The most depressing thing about the holidays while single is the realization that I can’t get a live tree to put in my living room to shed needles and hang ornaments on because I don’t have anyone to help me get it home from the tree lot. And it’s a very sad thing to be deprived of the sweet smell of Christmas just because I don’t have a little helper. Where will the presents go if there’s no tree? What’s a girl like me to do except seek out a seasonal boyfriend, just like temp positions at retail shops this time of year. I need John Mayer’s ‘St. Patrick’s Day’ to come to life. A Christmas boyfriend to snuggle up to and kiss in the new year and share a box of Valentine’s Day chocolates until spring comes with St.Patrick’s Day to melt the frost of a doomed relationship.
Orphaned for Thanksgiving this year (again) my former roommate has invited me to overeat with her and her family. Knowing of my Thanksgiving destination, a colleague of mine asked if I would be so kind as to pack into my overnight an unopened championship soda can from the year 1982 when my roommate’s father was assitant coach at a certain North Carolina university for him to autograph. I imagine that my roommate’s father will be 1) digusted by 27 year old soda or 2) impressed by my colleague’s loyalty. I also imagine that 27 year old soda would taste pretty much like the 30 year old Dom that I had at my friend’s seaside wedding. Totally gross. Here’s hoping that I don’t get thirsty while driving two hours this afternoon and pop the top of a can of soda as old as I am. Go Heels!
My 5 year old, rusty bike with flat tires wasn’t on the landing of my old apartment when I went back for it the other day. I was going to love it again, make it shiny. Now I don’t have the chance because someone stole it. I can’t imagine who would want it but if it finds itself under someone’s Christmas tree then so be it. I’ll just have to ask Santa for a new one.
But the memories of a new bike won’t be as seasoned as my old one. My bike I had to ride to the nearest ATM after my car (and my best friend’s car) got towed from a Starbucks parking lot (within the timespan of thirty minutes mind you) 4 years ago and the only way I was to get it back was if I forked over $120 in cold hard cash to the bastards who made off with it. Worse than criminals I say. My bike I rode to work some days since I lived only a couple miles away, saving the planet and money. I rode that thing all over town. And now, it’s gone.
I will always enjoy bedtime and think of my bed as most sacred. I will always check out books from the library and only buy my absolute favorites from the bookstore with which to lend to friends. I will always be shy to new people and situations. I will always bake cupcakes to share. I will always have a collection of really bad boyfriends, like stockpiled shampoo in my linen closet. I will always want to write a book rather than put them away. I will always have my heart set on retiring to the beach or mountains. I will always want to go away for my birthday. I will always keep anything anyone has ever written to me. I will always be sad whenever anyone close to me leaves. I will always journal. I will always be obsessed with the condition of my eyebrows. I will always open blank greeting cards. I will always love the loveless.
I didn’t grow up to love BH.
I didn’t grow up to love PA.
I didn’t grow up to love AE.
I grew up to love ME!
I am currently accepting applications for a new family. I have not seen my own family since last year, or well technically early this year as my delayed flight from Florida back to Charlotte put a damper on my New Year’s Eve festivities. Nonetheless, I have not seen my family in a very long time. I just bought a house and you would think that feat in and of itself would lure them up for a visit. But no, they still haven’t seen me or my house. I’ve thought of every ploy imaginable to get them up here, everything short of faking a pregnancy since my mother is at that age where she salivates over the mere mention of the word baby. But for every attempt, they feed me lies about why another month goes by that they haven’t visited.
Enough already! I’d like a new family please. One that lives closer, but not too close. I don’t want my own version of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’. One who will buy me home furishings and treat me to dinner and shower me with cash and tell me I’m pretty.
If you or someone you know would like to adopt a witty, cute, smart, low-maintenance, high on fun girl in her mid (to late) 20′s please contact me at your earliest convenience. All applications must be received by 11/16 as the holidays are rapidly approaching.
I have been good* all year so for Christmas next month I would like a boyfriend and a puppy, but if the sleigh won’t hold both, just bring me the puppy.
*The definition of “good” to not include the following vices: surfing gossip websites daily, participating in a (Vanilla) Coke (a day) habit, driving a perpetually dirty car, yelling dirty words in traffic, talking to ex-bfs, lusting after underage boys, lying to my boss, picking at my non-manicured fingernails, stealing the neighbor’s Internet, et cetera.
…IKEA before closing time because I have the place all to myself, rocker chick Lissie, homemade Rice Krispie treats, walks in the park over leaves that crunch, mail in the mailbox of my new house, chilly wind makes chimes sing, the smell of new books, sweet dreams, pumpkin scented candles, mommade scarves, the weather for love, Starbucks seasonal beverages…
I have seen this man four times now. And I will see him as long as he makes Atlanta and Asheville stops on his tour since Charlotte doesn’t make the cut. I just can’t get enough. I listen when I’m sad and I listen when I’m happy. I intend to name my dog after this man. You may have never heard of him before but one listen is all it takes. After hearing his ‘Trouble’ four years ago, I’ve been a fan and have gotten my hands on every album ever recorded, all three of them. ‘Trouble’ is on a Travelers Insurance commercial now, the one with the cute dog and his protective bone. There’s really nothing more I can say about Ray LaMontagne, endearingly nicknamed Rayla. I heart him and hope that he’ll continue to make music for a very long time.