It has dawned on my mother that my life in SF has been established. Job—check. Home—check. Man—TBD. She’s asking my sister behind my back if I’m dating anyone. She’s alluding to me that I should start giving up some of my “necessary requirements,” and that I should give these guys that come along a chance. Little does she understand the fuckboy level I have to deal with.

I require a certain level of respect, obviously.

You’d be surprised with how many men don’t honor “normal business hours.” Everyone laughs when I bring up this phrase. I coined it, it’s exactly what it sounds like… The last man I went on a first date with was particularly enticing because he suggested we go hiking immediately after meeting me.

Wait. What? You want to go on a date when there’s daylight? No alcohol? *HEART EYES EMOJI HERE*

Unfortunately for me I didn’t have the availability for a long outdoors activity with such short notice. Instead we ended up drinking way too many shots of Jameson at a sports bar. First date fail. After this initial meeting the work hours conversation lulled, texts became limited and when they did they arrive they came later into the evening. Like… “You up?” “What are you doing?” “Where you at?” LATE.

He lost all interest in me as a person. Yet he still wanted to get it in. No need to sugarcoat it.

You’ll never be able to stay on the radar if you don’t attempt to stay in touch with me in the middle of the day or week. Normal business hours. M-F, 9am-6pm. Otherwise I’ll assume you give zero fucks about taking me seriously in any capacity. I’m not even asking for much. It’s as simple as: “How’s your day?” Happy Humpday.” Whacha got planned this week?” Basic human interactions sent while I’m hustling and the sun is out shining. It's not difficult.

Once you work the 9-5, I’ll give you 5-9. Trust me.