The Blog is Back...Valentine's Edition: I'm Like, Really Good At Dating

There are two types of people in this world: those who get all giggly and googly-eyed on February 14^th, and those who break out in hives and/or throw up a little bit in their mouths just thinking about it.

Regardless of how you feel about it, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, you guys. So you’d better start figuring out how you’re going to convince the people in your life that you actually don’t have a black heart and you do appreciate them (best of luck with that!).

As for me, I’m going to do what I always do on V-day: drink copious amounts of wine while getting kicked in the face by my kids and rolling my eyes out of the back of my head over everyone’s absurd Instagram posts. Actually, I guess that’s what I do on any normal day, not just V-day…but, I digress.

Anyway, I’m a married woman now, but back in my heyday I was quiiiiite the vixen, y’all! (LOLOL, just kidding everyone. When I was single I actually had a man actively run away from me at a bar. Like, he saw me, recognized me, and then proceeded to literally run away. As fast as his legs could carry him. He might’ve even knocked several people over/injured someone trying to escape; that’s how dire of a situation it was for him apparently.)

Ok, so let’s try this again. I’m a married woman now, but back in my heyday I was quiiiiiite the case study when it came to bad dates and even worse relationships. So whether you’re happily married, in a healthy relationship, or swiping right like your life depends on it, take a minute to read this little refresher I like to call, “Tips & Tricks to Not Being Alone Forever.” (Disclaimer: all of these anecdotes are, unfortunately, true stories.)

Don’t be ashamed to let your mother pick up men for you.

This one is pretty self-explanatory, but I’ll divulge a little bit of background info. When I was single and new to Nashville, my mom came to visit. We took a grocery store trip together to Publix and decided to divide and conquer, for the sake of efficiency: I got the milk and eggs, and she got a young chap’s name and phone number for me (without me asking her to do this). Yes, my mother aggressively hit on a man in a Publix grocery store for me, and honestly I wasn’t even the slightest bit mad about it (desperate times call for desperate measures, you guys). Anyway, cut to a few weeks later after one of our dinner dates when he decided to spend the night for the first time: he slept the entire night in his jeans and shoes. So, yeah, that was kind of a red flag. BUT, the point is, just let your mom work her magic, ok?

Do not pop a zit at his house.

Maybe this is common knowledge for most of you, but in case you’re gross like me and have zero self-control when it comes to totally annihilating a throbbing pimple on the spot, you’ll probably need to pay close attention to this. We were settling in to watch a movie at his apartment when I went to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of my little friend rearing its big, ugly head on my chin, and after that there was no turning back: I pinched it between my fingernails a little too aggressively and made that zit my bitch. And by “making it my bitch,” I actually mean it burst open and blood went everywhere. And the blood wouldn’t stop. Meaning not only did I have to admit to him that I was essentially a disgusting, pre-pubescent teenager with cystic acne, but that I also was gross enough to pop it in his bathroom and have to hold a wad of toilet paper on it for the rest of the evening. Good times all around!

Do everything humanly possible to not get food poisoning while sleeping at his house.

The same innocent human who had to endure my pimple bloodbath really hit the jackpot with me, because that same night during our sleepover (sorry, mom) I woke up in a cold sweat and a pit in my stomach: I knew I was about to vomit. Thanks to a pork taco from earlier that night, I endured a legendary puke sesh in his bathroom, mere steps from him and his horrified self. (Shout out to Taco Mamacita for ruining my dating life but also for helping me lose five pounds instantly #silverlinings.)

If he wears a strip club T-shirt on your date, run like you’ve never run before.

There are some things in life that make you say, “Is this real life?” And one of those things is when your date picks you up wearing a collared shirt with a bright neon strip club logo emblazoned on it. And when you somehow get over the initial distress of seeing it and realizing that yes, in fact, this is real life, you then proceed to ask him why he is wearing a collared shirt with a strip club logo on it. He is a little bit outraged (read: majorly outraged) that you aren’t extremely impressed. “Wow. This is a shirt only PLATINUM MEMBERS GET. It’s a big deal…” as he rolls his eyes at your sheer ignorance. The only thing worse than seeing your date in this shirt, is having the entire restaurant you’re at see your date in this shirt.

In the same vein, if he makes you buy your own $8 glass of wine on a date, run like the wind.

Then there was the guy I was majorly into and thought he’d probably be “The One” (and this “The One” was totally different than the 14 other “The Ones” before him, I swear). When he finally asked me out for drinks, I was ecstatic. Do you know the quickest way to destroy that first-date euphoria? Watch “The One” casually hand you your bill for your $8 glass of cheap Chardonnay. And that’s when you go home, put on your comfiest sweats and sip some really good Chardonnay out of THIS.

If he breaks up with you, douse all of his things in your signature perfume.

This is EXTREMELY important. When my ex-boyfriend decided to end things (rude), he also asked for all of the clothes and items back that he’d left at my house (doubly rude). I told him “sure thing,” but not before I basically dumped an entire bottle of my signature scent all over everything. Sure, I might have wasted $75 worth of nice perfume on an idiot, but that’s a small price to pay for making him smell me against his will for a very, very long time. I like to think my scent wafting through his small apartment made him lie awake at night thinking “ugh I want her back,” when in reality it probably just made him think “ugh I need to get the locks changed on my door ASAP.”

That’s all for now—I could go on, but I’m still working through the rest of my dating experiences in therapy. Now for some retail therapy, shall we?

Oh and just to be clear, Valentine’s Day isn’t just for your spouse or boyfriend or girlfriend or the person you’ve been snapchatting with for seven months but still haven’t had a real date with. It’s actually for anyone in your world who puts up with your shit: your best friend, your neighbors, your mom, your entire girl gang, your kids, your kids’ teachers (just go ahead and give them a bottle of Vodka, trust me that’s all they want for dealing with your kids day in and day out). Happy shopping, lovers!

“Hey, what’s your sign?”