Here's to findin' a good man.
We got a bucket of Corona,
Enough stories to last all night.
About the trials and tribulations
Of findin' Mr. Right.
Of findin' a good man.
Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters;
To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand.
Here's to the superficial players;
The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers;
If you hear me girls, raise your hand:
Let's have a toast:
Here's to findin' a good man.
Blind dates an' horror stories;
Pushy guys and fast movers.
Let's dedicate this girl's night out,
To big-talkers; bad losers,
It's so hard findin' a good man.
Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters;
To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand.
Here's to the superficial players;
The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers;
If you hear me girls, raise your hand:
Let's have a toast:
Here's to findin' a good man.
Julie, I know you want perfection;
Angie, you want a listener.
Lisa, your list is gettin' long,
And girls, you know me:I just want a good kisser.
Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters;
To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand.
Here's to the superficial players;
The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers;
If you hear me girls, raise your hand:
Let's have a toast;
Let's have a toast:
Here's to findin' a good man.
Here's to findin' a good man.
Here's to findin' a good man.
I don't usually like country music. I don't actually like this song very much, either. But I heard it on the radio once, and as I was washing the splotches of brightly colored tempera paint off my hands a few hours ago, the lyrics suddenly came back to me. And I get to thinking, as I so often do: why is it so hard to find good men these days? Honestly. It's pretty sad when the most a teenage girl can say about her Friday night is that she sat at home watching Law and Order reruns, eating ice cream and doodling on whatever paper she could get her hands on. I haven't had anything of a date-like manner come out of a Friday night in months; I am, however, piling up a rather impressive collection of old grocery lists complete with Disney-style doodles of several Law and Order detectives squeezed in between the constants of bread and milk. I've got everyone, from Goren and Eames to Benson and Stabler to Green and Briscoe. (I even drew Cabot. I don't like her at all, but what can I say: they were showing the old-old reruns.) Seriously, though; my birthday this year marked my fifteenth consecutive Valentine's Day as a Swingin' Single. And it still sucks. Not that I expected to be picking up guys when I was two and three, mind you; nor is my predicament as dramatic as I'm making it sound. I've had boyfriends (the plural form of the word, but just barely) before. I just always mysteriously invent reasons to break up with them before V-day hits. I don't actually know why. I'm sure somewhere in the dark and twisty recesses of my mind I have a reason for it, but I don't know it conciously. I just observe these things in retrospect, and after a while realize that I actually had no feasible reason for breaking up with either boy. I told Ethan he was getting too clingy (he was, but he'd been that way all along; it wasn't fair of me to just spring it on him like that), and I told Taylor just the opposite; that he'd stopped caring (which he hadn't...he went home and cried that day. Turned out he was using me to get to my best friend, but I didn't know it at the time, which made my move kind of cruel and unusual.) But hey, hindsight always was 20/20. And I can't stand either of them today, so I guess that worked out well for both of us. But I am yet to have my much-awaited First Kiss. Vik actually told me that it's not that great, and others I know have touted it as 'magical', and then there's always my old friend Lyn, who said it was 'disgusting' (but we won't trust her opinion on the matter, because she had one of those boys that tried to suffocate her with his tongue, the poor dear).
Anyway, I suppose I should explain how the tempera paint got on my hands in the first place, which in turn would explain the beginnings of this rant. Today, for want of being a good person and lack of anything better to do, I went down to the therapeutic center off Erbes Road (which is probably my favorite road--CI fans, I'm sure you understand) to attend the "Therapeutic Dance Work Party" advertised on the chalk board in my Euro class. Now, keep in mind that it was just this written on the board, followed by dates and locations, with no explanation other than those four words. Being me, I sat dumbfounded for a second imagining our entire Euro class having our own private rave learning the names and accomplishments of every king of France amidst pooling smoke and flashing strobe lights. Up until Alex Johnson politely informed me that the dance wasn't actually for the Euro class; it was for the disabled kids down at said Center in two weeks' time, and the party was to help paint signs and set up for it. Sheepish and slightly disappointed, I agreed to come and help and made good on my promise, having some fun in the bargain. I was worried at first that I wouldn't know anyone there, but before long Alex and Carrie showed up, and Dalton's girlfriend (who I know by sight only) came dragging him behind her. Carrie and I teamed up and painted and ate pizza and talked about college and teachers, and wheedled Dalton into drawing our pictures for us because we both lack artistic skill (but we did paint them in, so there :-P). It was a good time, except Dalton kept calling me Fae, and that name always reminds me of the hole in my heart I keep trying to forget. Anyway, as I was standing by the door waiting to leave with a flyer inviting me to the actual dance tucked safely in my jean pocket, I heard one boy from a different school asking his friend who he was bringing to the dance. And I was like, "Oh, great. You can't even go solo just to chaperone a dance without looking like a geek." So I'm kind of bummed about that, but hey, two weeks is a lot of time, and I've still got some tricks up my sleeve. If I can convince Hansybear to hook me up with that friend of his, I just might get a date out of this whole thing after all. And as for this weekend, things are looking up. Tomorrow I'm going to Emmi's house with the rest of the Women's Advocacy Club to work out the kinks in our Charity Dinner this Friday, and afterwards I'm retiring to Alex's house with some ice cream so we can watch the Oscars and make snarky comments about peoples' clothing and general idiocy.
And so ends the saga of the sadly swinging single. To the new friends I made off the Law and Order: Criminal Intent friending meme, I'm sorry your first entry with me was so whiny. It's late and I'm cranky, I shouldn't even have posted, but I haven't posted anything other than dorky stagedoor pictures in a while. So...sorry. Next entry will be more uplifting. I promise.