The Book of Facts

At Persimmon, we not only sell candles and celebrity sightings, but we also keep a Book of Facts. I started the fact-keeping book during one of our downtimes (which is basically any time that is not October-December). Our boss gave us all these notebooks with the *actual* name of our store embossed on the cover for Christmas last year. No one knew what to do with them, so I threw mine in my car where it has stayed for the last 11 months; Ashley stuck a bunch of business cards in hers and promptly forgot where she left it; and Shirley left hers in the drawer at the boutique.

That is where I found it and turned it into the Book of Facts. The Book of Facts is a large, numbered list we keep of all the random bits of trivia that we -- the peons of Persimmon -- have learned during our tenure with the store. Please note that these factoids are entirely haphazard and do not necessarily have anything to do with the work we do. They are just things that we wondered one day and decided to Google, or else learned from a customer. Facts include:

* 73% of third marriages end in divorce (I looked this up after one too many customers asked me about Khloe and the Real Housewives)

* You can pollinate your own airplants with a paintbrush and make a whole new sub-species (we learned this from a customer)

* Julia Roberts is 5'9'' (no one really remembers why we looked this up)

* 100 icelandic krona = about 1 US dollar (we learned this after Rachel's trip to Iceland)

* If there is a pine tree planted near your hydrangeas, that will acidify the soil enough to turn them blue (when we were trying to figure out why half of mine were purple and half were pink)

We are up to about a hundred facts now. But the point of this blog post is the fact that was added most recently, courtesy of an article that Nugget read.

We are living in the Worst City for Online Dating.  In case the link didn't work, here's a screenshot of the proof: 

So that's awesome. But on the other hand, it does kind of explain a lot. For example, WHYYYYYY do so many men find it necessary to a) take bathroom selfies, and/or b) attach the bathroom selfies in an opening email to a woman?!?! And some just offer 'em loud and proud as their first picture. Observe:

And that's just the OBVIOUS ick-factor. I've gotten emails where the opening line is "Do you cook?" or "Hey baby," followed by whatever pictures the guy feels like attaching. Such as these, with which he obviously took a lot of trouble to highlight his various interests:

I mean, I guess he did take the trouble to change his shorts to show off his abs in a different light? But this guy's opening line to me was "How much do you work out?"

To which my entire email reply consisted of: "Never."

But lest you think I'm exaggerating, it gets worse. There are also men in this great city of ours whose first message, when I say "tell me about yourself!" goes like this:

I mean, who says that!? To a woman who is a complete stranger!? Whose opening line is an explanation that they don't like the 70's look downstairs? I just don't understand.

All of this has REALLY burned me out on dating. I went out with Tricia last night. She's in a new relationship with a guy she met online.

"You met Jared a hot second after you got online," I said. "And Heidi at work literally JUST got out of a 4-year relationship and has already met a guy online that she's crazy about! And yet, not me."

"Maybe you're too much in your head," Tricia said.

"I am too much in my head. But I think I also only date my friends."

And there it was. The reality of this matter has taken me a decade and a half to arrive at. Online dating doesn't work for me because it's asking me to put too much faith in people that I have NO experience with. And when I look back at my life, every guy I've dated has been "verified" for me:

* Kurt, age 16. Went to church with all my friends.

* Webs, age 23. Area Director for a youth organization I volunteered with, so all my friends knew him. Also, I went to college with his brother.

* Lybee, age 27. Went to the same seminary as my dad.

* Derek, age 30. I was in a support group with his mother and became very close to her. Also, he was pals with one of my friends from grad school.

* Nick from NY, ages 33. He's the anomaly...kind of. I met him online but I was too much in my head and couldn't force a connection. But then he mailed me a TV for my birthday and I couldn't be the girl who had a TV from a guy she never talked to again... so we stayed in touch. And eventually became good friends. And eventually fell in love.

So there you go. I only date guys a) I'm friends with, b) someone I'm friends with will vouch for, or c) involved in some kind of organization or group that I trust. This probably has all kinds of TERRIBLE psychological meanings, like I don't trust myself or I have issues with strange men. But it is what it is, and at least knowing this will maybe save me from beating my head against a wall and getting emails from 23-year-olds like this:

"Hey beautiful. I'm Tony. how are u tonite?" I wonder what possesses people to do this. I will have to do some research and add my findings to the Book of Facts...

Khloe, et al.

I realized recently that I've turned a corner. First, I noticed wrinkles regularly in all my pictures. But then I noticed I was talking to cats. And answering them. A typical conversation goes like this:

Me: Hello, kitty. You are still looking very gray, I see. How are you?

Graysee: Meow.

Me: And why is that?

Graysee: Meoooooooow.

Me: I know. I feel you completely.

Graysee: Meow!!!!!

Me: I understand that, but we tried repeatedly and it didn’t work.

Graysee: MEOW

Me: I LET YOU OUT SEVERAL TIMES AND YOU CLIMBED THE FENCE AND WERE A VERY. BAD. CAT. The reason your brown friend gets to go outside is because she never runs away!!!

Graysee: Meow

Me: That’s what you say, but we keep ending up at the same spot. 

At this point, I usually quit talking because I am truly horrified that I am not only talking to a cat, but answering for it as well.

This is just one of the many ways in which I am becoming eccentric. In an effort to curb eccentricity, I work part-time at an upscale shopping mall. I figured that being around lots of not-14-year-olds on a regular basis would be good for me and force me to rub shoulders with normal folks, people who don't hold 2-sided conversations with cats.

The problem is that, unlike the other amazing women who work at the boutique with me (we'll call it Persimmon), I am very bad at dissembling. Let me give you a for instance...

We have a reality TV star who regularly endorses us, and the brand rewarded her endorsements by giving her her own product line. Now people come into Persimmon ALL THE TIME and ask me if I know Khloe, if she comes to the store, when her line is coming out, if it's true that her famous husband comes in sometimes and blah blah blah...

And unlike my coworkers, I cannot even feign interest in Khloe's life or habits or the fact that she is famous for being famous. Margaret and Shirley, my two older colleagues, laugh whenever a customer asks me what Khloe's new fragrance line smells like and I make a big show of getting out the clipboard with my "script" written on it and reading my lines: "This signature fragrance is inspired by Khloe's natural grace and elegance. Her truly singular personality is exhibited by the soft notes of..." (I can't even remember the rest). After the customer leaves, I mutter mutinous things under my breath while Margaret and Shirley heckle me.

On Tuesday, Khloe is coming to the store for an event. There are not going to be any appetizers or wine or special discounts, so -- as far as I can tell -- the event will consist purely of people ogling Khloe. And who is the one employee  scheduled to work the event? Me. Obviously. Because Fate is a cruel mistress and I'm the only employee at risk of rolling my eyes during such an auspicious gathering.

All of this illustrates that I am becoming crotchety. When students come to my class without a pencil and ask me if they can borrow one, I cast them a withering glare and then tell them to write in their own blood.

I talk to cats.

I gnash my teeth over celebrity culture. But Khloe has a famous husband and a cute baby and her own reality show and a "graceful and elegant" new product line. So maybe she's actually doing things right and the joke's on me. Who knows.

WHY DO YOU CHECK THIS BLOG SO OFTEN?

Yes. YOU.

Rom-Com

Several years ago, I decided to move to New York for the summer. I've been GROSSLY directionally impaired my entire life and felt that the best way to defeat my fear of maps was to move to the most congested, urban place I could think of and force myself to navigate daily.

This mostly worked, I only ended up out in Queens once. I had reconnected with Nick, who invited me to dinner in Bryant Park, and I took the subway the opposite direction by accident. Then I got really nervous, so I stopped and bought airplane tequila at a bodega, to calm my nerves. I called Stella as I was footing my way back uptown.

"Jesus, T. You're like a $#$%@#%^ heroine in a romantic comedy."

That statement stuck with me... As I attended mass in Brooklyn with my great-aunt and millions of 90-year-olds who only spoke Italian, I thought, "I am living in a romantic comedy."

Then as my great-aunt insulted a Jersey tramp who tried to throw down with her on the steps of Saints Peter & Paul, I thought, "I am living in a romantic comedy."

As I discovered that my aunt had adopted 14 cats in my absence and was regularly feeding them roast chickens, I thought, "I am living in a romantic comedy."

I continue to think this way, even now. When I go on dates where the guy starts crying and asks for a hug, I think "I am living in a romantic comedy."

Or when I buy a house with no hot water and discover that I have to shower at my new neighbor's, I think, "I am living in a romantic comedy."

And rom-coms revolve around break-ups and make-ups. The good thing about breakups these days is that, after I turned 30, I noticed I started getting over minor relationships in like a week, solid. It goes like this:

Day 1: hate life, want to die, cry eyes out

Day 2: don't want to get out of bed, feel despair

Day 3: get out of bed, stare at mirror forlornly, try to smile

Day 4: get out of bed again, go out with girlfriend, drink wine

Day 5: hmmmm, it's okay, it's actually for the best probably, put on lipstick

Day 6: I'm marginally okay, I think

Day 7: wait, why was I going out with that guy, again???

I'm not even kidding. If you'd told me when I was 25 that I would one day get over guys in a week, I would have scoffed. Yet here I am.

And thank God, because what came next was so mind-boggling.

A few weeks ago, a guy I'd very recently been dumped by sent me an ad for a matchmaking service that he thought I might find helpful. I was dumbfounded. I stared at it. Was it like...a joke? But then he followed it up with a note about how he hopes I can one day find happiness again (not realizing that a week had already passed, so...)

Stratski and I started laughing our asses off.

It was at this point that I realized, YES. I am living in a romantic comedy.

At first we didn't know if that level of douche-baggery existed outside of rom-coms. But then we realized the heroine only gets patronized right before the good guy comes along. Like how that Irish policeman in Bridesmaids came along for Kristin Wiig right after that rich douchebag playboy dumped her!

So I'll just be right over here. Running red lights.

Two Beers.

I went on Revenge Dates this weekend. The first one was TERRIBLE. It was at 5 o'clock at a coffee house. The guy was a writer, which might explain why he refused to make consistent eye contact with me. Also, when I asked him why he'd grown up here, gone to college here, and settled down here without ever having seen the world, his response was:

"I've never wanted to travel. I'm happy here. I don't want to leave or go anywhere, I've just never had that desire."

And I was all, "I see. So are you still friends with all your old high school buddies?"

He said, "No, not really. Only like Matt Williams and Shawn Tucker and Jace Overby and Ty Willard, oh and Danielle Foster. Plus, my whole volleyball team..."

To which I say, "BUH-bye!!!!" 

Just kidding, I stuck it out for the whole date, which mostly consisted of him describing the many literary talents of Stephen King. Since I'm determined to gain at least one thing from all dates, I decided to use all my newfound Stephen King knowledge to recommend further reading to one of my students.

But then I got home at like 6:30 and I was kind of bummed. So I decided, "SCREW IT!! GARRETT DUMPED ME AND HE'S OUT HAVING FUN, SO I'M GOING TO HAVE FUN TOO!!!!"

Ergo, I went on Date #2, which truly amazed both Stratski and Tricia, my Dating Advisors. They didn't think I had it in me to go on 2 dates in one night. I showed them!!!!!

Date #2 took place at Oktoberfest, which I felt was a fantastic place for a date. Also Date #2 was not with a weirdo who refused to look at me. 

However, there was one fatal flaw, and that was the alcohol. A Moment of Backstory...

The year was 1999 and I went to a competitive college that charged a fortune. I had to sign a contract that said I wouldn't drink any alcohol for 4 years. I ended up leaving that college and transferring to a much cheaper university, where I volunteered for a youth organization that also insisted I didn't drink for 4 years. Then I continued volunteering for the organization even after university when I left college-town and got a job in the "Real World."

I tell you this backstory so that you will understand my predicament when I tell you that I didn't drink any alcohol until I was about 24, and I have almost ZERO alcohol tolerance. And this is despite steady training in the ways of wine and beer in the subsequent years since.

So here is how Date #2 went:

6:30 -- look through 3 pages of emails from online paramours while eating Chinese food. Oh, hello, attractive man!!! Why, yes, I would like to go out with you!! 

6:32 -- realize attractive man is actually Evander Holyfield and that the email I'm looking at is really from the pasty small man in the crook of Holyfield's arm, naturally. No, I would not like to go out with you, you look like the Unabomber. Also, you can't spell wordz.

6:35 -- get email from potentially Interesting Person. Decide not to sit at home and be sad. YES! Will go to Oktoberfest. Besides, like profile that mentions:

And I am all, "Yes! I, too, am not interested in hookups! And he TOTALLY stole that last line from me!!" (not even kidding, he admitted it).

7:00 -- Interesting Person says he will be my date to Oktoberfest but can only have 2 beers so he can drive home. I say that is perfect because I can only have 2 beers, period. I will be walking home but 2 is my known limit. I text him how to pronounce my name because it is my Pet Peeve when people say it wrong.

7:20 -- meet Interesting Person. Get first beer. IP tells me, "thank you for Name Pronounciation Guide, however, I'm a Long Island Italian boy and know how to pronounce it because it is my aunt's name."

7:21 -- am immediately excited! KNEW this person did not look like he was from here. Like him instantly. Ask where his family is from. He says Rome; very exciting, as mine is from Rome and Naples.

7:35 -- continue drinking beer. Overshare about family.

7:48 -- continue drinking beer. Tell him to guess my teaching salary. Beer might be taking its toll?

8:16 -- Interesting Person asks if I'm ready for a 2nd beer. I do not realize that German beers are darker and therefore more potent. I think I am still fine to drink 2 beers, as I have Chinese food base. I say yes.

8:39 -- Interesting Person asks if I'm religious. I launch into a lengthy dissertation on religion.

8:51 -- Interesting Person explains he is in charge of Lambert. I want to know if he means the airport or the home of throwed rolls? 

9:03 -- I notice the first protestor, but in my 2-beer-drunken state, I think, "Oh, isn't that precious? What a nice young man protesting and stirring up awareness all by himself!!" not realizing that there is a mass of people behind him.

9:16 -- announce to Interesting Person that it is Teacher Bedtime. Really, I could stay out later, but he would probably offer me more beers and I am already 2-beer drunk! I must excuse myself before I do something even more inappropriate than I already have!

9:23 -- Interesting Person hugs me goodnight and I fall over. Skip home, accompanied by protestors.

9:30 -- Receive frantic texts from friends, asking if okay.

Next morning...

8:00 -- Text Stratski: am HUMILIATED by 2-beer conduct.

Fortunately, he thinks I'm hilarious and we're going out again...

Online.

I went out with my friend Tricia the other day.  She’s single, great job, nice apartment; likes the Cubs, but then, everyone has at least one fault. Tricia lived here for awhile, took a job elsewhere for a few years, and recently moved back. 

“Have you tried online dating recently, Elle?” she asked one evening as we walked in the park.

I glared at her meaningfully. Had I not been catfished by nearly every human man within a 50 mile radius? At least, that’s what it felt like.

“I’m telling you. It’s different now. There are more people out there or something. You should give it another try! I went on a great date the other night with a very normal guy.”

I consider it a sad state of affairs when we measure success by the words “He was a very normal guy.”

In case you haven’t read this blog or the one before it, here is a brief recap of some of my most memorable online dating experiences:

·      * the guy who let his 9-year-old wander around in the mall while he met me for coffee

·     *  The guy who waited until our date to tell me he was a pastor WHEN I HAD ALREADY BEEN DUMPED BY TWO PASTORS AND STOPPED GOING TO CHURCH

·     *  The guy who made a date, cancelled it while I was on my way, begged for a second date, and then cancelled it when I was sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant

·    *  The guy who cried into his beer and told me he was bi-polar on our first date

·      * The guy who ended up being the guy that gave a friend an STD – and then I got hired in his building and we had to work together for the next 6 years

·     *  The guy who so completely lacked a personality that I later met him at a party and introduced myself, asking his name in return, because he had made so little an impression -- he was super pissed

·    *  The guy who lived far away, emailed me a ton, went out with me once or twice, and then kept texting me without wanting another date… FOR TEN YEARS.

* *  The guy who showed up for a January date at theZoo without a coat and made me lend him my earmuffs and buy him hot chocolate

·      * The guy I forgot ever going out with, who then married my friend. This seems to be a theme.

·      * The guy who asked me to meet him at 7 on a Friday night, then ordered nothing and watched me eat while telling me about the amateur horror movies he films in his backyard

·     *  The guy who was clearly mentally handicapped and had had someone else write his dating profile for him (and yes, I stayed for the whole date)

·      * The guy who kept standing me up inexplicably

           

            And that’s all the shit you deal with before factoring in the current state of affairs in online dating.

Yeah.  For you Marrieds out there, let me tell you, it is not a pretty picture in Single World if you’re a woman. Men are mean. If you don’t respond back to them, they call you a pretentious bitch. Or some send you first messages that say, “I’d love to bend you over backwards.” Or some just immediately, like upon learning your name, invite you over to their house like you’re a two-bit strumpet.

            I put a lot of time and thought into crafting a witty online dating profile, but it turns out only a handful of guys actually read the words, and those are the guys who end up ghosting after a few months.

            So what’s a gal to do? I’ll tell you. Get rid of all the words in my dating profile. ALL. THE. WORDS. Put only pictures. Not pics of me looking hot, mind you. Pictures that show disturbing things to weed out the riffraff.

For example: tampons, a feminist poster, a Hilary baseball cap, some Black Lives Matter graphics to weed out the racist bigots

Maybe that will get rid of the messages I get like this:

I went out with my brother Saturday. God, I love that guy. He said that he, too, used to play the field and tell women he wanted to keep things open and casual...when he was 25 and a raging narcissist. It's easier that way. Then when someone calls you on your shit and you feel guilty, you can write her off and move on to the next girl on your roster who makes you feel good about yourself. But it's not crazy to suppose, at this stage in life, that someone would actually choose to just date me after a couple months.

So, you know, I'll post my best disasters here until that happens :-)

Sisterz and Sh!t

This is my sister. She's the cool one. She likes to tell this story about how, when we were younger, I told her that I had a secret I would tell her when she turned 16. When she finally got to be 16, she excitedly asked me what the secret was.

"Oh that," I said. "It turns out I was wrong. I was going to tell you that you were destined to be The Most Beautiful Sister. But it turns out it's Lily."

She was pissed. But our sister Lily was really pretty as a kid, and I am terrible at lying. And either way, it still put me in last place, so #perspective, Lucy!!!

Over the summer, I went to Maine with Lucy because it was something we had always wanted to do and I am trying to be more adventurous and free-spirited like her. While there, I texted my friends to ask them if I could get my nose pierced, or if my teaching environment was too conservative for that.

They said I couldn't pull it off, so I texted them a picture of Lucy. She looks kind of like me, so I figured it would help them envision me with a nose-piercing if they saw her with one.

They were all, "No, we get it. Lucy looks great with her nose pierced. You're not Lucy. You're too Ann Taylor to pull that off."

That was depressing, as I have not shopped at Ann Taylor since I left grad school and had to buy a suit for interviews!!!

Despite our extreme differences and the fact that she can pull off a piercing where I cannot, Lucy and I have one key similarity: we suck at relationships.

Now, you might not notice this because Lucy's relationships last mostly from 1-5 years, while mine are shorter.

What they have in common, though, is that both of us genuinely like who we are as people -- until we start dating someone. Then we hate who we become. Why? Because we get needy. We go from being these fiercely independent women who travel the world, build wells in Africa, volunteer with ex-convicts, work with abused kids to... icky people who need someone else's approval.

Our mom grew up in foster care and that probably had a lot to do with her neediness. When we were kids, she would call our dad about 15 times a day, just to ensure he was still there and to find out his every move. I had a roommate who used to do that with her boyfriends, too, and it disturbed me. That's how Lucy's neediness now exemplifies itself, relationally-speaking.

Mine is the opposite. I watched all that phone-calling and was so determined not to be that person that I end up over-correcting. Instead, I initiate NO phone calls, NO texts, nothing. I'm so damn determined not to hem someone in that I just wait. And wait. And wait. And if whoever I'm dating actually has a life and doesn't have time to text me every day, I get really sad. And then eventually I get resentful. And by the time they do text me, even though I'm really happy to hear from them, I come across as bitchy.

Lucy has made "relationship rules" for herself: she is only allowed to call her boyfriend 2 times in a row. She has figured out that that's her limit before she goes ballistic and starts erupting. If he does not pick up the phone and she has tried calling 2 times already, that means that he is really busy and he genuinely cannot answer.

Another one of her tricks that she learned for herself is to delete her own texts right after she's sent them. That way she doesn't see when her boyfriend has "read" them and she can't get needy about why he hasn't responded yet.

I realize that my sister and I sound pathetic in this blog post. I DO realize that. But Lucy says, "Everyone has their issues. Literally, every single person. The question is finding someone who is willing to grow through your issues with you."

That's what I'm looking for. Someone who recognizes that I'm kind of a train wreck, but that he's kind of his own train wreck. And maybe we can be wrecks together and learn things. In counseling they teach you that the only way to grow relationally is to have relationships. It doesn't matter how many African wells you build or dollars you raise for charity or marathons you run... those things grow you as a person, but they don't grow you relationally. That only happens when you allow yourself to be in relationships.

To end this post, a quasi-quote from Table 19: There's no one else I'd rather forgive than you. There's no one I'd rather be forgiven by than you.

I think that's what we're all looking for. Someone we feel safe screwing up with because we know their forgiveness is complete and they'll help us grow through our shit.

If there's one thing I've learned as a gardener, it's that shit helps things grow.

Garrett

 I used to have this mentor, we’ll call him Greg. Greg went to church with me. I met him when he and his wife were leading a small group I was a part of. I don’t really remember how we decided to be mentor-mentee, but we would meet every so often in the conference room at his office and he would give me counsel about life, relationships, jobs, and my searing personality.

Greg told me once, “You need to be more mysterious. Don’t put everything out there. Leave things to the imagination!”

Greg did not believe in blogging one’s feelings and experiences. You should let people wonder about you and your fabulous life. Leave them guessing.

But I met another guy, Garrett, and he had opposite advice: Blogging helps you process. It seems cathartic for you.

I think both things are true, which creates a certain paradox. A cognitive dissonance, if you will.

We are all leaving this electronic footprint, you know? And mine is huge. When I pause to think about how many posts I wrote on MySpace in its hayday, notes on Facebook, multiple web logs… only my naivete allows me to sleep soundly at night, with all of that still floating out there in the ether. It’s like there’s another Elle, a cyber-Elle and she has a life of her own that I don’t even remember anymore. That’s a bit scary.  

Despite that, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge that I'm really sad. Stratski thinks I get my heart broken way too easily. She would never say this out loud, of course. But a year or two ago, I called her after this guy I really liked ghosted.

“You only dated him a couple of months!” she exclaimed. Then she realized I normally don’t even keep guys around that long. It’s pretty easy to tell if I feel any connection within a few dates, so if someone makes it past that point, it means I think they’re legit. It means I like them for real.

This happens rarely, so I suppose that makes the disappointment that much more keen when I can’t maintain the relationship, even in its fledgling state.

I get it. There are easier and more fun women out there. As Greg once told me, “Do you know why I chose my wife, even though I was engaged to someone else when I met her? Because she was FUN. The other girl was just so much effort. I could have fun with Annette, and I loved that.”

I chastise myself for not being more fun all the time. But I keep ending up with these emotional roller coaster men! Do you know how hard it is to have FUN when you never know where you stand with someone? When they swing wildly from hot to cold to hot to cold?

I know a lot of you are married, and have been for 10 or 15 years by now, so maybe you never experienced this or don’t remember it. But today’s dating environment is exhausting... 

Someone might text and FaceTime you every day for weeks, and you think you have this great connection. 

Then after a month or so, they tell you they just want to keep things casual and date around.  

But then they talk to you about fun trips they want to take with you and movie lists they’ve created for you to watch together, and you feel good. 

Then when you don’t hear from them for a few days, you remember, “Oh yeah. He said he wants to date around. I’m back at the bottom of the pile again.” 

Only then you go on an amazing date, and you think, “I’ll put in the time with this person, if they want to keep things casual. I would do that for them, they're worth it to me.” 

But then they tell you they’ll see you that weekend; and you don’t hear anything. 

I’m okay with not being someone’s Only One, you know? That’s natural at the start of relationships. It’s the hot and cold that I hate. I would so much rather just be lukewarm but steady at the beginning of a relationship. At least then, I know where I stand. It’s going from being someone’s first (and 50^th) text of the day, to days where they don’t talk to you at all and they forget they even said they'd see you. All I need is a text. Tell me you're thinking of me. Tell me you wish you could see me but you have work.

I guess if I really knew I mattered to someone, it would be different, you know? But as I told Stratski, when someone tells you, repeatedly, that they want to date other people, that they want to keep things casual and open, and THEN they cancel plans or quit texting you or no longer call you at night... then you know it's not because they're busy at work. They told you what they wanted and you weren't listening.

I guess I'm really sad today because I was so hopeful about meeting someone who was really different than all the other guys I'd dated. Weeks ago, I texted my friends: I met someone! It had been a long time since I last sent that text. 

I was excited when he talked about going to a Halloween party together or going to a winery sometime or visiting some churches together. I thought, "He actually wants to spend time with me!" And I kind of blossomed.

But then none of those things happened. He would say he'd try to see me that weekend, and I wouldn't hear from him until the following Tuesday. And resentment and insecurity would simmer as I swung between hoping he'd call because I really wanted to spend time with him, to frustration over my own inability to make other plans while I waited. It wasn't really his fault. He'd said he wanted casual and he was being casual.

My friend Stacey said, "He said he wanted casual. He would go days at a time without calling you. That's casual. Maybe YOU just didn't want casual." That is an extremely fair statement. I liked him and I wanted him to like me just as much.

At the end of the day, I wonder when I will stop being someone's afterthought?

I think the truth is, I would rather be alone than keep being that.