relationships

DIY Happily Ever After

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

So much for getting knocked up by a rich guy in Orange County. At least I tried, and now I understand the flaws of this plan. 

I refuse to shut up, smile, and agree with everything you say…unless I’m getting paid to behave obediently, like a little bitch. Woof. 

I have too many thoughts and feelings to simply be arm-and-eye candy, which seems to be the cost of these relationships. Everything has a cost. There is a price to pay for being financially dependent on a partner, and it’s one my soul cannot afford. 

Forget Hot Girl Summer: I want a Rich Girl Recess. 

I packed my bags and moved to Malibu a few months ago, where I actually earn money to teach Pilates. Unlike Orange County, Los Angeles pays a livable wage for challenging, form-focused sessions. 

I discover a tremendous sense of community–of belonging–that I hadn’t expected. It’s the healing that I have needed for awhile. 

Sure, I haven’t been intimate with anyone since my Italian lover helped me move here, but I get ample endorphins from free Pilates classes. 

It’s not the same, but it’s something. 

Helping people gives me a sense of satisfaction. I actually want to get out of bed in the morning, and am excited to go to the studio. I’ve learned to survive on my own (well, and I get by with the help of my friends).

Since I’m currently budgeting, I don’t have the luxury of beauty splurges or dining out. Protein bars and my reusable water bottle have become survival staples. I realize how much money I wasted on aesthetic procedures in my younger years, mostly in hopes of attracting love.

Clearly, those appearance expenses didn’t help me find my special someone. There should be a money-back guarantee when being hot doesn’t lead to a romantic happily-ever-after (and instead, just “looking fuckable” with no ROI), but alas.

Instead of spending money to look photo-shoot ready, I focus on earning money–and to being the kind of person you want to get stuck in an elevator with. Obviously, I have to maintain some sense of external self-preservation (I will moisturize, and exercise, until the day I die). But I’m even more determined to be funny and fun.

It’s been at least a month since my last manicure. Today, instead of getting my partially-intact, Wolverine-looking nails polished and prettified at the nail salon, I remove the last shimmers of nail polish and the few nail-extension tips that haven’t already chipped.

Raw, bare, and fully-functional; I have become happy with almost nothing. 

And that, in itself, is everything.

Beach boys

/ Korbi Kay / Leave a comment

Ermagherrrrd! I have a date tomorrow with a gentleman who asked me out while I was writing at the beach, scribbling in the sand.

Headphones on, I was caught completely off-guard.

I don’t know his name. He is saved in my phone as “Hot Surfer Huntington Beach”.

Since I rarely get approached in public—a fact that annoys me—I am particularly elated. I owe it to the ocean to write more often.

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.

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.