What to Expect When You Tell Your Single Friends You’re Expecting

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The twenties are full of many milestones. Milestones like graduations, internships, job offers, engagements, home ownership, weddings, marriages, and babies. These life-changing moments are much more than Facebook status updates or Instagram photos and these momentous events come at different times for everybody.

I’m thoroughly enjoying my twenties and this year I turned 26 (an age of which I keep referring to as, “the wrong side of 25”). I’ve begun to realize that while I have hit some of the above-mentioned milestones, others… well, not so quite. While some of these milestones like engagements and marriages are not on my radar right now (or really in any radius of personal thought) my friends are hitting all of the milestones – – and in perfect succession might I add. And while I am really, truly happy for my friends, I can’t help but have some sort of other feelings about it. Boy do I have some feelings about it. This is normal. Right?

I can’t be the only person in the world that has feelings other than complete and utter happiness when their friends tell them they are expecting. I handled the engagements well. I handled the marriages even better (helped throw bridal showers, stood beside the most beautiful brides as they married their best friend, and partied like it was 1999 at many a reception) – Did I just make a Prince reference? Good grief.

Moving on.

Back to what I was saying, I haven’t really been affected by seeing, watching, and participating in others hitting these milestones. However, the one that has somewhat “culture shocked” me is news of friends now having children. Gone are the days when these friends were terrified of asking their mom’s to be put on birth control, or the early morning emergency calls requesting to run out and get Plan B for them, or the glorious text messages letting me know that Aunt Flow made her monthly visit, even if she was a few weeks late and scared the shit out of everyone.

I’ve just begun adjusting to the idea that my friends are planning and trying to get pregnant. I haven’t had enough time to get ready for these plans to turn into reality and these realities to turn into sonograms and these sonograms to turn into real, live, babies. Hasn’t anyone thought about me? Am I the only one that feels like the kid who isn’t tall enough to ride the roller coaster? All my friends are running through the gate while I’m begging my mom to measure me again, “I have to be 52’’ tall, mommmm!”.

Now, now. I know how this sounds. It sounds incredibly childish, selfish (well, basically any word ending with “ish” that means: terrible person). I’m very cognizant of how this sounds. Oh, I’m very, very aware of how this sounds. This is why I (and I assume most single/childless people) have learned to hold these thoughts inside and hide how we really feel.

So this is why I am writing this. Here are the five thoughts that immediately go through your single friend’s heads when you annouce you’re expecting:

1. “Oh god, not another one!”

Jesus. They are dropping like flies. (Is there something wrong with me?)

2. “What about me?”

So, now that you are going to have this baby. Sorry, I’ll stop referring to it as “this baby”. Crap, I’ll also stop referring to it as “it”. Crap. Anyway, back to what I was saying. Now that you’re having a baby, where do I fit into your life? After you got married we adjusted to having our “girls night” every once in awhile. And these are sporadic – at best. Now that you have a family, where do I fit in? Ugh, I hate when I do this – – make it about me. But really, what about me?

3. “Are we going drift apart?”

Please don’t think that I don’t want to hear about everything. I may not be at the same stage you are (or even close to that stage) but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear all the details. All the details. I want to hear about the morning sickness, the name picking challenges, all the body changes (even if they’re gross), etc. I want to hear it all. I want to remain close to you and to remain close to you is to hear about your life. This pregnancy is your life. And believe me, I still want to share my life with you – – even if my stories are all about my disorganized, shambles of a life.

4. “Are you sure we aren’t going to drift apart?”

Make sure to reassure me that there’s still some room for me. I know, I’m one selfish asshole.

5. “Please don’t think I have an “empty” life and I won’t think your “life is over”…”

While we are both encountering and tackling extremely different life milestones, I promise to never belittle your choices. Promise you won’t belittle mine. While yours is going to include diaper changes and play dates, mine is still going to include happy hours and bad dates. One of these is not greater than the other. While you’re bringing life into the world – let me repeat that – while you’re BRINGING LIFE INTO THE WORLD (holy cow, that’s impressive) I’m still going to be sifting through losers trying to find “the one” and still deflecting any and all inquisitions from family members about my life and relationship status.

We are both going to need each other.

We are going to need each other so badly.

 

 

 

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How to live with a guy… When you’re not dating.

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Over the past two-ish years (and counting), I’ve lived with two different guys, both of whom I was not dating – or sleeping with. Each situation was different, here’s a little back-story on the guys and what I’ve learned on this adventure…

Kevin: I moved in with Kevin in the spring of 2011. I think I probably would have had more hesitation moving in with a male, but luckily for me, I was bringing along my best friend, Mandy. Long story short, Three’s Company was born. Towards the summer of 2012, our lease was up. Mandy left us both for her new boyfriend, Kevin moved in with friends closer to school, and I moved home…ugh.

Summer of 2012, there I was – back living at my parents. I had my master’s degree and six years of independence under my belt. To avoid complete depression, I would float in and out of appreciating the fact that I was having home-cocked meals on the reg, saving money, and banking on free laundry services.

The main reasons I moved home were one: renting a place in the area I wanted to live was so expensive, it was pretty much throwing away money and two: I am too big of a chicken to live alone. To all the single gals who are brave enough to live in a place by yourself — hats off to you, apartment warrior. For the rest of us (not willing to buy a cat – yet) we choose to live with a roommate so we don’t have to come home to the sad silence of the jingle-jangle of Kitty Kitty’s bell.

So, the decision to leave the nest. This decision comes to everyone at some point in their life. Usually, the decision to leave the comfort of your parent’s home comes about over the following two reasons.

Reason 1: You’ve decided to pack up that yellow Volkswagen bug, put in the mix cd titled “Go Your Own Way”, and start off on the adventure of adulthood, i.e.: college out of town, job supporting yourself, following your dreams, etc.

Reason 2: Health reasons. The health of you and the health of your parents. If one of you doesn’t get out of here soon, someone’s not going to make it. There will be a casualty… and lets face it, parents are pretty reluctant to leave. So, you have chosen the high road and let them keep the house.

Now what?

Chris: I was at home for about two months when I received a very random text from my friend Chris. He was wondering if I had figured out my life and if I had any interest in moving back. He wanted to get a really nice place and needed someone to go in on it with (I = $$$). Another very long story short – – about a month later, I moved into a two-bedroom condo with Chris.

Here’s a list of what I’ve learned (thus far) living with a guy…

Men are just as dramatic as women

When I moved in with Kevin and when I moved in with Chris, I wasn’t necessarily jumping for joy. I was going to miss my girl time. The late night ice cream raids, staying up talking till 4am, and being able to share clothes and shoes. The one thing I was not going to miss was the occasional drama. I was pretty pumped to live with in a drama-free zone with a guy. Boy was I wrong.

Guys are just as dramatic! They get moody, give attitude, and they also have perfected the silent treatment. WHO KNEW!? So much for living a drama-free lifestyle… But you know what, I still enjoy late night ice cream raids and staying up talking till 4am. No sharing of the clothes, thankfully.

Motherly Instincts

With both guys, the day that I moved in I was overcome with some weird “motherly” feeling. Let me explain.

Cleaning. After moving in, I quickly realized that I would be in charge of the cleanliness of the living space. That may sound sexist, and it probably is. The thing is, I know both guys would clean; the problem came into play when they realized that I would (and will) clean everything. They’d have to leave dirty dishes in the sink jusssssst long enough to bother me and I’ll take care of it. Now thinking about it, this is probably their plan. WTF. Never mind, they would never be smart enough to pull that off.

Worrying. Just like any mother, I became an obsessive worrier. Let’s start with how I would worry about their eating habits. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe a bag of Doritos and a can of Mt. Dew constitutes a meal? Or literally living off noodles and nothing else can’t be healthy, right?

I also worried when they would get sick. There really is nothing more pathetic than a sick guy. First, they pretend that they aren’t sick for about two to three days. “No, that’s not a cough – I just had an itchy throat.”  “No, I don’t look pale, I just, uh, haven’t gotten much sun lately.” “No, I didn’t just sleep for 16 hours straight, I, uh, just leave me alone!” So, after the denial stage has phased out, it’s time to run for the hills.

I can’t speak for all guys when I say this, but seriously, all guys turn into miserable babies when they get sick. They don’t want to be bothered; yet they want you to help nurse them back to health. They will tell you, “I’m actually feeling much better, I’m not sick at all,” while the same time they are on the phone with their mother whining and explaining in detail how truuuuuly sick they are. Thankfully, like clockwork, after three days this all will pass.

Nosey. After growing up with a sister and then living with many girls throughout college, I got pretty used to knowing what was going on with my roommates at all times. This changed (big time) when I moved in with a guy. I officially became “nosey”.

Apparently asking, “Where are you going?” is against all rules and makes you “nosey”. If I was to get an answer besides, “(Heavy sigh)” or “Do you really need to know?” I would usually get the go-to: “Out”. Fortunately, I broke down the walls of both guys and they learned that the one-word answers were not going to fly.

Another “no-no” was asking about any lady friends. When I lived with girls, I knew who they liked, who they were hooking up with, how their dating life was going, and so forth. Living with guys on the other hand, was a completely different story. Both guys that I have lived with were single or are single. Whenever they were interested in a girl or had some new girl in the picture, it was like I was trying to break into Fort Knox to get any information. Another “nosey” quality of mine. Geeesh.

My television time changed dramatically

I’ve now logged more hours with SportsCenter than any one person should be objected to. That’s all I have to say about this topic.

I became sneaky

I’ve learned how to be very sneaky. I’m not sure if I was a sneaky person before or why I became sneaky but there are just some things that the guys I’m living with don’t need to know. Now this is all going to sound very hypocritical because I just got done explaining why the guys shouldn’t call me nosey and now I’m explaining why they should stay out of my business. What? A lady deserves some privacy!

Anyway, Chris is pretty laid back and I haven’t had to hide much from him. On the other hand, when I lived with Kevin… he was like a CIA agent who knew everything. I would be leaving in the morning for work and I would get the suspicious eyes from him, “So Stacey, I heard the front door open pretty late last night…did you have a guest? Who was he??” How did he even hear the door?! Can’t I have a mystery visitor?! Ugh. So I guess one could say I learned from living under Big Brother’s watch with Kevin…

Endlessly answering the question, “You’re just friends??”

One of my all-time favorite movies is When Harry Met Sally. In the beginning of the movie, Harry and Sally get into a discussion about whether or not a man and a woman can be friends. Harry believes that there is no possibility of a male and female being completely platonic. Sally disagrees.

I’m here to set the record straight. It IS possible for a man and a woman to just be friends. I swear! I have lived with two straight men, no romantic inclinations, and we’re still friends (GASP!).

I know, I know. You’re probably skeptical. Well, get in line. You can get in line behind my friends, co-workers, my mom, their moms, etc. No one can believe that we can live together and just be friends. It’s a very difficult concept, apparently. I get it though, from the outside looking in, I can see what others see. There’s a penis and a vagina living under one roof… obviously something will happen. Sorry to burst everyone’s dreams, but there is no funny business going on with these guys and me.

…All in all, I’ve experienced a lot living with a guy that I am neither romantically involved with nor sleeping with. I can only imagine what else I’ll learn… stay tuned!

Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems. Part I.

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As another workweek draws to a close, I am reminded of one of my favorite phrases: “Mo’ money, Mo’ problems”.

But… not really. Whoever believes that having more money would really be a problem is a liar. I enjoy nice things. So, in order to finance these things, I gotta’ bring in that money. At this point in my life I was pretty convinced I would already be married and living off my rich, powerful, and sensitive Alpha Male’s steady income (not to mention, his health benefits). But, since I’ve woken up from that dream, I have to pick myself out of bed every morning and hoof it to my job. Let’s discuss the difference a job and a career.

Careers define you. A career is what you’ve always wanted to do. When people ask, “Now dear, what do you do for a living?”, you are able to actually smile and truthfully tell them. You go to work satisfied and you can see yourself doing this for years to come. There is a sense of stability, plus room for advancement. Obviously, not every day, every week, or even every year, within your career will be sunshine and butterflies. However, you are as close as you are going to get to perfection. *Bonus: In this perfect world, your expensive college degree helped launch you into this career.

Jobs, on the other hand, are soul-suckers. A routine morning while working your job most likely includes pulling crinkly pants out of the dryer and pouring yourself a gallon of coffee five minutes before you head out the door. You don’t tell anyone what your true job title is. For example, if you are a cashier at a coffee shop, you tell everyone that you are in finance. Cashier, money… Money, finance… Sort-of see the connection? Anyway, while driving to your job, stuck in rush hour traffic, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the review mirror. You worry your whole life is passing you by and you wipe one stray tear off your cheek. This tear represents your hopes and dreams. In layman’s terms, jobs suck.

I like to think others are stuck in this rut between jobs and careers. I like to think many people are confused about what the future will bring. I also choose to believe there are others out there who put on their armor and head out each day to charge the battlefield.

As you are probably aware, this professional battlefield is riddled with bosses and co-workers. These bosses and co-workers come in many different variations and here is my two-cents…

Bosses: We’ve all experienced the goofy Michael Scott’s, the Office Space inspired Lumbergs, the tyrant Miranda Priestly’s and the ever-so-greedy Mr. Burns’s at the workplace. If you are blessed enough to have an amazing boss, count your lucky stars. The boss is the commander of the workplace, they give orders, determine camaraderie, and choose who lives and who dies. There are several different types of bosses you will encounter in the workforce.

Best Buds Boss: This boss wants nothing more than to be liked. This boss wants the 411 (they’ll, of course, use annoying catch phrases like 411) and will do anything to be on the inside of an inside joke. They are constantly walking around laughing in the middle of conversations they were not apart of, popping their nose over your cube to seeing what your plans are for lunch, and always refers to themselves as the cool boss. And as you know, the cool boss never has to refer to themself as the cool boss. Although this boss can be annoying at times, it is definitely the lesser of the boss evils.

The Dictator: Although you have worked there for 5 years, this boss still doesn’t know your name. You give them undeserved credit for somewhat knowing your name. Example if your name is Jane you also go by Joan, Jess, Jamie, Jenny, and your personal favorite Michelle. You are convinced this boss was born with a permanent scowl tattooed on their face. You live in constant fear of the day they crack a smile because it probably means you’re dead or in some alternate universe. This boss doesn’t know how to do anything around the office. You and your co-workers have absolutely no idea how they got promoted or even hired in the first place. These bosses are amazing at delegation. They delegate their job to you. It is important not to quickly finish up your daily tasks because this boss will not reward you for getting done early and send you home — They will remind you of that 200 slide PowerPoint they need from you for their presentation. While working for this boss, you spend your time daydreaming of the Christmas Eve when your boss is visited by three ghosts and miraculously awakes the next day a change person. Hang in there daydream-believer, it could happen.

An Officer and a Gentleman: This is the boss you respect. You look at this boss as a mentor and they not only make you better at what you do but they push you to be the best you can be. You’ll bend over backwards for this boss. (No, not in bed – Even if you might want to). These bosses are usually the main reason you have stuck by this dead-end job for six years and counting. You dread the day this boss gets married and you have to change jobs due to emotional distress.

Co-workers: These are the people you were not given the chance to choose nor did you ask for them to be in your life. You are paid to interact with these people 40+ hours a week and even if you were paid in gold, you’re still not sure if it would be worth it. Yes, sometimes you do have those co-workers that become outside-of-the-office friends, but that is a rare blessing. (Note: The following descriptions are designed with the single gal in mind – You’ll understand, keep reading)

Here’s the starting lineup for your office:

Mother Goose: This co-worker has married off all seven of her children and made you her next conquest. As soon as she finds out you’re single, she will deliver you a daily list of her available nephews, neighbors, the mail guy, and even the bagger at the grocery store whom you are convinced is only 14. She’ll give you that awkward winky-face whenever a cute guy walks in and will slyly ask about his wife/girlfriend/fiancé to check on his relationship status. Even though she brings the thought of your single-ness to the forefront of your mind on a daily basis, you know that she means well and plus, she is one of the few people out there truly trying to help you snag a husband. *Bonus: You don’t mind her homemade treats and dishes she brings to the potlucks.

Miss Off-The-Market: This co-worker will sow her wild oats by living vicariously through your dating faux pas. She laughs hysterically at your single gal stories and is the first one to ask how that ‘big date’ went. This one always makes you feel like a dating warrior when she asks questions or makes statements such as: “I don’t know how you do it, I’d be so lonely!”, “I’ve just never been single, so I don’t know what its like!”,  or “You just do whatever you want, whenever you want?” These comments, again, bring the fact that you are single to the forefront of your mind on a daily basis. It’s fun to talk to these people because they seem to have a slight twinge of jealousy about your solo-riding life.

Mr. Off-The-Market: While you gaze upon this guy as a success story for some other female out there, he sees you as, Seabiscuit, a horse with a bum leg who should just be put out of her misery. To him, you’re past your prime. In his opinion, if you haven’t been scooped up yet, you ain’t neva gonna get scooped up. He views your funny dating stories as a stairway to bitter spinsterhood. He is quick to give examples of how his girlfriend is superior in every possible way to you. This guy doesn’t understand how you manage to survive without a male presence in your live. Your goal in life is to prove him wrong.

Mr. Office Casanova: This is the guy you fell in love with on the first day on the job. Of course, you didn’t act on it because you’re a classy lady. This guy knows how to work the crowd around the water cooler. This is the guy the other guys look up to and the guy all the girls shamelessly flirt with. None of the women in the office truly want to start a full-fledged relationship with Mr. Office Casanova, but they want him to want them. This guy is the Venus flytrap — Alluring at first, but if you get too close you’re gonna get snapped at. Be careful with this one, I’m 99% sure he has an STD from Lisa in accounting who always has lipstick on her teeth and wears work inappropriate outfits.

Mr. Prince Charming: This is the guy you wake up and go to work for everyday. You get the butterflies when this guy is around and you always go home and tell your friends stories detailing how he stopped by your desk and told you a funny story or gave you a piece of gum (Such special moments). This guy is on a pedestal you will never climb. Every weekend you tell yourself that you’re over him and that this week you will just look at him strictly as a friend… Then Monday rolls around and he is somehow holding a baby at work and he looks so completely adorable it makes your uterus skip a beat. Andddd you’re sucked right back in.

…There are many other work place people and dilemmas I will be discussing, so keep an eye out for Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems Part II.

Grocery shopping. My personal hell.

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Going grocery shopping is the absolute most dreaded thing I do. Ever. I know, I know. You’re probably saying, “Sounds like a case of ‘First World Problems’, Stace”. But seriously. There is not one, let me repeat, not ONE good thing that comes from going to the grocery store. Let me map this out for you.

Of course, we all have to nourish ourselves. And yes, this is much easier as of late. Long gone are the days of hunting and gathering. Now, we all herd into the local Kroger, Meijer, Whole Foods, or whatever, gather the necessities and return to our caves. I suppose I should be relieved that the whole hunting part is somewhat gone, because for us single gals, we don’t have a hunter to do the dirty work.

Parking. No matter what time I go to the grocery store, there will be two things that occur. It will be raining. Even in the dead of winter or on a bright, sunny day in July, there will be precipitation. Also, I will have to park the length of three football fields away from the entrance. How is it that there are never any spots available near the front? Next, let’s talk about my hair. My lovely hair that I attempted to make look decent incase I somehow run into the man of my dreams while picking up tortillas for taco night, will disappoint me. Awesome. My hair and the rain will band together and sabotage me. My hair will become a frizz ball that takes on a mind of its own. My personal favorite is when the front few strands begin to morph into Farrah Fawcett’s do, while the back turns into the look I rocked after bath time circa 7-9 years of age.

Phew, I’ve made it inside the store. Now, the question of carts comes into play. I am given three options. First, the basket. The cutesy basket that gives off the message, “I plan ahead and I don’t need a ton of food because I already have plenty at home. I’m just here to pick up a few things like a leafy head of lettuce and a baguette. I’m so modern chic”. The second option is the big cart. This cart is just impossible to maneuver. Each aisle can comfortably support about 2 of these carts and you know each aisle will be jam-packed with about 7 carts. The third option, my favorite option, the single’s cart. You know this cart. The slightly smaller cart, perfectly made for one. This gives off a few different vibes as well. If you’re a guy: “Hi. I’m single, I need help shopping, and I look so goddamn adorable pushing this smaller cart around this store – – I’m cute”. If you’re a girl: “HI. I’M SINGLE”. I have begun to embrace the single’s cart. It really is the perfect size for all of my purchases.

After the cart is chosen, I actually need to do the deed. I need to shop. Here is when a list comes in handy. A list that rarely gets made. If a list is miraculously made, I most likely forgot it at home or in the car. And that car, as you know, is way to far away to turn back now. Then, I must decide how I want to conquer this bitch. I decided a long time ago that I grocery shop like I drive. This essentially means I grocery shop erratically, without reason, rushed, in the fast lane, and (occasionally) rear-ending other shoppers. My shopping style aside, once I’m in – I’m committed.

The next problem lies with the aisle distribution. Who designs these places? Obviously, these mazes are designed by someone who has a personal shopper that they enjoy torturing. Once I start this venture, I will (without a doubt) realize I need 3 things from aisle 1 that I forget to grab just as I am about to round Aisle 17. Here is when my internal grocery store pep talks begin. I tell myself if I don’t return to aisle 1 now, I will forget those 3 precious items. So, I detour back to aisle 1. My inner GPS recalculates me back to aisle 17 (after re-passing everything else that I have forgotten in aisles 2-16, obviously). Once I make it back to aisle 17, my cart is usually quite full and I decide it’s definitely time to go.

Before I can make a mad dash for the exit, I will run into someone I know. It is never fun running into anyone you know at the grocery store. Mainly, because it’s not very fun running into someone you know anywhere, let alone the grocery store. These people are definitely people you don’t really feel like talking to in the middle of the frozen-food aisle between Hot Pockets and the assorted DiGiorno pizzas. But of course, this person will stop you and talk to you. These people range from your mom’s co-worker to your old babysitter. You don’t remember them what-so-ever. However, they will inevitably say things like, “You’ve truly grown into a beautiful young woman” or “I still remember those Power Ranger pajamas you loved!” They will trap you in the frozen-food aisle for so long you have had time to mentally catalog the TGIF’s frozen Appe-Teasers into ‘Most likely to buy’ and ‘Never, ever, going to buy’ categories. By the time you have decided to dive right into that cooler and grab the green bean fries, they finally wrap up conversation and you are left wishing you could remember an ounce of the conversation. You know your mom will be asking for each and every detail once this said person tells your mom they ran into you. Oh well.

The next thing I always run into… everything else I didn’t know I wanted or needed. During this final hour of grocery store desperation, I have decided I want it and I need it. I will somehow backtrack to the cosmetic aisle. Here, I will ponder all of my make-up necessities at home and wonder if I need a refill of anything. I will, of course, not need anything. Then, I will walk away with new eyeliner, lipstick, and a new shade of nail polish. I will finish with a final sweep: A pint of ice cream and probably a Cosmo at the register. Oh, and a pack of gum.

Now, another really fun part. Paying. Enough said.

Here we are, the finale. Face-to-face with the most dreaded part of the entire event – – Taking it all home. The entire process leads up to this point. My groceries are bagged, I’ve trucked the miles back to my car, and made it home in one piece. I now have to carry the groceries in and unload them all. Ugh. With a huge side of UGH.

Grocery shopping is exhausting and I truly hope to pay someone to do this for me one day. By the time the groceries are unpacked and I finally sit down — All I want to do is order a pizza. Good grief.

Why I don’t hate Valentine’s Day this year.

Alright, so tomorrow is February 14th. As I sit here on the eve of Valentine’s day, I feel (surprisingly) content. Past years, I would have been asleep hours ago via a Nyquil-Moscato induced coma. I wouldn’t say I’m usually depressed around Valentine’s day — it’s just always held more of a “let’s just get this fucking day over with already” feel throughout the years.

I know what you’re probably thinking, “Obviously, she’s IN LOVE this year”. Au contraire my friends. I am not in love and I am not dating anyone. Actually, I am probably the furthest away from being in love this year. Now thinking about it, maybe that’s why this year I’m okay with the calendar flipping to 2/14/13.

The past few years have been pretty tough on my cardiac muscle. I won’t bore you with any sob stories. The highlights include, but are not limited to, the following:

  • Dating your run-of-the-mill douchebags.
  • Becoming “The Other Woman” without realizing it. (Yeah, I know)
  • Getting dumped by a co-worker, for a co-worker.
  • Reappearing exes who apparently just want to relive the heartbreak.

And possibly the worst:

  • One major case of unrequited love.

By taking a look at that stellar love-resume, I’m sure most would agree that I am a cynic when it comes to matters of the heart. And most days, I would agree. I believe that there are a lot, and I mean a lot, of assholes out there. And I also believe that these monsters are only motivated by their selfishness. So yes, I’m a cynic! Sue me! Can’t a girl just be angry about love without being THE angry girl about love? I guess not.

But not this year. I refuse to let my cynical methodology rule every feeling I will ever experience. And more importantly, I refuse to be affected by Valentine’s day. This year, I’m also not going to belittle the holiday. That’s right, I just referred to Valentine’s day as a holiday. Not a Hallmark Holiday, existing primarily for commercial purpose. A real, line-it-up-next-to-Christmas-Thanksgiving-and-Halloween-holiday.

I hope every store that sells anything resembling chocolate from Russell Stover and Godiva to Walgreens and your neighborhood Piggly-Wiggly, is stocked and ready for the last-minute lovers trekking to the stores tomorrow. I hope all the oversized-teddy-bears with heart-shaped-eyes that exist in the world have been purchased with “special someones” in mind. I hope tomorrow there are couples who will sway to the timeless love lyrics of Barry White, Frank Sinatra, and Celine Dion. I hope these couples end their evenings with unbelievable-can’t-get-enough-mindblowing-sex.

On the flip side of this coin, I also hope that all those single guys and gals out there have a fabulous day. I hope these singles aren’t overwhelmed with their current relationship status. I hope these singles don’t refer to tomorrow as “Singles Awareness Day”. I hope (and urge) these singles to avoid all social media outlets – Yes, I’m talking your Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. These sites will only be riddled with things you don’t want to see. I’ll save you the time, here is what you’re missing:

  • Status updates: Happy Valentine’s day to the best boyfriend a girl could ask for! Here’s to many, many more baby! (Insert some sort of annoying Emoji)
  • Pictures: (These can vary) Usually, the pictures will be an array of vases of flowers, chocolates, engagement rings, etc.

I’m telling you, stay away from these sites. Back to my hopes — I also hope that these singles have other single friends to lean on, other single friends to buy tacky gifts for and share a bottle of wine (or three) with. I also hope that there is unbelievable-can’t-get-enough-mindblowing-sex for the singles. I don’t discriminate, sex for all!

As for me, I will be spending Valentine’s day with my traditional plans. My best friend (who happens to be in a long-term relationship and still says I’m her Valentine’s date now and forever — I know, I know, I am one lucky bitch) and I will go to our local Olive Garden only to wait an ungodly amount of time for a table, order wine, appetizers, and entrees. Then we will venture to our favorite fro-yo establishment and treat ourselves to the “big” portion cups – You know, because it’s a special occasion and all. Gotta love tradition. Then I’ll drop her off to her apartment, live-in boyfriend, and puppy. I’ll then drive home, most likely listening to Taylor Swift, and open a bottle of Riesling when I arrive. If I get really crazy, maybe a swig of Zquil. Hmm… I guess tomorrow will be like all my other Valentine’s days. Geeesh.

Well, time has gotten away from me during this post (actually I’ve been catching up on my DVR while typing — Big things happened on Nashville this week, folks. I really hope I’m not the only person in the world watching that show…) It is officially February 14, 2013.

Here’s to another Valentine’s day.

xoxo stacey