I have always been a magnet for embarrassing, inconvenient, and downright perplexing situations. With my friends saying “that would happen to you” way too often, it didn’t take me very long to realize there is some exploring to be done here. There must be a reason I seem to be a target for the strangest and most inopportune things that can happen to a person.
Also, and this is probably not a surprise given the former, I happen to be perpetually single. I’ve never had a boyfriend (it doesn’t count if the guy asks you to be his girlfriend after one week of dating and then takes it back two days later. Also, I’m told grade eight hand holding doesn’t count). And, I’ve never been on a date (it doesn’t count when after watching hours of Seinfeld episodes – and sadly, I do mean watching – instead of taking the elevator in his building, the guy sneaks you through the stairwell like a common hooker). Sure, there have been some blips on the radar of my love life, but the crushes turn to crashes pretty quickly. I’m fortunate that due to my giant ego, nothing turns me off more than a guy losing interest in me (he’s clearly deranged), so I bounce back pretty quickly.
But how am I not a catch?:
- My favourite show is Survivor (yes it’s still on…have you been living under a rock?!) and in the future I plan to become an American citizen purely because renouncing my Canadian citizenship might be a compelling enough reason to put me on the show.
- I am an expert sunflower seed eater. I have spent copious hours honing my craft. Forget tying a cherry stem with your tongue–you really want to see some sexy talent? Watch me shell those seeds with such swift precision that I don’t have to take my eyes off the TV…and she’s single, boys!
- I can recite the lyrics to Ludacris’ “What’s Your Fantasy?” I learned them by recording the song onto a cassette tape from the radio, playing and pausing, and furiously writing down each lyric. I believe this was the moment I knew I’d get a master’s in writing someday.
- In the mid-2000s I was in an eTalk promo with Ben Mulroney. I’m practically famous!
- I have a bum chin.
- I alphabetize my DVD collection. Not because I’m anal, but because I’m selfish and it was easier to know if my university roommates borrowed any of my precious possessions without asking. Also the same reason I colour coordinate my closet.
- I stopped chewing gum in 2005 for fear of jaw problems. I feel like a person only has a certain number of chews in his/her lifetime, so why waste them? Also, my family has a history of jaw problems. I don’t get why people laugh at me when I tell them this logic with a straight face.
- I always keep a cooler in my trunk in the event of leftovers. Again, because I’m selfish. I once denied a homeless person the remnants of my meal while everyone else in my party graciously gave theirs away. Hells no! I purposely ate my barbeque chicken pizza slowly so I could eat the rest from the comfort of my lap while watching Dancing With The Stars.
- I once broke my friend’s leg by accidentally stepping on it. I wrote her a rap apology card.
- I go to the movies alone a lot.
- I always request to be a man at murder mystery parties. I believe that drawing on leg hair and a moustache, and putting a patch of fake fur on my chest is HILARIOUS and never gets old. Oh, and
- I go to murder mystery parties.
- As a child I collected my toe lint in a ball under my bed. When it got big enough, I would play with it until my parents sucked it up with the vacuum and I’d have to start all over again.
So you can understand my confusion as to why I can’t get a date. I’m not bad looking. I’m told by almost everyone I meet that I look like Drew Barrymore (though I’m sure they’re referring to during her Never Been Kissed days as Josie Grossie). I take it as a compliment, but I’m not very thrilled about the accompanying trouble pronouncing s’s that we share due to the anatomical structure of our mouths…? I’m not a scientist.
And it may not even be a compliment, as I learned in a very humbling and somewhat traumatizing moment in my early teens. Let me preface this with the fact that growing up, I had the low self-esteem expected of any headgear-wearing, pimple-faced youth with two braces on her two front teeth to close the gap. So the Drew Barrymore compliments were a saving grace to an otherwise insecure teenager. A person I had just met said, “You look like Drew Barrymore,” and before the gracious “Thanks!” could even come out of my mouth, a friend standing next to me, who must have been sick of hearing the compliment, randomly interjected,
“I think Drew Barrymore is ugly.”
We all stood awkwardly in silence for a few seconds before she tried backpedalling, saying that she wasn’t insulting me because she doesn’t think I look like Drew Barrymore. Jealous bitch.
So I don’t think my appearance is the problem. There are sideshow freaks who find love. And just look at all those couples at Wal-Mart!
So I guess I’m wrong when I say some exploring needs to be done to understand my embarrassing existence. The writing is clearly on the wall, big enough to be seen from space. Whether it’s the waiter always messing up only my order every time I’m dining with a big group, or my dance teacher forgetting to place me in the routine and thus forcing me to share the middle with another dancer (dancers love that), or my car being the only one to get a ticket in the parking lot full of cars making the exact same infraction, I lead a joke of a life. So please enjoy my thoughts and stories. Because if I can’t laugh, I might as well cry.
It’s most likely that all this will amount to is an embarrassing story about the time I thought I was a writer, promoted myself and it went nowhere. But if my musings are made into a best-selling book, and a TV show, and a movie, and a musical on Broadway, and I have my own action figures, and I’m being paid for appearances at parties, and I’m delivering commencement addresses, and I’m super rich and famous, maybe then I can get a date.
When my mom read this she was genuinely concerned for my well-being.
“My poor baby!”
To her, and to everyone else, I would like to state for the record that this isn’t a cry for help. I am very happy with my life! I argue that making fun of myself is better than making fun of others–though I do that too. Also, this isn’t a ploy to get a date. Frankly, if I become not single anytime soon then I’d have to change the whole concept and I already paid for the domain name. Seems like too much work.
When my mom read the bit about the toe lint, she said she remembered thinking it was really weird and that she should have taken me to a psychiatrist right then and there. Might have saved me from everything you’re about to read.