Solo in the 2nd City! You are a year old, but you don’t look a day over, um, 9 months.

Solo in the 2nd City! Thank you for giving me an opportunity to speak my mind about being a spinster, excuse me, I mean a single lady, to a room of friendly (or maybe just drunk) strangers, instead of my fellow riders on the Broadway bus.

It probably would have been nice if I had come prepared, maybe with a chart or a PowerPoint presentation, to tell you about every important thing I’ve learned about being single in the year since Solo in the 2nd City, have come into existence.

But to be honest I have learned nothing at all. Not one thing.

Okay, one thing. I learned one thing.

Being single… is different for everybody. There are as many ways to being single as there are single people.

And, from what I can tell, I have been doing it all wrong.

Like, when you’re single, you can go on actual dates; or, if you are like me, you can go on elaborate pretend dates with cute guys you see on the bus.

You can take yourself out to a cool bar (like this one!), and meet some cute thing who will buy you a drink. Of, if you are like me, you use a “buy 1, get 1 free” coupon at Chipotle to buy two burritos – one for you, and one for you again at 1 in the morning when you have a totally crucial burrito emergency.

You can be assertive and unapologetic about fulfilling physical needs. By which I mean, you can go out and get laid. Or, if you’re me, you can stick to tweeting about how you just walked past a dude who leered at you while he was peeing in one of those glass bus shelters, and you can’t stop laughing about how you totally saw his penis.

And then you tweet again when you realize that his dick is the only actual in person real live penis you have seen in a really long time.

What is the hashtag for that?

You would think that after being single for so long, I would have learned to change my ways or maybe change (by which I mean, LOWER) my expectations.

But I haven’t.

I don’t think I’m any braver or bolder as a single person than I was a year ago. But just so you don’t think I’m a total douche, I’m pretty sure I’m not any smarter, either.

Definitely prettier, though. Uh huh.

Like, I know that the key to getting better at something is to get over my fear of being bad at it first. I should practice dating like I practiced playing handbells in high school, or practiced reading this essay in the ladies room at work.

Maybe I could get the ball rolling by responding to one of the few eloquently written messages I get from potential suitors on OKCupid?

But I never quite know how to follow up a message from an online dating service that says

Hi how are you doing my name is Edgar* and I am a 29 m Puerto Rican from Chicago and I wanted to know if you would like talk sometime I hope to hear from you soon take care

[*Not his real name!]

Or I should definitely talk up one of you dudes later and, after it’s been established that you are 1. single yourself, and 2. are not completely repulsed, I should, give you my real phone number.

But maybe you shouldn’t call me just yet.

Just let me take care of a few errands, like, um, doing my laundry, returning these library books, getting my teeth cleaned, refilling my prescriptions, renewing my lease, going to the mall to get resized at the fancy lingerie store so I can buy new bras, harvesting my eggs for the children I’m pretty sure I’m not having, and when that’s all done I’ll have discovered that you, theoretical dude, will have already bought a manhattan for the other chick who is way more fun or at least less of a hassle than me.

One year ago tonight, I got up on the stage at Solo in the 2nd City’s first reading and read an essay which was basically a history of my singledom, and how that singledom was grounded in a weirdness that I don’t think I’ve yet managed to shake.

I wrote about how excited I was to be coming to Chicago for college after years spent at an all-girls school. I was so excited to get there that it never occurred to me that I should figure out what it was I wanted to do once I arrived. I was totally clueless.

This is what I wrote last year:

I had no role models for dating… Where was the romance (or at least just the sex?) I’d been expecting? Whenever I saw people huddled together on campus I’d get excited because I thought they were necking but then I realized they were just standing together to keep warm.

The difference between then and now is that I feel like I do have some role models, like my fellow readers here, who will bravely share the triumphs and the tragedies of their own dating lives in public for my amusement and edification.

I have friends who will commiserate with me when my latest attempt to try to chat up the that hot ginger with tattooed knuckles on the North Avenue bus goes awry.

People are still huddling up, standing close. It’s winter here in Chicago, and winter in Chicago is fucking cold.

But while our friend the groundhog predicted an early spring a few weeks ago, we’ve still got a way to go until the warmth, the joy, and the light of springtime comes back into our lives.

And into our loins.

It wasn’t hard to catch on to the change to the schedule, as any impulse you might have to run to your locker to get your French workbook before class was immediately stricken down by the sight and sound of several hundred girls racing down flights and flights of stairs to the assembly hall. So you’d run to your homeroom, fling your bag in the general direction of your desk, and then hustle downstairs, hoping somebody would save you a decent seat for the morning’s program (good: all male a capella singing group from Yale because hello DUDES and aren’t the Whiffenpoofs basically the private school version of, like One Direction?; bad: talk from mumbling adult about something boring but VERY IMPORTANT like THE ENVIRONMENT).

2. I’m thinking of bringing back my annual list of right-ons, where I’d make a list of things I loved, inspired by Marlys Mullen of Lynda Barry’s comics. I think everybody should do it.

3. I need a perfect, crisp $5 bill to tuck into Hyacinth’s birthday card. Because yes, she is going to be five. And little Nathan is six. And I am older, too.

4. I don’t even want to think about how old I am. Oh, yes I do. Mainly because I love birthdays and mine especially and how I’d dearly love to host a party except my apartment can maybe hold three people. I think I may just invite people to join me at Hot Doug’s on the day and see who turns up to stand on line for a hot dog for a long time. Maybe I could get to Doug’s as soon as they open and just spend the entire day there, holding court at the large round table, and just eating and hanging with people show up until I have to be taken to the hospital on a special hot dog bun stretcher that looks like the life-size hot dog bun at the Chicago History Museum.

i’m delicious

5. I may finally use the restaurant gift card that Leah gave me for house sitting last year. I am very excited to use it at the Olive Garden. I’ve never been to one. The prospect of unlimited breadsticks makes me very happy.

6. The Shedd Aquarium has a blue lobster. It’s true! He? She? is on reserve, and therefore not visible to the public. You can, however, meet this lobster if you sign up for the behind the scenes tour which, while lacking penguin encounters, is quite informative and fun and you do get to pet these goldfish with bumpy heads.

7. I went to Hot Doug’s yesterday with Carly. We only waited 15? 20? minutes before we made our way inside and ordered lunch. If I didn’t manage to develop gout after eating THREE HOT DOGS and half a large order of cheese fries, then I really must be indestructible. My theory is that I’ve eaten so many processed foods, and there are preservatives left in my body that are keeping me alive (if not exactly healthy).

8. Still watching “Girls” even if the new season is pretty boring so far.

9. My brother and Anna are coming to visit in March. Not the weekend of St. Patrick’s, so we won’t be forced to fight crowds of binge drinkers and tourists. But maybe we should plan on wearing green items anyway so we don’t run the risk of getting pinched in crowds?

10. Thanks to Kim and Joseline’s suggestions, I am now thinking of going to far off places that I haven’t yet saved up for yet. Iceland, Turkey, and Sweden are my top three, though Peru may knock Sweden out of the running.

I don’t think there’s anything in the universe telling me that I need to return to Paris. I was only there last year, albeit for a day. A day, or a few days, is not enough for most places, especially Paris. Not when there’s so much walking and eating and shopping and more eating and occasionally drinking to do.

This morning, when I was reading the book on the bus, the Spotify app on my smartphone played the French version of “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You” by Michael Jackson. In French, the song is called “Je Ne Veux Pas La Fin De Nous”. Which sounds to me like “I Do Not Want The End Of Us”. It has the same feeling of longing as the original English title, but with a little more desperation.

If that isn’t the universe but the ghost of a French speaking and singing Michael Jackson telling me to get to France, then I don’t know what.

It seems that the last time I blogged here was June 2012. What the fuck have I been up to since then? A lot, I’d imagine, but I can only seem to remember the following:

1. Seen Magic Mike three times.
2. Visited New York City twice.
   1. September 2012: Got bitten by a million mosquitos in Uncle Gerhard’s garden. Stayed at Maria and Clancy’s without actually seeing either Maria or Clancy. Attended my first US Open (thank you, Gabe). Nearly ate lunch at Le Bernardin. Ate at Shake Shack twice. Sweated profusely throughout.
   2. December 2012/January 2013: Saw family. Stayed at Kevin and Gabe’s. Looked after Guapo. Saw Anna. Visited New Haven and Philadelphia. Saw one of The Screams at MoMA. First visit to The Highline and The Spotted Pig. Upgraded to first class both ways because it was cheap and you get actual food and drink on plates and in glasses. Celebrated New Year’s Eve by watching CNN with Patrick while eating Wendy’s.
3. Celebrated my first anniversary at work.
4. Won tickets to Lollapalooza.
   1. Still so excited that Patrick actually flew in to be my +1.
   2. Patrick thinks the first night, where we sat on a grassy knoll-y spot while listening to the Black Keys with a bunch of other chill folks was the best.
   3. We saw Alison Brie from “Community” and that was very exciting because that show is awesome.
   4. Frank Ocean was the best.
5. Paid off three credit cards, much to the dismay of my emergency fund.
6. Got to vote in my first presidential election.
7. Housesat for my friend Leah.
   1. I really enjoyed this. Leah has two cats, and they were delightful. Also, there was a little rooftop patio for diet soda drinking and book reading when the weather was nice.
   2. She lives in Greektown so of course I ate a lot of gyros during my stay.
8. Thought about restarting this personal blog, but got distracted by something on Tumblr or Twitter.
9. Joined committee for my college reunion (15 years, y’all).
10. Celebrated Thanksgiving with homemade fried chicken at Lisa and Justin’s with them and a couple of pals. Also saw ThanksKilling — incredible.
11. Swore that 2013:
    1. … will be the year that I am finally done with these Invisalign trays that I should have finished with in March 2011.
    2. … will be the year I actually finish writing something (a blog post, an essay, an ebook, a screenplay, a grocery list).
    3. will be the year I actually go out with one of these dudes who sometimes message me on OKC. #forreal
    4. will be the year I go somewhere I’ve not yet been.*

* Suggestions are encouraged.

@jasmined Why are you just a bowl full of awesome?

— WoodlawnWonder (@WoodlawnWonder) June 6, 2012

It’s posted over at Solo In The Second City, so go listen to it already!

a reunion

It was towards the end of the party, at a lovely home in a sleepy village west of Chicago, that the parents, all old friends, started herding their children together to take a picture.

The children took their places standing in front of, or hanging on the hips of, their parents, who made sure their children faced the cameras. The parents, who all met long ago in that magical time known as the 1990s at a magical place called Hogwarts the University of Chicago, looked much the same as they did when they first met. The children, of course, looked just like their parents.

One slightly bashful looking auntie, childless herself, was prodded into place. Shutters (do digital cameras have shutters?) clicked or flashed, and the auntie tried to ignore the fact that she bore more than a passing resemblance to a certain Mrs. Potatohead in this very important photograph.

The picture made, the children sprung back into action, climbing and clambering, and time started forward once more.

I think I read aloud okay, but I feel I can always stand to read louder, slower, and stronger. Maybe try some of the jokier bits on people and see how they feel about them, because maybe the bits are just a little too jokey. Tighten up my sentences, remember to breathe. I’ll try not to forget these should I get the opportunity to read, either for Solo or for another party, in the future.

Annabel Garcia of ChicagoTalks.org wrote this lovely piece about Solo in the Second City. Please read it, especially the bit about me:

Jasmine Davila, 36 a software tester is one of those authors who was approached. She said that she had never read at another event but has read at Solo in the Second City and will be doing it again in May.

“I think reading for the series has helped me figure out how to write for performance,” said Davila. “It also reminded me that I love reading to people and I love being read to.”

The following is a list of shit that I do by myself:

Go to the movies. Eat at restaurants. Go to my friends’ weddings. Choose a health care plan. Have sex.

Please. Hold your applause.

After years of going to movies, dinners, and weddings by myself, I had determined that I was a pretty good date so why not take it a bit further and really go somewhere alone?

Typically, when I travel, I’m lucky enough to be visiting friends or family. But I figured after a few years of sleeping on air mattresses or couches, of spending my visits trying to see as many as possible in the space of a few days, I deserved a vacation where I could do whatever I wanted to do because I was the only person to consider when it came to planning what to do. No debates over which meals to dine out, no arguing over which train or bus to take, and if I wanted to pay too much money to visit the Doctor Who experience, nobody would scold me for it.

Back in January, I got some extra income from a freelance writing gig right around the time that United Airlines reduced the number of frequent flier miles needed to fly to Europe. A single imaginary light bulb went off over my head.

I spent a few days dithering about the when and where, then finally booked a ticket to London, a city I had not visited in nearly 20 years, and reserved a room called “The Captain’s Cabin” at the Lincoln House Hotel. I acquired a carry-on suitcase, started brushing up on my English (ha ha), and remembered that if I had to shop for pants at any point during my stay I should remember to ask for “trousers” lest I be directed to ladies underwear.

My flight departed Chicago the evening of Valentine’s Day, landing at Heathrow the next morning. The flight itself was uneventful, pleasant, even, as I had a row of seats to myself and when the flight attendant came around with drinks I got the whole can of Coca-Cola.

Truthfully, I hate flying (I even used to fear it terribly) and I remember thinking if the plane crashed into the Atlantic Ocean or into Iceland, would I feel okay about some unknown news outlet, in covering the tragedy, referring to me as “lonely London-bound lady tourist, Jasmine Davila, aged 46″?

Sure, but only if that news outlet was the New York Times.

Once I landed, and got through security, I took the tube from Heathrow to my hotel in Marylebone during rush hours so my suitcase, which I previously thought was so small and handy, tagged me as a tourist and got in the way of commuters as they tried to board the train.

Upon arriving at my hotel at 9:30, I was informed that my room wouldn’t be ready until 1:00, so I spent 3 and a half hours taking the tube all over central London instead of doing something sensible like finding a place to sit down, have a bite to eat, and just chilling. Instead of eating one of those absurdly large English breakfasts people go on about, I found myself tromping up and down the banks of the Thames, avoiding seagulls and German tourists wearing pristine sneakers.

It was probably just as well that I was alone as I can’t imagine that anything I could have said to another person would have made any sense. I’d been up for over 24 hours, my hair was greasy and frizzy at the same time, and my eyeliner was in desperate need of a refresh. If I happened to encounter you during this period, I apologize for freaking you out with my appearance.

Once I was permitted to check into what I discovered was the tiniest hotel room in the world, I took a shower, tuned the television to the UK version of TLC, ate some prawn flavored crisps, and passed out.

The next morning, I took a train to Paris (ooh la la!) to visit the Louvre. The museum was full of Italian and Spanish teenage girls, all sporting Amy Winehouse hairdos and spraytans. There were school groups led by handsome young male teachers who, luckily for me, liked to wear their trousers a bit more snugly than their American counterparts. Maybe the heat was on a bit too strong, or I was getting overheated from all the pants, so I left the museum after a couple of hours and looked for something to eat that wasn’t from a one of the stands selling sausages or watered down hot chocolate.

Exiting the museum, I made my way to the Left Bank, which was lined with expensive restaurants on one side and antique book sellers on the other. I had the faintest notion that I was heading west, towards the Ponts des Arts.

It’s a bridge where lovers go and lock locks onto it, swearing eternal love and devotion (or at least until someone comes along and cuts those locks off). As soon as I caught sight of the bridge, I could feel my face contorting into a grimace. “Fuck that bridge!” I said. “Who needs it? Not me!”

And then I got kinda sad. Here I was, alone, in the city everybody seems to agree is the most romantic city on Earth, bound towards probably its most romantic spot. I thought about turning around, heading towards someplace dark and lonely where I could be sad. Instead, I sped up a bit, humming and then singing this song:

Never mind, I’ll find someone like you

I paused, looked to see if anybody heard me. Nobody except a couple of pigeons. So I kept going, singing as I strolled across the bridge and took pictures of the locks and the lovers who shared the bridge with me.

I wish nothing but the best for you
Don’t forget me, I beg
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.”

Once I was finished, I was on land again and, finally, completely ravenous for something to eat.

Hey, it’s Asian Adele!

This totally killer poster was designed by Chien-An Yuan.

I’m reading something (that I have yet to write) for Solo in the Second City: Live at Transistor.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to write something about: recent solo trips to the movies, my first solo vacation three months ago, how some grown-ass men on the bus act all delicate when my allegedly gigantic self sits in the vacant seat next to them, and how I think my brother and I may be turning into Matthew and Marilla from Anne of Green Gables.

It’s gonna be swell. There will be readings from Carly, Melinda, and me, and a musical performance by Jon & Carly. Afterwards, maybe we can all go get a hamburger or something.

• Solo In The Second City: Live at Transistor [FB]
• TRANSISTOR [www]
• Solo in the Second City [tmblr]
• Chien-An Yuan (designer who created the gorgeous poster)