Saturday, October 29, 2011

Annual Christmas Newsletter - The Single Version

So, hot off the rejection rollercoaster, I'm totally into being single and living it up, relationship-less-style.

That's lie.  But, I am freshly bitter with the wind knocked out of my sails and feeling very 'blah' when it comes to men, in general (which might stink for the guy who wants to meet me next week).  I think I'm owed that, though, for at least a month or two.  And quite frankly, I'm at my most creative and inspired when I'm oozing with negativity.  So, in reality, it's your gain.

A few weeks ago (long before the reality of my impending, continued Singledom status was revealed), three rather comical coworkers of mine started complaining about the annual family newsletters that people send at Christmas, full of clip art, youngsters doing... well, youngster things, and updates of phenomenal accomplishments since the previous newsletter.  Quite honestly, I think this is a feeble attempt at keeping in touch that eliminates the endless, monotonous phone calls to distant relations through the year, because the sender either realizes how dull this information truly is or they simply don't care about what anyone else's family has been up to and the newsletter provides an easy one-sided approach.  They were griping about putting them together and including things like "Oh, Child X got suspended from school again, but this time there were no emergency room visits involved" when other friends shared things like scholarships, athletic awards and Nobel Peace Prizes.

As a Singleton, I've never had the "pleasure" of putting together an annual newsletter about anything.  I send a Christmas card, but generally just sign my name or add something like "I hope you and your family have a wonderful Christmas season."  You know, because I don't have a family of my own, just a ridiculously loud biological clock that won't shut the hell up and ovaries that are on the brink of packing up and moving to greener pastures.  But, I digress...

Of course, this realization of yet something else I was missing out on combined with my everyday bitterness (imagine how great this moment would have been had it been paired with today's monumental bitterness... epic)  inspired in me a potential great work of art.  Something that will live on long after me and my bitterness have bitten the dust.  Something that generations will look upon with delight and awe.

I will write a Singleton's Annual Christmas Newsletter.

Brilliant.  I will compose the greatest newsletter of all time... highlighting things like "Through 2011, I spent my Friday nights drinking too much, talking a big game, in poorly lit bars in not-so-respectable parts of town;" or "I didn't lose any money in the stock market or a 401k because I don't have one!;" or "Housing market sucks? Who cares?! I rent!," adorned with photos of me sprawled out asleep in my bed with a clock behind me with something wonderful like "11:35" behind my slumbering head or dressed less than modestly, standing entirely too close to men I've only known for minutes while having a drink ordered for me at some local drinking establishment.  All things that would inspire waves of green envy from those who write "traditional" family newsletters.

But, I need to make sure it's jam-packed with goodies of Singledom, so I need your help.  With Halloween mere days away, Christmas is literally around the corner. What else could I include in my run-down of 2011, the Single Girl's version?

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Disappointed Diva

So, I did it again, Singletons and Marrieds.  I chased my heart and got burned.  And now I need your help.

I owe you an explanation.  My lack of quality posts (or even crappy posts for that matter), especially over the last six months, is due completely to the fact that I thought I was finally doing things right in the real world.  I've now spent most of my thirtieth year on this planet doing the detailed and dangerous dance between being candid and risky, reserved and patient, honest and considerate, and hopeful and trusting.  And none of it worked.  I thought maybe, just maybe, I had finally gotten it down pat.  I was forthright with my feelings and spent a long time hopeful that the lack of a rejection from someone I thought would be considerate enough to give it without delay meant my actions were worthwhile and potentially encouraged.  I did everything I thought I needed to do to naturally move into something fantastic... and ended up with quite the reverse of that.  I tried diligently to prove that I was willing to at least try.  But, he was not.  And that is that.

Mostly, I'm disappointed in myself.  I should have seen it coming.  Inside Petty Melanie hopes that I'm his "one that got away." Time will tell, I guess.  But, sitting here today, the only part of that statement that is reality is "away."  So, moving on is not an option, it's a must.  I've spent too much of my life watching days, weeks, months, years fly by pining away for someone who didn't give me a second thought.  So, the lesson I'm learning from this disappointment is that, although I did much better this time of not assuming that someone knew how I felt about them and being candid with my emotions and expectations in my own defense, I have to stop being the pursuer.  I've said it countless times, but I have to stick to it.  I spent six months doing most of the work sustaining our friendship/low-grade-courtship and that should have been a giant red flag.  I'm going to write this next statement on my mirror and repeat it to myself daily:

If someone isn't willing to do whatever it takes to spend time with me in whatever form he can get it, he is not worth it.  Not worth my time, my tears, my talents, my joy or my glowing personality.

Because I think I'm pretty awesome.  I'd want to spend time with me all the time.  Well, most of the time.  I'm not perfect around the clock.  You should see me when I first wake up... whew.  Hot, aggravated, moody mess.  Moving on...

So, my hopefully still interested readers, I'm back on the market.  In hot and heavy pursuit of The One.  I'm done with Time Wasters, Space Fillers, Dinner Buyers, Stand-by Dates, and Male Friends Who I Really Want to Date  (dear God, I have had plenty of that, thank you).  I have two months and ten days until my 31st birthday and have no yet succeeded in my New Year's Resolution.  And I'm getting sexier by the day (his even-bigger loss...  read more about my journey to sexiness on my new blog, "Breaking Up with the Couch.").  I need your help.  A coworker jokingly suggested that I try matchmaking at a local company here in Atlanta.  Anyone ever tried one of those?  I must confess, I immediately mentally jump to "The Millionaire Matchmaker" and it makes me feel nauseous.  I loath that woman.  But the ladies on this sight at least know the correct way to apply eyeshadow, which is a major component of successful dating, in my opinion.  Check them out here.   Or... brace for it.  I've been seriously considering rejoining (gasp) eHarmony.

Urgh.  I know.  But, it's their damn commercials!  The cute, scruffy looking guy, hands in his pockets, nervously rocking from foot to foot... so excited about his upcoming date, bashing the other dating sites for having to sift through thousands of profiles to find someone who has probably received thousands of emails that day.  I know...  I've been there.  The whole thing sucks.  But, I need to bounce back.  I need to take a page out of my own book and throw, no, hurdle myself back out there.  I've got so much to offer and want to share all the wonders of the world with someone who is still excited about that concept and not bitterly sitting in a coffee shop by themselves in front of a laptop (like I am right now).

So, do I jump back in to online dating, give the matchmaking thing a shot or hope that one of you know an amazing, eligible bachelor in the Atlanta area (or elsewhere) that doesn't think OTP is long distance (blatant Atlanta reference... "outside the perimeter" is often considered "no man's land.")?  I'm bound and determined to go on that real date before my birthday.  Help.

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