One Singular Sensation
(Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Being Single)
By Scott King
I’m not single; I’m singular. Where’s my parade?
I don’t have time for that. I’m married to the world. Whenever I walk down the street and take in the aesthetic beauty of my neighborhood, or exchange empathetic smiles with a young mother and her child in its stroller, that’s all I need. I don’t need someone to hold me. I can hold the world in the palm of my hand.
I’m an extrovert, but I’m also a loner. When I go to a party, I don’t need a date. I can walk in, say hello to friends and acquaintances, and prove once again that I’ve never met a stranger. After all, one of them is bound to be my next great love.
Even then, I don’t date. I leave it up to fate. What is more toxic to a relationship than those last 4 minutes of a party where we are exchanging numbers and promising to get together? Instead, I take the path of the true Romantic. I stalk a bitch on Facebook.
Is he funny? Is he vain? Is his narcissism profound or banal? What did he look like before beards were trendy? Once I have concluded this preliminary investigation, then I go in and make myself known.
I owe you a dinner. Have you seen Stranger Things 2? I have 12 beers at my house that need to be DRANK.
Say yes or say no.
My last relationship was the perfect relationship. We met at Madonnarama in August. Eye contact, earnest conversation, connection. I stalked him on Instagram. He started liking everything I posted. Then we started chatting. We decided to have a bromance and go from there. Chomp and Stomp 2017 was one of the happiest, drunkest days of my life. Our first official man-date was Halloween. Yes, we watched Stranger Things 2. I drank; he smoked. We had sushi right after New Years. We saw a string of soon-to-be Oscar-nominated films together. I thought I was in. Then, just in time for Valentine’s Day, he told me I was moving too fast. Maybe I shouldn’t have liked ALL of his photos from Palm Springs.
I’m 36. The way I figure it, I only need to find 37 more guys with whom to have similar adventures and then I will thankfully be dead. Or incontinent. I am the very model of a modern major-general.
With friends, I’m more loyal. More patient. Less myopic. From what my married friends tell me, your non-gendered life partner will turn into your best friend anyway. So why not have adventures with bromance ingénues along the way?
What I am saying to you is, have your astrological chart done. Even if it’s all made up, it will tell you who you really are. What you want, what you need, and what your flaws are. I have Venus in Cancer with both Mercury and Mars in Gemini. That means I’m a hoe but not a silly hoe. I’m cerebral.
I’m not going to tell you about how you have to be your own best friend or your own lover. That’s a different talk show. The world is not your oyster. The world is your lover, with whom you can share an oyster platter if that is your thing. Every moment of every day is love. Is sex. Is a fist fight. Is divorce. It is what you make it.
Don’t you want somebody to love? Don’t you want to BE love? And hate. And passion. And brilliance. And ambivalence. And ironic, knowing smiles. And leisure time. And getting the job done.
Don’t be these things in order to attract a mate. Just be these things.
For the past three years, I’ve been single. Singularly in love with the world.
We are very happy.