So I mean, of course, online dating is as ubiquitous as flip-flops on hobbitish unattended male feet these days…….so if you’re single you HAVE to give it a shot. I’m no stranger to it, but I’ve learned you have to put in that “somethin’ extra” when you fill out your profile. Since I’m too lazy to come up with a food or weight loss related topic today, I’m just going to cut and paste the work of GENIUS that I posted in my dating blog……even THOSE websites have a special section for a blog…..fucking blogs and the fuckers who coined the term……
I guess when you hit your late 30’s there is some sense of absurdity when it comes to dating. Not that the act of dating is absurd, you just finally give in to the algorithm of quirks and standards that allows you to comfortably and happily (ripping a line from Some Kind of Wonderful here) be alone for the right reasons instead of being with someone for the wrong ones. I have nothing at all against marriage, it doesn’t scare me, but at the same time I don’t feel that desperation to achieve it that is chronicled in so many romantic comedies. With that stated, does it mean I’m just a typical commitment-phobe? Am I so dysfunctional after so many relationships that I’m in denial? Just writing those questions brings me back to the topic of absurdity…when you hit your late 30’s you realize those queries don’t really matter anymore. I mean, if I wanted someone to “fix” me I would have used those irrational fears to goad me into at least one or two failed marriages…ten years ago.Dating is great. Relationships are great, they truly are. But after doing all of that for so long without experiencing a storybook scenario like the ones that fueled all of the existential angst of your early twenties, you figure…love is one random sonofabitch. So with that in mind I dream up these ridiculous scenarios that would qualify someone as “the one”. The chances of one of the scenarios coming to pass is pretty slim, but if it DID happen then there would be no question about the authenticity of the chemistry. Because chemistry, sweet chemistry, is really the only thing that matters…and in my tiny universe of movie quotes and storylines there is a specificity to that brand of alchemy that, by anyone’s standards, is absurd.
One shining example involves the daily routine of the corporate cubicle farm. In it, I am going through my usual inner-dialogue on topics such as “Holding the elevator door for an hour as someone meanders toward it really is the gold standard around here, huh?”, or “Why in THE HELL would I go to lunch with people I would NEVER spend time with outside of work? Yay! Applebees! Let’s all go have riblets and be bound by the exact same office politics that stifle ANY interesting conversations!”, and finally, “This cubicle wall is what? Four inches thick and five feet high? Don’t you think I learn WAY too much about your spouse’s thoughts on your last bout of toenail fungus when you are screaming into your phone so they can hear you over the Carrie Underwood you’ve got blasting in the background?”.
So it is against that backdrop that I’m wandering down the hallway to get a drink or go to a meeting. I stop briefly in front of one of the TV monitors by the elevators to see the latest news on CNN. I finally give up on telling people “no, seriously, you don’t have to hold the elevator door for me, I’m just watching the news, you can be on your way with my blessings and my thanks” and just let them stew in their anticipation as I zone out on today’s top headlines. As luck would have it, Britney and Paris apparently stayed at home that day, so there is no top story…just a panel of people debating the war in Iraq. Snoozefest! Just as I’m about to walk away and go catch up on some REAL news via TMZ.com, one of the old white guys on the panel makes the comment “freedom isn’t free”. Before I can roll my eyes or bang my head against the wall, I instinctively follow up his comment by singing softly “now there’s a hefty fuckin’ fee, and if you don’t throw in your buck o’ five who will?”. Thinking I am totally alone after the last elevator departed, I am shocked to hear a sweet voice from behind me, singing along in stereo as I pay my meager tribute to the film Team America. As I turn to see the other member of this impromptu duet, I am shocked by the boldness, the brashness and devil-may-care attitude of anyone who works in THIS environment but still, knowing I was standing right there, chose to join in on my melodic little media protest. My heart stops momentarily as my stare locks into the eyes of my equal, and I am calm in the knowledge that I am in love. From an astral stage five thousand feet above me I can see the entire span of my life with her, from her one-upsmanship on picking the wine on our first date to the last time I ever feel her breath on me when I am old and my days are at an end. So I turn around and I step forward just enough to feel the first breath I will ever feel in a lifetime of singularly perfect, wordless moments with her. My usual cynical bravado escapes me as I try to find the words that will begin this journey, and we just laugh. Before we even know the name of our soulmate, we just laugh. And we just pick up like we’ve known each other our whole lives. And of course, she’s pretty hot. I mean, that just goes without saying.