Author: Couch Monologues

Couch Monologues
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Online dating is seriously the worst. It takes a ton of time to do it right, you constantly feel defeated because it’s full of losers/people 50 miles away/guys who want you to help them go dress shopping and you’re gonna be alone forever.

This weekend’s kicker: I got internet yelled at by a guy for not being responsive enough after 4 messages. Here’s how it went:

Him: watching football today?

Me: Yes! From the couch.

Him [later]: make it off the couch?

Me: Yes, I just went out to meet some friends!

Him: I’m pretty upset this turned out to be a one sided conversation with a bitch. Good luck on the site.

Now, I was (I think rightfully) outraged. a) I owe this guy nothing and b) I responded to every message AND USED EXCLAMATION POINTS! Granted, I wasn’t super interested and engaging, but neither was he. I asked a few guy friends and they AGREED with jerkface.

“He shouldn’t have called you a bitch but you didn’t ask him any questions.”

Did you know it’s required to ask questions at the end of every statement you make? Apparently that’s the way you have to talk in the 21st century. If a question presents itself, great. “That dog in your pic is almost as cute as mine! What is it?” But mostly I like to be witty and leave an ending comment that invites response. Like a normal person in a normal conversation. “I saw this movie this weekend. It was awesome! Hippos are so cute.” “But hippos are the most dangerous mammal! A movie about sloths would be much safer.” See? Two people getting along. But I’ve now heard on multiple occasions that that strategy is the sole reason I’m single. (more or less) Because instead of expecting a guy to be interesting enough to talk to me freestyle, I need to have a spreadsheet of questions.

Let’s be honest: I’m going to hate going out with the guy who has the preplanned questions. And you all know him. Everything ends with a question that sort of makes sense, but not really, and there are way too many. “I see you like fried foods. What is your favorite food? If you had to say your favorite restaurant in the city, what would it be? I knew a vegan once but it didn’t work out. LOL! Are the letters of your name an anagram?”

So suck it up and question or die alone? That is the question.

Being a grownup is the worst

I was never one of those kids who wanted to grow up fast. My childhood anxiety was usually based on not wanting to grow up.

One thing you dream about grownup life as a kid is eating anything you want whenever you want. Brown sugar for dinner? Sure! No one’s telling me to eat a vegetable.

Except you can’t, because you get fat. Then not only do you have to eat healthy food, but you have to spend all your hard-earned beer money on it! I could get a 12 pack for the cost of one stinking sprouted multigrain bulgar loaf. I guess I could save the $5 and buy the house white, but I might as well shoot up heroin if I’m gonna be eating white bread.

Then even if you go to an activity that seems fun like a wedding, you have to eat something roasted and glazed while staring with longing at the chicken fingers at the kids’ table.

One morning, you wake up, you look in the mirror, and you realize you’re 33 and you keep all your important documents in the bathroom.

It starts slowly. First there are some magazines. Then a letter. A bag for recycling. Finally, when you need to check the date of the baby shower, you go straight for the invite on the toilet.

I guess I started picking up my mail after work and going straight to the bathroom…and why wait to open a letter if you can multitask. You’d waste precious seconds that could be devoted to being anxious about the surprise doctor’s bill you just opened while peeing.

Of sweats and sugars

The other night I was standing in the kitchen in my sweatsuit (because on days that ends in Y between November and March I exclusively wear sweatsuits) eating brown sugar out of the jar with my fingers and I had a thought.

Well a few thoughts.

First was “it’d be pretty humiliating if anyone knew I not only ate sugar straight from the jar but couldn’t even bother doing it with a spoon” immediately followed by “holy shit brown sugar is delicious” and then “there’s a blog in here somewhere.”

So this is that blog.

Painfully single, (semi) unemployed by (semi) choice, and dating my couch…this is the story of girls in their 30s who hate pants and biological clocks, among other things.

PS: Definitely make the effort to put your brown sugar in a jar. It stays soft that way, and when you’re scooping it directly into your mouth with your fingers you don’t have to worry about your whole hand getting sugary like it does when you stick it in the bag.