Is anyone else a former Sex and the City-A-Holic? Or like me, still constantly watching the series? For those of you living in a cave, it was a HBO TV show about four fabulous thirty-ish woman living in NYC who have it all — except boyfriends/husbands. While I have no desire to live in NYC and I am totally jealous of their shoe collections, the one thing I can totally relate to on that show is the life of a single lady after the age of thirty. Dating is fun! No, not really. It is mostly awkward and sometimes enjoyable, but still awkward. After being single for a long time, you really know what you want in a partner and you aren’t willing to accept some one who doesn’t make you happy. If you can be comfortable alone, why settle for Johnny D. Bag?
I could literally go on for hours about my dating experiences. Hours. Don’t get me wrong — I have met some really nice, incredible people in my life time, but usually if they were a good guys I wasn’t attracted to them. I am an immediate magnet for assholes.
Its actually a disease. Its a self diagnosed disease that I made up, but it is still a disease. So let me share some of my stories.
Most recently I went on a date that I was set up on by some people with the very best intentions. They told me wonderful things about him, he is funny, easy going, etc. (They are ALWAYS described as nice and funny.) So we both arrive at the designated location, and to my happy surprise, he was definitely adorable. We immediately hit it off and had a great conversation. I don’t know what I was doing — but I look down and I physically cringed. He literally asked if I was okay. “Yeah, I am great — are you okay? Do you have a fever? Because a fever is the only excuse for you to voluntarily wear camouflage crocs on the day you meet your future ex-wife.”
Back in college, I was moving out of state and I hired some movers. One of the movers was hot. Like ridiculously hot. So of course, I flirted with him and got his number. Being young and dumb, I invited Joe the mover to my apartment for a party the next weekend. After a couple drinks, I asked him what made him become a mover? Clearly I was coming up with any thing to get him to continue talking to me — He says, “well, I created earth.” Um, excuse me? I created this delicious martini, what is your point. Point is… he truly believed he was God. He would call me pretty frequently, which would immediately be sent to voicemail. (This was before texting, because we have covered the fact that I am old.) “Hello Helen… this is God again. I was just thinking about you and wondering if you wanted to go out for drinks.” Where do these people come from and WHY do I give them my phone number?
People are constantly giving me a sad look like — “poor single girl with no husband.” Bitch, please. Being married doesn’t always look like it’s all that and a bag of chips. I tried the marriage thing, while it looked great on paper, it was mostly like watching a crappy movie that went straight to VHS. I managed to find myself with some one with zero sense of humor. At this point, you should all know two things about me, 1. I love to laugh constantly and 2. I could really use a Go Fund Me for a boob job. You may also start to figure out that I make terrible decisions. While laying in bed with my “hubby” one night listening to him talk for hours about his feelings, and how much he hated his job I realized that I was dating the equivalent of a jar of Miracle Whip that had more feelings than most teenage girls. Also, all people that refer to their husbands as “hubby’s” deserve to step in gum. On a hot day.
Please stop feeling sorry for single girls, stop setting us up on dates and stop pretending like being married is the greatest thing ever. The greatest thing ever is clearly taking your bra off at the end of the day. In all reality, being in love is kind of great, marriage is definitely something I might want some day and I have even found that camo crocs are kind of endearing. Now that you all threw up in your mouths a little… tell us about your horrible dates, cause we all need more laughs.
Tags: guest blogger, helen banana boobs, humor