A reality of the single life is being highly cognizant of what you're putting out into the world. I hate being this aware of petty bits about myself. I hate it. Recently I've started getting legitimately angry at myself for not doing bunch of things because I'm worried they'll prevent me from attracting/meeting/dating someone. After some thought on these matters, I've concluded that I am a moron.
The list below will happen. Exposing it to all of you has perhaps bought me a team of coaches who won't let me give up. At the very least, I now have witnesses. Here is the sick little to-do list I've been putting off for all of my single days.
1) Adopt another cat.
Obviously. Cats are like acid rain to single men. They run screaming away into safety. It hurts my heart to think of the sweet homeless kitties who would fit in so well into my warm, safe home, and the fact that I can't adopt them because boys won't like me. They'll looooove it if I have a dog, but will they take it outside to poop when I have a hangover? No. No they will not.
I have one cat, Clementine, a personal anecdote my mother has advised me not to discuss on dates. What IS it about cats? "Oh, that girl? She adopted a homeless, sad, missing-half-its-fur, purring little love muffin. She's really someone I don't want in my life."
Why do I think this? Why do I associate adopting another cat as bringing me one step closer to knitting alone on my couch for the rest of my days, quietly rocking back and forth while mumbling show tunes? It's a cat, not Leprosy. Sorry kitties, your would-be mama's a coward.
2) Get a Harry Potter tattoo.
See? You're freaked out. As a writer, I am very inspired by J.K. Rowling. She took a thought in her head and entertained a world full of children with it. Her work reminds me that words have power, and that they can bring joy.
So much joy in fact that Kings Cross station in London has a platform 9 3/4 with a luggage cart sticking halfway out of it. That, my friends, is moving. I want to get a little 9 3/4 tattoo, but I can't do that. What if he sees it and thinks I'm weird? Or thinks I'll put a spell on him? Or thinks I have a secret room in my apartment filled with candles and pentagrams and chicken heads? Thus, you'll find nothing more than a bracelet or five on my wrist.
3) Buy lingerie.
I love lingerie! I love looking at it, trying it on, and buying it. I love having a little collection of it in a special, delicate box in a drawer in my dresser. It's lovely. It's all lacy and pretty and tiny and cute. It makes my boobs look magnificent. But every time I pass by the lingerie section of a store or website, I'm reminded of what a gross waste of money lingerie is because I have no one to "wear it for."
Add to that a salesperson telling me "Someone's a very lucky guy" and it's like, more than I can handle right now. So I spend my money on gossip magazines and like, bills, all while wearing my 5 for $20 panties from Target.
Now here is one that has driven me so far off the edge that I've actually done something about it. After countless vacation photos showing smiley couples in Ireland, Paris, and every beach south of Miami, I. Said. Fuck it. Last summer, I went on a trip with two married couples, all dear friends of mine. And this fifth wheel had a blast.
While I admit there was something sad about sleeping in the "kids" room of our rental house, I was glad I actually participated in the trip. It was so much better than missing out just because I didn't have dude to contribute to the party. Next up? Europe, with three married couples, and my good friend Barbara. This time I'm bringing back-up.
I love to cook. For me cooking is literally as much fun as eating. I cannot wait to cook for my family someday. It's a future memory I've always looked forward to. Cooking with a family, even more. But it's not like there are single-sized vegetables.
I'm terrible at math, and trying to break up recipes for four into fractions typically just drives me to drink too much red wine and order takeout. Try finding recipes for one sometime. It's a sad venture around the Internet, I promise you. So instead of ordering Pad-Thai, my culinary repertoire is limited to items that freeze well. Unless you'd like to come over for dinner sometime.
Do you have a list? Am I alone here (literally)? I can't decide if I'm being smart by holding back, or stupid for not fully being myself. You think about it, I'm going to go defrost some leftovers.