Election season is like a modern day rendition of medieval warfare, in a way. A power struggle to end all power struggles.
You fight for something that resembles freedom from your claustrophobic cubicle in the midwest. Your laptop your trusty steed. Excel your Excalibur.
Some people might say that in the wake of a breakup you mourn the loss of your lover, your confidante, your best friend. You might feel as if you’ve lost your sounding board, your cuddle buddy, your default dinner date. Maybe in some cases, depending on how the relationship dissolves, you lose your dignity?
Well, I lost my fucking umbrella.
We’ve all met him. The Perfect on Paper Guy.
The man who went to Princeton undergrad, before attending Johns Hopkins Med school and finished at the top of his class, all while running a non-profit on the side that helps under-privileged children fulfill their dreams of playing soccer in America. As a doctor, he spends his hectic days in the emergency room saving kids lives while I post Twitter ads for tech startups. In his free time he gives back to the community while I sit on the couch digging into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and watching The Bachelor.
My ex boyfriend was really good at filling up the Brita.
He wasn’t good at giving massages or cooking dinner or vacuuming the cat hair off the couch, but he always made sure there was cold, clear, clean water in the fridge.
Living alone, I’ve realized, I’m really terrible at this. Refilling the Brita, that is.
Hello, gentlemen. I’m backkkkkk.
Remember when I last bid you adieu? Remember how haughty and snotty and certain I was that it would be the last you’d see of me? Absolutely convinced that this time, THIS TIME, I’d never have to re-enter the dating pool?
Yeah, I was an idiot.
Have you ever wanted to kill your significant other? I mean like, were you ever so full of simmering, bubbling rage that you wanted to just close your eyes and have them disappear from the earth forever? Yes?
Well then obviously you’ve tried kayaking for two.
It seems a universal truth that the generally innocuous activity of couple’s kayaking is actually the ultimate relationship test. I don’t know what it is exactly about this date idea that’s so horrific… Perhaps it’s because water sports carry such a low key, fun-loving vibe that you’re royally unprepared for the consequences.
I’m good at making strangers uncomfortable.
When you don’t go into a traditional office everyday, sometimes the most basic human interactions become something of a novelty. Chatting casually with acquaintances about the weather is something I only get to do the one day each week when I work out of a coworking space in Crystal City.
The other four days of the work week mean a whole lot of alone time, broken up only by occasional snuggles with our new foster kitty.
I haven’t ranted about random human interactions on this blog in a while, but there’s something that I simply can’t abide by a moment longer.
What’s the deal with high fives?
I’m 27. I have a job, an apartment, and an early bedtime. I am not a surfing, camping, pot-smoking hippie. I’m also not a professional athlete or a kindergarten teacher. So, why the hell do people insist on high-fiving me?
When you’re in a relationship, it’s important not to completely abandon the skills that make you a desirable human. Now I’m not saying you have to actively flirt with every attractive person you come into contact with, but you can’t let yourself become solely a sweatpants wearing, Netflix binging, reddit surfing lump. Bat those eyelashes. Smile at strangers.
Even if you’re coupled up (actually, especially if you’re coupled up) it’s important to occasionally practice skills like the act of flirtation to make sure you don’t lose your touch.
Am I a monster? I’m pretty sure I must be because today I came to the conclusion that puppies are cuter than newborn babies. Like, wayyyy cuter.
Because brand new humans are kind of disgusting.
Don’t get me wrong. I am psyched to one day be a mom. In fact, I’m probably one of the most annoying women EVER to date because I’m obsessed with the concept of soccermomming someday, but even so, can we all just admit that newborns are totally strange looking?