Single Girl’s Manifesto

I like manifestos. Mantras. Quotes. Words are my religion. And, after two consecutive days of lying in bed watching the NBA playoffs and Sex and the City (this combination of television speaks true to who I am more than anything else), I’ve decided it’s time to write my single girl manifesto. I think it’s only fitting to move Free Love into her new home by properly declaring in the boldest way possible that I’m single and that may skew everything on this blog.

Let’s set the record straight: yes, I am single. Single is not synonymous with bitter, lonely, or psychopathic. Single is single. It means that I enjoy staying in bed all day on a Sunday unshowered watching too much Bravo TV and eating oreos for breakfast and cheetos for lunch. I don’t like sharing. This refers to my remote control, my bed, my food, my space, and my radio. Touch the dial and you risk death unless you kindly ask first. A date for me consists of donning leggings and Converses to a movie with my best friend.

Yes, I am single. Not to be confused with “I hate men.” I love men, I love the poor decisions I make with them, and I love my mother which is why I will not elaborate on this here blog about my personal activities. Fill in the blanks.

Yes, I am single. I come home solo after nights spent dancing in my favorite red 40 dollar heels and I fall asleep to Chelsea Lately. I’m that person who laughs when I see a couple arguing in public because they’re making everyone else feel awkward so it’s my job to bring it to their attention that everyone around them feels awkward. I’m that girl whose skin has to keep itself from spontaneously bursting into flames when I hear girls say their only dream is to be a mom.

Yes, I am single. I’m selfish. I’m 21 and what do you expect? My goals and my plans are going to be more important than anybody else’s right now and I’m not the least bit sorry about it. My bookshelf is inundateed with power bitch books such as “Secrets of Six Figure Women” and “Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office.” You may think I’m a bitch but I just think I like success. I don’t like cooking; I like Noodles & Company. I don’t work out; I write. And, above all else, I don’t cuddle; I sleep. Like normal human beings. I don’t want your arm wrapped around me while I try to get into REM mode because my body is 98.6 degrees and your body is 98.6 degrees and, let’s face it: 197.2 degrees is just too hot and sweaty.

Yes, I am single. Please do not hold my hands because ever since I can remember, they’ve been sweaty and clammy for absolutely no damn reason and are therefore not “holdable.” I am a control freak who will drive to 95.29% of the places I go to in order to avoid having someone else dictate when it’s time to leave so, please, don’t pick me up for our date.

Yes, I am single. I’m a conglomeration of observations. My circulatory system is stitched together by scars left from him, memories dropped off by another him, and mistakes and lessons learned from him, too.

Yes, I am single. Not to be confused with bitter, lonely, or psychopathic.You may think I’m pathetic but that’s probably why you and I are not friends. I still smile when I see old couples, I adore my roommate and her boyfriend together, and I do think for every person in this world, there is a perfect counterpart. But, for now, this is my life, I will love it for the mess it is, this is my moment, and yes, I am single.

Love freely,

tY

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