Fading Into Nothingness...

Back in the day, when I was in my young 20's and single, I had stories. A whole lot of them. Stories that involved random acts of hooking up, stories that consisted of dates that would jump out of the bathroom naked and/or stripped for, storise that I tried to piece together the next day as I nursed a hang over.

So you can imagine, back then, this blog would have been a lot more exciting. There would have been drama. There would have been heartache. There would have been many embarrassing moments.

I've been struggling for the past couple of days - after long hours at the office and planning for my upcoming mini-vacation to Rhode Island - on what to write.

Hence my silence.

Getting older has meant... less excitement.

Which is good on one hand. I don't have it in me to stay out until 4am (even on a Saturday night) and juggle a plethora of crazy guys.

On the other hand... my life no longer provides great fodder for party conversations. My only update at the moment is that I've noticed a few more wrinkles around my eyes.

Apparently, my life no longer makes for exciting blog posts either.

For this, I am sorry.

Being Single Stinks

I was single for a long time, which probably comes as a surprise to those who didn't know me pre-domesticity. I think I might have dated most of the (crazy) New York City guys and half of the Hoboken male population. I won't go into the traumatizing stories (strippers, naked bathroom guy, the American Girl Place pianist) and the crushing disappointments when I realized that Mr. Perfect Investment Banker was actually Mr. Bipolar Disorder with Control Issues.

Needless to say, I hated dating. I hated being single. I hated flirting (despite becoming a master), and the small talk and the uncomfortable silences and (what felt like) endless, unsatisfying first (and last) kisses.

And people always ask, "But you are in a relationship now; can't you look back and go, 'oh that was actually fun'?"

They say, "Wasn't it all worth it? All the stories? All the bad dates?"

I need to let everyone know that, yes, of course it was all worth it. But for all the funny stories and fantastic fodder it has given me, I wouldn't want to re-do it. Nope - not even knowing the outcome, not even having the hindsight that I would meet my love, would I want to go through it again.

That said, dating is a necessary evil. It needs to be done. And as one very wise friend, SB, has said, "Every asshole you date, every guy that breaks your heart (or you break his!), brings you one step closer to the one you are going to end up with."

So for all my single ladies - grab a wing woman, take a vodka shot, and put yourself out there.

My Single Finger

When I was 14, all my friends and I could talk about were boys. Dating boys, kissing boys, holding hands with boys (I was in the "late bloomer" crowd).

When I was 16, all my friends and I could talk about were guys. Dating guys, hooking up with guys, sleeping with guys.

Then I turned 26 and all of a sudden all my friends and I could talk about was marriage. Sure, we still talked about guys - dating them, sleeping with them, hooking up with them; but all of a sudden, marriage was an ever-present topic, hanging over most conversations ominously.

Men began equaling marriage, rather than crazy nights and funny hookup stories. The following sentences peppered, what felt like (and feels like), every conversation:

• "It's not like we're 25 anymore"
• "I'm not going to waste my time with a guy I don't see a future with"
• "I just don't think he's marriage material, so what's the point?"

And trust me, I'm a culprit of this type of talk. I can often be the leader of the conversations. But that doesn't mean I'm not annoying myself.

As much as my ring finger is, well, silently screaming to be dressed up in some bling, I need to put a muzzle on it. Marriage is important, but it's not EVERYTHING. And I"m going to try not to let it dominate my thoughts. Or conversations.

This is my birthday gift to my boyfriend :)