The other night was the Marin County Bike Coalition’s Christmas party, and I was excited about going. It was at a pizza place in a mall, and I was still excited, because I naturally thought there might be some handsome biking dudes hanging around in spandex eating their pizza and looking for a long term relationship.
I went with my three friends and two of their kids. They turned out to be the only people I knew at the party. This is mostly because although I’m a member of MCBC, I never go on their rides, as they always seem to be on weekday mornings. Hello? Work?
So I stood around waiting for pizza and sipping some wine and I could not help noticing that the average age of the biking dudes was about ten years old than I had hoped it would be. This was probably because all the younger single biking dudes were out on dates and not hanging around the mall waiting for free pizza and listening to MCBC board member speeches.
Anyway, in the end, I just stuck close with my friends and we had a great time and the pizzas had things like arugula and potatoes on them, and that was weird but kind of tasty, and they were free, which was cool, and on our way out we picked up little free tire patch kits from Dolan Law, and now my blog is inadvertently advertising a law firm. I did talk to one stranger, but all I said to him was one Hawaiian and one plain cheese please. He said okay, which I thought at the time was a good and hopeful sign. Maybe code for something? Like you look like the kind of woman who yearns to be taken out for lobster.
When I came home, I messaged my biking buddy in Ireland about my evening. Being Irish, and thus genetically unable to sugarcoat things, he responded so you went looking for a dude and came home with a free tire patch kit? I thanked him for making this rather glaringly obvious observation and we moved right along.
Later, I was messaging another Irish friend of mine and I told him about the New Year’s Eve party I am throwing. Lots of single guys? He said. I thought about my guest list. Not one. There are no single guys coming to my New Year’s Eve party and I’m throwing the party, so I got to choose who was invited! I am beginning to suspect that I am going about my quest for love the wrong way. I am not sure how to put this right, but I am open to suggestions.
New Year is one of my favorite holidays. Being a hopeless optimist, I cannot help feeling that the next year is going to be not only better but vastly different than any that have come before. The close of the year is a great time to make resolutions and I am a sucker for them. I make ridiculously long lists of the things I’m going to do differently and new in this sparkly parade of 365 days coming up. This is in spite of the fact that at their core, my lists always contain the same few items: less sugar, work out 5 times a week and travel more.
This year, my list also includes find love. This would not make it significantly different from my list last year, when I actually wrote that intention on a piece of red tissue paper and burned it in the firepit on my patio on New Year’s Eve. Maybe I shouldn’t have burned it? Is that where I’m going wrong? I thought the burning thing was a nice ritual, but now I am thinking of the phrase going up in smoke, and how it may not be the smartest metaphor for your hopes and dreams.
Last New Year’s Eve was a bit of a downer. I was not yet up for throwing my usual party. I did not get invited to anyone else’s party. It was just me and my daughter and her boyfriend. We lit the firepit, made ‘smores and played with sparklers. It was actually really sweet and I felt fine until they sloped off to her bedroom to watch a movie around 11pm, leaving me to write intentions on little pieces of red tissue paper and watch them curl up in smoke. Then I felt a little less than fine and it occurred to me that next year I should probably throw a party.
I’m excited about my party. But as a strategy for meeting guys, it has some flaws. Well, one flaw. This could be remedied if I encourage the friends I have invited to also bring single guy friends of theirs. I could mention this in my host message party reminder. But subtly, I don’t want to be too obvious, lest I come across as fixated. Feel free to bring a friend, I could write. Mid-50s, at least 5’8”, should like road biking, no wedding rings. Is that too prescriptive? I could leave out the biking thing.
Concerned girlfriends have asked me to focus on what I am looking for, to make it intentional, and I know that they are right. Make a list, they told me. In fact, they made the list for me one night at The Broken Drum when we were discussing my quest over beers. We were there for a long time and things got a bit hilarious. The friend with the paper and pen was a little over-enthusiastic, and the list grew until it covered one entire side of a sheet of paper. I know that my initial list items - no alcoholics, no mental illness, must have shelter - set the bar a little low. But the end result list, filling up two whole columns and even going off into the margins, went a little the opposite way. How could I ever find someone who met 172 criteria? I needed to whittle this list down.
Happily we accidentally left the list at The Broken Drum, so that took care of the whittling. But I still remember some of the items and I think they are worth keeping in mind. Sense of humor. Very near the top. Kind, smart, funny. That would be my summary list if my singles ad was only allowed to have three words. Financial ducks in row. After that, things got a bit nitpicky.
So as we head into 2019, my intentions are clear: the sugar thing, the working out, the travel. And more law firm advertising in my blog. No, wait, Find love, that’s the one.
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