Kaetlin Perna
August 25, 2006

My sister broke up with a lunatic, a few months ago, and he has yet to move the rest of his belongings out. I definitely didn’t see this coming, as he was a nice guy on the surface. Now my sister, at an undisclosed age, let’s say between 25 and 27, is planning a dating hiatus. After about 10 years of consistent relationships; no boyfriends, no move ins, and certainly no drama. This is where she and I differ. I’ve had plenty of flings, I’d had one really bad relationship, one alright relationship, and truthfully, I’d rather moon over guys 500 miles away, while dreaming of dancing with them in Times Square to Bob Seger’s “Night Moves.” I’ve always been single, so being in a relationship, after having been in a bad one, really isn’t a priority anymore and unlike most women (and my socialite counterpart, Carrie Bradshaw), I prefer to be single.

I was blessed with alright looks. Sure, I’m pretty, but I’m not a knockout. I’m the thinking man’s sex symbol and the insecure guy’s goddess. I’m a nice person, and I’m willing to lend an ear to pretty much anyone, as well as flirt. It’s just who I am. So, when I was younger, let’s say 19, while training as a waitress at the now closed Montage Bar and Grill, and the door guy, Phil, was flirting with me, I pretty much would take what I could get. I had low self esteem, a poor self image, did not understand why men were hooting and hollering at me on the street, and also had a never ending scowl on my face. Looking back, who the hell would be attracted to that? I see girls like that now and they constantly are giving me dirty looks and I think I know why.

Living in Arizona, I lived with two girls, who were very pretty and very nice. One of them and I struck up a conversation, and it was stated that she and our other roommate were slightly jealous of me (no joke), 20 year old unattractive me, because I was *gasp* seemingly very confident and comfortable with myself. I’m sure this was what she thought I probably exuded because, well, I was so insecure with every gorgeous 18 year old at Arizona State, that all I had were my wits and confidence. Confidence: that was the key. I’m sure I got cocky, I’m sure I became a diva, but it seemed to have changed the way I thought. Of course I was attractive, otherwise men would not hoot or holler at me, and insecure jerks wouldn’t allow me to make myself vulnerable and eventually rip my heart out.

A year and a half later, I’m over it and okay. You see, confidence means walking down Park Avenue in a multi colored miniskirt, and two tone converses turning heads of everyone you pass. Confidence is not being a bitch to people. It’s the admiration and loathing of strangers, it’s not giving a crap what people think and doing what you want. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just what you need to do to survive, because you are born with only a few things: your body, your soul and your pride, and if you have no pride in who you are, no one else will, and who better to like than yourself. I know I do, I’m a catch and lead quite an interesting life.

I prefer being single. It means walking around in my underwear, going to the bathroom, my awesome bathroom with the door open, without his prudish self going, “ew you’re disgusting,” not shaving my legs, alone in my thoughts, figuring myself out, and finding my way. I know what I want and how to get there, and if he’s there on the way, great! He can rock my world in every which way then, but for now, he’s going to have to find me because I’m busy and I’ve got things to do, albums to record, books to publish and magazines to send queries to. Single means being okay, sipping a caramel frappe from Magnolia’s, listening to a Prairie Home Companion (the radio show, not the movie), and terrorizing my cat. We don’t need a significant other, sure they are nice, and if you have them, awesome, but do what you need to do first, you’ll be happy in the long run. Plus, if they aren’t naked-worthy, don’t bother (I know you’re reading this, mom).

[Editor's note: Apologies for the tardiness of this and last week's columns. It has been entirely my fault. Kaet is always on time with her submissions.]