Tag Archives: single

Let’s Play the Text Game

Most days, I consider myself a confident lady. Other days, I’m more of what I like to call “an absolute wreck of a human.” Sometimes, on very rare occasions, I can be both at the exact same time. And that rare moment actually caught me by surprise yesterday.

It started when one of my favorite gal pals was agonizing over whether she should text a guy first. They had a great weekend together, he had mentioned having dinner the following week and now she wanted to follow up. But he hadn’t texted in a few days and she was afraid that he had either lost interest or would “scare him off.” They’re silly thoughts, but ones that all of us tend to have. So, of course, my advice to her was to text the goober. I told her to be bold and go after what she wanted. After a few more excuses on her part (the possibility of rejection is SCARY, okay!), she relented and texted him later that night. And wouldn’t you know, he had been thinking about her, too. Their dinner has been formally scheduled.

While I was GChatting her off the ledge of #foreveralone, I was having my very own crisis. The problem was pretty much the same. Do I text the guy first? However, the terms were completely different. Dude and I hadn’t spoken in five months. Things had gotten awkward between us. And I kept questioning if this was really the right time to tear down that Berlin Wall. So, with the helpful nudging of a different favorite gal pal, I went for it. It should be said that I got ridiculously worked up about this. I immediately regretted that I couldn’t blame my decision on alcohol. I couldn’t bear to look at my phone in the case that the response (or lack thereof) would be less than desirable. I went as far as starting a video chat with my aforementioned friend so she could look at my phone screen and tell me whether I should be freaking out or not. Seriously, I was behaving like someone who needed their meds adjusted.

You see, confident while advising friends. Absolute wreck advising myself. But as I stand smack in the middle of sane and psychotic, I always manage to learn something. In this particular instance it was that the millennial “text game” is pretty damn stupid. You want to talk to someone? Just fucking do it. Don’t agonize about what they’re thinking. Don’t act disinterested to protect yourself. If they don’t respond or don’t reciprocate your feelings, you’ll find a way to move on. Don’t let the “do I text them first?” question plague you.

Dicknotized: 12 Steps to Getting Over Your Addiction to “the D”

We all suffer from an addiction to SOMETHING. Alcohol, money, Katy Perry music videos, drugs, exercise, throwing shade, power, etc. But my personal affliction and those of many other gals is an addiction to “the D.” Akin to “putting the pussy on a pedestal,” our thirst for male companionship is oh-so real. So, I’ve adapted the popular 12 steps of addiction for all those aDICKted ladies.

1. Admit you are powerless over “the D.” Your thirst has become unmanageable, embarrassing and a detriment to living a shame-free life.

2. Come to believe that a “Power” greater than yourself (usually Oprah) can restore you to sanity and steer you to the land of eternal hydration.

3. Make a decision to turn your will and life over to the care of “God.” Or, you know, whatever deity you so choose. Again, the gospel of Oprah is here for you.

4. Make a searching and fearless moral inventory. Otherwise known as going through your memory bank and thinking of all the times you shame spiraled after a sexual encounter gone bad.

5. Admit to yourself and to others (usually your poor friends that can’t find you at the bar because you went off chasing some random) the nature of your wrongs.

6. Be ready to remove this defect of character. Maybe don’t respond to that 2 a.m. DTF text message. Don’t pound Fireball shots when you’re emotionally fragile. Don’t go chasing waterfalls.

7. Humbly ask “Her” to remove your shortcomings. If Oprah attempted to fix Lindsay Lohan’s hot mess of a life, she can surely do the same for you, right?

8. Make a list of all persons you have harmed and become willing to amend them all. This includes all the friends you ditched to bang one out with your slam piece, all the dudes you never texted back and your gynecologist, who really shouldn’t have such a consistent patient.

9. Make direct amends to such people wherever possible. There is never a bad place to apologize for your parched behavior. Make like Nike and JUST DO IT.

10. Continue to take personal inventory and admit when you’re wrong. We all slip up. I mean, you might go back to your ex-hookup that knew how to put in work. Or you’ll mercilessly tease that guy friend you randomly slept with for not putting in enough. Just admit your wrongdoing(s).

11. Seek through prayer and meditation to improve your conscious contact with “God.” Should prayer, meditation or marathoning The Oprah Winfrey Show not prove effective in curbing your addiction, masturbation might also work.

12. Carry this message to others that suffer from this affliction. Preach it loud. Preach it proud.

Love or Something Like It

An old friend recently asked me for my thoughts on love and romance for a documentary he’s filming about the concept of joy. He explains the premise a lot better than I can, so… I won’t even bother. But, what a terrifying question to be asked at the tail end of what was a mess of a year for me romantically. I pretty much spent the latter half of it heartbroken. Let me amend that last statement. Not necessarily heartbroken, but whatever you call unironically listening to A LOT of Taylor Swift. As an aside, the words “Blank Space is my life,” are ones I don’t intend on ever repeating.

Basically, I’ve always been the girl that loves to hate love. I gravitate towards it, yet I reject it. I oftentimes find it vomit inducing, but count The Notebook as one of my favorite movies. I don’t think I’ll ever find it again, but I inadvertently keep searching for it anyhow. I just can’t make up my mind. And I’ve never been able to. I don’t think my feelings will evolve when I’m a little bit older, a little bit wiser and a little bit less jaded.

Simply put, my thoughts on love, much like love itself, make absolutely no sense. Ask me about my personal life and I’m a cynic through and through. I’ll never find the right guy. I’m gonna end up alone. I might as well start the cat collection now. Yet, when it comes to the lives of others, I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve molded myself into an expert on the subject, spouting advice to female friends as if this whole “love” thing comes naturally to me. But in reality, I’ve only dated two guys in my 27 years. One was an 8-year relationship that encapsulated most of my 20s and the other can best be described as a 7-night stand. The most that each of these experiences had in common was that both guys worked at Publix. So when trying to form thoughts on love and romance, the most I can come up with is that it should not be looked for in the aisles of a grocery store.

Single and Not Quite So Ready to Mingle

Ugh, I’m tired. No, not like I haven’t gotten enough sleep tired. Or I just went too HAM on that workout tired. But tired of the constant questioning of my relationship status. Personally, I’m fine with it. And not in the way women usually mean it, like when they say “I’M FINE,” and you know you fucked up. But I’m genuinely fine with my lot in life. I’m single. It’s okay. Really, it is. I’ll find a way to move forward without a guy by my side. I PROMISE. But, the tedious stigma of being a single girl in your late 20s is really starting to get to me. Because shouldn’t I have it figured out by now? Am I so irrevocably broken that I can’t, for lack of a better phrase, land a man? The short and the long of it is… well… no. So, allow me to cry you a river for a moment.

There’s no magic formula to this dating thing. One friend tells me, “go out on more dates,” so I do. But those end more awkwardly than they begin. Another tells me “you need to get out more.” So, again… I do. And that’s just wholly unfulfilling and no quality prospects ever seem to emerge. Yet another tells me, “it’ll happen when you stop looking.” So, I tried that too. And that one seemed to have worked for a while. I stopped trying, I kept my thirst in check, and I thought “FINALLY, it’s happened to me!” But, that didn’t work out either. So for months I thought, what the fuck am I doing wrong? Is it me? Is my very essence a turn-off? Do I look like an absolute hobgoblin? It was slowly getting to the point where the next guy with a not-so-bad criminal record and a decent tan would be the one to sweep me off my feet. Or, at the very least, sweep me off my pity pedestal. I really didn’t mean to act so hopeless. I didn’t. And praise all my Santos that at least my Cuban mom wasn’t on that “when are you giving me grandkids?” tip. Now THAT would have sent me straight to the convent life.

So what magic realization did I come to after months of I’M DYING ALONE conversations? It’s that my approach was all types of butt ugly wrong. I started and ended every day putting my entire worth and value in finding another human being to call my very own. I put aside the great friends I have, the family that cares, the career that is just getting started, the ass that doesn’t quit and the most bangin’ of personalities. I was focusing on the one negative when there were a milli positives.

And with that I say, I’m done. At least for now. At least with finding anything of substance in Miami. And no, this isn’t going to devolve into a rant of HOW NO GOOD MEN EXIST IN MIAMI. Because, that’s simply not true. I’m not bitter nor have I given up on finding a forever mate. It just shouldn’t be a priority right now. Right now I need to focus on doing me… not you.