I used to think about dating. And having a dude around. And how fun it would be to go out to movies or go on mini road trips and get froyo and sandwiches (god, I love sandwiches) and talk about our favorite X-Man and why I don’t like The Beatles (which inevitably is a sore subject for every single person I’ve ever encountered in my 27 years). But then at some point I become super absorbed with my bachelorette lifestyle without even realizing it.
Instead of cruising OKC for guys without face tattoos (NOT AS EASY AS ONE MIGHT THINK) I got hooked on cracking jokes on Twitter and watching countless hours of Netflix and Hulu Plus. Who knew Pacey would be so good in a Sci-Fi show? Why didn’t I discover Fringe earlier? Geez. Going to the bar and hoping some random single dude that either wasn’t over the age of 45 -OR- under the age of 45 but without employment would walk in was replaced by sitting in my kitchen with my best friend screaming at each other even though we’re a mere 18 inches apart because that’s how we choose to communicate.
Single chicks are always so desperate to be dating someone or trying to date someone or finding someone to hook up with or being hung up on The Ghost of Relationships Past and then there is me. I’m not lonely. I’ve got a smattering of friends that I do things with all the time, ranging from playing Jurassic Park at the arcade to adventuring around the Berkshires. I love living by myself – I never have to close my bathroom door and as you might remember from this post, I’m madly in love with everything about my apartment.
Sometimes I feel strange because I feel like I should be on the prowl like most other people I know, like I need to be hitting on dudes hard (in the illustrious words of Miss Ke$ha), going on dates, trying to be a desirable late 20-something chick but really, I’m much better at cross-stitching and thrift shopping for neck scarves because I’ve decided that THE CRAVAT is going to a spring trend (for only me). And FRANKLY, I would for once like a dude to put in the effort and find me. Let him be on the hunt for a weird quasi-hipster that orders delivery salads and has giant classes and consistently mismatched patterns. And maybe, just maybe a dude will magically appear and I’ll be like,
Hey, I’ve got 3 dogs, an obsession with the internet and my iPhone, a slew of nerdy activities I love, and a penchant coffee and cupcakes.
And he’ll think that’s cool and we’ll go on aforementioned roadtrips (CAN WE PLEASE STOP AT STARBUCKS?) and I’ll defend Gambit as my favorite to the grave, but otherwise, I’m pretty happy sitting here with three dogs surrounding and laundry spinning, plotting my next craft endeavor with grommets.