And it is most definitely not your fault.

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…

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Take your “there are no good ones left” bullsh*t and shove it where the sun does not shine.

Photo by Athena from Pexels

I love numbers as much as the next gal. Cozying up to my monthly Google Analytics data is my idea of a rockin’ Thursday night. Numbers never lie, as long as you understand what they’re saying. But there’s one area of life where numbers don’t help us, because there’s one thing in the world that’s unquantifiable, unplannable, and unpredictable against any model: love. If love could be predicted, planned, and assured, we’d all stop this dating ballyhoo, hire an analyst, and be…

I couldn’t help but wonder if it ruined things for single women for decades to come.

I know, calling something problematic in hindsight: groundbreaking. But since my line of work sees me actually communicating and working with single women who are alive and real in 2021 and these ladies are fictional characters originally imagined in 1997, I get to talk. Remember that if you’re still here, you chose to listen.

Nothing ever came along at its level of popularity, so Sex and the City has enjoyed a very lengthy residence in the minds of society as a portrayal of single…

Why, even?

Photo by Tatiana Аzatskaya from Pexels. This is not my cat. I didn’t have it in me to look through old photos of her today to put one here.

CW: Pet Loss, Grief

I don’t know anything about grief. I’m really bad at it. I’m one of those supremely lucky people who hasn’t had death in their family beyond the natural course of grandparents and both times I was in such shock and denial that I avoided everything there was to avoid, figuring I’d learn how to “process” death eventually. Eventually came when my cat and only companion of 12 years had one kidney problem too many and passed away in early April. …

A level of specificity that requires seasoning and patience.

Photo by Daria Shevtsova from Pexels

In eight weeks time, I’m leaving New York. I am relocating to New Orleans for a variety of reasons that are not your business right now. What I do feel comfortable sharing are the reasons I’m not continuing to hang my hat here on a Command hook stuck to a wall because there’s no room for a real coat rack. And sure we can call them “reasons”—but really they’re everything I won’t miss. …

And I really shouldn’t have been forced to.

Photo by Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

When I was seven, a little boy liked me. I was in second grade, he was in first grade. We never associated with each other, he just thought I was pretty. I didn’t like him “that way,” but that part shouldn’t matter. Not when I’m seven. No one had any business liking someone “that way” back then, because it simply wasn’t time yet. I remember being really ashamed that someone had a “crush” on me, and even more ashamed that he was a grade lower. I didn’t want this crush to be…

Nothing exhausts me like people I’ll never see again.

Photo by Inga Seliverstova from Pexels

I feel drained. I feel like someone’s pulled a chain and stopper at my feet and all my energy and will to be a good person have washed out to sea. I can’t do any more small talk, I just can’t. There’s nothing left in my tank of tolerance for exerting energy toward social situations that have no bearing on my future whatsoever. …

Five letters and 38 years of this sh*t.

This bathing suit photo was carefully selected so that people would actually read this essay and retain its information. If you feel the need to criticize my appearance please feel free, you’re only contributing to the algorithmic success of my work.

I can’t anymore. This is the day I break. Here you go world, here’s 38 years of shame, rage, and exhaustion dragon-breathing onto a digital page because of my unfathomably unpronounceable name. I woke up and chose phonetics and heaven help you all. Today I stop feeling bad about myself and start acknowledging that maybe all of you are the idiots instead and it feels good, it feels good to hit bottom. Do you know how to say it? Give it a try, maybe in your head. I bet you’re wrong. …

The Tonight Show’s new single-shaming segment. You’ll love it!

Last night, at the end of a 13-hour workday, I was tagged on Twitter because Jimmy Fallon was shitting on single people. I’ve had some rest now, so brace yourselves. As he often does, Jimmy Fallon put out a call for funny fodder that he can use on The Tonight Show to get laughs and entertain the good people of this country. I myself have participated in such gems as “ruin a movie with one word” and so forth. Last night, it was: “It’s Hashtags time! Tweet out a funny, weird…

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was Clem. Playing with her favorite toys, trash.

TW: Pet loss

On April 5th, 2021, following a lifetime of kidney troubles, my cat and only companion of 12 years, died. Two very kind ladies came to my home and made something traumatic and awful as gentle for my cat and me as possible. While they were in my home, I signed a form that said I wanted my cat “group cremated” and I wanted her ashes placed in their memorial garden with all the other puppies and kitties. We’d also already made these arrangements on the phone in advance. It seemed like an…

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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