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Single is double or nothing



The picture above is of a twin bed or a double meant of course for a single who might wish to be in a double which is to say he would need a full, implying that he is not quite full or whole to begin with.

It's OK, I'll make the joke for you: I need a Queen.

I went on a date tonight--I had a pleasant enough time, though I don't think he enjoyed my company that much. It's hard to say, as his personality was, uh, subtle. Nice guy, smart, cute, not Shecky Green but not my great aunt, whose sense of humour was legendarily non-existent.

I'm writing about this not to bitch and moan about being single and alone and craving the company of even a cat or an intestinal parasite, but because everyone I knew in high school seems to be well on in their lives. And I'm not sure why. These are neither the folk I loved nor hated, though I disliked most of them; these are the kids I saw around, who had bit parts in plays and mostly non-speaking roles in classes. They're all married now, it seems. Some have kids, some have jobs, some even have careers.

I'm happier now than I've been in a very long time. Some of this is chemical, some of it is situational. And I can't help but wonder if I'd be non-single, to put it roughly, if I really thought the happiness I sought was locked away in someone else. I don't feel like there's much missing in my life at the moment, so when a date I like rejects me, I'm disappointed but not terribly upset. Which makes...

...me a fucking psychopath. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why haven't I settled down and settled for the girl who gave me pubic lice at a Dave Matthews concert; why hasn't anyone said that I'm "management material"; why do I drink in moderation? I don't know. I don't care.

These days, the gift of happiness--which is to say, antidepressants--seems to be that of indifference.

For a different perspective, you can talk to my neighbor, Creepy McCreep, who was wandering around the building today complaining that someone's cooking was...well, I wasn't really listening. I'm just waiting for the day when Montel asks me, "Was he a normal neighbor?" and I reply, "Fuck no, he wasn't normal. Fucking creeped me the fuck out. Claimed he had superhuman hearing. Was always watching me through his blinds when I was on the verranda. If you can hear so well, what the fuck do you need to confirm visually?"

Stuff that is of the Weak



Taking inspiration from a site that inspires me perpetually, Judith Emily's Beltway Extravaganza and Folk Music Revue, I now present Dirty Peaches' new Monday feature: Stuff that is of the Weak. Judy has 'Stuff of the Week,' but considering that Judy can run a mini-marathon (which I can't) and that she's destined for power (which I'm not), I thought my title was smart...and sadly appropriate. Just let it go.

Candy: Baby Ruth
What other candy is candid enough to advertise its dextrose content? Salty, sweet—Baby Ruth can drive my car any day . I could do without its resemblance to poo, but there are so many enjoyable things I could say that about.

Song: Elliott Smith's 'A Fond Farewell
My relationship with Elliott Smith is turbulent at best. Sometimes I'm sobbing incoherently to 'Between the Bars' and other times I'm writing on the steamy bathroom mirror, "But I want to live!" 'A Fond Farewell,' off the overrated from a basement on a hill, gets it just right: catchy, almost upbeat music with lyrics that I'm not really listening to because the music is just so fucking catchy. This week, 'A Fond Farewell' beat Queen's 'Somebody to Love' by a hair, because while gay-Brit-rock-pop-gospel is tough to beat, it usually ends up losing.

Movie: Silence of the Lambs, or Batman, or Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf or any fucking movie
Fuck Star Wars.

Book: Camera Lucida
"But I want to live!"