Life’s Little Unanswered Questions

So people ask me why I’m single if I don’t want to be and I always respond “well do you know any men?” and after a pause
They say “What about Tom? Oh no, wait, he’s kind of a jerk. OR what about John, no I think after a messy divorce he became an alcoholic. Oh there’s Jack, he’s a great guy, tall smart, well off.” And then the husband chips in “Isn’t he married to your friend Nancy?”
“Oh yeah. Well what about … no …or maybe ….no, yeah I guess I don’t know anyone.”

That’s ok, I say, I already dated those other guys. And then of course your single female friends if they know of anyone worthwhile they’re certainly not going to pass them along. Of course there’s the, ‘hey I went out with this guy and he’s not right for ME but maybe you might get along’. Now usually one chooses one’s friends because you have a certain sameness in sensibility, tastes, lifestyle, humor etc. So chances are whatever she didn’t see in this guy you’re not going to see either, unless it was a height thing and you are different heights. That’s about all I can fathom. But in an attempt to leave no stone unturned I have taken up the occasional offer to meet someone that they themselves have rejected. Let me give an instance of how that goes.

So B (I’ve changed the names and even the initials to protect the unsuspecting innocents. Of course it’s possible I may have changed them back in an attempt to fool people – see the poison drinking scene in The Princess Bride if you are unfamiliar with this logic). So, B introduced me to F because we would get along so well. He comes over and we are all hanging around. He’s not my type, largely because I sense he’s gay, but nice enough and we do have a lot in common. When B pulls aside another friend who is there and says “let’s give them some time alone” he practically chokes up last night dinner and says ‘What? He’s not her type’ but she shushes him anyway because never deter a woman on a mission. The evening is fine but nothing to call the New York Times about and I agree to dinner with F because maybe with people around and whatever it was awkward. It doesn’t explain away the strange soft woman-like tone he has but I try not to make snap judgments.

More of the same the following evening so I call my friend the next day and say, “Hey you know thanks for introducing me to F. He is a great guy and we do have a lot in common but I don’t think we’re really a match.” To which she replies “What is he too gay?” Uhm, YEAH and if you thought that why were you setting me up with him? Well she wasn’t sure. She thought maybe it was his way because he was Canadian. Before I address that logic let me recount another story as way of explanation:
I once went out with an Australian and I asked a friend to swing by a restaurant where I was and give an gay-radar-opinion because my history is rife with and I had a feeling. The first time he got up to go to the bathroom she said “Well I just think he’s excited to be with you.” And the second time he got up she said “Well I think it’s because he’s Australian” and then the third time – and don’t ask me why he had gotten up so much during the dinner but this is a true story not a joke with the template 3 times thing – she said “Okay, he’s gay.”

Do women think that men from other countries are oddly feminine? And if so, would that apply, of all places, to Canadians or Australians? I mean when I think of Australia I picture hunky surfer dudes on the beach or husky he men slugging back pints of beer. I understand this makes my brain a subject of incredible stereotypes but still….I think you’ll find you’re thinking the same thing – don’t deny it! Or think of Canadians. There are the sort of thin nerdy Quebecois men, or the mounted police (ok, pause a minute here to run through your 4th grade jokes about ‘mounted’) or then there are lumberjacks, fellers of great trees. What part of that is feminine….ok….maybe a little bit the French Canadian guys but this guy wasn’t French. So how was being from Canada abooout being gay?

So that was the last time a friend set me up with a reject of her own. I still owe her one. I’m just looking for the right guy.

Then there are the men my own age who are married and ask me that same question. After we go through the list of what losers their friends are they kind of shrug their shoulders and turn to their wives imploringly. Their 2nd wife. The trophy one. These guys are in their 50s and their wife is not. She’s 35, blonde, not too bright but amenable enough and they both look at me and say again, why can’t you find a guy? I recently had a man who looked like a keebler elf but was married to a show room model ask me that. Did I mention he was wealthy?

That sort of sums it up for referrals.

Then of course, one says, by way of true incredulity “And you have a dog besides!” as though that should be the crowning jewel for some guy. Never mind I’m in great shape, went to an Ivy League school, raised 2 great kids, have traveled around the world, am a philanthropist, know how to cook, like football and hate shopping, I mean, shit, on top of that I have a dog! First of all a PUPPY is a CHICK magnet. I have a 10 year old pound-hound. If that even worked with those logistics, as though having a dog is a magic key to some kingdom of people with dicks, let me explain here how it works in my world.

First, a word about my dog. My dog is a dogist. She hates dogs. If she were a person she would own a cat. Not all other dogs, just certain breeds. She hates labs, setters, retrievers, small dogs who yap first at her, big dogs, poodles – just the giant ones, go figure – jack russells and Chihuahuas. Frankly, I hate Chihuahuas too so if my dog goes out on her morning walk and eats your Chihuahua for breakfast, I’m just saying now, I didn’t see anything. When she first moved into New York with me and she was still learning how to be nice to half the dogs on the street. We passed a dog who barked at her and she had that dog’s ass in her mouth so fast it was almost impressive. Of course the owner didn’t think so, and while I was extracting Fifi’s rump from her jaw I found myself saying, “well she started it.” (It’s like when you hear yourself saying things to your children your mother used to say to you and you think, Really, did that just come out of my mouth?) This is the dog that is going to be attractive to someone? I have to stay away from other dog owners, cute, single or not. The only way another dog owner is going to fuck me is in court after my dog mauls or eats his dog. That’ll be $10,000 recompense for vets bills and another $25,000 for emotional distress. If I’m lucky. So natch on the dog reaping me any of that.

Of course if you’re not a dog owner you might think she’s cute or want to pet her and she has a very waggy tail so people think she’s just darling. Then they notice I’m carrying a little bag filled with dog poop and the whole sexy dog owner scenario goes right out the window. People don’t own dogs precisely because they don’t want to have to clean up after them. As a friend who walked my dog once said it’s about the odor and the texture of picking it up, and that pretty much sums it up for most petless people. Frankly I don’t mind that part of it. If there’s other garbage I pick that up too as if to challenge anyone with a look that say “look what a good citizen I am”. Not that anyone cares. I once read an article about a guy who poured water on his dog’s pee to wash the sidewalk and wanted adulation for that. Guess what, buddy, it’s never coming. And it never did. And neither is the smile from the guy going by in the jogging suit. If you neglect to clean up you’re going to be yelled at but if you do people sneer at how glad they are that they don’t have a dog. Another example of the unfairness of life.

As an aside, I feel like I’m also making headway in my never ending battle against flies. I ran a restaurant once and I had to take a sanitary course before being certified. The only thing that stuck with me was this: The instructor said, you know how people will freak out if they find a cockroach in their salad. Well, think on this: cockroaches live on garbage. They live on food and food scraps. You see them behind restaurants in containers or garbage. We scream and holler and want our money back if we find one in our food. Flies however, live on shit. Think of where you see them, on dog shit in the streets and if you lived in Manhattan in the 80s on people shit in the streets but that’s another story. Anyway, flies live on shit yet when they land on our food we brush them away. Do the math on the disgusting factor. Since that day I’ve been in battle with every fly I meet. Plus they’re annoying. So if I can deprive flies of a place to live and breed it’s worth my while to pick up after my dog. Take that. It’s my story and I’m sticking with it and I think it gives me some sort of moral high ground. The better to look down on all those couples from.

Suffice to say between a Chihuahua’s tail hanging from my dogs mouth or a NY Times blue bag filled with Alpo recomposting, the dog is not going to solve my love life problems.

And this is why I’m single. Any other questions?


2 thoughts on “Life’s Little Unanswered Questions

  1. That was two blogs.  The dog one should’ve been separate.  You diluted the humor.   (editor mom.) 


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