Sometimes I take to heart what my mother says to me. Sometimes I wonder, what would life be like if I was single? What would it be like to be able to go out whenever I want, make out with whomever I want, and take up the entire bed?
(Oh wait, I do that anyway.)
This weekend, I was reminded of why BEING SINGLE SUCKS when you're a Morgan. When I arrived in IV on Friday night, I was too travelworn to deal with actually talking to people so I made mental notes for the post-weekend update. (You know you do it too.) Those who weren't freaking out over the dog were having slurred conversations regarding the proper way to Catchphrash(r) Cyndi Lauper. I had nothing to say to anyone aside from, "Hi, I'm Morgan. I'm from San Francisco. Just visiting. He's rottweiler, pit bull, and shar-pei. Thanks, he is really well-behaved. He's two. Yeah, he is really cute. He doesn't do any tricks except for jumping on people. Yes, he will probably jump on you too." I've never been good at small talk (and hate it to the extent that I've contemplated writing a story about a dystopia called Smalltalk in which nothing is ever accomplished and the town is eventually attacked and destroyed by the neighboring city, Smoothtalk), mostly because I really don't care about superficially getting to know people who are probably pretty lame anyway.
Also, I have a problem with people who aren't totally obsessed with me. That's why I surround myself with people who are.
When I went out to a bar the next night it was the same situation, except instead of talking about how drunk everyone was, I had a conversation with a girl whose favorite author was John Irving. He is one of my least favorite writers ever and I think she was kind of shocked that I would say so. Then I decided to compare people to celebrities. At one point I was sitting across from Janeane Garofalo and between Macaulay Culkin and Daria. Ron Livingston was hanging out by the bathrooms and Hey It's That Guy kept popping up where I least expected him.
Both nights I crawled onto the futon around 3am, invited to dog to cuddle, and stared at the clock wondering if Aaron was winning his Halo 2 games tonight and what shirt he was wearing and if his hair was sticking straight up and what he would have said when asked who his favorite authors are if John Irving is so awful. And if he had been there I wouldn't have had to make fun of everyone with myself. He would have laughed at the hideous wedding dress and glared at the girls who wouldn't shut up and made fun of people who speak in upspeak? with me. The friends I was with did all of those things, but they refused to spoon with me at the end of the night.
As I was out having a social life, doing the things I would be doing if I didn't have a boyfriend, I realized that I have way more fun hanging out with Aaron that I ever will hanging out with strangers. This has something to do with my extreme bashfulness, but even back in the day when I was all social and shit I never really had any fun. I just went out to say that I did.
Conclusion: I like having a boyfriend because everyone else sucks.
Anyway, shout-out to Sanam for hooking me up with a futon for the weekend. Everyone should go and comment on her lj because she secretly lives for it.