Introducing Charlotte Miller

Hello my name is Charlotte and I'm a serial dater. There I admitted it. Can we move on now? 

I am 29 years young, living with an annoying roommate who leaves dirty mason jars everywhere and her equally annoying cat who stalks me day and night. I'm convinced he wants to kill me in my sleep. I'm also sort of single. The reason I say sort of is because I have two very important boyfriends in my life- my best friend Nicole and Net-Flix. (Pronounced Nay- Flee. It's French.)

I never thought I would be one to share my life with the world but there are only so many times I can whine to my friends and family about my shortcomings before they tune me out- so here I am internet. Thanks for listening. 

I have always been that girl with a guy in her life. From serious boyfriends to seriously dating a "guy-friend" for months, to casually dating Tim, Chuck and Jeff at the same time as means to fill up my social calendar. I have never truly experienced single life. And yet, I just turned 29 and I feel more single than I have ever been. My age has crept up on me and I am now stuck in that awkward phase where all of my friends, acquaintances, enemies and baby sister are settling down. Thank God for my best friend Nicole who is equally as single and provides me with all of the ego stroking support I need. (She's not allowed to get a boyfriend until I do- fortunately she's a cooperative one.)    

In a mere 12 months I will be 30. THIRTY. The big 3-0. The Dirty Thirty. And I have decided to take control of my life. This year will be different. I can just feel it. I AM TAKING BACK CONTROL! The first step to fixing a problem is figuring out what the problem actually is. Here is my list so far: 

1. I love wine a little too much.

2. Netflix, eating Nutella with a spoon and sleeping alone with my face smeared in pimple cream excites me more than any guy I have met in the last year.

3. I do love the act of going on a date but most of the time lose interest in the guy almost immediately because he's boring.

4. Although the odd time I do like a guy, of course he ends up messaging me five days after the date, when I've already resolved that he's dead.

5. I have no filter.

6. I watch too many romantic comedies and Disney movies so may have slightly unrealistic expectations of what a man should be like. Perfect- is that really asking for too much?

7. I own a moo-moo. 

Friends and family tell me I'm too picky- that I should settle down already and stop blaming everyone else for my single status. But they just don't get how hard it is to date some of these guys-it's not me, it's them... 

Twenty Nine is my year and I'm inviting you to follow me on this journey of self-discovery and finding love. (Or don't. I probably won't be able to tell if you're reading anyway. I'm still not very good with computers.) 

A bientôt. I hear a glass of wine calling my name. 

xx

Week 1: The Countdown To Thirty

Week One: Friday April 9th

This weekend marked the start of my 52-week countdown to thirty, Spent Friday night completely plastered, waving my hands in the air as my family and friends surrounded me in celebration of my day of birth. The night was going by smoothly enough until nosy relatives started throwing me pitying glances and asking me if I've had enough of the single life yet. What about me dancing with no shoes on and screaming "I will survive" at the top of my lungs indicates that I'm not enjoying being single?  

Your birthday is supposed to be a time of celebration and it was..until the tenth drink of vodka that is. That tenth one always gets me. (I'll admit, sometimes it's the fifth or second.) No matter how happy I am at the beginning of the night, like a pesky ex-boyfriend, vodka always has the ability to alter my mood from really happy to an emotionally unstable idiot. I don't always cry but when I do it's when I'm drunk and for absolutely no reason. 

Friday night was no exception.

That tenth shot suddenly catapulted me into a state of misery as I sprinted for the washroom. I'm not sure why I was crying, It may have had something to do with the vomit projecting from my face or the fact that the waiter had just called me ma'am. Yes. I think that's what probably did it.

There is so much pressure on us women for our age. What am I supposed to do about it? I can't help that I'm getting older. Or that I haven't found some "love of my life" to plant a seed inside of me for the sake of everyone else's happiness. When did life become so stressful? It went from everyone telling me for years that "you're so young, you have your whole life ahead of you," to "oh wow you're almost thirty. Well you look great for your age. Better get a move on though you old gal."

How exactly am I supposed to look at 29? Since when did being 29 suddenly mean that you're supposed to look like an old lady? And why does everyone just want me to settle down with any guy who is deemed as "nice" or "normal"? When I was younger, family and friends preached that I shouldn't waste my time on just any odd guy because I deserved the very best. So if he didn't have a lot going for him, even if he was nice, that meant he wasn't good enough for me. And yet now apparently any nice, normal guy will do because hey, I'm almost thirty. It's really all a load of bullshit. 

Thankfully my bestie Nicole wasn't far behind and consoled me by showing me her latest match.com suitors-  Nothing like looking at a bunch of uglies preaching about their "psychological healthiness" to put me in a better mood. On the way home to my place, we stopped by a Pizza place and grabbed a large to go. Nicole and I passed out on the couch immediately after devouring the entire pizza. At least it was Veggie. You see- not all of my life choices are bad.  

xx