The Internet Dating Chronicles: eHarmony and the End Times

About a year ago, I grew frustrated with the men I was meeting through OkCupid, a free online dating website.  They were cute and funny on their profiles and in messages, but in person, they weren't great for a a variety of reasons.  A few were Ok, but they were clearly looking for something other than what I had to offer--bigger boobs? lower BMI? a smaller head? less sweat? dating with all the "perks" and none of the exclusivity and emotional connections? Could be any one of them.

So I decided to sign up for eHarmony.  What can I say?  I fell for the advertising.  A huge quiz that makes me feel like a teenager with the best edition of Cosmo ever that will match me with my soulmate?! Sign me up!  I thought that a paid service with all those questions might lead me to men who were looking for something a little more serious.  Because, let's face it, I've always been more on the serious side when it comes to relationships, even though I tried my damnedest to change that in my year of internet dating.

Well, eHarmony was no better than OkCupid in the end.  The only benefits were that I finally started weeding out some "matches" based on their initial contact before we suffered through the awkward first date.

If you've never used eHarmony (take a moment to thank your lucky stars), here's how it works.  If you see a profile you like in the mix of gentlemen holding Samurai swords on the beach and dudes hanging out with small children in a way that makes them look kind of like pedophiles, you have three options:

1. The Wussy Option: send an "icebreaker" with a pre-written statement like "your profile brought a smile to my face" and hope he responds
2. The Internet-Socially Acceptable Option: hit "start communication" and send a list of 5 multiple choice questions written by the good Christian folks at eHarmony.  These questions fall in a range between "which activity would you prefer on a Saturday night?" to "What is the relationship like between your parents?"
3. The Balls-to-the-Wall Option: screw all the eHarmony nonsense and go straight to direct messaging.  

I've weeded guys out from their profiles plenty, but I got more savvy about paying attention to their responses in the initial communication phases.  In Option 2, the second stage of communication asks you to send a list of "must haves" and "can't stands" to each other.  If he says he must have someone who is organized, I take that as code for neat freak who couldn't handle even a little clutter.  Goes in the no pile.  If he says he can't stand someone who is depressed, I take that as doesn't want to hear about my feelings at all, especially anything I'm unhappy about.  Goes in the no pile.

But if we get past that point, you get to send three open-ended questions to each other.  For me, this is the fun part.  You, again, choose from a pre-configured list of options like "how does life look for you right now?", "if you had three wishes, what would you ask for?", or "describe your best friend."  Here, you also have the option of creating your own questions, which can be helpful if you like nearly everything you've seen so far, but all those photos of him in bars bug you or you think he might be a mama's boy based on his in depth description of how inspiring she is when the question specifies that he should not talk about his parents.

After that clearance, it's on to normal messaging.  And after that, it usually doesn't take long before you actually meet in person.  Imagine that!

I'll be writing to you about the three gentlemen I met through eHarmony (and OkCupid) in the next few weeks, though likely not in the order in which I met them (I do what I want!).  Here's a few of the gems from eHarmony I'll be writing about:

• The Doctor: this guy took the Balls-to-the-Wall approach since he was in his last few weeks of his subscription to eHarmony.  He was the most intimidating on paper but like a fluffy bunny in person.
• Lady Name: this guy took the socially acceptable approach.  He was my first and only fellow teacher and the most frustratingly awkward ending of a date.
• Male Nurse: I took the Wussy approach with him.  He was so stinkin' handsome.  I still get a little sweaty thinking about his face.  Sadly, we only went out twice.

Obviously, I wasn't so impressed by any of these dates or guys I saw online that I continued meeting these people in person.  I just couldn't take any more bad dates.  I think I had somewhere between 10-15 bad dates over the course of a year.  Maybe that's normal for some people, but it was more than I've ever dated in my entire life.  If that's what dating is like, I think I might be ok just being on my own and dating a guy I actually like once every five years.  Maybe....  Anyway, the magical eHarmony system did not match me to my soul mate, or even a kindred spirit.

This past month, knowing that my subscription is almost up, I opened my search to include  more than just the Austin area.  I included THE ENTIRE EARTH!!  

Apparently a lady like me is wildly popular in Canada.  Do they just want me for a Green Card?

At this point, the internet dating websites are just a form of entertainment.  What kook from some random place in the world wants to be loved by me today, I wonder as I click on the link in my inbox from eHarmony.

My experiment in internet dating has ended, but I will capture the good, the bad, and the ugly in a series of posts.  Get ready, friends.  It's been a bumpy ride.

Pitiful or Awesome? The Shower Beer

Pitiful or Awesome? is an interactive post in which the reader gets to weigh in on whether the topic of the day is sad or genius.  

Today's Topic: The Shower Beer 

Photo source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BPMyltrBErPAI1xD2X7O7wBZ-MAtaerdNMn-qsqmmkTvpsLVACTL83KJ_CxWwmmWSFe2HapulMUa6owTIpFF0E3lzkg0PIhVSaLzXRIg6qHuSG5ZMRX08-d2423Ybx0wrL68jK6m_ko/s1600/b.jpg

I first learned of the shower beer from a group of male friends the summer before my senior year in college.  It was a 100 or more degree scorcher, and one of them had just spent the day working on a new garden on the university grounds (worst summer job ever in Austin, if you ask me).  He'd been sweating so long that it seemed like he likely had no more moisture left in his body.  He looked tired.  And hot.  And worn out.

But relief flooded his face when he grabbed a tall cold bottle of Shiner (the beer of choice at that time in my life) and walked toward the shower.  When he came out, I questioned him about this action.  I'd never seen this before.  It struck me as something only an alcoholic would do, and I was concerned for my friend.  How would I save him from drinking himself into ruin in the tub?

He claimed that it was the most relaxing beverage you'd ever experience.  I was doubtful, but he donated a beer to me as I made my way back to my dorm room.

It just felt wrong.  The bathroom is not a place for imbibing or eating anything.  There are poo particles flying out of toilets, for goodness sake!  But I closed the lid of the toilet seat and held the open bottle away from the commode on my way to the shower.  I held on to it as the water warmed up from the faucet and held it at arm's length away from the spray of the shower head.

I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water hit the back of my neck and cascade around my curvy parts.  The heat enveloped me as I stood and sipped.  It was just a plain old Shiner from the fridge like I would normally drink hanging out with friends.  But it was magically transformed between the white shower curtain and three tiled walls.  The contrast of the warmth flowing around my neck with the cool bubbly tickle of the suds flowing down my throat was invigorating.  Had I ever even noticed the bubbles before?  I could feel the cool liquid flow all the way to my middle and slosh around before it warmed.

Eventually, I had to put the beer down.  I moved my shampoo and conditioner bottles off of the bath's ledge and positioned the bottle carefully in their place.  I did some of your normal showery things, and then went back for another drink of this new elixir.  I found the bottle sweaty with cool condensation, like the delicious insides of the bottle were trying to make their presence known.  Now the beads dripped down my hand, wrist and forearm, crossing streams with water from the shower.

I don't normally drink a beer in a matter of 15 minutes, about the length of my average shower, but a shower beer must be finished in the shower, which only added to the enjoyment.  There are all these different physical sensations, and they're only enhanced by the slight tipsiness that sets in about halfway through.

If you do an image search on Google for "shower beer" you'll see that my friends and I are not alone in our love for the shower beer.  The lady in the image below has the right idea.  See the condensation on the bottle?

Photo source: http://i.imgur.com/2Exqb.jpg

Now I'm not too sure how I feel about this person's shower beer.  I feel like there's too much risk for dilution and possible warming of the brew with a pilsner glass.  Also, it's rather precariously perched on that tile ledge.  That looks like a scene from Psycho waiting to happen, if you ask me; but, you know, minus all the murder.

Photo source: http://boardingarea.com/blogs/thewanderingaramean/files/2010/11/IMG_0472.jpg

An important note: it is a shower beer, not a bath beer.  A bath doesn't create the same balance between warm and cool, and there's not enough steam.  It's still good, but it's not magical.

In my opinion, the shower beer should be reserved for the end of a long day; however, I do know those who like to use it as a warm up for a long night of fun ahead.

Clearly, I believe the shower beer is awesome, but maybe you're like 21-year-old me who thought only alcoholics or sad people would do such a thing.

Give your verdict below.

Why I'm Single, Reason #1: The Sweat

I'm a sweaty gal.  I've come to terms with it.  I don't deny it.

I'm the one you see at the gym wiping down a sweat slick on the weight bench.  I'm the girl who can't wear her hair down if it's above 70 degrees outside because it won't take long before it looks like she just stepped out of the shower.

I inherited these sweat glands from my dad.  I have very clear memories of helping my dad outside in the yard or garage and noting that the back of his shirt was a complete shade darker than the front of his shirt.  Not just in patches, either--the whole back of the shirt.  And he's a bald man with a very large dome of a head, too.  The sweat would bead as it came out of the pores on his scalp and dribble down, collecting at the end of his nose.  As I would stand near him, ready on deck with the next tool he'd need for his project, I would wait in anticipation for the moment when the drip on the end of his nose would drop.

Of course, I describe this only with affection, because I know exactly how he feels.  Maybe I feel even worse that he feels.  Because as grossed out as people might be by a sweaty man, they must pity a sweaty woman.  Women aren't supposed to sweat in great drops that pool at the waistband of their jeans.  Women are supposed to only slightly glisten, to glow, to appear dewy--not to look like a wet rat.

I cite my sweatiness as just one of the many reasons I still find myself single today.  Not only does my body react to even the slightest heat with oceans of salt water, it also takes cues from my emotions as to when to release the tide.

I sweat when I'm nervous.  A lot of people do.  But it's probably not the same full body sweat I experience.  Once, at a conference for English teachers, I was selected by my round table in a creative writing session to share my quick-write with the entire group.  Of about 300 people.  Now, everyone knows that one of the reasons you go to a conference as a single person is to try to meet other single people.  You wear your cutest outfits.  You try to sit next to attractive people and wow them with your amazing insights on whatever bullshit professional topic is being discussed.  And this should have been my shining moment.  Not only would I be on display for all of the men in the room who would surely decide they needed to talk to me after my reading, I was also singled out for my creativity and writing abilities.  All men are amazed by that, right?  Uh huh.

Well, I've spoken in front of groups of 30 people for years.  I'm a teacher.  That's a daily part of my job.  But at that point, I'd never spoken in front of 300 people.  And definitely never with a microphone.  I am pulled up to the front of the hotel ballroom, and the microphone is shoved in my hand.  Immediately, my body starts to quiver.  Then I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.  The panic sets in.  The red, hotness in my face is a sign that the sweat is about to come.  I start to read the words that are in front of me, probably with the microphone too close to my mouth, but all that's going on inside my head is: stop sweating, stop sweating, stop sweating!  But it just keeps on coming.  By that point, my voice was shaking as much as the hand holding the microphone.

Needless to say, zero men approached me to talk about writing when I sheepishly made my way back to my chair.  I like to believe that they would have if the sweat didn't come.

The worst part about the sweat is that it's also my reaction to attraction.  I'm sure there's some scientific reason that has to do with pheromones, but I just don't agree with science (one thing I have in common with Creationists!) when the thing releasing the chemicals that are supposed to attract a mate also completely disgusts him.  As soon as I lock eyes with a new attractive man and get within a normal range of personal space, it all starts--the redness, the heat, the sweat.  Not just a faint bead on my upper lip.  Full on face sweat.

If I'm lucky, I've interacted with a man enough from a safe distance before this happens and it's not the first impression I make.  But that's usually not the case.

As with most shitty situations in life, I've tried to make the best of it.  I've learned to just not even bother leaving my hair down between April and October in Texas.  I've learned that if I have to be outside when it's warm, it's best to wear a dress or skirt and let the breezes flow.  I've learned to pay attention to types of fabric when shopping for clothes so I don't end up like my dad in the yard.

But my favorite lesson is that my body tells me who I'm attracted to before my head realizes it.  It's become my own little detection system.  It's come in handy in places like the workplace where you don't necessarily want to be flirting with coworkers or when you meet a married man so you know not to joke around with him too much because it might get weird.

And it actually helped me realize I was interested in the last guy I dated when we were left alone at a picnic table and I suddenly felt sweat dripping down my neck.  As I tried to subtly wipe it off with a head-scratch-to-wipe move, I thought, oh, I guess I like this guy.

Luckily, it was a breezy night and the sweat dried quickly.

Cuddle and Make Out Club: Join Today!

Welcome to the Club!  

Our bi-level clubhouse features many amenities for members*.

Upon arrival you'll be greeted at the door by our founder who will hand you your very own Snuggie and berry-flavored Chapstick (we hear if you're extra friendly when you meet her, she'll even throw in some face lotion for you ladies who meet men with beards).

Miss those days of teen make out parties with rousing games of Spin the Bottle and 7 Minutes in Heaven?  Lucky you, there's a room designated to each activity.  And if you've never played before, there are plenty of friendly members to help you feel it out.

Not a fan of team sports?  Enjoy one of our many lounge rooms with extra large bean bags made or two (or three if you're nasty).

We look forward to your visit!

*We are a smoke and alcohol free environment.

Secret Single Behaviors

According to The New York Times, "1 in every 4 American households is occupied by someone living alone."  The article goes on to discuss some of the strange behaviors that humans cultivate when left to their own devices, away from the civilized world.  I will now cop to some of my own Secret Single Behaviors (SSBs) I've developed in my 8 years of living alone.  Beware: some of it isn't pretty.

Being a Filthy, Filthy Human Being
Now, if I know that people are coming over or if I have people visiting on a regular basis, I keep my humble abode pretty tidy.  The cleanest I've kept it in my adult life has been when I've had boyfriends or when I had weekly parties at my place.  But 99% of the those 8 years have been spent with me knowing that people pretty much do not come to my apartment ever.  Therefore, shit can get crazy.  Piles of laundry in the dining room.  Plates from dinner on the coffee table.  Plastic bags from HEB and Target flying about my apartment like the most beautiful thing in the world.  And personal grooming can become an issue, as well.  Some weekends, if I don't have a reason to leave the apartment and join the world, I may wear the same clothes and not bathe until Sunday evening.

Interesting Fashion Choices
Often when I come home from work, I know I'm not going out again.  That means shoes get kicked off and go flying into a pile of laundry or stack of books.  Pants drop and may not leave the spot where they fell.  And I may do one of two things--walk around for the rest of the evening in the nice shirt I wore to work and my underwear, or change into "house clothes."  House clothes are the items you never want any living person to see you in.  Some of my prized items include:

• a nightshirt my mom gave me for Christmas when I was in 3rd grade that now barely covers my ass and is so thin that you could see straight through if it weren't for the giant Santa hat wearing bear drinking cocoa on the front of it;
• a heather grey deep v-neck tee from American Apparel that has a hole the size of a cantaloupe in one of the armpits (this might be worn with comfy pants, but is more often than not worn with just underwear);
• a pair of red gingham pajama pants with hokey sunflower trim around the ankles, of which come up around my calves because I've had them since high school and have washed them so many times,
• my burnt orange UT Snuggie;
• a men's large pullover hoodie that is most comfortable to wear with the hood up;
• and any kind of fabric headband to keep the hair out of my eyes.  My current favorite has green, shiny sequins on it and makes me look like a flapper.

But my favorite fashion choice is no choice at all.  Hanging out in the buff is the way to go, my friends.

Taking Far Too Many Baths
Hugh Grant's character in About A Boy has that segment in which he describes how a man can be an island if he uses his units of time correctly.  Baths are something that fill up units of time for me.  Bored?  Take a bath.  Really bored? Take an hour long bath with a fizzy bath ball or eucalyptus scented bubble bath.  Use the time to meditate, shave your legs, get creative with *ahem* other shaving, or turn on some music and sing along because the acoustics in the bathroom really are the best, and the neighbors in your apartment complex surely love your singing voice.

Singing--A Lot
The silence of living alone can be deafening at times; therefore, the radio, my record player, itunes and Spotify are my second favorite companions in the apartment.  I will put my Bonnie Raitt record on the player and sing along with side A for one week while I make dinner and then flip it over and listen to side B the next week.  It's best when you listen and sing along obsessively to really be able to nail those notes, you know.

My Cat is My Friend
Willis is my favorite companion at home.  She's really the only one I have to talk to, unless I'm on the phone. And I talk to her a lot.  If I had a recording device running at home, I'd like to count the number of times I say the following phrases:

• "Whatcha doin, Willis?"
• "Hey pretty girl"
• "You're so pretty"
• "You're a good girl, Willis"
• and, for good measure, "What the hell, cat?!"

Technology is Also My Friend
When there's not a human to interact with, sometimes technology can fill the void.  Movie marathons!  Did you just spend an entire week watching Pride and Prejudice with your students?  Well, then...you absolutely must watch the 6 hour A&E version immediately!  You don't know how many incarnations of Mr. Darcy Colin Firth has played?  Well, look it up on Wikipedia and get swallowed into clicking on link after link for at least two hours.  No one is around to rush you, so you should just take your time.

What's Happening with the Neighbors?
When there's very little activity going on within your home, sometimes it's easy to get wrapped up in what's happening with the neighbors.  Of course, I never talk to them directly or look them in the eye.  I do my best to avoid leaving my apartment when they're walking by.  One summer, I had particularly noisy neighbors.  I'm convinced that I was awakened in the middle of the night by this woman and one of her many boyfriends having sex outside.  I was also convinced that she was a prostitute.  She had so many men in and out of that apartment at all hours of the day--I don't know what else it would have been.  This is just one of the stories I've concocted in my head through stealthily observing my neighbors through the blinds.

And, of course:

Thanks, PostSecret.

Care to share any of your SSBs?

The Stand-ins

There are reasons human beings couple off.  And when you've not been in a relationship for 98% of your life, like I have, you have to find coping mechanisms for dealing with everything you're missing out on by not having that other half.  My own greatest coping mechanism are The Stand-ins.

Stand-ins do exactly what you'd think--they stand in the place of a romantic partner and perform the functions that your ideal mate would.  Now, a Stand-in doesn't necessarily have to be from the gender you'd prefer your mate to be.  He or she also doesn't have to fulfill all of the roles described below.  But it's important that we single folks find ways of meeting these emotional, social, and (yes) physical needs somehow.  The Stand-ins are all we have.

Over the years, these are the roles my own personal Stand-ins have performed:

Date Nights
I've always been somewhat of a tomboy; among other things, when left to my own devices, I would almost always choose to wear what is comfortable over what is attractive.  But there are definitely times when I want to dress up and I want to feel pretty, damn it.  The Stand-in isn't usually aware for the fact that I'm using our fun night out as an excuse to feel like I'm pretty, but that's what's happening.  In the last few years, I've even started going so far as to purchase tickets waaaay too far in advance for events that might turn into these fake, emotionally and sexually bankrupt dates.

Flirting
Since the invention of instant messaging and texting, everyone wants to be in on the fun of e-flirting, don't they?  I certainly do.  Hopefully the double entendres and teasing comes off as my own silly, dirty brand of humor to these Stand-ins.  I have to practice these skills on someone, don't I?


Occupying Head Space 
When you're single, there's great danger that you'll become selfish and self-involved.  One of the things I like most about being in a relationship is that I have someone other than myself to think about.  It might be "I wonder how he's doing today?" or it might be "oh, he'd really like this movie".  Pretty inane stuff.  But it keeps me from focusing too much on my own thoughts, wants and feelings.  These Stand-ins are the ones I text out of the blue with random comments, questions and pictures.

Snuggling and Snogging
The need for physical connection is just a part of who we are.  I'd say that about 95% of the time, I take care of the snuggling issue by wrapping myself up in my Snuggie or hugging my cat, Willis.  But there's only so much love a cat can provide before it takes a turn into Creepville.  Over the years, there've been a few male friends who have filled in for this role a mate would provide in my ideal world.  The absolute best Stand-in was a roommate I had once who would cuddle on the couch with me nearly every evening.  Then there were those days of drunkenness in my youth when a (sometimes gay) male friend and I would look at each other through our booze goggles and say "why the hell not?" and make out with each other until the wee hours.  Now, I know there are people who've struck up friends-with-benefits situations with friends who will do more than just snog until the wee hours.  I've never been able to have that kind of casual intimacy with someone, but more power to 'em, I say.  Single, dateless people have needs, too.

Major Holidays
There are two types of holidays that are difficult to navigate as a single person.  The first are the holidays in which the entire world expects you to have a date--the dreaded Valentine's Day, or VD as I like to call it, and New Year's Eve.  VD is a single person's worst nightmare.  VD just won't go away.  It's impossible to ignore VD.  For several years, one of my Stand-ins was My Platonic Valentine <3.  The first year, he bought me flowers (he was actually the first and only man to ever do this) and we went on a double date with my best friend and her Stand-in for the evening.  Another year we were in different states, so we each purchased a bottle of wine and rented a movie.  We called each other, pressed play at the same time, and watched the movie together over the phone.  That's still the best VD I've ever had.  New Year's Eve is a different beast.  Whoever came up with the tradition of kissing someone at midnight deserves to be killed in a firing squad by all the single people on the planet once we build our time machine.  My Platonic Valentine stood-in for me one year and we just stared at each other awkwardly at midnight, but mostly my girlfriends are the Stand-ins for this holiday.  We would just hug each other or kiss on the cheek at midnight to occupy ourselves while couples around us made out.  It did get awkward once they all paired off with boyfriends and husbands and I was the only one left without a date when the clock strikes midnight--Where do I look?!  What do I do with my hands?!

The other type of holiday, that might even be worse than VD and New Year's, are the holidays you're expected to spend with your family--Thanksgiving, Christmas, and sometimes Easter.  If you're a non-single reader, think back to the last time you had to handle your family solo.  Now think about doing that for every single holiday since you've been alive.  It's ok for the first 20 or so years, but there comes a point when you've been living apart from your family long enough that spending an entire day or, worse, series of days pretending like you still live at home is a living nightmare.  A nightmare that you want to share with the person you love most in the world.  Sometime in college, I started inviting a friend or multiple friends to join me at my mom's house for holidays.  I just think of those Stand-ins as the spouse or children I'd bring were I married.  They help with the cooking, watch whatever sport you're supposed to watch that day, laugh at my mom's jokes, and act as a great buffer until I, cross your fingers, have a family of my own.  (Love you, Mom!)

Emotional Support
This is the most important role of a Stand-in because, in my opinion, the hardest part of being single is not having that one person who knows all your stuff, who actually wants to hear about the problems with your boss or the memory you had from your childhood today or what you had to eat that day.  The average, casual friend does not want to hear about these things, and should you share too many of these small details of your life with the casual friend out of sheer desperation to talk to anyone, you can be sure that you won't be seeing that friend much in the future.  The Stand-in for emotional support is the most generous of the Stand-ins.  He or she understands that you spend the majority of your time outside of work completely alone and that if you don't tell these things to someone, you are sure to create an imaginary friend or to start holding conversations with your cat.  Most of the support is small, but I've been especially grateful to these Stand-ins when shit in my life has gotten real, when whatever is going on really is too much for me to handle on my own.  The worst fear with these Stand-ins is that I'll wear out my welcome, after all, we don't have the motivation of sex or shared property or whatever to keep us together.

If you're reading this, and you realize that you've been a Stand-in for me, thank you.  You've helped me make it to 31 without completely losing my mind.  I hope it's never been awkward or an inconvenience.  And, no, it's not a paying job, you whore.

The Pity Party

The other day I was at Kohl's, hunting for items to use up the $50 gift card I'd bought for a friend who snubbed her nose at it, thus granting me the permission to shop for myself.  Recently, I've been spending a lot more time at home in the kitchen and have realized that my past failures (leaving pans "soaking" in the sink for a week, burning the bottom of pots, scrapping Teflon off the bottom of pots with metal utensils, you know...) have led to a lack of necessary tools.

It occurred to me as I perused the housewares section and looked at prices that most people my age already have a healthy stock of items like a mandolin, a garlic press, a salad spinner, fork tongs, and other devices that I've never purchased for myself.  I've been cooking for years with 1 frying pan, 1 13"x9" pan, 1 sauce pot, 1 soup pot, 1 ladle, 1 slotted spoon, 1 spatula, 1 whisk--you get the idea.  It's bare essentials in my tiny apartment kitchen.  The few extra items I own are a cheese grater and some plastic-like mat you put on the bottom of a cookie sheet to keep cookies from burning, both of which were purchased from the dollar bins at Target.

Suddenly, a wave of jealousy ran over me as I stared at different sized CorningWare.  All those lucky bastards who got married got to register for these items.  All those homeowners got to have housewarming parties and beg for these items.

But not me.

I remembered an episode of Sex and the City in which Carrie finally became fed up with buying her girlfriends expensive gifts for engagements, weddings, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, baby showers and housewarming parties.  She finally decided it was her turn and registered for expensive shoes.

I like her thinking.  But I don't just want the stuff, and a little payback from all those friends who I adorned with gifts for the last decade--I want the party.

By the age of, say, 35, people who are spouseless, houseless, childless and everythingless should be entitled to throw a pity party.  Our friends and family get to acknowledge that they actually do feel kind of bad for us.  And we finally get to acknowledge that the single life with all this freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be.  We get to register for the items that we never bought for ourselves, but more importantly, we get to have a huge blow out to celebrate the lives we've led without all of those other celebrations.

We can celebrate the nights spent curled up on the couch alone.  All the bills we paid all by ourselves.  The number of friends we've managed to find to help us move from apartment to apartment.  The animals who become our companions.  The technology that keeps us entertained and thinly connected to the outside world.  The fact that we've made it this far without breaking down completely or running away and going off the grid.  We can rejoice in it all and the fact that we've come so far with so little change.

And I, myself, will be the life of my own pity party.  Because, really, I'm the only one who knows how much there really is to celebrate.

In 2017, I'll be registered at Target and another to-be-determined location.  It'll be the party of a lifetime.  You're all invited.