Date #2: What a Riot.

For full disclosure: Date #2 wasn’t really a “date” at all. It was actually really fun and now I’ve ended up with a cool friend. So, yeah. I mean— there’s not much else to say. I wasn’t really expecting anything (unlike other people,) so I was at ease. Plus, he and I had chatted for hours and hours about our love of travel, how difficult this city is to get a fucking job and apartment in, life in general. He’s a good friend and an even better wingman. (I mean, that remains to be seen: but we’re good friends. That’s the fucking point, y’all.)

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Pre-Blog: The 5-Month Itch (Pt. 1)

A lot of this entry will be writing to cope with the breakup. I really don’t mind either way, but it’ll be nice to get everything off my chest and shoulders. 

I met A when I was at my best: I loved myself and had just accepted that being single would be the best thing that happened to me. I was doing well in school, getting grants left and right, being productive at work, and having a great social life. I had adjusted to the city, and the city had welcomed me back with open arms— it was a win-win situation for everyone. So it was a surprise when A messaged me. I was about to shut down my OKCupid account for good… and I was caught off-guard.

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Date #1: Punctually Late for Pizza

Sometimes I’m okay with the prospect of doing things. Like, for instance— starting this blog sounded great (in theory), agreeing to go out with three guys in one week, taking four summer classes at once. And then something happens that makes you realized that you’re pretty fucked. I guess the point of this blog post is: y’all… I went on my first date since the breakup. And nothing bad happened, but nothing good happened. It was normal, it was vanilla, it was awkward. It’s great, but it made me realize the sad truth of it all: I’m not ready to date. I’m not over everything that happened, and maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Unfortunately, this blog post isn’t really about the date as it is the aftermath of the date. 

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An idea of who I am.

Since this is all about online dating, I guess I should explain who I am:

I’m a female university student in my twenties. I live in Chicago. I moved here about a year ago. In that time, I used OKCupid to meet new people. It worked: for a little bit. To give you a background, I’m pretty sure men message me because I have a vagina. I’m chubby with a pretty face— but I guess some men date me because of “dat ass.” (Actually maybe all of them do: I’ve had at least 5 men tell me that.) So, I’m not massively beautiful (though my ego will agree to disagree,) and I’m not ugly. I’m average. Like the majority of the people on OKCupid. I have pretty much gone through every (and I honestly mean every) type of relationship through the men that I’ve met off OKCupid. 

And then I got frustrated with the results, and decided to deactivate. Of course, right when I decide to deactivate— someone messages me. This ‘someone’ turned out to be my boyfriend/guy I dated/slam piece of 5 months. It kind of sucked, but it was whatever. Life is ok. 

In any case, I’m moving in March, and jetting off on a European adventure until May. I don’t have time for a serious relationship, nor do I really want one right now. So, here we go.

I will write about my past conquests and adventures as well, just so you can get an idea… 

This is weird.

For those of you who don’t know me— hi. I’m a university student living in Chicago. I recently got out of a relationship (or honestly whatever the fuck that was, I’m not even sure.) In any case, I’ve used dating websites before and haven’t really enjoyed them. (Ironic because my last boyfriend and I found each other off a dating website.)

In any case, I’m back. And this blog will detail the crazy dating adventures I am about to embark on.

Essentially, the premise of my blog is this: I’m using OKCupid as a social experiment. I will go out on dates with pretty much anyone (within set reason and filters: 21-30 year olds living in the city) who asks me out. This should probably be interesting.

So, here we go. 

This will probably be a fucking disaster— but hey. To each his/her own!