Category Archives: Being Single

Making new [single] friends…

Women Victorian in Pond
Here’s my deal – I’m in my forties, kids, divorced. All my friends were married friends and I don’t have a built-in support system. My married friends don’t want to hear about dating except if they bring it up and only want a two-sentence summary. Any ideas on how to build a circle of single friends?

L in DC

Dear L,
I’m so sorry about your recent break up. That’s the pits. I’m also sorry your friends aren’t more invested in your dating life. That’s ridiculous. My married friends love talking about my dating life – living vicariously I suppose. I should introduce you to them. Seriously, I think you should tell your friends you need them to listen.
Grow a new circle of friends. How I did it: I got a part time job where I made a very good friend. She introduced me to a couple of her friends and my new circle grew from that.
Another great place to meet awesome single women: single’s events. Seriously. I have met so many amazing women at these things. I wonder if there are some single mom groups, too. There have to be. That would be perfect because you could talk about kids AND dating. Here’s one: DC Urban Moms and Dads. It’s a start!
Good luck out there and don’t forget to hold on to the old friends who care about you. One is silver and the other gold.
xo Rachel

New Hobby: Bocce Ball


They are totally going to do it later.

Okay, so I’m going to be on this podcast, You, Me, Them, Everyone, that’s recorded live at a bar here in DC called The Looking Glass Lounge. (Had a date here once. New Year’s. Second date. It was fun if not mildly awkward at times.)

It sounds really cool.

I decide to listen to an episode just to see what it’s all about. I like to be prepared and a friend of mine commented that the host, Brandon Weatherbee, is a little angry. (This scared me. However, on my first listen, I’d say maybe he’s incensed, but not angry. And besides, how could someone with a cool name like Weatherbee ever be angry? My last name sounds like a sneeze and I’m not angry.)

Anyway, I’m listening to the podcast and the couple who formed the DC Bocce League (you heard me: Bocce league, which I coincidentally just learned about Tuesday, which makes me think it’s fate and I should be on this league) are on talking about Bocce, naturally, and the woman says that Bocce is great for dating. My ears perk up like my cat’s when he hears a can being opened. Apparently, the league has spawned four married couples and you can even buy Bocce onesies for your Bocce babies. Cute.

Anyway, best part is Brandon asks Bocce lady if she’s ever gotten laid (as a direct result of being a part of the Bocce league, I presume) and she was like “Who hasn’t?”

It’s much funnier when you listen to the podcast. I promise.

Anyway, if you’re looking for someone to take romantic pics with when the Cherry Blossoms are in bloom or maybe someone just to have spring sex with, play Bocce. I encourage it.

I also encourage coming to the show on Monday, 3/14, 8:30pm.

Mo’ Men

male to female ratio

I'm slightly uncomfortable with this picture, but it gets my point across about male-female ratio stuff.

Just got back last night from Los Mangeles, as my friend dubbed the town because, holy crap, dudes are everywhere. Everywhere. I usually don’t feel outnumbered as a woman, but I did this past weekend, despite my posse of five lovely ladies.

And then tonight, back in DC, I’m at a matchmaking event where, I swear to god, there were 8 women to every 1 man. A quick poll in the ladies’ room confirmed that most women had been matched up with 3 men while most men had been matched up with 8 women. The ladies in the ladies’ room were not happy about these odds.

On a happier note, I met a lot of women I liked tonight.

And I officially turned lesbian.

Just kidding. For now.

I’m less worried about ratio and odds than I am about the No Good Men Syndrome. I’ve seen a number of articles complaining about women being picky, unpractical, searching for a non-existent ideal, slutty, whatever, so despite the controversial and disconcerting nature of the aforementioned article’s subject matter, this a refreshing finger pointed in the other direction, because people, the problem of our dating culture can’t simply be blamed on one (women) or the other (men). It’s an uncomfortable shift on both sides we’re negotiating here and it doesn’t matter how it started.

Which is why I would never change geography for wall-to-wall men, no matter how hot the cashier was at that one hot dog place in downtown LA. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there are trials and tribulations in every city for every gender as evidenced by a recent note I received from a supremely frustrated guy in Las Vegas who is looking for women with more substance, and I’m not talking rec drugs. (Girls, if you live in LV and are of substance, let me know. I’ve got the hook up.)

However, I might very well make a move West based solely on the year-round availability of bacon avocados (no bacon or bacon flavor involved here) that you eat like an apple but not before drenching the tender green flesh in Meyer lemon juice.

Happy Valentine’s Day Lovies!

I love any day that involves jelly-filled gummy candy. You’ll find me at Trader Joe’s this eve in line for Lovey Gummy Tummies. xoxo

yummy tummy hearts

trader joe's tummy hearts

Imported Goods (dates that is)

texas man

Men from Texas are h-o-t.

It’s not quite like mail-order brides, but if all y’all are having as much trouble as you say you are with dating in your own city, why not import? That’s right. Bring dates from other zip codes into your geographical fold. You can do this via online dating sites (as my colleague says, “Thank god you can just order online. Keeps thing simple. Seriously.”) or, when you’re traveling, gather men (or women) as you would souvenirs. A love in every port. You’ll never be without. I highly recommend it. Just be prepared to be very honest about your feelings. A visit gone wrong can be AWK-ward. A visit gone right though? Swoooon.

The Term Formerly Known As “Pick-Up Line”

polar bear

Hey Baby, You must be tired because you've been running through my mind all day or Baby, My balls should be frozen to this polar icecap, but they're not because you keep me sizzlin'.

I think I’ve said this before, but I love pick-up lines. There’s an art to using them effectively in that you have to convey sincerity about wanting to talk to your objet d’amour – but at the same time you want to be using the line ironically because if you’re dead serious when you say the one about how you didn’t know angels could fly so low, you’re gonna look silly. Maybe creepy. You want it to be like, you know it’s a cheesy up line, but you want to make her/him laugh because you want to talk to him/her. Right?

I think we should change “pick up line” to conversation starter. It simply gets you in there. No one will remember what you said to get the conversation going. Or maybe it will be the great story you tell to all your grandkids.

Are you following me? Anyone?

I heard a new one today – probably the least cheesy sounding one I’ve ever heard and it’s good for men and women:

You: Do you know how much a polar bear weighs?

Her/Him: No, how much?

You: Enough to break the ice. Hi, I’m [insert name here]

[Ba dum chhhhhh]

I’m using it. Watch me.

The end of an era…


A new crush?

Well. I’m over Gym Crush. Yep. Just like that. I went to the gym last night after a 2-month hiatus and, as usual, I saw him just as I was stretching my last stretch and ambling to the locker room ready to go home and eat everything in my fridge even though the calories I burned off didn’t warrant that type of binge.

There he was. On the treadmill. Running a steady pace. I looked at him. He looked ahead, running into nowhere. I kept looking, thinking that this time, I will smile at him. And then I realized that those feelings of excitement and anticipation that used to motivate me to get back on the treadmill (even though I was completely done with my workout) with the hope that I would get up the guts to smile/he would say hi – gone. Just like that. pffft

Our break up reminds me of an article about Vipassana romances. It’s common to fall in love in the meditation room. You won’t say a word to the person you project your feelings onto, but their mere presence makes the back of your neck burn. You daydream about their gentle hands and hunky biceps — wait, that’s for gym crushes. Anyway, you get the picture. This fantasy keeps you going through the difficult task of clearing your mind/becoming a hard body. And then when you don’t need the fantasy anymore, the feelings fade.

For some reason, I don’t need Gym Crush anymore. I didn’t exactly reach hard-body status. But maybe I’m tired of leering at pining for someone who has absolutely no clue I exist. Maybe I have enough going on in my life that there’s just no room for him anymore.

The gym was already losing it’s luster and now the one motivation that lured me there and made me run at a 6.3 pace rather than 5.8 pace is no longer. So I’m canceling tomorrow.

I like my yoga crush better anyway. I mean, I can’t not have a crush.