For those of you who are not quite sure what you're looking at don't worry you're in good company. This screen caused me to do a double take as well. And when I realized what I was looking at it seemed to summarize all of my frustrations with the website over the past two months. Match.com has, in no uncertain terms, just told me to spend the rest of my life alone by attempting to match me up with, of all people, myself.
It is a sort of iconic moment for me, like the friend of mine before who was told by e-harmony that she is the one percent that cannot be matched. I have officially dated or been rejected by all eligible men and am left with only myself to spend the rest of my days with. So I can either accept this fate or move.
This message was simply the cherry on the revelation cake. The icing being my decision to part ways with and not see baby daddy anymore. It just became all to apparent, that despite being 24 years my senior he is not ready for a relationship. Ordinarily I'd cry bullshit, that he just doesn't want to be in a relationship with me. I could say that he it trying to make himself seem undatable when the clear and simple truth is this: he doesn't want to make room in his life for me, so he doesn't make room in his life for me. It's not, I'm busy, I have a kid, I have back pain, I'm stressed, I have melancholia. It's none of that. It's never any of that. And if you don't know this yet you should know this about men:
It's never them. It is, in fact, you that is the problem.
They will always make circumstances in their life seem insurmountable but if a man were interested in you come hell or high water he's not going to let anybody else have you. And if he's okay with you seeing other people you'd better be okay with him seeing other people.
And I'm not okay with that. I am now old enough and mature enough to draw a hard line in the sand. I want to sleep with one man, and not all of the men he is also sleeping with. I no longer am interested in the thrill of promiscuity. The lack of self respect veiled as sexual liberation us unacceptable to me. I will admit that I had a period of "playing the field." That stopped being fun the moment I realized that none of the men in my life had the least bit of respect for me. I used to think that love an romance and chemistry were the most important things in a relationship. I know now that it is respect.
So, unable to agree on terms and conditions of dating I suggested we part ways. It was not what I wanted to do but I've learned in the last year that part of growing up is learning to make difficult un fun decisions that are not immediately gratifying. Suffice to say, I'm pretty bummed. But most of all I'm disappointed in Baby Daddy.
And from disappointment on the corner of State and ultimatums, to 400 North pulling-my-hair-out street. I came home to an anxious frustrated cat with a dire need to eliminate but a stubbornness to use the litter box. It was as if all the men--even the cat--in my life had conspired to make things difficult. If I leave the swinging door off of the litter box, kitty with stand up mid-pee and spray out of the box. If I put the door on the litter box he will boycott it and instead pee on the bathmat, which I have had to bleach twice now.
Gucci seems insistent on me spending $180 on a top-entry letterbox from Modcat. If I had known what money-sucking irony would follow naming my cat Gucci I would have picked a more modest name, like Macy or Banana Republic. So now I have to buy my cat what basically looks like a contemporary kitty space shuttle so that he can pee freely.
These are my options now. I can buy my cat a two hundred dollar space ship to pee in or let him urinate on the floor. I can settle for being one of several guys or simply a party of one. It seems like lately the choices are not hard because I don't know which to chose but hard because it seems like no choice at all.
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