I have been single for a very long time.
Besides the obvious benefits of being able to take up my whole bed at night and making out with people I don’t know, there are some slight downsides to this freedom. Some of these downsides consist of deep sorrow pits after glasses of whiskey (don’t judge, I Eat Pray Florence & The Machine my way out of that mess in no time). Most of them consist of dating advice by smug assholes who confuse a Facebook relationship status with happiness. They want me to find similar joys in the 3-month anniversary Thai food dinner and the candid kiss Polaroids. They currently view me as a sorry basset hound who lumps along smelly and without somebody to split an appetizer with. I am the ‘before’ in a makeover photo, the unfinished person that will only be complete until she can call somebody pumpkin tits or something. This usually leads to some sort of misguided dating advice like ‘maybe he didn’t call you for a year because he’s busy or dead’ because they want everybody you kiss to be the one you date. The thing is, sometimes people assume that because they have some sack of potatoes on hand who is willing to make out with their crotch on the regular, they are ultimately qualified to give me the tips I need to stop being such a single loser. Sometimes they are other fellow single people who are know-it-alls and watch too much SATC. The truth is, no amount of good or bad advice is going to make me any more prone to finding a relationship except for ‘don’t chew with your mouth open on dates.’ No amount of words is going to make me shave my legs and be the kind of person who gets a boyfriend or girlfriend. I’m fucking terrible, but happily so. I just assume that somebody will eventually slug trail their way over to me and be like ‘oh she’s as gross and perfect as me!’ and then we’ll have a wedding with an open bar and crepes. I’m not THAT worried. So stop giving me dumb advice about it. And most of all, stop giving me the dumb advice to end all dumb advice:
You’ll find love when you least expect it.
I hear this thing at least once a month. It has been passed around more than Amanda Bynes’ Twitter account or maybe just Amanda Bynes. It is one of the worst pieces of crap I have ever received all the fucking time forever, and I’ve seen at least 3 Ben Affleck movies, so I know crap.
Expecting love is not a bad thing. However, there is a way to go about ‘expecting love’ without just praying to Kate Hudson Movies and wearing pink popped collars. This usually means just..keeping an open mind? Telling a guy you made out with about your childhood? I don’t fucking know I’ve been single for three years. But I do know this: telling me I shouldn’t look for love makes me look for love MORE while trying to trick myself into thinking I’m not actually looking for it. This is my way of fooling the universe, so I start going to museums or trying to be the kind of girl who bumps into people while jogging or knocking over Sloppy Joe stands in the grocery. This doesn’t work ever. The kinds of people that think that putting out this pure karmic lack of expectation are the kind of people that take their horoscope way too surriously. They are the kind of people that buy blenders they see on TV. They are the kind of people that are full of shit. They just yap their yap brains out with yogi phrases like ‘the light in me greets the light in you and my heart is just BURSTING and READY and be the best me now! I am a surprised and loyal affection magnet!’ You sound crazy and I want to chakra all your chakras to death so bad. Of course, these people have success rates. They meet some long-haired elementary education teacher who ‘doesn’t give out grades’ and they yoga love each other to death or some heavy-muscled townie who the Dunkin’ Donuts employees know by name and they get happy. Fuck off, that’s not me. I’ll tell you why:
I expect love. I cannot stop expecting love. And the truth is, I don’t think you can either. Who exactly is walking around EXPECTING love? Oh, right. All of us. We are willing to go through all the asshole sexters, the bad musicians, and the nice but incompatible geeks because we expect an endpoint. A person who makes all the boo-boos better and all the bad lonely dates or single times worth it. We have to think this. If we thought for one second that we would be single forever, we would jump off some high-rise cliff into a pool of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, Julia Roberts rom-coms, and all sorts of pathetic things. Of course I expect love. Love, to me, is as anticipated and possible as the last Harry Potter Film: I’m so fucking excited it will happen but I’m just not so obsessed with it I can recall the date of release. I’m not going to dart around town trying to find it, but the day I stop expecting it to happen is the day I lose hope and that’s the day I buy 8,000 pet guinea pigs and try to make my dolls come alive with the memories. I will always, always, expect love because it would be cruel and inhuman not to. I am pessimistic about so many things, but I simply cannot be pessimistic about one of the basic joys of human life. I just want a relationship that is interesting and cool and not so ‘we buy each other chocolates on Valentine’s Day!’ I just want a relationship as cool as Gwen Stefani’s outfits! And I refuse to stop that kind of hope.
So please don’t tell me otherwise.