I usually ignore the door unless I am expecting a pizza.  It’s almost always some trickster trying to sell you a new furnace so he can get in your basement and check out how big your tv is.  But the other day, the doorbuzz made it’s obscene sound and Betty started barking like an actual working dog (her day job is bed warmer) and I couldn’t ignore it.  Ironically, it was The Dog Catcher.  It turns out they randomly check and see if people have licensed their pets.  This is just me fear mongering, it’s not really true but the back story is too long to tell and ends with bad neighbour relations.  Anyway, the man at the door was there to remind me that I owe the city of Toronto $25 for a dog license.  After he informed of this, here is how the conversation went:

Dog Catcher:  I like your skulls! (pointing to the two skulls on my front porch chaise lounger)

Me:  Oh, they are still there from Halloween…

Dog Catcher:  Well I really like them.  A lot.

(awkward silence as he pulls out his registration form)

Dog Catcher:  What’s your first name?

Me:  Kristin, with a K

Dog Catcher:  Kristin!  I love that name!  Kristin!  I’ve always loved that name, Kristin, Kristin, Kristin!

Me:  Stop saying it!  It sounds so….crispy!

And it went on like that until he got all my information.  You should have heard him stall when he got to putting down my postal code.  He pretended to be the Amazing Kreskin and tried to guess every number and letter.  I gave him twenty-five dollars in cash and he apologized profusely, “I’m so sorry to take your beer money.”  And I shut the door.  A couple of days later, it dawned on me:  Was he flirting?  Am I so out of the game that I don’t recognize the signs?  And then I thought, am I going to die alone, a single skull on my front porch? 

5 years ago, I tried on-line dating.  I went on that one site that colour codes what you are looking for:  relationship, dating, or intimate encounters which was orange.  I went straight for the chase (orange)  because knowing what I know about menfolk, they like to cast a wide net so they have their profiles on all three playgrounds.  I think my first handle (you have to pick a name) was “Girl Afraid” and much to my delight “Mr. Shankly” gave me a poke or a wink.  It turned out he was gay and just liked my Smiths reference so I changed my handle to “Drive, She Said” and got the straight men’s attention.  I went out on 3 different dates and they were all quite nice and funny but that summer I turned into one of those ‘rules” girls and decided to lock up the vagina until I was good and ready.

Yes, that was years ago and I’m still a single lady.  All the men “have moved on” which is what they do.  Once in a while I get a fleeting crush that amounts to nothing because he has a personality disorder(you know who you are) or lives in my tv (Dr. Drew).  And is it wrong to actually like being alone?  The other day, on Twitter, #change love to lube songs was “trending”  I like how grown people participate in these things.  My twitter crush, whose handle is “arseburgers” went crazy on it.  ” Silly Lube Songs” “Lube Hurts” et cetera.  And I thought, you know:  love is like lube, it’s good at first but then it gets sticky and messy and you just can’t wait to wash it off. 

Oh, and Dog Catcher:  If you’re reading this, call me!