What a way to start the year: Los Angeles is on fire, the Oompa Loompa is back in the White House, and Elon Musk greets the minions with a casual Nazi salute.
We moved back to Europe last summer. And while I didn’t need reassurance that our decision to leave was the right one, the USA is willingly offering it.
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I am in Germany for work, half an hour from where I spent most of my childhood. A place I haven’t visited in more than ten years.
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So. We tried Conscious Uncoupling. And we failed at it. We are back together.
Among all the things that didn’t work out in my life (and there were a few), this is by far my favourite.
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I have been thinking a lot about what I wrote in my last post. While the grief of changed/lost friendships doesn’t keep me up at night anymore (there are only so many tears you can cry), I have been wondering WHY grown ass, amazing, strong women do this. Why do they not only put a guy at the centre of their universe, but why do they put him on a pedestal and themselves underneath? Maybe this is so strangely fascinating to me because I have watched (and was disgusted by) the way my ultra feminist mother would change her tone from an assertive baritone to a Minni Mouse-ish whisper as soon as a guy would enter our world.
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Too much attention has been paid to the heteronormative idea of love, on this blog and elsewhere. As a society, we idealise the image of romantic love between a woman and a man and the Disney-esque happily ever after. The most overlooked romance though involves the people who are actually by our side through thick and thin, the ones that stood and stand by us no matter what… friends!
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So, one of my besties just left (come back, A, I miss you!!), and after not seeing each other for more than three years, all we did was talk, walk, talk, eat, talk, sleep, repeat. For seven days. And it was blissful. A and I have known each other for a very long time, she’s been witness to many embarrassing, hilarious, traumatic, sad, and deliriously happy moments – and vice versa.
There’s a lot to be said about girlfriends – but I will leave that for another post. For now, let’s talk about sex. Bad sex.
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I have no idea how a 25yo feels scrolling through Hinge, because when I was 25, online dating wasn’t around. Yes, I am that old. I just know that I find it varying levels of disheartening, gross and frustrating.
How is it possible that so many men in the second half of their forties have never had a significant relationship? How did they never get married? Or have children? How are there so many men past their midlife crisis who live in dingy apartments that remind me of my uni days?
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You might remember my first post-marriage dating disaster, the one where I went on a date with someone who told me horror stories about his ex’s ex. Who turned out to be the guy who I was supposed to be going on a hike with the following day. Those two men live on opposite sides of LA, they were both on Hinge, and have otherwise absolutely nothing in common. Apart from the shared ex…
I was so spooked by the experience that I rushed home, deleted the app, and downed a few shots while waiting until midnight to call my bestie on the other side of the world.
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This is the post that I most likely shouldn’t be writing right now (see list of beverages consumed above), but for the sake of keeping it real, I am doing it anyway. My date left a day earlier than planned, all my friends are busy, and I really need to process the last weekend.
Sooo. After I turned my back on the disaster otherwise known as online dating, I met someone. Offline. Through a friend. IRL!
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Good Lord. I am really not carved out for online dating. Scrolling through Hinge makes me physically sick on a bad day and has me laughing out loud on a good one. How hard can it be to answer a simple prompt in a grammatically and logically correct manner?! Here are some gems to lighten up a grey November day:
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