When KD Attacks…
Last night, several hours after my consumption of four Martini’s, I suddenly had an inexplicable urge to eat spiral macaroni and cheese. I attempted to fight the urge, I really did, but sadly at 12:30am, the urge won and forced me to go to the kitchen at gunpoint to satisfy it. Fine. I’m going to weigh eight hundred pounds because my body has inexplicable starch cravings that send me into frenzies in the wee hours of the morning. What the fuck, I’m single, aren’t I?
I managed to eat all of four bites before it dawned upon me that the way I imagined this tasting and the way it actually tasted were really two completely different things. My waistline will thank me for this, I’m sure. Unfortunately, this morning, Heather Armstrong had to put up a post about burritos, (http://www.dooce.com/archives/daily/02_02_2006.html) so now I’m suffering from this inane urge all over again. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was pregnant, however given that the only male I’ve seen naked in the past three years is the cat, (and he’s neutered…) I’m pretty sure that’s not it…
On the subject of being single:
You know, for the longest time, I really didn’t mind. There are definite pluses to singledom, among them not having to share my bed with anyone. (There is just nothing worse in this world than waking up with a sweaty, limp penis clinging to your ass crack as its owner obliviously snores away…) However, lately, the whole single white female thing has started to get extremely O-L-D. I figured I was in trouble the other day, when I entered the supermarket and immediately began trying to seduce the produce…
It’s funny though, the things a person starts to miss after a while. It’s not just the sex, though I really, really, R-E-A-L-L-Y do miss the sex…GAWD how I miss the sex. But oddly enough, there are things I miss more than I miss sex. I miss rolling over in bed, and finding a warm body beside me that smells faintly of cologne and manliness. I miss looking at someone in that special way that says: “Not only do I really love you, but I really, really love seeing you naked.” I miss having a best friend that is more than just a best friend, but also someone that reminds me that I’m a beautiful woman that he really, really loves seeing naked too. I also miss having orgasms that are not self-induced.
I suppose it all sums up to missing having partner in life, someone with whom to share the ups and downs, and the downs and outs. When you are with someone that you love, (and I emphasize, someone you LOVE, because being with someone you don’t love is lonelier than living alone…) the world seems a softer and gentler place to be. You have someone that thinks you are beautiful and worthy of spending their life with. This is one of the biggest compliments I think anyone can get: “I want to spend my life with you. Not anyone else, not anywhere else…but you, here…and you know why I want to spend my life with you?? Because you are YOU, and you are someone that is worth sharing my toothpaste with.”
Now, a funny thing starts to happen after a certain place in a single person’s life. At some point, the world, in its entirety, begins to gang up on you. It’s done with all the subtlety of an elephant standing in your living room. All of the sudden, everywhere you go, there are couples kissing, petting and otherwise generally reminding you of your solitary lifestyle. At first, I honestly didn’t mind. I mean, people are going to be together, right? I have no control or wish to control any one’s private sexual life. Now, however, each and every time I happen to catch a glimpse of a couple looking at each other adoringly, I want to gouge their eyes out with a fork; erecting them on my porch as a warning for all others tempted to exhibit PDA’s. I do, however, find some measured degree of comfort in the fact that I’m not bitter.
All of us want to be loved, though, don’t we?? I mean, it’s natural to long for that one person that thinks you are the best thing to come on to the earth since Christ Himself. There is validation and solace in knowing that even when the rest of the world thinks you are an asshat, that one person will still tell you that you are the reason they continue to breathe. Though my little one certainly goes a long way towards making me feel important, (namely because she is still at the age where I am God) it’s a different type of love entirely. Certainly, the love I have for my little one is larger and more intense than any love I could possibly feel for any other human being on this planet, BUT it does not replace having a partner, nor should it.
I suppose the real issue is with my selection process. Though there have been times in my life where I have been near desperate enough to take any man willing to wink in my direction, my daughter prevents this from coming to fruition. The mantra in my head having changed so much from my youth (when the only really pertinent question was "are they cute enough to fuck?") due to the fact that my choices now affect another little person incapable of defending herself. I’ve been on dates in the past three years, but as I gaze across the table at some asshat that has just polished off his eighth beer of the evening, I now have to ask myself if this individual is good enough to be in my daughter’s life. As they brag about their uncanny ability to burp out the alphabet, the answer always seems to come back as a resounding NO!!
In some ways, I’m not sorry. You see, my daughter is my life…my solace, and my heart. Without her, I would simply cease to exist. That said, hanging on until I find the right man doesn’t seem so hard when she puts her little hands on my face and smiles: “I love you Mama.” Somewhere out there a man exists that is good enough to introduce to this little angel; I simply haven’t found him yet. Ultimately, even if I never do, I can rest with the knowledge that I am a mother to this wonderful little being. Sometimes, even at the hardest times, that comforts me beyond anything any man could ever give me. Sometimes, just knowing that I am not among the women willing to sell their children out for a quick roll in the hay is enough to bring a smile to my lips. It doesn’t change the fact that I wish I could have sex again, but it goes a long way towards making the whole thing seem less painful.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are burritos out there in this big wide world, quietly singing my name.