Copenhagen, February 2019

The door to my hotel room shut and I walked instinctively towards the window. Across the street, the gates of Tivoli looked smaller than I remembered them as a child. The rides and roller coasters poking up through the barren tree branches in the park didn’t appear as intimidating as I seemed to remember them as a 5 year old.

I unpacked a little bit, then decided I should head out and get some food before it got too chilly. Outside, the sun was already starting to set, even though it was only 4:30pm, and little flakes of snow had begun to fall. I made my way towards the walking streets, gloves hands shoved into my pockets, face half buried inside my scarf. I’d been to Denmark many times with my family, but it had always been during the summer. Freezing as it was, I couldn’t help but smile recognizing streets I’d walked down as a child, and restaurants I’d taken advantage of the 16 year drinking age in, feeling like such a grown up sipping my white wine.

I wandered all the way through the walking streets, down to the harbor. There were plenty of cute restaurants with their lights on, but they seemed a little too nice to be dining in alone. I’m not opposed to solitude. If I was, this entire weekend trip would be be a nightmare. I had just needed to leave the UK briefly to reset my visa, and knowing I’d be going somewhere alone, I picked Copenhagen as it was familiar. I thought it might be nice to revisit the places I remember vaguely from all the previous trips. But I didn’t anticipate how much more alone one feels when it’s cold. Cold is an understatement, it was fucking freezing. The snow flakes had dampened to a sleet, and the wind was whipping them hard onto my nose and cheeks (the only exposed skin I had). And though my body was begging me to just pick a damn restaurant and go inside, literally anywhere with walls and some warm food, I walked away from the harbor and back up the walking streets. It wasn’t until I was almost back at my hotel that I found the perfect dinner spot I didn’t realize I was waiting for: An almost deserted Chinese restaurant with harsh fluorescent lighting that could serve me a massive bowl of noodle soup. With a side of spring rolls. One Night In Bangkok played on the speakers, as I slurped from the oversized spoon. I’d posted a picture to my Instagram story earlier, of several of the iconic Copenhagen towers, silhouetted by the dark sky. It had a reply from my friend Ellen, who is from Denmark but lived in London. “Are you in Copenhagen?!” She asked. I replied that I was here through the weekend. “I literally fly in tomorrow, can we hang out tomorrow night?” She went back. My heart leapt. It was such a random coincidence, and it warmed me more than even the giant bowl of soup could. I think, though I do love traveling, I’ve grown to enjoy the people I can share a place with even more.

The next day I slept in, but still wanted to get out and see the city. Again, it took me ages to settle on a place to grab a bite to eat. I’d already walked to Rosenborg Castle and up to the top of the Round Tower before I found myself a veggie bagel at the cafe at the top of Illum’s shopping center.

The view from the top of the Round Tower

I made my way down to Nyhavn, past the beautiful colorful buildings to the water, where the opera house sits across the bay. All the way down to the Little Mermaid statue, then back past Amalienborg, the home of the Danish royal family. I’m not sure how many miles I’d gone, but my feet were very ready to take a break. I made my way back towards my hotel, intending on getting a bite to eat and warming up a little. But walking by the gates of Tivoli, I realized this might be my only afternoon to visit. I considered the moderately expensive entrance fee a gift to my younger self. I adored this place growing up; the rides, the beautifully decorated buildings and alleyways, the sweet little restaurants and the decadent soft serve vanilla ice cream (dipped in chocolate powder, of course). This time, draped in a thin layer of fake snow, it looked much smaller than I remembered it. It was almost deserted, with only a few people wandering through the gift shops and admiring the ornately painted structures. Here and there, elevated fire pits stood for people to warm their hands by. The park has a small population of peacocks, and they too were cuddling up by the fires. I found a mulled wine stand, so a steaming mug soon was also combatting the cold. There wasn’t much to do, other than wander around and take in the sights. There were lots of tiny lights everywhere, leftover from Christmas, and flock of sculpted swans, each with a tiny golden crown, floated on the lake. In the summer, the lanes and little parks would be filled with children screaming and playing, and the restaurants would be bustling with customers. There were only a few rides that were open now, including the fun house, which I took a wander through. It’s not quite the same experience without people to laugh with, riding down slides and running over moving tracks designed to trip you up. Nevertheless, I clambered over enough rope ladders to make it worth my while.

Several hours later, I was walking through the meat packing district, an area I’d never been in before, following the address Ellen had said to meet her at. The streets fluctuated between “sketchy” and “trendy”, sometimes a little of both. After about a 20 minute walk, I found the place. A sign outside the door said “Come in for the worst g&t some guy on Yelp has ever had!” Wandering the crowd of what seemed to be entirely locals, I found Ellen and her friend Benedicte, who I’d met one once London. It was 2 for 1 g&t’s, so we took full advantage of that (they weren’t as bad as the guy on Yelp seemed to think, just quite strong, which I’ve never seen as a negative). We tucked ourselves away in a corner and caught up, soon filling our small, wobbly table with empty glasses. Benedicte worked at a little Italian restaurant close by Tivoli, so we walked back in that direction, stopping by my hotel room to drink a bottle of wine, eat some chips, and have a little dance party.

The restaurant was still open, so we sat at tables outside, drinking Aperol Spritzes in the freezing cold. Benedicte told us about when she’d served Mads Mikkelsen and the crown prince of Denmark in the restaurant one night. We shared stories and sipped our freezing cold but delicious drinks, laughing so hard I worried we might be disrupting the actual customers. Eventually, as the tables inside cleared, we moved in and warmed up, before setting off on another adventure. They took me to Floss, a bar with a heavily graffitied front, thick with customers and cigarette smoke. We found some decaying couches downstairs and chatted with strangers and watched people play pool. Then we braved the cold once more and endured a painfully long line to get into a nightclub, where we danced in projected lights making patterns in the floor, sang along to the music in brash, out of tune voices, and snuck out into the roped off smoking area outside when it got too hot indoors. It’s all a blur. We left around 4am, when I discovered to my delight it was only a 10 minute walk back to my hotel. Once home, I chugged 3 glasses of water, then fell asleep until noon.

I love revisiting places I went when I was younger. I’m an awfully nostalgic person, and I find an odd pleasure in the combined delight in familiarity, and a yearning for past or distant happiness. Yet the people I’ve met as I’ve gotten older, the ones who’ve shown me new sides to the places I thought I knew well, they give me things to love about the places of my childhood which I never would have thought I’d be lucky enough to find. Traveling alone can be a very rewarding and interesting experience, but in this instance, I was so grateful for the companionship, the company, and the new nostalgia to discover the next time I visit.

Los Angeles, March 2019

I’m currently sat at a cake shop on Ventura Boulevard looking like a displaced piece of 80s pop trash. This morning, I decided to put on a long black Stevie Nicks style skirt, an oversize denim jacket with purple triangle parches adorning the sleeves, and a pair of white kitten heeled boots with pastel flowers around the ankles. It’s a great outfit, but one becomes more self conscious about their bold fashion choices when they’re over an hour early to a dinner date and have to wander around strip malls full of closed shops to kill time. Also these shoes are not the most comfy, and I needed to sit down. Thank goodness this cake shop was open. Now I can at least chill out for a moment while I wonder how much judgement I’m earning from the two guys working here who were probably hoping to close early before I walked in. One of them is slowly sweeping the floor and wiping down tables. Oh well, I have at least 28 more minutes until they can legally kick me out. I’ve ordered a tea and a massive coconut macaroon. Even though I had ice cream an hour ago. It was really good too, basically a slice of berry pie mashed up in vanilla ice cream. And then I’ll be getting sushi soon as well. It seems I’m very determined to avoid the stereotype that everyone in LA is skinny, at least based on today’s eating habits.

I’m staying with my friend Keana, who was my housemate in college but lives out here now. I think the two of us make each other more indulgent than we might be otherwise. I recall one Easter Sunday, when we slept in late, then drove to Whole Foods and loaded our baskets with macaroons, cupcakes, avocado oil potato chips, fresh berries, and almond milk iced coffee. When we got home, we laid out a blanket in the front lawn and lounged in our swimsuits, soaking up the sun and eating our treats. I’m not religious, but I like to think Jesus would have approved. I love seeing her. We pick up where we left off, and our conversation is always comfortable and flowing. We shower each other in affection and compliments, laugh at each other’s dumb jokes, and sing along loudly to songs in the car. It’s been four years since she moved out here, but we’ve still managed to see each other quite a bit, even with the distance. I think that’s the best anyone can do, but we’re lucky that it’s been an easy friendship, even through all the time apart.

This sushi place I’m going for dinner, Katsu-Ya, I’ve been to once before, with the same people I’m meeting this time. It’s a man I met at a writing retreat in Aspen, Sean, and his wife. When I met him, I was a mere freshman in college, having just been accepted to the acting BFA program. I was the only person under 30 in our little writing class, and was intimidated to say the least. But I got chatting with him and found out that he had graduated from the same acting program which I was about to start, and so had his wife. They live in LA now, where he works as a writer and she leads a belly dancing troupe. We’ve stayed in touch since then, them coming out to stay with my family, me visiting them in LA, I even visited him on a film set in Prague one lush weekend last summer. During my senior year spring break, I stayed with them in LA for a few days, and we went to this restaurant. I had never tried raw fish sushi before, having been a vegetarian most of my life, but wanted to be polite and give everything a try. It was one of the most amazing meals I’ve ever had. Probably aided by an excess of wine, but nevertheless.

I’ve left the coffee shop. I’m now sat on the side of a fountain outside of a Starbucks. I finished the macaroon and my tea, and have purchased a kombucha, because I felt bad wandering around CVS for 10 minutes and not buying anything. Not that they’re desperately in need of the cash, I’m just awkward. It’s very a very spicy and gingery kombucha. The fountain is splashing lightly, so a little mist is getting on my notebook as I’m writing this. It’s actually quite cold out tonight. It’s been a bit of a chilly trip to LA this time around. It rained for a while yesterday, and earlier today, sitting out on the beach was a tad chilly. It was still lovely though. The wind blew ocean air all around us, and the sun snuck in past the clouds every so often to warm us up a bit.

This whole past hour, I’ve had Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty stuck in my head. Probably because being on Ventura Blvd made a connection to whatever part of my brain keeps a very good archive of song lyrics:

All the vampires, walkin’ through the valley

Move west down Ventura Boulevard

And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows

And the good girls are home with broken hearts.

It’s probably time for me to head to dinner. I’m still about 15 minutes early, but at least I can go sit inside and wait. I’ve chugged this kombucha, which has left my mouth burning, but I feel like a real local ingesting something expensive, organic, and supposedly good for gut health. I don’t know if I’m the best at killing time, particularly when my phone is dying and I need to save battery so I can get an Uber back down to Keana’s this evening. But this has been good. I need to take more time to write like this, even if it’s rather meandering and pointless. I like to think our teacher at the writing retreat back in 2013 would be a bit proud of me for trying. Who knows.

Breckenridge, August 2019

It’s an overcast day, but shards of sunlight still break through patches in the clouds, illuminating the 10 mile range. There are a few patches of snow up towards the tops of the peaks, clinging to the memory of winter. The aspen leaves rustle gently, but it’s calm and quiet. I haven’t seen this view for three months, but it’s still the same. Perhaps a bit less snow on the mountains as there was in April, but that’s about it.

I’ve been back in Colorado for less than a week. In my last 3 days in London, I performed in a show which I produced and directed myself, saw a stunning performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream, teared up while walking across Tower Bridge at nighttime, had a lot of goodbye coffees, made a cherry pie, and tried and failed to not cry on the train to Heathrow. In my last 5 days in Colorado, I’ve seen 2 concerts, played with Legos with a dear friend I haven’t seen properly in ages, started an application to bring my show back to London, felt inconsolably sad, cried rather a lot, gotten a new drivers license, and (as of 10 minutes ago) eaten a slice of my mom’s amazing chocolate chip banana bread. I’m staying busy, to be sure, but it’s been a very difficult adjustment coming back this time. I think it’s a mixture of things, but not having a return flight booked makes London feel more distant than ever.

I’m not good at leaving places where I’ve made myself at home, even if I am returning to the place where I grew up. I think a lot of that has to do with the people I surround myself with. I grow so accustomed to their company that I feel empty when it’s no longer there. I believe I made an Instagram post with the following quote the day before I moved to London in 2017:

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of knowing and loving people in more than one place.” -Miriam Adeney.

I don’t think I realized at that moment exactly how much more that quote would mean to me as time has gone on. Some friendships have faded, others have reignited in later years. Some are constant, even if the communication is not. And a few are still quite new, but I already struggle to imagine my future without them in it. These friends are spread all over the globe. Currently, I’m missing the ones I just left in London. But there are so many right here in Colorado who I was devastated to leave back in May. My school friends in LA and New York, my family scattered all over the country, and the people who have drifted to far off places on the globe: they’ve each changed my life and brought me such happiness, and I know when the day comes that I get to see them again, it will have been worth the wait.

I’m crying again while I’m writing this. I’m just rather sappy this week, I suppose. It’s not sadness. Maybe a bit, but more than anything it’s gratitude. It’s hard to say goodbye to people, and it’s hard to think about going months, possibly years before I see them again. But I have been so blessed with the people who have come into my life. My family, cousins, aunts and uncles, my friends from elementary school, high school, and college, from my masters and from work and from various connections and chance encounters. Leaving hurts, but it hurts because of the love, support and kindness I have felt from the people I have known there.

The clouds around the mountains have separated a bit, and now they float lazily in the bright blue sky. When I was growing up, my dad would always tell me to live in the present moment. I’ve always struggled with that, particularly upon reaching transitions in my life. I ponder back to the beautiful memories I’ve had with the people I miss the most, and pry into my imagination to envision future memories to make happen. This never makes time go any faster or slower. It makes me hopeful and fleetingly happy, but it also makes me sad and impatient. So I think I’ll just watch the leaves dance in the wind for a while. And we’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Gurl Bi

I came out to my diary as “bi-curious” in the spring of 2014. I’d always thought women were attractive, but for the first time I actually was crushing on a girl. For me, that was a game changer. I’d convinced myself that sexual attraction didn’t have the same weight as romantic attraction. Really, being merely attracted to women would be enough to for me to call myself “bisexual”. But at that point, I’d been through two years of college in which any girl who referred to herself as bi was slut shamed by both men and women, and was assumed to only be sharing this information to become more attractive to men. The idea that bi girls are really just straight girls that are open to threesomes is a depressing idea that continues the narrative that women are only on earth for the pleasure of men (It doesn’t help that bi men are assumed to be denying their full gayness, so in both bi scenarios, it’s assumed that everyone’s just trying to get with men). It also makes women who are attracted to both men and women feel extremely self conscious about sharing their sexuality with others.

I had a scattered coming out, from the autumn of 2015. By then I’d established that the bicuriosity was in fact a very steady state of bisexuality, but I was afraid to tell people. What I really feared was someone telling me it was just a phase, and not taking me seriously. So I waited, thinking that I only needed to tell people if I got into a relationship with a woman. Because otherwise, it was irrelevant information, right? Wrong. Even if you’re bi and you’re in a heterosexual relationship, you’re still bi. In a gay relationship? Still bi! That sexuality is still part of your identity, even if you’re married, or in no relationship at all. And I realized that, after about a year of trying to pretend it was just a small, hideable part of who I was. I told my closest friends. I told my family. My dad’s response made me cry, because of how sweet it was. He told me he’d read some articles to understand a bit more about bisexuality, and it made perfect sense to him, and he loved me very much. And that’s all I ever needed to hear. I never came out on social media, not explicitly anyway. There was a time where I thought I would, but after several years of going to Pride, obsessing over drag queens, and lots of doing theatre, I suppose I assumed people could take a hint. I tell people who I meet, when it is relevant or if it arises. I no longer fear sharing it. It is a part of who I am, and I want the people I care about to know that part of me too.

Being bi is difficult. Being anywhere on the LGBTQIA spectrum is hard, but let’s just focus on the bi experience for a bit. I’ve dated primarily men. That’s not to say I’m more interested in men than women, I’ve just had a vast quantity more opportunities to date in the hetero department. In my late college years in Colorado, and even in London, the queer scene is very much catered to the gay male. The big clubs you go to are never filled with stunning Ruby Rose lookalikes, but gay men of all shapes and sizes, and occasionally their heterosexual girl friends. The queer club nights I’m used to attending are filled with people who have no interest in me sexually, so it is a rather limited dating scene. There aren’t many club spaces aimed at women in Colorado or in London. There’s a few, but they’re not usually the clubs that the entire friend group wants to go to on a Saturday night, nor would I want to go alone. So it wasn’t until fairly recently that I was introduced to these types of spaces. About a year ago, I went to an event called Aphrodykie with a few girl friends of mine. It’s a club night which is put on every few months, aimed at lesbian women. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The girl to guy ratio was 8-1, maybe more. Everyone was dancing like no one was watching, but still being respectful of other people’s space. The tunes were completely lit, and so very queer. I was surrounded by women who were also interested in women. And that was a sensation I’d never felt before. It was a bit intimidating. But I did enjoy it.

It’s a little difficult for me to gauge women, in a romantic sense, as I’m already quite friendly, flirtatious and cuddly with my platonic girlfriends. And many women are as well. So I worry that trying those same methods on a female crush will simply result in a close friendship, and my actual feelings won’t be translated through my actions. I definitely am not a master of the flirting game, for either teams, but I can read men better. Which is why I have much more dating experience on that side. Not that I’m opposed to that. I love men. A lot of them are quite great. But I’ve also been hurt by many of them. By their ignorance, their lack of empathy, their desire for something better than me, and their nonchalance at my pain. I suppose good and bad will both come in any type of relationship, but sometimes I think I would be so happy with a relationship where I could communicate as clearly and express myself as freely as I can with so many of my female friends.

Threesome requests. Now, this topic must be addressed. There is many a young, hopeful, and depressingly ignorant and unsympathetic young man who has requested a bisexual girl for a threesome. I’ve had several. I’ve also seen many sexual implications or jokes made by men when I exchange flirty banter with another female, even if it’s just as friends. It’s difficult, when the porn industry puts into young men’s heads that bisexual women must also be into group sex, specifically that with another girl. It’s a fantasy for many men, and encountering a woman who’s interested in both sexes might seem like an unmissable opportunity to get something they’ve always wanted. But boys, stop making it about you. There is a very very strong chance she is not currently pondering which of her hot friends to call and invite to your house. When girls imagine intimate time with another woman, it may involve some sex. But it also might include eating pasta while binge watching Sherlock, then talking about our feelings for an hour while cuddling, then falling asleep to the sweet sounds of Norah Jones (that’s what I envision anyway, but don’t let me speak for the masses). And that vision most likely does not include you, valiantly ticking “have a threesome with two girls because no homo” off your bucket list. It’s unfortunate that men have been taught by society that they have a right to expect sexual favors from a woman, simply because of her sexual orientation. So boys, cut that shit out.

London Pride is a few days away, and I plan on celebrating with some close friends, wearing something obnoxious and colorful, and dancing for at least 90% of the day. I’ve been to quite a few Prides now, most of them being in London. It’s always an amazing party, usually resulting in a bad sunburn and a raging hangover, but plenty of great memories and fabulous photos. It’s a different experience wherever in the world you celebrate it. I love Pride, and I love what it means to our entire community. We wear what we want and dance and smile and feel the joy that happens when we are our most authentic selves. It’s about more than that though. True, we are out here dressed in our most gag-worthy attire, feeling like absolute queens. But Pride is also a time to remember what LGBTQIA people all over the world have fought against in the past, and the rights we are still fighting for today. We can celebrate, sure, but we also must keep fighting against the prejudices that still exist, some even within the queer community itself. Be kind, be understanding, and don’t assume someone’s story based on what they look like, how passable they are, or what you think they believe. Everyone’s story deserves to be heard. Though I must say, people are often more inclined to listen when that story is presented in every color of the rainbow (and backed by Whitney Houston’s ‘So Emotional.’)

Well, I’m out. Bi.

50 First Swipes

I met him outside the CU campus science museum. It was 7:45 in the morning. I don’t know why I agreed to this. I had rehearsal every night that week, so this was the only bit of spare time I had to go on a date: Friday before my 9:30 class. He suggested it, and I somehow decided that a stranger I had been talking to for 3 days on Coffee Meets Bagel was worth sacrificing an extra hour of sleep to meet.

He was quite nice. We grabbed a coffee, then went for a really long walk around campus. We ended up holding hands by the end. We agreed to meet up the following week, in the short break I had between my last Tuesday class and rehearsal. We got a drink from a nearby bar. He said he was reading Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari, a book my mom had just recommended to me days before (spooky). We kissed on the steps of the theatre building, and I had to run inside so I wouldn’t be late to my fight call.

It didn’t work out. For many reasons. He fell really hard. He sent me a massive text far more intimate than any I’d ever received. He said “I can’t wait for you to open yourself up to me.” He said that I was a goddess, and he’d put me on a pedestal in his mind. I told him I was extremely uncomfortable and I didn’t want to talk to him again. Might be a bit harsh. We did get along, we had some good conversations, but a few things didn’t feel quite right, and that message was where I drew the line. I didn’t want to be on a pedestal. I didn’t want to feel pressure to open myself up to someone. I just wanted it to happen, naturally.

I’ve been single for 6 and a half years now, and I drop in and out of dating apps. I’m not always in a state of seeking out a potential mate (#animalplanet), as I’m often too busy to think too much about it. Still, I know the symptoms of loneliness extremely well. I’m fortunate to have many wonderful friends who I can go out with, confide in, or rely on for distraction, making it easy to not feel as though something is missing. But the loneliness still comes, usually in waves. Most often it’s fleeting and goes away after a fun night of dancing or with the purchase of a new Fenti highlighter. But when it lingers… There’s an app for that.

Dating apps aren’t all winners. Nah, I take that back. All dating apps have the potential to be winners, but it is heavily dependent on wether or not you are meeting the 6% of people on this app who are 1) Not catfish, 2) Interested in dating and not just a picture of your boobs, 3) Not in a relationship already, 4) Actually going to message you back, 5) Willing to go on a date with you, 6) Easygoing and friendly on said date and 6) Not going on this date simply to lure you into their home, skin you alive, and hang you above their fireplace. It’s a risk. Even if everything in the situation is completely safe and good, there still is the risk that you won’t jive with this person. Then you’ve gone and wasted a perfectly good evening and 20 quid on cocktails that didn’t even get you laid. What if the next time isn’t successful either? Or the time after that? It’s easy to get disheartened and call it quits, when you’re going through all the stress and strain of dating with none of the rewards. The messaging alone can be enough to throw in the towel. The most frequent message is “Hey”, followed by “what’s up?”, neither of which usually lead to a deep or compelling conversation. Sometimes it progresses from that, but doesn’t always end in someone asking the other person out. Often, it’s just another rabbit hole of misogyny you didn’t know you were falling down until it’s too late. See below.

I had an odd encounter a few weeks back. I was chatting with this guy; let’s just call him James. James messages me something about one of my photos, which was taken in Oxford, saying “You’re at my school!” I made some clever reply about him needing to avoid all the basics taking instagram photos on his campus. He responded, and we had a little chat going. He was nice, asked a lot of questions, made some jokes. Important detail: he was really hot. Like, hot to the point where I get skeptical. Muscular, white teeth, well built, cast-able as a frat guy in a film. Usually these are the sorts of guys who’ll message “you up?” in the wee hours of the morning, so I was a bit taken aback by this extended conversation we had going. Now this isn’t a self criticism, but in my experience, guys who fit the social media standard of “ideal male attractiveness” go for women who could be classified under “ideal female attractiveness”. Basically- not me. This isn’t a self criticism, just an acknowledgment that I have short hair, no thigh gap, and dress like a mom 80% of the time (but, like, a cool mom). Now, this is a deeper conversation, because beauty is a construct and every type of body and style is beautiful, and I know that I’m hot as fuck HOWEVER based on my experience, men who present themselves in a certain way, who try to fit this standard of attractiveness, are not interested in anything more than sex, particularly from me. And that’s fine, live your best life. So when our dear friend James messaged me asking if I had any free time this week, I was surprised. Also flattered, excited, and hopeful. I told him when I was free… then didn’t hear back for 2 days.

When he finally responded, he said “I was going to see if you wanted a drink, but my schedule got busy the rest of this week, and I’m actually not going to have much free time for the rest of the month, but I’m open to other things though.” ….. Hm. I responded with: “Other things? That could cover a whole number of areas” to which he replied, “Just less time consuming stuff is what I meant.” ALRIGHT LOOK HERE CHAMP (actually here’s a list of things because I need to break this shit down): 1) I don’t know about you, but I can down a pint in like 15 minutes. Getting a drink doesn’t take that long. 2) If you’re referring to something sexual as what you might have time for… I’m not interested if it’s only going to take as long as it takes to get a drink. You’re implying that sex/something intimate will take less time than consuming a beverage, and somehow that’s meant to entice me? In whatever idea of sex you have in your head, you seem to have no interest in taking time to please me, clearly don’t have time to get to know me, and yet still don’t have the balls to tell me that directly. Hmm. 3) If I were to be down to have hookup with you, I still would want to meet you in a public place or something first, so a drink would probably still happen. Most girls won’t just come over to your place having never met you. Safety > that D. 4) I have no issue with you not wanting anything serious. That’s fine. Just be straight with me, dude. Tell me what you want. Don’t vaguely skirt around the situation, or else I might do something crazy like assume that you can only last 2 minutes, then post that assumption on the internet… oops. Anywho, I responded, “Less time consuming… soo shots instead of drinks?” and he deleted me. Nice work James, you’re a true ladykiller.

Once you actually get to a date, the hard work is pretty much over. You don’t have to play mind games and overthink messages, you just have to get to know someone, and hope you have a moderately ok evening. They may not all be great nights out. You probably won’t hit the bullseye on your first attempt. Do the rewards come? Maybe. I’m not totally sure, as I’m still single over here. But I’ve had some wonderful dates. I’ve met some great people. Some of them I kept seeing for a while. Others it was just one time. But there are some gems out there. It just takes one person, someone funny and sweet, maybe a little nervous and awkward, to remind you that there are people out there who are just looking for someone to spend time with. Someone that makes them smile. Someone who holds a mirror up to your own situation, and makes you feel a bit less alone. And you owe it to each other to try. To spend an hour in the company of a stranger, without judging them or yourself, and see if you feel a spark. If not, call it a night, split the bill, and get yourself a McDonalds on the way home.

If I can close on anything, if you’re living the single millennial nightmare, you’re not alone. It’s tough and dating apps don’t always offer the immediate relief which you deserve. But be patient. There are people out there who are just looking to make a connection. Give a few people a chance. If it doesn’t work, give yourself a break. Don’t let Auntie Beth’s constant questioning about your dating life pressure you into making hasty decisions or judging yourself. You’re allowed to be single. You’re allowed to take your time. There’s nothing wrong with you for not having settled into a stable relationship yet, even if all your friends are married. So let yourself be selfish, and date people who make you feel good. Make time for the one’s who give you butterflies, who pop into your mind when listening to certain songs, and are just as interested in you as you are in them. And if all that fails, remember that a doughnut, a cup of tea, and your favorite book will never swipe left on you.