L-o-v-e's just another word I'll never learn to pronounce*

* Why, yes. That is a 3OH!3 lyric, how'd you know? (They are my super-secret guilty pleasure). (The CD rules). (I'm not lying). I'm going to be 28 in a week. Twenty-eight seems like an awesome age. A nice, even number. Not yet 30, totally not 24. It's perfect. With that said, I'm nowhere near where I thought I'd be in life when I turned 28. On paper, I'm a single, 28-year-old cat lady. I'd like to think in real life I'm much more complex.

Fingers crossed.

For some reason I still don't understand, I've let my single status burn a hole in my brain. It's not so much that I'm single as much as it is unlucky. But I think it's my turn to be unlucky. I spent too much of my life - from the time I was 16 until the time I was 27 - being in relationships. One after another, most of them unlucky (or unfortunate, rather). I think this last year was my turn to be unlucky. To meet guys and fail. To fall for guys who are absolutely awful for me. To pine after guys who won't open up. To be dumped, abandoned, cheated on, and fooled. I think I needed it. A little dose of reality. Relationships are hard. People are not all good. Etc., etc.

Sometimes I fear this is it. Everyone is gone. It's just me. There's no one left. I realize this is completely irrational, but you try curling up with a pile of clean laundry in your bed at night, with two cats at your feet and no plans on Friday night. I really only just admitted that because that's totally what I did last night. Dude, what? I didn't feel like putting away three loads of laundry. So they sat there, right on my bed, while I slept.

And then I realize, that's part of the glory of being on my own. I can sleep with my laundry. In a pink bathrobe. I don't have to wash my face before bed, if I'm too tired and lazy. I can take the trash out tomorrow. There's room for Harley and Chicken in my bed.

With all of that said, of course I'd like to share my idiosyncrasies with someone. Hopefully he won't mind my pink bathrobe, and I suppose I'll wash my face every night.

But I've decided I'm going to shut the fuck up and be patient. For two reasons. One, I am happy. OK, so I tend to complain from time to time, and pout, and pretend life is hard, but it's not. It's really not. I'm making great friends. Plus I have Netflix, hello. But more importantly, waiting is kind of exciting. I fully believe that one day I will find my perfect person. He will be rad. He will be everything that complements my everything. And I have no idea who that person is going to be. I probably haven't even met him yet. Which means that somewhere out there is my person. Or what if I have met him, and just don't know it? Either way, it's a giant surprise.

And, maybe you don't know me, but I LOVE surprises.

And if you know him, give him a nudge and tell him next Thursday is my birthday.