Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Single in Seattle

I have begun understand why people join cults, shave their heads, and begin worshiping in large groups. Now, don’t get me wrong I am not going to start attending meetings where you have to bring your own bed sheet and a live chicken...I can’t afford the livestock (or the bed sheet for that matter). What I mean is I suddenly understand the need to belong, the desperate urge to not feel alone.

Some supplement this daunting feeling with getting married, which I don’t understand. I have a hard enough time trying to steer myself through my own constant and rather unfortunate bouts of the ridiculous, legally binding myself to another hopelessly lost, young idiot would just be asking for trouble. Besides this Saturday I am celebrating my four-year anniversary of having absolutely no romantic plans, let alone an individual who qualifies as even a possibility -why ruin such an impressive streak?

Besides, on the infrequent and unlikely chance that I happen to stumble onto someone who sparks some interest, they either: A) aren’t attracted to me in “that” way, but would love to be my friend/fuck-buddy; B) are completely incapable of a real conversation, unless it revolves around themself; C) have some sort of weird condition which renders them a socially inept retard; or D) they’re gay…and they have better shoes then me.

I am not saying that I want to get married right now, I know that I am not in any way ready. And, that is saying a lot considering I am from a town where the average marrying age is 17, (and if you’re not married by my age then you’re pregnant with your second child and unsure of who both their fathers are, but you can name the parties they were conceived at.) Yes as long communities like mine exist shows like Springer, Rikki Lake, and Maury will have a spot on daytime TV as well as an audience.

As a single woman, who is expected to be independent and brimming with sexual energy, for some reason I can’t shake the feeling that I am tripping over the glamorous facade. Young women seem to believe that during their twenties they have to live out “Sex and the City”, while waiting for their white knight to come along and magically turn their lives into “Sleepless in Seattle”. Complete with a handsome, non-commitment phobic man, who declares her his soul mate while promising to love her through thick and thin (yo-yo dieting, post-baby weight gain, menopausal hot flashes, marriage counseling, etc.) Then after their blissful dream wedding, 2.5 children, a mini van, and a low interest home loan, they settle in for a long life of suburban bliss. From wild and crazy nights of youthful debauchery, to happily ever after.

However, my idea of a hot Saturday night is turning into, working until 8 PM, walking back to my place and on the way picking up a can of diet coke, teriyaki chicken, with a vegetarian spring role. I never seem to have the energy to make it a blockbuster night, so instead I go home and turn on my neighbors cable (yeah it’s illegal, but it’s cheaper) then at around 11 PM, I take a bath. If I’m feeling especially racy by the end of the evening, I read a few pages of

my Cosmopolitan. My life, as a young, vibrant, and single Seattle Barista, is sizing up more to be “Sexless in Seattle”. Why can’t I retain something good, like a boyfriend, instead of water weight?

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