Welcome to Singlehood

I guess I had no idea what I was getting into.  Being a girl in my early twenties in a serious, committed relationship for the past three-plus years, I thought my future path was pretty clear.  I would graduate from college and go on a Study Abroad trip to South Africa, then upon my return home my boyfriend would propose and I would put on a pretty little smile as I showed off my ring, which would be a brilliant, round diamond set in a thick, platinum band.  Giant.  Sparkly.  Tiffany.  Then I would spend the next year of my life on the edge of a nervous breakdown, tasting cakes, dieting like a madwoman, attending dress fittings, making nail appointments, tanning, registries, invitations, and raging bitch fits.  Then on to the main event with all the third cousins and flowers and friends of friends and flashing cameras and saying “I do” in my dreamy Monique Lhuillier gown that I maxed out three credit cards to buy.  I didn’t really think too far ahead into the future but I am guessing my next step after all that probably would have been get knocked up and pop out some babies with unfortunate red hair that I would have to love anyway. 

We’ve all seen it done a million times before, the marriage thing, it’s what people do.  They fall in love and get married.  It’s what I thought I would do.  I thought that pretty much until I arrived home from Africa and attended a wedding and almost had a panic attack.

My boyfriend’s friend was the bride and as I sat there in the midst of a sea of white folding chairs I cringed at all the predictable and contrived components that make up every wedding I have attended since my days as a Professional Flower Girl.  The sight of the couple at the Unity candle made my stomach turn, but the nausea really kicked in when Great Aunt Margaret  read that Bible verse from Corinthians “Love is patient, love is kind…” My leg started twitching nervously during the vows and around the time the Newlyweds had their first dance my vision started getting a little blurry, but not from tears of joy. I had to get away from the small talk with his old boss who kept winking at me and the “Oooh, maybe you two will be next!” comments so I told my boyfriend I was going outside to get some air.  From a safe spot cowering in some bushes, I called my best friend, whispering in terror “I cannot do this! I cannot do this wedding thing! I am FREAKING the fuck out!”  My boyfriend found me, and because I am such a nut and he was so sweet he knew it was time to go.  I totally ruined that wedding for him.  I ruined the moments I am sure he thought we would have out on the dance floor talking about what our wedding would be like and the part where we would make out when I caught the bouquet never happened. 

He was truly a wonderful boyfriend and everything was pretty much a sealed deal with us.  He always took our relationship very seriously. When we met his MySpace said that he wanted to find a nice girl and have ten kids, a statement which I relentlessly teased him about and in return he continued to pout and say he wasn’t really serious.  But we both knew he was; he was just trying not to scare me away.  We talked about marriage, he asked me about rings, and he bought a house that I decorated.  He even let me hang up the pink shower curtain in the guest bathroom.  Oh yeah, that’s when you know it’s the real deal.

 While I was in Africa he planned on going up to my parent’s cabin with my dad, doing some fishing, and asking him if he could have me for the rest of my life.  And my dad would have said yes because they are basically clones of each other and he loves that.  However, as it turned out, my dad got laid off the day they were headed up to the cabin.  My dad was a wreck, having been a hard-working and loyal employee for thirty years, and it wasn’t exactly the best time to say “Hey sir, can you dish out a bunch of money to throw a big party so I can steal your daughter away?”  Instead, while I played games with malnourished snotty-nosed black kids, my boyfriend had a pretty awkward weekend with my snotty nosed parents. 

If he had asked me to marry him when I got home from that trip, I would have accepted.  Of course I would have, I loved him and I was young and eager to start my adult life.  To this day I thank God that he did not ask.  That sounds so terrible, but I had a lot of things to learn and a lot more of myself to find.  It turned out the marriage dream was not mine.  It was other people’s dream.  Maybe it was my parents dream, maybe it was the ten-year old me, but it was not mine.  Not anymore.  Not then. 

Somewhere along the way, our relationship became more about the plan and less about us.  We were heading in a direction I wasn’t sure that I was ready or mature enough to handle and I knew the only fair thing was to end the relationship.  What I didn’t know was what would happen when I threw a hitch in my “get hitched plan”.  Suddenly single is quite a place to find yourself.

Naïve little me was excited for all the possibilities and the amazing people I would meet, the freedom of crazy nights with girlfriends, and all the great love stories I was about to be a part of.  I had no idea that dating would have changed so much in the time that I was out of the game.  And what a game it is. 

First of all, dating sucks.  And unlike riding a bike, you do forget how it is done.  When my boyfriend of several years would not answer his phone, I could call him several times until he picked up without running the risk of being labeled “psycho stalker”.  In fact, one time I called him so many times that his phone, which was on vibrate and sitting on the bathroom sink, vibrated itself all the way off the bathroom counter and into the open toilet.  He was in the shower, the phone was ruined and he laughed.  I psycho called him so many times I drowned his phone and he laughed. I got away with this behavior because, well, he was a pushover, and because after three years together I was also allowed to burp, fart, talk about my period and skip showers without so much as a blink from him.  I could pinch the whiteheads on his nose without warning, tell him it was probably time to shave that beard and that he desperately needed a haircut, and suggest the clothes he should wear when we went out.  I could call and cry after a bad day or for no reason at all, I could bitch about my friends, I could be me.  Not so much with these new boys. 

Dating again meant starting over from scratch.  And apparently it’s not appropriate on your first date to ask the guy to pick pepper out of your teeth.  Elbows on the table were the least of my problems.  I had to be on my best behavior all the time and honestly, it sucked…hard.     

In addition to losing all the comforts that came with a serious relationship was the disappointing fact that the boys in the dating pool seemed to become puzzlingly and increasingly immature as they got deeper into their twenties.  Back in high school I had some hope that one day all these little shitheads would grow up and morph into nice young men, but I had been severely let down and misguided.  Somewhere in their twenties boys reach their darkest, most unhygienic, selfish, lowest point and someone obviously forgot to warn me about that.  All of a sudden there were more frustrating games and more ridiculous complications than I ever thought possible.  What happened to the “Do you like me? Check Yes or No” thing, could we bring that back?

Regardless of the obstacles, I jumped back in the dating pool like a little kid yelling “CANNONBALL!” and I gave it my best shot.  But after about eight months of terrible dates, embarrassing situations, and mistakes I will never ever be able to take back, I started thinking about my old relationship; reminiscing about how it had felt to be with someone who I had truly loved. 

One day on a long contemplative bicycle ride, and thanks to being under the influence of a higher power, a power which also caused me and the sidewalk to have a sudden and intimate face first meeting, I came to a realization.  I realized that what I missed most about being in a relationship was not having someone who loved me; it was having someone to love.  I missed feeling that there was someone out there who could do no wrong, who was perfect in all their imperfections. I missed knowing that a human being existed who I could trust wholeheartedly, who would never, under any circumstances, purposely disappoint or hurt me.  I missed the faith that burned away into ashes along with all the old kissy pictures. 

I thought I wanted to be spoiled and treated like a queen.  But I didn’t need someone to tell me that I was beautiful when my head was hanging in the toilet; I can also hold my own hair back when I vomit, that’s what scrunchies are for.  I did not want the Valentine’s Day presents, or the disgustingly sweet text messages.  I honestly did not even need the physical affection.  But I did need someone to believe in.

The worst part about being suddenly single, besides having to pay for my own dinners, was that I could feel myself losing hope.  With each new loser and each new disappointment, I became a little more jaded.  I became more convinced everyday that love really was for fools and I was more sure than ever that I would never be able to love someone so blindly again.  And I really wanted to be stupid enough to think that my world could revolve around someone who thought it revolved around me. 

Single, lonely, disenchanted, I didn’t have a lot of options.  Where I stood it was either beg for forgiveness for ending a safe, comfortable relationship and reconnect with the ex, getting back on that fast track to suburbia, or pick up all my crazy little mismatched pieces, hot glue the shit out of my heart and keep meeting some losers who give me things to write about. 

I chose to let the adventures begin…