Why the hell not?

Oh man.  Turning 25.  It feels like just yesterday I was pulling out my black and white polka flask at (underage) college parties with so many cute older (fucking immature) guys who smelled like…frat houses.  Those were the days. 

Turning 25 isn’t so bad.  I’ve sat comfortably in this age for 10 days now and so far, no noticeable wrinkles or sudden arthritic onset.  Back in the day when I turned 24, I told myself that I’d consider joining some sort of dating website if I was still single when Father Time turned the clock to 25.  Well, that happened.

Ages 24 and below were not lost completely in the love department.  Let’s see, where do I even start?  How about the gentle giant who redefined unrequited college (and post-college) love?  Needless to say, it didn’t go well for 6 consecutive years and if I hadn’t just moved across the country, it still wouldn’t be going well.  Though, in a rare display of care for a fellow human being, he did want to help me pack for my big move.  Perhaps it was therapeutic for us both that I was leaving so we could both let go…even though I hadn’t seen him for 6 months before that.   Next up to bat was Wil.I.am (not the real one) who dated me to get to my roommate so he could date her.  Not ideal, to say the least.  Then, the guy who I dated for 3 months and 3 weeks who had enough tears to fill the aquarium.  Like the Biebs song “You Smile, I Smile”…I cried, he cried.  Last but not least, a man…a Greek God if you will…who had EVERYTHING from head-to-toe, but not a lot between the ears.  After 5 months of shenanigans, he shared that he hoped we could just keep sleeping together without strings attached.  He was also my employee.  Let’s talk about how I cried myself to sleep every night for a good month after that.  Moving 2,000 miles away never sounded so great.

So here I sit, in a brand new city and newly 25.  Match.com?  Why the Hell not?  I mean honestly, what do I have to lose here.  I’m not going to meet anyone sitting alone inside my apartment when it’s 50-fucking-degrees below 0 outside.  Unless they’re online.  And also cold.  And S/W/M looking for S/W/F.

I absolutely believe in the power of being swept off my feet, true love and my knight in shining armor riding up on his white stallion.  Maybe a beige stallion.  Nothing in Philadelphia is actually white.

When in doubt, make a complete fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.

— Cynthia Heimel