In an effort to stimulate my mind, people watch, and get out of the house; I have found myself at a casino nightclub the last three nights.  Surprisingly having fun.  I say “surprisingly” because that’s not my typical comfort zone.  One thing I’ve learned as a writer, you have to get outside your comfort zone. A nightclub still doesn’t fall into the comfort category, but there are perks.  For one thing, if you want to blend in it’s very easy to do.  Few people stick out in a large crowd.  And, maybe it’s the look on my face or something, but I realized last night the number of guys who actually make a move to hit on me are averaging like 1 per night.  I can swat away one per night pretty effortlessly.  Last night I met two cool dudes from the Air Force in my swatting maneuver.  I actually said to the one, “Hey look I need a wing man and quick-like.  If you’re here alone, mind giving me a hug and acting like we know each other so that guy doesn’t come back to talk to me?”  Turns out he and his buddy were hilarious and had “prime real estate” (his words) at a bar overlooking the dance floor.  BAM. I’m already talking to a guy so no more swatting was needed, helped him eye chicks, we had a good view, and a great night was had.

Post-Waffle House, I was driving home and despite my intention of going and merely observing I was a little down to realize I don’t turn many heads.  I bought a new dress–and wore it.  I like it but then compared to the 20-somethings (and other-somethings doing it), I looked like a nun because their asses were barely covered.  For recordkeeping purposes, I had on spaghetti straps and it was above the knee; it just wasn’t as body clinging and exposing as some of the girls who probably didn’t have much of a bar tab.  Cruise [feat Nelly] came on iTunes while I was cruising I-10 and for a very brief moment I was a little caught up in why I am single at 35. I’m not the tune anyone is humming. I’d been talking to those guys-I guess my testosterone was up a bit- because suddenly I felt like Tony Romo and apparently thought that deemed a Facebook post which was, “That moment you realize at 5am you’re the Tony Romo of single ladies: no longer a rookie, statistically brilliant, & yet e’erbody knows you ain’t getting a ring this year!”

It was, of course, meant to be funny.  Even my serious thoughts have a bit of humor–however dark.  It also in NO WAY is to be taken that I don’t think my NFL team doesn’t stand a chance at the Super Bowl rings!  Whether we actually do or not is not relevant; when you love your team you stand by them and you do NOT give up hope.  I want to clarify that.

I also saw a Facebook post shortly after mine that reminded me many a shackle has been inlaid with diamonds.  Oh yes, many many many.  I was crackin a joke but I got real serious again (notice how my brain just canNOT stay on one side of the fence long) after reading that.  I’ve done it and I know a load of others who have stayed in some relationships for the wrong reasons.  Oh those rings do turn into cuffs for some.  And I have zero desire to ever make that mistake again.  At 35, you learn when to dip out to avoid misery.  I’m single by choice and I learned years ago it’ll take a hell of a man to ever get a ring on this hand.  And I don’t mean that to insinuate that I’m better than anyone else or like the golden nugget of women.  Nope; I’m not a bombshell, don’t have an endless supply of cash, dance very badly, and I’m kinda awkward in a non-endearing “bless her heart” way.  But I do LIKE me.  I see my value.  More and more everyday.  Sometimes it has to be pointed out to me.  Like the bestie who said to me earlier this week, “Apryl, you have seen, done, and have more than some people in their 70s & 80s.”  Well, when you put it like that, I guess that’s true. [Make note, “Love Bites” just cued on iTunes shuffle at that moment]

So for those who laughed at the Tony Romo comparison, I’m glad you get me and my odd way of looking at life.  If you thought I was starting a pity party or lamenting too heavily on being single, I’m not.  In fact, I have a damn good life.  I’m happy and content with what is and isn’t.  Human behavior seems to naturally make you always want what you can’t have–which is the only explanation for why I seek out a mate ever!  The elusive relationship that manages to be balanced, healthy, and ever-lasting is about the only complaint I could utter about my life.  I’m super duper infinitely blessed in every area of life sans love.  And I got the love of my family and SO many friends.  For a brief moment there I thought life was holding me hostage.  I realized last week the gun was in my hand.  My own attitude was all that was holding me back.  Ask the guy I met yesterday morning who’d been riding a bicycle for four months and only had coins on him how bad my life is.  I asked myself that after it was revealed the man needed a job and Ingalls told him to find a way there and he’d be put to work.  And I dare think I have a single problem?  Naw, dawg, homegirl ain’t got a single problem.  It’s true, people do pray for what you have.  And on that note, I’ll quit boring readers and go count my blessings by enjoying the heck out of Sunday.  [iTunes did it again. Sheryl Crow “Soak Up the Sun”. BAM, life for the win.]