Maybe it really isn't me

This was too funny and relevant not to share. This was the article on the front page of the Hartford Courant today.

Hey, Make Mine A Single

I was having a perfectly fine Wednesday morning when my editor ambled over with some paper in his hands.

"Hey," he said brightly, not meeting my eye. "We need you to turn around a story for tomorrow on this new census data showing that Connecticut is one of the worst places for single women to live."

Setting aside the fact that it's truly adding insult to injury to ask a single woman in her late 30s to write a story about the dearth of single men in Connecticut, my reaction to this thunderclap from the U.S. Census Bureau can be summed up in one word:

Duh.

And I'm hardly alone.

"This explains everything," sighed Hillary, a 28-year-old professional woman from Manchester and, I admit, a friend of mine.

Hillary (first names only here) is wickedly funny, earning her doctorate, and is more attractive and thoughtful than most men deserve.

Hillary has been on 19 first dates since April.

Hillary has pretty much decided to move to North Dakota (the second best place for single women, according to the census).

Not seriously, but it's tempting.

"I just have this feeling that [men] are looking for Barbie and I don't fit that bill," said Hillary, who has tried steady online dating - with no luck - since her last relationship ended in January 2005.

Sharon, a 25-year-old single mom who works in Hartford, took it a step further.

"Men in Connecticut want virgin Barbies," Sharon said. "God help you if you have any history, or kids."

Or kids. Yes, well, that's another hurdle altogether. But first things first.

Connecticut is ranked 10th from the bottom on the Census Bureau's list of states and the District of Columbia with a high ratio of single men, ages 15 to 44, to single women. Nevada, which tops the list, has 120.2 men to every 100 women, while North Dakota, at No. 2, has 120.1. Washington, D.C., comes in at No. 51, with a paltry 93.4.

Connecticut, No. 42, has 105.6 men for every 100 women - which seems pretty good still, right? - but any woman who looks at those numbers would automatically take the math a step further.

In all likelihood, of those 105.6 single men, about 55 are automatically disqualified for being completely unsuitable: They're cheating on their girlfriends, have extensive criminal records, have fathered children with five different women already or are just plain jerks.

That leaves just 50.6 men for every 100 women, who we all know are almost 100 percent suitable because, well, they're female.

Just kidding, guys.

But if you look at the Connecticut numbers a little more closely, which we did, single women actually outnumber men by a greater margin. Looking at singles between the ages of 18 and 59 - a more reasonable dating-age spectrum than the one provided by the Census Bureau, there were only 95.8 men for every 100 females in Connecticut.

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," said Diane Gagliano, who works for the Great Date Now matchmaking service, which has offices in Darien and Milford. "I come across this [disparity] every single day. I would say that most of our marketing dollars and efforts go toward attracting single men. We don't have a problem attracting single women."

Gagliano was very interested in the census numbers because they show what she has long suspected - men aren't just less likely to seek help from a dating service, there are actually fewer of them out there. "When we do find men, educated professional men, they love us, but they have to find us," she said. "They have to admit they need help."

Judging by the experiences of the women I spoke with, single men in Connecticut need all the help they can get.

Jennifer, a 35-year-old single mother from West Hartford with a master's degree in social work, has been single for 10 years.

"I seem to have an incredible magnet for guys who live with their mothers," Jennifer said wearily.

Recently she tried Match.com again and agreed to meet a 37-year-old man (who does not live with his mother) for coffee. When Jennifer got out of her car, he pointed to an obese woman going through the coffee shop door and said, "For a minute I was worried that was you going in." Then he proceeded to talk about his ex-girlfriend for 30 minutes, after which he observed that Jennifer seemed "pretty cold," adding, "I think someone needs to defrost you."

So, to sum up, Connecticut's Eligible Bachelor No. 567 was crass, insensitive and rude. Wow. Home run.

Sharon, who declared "it's 100 percent hard to meet men in Connecticut," has tried it all - hitting the bars, happy hours, meeting friends of friends.

"Nothing seems to pan out," she said.

Any advice for other single women, I asked her.

"Yeah," she said. "Move."

The Art of Poetry

I once wrote a poem in school that my teacher went nuts over. She talked about all of the symbolism and allegory she saw and how insightful it was for a person of my age. She even went so far as to write it out on the blackboard to have the class study, analyze and dissect my brilliance. Then she had it published in the school paper.

I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

The assignment was to write a poem on what it is like to be a teenager. Now you may be wondering why I have been thinking about this let alone writing about it 13 years later. The truth is I can recite that poem verbatim as if it has been branded on my brain. And the scary thing is that it still resonates with me.

Did I have life all figured out in 8th grade? What a depressing thought, particularly since I have spent the formative years of my life trying to decipher exactly that. I have spent countless hours, days, years, journals, blogs and tears analyzing life and the meaning of it. I had it down to 5 lines and 16 words. Man was I succinct.

My adult musings are a little more in depth, a little more thought out and a lot more often. However, even with age, experience, more dominant opinions and more sensitive wounds to protect, I was surprisingly on target back in the day. That poem I wrote was meant literally. It wasn’t cynical or idealistic…it was honest. And I find that it translates.

If you want the truth, always ask a kid.

Off and Running

Tomorrow will mark an annual McDougall clan tradition...a trip up to Saratoga Springs, New York to blow some money on the ponies. Every August, we make the 2 hour pilgrimage in order to partake in two of our favorite vices; gambling and binge eating.

The journey begins at 7 am. The plan is to squeeze 12 people, 20 pounds of food, numerous fat wallets and 4 big hats into 2 cars and caravan up together.

If you've never been, Saratoga is a beautiful little town. Quaint Victorian B&Bs, gorgeous houses, spas and lots of ridiculously expensive stores. These bored rich folks need a place to blow their funds in a fancy way. Enter the race track. But to quote Dave Matthews, "don't drink the water."

Once we get there, we have to decide if we want to be peons or spend the extra $2 a person to elevate ourselves to clubhouse status. The only real difference is that you can watch the race from above rather then on the pavement, fighting the masses. My preference has more to do with being short and my crowd anxiety rather then being fancy. I have no problem with being or chilling with the laypeople.

After purchasing our tickets (either $2 or $4 depending on the previously mentioned class differential) we play the squatters rights game. We find a good spot that has elements for everyone. Shade for Eboogie and Gail B and sun for T-Bone and myself. We put down our blankets and then create an impenetrable fortress of coolers, shoes, picnic tables, etc. with which no outsiders can safely walk through.

Now it is time to get down to business. Reading the race book, the trade papers or any other gimmick being peddled in an effort to give you that inside tip that will help you pick the winner. However, despite the mass quantities of resource materials available, we tend to pick predominately based on the horse's name, number and/or color. It is very scientific.

I do have one other criterion that I base my betting on. The jockey. Or more specifically betting against my nemesis jockey...Pat Day.

Pat Day and I have been fighting for years. When he first appeared in my race book, I bet on him simply because he shared a moniker with my junior prom date. However, it quickly became apparent that he was not a good jockey because he consistently lost. I decided to place my money elsewhere.

Then an amazing thing happened...he started winning every race. I decided to give Pat another chance and bet him again. He started losing again. The only logical conclusion to draw is that he is out to get me. If I bet him, he loses and if I don't, he wins. Therefore we are officially in a fight. (I did check the line-up for tomorrow and he doesn't seem to be riding. However I am sure that little bastard will find a way to show up and ruin my fun.)

I am looking forward to spending some nice quality time with the family hopefully fattening up the wallet and not the stomach while instructing the younger generation of McDougalls on the sheer joy that comes from gambling.

Win or lose, it is a safe bet that it will be a good time.

The Dance Face

How freaking scary is this...