I saw that prompt tonight, man. Single Virgo love horoscope. Felt like I had to check it. Why? Because I just got back from what I thought was gonna be a chill coffee date, and now I’m sitting here questioning every damn decision I’ve made since 2018. It wasn’t the date itself that screwed me up; it was the lead-up and the immediate aftermath that sent me looking for some kind of sign—even if it was the dumbest cosmic sign I could find.
The Setup: Why I Even Bothered with that Astrologer B.S.
Look, I’d been off the apps for like six months. Just needed a break from the constant swiping and the dumb small talk. My buddy, Jake, he kept ragging on me, telling me I gotta “put myself out there” if I ever want things to change. So I tried it again. I reactivated the profile, uploaded a better picture—one where I’m actually smiling and not just squinting—and started scrolling. Swiped right on this person—let’s call them ‘A’—who seemed to have their head screwed on straight in their profile. Decent job, said they liked old movies. We actually chatted for two full days. It was decent. Decent, right? I went through the whole process this time, meticulously checking their interests, making sure their story lined up, trying to screen out the usual weirdos, the scammers, the people who just want you to listen to their life story without actually meeting. I put in the work this time.
The “Experiment” (The Drive, The Date, and The Subsequent Search)
We set up a meeting. And this is where the real life-suck started. I drove forty minutes out of my way to meet A at this overpriced artisan tea place near their work. Forty minutes, gas money, time I could’ve spent cleaning the garage, time I could’ve spent doing my taxes. We sat down. Small talk for ten minutes, barely got past the weather and the tea flavors. Then A gets a call. They look at the phone like it’s a snake, then they stand up fast and say they have to step out. Fine, whatever. Five minutes later, they’re back at the table, looking all flustered, like they just ran a marathon.
They say, “Look, this is super awkward, but my ex is here, sitting right outside, and they’re demanding I talk to them right now.” I watched their ex, okay? I could see them through the window. They were parked across the street, just chilling in a big pickup truck, scrolling on their phone, looking bored. No demanding going on. A just… walked out on me to go talk to their ex. Didn’t even offer to pay for the expensive, half-finished cup of jasmine tea. Just gone. Left me sitting there, holding the bag. I didn’t know what was more annoying—the lie, the gas money, or the fact I had to finish a conversation with a really old lady next to me who was complaining about the price of butter.
I sat there for another five minutes, just staring at the steam coming off the cup, letting the embarrassment wash over me. That’s when I pulled out the phone. I didn’t search for “what to do when someone flakes for their ex.” I didn’t search for “dating advice.” I searched for the Virgo forecast, specifically the single love stuff for tonight. I needed to know if the universe was actively holding a personal vendetta against me, or if it was just bad luck with this specific human.
What I Dug Up and What It Means
I clicked into one of the big sites—didn’t matter which one, they all parrot the same stuff. The forecast I landed on was all smiles and sunshine. It promised some total garbage about “self-discovery leading to a new connection” and “patience yielding rewards as you embrace uncertainty.” I read the full thing, the whole damn paragraph. It gave me three bullet points of vague advice:
- Focus on your inner peace. Stop chasing external validation.
- An unexpected communication may arrive that shifts your perspective.
- Avoid rushing into commitments this week; the timing is completely off.
“Inner peace”? I just wasted two hours of my life and half a tank of gas. “Unexpected communication”? Yeah, I got one: a text from A two hours later saying, “Hey, sorry about that, my life is complicated rn.” Complicated? Buddy, you picked your ex over a polite conversation with a stranger who bought you tea and drove forty minutes. That ain’t complicated; that’s just disorganized and rude. “Avoid rushing into commitments”? Not a damn chance I was rushing into anything with that level of chaos.
The Real Conclusion, Not the Star-Sign B.S.
The thing is, this whole circus act—the hopeful swipe, the detailed background check, the long, unnecessary drive, the inevitable ghosting for an ex, and then immediately checking some website for a sign—it’s exhausting. It’s a mess. Just like the time I spent six months trying to get that old beat-up Ford of mine to pass emissions, replacing part after part only to find out it was just a loose hose clamp all along. I spent all my energy on the complex parts—the dating prep, the analysis, the horoscope—and completely ignored the simple truth: maybe A was just a hot mess, and I shouldn’t have bothered.
My practice record tonight is simple: The forecast was useless because it tries to simplify real human chaos into a few nice, non-committal sentences. Love isn’t about being patient; it’s about not driving forty minutes to be ditched for some dude scrolling on his phone in a pickup truck. I deleted the app again right after I finished reading that “full forecast.” I’m done with the whole thing for now. I’m sticking to my usual routine. The next thing I commit to is finally cleaning out that damn garage. That’s the kind of honest fulfillment I can actually count on.
