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Excellent.

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Pretty sure I can do all of that without you if you know what I mean.

Silence

Hi from my sickbed.

After arriving at my office early this morning, my co-workers told me to leave immediately. They claimed I looked like I was either hungover, half dead, or both. Truth is, these days, I don’t have enough “fun” to be hungover anymore.

So here I lay ill. And for the first time in months, I’ve actually had time to think about things other than my job or networking or being funny or being adept in social situations (i.e. not drooling on my own shirt when I’m feeling relaxed in public places).

You may wonder what I’m thinking about. You may not. But either way, I’m going to tell you.

All I can think about is dating and the disappointments that come with it.

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What?

Are You There, Bullies? It’s Me, Kelly

I came to a realization this week.

After reading this article, I’ve come to believe that my status as a late bloomer is the result of my years of being bullied during my formative years. I’m up to speed now in that department, but back then? Forget it. I was lucky if a guy wanted to be my partner during science lab.

My awkward self at age 16:

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When I look back on my time in high school, I see a girl who couldn’t understand why not one guy was interested in her. While most of my friends had relationships during these formative years, I was forever the singleton. I was the girl who couldn’t get a date to prom — I went stag to both of them — and I was the girl who tried to be content hanging with the single ladies every weekend while the rest of my friends spent time with their pre-pubescent boyfriends.

I swear the guys I went to high school with aged far more slowly than their public school counterparts. No muscles or facial hair to speak of, as far as I know.

So I suppose my main question is, did my time as the victim of high school bullies make me into the late bloomer I am?

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The Friendship Problem

Finding friends is like dating, except harder. And more necessary.

I had no idea how lucky I was to have people living in the same house as me in college. Living with the girls below was like having constant entertainment and companionship. What I’d give to go back to that big, crazy house…

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When I moved to LA last July, I only had a handful of friends out here. Like any naive college kid with a hefty number of people in her phone’s contact list, I assumed I’d easily pick up more friends as soon as I arrived in my new(ish) city. Having spent three summers out here prior to making the permanent move, I was confident in my ability to find fun people to spend time with in a totally unromantic, strictly platonic way. I thought it’d be easy to make a whole bunch of friends who I could hang out with whenever I wanted, just like when I was in college.

I was wrong.

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Mind The (Age) Gap

While chatting with a friend back on the East Coast today, we got onto the topic of age. The old adage “age is nothing but a number” may ring true in some situations, but in dating? Age is actually a lot more than a number. At least in my experience.

I am 23 years old. I have been 23 years old since December. And I already feel so much older than 21 and 22-year-olds. So much so, that I told Ok Cupid and Tinder not to pair me with anyone younger than 23. Here’s why:

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