I moved out of my parents house at 17.
Like most of my classmates, we all moved off to college and into our new dormitories bright eyed and excited for the next four years of our almost-adult lives. We could throw parties whenever we wanted. Sleep with whomever we wanted. Eat pizza for dinner and candy for breakfast. Life was sweet.
However, maybe unlike most of my classmates, I knew I was never going back.
I vividly remember being in the car with my parents when they said something along the lines of "enjoy it now, someday you'll have to come home". I told them I wasn't.
"How are you going to afford that?" They laughed.
"Watch me."
I got my first job second semester of my freshman year working after school and on weekends as I jump started my future apartment fund. I had fallen deliriously in love with New York City and as far as I was concerned you would have to drag me out by my fervently kicking feet if you wanted to see me out of it.
After freshman year I went off to be a resident advisor in a different dormitory, moving from 55th & 3rd to 92nd and Lex, summers I couch surfed or moved into friends rooms splitting the cost of rent so it was cheeper for everyone. I spent a summer on 79th and York and another in the financial district. My senior year was spent on 81st & 3rd. Post college I moved all the way up to Washington Heights.
I got around.
Last year I moved to 207th and Broadway but rent being what it is JUMPED FOURHUNDREDFUCKINGDOLLARS so we had to get out.
Short of funds and in desperate need to save money, I spent the last month homeless. But not without a home.
My good friend let me crash on the couch of her brand new HOUSE in New Jersey, my boyfriend gave me keys, as did my other partner in crime who had recently moved to the very fun (and super convenient) Hells Kitchen neighborhood.
I wasn't living anywhere. I was living everywhere.
That's the thing about New York though isn't it? When you live here, you get to call the whole thing home. No one cares about where you sleep, they care about where you LIVE, Williamsburg, Midtown, UWS, LES, SOHO, NOHO, FINI.
Your home is your post work watering holes, and your friends restaurant that you've shut down almost as much as the one where you actually work. That friend in trendy Brooklyn who lets you crash on their couch after Chardonnay induced girl talk and back to back episodes of Say Yes to the Dress. That place you met that OKCupid date and then took all future OKC dates to because it was decently priced and made for an easy escape.
I haven't really had a specific place to call home.
I've had a whole Island.
Then again, "home" for me has never really consisted of the same set of four walls.
Home has been falling asleep next to my friends watching Pitch Perfect for the thousandth time.
It's reading a good book on the hot marble of the Columbus Circle fountain.
I'm at home holding my boyfriend's hand.
As long as I am surrounded by the people I love, the things I love, in the city I love, I am home.
This past weekend I moved into a new apartment smack in the middle of Manhattan. It's a dream location and sure, it's small and I'm sleeping on an Ikea daybed in a corner of the living room. But after two days and nights it's already my new favorite place.
I have a nook to sleep in. I can take a shower with shampoo that's not travel size. I can put milk in my new refrigerator.
I might not live here for long, but that's not important. I'm living with my "ride or die" best friend. I'm ten blocks from where my boyfriend works and in the middles of a bunch of my other friend's places.
I'm sure my next year here will bring a slew of new memories both good and bad and all that's in between.
It's my new place called home.
Love Always,
Your no longer homeless .... Broken Record.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Rasin Bran and Whiskey
I had Rasin Bran for dinner tonight.
And the night before.
Actually I've had cereal for dinner most nights this week...the nights I ate dinner.
It's not that I have a particular affinity for Rasin Bran, in fact I consider myself more a Peanut Butter Capt'n Crunch gal. It's just that's all I have to eat in the apartment. My funds have dropped to such a critical state that I can barely afford anything, and dinner these days seems an unnecessary expense. When there's Rasin Bran in the cabinet and all.
The whiskey's to take the edge off.
And so makes for the perfect pairing to reflect my state of affairs.
The struggle my dears, is real.
When I was younger I had a dream. I wanted to perform for as long as I possibly could. I wanted to live in my favorite place on the planet, and I would make lots of cash money waiting tables at a fancy overpriced New York Restaurant, living life and making it rain all the rest of my days.
No corporate bullshit for me. F the man!
And all my dreams came true. Every. Last. One.
Which takes us to me in my apartment in northern nowhere NYC, drinking whiskey from a water glass, empty bowl of flakes sitting tragically on my window sill.
It seems I took a wrong turn somewhere, I just can't figure out where.
What I can say for myself, despite the self declared failings, is I have always lived true to myself. I have lived a very exciting early half of my twenties and don't regret a single day of it. Not even that day I discovered LOST and didn't get off of my couch for twelve hours not even to take a piss. Especially not that day.
But as 24 races through like a haphazard bullet, fast and directionless, I begin to wonder how the next half of the most uncertain decade ever will proceed.
I am better than this. I am better than Rasin Bran.
But not yet. What I feel like they forgot to teach us, or perhaps tried to teach us while we were busy trying to figure out which Backstreet Boy was our favorite (mine was AJ, duh), is that it takes a long, gruling period of hard WORK to actually make a nice life. No matter what you choose to do. It's all a balance. There's no cheating the system.
I thought that by following my passion I was avoiding the 9-5 corporate monster that I loathed so greatly. These days my friends with corporate jobs seem to be living quite comfortably. Meanwhile all those auditions, and headshots, and waiting rooms made me feel anything BUT authentic.
My restaurant job sucked more of my soul than I can ever hope to recover. I swear, everyone should wait table once in there lives. I don't know if I believe in a hell after you die, but I certainly believe in one right here on earth. And that's it.
So now what? What on earth am I supposed to do? Do people actually know these things?
24 feels so unsure.
And I know I'm a baby. And I know I'm privileged. And I realize these are first world problems.
I count my blessings daily from my extremely supportive family, to my loving boyfriend, to all of my incredible inspiring friends. It's because of them that I find myself to be such a disappointment. I want to be so much better than I am.
I'm so hungry for more.
And not just because I had Rasin Bran for dinner.
Because I refuse to keep repeating the same
Broken
Record.
And the night before.
Actually I've had cereal for dinner most nights this week...the nights I ate dinner.
It's not that I have a particular affinity for Rasin Bran, in fact I consider myself more a Peanut Butter Capt'n Crunch gal. It's just that's all I have to eat in the apartment. My funds have dropped to such a critical state that I can barely afford anything, and dinner these days seems an unnecessary expense. When there's Rasin Bran in the cabinet and all.
The whiskey's to take the edge off.
And so makes for the perfect pairing to reflect my state of affairs.
The struggle my dears, is real.
When I was younger I had a dream. I wanted to perform for as long as I possibly could. I wanted to live in my favorite place on the planet, and I would make lots of cash money waiting tables at a fancy overpriced New York Restaurant, living life and making it rain all the rest of my days.
No corporate bullshit for me. F the man!
And all my dreams came true. Every. Last. One.
Which takes us to me in my apartment in northern nowhere NYC, drinking whiskey from a water glass, empty bowl of flakes sitting tragically on my window sill.
It seems I took a wrong turn somewhere, I just can't figure out where.
What I can say for myself, despite the self declared failings, is I have always lived true to myself. I have lived a very exciting early half of my twenties and don't regret a single day of it. Not even that day I discovered LOST and didn't get off of my couch for twelve hours not even to take a piss. Especially not that day.
But as 24 races through like a haphazard bullet, fast and directionless, I begin to wonder how the next half of the most uncertain decade ever will proceed.
I am better than this. I am better than Rasin Bran.
But not yet. What I feel like they forgot to teach us, or perhaps tried to teach us while we were busy trying to figure out which Backstreet Boy was our favorite (mine was AJ, duh), is that it takes a long, gruling period of hard WORK to actually make a nice life. No matter what you choose to do. It's all a balance. There's no cheating the system.
I thought that by following my passion I was avoiding the 9-5 corporate monster that I loathed so greatly. These days my friends with corporate jobs seem to be living quite comfortably. Meanwhile all those auditions, and headshots, and waiting rooms made me feel anything BUT authentic.
My restaurant job sucked more of my soul than I can ever hope to recover. I swear, everyone should wait table once in there lives. I don't know if I believe in a hell after you die, but I certainly believe in one right here on earth. And that's it.
So now what? What on earth am I supposed to do? Do people actually know these things?
24 feels so unsure.
And I know I'm a baby. And I know I'm privileged. And I realize these are first world problems.
I count my blessings daily from my extremely supportive family, to my loving boyfriend, to all of my incredible inspiring friends. It's because of them that I find myself to be such a disappointment. I want to be so much better than I am.
I'm so hungry for more.
And not just because I had Rasin Bran for dinner.
Because I refuse to keep repeating the same
Broken
Record.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
March is for Madness
Last week my boyfriend uttered one fatal phrase that shattered my world as I knew it.
"Why don't you make a bracket?"
Now if you're like me, the only appealing thing about sports is getting to watch built, sweaty men in tight pants grunt at each other in all their masculine glory.
So imma esplain....
March Madness refers to the NCAA tournament, basically the Super Bowl of Basketball. People get the chance to fill out a bracket, or multiple brackets, and compete with their friend's to see who can better predict which of the 64 top college teams you think will make it to the next round of 32, then what they call the "sweet" 16, the "elite" 8, "final" four, ultimately choosing a champion.
Again, keep in mind up until last week I knew as much about college basketball as I did about quantum physics. In fact, I hadn't even watched a single basketball game until January when my boyfriend brought me to a Nets game.
I'm not fooling anyone. He's well aware of my ignorance involving basketball, the tournament, and basically all things sports related, but encouraged me to make a bracket and play anyway.
It'll be fun, he said.
The more the merrier, he said.
Since the only thing I previously knew about any of these team's overall merit within the league is DIDLY SQUAT, I picked the teams to advance based on factors I deemed important. For instance I have an uncle from Wisconsin, ergo my pick. Harvard kids got into Harvard right? They don't allow failure at HARVARD.
Honestly for the most part I just looked at who had the better costume.
The best part is, you don't really have to know that much about statistics to pick winners. And once the teams I picked started winning, I went basket-ball-istic.
My roommate found me the night of the first day of games crouched over my iPad, clutching the screen with desperate fingers, crazy eyed, shouting "TEXAS DON'T FUCK THIS UP!" while checking my bracket stats on my iPhone and trying to get my computer to live stream the game so I could watch it on a bigger screen.
This weekend, a Saturday night in Manhattan mind you, I was found alone at a bar two Jack on the rocks deep erratically scanning five giant plasma screened TV's to keep track of the score of three separate games.
I wish I could tell you I was trying to impress my boyfriend but I'm pretty sure he's just frightened.
Leave it to me to take something to an ultimately unreal level. It's been a re-occurring theme in my life. I become madly obsessed with the things and LOVE THEM beyond logic or reasoning including but not limited to my flannel collection, my obsession with pirates, and my love for Jack Daniels.
It brings my attention back to my personal realization that I am nothing if not an overly passionate person and once hooked on something, I am unstoppable. My madness has previously carried me through my love for theatre, dragged my butt out of bed at 5 sometimes 4 A-fucking-M in order to out my name on a silly piece of paper that may or may not even be recognized. It has taken me on audition after audition, rejection after rejection. I worked multiple jobs in college trying to save money so I could get my own place in this big, delicious, rotten, apple as soon as I could manage.
Perhaps that's why it's so maddening to see the things I worked so hard for then, not turn out the way I expected.
I picked Wichita State to win it all. They were the #1 team in what is said to be a pretty weak conference. People didn't think they really had what it takes to beat out teams coming from the other, stronger conferences. I thought I had made a fair pick given their to this point undefeated title, but they were certainly not a popular pick and definitely not a wise wise one.
And wouldn't you know, Sunday I watched as they lost by seconds to Kentucky.
I actually almost cried.
With their loss came the dismantling of my bracket and basically any chance I had to win in my pool.
That's life though isn't it? Sometimes you pick the loosing team. Sometimes you loose.
I haven't been able to write for a while. Not because I haven't tried, but my words were leaving something to be desired and it was driving me mad.
I had to start over. Change topics. Try again because I needed to get words out and focus on what felt poignant and relevant to me and my life at this very moment.
Which appears to currently be basketball. Who knew?
Certainly not me.
I have to keep pushing myself to explore things in my life that may at first seem foreign. I never thought I'd write, or consider myself a writer. That wasn't the plan. I never thought I'd be someone's girlfriend or be part of a happy, healthy relationship. I never in a million years thought I'd get so damn invested in basketball.
Life seems to be one big upset after another. And even when I think I'm winning, all of a sudden I find myself posterized with life's sweaty balls in my face.
And it's all good. A little unsettling at times perhaps, to feel like things can change at any second and to know the way things are now are not the way they will remain.
That's really where the fun of March Madness lies. These games get unbelievably close. Your team could be ahead the whole damn time, and in the last fucking SECOND loose it all with the swoosh of a single basket.
All is fair in life and sports.
SO my team lost. Basically I lost. BUT it doesn't mean I'm going to stop playing along. There's more games to come and I plan to keep rooting for teams based on stupid things. Like who has the cooler mascot.
I'm having too much fun to stop the madness now.
Your one and only
...perhaps gone slightly mad...
Broken Record.
"Why don't you make a bracket?"
Now if you're like me, the only appealing thing about sports is getting to watch built, sweaty men in tight pants grunt at each other in all their masculine glory.
So imma esplain....
March Madness refers to the NCAA tournament, basically the Super Bowl of Basketball. People get the chance to fill out a bracket, or multiple brackets, and compete with their friend's to see who can better predict which of the 64 top college teams you think will make it to the next round of 32, then what they call the "sweet" 16, the "elite" 8, "final" four, ultimately choosing a champion.
Again, keep in mind up until last week I knew as much about college basketball as I did about quantum physics. In fact, I hadn't even watched a single basketball game until January when my boyfriend brought me to a Nets game.
I'm not fooling anyone. He's well aware of my ignorance involving basketball, the tournament, and basically all things sports related, but encouraged me to make a bracket and play anyway.
It'll be fun, he said.
The more the merrier, he said.
Since the only thing I previously knew about any of these team's overall merit within the league is DIDLY SQUAT, I picked the teams to advance based on factors I deemed important. For instance I have an uncle from Wisconsin, ergo my pick. Harvard kids got into Harvard right? They don't allow failure at HARVARD.
Honestly for the most part I just looked at who had the better costume.
The best part is, you don't really have to know that much about statistics to pick winners. And once the teams I picked started winning, I went basket-ball-istic.
My roommate found me the night of the first day of games crouched over my iPad, clutching the screen with desperate fingers, crazy eyed, shouting "TEXAS DON'T FUCK THIS UP!" while checking my bracket stats on my iPhone and trying to get my computer to live stream the game so I could watch it on a bigger screen.
This weekend, a Saturday night in Manhattan mind you, I was found alone at a bar two Jack on the rocks deep erratically scanning five giant plasma screened TV's to keep track of the score of three separate games.
I wish I could tell you I was trying to impress my boyfriend but I'm pretty sure he's just frightened.
Leave it to me to take something to an ultimately unreal level. It's been a re-occurring theme in my life. I become madly obsessed with the things and LOVE THEM beyond logic or reasoning including but not limited to my flannel collection, my obsession with pirates, and my love for Jack Daniels.
It brings my attention back to my personal realization that I am nothing if not an overly passionate person and once hooked on something, I am unstoppable. My madness has previously carried me through my love for theatre, dragged my butt out of bed at 5 sometimes 4 A-fucking-M in order to out my name on a silly piece of paper that may or may not even be recognized. It has taken me on audition after audition, rejection after rejection. I worked multiple jobs in college trying to save money so I could get my own place in this big, delicious, rotten, apple as soon as I could manage.
Perhaps that's why it's so maddening to see the things I worked so hard for then, not turn out the way I expected.
I picked Wichita State to win it all. They were the #1 team in what is said to be a pretty weak conference. People didn't think they really had what it takes to beat out teams coming from the other, stronger conferences. I thought I had made a fair pick given their to this point undefeated title, but they were certainly not a popular pick and definitely not a wise wise one.
And wouldn't you know, Sunday I watched as they lost by seconds to Kentucky.
I actually almost cried.
With their loss came the dismantling of my bracket and basically any chance I had to win in my pool.
That's life though isn't it? Sometimes you pick the loosing team. Sometimes you loose.
I haven't been able to write for a while. Not because I haven't tried, but my words were leaving something to be desired and it was driving me mad.
I had to start over. Change topics. Try again because I needed to get words out and focus on what felt poignant and relevant to me and my life at this very moment.
Which appears to currently be basketball. Who knew?
Certainly not me.
I have to keep pushing myself to explore things in my life that may at first seem foreign. I never thought I'd write, or consider myself a writer. That wasn't the plan. I never thought I'd be someone's girlfriend or be part of a happy, healthy relationship. I never in a million years thought I'd get so damn invested in basketball.
Life seems to be one big upset after another. And even when I think I'm winning, all of a sudden I find myself posterized with life's sweaty balls in my face.
And it's all good. A little unsettling at times perhaps, to feel like things can change at any second and to know the way things are now are not the way they will remain.
That's really where the fun of March Madness lies. These games get unbelievably close. Your team could be ahead the whole damn time, and in the last fucking SECOND loose it all with the swoosh of a single basket.
All is fair in life and sports.
SO my team lost. Basically I lost. BUT it doesn't mean I'm going to stop playing along. There's more games to come and I plan to keep rooting for teams based on stupid things. Like who has the cooler mascot.
I'm having too much fun to stop the madness now.
Your one and only
...perhaps gone slightly mad...
Broken Record.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Girlfriended
"Someone needs to find you a boyfriend", my bartender said to me behind genuinely concerned eyes as he passed some terrible tap beer across the service bar.
"What the fuck would I do with a boyfriend?" I snapped back with a laugh drenched in cynicism as I snatched my beer, rolled my eyes, and continued to power walk the foamy substance to a customer who probably didn't speak any english.
I always said I wouldn't know a relationship if it smacked me in the face with it's ball sack. The last GOOD relationship I had with a member of the opposite sex, our parents were still driving us to our dates at the local Friday's.
The thing is when you are single, and I mean SINGLE like the last person to have touched your sexy bits in the past two years was your gynecologist and a 60 year old Indian wax specialist named Parul, you go through what I'd like to call "Single Lady" stages.
There's the "I-Am-Fabulous-And-Free" stage.
The "I'm-Going-To-Flirt-With-Everyone-Because-I-Have-No-Fucks-To-Give" stage.
The "Why-Do-I-Think-of-Ben & Jerry's-When-I-Hear-This-Love-Song?" stage.
AND of course the "I'm-Going-To-Be-Forever-Alone" stage.
When I started this blog I thought it was going to be the tales of a single 'twenty-something' and I would tell you about all my escapades and weird OKCupid dates and be witty and funny and cynical. I was getting to a point in my seven year single stint where I actually was starting to think I might be alone forever. And I started accepting it as who I was. I was single. I was the single friend who would always be available on a Friday night to help you meet the man of your dreams (or at least keep the men of your nightmares away). I had mastered the art of being single.
Life doesn't work that way though does it? Just when I thought I was going to be forever alone and had built my walls nice and sturdy and high, someone came along and ruined all my hard work.
Now I've been doing this mystery man dance on here for a minute but it's time to come out and say the words I never thought I'd say, I have a boyfriend. Or rather, I am officially someones girlfriend.
To the shock and awe of myself, and mostly my mother who swore no one was going to make a decent woman out of her "sailor mouth" daughter, someone has decided what I've known all along. I'm actually pretty awesome.
And it is better than I could have ever imagined.
But you know what? As incredible as I think he is, and as thoroughly happy as I am, it has occurred to me that while talking to my still single friends I feel as though I have crossed over some bridge, away from them.
I was the mayor of the single ladies village. And I feel like I am abandoning them all.
But what the hell does it even matter?
I think we all do two terrible things at the same time.
1.) I think we don't give our relationships enough credit for being truly wonderful, special things and
2.) We revere relationships to be the key to solving all our problems.
Look, the things I don't know about relationships could fill the seven seas two times over, but I DO know how to treat others and when I care about someone I don't do it half-ass because I know how special it is to find someone that is not only there for you through the good, bad, and painfully mundane, but also gives you butterflies and sexy times. IT IS SO RARE.
Please, I am only 24 but hear me when I say MOST PEOPLE SUCK. Most people are not cool and they are self obsessed and unavailable and are not any good in bed and I know this because I have dated/met/rendezvoused with more of them than I even care to remember.
Meeting someone who you care about that cares about you is a precious gift of gold that should NEVER be taken advantage of and should only be treasured and fed love and joy and goodness.
On the flip side, if you are single there is NOTHING wrong with you. Your life isn't any better or worse for being single. You are just single. Maybe you haven't met the right person, maybe you just got out of a bad relationship or maybe JUST MAYBE you WANT to be single. Hooray! Good for you! Single it up. Single is fun. Sure it can feel incredibly lonely sometimes. When that happens I recommend you grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch "The Notebook" and feel sorry for yourself and then on the weekends go out and wear a sexy dress and drink a poorly made cocktail with cheep vodka to convince you that semi-attractive stranger is more attractive than they are and it would be one of your better ideas to make out with them.
Or....maybe don't.
The point is there's life to be lived whether you're flying solo or trying to share it with another (hopefully well deserving) human.
To be honest the way I was living my "single" life last year, I probably did need someone. Someone who made me give a damn. Someone who made me stop looking at my life like it was something to be wasted on getting wasted.
It's cheesy to say but I think in a lot of ways he saved me from myself.
But I'm not SAVED. I have more to do and I have to do it myself. MY LIFE is still MINE. Sure, I'm sharing it in a bigger way with another human which is a beautiful thing but the day to day bullshit, my anxieties, what I want to do with my life, it's all still my puzzle to solve. The work is still left up to me.
I'm still alone in that.
And that's okay. That's life. What does saved mean anyway? Are any of us ever really "SAVED?" Are we ever really finished products? As far as I'm concerned we're all just humans dealing with our lives and our psyches and our strengths and weaknesses.
I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted a boyfriend. I wanted a partner. A partner to hold my hand as I tried ever so desperately to "save" myself.
So even though no one technically "found me a boyfriend".....
I can't say I'm not glad he's mine.
(A slightly less)
Broken Record
"What the fuck would I do with a boyfriend?" I snapped back with a laugh drenched in cynicism as I snatched my beer, rolled my eyes, and continued to power walk the foamy substance to a customer who probably didn't speak any english.
I always said I wouldn't know a relationship if it smacked me in the face with it's ball sack. The last GOOD relationship I had with a member of the opposite sex, our parents were still driving us to our dates at the local Friday's.
The thing is when you are single, and I mean SINGLE like the last person to have touched your sexy bits in the past two years was your gynecologist and a 60 year old Indian wax specialist named Parul, you go through what I'd like to call "Single Lady" stages.
There's the "I-Am-Fabulous-And-Free" stage.
The "I'm-Going-To-Flirt-With-Everyone-Because-I-Have-No-Fucks-To-Give" stage.
The "Why-Do-I-Think-of-Ben & Jerry's-When-I-Hear-This-Love-Song?" stage.
AND of course the "I'm-Going-To-Be-Forever-Alone" stage.
When I started this blog I thought it was going to be the tales of a single 'twenty-something' and I would tell you about all my escapades and weird OKCupid dates and be witty and funny and cynical. I was getting to a point in my seven year single stint where I actually was starting to think I might be alone forever. And I started accepting it as who I was. I was single. I was the single friend who would always be available on a Friday night to help you meet the man of your dreams (or at least keep the men of your nightmares away). I had mastered the art of being single.
Life doesn't work that way though does it? Just when I thought I was going to be forever alone and had built my walls nice and sturdy and high, someone came along and ruined all my hard work.
Now I've been doing this mystery man dance on here for a minute but it's time to come out and say the words I never thought I'd say, I have a boyfriend. Or rather, I am officially someones girlfriend.
To the shock and awe of myself, and mostly my mother who swore no one was going to make a decent woman out of her "sailor mouth" daughter, someone has decided what I've known all along. I'm actually pretty awesome.
And it is better than I could have ever imagined.
But you know what? As incredible as I think he is, and as thoroughly happy as I am, it has occurred to me that while talking to my still single friends I feel as though I have crossed over some bridge, away from them.
I was the mayor of the single ladies village. And I feel like I am abandoning them all.
But what the hell does it even matter?
I think we all do two terrible things at the same time.
1.) I think we don't give our relationships enough credit for being truly wonderful, special things and
2.) We revere relationships to be the key to solving all our problems.
Look, the things I don't know about relationships could fill the seven seas two times over, but I DO know how to treat others and when I care about someone I don't do it half-ass because I know how special it is to find someone that is not only there for you through the good, bad, and painfully mundane, but also gives you butterflies and sexy times. IT IS SO RARE.
Please, I am only 24 but hear me when I say MOST PEOPLE SUCK. Most people are not cool and they are self obsessed and unavailable and are not any good in bed and I know this because I have dated/met/rendezvoused with more of them than I even care to remember.
Meeting someone who you care about that cares about you is a precious gift of gold that should NEVER be taken advantage of and should only be treasured and fed love and joy and goodness.
On the flip side, if you are single there is NOTHING wrong with you. Your life isn't any better or worse for being single. You are just single. Maybe you haven't met the right person, maybe you just got out of a bad relationship or maybe JUST MAYBE you WANT to be single. Hooray! Good for you! Single it up. Single is fun. Sure it can feel incredibly lonely sometimes. When that happens I recommend you grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch "The Notebook" and feel sorry for yourself and then on the weekends go out and wear a sexy dress and drink a poorly made cocktail with cheep vodka to convince you that semi-attractive stranger is more attractive than they are and it would be one of your better ideas to make out with them.
Or....maybe don't.
The point is there's life to be lived whether you're flying solo or trying to share it with another (hopefully well deserving) human.
To be honest the way I was living my "single" life last year, I probably did need someone. Someone who made me give a damn. Someone who made me stop looking at my life like it was something to be wasted on getting wasted.
It's cheesy to say but I think in a lot of ways he saved me from myself.
But I'm not SAVED. I have more to do and I have to do it myself. MY LIFE is still MINE. Sure, I'm sharing it in a bigger way with another human which is a beautiful thing but the day to day bullshit, my anxieties, what I want to do with my life, it's all still my puzzle to solve. The work is still left up to me.
I'm still alone in that.
And that's okay. That's life. What does saved mean anyway? Are any of us ever really "SAVED?" Are we ever really finished products? As far as I'm concerned we're all just humans dealing with our lives and our psyches and our strengths and weaknesses.
I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted a boyfriend. I wanted a partner. A partner to hold my hand as I tried ever so desperately to "save" myself.
So even though no one technically "found me a boyfriend".....
I can't say I'm not glad he's mine.
(A slightly less)
Broken Record
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