There is something so obvious about the choices we must make when we are in the world of single. We all know when something is "right" or "wrong" for us, the question is whether or not we make the proper decision, or say fuck it, and damn the torpedoes. We've talked about Mr. Right - so how bout Mr. Right Now?

Or even better - Mrs. Right Now? It is extraordinarily easy to create yourself into this perfect being, but what happens when the reality sets in? Your glamour and novelty can and will wear off, so what happens then? Or even worse - the truth comes out. I have an extremely delightful and stark-raving mad friend that went out with a girl a few times, and things were going superbly. They shared interests, held hands, were having a great time. Out of nowhere, though, she stopped returning his calls for about two weeks. Finally, she called back and told him to stop by her place. He comes a knockin, and she opens the door looking frazzled. He immediately asks what's wrong, and her reply was, "Well, my boyfriend is on his way over." But wait - it gets better.

"And by the way, I'm a prostitute."

Really!? Seriously?! This is what we have to contend with? I thought it was tough for chicks like me. Guys usually just turn out to be assholes or pussy hounds, momma's boys or wanna-be's. Never once have I had to hear the words, "Sorry, babe, I'm a gigolo."

On the bright side, though, she didn't charge him for the time they spent together.

What can be even worse than someone else's truth coming to light is your own, and you realize, "Well, shit, I'm no good at this Miss Right stuff". In the past few months, any time I've gone out with someone the inevitable question, "So, tell me a little bit about yourself," pops up. You can run down the list of cute little superficial things, but eventually the tarnished history of me comes about, and it ain't all pretty. Sooner or later, the dreaded sentence must be said, "Well...legally....I'm still married." That's the point where they start to back away slowly, silently scanning the room for the nearest emergency exit. I try to plant this one after the, "I'm naked on the Internet!" bomb has been dropped, but unfortunately, the shrapnel still hits, and you find yourself as Mrs. Right Then. In a worst case scenario, you find yourself as Mrs. Right Then Stuck With the Check.

About a week or so ago, I found myself at about 11 PM leaving bowls of food out for the stray cats in my neighborhood. I figured, well, at least someone will be knocking at my door if I do this. Someone pointed out that I was on the verge of being a crazy cat lady. That really doesn't sound so bad though. The little guys would need me! They'd want to hang out, even if I was bribing them to do so. It's just like dating - you bribe someone with a nice dinner, a good movie, maybe some clever conversation, all to just spend some time with you.

Crazy cat lady usually evolves though. It's not a bad option really, but it usually is shortly followed (or has been led into) by some sort of sexual ambiguity. Maybe celibacy has been inadvertently forced upon you, and you've realized that you haven't been touched by another human in months, possibly years. This has been a conscious decision though, since the thought of fluid exchange not only horrifies you, but leaves traces of repulsion. But fuck, we are only human. This is where slut by proxy helps out a bit. Slut by proxy is a wonderful thing, really. It's living vicariously through your other single friends' love lives, hearing their tales of sexual debauchery, and you catch it by being around them often enough that others assume that you're just like them. It's getting laid without the hassle of having to find your clothing under someone's bed in the dark, or having that awkward "I'll call you" conversation while waiting for a taxi. Or you could just masturbate. Detachable shower heads are a girl's best friend. Whoever said diamonds didn't know what the fuck they were talking about.

I've really got nothing to offer a relationship. I'm not charming or charismatic. I walk into things and I wake up mean. I'll forget your birthday and the name of your favorite song. I come with a lot of baggage that needs a lot more than a shed to store. Maybe the common denominator in all those failed endeavors wasn't something on anyone's part but my own. All that I can say is that I'd never break a promise, and maybe I can hold some pieces together if someone wants to hold the glue. I don't want someone to fix me, just maybe someone to hold me steady. Initially, I had decided to resign, but maybe that was too hasty a decision.

You need to choose what's best for you because obviously, if you find yourself single, whatever the choices that you made while you were in your last relationship weren't the right ones. That raises the other question though, "Do I do everything different next time around?" It's our nature to stick with what we know. Does that mean we work against ourselves in the court of romance?