F*ck Me: A Memoir

  It seems an obvious topic to write a blog post about being single… but the longer I boldly brandish this title (as a woman, as a woman over forty, as a single mom), the more deeply I realize it is as taboo a topic as any other I’ve covered. Why is that? From what I can tell being single these last five years, there a few common responses to announcing this status: You obviously aren’t ready for a relationship yet. When are you going to finally settle down again? How are you meeting people? In other words, most people assume that singlehood is both a temporary condition and an unwelcome one. Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but plenty of people are single by choice . No, seriously. It’s not because we’re broken, it’s not because we’ve been searching frantically and haven’t found ‘the one,’ it’s not because we’re cynical and believe love is dead… for many of us it’s simply the best of all possible options. Maybe for now. Maybe temporarily. Or maybe forever. I'm not sur...

Closure. What a stupid idea. Don’t get me wrong, like so many others, I’ve spent months, years of my life seeking “closure” in relationships. I’ve foolishly reached out, ad nauseum.  I’ve imagined happenchance meetings and the conversations that would inevitably (fantastically) ensue:  “Oh Arielle, I’m so glad I ran into you,” they'd begin. “I have to tell you… all these years... it’s just tortured me that…” etc. etc.  (I warned you, fantastical .) I’ve even gone so far as to write a book about my dating blunders, disappointments and failures in hopes of achieving some measure of “closure.”  So, when I say I’m a world-class, hopeful, hopeless fool, having wasted lifetimes waiting for the inimitable, imaginary, ethereal concept of “closure” to land in my lap like a beautiful, rare, mini rainbow unicorn, I assure you, I am a world-class fool. And I can, therefore, further assure you that through my painstaking – and entirely wasted – efforts, I've determined...