If you recall, I wrote a blog post about dating a few months ago. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find it here. It was all about how I’m going to be direct when I find someone I’m interested in, and how I’m just going to skip all the games, because as we all know… games are bullshit. Games trigger my anxiety and make everyone involved feel bad about themselves. Fuck that shit.
So I dipped my toe in the dating pool the other day. It was the baby toe… and only for a second(I’m not sure it counts if he clearly didn’t know it was supposed to be a date). I found myself falling back onto old habits pretty quickly. I was terrified to ask him out – I literally texted him to ask him out for drinks, and then wouldn’t even look at my phone. Seriously. It was like I was 21 all over again. No one wants to be 21 again. Twenty-one-year-olds don’t even want to be 21 (or maybe they do, but that’s only because they don’t know any better). I was so dumb and insecure at 21 (and 22-29, but that’s beside the point). I asked all my friends for advice on how to handle it, because I haven’t dated in something like 7 years. And the advice I got was all over the board! But most of it was along the lines of, “Just wait for him to text you. You don’t want to seem too needy.” Okay, now let’s go back to the quote from this blog post to discover how I feel about being seen as “needy.” I don’t give a fuck. I deserve to voice my wants and needs, regardless of what they are, or what other people think of them. I don’t have to get what I want, but I’m allowed to say it out loud. You never get anything you don’t ask for.
So after a week or so of listening to the advice from well-intentioned people(seriously, I love you guys), I decided to just do what I wanted to do the whole time… be fucking direct. I needed to be true to me, and not worry about how that would be perceived . So I made my intentions known… and I was shot down (in a very nice way, and for very valid reasons). Twenty-one year old me would have been devastated. Thirty-one year old me recognizes that it has nothing to do with me personally, and that it doesn’t even mean that he doesn’t think I’m awesome. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out… and that’s okay. The biggest thing I took away from this short-lived experience was that I am finally able to not look for my self-worth in the opinion of another person. I mean, I’ve kind of thought I was stronger than that for awhile… but this experience really solidified it for me. And I’m proud of that.
Also, Cortney has convinced me to try a dating app. I told her we could put together a profile when she visits (complete with a photo shoot!), and that I would try. But I make no promises! The idea of online dating still freaks me the fuck out. Speaking of which, I scrolled through my friend’s matches the other day on one of her apps… holy fuck. Every single guy on there looked like a giant douche bag “bro.” And they were all looking for women that were 5-15 years younger than them! WTF? She told me to scroll through it to get an idea, and I was literally yelling out as I scrolled, “OMG! I HATE EVERYONE!” All while drinking wine. Duh.
So… maybe I’m not actually ready to date. I’m honestly way too busy to date properly. I mean, I had to skip one of my favorite yoga classes to go out with this guy last week. How often am I really willing to do that? I don’t fucking know. Unless, of course, I find a feminist yogi that likes country music, is funny and smart, and doesn’t act like a douche bag. Also, they have to be willing to take it really fucking slow. Like, snail’s pace, or fuck off. Bros need not apply.
I honestly don’t know what possessed me to make this recipe. It seems like something a Pinterest Mom would make, which is so funny to me, because it’s just me and my cat here. BTW, are Pinterest Moms real? I know people that are moms, but I don’t know anyone that is a real Pinterest Mom. Enlighten me, please. Do they exist?
French Toast Roll-Ups (original recipe can be found here)
For the filling:
1 1/2 tablespoons butter, melted
1 1/2 tablespoons white sugar
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
For everything else:
2 tablespoons milk
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon sugar
3 tablespoons butter (for the pan)
4 slices of bread, crusts cut off (I only had whole grain, but white would be more way easier to work with)
Whisk the filling ingredients together in a small bowl and set aside. In a separate bowl, mix together 1 tablespoon each of cinnamon and sugar, and set aside. Roll the bread out with a rolling pin until they’re about 1/8″ thick. Spread each slice with the filling, and roll up tightly. If you’re using dry, whole grain bread, the roll will crumble a bit. Just mush it together with your hands. It’ll be fine. Heat the 3 tablespoons of butter in a large skillet, and fry the roll-ups 1-2 minutes on each side, over medium-high heat. Once done, place on a paper towel, and sprinkle with the cinnamon/sugar mixture. Serve with maple syrup. Then face your day, and speak your fucking truth. No one else is going to do it for you.
Oh, and send the cute, feminist yogis my way. K, thanks.