As my boldest move of October blew up in a very shitty fashion the first weekend of this month, I’ve found myself coping normal to odd ways.
The sadness was there, plus drinking, but the election results helped wash those emotions away.
There was less bargaining as a kind of negotiation phase (the results of which I think I’m doing an amazing job of not reading too much into.)
Now I’m on to the “moving on” part, and…it’s weird. I’m either having (hopefully overblown) doubts about meeting someone great anytime soon or: a powerful urge to date a woman with an accent. Preferably British, though Scottish, Irish, or Australian would work. Expat not so much preferred as just more likely.
Only: how many single, straight female British expats (who aren’t taking an undergraduate semester abroad here — that happens, right?) can there be in Atlanta? And how the fuck would I meet them?
And, because it wouldn’t be me without a little self-loathing, it’s an odd bit of shallowness isn’t it? Aurally shallow? Accentally biased? Taking Anglophilia a kilometer too far?
All this could go away if Jennifer Lawrence shows up at the Sex BBQ show tonight and we fell madly in lust.
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- danhacker said: There’s always Craiglist casual connections to help move on.
- hugeinjapan said: I’m sure it’s different now, but back in the day they all worked at Fado. And were Irish. And stunning.
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- youtastelikenachos said: Look for someone with a pirate accent.
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