Hey guys. It’s been a minute, but I’m back. I know those who know me are anxiously awaiting my aerial yoga post. Yes, I went to a type of yoga that requires upper body and ab strength, agility, and gracefulness-all of which I do not have. Wait for it. It’s coming, and it’ll be good.
For now, I must discuss the state of the single-and-dating-world, as that is where I am firmly planted. For now.
OMG, ya’ll. It’s fucking terrifying.
Like, so scary. So.scary.
Remember when I said I was going to share a new personal challenge with you? Well, I’ve already begun miserably failing at it. I’m just a fucking rockstar at life.
I was going to challenge myself to a year of being single. It’s what everyone is saying I need. So, it must be what I need. I see the value in figuring out who I am as a single person before I jump back into a relationship. I see how giving myself a significant amount of time to heal is a smart thing. I get it. But, as with all things easier said than done.
Literally two days after I posted that I would be challenging myself to something pretty hardcore, I signed up for Plenty of Fish.
This kind of erratic, bipolar-esque behavior explains a lot in my life.
I’m now on Plenty of Fish and OK Cupid.
If the majority of the men I’ve been contacted by and interacted with thus far is any indication of how my dating life will go, I’ll be single for a hell of a lot longer than a year.
I don’t even have the words to fully express my horror/disdain/disappointment, so I’ll just share a few screenshots. I didn’t get the idea to write on this topic before I deleted many a message, so just know, these are just the fucking tip of the iceberg.
Please share in my pain:
Now, obviously this dude just wants a night of fun. Maybe some woman out there wants one too. Nothing wrong with that. What is wrong is that he “wood” really like me to watch him in a “golf tournament”. Also, not one period or comma. Not.a.one.
OK, the jig is up, ladies. Who’s responding to these sick, macho, sexist, ignorant, and just plain gross “pick up lines”? Obviously, these men think this crap works. There are two possible explanations:
1: It works at least once. I need to find these women to slap some fucking common sense into them, if even possible.
2: They are truly mentally handicapped, ignorant by choice, or they were taught this is how you pick up women.
Either way, I’m terrified. I think I’m back to working on my challenge. A life being the crazy cat lady who smells of cans of Whiskas and Bengay isn’t looking so terrible.