Confession

There are so many single women who I look up to. Some of them are like, chainsaw-waving, putty-spreading, raging DIY-ers who can renovate a single room in, like, 60 seconds.  There are the ones who find fulfillment with activites - soccer and baseball in the summer, hockey or curling in the winter. Then there are those who are on the I-don't-need-a-man-to-make-me-whole bandwagon, who go hunting and fishing on their own and can even bait their own hooks.

Sadly, I am none of those. I get lonely.

Not lonely to the point that I can't live. But I mean, it would be nice to talk to something other than a dog at 7 pm.

You know, to have someone there when you're on the couch, watching your favourite show, and you need a refresh. 'Hey! Sweetie pie, love of my life! Make me another drink.'

Or on Sundays when I'm napping, to be able to ask them ever so nicely to 'Do the damn laundry already! And wash the floors while you're at it.'

Or someone to complain about with all of my coupled friends instead of comparing their problems to living with a dog.

Them: My husband snores SO BAD I am going crazy. I mean, I'm up with the baby all night and then when I manage to get a few winks he keeps me up!

Me: Oh, tell me about it. My dog kept me up ALL NIGHT last night scratching at the bed. I think she may have arthritis.

(Enter cricket sounds)

It would also be handy to have someone for motivation. 'Let's walk the dog', or 'How about we go for a ski?' or 'Let's clean the house, then go to a movie as a reward'. Or, 'Get out of bed you lazy ass! How can I buy beer without you making the big bucks?'

You know, that sort of stuff.

I'm turning 40 this year. I always figured my life would be so different at this point. But then again, I was always a Barbie/Fairy Tale/ Love Story type gal. So, love is harder than I had ever imagined, and I never really grew out of it, I guess.

On the other hand, a gal I work with - a super-sweet, amazing gal - met her match at 40. They've been dating for five months and are getting married in December. So, that's hope, right?

I just wish I knew what's wrong with me, or what I'm doing wrong. I don't mean that in a self-pity way. I've dated nice guys and not-so-nice guys, and looking back I was an idiot in some (maybe many) circumstances. But I've learned since then. I may not be the best looking gal in the world; I may be plump, but I'm nice, I think. Most days, anyways.

Ok, that's all for now. Roxy is pawing at me. She either needs to go pooh or is wondering why I am not talking to her about my day. Total toss up.