Welcome to the Circus

As I sit here writing this blog, hair wet just out of a hopeful sobering shower and a head that feels like it was both trampled on by a circus tap-dancing elephant and rammed into by a semi-truck, I realized that my blogging is always best when hungover. Now, I thought about that for a while (until the pain of thinking was unbearable, coupled with the a fore mentioned late 20s hangover from hell) and realized that it is probably because in my hungover state, I'm consumed with only the most embarrassing flashbacks from the night before and the regret of Fireball still fresh on my tongue, I feel all the feels. Shame, regret, continued loss of dignity, hatred of men and high heels.. etc. Last night wasn't the worst of the worst; on the Hot Mess Express scale I was only about a 4. Somehow one hangover can bring back forgotten or pushed back feels from before. One being the lack of action I've had the opportunity to partake in. When your sleep body pillow is the most action you've had in a while, things get real dark. You forget you even need human interaction, that is, until some grocery bagger accidentally grazes your hand while handing you your hummus and tampons and you feel an electric current go through your hands straight down to your lady parts that have been in hibernation. You've awoke the sleeping monster and now.. you are fantasizing about this pimply teenager who "definitely meant to touch you.. should you exchange touches? wink? bat your lashes?" Your incredibly specific standards have dissipated, the thirst is real.

So what do you do, you've awakened the beast. You thought you were above this. Content in your self-imposed spinsterdom. You stopped going out, you don't care to meet new people. You are working on yourself, getting your life together -which, is totally paying off by the way (go me!) But how do you fight the urge. You remember what it felt like, it was wonderful, like Christmas and your birthday combined. Logically, the next step is Tinder, right? Nope. Nope. Nope. If there is a way to remind myself of those incredibly specific standards, it's getting on Tinder. I can't make it through those "profiles" without screaming out, "how did you make it past infancy?!?!"

Obviously, you just need to go out. Tinder is a bust, so the old fashioned face-to-face interaction, will definitely be up your alley. I mean, I'm waaaaay more hilarious in person than monotone messages. Apparently I'm also waaaaay more blunt and expressive in person too. Backfire. Sorry, but if you go on and on about your high school football victories, 10 years after high school, I've lost all respect for you. I also don't care that you were voted class whatever. Let it go man, let it go. This coupled with my need for physical interaction poses a problem. I just can't deal, so ... the only real solution here is to order shots. See, the way guys use alcohol to make girls seem more attractive, is the way I use alcohol to make guys seem more interesting. Welp, it never works. you always end up seeing them for what they are in the sober morning, and wait for it.. .yep, there is the shame. Comes nicely with "what was your name again?"

Naturally I start looking up arranged marriages. Ugh, you have to be domestic for those to work. I can cook and clean, but I will make no binding promises to do either. This is normal, right? People (my Mother) are always pressuring me about "getting out there" quite frankly, I'm over it. If the grocery store kid is the most action I get, I'll make more trips to the grocery store, but sometimes, taking some time away from the side-show freak circus that is dating, is a good thing. Maybe I won't be the age I thought I'd be when I find "the one," but at least I'll know that I can stand alone, supporting myself, completely in love with myself when I do. I'm not sure that a lot of people would be able to say that. So to the skeptics and my Mother, I say.. "back up off me" and "I need to go grocery shopping, brb!"