I’ve been single (and loving it) for a long, looong time. So long, in fact, that I’ve fallen into a rut. I go to class, I come home, I eat, I hang out, I go to the gym, I watch TV, etc. It’s the same stuff all the time, and for a long time I was OK with that – I was doing what I wanted to, when I wanted to. No one was telling me what parties to go to, where to celebrate my holidays, or who I could or could not sleep with.

But lately I have begun to re-evaluate things a bit (read: weigh myself) and I now realize that I went from being in a single-girl rut to hitting single-girl rock bottom.

What does rock bottom look like? I’ll show you: Read More »

From the time I was 18 until I was 25, I was almost always in a relationship. So when I moved to New York City in the Fall of ’04 to pursue my dreams, I welcomed being single with open arms. This was a time for me to be me and not Jess Connected to Someone Else. I was 3,000 miles away from everything and everyone I’d ever known and was chasing my dreams. This was my time to shine.

The first year was great. I delved myself into my studies, my social life in and out of school, and working. I was too busy for a boyfriend and I had countless experiences and made countless friends that I probably wouldn’t have if I’d been in a relationship at the time. I got to dive head first into the fashion and social world of NYC, something I’d only thought could happen on TV and had experiences where I often found myself asking, “Who am I and how the heck did I get here?”

As year two of being single came along, I was a little more antsy about finding someone, not to mention a tad embarrassed that I’d been in New York (a city of millions) for over a year and couldn’t find someone to snuggle with. But I was still livin’ the life and accepting my singledom.

Year three came and went - without a boy - and now that I’ve hit the four year mark, well it can be downright depressing.

I’ll admit it, having been single for four years has taught me a lot about myself and my personal independence: how much stronger I am (emotionally, mentally and physically) than I ever thought, and how I truly can make it on my own. In that same breath, though, it’s been extremely tough and oftentimes makes me question my self-worth: what could possibly be wrong with me that I can’t find a boyfriend? What am I doing that scares men off? I’ve gained a bit of weight, could that be the problem? Read More »

You know how sometimes Friday rolls around, and your week has been really long, and some weird lady on the bus stared at you the whole way to work for no reason, and the guys in your office keep trying to get you to watch something you’re positive is gross and will scar you for life?

Yeah. It’s been one of those weeks.

So when we here at CC have one of those weeks, we sort of just talk about whatever we want — let it all hang out. Our filters have been corded by a week filled with strippers, bikini issues, porn, lists that piss people off, and of course, Guido dancing.

Read More »

I was at a bar last night, politely making conversation with a group of guys. They were nice and I was bored. Our drunken conversation soon went from the ‘awesome’ weather to a subject even less interesting: me and my singlehood. I like being single. I’d like to stay this way. Yet, somehow, this is always devastating news to everyone from my family and friends to strangers at a bar.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

The response, “I don’t have one”, must be code for “I have SARS” based on the jaw dropping and disgusted looks that shoot back at me invariably.

So the guys at the bar were appalled. And probably simultaneously delighted because NOW, now they had a license to set me up with their ‘young’ friend…the one closer to my age…the one blushing because he is RIGHT THERE…the one I don’t even find remotely attractive.

And alas, I was yet again playing a game I have played far too many times to count.: The “Gracefully Decline Without Hurting Feelings” Game. I know, I know. I should just always be a bitch. To be honest, often times, I am. However, it’s harder to do this when I have been having a genuinely good conversation with the guy. Or when it’s my best friend who really believes in her gut that the new guy in her office is my soulmate.

The line that got me out of bad emotional karma last night was this one: Read More »

In college, many of my close friends were perfectly fine with booty calling a guy or being a guy’s booty call. Their attitude was if you can handle having no-strings-attached sex and are safe about it, then hey, why not go for it?!

While I admired their liberal outlook, I didn’t really have an opinion of my own as I, for the most part, wasn’t really booty calling guys or being their booty call. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as if I didn’t hook-up with guys, I did, but I always found myself in situations where no booty call was necessary. Most of the time, the guy I would be taking home with me that night was right next to me.

Really, it hadn’t been until recently, while living in New York, that I’d gotten my first foray into world of booty calls. At a Christmas party I hit it off with a blonde, blue-eyed cutie and ever since then we’ve exchanged numerous flirtatious text messages. Sure, many hinted at action between the sheets, but while risqué, nothing had ever come of them. Until Saturday night.

At around 2:30 am, just when I was about to go to bed I get a text message from him, “I want to see you.” Ah, the ever notorious booty call, or in this case, text message. Even though I wanted to have sex and knew I could have a safe, uncomplicated experience with him, I debated for a few minutes whether I should even respond. While I could hear my friends in my mind telling me to “go for it” I wondered if texting him back and inviting him over to my place would make me a slut. Read More »

I’ll admit it right here, right now: I’ve always been a total sucker for the “artsy” guy. Now that I’m venturing into single early twenties territory, I’m sorta wishing Kurt Cobain hadn’t been my love interest when I was younger.

If I could have just had a super crush on a lawyer…or even a football player…maybe everything would be more normal in my love life.

Maybe I wouldn’t find myself waking up on an air mattress in a loft in Williamsburg… pinching myself and then repeating over and over, “He’s an ARTIST, Elizabeth…he’s an ARTIST.”

But I’m an artist, too. Hell, all I do is write everything from books to songs all day. I even paint. And take pictures. And I dance. And I do mosaic. AND I sleep on a REAL bed in a real apartment that has heat and cable and plants that aren’t dead.

And so I sit on the train pondering this question. With every hipster/artsy looking boy I see, I wonder if he too sleeps on an air mattress. Is this a prerequisite for being cool?

Certainly, my artist lovers past….which would be…ugh…all of my lovers past…didn’t all sleep on air mattresses. In fact, I can only think of one other.

And then I realized: Read More »

The other night, while eating dinner with a friend at one of the 4874 Thai restaurants in my neighborhood, we got into a discussion about being single.

“I’ve decided that deep down, no girl really wants to be alone,” my friend announced as she cut into her spring rolls. “Even if she says she doesn’t want a boyfriend, if the right guy stepped into her life, she’d take him.”

“What about So-And-So?” I asked, naming another mutual friend. “She kept saying how happy she was without a guy, and how she was too busy anyway. She seemed fine.”

“Didn’t you hear? Last month she landed a dude.” My friend handed me half of her spring roll, using the other half to point in my direction. “She bumped into this guy at a party and two weeks later she was updating her Facebook status to read So-And-So is totally in love.”

“Ew. Really?” Inwardly, I was jealous. When was the last time I had updated my Facebook status to say I was totally in love? Never, I realized, since the last time I was in love, Facebook hadn’t even been invented.

“Really.” My friend declared. “Us women all need to face the fact that being single just isn’t our natural stasis.” Read More »

“I hate these commercials!”

Throwing a pillow at the TV, my roommate pressed her fingers into her eyes and squeezed her eyes shut, doing everything she could to totally block out the tinkling piano and embracing couple on the screen. Another diamond commercial, another reason to feel lonely during the holidays.

If you think you’re the only single girl this holiday season, think again. All across the world, women are pressing the mute button on commercials where a happy wife is drowning in diamonds, staring at the big empty space occupying December 31st on their calendars with dread, and wondering if it’s possible to actually meet someone cute at an office Christmas party.

Living the single life can be difficult at times, but the holiday season tends to highlight those difficulties with an extra harshness. Read More »