Wait a second…
How am *I* dying alone while this dipshit walrus-lookin’ Hoarder with an old-school Nokia clipped to his belt is not only married but also has a sidepiece?
Motherfucker got ladies lined UP for that mustache ride, damn.
I love being alone in bed so much that I’m not sure adding another person could possibly improve the experience. This is a tad worrisome, ‘cause, ya know, dying alone, but I’m in bed, so…eh. Blankets will fix it.
On one hand, canceling plans IS my favorite. Very little in life is better — dogs, sure, but not much else.
On the other hand, meeting dudes at my friends’ huge parties has been the only successful route to nookie I’ve had in recent memory, and I’m kinda pissed I’m too sick to go prowlin’, because I am cute as fuck in Christmas garb.
Plus there’s definitely a dog there.
Fuck you and your betrayin’ ass, Body. This is NOT the bed I want to be in.🖕🏼
This was Facebook’s suggested post for me today, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m-a go find me a window to jump out of. Not because I’m dying alone, I’m fine with that, but because this bullshit exists.
Part of why I’m OK being single (for the most part*), and part of why I’m in therapy, is the relationships I see in my family. I realize I can only go by what I see, but what I see is people who would rather be kind of…dulled and resentful in a relationship than be alone. Especially my mother and sister, I really don’t hear them LIKING their spouses. I’m often their sounding board for all their relationship “squabbles” that to me sound like much larger issues, and that was BEFORE I started therapy.
(* Not even gonna front — I’d really enjoy some sex, and I have a big, heavy mirror I can’t lift, so I could use some assistance there. But otherwise, I’m aight.)
Anyway. All this to say that I’m grateful for the men I know, and for the relationships I’ve had. Because I’ve never dated anyone shitty for more than a couple months, and I was quickly able to see, “Oh, you’re shitty. We’re done here.” I’ve never had to prattle on for an hour straight about all the things my boyfriend doesn’t do to my liking, or found myself unable to address issues WITH a boyfriend and have him at least try to understand. And I think that’s partly because I KNOW there ARE decent dudes out there. I’ve dated them, I’ve worked with them, my friends have married them. And I’m (mostly*) fine being alone until one arrives in my life.
It’s been kind of a shit year for men, and rightly so, but hey, here’s to the good ones, eh?🍸
Hm… You know, I think I might actually be OK with dying alone.
Here lies Smug Singleton: She died of cramps, which is totally a thing that can happen.
Don’t send flowers, flowers are bullshit. You spend that money on fried cheese and whiskey. That’s what she would’ve wanted. (YES, fried cheese and whiskey at 10 a.m. Christ almighty, do you want to honor her or not?)
Rest in petty, Smug.
See, look at me, understanding a bad workweek is influencing my inclination to say, “Fuck this, I’m going home, and why is this New OkCupid Guy getting all bitchface at me? [He’s not, at all, my brain is just breaking.] I’m never dating again. No one’s dick is worth me having to get Date Pretty, what with the showering and the shaving things and the being charming — I have no charm, I hate everyone. I am officially OK dying sexless, peach fuzzy, and alone with my blankets and books.”
I KNOW WHEN I’M PROJECTING, SHITDICK ELBOW HECKLER.
Ahem. I feel better now.
Oh, OK. So I can be messaging back and forth with a perfectly nice guy from OkCupid, and inadvertently say something that reminds me of my ex, then of That Guy, then back to my ex, and now I’m crying?
Sure, yeah — I am absolutely ready to be dating, even casually. It will not end badly at all.
I understand this is how I move on, and I’m sure a time will come when it doesn’t feel like cheating, but…not so far.
I could blame PMS, but I think I might just be ready to embrace my obvious destiny to die sexless and alone.
We’ll just add this to the therapy list. That woman is earning her money.
Smug Singleton 