I Thought Looking For A House Would Be Easy. It's Taxing. You Have To Visit The Location. Check If You

I'm a night owl. I find that the quiet and calmness of the night allow me to focus and be more productive. There's something magical about the stillness of the night, where the world feels like it's paused, giving me the space to think, reflect, and create without distractions. I love how the night offers a sense of solitude and peace, which is perfect for unwinding or diving into creative projects.

When someone tells me I need to forgive them, I just remember what Taylor Swift said:

"You don't have to forgive and you don't have to forget to move on. You can move on without any of those things happening. You just become indifferent and then you move on."

Do you believe in forgiveness?

"Yes, absolutely. Like for people that are important in your life who have added, you know, who have enriched your life and made it better and also there's been some struggles and some bad stuff too… but I think that if something's toxic and it's only ever really been that what are you gonna do? Just move on. It's fine."

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I sat at the dinner table with my parents. I had been waiting for this moment—the moment to talk about him. I smiled as I spoke, telling them what a great guy he was. He was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, and, I believed, someone who genuinely cared for me. I was convincing them—convincing myself, really—that I had found someone good.

Little did I know, while I was telling my parents how lucky I was, my phone was buzzing with messages I hadn’t seen yet. Messages that would unravel everything. He had chosen that very moment, when I was trying to paint him in the best possible light, to break me.

When I finally checked my phone later that night, there it was—a breakup in the coldest, most unexpected way. “I don’t think this is working out,” he wrote. As if my heart wasn’t already racing from the excitement of sharing him with my parents, it shattered all over again reading his words.

How could I have been so wrong about him? One minute, I was talking about how wonderful he was; the next, I was realizing that everything I believed had been a lie. It was like a cruel joke the universe was playing on me—the timing, the irony of it all.

I replayed my earlier conversation with my parents in my head, feeling like a fool. I had spent the better part of the afternoon defending someone who wasn’t even fighting for me. I was pouring out words of love and admiration, while he was silently letting go. And the worst part? I never saw it coming.

It’s strange how blind we can be when we’re in love. We see only what we want to see—the good moments, the gentle words, the potential of what could be. I was so caught up in the idea of him that I missed the reality that he wasn’t as invested as I was.

In that moment, I wasn’t just heartbroken over losing him—I was heartbroken over the version of him I had built up in my mind. The version I wanted so badly to be true, the one I was excited to share with my parents. But he wasn’t that guy. Not even close.

As I sat in my room that night, the pain hit me in waves. The disappointment of not just losing someone I loved but also realizing I had been wrong about him hurt deeply. I felt embarrassed, not only because I had just told my parents how wonderful he was, but because I had believed it myself.

But as the days passed, I realized this heartbreak wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too. About how I had let myself settle for someone who wasn’t deserving of the love I had to offer. How I had been so focused on getting others to see his goodness that I forgot to see if he was good for me.

Looking back now, I realize that heartbreak has a way of teaching us the lessons we don’t want to learn. I learned that sometimes the people we think are good for us are the ones who hurt us the most. I learned that it’s okay to be wrong about someone, but it’s not okay to stop trusting yourself because of it.

He may have broken my heart while I was defending his character, but in the end, I’m the one who gets to decide how to pick up the pieces. And next time, I’ll be more careful about who I choose to give those pieces to.

Hahahaha!

The restaurant was charming, the kind of place you’d only stumble upon if you knew exactly where to look. Warm lights cast a soft glow over the table, and the hum of quiet conversation filled the space. We had been talking about everything—our favorite places to visit, the movies that shaped us, even our love-hate relationship with dating apps. It was one of those nights where everything felt easy. Until the food arrived.

The waiter approached, carefully setting a large, beautifully arranged seafood platter between us. Shrimp, mussels, oysters—the works. The kind of dish that would impress any other date. But for me? It was like watching a horror show unfold in slow motion.

I froze, staring at the plate as my stomach sank. The last time I’d come into contact with seafood, I ended up in the hospital, my throat closing before I could even realize what was happening. The mere sight of it was enough to send my heart racing.

“Everything alright?” he asked, noticing my hesitation.

I glanced up, not wanting to make a scene, but there was no avoiding it.

“Uh… I’m actually allergic to seafood,” I said, my voice quieter than usual.

His eyes widened in shock, and for a split second, I saw the panic flash across his face.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he said, his hand immediately going to his forehead like he couldn’t believe his own mistake. “I didn’t even think to ask. I swear I’ll double-check next time!”

I couldn’t help but smile, even as the waiter, who overheard, swiftly took the plate away to replace it with something less life-threatening.

“It’s okay,” I replied, waving it off, though I couldn’t quite hide the nervous laugh that followed. “Happens more often than you’d think.”

He looked relieved, but the guilt still hung in the air. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, his expression sincere.

“No, really, that’s on me. I should’ve asked. I don’t want to accidentally kill you on a first date,” he said with a grin, though the joke barely masked his embarrassment.

I laughed, the tension breaking a little more. “Yeah, that would definitely put a damper on things.”

As we waited for the replacement dish, the conversation flowed again, though with a few seafood-related jokes sprinkled in.

“I’ll be sure to stay far away from shellfish from now on,” he added with a sheepish smile. “You’ve made me rethink my entire seafood-loving existence.”

“Well,” I said, “at least you’ll never forget this date.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No chance. Next time, I’m asking about everything. I’m talking allergies, preferences, zodiac signs—whatever I need to know to avoid another seafood disaster.”

I couldn’t help but be charmed by how quickly he turned the situation around. It wasn’t just that he apologized; it was that he genuinely cared. He wasn’t trying to brush it off or make me feel like I was overreacting. He was thoughtful, and the way he handled it—so effortlessly kind—was something I didn’t expect but appreciated more than I could say.

As the night went on, it became less about the seafood mishap and more about how we laughed through it. That small moment could’ve been awkward or embarrassing, but instead, it brought us closer. His genuine concern and the way he quickly promised to do better next time told me a lot about who he was.

When the new dish finally arrived—this time a seafood-free option—he grinned. “Now, how’s that for a safer choice?”

I smiled back. “Perfect."

The night wrapped up, and as we left the restaurant, the cool breeze brushing past us, I found myself thinking about how one small mistake revealed so much about someone’s character. It wasn’t about avoiding errors or being perfect; it was about how we handle those little bumps along the way.

As we said goodnight, he leaned in and said, “Next time, it’s on me. And I promise, no seafood.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. “Just steer clear of lobsters, okay?”

We parted ways, and as I walked home, I realized something. It wasn’t the flawless date that stuck with me—it was the way he turned a near disaster into something that felt like the beginning of something real. A small mistake, yes, but one handled with so much care that I couldn’t help but look forward to whatever came next.

Three days to go, we’ll be saying hello to 2021. But it feels like we’re stuck in 2020 because of the pandemic. 

Woke up with a blurry right eye

Why Some Men See Accountability as an Attack Instead of Growth

Accountability. A simple concept, right? Own up to your actions, learn from mistakes, grow as a person. But for some men, being held accountable feels like an all-out assault on their very existence. The moment they hear, “Hey, that wasn’t cool,” they react like you just questioned their entire identity. So why does accountability send some guys into full-on defense mode instead of helping them grow? Hmm. Let’s break it down.

1. The Ego Can’t Handle It

For some men, being wrong isn’t just about the situation at hand—it’s a hit to their ego. Admitting a mistake feels like admitting they are the problem, rather than just something they did. Instead of just saying, “Yeah, I messed up,” they’d rather go into mental gymnastics mode, twisting the situation until somehow, miraculously, they’re the victim. Wow. Just wow. 😆

2. The "Alpha Male" Complex

Somewhere along the way, a lot of men were taught that taking responsibility is a sign of weakness. They believe real men should always be confident, always be in control, and never admit to screwing up. The irony? True confidence comes from owning up to mistakes and learning from them. But try telling that to someone who thinks growth is just for plants. 🌱

3. The Victim Mindset

Rather than taking accountability, some guys flip the script and play the victim. "Why are you always criticizing me?" "I can’t do anything right." "You never appreciate what I do." Suddenly, what should have been a simple conversation about their actions turns into you having to reassure them that they’re not a terrible person. It’s exhausting. 😤

4. Emotional Maturity Levels: TBD

Some men never learned how to handle criticism without shutting down or blowing up. If they weren’t raised in an environment where accountability was seen as a normal part of growth, then any form of critique feels like an attack. Instead of processing it, they either lash out or retreat into silence—neither of which help anyone.

5. The Art of Deflection

Rather than addressing the issue at hand, some men master the fine art of dodging responsibility. “Well, what about that one time you messed up?” or “I only did that because you made me.” Anything to shift the focus away from them and onto someone else. It’s not about solving the problem; it’s about escaping it.

6. Society’s Low Bar

Let’s be real—men have been praised for doing the absolute bare minimum for so long that even mild accountability can feel like an attack. “I said sorry, what more do you want?” Actual change, maybe? When society expects so little from them, being asked to do better feels like a personal insult.

Accountability isn’t the enemy. At the end of the day, accountability isn’t about tearing someone down—it’s about helping them grow. If someone truly cares about becoming a better person, they’ll listen, reflect, and make changes. If they see accountability as an attack? That says more about them than it does about you.

So if you’ve ever had to deal with a guy who acts like accountability is some cruel punishment, save your breath. People who want to grow, grow. The ones who don’t? That’s on them.

Sprinkle sprinkle.