Advice on being single? Laugh.
23 November 2008 
A week ago, a recently detached man said, “Tell me, what’s it like to be single? Give me some advice.”
I laughed. Drunk and a bit bitter at the time I gave him a grin, “Be always available and never disappointed. Because the moment you let your eyes settle on one person, you’ll suddenly feel left behind and disappointed, wishing you’d made yourself more available to other people.”
I think he was disappointed with my advice. I certainly was. Some Goddess of dating also was. And she dropped upon me the following series of events to remind me that it’s about more than survival, and the best dating interactions include a bit of comic relief.
1. Once there was a man named Darcy Gentleman. No, he’s not from a Jane Austen novel. Yes, that is his actual name. I met him at publishing course and after quite a few glasses of wine I asked him whether his mother was a fan of Pride & Prejudice. She was. And he apparently took my question as a sign of encouragement because he began quoting Shakespearean sonnets, gazing admiringly at me. Upon leaving me to step out with a colleague, he said, “I’m going outside, where I will contemplate your beautiful sapphire eyes.”
2. Shortly after Darcy Gentleman found a new woman to charm, a young colleague of mine from our other office began explaining to me the oddities of the urinals in the men’s bathroom. His explanation must have been either insufficient or extremely intriguing, because I let him lead me to the men’s room so I could see for myself. I don’t really remember why the urinals were strange. But they did inspire some fantastic kissing. Probably the best that hotel lobby bathroom has ever seen.
3. A few nights later, I was with two of my good friends from college at their friend Bob’s house. As it turns out, Bob is coming up to NYC soon so we decided to exchange numbers. He gave me his, and in my intimate wisdom I decided to text him “Here’s my number. It’s Quinn.” This wouldn’t have been so bad except that the most recent contact in my text message history was my Mom…and I sent it to her instead of Bob! I realized this immediately and was still speechless from laughter when she called. She very wisely advised me to send it to whatever guy I had just met. She must think I’m completely inept at dating. She’s probably right.
What I should have told that man is that being single is about expecting the unexpected, finding fun in situations that might otherwise be awkward or bizarre, and laughing at your mistakes. And although my initial advice wasn’t completely wrong, because you shouldn’t go around feeling disappointed all the time, it’s better to focus on having a bit of fun and a lot of laughter.
I’m too young for this to be happening.
11 November 2008 
“Your diaper was the first one I ever changed!” Denise marveled at how far I had come since then and she launched into a story about how she and Kurt had argued over who had to change me and how it should be done. (A charming lunch conversation, I assure you).
But as my parents’ old friends asked questions, the details about my lovely bohemian life began to surface. Well actually, I live across the river in New Jersey…yes, I have two roommates even with the cheaper rent over there…Laundry? I walk a block and a half. And the kicker: I come home to a futon every night — alone.
“Yeah, living the life,” Denise reflected. “…if only you had a man to share it with,” she smiled sweetly.
“He could raise your standard of living a notch,” Kurt chimed in. “Upper East Side, Upper West Side!”
“Not that you should live with him before you’re married,” Denise quickly interjected.
Suddenly I wanted to go back to the diaper-day chat. I laughed, shook my head softly and changed the subject.
But, REALLY?! How does this offend me? Let me count the ways.
1. I’m 22. Who is husband hunting at 22?
2. Raise my standard of living? Pray tell, should I take up gold digging, or go for men 10 years older than me? (Oh wait, I already tried the latter.) Just because my first job is not making me big bucks does NOT mean that I need a man to be financially successful.
3. Ummm…weren’t we just talking about my dirty diaper? How did that transition happen? Also, it’s been 5 years since I’ve seen these people.
4. I got a job within two months of graduating. I moved to New York City from Kentucky. I lived in a hostel with nothing but a suitcase. I have made my parents proud. Can we just enjoy my success without wishing a man was attached to it?
5. No woman should be harassed about marriage, especially not without any invitation to do so. If this continues, I’ll be driven by mere parental-peer pressure to view singlehood as a burden rather than a choice.
Notice anything else? Please add it.
Punctuation is a key to success
6 November 2008 
Dating moves, as we are told by some unknown Buddha of social interactions, should be subtle. But it is often the loud and the forward dating attempts that are most entertaining (even though not the most effective).
A couple friends and I were at a bar last weekend when we met one of these boundary-pushing daters who wore his intention for everyone to see. In Sharpie on his t-shirt was scrawled, “WANNA FUCK!” (Note the exclamation point)
Being the writing, editing, journalism nerds we are, my friends and I began commenting to each other about the mispunctuation on his chest. Clearly, that phrase needs a question mark. We practiced exclaiming it and fell into fits of laughter at how absurd it sounded. (This is something that you can, and should, try at home with your friends.)
A* suddenly remembered that there was a Sharpie in the women’s bathroom. Mr. Wannafuck was in need of some serious direction, and we had the means to help. But we were about as successful as Jehovah Witnesses at the door of an evangelical Protestant preacher. Wielding the sharpie, we approached our target, but Mr. Wannafuck seemed to like his punctuation just fine.
“NO! It’s an exclamation point!” And he threw the marker on the ground. He claimed, quite drunkenly, that the second-person pronoun was implied and thus his phrase was a statement of the obvious and inevitable.
So I asked him to please say it for me, assuming that he would sound as ridiculous as we did. In hindsight, probably not my best idea. He turned, pointed at me and accusingly screamed, “WANNA FUCK!” and turned back around.
The truth is, not one of us ever considered wanting to fuck if it had anything to do with the guy wearing the shirt. Most of these extremists don’t get very far with their intentions, but they’re usually hilarious. And I must say, Mr. Wannafuck is the least of our laughs. The women from Philly that blogger Jdate has encountered go far beyond mispunctuation (http://phillyjdate.blogspot.com/). It’s easily the funniest thing I’ve read since the first time I picked up Bridget Jones.
