Love and the Pessimistic

I would say that since I was a wee lad, I have been able to see through a lot of the doodoo when it comes to love. I have vivid memories of teachers reading stories like Snow White and Cinderella and me laughing out loud. I was the 5-year-old girl that rolled her eyes at Disney movies. Never ever ever did I think that there was some ripped hottie on a horse coming to rescue me. So you can imagine how shocked I was going to college and realizing that there were young women who actually drank this Kool-Aid, basing their real adult love lives off of children's cartoons. The shock only grew as I entered my 30s where otherwise logical friends were telling me that not only did they believe that the fairytale was real, but that it was something they deserved! Now you tell me, how nutso is that?

You can call me a love pessimist and I would have to agree. Over the years, I have prided myself on this. I have friends who also value this quality in me, for I can see the love train wreck coming from miles away. So you tell me why that at almost 40, I feel myself slowly and slightly buying into the relationship bull like a toddler in a princess dress?

The change in me began when I started going to church. I entered the sanctuary believing that there is not someone for everyone and that only the most lucky of us get to live our lives happily with someone else. Now, one year as a Christian, I find myself crossing my fingers for a soulmate like the rest of the single ladies at the alcohol-free singles mixer, hoping Mr. Right decided to drop into a church dance. 

Ugh, that whole last paragraph is embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as how big of a fan girl I have become of shows like Married At First Sight and Love is Blind. I find myself on the edge of my seat, heavily invested in the relationships of people I don't know, praying out loud that their relationships work. For if there is hope for strangers who got engaged after never seeing each other, there is hope for an inherently negative person like me, right? 

No matter how hard I try to get rid of it, there is faith the size of a mustard seed that one day happiness will come knocking at my door. I want to get rid of it, not wanting to be disappointed by yet something or someone else, but this sliver of hope continues to burn eternal out of my reach. Let it be known that there is no bigger buzz kill than hopefulness. 

Don't Be Anal

Izzy and her sortabae, let's call him Joe, are about as complicated as complicated can get. Their texts to each other are these mind bending, incomprehensible riddles that leave each of them guessing and scratching their heads. I can't tell you the amount of brain power that she and I have invested into trying to figure out what he meant, and how much time she has put in to sending him messages that are just as confusing. 

But today the texts got shockingly clear. Joe says that he likes her, that he thinks that she may be "the one", but certain needs of his aren't being met...like anal sex. 

I found myself laughing uncontrollably. Apparently, I am one of the last folks on earth that thought anal sex wasn't an actually thing. But it wasn't a joke, and Izzy saw his response to be a door opening to relationship negotiations. 

"If I am going to do that, than we are going to have to start going on dates. He is going to have to start hugging me more and responding more to my texts," Izzy said, outlining her list of demands. 

Again, I was at a loss for words. But only for a second. "Are you serious? Girl, nothing is worth literally giving up your booty!" I shouted. 

I know that in relationships, you have to compromise, but geez, aren't we supposed to draw the line somewhere? Izzy insists that more people are into it than I think. This could be true. I didn't think that people were really into French kissing but I was wrong about that. I guess my question is this: once that is given up, what is next? Izzy says that saying that she will do it and stringing him a long is still on the table. I don't know. I don't see a man that is really into that letting it go if he doesn't get it. But again, I've been wrong about these things before. 

Love In The Time of Corona

I'm sorry that I have been absent. But, much like I assume you have been, I have been obsessed with these Coronavirus outbreak updates honey, and none of them have been good. Schools have gone digital. Countries have quarantined themselves. People have gotten into fist fights over toilet paper in the grocery store. And while watching the news 24/7 could lead one to believe that the world is about to end I could only think of one thing: what if I die of Coronavirus before I find true love? Would that not be tragic?!
Long ago, I read an article in a magazine about a young psychologist who had gotten the opportunity to serve as a woman's counselor for immigrants that had just fled to her country from a refugee camp. She was eager to dig into the issues that she assumed that she was going to be hearing about which were depression, anger, homesickness, mourning, etc. But, after talking to a few ladies, she was surprised. All these downtrodden refugees who had been ripped from their native lands under extreme, horrifying, and even deadly circumstances wanted to talk about were their romantic relationships in the camps. Some of their guys went to other countries. Others were having their heads turned by other women now that they were safe and sound. Isn't it funny that in times of distress we rely on our basic needs: food, water, shelter, and love?
Sunday, my pastor discussed how the Coronavirus is reminding people that they are not going to live forever and they need to get right with the Lord. Sadly, all I could think about was how we are not going to live forever and how I don't want to leave the planet before I meet the guy of my dreams. I don't care if he's old, ugly, deformed, or missing a leg or something. He can borrow one of mine! But I would at least like to spend a day with him, even if we are just holding hands from our hospital beds in the Corona quarantine facility.
Maybe, as always, my priorities are a smidge off. It's just funny how love is always a top priority, even when it should be avoiding a lung distressing killer virus.

The Last Single VDay

Yet another Valentine's Day is coming up and I don't have a valentine. In all honesty, I haven't had a good V-Day since I was 19. At 19, I don't know what I would have said if someone would have told me that that would be my first and last Valentine's Day ever. How pathetic! This is truly the stuff that depressing romantic comedies are made of.
I guess the good news is that I am not alone this year. Even some of my smart, gorgeous, professional girlfriends will be spending February 14 with Mr. Netflix. And they are all saying that it's alright, that they are actually looking forward to a good, quiet evening alone. I'd believe them if they weren't saying this through clenched teeth and tears. Even my aunt asked me if she should send herself flowers to her job. I told her that that was a stern no, but I may take it back. Someone should get roses on the most romantic day of the year, even if said person has to mail them to herself.
You would have laughed at me if you would have seen me this weekend going to my writer's group. I was dressed as if I had a Valentine's Day date that very afternoon with Idris Elba! I mean, I looked gorgeous! But I wasn't being hot just to be hot: I was trying to get Ryan's attention. I got there too late to sit next to him, so I was literally trying to mentally and spiritually connect with him during the meeting. The prayers went over his head. He did, like everyone else, comment on how cute I looked. That made me smile for a second until I realized that his compliments did nothing to change my state of valentinelessness.
Why is this so hard? I'm not looking for love, just a free meal and a cheek kiss! For some reason, I want to blame social media.
Next year I will be 35 and I will have a V-Day date even if it kills me. If the past years are a prediction of the future, I better get my final affairs in order.

The Hopeless Romantic

Can I just say that I am a hopeless romantic and it is killing me? It's disappointing me. It's molding me to take my place as the dreaded Bitter Black Woman that I have been hearing about for about as long as I've been potty trained. I believe in love and sometimes I even think that I feel it, but I don't see it, especially in my own life- personally and around me. When I break it down in my head, I realize that I hear about it in songs and see it on TV, but where is it really visible? I feel that my love faith in something that I can not see and that is not working for me and is leaving me depressed, tired, and just overall emotionally exhausted. I can only liken this to how people must feel before they turn to atheism, wanting to believe in God but surrounded by an overwhelming amount of evidence that proves otherwise. In short, this sucks.