Single for Good

For the LOVE of the GAME

2011-03-13T17:40:00.003-05:00

Single women are athletes in a league of our own. We strap on 34-C cups, smear our faces with Revlon face paint and wrap ourselves in jersey-knit dresses in preparation to face our opponent. Often the flaw in our game plan is that we approach each match looking to score the perfect match rather than date for the love of the game.

Certainly, if our intention is to make the 9^th inning a happy ending, we must date only the top draft picks, but - simply put, sometimes you think you know what your ideal teammate will be, and then you date him only to realize that what you thought you wanted is not what you wanted at all (okay...that statement wasn’t as simple as intended, but you get the idea).

The other day, a dear friend told me, “the best players in the game practice.” It made me think about my own relationship stats: players with several girls in their line-up, shot-callers who would rather make business plans than dinner plans, the list goes on. Despite those foul attempts, I walked away with a better understanding of what I wanted in a man by being able to identify what I didn’t want.

So whether your goal is to retire from the single girl life with a wedding ring or just catch a person with whom you care to spend significant amounts of time with, better work on honing your dating craft now, because practice makes perfect.

The Good Deed: I’ve committed to helping inspirational athletes by participating in the Polar Plunge to support Special Olympics Chicago Programs. Their primary mission is to promote, foster and encourage physical and mental health and improvement for children and adults with intellectual disabilities and closely related developmental disabilities. For more information on The Special Olympics visit: http://www.sochicago.org/

Wise-cracks

2010-11-12T00:00:00.000-06:00

What do you get when you cross an old lady with a vibrator…the next Single for Good post…

Oddly enough, when I first started drafting this post all I could think of were fortune cookies. Specifically, how once the crunchy exterior of the cookie is cracked a faint ribbon of optimism is revealed i.e.: The one you love is closer than you think (in bed) or A secret admirer will soon send you a sign of affection (in bed). My point…I like my wise-cracks coming from a tough cookie.

I was getting my volunteer on (while wearing my Single for Good-shirt naturally) at The Greater Chicago Food Depository when an older woman (with stiff bones and an even stiffer upper lip) asked me what Single for Good was all about. I told her about my mission to turn bad dates into good deeds and my means of creating good dating karma through philanthropy. Her response (prepare yourself):

“Let me tell you something… I’m 62 years old…I have been married twice and I was in a 21 year relationship after; all of which have failed. But I tell you one thing… my vibrator has never let me down”.

If you’ve fallen, pick yourself back up and keep reading…Maybe it was the certainty in her delivery, maybe it was the idea that a 62 year old woman has a vibrator within reach, or maybe it was the intoxicating combination of Metamucil on her breath and the faint smell of Bengay on her joints, either way…I couldn’t help but to wonder if, after many failed attempts at commitment, I too would become bitter and rely on supplements and sex toys to get me through the years.

I guess it’s all about your outlook …and a positive mindset is the way to go. That’s why one of my favorite fortune cookie scripts is… If you continually give, you will continually have. In true Single for Good spirit this calls for a morning volunteering and I can’t think of event more fitting than the Senior Breakfast Club serving up a healthy breakfast and playing Bingo with Chicago seniors early bird special style. What the heck…here’s one for the road (in bed).

Thrill of the Fall

2010-10-09T16:12:00.004-05:00

I am a thrill-seeker with a love-wish. I take risks, gamble against sanity and will waste a good outfit for the chance at meeting a man that does his own stunts, makes me laugh and brings me veggie soup when I am sick. With hope fastened securely around my ankles, I’m willing to take the fall, only to snap back to the very same place from which I started. On occasion, I pour myself in curve-hugging make-him-sweat-wetsuits (aka skinny jeans and jeggings) and splash into murky bar waters attracting sharks. It may seem as if I approach dating with reckless abandon (guilty as charged, and I’ve gotten some scars to prove it) but these meet men-adrenaline-fixes pale in comparison to a feat I’ve recently seen involving a single woman and her partner.

At the height of romance, she insists on walking the commitment tightrope at relationship-defying heights. Pretty and poised she juggles a man that adores her, a need for infidelity, a disdain for marriage and a rubber ball as she eases her perfectly painted toes (he pays for her pedicures, naturally) onto the tight-wire. Arms sticking straight out at her sides (this maneuver aids in both maintaining her balance and preventing her lover from getting in too close) she teeters dangerously high above a crowd of opinionated onlookers who are stunned by her disregard for her safety net (*clears my throat* I mean, her relationship) and anticipate her plummet to their breakup. It’s quite the site to see.

She’s managed to successfully keep everything in the air, but for how much longer? Surly her arms will grow weary from juggling and eventually the winds of change will cripple her composure…wait a moment …WELL…I JUST received a text message from her asking me to cover for her tonight… so…there you go. Her decision has been made… I just hope she makes sure to wear a safety harness.

No stranger to heights myself (or commitment issues for that matter) I’ll be volunteering at one of my favorite places, Gary Comer Youth Center’s roof-top Garden in the Sky project. Busying myself with pruning, weeding, planting and harvesting is a great distraction and I could sure use the fresh air.

Repeat Offenders

2010-09-01T01:00:00.001-05:00

Two-bit con-artists, cleverly cloaked as gentlemen steal hearts, shred them to pieces and shatter dreams for the future, leaving no fingerprints or traces of remorse behind. Sure, these offenders won’t be on America’s Most Wanted, but breakups are hardly a victimless crime. Ask any lass who has rehabilitated herself with tear-filled evenings, moscato fueled venting sessions to gal pals and downing several glasses of chilled chocolate soy milk and with doughnut holes.

It is my sincere belief that those hooligans guilty of breaking hearts and disappearing like thieves in the night should be draped in black and white stripped jumpers, thrown into solitary confinement (punishment should fit the crime; right?) and be forced to eat day-old bologna sandwiches on stale white bread with the crusts still on (no whole wheat, 12-grain for you buddy). Torture… I think not! Those breakup bandits who manage to get early release for “good dating behavior” (claiming that they’ve learned from their mistakes) should be fitted with a tracking device because, inevitably, they will attempt to return to the scene of the crime.

I submit to the jury Exhibit A…My email account was recently hacked and a message about erectile dysfunction medication (personally, I believe Viagra was in on this hoax) was sent to all of my contacts. A boy who I use to date (until he assured me that he was not looking for a relationship with me) received the email and replied back that “seeing my name in his inbox made him smile”. To the untrained eye, his response may have been innocent enough, but this behavior is suspect. What bothers me the most is that with these few words, I was sent right back to the moments of grief and wondering how it all went so very wrong. I see now that I must go back into witness-protection.

To bring law and order (gong-gong) to this circumstance, I will gladly volunteer at The Bottomless Closet. Their mission is to "elevate the employment potential and marketability of women welfare recipients who want to work." They "provide clothing, at no charge, to women on assistance who don't have suitable clothing to wear to a job interview." I much rather put positive energy towards helping women receive pinstripe suits than continue to obsess over seeing him in prison stripes anyway.

Nice RAK (Random Act of Kindness)

2010-08-09T13:24:00.011-05:00

In this top-heavy world, (where one more retched date could send us stumbling forward in a fit of madness) us single girls can use all the support we can get. Not just the well-endowed daters (whose bad relationship cup runs over), but us prepubescent (itty-bitty-pitty committee daters) who need to be perked up after training ourselves to believe that meeting the “man of our dreams” would be much easier than this (boy, were we wrong). We need someone who’s got our back; Who can lift-and-separate us from our despair, assure us that there are good men in the world and say that you are a perfect just the way we are (plus, throw in the standard: he's a jerk who couldn’t handle a real woman like you, you’re better him off without him, and so on…)

The point I am trying to make (keep your eyes up here and read-along) is that I am no stranger to lending support to friends in need, therefore when Jill the Duchess (my Twitter buddy and all-around relationship guru) did a call to action for bloggers to perform a random act of kindness for her Royally Kind blogging initiate, the decision to join in was a snap! Typically, as a Single for Good, I volunteer for organizations, yet the idea of helping out an individual at random was a fun challenge.

I guess I really didn’t choose my random act of kindness, he chose me. He was a blind gentleman who approached me in need of direction to the restroom. He grabbed my arm and away we went. I guided Alex through a local shopping center to the restroom. We chatted about his recent move from Los Angeles to Chicago, I read him is text messages and later led him to a bus stop where he was off to met with a good friend. Before boarding his bus he thanked me and told me that I was of big help to him. It was a simple act of kindness, yet his gratitude could not be measured.

Check out other bloggers participating in Royally Kind:

"Res": http://resipsainsead.blogspot.com/
Caroline: http://www.remabulouscoaching.com/remabulous/Blog/index.cfm
Sharalee: http://alifemorefabulous.blogspot.com/
Linda: http://simplyseductive.blogspot.com/
Sasha: http://www.everythingfab.com/
Jennifer: http://www.dailybitsofbeauty.com/
"Red": http://www.redsaid.net/
Elizabeth: http://site.blissfulseed.com/blog/
Vanessa: http://www.thathappenedtome.com/
Paige: http://www.redefiningthemeaningofwealth.com/
Andree: http://andreebelle.wordpress.com/
Crystal: http://plushpalate.blogspot.com/
Trina: http://lalalovelythings.blogspot.com/

The Solo

2010-07-10T16:09:00.001-05:00

Billy Shakespeare was right…“all the World’s a stage…” and dating is a low-budget, off-off Broadway production of CATS, set against the backdrop of a sketchy alley-way dotted with puddles of failed commitment excrement and reeking of lovers past. The lighting is horrid (brightness only comes in the passing form of a potential new love, then is quickly dimmed by dinner’s end) and the screenplay (worn from persistent rummaging with Cheeto stained fingertips) has no clear plot, lacks substance and stings of familiarity. No understudy required as I shine brightly as the star of this spectacle.

Typically I would love to see my name in lights (Single for Good The Movie…Anyone? Anyone?), but I’ve grown weary of being a performing artist; reading line-for-line from a script and getting into full character in order to impress someone. I’ve lost my true self in the role-play and am now essentially, performing in order to fill the seats and win rave reviews from utter strangers. The only critic that matters is the one staring back at me (well…and GOD and my mom, because let’s be frank, she’s going to give her opinion regardless). Its un-fulfilling. So, I’ve exit-stage right and started rehearsing by dating myself. I go to the movies, eat dinner and so forth, solo.

No more selling out to sale seats…the next guy will have to accept me for the Vegetarian-up with tofu-movement making, Vampire Weekend off-key singing, sassy-mouth having, Moscato chugging lass that I am. These tiny bits (and so much more) are the peculiar-particles that make me who I am. The man for me will embrace these things and crave more, chanting for an “Encore!”

During this dating intermission I will be volunteering at the Bright Pink 2nd Annual High Tea Celebration fund-raiser which shines the spotlight on woman who have been personally affected by breast and ovarian cancer. These women will share their stories to a crowd of 500 supporters who have contributed approximately $100,000 to help in Bright Pink’s continuing effort to provide national educational programming for young women at high risk for breast and ovarian cancer.

Spacebar

2010-06-09T23:21:00.002-05:00

Call me curious, call me desperate…just don’t call me by my real name. After careful consideration and forcing down a mouthful of crow (lesson to be learned here is to never say never) I’ve traded in my hunt & peck typing style (I still have to search for the letter ’X’ on the keyboard) and am now hunting and pecking for men online.

I hit Ctrl+(hau)alt+delete on my original rationale that online dating is for those who have given up and are running out of eligible men. I now know better and realize that diagnoses is as outdated and flimsy as a floppy disk. A scan of my current dating situation revealed viruses, parasites, jerks, momma’s boys, you name it…so why not seek another avenue in which to browse?

After receiving recommendations for two free online dating sites from a fellow dating blogger (shout out to All the Single Ladies), I began brainstorming a user name AKA alias (seems the best code is flavor+type of candy+last two digits of birth year…for instance: SweetCarmel81 or SaltyAlmondJoy83). The profile creation in itself was rather detailed. I was faced with the hard-hitting questions (What are 6 things you can’t live with out? & Favorite hobby?) in addition to selecting pictures of myself that said attractive, yet approachable.

In being completely honest with myself I have to acknowledge that I need nothing more than to log-off from my dating reality…a rebooting if you will…we’ll see how it all plays out. Either my hopes of an netting my internet love will crash or, quite possibly, shift me into a relationship. Either way, makes for good blogging.

Having backspaced to a safe-space behind the computer screen, I’ll also take comfort in a tried and true volunteer opportunity with Chicago Housing Authority’s Senior Breakfast Club by cooking food and playing bingo with Chicago Seniors. Shutting down for now.

(Re) Training Day

2010-05-09T00:06:00.013-05:00

Cracked, fried with (soy) bacon on the side…that is my brain on dating and while a proper nutritious breakfast is the best way to start the day, being spoon-fed unsavory advice is giving me (to quote Winnie the Pooh) “a rumble in my tummy”. What’s causing this nauseas feeling, you ask…why a concoction of mixed messages from manuals. To follow their recipe for love would be to mix half cup gentleman, with a spoonful of acting like a lady, lightly sprinkle with being a bitch and bake at 350 degrees until you’ve turned a gent who’s just not into you into something that you would’ve never thought to date before…It’s all enough to make a girl order take-out and refrain from going-out at all. As I tend to use my blog for temporary belly-aching (quickly washed down by a soothing, cooling, pink dose of reality -ala volunteering), it’s only fitting that I serve up a heaping pile of platter chatter about the books.

I’m one of those girls who reads the books…ok, ok…I’m one of those girls who over-reads the books, highlights favorite passages and clutters the pages with color coded Post-it notes for a quick reference. The new it topic of late focuses on dating outside of your norm. Essentially trashing previous ideals or “types” and proceeding forward into the unknown and expecting great things from the unexpected. Upon hearing this I Instantly thought back to when I was little. My mom (perhaps in need of a cheap thrill) blindfolded me, spun me around, armed me with a Nerf bat and sat back and watched in amusement as I dizzily stumbled forward swinging wildly at a candy-filled piñata (I must say that I absolutely love to watch piñata scenarios play out on America’s Funniest Home Videos). Dating has become a constant swing and a miss. My dream man dangles above, slightly within reach, only to be yanked away before contact. So maybe moms and manuals are on to something. Maybe, the sweetest rewards come when I stumble forward blindfolded. So, I’m raising a glass topped with a cheeky cherry to trying something new and hoping someone totally unexpectedly fabulous sneaks up on me when I least expect it. Cheers!

DoGooders, that’s where I am, right now, at this moment. And speaking of hitting the books, I’ll be training to become a Volunteer Team Coordinator with Chicago Cares, reading and highlighting training manuals which will allow me to lead community volunteer projects. Chicago Cares believes that “People are the answer” and creates, manages and leads effective and innovative volunteer service programs which foster the ethic of volunteerism, promote a sense of community and support our partnerships with community organizations. Visit http://www.chicagocares.org/index.asp for details.

Oldie but No Goodie

2010-05-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

Thinning strands faded gray from life’s circumstances carefully finessed to strategically shield bald heads which glisten like polished high school gym floors is enough to make a botox'd face frown. Yes Do-Gooders…I am talking about The Comb-Over. More than just a dreadful look it symbolizes an internal struggle -- a last ditch attempt to hold on to remaining scraps of the past which has, overtime, manifested itself into a horrendous hairstyle. It’s a sad (and in this case tacky) thing to watch a person hold on so desperately to barely-there hair. I have a Comb-Over relationship -- a barely-there love affair (love is way too strong of a word but you get the idea) that I need to just take a pair of shears to.

With a thin-toothed comb, a moment of weakness, a guy that ALWAYS answers his phone, hair gel …viola! I’ve managed to masterfully style a far-right hair flap faster than you can say “hair-plugs”. Often in moments of loneliness, boredom (and frankly, when in need of a warm-body) there is one gent who waits on standby. I don’t want a relationship from him (he’s not the kind of guy you take home to meet the parents), we have nothing in common and, truth be told, I kinda despise him in a I-hate-that-I-want-you-even though-I-don’t-want-you kind of way. His purpose has been to simply fill a void, whilst I wait for the One to come into my life. I'm not proud of using another to shield my heart.

I'm clipping the ends of my Comb-Over relationship by deleting his number from my cellular (out of sight out of mind) and my good deed of choice is cooking and spending quality time with senior citizens during the Chicago Housing Authority's Senior Breakfast Club. Fellow volunteers and I will cook up a storm, serve a hearty breakfast and play Bingo! Click here to learn how Chicago Housing Authority provides life enrichment programs and services to low-income seniors across Chicago.

Pick of the Litter

2010-04-13T23:54:00.018-05:00

While Peter Piper peculiarly picked pickled peppers, Susie Single selected smart, smoke-free, stylish, sophisticated, six-figured salaried, spiritual, successful, slim-build, six-packed Sagittarius stallions for seducing. And while I question a grown Mr. Piper’s penchant for salad fixings (I suppose a man‘s gotta have a hobby), a thought more twisted is sweet, delusional Susie’s tight grasp onto a grocery list of expectations while the reality of a relationship slips through her perfectly manicured fingertips.

As this blog, in a strange way, has become my therapeutic 2-step program (1. Bad date 2. Do good) I feel that I can stand and say ‘Hello…I am a Single for Good and I have carelessly discarded potentially eligible mates (there has to be a better word for mate because it makes me think of chimps) based on pettiness thus leaving trails of debris in wake of my dating disasters’. Shame on me for being such a litterbug. As I’ve matured (sort of), I’ve manage to pre-sort expectations into two piles before tossing into their respective receptacles-- Recyclables (physical and character attributes that I tend to look for over and over which include, but are not limited to: non-smoking, child-less, motivated, responsible, tall but not too tall, funny individual who possess all of his original teeth) and Rubbish (those finicky disposables like: material possessions, social status, style of dress, etc...). Sure it could be challenged by others what should fall under which category and why...but hey...they're my piles. Get your own!

I’ve strewn my garbage expectations around and it's high time I pick it up (metaphorically...of course). With a stylish black Hefty bag and a pick up-trash-stick thingy, I’m joining Friends of the Parks for their 21st Annual Earth Day Parks & Preserves Clean-up. Improving Chicago Parks since 1975, Friends of the Parks believes everyday should be Earth Day.

Call of the Wild

2010-03-21T14:29:00.024-05:00

Scientists recently studied the mating call of the classless-stupidius, an isolated species of the urban male population. Camouflaged in baggy jeans (sings out loud: look'n like a FOO whicha pants on the ground) and using sensitive sonar equipment crafted from cardboard Charmin tissue-roll tubes, scientists were able to get close enough to decipher loud, abbreviated bursts of "ay girl" at their desired mate. Magnificent!...The results of said study were intriguing to say the least.

Odd as it may seem (sarcasm alert!), Do-Gooders (myself included) do not respond positively to the mating cries of the classless-stupidius species. In fact, nature has equipped us with several defense mechanisms. One, is to ignore and flee, seeking the shelter of daylight as classless-stupidiuss (or stupidi...not 100% sure of the proper tense), notoriously prey upon nightfall. Another evasive maneuver involves fielding off aggressive advances with the "I have a boyfriend" tranquillizer dart but, alas, even this proves useless, as they have, overtime, developed thick skin and morphed into a confident and more ambivalent species. When ignoring, fleeing and a direct dart to the ego does not detour...wounded and in need of salvation...you "play dead"...allowing him to triumphantly chatter and parade about.

Until the day an effective repellent (not counting pepper spray) arrives I am left re-reading The Secret...you know, that one book that says if you think you're a winner... you are a winner and will attract winners and, conversely, if you think you're a loser, you are a loser and will attract losers, you loser. Needless to say, I am in deep self-reflection mode. Wondering what it is that I am doing wrong...if anything. Perhaps a slight adjustment is needed to the bass and treble on my positive energy sonar. Because if you are what you attract...simply put...I am screwed.

The Good Deed: An afternoon of self reflection coupled with digging through my closets and donating items to the Greater Chicago Area Salvation Army. The Salvation Army strengthens communities by being a part of the communities they serve. Their 13 Chicago-Area community centers are designed to meet the specific needs of the communities in which they work, offering a wide range of programs reaching all ages from children to seniors.

Don't Fret My Pet

2010-03-21T12:20:00.001-05:00

Unlike Big Foot and rainbow colored unicorns, the mythical urban Cat Woman exists. Forgoing the skin-tight black spandex and villainous antics made popular by Batman comics, our heroine prefers comfortable cotton jumpers (which she meticulously rolls lint brushes over in a continuing effort to remove blades of cat hair) and routinely re-organizes her Marie Osmond doll collection according to height. Sadly, her story is no different than that of many scorned single women –tired of dating; she simply gave up and settled into a life where she traded in first date dinners at Brazzaz for Fancy Feast with felines.

After days, weeks, or even years of bad dates it is easy to want to throw in the towel and start weekly visits to the Humane Society Pet Adoption Center. But before you invest in catnip and kitty litter please remember that dating does serve its purposes, especially the bad ones. Dating failures are the price you pay for progress and changing your perspective on bad dates will help you persevere and ultimately achieve your desires of meeting your ideal companion. That is why I continue to date, though at times met with frustration, weirdos, and wannabe rappers... I remain optimistic...because he IS out there and...well...quite frankly, my apartment only allows one cat.

Dirty Mouth

2010-03-13T15:37:00.022-06:00

Dick-heads say the darndest things. Loaded with unbound confidence and reeking of arrogance they populate a delusional world (I believe the exact longitudinal and latitudinal coordinates position the locale within their empty heads). Here, clouds are made of their very own hot air and, proudly, they gallivant down streets lined with flora fertilized by the (earmuff) prehistoric bullsh-(rhymes with spit) they speak.

How charming a place where you don’t have to bother yourself with little things like self-censorship or decency…(sings in my best Louis Armstrong baritone) “and I think to myself…what a wonderful world…”. Unfortunately for us Do-Gooders...they have infiltrated our world. Walking amongst us, they take on the appearance of "normal" men...that is, until they open their mouths.

I recently had the distinct pleasure of going on a blind date where from start to finish I was verbally blasted with his hot air...(I mean, well thought out philosophies). “Relationships are based on sex and money,”... “Women need a boss, at work and at home,” and my personal favorite..."I can't have a woman trying to tie me down."...Charming! On several occasions I scrutinized the bartender's top shirt button convinced it was hidden camera recording what was sure to be an incredibly horrible (yet well played) practical joke. Where was the conversation?…Getting to know each other?…Putting your best foot forward? I appreciate knowing right from the start the type of person I was dealing with (it saves from later dissappointment) and left the bar that night comforted the certainty of knowing he and I would never become anything but a crazy story to share and a reason to keep doing good for others.

The Good Deed: Spot me getting my gardening on at the Gary Comer Youth Center. The organization offers positive extracurricular alternatives in a welcoming and safe environment to youth 8-18. Their mission is to provide the support for all their youth to graduate from high school, prepared to pursue college and careers. The 8,600 square foot Rooftop Garden is where youth and community members grow a wide variety of vegetables, herbs, fruits and flowers in the garden. The produce is used in the Center’s cooking classes and meal preparation. For more information on how you can get involved visit http://www.gcychome.org.

Canned.

2010-03-03T00:12:00.000-06:00

My least favorite side dish is canned creamed corn. Its consistency is that of what a small child with approximately three teeth (with one on the way) gummed and spewed. Its icky-sweet and an insulting shade of yellow...if offered a bowl of this crud I would immediately turn it away. No – I am not on a one woman crusade to super-diss Green Giant (of all the super hunky, name brand characters – he’s my fav - sorry Mr. Clean). My point…I have a pretty clear idea of what I don’t like…Do-Gooders (AKA folk who dig my blog) this post is dedicated to Mr. Creamed Corn.

At this precise moment I must clarify that I AM NOT comparing men to non-perishable items, not at all. On the contrary, I am really attacking my own inability to trust my instincts. I mean the icky-sweet-insulting-yellow signs were RIGHT there from the first phone conversation. He toasted his excessive drinking habits and punctuated each sentence with a perfectly placed expletive...gag-reflexes were in high alert, yet instead of taking heed, I moved forward and was met with disappointment--big shocker! I walked 4 blocks in the pouring rain to meet him at coffee shop... He never showed. He did call 3o minutes to shower me with excuses. NICE.

In true Single for Good form, each bad date....well...I suppose in this case...being stood up for what was sure to be a bad date, requires a good deed be done in its place and what more fitting than spending Saturday at the Greater Chicago Food Depository sorting can goods for distribution to the needy. Their mission to provide food to hungry people in our community is definitely something worth crusading for.

Why 'Single for Good'?

2010-02-21T19:04:00.001-06:00

Pretty much this blog-o-mine is all about charity and charity cases...Dating and good deeds...Giving love to those who need it most, as I chronicle the good, bad and ugly of the Single-Single-Single…LIFE (sorry …the need to sing Cameo surged thru my veins).

Focused…back to the subject at hand…’Single for Good’, started with an 'eureka' moment after a morning volunteering on Valentine's Day, 2010. Instead of being a complete anti-love zombie draped head to foot in black lyrca (the sexiest of all the too tight fabrics) and sending out snarky text messages to fellow Single Awareness Day observers, my cousin and I volunteered for the MGR Foundation's (g)love Program.

One…the title of the program has love in the name (which is über appropriate) and, more importantly, we assembled and distributed care packages to Chicago-area homeless people…I got the warm fuzzies…and in that moment, my love life basked in the shadows of the greater good.

I am a Single for Good…an uninhibited, love-crazed, romantic humanitarian. I give love-as I look for love-as I blog about love. I challenge myself to not dwell (too long) in the funk being single can sometime bring but, instead, to delight in performing acts of compassion for life and Earth.

Dear reader(s) may your heart swell up like fresh mosquito bite…and may your scabs heal without scars "because each bad date deserves a good deed."

One more thing…for more information on the MGR Foundation’s (g)love Program and how you too can get the warm fuzzies please visit: http://careteam.mgrf.org/glove.html.