Just Call Me Jason Derulo

I'm riding solo.

At some point last week, I'm talking to my roommate (roommate/receiver of all my man news--good, bad, ugly) and we're casually scanning the available men on-line."I think I'm kind of sick of this," I say to her, "but I guess I have to have a date this week, right? For the blog?"

"Well, Jodie," says my always wise and immeasurably more rational roommate, "Why don't you not go on a date this week and write about THAT? What was it like to NOT have a date? How did that feel?" I always knew it—she is brilliant.



And so, this week, I went on no dates. To be honest, I didn't really miss it. Sure, getting tipsy with an attractive stranger mid-week is a fun thing to look forward to while drudging through the work day, but going dateless was surprisingly liberating. It was a relief not to have to plan outfits, choose bars, or mask my shameful hangover at the office. I didn’t end the week with any exciting new prospects, but I also wasn’t sending passive aggressive text messages at 11pm Sunday night trying to discern whether or not I should write Thursday’s tentatively scheduled date in my planner.

Without man drama, I managed to have myself a very productive and exciting week. Monday night I played in my first adult-league co-ed softball game (Did I say no man drama? I do believe I spotted at least three potential boyfriends on the opposing team). Tuesday I volunteered at an (open bar) charity function and logged some invaluable face time with possible future employers. Wednesday night I re-grouped at home. I cooked myself pasta with pesto, grilled chicken, spinach, and steamed broccoli, and watched three episodes of Sister Wives. Thursday I went to happy hour with said wise roommate, and the weekend I spent enjoying this fine city with my best friend from college.



All in all, it was a relaxing yet activity-filled week of satisfying platonic fun. It’s important for me to remember that I can enjoy myself thoroughly with or without a male partner. For a week, at least.



And yet, a word of advice. If you are ever feeling particularly single or unusually lonely, do not take yourself to the Brooklyn Flea market. Williamsburg on a sunny Sunday afternoon has more happy, skinny, fashionable couples than a sample sale at Todd Oldham. And more small dogs. Just a warning.