Sep 18 2006
in honor of national singles week…
Well, okay, I’ve been really busy lately trying to get my stuff together for this show I’m doing on Saturday. I’m making lots of jewelry and working hard on creating clever ways to display this jewelry so that it will look enticing and must-have, so I’ve basically been away from the computer as much as possible. (Nevermind the fact that I often think about retiring from the internet and moving into a cave or something.) Because I know you’re probably dying with curiosity to see some of my latest work, here is a picture of three of my latest bracelets. Whee! I have so much more and I may bore you with it all later, but for now, that’s enough. Fabulous, no? You’d totally want to buy it, wouldn’t you? Exactly.
So anyway, today I was reading this article. It wasn’t very interesting and I don’t even remember where I saw it, but it said that this is National Singles Week. Who knew? Well now we all do. Hurrah. I’ve already written about a few reasons I love being single, and they really are very good reasons that I still stand by at least 85% of the time. I have more reasons, too, like I’m really nothing more than an incredibly moody mass of neurotic insanity, and I can barely deal with myself, let alone another person. But my mom was telling me on Sunday that when she was having dinner with a friend on Saturday night, her friend asked why I hadn’t gotten married yet. So apparently this is an interesting issue for people who aren’t even my grandmother. As such, I thought I would address the question, seriously, without bullshit. Or, okay, with less bullshit than I usually employ when answering personal questions. Ta da:
Why I Have Not Gotten Married Yet
It’s really very simple. I have not gotten married yet because I haven’t met the right fella. Of course, at least for the past year or so, I haven’t actually been interested in seeking a fella, right or wrong. I know that when women say things like this, people tend to assume automatically that she’s just covering up for the fact that she can’t get a date, but I mean it. Because I’m sure that if I really wanted to, I could get a date, and lord knows there are enough people concerned with my romantic well-being that some of them have cousins named things like Kyle to try to hook me up with. And it’s not that I don’t like guys, because I do. I find a good number of them very cute indeed, I tend to enjoy their company, and, on occasion, I wish I had one handy for doing things like carrying heavy stuff, but I don’t feel like marrying one of them. At least not at present. You know, because I’m busy working on my career.
Ahem.
So I’ve spent all of this time not looking for the right fella, and I’ve learned that my grandmother is actually correct — I’m not getting any younger. I’ve met a few suitable fellas, but they’re usually married or gay (and I’m sure that some of the gay ones would probably be married if we weren’t such uptight freaks in this country), and maybe the right fella is already married to someone else who doesn’t yell at the television and knows how to flip a pancake without it going all to hell in mid-flip. But it’s cool, see, because the real reason why I have not gotten married yet?
(Wait for it…)
I’m saving myself for George Clooney. I mean, why not, huh? There’s no sense in being practical when it comes to love, and I am a very patient person (except when I’m not), and, yeah. There. So, don’t cry for me, Argentina. The truth is, uh, well, the truth is that I’m still content with my peanut butter & jelly life. Mmmm. Peanut butter.
And that is all.
Peanut butter never disappoints.
If I were an unmarried woman (can’t think of an appropriate female equivalent of “fella” right now), I think I would save myself for George Clooney too. And in the meantime eat lots of peanut butter.
You may not think you want it, but you have my blessing. (Plus, I’m still secretly hoping one day you’ll give up on George and marry me).
I think the equivalent of “fella” is “gal.” Ew.
It slays me that your love life is a topic of conversation for your mother’s friends.
You should call him. I heard he lost your number.
Me, I actually am getting younger, apparently. Any day now I expect to actually be five. Except with more hair, mostly.
You’re going to live happily ever after. You know that right? I wished I’d believed enough in me to stay alone longer. Just live and when it happens, it happens.
Neil — Exactly. Which is why I love it so much.
Waterhot — Yeah, as Fraulein N already said, I think it’s “gal”. And really it’s just that George Clooney is ever so dashing in a tuxedo. I mean, really. (By the way, doesn’t that make it not a secret anymore?)
Fraulein — It seems to come up a lot. The fact that I am not settled down with George Clooney or anyone else is apparently a fascinating subject.
Linus — Lost my number, eh? So they all say. Also? I’m a bit jealous of this getting younger thing because I totally think not being five is overrated.
Heather — Well, after spending enough time pining after jerks who didn’t really like me all that much anyway, I decided that if I couldn’t be happy with me, I couldn’t be happy with anyone else either. If it happens, cool, and if not, well, there’s always peanut butter. And guacamole. Just not at the same time.
Wifey,
I am not saavy on the internet; in fact, very much of the internet completely overwhelms me. BUT, I do think of you quite often, and I know I can check in on you via the internet.
This comment has nothing to do with your blog entry, and for that I apologize. But, hooray, I wanted to say hi and wish you a happy belated birthday. I also wanted to tell you that I forgot our anniversary many years in a row, but I will never forget the time we celebrated our “paper” anniversary.
xoxo,
wifey
ps. now that I Think of it, my comment does, in fact, have quite a bit to do with your previous blog entry. You are married; you did find the right fella: me.
D’oh! That’s me all over. When I want to make a move, I’m suddenly paralysed, but when I’m trying to be discreet I blurt something out and give myself away…
Oh, and “I decided that if I couldn’t be happy with me, I couldn’t be happy with anyone else either” ? Yeah, that too.
Why can’t peanut butter and George Clooney go together? Mmm…peanut butter. Mmm…smothered on George Clooney. Mmm…chocolate and peanut butter and George Clooney…yummy!
Wifey! I was thinking about you while I was writing this post actually, because, well, you’re my wifey. I also never will forget our paper anniversary… I still have my present, and I will always remember the magical time we spent in Venice. xoxo, wifey.
Waterhot — Heh.
Mema — Well, I see no reason why George Clooney and peanut butter couldn’t go together. In fact, they’d probably go together quite nicely. Provided, of course, that George Clooney is the jelly.
your braclets are very Ooolala. I hope your show rocks. I bet it will, and if there are any left overs… post them up, I wanna buy too
p.s. That’s the best reason not to be married, that and mommy-butt jeans. Yeeep
Hey, you got your peanut butter in my George Clooney! No, you got your George Clooney in my peanut butter!
It’s a relief to me that I have absolutely no attraction to George Clooney. I wouldn’t want to hurt, maim, or otherwise cripple you fighting over him. But if you don’t get your hands off of Colin Firth, you’ll be picking your nose with your toes.
Clooney’s a lucky man.
The fact that you’re not “settled down”, harmoniously sandwiched with your ideal jelly, seems supremely “practical”…and natural. To me, it’s annoying how these half-persons cannot seem to reconcile the qualities of intentional contentment and singleness, and I suppose that the actual, factual reality of being single must appear to such people as being dreadfully lusterless and unfortunate. Which may explain their fascination with your (unrealised) love-life, as if what you do with your heart and body were some kind of irresistable indulgance.(as sweet and toothsome as your heart and body are, no doubt..)
…also- from what I’ve gathered, following the rainbow of emotions of this blog–your Singleness (as lifestyle, not moniker) allows for free(er) expression//portrayal of your essential nature…and as of now, amen to that. Much amusement in your loose ends. Sometimes the peanut butter. Sometimes the jelly. Always sticky-fingered.
..and Clooney: very Swish! So worthy of my P.B. slather.
God, only imagine the artful licking in that yummy combination!
But Jamelah, I thought you were the jelly.
Heather, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the Colin Firth. Nice and slow.
[…] Other than the fact that the word “come” appears twice in the first quoted line, which is awkward and perhaps subliminal, what does this even mean? I don’t have anything that I refer to as my London Bridge. (Maybe this is why I haven’t gotten married yet.) So honestly, Fergie? Uh, what? The only theory I have is what I said to my radio as it was torturing me with this awful, awful song. It goes like this, and I quote: […]