A New Year (and the Goals That Come With It)

I really don't want to do this.
I really don't want to sit down and reflect on the year that was 2015.

2015 wasn't good to me. 2015 really wasn't good to me. And it wasn't not good to me in the way a lot of years are--where you don't quite accomplish all the stuff you wanted to, where you feel a little lame because nothing all that exciting happened and you just lived your life. Nah, 2015 did me real dirty (we're talking a couple hundred punches right to the gut). And I don't really want to talk about that either.

So, instead, I'll summarize.
In 2015 I:

• went on a lot of bad dates 
• and then lost my job

There. When you put it that way, it doesn't sound all that bad. But not all that bad came with a lot of lessons that I don't think I needed to learn. Not all that bad taught me some things about life that I don't want to believe, that I'm not ready to believe, that I'm not sure I will ever be ready to believe. In short, sometimes life is a big ol' bitch and sometimes--and this is the real kicker--people are absolutely and unequivocally shitty. Hard work doesn't always pay off. People lie. And they lie easily, they lie a lot. Good things don't come to those who wait. Good things don't even necessarily come to those who work their asses off for it.

This year shattered everything I have ever believed about life. It stomped all over my optimism. It took the magic out of living.
I haven't been doing great.
That whole magic thing was always kind of my schtick.

The good news? 2015 is over. I never have to think about that bitch again. And honestly, I really don't think I will, thank you very much. Don't get me wrong, I can't forget the stuff I learned in The-Year-That-Should-Not-Be-Named. That stuff, as absolutely horrible as it is, is still important to my growth as a person. The naivety is gone. The magic, I think (I hope), will be making a comeback.

Getting the magic back, it's going to take some work. On my part. Only on my part. Life/the Universe owes me nothing. I finally get that (well... almost. No matter how many times I get figuratively punched in the face, I just can't quite let go of the idea of kismet).
I'm ready to do the work.
I'm an adult. 

And it's time to set some goals. 

So, without further ado, here's some stuff I'm going to do in 2016:

1. Work towards a career
Not a job. A career. (Though, at this point, a job wouldn't be half bad either). But the thing is, the last couple of years have been spent bouncing around trying to figure out who I am. Not wasted time exactly but I'm currently unemployed (after being laid off from a job that I was not all that passionate about anyway). I still don't know what I want to do. But I know who I am now. And I want a career in a field that actually helps better people's lives--whether that be tangibly or through, you know, that whole quality of life thing. I've got a few ideas. I'm going to take a few courses--bone up on the stuff I already know. And most importantly, I'm going to embrace what I'm good at. So, hustle. Enough with the no.

2. Take back my health
Luckily, I'm 25. Time is more or less on my side when it comes to my health. But it's my job to take care of this body I've been given. And I'm going to start doing that. That gym membership I've had since June, I'm going to use it. That gym I haven't gone to since August, I'm going to go to. All the delicious healthy foods that do actually exist (they do, right?), I'm going to eat 'em. And okay, don't get me wrong, I am so going to eat tacos too. Just less of them. I swear.

3. Save my money (so I can have a future)
Surprise unemployment helped me realize that not having any real savings is not an option. It's hard when the job you do get doesn't pay enough. It's really goddamn hard. And as a young person, there's pretty much no chance in hell that I will ever secure a job (at least right now) that actually pays the amount I (or any of us) deserve to earn. But saving is still possible. I'm doing it right now, and that's only using unemployment checks. As soon as I do get that job I want so much, I'm ramping up the saving. So I can have a life.

3.5. Save my money (so I can have some fun) 
I WILL TAKE A TRIP IN 2016. Period. This is non-negotiable. Unfortunately, the type of trips I want to take involve a lot of dollar signs but they are dollar signs I can save up for. I'm creating a travel fund for myself--$30 a week (and then some--a penny or two or $3.65 a day adds up) stashed away so at the end of the year, I can ring in 2017 somewhere new.

4. Move out
Even though I read a study that more women live at home now than they did during World War II (it's great being a millennial), I still feel like I'm too old to be at home with my parents. I love them. But they've done enough for me. It's time I break loose and go be poor somewhere else. I really need to take this step. I just have to get a job first.

5. Write more
I want to write more about what I care about in 2016. I want to blog more--about lots of things like movies and books and life and stuff. And I want to get all of those ideas I've got floating around my head-- you know, for novels and short stories and travel books--down on paper. And then! Then I'm going to do something with 'em. 

6. Put my trust in the right people (and then pay it forward)
Most people suck but some don't. Those are the ones I'm going to put my trust in, those are the ones I should invest my time into. I have a good friend group and I need to be better to them. I am notoriously bad at staying in touch with people--life just gets in the way--but I want to change that in 2016. So, if I love you, prepare to hear from me a lot more this year. I'm coming for ya.

7. Stop trying to force the whole "falling in love" thing
Enough is enough. I've spent more time on online dating sites than I would care to admit and it just isn't working. I've deleted my apps. And I don't plan on re-downloading them any time soon (give me a few months though and I'm sure we'll all see their return). Loneliness is terrible--truly--but trying the same thing again and again and again and expecting a different result is insanity. I'm taking a break. I'm seeing what happens. Admittedly, it will probably be nothing. But hey, it's worth a try, right?

So there you have it--me (hopefully) in 2016. I've set my goals. I've written them down. I'm accountable. And I really, really want to get the magic back.
Here's hoping I (and you) manage to pull it off.
Happy New Year, guys!
May 2016 be so much better than 2015 was.

That little shit. 

The Art of the Dry Spell

So, I’m in a dry spell.
And honestly, I don’t really know what to do with myself.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking–as owner and operator of all things #20SomethingProblems, I have written about my bad dates, lack of boyfriend, and dating shortcomings time and time again. These posts haven’t found me in any sort of successful relationship (except for the relationship I’m having with Ben & Jerry) so technically hasn’t my dating dry spell been forever long? Well, okay, yes, in so many words–kind of. But what I’m talking about goes so beyond the boyfriend dry spell that I can barely believe it.
For the first time in a long time (okay, since like February), I don’t even have the possibility of prospects on my side.
Nope, there ain’t a single soul vying for my attention.
I’m all alone on this vast blue planet and I kind of hate it. (And no, that wasn’t dramatic at all.)

Here’s the thing, just a couple of weeks ago, I had some stuff going on. There were men. Well, there was a man. A man and a half, really. Things weren’t exactly going great but I was holding out hope that maybe I was still on the train to Relationshipville. I had deleted all of my online dating apps. I was committed to never returning to the hell that is the first three dates. Y’all know what I’m talking about too–those first three dates where anything can happen and usually (in my case, at least) that anything includes a major ghosting or like, an awkward explanation of why we should just be friends.
 

But alas, that man and a half made his exit (with a highly original excuse. Kudos, my man. Kudos to you) and I was left with my phone in my hand (didn’t Taylor Swift write a song or two about this?). I’ll admit, I was sad. And I vowed to take a break from the dating scene for a while.
Which, of course, lasted about two whole days.

I don’t know about you guys but I’ve gotten to a point in my life where loneliness is kind of intolerable. That sounded hella depressing but hear me out. The thing is, I just want someone to share stuff with. And all the people I used to share stuff with have boyfriends or have moved away or are so busy that I can’t even talk to them all day everyday anymore (I know! How rude!). I’m not in college anymore. People have lives that don’t exist solely in one place, don’t revolve around friendships only. I’m lonely. And if I dig a little deeper, I am, of course, lonely for a very specific kind of something–the something that involves a boy and a girl and hand-holding and stuff.

So, I hopped back on OKCupid and re-downloaded Tinder (yikes, I know) and got down to biz. And I’m coming up empty-handed. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been propositioned to bang it out approximately 1000 times and the one guy (a mega-hot English dude who was totally out of my league) I was talking to (who called me devilishly beautiful–um, swoon and also gross) disappeared (literally disappeared–okay, totally just unmatched me) after I admitted to going to see One Direction–judge all you want mega-hot English dude. You’re not going to Drag Me Down.

So. Here I am twiddling my thumbs. I check the Cupe. I check Tinder. I weep heavily (just kidding). Rinse and repeat. I am solidly in a dry spell. And I think maybe I’m ready to accept it–maybe.

I’m not going to let this dry spell define me (As if it could. Come on, dry spell). Sure, it sucks to get literally zero texts a day (no, this isn’t an approximation–over the weekend I spoke to no living humans) but that’s the essence of dry spell. It’s like a love prohibition (and nobody’s even created any love speakeasies for me yet).

But as Thomas Fuller once said,  “It is always darkest just before the day dawneth.” (Yeah, I totally looked that up.) The art of the dry spell comes in accepting it, comes in waiting it out. Sometimes, some things just aren’t meant to be. And right now, a man (any man–especially that One Direction judging jackass) isn’t in my cards. I’m gonna do me. Not because I wanna (I don’t) but because I’ve gotta. And in truth, there’s something highly settling about doing stuff just because you have to do it. It teaches you patience. It allows you time to assess what it is you really want. It reasserts your own relationship with yourself. It sucks. It totally sucks. But it’s necessary. I’m thinking of it as a vacation from the anxiety that dating tends to induce. I’m taking a break and I’m going to come back cuter and more irresistible (so yeah, just mildly tolerable, really) than ever before. And when I do come back, it’s going to be so damn sunny out, I’m going to forget all about the dark that Date-Gate 2015 is currently creating.

Anyway, don’t they say Fall is the best time to fall in love?
Or is that Winter? Spring? (I know it isn’t summer. This isn’t Grease.)
No matter what it may be, I’ll be waiting–cute and funny and irresistible and wearing the One Direction t-shirt I’m totally getting at this concert tonight.
Take that, dry spell.

I Don't Want to Be the Funny Girl Anymore

I am a funny girl. I am the funny girl.
Seriously, that is my defining quality. Just ask anyone and they’ll tell you that I’m the sort of girl who can always make you laugh.
It’s just who I am. It’s just who I’ve always been–a jumble of bad puns and good jokes, a mish-mash of witticisms, of social commentary that somehow always seems to hitsome mark (even if it isn’t the one I intended). I’m a girl, that girl, who has turned self-deprecation into an art form.
I’m funny. I’m a funny girl.
And I think I’m finally over it.

Don’t get me wrong, I like being funny. Making people laugh is something that brings me a whole lot of joy. I live for those moments–live for huge grins and accidental snorts, live for knowing that I’ve genuinely made someone happy. It’s a talent, being funny, and hell, even I have enough confidence to admit that. At my core, I’m a comedian. I was born for it.I know this. I accept this. And boy, do I revel in it.
The problem is, I’m so much more than just the funny girl.
I just have no idea how to show it.

Humor is my armor. I pull it on in the morning. I wear it to bed. It protects me, keeps me from letting people get too close, keeps me from getting hurt. As long as they’re laughing, everything is fine. As long as they’re laughing, I’ve done something right. So, I make myself a joke. I make myself a character. Sitcom myself up, become a walking, talking prat-fall that sends milk right out of your nose. I become something so entirely palatable, something so entirely likable that you can’t help but get on board. It’s a shell of who I am, sure–just the very, very tip of the iceberg–but it’s something. It’s something.
And you like me, you really like me.

All at once, my humor is a means of deflection and attraction. I want you to like me. But I don’t want you to know me. Because if you do get to know me, will you still like what you see? So, make ’em laugh and they won’t bother to look, make ’em laugh and they won’t bother to dig. Funny people are happy people, right? There’s nothing under the surface. At least not anything to worry about.

My humor has become something of a compulsion. Every single hurt I’ve ever felt, I’ve made a joke out of. Every insult I’ve received, I’ve just laughed off. My hopes and dreams, my wants and desires, are all discussed in this half-assed, just kidding sort of way. The only emotions I let myself feel (in public, at least) are the type that leave a smile plastered on my face. I don’t go all in, not emotionally. I never have. And I hate it.

This is what I’m talking about. This is what I want to move past.
Because being the funny girl has stopped me from letting myself be seen.

I am both vulnerable and impenetrable. And my personality, my whole personality, has become something of a punchline that never really comes around because I don’t let it. I’m scared, okay? I’m scared. But playing at brave isn’t enough. I want to be brave.
I want someone to see me. I want someone to see me wholly.
And if that’s going to happen, I’ve got to let it happen.

I need to stop clinging to my humor like it’s a life vest. I need to take that leap, dive right in, and be myself.
The thing is, I am the funny girl.
But I’m a lot of other girls too.
And it’s about time they started getting some attention.

Letting Go of Your List: Why Finding the Perfect Guy Is Something You Can't Plan

Everybody has a list.
You know what I’m talking about—that list of all the things you do (and don’t) want in a significant other. And these lists are serious business too—the sort of thing you don’t even want to consider straying from when it comes to finding someone to love. I mean, come on—isn’t complete and total control the key to happiness?

I made my first list around fourteen and OH MY GOD, IT WAS INSANE. I wrote it out with my best friend on a lined sheet of paper and yes, I still do have it to this day (told you it was serious biz).
Anyway, I don’t know what was wrong with me (honestly) but I had some pretty huge expectations.
Some examples:

And that is just a taste of the entirely too-comprehensive list I sketched out of my perfect mate at the age of fourteen. I would like to apologize to Ryan Seacrest and any and all olympic athletes but still stand by the fact that Harry Potter is the best thing ever and if you don’t like it, you sure as hell aren’t dating me (Harry Potter forever!)

Over the years, my list has matured. I no longer really care about a majority of the stuff on that original list. It was too limiting and left me literally no room to find a living, breathing human male.
That doesn’t mean the list doesn’t still exist though. It still lives at the back of my brain (no, I didn’t write this one down) and includes things like non-smoker, must love dogs, college educated, dorky but in a cool way (Harry Potter forever). And I really do try to stick to this list when it comes to my many dating endeavors. I don’t trust a guy if he doesn’t like dogs. I assume things aren’t going to work if he doesn’t get my Star Trek jokes. I have never, ever been on good date with a vegetarian (burgers, y’all). There’s just certain things I look for in a guy that seem like major dealbreakers–either they fit the mold or they don’t. And if they don’t fit that mold, how could they ever be my perfect guy?

The thing is though, as time has gone on, I’ve found that sticking to my list hasn’t really done me any favors. I have been on a lot of dates with smart, college-educated dog lovers that have bored the shit out of me. I have been on dates with Trekkies who are just a little bit too weird. I have gone out with perfect-toothed, hairless men who are smart but aren’t smarter than me, who love Harry Potter and Doctor Who and have made me feel nothing. 
But when I’ve branched out and embraced dates sans list? That’s where I’ve hit the sweet spot. I went on a couple of dates with a shorter-than-me, bartending, smoker and had the best time ever (I mean, we even went to a strip club together. Can you imagine me in a strip club? No. No, you cannot. But it was hella fun). I’ve been out with an open-relationshipped, mega-nerd and have never felt more. I mean, for goodness sakes, I even went on a date with a cat person who didn’t like Harry Potter and I really, really enjoyed myself.

Okay, so those relationships haven’t really worked out either but they certainly were more successful than the ones with guys who seemed perfect on paper. Because, and I’m just figuring this out too, there is no such thing as perfect, on paper or otherwise.
We don’t get to decide what makes someone good for us (or what makes us good for someone else). Sometimes the people we least expect are the best. Life is weird and it’s something that you cannot plan, no matter how damn hard you try.
The same thing goes for love, even more so.
The things that set us on fire, really and truly, are not the things we pick for ourselves. Fire and lust and desire and love are found in the things that catch us off guard.  That’s the best sort of stuff.
It always has been.

So, that’s why I’m ditching my list. I’m not going to focus on college educations. I’m not going to think about dog lovers or freckles or floppy morning hair. I don’t need a list to help me decide what makes me feel good.
I want the person that’s unexpected. I want the person that gets me laughing–belly-laughing, the good kind–at two am. I want the person that makes my heart sing, that makes me feel so much that I think I might explode.
I want someone I love for everything they are and everything they’re not, no check list required.
(And yes, I still want the person that loves Harry Potter because some things you just can’t compromise on.)

It's Okay to Care More

I’m always the one that cares more.
Seriously, always.
And you know what, I think I’m finally okay with that.

The thing is, somebody always has to care more. It’s just the way things work. Without that extra little push of affection, nothing would ever get done. Nobody would ever get asked out, nobody would ever get married, hell, nobody would even get divorced. We would all just be stuck in one slow indifferent trudge towards death. Which, yeah, does sound lovely, doesn’t it?
If you ask me (and you obviously did ask), indifference is pretty much the worst thing. There’s nothing passionate there. There’s nothing alive. It is just nothing. And that sounds really damn boring, IMHO.

So instead, I care.
I care way too much.
And it has hurt me about a billion times over.

Caring more always leaves me feeling like some sort of desperate, pathetic loser (ahem). I feel like I need to justify myself, feel the need to justify my entire existence. It makes me want to stand on some mountain somewhere and shake some boy’s shoulders and say, “Hey, look at me! I like you! I like you a lot! And I am a normal, nice, semi-funny girl whose hair looks pretty good today! Please notice me! I am right here.”
And when you look at it that way, when you really break it down, I guess it is kind of pathetic. In my life, I have been so desperate for someone to feel as jazzed about me as I am about them that I have lost sight of what actually matters. I comb through all the reasons why they just aren’t feeling the same. I muddle through all of the ways I can make them see the light. And then, I decide I’m going to care less. Because caring less means hurting less, right?

Well, okay–yeah, probably.
But it also means feeling less.
And that’s not really something I’m prepared to do.

Look, acting like you don’t care makes you feel all Rico Suave cool. I get it. I don’t care so I can’t get hurt. I don’t care so I’m a mystery. I don’t care so somebody else has to. But, in truth, that’s a cop-out. In truth, that doesn’t even begin to hold a candle to the way it feels when you do care, when you meet somebody you are so excited about you can actually feel it right down in your toes. We all deserve someone we can be crazy about, someone who we wake up thinking about, someone who lights up our whole damn day, someone who gets us all weird and goofy and stupid in all the best ways. Feeling that way is exhilarating.
Feeling that way is sort of the best.

The thing to remember (and it is a hard thing to remember), is that our feelings belong to us. Our feelings are ours to give. So give them! If you feel them, feel them. If you feel them, give them. It’s up to you to decide where to place your care and you shouldn’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do solely because you’re afraid you’re going to look the worser. It’s up to you to decide where to invest yourself. And hey, sometimes investments can turn out to be really shitty. But it doesn’t mean, it never means, they weren’t worth a shot. You’re going to get burnt (time and time and time again–believe me) but you’re also going to get to live your life with a sense of certainty and purposefulness that is seriously badass.

The world doesn’t need any more indifferent people–it’s got plenty. Have passion and go out there and use it all up. Get spent, get bruised, get pushed around, and feel it all. Go out into the world with the certainty that you gave it everything you had and didn’t hold a single thing back. Let go of your should-haves, say goodbye to your maybes. Because it’s an infinitely more fulfilling way to live than the alternative, I promise.

 Yeah, sometimes you’re going to end up looking a little stupid.
And sometimes you’re going to end up getting a little hurt.
But hey, that’s life.
And you shouldn’t want to live it any other way.