I apologize for my silence. I simply couldn’t find the words.
I’ve written this post — or some version of it — several times over the past few weeks. I even wrote one today.
Each post was a variation on the same theme: I miss Anthony.
On my second date with Gus, who I’ve decided is really nice, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I could be having…if Anthony was there instead. (Gus and I are still “talking” despite my complete lack of interest in him. I am a monster.)
When my friends counseled me to move on from “dip-shit” aka Anthony, I balked.
I hit up every happy hour, every night for two weeks straight without the Tito’s and ginger ales I consumed ever coming close to erasing him from my memory.
I miss everything about him: his smile; his laugh; the conversations we had about everything and nothing; his scent; even the callouses on his hands from hours spent climbing.
Of course, he has his many faults and I am not naive about that. But I consider myself a good judge of character. I don’t have many “friendship breakups” because I can easily smell disingenuousness several handshakes away. Anthony may have behaved like an ass post-breakup, but he definitely wasn’t one while we were together, and I know that’s not who he is as a person. That may seem like a distinction without a difference, but it’s not. We have all acted outside of our normal character for one reason or another. I can forgive him for that.
Now before you suggest I talk to him about my lingering feelings (yes, I know no one was actually going to suggest that), I did talk to him. It was during that conversation when I found out Anthony and his ex-wife (they are legally divorced) are trying to make it work “for the kids.” Plot twist!
So that’s it. My dating dumpster fire is in full-rage mode and I am trying to escape only slightly singed. Please forgive me in advance for my hiatus from this blog while I try to fully excise Anthony from my mind and heart. The good news is I will have much more to share upon my return.
Some wise person once said, “The best way to get over a man is to get under another.” In the aftermath of the breakup with Anthony, I decided to take that advice — minus the directive to sleep with a random dude — and headed back to the apps.
The fucking apps.
I re-downloaded the usual suspects to the discreet “Dating” folder on my personal matchmaker — also known as my iPhone X — and got to swiping.
A funny thing happens when you match with someone on a dating app, meet him in real life and then ditch the app because the living, breathing version of a man is better than the one-dimensional version: you forget how crappy it is to shop for a companion.
Maybe my standards went up after dating Anthony, or maybe all of the decent prospects were picked up while I was in the off-season, but it seems nearly impossible to find one guy I would even consider allowing to think about possibly asking me to contemplate him tempting me to go out on a first date. For real.
A girlfriend and I spent a recent Happy Hour siting side by side at a bar, legs crossed, heads down, frantically swiping. Up, down, left or ❌. NEXT! Repeat. The only time our eyes gazed upward was to help guide our hands toward the awaiting alcholic beverages. Occasionally, one of us would hit on a “good one” and eagerly turn to the other for approval.
He’s alright. He has a nose with character, though.
YAS! Where is he from? Brooklyn?! Nope.
Oh, he has a cute dog…and lives with his mother. 🙄
If this is how I’m supposed to get “under” a new man in order to get over Anthony, then consider me still standing…alone…swiping left.
I like being single. Love it actually. I do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want. Life is good. But not too long ago, I decided to “settle down”.
I like being single. Love it actually. I do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want. Life is good.
But not too long ago, I decided to “settle down.” I would set out to find a nice guy to spend time with, maybe call my boyfriend, and drift off into that cloudy headspace where love and contentment are synonymous with lazy Sundays on the couch and watching the latest episode of The Bachelor together.
I thought relationship bliss couldn’t be that far out reach given the myriad of dating apps available, the number of group activities I’m constantly signing up for, and all of my wonderful friends who could pawn me off to their single, guy friends.
Do you know what it’s like to be that wrong? Dating apps are where catfish swim free and basement dwellers spend their non-Fortnite time; social sports groups are for twentysomethings who aren’t looking for thirtysomething dating partners; and friends who are in long-term committed relationships dispose of all of their single friends immediately after moving in together.
Now, this is not to say I haven’t dated. Oh, I’ve dated.
There was the married guy (or was he?) I met in a class. The former co-worker I finally got my shot with. (I missed.) The other married guy in an open relationship. The bouncer who wouldn’t stop asking if he could send me a Richard pic even after I told him no — five times! And let’s not talk about T-Rex arms — at least not yet.
I’ve also swiped right and had many matches that resulted in nothing but long text conversations and a sinking feeling that lowering standards of any kind are a prerequisite to finding love — or middling like — in 2018.
The stories I could tell! And I will. Here. Because dating is a raging dumpster fire and I need to vent.
Nightmare first dates? Check. Awkward texts (mostly written by me)? Check. Shirtless profile pics? Check. Questions and answers to dating’s most perplexing questions, like what is a sapiosexual? Check.
Names will be changed to protect the innocent, but no match is safe.
If you having a dumpster fire dating story you’d like to share on the site, drop me a note.