Single All the Way

Single male, single male,
Single all the way!
Oh what fun it is to ride—
Alone!—
In a one-horse open sleigh!
   -Unknown

The Christmas season, in addition to the manger scenes and Santa Claus and the Grinch and all of that good stuff, is certainly also full of love, love, love everywhere, isn't it? From every Hallmark Channel movie to every song about getting hitched by a snowman named Parson Brown or staying indoors while it snows because "it's cold outside," you can't escape it.

Then there's the mistletoe, which contributes to a good deal of snogging and Eskimo kissing and I-don't-know-what-other gooiness between twitterpated folks each and every December. The Angry White Loner has never kissed or been kissed under a mistletoe, but it remains high atop his Bucket List (wink, wink).

For crying out loud, even the once-mean-and-nasty Grinch finds a woman friend in the live-action How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

My point, and I guess I have one, is that the Christmas holiday can be a good deal of fun for people in love but also acute torture for single folks—something akin to either being strapped to a chair and forced to listen to a continuous loop of Rebecca Black's "Friday" or having your chest hairs plucked out with an old pair of pliers.

It's enough to make making out with the family dog, which is something my family's dog is more than willing to do, look like a good alternative to being all alone on Christmas Eve (or at midnight on New Year's, for that matter).

One of my friends, now married, had a good deal of fun his "family" Christmas card when he was still a single man. Usually, this "family" photo consisted of him sitting alone on a bench . . . and that's about it.

I want to be like him when I grow up.

So, my message is: If you've got someone to hold onto as it snows buckets outside during this holiday season, that's fantastic. More power to you! We all want to be where you are. But also: Be kind to your single friends. It's a tough time of year for them. It doesn't get any easier with Valentine's Day approaching in February, either. Don't rub their faces in it.

Also: I have mistletoe socks, and I'm not afraid to use them.
 

The Meat Market

Recently, I chatted with an old friend whom I hadn't seen in some time. As part of our conversation, and in the middle of catching up with each other's lives, I mentioned that I have been participating in an over-30 singles' group for the past couple of years as one of the activities that has helped keep me busy since I had last seen her in our singles ward.

"I don't really like going to those things," was her response. "They're such meat markets!"

Statistically, my friend is not alone in her stance against going to these so-called "meat markets." I recently found out from one of the advisors at one of these aforementioned group activities that there are estimated to be more than 30,000 people in our age group in Davis County alone. Though that number includes inactive members, as well as, presumably, single parents with children who prevent them from participating and people who don't even know that our group exists, it nevertheless still amounts to literally thousands of other people out there somewhere.

In my time with this group, I haven't even met 1,000 new people, let alone 30,000. The number is more like a couple of hundred at most. Of that number, there are between 60 and 70 who, on average, attend our weekly institute classes.

I am certainly no math whiz, but I figure that it all amounts to about .2 percent, or one in 500, of the people who could conceivably belong to this group who actually attend on a regular basis.That's some pretty slim pickings. It's a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy in that the majority, like my friend, view it as a meat market, too, and therefore decide it is not worth their time or effort. It may be a meat market, but that's where you have to go if you want meat in your diet.

Not coincidentally, my friend also mentioned that she hadn't been on many dates lately and had found it hard to meet new people with her busy schedule.

Conclusions:

1) I am still no math whiz.

2) However you look at things, you have to go where the meat is if meat is what you want. Though the meat market is not as well stocked as it could be, some vegetarians appear to be starving.

With all of this talk of meat, I am suddenly hungry for a McRib.

The Angry White Loner's High School Reunion

Last night, I attended my high school reunion, which was held at the Little America hotel in downtown Salt Lake City. As many high school reunions go, it was an event I both looked forward to and, at the same time, dreaded.

How many years has it been since you graduated from high school? you ask?

I can't make myself say how many years it has been, unbelievable as the number is to me. I just can't make myself type it. But we were the Bountiful High School class of 1993. I'll let you do the math.

In spite of my apprehension about attending, two main ideas stood out:

1) Being one of the few single people at my class reunion was not as bad as I feared it would be. I met some old friends right at the check-in desk, including Andy and Scott, and they agreed to let me sit at their table, get to know their spouses, and catch up with them and their families' lives. Many others also went out of their way to talk to me and to say "hello."

Included among that group of people was one of my seventh-grade tormentors, whom I referenced not long ago here on this blog in my review of the movie Bully. He was the one to approach my table and to initiate a conversation. Not only that, but he seemed genuinely interested in my life and spent 10 minutes chatting with me as if we were old friends.

I want to believe there is such a thing as water under the bridge. Perhaps the hatchet can finally be buried on that matter. I have hope that it was last night or soon will be.

I even had a good, long talk with someone who served as a studentbody officer during our senior year but whom I did not know very well back then. I have a knack for remembering faces and names, and recognizing that person and saying "hello" was all it took for us to become friends.

2) Some things remain exactly the same, while other things have changed.

By and large, people sat at tables and snapped photos with their old high school cliques and social groups. Some people have changed very little physically and were instantly recognizable. Old friends were the same good-natured people I have always known. The girl who (unbelievably) agreed to go with me to the senior prom is still drop-dead gorgeous.

The flip side of that thought is that time and experience seem to be the great equalizer. No matter how popular or important some people thought they were in high school - and that is one of the few unfortunate things about that time in our lives - things such as baldness, grey hair, *ahem* slowed metabolism, and other signs of getting older, as well as challenges and heartache, seem to have affected most everyone to one degree or another.

As the saying goes, into each life a little rain must fall.

Overall, it was a very positive experience. But I can wait for the next reunion.

Spaghetti Uh-Oh

Who among you out there doesn't enjoy a good meal of SpaghettiOs?

*long pause*

To those of you who just raised your hands: We're no longer friends.

Just kidding. Sort of.

SpaghettiOs have been one of my favorite foods for as long as I can remember. They remain so to this very day, and, as I am a bachelor, they are also one of the few foods I can actually prepare on my own without risking danger of burning down the house. Sure, all it takes just a bowl and the push of a button on a microwave, but who's keeping score?

The other day, I enjoyed just such a meal for dinner. When I finished eating, however, I took a look at the empty SpaghettiOs can and read the expiration date: August 2009!

For those of you keeping score at home, that's three-and-a-half years ago.

Immediately, a few questions popped into my mind: (1) How did a can with such an expiration date end up among my groceries? (2) They tasted just fine . . . or did they? *stomach gurgles* (3) How long befBLEARARAGHGHGGHGHGH!!!

The moral of the story: It pays to read the labels on your food.

Also, note to self: Sign up for that community cooking class at the high school.