Good Morning, Gorgeous.

Huh.

This is new.

I’ve been single for a loooooooong time (approximately 5 years) and way back then, nobody sent good morning text messages.

Now it’s a thing… and it starts early.

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It’s already too much work, if I’m going to be honest. I haven’t had a date with James yet and Ike is solid gold eye candy and not much else. Pretty boys are fun to look at, but that’s usually as far as it goes. He’s 6’4″ and probably 300 lbs. CUTE as hell, but equally as wholesome. We had lunch last weekend and he licked his lips when I met him. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a full fledged heathen in the right circumstances, but first impressions are everything and I quit dating fuckboys in my thirties.

Don’t date a real woman until you’re a grown man. We know instantly. Men are like ice cream, after a while, you recognize a few flavors.

  • That one tastes like hurt feelings. He’s instantly sexual with you, asks you to come to him AND will only make you feel bad about yourself in the long run. He’ll benefit from this, not you. I swear to God if I ever taste this one again, I’m joining a convent. Sorry Ike. 
  • This one tastes like I’m going to have to change my phone number and hang up some NO TRESPASSING signs. James, pump your breaks dude. I’ve had to silence him on my phone after he wished me a good morning at 5:30 on Saturday morning. Those are emergency ONLY hours, right? He sent me 37 text messages yesterday. I sent him 4. I was home by 5 but told him I was working late so that he’d stop blowing up my phone. His last text was at 11 at night, asking how my day was. Gah.
  • Mmmm… that one tastes like East Coast disinterest. I sure don’t mind being called “Doll” and his minimal text messages are enough to get me to agree to a date. Scott’s educated, and successfully self-employed with a bunch of cool toys. He wears a tie every day, which still does it for me. He’s also a narcissistic asshole, which sadly… also does it for me. I’m going to spare myself the eventual headache and not date Scott.

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  • Eeek…… This one tastes like a criminal. Trayvonne is lovely to look at, but can’t leave the state. Hard pass, pretty boy. I already learned that lesson. Nobody is so attractive that you should join them in their legal mire. Good relationships begin with healthy, available people. No habla ankle monitor. 

Dating is rough, and absolutely no fun at all when your heart isn’t in it. I’m past comparing my dates to the man I wish were sitting across from me, but there’s a certain sadness that’s sunk in as a result.

I hate to ghost them all, but that’s looking like what’s going to happen. Sorry, not sorry. There are different rules for Tinder boys and I’m more annoyed by their presence than pacified by it.

I don’t want a babysitter, I want Incredicock. I don’t want a good morning text message, I want a man across the dinner table from me and in my sheets, otherwise what’s the point? I’m over it.

No more swiping left or right. No more texting. Either he’s sitting at the table or he’s not. My patience for these virtual boyfriends has run out.

Because I have a favorite flavor. I want the one that tastes sweet, makes me laugh and leaves me wanting more. The one who’s physically, mentally and emotionally available.

…and won’t text me at 5 in the damn morning on Saturday. 

Proclivities

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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.

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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.

Why?

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?