And you can’t fix it, no matter what.

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Photo by Francesco Mazzoli on Unsplash

To begin, I take umbrage (what a fantastic word) with “still.” Still implies that you’re late, that you haven’t done something fast enough, and that’s bad. Last I checked, not only was there no globally mandated timeline for partnerships, but I’m pretty sure we have the capacity to love until we’re dead. Whatever time it is, you’ve got more, and “still” is a trash way of pressuring you into feeling like a loser. Now then, let’s get on with it.

This is a response to an article that was recently brought to my attention, titled: This Is Why You’re Still Single. Not only do I disagree with this essay down to my shoes, but I also cannot physically go on with my day or indeed my very existence without clawing it to shreds like so many couches in homes with cats. …


Carrie Bradshaw, this is your fault.

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I blame you.

Stop this. Stop wanting columns. For the good lord’s sake stop pitching them. Nobody wants to give you a column, and that’s okay. If, after scorching this earth, I leave nothing more in my ashy wake than a writing community that stops treasuring goddamn columns I will consider myself a success. Why are we like this? Why do I keep seeing pitches for columns (my publication has 745 followers by the way)? I couldn’t help but wonder, why do writers think so highly of something that isn’t even a thing?

It’s obviously Carrie Bradshaw’s fault. A show about single and actively dating women needed a career that would let its main character have plenty of time to go places and meet people so it picked a job that she couldn’t, under any circumstance, have really relied on for her living. They gave her a side hustle and then told us it was her whole ass income. They were lying, please wake up. …


What now. Honestly…what now.

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These days, it’s nothing fun. Everyone’s either dead or republican. Celebrities trending was supposed to be a good thing, do you hear me? It was supposed to mean they just released a secret new album, maybe they eloped in Barcelona, shit maybe they just rescued a dog. Celebrities trending wasn’t supposed to fall on a spectrum of annoying-to-devastating and I’m exhausted with these people and their inability not to trend. …


At what point is dating the problem, not you?

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Photo by RF._.studio from Pexels

When are we done? When is it time to admit that our approach isn’t working, and that it’s time to look at the problem itself in a completely new way? To read this, and to know that I write for single women, you might think I’m suggesting that single women should rethink their approach to the ways they date. I’m not. I’m actually talking to everyone who gives single women dating advice. I don’t think we need to hear from you anymore.

This comes from a place of exhaustion, from one Instagram post too many. I’m tired of a very basic assumption the world makes about single women: If we’re single, we must be doing something wrong. …


Watching the events of yesterday, I burst into hysterical laughter

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Photo: Amblin Entertainment

Taps microphone. Coming to you live seven days into the new year, I would like to state for the record that I have lost it. I don’t even know what “it” is, but it isn’t here anymore, can confirm.

My completely natural response to the events of yesterday was hysterical laughter to the point of tears. And I mean hysterical. The sound of my laughter was unfamiliar to me. It was like a DC villain was commandeering my mouth. My hands were permanently placed in the air like the “I don’t know” emoji. You know when you’re in a Halloween store and you walk by a toy that’s motion-activated and it starts laughing in a way that feels very Stephen King? Hours of that. …


Stop stressing about being “chill.” Why is that even hot?

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Photo by Anna Urlapova from Pexels

I’m not much for eggshells. They’re great at temporarily protecting my breakfast, but as far as walking on them goes, I think not. The dating world is full of eggshells, or as you know them better, lies we tell other people in order to be accepted. We live in a dating culture that’s built itself atop a tower of eggshells, and we don’t know where the fuck to put our feet. Single women take in a lot of messaging, from society but also just from shitbirds on dating apps, that we have to approach something that matters to us a lot like it doesn’t matter at all, or else run the risk of scaring them away. …


They’re mine now.

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I don’t like saying goodbye. To entertainment. Human goodbyes are fine with me. If you have a pulse and a social security number, peace be with you. But if you were made in Hollywood or were perhaps nominated for a Grammy at some point, stay with me. This fact about my charming personality becomes most relevant when we’re discussing works of art that I have, at some point in my personal history, associated with another human being. You do the same thing. “Our song.” “Our movie.” “Omg that’s our TV show, we love it.” That shit.

Having an Our Song is perfectly acceptable behavior. Mildly annoying when you tell anyone outside the relationship of its existence, but I get it. It’s cute, it’s nice to have a bond with another person over art. I’d actually love to have an Our Painting or an Our Architecture Style with someone someday. But problems arise when the person with whom you’ve claimed the song or movie suddenly becomes someone who is at best no more than a casual acquaintance and at worst someone upon whom you wish great ill. …


Without crying. Too much.

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Photo by Shani Silver. Whose reflection you can see in the glasses.

It’s Monday morning. You may not have noticed because it is also In-Between Week, where space, time, and certainly arbitrary names given to periods of daylight occurring in seven-day increments don’t matter worth a hoot. Thursday is New Year’s Eve, and while we’re all pleased as sparkling punch that 2020 is on its way out, the little present it’s leaving us is the fact that many of us will be celebrating alone. New Year’s Eve alone is a scary concept when you read it typed out like that. But having been to this particular sequined rodeo before, I can honestly tell you it ain’t that bad. …


Interact with something that doesn’t have to be charged.

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Photo via Amazon

I can’t with the screens. No more. I haven’t left the house enough this year to continue feeding myself this much technology. Remember TREES? I need help. One thing that has actually allowed me to reconnect with my own humanity during the year that forgot how to year was activities that do not involve screens or technology of any kind. Things like books. Decks of cards. Cooking without my laptop open to a recipe and inevitably getting splashed with runoff. Looking through family photos from the days we printed those. Anything, literally anything unplugged. …


Honestly I impressed myself.

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Photo by me. Every time I look at it I have to eat a cookie.

I’ve always wanted “a cookie.” A cookie I could make at special occasions and become known for. I want friends to request this cookie, do you hear me? I’d also like to bake something more than once, because every time I have a victory in the kitchen I wonder if it was an accident. These are not an accident. These are beautiful.

After some research, and taking into account the fact that I enjoy a jammy cookie, I cobbled together a recipe for what I’m calling Cherry Cardamom Thumbprints that’s so goddamned delicious I may likely have been baking them with an angel at my side, whisking. The recipe is crafted for both ease and yield. I am a single woman living alone during a global pandemic. This recipe makes enough cookies so that you feel like you made cookies but you still don’t have too many cookies lying around. Also, they freeze. …

About

Shani Silver

NPR once called me a humor essayist, let’s go with that. Host of A Single Serving Podcast. shanisilver[at]gmail

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