Meek vs. Dauntless: The Epic Rap Battle

Recently someone commented the following:

before you answer anymore questions a quick update PLEEZE. i can't believe no one nice has asked you out on a date in over a month!

Well, my dear, believe it. I hate to say this, because it is exactly as pathetic and lonely as it sounds, but lately if I'm not working, I'm sitting home alone watching Supergirl in my pajamas. But, it so happens that I actually intended to update you all on a recent event regardless.

On a rare night out and an even rarer opportunity to put on the ritz, I attended a wedding a couple of weeks ago. My very dear childhood friend Jenna recently married her honest-to-goodness True Love, Matt. And I want to take a moment to say that it's couples exactly like Jenna & Matt who give me hope that maybe one day I'll be as blessed as they were to find each other. Their wedding was elegant, classic, and beautiful, and yeah, I happy-cried about four times. If you're ever looking for me at a wedding, I'm the gal weeping while handing out tissues to all the other weeping women around me. (Where's my big brother when I need him? He carries a handkerchief for exactly such occasions.)

And what better way to meet single men than at a wedding reception, right? Meh. Not in my experience. Actually, at nearly all of the weddings I've attended, I've found myself to be one of the only dateless guests there. That said, there were a few familiar faces at this reception whom I had met at other parties Matt & Jenna hosted, and for once, I was not the only person without a Plus One.

Pen Pals Need Not Apply

Bumble is driving me batshit crazy. I don't know if it's the app or the men, or if it's simply the kind of men that this app attracts that are causing the problem, but I'm getting sick and tired of making small talk.

I know we've talked about it before, but I'm still going to walk you through a basic break-down of how Bumble works.

Think of a deck of cards, each one for a different man/woman (depending on your preference). The card contains up to six photos of a person. It pulls your age, job, and alma mater from your Facebook profile. And, you have the option to fill out a little "About Me" section. Here's mine:

My Psycho Psyche

I'm updating twice this week, mostly because I just had to call in sick and I'm home in bed with a blocked ear (things you shouldn't fly with: a blocked ear) and nothing better to do.

Also, I'm updating because my subconscious is getting a little out of control.

Look, I realize I'm lonely. That's normal. There are times when being single is a lot of fun, and I am totally comfortable and confident with just being my awesome self, by myself. And then there's other times, times like right now in which I just straight up feel lonely and really miss the companionship of having a boyfriend.

I know, congratulations, Self, on single-handedly undoing the feminist movement. Except that we all know I don't believe that, that I have very firmly stated that there is nothing wrong with the desire to have love in your life.

Have you noticed that this post already sounds like I'm arguing with myself? That's probably a pretty accurate depiction of what's going on with me lately.

"Doors Closing"

So there I was, just a couple of weeks ago, having one of those one-in-a-million days of absolute fabulousness. By all counts, I was on my A-game. I was coming home from a work function and a day of general bad-assery, and I looked hot. Have you had that kind of day? When everything feels like it's falling perfectly into place for your benefit? And your outfit is perfect, which racks up your confidence points like no one's business? I had on my favorite black pencil skirt with a super chic fuchsia blouse and those shoes. You know the ones. Not to mention my hair was completely on point. I felt great, and everything I'd set out to do that day, I had knocked out of the park. The Force was strong with me.

And there's nothing like that feeling of self-assuredness to really make you feel like you could have a man eating out of the palm of your hand if you wanted to. The even better part, though? I didn't care. I could make a guy putty for me, but I was too busy being fabulous to worry about men that day.

Me and my shoes have a world to conquer. Step aside.