Singles Awareness Day?

This past Valentine’s Day I spent my night the same way I have spent every February 14 for as far back as I can remember (4 years): single, overeating and then being woken up by my date (jk) asking why my phone is on the bathroom floor. I’ve often heard the phrase “Singles Awareness Day” in reference to the 14th which confuses me. I’m pretty sure single people are aware that they’re single every day. Not just on some holiday created as a means to make people buy stuff. I mean, obviously if I was/am ever not single on Valentine’s Day I’m going to take full advantage of it. I’m talking, stuffed animals, chocolate, a bottle of wine that cost more than four bucks and probably dinner or something. And a new watch. Or concert tickets. I’m going to emphasize that the two most important in that list is the wine and the stuffed animal though.


This is not to say none of my Valentine’s Days haven’t been enjoyable. They have been. The most recent one I spent the first part at a pretty classy restaurant trying to convince my date (Monica) to propose to me so we could get free stuff for being a newly engaged lesbian couple. The night ended with House of Cards and confusion. What doesn’t sound enjoyable about that? The answer is nothing.


What I’m trying to get at is that Valentine’s Day does nothing for me in terms of reminding me that I’m single. Or that pretty much all my close friends are in serious relationships. I am aware of this at all times. And that’s fine. I understand why I’m single and I totally agree with these reasons. These reasons could also fall under: “Why I Can’t Believe I Have Friends.”


I am crazy. No like, I am actually a crazy person. “Fraser, you’re not crazy! Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy!” you say. But here’s the thing. When I’m being crazy I usually don’t realize it until after. And sometimes? I still don’t think I was being crazy. It’s messed up. I freak out when people don’t text me back. God forbid you have your read receipt on. I will definitely call you out on that. I texted a friend once and saw that he read my text and didn’t respond and literally immediately sent him a text along the lines of “I KNOW YOU READ THAT TEXT AND DIDN’T RESPOND.” Caps included. The worst part about this is that probably about 80% of the time I forget to respond, my phone is dead or I can’t find my phone. So I guess that makes me a hypocrite too.

My musical taste. Just so you know, I pride myself in having excellent taste in music. If you don’t believe me I have a few sources lined up that I’m ready to connect you with to vouch for me on this one. When I say my taste in music I mean that I do have a proclivity to fall head over heels for whatever the latest girly pop song is. For example, I have listened to the song “Dark Horse” on average, about 7.5 times a day since I first heard it Halloween. The 1/2 is factored into that number because sometimes I’m only able to catch about half of it when it comes on the radio. Seriously, my catch phrase for should probably be “PLAY DARK HORSE!!!!” It’s just that when I hear a song that speaks to me, I like to listen to it over and over and over. Basically I love girly pop and will make you listen to whatever the “it” song of the moment in that genre is until you never want to see me or Katy Perry ever again.

I don’t cook or clean. Simple as that. I don’t enjoy either. I’m not good at either. So I just don’t do either. The most you’re going to get if you suggest I cook dinner is either a) a sandwich (cue jokes about women making sandwiches) b) a meal that only involves me sticking a frozen substance in the oven or c) cereal. To address the whole cleaning deal, I’m just not a clean person. I leave my clothes everywhere. I threw away a check the other day because I decided to clean out my purse/wallet and got it confused with receipts/trash. So that’s where I currently am regarding cleaning.

I’m unreliable. I’m a flake. And I can’t make a decision to save my life. Someone told me recently that they don’t trust that I’m not going to decide to take off to Europe tomorrow with little to know warning. Moving on.

It's a mistake you always made trying to love a wild thing[1]

I’m always late. I know it’s one of the worst things a person can be and I try but I just can’t get it all together. Either I’m on time and am wearing weird shoes or forgot makeup or I’m late and look okay. Usually I’m late and still don’t look okay. I honestly believe that I have some sort of disease where I can’t be on time. And I never trust that anyone is telling me the correct time to be somewhere anymore. It’s just a really confusing situation for me.

I’m going to pick hanging out with my friends over hanging out with you every single time. I don’t know if this is something that changes when you meet “the right person” or what. I guess they do say relationships are about compromise and that’s something that I’m not yet willing to compromise yet. I totally get what the Spice Girls meant with Wannabe. Bottom line is that if you ask me to hangout I’m probably going to ask “is it okay if [insert friend’s name here] comes too?”


My reality and dream world are not separate. I genuinely live my life as if I was the star of some Young Adult Book Award Winning novel. Or a Kate Hudson romantic comedy. When I think about things that happen to me or are going to happen in the future they appear in my head like they’re written down in a book. When I listen to songs I play out scenes from my life in my head taking place to them. A lot of times when I’m not paying attention to what’s happening around me it’s because I got distracted choosing which song I’d like to play if this scene were happening in a movie. This leads to me making decisions that aren’t realistic because let’s be honest, what Young Adult book or romantic comedy is? It’s a lot to live up to.

The number of times I’ve worn a t-shirt and converses out to dinner or a bar more than likely outnumbers the times that I didn’t. And then I wonder why I never meet new people.

I tend to go into feminist mode at the drop of a hat (see Item Three in which I considered going on a rant about the women making sandwich thing). “Yeah I thought it was funny but then Fraser went all bra burning on me.” -Guys
Oddly enough, guys don’t seem to go for the bra burning type of females.


I like my space. I’m independent. The thought of someone not letting me walk somewhere alone at night because it’s “unsafe for me” infuriates me. And the thought of having to share my personal space with someone makes me cringe. The only person allowed to sleep in my bed is my dog.

This list could go on, but I will spare you for the sake of brevity. The point is, though these are things about myself that I could change, I don’t really care to. Well besides being on time more or being a flake. I need to work on those. But the others are pretty much non negotiable. However, if you asked me to dinner enough in advanced that I didn’t already have plans with my friends, I would give up a couple of hours of time spent with them and change out of my converses. Can’t promise that I won’t insist on playing “Dark Horse” on repeat the entire time though. And I will more than likely be at least 5 minutes late.



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