If you say it loud enough, I’m pretty sure it’s onomatopoetic.

The first person that tried to match with me on was a therapist in private practice. I don’t even know how to respond to that, so I won’t. But in my head, it went something like, “wow. Talk about biting off more than she can chew…” Although to be fair, most people in mental health struggle with mental health themselves, because that’s what made them interested enough in it to make it a career in the first place. So, there’s two red flags… the third is that I just wasn’t that into her. She’s working on a doctoral dissertation and seems hella smart, but the attraction piece just wasn’t there.

But to her credit, there’s an archetype in my mind already, and she didn’t fit it.

And no, the archetype is not Argo or Dana.

It’s me.

No, seriously. I want my next girlfriend to be about my size and about the same amount of genderfluid… because sometimes I like boys’ clothes and sometimes I like makeup and ho clothes. It just depends on the day. Sometimes I like looking sharp and crispy, sometimes I like making people’s jaws drop with my cleavage.

Now, because I’ve said this, I can assure you that my next girlfriend will be at least six feet tall. That is because a spark is a spark and I don’t get to choose when it happens… Except looking through pictures on Match and Tinder…. which will invariably be no help because I am way more likely to run into someone at Whole Foods…. and by run into them, I mean literally. Just trip over them and fall ass over teakettle because I’m not paying attention to anything but peanut butter.

I hate buying peanut butter at Whole Foods. It takes me at least half an hour, because I hem and haw and threaten to go to Safeway and then realize I am way too tired to put in that much effort and just try to find the one with the least amount of oil on top, because when it says “no stir,” they don’t mean it. “Less stir” is about as good as it gets. I finally settled on the smallest jar of 365 brand chunky I could find, because I was completely out of peanut butter, but didn’t want to buy so much of it that I would feel bad about throwing it out when my happy ass finally did find the SuperChunk.

I pretty much live on peanut butter and banana sandwiches, veggie hot dogs/sausages, and Daiya cheese. Occasionally I’ll throw some eggs into the steamer basket of my rice cooker because they hard boil in about 16 minutes. But I am too wrapped up in my own head to cook anymore. It used to be such a major part of my life, and now I can’t remember the last time I made something. Oh, yes I do. Last fall I made some polenta cakes with a dried cherry and balsamic reduction.

I also have both the cinnamon raisin and regular Ezekiel bread, for sandwiches and for toast. Cinnamon raisin bread is amazing as a brown-sugared ham sandwich.

I don’t buy meat or dairy very often because I generally won’t use it before it spoils. Thus the obsession with cheddar Daiya.

My one impulse buy was that I saw they had 12-packs of chocolate milk boxes that didn’t have to be refrigerated and I thought they’d be perfect for driving into work. I am sure that they are for children. I am also sure that I don’t care. I drive a Yaris. It looks like I’m playing with Hot Wheels, anyway.

I wish I’d met this therapist on Tinder (remember her?), because you don’t have to pay to talk to people. If I’d met her on Tinder, I would have at least said “let’s go for coffee.” Because even though she’s not someone I could picture myself dating, it never hurts to have smart people in your life. I should know. I have plenty.





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