Cue scene: The extremely cute girl I’ve been talking to texts me an adorable picture of her drinking red wine. Excitedly I immediately reply, myself posing with my own glass of Pinot Noir. Oh I’m sorry, did I say glass of Pinot? That would imply that I was an actual adult human who drinks adult beverages out of appropriate receptacles! Correction: I sent her a picture of myself drinking wine out of the plastic Harry Potter mug I used for Butterbeer at the Harry Potter Studio Tour I went on while in London. If pledging my allegiance to Gryffindor wasn’t hot enough, I am also very unskilled at taking selfies and didn’t do much beyond an initial glance before firing my response to her textual inbox. Upon second gander, I noticed I had an uncanny resemblance to the bird lady from ‘Home Alone 2’ in my photo. Before you start judging me, I want you to think about your after-work attire. I basically can’t get out of real pants or remove my bra fast enough upon arriving home, and no I don’t care if that happens at 6:30PM.

I’d showered and elected to let my locks air dry which I’m going to let you know isn’t the greatest look for me. People give me shit for always drying and straightening my hair and tell me that’s why it’s so damaged – and they’re absolutely right. What they don’t understand is that my au naturel “look” is like what every member of KISS was trying to achieve in the 80’s but unintentionally. This look is way less endearing without face paint, rock and roll, and tongue situations that defy human logic. To obscure the situation I’d thrown on a gray beanie and beyond that was wearing a baggy hoodie and not represented in selfie – a really nice pair of Nike sweatpants. I won’t spend $80.00 on groceries, but I will drop dollars on leisurewear because I have priorities. Lucky for me, said girl responded that I did not in fact look like the character in question to which I obviously replied by sending her a picture of the bird lady hugging Kevin McCallister in Central Park and saying: “Us on our first date. How does this picture exist if it hasn’t happened yet?” So basically it’s really hard to understand at this point in time how I’m single right?

This weekend my buddy Bill came to visit me from the far away land we will call the “Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Mostly because that’s where he lives and that’s what I want to call it. We knew one another in High School but I wouldn’t say we were friends back then. It wasn’t until nearly a decade later we’d run into each other at a mutual friend’s bonfire in the town we grew up in I’d always hated – that we’d ask how living in our conceived respective homesteads was going; only to find out we both had moved home for varied reasons and existed in the same space once again. From that point on we were kindred spirits – we’d go out for beers and talk about the places we would go, like a goddamn Dr. Suess book.

I ended up moving back to Salt Lake City after only 18 months in Connecticut. Now I’m not going to shit on Connecticut but it’s known as “The Constitution State,” or the “Nutmeg State.” One was a document on parchment written in 1787 by men in powdered wigs and the other is a tasteless spice so I’ll leave you to make your own assumptions about what living there is like. Long story short – I hadn’t seen Bill in nearly five years and I was hungover for the same amount of time he was here which equated to almost three days. It was in the midst of one of these hangovers that I groggily rolled over and looked at him pathetically – my thirteen-year-old cat lying on my chest rhythmically rising and falling with my breath, my all too concerned Chihuahua begrudgingly sharing the space positioned below her. “Bill,” I barely muttered out, “You tell everyone back home I’m doing great and am busy living my best life. You tell them I’m nailing it.”

It became a recurring bit for the weekend – I’d emerge from my closet wearing my sweater that showcases Chihuahuas in varied yoga positions, and Bill would exclaim: “How are you single? It’s a mystery!” I’d look like hell after a night on the piss and we’d dissolve in laughter. “Tanya’s doing GREATTTTT” we’d say dramatically. It was funny because it was also ironic – I am doing great, great just looks a little different for all of us. Maybe in the last five years since we’d seen each other most of our friends had gotten married, had kids, bought a house, and created a secure life for themselves. They live in stability, always knowing that the bills will be paid and there is unlikely to be a point in time they eat ramen and PB & J sandwiches for a two week spell because they have to. Someday I’ll figure it out – or maybe not and that’s okay too. I measure my success by how I feel inside myself and not by what I do or do not have. However, as you can tell by the theme of my blog as of late – I wouldn’t hate having someone to share some of life with.

2017 has been a human trash fire when it comes to my dating life. Prior to this year I thought the worst way to get dumped was in public at an Indian food restaurant over Vegetable Pakora. Who would have known how terribly wrong I was. I was broken up with on my birthday, then suffered another heartache nearly a month after that. Believe it or not the worst thing about polyamory isn’t jealousy with multiple partners, but the ability to get dumped multiple times. Also, you’re welcome and there you have it. I figured coming out as a lesbian just wasn’t enough so I should be polyamorous too. If you are a person in my real life, this isn’t a surprise – I never hid it, and I’m not embarrassed to talk about it. If you just follow me virtually this may be news to you, and because I live in Utah you probably want to know how many wives I plan on taking. Please don’t confuse polygamy and polyamory – I promise I’ll blog about my experiences someday and give a little bit more insight, but alas today is not that day.

Needless to say it’s understandable why I took myself off the market, and had a nearly half-year hiatus from the dating world. 2017 gave my confidence a spanking and while I’ve mostly built that back up – I find myself left having little to no game with girls. I haven’t lost hope though, the universe is vast and somewhere out there I’m certain there’s someone (or someone’s) as weird as me who wants to love me and finds my idiosyncrasies endearing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get ready for my first date with the girl I sent my ‘Home Alone 2’ picture to because, yeah, she still wants to hang out by some grace of Gaia. Wish me luck!