Singled out

In my building there is a sign on the pool area that says: "No one may enter or swim alone." Singles everywhere know the fear of this sign. Though there are few places where you will be barred for being a single there are many that will make you feel uncomfortable for not being a double. I mean, is there any restaurant that has a table set for one? And can you really go see a movie alone sans judgement? Even food has away of discriminating, most desserts are portioned to share. I used to wonder why so many business men choose to eat at the bar rather than just sit back in a low chair and have their own table. And now, as a single, I understand. There is an invisible barrier, like those electric fences for dogs, keeping singles away from certain places and events.

And so, as fall wedding season approaches I near the unavoidable circumstance of unceremoniously attending a plus one ceremony minus one. And usually I can pull out my usual get out of wedding free cards: fein poverty--plane tickets are so expensive, my tux is at the cleaners, my cat has mono. But not for this wedding, this time I'm actually involved. Not in a groomsmen kind of way but in a I'm-drawing-the-wedding-certificate kind of way. In the quaker tradition of hand drawn wedding certificates, my good friend Annie has asked that I design and draw the certificate that will be signed by all the attendees. Kitty with sniffles wont get me out of this one.

And I'm excited to be tasked with such a sentimental and important piece of the ceremony but I do feel as though my situation is somewhat making a mockery of me. I mean, half a year ago I was waving my big stupid relationship around in everyone's face. 'I'm so in love," and, 'I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him--or the rest of his life cause he'll probably die first but that's okay,' and getting my big drunk red face photographed in a gay rag sitting on his lap. I was so proud of my big fat gay relationship. And afterwards I felt like such an idiot, not for being in the relationship but for blasting it though my social megaphone the way I did. I wish I had just had a nice quiet affair minus all the tumultuous bullshit. This may sound weird for such a loudmouth blogger as myself but there is something I miss about privacy. The nice quiet behind closed doors kind of relationship, where nobody feels a need to gossip about you or speculate about your pending breakup.

And lately it seems like everyone has had nothing to talk about but relationships. Why won't he call me? Why can't I find a boyfriend? Why's my boyfriend such a jerk? Nobody ever wants to talk about a relationship when things are going well. No, we wait until the relationship is DEFCON-2 to bring it up and DEFCON-1 to ask advice. When it seems like half my friends are tying the knot in their relationships and the other half are tying the knot in their noose the best advice I can give anyone is to just stop trying so hard. No matter where the relationship is just stop trying. Don't exert yourself, don't put any effort into it, don't make any phone calls, don't argue, just don't. The reasoning being: if it doesn't work out at least you didn't exhaust yourself trying to make it work.

I used to think everything about men was so complicated, but I've since realized that there is nothing complicated about us. We are always just going to float down the easiest path of least resistance like a committal log in the river. Men don't have agendas or ulterior motives. We all just do easy things that please us. And also, I'm going to let you in on a secret: we don't lie. We just forget. We have selective (and short term) memory that allows us to forget things we don't want to remember at the moment.

For example: observe Gucci the cat.

Gucci is in the kitchen eating his nummy nummy soft food when a runaway cappuccino cup slips off my espresso maker and nearly maims him, shatters his food bowl and sends glass flying everywhere. Gucci jumps about six feet in the air runs into a corner and looks at me as if I just attempted murder on him. I clean up the glass, replace the food and water and vacuum. Ten minutes later Gucci has no recollection of the events and is back in my lap purring.

Think of men as cats, they don't have the capacity to remember things they don't like. If I drop an encyclopedia on his tail he'll hate me for about five minutes and then forget it happened. However, he will never, never ever, forget which cabinet the treats are hidden in and he will spend all night long trying to open it with his paw (when kitties spend excessive time digging in the litter box I am convinced they are working on an underground tunnel to the treat cabinet). Bad experience= forget. Pleasing experience= remember forever.

It was this very advice that I ignored in my last catastrophic relationship. Stop trying. Stop expecting it to look the way you wanted. Stop expecting him to do everything he says he's going to do. Men never keep their word 100% of the time, and the men that do don't have many words to keep. I tried to force everything about him and the two of us together into this perfect neat little package and eventually it just fell apart. My most successful relationships (I said most, not completely) were the ones that I honestly didn't put that much effort into. I just let it happen, let him come to me, and let things go right and wrong on their own. If you don't drive the car the accident's not your fault, unless nobody's driving and then it's everyone's fault. But a man, when given the option to be in control and steer the relationship however he sees fit, will never pass up the opportunity.

I mean, what other advice would you expect from someone who takes cabs everywhere? And now that  I think about it, cabs are the one place where it's less expensive to ride alone.