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It’s Over Chicken Recipe

19 Jan

I popped into CVS briefly the other day for a quick errand, however I wasn’t mentally prepared for the three aisles of shame-inducing blatantly-consumerist Cupid-vomit bombarding me as I entered. I swear they had less candy on display at Halloween and yet the piece de resistance was this gem staring deeply, beckoningly into my eyes:
perfect manI somehow passed him up, although at the moment he’s my best prospect for a Valentine… wait, what am I saying?  Instead of letting these displays of crass consumerism start me tallying which of my friends are single versus attached, I have to remember that I have at least three weeks to procrastinate.

Since this experience primed my romantic mood, my thoughts wandered to relationships while I baked a new chicken recipe this morning. I thought of how therapeutic beating the pretzels to little bits can be, the satisfaction of pounding chicken breasts to 1/2 inch thick, and the weirdly perfect combination of sweet honey, spicy mustard, and bitter vinegar to represent the end of a relationship. With that I give you the recipe for “It’s over” chicken:


4 cups hard sourdough pretzels
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup creamy Dijon mustard
1/3 cup honey
 1/4 cup water
1-2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
coarse salt and fresh ground black pepper
1 +  pound boneless chicken breasts, sliced and/or gently pounded to 1/2″ thick (Perdue sells thin cut chicken breasts, I recommend just going with that)


  1. Preheat the oven to 350° F. Spray a casserole dish with cooking spray (butter flavor works best).
  2. In a large plastic bag, pound the pretzels until all of the large pieces are broken up and you have a good portion of fine crumbs too.  Some people will tell you to use a food processor, but don’t let them steal this emotional release for a few minutes of quiet. To make the most of this exercise, really get angry! Put your back into it! Then place the pretzels in a large, shallow bowl and set aside. He’s not worth your time anymore.
  3. Add the oil, mustard, honey, water and vinegar to a food processor and pulse until smooth. I’ve already discussed the metaphor here.
  4. Season with salt and pepper. Taste and adjust the flavor to suit your own tastes by adding more mustard or honey. Ok, no metaphor with this step, just make it taste good!
  5. Pour half of the dressing into a large shallow bowl and add the chicken breasts. Turn to coat them evenly then dredge them in the pretzel crumbs. Make sure to scoop the fine crumbs over the chicken to fully coat. In my mind, the chicken represents the heart post break up: a little bruised and beaten, certainly tender and very delicate, but full of promise. I’m going to ignore that I fully intend to eat this “heart” when all this is done.
  6. Set chicken breasts in the baking dish and bake 12-15 minutes or until cooked through. Remember, it won’t take long since they’re so thin.
  7. Let the chicken sit 5 minutes before serving with the remaining honey mustard dressing. While you wait, think about how gross it would have been to eat raw chicken, whole pretzels, and the other ingredients before going through all this pain work. Appreciate that something better will come out in the end.

That’s enough of my cheesy metaphors for today, but the recipe is fantastic and the pretzels can stand in for anyone you want to beat the living daylights out of. I highly recommend it!


Assorted Advice I’m Not Qualified to Give

11 Dec

As 2012 rapidly comes to catastrophe a close, I feel the overwhelming need to share something witty, insightful, and possibly life changing. Of course, if I knew any such insights, I probably wouldn’t have a bad-dating blog, would I?

But… isn’t providing dubious advice based on questionable expertise the purpose of the blogosphere?

I’m caving in to imagined peer-pressure and offering up the following advice that should probably be actively disregarded.

1. Choose Kelly Clarkson over Britney Spears.

At least in terms of Christmas carols. Kelly pleads “not for myself, but for a world in need.” Britney wants a boyfriend because other people do.

I’m not going to lie and say I don’t belt out Britney’s song in the shower, the car, or any time I have the apartment to myself between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But it’s not good for my emotional or psychological health to beg Santa for a boyfriend, or anyone’s ears when I start singing.

This year, I’m going to focus on wishing other people well and indulge in this classic only once… a week. Maybe.

2. Dating is not a hobby.

Recently my roommate Claire trained for and completed a marathon. Another friend volunteers teaching Spanish classes, while another is a member of the Capitals Red Rockers in her spare time. So when one of them asks me what I did this week and I answer, “I went on three dates,” and don’t even have a good story to tell, even I start to  judge me.

“But Heather, you have this blog at least!”

Thanks Mom dear reader, but can I put “humorous blog recounting dating disasters” on my resume? I think not. Dating is not a hobby.

3. Make things interesting.

When we were 14 years old, my surprisingly wise friend Nick told me, “80 years from now, you’re going to have to watch the movie of your life. You better make it interesting.”

It’s fabulous advice and anything I try to add to it sounds either whiny (who am I to give life advice?), trite (who am I to give cheesy life advice?), or conceited (in the face of mountains of evidence to the contrary, am I qualified to give life advice?). Listen to the 14 year old. tumblr_mdtz7rlnLE1qazkdco1_250tumblr_mdtz7rlnLE1qazkdco2_250

4. Being bad at things can be helpful.

I’m terrible at sports. My lack of patience, self-awareness or physical coordination leads me to dread any and all team activities, even drinking games. My entire life, I’ve been battling – in a decidedly off-balance way- the everything-you-got-swing-and-miss.

You know that moment: time screeches to a halt. Sound becomes simultaneously muted and thunderous. Everyone in the entire world is watching you but you are confident this will be your Babe Ruth moment.

You step up to the plate. As the ball comes hurtling towards you, you throw your entire body into a hurricane-force spin. Then time stops.

Nothing happens for a split second. You feel the elation of success… only to hear the ball slap into the catcher’s mitt. That’s when you realize you hit nothing but the ghost of your dreams as they whizzed past. The disappointment and humiliation battle for precedence in your mind as you slink back to the bench.

Seriously, this happened to me EVERY time in whiffleball. Dyq7klltVUyrROq4sXNNJw2

While  that might be slightly melodramatic, it’s essentially that’s the gist of my 2012. I confidently called 2012 as my year to get things right, and yet I’m going into 2013 the same way I entered 2012: single but happy, completely unsure of my future, (again) preparing for the GMAT, and hoping to be accepted to business school by the end of next year.

The nice thing? I can’t swing or fall harder than last time and I’ve spent so much of my life managing the public embarrassment of pretty much every physical activity I’ve ever done, I’m actually quite well-prepared.

So at midnight on January 1 (assuming it happens), I’ll be toasting the New Year with friends and family, ready to try it all again.


How do you feel about 2012 and 2013? Are you excited for next year?

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

23 Oct

In case I haven’t mentioned before, I love holidays. I get all jazzed and spirited and itching to decorate. I don’t reserve my excitement for major holidays. I like to mark every day possible as something special (food/booze related holidays are my favorite), but with Halloween coming up, for some reason, I’m just not in the spirit. I was out for a run last night and as I looked at the houses decorated with orange lights, plastic grave stones and cotton spider webs, I started to wonder if I’m feeling this way because I’m newly single. I’ve wondered this before when I’m uncharacteristically unenthusiastic about Arbor Day or if I miss National Margarita Day, so I decided to make an easy reference guide of every major holiday and the ideal relationship status to maximize enjoyment.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is meant to be a discussion of the ideal way to spend each holiday. I know it’s absurd to expect most of these to work out and it is downright impossible to have them all. I’m not saying you should, or even that I would, do any of the things listed below. In other words, I’m not ACTUALLY going to ditch my date for a better party or beach house. Probably.

New Year’s Day- DATE
No one wants to wake up alone on New Year’s Day. No one wants to wake up on New Year’s Day period. It’s ideal to have a significant other in your life that might be willing to make you pancakes, or at least drag your hungover butt to IHOP.

Inauguration Day- DATE
This is Washington’s Oscars, Marathon Day, and Pride Day all rolled into one less fun, more pretentious holiday. It’s our chance to pretend we’re as glamorous  and important as we pretend to be, so having a date for one of the many balls around town is a necessity. Then again, being able to ditch said date to go with a girlfriend who has tickets to a better ball would really be best. Seriously, that happens.

If you have off for MLK day, it’s better to spend it with a group of friends than a significant other. With a boyfriend it can become just another lazy Saturday, or worse, a chance to catch up on chores. If you want to make the most of a random day off, gather a group of friends and you’ll be forced to find something to make it special, even if it’s nothing more original than another Sex and the City marathon with donuts.

Groundhog Day- DATE
Do you ever remember to check for Phil on your own? No. Your odds of remembering to check on the little furry forecaster double if there are two of you.

Chinese New Year- NO DATE
Unless you are actually Chinese and know what is going on, odds are you celebrate this holiday by ordering $100 of takeout and watching some Jackie Chan movies. If you’re motivated you’ll go to a parade and then eat $100 of takeout at the Chinese restaurant. Either way, MSG makes no one sexy.

Mardi Gras- TOSS UP
It’s not really so important WHO you’re with… as long as you’re with someone who can get you home (and convince you that those beads are absolutely not worth flashing that news camera for). Drink responsibly people.

Valentine’s Day- NO DATE
When you have a date, there’s so much pressure that it’s never as much fun as you’d hope. But when you don’t have a date, the options are endless. You can eat a pint of ice cream, drink a bottle of wine and watch chick flicks in pajamas by yourself (or with other single friends), and no one will judge you. You get to buy only the chocolates you actually like and you can get them for half price on Feb 15th. And you get to be self-righteously dismissive of the entire holiday, carefully showing everyone just how much you don’t care. Oh, today’s what? I totally forgot. (Side note: I suddenly understand hipsters)

President’s Day- DATE
Unlike MLK Day, President’s Day is a great weekend to get away. If you have a date, you probably just had a secretly disappointing Valentine’s Day, so a romantic weekend away from the stresses of daily life, cuddled together by a fire, sipping cocoa, is the best possible way to spend this holiday. Just try to ignore the outrageous price of rentals, scores of terrible drivers, and cabin-feverish screaming children overrunning their exhausted and defeated parents. That’s part of the ‘spirit’ of the holiday.

Start of Daylight Savings Time- NO DATE
You lose an hour of sleep. On a Sunday. So unless you have somewhere to be, it’s probably best not to interact with anyone that morning. And if you think, ‘No, you’re wrong. I’m a ray of sunshine in the morning,’ then you’re probably the worst of all and just don’t realize it because everyone is too afraid to tell you how terrifying you are in the morning. Spend the day on your couch complaining about outdated farming rituals via Facebook like everyone else.

St. Patrick’s Day- NO DATE
St. Paddy’s Day is about drinking with friends, not about having a date, and you want to be free and comfortable to sing loudly, bloat from drinking Guinness, and spill your green-dyed-Miller Lite all over your blessedly green outfit. If you’re trying to be sexy on St. Patrick’s Day, you’re not doing it right.

Good Friday- DATE
I personally feel a little guilty going out or to a party on Good Friday, so it’s nice to have a date with whom you can still have a nice Friday that doesn’t lead to an additional helping of guilt.

Easter- NO DATE
As nice as it would be to have someone to whisper with during the same long sermon, I have to say no date on this one. Unlike the Christmas holidays, family dysfunction is slightly less cute at Easter, so bringing a date is unnecessary drama.

Tax Day- NO DATE
Not only do you need some solo time to organize your finances, files your taxes, and revel quietly (or loudly, depending on your style) in just how much money you pay the government, having a date will only remind you of that other unexpectedly large hole in your wallet: your boyfriend. Being in a relationship is inevitably expensive and tax day is the one day of the year that you are focused on just the expenses rather than the benefits, so it’s better to fly solo. Unless you’re dating an accountant, but they’re probably busy on April 15th then anyway.

Cinco de Mayo- DATE
Unlike the other two drinking holidays, this holiday worships the god of bad decisions: tequila. If you have a date, you’re less likely (I hope) to do something epically stupid and instead settle for drunk dialing your cousin, crying because your margarita is empty and heading to Taco Bell but settling for IHOP.

Mother’s Day- NO DATE
My favorite part of mother’s day, other than celebrating the wonderful mothers in my life, is celebrating the fact that I’m not yet a mother. Yes, it’s a bit of a ‘Dear Lord Baby Jesus’ kind of holiday celebration, but I nonetheless say a little prayer every year thanking God that my lovely mother is not becoming a grandmother. I’m fairly certain she says the same prayer too.

Memorial Day- NO DATE
This one is slightly close, only because having a date increases the likelihood of getting invited to a beach house for the weekend. Of course, my skin in May is like a polar bear: blindingly white, angry that you poked it with your hot sun, and suddenly aware that the air is warmer than it should be. Having a weekend with friends to prime myself for full fledged beach season is clutch.

Flag Day- DATE
Ok, bear with me on this one. Flag Day is one of my best friend’s birthdays, so my celebration of Flag Day usually revolves around her. You’re probably thinking, “Uh, Heather? Why do you need a date to celebrate with someone you’ve known for 24 years?” Well, this dear friend of mine is the kind of girl that guys cross rooms for… do stupid stuff for… ditch girlfriends for. I’ve actually seen a guy trip over himself trying to get to her. I love hanging out with her, but it’s better if I at least have someone waiting for me at home so I remember Flag Day is really about her, not my lack of game.

Father’s Day- NO DATE
The same reasoning as Mother’s Day does certainly apply in this case, but I’m also a daddy’s girl. I’m fairly certain the best gift I can give him is NOT bringing around some could-someday-be-baby-daddy to lurk by the grill and awkwardly talk about golf. My dad’s still the #1 guy in my life.

4th of July- DATE
The best way to spend 4th of July is having a beach barbeque straight out of a Levi’s commercial, with great American beer, burgers and hot dogs, and a ton of tan, good looking friends in bathing suits, all laughing around a huge bonfire in the 80 degree heat. Having a date is (according to modern advertising) not only the best way to enjoy this time with other happy, beautiful couples, but also increases your odds of actually getting invited to one of these mythical gatherings. In reality, you’ll crane your neck while sitting awkwardly on a blanket spread over a million tiny sharp rocks to ooh and ahh at the fireworks… but even then, it’s impossible not to be awed and it’s always nice to share those kind of moments with someone special.

Labor Day- DATE
See 4th of July. The town where I grew up actually doesn’t do fireworks for 4th of July and instead has one of the only Labor Day fireworks shows. It’s actually genius.

Columbus Day- TOSS UP
Columbus Day is hard to call, because I’m really not sure the ideal way to celebrate this day, beyond remembering that it happened. It’s always a surprise holiday, where it’s 2pm on Friday and you’re seriously struggling, until someone asks what you’re doing with your three day weekend. Suddenly, there’s light in your eyes again and your excitedly spend the entire weekend trying to figure out how to maximize your three day weekend. Regardless, you probably won’t actually do anything special for it, so whether you have someone else to do nothing in particular with or not is irrelevant.

Halloween- DATE
All of the things that are great about Halloween are better when shared. Scary movies. Orange-dyed food. Great costumes. Weird-looking punch served out of a cauldron. Scaring children. Plus, finding a date on Halloween is a literal nightmare: every girl is dressed more slut-ily than she’d normally dare and guys have the chance to cover up any of their own issues with makeup and masks. It’s a gender-role Freaky Friday.

End of Daylight Savings Time- DATE
Who doesn’t love that moment when you wake up on your own that Sunday morning and glance at the clock to see that you have so much more time to sleep. You get to snuggle back under the covers and lazily snooze for a bit and life has never seemed better. The only thing to make that moment better is being able to share it.

Veteran’s Day- NO DATE
See MLK Day. Same rules here, except the weather is usually better and you should be hiking or pumpkin picking or at least drinking the last of the fall beers/hot apple cider.

Thanksgiving- NO DATE
Is this even a question?

Black Friday- NO DATE
You really think that your boyfriend is going to stick around after seeing you wrestle an old lady for a set of plush pink towels that are 75% off? No one should see such things. Black Friday should only be spent with someone you are completely confident will not testify against you should someone press charges.

Pearl Harbor Day- DATE
Unless you are a truly good person and spend 12/7 visiting WWII veterans in nursing homes, there is only one thing that comes to mind to honor Pearl Harbor Day: watching Pearl Harbor. A date will convince you that you’d better serve your country watching Team America, which as a helpful song about Pearl Harbor (the movie; the actual event is one of the only things that movie didn’t desecrate) than watching that terrible movie.

Winter Solstice- DATE
It’s the shortest day of the year…therefore the most depressing. When you wake up, it’s dark and cold. When you get off work, it’s dark and cold. What little sunlight you did see was in passing someone else’s office before returning to your artificially-lit desk. The only way to make this better is to make a fire (or in my case, light a big candle), grab a ton of blankets and cuddle with someone special… until spring.

Christmas- TOSS UP
Christmas time is my favorite time of year. I love the warm-fuzzies I get just thinking about it! For me, whether I have a date or not, I’ll be thrilled that it’s Christmas so I could go either way. While it will probably be awkward to introduce a date to the quirky traditions that are distinct to every family, dysfunctionality is actually more acceptable at Christmas time than any other time of the year. For evidence, see every Christmas movie ever.

New Year’s Eve- NO DATE
Same theory as Valentine’s Day. NYE has so much build up that it’s hard to ever live up to expectations unless you’re forced to think outside the box. Enjoying a party with friends or family reduces the need for a magical moment at the stroke of midnight and I personally can’t think of a better tone to set for the coming year than being surrounded by the people I truly love.

So, do you agree with my analysis?

The Blame Disney Movement

21 Sep

Disney gets a bad rap for fostering delusions in young girls regarding love, life, and hair. Each fairytale princess is strong, witty, and independent to a fault- until she gets rescued by a handsome prince with questionable morals.


This is probably a chicken or egg question, but that actually describes pretty much ALL of my girlfriends. Like it or not, Disney kind of hit the nail on the head there.

Which of course led me to wonder, what else was Disney right about? Parents are often silly, meddling and misguided, but well-meaning? Check. Animals make more loyal companions than humans? Check. The jealous older sister/stepmom/witch will meet her disastrous but deserved fate… Uh oh.

You see, lately, I haven’t been the princess in these stories. I blame Facebook. When I see yet another engagement announcement, with the sparkling, fairy-dust-coated ring photo and the never ending notifications because I ‘liked’ it too early… well, my inner-self turns a little green. She also might jump up and down, blow steam out of her ears, and shriek “No! Me!”

Not the way to encourage woodland creatures to make you breakfast, which is apparently a prerequisite for finding  a man.

I’m not proud of it and I quickly shut this behavior down, but it happens each time nonetheless. I don’t do this with good friends; I’m genuinely happy for them, and there’s usually a party at the end of that story… hopefully with an open bar and a few single groomsmen. So that always works out well.

No, I start thinking of poison apples for people I really shouldn’t be Facebook friends with anyway. The girl I met during college orientation and never saw again. Someone three years younger than me from home. A friend’s crazy ex that I stayed friends with purely for entertainment (yea, SHE’S engaged). Still, if Disney’s right about the poisonous effect of jealousy, especially on the person feeling it, I should probably lock it up. That’s where cat ladies come from.

I’d rather be the princess anyway.


Happy Valentine’s Day

14 Feb

Instead of sharing a snarky post about past Valentine’s experiences (worst: when my boyfriend gave me a box of chocolates … but had already eaten them all. No, in this case the thought does NOT count), I’m going to let my good friends at Dunk Your Bagel do the snarking for me.

I just can’t bring myself to rip on Valentine’s day because a) I love any holiday that involves candy, chocolates, pink, and heart shaped everything, and b) I might… just might… have a boy making me dinner. Who bought me chocolates. Lots of them. And didn’t eat them. AND THEY’RE FILLED WITH PEANUT BUTTER. Yea, I really can’t complain 🙂

That should explain both why I’m a little extra smiley this Valentine’s Day and my radio silence of late. Don’t worry, I still have more dates backlogged for posting (the accidental hand-holding incident, the yes-man and possibly a few others), and a letter that not one, not two, but THREE separate people have told me about on OKCupid that you really must read, but it’s going to take a little bit more time to get them up here.

So I dedicate this post to all of my single friends, especially those feeling a little down on this heart-shaped day, to help you put things in perspective. I hope you enjoy!

Your Father Isn’t… James

11 Jan

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a large, loud, outgoing family, but I don’t think I’ve truly done them justice. Then again, Tyler Perry would have trouble doing them justice. Let’s just say that when I’m homesick I like to watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and hope that someday my own wedding will go that smoothly.

I know I’m lucky to have a family with so much love, but sometimes it can be a bit too much love. Perfect example occurred over the holidays this year.

Every December 30th, my family descends on this little family-style restaurant in Little Italy, with brick walls, rows of red and white checkered tables and a Hispanic Elvis look-alike named Jorge, who provides live entertainment. We’re used to being the rowdiest group there, standing on our chairs for Jorge’s signature song, Shake Your Napkin, or snaking a conga line through the restaurant and into the slushy streets of New York. The establishment loves us because we get the entire restaurant smiling, singing and drinking more (lots more) wine, and eventually promising to come back again next year.

So we all choke on our calamari fritti when the table at the other end of the restaurant starts chanting for Jorge to come out, louder than even we could muster. Within minutes my mom and aunts, having faked a visit to the bathroom in order to scope out the competition, learn that they are all firefighters from New Jersey here for their annual year-end celebration.

Well, my aunts waste no time coming to grab me by the wrist and drag me over, ignoring my protests and the brilliant shade of red I’m turning. We stand at the head of their long table, lined with at least twelve muscular firefighters to each side, and I go another shade or two redder while my aunts flank me, each holding an elbow and say,

“This is our niece, Heather, who’s single.”

The throaty, heavily-accented chorus of “Hi Heather” can probably be heard for three blocks, but the heat rising from my face could melt snow for six. I stand around and talk with a few of the firefighters closest to us for a bit, but it’s still awkward and we’re blocking the already disturbingly narrow pathway to the kitchen, much to the obvious displeasure of the overloaded waiters. I take the opportunity to make my getaway and scurry back to the safety of my own table. Immediately my face begins to cool.

Within ten minutes, however, my dad starts up the conga line, which turns into a much better mingling opportunity. I find myself clinging to the rock-hard shoulders of Vinnie, a shorter, dark-haired New Jersey Italian who is the self-appointed leader of the bunch, while a taller Irish-looking fellow joins the line behind me. This is really not a bad place to be, I think to myself.

The conga line breaks up after a couple laps through the restaurant and dissolves into small groups dancing to such hot singles as the Brady Bunch, Dominick the Donkey and That’s Amore. My friend from the conga line, James, suddenly has me twirling and dipping as he pulls me in close to try to talk above the din of our two groups “singing” (trust me, the quotes are warranted). We chat for a bit, yelling each phrase two or three times to be understood, and continue to mingle and dance with the mass of people we’ve pulled from their dinners to dance to cheesy songs played on an electric keyboard.

At one point my brother and his girlfriend stumble over to me, with one arm around each other like contestants in a three legged race, to tell me that they like the guy I was just talking to.

“What’s his name?” asks my brother.

“James,” I reply.

My brother’s eyes go wide and he proudly pounds his chest. “That’s MY name! It’s perfect. Go back over to him.”

They stumble off.

As the night goes on, and the wine flows with increasing generosity, everyone continues to get rowdier. We’re shouting now instead of pretending to sing, jumping up on chairs, twirling anyone nearby and generally descending into madness. Each time Jorge tries to stop, the firefighters start a threateningly loud chant and form a small, impenetrable wall of drunken enthusiasm and Jorge starts back up with his fifth encore.

James finds me again while I’m talking to a couple of his friends. Instead of waiting or interrupting the conversation, he throws an arm around my waist, lifts me up high above the crowd and walks away. That’s one way to to do it.

He immediately tries to kiss me, which I dodge, and point out that my father is the guy who just sang When Irish Eyes Are Smiling standing on chairs with an Italian guy, a black guy, and James.


The pain is written on his face. He likes my Dad, and wouldn’t want to disrespect him… but still would like to make out in an alley if that were an option. I take that moment to point out that my mother is the woman standing on a chair behind me doing kicks to New York, New York and pouring wine for anyone whose glass is within her reach, including James.


I can’t help but smile. His face is an open book.

He settles for my number and a promise that whenever I go out in Hoboken, I call him, which isn’t a bad deal, except that I no longer live in New Jersey. Our groups go our separate ways, with promises to make sure our nights at Puglia’s coincide again next year, and at least one invitation to join their party bus through the city for the rest of the night, but I decide it’s probably wise to leave with my family.


Kids, your father probably isn’t James, but your family sure is crazy. In a good way.

“My hair hurts.”

30 Sep

Apologies for the unplanned hiatus. Between work and travel, I haven’t had time to write, let alone date!

I’ve also needed a break from this circus; too many bad dates can really take an emotional toll. Even when I can laugh them off, an increasing part of my subconscious wants to yell “I’ve been dating since I was fifteen! I’m exhausted! Where IS he?” and bury my head in my arms, a la Charlotte York.

Recently at a cousin’s graduation party, the family was trying to figure out whose graduation would gather the family next. My 14 year old cousin piped up, “No, Heather’s wedding will be next.” Every head in my large extended family turned, silent for the first time all weekend, and just looked at her.

“Why will Heather get married next? Why not Mia?” one aunt asked.

“Heather’s trying harder,” my cousin replied with a shrug.


Part of me just wants to be done with this whole process: the brief excitement, the awkward conversations and the laugh-out-loud, schadenfreude-inspiring terrible dates, peppered with the occasional decent one. I realize that scientifically speaking, “trying harder” isn’t going to get me anywhere anyway. According to Einstein, insanity is as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Then again, Einstein might have been wrong about physics, so maybe he’s not the best person for dating advice anyway.

More dates to come soon.