The Road To Hell . . .

. . . is paved with good intentions.

I'm sorry I haven't posted lately. I haven't had much time for introspection because work has been crazy. I am trying to finish two huge projects before I take my yearly vacation next month. Gaaaah!

Today I was talking with one of the gentlemen I work with, a flamboyantly gay man in his late 50s with a heart of gold. Apparently there is some concern in our little work community over the fact that I don't date. My initial reaction, as yours should be, is that my relationship status is nobody's business. However, these people do genuinely care about my well-being. So Mr. Gay thought he would help my plight by trying to set me up with -- get this -- his handyman.

While I have nothing but the utmost respect for those who do manual labor, I really don't think there is much basis for me to choose one as a life partner. The philosopher-carpenter is a Hollywood creation; in reality the vast majority of these men do not have a life of the mind.

Thus my response to this overture was politely tepid. I hate with a passion the concept (and reality) of dating. It is by its very nature a job interview. What can I bring to the company, what can I offer the relationship. I don't bring anything. I am not interviewing with your company because I care about your bottom line, I am here because I need a job. I am not dating because I care about fulfilling your fantasies or being your dream girl, I am here for the cuddles and the sex and the occasional good conversation.

On one hand, I wish men were not so selfish in their wishlists. (You know, the whole 20 yr old supermodel there to fulfill every fantasy with no expectation of reciprocation thing). On the other hand, I wonder what I do offer, were I ever to be in a room with a man who happens to be the unicorn of both single and under 50. I happen to think I look alright, but the very obvious lack of male attention proves that unfounded. Despite my pretensions of an intellectual mind, there are gaping holes in my knowledge. My conversation does not contain witty repartee or entertaining anecdotes. My hobby-ish interests are diverse, arcane, and solitary. I wonder then, where a man might make a connection.

And yet, I like me just as I am. Why must life give me the option of being who I am or being what a man wants?