“So do you have a boyfriend?” a new acquaintance recently asked me. I almost choked on the piece of ice cream cake I had just shoved into my mouth. She looked at me, patiently awaiting my response.
“Sorry,” I laughed, “But I’m about as far away from having a boyfriend as a person can get.”
Now that 2016 is halfway over, I’ve found myself reflecting on the poor decisions I’ve made this year—most of which involve men. To put it mildly, my love life for the past six months has sucked. Less than a week into January I was dumped by my ex-boyfriend. He claimed I was “too needy,” whatever the f**k that means.
He’s now an unemployed loser, so no loss there. Then in February there was the British lawyer, who was as dull as his title suggests. Moving into the spring I had a brief fling with an Italian actor, who I continue to message every day in the hopes that he’ll marry me and I’ll get an Italian passport (more on that in a later post).
By June, I had back-pedaled into my old college ways and slept with a 19 year old child. Finally fed up with European dating, I flew to New York with the naïve hope that I would find love in the arms of a Tinder guy. To make a long story short: I was cat fished and have since deleted all dating apps off of my phone for good.
“Alice, you have to learn that you can never trust straight men,” my former lover-turned gay bff, Patrick, preached to me over coffee last week. But are the men really the ones to blame here?
I must admit, I have horrible taste when it comes to guys and the common factor in all of these dating disasters is me. Maybe I’m the one who’s not relationship material. And surprisingly I’m okay with that. If there was ever a time to be selfish it’s now (or probably forever in my case). I’m only 23, and if I want to move to a different country at a moment’s notice or lock myself in my room for a week, watching reruns of Sex and the City the entire time, I can. Besides, life would be seriously boring if I didn’t have all these rando guys to obsess over.