An anti-girlfriend starts intimidating at a young age. (Photo by Lutz-R. Frank via CC)

I’m 28 and I’ve never been in a long term relationship (at least that the other person was aware of).

Wow, that was liberating. Now I know what someone’s first visit to AA must feel like.

I’ve also never been introduced to a significant other’s parents, never gone on a romantic getaway for two. When I’ve met his buddies, I’ve been called a “friend” with a heavy emphasis on the “f” part of the word so all of his boys could mentally high five him or slap his back or ass or any of the homoerotic stuff men to do to show virility and stupidity.

But there have also been times when I’ve thought myself in love and maybe I was and maybe he was, too. I guess I’ll never know unless I become ten times the masochist and give these guys a call. But there’s no need for any of that – when I want to suffer and hate humanity, I go for a run or bike over the Brooklyn Bridge and try to hit tourists who stray into my lane.

This is not to say I’ve never fancied being in a relationship (I’ve certainly fancied myself British) and not because I am necessarily holding out for true love and the perfect guy. To be honest, the ideal guy for me is probably committed in a mental hospital somewhere.

I feel pretty good about this seeming lack in my life because there are other things that are equally important and I’ve prioritized those ahead of long-term entanglements. Career, friends and hobbies (especially hobbies) are significant time sucks. And while it’s true a hobby never made you breakfast in bed or took care of you when you were sick or gave you an orgasm when you were horny (unless your hobby is masturbating, which if true, good for you!), all of the other people and pursuits do make life very much worth living and enjoying. I’ve been with the same hobby going on five years now.

Things that my fellow hobbyists have done for me: climbed into my window when I locked myself out of my apartment and kept me company and sane when I was tripping after a particularly strong medical marijuana lollipop.

Anyway, breakfast in bed is gross. Think of the sheets! And just because I’ve never gone an island vacation with a guy doesn’t mean I haven’t had sex once I’ve gotten to the island.

It’s not that I don’t think that finding a significant other isn’t a worthwhile endeavor, but it’s kind of like throwing grenades or that kind of shit. Sometimes they blow up in your face and sometimes you forget to take the pin out and they just roll around like duds. And sometimes you toss one into a lake and catch a really a good fish while massacring several other less tasty ones.

It’s okay to be single until you’re not. And when you are again, that’s okay, too, provided you don’t start taking in the neighborhood strays. (A couple of cats are fine but keep it reasonable. I don’t want to see any of you on an episode of Hoarders: Crazy Cat Lady Edition.)

So there will be no pining for guys who got away or didn’t call on this site.

Okay, so there will be some pining but only in the parts when I’m reminiscing about a time I didn’t know any better. Ah, wasted youth.

But mostly this will be a fun romp through life and dating in New York City (but this is by no means a NYC-centric site – feel free to mentally insert your own hometown just about anywhere) and the interwebs.

Hope you enjoy!

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