A few weeks ago, I abandoned my practice of ruthlessly hunting down a husband like a poacher on the hunt for ivory tusks in favor of focusing on my own personal growth and being the happiest single woman I can be. Since then, I met and have gone on a few dates with a very sweet guy named Andrew, who approached me in a bar one night after having recognized me from OKCupid. When I wrote about my first date with Andrew, feeling triumphant about being able to dismiss one of my dating “dealbreakers,” I was disheartened to see various commenters suggesting that I’m not following through with my declaration of singlehood. Maybe, though, I just need to be more clear about my own, personal definition for “happily single.” Keep reading »
When it comes to dating, I have a lot of preferences. I’d prefer to end up with someone who shares my religion, my political views and my musical interests. I’d prefer to find a man who has a college education, a job he enjoys and tight-knit family. But those are preferences— not dealbreakers. If I happen to find someone who’s a perfect match for me, but he’s not Catholic and he hates country music, so be it. I would be with him despite our differences. But when it comes to physical “preferences,” I’ve always been a bit pickier.
While I never considered them “dealbreakers,” my hesitation (and usually refusal) go out with someone who’s under 5’10, overweight or has a receding hairline, is, despite my denial, dealbreaker status. So this weekend, I checked those dealbreakers at the door and went on a date with my OKCupid run-in, Andrew, who I can now confirm stands barely two inches taller than me at 5’9″. Keep reading »
The other night when a number I didn’t recognize flashed on my phone, I decided to answer the call and was greeted with a cheerful, “Hey there, it’s Andrew.”
“Andrew?” I replied, clearly confused about who was on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. Andrew who?”
“From the bar on Saturday night. You gave me your number,” he said, sounding slightly defeated by my forgetfulness.
And then it hit me. I knew exactly who he was. He was my OKCupid run-in. Keep reading »
Just as I began to feel satisfied and confident with my relationship-free self, guess who came back to throw a wrench in things and screw up my single girl feng shui? My college boyfriend, and one of the few men I’ve ever really loved: Don. Keep reading »
A few years ago, feeling stuck in a dead-end job, depressed, and lost in love, a friend of mine suggested I see her psychic, Donna, to help guide me through my tough time. I believed, and still do believe, in psychic abilities, but was hesitant and wanted to know that the psychic wasn’t just another fraud trying to make some quick cash.
“I’m telling you Donna’s the real deal,” my girlfriend reassured me. “She knew exactly when I was going to get engaged before I even had a boyfriend and told me small details about my past that she couldn’t have made up.”
I called Donna. She told me that my sister would have a failed engagement (which she did), and that within two months I would start a new, esteemed job at a company where they would be “ripping up carpeting” (I did, and they were), and that I was struggling with trust issues from a “uniformed male who broke my heart” (hello, Patrick Bateman). She reassured me that everything was panning out exactly as it was supposed to, and that she saw me ending up in a serious relationship, but that I needed to focus on me in the meantime. After speaking with her, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Her reassuring words helped me pull myself out of my slump.
After reading The Frisky post last week about Ami’s psychic love predictions, I felt like another chat with Donna might be just what the doctor ordered. So, I made another phone appointment. Keep reading »
On my fourth, excruciating day of not hearing from GQ, I was still racking my brain for possible reasons he could have ghosted. But I knew it was time to accept the fact that things were over between us. I knew I needed to reactivate my OKCupid profile— the one he suggested I take down to focus on “us.” But there was no “us” anymore. There was just me. And him, somewhere out there, avoiding me.
Feeling deflated, I logged back online when, to my surprise, I saw that GQ had reactivated his profile. To say that I was pissed is an understatement. After reaching out for days without any response, I was furious that GQ had no problem deciding to date other people without even bothering to give me one simple phone call to let me know I’d been dumped. A dick move. I made the oh-so-mature decision that probing him with questions (okay, and maybe some name-calling) wasn’t worth my time and energy. His message was coming through loud and clear: he wanted nothing to do with me. Keep reading »