Contrary to popular belief, I do not have herpes

Probably the most important thing I learned this past weekend is that you can develop a pimple on the lower left corner of your lip and it can look strikingly similar to a cold sore. Your so-called friends will then proceed to laugh at your cold sore and shout across a parking lot or crowded restaurant, "You have herpes!" Let's be clear, people. Just because you have a reddish like mark on your lip doesn't mean you have a cold sore. And just because you have a cold sore doesn't mean the diagnosis is immediately herpes.

Now that we've cleared that out of the way, Friday night I was looking forward to an action packed evening at a bar in an upscale, urban area. In order to get to said bar, I needed to take the public, not so quite upscale method of transportation: the subway, home to local drunks, sketchballs of all sorts, those hot 9-5 commuters and sadly, occasional ass gropers/pick-pocketers.

I was sitting down next to my friend Kimmy on the subway when all of a sudden a spray of mist landed right below my eye. I looked up and there was a heavy-set, snickering man in his 30s gulping from a can of Michelob light. He said laughingly, "Ha ha ha, I’m sorry, did I spray ya?"He wasn't the least bit sorry and it was clear he was well on his way to inconsiderate, belligerent drunkdum. Since I was on the phone with Samantha, I uttered a brisque, "not a problem" and shot him a look of death. After I got off my cell phone, the jackass and his middle-aged friends tried to engage us in conversation, talking about the upcoming baseball game and even trying to give us their tickets to the game since it would be a guaranteed "awesome time." I'd rather have a true awesome time a la Will Ferrell in Old School, when he went streaking around the local neighborhood.

Our subway stop couldn't come soon enough. Once the subway doors open, we booked it out of there, and as the doors were closing, I shouted, "C'mon! What man drinks light beer anyways?!" They pounded their hands against the glass and shouted some incoherent words as the subway wooshed their pathetic faces out of sight.

The rest of the evening went much more smoothly. I had a fantastic dinner with my college girlfriends, and we gossiped over the latest engagements, pregnancies, and the classic who got fat/let themselves go. Always a good time.

In the case of singleness, I do enjoy not being tied down to anyone, but it would be nice to date. I was having a discussion with a business mentor, and he was asking me if I had any geographical locations or limitations if our business were to move. I blurted out, "Of course not! I don’t have children, I’m not married, I have no engagements and I’m not tied down." Judging from the surprised look on his face, I think I gave him more information than a simple "yes" or "no" would suffice, but I wondered why I had so much trouble identifying my single status. True, he hadn’t asked me if I was in a relationship, but why hadn’t I readily volunteered that information or hesitated on the single part? Getting married and having children is something we’re all supposed to do in our culture, unless we are nuns or priests of course and are married to God. But when is there a stigma with singleness? Once we reach a certain age, relatives and friends will be perpetually reminding us of our ticking clock and chime in, "I know a great guy I could set you up with..." Are we all predestined to fit neatly in the marriage mold, or is it possible to just have a delictable lov-ah on the side?

Speaking of that, several of my friends and I were talking about how glad we are that we're single RIGHT now, since so much time now (early 20s) is figuring out what WE WANT and how we want to spend our lives. True, I have so much to figure out in terms of my ideal career, and although I may know who I am value-wise, I just don't know where I'll be in five years, geographically and job-wise.

Anyway, back to my night out. After a fantastic and reasonably priced dinner, we headed for a fun Irish bar called Shenanigans, where the liquor wasn’t too expensive for a city ($6) and the drinks were surprisingly strong. As my friends and I ambled up to the bar where a couple of cute guys were sitting, we started over-analyzing how to grab the bartender’s attention, when an older, half-drunk guy overheard us. "She’s definitely gonna ask for your IDs, you guys look so young." We chatted him up while we waited for our drinks, and the bartender (she actuallly called herself "the Nazi ID checker") took our drink orders. The rest of the night we ended up chatting with two older guys that were really funny and good dancers. The place was so packed that we could barely move out on the dance floor. I would have liked to stay longer (we left at 10:30, got there around 8) but I had to go home early since my friend’s shoes were killing her. That’s another thing I don’t get about women, even though I am one. Wear FUCKING comfortable shoes if you’re going to be walking all over a city that is paved in cobblestones!! Jeez.

That was my Friday night in a nutshell. The next day, I headed to my alma mater for the usual drunken festivities, tailgating, and dinner with college friends. The game was enjoyable, but being back at my alma mater was somewhat jarring. Time had moved on and the college had undergone some changes since I graduated. I realized I was a visitor now. I was on the outside, parking my car in the visitor lot, and walking around campus as a visitor, not as a resident. This would no longer be my home, ever again. I couldn't ever have the relationship I had as an undergraduate, and it saddened me, but it oddly felt right. I had moved on too from college.... and I needed to move on, despite my hestitations about my career goals, geographic location, and wanting to remain in the realm of familiarity and comfort.

This is entry is getting too deep even for Miranda. I need to get back to my sarcastic self pronto. And what better way than watching a little Dancing with the Stars and Sex and the City? Ahhh, life is good, my friends.