I'm no chick magnet

A couple of things happened last week that reminded me of my thus far life-long bachelorhood. One was July 4th, which marked the seventh anniversary of my return from my mission in Scotland (yes, I've made many jokes about it being my "Independence Day" from the strict missionary lifestyle). I don't feel like I'm too old to still be single, but my mom does, and as each year passes I remember assuming while on my mission that I would be one of those guys who gets married within a year of coming home.

The other thing was more random--I was at Macey's (the grocery store, not the department store) a few days earlier, and I saw this weird guy who had been in my social dance class way back in 2002 (one of many places where I failed to find a wife; I was too much of a wuss to ask Kelli Towers out). I've seen him around Provo occasionally ever since, but last week was the first time I've seen him with a wife and child. Within a few seconds I had three thoughts: 1) good for him, he looks happy; 2) if even someone as strange and semi-creepy can get married, then surely I can find someone who wants to marry me; and 3) if even this weirdo can find a wife, what's wrong with me?

I actually have those last two thoughts (or similar manifestations) quite often, though the more positive version occurs much more frequently. I would like to get married, and would rather it happened in the near future rather than the distant future, but I don't stress about it. Maybe I should stress about it more; I would probably date more often. But, as with most things, I don't take it too seriously. In fact, here are some comics about relationships that I can kind of relate to which I've had up on my refrigerator for the last few years. They're usually clumped together, in a way that's kind of like a story, but I'll show them one at a time so I can comment on them too. Hopefully you'll be able to read them.

I've never asked anyone to marry me, but I have experienced rejection, more than once by someone who I considered the "girl of my dreams." This has always happened long before a proposal would've happened, but it still hurts. It must really suck to ask someone to marry you and get turned down, though I suppose that's better than them saying yes and one or both of you regretting it afterward.

This is something I worry about. When I do eventually get married, I assume I'll be getting someone out of my league in the looks department; almost every guy does. But I don't want someone who's "blah." In fact, if I were to make a list of attributes I want in a spouse, after the items relating to moral standards and values, the first one would probably be "spunky" or some similar word. I need someone who is feisty, sarcastic, and can get my jokes.

If I was more humble, or maybe even just more thoughtful, this might worry me too, but I have never considered myself a "blah" person. I hope I'm not wrong. But it's still a good representation of the frustration that arises from failed attempts to find someone you like who also likes you.

Dilbert is basically a grown-up Charlie Brown, wouldn't you say? After too much frustration like that referred to above, I find myself in an apathetic state similar to Dilbert's. Plus he's watching TV, which is probably more responsible for my lackluster dating record than any other single thing.

So to sum up: Dating is hard. I'd like to be married someday. I get bitter/discouraged about it far less often than the average 28-year-old single Mormon guy. And those comic strips are funny.

Here's a bonus picture of some of the other magnets on my fridge.

I've got some cool Scotland magnets (do you like how I've come full circle here? I'm good), and the Laugh Out Loud one is pretty good (well done, Kenny). The four corners have arrows, presumably pointing to stuff the magnets are holding up, with clever accompanying phrases like "don't forget," "precious," "what the?" and "knew each other for 3 weeks."

But I'm sure that, like me, you're wondering why I have a magnet showing a guy throwing away a swastika. I have no idea. It was left by a former roommate, a guy at least as weird as the one I saw at Macey's. I'm just hoping it's not actually a drawing of a guy pulling Nazi paraphernalia out of the trash.

So whether it's women, magnets, or trying to figure out how long that leftover potato salad has been in there, I always have a mystery waiting for me when I go to the fridge.