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.

 

Advertisement

Me and Mr. Wrong

Me and Mr. Wrong get along so good. Sing it, Mary.

Today, at 7:38 a. m., while most alcoholics normal people were abed sleeping off St. Patrick’s Day hangovers, I was up and out on a run. Because I didn’t go out last night.

I went to dinner with a guy who could be my next Mr. Wrong.

I know how to spot a Mr. Wrong in the wild, because over the last few years I’ve gone out with plenty of them. Once you’ve found one in his natural habitat, it becomes easier to recognize the next one.

What’s not so easy, however, is avoiding him in the first place. Because Mr. Wrong is very good at camouflage. On the surface, he appears to be Mr. Right…or at least Mr. Right Now…

I’ve encountered the following wolves in sheep’s clothing subspecies of Mr. Wrong in my dating adventures.

Mr. Too Busy

Mr. Let’s Keep It Casual

Mr. Let’s Just Have Casual Sex

Mr. I Think You’re Great But…

Mr. Flake-Effect

Mr. I Don’t Like Your Family

Mr. Controlling

Mr. I Think You’re Too Focused On Your Career

Mr. I’m Too Focused On My Career

Mr. I Don’t Take You Seriously

Mr. I Slept With Someone Else

Mr. I’m a combination of two or more things from the above list

If you ever meet the last one, run away. FAR, FAR AWAY.

When you’re dating a Mr. Wrong, nothing ever seems to go right. All the crazy, mildly neurotic, slightly dramatic behaviors that you hide from the world really don’t have seem to come out. It’s like all of a sudden you’re that girl.

The girl that second-guesses everything. That is never sure. That never talks about what’s on her mind because she’s too afraid of looking dramatic/needy/psycho. That lives in a perpetual state of “will this or won’t this” work out. The girl that has an unhealthy obsession with wanting to know how the story ends.

When in reality, you’re not that girl at all. You’re just with the wrong guy.

My potential Mr. Wrong? He’s smart and funny and really cute and sweet and we have an amazing time together. But he also could be a Mr. I Want You to Wait Around. And while you’re waiting for me to decide if I want to be with you or not, don’t date anyone else. Just wait.

So now I’m torn. Do I throw this fish back into the sea? Because he could be a Mr. Wrong? Or do I chance it?

Yea, pretty sure I’d like to peek ahead to the ending on this one…

I Object: Single is NOT the New Social Outcast

According to a enlightening ridiculous NYT piece, people who live alone are, apparently, totalfreakingweirdos.

The evidence for the said “people who live alone will undoubtably turn into social lepers” argument is completely erroneous and humorous all at once.

• Kramer is NOT a good example of what happens to people when they live alone. I’ve yet to substitute butter for tanning oil and there are no plans to begin washing vegetables in the shower.
• Singing along to Journey is COMPLETELY NORMAL. And singing in the shower? It is widely known that bathrooms have amazing acoustics.
• Laundry left in the dryer is a sign of laziness. The same goes for dishes in the sink, not vacuuming, and other various physical manifestations of sloth.
• Champagne at 8 a.m.? It’s called a freaking mimosa. And they’re delicious.
• Matthew Morrison has publicly admitted to going on a sweet-potato only diet and I’m pretty sure he’s not a social outcast. He’s just insanely good looking.

Living alone is normal. So is living with your significant other. Stockpiling canned soup and bottled water for the apocalypse while trying out for Hoarders? That’s just plain scary.

I seriously believe this author deliberately searched out the weirdest, oddest, quirkiest people to interview for this article. And completely ignored the larger subset of TOTALLY NORMAL people who live by themselves. The concept of sample size? I don’t believe that was applied here…

Living alone doesn’t turn you into Bridget Jones or a social pariah. Living alone teaches you to be alone.

And the best part?

I watch football in my underwear. And I’m pretty sure my future husband won’t complain about that.

Why does the girl always have to play it cool?

And have you ever noticed how playing it cool almost definitely guarantees that you will turn into a stark raving mad lunatic?

Because “playing it cool” means we sit around and analyze. Every. Little. Thing. And then before you know it you’re the crazy woman shut up in the attic a la Jane Eyre.

And all the rules that tell you how to “play it cool:”

Don’t respond to his text message right away. Wait a few minutes so you don’t look too free but not too busy either. Great plan! Waiting 11.38 minutes to respond will certainly make him realize how awesome I am!

Be available but not too available. Say you’re busy the first day he suggests for a date. Amazing! I definitely should stay home and watch Justin Bieber videos on a Friday instead of going out with someone who actually is interested in going out with me.

Wait until the he has made 37.6 grand, sweeping gestures that declare his undying love and devotion before you do something nice for him. So smart! I’ll act like I could care less because that is the sure fire way to show him I’m into him.

Whatever you do, DO NOT ask him out. Not for drinks, not for coffee, not for anything. Why didn’t I think of this one before? It makes so much sense to ignore a person that I want to hangout with!

Just insert an obscene amount of waiting by the phone, reading into things that mean nothing, telling yourself to “keep the crazy in check” and “act normal,” and find a few friends who give perennially enlightening advice like “just remember to play it cool, girl.” And you’re totally on your way to a life of love and happiness.

Which brings me back to the original question: why does the girl always have to play it cool?

Why is it that when men do nice things for a girl it’s romantic, but if a woman does something she’s desperate and/or psycho?

One of my Lenten resolutions is to stop being someone else’s version of me. So I’m going to stop attempting to play it cool.

Because lets be reasonable. I watch Justin Bieber videos on YouTube. I’m more Bridget Jones than Princess Kate. And being the cool girl doesn’t prevent you from sailing on the good ship disappointment towards the isles of heartache and disaster. So I’m just going to be my slightly neurotic and sometimes crazy but completely passionate, honest, authentic self.

If you want a girl that can “play it cool,” she’s not me.

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…

Just throw that fish back into the sea.

Because I’m not a ‘wait and see’ kind of girl.

Adding to what I’m sure will become a continual series on my life as Bridget Jones, I’m going to take a moment to rant and rave about my phone conversation with previously posted about dirtbag guy (thanks mom!). Said guy is “too busy” and “overwhelmed” and “wants to stay friends.”

Well, here’s how I see it. As much as romantic comedies Taylor Swift songs try to trick me into believing that he really wants to be friends and that things will work out, reality and life experience has taught me otherwise.

If you don’t have time for me as your girlfriend, then you definitely don’t have time for me as a friend. And why do I want to be friends with someone who says I make them feel overwhelmed? And, for the record, I don’t need more friends. Saying you want to stay friends is code for “I’m never going to speak to you again but I have no balls so I think this lame line about friends will lessen my guilt and then I don’t look like such a douche.”

Did I mention the part where he said he wanted to ‘wait and see’ where things were in three months? Because, really, I’ve got absolutely NOTHING better to do than wait around for some guy to wake up and realize what a great girl I am.

Yeahhhhhhh, riiiiiiiiiiiight.