Hello, my name is Single and Available

A few months ago, my best friend Kelsey was visiting me from out of town. We were on the train and she was jibber-jabbering about something or other when suddenly, she stopped.

"I know what you're doing," she said.

What the hell? "What am I doing?"

"You're making your single-and-available face." She started laughing. I can only imagine it's because I immediately went from looking single and available to looking offended and mortified.

I pulled it together. "Praytell, what is a single-and-available face?"

"Well, it changes from person to person. But your single-and-available face is when you purse your lips out a bit, and you get all shifty-eyed 'cause you're looking around, thinking 'Anyone looking at me?'" I stopped looking around and focused on Kelsey. "I mean, you could be talking to someone and listening to them and maybe even comprehending what they're saying. But you're not looking at them. You're looking around, hoping to catch someone checking out your single-and-available face. "

"Anything else?"

"Oh! If you're standing up, you stick your ass out and get a little sass in your stance."

"Fuck." She was right.

"No, no. It's okay. It's not a bad thing. It's just something you do. And now you're aware. Embrace it. Embrace your single-and-available face!" She demonstrated. I decided to embrace my middle finger and call her a married bitch instead.

That's the thing about Kelsey. That girl can read me like a book. And for damn near twenty years, her favorite thing to do has been calling me out for acting a fool. And she's almost always right. Case in point. I most definitely have a single-and-available face. But, how else am I supposed to snag me a suitor if I'm not pouting my lips and desperately searching for just one man to check me out? (Won't someone look at me, god dammit!)

This shitty picture on the left. This is my single-and-available face. It says "Date me." Maybe even "Lay on top of me for a minute." It's ridiculous, I know. But I'm feeling shameless tonight, so what the hell.

As you can see here, I take my single-and-available face to the extreme when I add some liquid self-esteem to the mix. Things can get very messy when I get my drink on. This look does more than say "Date me." This shit says "I have condoms in my purse. Whaddya say we use these bitches before they expire."

Anyway, after Kelsey called me out, I vowed never to look single or available ever again. This lasted for about three days, before I caught myself checking out my single and available reflection in the train window. Eh, to hell with it. At that point, I figured I may as well take Kelsey's married and pregnant advice and embrace the fact that I pose like there's a myspace photo shoot on the 4. Plus, now that I know that I make a single-and-available face, I like to spy on other girls and catch them making theirs. Oh, I see you, ladies. We're the same, you and I. We know what's up. Who needs eHarmony when you've got lip gloss, jeans that hug your ass, and a 30-day unlimited Metrocard.

Subway Superlatives

So, as I was coming home from work on the 2 this evening, I decided to play a little game I like to call Subway Superlatives. It originally began as Who I'd Like to Fuck on This Train, but that set me up for a lot of disappointment, as well as a general sense of creepiness. So, it morphed into Subway Superlatives, thus giving me the opportunity to judge just about everyone.

Our first superlative goes to the "The Home I'd Most Like to Wreck." Now, by no means am I homewrecker. But if I could find it in me to destroy a couple, this is the one I'd want to destroy. Not because the dude was hot. Au contraire. He was short and going gray (not in the hot, salt-n-pepper kinda way) and he had the face of a person who just smelled something questionable. His woman was way higher than him on the food chain, which is normally something I like to see. When Christina Aguilera married that goofy-looking motherfucker, my heart nearly burst with delight. But not this time.

This couple was making me homicidal. They were snuggling, giggling, hand-holding... just making sure everyone on that train knew that they were in love. In fact, they were so hell-bent on making sure everyone knew that they were ape-shit for each other that when she was able to snag a seat and he had to remain standing, he hovered over her and continued to hold her hand. Even if that meant all he was holding onto was a pinky, three feet above her head. I fiddled with the hangnail on my thumb and decided that I hated them. I'm all for hoop-jumping and taking it to the limit for the person you love, but that just looked stupid.

After sneering at K-Fed and Britney for a while, I decided to focus on the others. There was the hot guy leaning against the door. He got the obvious superlative...which he managed to keep even after I noticed him flirting with the boy that accompanied him. He was just that hot. But, in an effort to avoid complete fag-haggery, I focused my attention elsewhere.

I spotted a girl around my age digging through her purse. Curious, I continued to watch her, using my thumb-picking as a decoy. I gnawed on my thumb as I saw her pull out a pair of tweezers. Okay, this is weird. Then, I saw her lift up her shirt, ever-so-slightly. Okay, this is really weird. Then, I saw her begin to pluck invisible hairs from her tummy. Then her arms. I realized, Oh, this is trichotillomania. Great. Now, I'm an asshole. And my thumb is bleeding.

NEXT!

I looked around. Saw nothing. Looking, looking...nothing of interest. Until I looked straight ahead and saw this crazy Asian lady straight-up glaring at me. I was slightly taken aback, so I looked away. I waited a few seconds, then looked back at her. Still staring. I stared back. Crazian was playing 'Chicken.' I stared. She stared. I felt creepy. She was creepy. I stopped staring and pretended to play with my iPod, even though I was perfectly content listening to Discovery's "Osaka Loop Line." She won. I was too disturbed to give her a superlative at the time, but looking back, I think she'd get "Most Likely to Participate in a School Shooting."

Luckily, my stop was the next one, so I didn't have to deal with Hannibal much longer. I gathered my crap and stood up to wait by the door. I overheard an older gentleman say, "Mmm...booty" when I stood up. I wished I could've farted at the moment and taught that skeeze that beholding my behind when I haven't invited you to do so is a major offense. Sadly, there were no farts. The best I could do was award him with "Least Likely to Tap This" and walk out the door.