Well my minions, with just two more columns to go, I feel like I have so much left to say. Alas, after writing many advice columns, I’ve decided that this one will be my last, “How to …” article.
I’ve realized that over the years, my columns usually revolve around some aspect of a shitty relationship (I suppose because it’s so easy to obtain one). But with one last piece of advice to give, I want to leave on an optimistic note about the one thing I know a little bit about (but not by choice of course) – and that is how to be so awesomely single.
I’m not saying I’m awesome; I just wanted to put that out there so the “single” aspect could look more appetizing, which didn’t look so hot to me freshman year. Back then, my three main goals at Davis were: be a columnist, be first chair violin of our symphony orchestra and fall in love.
Welp! One out of three ain’t bad I guess (sadness), but lately I’ve been thinking that being so utterly single isn’t as devastating like I thought it had to be. After all, no one celebrates being single, even though it’s a damn shame. When someone screams in a bar, “I’m getting married!” everyone cheers. If someone were to say, “I just broke up with my boyfriend!” everyone would roll their eyes and shout shut up. I mean, what gives?
So if you’re recently single, always been single, or getting restless from being single for too long, here are some words of encouragement from yours truly on how to enjoy your single-self, even if no one put a ring on it.
Know that you are part of the few, the proud. Why do we put so much value in being a relationship? Is that a bigger accomplishment than say, getting out of a lousy relationship and coming out in one piece? Why is it considered “sad” if someone wanted to have dinner by themselves to celebrate being single (totally not speaking from personal experience by the way, but now that I got this parenthesis going on here, I’d like to say whadup to the Mustard Seed!), but completely normal if a couple wanted to celebrate the fact that they didn’t slit each other’s throats for two years?
If the tongue is the fastest healing muscle in our body, the heart has got to be the slowest. And when it does eventually heal and you’re out there being stronger than you were before, there is something to be said about that I suppose. Speaking for the heartbroken, I must say we are quite a resilient bunch.
Don’t forget your standards. As the old adage says, “Cast your line at the bottom of the ocean and all you’ll get is scum.” I’m not just talking about 23-year-old girls in toupees or that guy with those wandering eyes (literally, like they’re both actually looking off at different directions). I’m talking about the natural tendency to justify the red flags that keep popping up when it comes to dating what’s-his-face. Suddenly, the fact that he keeps tabs on his ex makes him sentimental or you consider your girlfriend a “firecracker” because she screams at you in public. Damn, what bullshit lottery did we all just win?
When my friends are deciding if their relationship sucks bigger balls than the ones their own boyfriends have, I tell them to imagine running into their 11-year-old self and having a conversation with her, describing every bad thing about their significant other. How would this younger self react? Most of the time it’s probably “Dude, what happened to me/you … how the hell did you end up with this person? And why are our breasts the same size if you’re 10 years older than me, Lynn?”*
If that doesn’t help, just watch The Princess Bride or Saw III, because that’ll just shoot your standards right up again. That or you know, pr0n. Whatever floats your goat.
Get validated. Not only will you not have to pay for parking if you spend five dollars at a Starbucks, you’ll also give yourself a little ego boost if you dabble in a few harmless flirtatious now and again.
So go on and make out with that stranger at the bar and what the hell, go home and do the monkey dance for good measure too. Although it’s something I’d never do (again, not by choice), what’s the point of being single if you don’t get to give away free tickets to catch the midnight show? By the way, what’s the movie called again? I Know What You Gave Me Last Summer And It’s Gonorrhea II. Man, when will Hollywood quit making Shakespeare plays into summer blockbusters?!
LYNN LA is sad because * was her last self-detrimental comment about her boobs she’ll write for The Aggie. She’s also wondering if she should schedule another meet-and-greet, but she’s still too embarrassed by the epic fail of her last one. To vote yay or nay, e-mail her at ldla@ucdavis.edu.
