My Single Life

I haven’t posted lately, I have been busy adventuring in other countries but my single life continues on. I can not do public transportation. It’s disgusting and I don’t understand it so it was no surprise to me that I got completely lost in one of the biggest cities in the world and had to find a stranger to aid me in my venture home. Typically, we ended up taking a cab together and I agreed to let him crash at my apartment as he had a long journey ahead of him. I woke up to him in my bed, rubbing my shoulders and asking if I wanted to get breakfast with him. 

It’s not shocking that my new room mates judge me.

Double Vodka Soda

When I come home for the holidays and see my old boyfriend, the feeling I get reiterates two things. First, the reason I rarely visit my home town and second, the reason I am still single. 

My friends think this is socially unacceptable but I think it’s necessary to have a make-out-man. This is the guy that could be perfect for you but there is something missing and it restricts you from ever going any further than a steamy kiss. The make-out-man is cute, funny, caring and he loves you. This is the beauty of the make-out-man, he has to adore you to let you come home with him, only kiss and then snuggle all night while he listens to everything you have to say time and time again. The key to this relationship is that there is a limited number to how many times you can pull this stunt with your make out friend and it must be respected. 

If you’re showering in a shower that isn’t yours and an unfamiliar, meaty, long-haired red head bro jumps in the shower with you and asks you if you can scrub his back because he can’t reach, do you run? Do you scream? Do you cry? Do you take a swig of his energy drink and soap up his back? At least he was playing good music and has cheetah sheets. 

A handsome, age appropriate, stylish, respectful man with a fabulous personality walked me home to my door the other night. Finally, not a bro, a potential husband? He gave me a kiss on the cheek and we parted ways. I can’t even remember his name. Glass slipper anyone?

I remember…

Even when I don’t go out (which rarely happens) I still hate the next day. I woke up this morning with a girl in my bed, puke on the floor and pneumonia. This is exactly why I do not start drinking at 6:00 p.m. All I recall from the night before is crying about my problems to a guy pretending to be from Ireland (yeah, that’s a fake accent asshole). I remember my neighbor asking me to come over for apple-braised brisket (seriously? we’re in college, let’s just grab a two dollar slice of veggie pizza). I remember killing it in beer pong (cokeheads never stand a chance). I remember honey whiskey? Is that a thing? I remember my best friend saying that she needed to drink before her crush, Warren, gets here, saying she needed to drink because Warren was here and then Warren making her drink. I remember passing out at 12:00 am. I remember my friend puking on my floor at 2:00 am. I remember hiding under my covers and saying “I’m actually trying really hard to deal with this”. I remember her saying “you are not trying hard at all” between vomits. I remember opening the window…..I guess thats how I contracted pneumonia. I remember my main squeeze texting me at 5:00 am to tell me it’s daylight savings…….it’s daylight savings? 

If you can’t remember my name, you can’t buy me a drink…..unless you’re planning on walking away after. 

I just don’t understand why grown men pee the bed? This has happened to me twice in the past month. TWICE. Maybe it’s a bro thing but seriously enough is enough. That is foul. At least this bed-wetter fessed up instead of running out the door. I don’t know what was worse, waking up in someone else’s urine or being seen naked by the mysterious, wasted, high school student dressed as one of the three amigos who managed to get himself into my apartment for an unwelcomed visit and then proceed to pass out on the couch for ten hours.

Bed-wetting bro, “No, you cannot come over again and no, I don’t know where you lost your spandex.” Baby seventeen-year-old amigo, “No, I don’t know where you friends are and no,  you cannot have a glass of water.” 

Get out

7:00 A.M.

I got up early this morning. I reviewed my text messages on my now shattered iphone. First one; “I really enjoyed our rendezvous last night. You should call me soon and we can meet up. What is your name by the way?” Delete. I took four Advil, went back to bed, missed saying goodbye to my family, missed two meetings, didn’t exercise and postponed the 3 tons of work I have to do. I hate tequila, officially. I still don’t know who this rendezvous guy is or what he’s talking about but, life is good when your young and single.

My roommate and I drove a guy home from the bar and three of our guy friends caught a ride with us as well. In return for the ride, we were invited into this guys summer house. It was a beautiful house and it had a sweet infinity pool and hot tub. This guy asked if anyone wanted to go for a swim. My roommate went and sat on the grass and played with the golden retriever, my guy friends threw a tennis ball to the dog and drank a beer and I ripped off my dress and jumped into the hot tub. 

Since then, I have been trying to determine the exact date that I became so crazy.