Trekkychick

There is widely held, by such reputable sources as storybook fairytales and audiences of Dawson’s Creek, that there is one perfect person out there for each of us. That kissing frogs not only leads us to bacterial meningitis, but also to that perfect person who suits us hygeinically and romantically. Who loves us, understands us, and desires us equally as we to them. Who wants to commit past the height of excitement into the comfort of stability. And who doesn’t want to think that such a person lies past the frog pond?

I’m certainly not one to rain on your perfect person parade. But I would like to sprinkle some statistics on the sidewalk alongside your parade. That is, if you live in the United States, and you assume that your perfect person also lives in the United States, then there are approximately 305 million perfect mates. If you are female, and hope that your perfect partner might be male, you now have approximately 150 million perfect mates from which to choose. However, keep in mind that you probably won’t visit every state, and even if you do, it’s unlikely to dip into all of the single possibilities each state has to offer. Your pool will most likely be limited to your state. If you live in Oregon, like I do, your state population is approximately 3 million, rendering a rough estimate of 1.5 million men.

Approximately 2/3 of them are not in your age range.

Of the remaining 500,000, half are married.

Of the remaining 250,000, 2/3 don’t live in your geographical area, which excludes them from the dating pool since you’re a working woman who doesn’t have time to commute five hours a day just for a date.

83,000 remain, 82,500 of which you won’t meet in your typical professional and social circles of primarily married friends.

You’re thinking, great! 500* eligible single men! My perfect person could be swimming in that pool! Sign me up!

And I would, except that according to this website, there are only 91 single men per 100 single women in Multnomah County, in which I reside.

So even if you meet your dream man among the 500* eligible local bachelors, you’re likely going to have to fight off the other local single women with a crowbar, because there’s always going to be a surplus of nine women relegated to permanent singleness.

Therefore, don’t be discouraged if you find that your life doesn’t imitate art a la Dawson’s Creek. The statistics aren’t on our side. And statistics don’t lie.*

Anyway, I’m off to purchase a crowbar. Good luck in the dating world!

*Disclaimer: Troi is gifted with many skills, none of which are of the mathematical type. All calculations found here are to be interpreted with caution, loosely interpreted, misinterpreted, or better yet, not interpreted at all.

–Troi out

Dear Readers,

I have for the past several years attended a Catholic young adult group, not only for the plentiful happy hours, nor exclusively for the fabulous parties hosted by Mike and his Keg, but for the genuine friendships that have developed and the pleasure I derive from enjoying fellowship with these friends (often, I enjoy them at our weekly happy hours, or at Mike and his Keg’s fabulous parties, but I assure you that is purely coincidental). The single members are dwindling in numbers as we are gradually overtaken by those members who meet, pair off, and take their vows at such an accelerated pace that I’m often clueless as to their pairing until I inquire as to their absense at happy hour and am informed that they are on their honeymoon.

It is with such swift and efficient grace that these Catholic mergers materialize that I often suspect the fleeting daliance they call dating is really just a requisite pre-merger period to allow the future bride sufficient time to rank her female friendships into a hierarchy from person-who-hands-out-the-program-at-the-ceremony at the top (that’s me, AWESOME!) to maid-of-honor at the bottom (loser).

This marriage pandemic has become so severe among Catholics that a break-up, also known as the complete rejection of the Catholic pre-merger phase, shakes the group to its core.

I witnessed this several weeks back as two members failed to transition from their pre-merger phrase of dating into its properly finalized form of unconditionally-unending union. The Catholic male in question was met no less than fourteen times at a party with the following inquiry:

Catholic partygoer: Where’s [Catholic female]?
Catholic male: We broke up.

The collective horrified reaction of “What happened??” led me to suspect there are probably only two justifications that would have been deemed acceptable in response, and these would have involved untimely death and/or deportation.

Or that she wasn’t Catholic.

Of course in stark contrast there is me, who has become so phenomenally successful at the art of breaking up that if I go three weeks without one I become concerned that I’m losing my edge. My pre-merger phase of dating tends to stagnate and then reverse into the classic pre- pre-merger phase of friendship, and sometimes the break-up is so successful that we are catapulted back into the pre- pre- PRE- merger phase of “Do I know you?”

I would like to think there’s a happy medium to be found somewhere between dating for three weeks and getting married, and dating for three weeks and breaking-up. Two good friends of mine dated “through every season” to experience each other for a full year before taking the nuptial plunge, and after three years of marriage continue to experience and demonstrate mutual devotion at its finest. If I were to one day experience unbridled devotion to another human being who could both receive and return it, I would hope to emulate theirs.

In the meantime I remain your proud singles sponsor.

–Troi out

Dear Readers,

I’m a chronic oscillator. Not a “circuit that produces an alternating output current of a certain frequency determined by the characteristics of the circuit components” (courtesy of dictionary.com), nor the fan kind that moves from side to side while blowing. Rather, I am an oscillator in that I “waver, as between conflicting opinions or courses of action; vacillate” (also courtesy of dictionary.com).

I oscillate regarding whether a relationship is worth it.

Imagine that you frequent a particular restaurant and you order a burger and while you immensely enjoy the experience of eating your burger, you wind up with food poisoning after. And imagine that you then continue to order the very same burger, and it perpetually produces the same miserable result. What sane person would repeatedly continue to place this order?

None! Because nobody who consistently experiences a gut-wrenchingly painful reaction to a specific event continues to infinitely invite that same gut-wrenchingly painful repercussion.

So why do we exempt ourselves from this most basic common-sense principle of operant conditioning in forging new romantic relationships? Why do we think our odds are better this time around?

And this is where I oscillate. The angel on my right shoulder (actually I envision her as a carton of Tillamook mint chocolate chip ice cream with wings, but don’t tell anybody, because that’s weird) says to release my reluctance and expose everything—-everything that is rated PG—-because to anticipate failure is already to have failed. And I listen to her, and I actually manage to entrust entirely my heart to somebody else.

Which gives the devil on my left shoulder (actually, I envision him as a corporate businessman wearing a red suit with the underdog suspended from the prongs of his pitchfork, but don’t tell anybody, because that’s weird) just cause to tap dance over the remaining shards of my heart, belting out his Dr. Evil laugh as he berates my lapse into unconditional love of another person and marks another tally on the Board of Failed Relationships (I’m actually the chairperson of that Board; they wanted somebody with extensive experience).

And I have to give him his due credit. Because he remembered that love given promises no returns, and I forgot.

So I oscillate from side to side like a rotating fan. Oh yeah, and I waver, as between conflicting opinions or courses of action (still courtesy of dictionary.com). Between on the one hand believing that the burger is worth the food poisoning—-for those less discerning members of my readership, I don’t actually eat burgers, so that’s a metaphor—-and on the other hand deciding to forgo all future trips to restaurants to permanently obviate potential food poisoning.

Give me one good reason to eat a burger.

–Troi out

Dear Readers,

In honor of the implosion of my most recent relationship, I thought it only appropriate to dedicate this blog post—-and up to twenty more until I get over it and/or the subject matter becomes stale, whichever comes first—-to the topic of break-ups. Now as my eight loyal readers may know, I boast an impressive relationship failure rate of 100% (or, as somebody who prefers to see the glass half-full, a break-up success rate of 100%). And as I drink my half-full pint glass of beer, reveling in the impressive statistical improbability of my break-up success rate (I can’t think of a single other thing that I do well 100% of the time!), I feel it is only fair to impart to my loyal readers wisdom from my illustrious fountain of break-ups. Therefore, I am providing for your reading enjoyment a top ten list of what I consider to be the best movies to watch for those who, like me, are currently undergoing or have recently undergone a break-up.

10) Love Actually: If you wait long enough for Colin Firth’s wife to leave him, and you come from another country, don’t speak the language, and need a place to stay, Colin Firth will get over his wife and will fall in love with you. If that’s not believable I don’t know what is.

9) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days: Kate Hudson deliberately makes a classic female mistake every day for ten days to chase away Matthew McConaghey. Watch this and feel very pleased with yourself for making only nine of these mistakes.

8 ) Catch and Release: Jennifer Garner’s fiance dies, but it turns out his best friend is hotter anyway–and wants her! The characters in this movie are all so nice that you’ll feel warm and fuzzy inside, and you’ll also enjoy an appearance by Silent Bob, who finally decides to talk.

7) The Puffy Chair: They try everything to salvage their relationship, even going across the country and braving fire and ugly furniture, but ultimately, sometimes it’s just not meant to be.

6) Zodiac: Serial killers kill innocent people who deserve to live. Will put your life in perspective. It’s only a break-up and, if you’re me, there are plenty more to come. Keep your sense of humor and lock your doors at night.

5) Two Weeks Notice: Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant are complete opposites, but as she lifts him out of his corporate obsession with the bottom line, he falls in love with her, and also does the right thing for the community.

4) Cruel Intentions: Ryan Phillipe dies after he de-virginizes Reese Witherspoon and breaks her heart. Women everywhere are vindicated.

3) Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants: Whether or not their relationships worked out, their best friends were there to pull up their pants. I mean, lift them into their jeans. I mean, lift their spirits.

2) The Holiday: Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz swap homes to get away from their real lives over the holiday season after they experience broken hearts. They find themselves, and then they find love again. So the good news is that if you look like Kate Winslet or Cameron Diaz, you’ll rebound in no time. I don’t look like either of them, but I still love this movie.

1) The Family Man: Nicholas Cage gets everything he never wanted when he wakes up in an alternate life with a wife and family and grows a heart. It’s all about hope and second chances and if you watch this movie and don’t feel good, it may indicate that you’re Satan.

So, Readers, I hope these movies put you on the path to post-breakup bliss. And if they don’t, please consider this.

–Troi out

Dear Readers,

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but you’re not in Kansas anymore. You’re on Facebook instead. And anybody who’s anybody knows where you are, who you are, and apparently now, who you’re dating.

I check my personal email while on break today and I notice that immediately following the spammer who wants to enhance my sex life (so thoughtful!), my faithful friend, Facebook, has also emailed me.

“Your friend, Boshua, (not his real name; real name has been withheld to protect the identity of those who may or may not wish to be associated with the writer of this blog), has alleged on facebook that you are in a relationship. We need to confirm that you are, in fact, actually dating again after hundreds, nay, thousands, of failed relationships [damn facebook....they know SO much about you]. We at Facebook find it hard to believe that you actually want to attempt to date again given your astronomically low success rate with relationships. You might want to consider taking up a new hobby instead. Or perhaps you could buy a new pet. Although, since we at Facebook own all of your personal information, we know that you were also astronomically unsuccessful at keeping your last seven fish alive, and you even managed to kill off your sea monkeys, who existed quite comfortably in their freeze-dried eggs for several decades until you managed to get your hands on them. Does anything that passes through your life actually survive??

“To confirm this relationship request, follow the link below. We promise we won’t laugh at you (out loud).”

I am absolutely panicked. I beckon a colleague. In the professional way, by hollering across the hall to her office.

“Colleague (not her real name),” I yell, “Facebook is stalking me! They know everything!!”

Colleague (not her real name) comes right over.

“Oh no!” she exclaims, “Did you KNOW you were in a relationship?”

“Yes. I was there when it happened.” And apparently, so was Facebook.

So I decide to confirm my virtual relationship request. Despite Facebook’s misgivings. Because while my dating success rate may be low, I am pretty sure that so far I have accidentally killed off more fish than men. Therefore, dating is probably safer than getting a new pet.

–Troi out