Right before I started writing this column, I broke up with Patrick. Doesn’t seem like a big deal (and in the scheme of things, it’s not; it wasn’t) but Patrick was the first guy in almost three years that I really (really) liked.
Or at least, I thought I did. In fact, I thought he could be a significant someone in my life, especially after our nearly 24-hour first date seemed to be a sign that there were really good things to come with this tall, handsome, stock-trading Greek. But like most plot lines in my dating life, I had to wear my rose-colored glasses long enough to get blinded, and finally see the truth.
When I started this blog, I made a vow to myself and to all of you that I wouldn’t use this place to manbash. Even with all of the terrible dates, disappointing break-ups and everything in between, I’ve never revealed an identity of the men I’ve dated or said things that weren’t true.
Well weren’t incredibly exaggerated, I should say.
I never wanted this space to be about the dudes – but about the girls and what it’s like to be a 20-something single gal dating, learning and growing in a big city. So while this post isn’t exactly man bashing… it’s a little more hater-y then my other blogs I’ve written.
I’m sorry I’m not sorry for posting this – but c’mon men.
Laura and I both wrote for Appalachian State’s college newspaper, The Appalachian as lifestyle reporters. After she graduated, she took a similar plunge – except instead of moving to New York, she went to Spain. I’ve always admired her bravery for making a big, big move, but like any relationship, her love affair with Spain was full of highs, lows and stolen moments. Below, she shares her experience. If you’d like to share your own falling in love story – from men to friendships to cities and everything else – email me. Learn more about Falling in Love on Fridays here.
Who I Became: A Love Affair With Spain
College was my dependable, fun, slightly hippie lover of 4 years… but when the going got rough, no one was surprised that college and I broke up – he wanted to stay in the same place, and I needed to move on.
Recently, I wrote about how dating apps can make you feel like you’re dating… when all you’re doing is scanning pictures and having conversations that legit lead nowhere.
Before I wrote the post, I had a conversation with my roommate C about how logging onto Tinder or Hinge (or countless other dating apps) is so easy, but actually getting up the guts – and putting in the minimal effort – to meet someone for a drink can be really hard to do.
And so we decided we would keep each other accountable for getting out there by creating The Dating Pact. And now, I invite you to join us (and possibly win a prize!)
The rules are simple:
When I’m outside of New York or when I talk to friends from home or another state, I almost always get asked: what’s it like to date in New York City?
It sucks. It’s terrible. I hate it.
Okay, I don’t (most of the time) and I still have hope (some of the time), but the truth of dating in Manhattan is something that took me a while to admit: being a single gal in this city isn’t easy. But when I first arrived in those black pumps with blind ambition about my career and my love life, I thought I’d be the exception. I thought moving here justified my bravery and my dedication to the city I love and I’d be rewarded with… well, love.
600 blog posts later, I think I’ve proven myself wrong.