A flutter

Warning: This post is not particularly positive.

People have asked me why I seem to prefer to avoid dating. Where to begin. Let me revisit just the past 24 hours. I could go on and on and on and on, but I’m limiting myself to the one day to hopefully prevent a diatribe.

My next-door neighbor, a single man living alone, has three large dogs. Until yesterday, that is. Now he has four. He keeps them outside in his yard, which I’m sure is nice for him. Mind you, this is a yard measured in feet. Not yards. Not acres. Feet. The new dog is possessed. He has barked incessantly (literally) since his arrival and, as a result, keeps the other three and the whole neighborhood going. I’m sure he’s just stressed and keeping him outside will get him adjusted faster (I’m thinking?), but what kind of person leaves four constantly barking dogs in a backyard without a second thought? A man on the market, that’s who.

I looked around my neighborhood on my drive home last night. A lot of the houses have been decorated for the holidays, but it’s always interesting (not the exact word to express my true feelings) to me to see how long the lights stay up after the new year. Today is January 4th and the only houses that don’t still have lights and lit trees in the windows (!) and blow-up yard dolls are those inhabited by we single women (3 widows around me and me).

Today, I've already seen two manager-level men adjust their crotches while speaking in a meeting. This happens all the time, actually. I hope I don’t get used to it.

I sit next to a man at work who apparently taps out Morse code to imaginary people all day on his desk. I have tried, but I cannot count to ten without him thumping, drumming, whatever the hell he’s doing. I’m sure it’s a nervous habit, but damn. And, I’m especially lucky because he NEVER leaves his desk. I’ve never seen him even get up to go to the bathroom. So, when I say it’s incessant, I mean it. This morning, ol’ Thumper had a phone conversation (didn’t interrupt the tapping though) comparing tequila drunks with someone. Apparently, there was a party over the weekend and everyone in attendance passed out in various places in the house. I’m a flutter. There is nothing more attractive than a single man well past his twenties talking about his weekend tequila binge.

And this is my new cubicle neighbor after a request I made in November to be moved away from a man who played talk radio at an annoying humming level all day long who told me when I asked if he’d turn it down (in my most polite voice and demeanor, too), “No, I won’t, because we work in cubes and we all just have to expect noise.” (This guy also came to work a few months ago with four regular-size band-aids across various spots on his face. According to the story, he fell over an extension cord going to the bathroom in the middle of the night and got rug burn on his face. Beyond my 24-hour window, I know - I’ll just call it background.)

Yesterday afternoon, I heard a man at work, who could not be mistaken for Brad Pitt, say to someone, “I like ‘em dumb. In fact, the dumber the better.” Today, he was in a heated (not in a mad way) discussion with a few other men around him about Jessica Simpson. They brilliantly concluded that her ex-husband just married her for her body. “He was just riding on her coattails.” “Well, he was riding something.” Followed by a Beavis and Butthead laugh sequence.

Mmmmm, YUMMY!!! Where’s my remote?