In case you haven't noticed, I've been gone for quite some time. My hiatus is a story for another day, but for now I'm here to jump back into life as it currently stands. 
   I've never been one to follow on the same path. For as long as I can remember, I've been known to beat to my own drum. In fact, if you look at my history, I've been a bit of a misguided leader. A train off the tracks. A go with the flow type. But I own it because it's what makes me me. And I'm here for that. The last year of my life hasn't been out of the ordinary for anyone that knows me. In fact, my whole life I've lived in what my heart feels at the moment. My 8th grade yearbook says I wanted to be an Interior Designer. My senior yearbook says I went to school to be a Pediatric Oncologist. And while I am addicted to clearance finds at HomeGoods and I did learn how to suture up a banana at med camp, neither of those paths were what I ended up taking. I created a whole new path after realizing being a doctor wasn't for me (but I'm open to marrying one). And then again when I decided that living in a deserted beach town in the snowy weather of December wasn't for me. And also when I discovered living at home with my mom in a town with one stoplight wasn't for me. Yet again, I'm back to discovering what isn't for me but what makes this time different is that I am struggling so hard to accept that this path I'm on may not be for me.
   Recently, I've been struggling financially so hard that it's become mildly depressing. Looking at my bank account, trying to figure out how to earn enough money to pay this months rent, eating random combinations of food that don't make meals because going to the grocery store was too expensive, became really depressing, really fast. These past few months, I've had days where I've woken up sad, some days I never left the couch for 15+ hours. The feeling of having this overwhelming credit card debt and an empty bank account have consumed my life and the once bubbly personality that I knew myself to be. I'm not depressed every single day to the point where people even noticed or that I felt the need to tell anyone about it, but the heavy thoughts of financial burden never quite left my mind and I recognized it. So I decided to take on a fourth job. Yes, that says fourth. Because being a full-time grad student doesn't allow me to work a full-time job, I have all these random part-time gigs that are inconsistent and leave me poor. I drive for Uber and Lyft, I babysit for three families, and I substitute teach. With it being summer, I haven't had school income since April, babysitting is only a rare few date nights, and Uber and Lyft drains my gas tank and increases my car repairs. So I decided to take on another role, a new role in the most consistent job I could think of: retail. 
   Lilly Pulitzer has been my idol since my sorority days when I discovered the love for the bright prints and the backstory that she came from. Lilly was an innovative, dream-chasing, inspired woman who created a fashion empire by mistake. I idolize her just as much as I worship the clothing. (I've said before that I would scrub the floor with a toothbrush if it meant I got to work at Lilly Pulitzer, just ask my roommates.) And even though I knew I'd spend majority of my paychecks on the attire, I applied for a part-time sales associate job anyway. I went in to interview only three days after applying and when my (now) manager offered me the dream role I didn't even know was available, I almost cried actual tears and hugged her. But I didn't. Instead my jaw hit the floor after being offered a full-time, with benefits, with financial security, with paychecks probably printed on Lilly Pulitzer checks like the ones I use for my personal bank account, real full-time event planning position. I didn't ask for this, I didn't apply for this, my literal dream was handed to me at arms length on a silver platter that I didn't know how to carry. The obvious answer was to scream YES at the top of my lungs in the middle of the store but... grad school.
   So for the past three weeks, I've been struggling with this overwhelming decision of which path to take. Do I follow my heart and go with the dream job I've wanted since I was 18 or follow the logical path that society says I should and continue to finish what I started. I've done the millennial thing of talking with my therapist to seek out a solution. I've talked it over with my mom. I've talked it over with my friends. I truly struggled to make this decision because of the looming uncertainty of "what if I'm making a huge mistake". And as much as I don't care what your opinion of my life is, that tiny part of me is thinking about what you think of the choices I am making. I think what I needed was a little validation because when a friend called me brave, that's when it clicked into place for me. That one word to describe me is what got me here. It restored the faith I've lost in myself these past few months, it turned my depression into clarity. Brave is exactly how I feel when I redirect the path I'm on. Being perceived by someone else as brave was the validation I needed to know that I am supported in whatever path I choose. 
   I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is full of twists and turns on the path were on. The uncertainty of life is overwhelming at times, but it's also why we are here. It's not about living to have bragging rights or completing a journey that your heart doesn't stand behind. Life is about making a game time decision that's right for you at this time. It doesn't have to be a five year plan and it doesn't have to define the outline for the rest of your life. Why pursue something that doesn't get you excited to wake up in the morning or stay with a job just because it's what you chose to start and now don't want to finish? Sure, there will be days I wake up and not want to go to work in a retail store on a Saturday because something else is going on. But that is human nature. Even those who are completely in love with their job have a few days they'd rather sit at home, but it's important that the days that you love your job outnumber the depressing days you spend on your couch binge watching a show and eating leftover pasta from four days ago. Depression is real and can sneak up on you or it can hit you like a bus. Don't live your life for a five year plan, live the life you want to live in this moment. But most importantly, lead the path you want to and don't look back. 

   Wig nights are a thing now. Girls buy cheap plastic hair off Amazon and wear them out to the bar for a fun twist on a night out. Bachelorette wigs, girls night out wigs. It's a thing, Google it. But tbh, fake hair has been my thing since freshman year of high school. I've worn extensions since then because my hair is so baby fine and doesn't grow and I did not get blessed with good genetics in that department. But it's never bothered me. Hair is like makeup, everyone is adding a little extra these days. The Kardashian's rarely wear their natural hair, Ariana Grande's ponytail is fake, the stars are doing it and so am I. In high school, I dabbled in wigs for a bit. I had a blonde one with bangs like Hannah Montana (I actually dressed up as Hannah for a fake lip sync "concert" at a party once, but that's a story for another time). I also had a red one to satisfy my wilder side (you can see this one featured on my school picture day in 10th grade). I remember taking my wig off and passing it around for the boys in my class to try on. Wigs were fun, but those looked pretty fake. I've never been ashamed of my hair, I just would rather have fun adding in the fake stuff than leaving it scraggly when it's natural.
   So two weeks ago when someone introduced me to the world of hair toppers, my whole life changed. My hair has been significantly thinning from the extensions ripping it out slowly. So bad that it is to the point where my students would point out that my "weave is showin". But then I stumbled upon a Facebook group filled with women of all ages suffering varying degrees of hair loss and they introduced me to Highline Wigs. This topper is so real that my students haven't even discovered its a wig yet. I work in the urban schools and they literally don't even know (if you're catching my drift). It's a 10/10 and I'm definitely not embarrassed to tell people it's a wig. In fact, I've gone out of my way to tell several people just so they can appreciate how great it is. Yes, the photo at the end of this blog is a WIG.
   Anyways, the point of this post isn't to advertise Highline (but Sharon if you want to sponsor me, lmk), but instead to tell you what it is like to try dating with this thing. It's only been a week but I already had quite the hair experience already and I hope you're here for it. I went out Friday night with my friends from Bloom and my roommates to showcase my new 'do.  It was sort of a "date" for my one friend meeting a guy for the first time, and he just so happened to bring along a cutie so I made it my date as well. Who needs group dates on The Bachelor when you have spontaneous group dates at Garage instead. It was such a fun night bouncing between bars and finally having a nice head of hair to compliment my outfit. Out of all my recent nights at the bar, I had finally found a cute boy that didn't ask about my student debt status, wasn't a Jesus lover, didn't slide into my DMs, didn't involve his parents and his soul, and someone that finally fit my criteria. He was cute. Since Friday, I have debated what details to include on a public forum that my mother reads.. but I've decided the juicy details are what give this story life. So sorry mom (and probably my grandma), but I'm 26 years old so if you think I'm not out living my best life you're wrong, also if you want to stop reading, now might be the time...
   After a fun filled night of dancing in the attic of some weird bar playing music from who knows what genre while drinking a PBR (that was bought for me I should add, not a go-to choice for me), my checklist-type of guy said the statement that all girls have heard at some point.. 'Let's go back to my place'. I thought about it.... And then thought Fuck it. I'm young, it's been a while and he was cute, so I went. On our Uber ride there he said that he owns his house and that he had a twin brother, because the hot ones are always a twin. The whole time all I could think was "shit, what about my wig..." Finally, back at his place, I lay staring at the ceiling wondering at what point I casually mention that this beautiful hair of mine is not attached to my head. After a solid 5 minutes of silence he finally says, "you can take your extensions out if you want". I actually LOLed but I happily obliged only slightly concerned about how he knew but whatever. I wasn't about to sleep in a wig that costs more than my rent. I told him I had hair underneath, a full head to be exact and it wasn't that weird. TBH I think I was overthinking it way more than necessary because he didn't ask me any questions about it so he probably didn't care, or he was being polite, either one I'm cool with. The best part about this wig was the next morning I just popped it back on and like magic, my hair looked flawless and ready for the day. The rest of my appearance however, that was another story.
   We will see if this criteria-checking boy turns out to be more normal than the last few prospects. Hopefully the wig didn't scare him off, although if it did that says a lot about his character as well. Sorry mom for ruining the perfect image of your daughter, but I wasn't lying when I told you I've had fun all these years. I have the rest of a long life to share with one person so until he comes my way, I can't be a vegetable. The point of this all isn't about these juicy details though. It's about being confident enough to own who you are, even if that means adding a little something. If you can't handle a woman who wears a wig, then swipe left because this is the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time. 

   I woke up this morning and couldn't wait to get my fingers to the keyboard. The most bizarre situation occurred last night and I just have to write it out to make any sense of the situation. I'm still trying to figure out if it is an April Fool's joke or if this is just the oddest thing to ever happen, so let me set the scene and you can decide...
   I've written a lot about dating apps and how they aren't really seeming to work out for me, but last week I finally got a response to a Dr. Seuss pick up line and the guy seemed to be ~normal~. We chatted a bit through the app, I found the perfect time to segway into passing along my number, and then we texted pretty consistently through the weekend. I was excited about having someone to talk with and get to know in that fun, early stage. But then I woke up to the WEIRDEST text message I've ever received in my whole life, and I quote:

   ..... what?
   First of all, you talked to your parents? I would never tell my mom about a guy I matched with on Bumble and was texting for two days, and I'm close with my mom. Second, what kind of soul searching did you do? It was literally 72 hours of "where'd you go to school?" and "any fun plans for the weekend?". Your number wasn't even saved in my phone yet and you had to search your soul to determine if you're relationship ready or not?! Okay.. If I didn't use your number to secretly stalk you on social media, I wouldn't even know your last name!! Two. Days. How would you even be thinking so far ahead to label it a relationship when you literally don't even know what I look like in person. Also... good luck in my endeavors? Was this a job interview that I just got denied for? Because that sound a lot like a rejection email I received for an application that I didn't quite qualify for.
   Waking up at 7:30 to a text like this was straight up bizarre. Don't get me wrong, I PREACH about not being ghosted and I even responded saying thanks for not ghosting me, but it was a little deep for a 72-hour period of "talking". A simple 'hey I don't think I want to pursue this further' would've been acceptable. I say it all the time that you owe no one an explanation of your feelings, but to involve your parents and your soul is just weird. I don't need your parents knowing about a girl that you haven't even met yet.. And if he didn't actually talk to his parents about it, then that's an even weirder excuse to come up with. 
   I'm still trying to wrap my head around it because it was just so out of the ordinary. Saturday he even asked what my plans were if I was in the city he'd love to buy me a drink. So what changed? He also told me about a dental surgery that he has coming up this week, and went into a little too much detail for my liking, and then pulled the parent card. I guess I will count my blessings that it ended before it began if it turns out he's a weird person. This is a prime example of why I don't bother to save a guys number until he proves himself worthy, and also this is a harsh look into what millennial dating actually looks like. I guess I should be thankful he had the balls to tell me about his soul instead of just leaving me to wonder what if... 🤷🏼‍♀️ thank u, next.

   Last week I had my second grade students share what they wanted to be when they grew up. I was interested to see their responses because I'm 26 and for the last seven years I could've sworn I wanted to be an Event Planner when I grew up... And now I'm grown up (sorta) and I changed career paths so drastically that it has me questioning if we ever know what we want to be when we grow up. Some of the students were so adamant about becoming teachers, zookeepers, professional athletes, that you'd swear nothing would change their minds. But my absolute favorite responses came from the little girls who wrote that their dream job was to be a mom. At such a young age they wanted nothing more than to care for babies and have a family. It was precious, because same. But then when I heard the comments from the little boys in class I was shook. They said things like "being a mom isn't a job, all girls are moms" and "moms have jobs too you know". At six and seven years old these girls were being squashed by the patriarchal society that is this world and it made me mad.
   My favorite paper that was turned in was from a little girl who said, "When I grow up I want to be a mom and a dad", and to that I am here to say f**k the patriarchy. She knows already that you don't need a man to be successful as a parent. The little boy next to her said "well you can't be a dad because you're a girl", which to be fair he isn't wrong, but also to think deeper you don't need a man to be a parent after the deed is done. In fact, any mom out there that is doing it alone right now is being the mom and the dad. So maybe she only has a mom and she wants to be like her. And maybe her mom is a dominant example of a strong female presence and she doesn't want a man to share that with. Who knows, but the point is that no boy gets to tell you how you feel or how you should live out the life you want to. Sure being a mom doesn't pay the bills, in fact it usually adds to your bills, but who are men to tell us that aspiring to be stay at home women is frowned upon?
   If you are lucky enough to be able to stay at home with your children and you can financially survive, then to each his own. In a world dominated by men, let women be what and who they want to be. That isn't the choice a man gets to make for us women. Take away the patriarchy and make room for the matriarchy because it's 2019 so why can't seven year olds want to be a mom when they grow up? One day the harsh reality will come that they probably have to commit to a job because being a mom doesn't earn a salary, but they are children for now, so let them dream. They don't even know the reality of bills and debt and finances yet, so being a mom that gets to spend the day raising babies and playing house sounds like a fantasy. Don't squash the fantasy for your own children, and if you're a man, definitely don't squash the fantasy for a woman. 
​   

   The last time I told a guy I had a photographic memory at the bar, I ended up on a semi-blind date eight months later with the same guy who "could've sworn" I was a brunette... If you missed out on the Henry story and have no clue what I'm referring to, click here and enjoy the best worst-first-date ever (https://www.girlwithmanyjobs.com/blog/hey-henry-its-your-pen-pal). But first, hear just how I pulled out my famous party trick yet again, placed a non-monetary bet that I would win yet again, and took a quick mental screenshot of yet another sucker's license. Thirty-five minutes later and I was reciting his full address - including zip code - his birthdate, issue date, and expiration date of his license, and also collecting my winnings.... the first (probably the last) male/guest author on the blog. My hard work and cherished masterpiece that I consider to be these pages filled with my inner thoughts and ideas on the stupidity that is the male species, was about to be handed over to one... Would he add to my record-breaking views that have been coming in over the last few weeks or would he tank it in just one post? Well, I am personally blown away at not only his writing style, but the fact that it doesn't suck. It gives you a quick glimpse into how men see this messed up trend of online dating and I am happy to share it with you all... Sit down, grab your coffee (or wine), and enjoy. xoxo

   It’s all about the lead-in. If the title was ‘Here’s What Mid-20s Guy Has to Say About Dating’, then half of this audience would have one foot out of the browser, and to the other half that would stick around – sup? 
   A little background on me, I downloaded Tinder in the summer of 2014 – while home from college - and was off of it a mere two weeks later after finishing up a virtual high school reunion three years earlier than expected. Looking back on it now – after surviving the aforementioned five-year high school reunion – it’s a toss-up between what I was more comfortable with: swiping left, right, up and down on girls from third-period English two years after graduation or coming up with a good enough excuse as to why those same girls weren’t allowed to swipe cranberry vodkas on our tab at the post-reunion bar.
   Fast-forward to post-grad life and the stories you hear from Dot Com Dating basically write themselves better than the bet I made that resulted in this blog. For example, a good friend of mine met a girl via the Dot Com platform, and fast-forward a year later where she’s sitting at a table of ten of your new co-workers at a job you just started two weeks earlier sharing a story of how she was hospitalized because of a beach trip mishap that you happened to be included on the summer before. My updated resume and letter of resignation were written, printed and sitting in my email drafts no more than 20 minutes following that memorable encounter.
   I dove back into the Dot Com scene a few days before New Years just to check in on things. It offered more of the same from four years ago – the swiping, the matching – but this time around it had more of an NFL Combine feel to it when it came to which way the swipes were headed. The photos are where it all begins. Anyone with a dog/cat/animal Snapchat filter as the first photo raises a red flag. Then there’s those with the group photo where you bet with yourself on which one she is before scrolling down and finding out (personal favorite, sometimes it takes until the fourth picture to find out if you won or lost, the suspense isoverwhelming). But for whatever reason, nothing is more concerning than when an individual only has one photo on her profile. It’s like drafting the quarterback that threw five touchdowns in the season-opener but finished the season with six touchdowns and 22 interceptions. You can’t think she’s for real (or real at all, for that matter).
   The messaging is where it becomes as clear-cut as it gets, especially when it’s the girl that gets the first attempt at it. The 24-hour clock begins which, if we’re being honest, is entirely too much time to type ‘Hey’ and hit send. They don’t give you a 15-week semester to write a thesis only to hand in one page and expect to graduate. There’s also the ‘Hey, how are you? [emoji]’ which eerily resembles the text my mother sent me earlier in the day. I understand that it’s tough, awkward and that I’d be no better at it if the roles were reversed, but it’s all about the lead-in. I hope none of this is coming off as misogynistic, because there’s probably a book out there full of borderline criminal opening lines sent to girls by guys. Both sides are guilty of starting off poorly (maybeone side more than the other). But when someone comes along and drops, “Fuck, Kill Marry: Carson Wentz, Zach Ertz, Nick Foles” you have no choice but to follow that lead-in.  Even if your answer makes her question your sexuality two messages in. 
   Thanks for having me, and never make a bet with someone who you think might be lying about having a photographic memory.

   It comes in many forms... a job interview, asking that boy to prom in 2010, a DM on Instagram. No matter in what way it comes, rejection sucks regardless if you are giving or receiving. Guys (and sometimes girls) muster up all of this courage to ask you out or ask for your number or tell you you're pretty, and the receiving party is either interested or not. It's that black and white. You either like someone or you don't. You're either into it or you're not. You can't fake feelings and you can't fake a rejection.
   Two weird occurrences happened to me last week that I wouldn't quite categorize as rejection, but I wasn't sure how else to include them in a topic. While working one of my many jobs with greeting cards, a young man walked up to me and said excuse me. I work the cards in major stores, so often times people interrupt me to ask me questions like what aisle the soap is in. But this kid looked me dead in the eyeballs and said "I just wanted to tell you you're really pretty", and ran away faster than I could say thank you. I went about my work and suddenly another young man ran up to me, literally picked my cardboard box that I was working out of straight up in the air, and said "I sell boxes, I just wanted to see who makes this," and off he ran too. Puzzled, I just stood there and wondered what was in the stars that day to have two random people come up and say something and then walk away. Did I look like an approachable person to them? These are just two examples of people that put themselves out there, sort of in a weird way, and for whatever personal gain that they needed. Was it validation, excitement, pleasure, who knows. But they put themselves out there and made themselves vulnerable, and I appreciate that.
   I've mentioned before that I am all for the female power dynamic in our world. I'm a feminist in the sense where I think women should be more bold, not so much in the sense where men should stop asking fathers for permission to marry their daughter, but that's another story... In 2019, I think it is important for women to put themselves out there to experience the build up and the let down that men have been experiencing for so long. You never know when you will make a bold move and it will actually work out in your favor. And when it doesn't? Well, rejection is a bitch. It's hard to hear someone turn you down, but what we often don't think about is how hard it is to do the rejecting. Why do we feel guilty for being honest and saying "hey, I'm just not that into you". Why is that so hard or even rude to say to someone? Instead, people chicken out and think that ghosting is the answer. Or they come up with some extravagant lie like "I'm not looking right now", when in fact you are, or "I just started talking to someone", when in fact you have not. Why is it so hard to just be honest with people and say that you aren't interested. That their pheromones and your hormones and every other chemical DNA in your bones just doesn't see a thing with that person? Why does it matter! You do NOT need to ever justify yourself or your decisions, but for some reason, we lie. We lie and lie and avoid the truth to "spare" the other person, when in fact you don't owe them that.
   Recently, I had someone DM me on Instagram that I honestly was not expecting a message from. It was a sweet message, from someone I had met recently, but I just wasn't that into it. Not for any reason at all; he was hilarious, had an awesome personality, but just wasn't for me. It took me draft after draft to create a message that wasn't rude or bitchy, that let him down gently, and that sort of apologized. (Which now I guess doesn't matter if he's an avid reader and he's reading this guide on my inner thought process). But I was at least honest. I didn't leave him on read and never answer, I didn't lie and say that I'm not looking because this blog is written proof of me waiting on my Prince Charming. I don't have an excuse as to why, it's just not in the stars for me right now. I can't explain it, and honestly, I don't need to. I am who I am and you are who you are, never apologize for that.
   The point of it all is this. Rejection is going to happen. To you, because of you, it's going to be a part of your life from now until the day you die. Even when you get lucky enough to find ​the one and when you start your life with someone, rejection will creep up in one way or another. It is impossible to avoid it. But the important thing to remember is that you can be in control of overcoming it. You can be nicer to someone when you let them down, you can be an adult and choose to express your emotions instead of ghosting someone, you can be a better rejector (unsure if that's a word) to other people. So choose kind words instead, choose expressive and emotional conversation instead, choose to be nice instead. It's 2019. Women hold the power too, women can be equal participators, too. The future is female and the future is making rejection your​ bitch.

   I set out last weekend with one goal in mind: get a good story for the blog. Of course that's how I set out every weekend, but last weekend was special because it was the Polar Bear Plunge. A weekend where a bunch of drunk idiots get plastered at 9am, take off all their clothing, and jump into the freezing cold Atlantic Ocean in the middle of winter, all along the Jersey Shore... and we were no exception (minus the getting half-naked and going swimming part, but definitely the drinking part). Early Saturday morning, we packed into the car like little sober sardines and headed on our way to take part in the festivities. Once we arrived, we wasted no time and dove right into drinking, downing at least four in the first hour we were there.
   I would love to sit here and write about some wild story that happened, like I got carried into the ocean by accident or ran into someone I used to have a crush on in high school, but truth be told most of the day is a blur, some is a complete brown out, and the rest was just a plain old blast. We ran around, bar to bar to beach to bar, drinking everything under the sun. I'm pretty sure we drank every type of alcohol on the market, and even scored some free rum pouches from a salesgirl (said pouch is currently soaking the inside of my purse and everything inside). I lost my sunglasses, my eyeliner, and my pride (jk), but man was it a great time. We met up with some friends from Philly, made some new friends, and drank for a consistent 14 hours. I even succeeded at making a pouty-looking guy have a little fun and turned his frown upside-down. It was a wonderful day into night drinking that I can only handle once every few months. I walked home in socks because my feet felt like they were actually going to fall off from wearing heels for more hours than I usually sleep at night and I met a stranger on the street and shared my blog with him (to which he proceeded to read every single entry I've made since May 2018, impressive). I haven't had so much fun dancing and singing with a live band in so long, it was really just a blast. The parts I can remember anyway.
   I put in some work with the pouty-face boy who told me that we can't smile all the time but that's just a lie.. Anyone who knows me drunk knows that the smile never leaves my face. I'm pretty smiley sober, imagine when I get some alcohol flowing through my veins. I am a blast when I drink, not to toot my own horn, but I am a really fun time. I never get mean, I rarely drunk cry, I just forget everything that is real in life and dance and drink and have a great time. I forget to take snapchats, I forget to text people back, I'm in the moment and having a blast.
   The pouty boy was cute, definitely my type in the way that he was dirty blonde and lately that's been what's good. Once he loosened up he was semi-fun, of course not as much as me, but we worked on it. He danced along and sang so he wasn't a dud on the dance floor, which is always a bonus, and once he did smile it was the BEST smile I've seen on a guy in a hot minute. But other than my observations, I know nothing about him except his name. No clue where he lives, where he's from, just that he was friends with the person we knew from Manayunk. By the time 11:30 rolled around, we'd been drinking since 9 and that point of drinking yourself to sobriety was real. We said our goodbyes to the new friends we made, I definitely kissed the pout goodbye, and off we went. To binge on some drunk food and crawl into our beds. That was the extent of my wild weekend story.
   Drinking is a great time, but now that I'm 26 I can only do it heavily once in a blue moon (alcohol pun intended). Even casual drinking I can only handle once every other week. So I'm still on the prowl for the future Mr. Mallory Minor, and hopefully he comes out drinking on the same alternative weekends that I do... But until then, I will have to keep on kissing strangers on the dance floor I guess, since that's been working out pretty well for me... Until next time, xoxo.

   Another Valentine's Day is about to come and go. Every year, people buy outrageous gifts to share with their loved one on a random weekday that American's have dubbed a day of love. Valentine's Day was always a chocolates-and-flowers kind of holiday, but now millennials have decided to spoil each other with thousand dollar watches and vacations to places. Of course no one I know personally gets these kinds of things, but it's all I see on my Twitter feed.
   The last time I shared a valentine with someone was my high school boyfriend, Corey. We started dating on January 22 and he got me a beautiful necklace that was probably not worthy of only a month of dating. But we were young and in love and whatever. That was the last time that I got to exchange a gift with someone on Valentine's Day that isn't my mom... a whole NINE years ago. Just think of all of the money I have saved from not having a valentine for all these years..
   So when I started to think of a topic for this week (seeing how I couldn't write about my own personal valentine experience), I turned to the internet. Thankfully, there is Facebook group I am a part of that is filled with girls who were willing to share their horror stories of finding love for Valentine's Day. Dozens of women opened up about their worst stories and I even got a few that had happy endings (and not just the good kind 😉). All of these stories of failed dates and men who overstayed their welcome got me to thinking just how little we really go on a "date". And how do these dates come to fruition? Often times it's months and months of talking and texting and swiping right but half the time the dates either suck (like my last blog) or they just never come to be. Why is it that men don't want to take the time to plan an old fashioned date like they once did?
   I heard dozens of stories of women taking initiative to plan the date, only to have the men complain the whole time, or women who waited so long for a man to plan something that she found someone else in the meantime. But when a man does take the initiative to plan something special, isn't it terrifying leaving the comfort of your home to hopefully enjoy whatever he has planned? And deciding what to wear because you may be going on a safari or you might be dining at a five start restaurant is a daunting task. So I turned to the experts, because clearly that isn't me, and here are some of the best stories I got...
   A girl in my group met someone on Bumble, they chatted for a bit and then he said he wanted to plan a special date. He asked her to meet him at his apartment complex (note: you probably shouldn't do this on a first date, but she recognized this and now we're moving on). When she got there, he said it was such a nice day, they should walk. I could get behind this because living where I do, Main Street is only a few blocks away and why would we drive and try and find parking? I mean personally I would probably Uber over walking, but whatever. They get to the restaurant for brunch and he asks if it's too early for a Bloody Mary (I mean... NEVER too early for alcohol, especially on a date), he orders his cocktail and they're having a good time - or so I'm assuming, I wasn't there - and then he drops the bomb. Not as bad as having anal cysts (i.e last week's blog in case you missed it), but that the real reason they walked wasn't so they could enjoy the sunshine, maybe hold hands or something cute, but actually because he lost his license to a DUI... And just how do you escape that? Stuck at a table with a person you thought you were understanding but then there's this..
   Another one of my favorites came from a date where the guy worked in sales. We love men with ambition, and if you're a good salesman, chances are you stretch the truth a bit, right? You need to tell white lies to get people to buy your bullshit, and our friend here was no exception. Days after the what 'seemed normal' date, our salesman was spotted as the "come get your popcorn" guy at the local stadium. I mean sales, sure, but probably not the type of sales she had in mind.. Maybe he stretched the truth a little too far for this one..
   But even with the stories that seem too bad for redemption, there is a lid out there for every pot. But sometimes we grab a lid that's unusually large to fit our pot (pun intended). It can be exhausting trying lid after lid in search of that perfect fit, but it has to be done, otherwise we would never experience our water boiling over. This Valentine's Day, test your lid out to make sure it's the right one. Count your blessings if you aren't finding yourself experiencing the horrors of dating, especially during this week of love. If you are on the market and in search of someone new, maybe wait until next week to dip your toe back in. Nothing would be worse than adding to the horror story of a first date while being surrounded by roses and hearts and pre-fixed love menus that restaurants offer.
   I've said it before and I will say it again, dating is hard. But when you grow old and finally find your lid, then you can look back at these bad stories and laugh and learn how to raise your own male children so that they don't grow up to talk about their assholes or ask how much student debt you're in on the first date. Men suck, but your man won't suck when you find the right one. Or at least he shouldn't for the first few years... And with all of that said, I've written a poem for all the hopeless romantics out there like myself...

Ghosting is probably my least favorite thing that millennials have "invented". Like I'm talking worse than people donating money to get Kylie Jenner to a billion dollars on GoFundMe or worse than an egg breaking the internet with 10 million followers... Over all of the stupid things millennials have done, ghosting is the absolute worst. In the past week, two people have inspired me to write this post today because they did the opposite of ghosting and STILL got ripped apart for it... But isn't that all we ask for? People to be honest and communicate with us? But when they ghost us we get angry, and when they tell us they aren't feeling it we get angry, so where's the happy medium?
Today my blog goes out to my roommate, and my other roommate's sister. Both are wonderful, amazing women who put themselves out in this scary world of dating, only to get a crash course in crazy men and 'mini-stalkers', and I'm here to set the scene for you... So sit down because this blog is a crazy one and I'm honored to be able to spread the horror stories to you all...
Exhibit A: Let's call him Tony. Tony and my roommate went out on a date. Things went well, he was nice (better than Henry), but she just wasn't that into him (totally fine). After the date he said 'let's do it again next week', but then never followed up. Okay fine, we assumed he wasn't actually that into it, and moved on, aka ghosted, but whatever. A week later, he sends a casual 'thought we were hanging out last week, lol'. LOL? Adding that to the end of a serious sentence is a whole other blog post in itself... moving on. The conversation went on for a bit and long story short, she tried to end it with 'I had fun, but I just don't see this going anywhere'... *and cue the crazy* He. Went. OFF. And I mean like way further than a gentleman should. As in be gracious and take your losses like a man, say goodbye, and move on. He responded with things like 'I've been rejected by 150 women and I demand a reason why...', and 'How would you know if you don't see it going anywhere if you didn't even give it another shot'. This went on for about a day, to the point where any normal human would be embarrassed... but not Tony. He persisted.
Enter exhibit B: Let's call him Eric. Eric went on a date with my roommate's sister. This is the best story, better than Henry, so I don't want to leave any small detail out. The date started with Eric texting he would be late, when in fact he didn't arrive late, but this detail is crucial. He started the date with a never forgetting opener about why he was "late". He asked his date if she had ever heard of Pilonidal Cysts. (Don't Google it just yet... keep reading.) Unless you're a doctor or nurse, the average person probably doesn't know what the P word could possibly stand for... But then, he kindly explained it to her. He proceeded to tell her that he was suffering a great medical case of ANAL CYSTS. Yes, you read that correctly. On a first date, this young man sat there with a straight face and talked about his asshole for forty-five minutes... It takes a really special person not to ghost him on the spot and fake a bathroom trip and never return leaving him with the bill and his cysts to tend to. But she stuck it out like a saint... If only this was the worst thing he did on the date, (not that anything can compare to his butthole leaking), but he also pulled a Henry and said the food was expensive and other minor red flags that would never warrant a second date. But imagine Eric's surprise when his date told him she didn't see this going anywhere afterwards! But what? It went so well.... Poor Eric. For days, and I'm talking like two straight days, he sent paragraphs on paragraphs of texts not understanding what went wrong.... asking for justification and explanation of how someone could not see a future with someone they didn't even get to know yet... well here's a thought, Eric.. maybe because you talked about your asshole for 45 minutes? Just a small maybe though.... I'm not totally sure.
But here are two really strong examples of men who were unsatisfied hearing there was no future with them. When in reality, neither of them were deserving of even a closure text. These women could have led them on, ignored them, or moved to another state and never dated a man again... But they didn't... They chose to tell them "hey, I don't see a future here, sorry." And for whatever reason, that was unacceptable. Maybe because 150 other women have so rudely turned down Tony or because Eric was genuinely confused why she wouldn't want to care to his cysts.... But these women were being kind, and they still weren't satisfied. The moral of the story here is to follow the example and be honest with people. If you don't see a future with someone you don't need to explain yourself, you don't need to justify why, you don't owe anyone an explanation into your feelings. So many times people get caught up in how to explain a situation to someone else, when you don't need to. Your life, your feelings, your emotions are the property of you. You don't owe anyone anything that allows them insight in to your life. No one get's to make you feel less than yourself without your permission, and that is what we all need to remember.

   Dry January has come to an end and that is grounds for celebration and a second blog in the same week. Although I thought I would feel some sort of enlightenment or divine intervention, I feel relatively the same. I'm still as tired as I was before I gave up drinking for 31 days, but I am down almost eight pounds and I haven't changed my diet or have given in to the gym, so I guess that's a win. As fun as it was to do things without drinking, I am ready to hit the bars tomorrow. I think dry January has lessened my want to drink, but maybe not for a whole month again. More like a weekend here and there. I am not excited to see my bar tab after this weekend, but I am excited to get back to Sona because the bartenders probably think we've blackballed them, especially since we forgot to mail their Christmas card.
   One thing I have noticed in the 31 days of sobriety is that if I am going to try and find the man lucky enough to be my future husband, I definitely won't do that from my couch. We spent four long weekend nights binge watching Netflix and murder documentaries but we haven't been able to put ourselves out there, except for on dating apps. (To which I will add that going on dates sober is weird and I did not participate in that. Especially after Henry....). February is already blooming into a fun month, and I can't wait to let that first drop of alcohol drip into my veins. 
   I'll keep this one short and sweet. I just wanted to celebrate (and document) 31 days sober. We did it, unlike so many who try. We sat in on weekends and played board games and hung out together. We went to trampoline parks and watched football and shopped and got to make the most of our Sunday's without a hangover. We made it to the finish line and are ready to celebrate with one of the many bottles of champagne we have accumulated over the course of the month. Celebrate with us tomorrow at Sona, or raise a glass from the comfort of your own house. Cheers bitches, we made it 🎉