I just wanted to stop and thank all of you tumblr readers for a hot minute. THANK YOU. You are all AMAZING. I love you so much for following This Single Life and I would like to let you know that you can now read all of my single life entries on thissinglelife.com! From now on I will be blogging exclusively on that page. Once again I can not thank you enough for your continued support. You guys mean so much to me and I hope to see you over at my new page so we can keep discussing exploiting my single life for your entertainment! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH.

Love you dearly,

Anj

There’s something to be said of walking away. And it’s not what everyone else is saying, that it’s the wrong thing to do, that you’re giving up, that you should try harder. Believe me, it takes a lot for me to walk away from something. I’m a determined and stubborn person. Just ask Emma, as she and I got pretty into over who Taylor Swift’s “Story of Us,” was about, John or Joe. But I digress. 

I think there’s something kind of amazing and empowering about walking away from a situation, being able to trust your instinct so purely to make decisions for you, that “Yeah, you know maybe you don’t feel comfortable or yourself around him for a reason.” While I’ve been known to dish out more chances than most deserve, I think I’m also pretty good at knowing when something or someone isn’t right for me. I may stick around, hoping to be proved wrong, trying to play the “faith” card, hoping that maybe the first few experiences were tainted with nerves or miscommunication. But that generally doesn’t work. Once you’ve decided that you don’t fit somewhere or with someone, no matter how final you make it, you’ve pretty much done, even if you keep going.

Trusting your instinct and your innate ability to decide what works and what doesn’t is a rare thing. In a world full of second guessing and hesitation, regrets swirling around in your mind and wondering if you’re about to add to that pile already looming over your head, it’s so easy to toss your instinct to your side and get further involved in something you’re not so sure about.

But there’s this shimmering quality in walking away. Something admirable in silently and gracefully bowing out that makes me realize my life is my own. At the end of the day, as selfish as it sounds, my life is for me. Yes I love my friends and family and I’d do next to anything for them but I get so caught up in that that I don’t ever consider doing those things for myself. Like walking away. It’s not always easy to do it but it’s always easy for people to call you a quitter or that you’re throwing away so much just over some silly little feelings, but I’ve always found that the people who make you feel that way are the ones you should be walking away from.

Though it may be sad to walk away from a situation, a friendship, a person, just know that it’s kind of beautiful what you’re doing, trusting yourself so much to make decisions that others may not understand. But you know what? They don’t have to understand. Don’t let anyone take that sense of assurance away from you. It’s a rare feeling, knowing you’re doing the right thing for yourself and you should celebrate it. Don’t be obnoxious of course but celebrate it as a reminder that your opinions matter too, especially when it comes to your own life.

This week was a disappointment. All weeks that I let this blog fall to the wayside of schoolwork are disappointments. For those of you who looked to this site for tales of my embarrassing and sometimes unbelievable single life, I am sorry. I know, I should be ashamed. I shall punish myself with a night of drinking alone and watching A Walk to Remember, and no, Emma, I will not enjoy it, because no, I had not already planned on doing that. (Actually my plans were more pathetic than that. Oh and if I haven’t said it already, Welcome to this single life, isn’t it awesome?)

Actually this single life is pretty awesome. Let me tell you a few of the activities I’ve participated in lately. And no, none of them require actual strenuous physical exertion. Now that would just be silly.

• Eating Black Velvet cake from Whole Foods for breakfast. Hey, it’s made with whole grain and if Cookie Crisp is also made with whole grain, I’m assuming I’m in the clear
• Looking up at the potted orchid in my kitchen window that my roommate’s boyfriend bought for her, just because, (insert scoff here because it’s painfully adorable), sitting there as a beacon of positivity, of love and light and all the little things that normal people find beautiful and thinking to myself, “God, if orchids had eyes, that one would be giving me the stank eye right now.”
• Am I the only one bothering myself with wondering whether Taylor Swift still keeps John Mayer songs on her iPod?
• Cursing myself and the UT registration system for allowing me to register and be currently enrolled in a class that I already got credit for back in 2006, at the community college, and am now stuck in as it corrupts my GPA. Mostly cursing myself for taking the class simply for fitting into my schedule, but then not feeling so bad because I do have a pretty great schedule. Come finals time, I’ll be back to cursing myself.
• Watching Modern Family and laughing out loud alone in my bedroom. I’m not much for sitcoms but the writers for this show really do a good job. The show plot lines could be predictable for some, but for whatever reason, I always find myself totally surprised, like when I wear a nude bra under a black shirt and later find myself tagged in about 45 pictures on Facebook, all them of showcasing Victoria’s Secret (and mine). 
• Riding around in my rental car. It’s an Impala. Yea. It’s black and shiny. No, it doesn’t have hydraulics. It’s actually really un-sexy. It’s probably a major reason why I’m single. Because it’s a rental, I drive with my hands at 10 and 2 at all times, with my seat unbelievably upright and close enough to the steering wheel that the old lady in the Lexus next to me is even wondering if it’s really necessary to be that close. 
• Oh, you can use a phone for something other than playing Angry Birds? Huh, well that’s nifty.
• Stating to my friends that “We do not wear tennis shoes with flares,” in very crowded coffee shops, where lots of people are wearing tennis shoes. With flares. 
• Staring the bitch down that giggled and said to me, “Ugh, I’m so jealous, I miss being single so much.” Really, really? I kind of hate people who say they miss being single out of pity and it’s become almost protocol for girl-on-girl conversation. Well it stops here. I know you don’t miss being single you crazy, because since the day I met you, you couldn’t stop googling potential Old Southern Money suitors to pay for your future addictions to Botox and Xanax. 
• For whatever reason I am deathly loyal to Mandy Moore. And all of her awful movies. That I love so dearly. Though sometimes I mix her movies up with those of Rachel Bilson.

Of course, the Taylor Swift before Taylor Swift, Nicholas Sparks truly deserves his own “reason” on this blog and to be honest, it’s been a long time coming. You know what’s great about Nicholas Sparks? Nothing. All he does is make you want to cry. Actually scratch that, not cry, sob, alone in your house with candles lit and make you question where your life is going and if maybe, just maybe, you’re still in love with your ex when deep down, you know you’re not. Nicholas Sparks makes my life way more dramatic than it is. 

After watching The Notebook, I search the depths of my silly little life for my very own Ryan Gosling, Deep South Summer Love From The Wrong Part Of Town Who Scares The Shit Out Of Me In The Best Way Ever. I search so hard. Guess what? There isn’t one of those in my life. I’ll tell you what is in my life though; a bottle of Jack and bowl of popcorn and a Nicholas Sparks movie and plenty of tissues because if Nicholas Sparks is on, so is the sobbing and dry heaving and cursing the world (and maybe Emma sitting next to me), “Where is my Ryan Gosling, Where God, WHERE?”  

I even liked Dear John. Yeah. Really. Really. No, for real. I have the soundtrack. Yeah. I told you so. 

I also make it a point to interact with the characters (as fictional as they may be) as they appear on my television screen, looking all old-timey and North Carolinian. In Dear John, I screamed to Amanda Seyfried,”You’re horrible!” and threw my throw pillow at her adorable scrunchy smile as she betrayed her teenage love for her dad’s friend. (Yeah, Nicholas got a little twisted in that one…) I made it a point to yell periodically during A Walk To Remember, “It’s because she has CANCER!” as sweet, sweet Mandy Moore slipped in and out of like and then eventually into love with sexy bad boy, fan of hazing, Shane West. Why is that the men in these movies always have to be wrong the part of town? So rugged. Yum.

Also, I tend not to acknowledge Nicholas Sparks as an author, more as a moviemaker, which, I’m pretty sure isn’t even the correct title. I’ve only ever read A Walk To Remember and I don’t remember anything about it. But I can recite every line of the movie. As well as the lines I made up that I swear should be in it. Is that awful? 

Last week I bailed on Thursday night plans to stay inside and watch A Walk To Remember for like the 80th time. Welcome to this single life bitches, grab some popcorn and a glass of wine because things are about to get real with my boy Nick Sparks. 

“In one split second your entire life can change.”

I’ve been told this for as long as I can remember. I fully believe it. How could I not? People get in messes, secrets slip out, enemies are made and friends are lost. It can happen anywhere at anytime but that’s just the risk we take we sign up to live our lives, really live them. Because if you put your feelings out there, odds are you’re bound to get hurt at some point. But here’s my question, can people really change?

I hate to be that person (and I actually mean that this time) but I’m not so sure they can. But even feeling this way, I still hope for the best and hope I’ll be proved wrong. We’ve all heard the stories of cheaters now happily monogamous and addicts who are clean and sober and I congratulate them whole-heartedly for they are true exceptions. I’ve kind of always lived by the rule of “if you’re thinking it, you might as well do it because it’s all the same to me.” Any of you live by that rule? I’ve never really heard anyone else say it or really agree with it but I’ll do my best to explain.

Here’s my analogy, if you’re going to be a vegetarian and all you can think about is eating meat, then you’re not really a vegetarian. Technically you are because you haven’t really consumed any meat but mentally it’s all you think about so you might as well just eat it because driving yourself crazy thinking about eating it. It’s worse than just picking up a fork and digging into some meat. To make it worse, you go around bragging about being such a good vegetarian when really you’re just a carnivore who happened to give up meat for a while. So one way to translate that into the dating world is to apply to cheating. If you’re sitting with your girlfriend but all you can think about is another girl, then you might as well go be with the girl you’re thinking about because at that moment, you’re not really with your girlfriend. No, you’re not physically cheating, but you’re doing something worse, you’re wishing you could. It’s so hard to explain and for those of you who believe in this theory know that explaining it to others is next to impossible. People who don’t believe it don’t get it because they’re who the theory is about.

So if you scream to the world that you’re changed, that you’ve righted your wrongs and that from now on you’re going to be a new person, then it’s crucial to make sure your head isn’t trapped in your old ways. While you may think that just because it’s in your head it’s okay, just know that we see through you. Change isn’t something you do for the people around you. It never really is. It’s an internal thing. So when you run around town boasting your squeaky clean new image just know that just because you keep the old you hidden, doesn’t mean we can’t see it. What’s the point of going through the effort of convincing the people around you you’ve changed if you can’t even convince yourself?

Can people change? I think we all tell ourselves what we want to hear. Those who want to change say they can and the ones who need so desperately for someone to change tell themselves that it’s possible and that it’s okay for them to change someone. In my opinion I don’t know that it’s our place to try and change someone else. What’s better for one person isn’t always better for the other and what’s a little tweak for one person is a huge game changer for others. I think that people who change, like truly change, are so rare that it seems impossible. The ratio is so unbalanced that those who make change possible fall to the wayside, subdued by the mistakes and bad choices left behind by those who had us convinced they could change and just let us down. It shouldn’t sound so bleak. I should be rooting for the ones who truly changed, who proved me wrong, like I asked, but to take that incredibly small and rare possibility and live by it just seems wrong. So I’ll perpetuate the norm. God knows it’s not the right thing to do and that the “People Can Change” Camp needs more people on its side but I’m tired and I’ve run out of Jack, so I’ll pass.

I love the Apple decals on cars. I especially love them on Volkswagens. I, the former owner of a fabulously adorable green VW Beetle, had no qualms rocking the Apple decal on my Beetle, however on my Mazda, not so much. An Apple decal and a Volkswagen just fit, you know? Like peanut butter and jelly, like Billy Ray and Miley, like bad choices and a bottle of Jack. Don’t you just love how fabulously predictable the whole thing is? You might as well expect the Volkswagen to be rocking a pretty serious bike rack with Whole Foods bags in the backseat.

I think it’s funny that some products are just more hip than others. I’ve never seen anyone rocking a PC decal on their car. Is it because Apple products have some insanely cool leader, Steve Jobs, who loves to tell us that “the future is now?” Is it because Apple products just tend to be more expensive and it’s a status thing? Is it because Apple products, like Volkswagen products, are advertised using an insane amount of white space? Are they both considered “underdog” brands? Are they both things that fuel the idea that I’m a little too white to be this brown? Perhaps.

Because the size of my iPhone isn’t obnoxious and telling enough, that yes, I am a user of Apple products, let’s throw a decal on my car just to seal the deal. I am one of those awful yuppies with the decal on my car and I wish I could say I had a cool reason for doing it. Yes, I do swear by my Mac, after years of using a PC that my stubborn Indian father insisted upon, and yes I do have an iPhone but those aren’t the reasons I put the decal on my car. I’m not that cool. I did it because everyone else did it.

I think it’s safe to say that my sense of humor deserves a double-take when sifting through the reasons why I’m single. Once again let me reiterate to you that my sense of humor is not funny. I, however, am just one of those people that I think is really funny. I say and think things that I know no one else in the world will understand and then I laugh to myself alone, in public places.

For example, I, for whatever reason, think it’s really funny to introduce myself with the following statement, “Hi, my name is Anj and I make it a point to retweet every single one of Barack Obama’s tweets.” Look, I don’t know why I think it’s so funny! Maybe it’s because I don’t do that at all (okay, I did it yesterday, but that was the only time!) or maybe it’s because my friends (mostly just Emma) enable this kind of behavior by laughing, probably not because it’s funny but because statements like that tend to come out of my mouth, from basically out of nowhere and you’re really not sure what else you should do. (You should know that in instances like those, you shouldn’t laugh at all, just look at me blankly, all other forms of interaction will cue me to persist which will just be uncomfortable for you.)

I also get funnier around certain people, mostly just around Tim, my bestie with testes. We say really inappropriate things to one another but in the socially acceptable way that makes it okay for Ari Gold on Entourage. I find that I spend the majority of my time around him, looking around at my surroundings in a confused state, constantly thinking to myself, “Really? Really?” and then I remember, “Ah yes, no, no, this actually is my life.”

I also get a lot funnier when I’m around my brother the ER doctor. No, I don’t have more than one brother. No, I’m not referring to one brother of multiple brothers by his occupation. I have just one brother, who I prefer to refer to as “The ER Doctor.” Anyway, I have this fun little running joke that because he’s an ER doctor he’s always dashing into Starbucks and ordering coffee. Did I mention I like to make it public via Facebook? Because I do that with most all of my “jokes.”

I live for moments like the comment that followed mine. It’s probably the number one reason I continue to think that I am funny person.

I’ll take it! And because of that one comment it’s probably as predictable as a Volkswagen with a bike rack and an Apple decal, that my posts to my brother’s wall are always about Starbucks and his occupation. But I like to tell myself that people find it endearing, maybe even sweet? Either way, it’s just another reason I’m living this single life.

We’ve all heard of the strike out rule. Three strikes and our significant other might as well pack up their toothbrushes and emotional baggage because it’s out the door they go. Three mistakes; one, because it’s bound to happen sometime, two, because you like them too much to let go just yet and bam, three rolls around and when you’re looking at the damage you start to recall the severity of the first two. Were they really that bad? Is this really the third strike? Already? Though it’s pretty obvious why some swear by the strike out rule, the simple fact that there’s no such thing as idealism, it’s not so obvious how many people actually benefit from it. 

I found that the strike out rule has actually made me somewhat delusional. You think longer and harder about the relationship crimes your other half committed and for more than you should, you end up convincing yourself they’re not so bad and so you let them slide, not eager to write him off just yet. If the rule isn’t convincing you that your other half’s true relationship crimes aren’t so bad then it’s got you on the defense, constantly looking for a reason to banish them. It’s a good rule in theory but in practice it gets a little messy.

I’ve found that in some relationships my strike outs exceeded well over three and into a world I thought I’d never see myself. I’d let painful jabs that make you wince and cringe just thinking of them slide by just because I wasn’t ready to let go. Other relationships were ended over the smallest things. The reason why the strike out rule never pans out in practice is because what we consider a strike changes depending on how we feel about the other person. If it’s someone you really like, you let them get away with so much more than you probably planned on. If it’s someone you’re not super interested in but really have no reason not to be because there’s not really anything wrong with them, you’re more likely to pounce on little things you’d probably have let slide by if you liked them more.

And what’s the point of the third strike anyway? Once you ventured into two strikes, maybe it’s just my jaded, cold, black heart, but don’t you think you should just walk away? I mean at that point you’re just waiting around for the third and final blow. I’m all for second chances but it almost seems counteractive to throw in the last strike. I consider the third chance more of a test, a verification to see if they really did deserve the second chance you already gave them.

Time also plays a big role in the strike out rule. If you’ve been dating someone for years, there’s something to be said of couples who go years without strikes. Is it because they are willing to let things slide that in the years before their relationship they would have ended it over? Are strikes less dramatic if they happen years apart? Conflict is bound to happen in a relationship but time definitely influences whether we blow it off or let it count against the one we date. I know that in past relationships, if conflict was few and far between, I’d be less likely to add a strike even if I was genuinely upset with something he did; time determines whether the strikes are end-all or just “misunderstandings.”

The strike out rule is supposed to protect us from the pain that all relationships carry but in viewing it with this semi-new attitude I’ve somehow acquired in the past week, we have to be able to acknowledge that the rule sets us up for failure. If we’re not on the look out for the next strike, anticipating it and therefore blowing things out of proportion, then we’re letting things that seriously hurt and upset us slide because we’re not ready to cut the person out of our lives yet and therefore undermining our own opinions.

As if the fact that I often find myself looking down at my outfit and realizing that at 21-years-old, I’m rocking head-to-toe Abercrombie and Fitch isn’t enough to make you realize just how single I am, my hair sure will. It’s outrageous, it’s loud and annoying and it laughs in the faces of the manes that actually respond to styling. 

I have long, unruly hair, hair that despite my outward and verbal frustration, I have some attachment too. I guess it’s because I spent the majority of my life with the same haircut, naturally straight and cut just above my shoulders. My sophomore year in high school after a bob gone horribly wrong, I decided to never cut my hair again. Okay well, not really but I sure as hell didn’t cut it for the rest of that year, even despite the cries of beauty experts everywhere telling me a trim would make my hair grow faster (such a strange concept by the way). So sophomore year, my hair ventures into the land of length past my shoulders and bam, overnight I all the sudden have wavy hair? It’s like my hair hit puberty or something.

I think that a lot of people think that the long hair is such an integral part of my image because as single girl you learn that guys really like girls with long hair so it’s safe to say that people often think that’s why I keep my mane. To this I laugh. Oh, I wish that was the reason. Here’s the thing about guys who like long hair, they usually like to run their fingers through it. Saying that my hair is not the kind of hair you can run your fingers through would be an understatement. It is not sexy and finger-friendly, it’s wavy and full of kinks with a halo of frizz and punishes those who try to run their fingers through it by trapping them Chinese finger trap style. No, I can assure you the reason I keep my hair around is way more pathetic.

So I decided to see where my hair was going with this newly found waviness and that’s where the tragic relationship between me and my hair started. My hair is now longer than I ever imagined it would be and for whatever reason, I can’t and won’t cut it off. It’s the bane of my existence, a simple wash and condition takes up the majority of my shower time, styling it is completely out of the question most days, it’s loves to humiliate me in the presence of even the slightest amount of humidity, and it harbors stray items including food, twigs and remnants of the bad choices I know I shouldn’t have made. The saddest part is that releasing all of this wasted energy and hatred on my hair is just a haircut away and yet, I refuse.

Ideally, sometime in the near future I want to cut it for Locks of Love as that was always my plan. My poor friends and family, hearing this excuse since my sophomore year of high school has probably come to believe that it will never happen. I’m putting it in writing, right here, right now. It will happen though I’m not sure when but I must be honest with all of you. With the release of “Whip My Hair” by my new idol and favorite pre-teen queen, Willow Smith, I’m sorry to say that the cut won’t happen for a while. While you may see this awful decision based on a song that briefly brought pop culture to its knees as exceedingly selfish, I actually agree. It is selfish and probably really awful, but then again it would also be truly awful to give someone the hair that caused so much trouble and embarrassment in my life.