The Game

Can I just start this post by saying… What the fuck?

I hate the game. I’ve enjoyed single life and carelessly living it for a while. But I have to say recently, my interest has been piqued. Could there be someone out there who is funny enough, charming enough, well rounded and open minded enough to make me consider performing a dirty four letter word. Oh c’mon. Get your mind out of the gutter. Date. The word I was thinking of was date. Why not, this could be fun right?

Oh fuck, was I wrong.

Dating is not fun. I’ve been so unconcerned with dating that I forgot. Not fun. And now that I’ve been doing it, I know why I never did.

Now let me clarify a couple things. First, I’ve never really dated before. Weird, right? I sort of just fell into relationships and stuck with them. I don’t actually remember having a dating phase before these past several months. Second, I’m not actually dating anyone right at this moment. And I’m pretty sure I know why. I hate The Game. A special kind of hate. The kind that should be reserved for the devil and Osama bin Laden and running sprint intervals. Playing The Game has now made the short list of things that I really, truly, deeply hate. And it’s a really short list, I just listed everything on it.

If there is even a chance you don’t know what I’m talking about, consider yourself lucky. or let me explain “The Game” as best I can. See apparently as some point as a group, single people collectively decided that communication was risky venture, only to be entered into by the very, very brave and trained professionals (i.e. our therapists.) So instead of communicating simple things like, “I think you’re great” we now have to play this little game. Because calling someone and saying “I think you’re great” is apparently not a nice thing, it’s a desperate thing. Because people hate to hear that I guess. So here are the rules to The Game, as I understand them.

1. Never appear available. What? Isn’t the point to find someone else who is also available? Being available = bad. Uh, ok, good to know.

2. Never appear interested. People say “it’s a cat and mouse game, he needs a reason to chase you.” Again, what? It’s not a fucking cat and mouse game. If the mouse walks up to the cat, the cat isn’t bored. Cat still eats mouse. Definitely NOT the same game. In this game, showing interest directly translates to being desperate.

3. Never be the first one to “reach out.” (I started to write “call” there, but let’s face, do we call anyone anymore?) Again, what? Why is this a problem? I love it when people call me. I love it when people text me. I love it when it people send me a Facebook message. Apparently it relates back to #2. Which is risky. People get confused when they go from thinking you might be interested to knowing your’re interested.

And here’s the worst part… everyone is doing it. Why? Why are we so afraid to reach out and say hello? Why are we so incapable of honest communication? Why can’t we just say “Hey, love to see you again” when we actually want to see someone again? (and for the record, it’s also ok to not say it if you don’t actually want to see someone again.)

So here’s the thing, much like running sprint intervals, I don’t generally do things I hate. And I hate the game. I’m not playing.

You know that phrase, don’t hate the player, hate the game? I fucking hate both.

Dating? Yeah, that was short lived.

I’m returning to a single, carefree life. Maybe I’ll fall into another relationship and it will just work. Maybe I’m meant to keep being single and crazy for a while (more stories with which to entertain you crazy people…) Maybe my brother and his fiancee will make some babies and I can drift happily into becoming the single, wild and crazy aunt. (I hope they’re reading this, because this plan really only works if they have babies.)

Man, that felt good to get off my chest. Time for a cocktail.

Being Single

Being single is not synonymous with being lonely, bitter and broken.

I’m not sure when the world decided that I need crappy advice to “get through” the holidays because I’m single, but lately it seems like I’m inundated with bad advice as each holiday approaches. I ranted briefly about this issue at Christmas when I read an article about single women surviving the holidays. I can’t remember the title. It should have been “Worst Advice for Single Women. Ever.” The article goes on to discuss things like buying yourself Christmas presents and putting them under the tree. Really? and inviting your single friends over for dinner. Great advice. In fact, my friends and I do this. We call it Wednesday. And you don’t have to be single to be involved. We don’t discriminate like that.  Crazy right?

I know.  And I’m steeling myself for more horrible advice as the world prepares for my suicide watch because I’m single on Valentine’s Day.  Which, for the record, is the world’s most ridiculous “holiday.”  I say this, not because I’m single (although I am) or bitter (which I am not).  But really, what is the point of this “holiday?”  Let’s suspend reality for a moment and assume that Valentine’s Day is not a day created by Hallmark to drive up sales in the off season.

Let’s assume for conversation purposes that Valentine’s Day is about celebrating life with the one you love.

Shouldn’t you be doing this every day?  I mean honestly, you do not need special day on the calendar to express your love for your partner.  If you need to put it on the calendar to remind you to do something special for the love of  your life, put it on the calendar every day until it becomes habit.  Expressing love is not about over priced flowers and dinners.  It’s not about getting the “right” pieces of jewelry or the perfect lingerie before February 14th rolls around again.  Love is about listening to your partner, learning what they need to feel loved and providing it.  Every day.  Love isn’t something that needs to be saved for a special occasion.

And love isn’t something that needs to be saved for just one person. Look, I’m a certified “I love you slut.”  I say it to everyone all the time.  I don’t believe for a moment that it’s meaning is diminished by over use.  I think that we all long to be loved and to hear the words “I love you.”  So say them.  I say it to my parents and grandparents, my brother, my god-daughter.  I tell my friends I love them when they’re sad and need to know someone cares.  And when they’re happy and they’re celebrating.  And when I hang up with the friends that I don’t get to see or talk to enough.  And to my dogs. They totally understand.

And I love you.  Thank you for reading this.  It makes me feel loved.

If someone wants to provide me with advice for being single on Valentine’s Day, I don’t need it.  My life is amazing.  Please don’t tell me to buy myself a piece of jewelry to make myself feel better.  I don’t need to feel better because I don’t feel bad.  I’m not lonely.  I’m not sad.

Still feel the need to give me advice on being single?  Here’s what I need advice on…  How do I not become indignant when people share useless advice because they assume that I’m dying inside being surrounded by blissful couples celebrating Valentine’s Day.  Happy couples do not make me sad or jealous.  They make me happy.  See, happiness is contagious.  So yeah, I get irritable when people infer that I need to do something to make myself happy on Valentine’s Day. I don’t.  I pretty much do something to make myself happy every day.  I’m good.

So, hold the advice and spread the love.

Oh, and speaking of ridiculous holidays and spreading affection, St. Patrick’s Day is right around the corner.  Who wants to buy me a beer?  (hold the green dye, please).  Because let’s face it, Kay Jewelers is wrong.  On any given night more kisses begin with beer than with Kay.  Which is why beer wins.


I don’t want to be told what I can READ.

I don’t want to be told what I can LEARN.

I don’t want to be told what I can KNOW.

It terrifies me that we are looking at bills that could potentially limit the amount of information available to us on the internet.  Freedom is what this country was built on and one person or, for that matter any group of people, having the power to decide that I should not see something is the opposite of freedom.

Borrowed from Kate Bartolotta at Elephant Journal is this excerpt:

“There are other parts of the law that say that if there are sites overseas that the Attorney General doesn’t like, the Attorney General without any other adversarial proceeding can get an order asking American internet companies to cut off that site. In essence, this law takes a page out of the playbooks of China and Iran for internet regulation.”

~ Jonathan Zittrain, Professor of Internet Law; Harvard Law School.

All over the internet you’ll find far more eloquently written information than I could possible put out here, but I can put it here and that’s what matters.  I can look at the links and gain insights here and here and even here.  I can ask you to visit those links and make your own assessments.  I can continue to use the internet to search for more information on SOPA.

or I can choose not to.  but it’s my choice.  as it should be.

You’re better than that…

This phrase is a gem.  One of my personal favorites.  It’s nearly always said after you’ve already done something totally stupid.  As in “Oh, last night I slept with that guy I broke up with 6 months ago.”  To which your friends kindly respond with “You’re better than that.”   Um.  No I’m fucking not.  If I were better than that, I wouldn’t have done it.

You know I’m right.  I mean, what is the purpose of saying that to someone?  Just to make them feel bad?  Cause there is no other reason.  It’s not like I’ve ever looked at someone who said that to me and responded with “Wow, thank you for saying that.  I feel really loved right now.”  No, the closest thing I’ve ever come to in response is more along the lines of “No, fucking shit I’m better than that.  That’s why I’m spilling my guts to you, you fucking moron.  So that I can confess the sins of stupidity, seek redemption and move the fuck on.  But now that you’ve pointed out how stupid my decision was, let me jump in my god damn time machine and go fix it.  Thanks for your insight.”

Yeah, that phrase really bothers me.