Ever go on a date and it’s kinda ok and then you get home and start identifying all these dealbreakers?
This seems to be happening kind of a lot lately. While we’re hanging out chatting I’m not dying to get home. I think “I’d give him a second date.” Then I get home to my couch’s warm embrace away from the glow of whiskey and feel compelled to text.
“So I just went out with a more bitter version of [insert ex here].”
“So this guy tonight was grilling me about where I work. Is my job weird?”
“So this guy tonight said he puts butter in his coffee…”
(Ok so that last one is apparently a real thing. And actually something I might try when I’m not busy scarfing straight brown sugar.)
Am I sabotaging myself or am I trying so hard to be open minded I don’t even know what kind of company I like to keep anymore?
Like when I met up with the guy this week for drinks and he didn’t drink. That seemed weird and also awkward since I enjoy drinking and did so heartily. Naturally he didn’t pay for my drinks, which as we know is a major annoyance that I worry I should be more modern about but don’t want to be modern about. Espesh when my bar tab for the night is $9.50.
Also when I tried to explain him to a friend and said “he was kinda super negative but maybe it’s good to not always be optimistic?” Hearing myself out loud rationalizing a guy’s behavior by suggesting a positive outlook is a bad thing was jarring…
The past two half-hearted 2nd dates I regretted and the fact that I decided against sending a thank you text lest I have to have a conversation were a push to let it be a one and done with this guy. But I’ll keep wondering if I’m letting a guy’s one bad night keep me from a relationship or if I’m just too picky.
Trying to trust your (anxious, prone to depression) gut while also having an open heart is as confusing as it is tough.
*PS: That VH1 show Hindsight was awesome. Bring that back!
I had Rice Krispies for dinner for the 3rd night in a row. Tonight’s meal, however, reached gourmet status as I ran out of milk and used half and half instead.
I’m pretty much sad all the time (#depression y’all!), but sometimes I try to get a grip since my life is objectively not so bad…so I try to think of things that actually still make me happy.
Turns out at 30-something the only things that still make me happy are seeing people fall and funny animals. I snorted at this polar bear. Check him out around 3:50 with the bucket on his head!
Polar bears: So deadly yet so hilarious.
And check out these guys! They look like babies in panda suits. Or in Super Mario 3 when Mario wears the racoon suit.
I may never leave the house again but I’ll always have captive animals forced to play for my amusement.
My friends are not ambitious. I know very few people who are ambitious. We’re all smart, we all went to college and did well, we’re all good at what we do, but it ends there.
I don’t want any extra responsibilities. I don’t want to lead people! Who wants to be in charge and get all the grief when things go wrong. I go to work, I do my thing, and I go home.
I’m really good at what I do and everyone likes me (I may even go so far as to say beloved), but at the end of the day I’d rather get home at a reasonable hour than accolades.
I have no excuse like kids at home for this lack of focus on career. Who are these people who are willingly devoting more time than required to work when they could be napping?
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.
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.