Alright, this is addressed primarily to those of you who insist on playing matchmaker for me. Stop. Please. I’m perfectly capable of meeting people on my own. I’ve done it my whole life. I realize I’m not dating right now. It’s because I have leprosy. No, seriously, it’s because I just got out of a four-year marriage that was preceded by dating for over two years. So, if you’re capable of basic math, I just got out of a six-year relationship. I’m not looking for a serious relationship (because I’m not a glutton for punishment), and I’ve never really been one for quick flings (damn my high moral standards).

I’m truly enjoying this newly acquired single status. I go where I want to, when I want to, with who I want to, and answer to no one except for the bank who holds my mortgage, and Steven Segal. At the end of the day, I don’t have to worry about what kind of mood I’ll be coming home to. I know what kind of mood I’m in, and it’s usually tired and thirsty. I also don’t need to concern myself with making sure that the food I prepare fits the cravings of anyone but me (the downside to this is that I’m eating a lot of extremely unhealthy food). I can slather my body with bacon grease and cavort around the house while listening to the Talking Heads at full volume. I don’t, but only because that CD is scratched all to hell and my dogs would be upset with me for wasting perfectly good bacon grease, and may quite possibly try to eat me.

So, you see, I’m really okay. Better than okay, actually. Better than I have been in years. And if one more person invites me over to the house for drinks, and I walk into an ambush where the only two single people are me and Girl X, and we’re forced to sit beside each other all night, and you keep telling us how great we seem to be getting along, I will stab you and burn your house to the ground with you in it. Cheers!