Relationshits: On Being Single

There is love, of course. And then there’s life, its enemy. ~ Jean Anouilh

All my single ladies: Listen up. Yeah, you. With the Disney movies, and the comfort food, and the self-loathing. Your Sally-Sad-Sac Facebook statuses are depressing me, and I’m tired of you selling yourself short. Turn off The Bachelor, put down—scratch that, burn—that well-worn copy of He’s Just not that Into You and take heed: It is more than okay to be single, you will not die of loneliness, and there is nothing wrong with you. (I mean, I’m not a psychiatrist, there might be something wrong with you, but most likely there isn’t.)

I know it’s easy to get down on yourself these days. Maybe it’s a Midwest thing, but while national statistics show that couples are waiting longer to get married, reality shows us that our friends are dropping like flies. We not only know people who are engaged, married or pregnant, but we know LOTS of people who are engaged, married, or pregnant, and we’re still in our early 20’s. And we’re happy for them, we really are. It’s just starting to seem like maybe you got skipped during that last game of pass-the-Kool-Aid, or maybe you just don’t listen to enough Beyonce.

It also doesn’t help that while I’m telling you it’s okay to be single, people like Tracy McMillan are telling women everywhere that if they’re single, it’s because they’re one of six things: A bitch, a shallow bitch, a slut, a liar, a selfish bitch, or a bitch who’s wallowing in self-pity. [I would just like to nonchalantly mention that Ms. McMillan has been divorced three times and thinks one of the fundamental aspects of marriage is the ability to fart in front of your significant other.] McMillan is not only making herself sound like a desperate moron, she’s also perpetuating a sentiment that is both categorically untrue and so fucking stupid it makes me want to punch kittens in the face: If you’re still single, there is clearly something wrong with you.

As a girl who is happily single and not sure she ever wants to get married, I think I’m entitled to say “Fuck you, McMillan. My un-married, un-divorced ass says you’re missing something.” So let me reiterate: there is nothing wrong with you. You’re not single because you aren’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or good enough. Sure, some asshole with small-man syndrome and mommy issues may have dumped you for those reasons, but that is not why you’re single. In fact, it may be quite the opposite. I think the biggest mistake we make is entertaining that stereotypical idea that perfect, beautiful women can have whatever they want. Wrong. We could all be gorgeous, smart, independent, driven, funny, strong, and sexy—hell, we could even love to drink beer and watch sports—and still be single.

Contrary to popular belief, all of those qualities don’t make one a boy’s biggest fantasy, but rather his worst nightmare. Show me one amazing woman, and I’ll show you one hundred silly little boys sprinting in the other direction; from what I can tell, nothing scares a boy more than a woman who doesn’t need him. (Note: I said “boy” and not “man.”) I mean, hello? Jennifer Aniston? Homegirl’s had more breakups than Joan Rivers has had surgeries, and she’s one of the hottest, smartest, and, most importantly, happiest bitches in Hollywood. I’m just saying, it’s harder for Angie to run away when she’s already produced or purchased 35 of Brad’s kids.

So now that the myth has been debunked, I know what you’re thinking. “Ok, genius, then why the fuck am I single?” And you know what? I have no idea. Maybe it’s because you’re so concerned about being single that you’re not living your life. Maybe it’s because you’re surrounding yourself with assholes. Maybe it’s because you’re an asshole. Or maybe it’s because you just haven’t met the right person yet. Like this CNN blogger points out in her response to McMillan, life has a funny way of ruining your plans. So in the grand scheme of things, the real question is, “Who the hell cares?”

Again, I’m no psychiatrist, but I firmly believe that the only reason the women around me are so fucking miserable about not finding their soul mate is because people tell them they should be. But think about your life, and I’m sure you’ll find plenty of reasons to love it. I mean, I’m thinking about mine. I love my job, I live in a beautiful place, and I can do whatever I want without feeling guilty or worrying about someone else’s plans. I have friends to go to movies with, run with, or shop with, and I don’t have to explain or worry about someone’s feelings when I just need some time to myself.

Writing this on a Friday night. Who you callin' slutty?

It’s easy to say that girls who like being single are bitter or slutty, but I’m not. I’ve been single most of my life, and it wasn’t for lack of opportunity, that’s for damn sure (and not all of the “opportunities” were douche-canoes). I look back on the happiest times of my life—my trip to Africa, my dream internship in DC, the year I turned 21 and destroyed my GPA, the present—and they all have one thing in common: I was single. And I wasn’t worried that I was single. I mean, isn’t that amazing? I haven’t met the man of my dreams and I can still be happy? Shut the front door!!

So, are you with me? Are you willing to quit holding yourself back and accept that sometime’s you’re single and that’s okay? Then take one last longing look at your friends’ engagement photos and give yourself a good, mental bitch slap. Realize that you are good enough to wait for the dude who really gets you. Who doesn’t cheat or lie or make you feel like you’re settling. Go have fun. Sleep with that pretty guy with his own name tattooed on his arm because he’s too dumb to spell it. Chase your dream career. Value your friends, family, and yourself, and live your life! Someone who really digs you for you will be drawn to it. Just promise you’ll stop with the self-loathing, and enjoy being young and carefree–don’t apologize, just own it. Let yourself be happy, and I promise you, you will be.

Hey, I’ll even start: I’m a messy, sarcastic, chick-flick-hating bachelorette who swears like a sailor and drinks wine straight from the bottle. You can call me a selfish, shallow, slutty, lying bitch but I’ll be damned if you catch me wallowing in self pity. I have goals, and I plan to reach them. I’m sorry I’m not sorry. If you don’t like it, you are more than welcome to go fuck yourself.

And seriously, enough with the Facebook statuses…

Far too many people are looking for the right person, instead of trying to be the right person. ~ Gloria Steinem

I Hope They Serve Whiskey In Limbo: The WORST Pickup Lines…Ever.

Anybody who believes that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach flunked geography.  ~Robert Byrne

Ah, the pickup line. Any woman who has ever been to any bar, anywhere has heard at least a handful of terrible lines from a drunken idiot with Small Man Syndrome. But it isn’t just in bars. I’ve heard some pretty laughable attempts anywhere from the restaurant I serve in, to the street I’m running down, to the fucking grocery store. As another weekend approaches, I’ve decided to share with you a few gems I’ve heard over my last three years of minding my own damn business.

Some attempts are just funny and can be laughed off, but in sharing botched lines with a friend the other night, we came up with a few personal experiences that, while still funny in retrospect, probably warranted a roundhouse kick to the jaw. That is, while we’ve heard the typical “I lost my phone number, can I have yours,” shit before, creeps these days are starting to get pretty creative, bold, and more than a little offensive. Chalk one up to Tucker Max and his ignorant band of dirtbag friends. Some of the men are, like Tucker, roided-out high school heroes with Affliction t-shirts and some other girl’s name tattooed on their arm, but asshole-ism knows no aesthetic bounds. In other words, today’s creeper thinks he can get any woman he wants, regardless of his looks, social stature, or personality. Which makes for some pretty awkward moments for us girls.

I’m not saying women don’t use a few cheesy lines themselves, but my friend and I haven’t had too many girls try and pick us up personally, and we’ve yet to see them pull shit like this. Let this serve as a warning for both genders: Girls, please have some dignity and wait for the dude who is secure enough about the size of his penis to actually start a conversation with you instead of telling you how nice your boobs are. And gents, be the guy who’s secure enough about your manhood NOT to resort to these shenanigans that are likely to, at best, get you a drink in the face.

PS: The following are all lines that I have actually heard. I wish I were kidding.

#15 “You and your friends come here often?”

Translation: I’m convinced my odds go up significantly if I have more chances to take you home. Please make it easier for me to stalk you.

#14 “I’m just saying, we’re the two hottest people in the room. We’d have really attractive children.”

Yes, because we just met you and we already realize what an over-compensator you are, we clearly want to produce your offspring. No matter how attractive they are, it probably won’t make up for all the girls they impregnate or the cost of special classes they’ll inevitably need for their severe learning disabilities. No thanks, sir.

#13 “You look familiar, do I know you?”

This one happens all the time. I’ll give you credit boys, it pisses us off a lot less than the others. However, you know perfectly well that we’ve never seen you before in our lives and that your lame pickup attempt is going to backfire hardcore. Sorrrryyyy. A for effort, though.

#12 “Just so you know, you won tonight’s contest for best legs.”

1.) Excuse me? When asked what contest he was referring to, he explained that he and the other bartenders were judging the entire bar 2.) Homeboy was over fifty 3.) I was wearing a Native American costume, and it wasn’t Halloween, but they had no comment on that. What an honor.

#11 “Do they only hire models here?”

This is an older hombre sitting at my table at a restaurant, referring to the fact that 90% of our waitresses were tall and thin. Yesss. Because if we were models, we would definitely be serving your rude ass beer and pizza right now. Cute.

#10 “My friend thinks you’re hot.”

Another popular one. Either your friend is too insecure to talk to this girl himself, or you’re too scared to hit on her directly, and are therefore using him as an excuse. Neither option spells success for you, mister.

#9 “But, I miss you.”

I dare you to claim you haven’t heard this one. This is the ex line, and it’s gender neutral. I’ve seen both sexes use this one on their ex-flings/girlfriends/boyfriends. Translation: “I don’t know what I want in life, but I do know that, right now, I wanna get back into your pants.” Tell him/her to cry you a river and bugger off.

#8 “You have really nice child-bearing hips.”

Ew. There are no words.

#7 “Your place or mine?”

Your place. I’m giving you an indefinite head start. Dick.

#6 “I think I’m in love with you.”

Really? Cause we just met. I think you’re drunk, and that you have serious emotional issues. And you’re about to see how fast I can run.

#5 “*Cat calls/honks from a car.*”

Death. What, exactly, do you think is going to happen? You honked at us. But we probably asked for it, minding our own business, running in baggy shorts, a pony-tail, and an old t-shirt, and sweating like pigs. Now pull over so we can give you what you want. You’re an idiot. Flipping you off is an automated response, though my friends and I occasionally like to yell back, “Show us your tits!” or something to that effect. Muahaha. You did, in fact, ask for it.

#4 “What’s a tall drink of water like you doing standing here by yourself?” (My friends were right next to me) or “Well, aren’t you just a tall drink of water!”

Really?! If I hear this line one more time, I’m going to start handing out tall drinks of my fist. Have fun digesting those teeth, homeslice. PS: The 1950’s called. They’d like their lingo (and your hairline) back.

#3 “I know there’s no chance of you sleeping with me, but I just want to buy a beautiful girl drinks all night.”

Goooood. Now we know not only that the first thing you thought of was sleeping with us, but also that you’re well aware you don’t deserve it and are stupid enough to try anyway. I believe my inebriated response was something like “I actually have a good personality!” but after hearing his offer to buy my friends’ drinks also, they convinced me to let him buy a round. Whatever, it’s his penance for making us put up with all his lame sauce.

#2 “Can I get a Bud Light?”

Oh, no you didn’t. Motioning toward the bar, I responded, “I’m sure you can…” He replies with a shit-eating, 30-year-old grin, “Oh. You don’t work here? You’re wearing a black t-shirt. Anyway, I’m all about this women’s lib thing.” Yep. First of all, the waitresses’ shirts said DRINK in huge letters. I was wearing a worn-out Goo Goo Dolls t-shirt from junior high. Nice try. I simply informed him that his inability to read was a huge turn-on, and my friend, laughing hysterically, added, “Dude. You picked the worst girls in this entire bar to use that line on.” Oh, the hilarity. His friends at the next table were laughing at him harder than we were. Epic fail.

#1 (The Big Kahuna): “I’m getting married tomorrow. I’ve only got a few hours left to make a big mistake. *Wink*.”

I SO wish I were making this up. While serving a bachelor “party,” the obnoxious groom-to-be, sporting a secondhand tweed jacket that said ‘Game Over,’ kept showing me his ‘to-do’ list and relentlessly begging me to help him check things off. List items included “Get three girls to bite off your candy necklace,” “Get a girl to take her top off,” and “Make out with a stranger.” Class, class, class. After literally an hour and a half of pure harassment, I not-so-politely informed them that he and his buddies (don’t worry, his impressionable 17-year-old little brother was present) could go to the bar if they wanted any more drinks. Later, I watched him do body shots off some cougar wearing half a shirt, and my managers forcefully kicked him out after catching him mid-sex with said cougar in the women’s restroom. His wife is ONE lucky gal. I can’t wait to get married.

Don’t get me wrong, flirting is fun. Who doesn’t love it? You have to kiss a few toads to find a street-able frog, or something like that. But there’s a difference between flirting and making sure you’ll never get laid.  I feel bad for the good guys out there who get shot down because these cats don’t know the first thing about interacting with fellow humans. And that’s not even the half of it! We’ve seen it all—guys leaving us their numbers, still charging onward when we lie and tell them we’re engaged, taking their shirts off in public, giving us flowers/weeds they’ve stolen from a flower pot on the street, grabbing our asses (I swear to Jesus, you will get slapped for this one), and then some.

Word to the wise: Your success rate is going to be seriously low with any woman who possesses even a shred of self-esteem. And if you make it your practice to prey on the poor girls who seem to have none: wise choice. Have fun dying alone. And you know, there are a couple of lines that don’t take much effort and just might get you a phone number or two. “Hi, my name is ______” is a great start. Good luck fellas.

**What are some of the worst, cheesiest, or dirtiest pick-up lines you’ve ever heard (guys or gals) in actual practice? What was the reaction to the attempt? I’d love to know my friends and I are not alone, here =)

“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other.  Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.”  ~Katharine Hepburn

Anybody who believes that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach flunked geography.  ~Robert Byrne

Job-Hunting for the Young Professional…Blows.

Ah, the job-hunt: one of the most exciting, life-changing, and self-deprecating aspects of moving on from college and into the real world.  You can pull your hair out in frustration and impatience as you search, try, and fail to acquire your dream job or you can settle for an unpaid internship or the “just another number” corporate cubicle gig that makes you want to punch a baby. Either way, you’re likely to hate your life for at least the first several months. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m all about keeping it real.

Take me for example. I’ve never been one to take the “settling” route, but I’m not judging those who do. Fact is, they’ve probably got more money in their pockets than I even have in my bank account, and some people don’t need to be on the go all the time, so to each his own. I actually was lucky enough to get a job in my field of study before I even graduated. I just wasn’t lucky enough to like my job, or the people I worked for. At any rate, while I’m not holding my breath for that dream job just yet, I am working hard to find something that keeps me busy, stimulates my interests, involves moving away and starting new adventures and keeps me from working for the infamous “Man.” Tall order? Nah. These are my stories.

First of all, some advice for those of you just starting on the search for a real job outside your stomping grounds that’s actually fulfilling: be afraid. Be very afraid. Even if you get the great job, as you eventually will, it will not be without hard work and an epic loss of dignity. I’m just saying, be prepared for grovelling and rejection. You’ll probably get shot down more than a model with a beer gut and bacne. More than Lindsay Lohan’s probation officer. More than Mel Gibson trying to pick up girls in a Brooklyn deli. You get the idea.

Don’t worry, there are coping mechanisms. Screaming into a pillow while punching it violently is a personal favorite of mine. I also like to run, cook, listen to slit-your-wrists music and eat my feelings. Those are all right up there with smoking, or drinking copious amounts of caffeine and alcohol in order to both quell the depression and stay awake long enough to submit fifty bajillion more resumes before the deadline. And that’s just to deal with the Dear John letters, false hopes, or—even worse—blatant snubs from potential employers. There are several other rings of Hell you must first venture through before you’re even privileged enough to succumb to the eternal damnation of failure.

To start, updating your resume is stressful. You can’t win on this one. You’ve got to adjust and tweak it for every little area of interest or category of employment. For example, a legal resume should look very professional and concise, as opposed to a design resume, which should stand out for its creativity and ingenuity, and blah, blah, blah. Whatever. No matter what you do… “This is TOO fancy. What’s she trying to prove? Overcompensate much?” “Is he trying to be professional or bore us to death with this Times New Roman crap?” “She only worked at this firm for six months. I bet she was sleeping with the boss.” “No, I’m sure she’s too uptight to get along with.” “She wasn’t involved enough in college.” “He was such an overachiever.” “Do you think that internship is for real?” “Does she REALLY enjoy three degrees of separation from Kevin Bacon?”

Je-sus Christo.

And then… there’s the cover letter. The mother-effing bane of my existence.  The crappiest thing about the job hunt is that you are only as good as you look on paper, and it’s extremely difficult to use such little evidence to differentiate yourself from other candidates. The worst of it is that damn cover letter. You’ve got three paragraphs to word vomit about how freaking awesome you are and why they should hire you over the next schmuck with the same background and experience: Go. Really?! Why don’t we just offer to “work something out” now and save us all the time? Eventually, everyone will claim you slept your way to the top anyway, so why not cut to the chase and shred the whole cover letter idea altogether?

JUST kidding. Right? Anyway, you have to fine tune every cover letter to each specific job application so you can show them just how perfect you are for that job and that job alone. Right. I hope you’re good at bullshitting, or you’re totally sunk. Once you get really desperate in this bad economic climate, your letters may start to look something like this (phrases in bold to be read in high-pitched, whiny, satirical Barbie voice):

I’d be perfect at grooming the dogs and cleaning up cat shit. Why wouldn’t I? I just love all God’s little creatures, and am not too proud to get my hands dirty… Look, I have this worthless forty-thousand dollar piece of paper called a degree, and I’d rather kill myself than work at Wendy’s, so please just hire me before I jump in the nearest oven or take the toaster in the bath. I look forward to working with you and all the little critters at Pet Land! SMILEY FACE.

So maybe I have a flair for the dramatics and an overactive imagination, but it ain’t pretty out there, kids. If you don’t listen to anything else I say, at least heed my advice and have someone look over your materials before sending them out, lest you appear the village idiot who can’t spell/use proper grammar… or be put on suicide watch.

Next stop? The interview. Yipes. If you’ve managed to land one of these, you are in good shape, my friend. That means you’ve broken through the paper barrier and earned the chance to actually show your personality and prove yourself. Of course, now you have to fling the bullshit in person without blowing your own cover, so if you’re prone to heavy sweating or breaking out in hives, you should bring a towel and a first aid kit.

Easy on the cleavage, girlfriend.

Annnd here we go. You have to make sure you dress properly, but don’t overdress—who do you think you are? Ask them questions and engage them in conversation so that you’re not doing all the talking, but for God’s sake don’t just sit there! Don’t fidget too much. Use body language to show that you’re interested. Be prepared. Try not to sound scripted. Don’t look too good, it’s intimidating. Look your best, people are shallow. And the list of double-standards goes onnnnnnn and onnnnnnnn…. But, there are things everyone should know NOT to do… like ask the boss if she’s pregnant. With your luck, she’s probably just saving up for winter. And then you wait. And wonder, are they really giving it that much consideration, or are they just messing with me? Patience is a virtue, and employers will wear it as thin as Michael Jackson’s pasty epidermis (too soon?) just because they can.

In all seriousness, there are several ways to be well prepared for the job search process (and if you follow the links I’ve included in this post, you’ll find some truly great advice from experts who are more experienced and less bitter about job hunting), but many of the double-standards and obstacles are far from urban legend. Some of it’s not what you know but who you know, some of it is hard work and preparedness, some of it’s experience (gotta have some to get some, right?), and honestly, some of it’s pure chance. You called at the right time. Your resume was on top. Your name sounds familiar. Your mom dated the VP in high school. Et cetera, et cetera.

In conclusion, if you’re experiencing the same type of job-search anguish, or you’re unhappy in your desk job, you know who to vent to: a friend, a family member, your dog—anyone but me. I don’t care, I’ve got my own problems. Again—kidding. Feel free to comment below and share in the frustration. In the mean time, good luck with your job search, and get ready to wade through hundreds of applications before you find the right one. Eventually, it will happen. In the mean time, may your standards and expectations be low and your hopes high; and may you have a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard at all times. Just make sure to keep your most supportive friends close by… and the electronics away from the bath tub.

Happy hunting, friends.