Recently the discussion has come up around why I’m so nonchalant towards the idea of a girlfriend (to put it mildly). It’s a question I hate to even have to address in this place but even the people closest to me seem to be unable to stand the curiosity. So let’s just get this over with, shall we?

Katie walked into the living room one evening as I was working on a piece to frighten the love right out of one of the editors at the San Francisco Chronicle.

“Oscar, how come you haven’t met any girls here yet?”

“Hang on a sec. I’m almost done telling this editor in San Francisco why he must run my article in the Chronicle… ‘ and if you don’t address this issue then the terrorists, sir, have WON. Period.‘

“Ok, sorry. What did you say? I wasn’t listening.”

“I asked you how come you haven’t met any girls here since you’ve moved?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve met plenty of girls since I’ve moved here.”

“None that don’t serve you your breakfast or make your martinis in the strange places you frequent. Oscar, waitresses and bartenders don’t count.”

“Why the hell not? Is there a better kind of woman? Because I’m this close to giving up on smart and engaging girls entirely and just making sure that I hook up with girls who know how to make a good martini and a well-buttered piece of toast in the morning. God, are those that low-enough standards or what?”

“You know what I mean. You’re a good-looking guy with a solid job and a steady paycheck. You cook. You play the guitar. You use napkins. You floss.”

“I think you made up the napkins one.”

“See? You’re funny too. And athletic. You speak three languages…”

“Four.”

“What?”

“I speak four languages.”

“Are you counting Dutch?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t count Dutch! You speak it like a chimp with a stutter.”

“But I do speak it, yes?”

“Fine. Three-and-a-half languages.”

“And… ? Ok, so I’m great on paper – my CV is a glowing beacon of the American Dream. So what?”

“Don’t pretend to be modest. You think you’re fantastic.”

“I am fantastic.”

“Yeah, I know. You actually said that last week. I heard you.”

“No I didn’t…wait, what did I say? There’s context to be considered if I’m going to be accused.”

“You said: ‘if there were more of me, we’d have fewer problems. God, I’m fantastic.’”

“Hmmm. Yeah, there’s very little room for context there. Ok. But I AM pretty freaking sweet. A pretty good deal, as they say.”

“So, ok. Why no girl then?”

“First of all, what’s so great about ‘having a girl’ anyway? Why do people define themselves based on whether they can depend on someone else for happiness? That’s horse shit. Besides, fuck if I know. You’re the one with a habitual cling to Sex in the City reading the goop that the British tabloids slide into our mail slot. YOU tell me why I haven’t met someone yet.”

“Well, you’re obviously not trying. Probably at all.”

“Whatever. I sang for that girl at the cafe the other night and she wouldn’t even look at me. Why the hell doesn’t that count?”

“You mean that time when you got up from the table, ran across the street to the canal and joined a platoon full of Irish boys hollering football chants at the passing boat of freshman girls?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wait. You’re asking me why chanting football slogans with Irish hooligans at other, younger women doesn’t count as singing to a girl, right?”

“Well, when you put it like that anything sounds bad. Besides, she had a boyfriend.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“No, I’m avoiding it very successfully.”

“Is it really that hard to find a nice girl?”

“Without a boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

“Then yes.”

“But you go out all the time. What do you do, snarl at them?”

“Look, I’m not looking _for a _girlfriend when I go out. I’m just looking around, sometimes hoping to be looked at right back. It’s validation and a hope of an off-chance encounter with someone who’s as adventurous as me, if not more so. I always want to learn new shit, know what I mean?

“Women are creatures of the sirens who cost a lot of time. I have plans – plans more important to me than having another person on speed-dial, than having one more person who wants me to call when I’m traveling. I have plans bigger than weekends of dreamy-eyed mornings wasted on my bed. Time is precious. I have cities to check off my list, guitar rifts to learn and kilometers and kilometers of road to put under my feet.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’ll happily make out with the first pretty thing that crosses me with eye-contact. I’ll smooch all night and even bring her home if she’s up for it. The trouble is, so far it’s been either Dutch girls (who don’t flirt), or a bad case of the boyfriends. I hate boyfriends.

“No eye contact at all?”

“Seriously? Two girls have looked at me at bars since I’ve been here, and I’m confident one of them may have been a leper. The lighting wasn’t that good, but still. I’m not that good with bacterial diseases.”

–

“Oscar?”

“Yeah?”

“…where did you learn to sing Irish Drinking Songs like that?”

“Vallejo Pirate Fest 2007.”

“Interesting.”

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on the Morning Star? Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it, and look what it’s done so far…