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Getting Crushed by a Crush

crushed by a crush

 

Does this sound familiar?

 

You, an otherwise intelligent, semi-rational, mostly-mature, kind of confident woman, are friendly or perhaps even friends with, let’s just be honest, an “in-significant other.” You know, the type of guy you like, but you don’t “like” like.

 

You see him out and about, or hang with him at parties, or go to/play games with him because he’s the only other sports fan you know. You enjoy his company. You have fun together. He amuses you. The last time you saw him, you laughed for three straight hours.

 

He has a crush on you, and doesn’t try to hide it. He’s a goofy man-child to you, though, and you can’t take him or the idea of romance with him seriously.

 

Sure, his hint-dropping can be anything from grating to yawn-inducing after weeks, or months, or years. That said, you know he is harmless. He is all talk, no action, blessedly. And if your ego needs boosting, his unfailing adoration works better than your therapist or Prozac.

The Dreaded Tip-Toe of Shame

the tip toe of shame the morning after

Shame on you.   You talked a little too much or a little too loud or in front of the wrong person.   You laughed a little too hard or a little too long or about the wrong person.   You drank a little too much or ate a lot too much because of the wrong person.   But other than a stain on your sleeve, the day ended with no damage.   Whatever you over-did is over-blown in your mind.   You went out by yourself.   Which, my friend, is not a crime. Or a sin. Or even noteworthy to anyone but you.   Everybody woke up where they were supposed to, in the appropriate attire, in the correct order.   You didn’t slink down the street after dawn or become a feast for gossip-hungry nosy-bodies.   You said...

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The Royal Pains Series Finale Was Exactly That: a Royal Pain

Hank's royal pain of an ending

The Royal Pains series finale was exactly that, and it left me with just one thing to say: put your hands down again, patriots.

 

I take it all back. I saluted USA too soon. All hands on hips.

 

“At ease” is the official command for ceasing military gestures, sure, but the last minute of the last episode of Royal Pains, un-ease bordering on dis-ease was my dominant feeling. The unofficial gesture I made in reaction only needed one finger, not four.

 

SMH. I must have been an idiot, hailing a television network as a leader in diversity in its depictions of my fellow Americans: Single people.

 

Nope, USA Network, the writers, the producers, whoever, just could not resist a trip to Cliché Island.

 

They did what Hollywood always does: substitute societal expectations for creativity. Instead of depicting Dr. Hank Lawson as the happy man on his own he proclaimed himself to be just a week earlier, they caved in to cultural biases, or just gave up trying, and settled for a biased, boring finale.

 

Which means they made Hank settle, too.  They tied up his story by tying him down. Who saw that coming? To be honest, not me.

USA, I Salute You

fireworks USA flag

USA, I salute you.

 

My fellow single Americans, join me.

 

Salute Royal Pains.

 

Because they let Hank be Hank. And Hank is single.

29 Things I Did Not Do Last Weekend

Feet up relaxing

Screw the To Do List.

 

That’s my motto, or it would be if I made To Do Lists. Because guess what:

 

To Do Lists are not legally binding.

 

However, they are enforceable.

 

Just ask any woman who has another adult living under her roof. Especially a life partner. Non-performance may result in evil stares, passive aggressive grunts or under-the-breath invective spewing.

 

Should her other head-of-household remain out of compliance with To Do obligations- obligations which are literally spelled out in black and white –his or her personal property is at risk of destruction, and divorce becomes a distinct possibility.

 

That my friends, is why living alone is the best.

 

The B.E.S.T best.

What’s it like to be Single At THIS Age? Hint: it doesn’t suck

Single at this age

What’s it like to be single at this age?

 

Even for someone who writes and reads and thinks about single* life in America, this is a tough question to answer.

 

Not because of my age, or yours. Because, regardless of age, the question I actually end up answering is, what is it like not to be married?

 

And that, my friends, drives me BAT. SHIT. CRAZY.

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