It's still McDonalds

I only eat at Chipotle often enough to forget that it makes me sick EVERY TIME. Not an hour later but the stomach is burbling and the magical organic spices they use are tearing up the old digestive track like a bunch of drunk NASCAR drivers. It doesn't even taste that good and when I ask for 2 steak and one veggie taco they always end up putting rice and beans on all the tacos. Why do I bother? It's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately and finally I am not bothering anymore. No more lame-ass charmers who actively ignored my birthday, no more mass-produced organic mexican food, no more stopping at red lights, no more waiting around for stuff to happen.

I can feel myself slipping into the downward spiral of the aggressively-single lifestyle, where I just hate everything and everyone, and end up alone on saturday nights trying to convince myself that Meercat Manor is as cool a show as Planet Earth, which at least I can talk excitedly about with friends who then think I'm learn-ed and into animal sociology.

I'm neither stupid nor ugly and yet today at Fort McHenry, catching up on New Yorkers and sunshine, I saw plenty of people who are both happily yammering away at significant others, with whom they would later go home and cook dinner and watch Meercat Manor or any of a number of super-lame tv shows. How do they find each other? Did I seriously miss out on key formative years of boyfriends by jaunting off into the jungle for four years? What the hell was I doing in college pining after boys with hometown honeys?

A friend of mine is probably getting married to the guy she started dating right around the time I started dating the A-hole. That was fun to learn the other night. Shit. What a waste of time, dating a guy who doesn't give a shit.

Stop the hating. Go to the party even if your friends ditch you. Ride your bike, talk to people, get out of the house. Nothing happens at home. Go to those stupid art gallery deals and have a free glass of wine. Start going to game night - no, definitely, definitely, do NOT go to game night. Hit the other climbing gyms and go back to the bike coop. Good job me for going to the alleycat and talking to three people. They're all crazy poor bike messengers, but still.

Hm. Maybe those RPCV gatherings aren't such a bad idea. At least there I won't find a lot of guys who are put off by girls who kill snakes with machetes and can fix their own bikes. Yeah, I'll have to sift through the crazies as always, but at least they'll have more than zero interest in Africa.