Cookies and the Single Girl

Recently, I had a friend tell me that I don't keep a schedule conducive to either dating or relationships.

Ouch. 

I get that I probably can't pull off a dog or, well, a plant, but a boy? Now now ... Tons of people in Oly land have functional relationships. Ok, tons may be overshooting it a bit and "functional" is a matter of perception, but you catch my drift. 

And I often vehemently argue this concept with folks.

But every once in awhile, I realize that there are parts of my life that may not fly well with other people.

Such as, for example, last night  when I flew home from DC (via, um, Dayton and Dallas). My plane was late, my luggage was gone and I had spent my entire day being sick and miserable on one plane after another. 

It's times like that when I realize that I'm not sure you can get away with coming home at damn near midnight,  launching your bag on the floor, ransacking your medicine cabinet, taking shots of Benadryl to chase the expired Advil and prednisone you found somewhere and crashing into bed. Better still, not crashing because you're going to sleep. Nope, hopping into bed so you can eat a leftover airport cookie for "dinner" and begin feuding with yahoos in your inbox. 

If you didn't get a few weird looks for that, the person on the other side of the bed might be displeased when the alarm goes off before 5 because waking up before dawn to do work is more pleasant than pulling an all-nighter. 

And, if a cookie for dinner isn't bad enough, spaghetti for breakfast with a laptop in the couch is also high quality eating.

But, hey, everybody's got their quirks ... Is it eharmony where they ask all of the weird questions? Maybe I could sign up and ask for new ones to be added like "how high is your tolerance for mild chaos?" Or "Are you a heavy sleeper?" Or "Have you ever dated someone who has chunks of the year where she spends more time in transit to or from concrete boxes than she does in her own house?"

Wait ... Suddenly this sounds like a bad idea as  might be afraid of dating someone whose ex was a fan of concrete boxes ... Either my kind or any creepy variation. 

It was a good thought, though!