Best Case Scenario = Death

There's a comedian named Louis C.K.  If you have no knowledge of him I recommend you go to your nearest video store or Netflix account and educate yourself....wait...come back here!  Do it later.  Jeez what’s wrong with you?

Anyway I was watching one of his routines and he was talking about dating.  Basically he says that no matter what, it will end badly.

Maybe you meet and one of you thinks the other is repulsive.  One of you will be hurt and miserable.

Maybe you meet and things seem great..... for a while.  Then the spark fizzles out and you break up.  One of you will be hurt and miserable.

Or maybe you meet and the heavens open up and angels sing.  You date, you get married, you have kids who grow up to be productive members of society and give you adorable, grandparent-worshiping grandchildren.  You have holidays together that make the cover of the Saturday Evening Post look like a Manson family reunion.  You make sweet, passionate love to each other twice a week into your 80's. He opens doors for you and you cook for him, or vice versa.  Whatever floats your boat.

But then...sure as shit...one of you WILL die....and the other one will be hurt and miserable.

So basically, in relationships, the BEST CASE SCENARIO...is death. 

So why do we do it?   What is so freaking awesome about this thing we chase after...this elusive feeling...this luuuuuuuuuuuuuuvvvvv....that makes us temporarily, sometimes for the long-term, blind to the sheer misery that it is sure to cause? 

Now I'm not sure if  have any male readers, but if I do, here is where you're thinking that it's totally worth it because you get to put Tab A into Slot B on a semi-regular basis.  You are now excused from this conversation.  You are genetically incapable of participating.  It’s not your fault, but be gone with you.

But ladies....seriously.  Why do we try so hard to find Mr. Right when we know his socks will stink just as bad as those of Mr. Wrong?  Why do we dream of the day when we can say "I Do" when statistics show that if he does, he won't for long? 

Freaking why?

There are theories that we are simply wired that way.  Just like the men are wired to dip their wicks every chance they get, we're wired to find the caveman who will keep the wooly mammoth out of the cave.  But really, how often does it work out that way?  Right now I'm 0 & 2 (or am I 2 & 0?  I should know better than to try to pull off a sports analogy)....I have two failed long-term relationships.  I have my very own .357 magnum to which I have no problem introducing any wooly mammoth that dares darken my cave opening.  So why do I glance at the left hand of every reasonable looking man who is polite to me?  I am quite capable of going out and clubbing some protein over the head and dragging it home to cook over a fire (ok..Aldi's & the microwave, work with me here).  So why do I still shave my legs?

If the theory that we're wired that way is true, we're wired to be stupid.

I'm not claiming to have evolved beyond any of this nonsense.  Not at all.  Even as I take a break from the soul-crushing task of making a relationship work (and perhaps that's best given my attitude, yathink?) I am at the same time looking forward to getting back out there at some point.  I am guilty of entering my search criteria into Match.com and perusing the results.  In fact didn't their tagline used to be "Go ahead, it's free to look"?.  I am far from ready to open myself up to that sort of heartache again, but I'm acknowledging that at some point I'm going to do it....scary as it is.

But I don't know why.  Maybe when I figure that out I'll know I'm ready.  Or, best case scenario, I'll be dead.

Today's lunch:  This really awesome vegetable bake that my friend Dee turned me on to. You just take a shitload of veggies (I used squash, bell peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms & onion) cut them up, drizzle on a little olive oil, add salt & pepper, bake it at 350 for an hour, add some mozzarella cheese to the top, bake again 'till melted. Simple and delicious.  So I had that with applesauce.  And diet coke...if I don't add some chemicals to the meal I fear my body will go into shock and reject the healthy food.

My (Pessimist's) Mug Runneth Over

I have this mug....wait...this mug here. 


The other side says "Pessimist's Mug", though I don't really consider myself a pessimist...more a cynic and a realist but really, po-tay-toe/po-tah toe.

Today as I sit here munching on company-supplied pizza (yes, my friends, there IS such a thing as a free lunch) I can't help but think that The Universe, God, Budda, Allah or my Fairy Godmother...someone....has actually provided for me quite nicely over the past couple of months.  And to continue to approach life with one eye firmly shut and the other fearfully squinting at whatever comes my way is sort of an insult to that Higher Power that has taken such sweet care of me lately.

Not to diminish or understate the value of aforementioned free lunch, but this is actually not the greatest of my recently received gifts.  Before the implosion and reconstruction of my life I had no idea how many friends I had.  I have been humbled by the help and support I've received both from tried and true long-time friends and from newly re-connected aquaintances-turned-bffs'. 

The fear that I would spend all of my free time watching Northern Exposure reruns and bingeing on ramen and cooking wine has been replaced by hard, productive work interrupted by the occasional hour or two spent happily basking in the glow of the TV when, with great deliberation and care, I'm able to carve out a small block of me-time to watch a few reruns of How I Met Your Mother.

I am blessed to have people in my life who don't just tolerate my presence but who actually seem to WANT to spend time with me.  We hang out, we chat, we go places, and when the need arises we help each other out.  Recently I have been primarly the recipient of the helping out, and I have been the beneficiary of many a shoulder to cry on.  I aspire to become helper and benefactor as the need arises.

Pithy as it sounds, I have my health and I have my family.  Before everything went to heck in a sidecar, then came back again, I could be heard saying that I had no family but The Boy, but this isn't true.  I also have cousins and I have friends who are bound to me by ties as strong as those of any cradle to grave siblings you could find.  I no longer grieve the lack of siblings and I am settled in the role of orphan that everyone fortunate enough to outlive their parents assumes at some point.

Most importantly I have a child who is healthy and bright enough to test my patience on almost a daily basis and who often makes my heart swell with pleasure and pride beyond words. 

I have Diet Coke and coffee, two of the small pleasures that help me muster the strength to go on when all else fails to inspire me.  I have this little blog and my little circle of followers and I appreciate you all so much because as much as I enjoy writing, it means more when someone reads it.

I have the means to keep enough food in the cupboard to give myself a bulging middle and high cholesterol and the sense to know better...though I have to start USING that sense a bit more often.  I have a strong, if somewhat crooked back and four limbs that work to move me about and chip away at the never-ending chore list before me.

And I have a job that I love.  One that occasionally provides for me a free lunch.  And which I need to get back to.