Today, for the first time in a while, I found myself missing the companionship of a significant other. Yes, as much as I wish the song ‘Independent Women’ by Destiny’s Child defined me – while I am a honey makin’ money and a momma who profits dollas, I’m not sure I should be throwing my hands up in with Beyoncé, Kelly Rowland, or that other chick who was also in Destiny’s Child. I’m pretty sure the last time I got laid was in the Stone Age, and I’m not even sure if my reproductive organs work anymore.
I am convinced my pheromones are sending out toxic energy and while I’m still not 100% sure what this means, I am more than comfortable blaming Mercury being in retrograde for anything that’s happened in the last month of my life. I’ve been propositioned by two different couples in the span of less than two weeks to join them in the bedroom (offers I have politely declined) and I am beginning to wonder – is this real life and am I ever going to find someone or am I doomed to dwell in awkward relationship purgatory for all of time?
Casting my obvious pessimism and disdain for dating aside, I began to think: What would my potential partner actually look like? People are always asking “What’s your type?” and I never have an easy answer. Much like my mood, my “type” changes erratically and violently. Honestly, I don’t have a type. I like who I like, and it’s literally as simplistic and lovely as that. However if I was forced to sit down and begin to describe my ideal woman, it might look a little something like this:
She has to like sandwiches, in an almost uncomfortable Liz Lemon-esque type of way. If she had to choose between me and an Italian Sub, I would need her to feel at peace with putting provolone, capacola, salami, and prosciutto ahead of me. Sarcasm needs to be her first language, and while she has to be witty – I should absolutely be the wittier of the two. She should have several tattoos, and at least one she regrets.
This hypothetical wonder woman also needs to be packing the capability to deal with my shit. I like to think of myself as a roller coaster of emotion that also goes upside down. So make sure you’re strapped in tight, because today may be the best or worst day of my life. I live passionately, and unapologetically. She also has to be okay with the fact I smell like a burger 90% of the time, and she has to like cats. However, she cannot like cats as much as me, because it’s only safe to have one crazy cat lady per partnership.
She should appreciate the finer things in life – a well-crafted IPA, a robust porter, or a perfectly malted scotch ale. Did I mention she should like beer? (and fetching it for me). She needs to be able to gallivant around mountains with the vigor of a spry mountain goat, and skiing should be an acceptable form of religion.
In writing this blog I decided to ask some of the people in my life who know me best to describe kind of person they think I would/should date. My roommate Vanessa had this to say: “You’re kind of a wild card,” she pauses, “They have to really like food and not be involved with drug cartels or have legal problems – nobody has time for that.” She continues: “They probably shouldn’t have a husband.” “I don’t know, I’m just going based on what you’ve been attracting lately.” My best friend Heather kept it simple: “Must love cats and live in the tri-state area”.
Only my friend Mary-Beth took the challenge seriously and pulled through saying: “You need someone who is obviously outdoorsy (I know you want a ski bunny). They would have to love animals, and be very accepting of them as well. They’d have to be pretty laid back but more aggressive than you. They’d have to have a good sense of humor, good taste in music, and also be accepting of your hippie ass ways.”
In exactly a month I will turn twenty-eight years old. While I don’t necessarily feel the pressure all the time, it’s there. What pressure? It’s the look in peoples eyes when they ask if you’re seeing anyone or if you’re…(regrettably) still single. It’s the way their lips purse when they “comfort” you and say “You’ll find someone soon.” While my guttural instincts are to slap the other person silly and say: “Bitch please, how do you even know if that’s what I want?” I always feel forced to slap on a smile and say something cheesy back like “You know what they say, you find em’ when you’re not looking!”
I do believe I will find love someday, because on a good day I believe I’m too awesome not to. Today is a good day, lucky for this particular blog entry. Am I ready for love? (I hope you’re singing Bad Company’s ‘Ready For Love’ in your head right now)
No, absolutely not. I’m not ready for love, let alone for my alarm to go off tomorrow morning. I may or may not be in the “selfish asshole phase” of my life and am totally okay with it.
I just want to go to yoga, occasionally pretend to be healthy by shopping at Whole Foods – and live life as I see fit, one day at a time. I may be encroaching on the tail end of my twenties, but that doesn’t mean a thing. I do think that I will find my person, and when I do it will be wonderful. Until then I will be listening to ‘Endless Love’ in then dark, blogging, drinking Crown Royal, and potentially crying.
But much like a Disney movie – I promise a happy ending.