2018 was a busy year for me. I got a new job. And a new car. And a boyfriend. A lot of people got married. I did some freelance work. I even started a book club. I meant to write 100 blog posts that I never finished writing, but this is one that I am fully committed to finishing. It’s a story about trying to overcome possibly the biggest sale I needed to make: the sale of my first car. (That was also a blog post I wanted to write: a proper sendoff to my first car. Despite the boat-likeness of it, and its tendency to give up on the whole driving thing, I have a soft spot for Taurus.) I wanted him to go to a good home.

I’ve never been someone who’s attracted to simpletons. I love the dramatic. My favorite movies are tragedies. It should be no surprise then that I pursue the same principles in romance. This here is the story of how I dated a woman for five weeks who broke up with me no less than four times – and I stayed through it all.

Most might assume I have no self-esteem if I’m willing to stay with someone who keeps breaking up with me, but you could also say it’s a sign of someone who doesn’t really care. Sara and I have long heralded the motto of “Do it for the story,” and well, look, I got a story.

“Sheila” and I met on Bumble. If this had been Plenty of Fish or OkCupid, I might have been able to predict the craziness. Instead, we exchanged numbers our first night and never stopped texting.

Our tale begins in early summer when I went on a date with a woman I met off Bumble. We grabbed drinks, and I quickly realized there was no spark here, so I ordered two more drinks to drown out my lack of interest. During the course of our conversation, she revealed her ex worked for my friend’s father. I had never met her ex, but had heard of him, so said nothing.

Due to mutual disinterest (she sent me an unfounded breakup message two days after the date), we never saw each other again.

If you read this blog often or follow us on Instagram, you likely know that one of Cazey’s favorite brunch spots in Richmond was Star-Lite, so when we found out it was closing, we immediately made plans to go to their final brunch service to say our goodbyes.

You know what they say, though, when one door shuts, another door opens.

And that door happens to be to Brunch, the latest companion restaurant to Lunch | Supper.

Lately, I’ve found myself on Bumble. Despite assertions that I am a happy single (which is relatively true), I also find myself seeking validation and attention like any self-involved twenty-something via a cultivated dating profile. Who thinks I’m attractive and witty? Are they also attractive and witty?

Bumble, like the majority of dating apps, revolves around swiping to others’ profiles - right if I think they’re photogenic, intelligent, and have some career trajectory; left if less than cute, ultra-conservative, or have some predisposition for puppy-eared Snapchat filter selfies. (Seriously, girls - maybe guys too - don’t do that crap.)

When I ran into “Vanessa” - a name designation made only for the alliteration of “Vanessa the Vixen” - a few weeks ago, I hadn’t seen her in years. The last time I thought of her was probably two years before and only because her younger sister posted something on Facebook tagging her.

Growing up, Vanessa always existed in the periphery of my universe. She was the older, popular, valley girl-esque blonde who lived in my neighborhood and always seemed to be attached to some faceless jock. We went to the same elementary, middle, and high school and then even college, but I don’t think we ever ran into each other there. We may have 160 mutual friends on social media, but that hardly denotes being part of the same friendship circle.

Once upon a time in undergrad, I had a roommate who was very particular about her belongings. I won't elaborate on the details other than to say that one time I chipped the lid of a pot from a 12-piece, $40 set, and I never heard the end of it.

The roommate and I decided to part ways come the end of our lease. However, we still had three months left to live together.

A cool night in late April, I took the recycling out and went to grab a new bag. We kept the bags - the paper bags from the grocery store - underneath a heavy box on the pantry shelf. I pulled a bag out and was opening it when I heard a BAM!

Ever since I turned 25, I get really bad hangovers. Not like the ones in college, where I’d just lay around for an hour and then recover. I’m talking full-day, heartburn, headache, light sensitivity and desperately needing a nap.

Cazey likes to tell me that he doesn’t get hangovers, which is especially obnoxious when I’m lying around helplessly hungover.

What’s most annoying is that my hangovers are unexpected. Once I drank four beers over the course of five hours and woke up with a splitting headache. A few weeks later, I drank at least four tequila drinks before switching to a beer or two and woke up ready for the day.

So, you all know me from several blogposts, most notably the time I starred as the illegal roommate. I have mostly written on food and travel in the past, but today, I’m writing about my favorite hobby: Couponing.

Now I know what you’re thinking… couponing is for old ladies. I’m going to highlight the four mobile apps that I use to save hundreds each year. Yes, hundreds!

My parents have never taken kindly to my travels. When I say “parents,” I mean my mom. My dad only cares that I’m financially secure. “Yes, Dad, I can afford this impromptu trip to Amsterdam, but I won’t decline your $20 for gas money.”

My parents’ apprehension does not surprise me. Until this year, they hadn’t been on a plane in 30 years or ever been abroad. On the other hand, I had talked of distant lands since third grade, so I don’t know why anyone was surprised when I hopped off to Denmark three years ago…and then Amsterdam…and then Qatar, Germany, Costa Rica, Italy, Portugal, Spain, etc.