There is nothing wrong with being single. It’s just that, well, I’m not at all used to it. This is a whole new ball game for me. And I am entering this new life both with open arms and with caution. (If that’s possible.)
So my boyfriend and I were together for three years. Lived together for two years and nine months of those three years. We talked about getting married, even looked at dresses and picked out caterer’s and a band. Long story short, it didn’t work out. We wanted different things. I wanted to marry him, he didn’t want to work and he (we will call him “the ex” for the sake of being anonymous) wanted to sleep with my best friend while I was at work trying to make money to pay the rent on OUR apartment. So, needless to say, now I’m single again.
I haven’t been single since I was eighteen. And let’s face it, being single when you’re eighteen is like being single when you’re twelve. It’s a joke. I’m learning that dating is completely different when you can drink and go to bars and don’t live with your parents. Dating can almost be, dare I say it, fun. I have been on a few dates since the split. Some good and some bad.
Not long after “The Ex” and I called it quits I had a bachelorette party to attend. It was my brother’s future wife. A sister at heart. Always. We had a whole big bash planned for the night. First stop: All twleve girls were headed to ”Sister-In-Law’s” apartment for pizza and beer (one my favorite meals of all time). Which turned into just three of us drinking the beers, because well, only three of us drink beer. Next: Limo ride to Manhattan for a lot of drinking and dancing and singing at Webster Hall. Now I don’t know if any of you have been there on a Saturday night, but they host an 80’s Prom. $100 a ticket, and well worth every penny. We all dressed in our most radical 80’s attire. Legwarmers, lace gloves, crimped hair, plastic hoops, off the shoulder sweaters, the works. After a few hours of sweating to the 80’s, we were headed to a new location. (Not without a pit-stop at the nearest Taco Bell of course.) We ended our themed night at what better? The Culture Club. This is where I met CC Guy (short for Culture Club guy). He was handsome, and clean-cut, had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His smile was wide and sincere.
He bought me a drink. We went outside for a smoke and exchanged phone numbers. Next thing I know we’re making out… Outside of the club… In front of all of my friends… And his friends.
What a night.
