Solitaire.

You walk into your job. Everyone does it. The same job as you walk into every day. Then, one day, you walk in and find something different. Something wonderful. Something you were not expecting...as though God has sent you this one simple, miraculous gift.

Solitaire.

You know you shouldn't play it, yet there it is. You never really intend to find it either, do you. There you are...fiddling in the files...just cruising through to see who left a dirty word document on the computer before you moved in...reading all the old emails about baby showers, and carry-ins...It's totally innocent...isn't it?

You know you shouldn't be there. You know there is nothing good that can come of this union. You've seen the countless inter-office emails, and memos. "SOLITAIRE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!!!" Nada. None. Nano. Yet you know it's there, don't you. you hear it calling your name. There with you always as the seconds of your 8 hours of penance slowly tick by. You try to tell yourself this time will be different. That you can pick it up and put it down like a pencil. You deny yourself. Pretend the file isn't there. The screeching of the monkey on your back growing louder with every passing minute...

You do it. You open the file. "It will be different this time...only this one game..." You grab the mouse, hands shaking. There they are again...all of your old friends. The robot...the fish...the creepy castle on the hill...You take in one last clean breath, lie your fingers on the mouse, and click. That's all it takes. From that moment on, you are lost. Lost in a constant wave of clicking, double clicking. Long, slow, contemplative games. Quickies, where you know the cause is lost, only to bail and re-deal as soon as your little fingers will allow. Then there's the win. Oh God, the WIN! That brilliant moment when those cards go bouncing across the screen, and you are filled with the supreme knowledge that you are, in fact, the most intelligent person in the universe. Here it is. For all to see. YOU have beaten the machine. All kneel before Zod. Ruler of the land of Solitaire.

Before you know it, you are playing all the time. Fingers sweaty on the mouse. Waiting for the next big score. Twitching over your Starbucks as you look anxiously over your shoulder for the supervision who you know must be in the next cubicle. The stress overwhelms you. "One more game...I can get in one more game before lunch." You're on the street...selling your TV...haven't bathed in a week...forgetting the name of your parents...falling into some abysmal half-existence...just barely breathing until your next big meeting with the King and his royal court.

One day, it happens. Busted. The supervisior...you know the middle aged woman who thinks she knows it all, finally catches you with your panties in the wind. The lights are brighter. The fear rising in your throat until you choke. "Where did you get that file???" she asks, as though they have found the family you have hidden in the attic.

"But, I only have, like, 5 more plays..."

"Where did you get the FILE???"

"Hey, man, it wasn't me...it was here...in the computer, man...I didn't know... I didn't know, man!"

"Call I.T.!!! CALL I.T.!!!"

In a flurry of activity that can be compared only with a raid by NYPD SWAT they descend. It's like a scene out of "Outbreak"... "We need to quarantine this system immediatly. We need to disconnect it from the outside mainframe. People I need help. Disconnect. Disconnect!!! We need an immediate defrag..."

There you are. In the cold. Disowned by family and friend alike. No hope for the future. Alone in the bleak nothingness of a world without Solitaire. It's gone, but not forgotten. Lying there dormant until the next job. The next time. The next moment it can sink in it's fangs, and once again roar to life.

Remember...friends don't let friends play solitaire at work. Unless they're serving as the lookout.

The Cheese Stands Alone...

As I have mentioned as of late, my little sister will be lawfully wed
this May. My Mother has become keenly aware of the undeniable fact that
the eldest of her children has somehow missed last call for
relationships along the way. My Aunt (who ironically is 60 with no childredn, and single...) has taken to buying me Dr. Phil "Getyoman" books, and mentioning eHarmony or Match.com about 30 times in every conversation we have. I know their concern is in my best interest,
and I know that it's probably incredibly valid. At some point this
weekend (or several points I have chosen to block from my memory), the
words "get in the game", "come out of your shell", and "old maid" were
uttered. Hmmm. Funny. I don't remember thinking as a your girl that Old
Maid would ever be an option for me. I thought somehow in this IMMENSE
world of a bazillion personalities, I would be able to find someone who
would care for me unconditionally. Even though I am a little off color. A little eccentric.A little insane...but in a good way. Maybe it relates back to my pre-school years? Standing there in that yard while the kids played "Farmer in the Dell", I was always the cheese. It never bothered me. I like the attention of being in the middle of a circle with everyone looking. Wonder how it is I became the front person in a band??? What was the big deal? Yeah, the farmer, wife, dog, cat, and mouse had it okay...but, everyone likes cheese, right?

As I grew older and I had relationships, I watched from the inside as
they morphed into strange bizarre entities. They always started with the
greatest of intentions, and eventually came crashing to some fiery
tragic ending similar to the famous footage of the Hindenberg. This
vision has since become what I see in my minds eye every time I meet
someone I have the slightest interest in. It has come to a point where I
see the apocalyptic fireball spinning out of control, careening directly
toward any stability I may have gained independantly. I can feel the
searing heat of the stress of massive failure, and hear the bystanders
gasp as the hysterical cameraman screams, "OH THE HUMANITY!!!". Then,
all the dreams, and the plans, and the romantic sentiments come falling
in this mushroom cloud of hope ash that bury me in a black plume of
"should have been". My friends and loved ones, and now shared friends
and families of which I had all but joined scream running from the terrible sight.
Akward stares, and broken hopes. There we all lie. Covered in the
massive wreckage of the Relationship Hindenberg. I have become so phobic
of rejection, so phobic of meeting one more person to cause the
inevitable crash and burn of emotion, so dreading of the fallout of
break-up, that my own Mother now fears it may be too late for old Moll. Somehow I went straight past a fine aged brie to your standard limburger.

I wonder. I wonder if there is even anyone out there, or if I have
become too Seinfeld-ian in my quest. Take "Mr. X" for example. He is a
smart, funny, hard-working guy here in the town where I live. He has
told me on many occassions how much he likes me. Sure, the guys has
faults (a record), and a past (ex-wife), but, no one is perfect...most
of all me. I've been single now for six years. I should jump on the
chance, right? I should take this opportunity as flattering, and maybe a
good thing. I should jump on the train and ride it, because God only
knows when it's coming back through town again. Nope. Not me. My
philosophy is I've been alone this long...I'm used to it...I enjoy
having the whole bed...controlling the remote...even cooking for one has
become commonplace to me. Fact of the matter is that I have been alone
so long, that even *I'm* now scared it's going to be a terminal
diagnosis. Maybe I've become too okay being single. Maybe I took all
that "time to get to know myself", and got to know myself so well that
no one will ever fit into the mold. I have imagined. No one will ever be
all the things I want, and still want me....or just maybe all this time has been spent looking for just the right one, and it's way past the hour of compromise.

There will never be a Jason Lee. There will never be this adorable,
funny, supportive, smart, amazing guy who /does not/ smell like soup. If
I expected all those years ago to find someone who would accept me with
my flaws, I'm going to have to accept someone with their as well. Maybe
if I look hard enough, it will be the flaws that I like the most.
Perfection is boring. A 9-5 guy in khaki's with an amazing body and
great hair can never hang with the quirky guy who gets your jokes. It's
impossible. It's also a chronic yawn-fest.

So, this having been explained, I embarked on "The Wedding Diet" a few weeks ago.
If I have to go to this wedding alone, at least I want to go thinking
I'm alone, and I don't suck...as opposed to going and knowing everyone
is sad for the Dateless Old Maid. Maybe Mom is right. I've punished
myself for my past long enough, and it's time to allow myself to feel
good enough to let someone care about me without the Hindenberg scenario
being the expectation. Time to come out of my shell. Time to look at
myself and believe I am worthy of being loved, and not a flaming tragedy
in the making. Time to not stop blaming my station in life on something
I have complete control over. Time to get off at the next stop on the
Old Maid Express, and stop being okay with being overlooked and
overlooking. Time to let myself breathe again. Time to be the Cheese no more...that is unless I find a guy who really likes brie.