Really and for true?

I think I've crossed the line into the land of the most boring human beings alive. For years, I thought myself of having a unique (some may say kicky) view of life. Sometimes cynical, sometimes hilarious and / or bitter and / or jaded, but always genuine. I have been able to hold a conversation.

I feel like I've turned the corner, fair reader.

No longer are my conversations stimulating. No longer am I kicky. I've moved into whiny land.

I can find no other explanation other than: I have moved to the suburbs.

It does something to you. Suburban living. Sure, it's lovely to be around trees, sometimes nice neighbors, the Plum Posse, Office Depot and Target, but as a single woman, the affect of suburban living is seemingly moving me closer to becoming (shall we all say it together, gals?): the cat lady.

Let me begin by saying, I have nothing against cats. I am allergic to them, and therefore generally do not find them amusing, but I have nothing against cats, nor do I have anything again those who own cats.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with "cat lady syndrome," let me explain. The cat lady moniker is the spinster stereotype exceptionelle. Imagine, if you will, an old woman (with cane) sitting in her front room with nothing to do. She wiles away the hours doing the crossword puzzle, and watching for random passersby to walk on her lawn. When such crime is committed, even by the beloved neighborhood paperboy, she bangs on her windows -- GET OFF THE LAWN. Maybe yells. Maybe meows. Her lawn-erasing technique, as I am sure you can understand, depends on the cat lady.

Of course, the cat lady has cats. At least 3, most likely more. She talks more about them more than she does anything else. They are the only living thing in her life (aside from a drooping ficus) She has no friends. She knits afghans and eats canned soup.

True? Yes? You know anyone like this? There were three in my childhood neighborhood -- Helen and Julia and MEAN Mrs. Green. They live on in infamy.

Reflecting on the cat ladies I have known and on my life currently, now in the burbs, I have determined I may be edging towards cat lady-dom. It scares the kitty litter out of me.

This is how I'm like the cat lady:

1. I talk a lot not about my cats but about my commute. MY FREAKIN' COMMUTE. Worst topic of conversation ever. And how long did it take you today? And you? It took me 40 minutes. Not too bad. Sayyy....

2. I sit in my front room. I get mad when people climb my trees without letting me know. I hate the pop-in.

3. Shhh.... I knit afghans.

4. I have eaten canned soup in the past year. I don't like canned soup, but I sure as hell like microwave dinner. LOOOOVE me the Amy's frozen meals. Them are tasty.

5. I like crossword puzzles.

6. I listen to jazz.

7. I put aluminum foil on my couch so my dog wouldn't sit there. Plastic cover, anyone?

am I on the way to becoming the dreaded cat lady?

It is a fear that haunts me...

And with that, I say good-bye in order to work on my afghan.

Tra la.

The Single Gal