Happiness is a moment

”Save me, save me from you. But pave me the way to you.”

- kd Lang, “Save Me,” from Ingénue

Love is still in the air. It stinks. As my mother would say, “It smells like male cat pee!” But I want to talk about why I’m happy for a moment, and then I’ll go back into all of this longing crap.

I’m happy that I have a roommate. I’m happy that my parents love me. I’m happy that the opening weekend of the show went well. I’m happy that there are curse words. I’m happy that soy milk has fewer carbs than cow’s milk. I’m happy I know what the next step in my life is. I’m happy that I have four different options for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m happy that I drive a Honda. I’m happy that I took my dad to eat fish and chips today. I’m happy that I have a happy thought right now.

Okay, I feel better having expressed some optimism. Now, back to business…

I’m still in my “I want a man” phase. (I’m also still bloated from lunch, but these two “stills” are unrelated.) I guess I think that if I talk about it enough then it will happen. This is a pattern with me. I go through little phases where I am focused on something and I won’t move on until I have attained the said focus. For example, last year I really wanted a new car. Say hello to my mini-tampon, the white Civic Coupe. Over the summer, I grew the desire to move out of Minneapolis. I can see the Space Needle from where I’m typing. Now, if I put all of my faith, energy, and motivation into a dickwich, then within a few months (weeks!? days!?!?) I will be introducing you to Mr. X.

Let’s discuss the current possible Mr. X’s.

Mr. X(1) is still getting over his ex-boyfriend. He is looking for jobs where his ex-boyfriend is living, and I don’t understand why one would move to be closer to one’s ex. He also keeps referring to me as his “friend.” Is this a sign? This man fails to provide me with sufficient evidence to convict him of potentially loving me.

Mr. X(2) I haven’t really discussed in this blog. He’s a smoker and I have suspicions that he’s an alcoholic, yet he’s smart and treats me well. (I guess I would have to get over my aversion of whiskey breath.) However, he talks to his pets when he’s on the phone with me and forgets to do weird things like put on anti-perspirant after showering. On the other hand, he has a successful career as an engineer (particularly for a twenty-two year old) and maintains sexy ambitions to be an architect who specializes in earthquake proof skyscrapers. Lastly, he recently had a run in with the police because of a self-destructive drinking binge related to his ex-boyfriend. Oops. This isn’t a good idea, either.

Mr.X(3) everyone knows. He’s brown, solid at room temperature, and can be enjoyed in all shapes and sizes. His name is chocolate. He’s in my mouth right now.

The reality is none of these Mr. X’s will ever be my Mr. WhateverthefuckitisIwantrightnow. I need to sniff the roses, or at least sniff something other than my drool-encrusted pillow in the morning. There just seems to be “couplehood” happening all around me, and I want to join in on the fun. I thought I just had bad luck getting men in Minneapolis and I hope to shit that the man poison hasn’t traveled west with me (I didn’t think there was enough room in the car...).

I know, I know. He must be out there somewhere…but where?

By the way, the quote that started this entry is the tentative opening number to my as of yet unnamed cabaret show. Pretty cool, eh? No…really, you can stop applauding.