The Ides of March Hate Single People

Beware of the ides of march.

It really should be “beware of the ides of march reminding you that you’re single and living alone and apparently turning into a totalfreakingweirdo.”

First, there was the delightful NYT piece about how living alone apparently turns you into a pantless alcoholic. With a penchant for sweet potatoes.

Then, I received the following two Groupons in THE SAME WEEK.

Because I’ve always coveted a pair of weight-loss hot pants. And non-surgical lipo.

Seriously, Groupon? Why don’t you just try to sell me an ab-zapping belt, the Shake Weight, Sensa and a variety of Billy Mays products? Since, you know, you’re hawking such reputable great deals lately. 

Personally, I’ll just stick to the Paris Hilton diet of starvation and martinis. And Spanx.

Then this journalistic gem asked the life-altering question, “Will living alone make you depressed?”

Citing a survey of Finnish people (because we all know Finnish people are like, totally par for the course when it comes to life), approximately 25% of people who lived alone filled a prescription for antidepressants, compared with 16% for those who lived with family, spouses, roommates, and other varieties of cling-ons. OMFG. Call Sanjay Gupta. There’s a whopping 9% difference. 

The best part? The same study points out that women living alone have a higher risk factor for depression because of their tendencies to have “lower incomes, less education and poorer housing conditions.” I’m sorry, I just hallucinated. Are we back in 1950?

Does the concept of “correlation does not equal causation” apply here at all?

Oh wait…CNN uses a lay person’s term to describe this and asks, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

It’s a good thing they put it in such simple terms and all, because otherwise my tiny hamster brain wouldn’t understand.

And heaven help the single woman who lives alone in West Virginia and works as either a nursing home or child care provider. Because then you have the trifecta: living alone in the most depressed state in the country with the most depressing job in the country. Or so says this piece.

I’d like to know why everyone is trying to rain on the “living alone” parade. Because I’ve always thought that those who rain on your parade are just angry that they have no parade of their own.

So parade on, solo-dwellers. You can always order some weight-loss hot pants if you get lonely.

 

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I mustache you…

I know the mustache trend is a bit overused…but I can’t help it. I saw this easy DIY project on the Finley and Oliver blog and I couldn’t resist.

Plus, my Friday night consisted on running into not one, but TWO ex-boyfriends at the same bar.

With their new girlfriends.

Who I got to meet.

Because the new gfs “really wanted to meet me.” Which we all know means they wanted to check me out up close. Like I’m some sort of zoo animal. As I said: good luck chuck.

So, crafting fun and crazy-cute mustache items kept my mind off things (and my hands off the chardonnay and corkscrew). I cut out the letters for these on my Cricut Expression (chirp chirp!) using the Plantin Schoolbook font, with the “shadow” feature. The blue card letters were sliced at 2 inches and the green card letters at 2.5 inches. The glitter paper I purchased at Michaels–its pretty thick, so if you’re using a “slice and dice” machine like me, be sure to change the blade depth.

Now, the most important part. The mustache graphic. I downloaded an image of mustaches that I saw on the Cheddar Guppies blog. After some resizing, I traced this onto the back of the glitter paper and cut out VERY CAREFULLY. As we all know, because I am efficient (read: lazy), I use a stack of precut cardstock for the actual cards. It’s way easier than trying to cut out an exact rectangle and the paper comes in a rainbow of colors.

Arrange the letters how you like and glue onto the card stock. And then you’re set to mail out some mustache love.

Because nothing says “I love you” like…

A good ol’ fashioned celebration of VD.

Why thank you, Rick. What a splendid idea.

Good Luck Chuck?

I have a feeling…I’m a good luck chuck.

I know what you’re thinking. “Good luck chucks” don’t exist. They aren’t real. Fiction. Imagination. Figments of your drunken “dammit why did I call/text/sleep with” him mind.

I beg to differ.

I, cakerypapery, am a Good Luck Chuck. (minus the fact that I do not at all look like this.)

Now, like any good CSI NCIS agent profiler, you should be asking, “cakerypapery, why?”

Let’s just say that…through drunken texting not-so-flattering methods I’ve discovered that not one, not two, but FOUR ex bfs are now either happily dating or engaged. Dating, okay. But ENGAGED? ARE YOU SHI*TTING ME LIFE??

Point of reference: before you say that it’s “just a matter of time,” we are talking multiple recent exes. Within the period of “wow, that serious already?” timeframe.

Not to mention, our lovely january dirtbag is also back online dating.

(yes, I stalked.)

(and yes, that line about being “overwhelmed” was really just a crock of sh*t. since he’s already looking for a new girl ONLINE.)

(And seriously, I don’t ever want to encounter a “crock of sh*t” in real life. I bet it would smell. Bad.)

And no, aforementioned guys aren’t serial monogamists. Apparently, all it takes is a nice Catholic girl like me to break the ice. AWESOME. Glad I could help out with that.

Which just proves that all the reasons people use to break up, especially the “it’s not you, it’s me” line, are really la verdad. Because, guess what? IT’S NOT ME, IT IS YOU. and, you are just NOT THAT INTO ME.

If anyone (man or woman), needs a handy dandy powerpoint reference to help them remember that busy is the kiss of the death and you deserve a freaking phone call, shoot me an email.

til then, throw that fish back into the sea. Better yet, throw it onto dry land before some other person is tricked into hooking it.

A great post involving a sure fire way to get over someone (and not by getting under someone) to follow. Let’s just say…milk, jameo and some serious DIY.

When I’m done being bitter, maybe I’ll be slightly flattered that I have this amazing ability to make people realize what they really want. Which, as a consequence of said magical powers, usually happens to not be me. sigh…insert Bridget Jones reference here…