As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was recently at the pool with Bridie and Pepper. Before we were talking about how happy Pepper was when she was single, we were talking about the Duchess.
The Duchess had sent me a text the previous day about this single guy she knew (or knew of, it was never really clear) who was a billionaire, but also really short, but a billionaire and so she wondered if I could look past my height requirement for a billionaire. I think she then sent another text, reminding me this guy made billions and I would be a fool to not at least let her give him my number. When I responded, I told her he should take some of his money, go to China and have his shins lengthened. But that would still only get him a first date with me. I wouldn’t promise anything more.
After we all stopped laughing at my ridiculousness and the Duchess’s relentlessness, Pepper chimed in, “But you don’t even seem to mind being single.”
We then went on to discuss all the reasons why being single is sort of awesome and that is when Pepper revealed she was happiest when she was on her own.
Showing posts with label Single for Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Single for Life. Show all posts
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Open Letter to Marie Claire
Dear MC,
I visited my hometown last weekend to check in on my parents, but mostly to get my hair done (my Mom and Dad will probably out-live us all, not to mention I had just seen them the weekend before when we went to the Phillies game). Waiting for me upon my arrival was a stack of magazines, almost up to my knees and in that pile were a couple of Marie Claires.
See, my mom has a subscription to just about every magazine published. She curates from her collection a selection that she think I would enjoy and leaves them in a pile for me.
My mom was most excited to show me your June issue. Right there on the cover, she pointed out, was a story I was sure to love: “The New Revolution. Love and the Single Girl.”
The next day, over breakfast, my mom asked me what I thought of the article. I rolled my eyes and told her it annoyed me. I then started explaining why. The problem is, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that so bothered me.
I visited my hometown last weekend to check in on my parents, but mostly to get my hair done (my Mom and Dad will probably out-live us all, not to mention I had just seen them the weekend before when we went to the Phillies game). Waiting for me upon my arrival was a stack of magazines, almost up to my knees and in that pile were a couple of Marie Claires.
See, my mom has a subscription to just about every magazine published. She curates from her collection a selection that she think I would enjoy and leaves them in a pile for me.
My mom was most excited to show me your June issue. Right there on the cover, she pointed out, was a story I was sure to love: “The New Revolution. Love and the Single Girl.”
The next day, over breakfast, my mom asked me what I thought of the article. I rolled my eyes and told her it annoyed me. I then started explaining why. The problem is, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that so bothered me.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Table for One
Sometimes it’s lonely being single. Of course it is. But sometimes the loneliness hits you when you least expect it.
Friends and I signed up for a party run. For the uninitiated -- a party run is a race followed by a party. But by the time the race came around, everyone had backed out for one reason or another.
Everyone except me.
Now, typically I run by myself, so it wasn’t the race that worried me. It was before the run that had me freaking out. Before a run you are just standing around, talking with friends, trying to keep warm, thinking about bailing, and wondering why you keep signing up for these things. You hop around, you laugh, judge other runners and wait for the starting gun. But when you are alone, well, you just stand there. Alone. Surrounded by hundreds of people.
Of course I thought about bailing, too, as I walked down to the start. I kept thinking I can just go home. No one will know.
But I had made a promise to myself earlier. If I went to run, I didn’t have to face the party. After all, this was my choice -- to be single. And being single means sometimes I will be all by myself. Sometimes there will be things I want to do that no one is contractually obligated to do with me. But all that pep talk aside, I still wasn’t ready to go to a party alone.
When I finally made it to the starting line, it wasn’t nearly as bad or as lonesome as I feared. I saw people I knew, talked to them for a bit. Checked my bag, lined up at the start. Saw CK. He wasn’t running but was waiting dutifully with his new girlfriend. I waved. He waved back. Then the gun went off, I took off, and before I knew it, the race was over and I had finished the four miles in a time that even shocked me.
I was feeling so good post-race, I almost wanted to brave the party.
Maybe next year.
Friends and I signed up for a party run. For the uninitiated -- a party run is a race followed by a party. But by the time the race came around, everyone had backed out for one reason or another.
Everyone except me.
Now, typically I run by myself, so it wasn’t the race that worried me. It was before the run that had me freaking out. Before a run you are just standing around, talking with friends, trying to keep warm, thinking about bailing, and wondering why you keep signing up for these things. You hop around, you laugh, judge other runners and wait for the starting gun. But when you are alone, well, you just stand there. Alone. Surrounded by hundreds of people.
Of course I thought about bailing, too, as I walked down to the start. I kept thinking I can just go home. No one will know.
But I had made a promise to myself earlier. If I went to run, I didn’t have to face the party. After all, this was my choice -- to be single. And being single means sometimes I will be all by myself. Sometimes there will be things I want to do that no one is contractually obligated to do with me. But all that pep talk aside, I still wasn’t ready to go to a party alone.
When I finally made it to the starting line, it wasn’t nearly as bad or as lonesome as I feared. I saw people I knew, talked to them for a bit. Checked my bag, lined up at the start. Saw CK. He wasn’t running but was waiting dutifully with his new girlfriend. I waved. He waved back. Then the gun went off, I took off, and before I knew it, the race was over and I had finished the four miles in a time that even shocked me.
I was feeling so good post-race, I almost wanted to brave the party.
Maybe next year.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
But He's Single
There is a new battle cry coming from my camp of friends that don’t believe me when I say I am single for life.
It’s an interesting plan. Gone are the hypothetical situations where a super-hot guy in horn-rimmed glasses, with a great head of hair, a fantastic sense of humor, and Peyton Manning’s work ethic, walks up to me at a bar and declares I am the one he has been looking for and he can’t live another moment without me, he then drops down to one knee, opens a red leather box exposing a nearly flawless, 4-carat ,emerald cut diamond ring. They have been replaced with a simpler plea, “What about him?” pointing to the nearest guy who isn’t already talking to a woman.
I never said it was a good plan.
We were all out Friday night, and it got to that point in the evening where everyone had just enough alcohol in them to start trolling the bar for bedfellows. Or at least that is how it went in the good ol’ days. Now, I was the lone single ranger, and the only guy I would have even maybe considered making out with was gone, and I wasn’t even sure when he left which indicates to you just how interested I was in him.
Still, the Duchess, the leader of the declining rebel forces, wasn’t going to let dick o’clock pass without pointing out the several men within arm’s reach whom she thought I should be talking to. The conversations went a lot like this:
It’s an interesting plan. Gone are the hypothetical situations where a super-hot guy in horn-rimmed glasses, with a great head of hair, a fantastic sense of humor, and Peyton Manning’s work ethic, walks up to me at a bar and declares I am the one he has been looking for and he can’t live another moment without me, he then drops down to one knee, opens a red leather box exposing a nearly flawless, 4-carat ,emerald cut diamond ring. They have been replaced with a simpler plea, “What about him?” pointing to the nearest guy who isn’t already talking to a woman.
I never said it was a good plan.
We were all out Friday night, and it got to that point in the evening where everyone had just enough alcohol in them to start trolling the bar for bedfellows. Or at least that is how it went in the good ol’ days. Now, I was the lone single ranger, and the only guy I would have even maybe considered making out with was gone, and I wasn’t even sure when he left which indicates to you just how interested I was in him.
Still, the Duchess, the leader of the declining rebel forces, wasn’t going to let dick o’clock pass without pointing out the several men within arm’s reach whom she thought I should be talking to. The conversations went a lot like this:
“Tati, what about that guy.”
Eye roll. “What guy?”
“That guy, there, in the blue fleece.”
Without looking. “He’s wearing a fleece.”
“He’s cute.”
I look over. “He’s short.”
“He’s not. He’s your height.”
“For the last time, that’s short.”
“He’s funny and has a good job.”
“He doesn’t live in the city.”
“He has a car.”
“Because he doesn’t live in the city.”
“But he’s single.”
Oh, well, then, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Let me just adjust my cleavage.
Now, if it sounds like I am being picky it’s because I am. It took a lot for me to get here – this happy place where I realized that I have a lot going on for myself. Those of you that have been reading this blog know there were some tortured moments as I tried to find happiness with someone. I realized along the way that even if I found the perfect guy referenced above, it would still require some compromise on my part to fit him into my life. So if I am going to have to give up even a part of my awesome, happy life, he is going to have to be worth it – that’s just basic economics; it’s called opportunity costs.
So, Number Five is going to have to have a lot going for him. Certainly more than just being single.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Number Five
I have been having a lot of conversations about choosing to be single for life. Mostly friends that either don’t believe me or want in. At some point, rather incredulously, people will say, “So, you are never going to get married.”
I’m not a super big fan of the word never. I find it almost always comes back to bite me. I am still ruing the day I told Bridie I would never tuck my jeans into boots.
So I came up with a list, the five guys I would be willing to leave the single life for. As follows, ranked in case two of them ask me to marry them at the exact same time:
But I know that as I go on these adventures, and continue on with my life, things will change. I will change. And there may come a day that I can’t fathom right now, when I will meet someone that changes my truth. That makes risking all my happiness worthwhile.
Of course, it is just as possible that the five spot will never be filled and that is okay too. The thing is, I just don’t know and – as my mother would say – my crystal ball is at the shop getting fixed.
I’m not a super big fan of the word never. I find it almost always comes back to bite me. I am still ruing the day I told Bridie I would never tuck my jeans into boots.
So I came up with a list, the five guys I would be willing to leave the single life for. As follows, ranked in case two of them ask me to marry them at the exact same time:
1. Peyton ManningI left spot number five open because during this journey I swallowed a lot of red pills of truth. One of these pills was that truth changes. Right now everything in my life is perfectly wonderful. I am happy and content (not the same thing) and looking forward to my next adventure and the one after that, and the one after that.
2. Ryan Gosling
3. CK
4. Daniel Craig
5. TBD
But I know that as I go on these adventures, and continue on with my life, things will change. I will change. And there may come a day that I can’t fathom right now, when I will meet someone that changes my truth. That makes risking all my happiness worthwhile.
Of course, it is just as possible that the five spot will never be filled and that is okay too. The thing is, I just don’t know and – as my mother would say – my crystal ball is at the shop getting fixed.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Let the Revolution Begin
Bridie and I were outside a friend’s party, smoking one of the last cigarettes either of us would ever smoke when she asked if I saw the latest Psychology Today. (Side note: As you know, Bridie is a therapist and subscribes to this magazine. When we lived together, I started reading it because it really is a fascinating magazine and to this day I will often pick up a copy when I am at Whole Foods, however being this conversation took place at the end of the year and it was my last chance to be decadent, I hadn’t been to a Whole Foods in quite some time).
I told her I hadn’t.
She told me there was an article in it that I should read – about choosing to be single. She then added that while she doesn’t believe I will be single for live, the article did raise some interesting facts about single people and the misconception that they all want to get married.
I looked at her and declared that I had started a revolution (even though I am sure the magazine went to print before I posted that blog) and then I flashed the gang sign for “Single for Life” that I have been working on.
She rolled her eyes.
The next day, I decided a trip to Whole Paycheck (err Foods) was in order. I even picked up some healthy groceries while I was there.
I got home, got out the hummus and pita chips (What? That is sort of healthy) and opened to the article I heard so much about the prior day. Soon, I was grinning as if I had too much wine and there was a hot guy across the bar. (Another side note: Sadly, I looked and couldn’t find it online to share with you here. So you will have to pick up a copy of the magazine, but it is totally worth it – there is even a quiz.) Instead of promoting the Single for Life mantra that I am trying to get going, the author instead asks – Are You Single At Heart? She discusses America's obsession with getting married, and her own personal journey waiting for that day when she too would want to join the army of the happily coupled-off. Of course that day never came – she is currently in her late-50s and still loves being single.
The author then arms us (against pestering mothers and annoying frienemies) with some pretty impressive statistics debunking the myth that all us singles want only one thing – to be a we. According to a recent Pew survey, 55 percent of unmarried Americans said they weren’t in a relationship AND weren’t currently looking for one (and according to the recently census survey 100 million Americans are unmarried). That means there are approximately 55 million (if my math is right) Americans that feel the same way about coupling off as I do.
Suddenly, being single doesn’t feel so lonely.
And before you ask – I scored nearly perfectly on the Single At Heart quiz.
I told her I hadn’t.
She told me there was an article in it that I should read – about choosing to be single. She then added that while she doesn’t believe I will be single for live, the article did raise some interesting facts about single people and the misconception that they all want to get married.
I looked at her and declared that I had started a revolution (even though I am sure the magazine went to print before I posted that blog) and then I flashed the gang sign for “Single for Life” that I have been working on.
She rolled her eyes.
The next day, I decided a trip to Whole Paycheck (err Foods) was in order. I even picked up some healthy groceries while I was there.
I got home, got out the hummus and pita chips (What? That is sort of healthy) and opened to the article I heard so much about the prior day. Soon, I was grinning as if I had too much wine and there was a hot guy across the bar. (Another side note: Sadly, I looked and couldn’t find it online to share with you here. So you will have to pick up a copy of the magazine, but it is totally worth it – there is even a quiz.) Instead of promoting the Single for Life mantra that I am trying to get going, the author instead asks – Are You Single At Heart? She discusses America's obsession with getting married, and her own personal journey waiting for that day when she too would want to join the army of the happily coupled-off. Of course that day never came – she is currently in her late-50s and still loves being single.
The author then arms us (against pestering mothers and annoying frienemies) with some pretty impressive statistics debunking the myth that all us singles want only one thing – to be a we. According to a recent Pew survey, 55 percent of unmarried Americans said they weren’t in a relationship AND weren’t currently looking for one (and according to the recently census survey 100 million Americans are unmarried). That means there are approximately 55 million (if my math is right) Americans that feel the same way about coupling off as I do.
Suddenly, being single doesn’t feel so lonely.
And before you ask – I scored nearly perfectly on the Single At Heart quiz.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Open Letter to the Hot Guy in My Office
Dear Hot Guy in My Office,
As you know from your life of looking in mirrors and women behaving silly around you, you are hot; ridiculously so. If it seems like it is hard for me to look at you, it is because it is. You are that damn handsome and I am afraid of what will happen if I make eye contact. The last thing I want to do is become another silly woman.
Now, before you start to worry that this letter is a really lame attempt to ask you out, let me assure you it’s not. 1) You are much too good looking for me. 2) I know you have a girlfriend. 3) We work together and I have a rule about that, and 4) (and this is probably the most important one and should have gone first) I have just completed the outline of my “Single For Life” tattoo and it would be really expensive to have it removed. Not to mention a total waste of some very artistic lettering.
Still the possibility of me becoming a total moron around you looms large and with the recent elevator incident (I didn’t mean to flirt with you, it just sometimes happen), I feel drastic measures need to be taken on both our parts. I need you to think I am smart and competent. I would like you to respect me.
Now, I know I can’t ask you to be less attractive – I don’t think you could if you tried, I mean you even look good in plaid. However, I was able to come up with a list of things you can do that I think would improve our situation dramatically:
1) Stop wearing your glasses. I don’t care if you are hungover and trying to hide blood shot eyes. Your horn-rimmed glasses that make you look like Clark Kent are like Kryptonite to this Super Girl’s will power. Perhaps in the new year you can resolve to drink less and thus lessen your need for your glasses.
2) Stop standing directly outside my office, talking about how interesting you are to our co-workers. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to refrain from joining those conversations? I saw the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo this weekend too. I have thoughts about it. But I stayed in my office with my mouth shut because I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. If you really must share with our co-workers all the fun things you did this weekend, IM them. Or send them an email. Or wait until I am in a meeting. Just stop talking to them right outside my office.
3) Stop cursing. You are a really great curser which I know probably sounds like a strange compliment, but as someone that has always sounded too crass when I say any curse word, I really admire the ability in others to sound forceful but not trashy. When you curse, it sounds hot, and that isn't good.
Things you may feel free to continue doing are shamelessly flirting with the older women in the office and talking about your diet.
In return for any or all of these concessions, I will continue to avoid talking to you, looking at you, and engaging you in any way. This morning was a moment of weakness, and don’t anticipate it happening again.
I hope you have a wonderful and healthy new year.
Yours,
Tati
As you know from your life of looking in mirrors and women behaving silly around you, you are hot; ridiculously so. If it seems like it is hard for me to look at you, it is because it is. You are that damn handsome and I am afraid of what will happen if I make eye contact. The last thing I want to do is become another silly woman.
Now, before you start to worry that this letter is a really lame attempt to ask you out, let me assure you it’s not. 1) You are much too good looking for me. 2) I know you have a girlfriend. 3) We work together and I have a rule about that, and 4) (and this is probably the most important one and should have gone first) I have just completed the outline of my “Single For Life” tattoo and it would be really expensive to have it removed. Not to mention a total waste of some very artistic lettering.
Still the possibility of me becoming a total moron around you looms large and with the recent elevator incident (I didn’t mean to flirt with you, it just sometimes happen), I feel drastic measures need to be taken on both our parts. I need you to think I am smart and competent. I would like you to respect me.
Now, I know I can’t ask you to be less attractive – I don’t think you could if you tried, I mean you even look good in plaid. However, I was able to come up with a list of things you can do that I think would improve our situation dramatically:
1) Stop wearing your glasses. I don’t care if you are hungover and trying to hide blood shot eyes. Your horn-rimmed glasses that make you look like Clark Kent are like Kryptonite to this Super Girl’s will power. Perhaps in the new year you can resolve to drink less and thus lessen your need for your glasses.
2) Stop standing directly outside my office, talking about how interesting you are to our co-workers. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to refrain from joining those conversations? I saw the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo this weekend too. I have thoughts about it. But I stayed in my office with my mouth shut because I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. If you really must share with our co-workers all the fun things you did this weekend, IM them. Or send them an email. Or wait until I am in a meeting. Just stop talking to them right outside my office.
3) Stop cursing. You are a really great curser which I know probably sounds like a strange compliment, but as someone that has always sounded too crass when I say any curse word, I really admire the ability in others to sound forceful but not trashy. When you curse, it sounds hot, and that isn't good.
Things you may feel free to continue doing are shamelessly flirting with the older women in the office and talking about your diet.
In return for any or all of these concessions, I will continue to avoid talking to you, looking at you, and engaging you in any way. This morning was a moment of weakness, and don’t anticipate it happening again.
I hope you have a wonderful and healthy new year.
Yours,
Tati
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