Mr. Saturday Night Special

Saturday nights are tricky business. There's an unwritten but socially ingrained feeling in the minds of all single twenty-somethings that Saturday night should be a time of celebration, debauchery, and the picking up of nubile young ladies at the local pub. But tonight I sit alone in my apartment with my laptop, a bottle of cheap wine, and box of Sweet Tarts. I just finished watching the new Star Trek movie on DVD (which I saw twice in theaters), and I'm now seriously considering watching it again with the commentary on. As if that's not sad enough, I'm currently blogging about the wayward misfortunes of my life for my huge readership to enjoy.

Of course, not every Saturday night is like this. Most weekends I can find a few people to hang around with, or I'll head home to spend time with the family if all else fails. But tonight, everyone I know is either busy or too far away to hang out with me. Even my roommate has gone north to see some sort of musical that his sister is in. Hence my current evening of solitude.

Strange as it may seem, I'm not having a terrible time. Sometimes spending a bit of time with myself (in every sense of the phrase) can be relaxing and rejuvenating. It certainly beats going to watch a musical up in West Middlesex. I did consider heading out by myself for awhile, but that's not as exciting as it may seem at first. Sure I could possibly meet up with some hot women and wind up having an awesome time filled with witty banter, flirtatious glances, and saucy nighttime activities. But the bar is a tricky habitat to navigate alone when in the city. In reality, very few people go to bars by themselves, so they're already in their zones of comfort with their friends, and the last thing they want to add is some strange tall man who talks a lot about starships and candy. This holds doubly true for single women. In bars, they travel in herds. Approaching a single woman is hard enough without having to reassure her buddies that you're a nice guy who won't take advantage of their friend while still flirting with the desired woman. In all likelihood, if I went to the bar alone, I'd be spending my evening alone anyway. The only difference is that I'd spend it watching a whole bunch of other people having fun with their friends. My tears would make my beer taste terrible.

Before you think me a complete loser (I know it's probably way too late for that), let me just say that I do go out and about with some regularity. In fact, just last night a friend and I went to a high school football game over in West Mifflin. Granted, this was not exactly an epic evening out, but it beat doing nothing. Over Thanksgiving break, I'll have plenty to do back in the hometown. But right now, I don't really know my Pittsburgh peeps well enough to call them up to spend time on a Saturday night. Most of them are women with boyfriends anyway (English education programs attract a certain niche crowd), which creates a whole new level of awkwardness. I have a lot of friends, actually, but they're spread all over creation: Morgantown, Washington D.C., Baltimore, Kittanning, and even New Delhi. It's hard to round up a posse these days, sheriff!

Let you think this is total pity party, I think this is actually a happy occasion. With no pressure to go out and have fun, I can do whatever I please and damn the consequences. A persistent attitude like that would be cause for concern, but every once in awhile, it's a nice break from the regimen of socializing. Most people suck, and it's hard to accommodate them.

So screw you, world! I'm taking some "me" time, and any fellow antisocial hermits with a penchant for isolationism are welcome to join in.

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"Are you lonely?"
"Yeah."
"Have you spent half your life in bars pursuing sins of the flesh?"
"This guy's good!"
"Are you sitting in a bean bag chair, naked, eating Cheetos?"

Eating Out on the Town

Cooking for one is no easy feat. Most foodstuffs are not designed with the single novice cook in mind. For instance, the cheapest way to buy potatoes is by the bag, but do you know how long it takes for one person to eat a sack of potatoes? Unless you hear me crooning "Top o' the mornin, to ya!" one week, I'm not scarfing down two or three daily taters. But even ignoring the sizes of items, cooking for one person feels like a lot of wasted effort. It takes at least a half hour to cook a reasonable meal (some sort of meat and a side or two), and then you can always add on the nuisance of clean up.

The inefficiency and labor of old fashioned home cooking often leaves me longing for restaurants and take out shops to prepare my meals for me. What's more, Pittsburgh (and the area surrounding Pitt, in particular) aren't hurting for restaurants... good ones too. The Original Hot Dog Shoppe (affectionately called "The O") is right across the street from my department's building. Primanti Bros. is right down the street should I desire my cole slaw and fries directly on my tasty sandwich. I discovered a lovely place that serves gyros. There are pizza parlors out the wazoo, and a legendary chinese restaurant (for which I have a gift certificate) beckoning me at least twice fortnightly. This discounts the seemingly hundreds of little coffee and sandwich shops littering Oakland and Squirrel Hill.

And yet, despite the temptations of delicious meals placed in front of me with zero effort, I've been dedicated to my home cooking regimen. While my diet certainly plays a hefty part in my decision (most restaurant food doesn't skimp on the calories), the primary inhibitor to my restaurant carousing remains: abject poverty.

Eating out is fucking expensive, and I'm trying to live on my own while unemployed. Oh sure, that five dollar footlong from Subway sounds like a good deal, but I can go to the store and get a loaf of bread, a pound of lunch meat, and some good cheese for less than ten bucks, and that will make me at least five lunches. When you get right down to the numbers (and when on a budget, that's exactly what you do), there's no comparison. Eating out will rape your wallet every time. A box of cereal and a gallon milk gives me breakfast for a week. Two donuts and a cup of coffee one morning costs almost the same. A bag of five frozen chicken breasts cost me $6 at the store today. A buffalo chicken sandwich (with a single chicken breast on it) set me back $8 when I was out at the bar last week.

I wish I'd had this economic revelation during my tenure in Morgantown. Batmite and I ate out constantly due to laziness and insatiable cravings for food of the deep fried variety (or tacos... deep fried tacos were but a dream). I'd wish I had kept track of how much I spent on restaurants during that time... I bet I'd have a lot more money now if I'd channeled my inner Paula Deen back then.

I've found a few cheats for cooking at home. First, I have a few regular standbys that are always easy to make. Pasta is a no-brainer, so there's always some whole wheat rotini in the cupboard and a bag of frozen ravioli in the freezer. Frozen chicken breasts are also a lifesaver because you just toss one in the oven and let it cook. And grilled cheese with tomato soup can be whipped up in a jiffy (I can make the Kessel Run in less than 12 jiffies). I still need to get in the habit of cooking larger meals and leaving leftovers for myself. That would be mighty convenient.

The better I get at cooking, the less likely I am to eat out. With more practice, my food becomes more and more edible, which was often a problem during Grad School Phase I. Every once in awhile, I still crave something from around town, so I eat out occassionally. But I try to limit myself. I'm honestly amazed that since moving to Pittsburgh, I have yet to eat at Primanti Bros. or The O. That's practically Oakland sacrilege. I may have to rectify those oversights simply to satisfy my inner completist.

I do wonder what would happen if I had a lot more money. I suspect my resolve to avoid restaurants would crumble like my hopes and dreams.

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"Homemade [at a restaurant] is a myth. You want to know some things that are homemade? Crystal meth. Crack cocaine. A pipe bomb full of nails. Now we're talkin' homemade!"

I'm Having Fun Looking Out for #1

Who rocks the single life? This guy right here!

I have been sans girlfriend for the last nine months, and if it weren't for my critical lack of a sex life (aside from loving left hand), I'd be content to live the single life for quite some time. I came to this realization over the last few weeks as my brother's wedding has been pushed back and Joe's wedding is about to rev up. The point was further driven home this past weekend.

Over the weekend, my Kittanning crew and I went to Deep Creek, Maryland for Joe's bachelor party where we partied like suburban geriatrics! The highlights of the trip involved soaking in a hot tub, making catty comments while everyone else went fishing, playing a cutthroat Risk game, and dozing off during the Penn State football game. Now some of you may be saying to yourselves (or perhaps cackling to loved ones), "Well no wonder the douchebag's single!" But I had a blast, and I didn't have to impress anyone with my manliness (my friends have long since accepted my lack of interest in anything cool). I also got to drink, act like a complete idiot, and leer at bar wenches without a girlfriend, fiancee, or wife giving me grief.

This is not to imply that I wouldn't like to have a girlfriend. Back in August, I actually sucked up my pride and joined eHarmony for a month. I figured that if I was going to be stuck in Kittanning for awhile (little did I realize that "awhile" would last longer than I'd anticipated), I might as well hook up for a little horizontal refreshment. I had been sitting on the couch moping in my own misery when one of those saccharine commericials for eHarmony came on, and they said that I could take their test and see my matches for free. With nothing better to do (applying to jobs does not count since that experience equates to shoving a hot fork in your eye), I went online and took the test. When they said "32 dimensions of compatibility," I assumed that there would be 32 questions; how wrong I was. There were 32 pages... each with about 15 questions on it. The damned application took over an hour, and some of the questions were just perplexing. How do answer "How self-aware are you?" Isn't "self-awareness" a precondition for being sentient?? If you answer "not at all," does that mean you possess the mental capacity of a grapefruit? But if you answered that question at all, then aren't you aware of yourself? It's like one of those logical paradoxes that Captain Kirk would present to an evil robot in order to short circuit its brain.

In any case, I got my matches (sans pictures), looked them over, thought it was kinda interesting, and then forgot about it. I wasn't about to shell out money for this damned thing. Three days pass. I get an email from eHarmony informing me, "Kristen from Pittsburgh would like to start communication." Well, who the hell is Kristen? What does she look like? How do I talk to her? Is she the one for me? Turns out that such questions can only be answered after paying their exorbitant fee! I was legitimately impressed by such a shrewd business ploy, and my curiosity got the best of me, so I signed up for a month-long membership.

Kristen turned out to be a bust (though she did have an impressive bust as I recall), but I hit it off with two other women on there. Oddly enough, just as my eHarmony membership was about to run out and we had been communicating successfully via actual email for some time, they both suddenly stopped returning my emails. In my mind, they both somehow met each other and became lesbians, and they make passionate love to each other every night. (I don't care how far-fetched that scenerio is! Don't ruin my fantasies god dammit!) I was annoyed and disappointed by their sudden disappearance but somewhat relieved. With no job and no idea of where I'd be living in the next few months, I wasn't sure how to approach the local dating scene.

Since my eHarmony subscription ended, I've been happy to simply wait until I find permanent employment to start my love search. I've actually been enjoying the lack of pressure. I'm in no hurry to get engaged or married, and the single life has its advantages. If I don't feel like going out, I don't have to. If I want to take off for a weekend to visit with friends, I don't have to worry about anyone else. I don't have to plan dates or romantic evenings. And most importantly, with the holidays approaching, I don't have to worry about buying a present. Sure I have to buy presents for my family, but they have to be happy with what I give them no matter what. Unconditional love's a bitch isn't it?

Some might suggest the famed one-night stand as a temporary option; however, I've done the one-night stand a few times, and it's horrible. The drunken four-legged frolick is great, but the weeks of guilt after telling the hopeful young lady that I'm just not ready for a relationship (or being douchebaggy enough to say "Let's just be friends") are just not worth it. Give me the internet and a box of Kleenex any day.

I certainly won't reject a good opportunity for a relationship if it happens, but I'm not going to worry about my single status right now. I'm going to enjoy my "me" time!

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This post brought to you by eHarmony: a safe company for your investments. We prey on the loneliness and desperation of others - natural resources that are always abundant.

For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

Even Picard commands it: ENGAGE!

Two years ago, when I graduated from Penn State Erie, I felt like I was keeping step with my peers. I was 22 years old. I had just finished my undergrad. Grad school was just on the horizon. The adult world seemed unsettling and monotonous, but at least everyone else seemed to be in the same boat.

Fast forward two years. In that time, I've become disenchanted with grad school, which consumed two years of my life. While I was whiling away the days, weeks, and months in the bowels of libraries and classrooms, everyone else was out finding real jobs with real pay and real locks on the bathroom doors. But what's worse is that two of my friends got married and two more got engaged. This is what happens when people become adults. Adult-type things start to happen. The worst example of this occurred last weekend when my younger brother got engaged.

Nothing makes a single, unemployed, former English major who's living in his parents' basement take stock of his life quite like seeing everyone he knows getting married. My younger brother's engagement certainly encourages some people to wonder: What the fuck is wrong with JP? Granted, I know the real reason is that I just haven't found the right woman for me (or at least knocked up one who's desperate enough to take whatever she can get); however, it still seems to reflect poorly on your friendly neighborhood blogger.

I'll give credit where it's due. Most people have been surprisingly understanding. I haven't been given much grief about the whole thing (until my friends found out that it was bothering me, thus causing them to berate me mercilessly as any good friends would). My youngest brother's high school graduation took place this weekend, and I fully expected my relatives to harp on me once they found out about my brother's engagement. After all, I'm a sarcastic asshole with no tact or pity for others, and I know from where those traits come. But no one really gave me any trouble about it. I got a lot more questions about being unemployed, and such conversations don't shine the flattering light in this direction any more than a weight scale does.

It seems like everyone else is growing up to embrace the adult world, and I'm sitting here mentally screaming, "I DON'T WANNA GROW UP!! I'M A TOYS R' US KID!!" Getting engaged is the first step on the road to massive responsibility. Don't you remember that taunt that grade schoolers would shout? "First comes love! Then comes marriage! Then comes [insert poor kid's name here] pushing a baby carriage!" Babies tend to follow shortly after these weddings. I can barely handle my whiny cat let alone a fetal-fresh baby that reeks of sour milk and feces. Though if I were lucky, I'd have a little evil baby that had a blood-lust for felines. Still, I'm barely mature enough to watch Law & Order without snickering when they use the word "duty." I don't think I'm in any position to act as a mature adult figure for my potential offspring. Hell, I'd probably enjoy watching cartoons more than he or she would.

Nobody's saying anything about me not being engaged or having a girlfriend, but it's got to be going through people's minds. I'm sure I'll eventually find something resembling a woman who will want to marry me, and then I'll shit on everyone's expectations by having a five-minute wedding in the courthouse with the justice of the peace followed by a reception at the closest Denny's.

I imagine you get carte blanche to do whatever the fuck you want when you don't care about getting married in a church. Let's see if I can find a woman with the same demented sense of humor that I have who will be willing to turn a sacred ceremony into a complete and total farce.

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Your friendly neighborhood blogger: Currently waiting for his real life to begin.