Another trip around the sun in the books. I’m 35 now. That happened. That number seems so old to me but I also feel so disconnected from it. I don’t really associate myself with the number my birthday represents. I think I stopped counting a decade ago. It doesn’t say much about who I am honestly other than justify my need to live my life like a John Hughes movie, explain my love for the Goo Goo Dolls and how if there was a Peach Pit pop-up, I’d get Jessie Spano excited. I’m still the same girl I’ve always been with a huge heart, big eyes and dreams of more. Looking back, so much has changed and yet so much is still the same. I think that’s what it’s all about. You put your right hand in, you take your left foot out, you turn yourself around and you keep going. Life is a little minx she is.
My friend wanted to change her Delta account password. No problem, right? WRONG. They gave her two questions to answer for security purposes, one of them being “Where did you meet your partner/spouse?” There wasn’t another option. She was forced to answer. Well, listen up Delta. While I do appreciate your open mindedness on different types of relationships, someone must be sacked for this. I don’t know what kind of dingleberry is running operations over there but not everyone has a partner or a spouse, okay? Some of us don’t even have a dog or a dishwasher. There are people out there who don’t even have a hook-up to call when they’re feeling lonely on a Thursday night after a simple Happy Hour escalated into a full blown reenactment of their senior year spring break. In fact, some of us don’t even want a person anymore because after years of searching we’ve discovered we would rather be alone than deal with the hotdog stand of options available to us. I live in a studio apartment that I have come to love and cherish and if some mediocre somebody thinks he is going to pull me out of this thing, he’s gone and lost his dang mind. Age will open your eyes to your worth, that’s for sure.
Many of you already know this but in a strange turn of events, I actually signed up for a dating app. I blame it on being in a room full of women swiping and the vision I keep receiving where I fall in my own apartment alone with nothing in my fridge but a bottle of champagne, 38 different condiments and a coffee mug of eye masks…and die. Well, rest assured my momentary lapse in sanity has taken its course. Maybe it was the guy who put me on a family group chat after 2 dates or maybe it was the guy who yelled at me for disappearing on him (it had been 7 days) and then proceeded to be upset that I never let him know when my flight landed. Fun Fact: I haven’t flown anywhere since I started this slow walk to my death known as online dating. He was yell-texting at the wrong girl. Face in palms. I wished him all the best and told him that I hope he hears from whoever actually disappeared on him. Byeeeeeeee.
I walked into one dude’s apartment, saw a carpet house and walked right back out. He never mentioned a cat. What a liar. Next. During date #3 with mutant X, I was told I couldn’t possibly mean what I said because I’m ‘not that stupid’. Cue exit. The next day I told him I’d put a lot of thought into it and it just wasn’t working for me and was no longer something I was interested in pursuing and hoped he respected my decision. His response: I absolutely do not respect any decision that lacks compassion or understanding. Ten minutes later: Or unfair, premature judgements. Three days later: At least when I was mean I wasn’t in my right mind and was drunk. I’m not going to respond for obvious reasons but he really should know he isn’t helping his case…at all. If nothing else, he has solidified my choices entirely. I matched with one guy whose opening line to me was ‘I like your butt. I want to snack on it.” WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?! So basically I’m exhausted by exactly what I thought this whole experience would be like. I’ve felt more satisfied after games of Candyland. Click. Click. Delete.
If you’re wondering where I find these ding-dongs, it’s in a realm of hell known as Los Angeles. Arguably one of the most flakey towns in America and a melting pot for narcissists around the world. Welcome. I actually really do love LA a lot, but as far as romance is concerned, it’s very Shakespearean tragedy without the prose or motive or awe-factor of any kind. I don’t think my lumberjack lives here. I currently have a friend trying to get me excited about the Tour de France. Just the effort he’s putting in alone is almost enough to make me watch but it’s really hard to explain to someone who is clearly so passionate about something how much I don’t care. This thing is how long? Call me when there are five minutes left. Then I’ll watch. I don’t even like swim races that are over 800 meters long. However, I also told him I dated a guy who somehow got me invested in golf, so I suppose anything is possible – and maybe that’s what I love so much about this town of angels and dreams. I may not have found what I’m looking for yet…but I will. xx
**RETROSPECTACULAR** 
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