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I am a fan of Sex and the City.  I have all the DVDs, I had some on VHS– back in the day, I’ve even read the rather boring book more than once.  I think it’s smart and funny entertainment. Lately, however, it seems like far too many of the storylines are cropping up in my real life.

One episode in particular from Season one entitled “Bay of Married Pigs” has been popping into my head more often than I would like it to.  In the episode, Carrie determines that married people don’t hate single people, they just can’t figure them out.  If you’re not part of a couple, then they just don’t know how to perceive you.  Single people exist as the “other,” mysterious, something similar but different.  I’ve been single and I’ve been in relationships over the years, but I’ve never felt this way until recently.

I mentioned a while ago that the appraiser who I work with was very concerned about my lack of “local boyfriend” as he called it.  I shrugged this off as an old man tic, thought it was a bit cute, and didn’t think too much more about it.  Now I’m finding that he is not the only person who is concerned about my romantic status, but I’m starting to think that that is the only thing people think is interesting about me.

I was in Toronto visiting friends recently.  These friends are a couple, originally from Canada, who have been together about eight years.  They got married so she could stay in the US while he went to school.  My last night there, we went out for drinks with her Cousin and Cousin’s Husband.  Cousin and Husband also got married for citizenship as he is English and she is Canadian.

“How do you know your host and hostess?” Cousin’s husband asked me.

This is a question that I simply love because there is no easy way to answer it.

“Well, I go to school with Wise Lawyer Friend whose husband is Chinese Religious Scholar who goes to a different school with Canadian Male Friend, so I met Canadian Female Friend from there.  Funnily enough, Gentleman Caller goes to the same school, but doesn’t know any of the same people as me.”

At this, Cousin and Cousin’s Husband both leaned in, “Oh, you have a gentleman caller?  What’s he like?”

So that was a bit strange, but I dismissed it.

Later, all of the people who had gotten married for citizenship were talking about how instead of having a large wedding, they should all plan to have a big divorce party just to further confuse the people who didn’t know how to respond to unromantic nuptials done for paperwork.

“How about you, Andria?  Will you be getting married for a green card as well?” Cousin’s Husband asked me.

I assured him that that would not be necessary, and then they proceeded to plan my wedding the way I imagine an overbearing mother would.

It was strange, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just kind of sat there interjecting every now and then with statements like “I doubt that would be necessary” or “Really, I hope that’s not the case.”  If these were people who had been forced to have big, elaborate weddings, I could see trying to dump that onto the singleton, but these were people who had completely side-stepped that landmine, and I didn’t understand the need for the hazing.

Did they secretly long for giant weddings and were living vicariously through me?

It was very strange because despite the fact that I write a blog about my life, I consider myself to be a rather private person.  I prefer not to talk about relationships unless it’s with my closest friends, and even then, it’s highly filtered because it’s my business and no one else’s.  Also, it’s never really been an issue before, no one has ever leapt onto the details of my romantic life and grilled me about them.

Maybe I’ve just been spending more time around married people than before, and this is actually standard, but I’m a pretty groovy chick all on my own, and I would feel rather annoyed if people didn’t realize that.

Yesterday, I was assigned to go to another library branch at job #2. No problem, however, one of the women apparently just didn’t feel like dealing with me, so I was relegated to shelving for two hours the way a brand- new person who doesn’t know anything would be. Not being a brand-new person, and certainly someone who could have taken on a more interesting and involved task– this annoyed me.

I am a trooper, and I know not to ruffle feathers on my first day somewhere, so I shelved, and shelved, and shelved, pausing briefly to flip through One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish in Spanish, and a book about dinosaurs–dinosaurs rule. I also stumbled across a juvenile biography of Oprah Winfrey, which caught my eye since a little girl had asked me for one just the other day.

I glanced at the table of contents and first page, then shelved and forgot it… or so I thought.

I mentioned a while ago that I’ve been having nightmares lately. Thankfully the nightmares have slacked off, and now it’s more vivid dreams. The reason that I’m aware of dreaming more than usual is because loveable Watson (kitty) has taken to waking me up between 4 and 5am, by alternating between knocking around the items on my bedside table, batting at the lamp on my bedside table, and yowling. I then have to get up out of my warm, comfortable bed and follow him into the kitchen where the floor is cold and it is dark. I put food in his bowl regardless of whether or not it already has food in it, and then he looks up at me and waits for me to tell him to eat. If I don’t tell him to eat, he will continue to stare up my nose from his position at my ankles, and eventually he will yowl again in a way that can only be translated to: “Don’t you know I’m hungry? Why can’t I have my breakfast?”

It’s like I’m the food taster for some early-rising royal.

So, I gave Watson permission to eat, and crawled back under the covers. I drifted off into that waking half-sleep where the dreams start coming. I was shopping in some kind of fancy department store, but I had a blue plastic shopping cart from Bed, Bath & Beyond. I knew that I must be in Williams Sonoma, not because I’ve been there, but because they showed the inside of the store once on an episode of Sex and the City. I was coherent enough to know that I was bored with the shopping, the prices were too high, and I would rather spend my last few sleeping hours dreaming about something interesting, so I conciously told me dream-self “leave the cart and go do something else.”

Then Oprah’s face popped into the air above my dream-self and said “No, you can’t leave, I told you to go to Williams Sonoma and shop and that’s what you’re going to do.” Shaken, I continued to push the cart around while her head hovered and followed me telling me which dishware she liked and disliked. It was one of the more unpleasant experiences I’ve ever had, in real life or in dreams, but it made it easier to get out of bed.