"I like you and am attracted to you, however I don't feel a connection with you."

This is what he said to me after knowing me for just thirty minutes. THIRTY MINUTES. It wasn't even a date. It was just meeting for coffee. A get-to-know you cup of Starbucks. That's all it was.

Little did I know that I should have been putting it ALL out there and ensure there was a connection after just THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES OF CONVERSATION.

I've made a bold decision. No more dating. I've had it. My soul is weary from it. It is exhaustive and futile. The summer's here and the 100+° temperatures make it a good time to retreat indoors and bring a moratorium on meeting anyone new. I'll just remain air-conditioned and cynical. Maybe when the weather cools off — in November — I'll get back on the horse but for now I am suspending all dating and dating-related activities.

I'd say I'd just become a slut and whore around in lieu of dating, but I've done that and it's just a fruitless. And what's the point? Murphy's Law has dictated that when I find a casual relationship that seems to work, that's when the guy decides he wants more. "I don't even know anything about you," he said as I was getting dressed. "Um...isn't that the point?" I thought. Apparently while I was thinking fuck buddy, he was thinking friend with benefits. So not the same thing.

But none of that matters now, because this is going to be the Summer Not of Love™. That's right. I'll say it again. The Summer Not of Love™.

I'll take up a hobby. Plastic bead mosaics or making dreamcatchers or some shit. After all, who needs sex or companionship when you have yarn and popsicle sticks. Maybe scrapbooking. As long as there is glitter and lots of glue. And ric rac. GOLD ric rac. And fuzzy pom-poms.

I'll just spend all summer channeling my unused sexual energy into crafts. That's what most housewives do.