Single VS Taken

single vs taken

Single is the new black… The boobs are always bigger on the other side… So many options, so little time… Whichever way you look at it, there doesn’t seem to be a clear, cut throat, most obvious way to go. Unless you’re lucky enough to go back to Pleasantville, nothing is black and white.

Being in a relationship is great. You get to validate your phone plan’s ability to send and receive an unlimited amount of cute little text messages about the nothingness that so greatly describes the details of your day… All the phone calls filled with adorable silences as you listen to each other breathe, suddenly become justified. You don’t have to have a reason to dial the person’s number. They’re your significant other and they signed up to listen to your chatter at any given time of day when they agreed to be exclusive with you, just as much as you agreed to support them in every and all dreams and aspirations that may come along.

There’s always someone to wish good morning and good night to, and you no longer have to handle your Netflix addiction solo because you’ve got your partner in crime joining you on the couch. So you wrap yourself in your security blanket which is probably accompanied by a cat for purrfect cuddlez and you drift away into Couple’s Paradise. Eventually you get tired of lugging your personal belongings and change of clothes back and forth, so you do the obvious, and move in together. Now you get to save on rent, do shopping together, cook dinner together (Yay! Fun!), drink wine together, fall asleep together, wake up to each other’s faces every day, together. Then you’ll probably be like “Hey, I’m tired of Fluffball watching us having sex every time. Let’s get him a friend!” So you get a puppy… Now you have paw prints with both Meow and Woof on your doormat to demonstrate how totes adorbs you are. Soon enough, that becomes not enough and you decide to further develop your clan by reproducing naturally. (I’m skipping the wedding bells here because I feel it would be too big of an “insert” since it’s clearly a category big enough on its own).  So now that you’re popping out babies, you finally get to put your scrapbooking skills to use and that camera that you bought for your travels that you never got to cease, can make its way out of the closet and finally do some damage control. Every second now is a chance to take a beautiful picture of your gorgeous baby and there’s only 86400 seconds in a day so you better get cracking.

With that, a different kind of fun begins. There’s no longer time for Netflix and lazy evenings by the fireplace splitting a bottle of wine with your “Bae”. Your buddies and girlfriends haven’t fully accepted the fact that you’ve entered social isolation yet, but they will soon. Even though you hardly go out anymore you still somehow don’t have any money, because duh, family life. Your furry friends are too now feeling neglected because your main concern is to make sure that your clones grow up with better views on life as you will sooner die than recreate your parents’ mistakes. “When I have kids, I will never do so and so…” You’re so amazingly bright at 17 when life seems so discriminating that you make it a goal of yours to never treat your kids as unfairly as your parents treat you. I’d also like to point out the level of hypocrisy that is going to take place when you “grow up” and unleash your views on first your younger siblings, and then your offspring. It’s almost always inevitable. But hey, you and your partner get to both put suggestions in the “Major Decisions” jar, and it’s probably going to be fun sifting through them, deciding to pick the best ones. And you thought agreeing on colors of the walls was tough…

Seems somewhat black and white doesn’t it? Seems like a template that everyone follows blindly? Ehh, it is and it isn’t. It’s a whole new world! Nothing is what it seems and while some people follow the traditional ways, others choose to lead their life more unconventionally.

I find it hard to choose one or the other. Both sides bring such compelling arguments. On one side, you have these mystical scenarios for perfect relationships coming true and making sense. I adore the idea of an old fashion lifestyle. Big happy family with eight kids, three dogs, a cat, enormous backyard and parents that die of old age, holding hands Notebook style. On the other side you have the more common scenarios of today’s generation filled with experimental stages, drunken mishaps, poor decisions, engagements that last longer than reasonable, unnecessary mind games and other retardation. I’m not saying that any of that is appealing to me. I am however saying that it is that world, today’s world, the world that is the opposite of the old fashion world that happens to be very comfortable and expects very little of you. It allows you to be selfish and alone, and to like it. It pains me to admit it that I like it. It PAINS me because ultimately, I look at the formula of LIFE, and I’m like, hey, this is logical, this makes sense, I want that… and yet… I’m still like EHHHHHH … Come to think of it, that’s a lot of work. I’d rather be selfish and do things that make sense right here and right now and for MEEEEEE….

So, for all you non-cynical assholes out there, unlike me, if you can make your relationships work and achieve life’s greatness with someone by your side, all the power to you. I’ll stay here, on the dark side and eat my cookies.

Why? One word. Organizedchaos. Everything is where is it needs to be and no one is there to judge me for it. No I don’t have too much stuff for my hair and face in the bathroom. Yes, I have “enough” of lotions and face masks. No, that hair brush isn’t the same as the other three in my pretty wicker basket under the sink. Yes that wicker basket serves a different purpose than my 4 other baskets in the closet… No I don’t need you to combine the 5 different hair conditioners into one bottle to save space! Each and every one of those has a purpose and you just don’t understand because you shave with your shampoo and you wash your hair with soap… Sure all that may seem trivial, but it adds up.

Then there’s the cuddling. Who doesn’t love cuddling? Love cuddling. Until you’re cuddling me so hard that you’re choking me. Come on now, you’ve done the diligence. You’ve shown your interest. We had sex, you choked me, I bit you, you smacked me, I spit on you, you hugged me, it’s beautiful, now move on over to the other side of the bed and let me sleep in peace. Thanks. Honesty, right?? You can’t say that though! Because that’s mean… What do you mean you don’t want to hold me all night long? But honey bunches, but bumble cakes, but but but… But I want you with me, next to me, to be a part of me all day every day….. But but but… get the fuck off of me and move over! You’re suffocating me with your love…

Can’t forget about the grooming… If you’re with someone, you probably shape things up down there. Whether your lover likes a little bit of hair or a lotta bit of hair, it requires some sort of maintenance regardless. Guess what, when you’re single, no maintenance required. You feel like shaving your arm pits today? Go for it! Not feeling it? No biggie! Guys wanna sport their Duck Dynasty hairstyle? By all means, there isn’t a girlfriend in sight to complain about it. The only person that matters in that decision making process is you! Same goes for food shopping and food consuming. Same goes for everything really. It’s so much easier to control everything around you when you’re the only one making decisions. No one is going to ask you what time you’ll be home. No one is going to tell you that they’re tired of your mashed potatoes. No one is going to nag you about anything. No one is going to interrupt reading time with conversations about what happened at work that day. No one is going to hog the remote control. No need to have the conversation about whether or not you want to keep the TV on when you go to bed or off, because one person likes silence and the other person can’t sleep without background noise. No one is going to wake you up with sexual requests. Don’t get me wrong, morning sex is great… But on MY time. Sleepy time is important time and the selfish beast shall not be bothered with the lovey dovey nonsense unless it is initiated during appropriate time frames. Must dig deep into selfish beast’s brain to retrieve allotted time frames as they are not available in the common sense category.

So there you have it. Selfish Life versus Patient Love. Some of us pick one and stick to it, and others dart in between the two relying on the intricate, constantly changing reasoning our minds provide us with.

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Unmarried: Not alone in being alone but not lonely.


I was sorta surprised to see the like-factor on this recent Facebook status I posted.

Married and non-married friends alike seemed to identify with (or at least appreciate) my little exercise of adventuring outside to bask in the moonlight – and bickering cacophony that bellows from beyond the walls of my apartment complex almost on a nightly basis. The only nuisance is that when the cops pay their weekly domestic disturbance call, they end up showing up at my door. Which sucks – because some of them have sexy-potential, which I 100% lack by the time of night they wake me up with what sounds like a battering ram of angry villagers pillaging the beast’s castle.

But apparently, I’m not alone in being alone and alright about it.


Recent studies spotlight how fewer people have been signing their genitals lives away.

And the stats have been increasing since the 70’s.

Apparently, employment plays a role as a deciding factor, demographically. In fact, one research effort on the topic concluded that black women want a man with a job. My instinct is to call that racist or skewed because most of the black women I know have their own well paying jobs. But I’m too lazy too look up the details of the sample size taken and assessed, so I dunno. Mayhaps it speaks to a larger dispossessed and impoverished portion of the population looking to survive because they either didn’t have an opportunity for higher education (requirement for a decent job in many cases) and/or who have children to support. Who knows.

However you wanna take that stat, there are other – more emotionally based – factors as well. For instance – how the evolution of the gender role has also played a part. Previous studies (in the disco era) on this looked at how men went off to work and brought home the bacon to their kids and Betty Crocker housewife.

Ya know.

Assuming she hadn’t oven-gassed her own skull as he porked Suzy secretary at the office.

Now, however, the scientific ruminations on the matter seem to observe that “love” is the larger factor motivating marriage. This makes sense if you think about the fact that everything started changing around the 70’s – when free love and self-actualization and all that kinda stuff started becoming popular. However, as we’re barraged with the ubiquitous assimilation of how media, movies, and anything but we ourselves define love – that’s an abstract concept that can get everyone confused due to its lack of an apt definition. I’d say it’s like waiting in a desert for your ship to come in, but it’s more like waiting for a ship to come in when you dunno what the shit a ship even is.

Regardless of romance or survival, I still don’t get the point of marriage.

It’s a promise I can’t make beyond a daily basis, so I can’t expect anyone else to try. Plus, the contract doesn’t exclude people from mistake-making, cheating, changing into monsters who infuse our consciousness with horrible words and acts that can’t be unsaid, or even leaving. In fact, all’a that seems to be more of a catalyst for many married folk – unless they mutually share a spiritual path or principles of some sort from the outset.

That said, I am still a human woman with scarlet life-giving liquid coursing through my veins. And I’m not terribly worried about “what my number” is (dusty thought my coital calculator may bit ATM). Which reminds me – I haven’t seen much of Frankie the schmexy-albeit-terrible-with-directions door battering cop. Neighbors are about a week late for interlache violence. Assuming he hasn’t killed her yet, maybe I should do an aesthetic prep practice round for the next time I hear the couple in 301 exchanging blows – the Paul Revere style sleep-stealing signifier that I’mma get a house call imminently, too.

(Bit outta practice, but I’ll try my hardest)

‘cause like mama always used to say: handcuff chains beat a ball n’ chain.