Being single can suck

This past Tuesday marked the third anniversary of my return to single-dom…if that’s even a word. Not a momentous occasion by any stretch of the imagination.

There are no greeting cards for the anniversary of becoming single again. I could just see one in my mind’s eye, sitting in the rack in the card aisle at Meijer. The outside: “Happy Anniversary on being single…” Inside: “…LOSER!” You don’t get a cake, either, though you should. One of those Bill Knapps chocolate cakes with decorative frosting on top depicting a forehead with the universal thumb-and-forefinger at 90-degrees sign. You could market that and it would probably be a hot seller.

Best that one celebrating one’s anniversary of single-ness can do is go out and get drunk. Fortunately, this past Tuesday was St. Patrick’s Day. Which makes my anniversary of single-dom an international holiday where drinking is the acceptable celebratory behavior around the global community. Unfortunately, I had to do the radio thing the next morning and be as always sharp on my game, so the usual Bloody Mary was out. Thus my invention – the non-alcoholic Bloody Mary. Red Bull and V-8. Red Bull for that extra kick to get you started on an early morning after a night of straight shots of Irish whiskey…V-8 to help keep you regular through those same whiskey shots. Yummy.

After the morning show I like to go outside and decompress by watching the squirrels that live behind the station across the street in the woods. The same squirrels that Tim complains daily about on the show that pilfer food from his beloved bird feeder. The morning after my single-dom anniversary celebration of mirth and madness, I was witness to the aforementioned squirrels engaged in mating rituals. Though I'm normally unperturbed by my single-ness, I felt a twinge of jealousy. So, I yelled at them "Get a room!” They looked up at me for a second with an expression of annoyance as if to say, “Excuse me?!?” then continued on with their moment of raw animal husbandry.

As a single person, society and the trappings of media indoctrination has trained me to feel this way about my single-ness. I mean, look at Disney movies, which, unfortunately, I do quite a bit since not only am I single but a single dad whose kids love to go to these flicks. Whenever love is a focal point of the movie’s plot…which is about 95% of these vehicles…how many friggin’ animals are chasing each other? As least in Disney movies, they aren’t humping each other like crazed, sex starved rabbits on a mission to overpopulate the world. This is what Animal Planet on cable is for. This is why I don’t watch Animal Planet…I’d be throwing things at my TV.

You see, my problem with being single is that whenever I am interested in a woman, I wind up in the proverbial hell of single-dom known as “The Friend Zone”. And, of course, everyone around you has advice for you on how to beat this. Usually these well-meaning folk are younger that you and try to play themselves off as wise sages on the subject of getting the girl and having tons of sex. “You’ve gotta be the Alpha male, dude!” they say. Or “Let them pursue you.” No kidding! Having more years in the game than these wise sages for friends I’ve gone both routes, even using both in the same pursuit. Neither strategy has been a winner.

You can argue all you want…but men and women both want the same thing. The pinnacle of relationships. Finding a special person that is the perfect one, the perfect chemistry between the two of you, connection on all levels, and the most glorious sex two people could ever have for the rest of their natural lives. Dream on, people!!! In actuality our psyches tend to screw things up for us, thus rendering us clueless at times on how to pursue each other.

Guys tend to go overboard once they have experienced the “pretty parts” of a woman first-hand, and begin wearing their hearts on their sleeve, or as my uncle used to say, “…start thinking with the wrong head.” Then, blam! Women begin to think that all we want is the sex, even though deep down women do enjoy sex. And guys become all dejected and go home to porn and whiskey.

Or we tend to go after the wrong types. This usually is when we go after someone that doesn’t fit our criteria. Or someone who is not as into us as we first thought. The result? We then sabotage a potential good relationship that comes along with our fear that it will go bad. Then usually find a relationship that will eventually turn out bad. Problem here is once we wake up to this, the potential good relationship we blew off for the one we thought would be good, but went south, is now a gone prospect. Then we revert to spending the lonely evenings at home. Guys… booze and porn. Women…chocolate (or wine) and romance novels (or “chick flick” movie rentals)…which is just a woman’s version of booze and porn.

A guy meets a woman and they become friends. They get along great, go out on a social endeavor and wind up spending the night together. They seem to become close, until the dude expresses that always emotion-evoking sentiment “I love you”. Either in actual words or in actions. Then, all of a sudden it becomes a game of ying-yang. First she plays the “I’m just not that into you” card. Then the next moment spills her guts on what she wants in a relationship. Then, shazam! On to another guy and the first guy is given the silent treatment and treated like he’s not even a friend. Basically she’s stating to the first guy, “Well, now I have to find a new best friend." In my world that would tell me that I’m actually the one who needs to get a new best friend. Thanks for the heads-up. So much for the "got to be friends before you can be lovers" saying we've been fed by the likes of Delilah and other relationship experts.

So this weekend, I’m going to a Disney flick at the theater, and when the ‘love’ scenes come on, I’m throwing things at the screen. Then I’m taking a rifle to the station on Monday and have target practice on the frisky squirrels.

As my uncle used to say, “Women…you can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, and you can’t shoot ‘em.”