Quick Rant: Everyone Is in Love but Me

Picture this: the sun is rising in New York. Or at least, I suspect it is. All I can see is a sullen glow behind the clouds, the sky and the roadside slush mired in the same 50 shades of grey (see what I did there?).

I shut the blinds on yet another snow-blown morning while it wintry mixes all over the city and grab that reliable portal to the world when it's too cold to venture outside: my iPhone. And what's blowing up Instagram? Swaying palm trees and enormous drinks with no fewer than three unnecessary (yet campy and delightful) garnishes. My guy friends are in singles resorts named after summer footwear and my girlfriends are frollicking on this island or that. Here I am, marooned on Manhattan island, with nothing but an ornery cat, a DVR full of Kevin Costner movies and a couple of stale phone numbers left over from last summer's #Trampage.

Robin of Locksley would never fly off to Turks & Caicos without me.

There's a poignant, if more than a little bougie, sadness in preparing French toast and mimosas for one. And it's compounded by the dreary, monochrome palate of winter in the Northeastern United States, a palate rendered all the more dull by the vivid, tropical parrot-esque color of friends' Facebook posts from closer to the Equator. Happy hour has gone from commiserating over the inconveniences of Winter "Storm" Juno to me, sucking down a joyless parade of vodka sodas, straining to muster sympathy for everyone else's sunburns.

This winter, it seems that everyone is in love but me.

What's lonelier than browsing my cousin's baby shower registry with one hand while Tinder-ing with the other? Maybe booking my hotel room for my best friend's wedding and staving off a panic attack when the site asks me whether I'd prefer to reserve a room with two double beds or a single (wildly optimistic) king.

Or maybe it's dabbing an unexpected, involuntary tear before it rolls down my cheek while I look at friends' honeymoon pictures -- then realizing that there isn't anyone here to see that tear, or the ones that stubbornly insist on following it, anyway.

It especially sucks because I'm missing out on the best cuddling weather of the calendar year. February was invented for wiggling up to toasty armpit crooks and roasty spoon sessions under flannel sheets.

If any of you are acquainted with that rarest of unicorn species, the Manhattan Man Who Is Ready for a Relationship, well wouldyalookatthat?! A unicorn saddle! Just sitting here in my apartment, waiting for a ride!

Keep hoofin' it, Last Unicorn. Springtime has to be around here somewhere.

50 shades, indeed.

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Quick Rant: Oh Jeez, Where'd He Go?

From Jackie, who wants to kick his disappearing act in the scrotum:

Like so many single, non-desperate women these days, I have ventured into the often scary world that is online dating. While there are many advantages to finding your soul mate without any branch of the government doing any extensive background checks, often times we do, in fact, stumble across those on the FBI's Most Wanted lists. 

Now, we all know those annoyingly cute, over the top lovey-dovey couples who have miraculously found each other thanks to the privilege of Neil Clark Warren of eHarmony continuously draining our bank accounts. To yours truly, this has proven costly on many levels. Since I'm both cynical and cheap, er frugal, I have resorted to experimenting on a few of the ever-present free dating sites. I can only say that I definitely have gotten my money's worth. 

I'm only speaking for the ladies here, but I've noticed a disturbing trend: Men disappear! As in completely vanish. For weeks, days or even minutes, the two of you are having stimulating correspondence about the always fascinating jet stream and barometric pressure when...nothing. 

The emails cease with no explanations or teary goodbyes full of made-up bullshit. Am I not worthy of at least some fictitious story involving aliens or his joining the Witness Protection Program? I don't know about the rest of you, but I prefer to know why I'm being rejected. It's not like I have no experience in that area! 

I do realize that many people on these sites are having simultaneous conversations with two, three or 48 other members. Heck, even I have, on rare occasions, had more than one message in my inbox. However, if you guys are having second or eighth thoughts about us, then tell us! Most of us are not crazed psycho bitches looking to forever stalk you.

But nothing is more frustrating than being ignored or stood up. And being stood up electronically is it's own annoying version of hell. 

We can only conclude that he was intimidated by the strong, smart, sexy women we are and it rendered him incapable of corresponding further. In actuality, we know that we've been replaced by the perfect woman with the irresistible combination of having both a 38EEE chest and a near-encyclopedic knowledge of astrophysics. 

Alas, the eternal optimist, buried way, way, way deep inside me is hopeful that somewhere out there is that one guy who will continue to respond to my emails and will stick around for other exciting topics beyond the rise of the stock market or fall of the unemployment numbers. Or is it the other way around? 

Regardless, I have one question: "Where the hell is he?"

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Quick Rant: The Lesbian Population In This Nebraska Town Is Too Damn Small!

From Sarah, who'd really appreciate it if she could find a chick who hasn't already hooked up with someone in her past:

I haven't seen the movie,
but I hear Will Smith is good in it

I’m sure you’ve heard of six degrees of separation, or maybe you know it as six degrees of Kevin Bacon. I don’t know enough about '80s movies to give a crack at the Kevin Bacon way, but as a gay woman in Nebraska, I’m 100% certain six degrees of separation exists. Or rather, six degrees of lesbian.  

It’s not like we’re a warm, tight-knit community where we all love each other and have best friend knitting circles every Friday night, but we do know each other, and it’s usually more pointless drama than anything fantastic. Every time I meet a girl, one of the first topics is, "So, which lesbians do you know?’ and we begin ticking off who we’ve dated, who we’re friends with, and the failed OKC attempts at dating.  

This is a terrible idea. 

Inevitably, we have lesbians in common. Either we’ve dated the same person, dated a mutual friend, or drunkenly hooked up with a friend of a friend. It’s weird enough to imagine this girl you’re trying to establish some sort of romance with chowing down on your friend/ex, but it’s even weirder to then run into that person, which given that this is Nebraska, will most definitely happen. Is it too much to ask that I meet a cool girl who doesn’t know anyone I’ve boned?  

I thought so, until I met my current girlfriend. Of course it came up on our first date, and I remember thinking, “Oh my god, this a total sign! It’s a miracle! We don’t know any of the same lesbians!” Clearly, we had to seize this opportunity and get married. Then, at the bar this week she was talking about roller derby and it turns out we both “talked” to the same girl on the team, and around the same time. Ew. We both had a few dates with her that ultimately led nowhere, but c’mon, how weird is that?!

AllI can say is that I'm glad shorter men in the Philadelphia tri-state area don't run in the same circle or I'd be screwed.

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Quick Rant: Blank Dating Profiles Are The Worst

From Veronica, who isn't impressed when guys leave their dating profile emptier than the space between Donald Trump's ears:

Seriously, who the fuck are you?

Recently, I entered into the world of online dating and what a scary, odd, ridiculous place it is. These websites match people by their answers to a self-summary and random match questions like, “If you don't do anything at all for an entire day, how does that make you feel?” That’s the type of thing I want to know about a potential mate: how being lazy makes them feel. Those are the important issues.

As ridiculous as some of the questions seem, people have to answer them in order to be given a percentage and become matched up with someone. I have discovered an odd breed in online dating and they are known as the “Blank Profile Guys.” Absolutely nothing, zilch, zip, goose egg on their profiles. Just a picture taken from about 100ft back while they’re wearing a hat and sunglass. If that doesn’t scream Unabomber I don’t know what does. The Blank Profile Guys are rare but I’ve come into contact with four or five of them so far. One even messaged me with a riveting, “Hey, what’s up?”

I wish I could answer him but I have absolutely no idea “what’s up” with these men. Why are they on a dating website if they refuse to partake in the one section that helps them find someone? Why would any woman want to talk to someone if they know absolutely nothing about the person? Even your picture isn’t clear. Maybe they are putting out the message, “Look at me, I’m too cool to fill out profiles.” But the message I receive when looking at blank profiles with fuzzy pictures? “Look at me and you’re going to end up in an episode of ‘Law and Order: SVU.'”

Seriously dudes, bros, men, guys, or whatever name you’re calling each other these days, fill out the self-summary and answer the match questions. It takes about ten minutes and it makes you look a lot less terrifying on the Creep-O-Matic scale. Those of us women who have resorted to online dating appreciate it and maybe we’ll actually answer your messages.

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Quick Rant: I've Got The Third Wheel Blues

Duke Silver should write
a blues song about this topic

I'm starting to think that I was the front wheel of a tricycle in a former life because I'm constantly the third wheel. Almost everyone in my life has coupled up, which is great news for them, but a one-way ticket to third-wheel city for me.

Here are some of the shitty things about being a third wheel:

• Having to file behind the couple when we walk together on narrow sidewalks. I feel like Farnsworth Bentley (aka P. Diddy's assistant) half the time we hang out because I'm trailing behind them. 

• Being in a restaurant and watching them order entrees to share with me left in the cold to order an entire dish to myself. Why doesn't anyone want to share anything with me? I actually flipped out about this on Sunday night. 

• Them snuggling up on a couch to watch a movie while I sit by myself and feel like I'm crashing a date or something.

• Not really spending quality time with one person since we're always in a group. For instance, I can't gab with my friend about the guy I hooked up with last weekend because her boyfriend will probably tune out or feel alienated. Therefore, we have to stick to more neutral subjects that everyone can talk about it. And you know what? That's super boring!

• I have best friends who I never get to hang out with one-on-one anymore since they always invite their significant other along. Stop doing this, couples! At the very least, ask for permission to bring him or her along. That shows that you understand that you're altering the dynamic by bringing another person into the fold.  

Sorry to boohoo in my Honey Nut Cheerios over here, but this third wheel bullshit is getting old as hell. I wish there was a support group where I could meet a bunch of other third wheels and we can bond over our status. Obviously, I love my friends and this isn't an issue with anyone in particular, it's just the annoying social reality you have to deal with when you're single and it seems like the entire world is in a one giant longterm relationship. 

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Is There A Word For The Frustration Felt When Your Ex Hasn't Proposed To His New Girlfriend By Now?

This is the best picture I could find
of a frustrated person

I've never articulated this specific irritation of mine, but I can't stand when my ex gets into a serious relationship with a new woman and doesn't make a move after a few years. What the hell? Is he going to propose or not? Does he have cold feet? Does she want to get married? Is she wasting her time with him? Is she disappointed? Does she feel pressure from her family to settle down and does she have to keep defending their situation to her mom? Does she sit at stoplights and see a couple walking down the street holding hands and spontaneously burst into tears because it reminds her that he keeps putting off their engagement? (I have an active imagination, I know.) What's happening with them?

I'll be the first to admit this line of thinking is bonkers. Marriage isn't right for all couples. And, it's not some magical end-goal everyone should strive towards. I've clearly internalized a million Hollywood romcoms that re-enforce these outcomes which sucks because when I stop and think about it, I realize how outdated this line of thinking is. However, it doesn't stop my brain from casting matrimony-minded judgments their way.

I don't know why this gets under my skin so much. It's not like I have a dog in this hunt. It doesn't affect my life either way if they tie the knot. I guess a part of me would feel better knowing that since our relationship didn't work out, that his next relationship is "the one." Maybe it absolves me of guilt or regret because even though we weren't fated to stand the test of time, he found the right girl for him and it definitely wasn't me.

Maybe by seeing them languishing in boyfriend/girlfriend status, he's a lingering question mark in my mind. Maybe we were right for each other and I messed it up? I don't want to think about that. I want them to fall in love and be perfect for each other and get married and then I can rest easy knowing that we were never right for each other and go on my merry way.

Does anyone else do this? Is this weird?

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Things I'm Terrible At: Remembering A Guy I Went Out With Twice Over Six Months Ago

Which one was he again? 

"So, tell me! What ever happened to that guy you were seeing?" my friend Katie asked, reaching for a celery stick off a half-eaten veggie platter. I hadn't seen her since last fall so she wanted to hear all about what I've been up to since then. We were making small talk in a brightly lit kitchen during a low-key house party. Music thumped in the background. I was drinking a beer but I didn't even have a decent buzz yet. 

"Which one?" I asked. 

"What do you mean 'which one'?" She cocked her head to the side. 

"I mean, which guy?" 

"The finance guy! You told me all about him last time I saw you."

"The finance guy?" I was genuinely perplexed. 

"Yes! The one who took you to that fancy dinner then to a Phillies game." 

"I went to a Phillies game? What are you talking about?"  

Katie started to lose it at this point. She put the celery stick down. "That last time I saw you, you told me how you went out with this guy who took you out for a fancy dinner. You told me that he had some kind of cell phone that you can't even get in America." 

"No way! What else did I say about him?" I was amused. 

"You were telling me all about how he gave a dog CPR once. And how he makes his own pickles. He wants to open a pickle business on the side. Ring any bells?" 

"OH! That guy! Yeah, it's all coming back to me. Right, right. I'm totally blanking on his name. Shit. I think it begins with a 'B.' Brian? No. Br....ad? Was it Brad?"

Nothing makes me feel more single than when I run into someone I haven't seen in a while and they ask about a guy I dated over six months ago and I have no clue who the hell they're talking about. She's been with the same guy for like, eight years. She knows everything about him. She knows what his farts smells like and how he hates tiny corn on the cobs and how he refuses to watch anything that Jennifer Aniston stars in.

I, however, have been single for freakin' ever. I'm always single. I go out with a guy a few times and it putters out or I lose interest or he blows me off. It happens all the time. I can't keep track of the stable of men that float in and out of my life like the Forrest Gump feather.

It's especially weird at parties when I run into friends and they ask for updates about a guy I went out with a handful of times who was about as memorable as the contestants on the last season of The Voice. I haven't thought about any of these guys in months so when a friend asks about a dude from my past, I have to really concentrate on who she's referencing. I could feel her judging me as she chomped on her celery stick.

To people in committed relationships, it probably sounds really crazy to not remember guys I've been out with, but whatever. I'm single. I date a ton. I can't remember all the dudes. That's my life.

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This Might Be The Tequila Talking, But Fuck Apple Security Info In Their Fucking Face

I was updating the Twitter app on my Mac when I was prompted by Apple to update my security info. "Sure," I thought. "This seems like a reasonable thing to do." So far so good, right? I filled out my first two security questions with ease. (Yes, my first concert was New Kids on the Block. I was in 6th grade and I wore a pink mock turtleneck and baggy, acid-washed jeans. Oof.) But, the options for the third security question were a bit of a nose crinkler. See?

I don't have a partner to take trips with, Apple Security Info. Jeez. Get off my back. I'm a single, ex-New Kids on the Block fan who's first job was working at a candy store. This is my life reduced to a trio of security questions. "I don't want your life!" -James Van Der Beek, Varsity Blues.

I've never had a security question make me so defensive before. Clearly, the team at Apple Security doesn't realize that times are tough dating-wise these days. Frankly, I'm not in the mood to think about why I don't have a guy to take trips with. I don't know. Texting? I feel like texting plays a part in that? Lame emoticons? General lack of chemistry with most men my age? Fuck, I don't know. I just want to update my Twitter app in peace, thank you very much.

And now I'm in the mood to listen to "Step by Step" because if that doesn't cheer me up, then nothing will. (FYI, I still know all the words to the song by heart!)

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Bonerkiller: When He Brings His Friend Along On Our First Date

First dates can be stressful. I get that. Personally, if I'm nervous before our first date, I do a shot of whiskey so I'm not some awkward ball of nerves constantly checking my hair in cars' windows before we meet up. A little bit of whiskey takes the edge off. That's fine.

What's not fine is if he picks me up with his best friend sitting shotgun in the front seat grinning like he's going out for ice cream after winning his Little League game. Are you fucking kidding me? Now I gotta make small talk with TWO guys for the next three-ish hours? This is a nightmare.

He probably figured it'd reduce his stress level if he had his buddy by his side, but that doesn't mean that he gets a free pass to bring along the human equivalent of a blanky to our first date. I'd love to bring my best friend to our stupid first date too, believe me. But like a normal person I'll just to text her updates when he scoots to the bathroom; I don't need her to tag along with us like some kind of unpaid security detail.  

I have nothing against his friend--who I'm sure is a nice guy even though I have no interest in talking to him--but why the fuck is he even here? I didn't realize that we'd need a chaperone to grab beers and play pool in some lame bar (his date idea, not mine). This is some rookie dating bullshit right here and I'm not standing for it. I will however sit for it. Over there by the jukebox. Far away from the both of them.

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Oh No He Di'int Just Avoid Saying Hi To Me

Is this too much to ask? 

I'm not a particularly violent person, but nothing makes me wanna punch a pillow more than when a guy does this. Can't he just be cool about everything? It's been a few months; shouldn't we be past this? We should be at the "swiveling around on our barstools to mumble hellos and exchange pleasantries" stage by now. I guess not because he's acting all squirrely like he owes me money or something. He doesn't owe me money. Common decency would be nice but I guess that's still too much to ask.

What's super annoying about this is that drinking a beer in a semi-dark room is the most approachable I'll ever be. I'm not checking my phone like a nervous dork. And, I'm not avoiding eye contact with him either. I'm sitting here by myself calmly sipping a pint of Fleur de Lehigh: I'm at the pinnacle of my approachability. It ain't gonna get much better than this. But, if he can't get it together to say hi here, then I don't know what to tell him.

So when he zips out of the place like his asshole's on fire without even doing a courtesy nod in my general direction, it makes me do the smirk 'n' jerk. Are we in kindergarten? Grow the fuck up! Ugh.

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When He Tells Me That He's Never Seen An Episode Of Eastbound And Down

Seriously? Seriously.

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Hey Cee-lo's Cat, What Do You Think About Guys Who Ask Girls Out Over Twitter?

Agreed! I've never accepted a date request from a guy over Twitter. I'm not talking about someone cute you've been casually tweeting with for months and have met in person a few times; I'm talking about strange guys you've never met with cryptic handles that don't have picture of themselves as their avatars. Like I'm gonna agree to a date from a guy who has a freakin' cartoon character as his picture. Has that ever worked for anyone ever in the history of the Internet? Gross! Guys, stop doing this!

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Bonerkiller: Reminiscers

"Hey! Remember when we went to that Thai place for dinner that one time and we had to flag the waiter down for the check?"

"Hey! Remember when we went out for coffee and the barista made a heart in your latte foam?"

"Hey! Remember that time we wore t-shirts?

"Hey! Remember that time we had eyebrows?"

"Hey! Remember that time we blinked?"

"Hey! Remember that time we breathed?"

We went out twice two years ago and both dates were boring so I wish he'd stop bringing this shit up because it wasn't that great/ crazy/ interesting/ memorable/ fun. But every time I run into him, he acts like our stupid dates were some insane adventure that we'll tell our grandkids about. WRONG. It was alright I guess, but our dates were like the time I ate a burrito at the airport i.e. utterly forgettable. It's obvious that we have nothing to talk about so he keeps mining the five hours that we were in each other's company for chat material. Just. Stop.

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Quick Rant: I Can't Believe I Still Know His Schedule By Heart

One of the worst parts about breaking up is having my ex's life schedule memorized. Great, now I know the hours he works, how he goes to his brother's house to watch the game every Sunday afternoon, and that he hits up his favorite dive bar every Saturday night. I know that he plays softball on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday afternoons. And, I know that he hits up happy hour with his best friend on Friday nights.

I wish I could take a pill and forget all knowledge about his habits, but I can't. It's etched in my brain like a shitty engraved iPod. On one hand, it's pretty easy to avoid him because I know his habits. But, it also sucks donkey balls because I'm constantly calculating where he might be.

So, when I see that he's online on Facebook at 3am on a Thursday morning, my first thought is, "What's he doing up this late? He has to go to work in six hours." Then that immediately leads to, "Is he talking to someone? Is it a new girl? Is she pretty? She's probably pretty. Oh god, I hate everything so much right now." Then, I calm myself down by reasoning that he probably just fell asleep with his laptop open because he always goes to quizzo on Wednesday nights so he probably got too tipsy, came home, and passed out. See what I mean? I HATE THAT I KNOW THIS! Ugh! Make it stop!  

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What Trying To Persuade Him To Watch "The Voice" With Me Feels Like

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How I Feel About Weird Flip Flop-Footed Men Who Attempt To Pop A Wheelie On Their Bike In The Middle Of A Busy Intersection

Abby Lee knows what I'm talking about

I'm in California for two weeks and this is my first California-inspired Shmitten Kitten post. Let me tell you, this place has more skinny, disheveled guys than a Spike Jonze-impersonator convention. 

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How It Feels When He Won't Even TRY To Give My Favorite TV Shows A Chance

Big Ang feels my pain.

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Words We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "We"

This is what I'm like as soon as the word "we" winds its way through my ear canal

"Did you see The Muppet Movie yet? I saw it last week and loved it. It was hilarious."

"Yeah! Actually, we saw it on opening night. It was great."

We? We? WE? What's this "we" shit? I was talking to him in the singular and he responded in the plural. THAT'S how he's letting me know that he's with a new girl, by interjecting "we" into his stupid ass sentence out of nowhere? FUCK THAT SO HARD! Fuck it right in its smug, plural fucking face. 

He probably thinks he's being subtle by slipping "we" instead of "I" in like that, but it's not subtle at all. What, now he can't use singular pronouns because he's been on roughly four dates with some above average-looking mystery woman? Ugh. It makes me wanna kick him in the dick with a muddy boot.

Honestly, It would've been better if he had said, "I saw it last week with this girl who I just started seeing. It was great." By jumping ahead to "we" out of nowhere, it makes it sound like he's really saying, "Back off, lady! I'm a taken man so don't get any funny ideas or nuthin'." Alright, alright. Don't worry, bud. I'm only like 3% interested in you and I resent feeling like you had to flash some giant "Do not pass go!" sign at me as if I were writing our initials with a heart around 'em on Trapper Keepers or some shit. *clenches fists and scrunches up nose*

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An Open Letter To The Person Who Cockblocked Me Last Night

Dude. Duuuuuuude. Your behavior was not cool. Not cool AT ALL. Do you have a PhD in fucking up vibes or something? Did you not see the body language going on between us? Both his hips AND his shoulders were aligned with mine. In body language terms, we were practically on our third date and talking about what we'd wanna name our kids half-jokingly. BUT YOU HAD TO RUIN IT, YOU MASSIVE FUCKHEAD.

He had just laughed at one of my jokes and asked me what I did for a living but I didn't even get to answer him because you, Mr. Asshat, swooped in, put your arm around his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. I stood there holding my drink politely for twelve seconds but you didn't just pat my guy on the back and walk away, Senor Testes Satchel. No, you stayed put like a tomato sauce stain on a white t-shirt, completely fucking up my game.

I finally had to walk away because what am I gonna do, stand there looking like an idiot while you drone on and on in my dude's ear? I'm good at a lot of things but standing still and not talking to the guy I want to talk to is not one of them. I hate you. I hate you so much YOU PASTY-SKINNED, THIN-LIPPED, UNIBROWED, STUPID SOUL PATCH-HAVING MOTHERFUCKER! Ugh. I hope you contract some kind of disease usually only seen in exotic animals like dolphins that baffles your doctors how you were even exposed to it so they silently make judgments about your private life, YOU FUCKING SHIT SKIDMARK.

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The More I Want Him To Initiate A Chat With Me Online, The Less Likely He Is To Do It

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