Don't want to be alone

This is a title from an album that came out when I was still in High School. When existing members of successful bands got together, the media deemed them..."Supergroups". BBA was a supergroup that featured Jeff Beck of "The Yardbirds" fame, plus Tim Bogert, and Carmine Appice who served in "Vanilla Fudge" and "Cactus". Not only were they a "Supergroup", but a "Power Trio" as well. I'm partial to power trios. There are bands with a lot of members, like The Allman Brothers, and despite the talent level of the individual members, when you've got a big band, the amount of sound will make up for any lack of talent that may exist. Many of the disco bands of the late '70's and early '80's suffered from this problem. But that's not what I'm writing about...as usual...I'm whining about my own little world.

I'm one of those characters that just doesn't seem to fit in anywhere. I get along with my cohorts, co-workers, co-inhabitants and any other co's that exist. But I seldom get close to any of them. This makes dating a real problem. I once had a friend tell me over the phone, that the personal column in the local newspaper was hysterical. At the time I worked as the producer of a morning radio show, this also made me the main comedy writer. One of the early lessons I learned was: take material from any place you can get it! The personal columns ended up as fodder for much of what I wrote. The problem was, the more I looked at them, the more I began to think, " Hmmm, she sounds like MY type of girl..." And I foolishly began to respond to them. At the time, computers weren't widely used, so you had to enclose a photograph and send your replies to a P.O. box. This was to keep stalkers and axe murderers from having easy access to the women folk who posted ads looking for Prince Charming.
After sending out dozens of witty replies, and getting no responses from any. I began to get desperate, and I'd add tag lines saying that I understood if I wasn't their idea of the perfect mate, but I'd appreciate it if they returned my photograph. This is a key point, because I don't photograph well, and since I'm always alone, I have nobody to take any pcitures of me. I would go through my archives of snapshots and find one that was flattering, and get a dozen copies of it. After sending them all out, I'd head back to the local 24hr Photo ( this was the '80's if you recall) and order a dozen more. After doing this more times than I'd like to remember, I had still gotten no responses. If these women didn't want to date me, I can understand that, but why would they want my picture??? I began inserting self-addressed, stamped envelopes in my and asking for my pictures to be returned. After all of that I finally got ONE back. It had a note enclosed with it, beginning with..." You sound like a nice guy, but...". The word "but" is crucial here, because after it you can roll out a scroll of faults and it absolves the writer of being predjudiced. It continued, "...I'm six feet tall, and I don't want to date anybody who's shorter than I am". A reasonable clause in the unwritten rules of dating. It was then that I decided, rather than answer the ads that were placed by desperate women, most of whom I'm assuming aren't all that good looking, otherwise they wouldn't need to run ads in the paper, I'd place my own ad. In this I took a page from the only person who retunred my photo and added a caveat. I said that I'm skinny and preferred that I date women who weigh less than I do. BIG MISTAKE!
In this world of battling obesity, the only women who weight less than I do are either, A) in a chemo ward. B) pre-schoolers. C) Already taken. Leaving me to sift through the crumbs once again.
On a program I saw on The History Channel, it said that 120 pounds was the trigger for women to hit puberty. With the Thickening Of America running wild, that means that women are reaching puberty in the pre-natal stages. Can you picture the doctor informing a lady who's just spent her summer giving birth, " Congratulations, you've got a healthy, one hundred and twenty two pound, baby girl! And boy...has she got a rack on her!" Kids are being born with boobs and pubes, and they develop into a disaster area of overweight problems. So the odds of me finding a cute, slim, thin, svelte, slender, trim, skinny-assed gal are looking astronomical. Add to it that I'm not getting any younger, handsomer, or wealthier and it's not likely that I'll find the girl of my dreams. Yet, I still keep on looking. What's wrong with me?