A single past (part 3 of 4).


The first slow-dance that Phil and I shared was the final song of the Valentine’s Day Dance our freshman year of high school.  I don’t remember what the song was but it was 2005, so, use your imagination.  The dance was, inappropriately enough, held in a local bar that closed down for the event and we swayed and smiled. In that same spot, eight years later, I would be dancing with less-than pure intentions with a guy I never thought about during third period math class.

Our first kiss was behind the Museum in town.  We were seated under a tree and were joking about something (I don’t remember what) when he looked at me and simply told me to kiss him.  I did.  It was nice.  We did it again and his tongue came into my mouth and, in shock, I bit it.

The relationship wasn’t solid.  I still maintained my short-term dating style with Phil but over a course of four years.  I loved Phil, yet I was afraid of love, so even though he told me he loved me on a few occasions, I never admitted it back to him. Eventually he stopped saying it to me.  A small part of me is hoping he reads my blog so that he can just know that there was a time that I was in love with him.

We hugged a lot when we were together.  I was afraid to kiss him after the first incident.  I’d get over that by senior year when we weren’t together but tended to find each other in the dark room during photo class.

In preparation for this segment I went through my email to read our old correspondences.  There weren’t a lot but there were some that proved we were close once.  One conversation involved me just checking in with him to see that he was okay when he didn’t show up for school one day.  Another were a series of fractals that he sent to me on Valentine’s Day.

valentine's day


This boy is the smartest person I knew at the time (he’s still pretty high up on the list).  He was teaching himself physics our sophomore year and I tried to get Chuckie to teach me something about it just so I could impress Phil (sadly, I think I just embarrassed myself with both of those boys).  He also is extremely talented with a camera in his hand.

He made me an earring once.  He never finished the pair so I would wear it on one ear and just part my hair in such a way that you couldn’t see that my other ear was naked.  I keep the earring in a keepsakes box on my desk.

At the Junior Prom after-party, a drunken me got separated from her friends and confusedly wandered around the bonfire.  Phil found me and held me until we fell asleep in front of the dwindling fire.  When it got too cold, he took off his peacoat and laid it over us like a blanket.  Looking back, that was probably the first time I realized I felt safe when I was with him; in a way he was home.

I don’t know who ended it for the last time.  We never had dramatic break ups for the whole school to witness.  We weren’t those people.  Our breakups tended to be simple, to the point, and with educated reasoning.

A friend of Phil’s died at the end of the summer after our graduation.  All I wanted to do was comfort him the way he had comforted me at that prom party.  I didn’t because this grief was too big for any of us to handle and I didn’t know then that comfort is the same in all arenas of life. I regret not going to him to this day.

Phil never tried to change me.  He never needed me for anything but who I was and didn’t complain when who I was compromised our relationship.  He was the first consistently inconsistent boy in my life.  He was also the first person to tell me to pursue my creative writing career (I have it in writing).

A small part of me wishes I could go back and love Phil as fully as he loved me.  I think my life would be different and I would be less afraid of love.   I don’t think we would have made it past high school either way but I think I could have learned a lot about love and relationships from Phil if I had just given him the chance.

Single Throwback Sunday: A single excuse.

In school, teachers don’t let you get away with excuses.  If you didn’t have a paper or other homework assignment with you when it was due then an excuse just wasn’t going to cut it.  “What?” teachers would say accusingly, “Did your dog eat your homework?” No.  I just didn’t manage my time in order to actually finish the work but who wanted to admit that?  There was no excuse, that’s what we both knew, I just wanted them to give me the favor of believing that I had a dog who really wanted to eat my homework that particular night before a mid-term project was due.   I wanted some extra time. But we don’t get viable excuses to use in real life and that’s what our teachers knew before we did – that was the lesson they were teaching us all along.
If you are one of my loyal followers then you may have noticed my multiple-week absence.  No, my dog didn’t eat my laptop and my great-great-great distant relative, twice removed, didn’t pass away.  There was nothing even close to these unfortunate situations.   I simply didn’t have enough time in the day to actually try to fit in time to flirt with a boy whom I barely know or analyze the messaging techniques that I use when communicating with a mysterious bachelor on the internet and then write some witty words describing the situation.
It’s all fun and games until he grows up
to eat your boyfriend.
From: http://static.gotpetsonline.com/pictures-gallery/
And, as I write this, I can only wonder what my time management skills will mean for me in the coming years.  What if I don’t have time to sit down and flirt? What if I end up alone because I couldn’t manage my time well enough to actually try to get me a man? What excuse would I use then? Because some day, about twenty years from now, my mother is going to look at me and ask me why I’m the only one of her daughters who hasn’t given her grandchildren.  I’ll have to look down at my shoes while I mumble something about how the dog ate my boyfriend.  
There is no denying that is a viable excuse but that doesn’t mean I can use it all the time.  There is not a single excuse that I can use now that will make me feel like I have accomplished anything more. Nothing will convince me that I have found love, that I have traveled.  There are no excuses for life.  All that can be done is your best.  That’s what I’m doing – my best.  I’m just finding that it’s not enough these days which means I’m going to have to do better than my best.  Will that require even less sleep from me? Yes.  Will that require some serious planning? Yes.  Will that require me to stop asking so many questions in my blog? Yes.  I’m going to do more.  Stop making excuses for myself and keep the masses entertained with more blogs.  
But you all should know that my blog did eat my homework.  
I couldn’t resist that one.
But, really, it did.

A single past (part 2 of 4).


I can’t listen to Norah Jones’ “Come Away With Me” album without thinking of Tommy.  He was short-lived but also at the height of my hormonal stints.   Most of what I remember about Tommy came from before we even dated.

Tommy, for me, was the anticipation of dating.  It was the flirting, the day dreaming, and the excessive contemplation of everything he said over uncooked cookie dough with my friends.  When I started crushing on Tommy, I had recently moved my bed near the window of my room, I’d stare outside and listen to “Don’t Know Why” and “Come Away with Me” over and over again on my disc-man.  I’d wish I had some instant way to send him a message right at that moment (text messaging wasn’t big yet) that didn’t require me to log on to the family computer.

The worst thing about this relationship is that I don’t remember how it started.  I can’t figure out who asked who out, where we went for our first date, or how I felt afterwards.  I’m guessing this is the beginning of my aging process and my memory is, apparently, going first.  I’m going to assume that I was asked out over AIM.  That was the norm at the time and I’m sure I wasn’t any different.

The few moments that Tommy and I did date are still precious to me.  They’re also straight out of a 7th Heaven episode (but with less making out on the couch).  Tommy would take me to the movie theatre, we’d share some popcorn, and I’d put my hand on the armrest, hoping that he’d get the hint and take my hand, because holding hands was the most important thing for us.

But, like I said, it was short-lived.  It was a “Summer Lovin’” scenario and it “happened so fast.”

Still, I can’t look back at these relationships and not stop on Tommy.  He represents the innocence of relationships – a time where holding hands was enough – and it’s sometimes a trait that I miss when I’m dating now.

I broke up with Tommy on the phone.

For no justified reason, I just broke up with him.  He was the beginning of the boys I would break up with just because I didn’t feel like playing anymore – I used to have a three-month relationship tolerance…actually I still do.

Single Throwback Sunday: A single friend.

There is a sixth dimension which is known to all single men and women.  It is a dimension as vast as space and timeless as infinity.  It is the middle ground between loneliness and closeness, between friendship and relationship, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.  This is the dimension of friendship.
It is an area we call the Friend Zone.

I’ve been thinking about the Friend Zone lately.  I’ve been thinking of all the times I’ve been placed there and all the times my friends have had their fates sealed away there as well.

The Friend Zone is a lot like the Island of Misfit Toys.  Those who are almost right for the job but just don’t meet all the standards of a person are sent to the zone.  It’s not that you’re never going to be wanted, after all the Misfit Toys eventually are loved by children everywhere, it’s just that you’re not right for that individual.

But the Friend Zone hurts initially.

“Let’s just be friends.”  Ouch.

After that horrible sentence is uttered then the shock flushes through you: Am I undatable? Is there something wrong with me? Can no one love this water pistol that shoots jelly?

Being in the Friend Zone leaves you totally helpless – you can’t say “no” to the Friend Zone without becoming the jerk. How do you tell someone that you were really only spending all that time with them because you were hoping it would pay off with them in the end?You just can’t do that.But luckily you can have other misfits in the Friend Zone with you.

So, look around.  Maybe you’ll find someone who fits your standards in that discard pile that is the Friend Zone.   Even if they aren’t perfect, even if they are an elephant with pink polka dots, they might be what you’re looking for.  And if they aren’t what you are looking for you can just Friend Zone them yourself and get a little satisfaction that you’re on the other end of things for once.

Welcome to the Friend Zone, friend.

A single apartment.


I’m moving to the place where single girls are made and often die alone in their apartments to be eaten by their cats: New York City.

And while I’m confident that I won’t die alone, only because, if I ever find an apartment, I’ll need a roommate since I’m a poor, struggling writer/waitress/lover of Ramen; I’m not confident that I’ll actually find an apartment.  I am confident, however, that I will probably end up living in a really nice cardboard box at this rate.

What I’m finding is that looking for an apartment in NYC is a lot like trying to find a decent individual on OkCupid.  Which, lucky for me, is what I’m particularly seasoned at trying to do.

I don’t know if it’s simply just a free-site thing or and online thing but, either way, people lie.  On OkCupid people lie all the time about their jobs, hobbies, favorite books (or that they read books in general), or even what they look like (By the way: Catfish is real.  It is so real. So, you’ve lost a lot of hair? Just own it don’t post a fake picture that makes you look like Fabio). I’ve found pictures of the same apartment for listings in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Upper West Side, and I’m pretty certain that’s just not possible.  Why must we lie about apartment locations? I mean, I’m desperate enough to live just about anywhere, and anyone else on Craigslist is probably in the same boat, let’s just be truthful.

Then there are the overeager sellers.  I contacted an owner about their apartment but when I found out they had posted the same listing over and over in multiple locations (seriously, what is that?) I decided that this probably wasn’t the best fit.  So I contacted the person again and said I wasn’t interested in the apartment because something else had come up.  That should have been it, right?



The guy has texted me three more times asking me if I have changed my mind.  No, I haven’t changed my mine, Crazy.  I mean, come on, I’d text you if I changed my mind about your sketchy apartment.  This actually reminded me of that guy from OkCupid who texted me non-stop after I fell asleep.  It was sheer desperation.  But, I can’t be the only person who was looking at that apartment.  Still, desperation is as desperation does.

So, like I said, there is a lot of common ground found between OkCupid Manor and Craigslist Castle.  And luckily I have my Single Girl Wits about me to guide me through these homeless times.  I hope that I won’t be single and homeless long.

I’d much rather be single and living in NYC.

Romantic Jesus, please help me find an apartment.

Single Throwback Sunday: 5 Reasons I’m Glad to Not Be Single in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.


It’s summer time but, thankfully, my hard time in the real world hasn’t started yet.  I’ve worked occasionally but not in a way  that would give me more than $0.61 combined in my savings and checking accounts.

In fact, the only thing I’ve worked on since I’ve been home is watching the first and second seasons of Game of Thrones.

I’m obsessed.


Just walk into my bedroom closet and you will find my Tyrion Lannister shrine made of used tissues and held together with my tears.

The one thing I love the most about Game of Thrones is how grateful it makes me feel for not living in their world as the single lady I tend to be.  So I’ve compiled a list of five main reasons why I’m glad to not be living in Westeros despite how much I love watching the show.

5 Reasons I’m Glad to Not Be Single in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. 

5. I’d have to work for Little Finger.  If you aren’t married and you have a vagina then most likely you are going to end up as a prostitute.  And I don’t want to have to have sex with some fat, old, lord just because I’m being paid to – it doesn’t sound like something I would necessarily enjoy.

4. I’m worth about as much as a goat.  Being single basically means I can be traded without my consent.  Oh, what’s that, My Lord? You need an army? Sure, just give me to the first barbarian you meet in exchange for some men with sticks.

3.  Unless I’m married to a powerful man, no one takes me seriously. Oh wait, that’s not that different from our world…

2.  It’s got some medieval Mean Girls going on. It doesn’t really matter if you are single or in a relationship in Westeros, someone will stab you in the back, or cut off your hand, or kill your significant other.  They will do so with a smile and without the slightest flutter of an eyelid.  They will do so when you think they are your ally.

1. I would be eligible to be courted by the future king. This doesn’t sound that bad, right? But King Joffrey is a prick and all the other kings are old.  If the King of the North, Robb McHotPants, came to my door then we would be talking marriage but the chances that I would be stuck with Joffrey, fearing my life and beating other prostitutes for his amusement, are way too high.

A single past. (An introduction of sorts)


Rafiki told a young-adult Simba: “The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it.”

Now, as all 90’s babies can attest, I learned all substantial knowledge from Disney movies, the Lion King in particular. So, I took that with a grain of salt.  And, though there were other scenes that said you should learn to leave your past behind or whatever, I’ve found that going through my past and learning from my past mistakes has made me stronger (as long as I don’t dwell back there too long).

And in the next few weeks I’ll investigate my past relationships  in a series of posts.  You’ve only been with me for three years, Internet, you have about 20 years of catching up to do.  I think this will be a mental and emotional cleanse.  And once it’s out of me, I think that I’ll be more at peace with myself and my relationship status (i.e single).   Maybe  I’ll also be more open when a new relationship shows itself.

So this post is simply an introduction to Tommy, Chuckie, Phi, and Spike (all names changed – mainly for me because then I get to use the Rugrats characters in a post- to protect the person’s privacy).  You all know about my latest exploits with Josh so I feel it’s only fair that I air all of my dirty lingerie for the world to see.

Enjoy, Kiddies, it’s about to be story time.

Single Throwback Sunday: A single symposium.


This past weekend was one of those roller coasters – you know the emotional sort.

And whenever I feel a little out of sorts, because of confused feelings or uncertain longings, I always find myself drawn to one book and one book only: The Symposium by Plato.

I lost you at, Plato, didn’t I? I know how it sounds – a little pretentious with a side of god awful and boring.

It’s none of those things.  Not even close.

It’s all the great minds of Plato’s time coming together to discuss the origins of love.  How can you hate that? Hm?

I’ve always been drawn to one particular speech within the text: Aristophanes’.  In which, Aristophanes looks at the history of the human race and how we came to need a partner in life.

Since some of you might still not go out to Barnes and Noble and buy this book to read – I’ve decided to give you the low down – consider this A Single Blog’s version of Spark Notes.

Here we go:

Basically the entire human race started out looking a little bit different than what we are used to seeing today.  Back then everyone was round and they had two sets of everything – arms, legs, heads.  Each body was made up of two genders: man & man, woman & woman, and woman & man.

They were madly in love with the other head they shared their body with.  And, since they shared a body and had so many legs and arms to spare,  these odd looking people would cartwheel around.  They were super powerful and super fast and super conceited  and the Gods became angry.  They wanted to remind the humans that they were, indeed, human.

So the Gods decided to split up the humans, making them more vulnerable.  Now, when they did this, the beings were scattered around the world, away from their mate, and the halves longed for each other. They didn’t know what do do without their partners.

Many of the beings died – they wouldn’t eat, sleep or move without their loved ones – but some were more fortunate than others.  Some found their other half and when they did they wrapped their arms around that person and never let go.

According to Aristophanes it is in our nature to constantly search for our other half – that person is male or female based on the original gender you are from.  

There is nothing in this world that gives me more hope than Aristophanes speech because, according to him, I’m doing the right thing – I’m doing what comes natural to me.  I’m searching for my other half.

5 Couples Costumes to Wear Alone


Halloween is coming up soon ,Kids, and with it comes 5-pound bags of snickers, the right to scare small children, and a slew of Halloween parties to be invited to.  What to wear, what to wear? You could be a slutty nurse/pirate/bar wench/fairy/fighter pilot or you could hound Pinterest for something that doesn’t make it look like you have a corner you work every night.  But finding the right costume could take hours, days even.  In this social media world, who has time for that kind of costume hunt when someone could be posting a picture of their sonogram, or something else just as revolting, for you to spend your time judging?

That was my problem at least.

So I pulled myself away from Facebook for a few minutes a few hours and searched for random words followed by “costume” on Google (“blanket costume,” “hat costume,” ” when I found a picture of a couple wearing a costume that made them look like either side of a PB&J sandwich.  And that’s when it hit me – wouldn’t it be great if someone went as half a couple costume?  So, with that, I give you 5 couples costumes to wear alone.

  1. Peanut Butter and Jelly: There may be no other half to your PBJ but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a delicious time.  Pick a side, any side, and perhaps you’ll run into your other half at this party.  At the very least, you can casually watch others try to find the person you came with.
  2. Horse Costume: Yeah, what’s not to love about this? It has an immediate statement

    Add a cigar and it’s less creepy. Add a martini and everything is just right.

    of “I’m single but look at all the fucks I give.” You could go the pseudo-“American Horror Story” route and just wear the horse head or you could go with the more aerated route by just wearing the suspenders attached to the back-end of the horse (just be aware of all the jokes that may come with this end).

  3. Plug and Socket: Wear the plug costume by itself just for the more phallic of the options.  Just remember: Phallic is Fun.  And imagine the pick-up lines: “Hey Guy, who is bigger? You or me?”
  4. Finn and Princess Bubblegum: This one might not be the most classic but I find it nice because you could potentially wear both costumes in one night.  Just bring clothes for a costume change.  If you are feeling especially cool you could also switch back and forth between the two characters – when you are Finn ask people if they have seen Princess Bubblegum and vice versa.  A lot of creativity could be had here, Folks.
  5. Jessica Rabbit and Roger Rabbit: Living up to the dressing sexy on Halloween, you can dress up as the voluptuous Jessica Rabbit looking to exact revenge on the scoundrel Mr. Rabbit that left her at that party alone (I love a good role-playing scenario).  Get into it.  You might find someone willing to “ease your pain.”

Single Throwback Sunday: A single knight.


The ice coffee was sure to be the highlight of my day.  It was beautiful.  It was dark and caffeinated and held slight sweet undertones of hazelnut.  It was exactly what I needed after a slumber-less night; a treat before rehearsal.  I probably admired this coffee way to much. But I wanted to make this special vacation from my day as special as a Celine Dion concert would be to any heartbroken girl who had listened to “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” on repeat in a parked car.

I was so worked up about the prospects of a caffeine fix that I didn’t pay attention to the stairs that came up before me.  Fail.  I tripped and fell, hard, into the step with my knee.  That hurt.

But what hurt more was the sight of that beautiful coffee landing limply, its contents spilling out on the blue-tiled floor.

“Watch out for that step!” A guy, standing with a group of his bros, yelled at me and then laughed.

I managed to stand but had to hobble up the rest of the stairs, leaving my coffee for dead as I did,  heart-broken over the coffee and a sudden realization: Chivalry is dead.

What happened to the white knight?

What’s that? A damsel has dropped her coffee! Quick! To her rescue!

We’ve been told, since childhood, that there will be a Prince Eric, a Prince Charming, a Prince Phillip or Prince Adam coming around eventually.  And I’m not talking a prince to come and save me from my wretched life.  I don’t want to be saved in that way.  I’m enough of a feminist to want some dignity when it comes to dealing with men.

I’m talking about having a guy offer to help you up when you fall, pick up your book and cell phone and maybe (in the ideal world) offer to buy you another coffee.  At the very least I’m talking about the guy who asks if you are okay.

That last one is a common courtesy sort of thing, but that’s almost as dead as chivalry, I’m pretty sure.

So now I’m stuck, in bed, with an ice pack on my knee and a bruised faith in both men and the general population.  So what do I have to say about that to you, dear reader? Just listen to this Celine Classic and this song about Schadenfreude from Avenue Q (yeah, I didn’t forget that I said I would post a song every time I blogged this week).  Oh, and maybe buy me an ice coffee the next time you see me.