I’m a fantastic woman. I’ve worked hard at it. I’m funny, sexy, smart and every sort of nice guys dream come true. If only I liked nice guys…
If I’ve learned anything about myself and who I’m generally attracted to? It’s that they’re all grade A Daddy-Issues-typical-Jenni-habit. Five years of celibacy helped, but my preferences haven’t changed much.
Dating your Daddy issues only lands you in one very unpleasant place. Reliving the pain you watched your Mommy suffer through when you were a child. I loved my Dad, but he was a Grade A douchebag when it came to the women who loved him. Never invested, never present, never available. Completely fantastic if you were standing right in front of him…but out of sight, out of mind.
Remind you of anyone?
Pretty disappointing when you consider that not only was he a terrible, unavailable parent, but he also managed to saddle me with a type that guaranteed my long-term suffering. Thanks a lot, Dad. It makes me feel a lot better about the 12 page truth sandwich I sent him before he died. I hope it stung as much as eternally wanting what I can’t have, does.
Miss Lovely recently gave in and met Mr. Charming; whom we’ve been dying to set her up with for years AND IT WORKED!!!! They’re having a delightful time and have reminded us all that our friends know us better than we know yourselves. Perhaps that’s the key? Life has a way of breaking even the most beautiful hearts and our friends aren’t looking through rose colored glasses when they set us up with other people they adore.
Internet dating has gone from bad to fucking lunacy. I can’t even. Between the instant dick pics or access to the real one… I’m bored. When I consider the choice between the 25 year old I should feel guilty for, or the 60 year old who should be dating women his own age, I’m left asking the one glaring question I’ve asked for the past 15 years.
Doesn’t it have to add to my life? I have my own home, the princess bed of my dreams and an egyptian cotton habit I don’t have to justify to anyone. If I feel like making Thanksgiving in July… we’re eating mashed potatoes and turkey. If I want to get up at 4:30 and run, I’m running. The little Dumpling can occupy the other side of my bed as often as she likes and I can do the dishes in panties if I so desire. My life is… mine.
I do miss the silly, insignificant accessories that accompany a boyfriend. Big flannel shirts that smell like sawdust and masculinity. Dirty boots. Cologne sitting next to my perfume. Absentmindedly putting his favorite beer in the shopping cart. The things you take for granted and end up missing the most. I can admit that.
I can also fix that.
I threw on my own favorite big sweatshirt, some perfume and my tennis shoes. A run to my favorite playlist, an uninterrupted long, hot shower, followed by a snuggle with the Dumpling in my favorite bamboo sheets. Relishing how much I actually love being single.
I don’t want to wade through weirdos in a quest to risk this bliss I created.
No thank you, very much. ♥
Isn’t it supposed to be fun?