I’m 29 years old and I’m still single. There are days when I feel sorry for myself and I think I’ve wasted my twenties being in relationships I shouldn’t have been in the first place. But then I realize that these ‘failed’ relationships were part of my dating education. They’re an important part of my quest to find Mr. Right, but even more importantly, to find myself.
Today I am wiser and more mature when it comes to dating and life in general. Because I’ve learned from my past dating experiences, I am less likely to repeat the foolish mistakes I made when I was younger and more naive.
The attributes that I’m looking for in a man are also more rooted in reality than in fantasy. In my twenties I was looking for a knight in shining armor, a sweet, tall, handsome man making a good living who’d sweep me off my feet, take care of me and make me happy. These days I’m looking for something more substantial, not to mention realistic. I want someone who’s mature and responsible, balanced and happy, honest and genuine, considerate and kind. I would rather be with someone who shares my principles and ideals than someone who looks like he spends hours at the gym. I would rather be with someone whom I could see myself peacefully growing old with than someone who would ignite sparks that may not even last.
As I continue working towards a more confident, well-rounded self, I know I am taking closer steps to finding Mr. Right. By being healthy, I will attract healthy relationships. It all starts with me. When I learn to be happy on my own, to be confident in the person I am, to live life to the fullest without a man, the right man will find his way to my heart when I least expect it.
The most important realization is that I don’t need a man to be happy. I am the only person in this world who can make me happy. If I can’t be happy on my own, then I can’t possibly be happy with any man. As I mentioned in my last post, self-esteem comes from within and cannot be created from the outside.
I need to love myself first and foremost. Unlike what I had always believed, it’s not selfish to put myself first. When I truly know and believe in myself, I will follow through with what I feel is best for me. I will no longer feel the need to please or impress people, compare myself to my peers, or follow the dictates of society.
What do I truly want? What do I feel is best for me? No one else but me can answer these questions for me. I will listen to my own voice. When it comes from a source of inner peace, it is wise and true. When it comes from a place of turmoil and agitation, however, it is often irresponsible and misleading. I will know the difference and always strive to maintain the inner peace necessary to make the right decisions.
I don’t need marriage. I’m perfectly fine on my own. Desperation is what leads many women to jump into marriages that turn out to be unhappy. I refuse to marry (or date!) anyone out of desperation. Marriage is a lifelong commitment; I would be signing my own death warrant by marrying a man either out of desperation or fear of loneliness. And I will not waste more months of my life dating someone whom I know is not right for me simply because I’m too scared to be alone.
No, I would rather be on my own, living fully and happily. Starting tonight, I will stop worrying about the prospect of spending the rest of my life alone. The more I keep mulling over it, the less time I will have to enjoy life! And the less I enjoy life, the less likely I would be to have (or notice!) anyone falling in love with me. I will eliminate the time-wasting thought process completely and instead focus on building a happy, fulfilling existence on my own. Maybe the right man will come along or maybe he won’t. It doesn’t really matter, does it, if I’m perfectly happy by myself?
Happily Single at 29 December 28, 2008
Confessions After One Week At The New Job January 25, 2008
During weekdays I may have to half ass keeping this blog updated because I no longer have two hours to spare each day to write decent posts. So from now it’ll have to be mini posts, crap-quality posts (*anticipated gag*), or no posts at all.
I love my new job, but I HATE getting up at 6:25 a.m. (!) every morning. If I didn’t have my water-filled perfume spray on hand to shoot my face with water when that f** alarm goes off, I’d never manage to rise from my warm, comfy bed this inhumanely early.
At my new job, I have had to interact with fellow human beings (i.e., co-workers) quite a lot and I have actually found myself enjoying their company – oh, the travesty!
I don’t feel as lonely when I’m spending my evenings and weekends alone. It’s like I’m getting so much social interaction at work among my sweet and wonderful coworkers that I’m all socially interacted out by the end of it. Finding a boyfriend just doesn’t seem all that absolutely necessary – or appealing - anymore (OMG, I can’t believe I just said that!). These days I really just look forward to the time alone; I consider it my ‘me’ time: my time to recharge, relax, and do all the things I need to get done that I can’t do during my work days (e.g., exercise, blog, check email, work on my personal finances, go to the bank, etc).
My workplace is one helluva strict, organized, and structured place to be. There are so many rules, so many systems in place to be followed to the letter in complete obedience that it feels like being in a Catholic boarding school for girls. At first I hated the feeling of being overly restrained and controlled, but I’ve quickly gotten used to it and now I find it to be necessary. Thanks to our outstanding level of organization, we’re extremely efficient at what we do. I LOVE being a part of something that is so organized, so focused, and so well put together, especially when deadlines are pressing and the workload is growing. We’re really as efficient as a factory assembly line, only the work atmosphere among us is warm, convivial, and supportive.
I never thought I’d ever say this, but after having worked one week at this job, I can say two things: 1) I don’t hate people 2) all women are not evil
Who Knew Sexy Lived In Me? December 15, 2007
Today was shopping day! Except for the cooking pot I got for my brother and his girlfriend for Christmas, most of the stuff I bought was for ME because if you haven’t noticed it by now, everything is always about me, me, me!
- Beautifully-tailored H&M black jacket, $29.98 (after 50% off sale)
- Slimming The Limited flared black slacks, $14.99 at Ross
- Sexy knee-high pointy-toed leather boots, $34.99 at T.J. Maxx
- Very cute dangly zirconia earrings, $5.39 at Target (after 10% off discount)
Wondering who that hot, sexy, stylish girl in the mirror was after I put on everything: priceless
(If my ex saw what I saw in that mirror, he’d probably wish he could have me back.)
Pictures will have to be taken as proof of this new sexiness… but not until hair and makeup are taken care of and the total makeover is complete!
The Quest for Beauty November 8, 2007
Six years ago, I was what people considered stunning. My looks (not to mention my dancing) made me popular in the dance circle I associated with. Back then I was young, I was thin, I was fit, I was beautiful, I was stylish, I was hip. Admired by many, I stood in the circle’s limelight and I loved every minute of it.
Fast forward to three years later when I began my gradual descent into fugliness and nothingness. I no longer belonged to a circle in which potential admirers were to be had; hence the need to impress was gone and with it went the motivation to look good. Feeling worthless, I sunk into a spiraling depression and stopped taking care of myself. Why bother, I thought? No one cares what I look like.
I couldn’t go back to the dancing circle because I had been away from it much too long. All this time my peers had been toiling away on their dancing. If I returned, I knew they would be at a far higher level of dancing than I was. I couldn’t take the humiliation associated with being of a lower status, so I never dared show my face to them again.
The more unattractive I became, the more difficult it was to look at myself in the mirror. It hurt to think back to the glory and the beauty of my lost youth. There I was at age 27, already old, fat, ugly, pathetic, and undesirable. I was both disgusted and angry with myself for reaching such lows, but I was too depressed and hopeless to dig myself out of my self-inflicted misery.
Last mid-August I broke up with my boyfriend of nearly three years. Though I spent a month grieving over him, I recovered relatively quickly. Then three weeks ago, out of the blue, I made the decision to turn my life around and get my looks back. I thought that if I were pretty again, maybe people would notice me and think that I was pretty. Determined to change the public opinion of me (with the hope that it would raise my self-esteem), I embarked on a quest to lose weight, get fit, and look my absolute best.
Since then I’ve made leaps and bounds. Much to my excitement, I look noticeably thinner and younger. Still I am not happy. There’s so much more to be done. Physical perfection (or close to it) must be attained for people to take notice. I’m not looking for a man; that is not the purpose of all this. I just want people to look at me and honestly think I’m beautiful – not cute as a button, but truly beautiful. And I want them to tell me so so that I may then go home, look at myself in the mirror, and say, “yes, indeed I am beautiful.”
Only then will my efforts not be in vain. Only then will I fully be satisfied.
What I Love About Being Single November 2, 2007
My ex-boyfriend and I broke up last August 16, 2007 – we were 14 days short of our three-year anniversary. As with any breakup, at first I thought I’d never recover from it, but I did. And the more time goes by the better I feel about it.
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It’s my ex’s birthday tomorrow and I don’t have to buy him a present (or a card). Yay!
No more tears shed over unanswered phone calls, text messages, and emails
No more praying (in vain) that he’ll send me flowers one day, write me love poems, or take me out to a romantic restaurant
No more waiting for him to show up 2 hours late for our meetings
No more being late for movies and just about everything else
No more having the misfortune to be seen with him in public when he wears his old see-through t-shirts with more holes than gruyère cheese
No more being forced to sit through another episode of “Heroes” or some other stupid television show/series he’s crazy about at the moment
No more being made to watch retarded comedies with zero cinematic value
No more merengue or salsa dancing with a very uncomfortable piece of wood poking at my pubic bone
No more treasure hunts for soiled socks and dirty underwear on laundry day
No more talking to myself on the phone
No more trying in vain to engage a sleep-deprived zombie that falls asleep faster than the speed of light into a conversation
No more being kept up at night by deafening snores and explosive snorts
No more finding myself on the verge of falling off the bed because some schmuck in seventh heaven thinks he’s alone in the bed
No more waking up in the middle of the night struggling for air to unbury myself from the heavy body parts that were piled up on top of me while I was asleep (for the same reason as above)
No more hanging out with the same drinking gang of immature cronies
No more yelling at him from the top of my lungs for him to end his 30-minute morning showers so that we can attempt to be on time for work for once
No more rolling into work guiltily at 11 am pretending not to notice how late it is
No more trying to fight off the horndog
No more fake orgasms or lies that sex was good
No more 15-min bl*w jobs that leave me feeling like my lips were injected with novocaine and my jaw dislocated
No more having to tend the area south of the border
No more being asked to sniff dirty laundry to see if it should be thrown in the wash or not (because I apparently have a bloodhound sense of smell)
Likewise, no more being asked to sniff 5-month old food leftovers to see if they’ve gone bad or not
Now I can listen to sappy crooners all I want (hello, Michael Bublé!)
I can watch the baddest, scariest horror films in peace without sissy next to me tugging at my arm or jumping up (annoyingly) in his seat whenever he’s scared
I can fart and stink up the bed to my heart’s content (and not get called bed farter and made to go take a dump)
I can bend over with the peace of mind that no dog will get behind me and act like a dog
I can go to Target and stay there for 2 1/2 hours
I can make funny faces or prance around like a monkey in public if I feel like it
I can swear like a drunk French sailor (and not be told to watch my manners)
I can wear sweaters in 98 degree weather
I can wear the black and white striped top I wore on my first date with him without being called a prison inmate
I can smell till I can’t take it any more (and have to take a shower)
I can leave the toothpaste cap off and even throw it on the floor for fun if it makes me happy
The drive-thru at Wendy’s will never be my Friday dinner out on the town again
My toilet seat will always stay DOWN
My bedroom will never smell like roquefort cheese again
