Once upon a time, there was a girl–a crazy girl–a crazy, keg-standing, shot-glass-downing, completely-OK-with-peeing-in-a-parking-lot kind of girl.  She was young, vivacious, single and carefree–and when I say single, I mean beyond single, as in, “the girl who screwed up all the good guys” single. Sorry about that.

Then something happened… His name is Nicholas.

I used to be a complete party girl with a knack for understanding men of all ages, backgrounds, statuses, everything.  I was good at it–so good in fact that I became the writer of a series of articles entitled “Date Me,” chronicling my life as a serial dater and man-decoder.  I already knew I was good at playing the game, so turning it into a profession seemed easy, especially because I have the mentality of a man… and the ability to burp like one, too.

I spent months carefully planning out short-lived rendezvous with different types of men, including a minor league baseball player, a man 13 years my senior, a felon, my ex’s best friend, the heir to an absurd amount of money and more.  Then, I’d vent to the female population about what to avoid, what to improve upon, and what to give a chance.

I think I deserved some sort of black belt in dating and deconstructing the male species in his natural habitat.  Of course, I’d have to dishonorably return said belt after falling hard for one of my subjects, Nick.

What am I now?

I’m 22 years old.  I live with my boyfriend.  I have two cats.  And I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot in a bar.  Oh yeah, and I just lost my dream job as a marketing coordinator due to budget cuts. But somehow the girl who lived a crazy, keg-standing, shot-glass-downing, completely-OK-with-peeing-in-a-parking-lot, semi-perfect, kind of life was finally having everything go her way, and the future looked bright. That brilliant glow of mango and gold hanging over the horizon is now just a freaking sun that’s hurting my eyes.

How did I notice this?

Nick came home yesterday, thrilled that he purchased us a new shower caddy… ON SALE.  Hell yes!  We put that thing up, and all of a sudden, our bathroom became completely organized and convenient.  It was the highlight of my night… maybe of my week, but I’m holding out for tomorrow’s trip to the mall to top that one.

What am I going to do about it?

I woke up this morning and examined my options.  I have a B.S. in Marketing Management.  I have a boyfriend who loves me, and I’m pretty sure would do anything for me.  I have some of the best family and friends in the world, even though I occasionally get the urge to punch them right in the throat.  I have job options around the corner at a huge corporation… but I’m not satisfied.  Selfish, I know.

What do I want?

I want to be that girl who writes a book about nothing and everything that you either get or think is the biggest piece of crap ever.  I want to people-watch and then slam my head against a wall at the poor depiction of life that’s happening just several feet away from me.  I want to find all the guys I hurt in the past and then apologize to them for being such a prick during our short-lived relationships… and then write about why they were a loser in the first place and how the whole thing played out.

I want to live.  I want to do it my way.  And, I want to tell the world my never-ending story of trying to get it right.


Will you read the journey chronicling the life of a semi-bitchy, completely-obsessive, overreacting, trying-to-get-this-relationship-right, working-on-succeeding-in-life girl?

I promise.  It’s just getting interesting.