#dating in your 20s
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You’re really going to tell me that I couldn’t have my service dog if we were to be in a relationship because you don’t like dogs? Like buddy she’s an epilepsy service dog I’m really not sure what you want me to do about that
#shitpost#dating is hard#dating in your 20s#they can’t all be winners#lesbians can suck too#don’t waste my time if you don’t want my dog
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I love being able to talk to fellow late bloomers! Let’s celebrate getting our first kisses and first dates in our twenties! Let’s talk about the anxiety of figuring out everything by trial and error when it seems like everyone else knows exactly what they’re doing. Most people our age have had their romantic firsts years before us, and it doesn’t seem like a big deal to them anymore. But we get each other.
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not to be gay or anything (i am gay but that's beside the point) but im not sure how im supposed to love someone i meet almost in my 30s as much as my best friend that i've known since i was a little baby teenager
#she's gonna flame me for this one#as a good best friend should#personal#friendship#best friends#childhood friends#we were girls together#platonic soulmates#besties#dating#dating in your 20s#dating as an adult
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Realizing you cried for weeks over a guy you weren't actually that into at first, like the only reason you ended up going out was because he lived nearby and was more persistent than the other guys you were talking to. Absolutely wild. Humiliating.
#relationship#breakup#emotions#moving on#dating#embarrassing#online dating#dating in your 20s#bro was the one who wanted me#i was unimpressed by his profile#but here we are#he dumped me because he didnt like me like that#bro what the fuck#what do you mean by that#you're literally my boyfriend#not anymore#lmao#i still dont know how to tag
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what is up with men on dating apps being so self-deprecating??? i wont want to date you if you’re describing yourself as literally the worst person alive??
#just saw someone say that dating them is ‘like peeing your pants everyone is laughing at you but only you can feel the warmth’#like HOW IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE CHARMING?????#shut up lana#dating#dating in your 20s
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i wonder if i would hate myself this close in proximity to anyone? this frequency with which i am trying to connect with you. because even with my closest friends we go days or weeks or months without speaking & it is okay. & we fight & it is okay. i do not attempt the physical & sexual intimacy that i attempt with you. & i do not oversubject them to me in the way that i fear i am doing to you. is it hard to hate up close? i fear when it comes to myself, it is not hard at all
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Do I need to move country, or am I just turning 30?
30 is looming and I don’t know how I feel about it.
My life feels as messy as my hair and the mirror in this lift selfie
On a phone call with my mother a few days ago I told her that I was feeling stagnant, displaced and restless, major ‘itchy feet’. I feel as though something major in my life needs to change, but I’m not sure what. She told me that it’s probably because I’m fast approaching 30…
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#30#30s#dating#dating blog#dating in your 20s#life change#lifestyle#milestone#mind#quarter-life crisis#Single#Single Girl#single problems#thirties#thirty
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New Moon New Me
New Moon New ME.
Welcome back to the third installment of The Chronicles of a Hot Girl.
I started the week as I always did. I woke up. I had some existential dread. I went to bed.
After firing pretty much everyone involved with my show I took a little time off to center and refocus.
I took only Monday and Tuesday to blow off a little steam and catch up on sleep. By Wednesday we were back at it again (no white vans though.)
With an appointment with my Psychiatrist on the books (which did me no good at all as Adderall is on backorder basically everywhere) I made my way to the bank to deposit some cash.
While I was there I figured now is as good a time as any to set up the bank account for my LLC. I even changed my car insurance to a way cheaper brand so I could save a little money.
With my finances in order I headed back home to prepare for my Telehealth appointment.
Now this wouldn’t be a hot girl chronicle if there were not some hot girl shenanigans. SO OFC the new psychiatrist was someone on Bumble maybe I would have passed on. However, here at the telehealth appointment, I felt myself get nervous as I talked about my self pleasuring habits. (yes even hot girls masturbate)
Normally this part of the conversation didn’t bother me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if my comments got him a little curious too.
He didn’t matter much though because doctors can’t sleep with their patients. Wa wha.
In my state of motivation, I did get online to begin my search for a new band.
An overall uneventful start to the week.
With Thursday bringing us into a new moon, something in the air must have shifted.
On Thursday at a book store by the university with my boss, I got a phone call that ushered in a new phase for a former employer of mine.
A potential class action for sexual harassment.
I guess I had all the right experiences for the EEOC to take action not only on behalf of the girl who made the original complaint but for a whole class of people who worked for the same people.
More on that later.
Later that night I joined up with the same friend as the week before to hit the country bar on the outskirts of town for a little line dancing.
We really did have a great time. The dancing and the music were great, but there wasn’t much here in the way of Hot Girls getting their Hot Girl on.
It was hard to believe that environments like that were where I used to find mates of sorts.
Friday the 19th was the new moon in Taurus. A time to let the universe know that I was ready to take on all it had to offer me.
You want to know what this mother fucker sent me?
Well, I had gathered a couple friends of mine to come to help me get content for a 7th Ave bar. The theme was Pirates. Here in this Shmity TM* (a city that behaves like a small town) we fucking love pirates.
It was at the Pirate Bar on 7th Ave that I had the strangest experience.
In a skin-tight black halter dress and black babydoll strap peep toes, I made a full strut to the stage to sing a little diddly called “Hell on Heels” which I not only thought was fitting, but also that I killlllled.
From the stage, I scanned the crowd for the most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes.
Mostly unimpressed, I sang my song, gave my thanks, and made my way back to the table. We had chosen a high-top table in the back that we shared with a few other unrelated groups of people.
Sitting at the end of the table, I became all too aware of a very drunk man staring at me.
He was about 6 feet away at the table in front of ours. He stood at no more than five foot five maybe. A round man in Jesus sandals and a floral button-up. The lights weren’t really on behind his glossy bloodshot eyes.
How did I know what his eyes look like you ask?
Well, that is because that strange and drunk little man stepped out of his sandals and stumbled over to my table. He took a seat as if my acknowledgment of his staring was an invitation.
In an attempt to alert his friend group to their missing passenger, I unwittingly invited a second man to our table.
The second man also grabbed a chair and took a seat between me and 7th Ave Jesus.
“What made you want to call me over?” He asked
His breath probably could have started a small fire in the right conditions.
He was tall and had to be at least six foot five inches, he had a ridiculous mustache, floral shirt, sneakers, and blue eyes.
His eyes though less bloodshot and glossy, were still inebriated.
“Well, I called you over to remove your friend. His shoes by the way are over at your table.” I retorted as I pointed out not only his barefoot friend but also where he had stepped out of his well-worn sandals.
The taller bachelor reached over to grab the nasty sandals and handed them to his significantly more intoxicated friend.
I ignored the little one as he continued his drunken staring.
I really couldn’t blame him. Hot Girl is as Hot Girl does.
The taller man whose name was something perfectly normal, continued on with his conversation overlooking my comment which I thought would be the end of our exchange.
“I see, like your friend, you have taken my call for aid as an invitation.”
Blah blah blah
We talk a bit about what books we are reading and make a few recommendations. I warm up to him and realize he is objectively attractive. His floral Hawaiian shirt had the top few buttons undone and I could see a bit of his chest.
He asked where we were headed next.
After some light coordination, my friend and I took him and his friend on an adventure leaving the rest of the bachelor party they were with behind.
They were here from Canada for a bachelor party, so I wanted to give them a night they could take with them forever.
We started at the new wine and cheese bar where we were almost denied entry due to the friend in his Crocs.
(Why men go out without considering dressing well is beyond me)
Luckily the owner of the bar was a friend who owned another establishment a few door fronts down who happened to be walking in at the same time. He gave us the go-ahead against the dress code of the new establishment.
It was cool but loud.
The Canadian and I chatted. He told me about how he worked in medical sales back in Toronto and played hockey in his free time. He asked me questions about what made me who I was. It was all very polite.
Over a couple glasses of champagne and some very loud music we got to know each other. He had his arm around my waist and my free hand rested on his muscular shoulder.
Attempting to find an environment more conducive to talking, I lead the foursome down to the bar I worked at.
Here is where it gets interesting.
Some many shots and a few drinks later we the Canadian and I had started making out. It was 1 am at this point and I was feeling great.
Maybe a little too good because somehow, mid make out sesh, we completely lost our footing and fell over taking a few chairs down with us as we went.
A quick jump up from the ground though was not enough to cover up what we had done. Or the little bit of blood coming from a small gash on the bridge of his nose.
My favorite part was in the security camera footage, which I had coxed out of my manager the following morning, which was my coworker shaking his head at the whole scene.
Deciding that I had enough embarrassment for one establishment, we made our way on to the next place.
A nightclub, one of the oldest on the 7th, also had a dress code. (Those fucking Crocs again)
I looked one of the security guards dead in the face and said “Help a girl get laid.”
Maybe it was my heartfelt plea or maybe it was because I used to work there, but either way, they let us in. With my credit card whose balance I’m still scared to look at as I type this, I bought another round of shots as we waited for the elevator.
My efforts were for not though as we eventually trekked the 5 flights of stairs up to the rooftop. The only level out of 5 that I was willing to tolerate.
Already plenty lit we had even more shots and made out in the front corner looking at the strip of bars and clubs.
I was thankful for the fresh air and the breeze. Things got a little steamy on that rooftop.
The Canadian was stroking my side from my breast to my hip which was only made sexier by my lack of bra.
His big hands made my whole body feel petite and tingly as he grabbed me to pull me in closer while we locked lips and teased each other’s tongues.
Ready for more alcohol though I lead us back to the bar where I briefly checked my phone.
There were 3 unread messages from B. 1:11 am.
I slipped my phone back into my small pink vintage coach purse. (Vintage because I had it since 6th grade.) I opted for the man who spent the better part of the night buying me flowers from the strange man who pedals them and asked me everything there was to know about how my mind worked.
He was trying to get laid, but I sensed a level of severity in his interest that eased my guard just enough to tell him little things about myself that I doubt he remembers now. Mostly about therapy and why we were in it.
The bars and nightclubs around the strip had started to close up so we made our way out the street with no plan of where to go next.
Popping into one last establishment for an after-hours shot before reconnecting with our respective friends.
I found mine a few paces ahead of us. When I met up with her she had given me the impression she was ready for the night to be over.
So together we made a break for my boss’ condo a few blocks over leaving the boys in the dust.
I woke up Saturday morning on my boss’ couch with the kind of hangover that you know hasn’t fully set in yet.
Upon my return to my dwelling, I immediately showered, got back in bed, and reviewed the footage from the night before.
I finally opened B’s messages and replied at first with a simple “sry I was out, just got home.”
I wish I would have left it there, but as I do, I did not.
I went on to address something passive-aggressive he had said about a playlist I had made for him a while back.
He was upset I changed the name of the playlist and accused me of trying to guilt trip him.
I wasn’t. I just changed it from “playlist 50” made by me to the name of the first song I showed him that he got excited for.
Music was one of those things B and I shared that felt special to me. After consideration, it probably wasn’t ever special to him, but I didn’t let that affect me.
I didn’t have time to dwell on his emotional triggers though as I was now down to two hours until I had to leave my house and brave an entire brunch shift fighting the urge to regurgitate every shot and sip of champagne I had the night before.
I did exactly that too. I made it through the whole shift curating a telling of the events of the night before to each table or group that sat at the bar.
The Canadian really had his heart set on seeing me for a second night and even called me a couple times throughout the night. I, however, was already fast asleep in bed still wearing my falsies from the brunch shift I had just worked.
The Canadian tried Sunday morning, and then Sunday night, even into the wee hours of Monday morning to see me one more time.
I think you all know me just enough by now to know that I am a full send no-more than once a week kinda gal. If I even have the energy for that much.
Another victim of the Hot Girl comes and goes as a does a week.
Maybe soon I’ll take it another step forward with someone. Maybe I’ll even go on a proper date. Honestly, though, I am not looking for it. I’d rather have a date with the videographer to set up my show’s next steps.
Until the next cosmic shift, this has been an update in The Chronicles of a Hot Girl.
#thechroniclesofahotgirl#trauma#childhood trauma tw#dating#dating in 2023#dating in your 20s#mercury retrograde#spiritual#spiritual growth#story time#tumblr stories#hot girl shit#sa recovery#new moon
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Besties I think I got played and idk how to feel right now 😭. I really liked him and I thought things were going well, it’s been making me sad lowkey 🥺
Looks like we’re back to the drawing board…
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New York Dating Chronicles: Donald
I moved to New York nine months ago now and what a trip it has been.
I decided quickly after my arrival that I wanted to be someone different here (as all faux-New Yorkers, transplants are we’re called, do) and thought long and hard about what that version of myself looked like. I needed to know what she liked, disliked, dressed like, sounded like, acted like, how she treated people, how she treated herself, and so on & so forth. It wasn’t going to be easy, so I turned to the resource that I always sought out whenever I had big life changes to make – other people. I decided for the entire year of 2024 I would go on one date a week. The line of thinking was that maybe I’d be able to find myself in others.
Now there were some rules with this little experiment. The rules are as follows:
At least one date a week and all dates must be tracked in the New York Dating Spreadsheet
Your roommate and/or best friend must always have your location, the date’s full name, and plan for the evening
You can count one person as three separate dates on the spreadsheet, but anything after that is just dating
It’s more about the number and less about the timeframe – so, as long as you get 4 dates in one month, it doesn’t matter the consistency in which you have them. (meaning if you have 4 dates in 1 week, you’re set for the month in the same way you would be if you only did 1 date a week for 4 weeks)
I’ve decided every worthy experiment deserves to be properly documented. Thus begins my New York Dating Chronicles, this little blog right here. I’ll keep you updated on every date, person, and experience I encounter. And who knows? Maybe we’ll both learn something along the way.
Donald, 39, Attorney
I shakingly raise my hand to fix my mess, the red lipstick has spread to my right front tooth. Gently, I smudge the spot as my phone buzzes in my hand, “I’m sorry. We’ve talked about it, and we aren’t comfortable with you going on a date with this grown-ass man without having his last name”. Gabby has been the bravest of us since we all hugged hello for the first time 17 days ago in the NYU dorms. Clicking instantly, our friendship has blossomed into something that will hopefully last a lifetime. This concern is not out of character and quickly snapped me back to the reality that I am, in fact:
In New York City, living with a bunch of strangers
About to go on a date with a 39-year-old man who prefers I refer to him as Daddy at all times
About to go on my 3rd date ever, like in my life
I don’t know said “daddy’s” last name, or any truly identifiable facts about him (I don’t even have a picture of his face) and I’m more afraid of scaring him off than I am of what it might mean for me if I don’t get this information before the date
This reality is jarring, and not for the first time since I crossed the George Washington Bridge in the back of my father’s Kia Sportage, I realize I don’t recognize myself at all. This isn’t the 22-year-old, midwestern girl who left the state of Ohio for the first time a mere two and a half weeks ago.
I glance again in the mirror, red lipstick smeared slightly in the corner of my mouth now and a few too many buttons undone, and feel like I’m six years old again playing dress up in my Grandma Yulie’s closet. My heels slipped as my toes gripped them to my feet, dress pooling as I twirled in the center. Only this time, the giddy faux sophistication is replaced with an empty pit. The comfort of being found and redressed in age-appropriate clothes so far away.
“You’re right.” I reply “Let me see what he says”.
—
The train slaps my hair against my face and it sticks with the sweat this 90-degree day has provided me. I pull the strands away, careful to make sure my red lip is intact, and step onto my very first solo subway ride. “Mortes” his text reads, and so I send this to my new friends. A 10-minute walk to the bar and I have arrived at another of my very firsts, my first date in New York City. He looks next to nothing like his pictures. A few inches shorter, bald, and a full beard now. It’s obvious his pictures were taken at least 7-10 years earlier. He stands up to greet me with a hug, and all I can think about is the sweat still lingering on my skin. Pulling out the bar stool, he tells me he’ll stand (there’s only one seat available). The bartender asks the two girls on the other side of us if they’ll scoot down so that he can have a seat as well, and they do. However, the bartender has now brought their attention to me and the man close to twice my age – their eyes linger.
He’s kind. That is the first thing I notice. He obligatorily compliments my outfit, even though I have my purse tucked in front of me almost like a shield between him and myself. The look he gives me as he compliments me though makes me feel like a sack of meat that he will happily devour. He’s loud. That’s the second thing I noticed. At times, the groups of people around us will notice him when he speaks, and ultimately then the attention is turned to me.
At many points throughout the date, the girls who originally moved seats for us had glanced at me for the 3rd time. Their whispers were apparent and their eyes beaming with amusement. I caught the one on the left’s eyes at one point and for a second there was a question in them. “Are you okay?” I didn’t know how to answer because I…didn’t know. I didn’t even know who I was really, let alone if I was okay. But instead of trying to let her in on this little personal dilemma, I just gave a subtle nod and slight grimace. It would have to do.
Where are you from? What do you like to do? What are your kinks? Hands-on thighs, hands in hair, hands on cheek, hands everywhere. And my personal favorite, “Do you like Disney movies? Do you watch them often? Which is your favorite?”
Quickly this took a turn towards politics. When I expressed my knowledge about the communist manifesto and the Marx book club I started in college, he went quiet for the first time that night. “I’m not a communist or anything” I rushed out, fearful I just lost any opportunity I had to impress him. “I just like some of his ideas and principles more than what we are following now”. This kick-started his chatting back up, he told me about how he disagreed with transwomen competing in sports, “for your benefit, ya know. It only harms women”. “Then let it be a woman’s issue”, I said, finally finding my voice for the only time that night. Jumping from topic to topic, he often quickly found another thing to hear himself talk about. It soon became apparent that whether I was there or not didn’t matter. He was more concerned with getting everything he had to say out. And boy did he have things to say. Eventually, he worked his way to telling me about his wife. Yes, his wife. They are ethically non-monogamous (must say: brace yourself, this is a recurring theme in the coming pages).
I never had the pleasure of learning her name but to this day I worry I will see her out in public and just never know. He once told me, months after our first date, that he talked about me to his wife frequently and she was fascinated by his stories. She wanted to meet me eventually. It was then I truly felt for the first time the shocking pain of being the other woman. But there was something different about this though, I wasn’t even unique enough to be the secret that we kept to ourselves. I was never going to be the illicit affair that he just couldn’t keep his hands off of and had to risk everything for, no. There was no risk, no worries. I was simply there for him to get off to when his wife wasn’t around or he was in the mood for something young and new. There was never any love and there would never be any love. There was no competition, he went home to her every night.
The Aperol spirits soothed my shaking hands and my briefly hurt pride. None of this was recognizable to me at the time, of course. 22-year-old, inexperienced and insecure me didn’t know why there was an empty crater in her chest as she rode the 4 train back to Union Square station that night.
I know now, I was expecting something from him that he would never give me. Not that he couldn’t, just that he didn’t want to.
Swiping into the dorm suite, I can hear laughter on the other side already. Light music is playing and disco lights hit me as I open the door. I’m greeted with a “She’s back!”, a pre-made dirty Shirly, and a take-out box of leftover pasta they got for me at the dinner they went to earlier in the night. The warmth that fills the crater makes me forget about being his second choice because right now, I was their first.
#writeblr#creative writing#writing#dating#newyork#newyorkcity#datinginnewyork#dating in your 20s#dating in 2024#newyorkdatingchronicles#lifeinnewyork#living in new york#dating sucks#onedateaweek#idon'tknowwhatidon'tknow#concerninglyconfusedcherry
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I have now gone on two (2) rather pleasant little Tinder dates with 18 hours of each other. Went out for a couple drinks last night with one, and coffee/brunch with someone else this morning. And I can't tell if I'm:
A) having a fun little flirty time, playing the field and meeting friendly people, while also having an excuse to spend time around my town in places I don't always get to go to
Or B) extremely desperate and needy, and being creepy/weird meeting up with multiple random people because I'm lonely
#dating in your 20s#Ive been pretty open with them about just needing a rebound after a shitty breakup#and they seem pretty chill with that#none of us are looking for anything serious#and like ive had fun#but its not a style of dating im used to#idk
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relationships. the first thing that anyone asks you ever? who are you dating? anyone special in your life?? ugh. sometimes i feel that we have not evolved since the age of mankind, everyone is still obsessed with who you're sleeping with like we're still in some Darwinian race to see who is going to survive the next big famine or disease, literally crazy. at least back in the cave man ages, men went and hunted for food. now? their form of hunting is a offering you a hit of their vape as if this will entice you to go home with them. a cheap drink at the bar has become the frat boy mating dance. idk just ughhhh
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Born a hopeless romantic, forced to act like I’m not. This generation sucks.
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i love my boyfriend and his little ponitail with a strand of hair that never wants to stay still, his dollar store glasses that i hope he doesn't change because it makes him look so sexy, his warm hands with which he pats me in a way too fast pace when we cuddle because his culture never allowed him to show love through physical touch and he's still getting used to it but he wants to, he wants to so much.
i love my boyfriend who told me i love you first even though he is japanese and 'we dont say it often, but when i visit them in new years eve i want to tell my family i love them like you do with your mother so easily'
i love my boyfriend who loves like this so naturally even though he never had the opportunity to before
#relationship#cross cultural#mixed couple#interracial couple#interracial relationship#dating#dating in your 20s#japan#japanese culture#i love him#love quotes#dating in japan
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I don’t wanna ‘date’ people I want to have a mildly toxic romantic spiral with one of my mutuals like the good old days
#z screams#dating in your 20s#makes me wanna cry#I acutely hate this so much I’m gonna slam my head into a wall
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Dating apps are hell and always make me feel gross
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