Don’t you dare come to me with your “7-year itch”

I’ve hit the stage now where a lot of my friends have been married a good number of years. 7 seems to be a common number, with lots of people waiting until their early thirties to seal the deal and settle down. It’s when anxiety sort of presents itself and people realize that if they want all the things they think they may want, now is probably the best time. In retrospect I sometimes wish I’d felt a little more pressure in this regard. Until recently. You see, now is the time when a lot of guys that are peripherally in my life: friend’s husbands, guy friends I used to have crushes on or vice versa (now married), guys I dated that sit at the edge of my social media feed, have decided that what they “settled” for is not all that they dreamt it would be. Basically shit got real, and it’s not all sexy times. Duh. And let me tell you, these guys are coming out of the woodwork and back into my orbit…and it’s pissing me off.

I get it, you’re bored. Suck it up buttercup.

The worst was an old friend who always seemed to think we were dating, despite me constantly assuring him that we weren’t. It was all very awkward and I was pretty pleased when he knocked up some gal and they had a shotgun wedding. Posts on their social media depict a very lovely, child-centered life. Lots of valentine’s day wishes to each other and “sigh, ain’t life grand” posts.

Then a couple of weeks back I get a direct message on my social media feed:

Emma, I can’t stop thinking about you and our time together.

Oh boy. I responded with a simple, Nice to hear from you, hope you’re well.

He went on to tell me the he missed me. That his life wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. How he wished things had gone differently. I tried to steer the conversation to all that was good in his life. The things that I covet. The kids. The house. The seemingly established adult life.

He isn’t buying. Kids change your whole life. I love my kids, don’t get me wrong. But I probably wouldn’t have them if things went a different way. You’re so lucky Emma. You still have your freedom and independence. I’d totally trade my life for your life. 

Now this part pisses me off. I mean sure, I have some freedom and independence. But who’s to say that’s what I want. Pushing this narrative on me of things somehow being better, when there are so many things I wish were different, just feels inconsiderate.

Another recent incident got me raging.  I was at a friend’s birthday, and at the end of the night her (very drunk) husband cornered me and told me that I was looking really good. Reeeeeaaaaallllly good. while giving me what I can only describe as (very drunk) bedroom eyes. It was the creepiest. Now if you’re opening up your marriage…that’s one thing. Awkward but it’s a whole thing that is acceptable to a lot of people. But this whole wandering-eye, seven-year-itch reach-out is just gross.

Stop messing with my head!

And unkind. Because you know what. It messes me up. For one, it makes me even less likely to ever want to really choose anyone, because I see the seedy other side. Two, it makes me feel like some second-string reject. It diminishes my value and almost makes me feel like a tawdry hidden thing, not worthy of the main event. It kills my trust in anyone, making it even harder for me to date.

Oh and the kids thing. No single woman who thought she wanted kids wants to hear from you that you regret it. Especially not when it’s followed by “but they really are the best thing that ever happened to me!” The same guy above who complained about missing the single life and suggesting that I might be better off without kids, had the nerve, and pure stupidity really, to send me a video of him with his son giggling saying “this is my why.” Are you kidding me? Were you absent in the conversation just last week where I told you that I was sad about not having kids and you told me I was better off? Get a clue Mr.! (And that’s me being polite)

So married or otherwise-involved dudes. Stop f%$king hitting on me, complaining about your life, telling me you wish it had been me, hinting that if I wanted some tawdry affair it is available to me. I don’t want any of it. Get a therapist. Deal with your issues. But stop knocking on my door. Seriously.

Perspective shift

I guess if I could just get over this anger for a hot minute and look at it from a different angle I would maybe be flattered that I’m still thought of? That I chose a life without them, instead of the opposite, and that I’m pretty happy overall. There is so much that is good of course in any situation, and the things that aren’t perfect. Again, life. I’ll try that thought choice for a bit.

The wedding is this weekend so I’ll report to you from the other side. No date for me which is almost better…then I can disappear for a bathroom sob, or kill it on the dance floor as the ultimate single gal to envy without someone I barely know staring at his water glass at an empty table.

Nashville is nice, but where are your kids?

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

Bachelorette blues

I’m lucky in that I look younger than I am (though the gap is tightening year by year). I generally find the years between 30-40 to be pretty kind to a woman’s face. It’s after 40 that the years of face cream, and “did she or didn’t she” wear sunscreen play out on your face. In any case, I can hang out with women quite a bit younger without drawing too many “are you the chaperone” looks. As was the case with my younger sister’s recent bachelorette party.  Me and a group of girls at least 10 years my junior…in Nashville. I might have had to find a stool or two at 2 AM to “rest my feet” for a while, but other than that I fit in…totally.

Except on the first day. We dropped off our luggage and headed straight to a famous barbecue joint. While waiting in line, a woman that I could have sworn was 10 years my senior, wearing a bright pink “Bridesmaid” t-shirt, started a chat with me in line for the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh! I love it here! Are you with a bachelorette party too?” (everyone in Nashville is there for a bachelorette/bachelor party).

“Yeah! my younger sister’s. ”

“Oh ma gawd. Me too! My younger sister as well. I’m 40, how old are you?” Straight to the point this gal was.

“I’m 39, but my sister is much younger.”

“That’s awesome! I thought you were my age. Who’s watching your kids?”

Right. I’m meant to have kids by now. Most certainly in the south.

“Oh I don’t have any kids…yet!” I responded with fake enthusiasm. Hey lady, I know the stats. But give a girl some hope.

She responded with a look worthy of me telling her I had a communicable disease after sneezing into her mouth. “Oh,” was her response, before she quickly allowed herself to get distracted by the chatter of the rest of the girls in her party. I was no longer of any interest.  Almost like it was an impossible thought for her to get through her (very blonde and very teased) head. That I might actually be childless at my advanced age. Like I was a famous (in China) “leftover woman.” Or so it felt.

I guess I can’t blame her. It’s probably just what she’s been conditioned to think. But still, it hurt. Nonetheless I plastered on my “let’s party bitches!” smile and got myself back in the spirit. The weekend wasn’t about me. As usual. I’ve been to more parties for other people’s life “accomplishments” than I can count.

The weekend was a blast. I mean exhausting and filled with booze and dancing and drinking and touring. But Nashville really is a nice place to hang your hat for a few nights. Until, after a very long and blister-producing night bar hopping the clubs on Broadway street, when we ended up in a late night BBQ joint to balance out the alcohol in our bloodstream with some heavy grease. The grease was good. Having to listen to a drunk almost 30-year old bridesmaid, the only other single bridesmaid, whine on about how she was so worried she’d never meet anyone and “OH MY GOD” she’s almost 30. Well that was almost just too much for me to take. She was in my mental “I hate you” books for the rest of the weekend. I mean, I get it. We’ve all been there. But I’m just not in the place to hear someone 10 years my junior complain about running out of time. No thanks.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Tips to get through someone else’s wedding day

The wedding is in a couple of weeks so I decided to go back to the good ol’ therapist to get some strategies to get through the day. Obviously I’m so happy for my sister but the whole thing is so loaded for me. I’m not the first, and based on my age I should have been. It makes me feel like I’ve failed. Like there was a timer on the race and it ran out. So me and the mind maven came up with some tricks for key moments:

• The father/daughter moment. You know, where you watch your Dad tear up at seeing the bride, his baby, and wonder if you will ever experience that look for yourself:
  • The solution: Visualize it beforehand to desensitize yourself to the actual moment. Journal about it beforehand. Have some tissues ready. Focus on them, not the loss of what you thought you would have.
• My speech. How to not turn into a blubbery mess with everyone watching:
  • The solution: Write it out and practice, practice, practice. And then practice some more. You will still cry. Everyone does. But you won’t get caught up in getting caught off guard.
• The inevitable questions or comments from loving friends/relatives “don’t worry, it will be you next!” or “where’s your boyfriend?” or “when are you getting married?”:
  • The solution: Fun, snappy responses “Oh geez…I hope I’m not next!” or “Wait, I don’t know. He went to the bathroom a while ago. I should go check on him!” or “Next week…sorry  you weren’t invited. We had very limited numbers.” Haha just kidding. Sort of. But fun little responses, changing the topic or excusing yourself are always good options.
• The pity party of one. Lord knows I don’t want to end up on the toilet seat, mascara running down my face:
  • The solution: Don’t drink so much! But seriously, just focus on the moment. Cry for a beat if you need to. Remind yourself that you will get through this and her getting married does not mean anything to your prospects or your future. It could happen to you to! If you want it to that is…

In any case, I’m sure it will be a great day. I just don’t want to put anyone in the position to feel sorry for me or take away from the day which is why I need this tricks. I also don’t want to be a weepy mess. Victim I am not. Hear me roar.

What are some of your tips for getting through a happy/hard day?

Social media “meet cutes”

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Prioritization and Perfectionism

I’ve been a bit MIA as of late. I have so much I want to say on this blog, but with a day job, a book I’m trying to get published and trying to date/figure out this baby stuff in between, I’ve been pretty bad at keeping up. And it doesn’t always pay off when I do. I maintain a lot of anonymity on this site, due to the personal nature of the content. But that in turn makes it hard to share my blog with my personal network and through that, get to the right people out there who would benefit from reading it.

Still, I think the subject matter is important. That the things I’m going through are relevant to so many women of a certain age. I personally find it so helpful to read that I’m not alone in experiencing this unique 21st century conundrum for women. So I’m going to carry on for a bit longer, with maybe a small pause for a bit as I figure out where to take things next. Prioritization is everything however and I have gotten to the place in life where I’ve lived and breathed the common expression, “you can have everything you want, just not at the same time.” So we will see where everything lands.

Another thing that keeps me away from writing is this idea that I always need a big chunk of time and the perfectly crafted blog in order to post. And that comes at the expense of getting some good stories out there. So I’m going to try to let things go without a fine-toothed-comb review.

Instagram is for lovers

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

An update on the dating front (and another reason I’ve been MIA for the last little bit). The guy I reached out to through direct message on Instagram ended up taking the bait.  It was such a sweet “meet cute.” We had been chatting on a dating site, but he sort of ghosted for a bit. Instead of asking where he was I did the mature thing, my normal MO, and deleted him from my matches while drunk. Fun times. I did however know his Instagram handle, so in another moment of drunken clarity, I followed him on Instagram. I quickly sent him a little DM saying “Hey! How do I know you?” hoping that he would just play along instead of being like “I don’t know crazy, you just followed me…how do you know me?” Now as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve had these super lame reach-outs by men, and it has never, not even once, worked. So I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking.

But he played along. Woot! We fell into a regular conversation pattern. The chemistry was great. We were slowly building a mini-relationship over text. It felt good. And then I mentioned that I loved Oysters when he mentioned he had just come back from a buck-a-shuck, and the date was set. Oysters and beers and a first date penciled in.

Broken bones and a broken heart

The next Monday before our Friday date rolled around and I got a text from him:

“Morning! I’m really looking forward to our date on Friday, but there’s a small chance I might not be able to make it…”

Story of my life! Setting up for a cancellation a week in advance. Classic.

“Oh no! How come?” I asked, interested to see what kind of “washing my hair” type excuse he might come up with.

“Well, I’m just in an ambulance now. I was hit by a car. I should be fine. But just in case I thought I’d give you a head up.”

Jesus. Good excuse at least. A few hours later I got a text saying that he was going into surgery. Multiple broken bones apparently. I gave him a pass on the Friday night date, despite him assuring me that it was only Monday and he’d probably be fine by Friday (might have been the drugs talking at this point). His one surgery turned into three and the date was postponed by a couple of weeks.

But man, when we did meet it was really great. Despite him limping in with casts on both arms and one leg, we had instant chemistry and he was quite the trooper. We had our oysters and beer. And one date turned into many. Everything was going swimmingly. Good conversation, I got butterflies when he smiled…all the standard good things.

But as his injuries healed slower than his positive outlook initially predicted, he started

Photo by burak kostak on Pexels.com

to appear agitated. A major love in his life was baseball, and knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to play that summer, maybe ever, gave him a bit of an edge. He was snappy. And seemed a bit despondent overall, not really seeming to know how to act with his injuries. And then the slow ghost started. Which leads us to where we are now. No communication, his little circle randomly showing up on my feed of those who have viewed my social media, but nothing more.

I’m bummmmeeeeed. This was the first guy in a long time I could foresee any kind of future with. But at least I’ve relatively successfully explored a new option for getting dates (because I am just not digging online dating whatsoever). Now I can just be that creep on Instagram ;). Live and learn.

What weird things have you done to get a date?