They get on each other’s nerves, but they love each other crazy. When one makes a mistake, the grace is quick and automatic. They are a team,  and without a doubt, they know that they have each other’s backs no matter what. You can tell they are each other’s favorites. 

I want something like that. Not  just something to fill the gaps, but someone on my team, no matter what. And I have to wonder,  am I running out of time? Do things like that even exist anymore? And perhaps the biggest question of all, what would I have to give up to get it and am I willing to do that?

Now that you’ve stuck with me through all those unanswered questions,  I promised a review of Bumble, so here it is!

I discovered Bumble after reading an Upworthy article about how the dating app banned a guy who sent hate mail to a gal. I decided to see what it was, downloaded it, and promptly met the meatball man. (Haha)

Dubbed as the ‘feminist Tindr,’ Bumble’  is set up much the same way-swipe right if you like, left if you don’t- but if you match, the gal communicates first,  and you only have 24 hours to do it before the match disappears. 

There are some premium features you can pay for,  like unlimited time extensions and sneak peeks of right swipes. 

I liked Bumble because it seemed like there were more men who were serious about dating and relationships,  not just hookups. The drawback was related to my location. Not many people in my city (or maybe my age demographic) had heard of it yet, but I think in bigger cities it would work well. It’s also connected to your Facebook account and location so it’s harder to make fake profiles. I would probably try it again when I make up my mind. 

Until next time!

A Brief Hiatus

I have to start by apologizing for not publishing a blog for two months. I was distracted by fifteen page essays and finals, but alas, I have completed my first semester of graduate school. Yay!

Also, I have to admit that my last experience left me slightly bitter. Since I have always been loathe to become one of “those” bitter women, I was letting that vaporize before I accidentally smeared some of that nastiness on my blog.

In addition, I haven’t been on a date since the house of cards thing but I still have stories that I said I would tell, and I promised my cousin a blog, so, here it is!

In this episode I will tell one of the most infamous stories of my brief dating life- the one about the guy who cried. I also really want to talk about the paradigm of choice like I mentioned before, as I have thought a lot about that.

(I know I’m going out of order but I will tell all of the tales eventually….my brain works in flow charts, not straight lines)

Crying Is So Ganster

So, the guy who cried. I’ll call him Pac, because in my mind he reminded me a bit of Tupac. When you look at me– then you look at him–he would be the last person most people would have expected to see me with.

Pac was a smart guy, but he was a little rough around the edges. Despite his struggles, he was a really hard worker, and he was busting his ass to make something of his life. That was some of the first things I liked about him – his intelligence and his work ethic. He was the first guy I dated from Match. We talked for a long time, but obviously nothing came of it.

He liked my poetry and often asked me to send him a poem at the end of the day. Our first date was on a rainy night in the Plaza after we had been talking and texting for a few weeks.

He was obsessed with a certain football team. OB. SESSED. He also loved 90’s hip hop, and was a good father. We went for a drink. He had lots of tattoos, including one on his neck. He was a pretty good looking guy, and frankly I was surprised that he was interested in me.

When we met, he had told me that it was recently the anniversary of his best friend’s death. Not long after, his cousin passed away. About five years prior, he had lost his father–a loss that clearly left a huge hole. After a couple of drinks (him, not me) he opened up about the losses. And, he cried. Despite the Hennessy, he was embarrassed for showing vulnerability. I thought it was endearing.

We went out two more times over the course of several months and continued talking. I liked him, but knew he and I wouldn’t be the kind of thing I was looking for. We wanted different things. Plus, he was so damn flaky.  We don’t talk anymore but I often wonder how he’s doing. Not enough to open that all back up, but still, I hope he has accomplished his goals.

The Paradigm of Choice

My dating assessment–“nobody wants to get caught up with the hot dog just in case the steak walks by,” is a very simplistic summary of the paradigm of choice. This is explored more in the book I mentioned a few blogs ago, Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari. In short, back in the day most people ended up with someone who lived close to them or who they were around for some reason. Now, we have more options because of the distance eliminating internet–or so we think. Also, back in the day, women couldn’t really make it on their own. They had to pair up in order to leave their parents’ house, so marriage was the logical choice. Now, we need each other less, so we think. We can make it on our own for the most part.

We wait for the perfect person to come along and complete us like Jerry completed Dorothy—or so we think! Because Jerry was a hot mess, and Dorothy was taking a huge chance on him. As a matter of fact, Dorothy was too good for Jerry, but she was vulnerable, and a hopeless romantic, and she overlook his shortcomings to accept him for the man that he almost was.

Or……maybe Dorothy had it right after all. See, now, we are under the illusion that we have sooooo many options that no one wants to ‘settle.” No one wants to take a chance on anyone who isn’t everything they had planned and prayed and visioned for. It’s like eating at a restaurant. You’re reading the menu and everything looks really appetizing and you have a hard time making a choice, a commitment, but then eventually you do. Then maybe you are satisfied, until you are hungry again, or maybe you are disappointed because the dish you chose didn’t live up to your expectations.

So, too many options equals no choices. How do we work around that? Lower standards? Settling? Continuing to wait? Continuing to take chances, forget expectations, and see what happens? I think the last one will be my choice, when I decide I want to try this crap again. But honestly, I don’t know when that will be. I’m good here….

Next time, the guy with all the ghosts. I wasn’t going to write about him, but now I will. And, a review of Bumble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loose Ends 

In dating, nothing is ever secure or on a firm foundation. It’s like we are all building houses of cards instead of pouring concrete. The end result remains the same, cards fall down. Why can’t people understand that building anything substantial requires concrete?

In the right time and place, of course. Maybe if your cards hold up, you can build with straw, then sticks, then eventually bricks if the big bad wolves of the world don’t blow your house down.

In the meantime, toughen up sweetheart, because one wrong text and you are dropped like a cigarette butt out of the window during red alert fire season.  One wrong text…this has happened to me more than once. This is why actual conversations, like on the telephone, are a must! But even when those have been happening, a wrong text can still bring the whole house down.

I’m on the throes of that faux paus now. I sent a wrong text at the wrong time, but I stand by it. I have to be me, he has to like me for me, so I consider it part of the process. As I feel the cards slowly tumbling, I am reminded that we are all entitled to pursue our own happiness. That includes me.

(Update, the house of has fallen down! I repeat,  we have cards down….)

Another observation: People often have loose ends. I have tried to tie up all of mine before getting out there and inviting someone in to share my life but a lot of people don’t do that. I have a loose end detector and it makes me want to run away. I’m not sure if this is good- for protection- or bad, and causing me to miss out.

Now for some fun….

Stan, the Mostly Mute Man

The mostly mute man, I’ll call him Stan, lived in a teeny tiny town. He was 44, no kids, no ex-wives, decent job, seemed legit. I met up with him on a busy Sunday evening at a local burger bar after an out of town trip. We had drinks and things went ok. We agreed to meet again. We had coffee on a Tuesday and this is where things got a little off track.

He didn’t talk much. I was having a hard time keeping the conversation going, but chalked it up to nerves and shyness, which he claimed to have. But then, something else happened. He had an itch on the bottom of his foot. We were outside at a patio table. It was a nice fall evening. He kept trying to get at that itch on his foot.

I think feet are gross. Putting your fingers inside your shoe at the table is even grosser. But worst of all, taking off your shoe and sock to scratch your foot at the table….herp!

But, Shannon, my dating guru said to give it three dates before you decide you aren’t interested. If you think about it, that’s not much time. If each date is about 2 hours, you are summing up the entirety of a person in about 6 hours.

So we actually had 2 more dates. One was a group date, nothing much to report there. But the final date, that was the worst. We planned lunch and a movie. There was a couple of hours in between the meal and the film so we had some time to spend together. Not talking. I mean seriously, I would try to make conversation and he would answer in one word. It was the most boring date of my life. I considered phoning a friend for a rescue text.

Needless to say, there was no conversation which meant there was no chemistry.  At the end of it all, I politely thanked him and went on my way. I didn’t hear from him again until a few weeks later when he told me he was super shy, and he also discovered that he had ‘white knight syndrome.’ The way he described this syndrome was that he felt the need to rescue women in financial peril. He asked for another chance. Sorry man, you got your three.  That’s not the kind of thing I am looking for. That, and the foot thing. I can’t….(and I didn’t mention the whole thing about the 20 year old he dated before me….ummmm, gross, my son is almost 20. Nasty.) He was my last Snatch.com candidate. Thank goodness. I deleted that whack app and never looked back.

Next time, navigating communication when you don’t know what kind of thing you are in, this cool thing called Bumble, and the Guy Who Cried.

I wrecked it. Crazy.

The Small, Small World That Only Looks Big

So, I mentioned last time that I deleted my profiles. Then, I started listening to the audio book Modern Romance, by Aziz Ansari. He reads it himself, which makes it amazing. But, he calls his audiobook listeners lazy asses for not reading, and that’s not nice. Aziz, I am driving, ok!?!

Anyway, this book is hilarious, and it tackled all of the interesting online dating questions I had related to the social sciences and psychology, and why people are so reluctant to make a choice with all those options!

In the book he talks about THE app, the one the revolutionized the online dating world. It has a really bad rap, so I have never tried it. One of my friends did and she met her match there, but I won’t say who. That online gateway to love is Tindr. The little flame icon promises hot lovin’ at your fingertips! I decided to see what all the fuss is about.

 So far, it’s not so bad. I haven’t had much time to explore it, but I did talk to one guy. Ironically, he works close to my neighborhood, we know some of the same people, and we both lived in the same horrible town when we were growing up! I said, it’s crazy that it takes an online dating site to meet someone who works a block away from you. Wild!

Anyway….last time I promised to tell the story about the man who ate the whole meatball. It’s my officemate’s favorite dating tale.

The Man Who Ate the Whole Meatball

My son dubbed this date “The Pool Boy.” My son never met this guy, but because of his name, he decided that he sounded like a pool boy. I only wish he had been an actual pool boy. That might have been a lot more fun.

Not to say he wasn’t fun…he was ….pleasant. But there was no fire! When we dated (for about six weeks) I wrote poetry about starting fires! I was waiting for inspiration….but, you know, I thought, I could make this work.

(Instagram #phoetry inspired by The Pool Boy)

So the Pool Boy was a perfectly nice man. He was responsible, had his own home, a good job, which he left to start his own business when we were dating. He had a schmancy car, which I could care less about and actually didn’t like but I’m weird like that.

We had a fun first date at my favorite coffee place. Incidentally, there was an open mic that night. I didn’t know that, but it made the date more fun and we ended up staying for the whole thing. It wasn’t even good open mic, which I think helped us bond.

On the third-ish date, we met at a popular pizza place after work on a Tuesday. I have a long commute, so I headed to the restaurant straight from work. He had secured a nice table on the patio by the time I arrived. We ordered an appetizer…a meatball. A giant, one pound meatball. The humongous meatball arrived, we both had a sliver, and then I excused myself to the ladies room.

When I came back, the meatball was gone. The whole damn thing! I tried really hard to make my face neutral, but inside I was like “Damn! He ate the whole meatball! A one pound meatball!”

I didn’t say anything. Our giant pizza came, and he was too full for more than one slice. He sent the rest of the pie home with me, saying he had shown that meatball who was boss! Mmmmhmmm, I bet you did. When it ended with The Pool Boy, I said, and I quote, “This feels really lukewarm, and I don’t want lukewarm. I want a Celine-Dion-Drive-All-Night-to-Get-to-You kind of thing.” To be clear, he ghosted me, not the other way around. I was still willing to give it a shot….

Next week:

The Paradigm of Choice, and The Mostly Mute Man

 

How hard is it to make a plan? For real!

He’s right. Flakes galore…

Dumpster Fires vs The Real Ish & the Bachelor in the Bathroom

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This time, my date had diarrhea.

I have been blown off with a multitude of lame excuses…Thunder game tickets (ok, this is legit but I was still mad), passed out drunk, had a sty (lame) and a number of other lies, but this time, the guy was having some gut issues.

Let’s go on a little flashback with a candidate from Snatch.com…..I’ll call him Dewey. Dewey was very interested in the Dirty Librarian fantasy. Our conversations consisted mostly of me thwarting dirty talk. You can make baking cookies sound really suggestive without actually saying anything naughty. (<<< spin doctor!)

Dewey was fresh out of a divorce. Had been married for over a decade. He was really cute. Had a sharp wit and sense of humor like a junior high boy. We finally agreed to go see a movie on a Friday night—The Avengers.

Of course, the day comes, he calls, and I’m not surprised. He says he’s having stomach issues and shouldn’t be far from his bathroom. He adds that what he really needs is someone to bring him Pepto.

So……I break my no-going-to-stranger’s-houses rule, but only after texting my friend his full name and address, and take him some Pepto and library DVDs.

I arrived at his house. It was a nice house, in a nice neighborhood. The burlap wreath from his married life was still on the front door and his neighbors were in the driveway. I felt like a Jezebel as I drove up…chickened out, drove around the block, and then came back to park and hurry in wondering what the neighbors thought.

This boy was FINE. Out of my league fine. But no amount of good looks in the world can make a man with diarrhea sexy.

The date was pretty uneventful. I was nervous and also afraid of catching his ailment so I stayed on the other side of the room. I sat so still, like a statue. I was super fun! He put in both DVDs. Totally could have left after the first one but stayed through the second for some reason.

Then he ghosted me.

Later, I learned that his son was in one of my daughter’s classes. When I asked her if she knew him, she said “eww, yes.” He had drawn a penis on her drawing. I was not surprised.

Which brings me to my next topic, Dumpster Fires vs the Real Ish.

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Dumpster Fire: a person or situation that is a total mess, then set on fire to intensify the craptasm that is their current state.

The Real Ish: a person who has their life together. You could have something real with them, but that is scary. I am the Real Ish.

There was this popular self-help book a few years back that made me cringe every time I saw it on the shelf. “Why Men Love Bitches.” This title is annoying because what it’s really about is how men love women who are confident and have boundaries. That’s not bitchy. The rest of that book title is How to Go from Doormat to Dreamgirl. So many problems with this….first of all, if a man treats you like a door mat, he is a jerk. Don’t deal with it. Secondly, the only dreams you have to fulfill are your own. Being someone else’s dream girl is kind of lame.

Anyway…my current conclusion is that men love women who are dumpster fires.

In a future blog I will tell the awkward story of the Mute Man dates, but the Mute Man also told me something that made me want to laugh in his face.

“I have white knight syndrome.”

He said he was attracted to women who were in financial distress. He wanted to save them.

Give. Me. A. Break.

All of the tiny independent woman cells in my body curled up in little balls and had teeny tiny seizures…

Captain Save-a-Ho

I have a friend now who is going through one of those things that shred your life into pieces. As he looks to his future, he also wants to avoid the whole dying alone thing. But, he doesn’t want the Real Ish. As a self-professed Captain Save-a-Ho, he wants a dumpster fire. He just got burned down by a dumpster fire. Some of us learn slower than others…

This realization can be a little disheartening to women who have their crap together. The message here is don’t be too successful. Don’t be too independent. Don’t have it too together, because that’s not attractive. Be vapid and helpless but don’t you dare be clingy either!

Ok, so if you are listening to that garbage, don’t let it alarm you. Because the man you want to date is confident and supportive and can handle the Real Ish. See, the man YOU want to date can build empires with you because he doesn’t need to busy himself with rescuing you from the tower. Don’t you want that guy? The one you can conquer kingdoms with? I know I do.

Profile Fun

Though they are currently deleted, I thought about adding reviews to my online profiles….kinda of like movie trailers or book trailers. Here are some real reviews!

**I always have fun when we look at art and stuff. She’s a nice person. – D. J.

**She’s like Mother Theresa plus Joan of Arc, add a lot of spice! – B. B.

**She easy to talk to and she can cook! – S.B.

Next time…The Man Who Ate the Whole Meatball.

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Anna Nicole Smith, my favorite dumpster fire.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Zone

“No one wants to be caught up with a hot dog just in case a steak walks by.”  Me, on online dating.

In honor of Super Bowl Sunday, I am giving you this mini-installment. I don’t sport, but I do know that football includes an end zone. That’s where the touchdowns happen—the SCORE!

But in dating, there is a different kind of zone….and it definitely does NOT include scoring. (Unless you want to enter into an emotionally draining situation that never leads anyone to anything good.)

That zone is the friend zone.

I am overly familiar with the friend zone. I’m haven’t decided what this means yet. I’m good to know, but not too good? I’m a cool chick to hang with, but…..??? You see what I’m getting at.

Being friend zoned isn’t always bad. And, it’s definitely not always personal. Often times, it really is timing, life issues, placement, personal struggle, a smattering of things that contribute to a person’s reluctance to become intricately involved with another. I have actually made some good friends throughout the course of my dating expedition—and don’t worry if you’re that guy and you are reading this—I won’t blog about you. Sometimes the friend zone is the right call. Other times, the goodbye zone is the better call. It’s hard to tell when those times are.

Having been friend zoned, oh, about an hour ago, I decided to think about the emotional roller coaster you ride when you lock down that handle bar and buckle up for the dating ride. I’m not sure what to do with these feelings right now, so I will present them to you. That seems smart.

The emotional cycle of the friend zone.

Excited! So exciting! You matched with someone who seems like they could be the one you have been looking for. The search could be over! Excited!!!

Curiosity….now to find out as much as you can so you can decide whether to invest or not. You want to know all about them. You want to talk to them, meet up with them, and then decide if you want to go for it.

Hopeful….as the discovery phase continues, you start to think about the future, what it might look like. You hope the search is over and you are ready to end the treasure hunt. You imagine them in a tux. You laugh at yourself for that imagining. You stop that! You imagine them making pancakes instead.   

Nervous….the more time you invest the more you doubt yourself, the situation and that there really is someone out there for you. All the what-ifs rush in like the wind velocity of the downhill plunge of a roller coaster. Or maybe it’s bumper cars for you, and you go back and forth, bumbling your way through deciding to go through with it or not. You do it scared, or you can’t bring yourself to do it. Or any combination of the two, more than once.

Friend zoned……you get it. You are fine with it. You will get over it….but at that same moment your hopes are dashed and you think about starting this exhausting process over again and you are just DONE. You are cool….BUT……insert reason for friend zoning __________________. Bottom line, you are somehow not good enough for their pursuit. (This is a lie. Don’t do that to yourself.)

Exhausted…the thought of doing this again is exhausting. You are tired of the cycle. You are over the hunt. You are done with discovery. You can’t even with the nerves anymore. YOU ARE OVER IT!

Assessment/Overthinking/Analysis…let’s review…where did you go wrong? Was it your unabashed genuine attitude? Your responsible lifestyle? Did you say something tacky? Are you boring? Ugly? Too fat again? No one can decipher the whys of the friend zone. I have often wondered if it would be in poor taste to send past dates a short survey so I can assess and correct my strategy. I think that might be the marketer in me. No matter though, because it doesn’t matter. Bonnie Raitt said it, you can’t make them love you if they don’t. Don’t even try, just move along to the next lucky contestant.

*Remember the dating motto: Everyone is entitled to their own pursuit of happiness, which may or may not include you.  It’s not personal. You are still awesome.

Frustration. Ugh. Why isn’t this working?? I—just—no…I can’t…I don’t get it!

Quitting. *&^$#!@. I don’t’ have time for this. (Delete profiles. Uninstall apps. Resign to life as a spinster. Look forward to closing the library each night.)

Sadness. I am single. I am alone. So sad.

Moving on. Wait, I still have a goal here. Maybe I can try this again.

But not today….

Special thanks to all of the dudes who friend zoned me and meant it! I am happy to be your friend. And the ones who didn’t, well, sorry about you.

While I hate this movie, this is a FACT.