Tag Archives: single

Dirty Dancing in Depends

14 Aug

old people dancing

From the outside, it looked like any normal hotel chain. It was a Friday night and, judging by the sparse amount of illuminated hotel room windows, guests were out for the night and exploring the various bars and upscale restaurants within proximity. At nine o’clock, we pulled into the hotel parking lot for what I was told would be one of the most depressingly entertaining nights of my life.

My initial suspicions and doubts were immediately erased by the very first glimpses of life that I saw emerging. From every corner of the parking lot, Buicks, Lincolns and Mercurys piled in, their shiny exteriors slowly spitting out men and women the ages of sixty and up with crisp suites, colorful ties and sparkling bodysuits that left in their wakes an intoxicating aroma of expensive aftershaves and perfumes that had been sprayed one pump too many. Like us, they were headed to the lounge located in the heart of the hotel – a place famously known for aging swingers and singles in the area to go when they were seeking to dance to rhythms set ten paces faster than their slowing pulses.

The most laughable part of entering the lounge was the fact we were all carded five feet before we even had a chance to look through the door. The bouncers, which were comprised of two men in their late sixties, seemed excited to actually have a chance to perform their jobs. The lounge was quite large – at least three rooms (plus a separate room where a wedding party was being held) with two levels plus a generously-sized dance floor equipped with strobe lights of various sizes and colors. Beneath these vibrant lights, dancing in outfits whose colors somewhat offset the pallor of their skin, were couples that I’d like to believe were never divorced and still much in love.

grandma DJ

Work it, Grandma!

I would be doing myself and the lounge a disservice if I was to even attempt to accurately describe what I saw for the next four hours. It involved a live band which, to my amazement, was extremely good. As the night went on, the dance floor became so crowded that it was hard for us to even pick out our favorites, which included an Amish man (we are assuming he just never went back after his Rumspringa), a seventy-something old lady who could bend down lower and perform more sensual dance moves than I ever could and two female wallflowers who looked like they had traveled forward in time from their high school prom, their now-wrinkled hands desperately clutching the vodka tonics that they shyly sipped. For me, the night hit its peak when the band performed a rap version of “Sexual Healing” by Marvine Gaye. Based on how everyone was dancing and moving so close, I had to wonder how many bottles of Viagra had been passed around the place that night.

Watching the individuals sitting near our table, on the dance floor and gossiping and acting giddy in the women’s restroom was a pure treat for a people watcher such as myself. Despite sitting there and laughing at the expense of senior citizens simply out to have a good time, it was almost like peering into a mirror that, although foggy and cracked, reflected the traits and trials that all human beings must go through regardless of what age they are at: I could see couples who were still in love, women who were still insecure about themselves, men who still felt like they had the world at their feet and a universal eagerness, almost desperation, to be accepted and loved. Looking out into that dance floor, I gained a newfound clarity on the fragility of life and how loving and accepting yourself is so important to learn while you are young.

During the last half hour at the lounge, the band started singing some of our favorite hits from the 90s. I found myself singing along to “It Wasn’t Me” by Shaggy and dancing in my seat. Smiling, laughing and enjoying music from the past, I realized that I really wasn’t that different from anyone else there that night.


My Own Personal Mordor (or Why I Chose Not to Wear the Ring)

14 Jul

A week ago, I consulted one of my closest straight male friends about an issue that I was having: what is it with men and approaching women/asking for their number? I thoroughly enjoy observing people, and nine times out of ten I’d say that I witness girls coming on to guys, asking for numbers and doing all the work more than I see men doing this. As a girl who digs nerdy guys, this rings especially  true: most of the time, men are completely oblivious to how you feel about them unless you tell them straight-up. What, I asked my friend, goes through a man’s mind when he’s contemplating approaching a girl or flirting with her?

He immediately started asking me what I considered to be very random questions. One of them almost made me laugh out loud: “Do you wear any rings on your fingers?” Don’t get me wrong: I like jewellery and shiny, sparkling things, but I tend to keep all of that to a minimum in my everyday life. I think that too much jewellery looks tacky. Therefore, I mostly only wear one important piece on my right middle finger: a  gold ring with an opal heart in the center that my great-grandmother used to wear. I have gotten so many compliments on this ring that I hardly ever take it off. Well, until I got that text message from my friend.

“So, you’re telling me that as a modern, single woman I can’t even wear a friggin’ ring on my right hand? Are you nuts?” I furiously texted him back, hoping he’d realize his mistake. What he told me seemed so simple and so lacking in logic that I knew that it had to be the way that the majority of men think. “Well,” he replied, “my fiancé never wore any rings until she got engaged to me. And if I saw a girl with a heart ring on any of her fingers, I’d probably assume that she was attached in some way.” Apparently Frodo ain’t the only one who had problems wearing a piece of jewellery on his hand. If I had to ask whether I was going to get an A or an F in the whole being single department, Gandalf surely would be standing here telling me that I shall not pass.

lord of the rings, cate blanchett

I was going to put a picture of Frodo here until I stumbled across this (freaky) picture of Cate Blanchett. Damn, girl, what under eye concealer do you USE?

Sure enough, once I had taken off the ring my dating/love life got a little (may I stress the little part) better. What, I wondered, started this whole ring business anyway?

History for Reptards: What is This Gold Thing on My Finger Edition

According to Wikipedia, by far the most reputable site for finding all historical facts on the world wide interwebs, wearing and giving rings has been going on for over 6,000 years. As many may know, the ring finger of the left hand is used for engagement and wedding rings because there is a belief that there is a vein in that fourth finger that connects directly to the heart (does that creep anyone else out?). Want to know the craziest part? The custom of wearing a wedding ring on this finger was only established as the norm in World War II.

Based on these very few facts, and with over 35 different kinds of rings listed on Wikipedia alone, it seems odd that men would find a girl wearing a ring on her right hand to indicate any sort of attachment to another person. With a designated finger for engagement and wedding rings, I feel like it can’t get more obvious that I am not, in fact, engaged, and I certainly would never be lucky enough to date someone who would be cool enough to find a vintage opal heart ring.

I find that taking off my ring may become a hobbit habit if going out and mingling with people. Beyond that, however, I see no reason to take off a piece of jewellery that I hold so close to my heart.

I’m curious — has anyone else experienced something similar? How do you feel about wearing rings (or maybe even other types of jewellery) when not in a relationship?

How do you say “I know that feeling” in Simlish?

24 Jun

Two weeks ago, I put my ghetto pink laptop from college to rest. After dropping it once (okay, three times), forgetting to ever clean the screen and letting it overheat on my bed for five years, it was starting to fail at performing basic tasks, such as opening a browser in less than a minute or properly playing my Sims game.

Let me start by saying that I am totally 100% okay with the fact that I am addicted to the Sims. Perhaps it’s because I’m a control freak or because somewhere deep down I enjoy manipulating people, but I find the notion of creating a family, watching it grow and letting them live out their ambitions to be rewarding, challenging and extremely fun. The Sims 3 came out a few years ago, and I’ve been dying to have it ever since I heard about all the exciting features: the seamless game play (no loading screens except for the beginning), focused more on achieving goals than guiding your Sim to the bathroom every five minutes, the  crazy awesome expansion packs… I wanted it all. Now that I have my new laptop and have installed the Sims 3, I’ve found that Will Wright may know me a little too well. It appears that he designed this game to perfectly reflect several aspects in my life.

proposing in the sims 3

Lucky betch.

I have absolutely no idea how to properly hook Sims up anymore. While it was relatively simple to do in previous versions, I have struggled to even have my Sims go on a successful date. I seriously had a Sim say, “That was boring…maybe we can go out on an exciting date next time?” after taking the couple to a movie and an art gallery. What the heck is considered more exciting than that? Skydiving?

When I first tried the game out, I created a relatively good-looking girl with high ambition and commitment issues. I figured that I would have this Sim avoid dating, level up in her career and then maybe adopt a kid after a while. My Sim goes to work, however, and finds herself attracted to a man in the office and immediately wants to date him. Flash forward a few minutes hours, and I’ve taken this Sim out on nine dates with nothing happening… not even a kiss or a hint of wanting a relationship. My Sim ends up reaching her career goals and living her life out alone.

When the grim reaper came and her frail little elderly Sim body was taken to the local cemetery, I paused my game in disgust as I realized that the Sim I had created — the Sim that was so adament to achieve success that she didn’t know what the hell to do in her love life — was ME. Off in the distance, I swear I could almost hear Sims developers laughing as yet another hopeless nerd fell into the trap of playing their tragic life out through what can only be described as a high-tech adult version of a dollhouse. What I’ve worried about most has finally been confirmed: dating in this age is extremely difficult, even in the Sims.

I feel like my attempt at finding someone special has been so depressingly close to what my first Sim experienced: I meet someone who I feel would be great for me, and then one of two things happen — I run away the moment I find out that they have feelings for me too, or I somehow mess everything up. I have placed being on my own, not having any attachment and focusing on my career far higher than finding love, and I worry now that I am doomed to meet the same fate as my poor Sim.

Just like in real life, helping out a person in the Sims has many challenges. Unexpected things happen: You fall in love with someone who you know isn’t really right for you, you try to figure out where your skills lie and how you’re going to use them to make a living, you try to make friendships with individuals that can add happiness and fulfilment to your life and, in between all of that, you are struggling just to pay bills and get by. No matter which way you play it, though, the end result is always the same: death, darkness, game over. Perhaps it’s time that I take a step back and think about why I, like my Sim, have chosen to let the fear of commitment and vulnerability rule my life. Hopefully my Sims and I can find love and happiness. Maybe the answer is staring me right in the face — flailing its arms around on the computer screen.

Not OK, Cupid.

15 Feb

As a late Valentine’s Day treat, I thought I would share some of the gems that I have encountered while wading through the cesspool of crazy, awkward individuals on dating sites. Let’s begin, shall we?

I received a message that read “I know since we don’t know eachother my opinion probably doesn’t mean anything to you but I think you look prettier without the bangs.” Okay, first of all? How dare you insult my bangs. They are amazing and I love them. Second of all, take a look at yourself:

Shouldn't you be on SatanicMatch.com?

I seriously almost fell off of my chair laughing. Please, for the love of all that is holy (or in his case, Satanic), do not give style advice to a woman if you look like a serial killer.

Here’s another great one:


Actually, I must say that I was flattered to be called a gangster. Finally my days of rapping to Nicki Minaj have paid off!

This one is, hands down, my all-time favorite. Not only did he openly admit his shoe fetish, he also assumed I was enough of a freak to wear SIZE ELEVEN SHOES.

I couldn’t even wrap my head around this one. First of all, how the hell do you market a tugboat company? Second of all, I didn’t even know tugboats still exist. The last one I saw was a Little Tikes one floating around my bathtub when I was four.

I’m not going to lie: there are a lot of nice people who are doing online dating, it’s just that this is only a very small example of the useless crap you have to wade through in order to find them. Happy belated Valentine’s Day!

Single, Nursing Mother Searches for Companion

27 Jan

I made the ridiculous decision of having a New Year’s resolution for 2012. Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely love setting personal goals and working toward them.  Blame it on the Catholic guilt that has stayed with me long after my relationship with organized religion has or on the fact that I really, really hate not keeping promises to ANYONE including myself. Either way, I’m damn good at making and achieving my goals because I pretty much see it as a promise that I can’t back down on. Which is good, but bad…

With that being said, my 2012 New Year’s Resolution is to go on at least two dates a month. It doesn’t have to be the same person twice, it doesn’t even have to be anything meaningful, just getting myself out there and away from men that I have previously fallen for who either live a million miles away, are still living the lifestyle of a college student on their parents’ budgets or decide that they actually like men (he didn’t admit it, but I know it’s true).

I decided to two-time the system by signing up for not only OK Cupid, but also a three month subscription to Match.com. To quote Zombieland, it was time for me to nut up or shut up.

My daily routine during the work week has become the quintessential portrait of the single mother: I come home, I make dinner, I sit on my couch and I nurse my child cat while scouring the two websites for a shred of hope.

My kitten Charlie, who was abandoned by his mother, has apparently come to the conclusion that my shirt is his sustenance. I found out that this is called ‘dry nursing’ after Googling the exact search phrase ‘kitten sucking and licking shirt.’ If the CIA is tapping into my computer God only know what they think. So, I sift through the messages from bald, fat men old enough to be my father and instant messages that are peppered with so much poor grammar that I almost reach for a red Sharpie and start proofreading the screen in disgust all while partaking in my own wet t-shirt contest hosted by my kitten. It’s gotten to the point where I keep old shirts lying around that I change into once the dry nursing has subsided.

The aftermath.

The aftermath.

Trying to date men online that you really don’t know is kind of like dry nursing, though: you’re basically trying to find a shred of comfort and hope by sucking on the dry teat of date sites held together by shoddy algorithms. Most of the time, however, you find that you’ve done all that you’ve can and all you’re left with is an awkward, uncomfortable mess that is nothing like the natural thing. Either way, I suppose I still have some hope left…I just think that I have a lot of shirt changes to go through until I find something worth keeping.

Girl, Your Dino Feet Be Trippin’

7 Nov

When you’re single and not entirely hideous, the best thing you can do is learn to laugh at yourself. Or, better yet, entertain yourself. One thing that I love doing to pass the time is taking funny pictures of myself on my phone. That way, I have a method of reminding myself to stop being such a boring spinster and have some fun. If you are single and have pets, I highly recommend you include them in on such uniquely fun activities.


See? Look how much fun we're having!

While driving fifty minutes to work each morning, a commute that I will soon give up when I move into my own apartment and become poor after spending too much money buying cute things for my place at Target, I decided to entertain myself by singing in my car. I know everyone has driven by this kind of person at least once: the person who is not just softly singing or humming along to the song, but is full-on Mariah Carey-ing it–long, deep breaths for holding notes, a small smile to please the audience and that trademark little hand gesture that one does when hitting the high notes (I’ve experimented and, yes, it is impossible to hit those notes without making such hand gestures).

After four weeks of singing through all of the Sara Bareilles, A Fine Frenzy, Fiona Apple and Adele songs  I have in my iPod, however, I came to the shocking realization that I was bored yet again. So, I decided to take it to the next level. You know how NPR has those awesome Tiny Desk Concerts ? Well, me and my Chevy Aveo hatchback have our own little Tiny Car Concerts going on.  That’s right: I sing my songs acoustically now. If I’m really bored, I’ll even add my own twist to a regular song. The only time this has gone terribly wrong was when I tried to sing a slow and dramatic version of Katy Perry’s “Hot and Cold.” I was on my third caffeinated drink of the day and feeling highly ambitious. Never again.

I think I’ve heard the whole “You have to learn to be your own best friend” thing a million times but, after graduating, starting a new job and becoming a west-sider for the first time in my life, I must say that there is some sense in this worn-out saying. Singing and taking funny pictures is something the entire Japanese population does, like, every day, and so why the hell can’t I? Going out and getting drunk with people only is fun so many times. Yet it’s the times when you are forced to be alone and entertain yourself when you realize what an interesting and creative person you can really be.

The Corporate World, the Retail World, and Why I’m Turning into Liz Lemon

6 Feb

When I told my retail co-workers that I was going to have to severely cut down my hours in order to work at a company temporarily to gain some field experience for my major, I received a mixture of shock and praise. One of my co-workers, a 40 year-old surfer dude who has sympathized with me in the fact that I sometimes want to run away to Vancouver and just become a waitress and people-watch for the rest of my life, seemed to be the most shocked. “I just can’t picture you going over to the dark side,” he said while shaking his long hair, which has more highlights in it than my own, from side to side. Another co-worker told me that she admired the fact that I was trying to get out into the real world and away from constantly juggling twenty things at once, helping customers “shop” (in other words, going to fetch items for them while they stand there), and dealing with women who are obsessed with gingerbread houses.

The thing is, the corporate world is vastly different from retail. You certainly have less crazy people to deal with, you don’t have to worry about overexerting yourself physically because you sit at a desk all day, and you don’t have to wear a polyester-blend shirt in unattractive colors (well, unless you have bad fashion sense…then it’s your own damn fault).  Most importantly, it isn’t as newsworthy–coming home from a day at a retail job, for example, might invoke more interesting stories than coming home from a normal job. I can list at least ten crazy things that happened the last time I worked at my store off the top of my head (one involving a dog chilling out in our stock room), and the only thing I can think of that’s even slightly crazy about my “big girl” job is that I discovered that Mac computers don’t have a “print screen” button. I guess Steve Jobs is just too good for that. I also find that I have more to talk about with my retail co-workers: they share my love for Watchmen, Xbox 360, and obscure alternative folk music. I realized, therefore, that a good happy medium would be to apply for a job that embraces my inner geek, which is why I applied to the associate brand manager job listed for the card game Dungeons & Dragons. I think that I will probably always be involved in retail or some way or the other, but my heart is set on finding a nerdy company to work for who will welcome me with open arms.

Speaking of nerdy, I’ve recently realized, after discovering the amazing show 30 Rock, that I am slowly turning into Tina Fey‘s character of Liz Lemon and I actually don’t mind. As I approach the age of 22 being single, constantly slaving away to either school or work, and binging on unhealthy junk food, I see that my future of becoming a Liz Lemon is imminent: living alone in an apartment, putting credit card collectors on speaker phone while eating dinner just to pretend I have company over, and trying to tape together a bra because I am too busy fighting off people to get the last hot dog at the hot dog stand to go out and buy a new one. I will have gone through five short-lived relationships with men who don’t understand my quirks, sarcasm, or preference for nachos and beer over a five-course meal. And you know what? I’m okay with that. The thing is, Liz is kind of stuck between the personalities of the retail and corporate world too: she has to do her job and act responsible, but at the end of the day all she wants to really do is make fun of people and talk about Star Wars (or in my case, Battlestar Galatica). Either way, as I begin my slow approach towards a new  career, I can only hope that I am able to balance the constant tug-of-war between my inner nerd and the stuffy corporate world as much as Liz Lemon does.

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