Ah, the Joys of Singledom.

The thing about being single and almost 30 (Gasp!) is that it's not the same as it was when you were 25 and single or 22 and single. When you're 22 and single the only time people ask you if you have a boyfriend is when you're about to seal the deal and both parties want to evaluate the risk of partner repercussions. You have to honestly weigh the benefits of getting it on and having to fight with a disgruntled, pissed off partner at a later date. But if no one else is in the picture the risk of the sex becomes much less and depending on your outlook is either more or less fun that way.

At 25 people don't ask if you're single. They ask if you have a boyfriend. Then if you're my mother you proceed to ask if you have a girlfriend. But when you reply to the negative in both regards they smile and acknowledge that you're enjoying life and not weighing yourself down with the stress of managing a significant other. Unless you're my mother and then you see the lives of your yet unborn grandchildren flash before your eyes.

David Sedaris writes that his brother once said: 'Motherfucker, I ain't seen pussy in so long I'd throw stones at it.' While I'm not sure why one would throw stones at something you haven't had in a while I'm in the same boat, well substitute male genitalia. And I think it's a great visual. This is why on a particular Saturday evening I found myself face to face, sucking face with a bartender from my favorite bar trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with me. It's not that I don't find him attractive, it's not that we don't have things in common. I like gin and he gives it to me. But the issue lies in the fact that at a certain point I no longer see men as much as I look at them and evaluate the degree to which they could help me with my little problem. It's not that I'm desperate, I'm bored. And tired. If one more person asks me if I've got a boyfriend and then ask why not when I don't reply in the affirmative, I'm bound for the funny farm. I understand that we as humans are designed (Bad word choice, but work with me.) to be with someone. At this point I've been single long enough that I need to consider that I may be single for a while and maybe a committed relationship isn't for me. Maybe I'm supposed to not be involved. What if I'm supposed to be single so if someday I'm at the bank while it's being robbed I can sacrifice myself in lieu of the bank robber killing the new mom?

Okay so that's a little far-fetched but the point is that if I sit down and seriously evaluate my feelings on the matter I find that I'm not as panicked about it as I should be. It's seriously difficult for me to think about having a boyfriend because I descend into a panic when I'm faced with the option of having to talk to someone who has the least bit of interest in me. Hysteria. Panic. Anxiety. It's seriously not a fun time. I think it has to do with the fact that I'd then have to relinquish control but that's a different post entirely. But I cannot get past the guilt that comes along with just getting the job done because every once and a while you just need to get the job done. So when found face to face alone in the dark with your favorite bartender you're aggravated. Because out of the two of you, he shouldn't be the one who can't make up his mind. I'm supposed to be the wishy-washy one, I'm wishy-washy. To me it's not a matter of if we do or don't. Honestly I don't care either way, but make a fucking decision. I've got to go to bed.