Tuesday, November 29, 2011


I'm sorry to keep harping on the same thing, but its kind of what keeps floating to the surface of my consciousness.

I feel bad that I treat this blog like a personal (ahem) diary, which means I'm only moved to write when I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I promise: more cheerful posts on Twilight, The Muppets, my love for comedy, the hilarious cat, my great friends etc. etc. ad nauseam to come in the future.

But now, I don't know what to do.

I'm at a crossroads.

I've been doing this whole "I'm just fine" thing for a while now, and I'm worried I can't do it anymore.

I'm not.

I'm not *fine*.

and I'm upset about it.

And I wish it wasn't. I'm sorry I have this desire, this urge. I DO want a husband and a family and all of that. I wish I didn't, but its how it is. And I feel like I'm supposed to hide that or apologize for it to any guy today who I may stand a chance with; so as not to scare anyone away. When did this happen? Women are the gatekeepers to the perpetuation of LIFE for chrissake. Why do we have to mask this miracle in spanks and budlights, false smiles and forced laughs?

I wish I didn't give a shit. I assure you, it would be easier.

But I do care.

and I have a choice- I can go one of two ways.

Give in to my despair. Let myself get angry about my situation. Feel sorry for myself. Have more nights in of crying and white wine in the bubble bath. Rant and rave and fight against my circumstances. Cut out the self-deprecating "crazy cat lady" jokes because they're suddenly too close to home. Rage.


The one I'm even more afraid of. Accept. Consider the very real possibility that I will never find anyone. I have this niggling fear that this is the best path. Perhaps I'm built the way I am because I can survive on my own. I'm an only child, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of my friends and my cat and my comedy. My life is still a C+ without any romantic interest in it. Maybe I'm programmed this way because it is a survival skill I'll need.

My friends always tell me "you WILL find someone," and I can't help but doubt them. No one can say that with certainty. See, I believe that every last person deserves a someone, but it just doesn't always happen. I'm so scared of being that statistical anomaly of the 65 year old single lady.

Not even an Aunt because I don't have any siblings.

And this thought gives me the cold sweats. This isn't some sort of pressure concern that I won't have someone's hand to hold at midnight on New Year's Eve. Not a petty complaint about lack of physical fulfillment. This is a bone-crushing, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching terror that when I'm old, I won't have anyone to call if I'm sick. I'm scared that I'll have to travel the world, and never have someone else to stand in pictures with me. I'll have to buy all of my own Christmas ornaments. No one will ever let me promise to take care of them.

And I don't know which is more scary: having or not having the strength to withstand; get by.

And perhaps this complacent wondering while I wait to decide which way to go is the worst part of all.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Because it's not hard enough

That's what she said.


I'm single.

I say that because it may not be as obvious to everyone out there in interwebs land as it is to me.
Because to me, its REALLY apparent. I believe the sage and gracious Dane Cook once said that not being in love is like walking along a street in the rain, and everyone is at a party, and you're not invited.

I'm there.
It's in my face. All. The. Time.
All 3 of my lovely roommates are in relationships with great guys.
I'm friends with lots of married people who have it great.
Other friends are one half of couples that seem to have a good thing going for them.

But not me.

I can't help but feel like its everywhere I look.

And my friends are so supportive. They try to bolster me up when it gets rough. The encourage me, give me advice, or just hug me when I get drunk and despondant.

None of it helps. There's just nothing any of them can say. And that's not their fault- they're all dears who just want the best for me.

The most helpful thing came from my dear friend who just said, "I'm mad about it for you. It just doesn't make any sense."

Now, everyone says "stop looking". Less than helpful.

"Focus on YOU!" gets old after a while.

And the "try losing a few pounds" people can choke on a McDouble- that is, if I leave any left for them.


So you try. You try to focus on yourself. You try not to compare your life to those "taken" people around you. You try to have a good attitude because "Men don't like Women who need them." You fight off the cynicism. You resist despair.

But it gets hard.

Lately, I've been weak when resisting my "singlehood".

I've seen guys in my sphere who I thought were potential prospects act like utter morons. So it's not that you don't want to be shmoopy, its just not with ME. Gooooooooot it.

There are cracks in the veneer. There have been times that should have been perfect, but I can't help but notice that I still feel alone. My friends are amazing, and I fill my days with fun and exploration, but its not enough.

So I've been trying to be proactive. I firmly beleive in "stop bitching, start a revolution" so I've tried things to meet new people. I've taken up new hobbies that have exposed me to whole new universes of people. I've tried internet dating, just to see what it was all about.

And a few weeks ago, I signed up for speed dating.

It's really close to my house, and I figure "I can't whine about the problem if I'm not doing anything to fix it."

So I shelled out my $40. And shyly told a few friends. And picked out an outfit.

And the organization just emailed me to cancel it. No refunds. Oh- but I CAN reschedule for another speed dating event, and have a free voucher for a second one.

The reason: there weren't enough men.


I could have told you that.

Because its not hard enough as it is.

Monday, June 13, 2011


So I usually vent on this blog, and it turns out pretty negatively (shocker.)

So I thought I'd take the opportunity to show the flip side of that coin, and express the things that make me happy.

Things have really been going my way lately, and I need to put some gratitude out into the universe.


1) My friends. I have the best people in the world around me. My best friends from High School understand me in a way I'm only recently coming to appreciate as rare. Improv friends who entertain me and let me be silly in all the best ways. Work friends who make me laugh all day long and let me park my ass in their cubes for gossip and joking any time.

2) My cat. (had to be said.) He's my first real pet, and he's just a little sunspot in my day that makes me smile. SQUINKERS.

3) My job. Is it my ideal job? No. Am I grateful to have one in our current economy? Especially one that pays fairly well? You bet. I work with great people who are passionate about their mission, even if its not my dream job. I have a sweet living situation, and all sorts of creature comforts. I try to take time to be grateful for the fireplace or ice maker or ford fiesta in my life, because I've been quite fortunate to live so comfortably.

4) My body. It's easy to overlook all of the work that our bag of bones can do for us, but its truly a gift. My body is a temple, and it lets me do anything I would want to. Except perhaps cirque du soleil contortions, but that's probably for the best. I can drink beer with it. It carries my brain around. It lets me make funny faces. It wears pretty dresses and balances on chunky heels. It's a good looking body, if a bit utilitarian, and I'm glad to have it. Toes and earlobes and small-ish nose and pretty cute toosh, if I may say so. I'm lucky to have it.

5) My brain. It's somewhere between a Tim Burton Nightmare Circus and a Lisa Frank technicolor trapper keeper. The soundtrack is always pitch perfect, and it only remembers the important bits. Works fairly quickly, and keeps me entertained when the outside world runs out of interesting stimulation.
Also, makes funnies. And houses my imagination. Even if no one else is laughing, I am endlessly amused. So there's that.

6) My perspective. An odd thing to define, but I'm glad I have a generally sunny disposition. I am more inclined to laugh at something than to get upset. I have my own set of memories and experiences that no one else will ever have, and I'm lucky that they're mine. I've done and seen some amazing things, and getting to play the footage reel again is pretty fun in my life.

7) Fun. I take having fun pretty seriously, and that is in abundance lately. People are always doing interesting things and I get to play along. I suppose this is connected to just being thankful for being alive. I feel like we were put on this earth to enjoy our lives, and not waste the short blip of time we're given. If I'm having fun, I feel like I'm taking advantage of the precious hours, minutes, and second we are given.

8) My voice. I can be a fairly decent writer when I actually put pen to paper. I'm going to try and appreciate this gift more and more. To squander anything in this life is really a pity.

So there you have it, I'm actually a fairly happy human being most of the time.

And you can tell me to stop whining for all of these reasons in the future :D

Saturday, May 21, 2011

A nihilist's apology

Soooo, I have this self-awareness streak a mile wide.

And its painful.

And something I fear is far less common in others than previously thought.

And sounds trite even to myself, dear reader.

And for that I apologize. I am a person capable of fierce happiness, shining moments of joy and celebration. The smallest things can bring me intense cheer and faith in humanity.

But this volatility has a backswing.

These moments of brief hopelessness. And I try to resist them. I thought about deleting my last post, embarrassed not only that the words are committed to paper, but moreso that I am even capable of forming them.

Maggie is supposed to be the happy one. The friend always good for a laugh. And I don't always mind being that person, but sometimes, it takes a toll on me.

Life is always what you make of it, but the flipside of that coin is that life is only what you make of it.

So I'll let the feelings stand. Written. Thought. Spoken. Felt.

But I'll strive to write more of the happy ones.

And indeed, to feel them.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Everybody takes

This is a town full of takers.

We are an entitled generation full of the gimmies.

People who answer every call, important or no. We always want them to hold the elevator. We expect people to treat us with kid gloves, even though we would never do the same for them.

But maybe we're on to something.

See, the thing of it is, none of it matters. No one is ever going to care about us the way we care about ourselves. It is up to us to make ourselves happy, content, cherished.

So why not take, and make the best of it?

In 200 years, its not going to matter at all. Even the most memorable of us all will be forgotten like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. The most charming and successful will be as roadkill on the 95 south in the middle of July.

We may as well make this brief time we have the most pleasant. Maybe life is supposed to just be this string of small comforts. Silly little ways to pass the time well enough.

Everyone has to schedule their own things just so, for maximum comfort.
Strategically inviting certain people to certain things for the most amusement.

Just to drown out the gaping, yawning hole before you that you can't bring yourself to name.
Best not to think like that, carry on.

Like giving a toddler your keys to play with. It doesn't really matter if they are reverse engineering the steering column or sticking the keys in their eyes, so long as they're quiet.

Perhaps that's why we have our silly little hobbies. The gossip and false romantic intrigue.
Something to pass the time. It doesn't ultimately matter if you were tall or skinny or chubby or funny. If you had a lasting, tempestuous love or more one night stands than an Ikea sale (zing). Teacher, musician, starlet, Costco parking attendant, cable guy, crazy cat lady, sea captain, monkey shit shoveler, or friggin astronaut.

It doesn't end up mattering.

We want to be comfortable, pampered, and CHERISHED, damn it! We want to be treated quite pleasantly without any fuss at all, and for free, thankyouverymuch. None of this "giving" shenanigans.

Don't you know what we're going through?

So plaster on that smile, and make another coffee date. One more day down.

Go to that new class at the gym- wasn't that fun? Almost made you forget for a while.

Let's check the fridge one more time. Still no snacks? Back to the couch then. Ooh! The commercials are over.

Did you hear what she said about him? I KNOW- the NERVE of it all! Juicy news, indeed.

And while you're at it, take one more minute for yourself to get across the street.
THEY can wait.

After all, what does it matter?
This is YOU we're talking about.

A glimpse behind the veil

A conversation between @monkeyskunk *my bff* and I:

Monkeyskunk: The last one we saw was where the guy got stabbed in the heart with a joustinstick
whateverthefuck those are called

me: joustinstick = new angterm
new WANGterm
also: lance.

Monkeyskunk: I knew what you meant
oh yea
like scoopies

like scoopies
this would be utter jibberish to anyone but us

Monkeyskunk: LIFIESH!

Also, (seemingly unrelated,) Game of Thrones is Awesome, Amirite?

Monday, May 16, 2011

Pirates of the Carribbean 4 *thud*

ok, so I get to go to an early screening.

And I'm losing my shit. See, every Pirates movie has come out on my birthday weekend, Memorial Day weekend, (the ONLY positive of a memdayweekend birthday,) and we all go in a group and see it. Usually with dinner. And home made tshirts. And probably a hat or two.

But this year, it snuck up on me and I'm FREAKING OUT.

I need more time!

And don't get me wrong, I was jealous as a eunuch at a chippendale's show that a friend of mine has ALREADY seen the film, (bitch.)

And yet, I feel like I didn't get to geek out about it enough! Sure, I followed Jerry Bruckheimer and the promotional account on Twitter. Yes, I watched all of the materials I could get my hands on ahead of time. Of course I talked myself out of getting gold caps on my teeth so I could be more like The Johnny.

But its too soon. This is in all likelihood the LAST new pirates movie! And I've fallen for it before! After "At World's End" I grieved like I needed to. Sure, I've carried the pain with me since, but damn it, I was functional.

And now, this?

Another taste? This is giving Black Tar Heroine to a recovering alcoholic.

I know I'm going to spiral.

I'll be tempted to stop showering.
And wear boots, even when its hot out.
Don't get me STARTED on my casual vocabulary.

I think the worst part of all will be the new daydreams. My mind hasn't left this universe that's part historical, part beach-bar, and part myth and lore. And now, this fourth installment will only add more fuel to the fire.

You know what, that's fine Capt Jack Sparrow.
Take me.
Take all of me.
Your longing for adventure and hapless ability to pull anything off, especially when you don't deserve it has me charmed.
And you're hooks-down the sexiest character in fiction.

I'm enlisting.
Leftenant Dempsey, of the Black Pearl, reporting for duty.

Weigh Anchor, lads, we're off.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

An Open Letter

To "Him"*,

I've been looking for you for a while, so I thought I'd let you know what I'm thinking- a hint I'll put out into the universe. I'm too embarrassed to tell you, unless I'm shitfaced, then I tell too much.

I like you. I do. I'm attracted to you physically, but I also really want to spend time with you. We enjoy the time we do spend together, I just think adding some sex and some quality time would make it even better. We are already friends, so its not a stretch to see us lay on the next layer. A Parfait of awesome, if you will. We have the crunchy granola crap, and the sweetness of the fruity times, now we just need to fill in the space with something a little more, open affection ought to do the trick.

You're taller than me, so you'd pass the "I could feel small in your arms" test. Superficial, perhaps, but something I really like about you. And your energy, I relate to it. My only true requirement is that "he" can keep up, and baby, you've got it- no small feat. And I feel like we could have a rhythm, you know? A way to go out with a group of our friends and have an awesome time, or lay in my bed listening to standards for a whole Sunday, even if its nice out. Because we both love to do these things and the range in between them. And I think they would be even nicer to do together.

So I'm here. I know I'm in your friend zone right now. I'm safe, and a little bit crass, but I won't be here forever. Take courage. Ask me. I know what I've got going on over here, and I can tell you, I'm worth it.


*note- "Him" could be any one of several guys at this interval. 5 to be specific. I'm just putting a little nudge out into the world to encourage them. Fingers crossed it works for one of them.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Is it?

Is it you?
Am I just supposed to look at you and know?

Or is it an obvious truth that will just slowly seep into my surroundings, so smoothly that I don't even see the change.
a ship drifting in from the horizon that's to the shore before you even notice it.

Is it you? Do I just have to bide my time? Or you over here, are you even interested? I wish I could ask.
Are you even aware I'm alive in the plaid shirt? No? I thought not.
Moving on.
Now... could it be you?

Damn I hope I'm not too dense or mistrusting to see you when you're right in front of me.


Monday, January 3, 2011

Grating Expectations

So which is it.

Is the universe designed for cynicism, or optimism?

Both messages are shoved down our throats; opposites.

We are, all of us, alone.

All you need is love.

No one else can make you happy.

Love is the answer.

Depend only on yourself for happiness.

Have faith in your dreams, and someday your rainbow will come shining through.


Which is it?

This talking out of both sides of your mouth shit is getting tiring.

If I’m supposed to stop hoping, that’s just fine.

Just tell me now so I can cut my expectations to a minimum.

Expectations management.

There’s a romantic concept.

Become self-reliant, self-contained, self-tanned.

Don’t need anyone else.

Become an island.

Everyman is an island.

Everywoman is bottle floating around in the ocean, hoping to wash up on some lucky island’s deserted beach.

a desperate bottle full of a message no one will read the way it was written.

Do it for YOU, girlfriend. Screw guys.

Just join that gym for yourself.

Take some time.

Get to know yourself.

Focus on you.

They’re all assholes anyways.

All you need is love.

Whatever you put out into the universe is what you’ll get back.

Show your smile every chance you get, you never know who could be falling in love with it.

You’ll only know what it means to be complete when you have a family.

It’ll happen when you’re not looking.

Just stop looking.

It’ll happen when you least expect it.

read: don’t expect it.

So we have to choose the path of pessimism.

We have to pretend we DON’T want it.

It’s really the most masochistic mutation of the virgin/madonna complex.

Just wait patiently.

Wait prettily.

Wait enticingly.

But not knowingly.

Be the unwilling chum next to your own sharkdiving cage.

Dress up for yourself and your girlfriends, but keep that bikini line waxed because you never know when your Prince Harming will stumble into your life, wanting a sandwich, and realize you always keep white bread and light mayo in stock.

Just like he always dreamed of.

No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.

The truth of the matter is that this is a lie. No one gets a fairytale. Not even everyone gets the decency of some fucking woodland creatures to braid her hair.

If you pick at the varnish, the fairy godmother starts to sound a bit like your mother who has a few ideas about what you’re doing wrong.

The mice get stuck on the trap-paper before they turn into steeds.

and the final bell in the clock-tower chimes, and all it means is that you’ve overslept your alarm.

Dream’s up.