Dinners for One

A friend of mine basically shook me on the street the other day and told me I'm too negative. I will be the first to admit that I am not the most optimistic of people. I'm cynical and probably one bad day shy of jaded. I kvetch more than anyone I know and I judge people in my free time. Okay, I'm probably the most negative person I know.

On my mother's advice I used a clicker the other day to track negative thoughts. Over three hundred in one day. And that was a day off from work. Imagine if I was waiting tables. Maybe this cynicism intervention was about due.

I don't know when I became so cynical but I have a feeling it has something to do with the men in my life, specifically the gay community. I've complained before that our gay community is just TOO big. And when people have too many options people become picky. And let me tell you-- the gays may not have invented picky but we perfected it.

Dating ads that look like this: swm seeking masculine uncut polish man from ages 28-29 with a beard that lives within one mile of 60611. And you know the worst thing? That add will get a reply in under ten minutes.

First dates are now basically just job interviews for the position of temp boyfriend until someone better comes along.

And if you somehow wind up in a relationship in a city this large it's only a matter of time before one or both of you are ready to trade up.

This heightened sensitivity (read: insecurity) is probably a result of my recent membership to the most depressing and tiresome way to blow $120 over the course of six months, Match.com. This is a website extorting money from the desperate lonely masses by dangling the carrots of a relationship in front of them.  And I am now a member of the cult. I'm gonna trade in my Prada's, I'm buying the sneakers and drinking the strange Kool-aid. I joined a legitimate dating site. I am now a brainwashed believer in ass-backwards matchmaking.

There I got out my one negative rant in a paragraph. I will now cease all pessimism, or at least try to tone it down for the remainder of this blog. The decision to join came after a revelation in the check-out line at Trader Joes when some random register woman read me like a Danielle Steele novel. She asked me if she could make an observation, to which I replied,

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Well," she said persisting, "I just noticed that you're buying a lot of dinners for one, probably stocking up for the next week."

I told this woman that I swear to god if she finished the thought I would send her my next therapist's bill. Then she said,

"I just thought it would be more economical to buy family dinners and save the leftovers, they'll keep for a day or two and you could save money." The she added the kicker, "I wasted a lot of money on TV dinners when I broke up with my boyfriend."

The thought of this woman alone on her futon eating a TV dinner sent shivers down my spine. I realized in that moment that if I didn't find a boyfriend soon I would wind up offering guidance to wayward singles in the register line trying to purchase single portions of Panang curry. So help me I would do anything in my power to not be this woman, and to never own a futon. I've had it, no more dinners for one.