Last night I went on a date with this hottie mcdottie.
THAT’S ME. Look at that Goodwill t-shirt and those Target brand knock-off Wayfarer shades. Who the hell wouldn’t want to date that?
Well, everyone, apparently. Or no one. Whatever. The point is that I don’t do dates with other people. Partly because no one wants a piece of this and partly because I don’t want a piece of them.
The point is that I don’t get love. Sure, I get familial love, and I love my dog, and I love my friends (although I’ve never been comfortable telling them – me and my sister are barely at the point where we can say, “love you,” on the phone). But I don’t see why romantic love is so necessary. Maybe it’s because I spent so long trying to learn how to get over depression and love myself. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been chunky and I never thought anyone would be interested in me. I’m mostly past that now – I like myself okay, and I’ve accepted the fact that there could be someone out there with eclectic taste who might go for me – but I still feel like it’s not as important as people make it out to be.
When I picture myself in a relationship in the future, as an adult (I’m not owning up to my adultness just yet), all I can see is maybe someone who stays out of my business, who does the dishes and the cooking and the laundry sometimes, and who will just get the hell away from me when I need them to. We will talk about movies and books and why our dog is acting so weird. I value my “me” time too much to be a part of one of “those” couples, the ones who can’t be split up, who are a package deal, a two-for-one special that isn’t so special, just kind of annoying.
Self-love is so underrated (and I don’t mean that kind of self-love, you nasties [at least that’s not exclusively what I mean, anyway]). I’d recommend being single to anyone, and it would be a ringing endorsement. I feel like I know myself better because I didn’t waste time in high school on stupid relationships that wouldn’t last (and I realize some do last, but that’s, like, 2% of them?). I feel like I know what I am attracted to in a person. Like Liz Lemon, I know what all my deal-breakers would be (for the record, they include: likes Nickleback, cites “The Dark Knight” as their favorite movie, hasn’t read more than 10 books in the same number of years, doesn’t make an attempt to dress at least a bit decently, is a meathead). THAT’S A DEAL-BREAKER, LADIES!
And I know I said I don’t “get” romantic love, like I don’t understand it at all. But that’s not true. I’ve been down Unrequited Blvd. in Loveville quite a few times, mostly with dudes who turned out to be gay or Super Conservative. And I like some love songs (although that’s like, 95% of songs, in some way or another). And “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” makes me sad. I’m not completely heartless.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I really just want to date myself. Maybe a less anxious, more responsible version of myself, but all the things I like about myself, I’d like to see in a potential partner. This, of course, probably explains my accidental attraction to gay dudes (“Oh, you like musical theatre and cooking shows and dance music? Let’s get married. Yes, of course we’ll play the Funny Girl original Broadway cast recording at the reception”).
And for the record, I really enjoyed my date last night. I ate Noodles and Company and bound some text blocks and watched Winter’s Bone (verdict: watch it) and Never Let Me Go (verdict: read the book instead).
Finally, because it’s probably stuck in your head now (or at least it should be, if you know what’s good for you), here’s “Something to Talk About” by the very fierce Bonnie Raitt.
ALSO ALSO ALSO: The first person who says, “Oh, don’t worry Lora, you’ll find someone!” is going to get cyber bitch slapped. That is not the point of this blog post. The point is LORA – SINGLE AND LOVIN’ IT. Keep your sympathy in your pants where it belongs (I don’t know why it belongs there, it just does).