I’ve been single for the better part of my adult life, and though I try my best not to sweat it (and remind myself that I’m only 26 and my ovaries have time), I, like many people, have certain fears about being single. While I’ve never worried that I could die alone in my apartment and go for days unnoticed (my dog and amazing roommates would know in a hot minute), I’ve always wondered just how much that emergency contact would matter if I ever actually needed medical assistance.
Last week, I got the unfortunate opportunity to find out. Continue reading
I’ve been getting pretty burned out on the whole Tinder thing lately. So much swiping, so many unwelcome nudity, creepy opening messages, endless conversations that go nowhere and far too many (ridiculous) propositions. Blame it on being single in a city that sleeps around or just my lack of attention span — but I’ve had an on-and-off relationship with Tinder for a while now.
My mom, on the other hand is fascinated. When I would tell her about another date that didn’t go well, she’d instantly say ‘It’s because of Tinder.’ I can’t say she’s wrong, really, there is a certain amount of anonymity that apps provide, but she’s obviously never used it before — my dad called her on the good ‘ole phone when they dated in the 80s. Continue reading
Now kids, I know you don’t exist yet. And yep, I’m still single and haven’t met your father yet (at least I don’t think). And OK — maybe I pray (and cross my fingers and toes and arms and legs) to not get pregnant at this time in my life, but one day, I do look forward to having you. And as sweet as it will be to watch you grow from newborns to babies and from toddlers to pre-teens, I’m also excited to see what you’ll be like as an adult. I’ve always had a close relationship with your grandparents, and they’ve always treated me as a pseudo-adult, even from the age of two, so I’ll try my best to not mother ya too hard. Continue reading
When I matched with a tall, seemingly-charismatic man with a big smile online, I’ll be the first to admit I was a little skeptical. He looked almost too good to be true, and when he made reservations for our first date instead of leading it up to the happy hour gods, I found that old familiar voice in the back of my head that warns: “Uh, oh. This could be trouble.”
A few drinks and a shared appetizer later, we were walking around, chatting and stopping to kiss underneath the light and the allure of the night, and that voice was only getting louder. By the time he walked me home, said he couldn’t wait to see me again and texted me when he got home, the voice was so loud and my mind was so foggy that I could barely come up with a clever text in return.
The next few days were intense – wondering when he’d ask me out again, trying to play it cool while still seeming interested. Trying to decipher the intention between those blue iMessage bubbles and bugging my (incredibly patient) friends to help me analyze. And as it has happened more times than I’d care to admit – we never did go out again. He ended up disappearing, just as so many have before him, into what I can only imagine is a world of eligible, yet emotionally unavailable men. (Let’s all avoid going there, k?) Continue reading
Though I’ve lived in New York for five years and consider myself some sort of a hybrid of the East Coast, the truth is: I’m a born and raised Southerner.
I may not have an accent (sorry, dudes, I know it’s apparently sexy) and I take my tea unsweetened, but when it comes to chivalry and the importance of gestures in dating, my North Carolina roots always shine through.
If you’re lucky enough to be graced with the presence of a Southern lady, here’s a few things you need to know about dating these so-called belles (ahem, never call me that):
1. We don’t mind a little dirt.
I grew up next to a farm where I happily retrieved eggs from the hens for my neighbor every day after school. My dad taught me to drive a tractor when I was 1-year-old, and I learned how to ride a bike on a gravel road (I have the scars on my knee to prove it).
I spent more time outside than inside, and though I might rock stilettos and Calvin Klein dresses, I don’t mind a little dirt.
We met on Tinder.
Okay, okay, okay – I know I broke up with Tinder a month or so ago. And while I had every intention of making it a permanent separation, like we all do in moments of weakness (and when intoxicated), I gave in and saw my ex-account. As I sat at a picnic table on Stone Street across from my roommate, sticky with sweat from our boxing class, I aimlessly swiped left and right. I tried my best to ignore the deja vu as my 900+ matches loaded, and the same trite, ridiculous digital conversations starting rolling into my inbox.
Ugh, ugh, ugh, ohhhh?
That one margarita was enough to send both me and C over the edge (hey, we’ve been really healthy lately and apparently, that makes you a lightweight) – so with one swift mature adult decision, we went home to change and continued to bar hop. It was Sunday Funday, and I was intrigued by the first guy to message me on Tinder since I had sworn off the scene. He checked off all of those checkboxes – employed, attractive, not creepy – and I agreed to a first date.
After so many mishaps and men who don’t have a clue about how to date, I was a little surprised when this dude (who I originally matched on Tinder with in 2013, for the record), made a reservation at a cute Italian bistro near Union Square. I was even more taken aback when a 6’4″ handsome dude with a big smile walked through the revolving door and said, “Wow, you must be Lindsay.”
Hello, Mr. Unicorn.