The Party

It’s been a long week. I don’t even remember half of what’s happened. And now here I am, jacked up on coffee, waiting for the exterminator. My dog has crawled to the far reaches of her bag. Every few minutes, she lets loose a faint snore or a sigh. Otherwise, she’s completely engulfed, and I can imagine, just a little bit, what life was like before she moved in.

I’ve been very bad at collecting out of state dates, though there is a strong Ohio connection and a Connecticut tease. Right about now, I wish I had someone to obtain and arrange these dates for me.

There’s so much about human nature and our relationship to technology that I don’t understand. Like, why the men on one dating site can be so sweet, and, on another, so slimy. Is it site specific or city culture that determines the slime factor?

I haven’t yet responded to the man who introduced himself to me by asking if I like tickle wars, but I want to. I want to ask him how that line is working out for him and if he’s gotten lucky, or even had any response to his query. I’d like to meet him. I would, too, if I had a bodyguard.

Then there’s the strange issue of dating advice, dispensed freely on the internet by thrice-divorced television writers and talking heads. I read articles proclaiming that I’m single because I’m a bitch, I’m a slut, I’m selfish, I’m a liar… I’m too needy, too independent, not needy enough… All these diagnoses from people who don’t know me – people who might be good at shacking up, but are clearly not good at choosing who they shack up with – telling me how to behave to shack up with someone, too.

I know that they know that there are women out there who will question their logic. And I know that they’re prepared to defend their theses. “See her,” they say, “me thinks the lady doth protest too much.” Its as if being a single female is considered a personality disorder in need of a cure. And medication. Maybe I don’t know myself as well as they do. Maybe I have to admit my flaws before I become whole. And maybe, once I’m whole, I’ll find a mate who will make me wholer.

But, as you probably surmised, I don’t think so.

I remember a night years ago, when I laid in a hammock in a hut in the Amazon Jungle. It gets so dark there that you can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, and the air is so perfect that you don’t know where your skin ends and the atmosphere begins. There was a small beast snoring underneath my hut and my hammock swung back and forth ever so slightly. Life felt really good.

I had a moment, a sudden, but soft realization that I like myself. I like my small life and my small problems. I like that I like small things, small dogs, small cars, and small houses. I like that, after all these years, I still surprise myself.  And I like that I like other people and care about other things, that I know a little bit about the world and what’s going on in it, and that I know that I don’t know nearly enough to tell other people who they are, what they want, and how they should change.

I might be a creative truther (in the name of science, of course). I might be a cougar in training. I’m not planning on bringing children into this world, and I’m past my prime. According to the GOP, I have a dirty VAG and should be left out to pasture, or, perhaps, killed inhumanely and ground into highly medicated, overtly toxic pink-slime for children in over-crowded, underfunded schools to ingest. But, I’m not convinced that that’s why I’m single.

I want my own talk show, a soapbox, and a platform. I want to be a guest on Wendy Williams, or whoever’s working the networks this year, to promote a different way to look at things. I am, and you might be, single because you want to be. Because you know that being lonely when you’re sleeping next to someone is a whole lot worse than waking up alone.

My advice: live your life. Be an interesting person. Be kind. Be humble. Be fit. Travel. Talk. Laugh as often as you can. Strive always to be a better person. Figure out how to love yourself, then figure out how to love your life.

If you really, really, really want to be with someone and you can’t find them where you are, look someplace else.

And, make sure you like who you invite to the party. A whole heck of a lot.

4 thoughts on “The Party

  1. Absolutely true no matter who you are. Sometimes the party goes on for a lot longer than you want it too. What would you say to someone who has been around for longer than they should?

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