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.
When I can’t fall asleep or post-savasana in yoga class when my mind is supposed to be clear, I start to wrestle with negative thoughts. Most of the time I can ward them off, but there’s one that plagues me more than any other (possibly because it’s a big fear of mine):
Why the hell am I still single?
I could list all of the things that are great about me and what I could bring to a relationship, but while those things are true, it’s also true that I’m pretty damn picky. And that I like the little life and routine I’ve built for myself. And that I keep dating in the same way (online, at the bars) and expecting different results. And well, I don’t date as much as I know I should be (isn’t once a week enough?!). Continue reading
I really hate being compared to Carrie Bradshaw, but I’m starting to come to terms with it. We might live in apartments the size of her closet and I might be looking in the windows of Jimmy Choo instead of shopping there – but she got one thing right: there is love in New York.
And for a while, we all believed it – at least the six years that Sex & the City was on – but somewhere between The Bachelor and everyone joining Tinder, we got lost.
I know I definitely did. I moved here with a few bags, full of my clothes, my hopes, my minimal savings and my one pair of fuck-me heels (from Target, thank you very much). I didn’t have an apartment or a job when I landed at JFK – but I knew everything would fall into place because I had faith. And a hell of lot of blind ambition.
On Thanksgiving – and always – I feel so incredibly blessed for this little life of mine. If you would have told me five years ago that I’d be living in one of my favorite parts of New York, working at a job that I really love, writing for a dozen or so magazines and have an incredible group of friends, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. Sometimes I want to pinch myself that nearly everything I’ve wanted has worked itself out… beautifully. Surprisingly.
Perfectly how it was supposed to.
Now of course, there are things I’d like and things I dream of. There are Thanksgivings I imagine with my one-day man, and there are certain visions and luxuries I’d like to be my reality one day, but in this moment, sitting in my PJs with Christmas music playing, my pup at my feet and my roommate cooking in the kitchen, I’d say life is pretty damn good right now.
So thank you. Thank you for showing me just how much love there is in this world. There is SO much, I can’t ever explain.
In response to a blog I recently wrote, a man named Mark from Denver wrote to me to share the male perspective. I’m excited to share this inspiring blog with a message that I try to send through this blog, and one that I think all women – single, taken or otherwise – need to be reminded of. It’s even more refreshing to hear it from a single guy. Thanks for contributing, Mark! Check out his blog here, ladies.
“There is always someone prettier”
I heard this come out of my friends mouth as we were walking down the streets of NYC last week. She had flown in from Hong Kong for work and I was in town visiting my potential place of residence. We met up to hang out and spend a few days together.
It’s hard to believe that Confessions of a Love Addict is four years old today.
I get those damn butterflies in my stomach every single time I think of how far this blog has come in the past few years. And my heart feels like it’s about to burst when I think of how blessed I am that you all come back to read my thoughts, hear about my adventures and stick with me through any breakup, job change or difficult time.
I know I’ve thanked you before, but let me do it again:
At 2 a.m. on a Saturday night last summer, The Canadian walked into my life. He waited for the creepy guy hovering over me to head to the bar, and then he slipped right in as he said, “You’re the prettiest girl here, why are you talking to him?”