A friend of mine commented on my most recent posting by saying I must be in a good mood again, because I only rant about things when I'm in a good mood. The rest of the time I'm just angry.
Having only two moods does cut down on possible ambiguity, which is helpful because I really only have one facial expression and it can best be described as "poker."
I could try arguing that I'm actually a more finely nuanced person than that because sometimes I'm hungry, thirsty, horny or watching Glee, but those aren't so much moods as they are tendencies.
It's completely true. I'm ranting or I'm angry, which may explain why not a single one of my friends has ever asked me to babysit. It also demonstrates that I may just be a highly evolved amoeba.
Ranting and being angry aren't the only things I do well, in my defense. I'm also exceptionally good at being in denial. Denial may in fact be the closest I get to happy.
Why bother whether the glass is half full or empty? Why not just ignore the fact the glass exists at all and save everybody an untenable argument? Also, if I ignore the glass I won't have to wash it, so there's really no down side.
Denial has been working well for me, but lately friends of mine seem intent on messing with my completely reasonable and healthy approach to romantic failure.
For example, I really enjoy having my friend and work colleague stop by my office for a chat, but when she asks me whether I've heard from Alex and have I thought about what I'm going to do about that whole situation and how am I feeling about it now? -- my memory fails.
I don't know what she's talking about. I don't know who she's talking about. I don't even know who she is, so she should probably get the hell out of my office.
This level of denial and deflecting of issues is relatively easy to pull off, provided I keep my thinking to a minimum. I only need enough brain capacity to drive, eat, pee and use the TV remote. Anything more and there could be problems and by problems I mean tears and snot.
On one hand I'm fortunate that I can do this at all, because the object of my unrequited affection lives more than 400 kms away. This decreases the threat of running into him and his new gf to slightly more manageable levels.
On the other hand, this distance seems to act as a signal to everybody else that it should be much easier to move on, and in fact I really need to do so. Like, right now. Get over him and just get underneath somebody else, for the love of God.
Given we've established I only have two moods, (three if you count denial) I'm skeptical of this advice. If there was a line-up of eligible men in uniform waiting patiently at my door I could see how I might want to take a baby-step toward somebody else. Anybody else.
There is no line-up however, so the most amusing part of these conversations are the suggestions for where I should be meeting eligible men.
Many days I really don't know whether to laugh or cry, which is natural considering neither option fits with the only two emotions I'm willing to entertain.
The grocery store for example, is brought up so frequently one would think you could order up a man in the deli just as long as you specify a small, medium or large container.
Apparently attractive single men spend hours roaming around grocery store aisles, just waiting for frazzled looking women to come dashing through the store because they forgot their dinner recipes called for ingredients.
What is supposed to happen next when a frazzled looking woman is standing in the same produce section as an attractive man is a mystery though.
I have a theory on why nobody knows what should happen next to bring these two star-crossed people together over suspicious looking melons. Nobody can explain it, because it's never happened. Nobody ever actually picks up in a grocery store - it's an urban myth.
Hollywood is to blame. Characters are constantly finding love at the supermarket, and I can see why it's an easy convention. Everybody goes to the grocery store unless you're a shut-in, really famous, fabulously wealthy or Lady Gaga. Since I'm none of these things (yet) I do spend a lot of time buying food.
If life were actually a romantic comedy, I'd be tripping over Jake Gyllenhaal when we both reach for the same discounted chicken breast and somehow our respective shopping baskets get jumbled and I end up going home with men's deodorant and he ends up with my box of tampons. Somehow we must find each other again to make things right. Shenanigans ensue.
Life is not a romantic comedy. People meet in the grocery store in movies all the time because it's easy, not because it's realistic.
People vanish in movies all the time due to random instances of quicksand, and yet you don't hear much about that in real life either.
"Hey - Did you hear about Phil?"
"No - What happened?"
"Quicksand! Gone just like that! Turned around for a second and all that was left was his hat. Kind of a bummer because he had my house keys."
"Shit!"
Conversations like this don't take place, because they would be ridiculous. Just the same, perfectly intelligent people still seem to think grocery stores are Mecca for lonely women and hot men.
I'm not saying an attractive man has never stepped foot in a grocery store - not at all. I've seen several, and on one occasion even trailed one from the bakery section to the dairy and back to the bakery before deciding I should stop being creepy.
What I am saying is that an average looking mortal woman would have difficulties executing any kind of charm or seduction while squeezing avocados. Even if a hot grocery shopping dude was standing right there, what in the world to say?
Perhaps I can share that I've heard about a recipe for guacamole that includes bacon, and I think it would be awesome if I licked it off his chest. Or just ate bacon. Maybe I could start with a hello, and he could marvel at the boldness of Jehovah's Witnesses nowadays or grow concerned that I'm obviously developmentally delayed because I'm standing in a grocery store saying hello to random strangers and should really be chaperoned.
We'll just never know, because through careful analysis of science and statistics, falling victim to quicksand has been proven 1,000 more likely than falling for my next horrible break-up in a grocery store.
A fact I'm also choosing to ignore and deny until I'm forced to find a low-hanging tree branch and miraculous rescue.
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