Friday, October 30, 2009

#15 Halloween

Single girls like Halloween and not just because all our favorite candy is available in miniature bite-sized versions of themselves.  (Portion control makes for easier calorie counting.)

Halloween is to single girls what Valentine's Day is to non-single girls.  Both holidays call for sexy outfits and exposed lingerie in hopes of impressing a dude. (Or dudes.)  Everyone believes that Halloween is the one night a year where it is socially acceptable for girls to traipse around in slutty outfits. But isn't that what Vegas is for?  Besides, single girls know that Halloween is really an excuse for guys to wear make-up.  (It's true, we know guys developed an appreciation for eyeliner application after using it on their Jack Sparrow costumes last year.)

With this carte blanche for public indecency, leave it to single girls to figure out a way to create all kinds of "sexy whatever" costumes.  We've seen the sexy pirate, sexy pilot, sexy angel, sexy bumblebee, sexy Marie Antoinette, sexy Harry Potter - hell, I've even seen a sexy Freddy Krueger outfit.  (Halloween actually originated as a Celtic holiday where it is believed that costumes and masks were worn to ward off evil spirits.  Hence, a Freddy Krueger Halloween costume is totally appropriate, although the effectiveness of "scaring" an evil spirit with a slutty Krueger outfit is questionable.  Unless the evil spirit were gay.)  In light of this year's current events, I wouldn't be surprised to run across a sexy Balloon Boy or sexy Max from Where the Wild Things Are.

Single girls have loved dressing up for Halloween ever since we were fairy princesses in kindergarten.  Even when we were five years old, before we even knew what role playing was (just grown-up speak for "using your imagination"), we knew how thrilling role playing could be.  (Go away, Pedo Bear, I didn't mean it like that.)
When we put on that "sexy whatever" costume, we become this "sexy whatever."  We adopt opinions and behaviors of our "sexy whatevers" because you expect it and we can actually get away with it.  Are you a sexy UPS driver?  Do you have a package for me?  Are you a sexy police officer?  Hands up where I can see 'em, and spread your legs!  Are you a sexy referee?  Personal foul!  Tight end!  Are you a sexy witch?  [insert inappropriate remark about riding "broomsticks" here]  Are you a sexy devil?  Well...aren't we all?

Single girls are no stranger to costumes or role playing.  (After all, isn't dating a giant metaphor for role playing?)  Some of us have a Wonder Woman costume and/or nurse outfit hanging in our closets (next to the trenchcoat, of course).  But on Halloween, we go ALL OUT.  Tricks or treats, anyone?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

#14 Scatological Humour

Talking about "potty humor" seems much more refined and ladylike when you use a multi-syllabic medical term and the British spelling of "humor" to refer to it as "scatological humour," don't you think?

Okay, who are we kidding.

I don't know about the rest of you single girls, but my girlfriends and I have the best time grossing each other out talking about our bodily functions and whatnot.  When speaking about defecation (poo), urination (pee), flatulence (farts), vomiting (puking) and the like, we are the shit. 

A potty humor face-off?  Bring it.

For one thing, girls experience something boys will never have the privilege of enjoying.  Oh, yes.  Menstruation.  On the whole (pun intended and ew!), this is a completely foreign subject to dudes.  There is a common joke among men that you can't trust something that bleeds for five days and survives.  (Just in case you weren't paying attention in seventh grade health class, some girls bleed for an entire week!)  This topic includes supplementary material: tampons, bloating, hooking up during "that time of month," regulating by way of "the pill," ovulation, and now we even have those new birth control methods that prevent blood loss.  (The latter most sounds convenient, but where exactly does it all GO?  Ew.)

A reinterpretation of the musical Ragtime?  We would have a field day.

Now whatever you do, don't ever get the pregnant girls or new mothers started!  When there is something growing inside of you for nine months, this exponentially creates all kinds of fodder for potty jokes.  Again, something else you boys will never understand.  Even the words "placenta" and "fetus" make ME nauseous.

Speaking of where babies come from, single girls love inappropriate penis jokes especially when talking about guys we have dated.  And yes, we do trade notes.  If you overhear us talking about pinkies or pepper grinders, we are absolutely NOT comparing penis sizes.  Nor in a quandary about proportions.  Why would you even THINK that?

In fact, we might be having a heated discussion about vibrators.  DIY projects aren't just relegated to the crafts store anymore.

You are safe to assume that when we make jokes of the scatological variety, we are just as immature about them as guys are.  For those of us who work or live in tall buildings, how often have our elevators stopped on a floor where someone has asked, "Going down?"  I want to giggle every time, thinking about the amount of action people get riding on elevators.  (Or is it just me?)  Elevator servicing.  Snicker.

I know, I know.  That's what SHE said.

Friday, October 23, 2009

#13 A Good Wing Girl

Hark!  The weekend is upon us single girls and this means another attempt at Operation: Manhunt is well underway.  The success of said operation is usually aided by the ultimate wing girl.  But just like the perfect pair of jeans, a good wing girl is hard to find.

A good wing girl is essentially there to assist us in finding our target: a one-night stand or the man of our dreams.  She is familiar with our flight patterns and won't let us leave the house without a killer outfit.  She is well-qualified to handle any form of turbulence or areas of low visibility.  She comprehends our flight signals and knows when to swoop in and abort a mission, when to take off, or when to send out a search and rescue team.

Single girls like being in good company.  Our favorite wing girl is attractive and charming but not glaringly MORE attractive or MORE charming than we are.  She can own the spotlight, but won't steal it from us.  She knows when and how to fade into the background.  She gives us that pep talk and a confidence boost when our last mission failed.  She has eagle vision and can identify a target from across the room, then strategize various access points in her mind, all the while ordering us cocktails at the bar.   She will attempt to extract incriminating information about a guy from his wingman (reconnaisance at its finest!) leaving the guy and I to chat about the World Series.  Essentially, our wing girl is the most awesome person in the room, aside from ourselves of course.

All single girls know that we would rather fly solo than travel with a bad wing girl.  I was talking to a dude at a club in Vegas a month ago, and my "wing girl" decided to clutch onto me like a backpack.  I literally had to get her off my back.  A good wing girl does not engage in embarassing conduct such as this - a blatant attempt at sabotaging a mission. 

Good wing girls know that being engaging and selfless on one mission means that karma will reward her when our roles are reversed on the next mission.  Good wing girls do not complain (out loud), regardless of how unattractive or creepy a guy's wingman is.  Nor does her Jewish faith cause her to resent us for meeting all the Jewish guys while she "gets stuck" with the Mormon ones when we are neither Jewish nor Mormon.  A true wing girl is always "takin' one for the team so her buddy can live the dream."

As the great chanteuse Jordin Sparks would say: Why does love always feel like a battlefield?  When we're looking for a partner in the trenches, we want to be side by side with a good wing girl.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

#12 Worst Date Competitions

Single girls would rather spectate at normal competitions (preferably of the men's beach volleyball variety) than actually take part in any athletic pursuit that causes us to perspire heavily in public.  Alas, we only allow our sweat glands to run amock at the gym during our yoga or pilates sessions.  And even then, we're not actually sweating but "glistening."

Our aversion to sweating and participating in sports causes us to engage in a competition of the unconventional sort: the worst date competition. 

We've all had a bad date.  To survive an exceptionally horrific one, we wear it as a badge of honor.  Worst date stories are our war stories.  After all, we're braving the wild and treacherous (in more ways than one) singles scene in our respective urban jungles.  Love IS a battlefield.

Sharing stories about our dates usually occurs during Sunday brunch.  (Single girls really like Sunday brunch).  At this reunion of sorts, there is at least one girl who has just been on a bad date that weekend.  This generally escalates into a deliberation of similar bad dates and even more abominable ones.  Before we know it, our Sunday brunch has become a "worst date ever" showcase. 

Sometimes some of us sit through what we know is already a terrible date, not because you are paying for the meal, but because you are providing us with fodder for our next worst date competition. 

My worst date story involves a questionably operated pick-up truck and a potential head-on collision with another vehicle on a Los Angeles freeway. I can honestly say that I almost died on a date. I was able to arrive at this punch line only after hearing my date talk about how he taught himself to surf, his experiences with drugs in Malaysia, his illegal escape from Cuba, and his tequila-infested week in Mexico.  I think I deserve a medal.

So why do we exploit bad date stories?  Because this is our form of amusement on Sundays when guys are watching football and grunting at a television.  Because this support group is cheaper than therapy (and God knows we need professional help after those worst dates).  Because we are evil bitches who feel better about ourselves after putting guys down.  Because this is our way of reminding ourselves: it's not us, it's THEM.

Now please finish reading this blog entry, turn off your cell phone, and return to your date.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

#11 Google Stalking

Single girls often have a bad reputation for being "crazy."  And to that, I argue: a) I have no idea what you are talking about or where this "crazy" idea even comes from! b) "crazy" is an extremely subjective term, don't you agree? and c) this remark is incredibly insulting to the "sanity challenged" and mentally unstable - and also to single girls. 

To prove my point, I just googled "number of male serial killers versus female serial killers."  It confirmed what is already common knowledge: the serial killing industry is donimated by males.  Serial killers are psychopaths (a fancy medical term doctors use to describe "crazy" people) who suffer from dysfunctional personality disorders.  Hereforth, since more dudes are prone to become psychopaths, it is a misconception that girls are "crazy," especially single girls.  Dudes are pretty crazy, too.

Single girls like being right, and Google is a great resource to us in this regard.

So speaking of Google, you say, we think single girls are crazy for stalking dudes on Google once you learn his last name

And to THIS, I have a story:

I went on a couple of dates with a magician about a year ago (no joke, this is a bonafide, honest to goodness true story, people).  I met him at a Halloween party and he introduced himself by his first name (as is common in our culture).  I soon learn of his profession (obviously, he was NOT dressed as a magician) and upon returning home, I googled "[magician's first name] magic."  The first two hits were a couple of MySpace videos, including his last name (jackpot!).  Now that I have discovered his last name, I googled his full name.  The first page of hits contained a number of news articles and criminal court cases of a convicted rapist and pedophile.  Fortunately for me, the magician was NOT said rapist/pedophile, but it is unfortunate for the magician that he shares a name with one.

Back to serial killers for a moment.  After he was caught murdering a number of women, did you know that Ted Bundy broke out of jail in Colorado, got on a flight to Chicago, took a bus to Ann Arbor to watch the Rose Bowl game on television (it was a good game for Ted: his alma mater won), then ended up at Florida State University where he killed and injured several sorority girls in their sleep??  If Google were around in the 1970s, girls would definitely never go on a date with THAT guy.

Aside from protecting us against serial killers and pedophiles, Google is a great way for us to measure a guy's success or notoriety (preferably the former).  We know that his accomplishments are in direct proportion to the number of Google hits he has.  As a result, this may actually help him.

An example: I went on a date with a writer a few years ago.  He was kinda dorky and awkward and at the end of the night, I just wasn't feelin' it.  (Plus it didn't help that I thought he were gay when I first met him.)  I then had the misfortune of googling him AFTER it was all said and done.  You see, if I had KNOWN that he was once president of The Harvard Lampoon (bonus points!), I probably would have given him a second chance.  A dating regret?  Maybe.

What exactly are our motives for Google stalking?  Why do we have this ridiculous curiosity to look him up and see how fast he ran the 400-meter hurdles in high school?  Or the origin of his surname?  Or what real estate properties his company has acquired?  Why are we snooping around for insight when we can easily learn about him on a date?

So much information about him is literally at our fingertips, Nancy Drew would have a field day.  Social networking sites also help A LOT.  Thanks to LinkedIn, we know where he works, have worked, and the names of his colleagues.  Does he like music and have an imeem account?  We know exactly what song he is listening to RIGHT NOW and what's coming up next on his playlist.  Is he an avid Yelper with dozens of reviews of his favorite eateries and watering holes?  Does he really want us knowing where he eats tacos every Tuesday after work?

Am I making you nervous?

If stalking comes from some form of pathological obsession or derangement, then maybe we are crazy.  I mean, I just googled a douchebag I once dated.  He now owns a really successful software company that designs iPhone applications.  AND IT DRIVES ME A LITTLE CRAZY THINKING HOW AN ARROGANT, MISOGYNISTIC EGOMANIAC LIKE HIM CAN BECOME A SELF-MADE MILLIONAIRE.  (Sorry about the outburst.  My therapist warned me not to indulge in masochistic activities such as googling ex-boyfriends.)

Don't even get me STARTED on Facebook stalking.  (I mean, who is this Amanda chick [yes, the one with the huge breasts!] who writes on his wall everyday??  I KNOW he doesn't have a "cousin" or "sister" named Amanda because I checked.  On Google.)

#10 Chuck Bass

After a little bit of fact-checking, we did confirm that Chuck Bass is indeed 18 years old, and ergo, there is nothing illegal about us single girls liking Chuck Bass.

Now some of you may be unfamiliar with Chuck Bass and to that, I say, "For shame!"  As the antihero of the CW's drama series Gossip Girl, Chuck Bass is a teenage billionaire and the Upper East Side's resident playboy.  He is charming, well-dressed, handsome, and although his salacious behavior is questionable, he is a single girl's guilty pleasure.  And did we mention he's rich?

Single girls are notorious for liking the wrong guys - bad boys, assholes, douchebags, jerks.  (Can we help it that all the "normal" ones are getting themselves married off on match dot com?  Idiots.)  Our grandmothers had Marlon Brando in The Wild One, our mothers had John Travolta in Grease, we have Chuck BassWho needs motorcycles and leather jackets when Chuck Bass has limousines and Armani suits?

Chuck's sexploits have become so legendary, Britney Spears dedicated a song to him in the form of "Womanizer."  (He's kind of a big deal, y'all!)  He may only be 18-years old, but Chuck seems to be quite the experienced young lad, and this is something single girls definitely like (especially since dudes reach their sexual peak between 18-22).  He puts the F in OMFG.

Chuck's pick-up line is simply: "I'm Chuck Bass."  And it works!  Every time!  You see, his (so bad, it's good) reputation obviously preceeds him.  Billionaires can be quite influential.  And clever.  And manipulative when provoked.  When Chuck isn't getting himself out of a sticky situation by paying off the NYPD, he's getting his friends out of sticky situations by putting them on one-way flights to South America (on his private jet, no less).  Bernie Madoff needed Chuck Bass in his corner.

Single girls like a guy who knows his labels.  Chuck was bred to prefer Dom Perignon over Cook's, Wolford over Leggs, and Valrhona over Hershey's.  Impeccably dressed (in a three-piece Prada, of course) and perfectly coiffed, when we meet a guy who can take care of himself, that leaves us more time to take care of ourselves. 

Ok, so what if he's a man-whore?  So what if he likes deflowering high school girls in the back of his limo?  So what if he has a douchey demeanor?  So what if he kissed a boy?  It's hard being a billionaire in Manhattan!  His mom died giving birth to him!  His dad has been marrried several times, and then died suddenly in a freak car accident!  He's an orphan!  His best friend is dating the girl he is in love with! His uncle is trying to steal all his money!  This guy has ISSUES!!  And let's not forget that his stepsister is Serena van der Woodsen.  She has even more issues than he does!  We give his "flaws" (understatement of the year) carte blanche because, he's, well, Chuck Bass.

I mean, really, how can we resist his smoldering glare, his chiseled jaw, his arrogant charm, and the fact that he owns a hotel?  What other "bad boy" will take us to Bendel's and Bergdorf in his limo while sipping on Dom the whole day? 

You know you love him...xoxo.

Monday, October 19, 2009

#9 Home Field Advantage

Single girls dislike striking out just as much as we dislike foul balls, or God forbid, breaking balls.  So how do we stay ahead in the count?

Overall, home teams have won about 54% of their games since the advent of the 20th century.  Last year, home teams won 57% of their games, a 3% increase from the year before.  With so many home team wins, is it any wonder that single girls like having home field advantage?

Single girls like playing at home because our "stadium" is generally better than his.  Our facilities bathrooms are usually cleaner, and we enjoy our natural grass and a softer turf 500 thread-count Egyptian cotton bedding rather than his Astroturf mismatched sheet set.  We understand his stadium might have gotten a little worn down with so many different teams playing - it's typical of multi-purpose venues like the Oakland Coliseum.  But we would be more amenable to traveling to his stadium if he does as the New York Mets did and move into a brand spanking new place like Citi Field.

Obviously, an advantage of being the home team (other than choosing our unforms outfits) is that we generally perform better at home.  Maybe we've been comfortable enough to get to first base and have even stolen second base several times earlier in the season.  But when we're playing at home, we really like to get ourselves into scoring position.  We want to round all the bases, get that home run, earn that squeeze play, and maybe even hit for the cycle.  (Hitting for the cycle is rare, though.  It has happened only 288 times since the late 1800s, and I was lucky enough to witness this occur in person two years ago with Mark Ellis.  Yes, that's what she said.)

Being the home team is also advantageous because of our familiarity with the playing grounds.  Single girls like to wake up in the middle of the night and navigate our way to the bathroom in the dark without worrying about tripping over foreign objects.  When we are traveling as the "visiting team," we may not have the luxury of popping out of bed in the morning before he wakes up to brush our teeth, smooth our hair, and fix our eyeliner and mascara before climbing back into bed, pretending that we just naturally wake up like this and not some raccoon-eyed, disheveled bedheaded mess with dragon breath.  (A serious error, right there.)  We think it's rather unfair that boys wake up adorably rumpled.

Not having to travel is quite a luxury, especially when it takes us hours to get home from a visting team.  (It's a nightmare leaving even the parking lot at Dodger Stadium!)  And one thing single girls seriously dislike is the "walk of shame."  We don't know what is more harrowing: walking around willy nilly at 9am trying to avoid his neighbors/roommate in a short cocktail dress and 4" heels with dark circles under our eyes, or trying to sneak out of his place in the middle of the night and figuring out how to unlock his front door without waking him after we went into extra innings.

So how do single girls feel about home field advantage in the postseason?  Well, I guess that depends on who won the All Star game.

Friday, October 16, 2009

#8 Counting Calories

I know what you're thinking. But Single Girl 1.0, everybody counts calories. Yes, I realize that fat girls count calories, and skinny girls especially count calories. But I do believe that single girls are way more diligent with counting calories than non-single girls. I mean, let's face it, couples who eat together stay together. How often have we seen a non-single counterpart let herself go once she was in a satisfied and secure relationship? Exactly. Don't even get me started on those pregnant girls.

I've seen those silly applications for iPhones that keep track of calories for you. Whatever. Single girls have been mentally counting calories since we gained the freshman 15 in college. Despite the fact that I only studied up to linear algebra my sophomore year, I have calorie counting down to a science. My internal calorie counter functions like the quadratic equation (take THAT, b-squared minus 4ac).

Who knows how single girls acquire this skill. I wish I could say it were an innate quality. For me, I was brainwashed I learned what my daily caloric intake should be and how to calculate such daily caloric intake in a nutrition class taught at the local community college. (This single girl is a smart cookie and finished all her general education courses during summer school.) It was also there that I aquired the uncanny ability to discern how many calories are in what.  (One average strawberry = 2.7 calories, one slice of cheese = 88 calories, one walnut = 26 calories.)

When non-single girls gain weight, they think Uh oh, gotta lay off those margaritas. After all, everybody knows there are 450 calories in each of those bad boys - margaritas are usually the first things to go when non-single girls start "dieting." (I stopped drinking them after I realized that the calorie content from one margarita is 27% of my daily recommended caloric intake. Words of advice: tequila shot = 100 calories.)

Single girls don't gain weight and we don't "diet" - because we are counting calories ALL THE FRIGGIN' TIME.  Some people count sheep before bed, we count calories.  We know that calorie counting is not just beneficial to our bodies, it also sharpens our math skills (ie. adding calories, multiplying servings, subtracting burned calories), memory retention (ie. what have I eaten already, what is my current calorie count, how many calories have I already burned) AND foresight (ie. what should I avoid eating, how many calories will I burn walking around the mall for an hour).

An example. Let's say I am allowing myself to eat ordering lunch today.  For the sake of simplicity, I am having my favorite meal at Chick-fil-A: a Chick-fil-A chicken sandwich (on a golden wheat bun, no pickle) with honey roasted BBQ sauce (one packet), waffle fries (size small) with three ketchup packets, and a Diet Coke (size small).  Already in my head, I am thinking 430 + 60 + (280/2 [I am sharing the waffle fries with a friend]) + (3*10) + 0 (yay, Diet Coke) = 660.  And because I ran six miles this morning (100 calories burned per mile = 100*6 = 600 calories burned) AND skipped breakfast (zero calories consumed), I have really only consumed 660 - 600 = 60 calories for the day.

Hallelujah!  I believe I have enough calories left over to consume several cocktails tonight!  (One vodka soda = 90 calories)

Thursday, October 15, 2009

#7 Hiding During the Bouquet Toss

It is hard enough for a single girl to attend a wedding by herself, let alone find some unlucky schmuck to be our date. Bringing a guy we are casually dating to a wedding has bad news bears written all over it, especially at the moment when the bride and groom are exchanging vows. This is usually the part where some of us get all misty-eyed (because our best friend has found the "love of her life" and we can't rely on her to take us out for cocktails anymore and talk shit about the guys we're dating because she is, ugh, MARRIED, and that just totally changes the dynamic of our friendship, so we're really mourning the loss of a good wing-girl), and our date gets all shifty and awkward like we expect him to drop down on one knee and propose right then and there. Note to wedding dates: we don't.

Weddings are generally infested with couples. The smattering of singles are banished - er, seated together at a table in the back of the ballroom. It doesn't even matter how we know (or don't know) each other, we are a grab bag of guests who have one lone thing in common: we are unmarried singles. You can usually see other guests glancing nervously at us, whispering, "Who are they?" Ohhh...that's the singles table. "Ohhh...tsk tsk."

Obviously, single girls are already a little sensitive, maybe even a little prickly, at the thought of being alone. And single. At a wedding. Is it not bad enough that you have sat us next to your groom's creepy co-worker with the mild case of halitosis? That we are getting lecherous stares from the single groomsmen? That now you want to single us out (pun intended) and shine a BIG FRIGGIN' SPOTLIGHT on us (literally and figuratively) in the middle of the dance floor so we can supposedly make a big fuss and clamor over each other for a bouquet of seasonal flowers that probably set you back $200?

Why don't you just make us wear a sandwich board that says "LOOK AT ME!!! I'M SINGLE!!! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!!! LET'S GET ME MARRIED!!!"

If by chance, we aren't hiding in the restroom or on the smoking patio or under the table, and one of your attendants has succeeded in dragging us out begrudgingly to the center of the room, notice how we are lurking towards the back of the assembled crowd of single girls - behind your little 12-year old nieces. Oh no, you are NOT trying to throw it directly AT me!

One thing single girls dislike is our married friends' attempts at having us cross over to their side. They waste absolutely no time.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

#6 Trenchcoats

In light of this "storm watch," I was inspired to write about trenchcoats. And not just trenchcoats, but what we have (or don't have) on under these trenchcoats and where we are going with said trenchcoats.

Yes, boys, single girls like to show up at your doorstep wearing nothing but a trenchcoat and lingerie (and really high heels). And you thought this was one of your sexual fantasies? Wrong! Single girls like to have fun, too. However, I believe this to be an underperformed cliche for many reasons.

Firstly, single girls don't just show up on any doorstep practically naked with only an overcoat. Oh, no. We might do this when we feel like he's deserved it - basically positive reinforcement for good behavior (there goes our psychology degrees working again). Has he been especially thoughtful/attentive/sweet? Yes? Good. We might do this when we're in a celebratory mood. Is it his birthday?/Did he just get a promotion? Yes? Good. Ultimately, he needs to earn it.

Proceeding, single girls worry about logistics. How do we get from point A to point B without literally exposing ourselves? No doubt, we will have our trenchcoats on, but single girls who live in metropolitan areas with subterranean transportation systems may opt to take taxis. Single girls with our own vehicles may choose to pack some clothes in an "emergency" bag, just in case. (Single girls like having "just in case" overnight bags in their trunks anyway.)

Next, the arrival. If he does not live alone, this poses another hurdle for us as we would prefer to show up on his doorstep without worrying about his roommate(s), or god forbid, parents answering the door. The last thing we want to be concerned with is an overly chivalrous male roommate who offers to take our coat upon entering his abode.

Even if he does live alone, we need to be 120% certain that he is in fact alone. A worst case scenario is showing up at his house on his birthday (or the day of his big promotion), almost naked under a trenchcoat, only to be greeted by the hoards of people he invited over to help him celebrate - and now we have five overly chivalrous dudes offering to take our coat. Classic Bridget Jones moment.

Who knew that arriving on his doorstep in a trenchcoat could be so difficult?
So why do we do it? Honestly, we're secretly thrilled to be almost nude running around town. Single girls like being exhibitionists (in more ways than one). We do it because once the trenchcoat comes off, that jaw-dropping, OMFG look he has on his face is so amazingly gratifying and slightly empowering.

Most of all, single girls aim to be the stuff of legends. We want to be that girl he dated who showed up at his doorstep in nothing but a trenchcoat and lingerie.

Monday, October 12, 2009

#5 Ambiguously Using the Phrase "Hooked Up"

There is an age-old belief that real ladies don't kiss and tell. But everyone knows this is complete bullshit. All girls kiss and tell, single or not-single, ladies or wenches. "Kiss and tell" is an archaic idiom that originated in the 1960s - ironically, at the height of the "sexual revolution" when "free love" was rampant and women stopped wearing bras after reading Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique.

Single girls like talking about our sexploits or complaining about our lack of sexploits. (In fact, these are two of the most popular topics for discussion amongst single girls. Well, right behind world politics and our country's gross domestic income, of course.) Most of the time, it is even our non-single counterparts who encourage us to divulge our capers and misadventures as single girls because they apparently lack the sexual melange that we have, and hope to live vicariously through us. (I say "apparently" because I find it extremely odd that having a boyfriend/spouse means you have sex even less frequently than some of us do.)

By definition, the phrase "hooking up" is ambiguous. According to The Hookup Handbook: A Single Girl's Guide to Living It Up, "hooking up" could mean anything from "making out to doing the nasty." And it is this sense of ambiguity that single girls love.

Friday night dates and Saturday night shenanigans are usually discussed over Sunday brunch. (Single girls like Sunday brunch, much like single guys like Sunday football.) Sunday is our day to confess our sins - who hooked up with whom and how.

"So what happened last night between you and Michael/Jon/Brian?"

"Nothing, we just hooked up."

"Nothing, we just hooked up" is a perfectly acceptable answer. You're probably thinking: But this could mean anything! How does she know if you kissed him, gave him a blow job, or had a threesome with him? How is "nothing, we just hooked up" not infuriatingly ambiguous?

Some moron once said that your own worst critic is yourself. Wrong. A single girl's worst critic is another single girl. Between our monthly bouts with PMS and occasionally dealing with our single girlfriends mentally judging us (passive aggression at its finest!), single girls have it rough.

Maybe nothing happened, but we don't want to come off as a prude and have our friends psychoanalyze our "intimacy issues" again. Maybe something did happen, but we don't want to look like a slut and have our friends psychoanalyze our "low self-esteem issues" again. Some single girls think they can dispense (unwanted) therapy on us since they have degrees in psychology. "Nothing, we just hooked up" is our way of avoiding that.

Or maybe it's just a coy 21st century version of "I don't kiss and tell."

Friday, October 9, 2009

#4 Having Our Own Bathroom

Part of the challenge of being a single girl is that single girls don't like to share. I suppose we aren't wired the same way as our serially monogamous counterparts who have no qualms about sharing. Compromise? No thanks. Compromising just means nobody gets what they really want.

One of the biggest luxuries about being a single girl is having my own bathroom. I don't know how those Brady Bunch kids did it, but I stopped sharing a bathroom with anybody once I graduated from college several years ago (okay, maybe more than just several years ago) and moved into a charming two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with one roommate. (Note the 1:1 ratio of bathroom to inhabitant.)

There is a common misconception that girls don't have bowel movements. Contrary to this belief, we do occasionally have to go #2. But because of this ridiculous notion that girls "don't do that," we are irrationally petrified of doing anything resembling a bowel movement except in the privacy of our own bathrooms. (I know some girls who can't even do a #2 in public restrooms. Not even in the super swanky ones like at Neiman Marcus!) This is one of the main reasons why we don't like sleeping over at his house. The first time I ever went on a weekender with a dude, I booked us a suite with two bathrooms.

Not having to share a bathroom is more than just knowing the toilet seat is always down (where it should be). I can honestly say without exaggerating that single girls spend at least three hours a day in the bathroom. We spend at least 12% of our time in the bathroom! I know! This may sound nuts, but we have our reasons. And they're all very good reasons.

What are we doing in there?  I would say maybe 1% of our time is actually spent sitting on the toilet. The remaining time is spent buffing, shaving (in all sorts of nooks and crannies), polishing, moisturizing, soaking, lathering, brushing, moisturizing (under-eye this time), flossing (very important), tweezing, exfoliating, spritzing, waxing, moisturizing (anti-aging cream this time), and of course, examining.

The best part of not sharing a bathroom is unadulterated examination of our bodies. Single girls can spend literally HOURS of time looking at ourselves in the mirror. It's not what you may think. We especially like to stare at our pores, look for grey hairs, watch for potential wrinkles, poke at cellulite, pinch the fat on our sides, examine stretch marks and monitor zits. The bathroom is where we can look at our flaws and figure out what to do about them and how to hide them.

Single girls are consistently judged more so than our non-single peers. The bathroom is where we like to store things without worrying about prying eyes judging us - not for our preference in condoms, not for being on our period (single girls like to leave a box of tampons out during this "time of month"), not for having three different kinds of foot cream (those 4" stilettos are hard on our feet), and not for our poor eyesight (since contact lens providers like printing our prescription on those darn boxes).

Having my own bathroom is glorious. The only bad thing about not having someone yelling at my hair clogging up the drain is that I actually have to unclog my own hair out of the drain. Ick.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

#3 Learning His Last Name

Probably one of the few things you remember from learning Shakespeare in eleventh grade is "What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet!" So what is in a name? (And why are we naming roses?)

Single girls LOVE learning his last name. Whether we meet him at a bar, at a barbecue, at the gym, or at the supermarket, we are SO thrilled when we can discover his last name. To us, it's like winning a prize.

How do we do this, you ask? Sometimes he makes it easy for us when all his old football buddies call him by his last name. (I guess it's some macho guy thing or something.) Sometimes we use our bionic ears to overhear him close out his tab at the bar (single girls like when he keeps an open tab, by the way). Sometimes he just literally hands it to us in the form of a business card when we meet him at a networking event. And other times, we resort to a little creativity. (Like having our cousin at the FBI run his license plate number. Just kidding! Sorta.)

So why is learning his last name so important to us?

First of all, programing "Holden (firefighter from San Francisco)" looks stupid in our phone. (And possibly slutty. Just because single girls aren't having sex with only one person doesn't mean we're slutty.) Plus, I went through a period in my life where every other dude I met was named Brian/Bryan, John/Jonathan/Jon or Michael/Mike. At some point, I couldn't remember which Mike I was trying to avoid, which Brian I had hooked up with or which Jon I had hooked up with and was trying to avoid.

Do you see how confusing it can get for us when single girls don't name our "roses" properly?

Secondly, learning his last name potentially opens up an entire gold mine of information about him, thanks to the magic of the internet. Mostly Google. And social networking sites like Facebook and LinkedIn. (In fact, single girls like Google stalking so much, it's going to be its own post!) Single girls like information. Knowledge is power.

Finally, single girls like learning his last name because we are already imagining ourselves potentially getting married to him. This may sound silly, but dudes don't have to worry about changing their last names. Now, some of us single girls have already made up our minds about keeping our own last names; but for those of us who are unsure, we want to know what our names may sound like after we exchange vows and fill out a thousand forms to legally change our names to his.

Remember "Marcy Darcy" from Married With Children? Or "Corky Sherwood Forest" from Murphy Brown? Or "Julia Guglia" from The Wedding Singer? We want to avoid that.

So what's in a name, Juliet? Well, a lot. I suppose you didn't know any better being only 14 and all. But did you really have to get all emo on us and die so tragically? Tsk, teenagers those days.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

#2 Kelly Clarkson

When Kelly Clarkson became our country's first American Idol back in 2002, little did we know that she would soon become single girls' idol as well.

"Miss Independent?" Oh yes, that is our song. See, single girls are very protective of our hearts. We know what heartaches and heart breaks do to our serially monogamous girlfriends - they turn into blubbering, weepy messes. Ugh. However, deep down, single girls secretly want to fall in love. So we meet this guy and he's pretty awesome. Kelly says, maybe we don't want to "miss out on true love?" I mean, every single girl (pun?) waits for "A Moment Like This," right?

Okay, so that is the last time we listen to you, Kelly. Because that "awesome" guy we opened our hearts to ended up being a complete douchebag. And suddenly we become that heart broken, blubbering, weepy mess. While we're boozily blaming Kelly for all this over our fifth vodka martini ("This is all 'Because of You,' Kelly!"), she's saying how we need to "Breakaway" or "Walk Away" or something... But we're not really paying attention because we're trying to tell her what "The Trouble With Love Is..." before we pass out.

Love stinks, and Kelly feels bad. So she writes us a new catchy anthem to sing to at the top of our lungs: at bars, at clubs, in our cars with the windows rolled down, even in the shower. Oh yes. "Since U Been Gone." Now this is OUR song. It has f*ck you, asshole, written all over it!

I mean, here's the thing. We did start out friends. It was cool! But it was all pretend! I even fell for that stupid love song! UGH! How dare he!! Let's go to the apartment that he shares with his skanky new girlfriend (they just met, how are they living together already anyway??) and trash the place. Let's throw shit from their medicine cabinet all over the bathroom floor! And pull all the clothes off their hangers in the closet! And jump on their stupid bed that they probably have bad sex on every night! Let's rip out all the feathers from their pillows while we're at it! How do we get him where it'll hurt the most? Let's destroy his precious vinyl records collection! Genius! (Who listens to vinyls these days, anyway. Exactly. Dirty fuckin' hipsters.)

Oh. My. God. That felt GREAT. You know what? I think I can breathe for the first time! I'm SO movin' on. (Yeah, yeeeeaaaaah.) Okay, Kelly, we forgive you for putting us in that dumb love situation. And thanks for helping us trash his apartment.

Really, Kelly, I think "My Life Would Suck Without You." Despite that horrible album you made where you pissed off your record label (don't worry, nobody listened to it anyway), despite your questionable choices in fashion (we can help!), despite your fluctuating weight (we get it! Some of us are emotional eaters, too!), and despite those rumors that you are a lesbian (it doesn't bother us!), single girls think you rock.

And don't worry, now that I'm single and dating again, "I Do Not Hook Up" in bars anymore. That was sooo 2005. Those days are "Already Gone."

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

#1 Eating Over the Sink

What is it about eating over the sink that single girls like? Chances are, if you are a single girl eating over the sink (or kitchen counter), you just came home from a late night at work STARVING (because we're always hungry), looked in the refrigerator, and popped in last night's Chinese take-out (or frozen Lean Cuisine. Single girls like Lean Cuisines because they're under 300 calories. And single girls like to count calories). While you're waiting for that chow mein to nuke, you've taken off those darn heels you've been wearing over the past eight-plus hours and pulled on your favorite pair of sweat pants. Then you eat over the sink or kitchen counter because your utensils are conveniently stored in the drawer right next to the microwave.

Lazy? Not at all. Efficient? Absolutely. Eating over the sink eliminates the need to pull your "dinner" out from the microwave and place it down on a table-like surface. That is potentially precious seconds wasted from eating - we're starving, remember? Besides, who has time to set the dining table anyway (I don't even own a dining table), let alone light a candle? And isn't there something a little pathetic about setting the table for one? It's like drinking champagne alone.

Single girls have been trained and conditioned to eat over the sink. Remember when mom was stressed out about daddy's job and would eat over the sink when she cleaned up in the kitchen after dinner? (You knew you got your emotional eating habits from somewhere!) Or remember those times in the sorority house late at night when you had to eat over the sink in the kitchen downstairs so your sorority sisters couldn't see you shoveling food down your face because you didn't want them making snarky comments about your weight? (Plus you didn't want to be that girl who threw up in the bathroom every night. "Food poison," indeed.)

We like to eat over the sink when we really need just TWO bites of ice cream, when we're getting ready for work and can only manage to make a bowl of cereal for breakfast and eat it while running back and forth between the kitchen and bathroom with a mascara wand in one hand and a spoon in the other, or when we've just come home from the bar (starving, of course) after figuring out a polite way to turn down that guy our friends set us up with, all the while thinking about that frozen bean burrito from Trader Joe's sitting nestled in the freezer.

Eating over the sink means potential messes are a non-issue (single girls like running water and plumbing). You see, one thing single girls dislike is cleaning.