Today’s Middle Finger Goes to Trying to Date in D.C. When It’s 40 Degrees Outside.

I just told my good male friend that I was going to write a blog post about how I can’t date because it’s cold outside. He told me that was the dumbest idea ever.

So, here it goes.

On Saturday night, I waited around a crowded restaurant with a friend of mine as we caught up and exchanged stories of DC douchebags. I thought dating back on my East Coast home turf would be easier but I have now confronted the stark reality that I’ll probably deal with the same fuckery I’ve dealt with in two other states. In fact, this time my dating woes are only exacerbated by the fact that I am fighting off the low-hanging fruit of previous hookups.

I didn’t realize people in DC are, more or less, assholes. I can only confidently say this now that I have lived in the south where people are human cupcakes, all saccharine and fluffy. People in the south are warm and cozy and downright friendly just for the sake of being downright friendly. DC people aren’t necessarily outright mean, just more, eh…aloof. Most people are conservative and snide and ready to see your skivvies drop the minute they impress you with their intellect and pseudo Ivy league degree. Because clearly, that’s enough to get me all hot and bothered. And, then there are the girls. Now, I’m not trying to date the girls. But, I can hardly keep up with them. Their hair is straightened to perfection and they flip it all while balancing on 4 inch heels. I tell you, my pixie cut and flat boots can’t keep up. We simply can’t keep up.

And, then there’s the real problem. IT’S FREEZING. Someone should have told the troposphere that 40 degree weather is not conducive to going out and trying to find the man of your dreams. I saw some girls the other night in tiny dresses without any hoisery or outerwear and I just thought, girl, you crazy. I don’t want to put on skimpy little dresses. I don’t want to smile at people while the wind is whipping my cheeks. All I want to do is put some fuzzy socks on my pedicure-less feet and curl up with a Real Housewives marathon.

Unfortunately, I also missed the time of the year affectionately referred to as bunning season. That’s when everyone scouts out their prospective mate to cuddle up with during these frigid winter months. I think I was packing boxes to move at that time. Oh, damn.

I already mourned the demise of my dating life this weekend when I went to Target four times, including two times on Sunday. I knew it was bad when during these visits I 1) bought a Taylor Swift CD and 2) got way too excited about a dollar off coupon I had for Advil Migraine. All I need now is a pair of Birkenstocks to officially morph in to TLSWA-The Least Sexy Woman Alive. 

In the meantime, give me the hot cocoa. It’s freezing, I am not dating, and it is going to be a long winter.



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