My expectations are low. I don’t think this is too far out of the question, dudes.
I was getting ready to leave my dorm for Art Appreciation class my freshman year of college in a small South Carolina town. My roommate and I had the tv on and I didn’t know what to do. I knew something major was happening, but I was also a first-semester freshman that didn’t know the proper protocol for ditching class. I was scared. Then the second plane hit. I watched it happen. What was going on? Tears forming in my eyes I couldn’t make sense of it all. The sounds of fear coming from Matt Lauer, the trepidation of the other reporters as they nervously watch in horror. And my sheepish mind telling me to get to class. I ultimately off I went—late. The professor kept us for a while then let us go after a slideshow of 19th-century art. To this day I regret going. All to get a stupid “A” in a world that couldn’t care less.
When you’re a 30-something single in NYC, life can be interesting. You fantasize about the cute guy on the subway, you eat one too many Halo Tops for dinner, and you definitely spend all your money on rent, food, and new lipstick.
Wait…is that just me?
Either way, here I am. And I’m diving into the crazy battlefield that is NYC dating. But before we get to the juicy stuff, let’s start with the old me—the Southern Belle me.
Born and raised on the coast of South Carolina, I was a go-with-the-flow kind of gal that let people walk all over her. I was also the excessively chubby one, which didn’t help matters. Growing up I never stood up for myself, I tried to hide in the background, and I would rather die than try something new. I was a follower.
When I hit college I dropped some weight, got my first boyfriend (!!!) and finally started growing that backbone. After I got burned by a few good friends that backbone got even stronger. Bad friends? Who needs ’em! Not me. I was cutting people out of my life left and right. The Facebook “Unfriend” button was my favorite accessory. I held on tight to my ride-or-die girlfriends, found my voice, and never looked back. (Turns out I’m bossy, opinionated, and won’t back down if I believe strongly in something.)
Skipping forward a few years where my weight went up and down and back up again, I dropped even more friends, held some impressive jobs, and finally decided to pack my bags and move to NYC. At 31 my life was starting over. But for the first time, everything felt right. I was where I was supposed to be. Yes, I had no job, but who needs money in NYC? Who cares about that $1700/month rent? I didn’t. I knew it would work out. And so far almost three years in, it has.
So what’s up with The Bad Hag? This will be a place to host my dating adventures—past, present, and future—and other life happenings. Trust me, you’ll want to join the ride. Shit happens to me. It just does.
And for inquiring minds, every “meme” I post will be a real encounter of something that has happened to me. Nothing will be “fake news” folks, nothing.
Sleeping. I was sleeping.
When you see your spin instructor on Tinder
there’s a new bitch in town.