So it doesn't look as if I'm getting married any time soon. While it is true that I have ten future husbands, so far none of them seem to be rushing to fulfill their vows with me (ie. put out), although I suspect that – and by "suspect that" I mean "think it would be really really cool if" – one of them visited my site a few days ago. I may have to dump them all and find new ones.

The real potential husbands aren't doing better for themselves either. I am an expert at choosing men who are practically unattainable. I apparently like them distant. Emotional and/or geographic distance are enormous turn-ons to me and is it my fault that they are the way they are or that they live where they live? The world ought to deliver me a decent husband. Right now. I deserve it.

OK, the phone didn't just ring nor was there just a knock at the door, so I guess I'll have to give the world a few days to work on it. But had better be soon or there will be hell to pay.

But at least I have my cat. At least I have the opportunity to live with a creature that does nothing but eat my food, mess up my apartment, shed hair, and poop. It's exactly the same thing as a husband minus the sex (don't even start on me with the bestiality jokes). All he needs to do is learn to promise to paint the apartment and to drink beer and the vision will be complete.

I can actually picture myself growing old and becoming the neighbourhood's crazy cat man. I will have exactly 67 cats climbing in and out of the apartment thought the windows. I will grow a beard, dye it purple, and braid it into cornrows, maybe with bells at the end of each braid to add extra annoyance. I will walk with a cane that I'll shake at children. I will walk through the streets, pushing people out of my way, singing old songs from the Turn of the Millennium like Christina Aguilera and Ricky Martin (I have years to learn them) at the top of my lungs. Just to freak people out, I will occasionally glare at random strangers and point at them as they hurry away. If I'm going to be old and alone, I really should make it as entertaining to myself as possible.

As I approach my birthday in around one month, I find myself thinking these thoughts with increasing frequency. If this is what birthdays are going to be like for the rest of my life, I renounce them completely. I deny the importance of the annual reminder that I am this much closer to lonely death. And I renounce men too. I will take a vow of gay chastity (not as paradoxical as it sounds) where I will live in bliss without the influence of either men or aging. Actually that sounds boring. I'd rather be the crazy, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"-influenced, cat coot, terrifying his neighbours and amusing his friends.

What a stupid post. Happy Early Birthday to me!