Forget the Guy
It’s almost the end of 2016 and Carrie Fisher has had a heart attack, that’s it, I’ve had enough of you 2016. Thanksgiving has come and gone and Christmas is around the bend, followed by New Year’s, which apparently no one thinks can come soon enough as obviously our world is headed toward an awful ending. I’m sitting on my bed in my childhood room in Indiana, in the house I grew up in. You might be asking if I’m just visiting for the holidays. No, no I’m not. I’m here to stay.
I’m 32-years-old and I live with my mom. I moved back the week of Thanksgiving. I traversed from Indiana to Missouri four months previously, only to come back around to Indiana, only this time I wasn’t squatting in my own home full of dust bunnies.
There’s really no mystery of how I ended up here: Girl fell in love with a boy, eight years later Girl realizes she is NOT the one. Girl breaks up with boy on Christmas day 2015 while she’s in another country. Girl listens to breakup anthems and goes against the grain of gorging on ice cream and chooses gelato instead. Girl quits office job in 2016, moves to Missouri with her bestest of friends to get over breakup. Girl meets another boy who tells her all the things she wants to hear. Girl tried to do all the right things, she researched what guys want, she reads books on how to get and keep one of those sought after boys. She learned how to be a lady but definitely not to think like one. Girl watched videos about how to “find herself” so new boy would never leave her because she was whole. Girl made vision board of all the things she wanted, including the phrase “Become The One.” Girl never did the actual work to improve life. New boy still decided girl just wasn’t for him and completely removed himself from equation, but not before he gave Girl’s cd’s back, along with a pair of his pajama bottoms, you know, so she wouldn’t get cold at night. Girl then decided to ruin relationship with her bestest of friends and ultimately removed herself from that pit stop on the highway of shitty decisions.
So, here I am. I am a single blogger with five, count em’ five, subscribers. I have a Bachelor’s degree that I’ve never actually used, I live with my mom, I have no job, I drive a 2005 Corolla that is starting to make noises I don’t understand and the passenger window won’t go all the way up. I’m considered overweight by doctors (by about 15 pounds), I smoke and regularly eat pork rinds and meats of all varieties. I also make my own garlic-butter sauce for frozen pizza. I feel like garbage most of the time and I sleep until the afternoon hours. I have no idea why I’m not reeling them in like crab on a good day on TLC’s Ice Fishing show.
I may or may not have also sent drunk texts to Boy more than I should have, thereby obliterating any chance of civil communication. I’m faced with the decision of selling my home. I have less than $1,000 dollars in my bank account and the mortgage is $800 a month and I don’t have so much as my baby boy Dozer to kiss me good night.
Last week, despite all of this, I somehow still thought it was a good idea to get back in the old dating game as everyone shouted I should and I tried to find a new mate on a certain phone app. The process involved looking at pictures of supposedly available men and swiping left for “no’s”, and right for “yes’s.” I “matched” with a few and had maybe two-sentence conversations with a couple of suitors. One particularly handsome man, straight out of the gates asked, “So, yeah, I’m busy with my kid a lot and don’t have time for a relationship, so what’s up?” I politely replied that generally, I expected a little more from men who I let poke me in my vag. He unmatched with me and never replied. “Ok, it’s going to be like that,” I thought.
I uninstalled the app immediately.
Meanwhile, I’ve been casually chatting with other males in my general atmosphere that I’ve known for years, but I’m convinced they only contact me because I’m single now and there’s a chance I’ll send nudes. Only one has asked me out on an actual date, nor have any others indicated they just like my personality and so that’s why they’re messaging me only at night.
That’s it, I’m done. Game over ya’ll.
I’ve heard so many things from “dating experts” (as if there is such a thing – that’s the trick, if they’re Dating Experts they’re the wrong fucking person I need to be listening too). I want a “committed lifelong partnership expert,” out there telling me to just go be happy already because I’ve already done it.
I get it, I’ve heard it all. “Love yourself or no one else will love you, work on your own life and the right person will come, improve yourself so you can be the best version of you and then the guy will come, you have to be willing to BE the person you WANT, you’ll find him.” That’s the shitty part of all this advice. All of the sentiments promise that once you do all of those things, you’ll eventually find love, squirt out babies and you won’t die alone. Here’s a fucking terrifying thought, what if I don’t find him, what then? I would have done all that shit for nothing. I’m tired already, so I can’t even imagine another year of waiting and pining for someone else popping out of the universe. I can no longer take every step of my life with the sole intention of it leading me to The One. I need my steps to lead me to something else.
Look, I am not hiking the Pacific Crest Trail anytime soon. I’m not going to have some transcendent experience. I’m not going to an absurdly expensive retreat to get grounded. I’ve seen those recruit videos and sorry-not-sorry but I’m not doing spirit fingers one minute and then crying the next in a room full of strangers. I am definitely not going Paleo, or vegetarian. These measures seem a bit extreme to me so I need baby steps.
So here it is:
I will play one year of defense on the love field.
I’m not even going to wait for the New Year since I’m already in the red when it comes to dating. I might seem a little presumptuous here, but starting right now I will not go on any dates. I will not join a dating site. I will not accept invitations for any after dark “hangouts” with the male gender. I will not entertain late night texts. I will most definitely not peruse single men at the grocery store in the hopes they’ll strike up a conversation with me. Most importantly, I’m saying “NO,” to the one.
Forget the Guy.
Simple, easy-peasy, purple nurple grapefruit squeezy.
I do however need a guiding force to get me through to something. I don’t know what that something is that I’m getting to, but for this coming year, it is not a man.
Here’s the thing though, I refuse to swear off love forever. An embarrassing thing here to admit, I do in fact believe there’s someone out there for me. Unfortunately, if he is, he’s going to have to wait a year. For now though, I’m going to take you through my journey of getting my shit together. (Look, I’m going to say shit a lot here, so just get used to it.)
So, here’s my guiding force. Surprise, I am going to take a word of advice from one of the thousands of love guru’s out there. I am going to become what I would want in a partner. I will break down the individual things my ideal partner would have, and each month, I will build upon those things in myself. Huge note here, it’s not to magically find a guy a year from now. It’s so, at the end of this year, when I’m still single, I can say, it wasn’t for nothing. I won’t have wasted this year aching for something that never came, but I will still be better for it. I can just go ahead and sweep that searching mentality right under my $9 Wal-Mart rug. I can clear out that space in my brain that says, “I need to feel love, not just any love, but love from a real life man.” Let’s call this little experiment a preemptive slap in the balls to the guru’s out there, here’s your chance to prove me wrong, tag you’re it.
I’m going to have to fill my time with other things. Cheers to figuring out what those things are.