Note 2/18/04: Okay, I realize that my rant here is so completely wrong. It works on the assumption that I am better and more deserving than everyone else of having a boyfriend, and just better in general, and that’s not right. So disregard the whole theory, or read it and laugh at it because the metaphor is hystarically funny.

All this was was me being bitter and jealous after sitting at CDT all night and hearing all the other girls talk about their boyfriends and hook-ups. Add that to being terribly tired and volia, this rant. Bleh. I apologize.

The only reasons why I’m keeping this up are:

1) I want everyone to know about my pajama pants. They are the most exciting thing to happen to me since my first two grad school acceptance letters.

2) There are parts of this that are amazingly funny. I mean, come on, read it and try not to laugh.

3) Everyone else who writes writes something about being relationship-less at some point in time. So here is my one. I promise that I’ll never do it again.

So you have been warned. Read this, or wait until this weekend when I find something less voyeuristic and annoying to talk about.

The Icing on the Cake…aka, Katherine’s One Time Only Mid-Week Rant That Shows That She Might Actually Have Feelings

I bring you this special mid-week rant because I feel like it.

I bought new pajama pants today. I was buying some odds and ends for Children’s Dance Theatre at Dick’s Sporting Goods, and I happened upon these cute pink and dark gray football pajama pants. They are amazingly cute, and they were on clearance. Double score. As my little brother said when he saw them, “If they had been purple instead of pink, that would have been scary because then they would have been (made for) you!”

Now, I come back from Children’s Dance Theatre tonight and want to change into comfortable clothes, so I change into the pants and my Red Sox t-shirt. I sit down at my desk, read quickly and play with my 49ers Koosh ball before finishing my reading for class. Then it hit me.

Look at me. Why am I single?

By no reason should a guy want to date me solely because I like sports. No. I am not interested in sports because it is a way to get guys. People tend to make that assumption, and it’s wrong. It is true that I first got into football because I had a mega-crush on Steve Young, but let me remind you that when I was six, I was begging my mother to stay up late to watch the 1988 Winter Olympics. I was the girl who made podiums out of boxes, took her reading contest medals, and made my parents stage medal ceremonies for me after I skid around our tiled kitchen with footie pajamas on or jumped off the end of the couch. I’m the girl who in fourth grade wrote fake news articles about Kristi Yamaguchi and playing kickball on the School #52 playground. I was the girl, who when my dance teacher let us do our own choreography, would jump around double-axel style and do cartwheels, trying to make my dance a sport. I got into hockey because it was the only sport (except for figure skating) I saw live on a regular basis. I never got into this because of guys. I got into it because I liked it, and continued it because in my childhood and adolescent quest to be the complete opposite of everyone else, it set me apart.

No, no guy should like me just because I’m going to sit down and watch Sportscenter with them or because I won’t bug them to pay more attention to me and not “the game.” I want a guy to like me because I’m cute, nice, successful, hysterical and a just-tolerable amount of perky. The sports stuff is just the icing on the cake.

With that out of the way, I would think that the fact that I’m sitting here in this outfit would say something. I’m not wearing some lacy camisole top with a fake tan talking on my cell phone. I’m not consulting SparkNotes. I’m completely down to earth. I’m wearing this cute little outfit, my hair in a cheerleader-type ponytail, and I don’t care that I look 16 and not 22 at this moment. And I can make a very convincing argument right now about why the Bills should draft a QB and not trade for Drew Henson and make a completely unconvincing, but completely hysterical argument about why Steve Young is better than Joe Montana.

You care about the type of cake, about if the consistency of the cake is moist or dry, sure. But don’t we look for the icing? As children, didn’t we always want the piece with the flowers because it had that extra icing?

So I guess what I’m saying is this: Sure, there are thousands of sweet, nice, funny, down-to-earth twenty-something girls out there for guys to pick from. But don’t I have that little something extra that makes me just that more interesting, appealing, tolerable? I’m not better than other girls, because they all have their own “icing,” but wouldn’t my interests point to something else, like a tolerance, laid-back-ness, a easy-going-ness that comes with it? Isn’t my “icing” appealing to anyone? It obviously isn’t, for I’ve been single since late 2002. It is now the middle of February 2004. Sure, I’ve had more at bats in the past year than I ever did before, but I’ve struck out on all of them.

Man, this article so sounds like it’s from Sex and the City. I apologize.

I’m not one to rant like this. I mean, I rant, but not about the stuff I’m feeling. I’m not sensitive like that. But I had to get it off my chest. Everyone wishes they had someone, even workaholic driven 22 year old seniors in college who don’t have the time for a boyfriend. And I’m wishing I had someone.

But give me my thesis, my jobs, my reading and my Sportscenter, and I’ll get over it tomorrow.


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