Overthunk

(BTW, I fucking hate George Thorogood. And the Destroyers.) (Why the hell did I think he was dead? Turns out he isn't.) Anyway, I do drink alone. But every time I tell someone that, they gasp to themselves and think it's something horrible. I also drive my car alone, try on ridiculous bras alone, do breast self-examinations alone, clean my garage alone.... when you live with only your roommate and your dog, you do lots of things alone. So if I come home and feel like having wine with dinner, guess what I do? I have some. I don't call 15 friends to see if someone can come over to keep me from falling into an alcoholic abyss. Besides, I'm not REALLY alone... my pug's always home and he could run for help if needed. Long as he didn't drink too much of the beer that spilled on the floor when I keeled over (that last bit was of course, a fictional account). Crap, I have a bigger problem with eating cookies than I do drinking, and I do that alone LO...

And no, I don't mean the Freudian dream. I mean standing in the geographic middle of Wal-Mart trying on panties over your panties in case the last test driver had post-coital drip. We've all done it, sometime. And it's weird. I always have this fear that the fire alarm's going to go off and the shantytown of dressing stalls will fill up with smoke and collapse, sending me running for my car with only one boob half tucked into a hot pink and black bra and panty set I have no business buying. Either that or the security guys take turns laughing at the fat woman's ass hanging out of a cheap 2X thong.

OK, I admit it. I'm a tired-of-being-so-damn-single computer geek, so to meet men, I have a personal ad up. (Once you finish laughing, I can go on.) The ad's served its purpose on several occasions, but nothing's stuck yet. Anyway, on this ad, there's a counter to tell you how many times your ad has been viewed. And this weekend, * ~~~ ``` ~ ~~ * * * ** ^^ ~~~ I HIT 1000!!! *** ~~~ `` * ~~~ ``` ~ ~~ * * * Oddly, instead of being depressed about this scientific quantification of my rejection by the opposite sex, I kind of feel like dancing a little dance or having some cake or something. Maybe cause it means I am absolutely, undeniably unique and without parallel. ;) Or not. In any case, for now, arriba spinsterhood!

For the past several years, I've taken it upon myself to plan my own birthday celebration, because I'm not that fond of surprises and figured that way I wouldn't be disappointed. And I've had some fun ones. But this year, I didn't plan anything... went to a work Christmas party on the day of, actually. The milestone is that I wasn't secretly whiny that no one else did anything either. :) I'm getting old (34) or cynical, or both. But I am more content. And this is good.