romance

Funeral cake

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

Turns out, getting knocked up by a rich guy in Orange County is WAY more challenging than I’d anticipated. Not in sense that actual effort is required, but simply because the outcome is out of my control.

Just finding someone who makes it to a second date–even to a first date–is harder than dieting in a candy store. Hell, it’s harder than side-planking, especially while dieting, on a moving Pilates reformer in a candy store. And what’s the point of either of those, if never to find true love? If years of beauty investments, borderline orthorexia, and fitness fanaticism never helped me find my special someone, then what was the point in trying so hard to attract a mate?

Should’ve donut’d it up, and immersed myself in a D&D community instead.

Yet here I am. My biggest challenge is finding quality single men who are interested in an actual relationship. If I were simply a gold-digger, this would be much easier: it’s not hard to find clout clowns with cash. But I want real love (with someone who is financially-established).

In addition to kindness, vulnerability and authenticity rank high on my criteria list. These traits are now rarer than ever, thanks to AI and the use of ChatGPT. People are so concerned with how they’re perceived that they’d rather constantly censor themselves than have a genuine heart-to-heart conversation. There’s a continual need to impress rather than to express, which I find thoroughly unimpressive.

This rings exceptionally true with dating apps.

If I see one more dating profile that lists “clean sheets and the smell of coffee” in response to the “Simple Pleasures” prompt, or refers to how Rose could have saved Jack on the Titantic, I’m–

I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet, but it will be very dark and dramatic. Definitely drastic.

I feel like I’m playing a game in which no one truly wins. It’s a struggle to find men who actually want to go out on an actual, in-person date. Many seem determined to just message back-and-forth for the entirety of eternity, while my maternal clock ticks away.

I always thought that having children would be a choice I’d figure out with my significant other…because I assumed that by the time I was 30, or even 35, I’d have met my special someone. I never imagined that I would still be single at my age.

Thankfully, my life is still shockingly alright. Awesome, even. I’m relatively happy. I have no problem prioritizing career over family at this point, which seems to be my only option. I just turned 36, and am probably infertile. Blehh.

At least love and puppies are still attainable.

My current plan is to pivot away from the dating apps, since they have a low barrier to entry. Any JoeSchmo can sign up.

I’m now utilizing different ways to meet people…ways that have a higher barrier point of entry, and simultaneously help me socialize with a positive community while engaging in activities that increase my overall well-being.

So I’ve started attending early morning bootcamp style fitness classes–more “traditional” strength training, not just Pilates–and partner dance classes. Coffee shops and the beach are my new go-to’s for writing and reading. Running clubs are not off the table, although my cardio ability is currently questionable.

I wish more single OC men attended puppy yoga classes, but alack.

I’m still brainstorming other “high barrier to entry” activities. Even time seems to be relevant…as much as I hate waking up at the ass-crack-of-dawn, sleep deprivation seems like another barrier I have yet not explored. So if it takes suffering 5AM gym torture sessions to meet melt-worthy men: put me in, Coach.

I would love to find love, but at this point, I’ll settle for doing the things that I love…and hopefully one day, I’ll be doing The One that I love.

No ifs, ands, or…

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a positive feeling about a future first date…and significantly longer since I’ve have a good first date actually transition to a successful second one.

(Let’s not dig into who makes it beyond the 5th date…)

Beyond this, even meeting someone who seems like a quality human being–an interesting, seemingly-compassionate kind soul–is rare.

While I’m not holding my breath, I’m also not actively clenching my butthole.

STFU & DTR

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

I still don’t understand the concept of “talking” to potential romantic partners, nor how this cultural phenomenon exists at all. Yet countless men have complained about how women they’re “dating” /”talking to” (these are NOT the same) are “seeing” multiple men.

Le sigh.

As a society, let’s all get together on the same page. This is your official PSA: Talking to someone is not the same as exclusively dating. In order to actually date someone, you must first define the relationship (DTR) after an appropriate amount of dates.

To assume that just because you go on a few dates and you like the person, that they like you back, is almost adorable. Nay, it is ideas like this that contribute to situationships and the reason that so many of us are single.

Stop making our lives more complicated than they need be. If you want to be exclusive with someone, you must have that potentially-awkward “Do you want to be together?” conversation. Otherwise, until that conversation occurs, everything is fair game. Keep dating. Keep swiping. Keep trying.

No one gets to pretend to be a victim because they made erroneous assumptions.

As a former fat kid who was rejected after attempting to get a crush’s attention by leaving Twinkies on his desk, I have no empathy for men who complain about potential rejection. For all of the dudes who don’t have the courage to define the relationship: don’t worry, another man out there will.

(In my experience and research, the DTR conversation should occur after at least three dates, and before the eleventh one).

STFU & DTR. It’s really that simple.

Broken up, but neither broken nor broke

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

I’m still processing how “forever” can mean such different things to different people.

Especially when one of them was a Catholic monk for 20 years.

As crushed as I feel for not taking my own advice and stupidly sprinting into a relationship, at least free EMDR therapy, ClassPass membership, UberEats delivery, and a Hawaii trip lessen the pain of my most recent breakup.

We dove in, too much too soon, and Daniel definitely led the way. Directionless, I followed.

He insisted I look at engagement rings (I made an entire Pinterest board), we researched places to move (La Jolla, which we explored together, was our favorite), and contemplated our future children’s names (Dell/Della; credit to Daniel). We even shopped at the Container Store together.

The Container Store.

He went from basically promising the whole happily-ever-after to not even wanting to do couples therapy.

I hate that I’m repeating the same mistake of rushing into love. Like my therapist explained, it takes time to determine whether someone’s actions match their words. No one can promise you that they won’t break your heart.

At least I warned him. After all, I’m the don’t-pick-me girl.

Because of my previous dating experiences, I attempted to pump the brakes early on, but didn’t. I still swear by my “Why it’s a red flag when he wants to get too close too soon” post, and actually sat Daniel down one morning, about two weeks into us dating, and read it to him.

“We are moving fast, and most people would think we’re insane. If you’re not as serious as you say you are, please just let me know now. I can’t afford to get my heart broken again.”

Daniel agreed, and insisted that he was all in.

I’d already called Mother Teresa unfortunate words on our first date, not understanding the depth of Daniel’s religious past (I just think shaming others automatically disqualifies your sainthood). I never pretended to be someone I wasn’t.

If he was going to run, I’d given him ample reasons early on to do so.

He knew me, and liked me for all of the reasons that Ryan didn’t…Daniel loved that I’m different. He encouraged me to speak my mind. Part of his job actually entails consulting companies about artificial harmony, which rang exceptionally true to me. Our honeymoon phase was nothing short of glorious, and even when we started to get into small fights (as couples do), we kept it classy.

And don’t get me started on the mind-blowing sex…

I believed him when he said he wanted a wife. I think he believed it, too.

At least when he decided a relationship (or at least, our relationship) was no longer a priority, he could afford our breakup.

You break it, you buy it.

35 & still alive, y’all

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

I turn 35-years-old tomorrow, rebelling against everything that society has attempted to instill.

I am single, childless, and moderately broke (I have two roommates and basically live in a shoebox). I should probably want to kill myself.

But since I already failed at that when I was 12, I have a different view of aging.

Just surviving for this long feels like an accomplishment. I’m sick of everyone complaining about “getting older” when the alternative is death, and anyone can suddenly die at any point. What if instead of saying older, we said wiser? Or calmer, more enlightened?

Better.

The truth is, I’ve never been happier.

A few significant factors contribute to this; none are the typical box-checking milestones that I grew up believing constitute success.

Metaphorically burying my parents, which therapists had encouraged me to do for years, made a positive difference. It’s nice not to constantly be criticized, and not to tolerate conditional love that fluctuates based on what I achieve.

The holidays still suck, but it’s better for my self-esteem. I no longer carry the same self-hatred–a very heavy burden–that I internalized as a child. Plus, I have friends that feel like family.

Years of dating in Los Angeles, and even recent experiences here in Orange County, taught me how to be a resilient romantic instead of a hopeless one. I’ve had my heart broken more times than I can count. I no longer assume that when someone isn’t into me, it’s because I have small tits or that I’m “unloveable”.

It’s strange to be an age that Hollywood deems unfuckable, and to feel like I’m at my finest. It takes 10-20 minutes to get ready in the morning instead of hours. I don’t blow all of my money on the aesthetic procedures I thought I needed in my 20’s.

(Although for the record, my nosejob and two face tattoos–microbladed eyebrows–were absolutely worth it. And I’ll still gladly drive 2 hours to LA for my perfect California highlights, which took years of research and tears to find.)

I remember the dark days when I refused to leave the house without clip-in hair extensions, full-face makeup, leg makeup. eyelashes, mani/pedi, and a spray tan. I didn’t realize that I was so obsessed with my external appearance because I was internally devastated. Binge-reading magazines while growing up probably didn’t help.

5 Ways to Impress Him Tonight!

The Best Lip Color to Turn Him On

You’re Still Not Hot Enough: Read This Or Die Sad And Alone

Spoiler alert: my dating life was not better due to these “investments” that magazines had promised would help me find love.

Maybe I worked too hard at things I thought would make me someone’s perfect wife instead of working toward my perfect life.

Feeling like I’m helping others, and am part of a community, have been game-changers. I find myself infinitely more flattered by a client’s comment last week about how I have “amazing, kind energy” than anyone’s compliments about my self-constructed physical appearance. And I’m always stoked off anyone who takes the time to read my writing/insides.

I’m determined to be such a dope soul that people crave my vibes. That requires time–and yes, aging–to achieve, so I consider birthdays a blessing instead of a burden.

And even if I never find my special someone, I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I’m okay with dying cunty and alone…no matter what, I’ll still have fun.

The minus of being a plus-one

/ Korbi Kay / 1 Comment

You know that lightness, that fresh feeling of relief after you take a massive dump?

That’s exactly how I felt after staying up all night to handwrite my now-ex-boyfriend a 5-page closure letter, detailing the events that led to our breakup. I’m thorough like that.

It’s also how I felt after finally being able to poop three days into our first trip together, when we shared one bathroom with six people for his sister’s wedding in Indiana.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how a 7-day trip that was supposed to make us ended up breaking up–or were we broken from the start?

This is also the same guy who I had been on 10+ dates with over a year ago, and when I finally said, “hey, commit to it or you don’t get to hit it” (which I’ve actually never had to do before), we decided to just stay friends.

Two months ago, he had some hallelujah! moment on his plane ride home from Europe, where he vacationed with his family for a month (and attended/performed at his friend’s wedding), and realized that he wanted me to be his girlfriend…

Enough to be his sister’s wedding date, anyway.

I don’t know why else he would fly me out knowing I couldn’t afford to miss work, be incredibly sweet to me through the wedding, then suddenly afterwards, pick fights that I had NO way to acquiesce…to the extent that I ended up sleeping on the couch downstairs our last night together, and asked him to drive me to the airport early the next day. He didn’t even argue.

When I asked him where his mom was, who I’d spent over five days getting to know and wanted to thank before I left, he said she was out on a walk. I quickly scribbled a thank-you note that I left on the kitchen table before leaving in tears.

Even on our way to the airport, he continued to yell at me, “You didn’t say goodbye to my sister! You didn’t hug her!”

What was he talking about? I had been nothing but my delightful self to his sister, mom, and entire family. I went out of my way to warmly engage with everyone–as a Pilates instructor, this is part of my job–and basically baby-sat one of the children who decided we were BFFs for two afternoons (to be fair, she was adorable).

Yes, I was out of my comfort zone and this was definitely a for-Ryan, about-Ryan event. Looking back, most of our short relationship seemed centered around Ryan’s world.

Yes, it was awkward to be at a wedding so intimate that I was mentioned in the wedding speech as, “For all of the family standing here…and then Korbi.”

But I felt I held my own, even in the face of challenging circumstances. For him not to see that, and to then essentially dump me afterward…no words can describe that pain.

*Image edited to help Ryan save face.

Much like the nonsense in the audio clip below, none of it makes sense…unless he just wanted a plus-one to show off to his friends and family.

Why else would he drop me off at the airport and then not call me for five days? Why else care so little about me after the main event? If I’m your girlfriend, or even just your friend (as we’d previously been), step up and try to make things right—or just don’t pick solutionless fights in the first place. Take ownership, take accountability, take something other than my time: ask how you can make things better, and at least try to fix them.

That’s what I did our last night together, when I was so upset that I didn’t even want to sleep in the same bed as him. Below is one of the recordings from that night, before he drove me to the airport the next day.

Who is unhinged and has victim mentality here? I don’t know the narrative he told his family, but perhaps they should listen to this clip (as well as the other ones).

There’s he-said, she-said, and then there is the truth.

You can actually hear me say, “I have no idea what I’m apologizing for, but I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings” and give him a hug. That’s how badly I wanted us to just be okay: I tried to take ownership even when there was none.

But it’s like something in his brain was determined to stay upset, no matter what I said or did.

I have over 40 minutes of voice recordings from that night (and yes, he knew he was being recorded), because that’s how ridiculous the fight was, and I didn’t know what else to do besides document it. Granted, this was after two days of similar behavior (him lashing out or crying, me not understanding why but trying to console him), even when our “vacation” revolved entirely around him.

The whole thing is mind-blowing, especially considering how well I got along with his family. I adored his mom, his sister; everyone there, really.

Was he mad that everyone thought I was hilarious enough to win Cards Against Humanity?

I wasted a week of my life getting to know people I guess I’ll never see again. I had my heart broken by someone who couldn’t bother to pick up the phone to call me after spending a week with his family, but could ask about casual sex in the same text about me picking up my stuff from his place.

I finally blocked him.

Yet I’m still here, still surprisingly okay despite everything. I still know my worth, and that I’m worth being someone’s priority instead of their tag-along.

I almost wish I had been at fault, just so I could have a way to fix it, or to at least have learned some kind of lesson.

Maybe the lesson is that there isn’t always one: maybe it’s not always me.

Maybe my only take-away is that with guys like this, I’ll never come first…in more ways than one.

Fantasies (!)

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

Some women fantasize about their wedding day.

Not me.

I fantasize about couples therapy.

Yep, I’m so high-maintenance that I don’t just want one special day all to myself…instead, I want ALL of our days to be special, and dedicated to us, for the rest of eternity.

That’s how insane and impractical I am.

“Ahhh yes, the hungry Bumbler”

/ Korbi Kay / 1 Comment

Everyone approaches dating, and actual in-person dates, differently.

I don’t believe there are hard rules for “right” or “wrong” first dates. This depends entirely on each party’s preference.

Personally, I don’t believe in coffee dates. Coffee is part of my morning routine. Coffee is a beverage, a noun. Coffee is not a verb, not an activity worthy of looking socially acceptable for, nor worth making time for just to remain seated while getting to know another human being (bean? are bad dad jokes still trending?) and consuming a stimulant.

I’ve entertained a handful of coffee dates during my 20’s, and none led to anything promising, nor were particularly enjoyable. They felt like a waste of time.

Before you jump to conclusions and rant about how meals are an expensive commitment to a stranger, realize that there are other inexpensive activities. A hike or museum visit is preferable (and even cheaper than coffee), since even if my date is a dud, I’ve still enjoyed an experience.

Aaaand then I blocked him.

“Ahh yes, the hungry bumbler.”

Let’s just take a moment to appreciate his self-contradictions. He went from calling me “the hungry bumbler” to “looking a bit anorexic.”

So feed me, dingbat.

Insulting a woman’s appearance is the worst approach to address someone who has a different dating style. If you’re that repulsed, move on in silence.

Also: don’t come at my appearance when you’re only 5’9″. I don’t normally take low hanging fruit, but your personality seems ripe with Napoleon complex, so I’ll juice dat m’fuka (not Ebonics, just efficiency. I’m not racist, like some people…).

Grow up. Literally, figuratively, mentally, respectfully.

Now trending: anti-social media (DMs & STFUs)

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

Isn’t the whole point of using dating apps to expedite the meeting-in-person process? Discovering chemistry and compatibility between two people is hard enough; why make scheduling your initial get-together just as grueling?

I’m still struggling to understand why, when given my phone number, an alarmingly high percentage of matches prefer to slide into my DMs via Instagram rather than text or call me. Although more LA men would rather attempt to jerk off to my online photos than actually enjoy my presence in real life, a significant amount of Orange County app users seem just as addicted to the ‘gram.

If you’re lucky enough to have my personal cellphone number, that’s your golden ticket to directly connect and to make plans. These in-the-flesh encounters are frequently referred to as dates, which should be your ultimate goal when using dating apps. They’re definitely mine: I provide my phone number within a few messages, so we can coordinate schedules and proceed from there.

I prefer limiting text correspondence prior to meeting, since this feels like a waste of time. Everyone is different, so I’m not arguing that my approach is “right”.

In fact, my male friend had a negative experience with a girl who felt he did not text her enough prior to their actual date, so she ended up cancelling.

I still think he dodged a bullet…not because she had certain correspondence expectations, but because she did not articulate these needs. Communication is crucial, especially in communicating how you communicate.

That said, a short phone call prior to meeting is not only acceptable but also a savvy maneuver, since this gives you a better idea of conversational compatibility than a text marathon.

As much as I despise FaceTime, I’m not opposed to a quick session, just to verify that I do look like my photos.

Should you ignore this opportunity and attempt a lesser means of connection, you risk not only losing this person’s interest (ahem, mine)–how many successful souls regularly check their social media messages?–but also losing your tact. “Connecting” on social platforms is not the most intimate nor effective way to interact.

Viewing an Instagram profile is one of the worst ways to learn who someone truly is…and an especially inaccurate method of verifying identity.

Yet here we are.

And sure enough, Hinge-cringe Matthew was not trying to confirm my authenticity. Instead, he proceeded to DM me slightly crude (almost kinda flatteringish?) messages in response to specific photos….

*in unsolicited response to edited Instagram images. I don’t use dating apps to gain social media followers, nor to validate my self-worth.

That’s what sending selfies to ex-boyfriends is for.

Because of his approach, Matthew and I are not closer to connecting. If anything, I feel more disconnected, and have lost pretty much all interest.

We are not enjoying a meal, a hike, the beach, nor a museum together….and meanwhile, he views my online photos in an almost voyeuristic way, from the comfort of his hammock (just speculating, but I imagine this as his happy place for scrolling while LOLing). In return, I gain nothing.

Once upon a time, men slayed dragons…but hey, way to woo me behind the comfort of your digital screen.

For the record: Matthew never attempted to make plans for a first date, despite his fascination with my online presence.

Perhaps even worse: having someone’s phone number and being too afraid to call.

Me: “Have time for a quick phone convo to determine the extent that we hate each other? /conversational compatibility”

Him: “Honestly I’m not a phone conversation person off the start. I can be shy at first until I get to know someone.”

How do you get to know someone without talking, be it over the phone or more importantly, face-to-face?

If you can’t have a phone conversation with the possible love of your life, what chance do you have at a successful relationship–or even a successful career?

If only this social media fixation was limited to these two interactions. Alack, years of extensive research in LA–and now OC–prove that this is an obnoxious yet ubiquitous part of dating culture. Seems like all we can do is set our Instagrams to “private” and just keep swiping…

#UnfollowDGAF