Project Time

I suppose I knew this was coming. The passing of time has forced me to unwillingly pass a threshold. I've gone from the She's Single and We're Going to Back Off Because She's Nursing Her Break-up Wounds initial phase to the She's Single and We're Going to be Supportive Because She Claims She's Happier This Way transitional phase to the She's Single and She's Officially Our Project -- Operation: De-Single Kristen is On torturous phase.

Gag me now.

This is how it works. The well-meaning darlings of the world take it upon themselves to says things along the lines of, "Oh my gosh, I know this one guy" or "I am totally gonna help you find someone" or "Did I ever tell you about my friend Ben?" Along the way, they completely ignore my cries of, "No thanks" and "Not interested" and "I really just want to become a lesbian" and "Seriously, this is the last thing I want to devote energy toward at this moment."

They ignore me and push forward because I am now officially their project. There's just one problem (well, many problems, but let's stick to the basics for now). I have exquisitely poor taste in men -- that much is a fact. But here is the honest truth: my exquisitely poor taste does not even begin to rival the exquisitely poor taste of my friends -- a sad but completely truthful fact.

I'm not talking about the men they choose for themselves, mind you. I have very few problems with my friends' boyfriends -- for the most part, they are perfectly decent human beings who are completely suited for my friends. This proves, in my mind, that my friends are capable of scouting out respectable guys.

And yet, when they go about the business of selecting guys for me, they seem to all have a tendency to lower their standards about 300%. In fact, their criteria for selection seems to be that he is a.) male and that he b.) breathes. As long as he has those two covered, they've found themselves a match for me. Male and breathes? Yes, good enough for Kristen!

I don't know how to explain it -- I'm not sure if they think I'm just that desperate or what. I just know that it happens, over and over again. When describing potential guys, I've never heard my friends say anything like, "Okay, so there's this guy. He's really cute, very smart, he's funny..." No. Ten times out of ten, what I hear goes a little more along the lines of: "Okay, hear me out. Most people think he's kinda weird, but he's just misunderstood. He's a little short, so don't ever wear heels. His humor is pretty offensive, but you'll get used to it. Oh, and he didn't exactly ever go to school because he had a few kids when he was younger..."

Dude, seriously. I would rather be single for life than go on one date with any of the guys my friends suggest. That's just me.

Sadly, it's not just my friends. Several years back, a certain member of my family went through a phase where she could not stop telling me about all the future husbands she'd met for me while out running errands. There was the cashier at Whole Foods -- an obvious winner because he had a British accent. Never mind the fact that he had the appearance of a 12-year-old and I was, at the time, 19. Then there was the supposed Ben Affleck lookalike at a nursery. After being dragged along under the pretense that I was helping pick out peonies and pepper plants, I had to break the news that I found it a little creepy that he appeared to be approximately 47 years old when I was, at the time, 19.

Call me ungrateful. Call me picky. Call me stubborn. Just don't -- for the love of God, do not -- try to save me from this single affliction from which I'm supposedly suffering. I am perfectly content at this juncture in my life, thank you very much.

(Exceptions will be made for anyone who attempts to set me up with Robert Downey Jr.)