• I got a button making machine! Now I just have to figure out what buttons to make and I can begin building my empire.
• I’m going to a crafting party this weekend, which is exciting, but I have no idea what crafty project to bring. I haven’t done this in a long time. Maybe I’ll bring stuff to make a shadowbox, but I’m not sure yet.
• Starting tomorrow, I get to work at the weirdest show I’ve worked at. Northwest’s largest Anime convention, if you must know. I’m looking forward to the helmets made of aluminum foil and the many, many tails attached to butts.
• I’m getting another freelance proofreading job this afternoon, and it has a very short deadline. Yay for money!
• Today’s Happy Bunny says, “I’m writing a song about you. What rhymes with dorkface?” Good ol’ Happy Bunny.

Well, I can now proudly say I’ve jumped right into solo dining with both feet. I would call myself a pro, but I want to retain my amateur status in case they add this event to the Olympics. Although, technically, I did get paid. Not for my time, but for the meals at least.

The very same evening after I had my Denny’s lunch experience, I had dinner on my own at the little restaurant in the Holiday Inn, where I was staying. It has a fabric tablecloth, cloth napkins, and a menu with the paper that gets tucked into the little leatherish corners.

I’m not sure if it counts, though, because everyone else in the restaurant was also a solo diner. About nine in all. But they were all men, and all reading newspapers, so I still felt out of place with my short story anthology and my breasts.

Since that fateful evening, I’ve also dined alone at the Mexican restaurant in the Doubletree (where I got moved from the Holiday Inn—long story). This time, I also had a folding menu and cloth table linens, plus I was the only loner in the place. The restaurant wasn’t very busy, so it was just me and a few tables full of two or four people.

Still, it was a hotel restaurant, and you have to imagine single diners aren’t rare in places like that.(As a side note, not part of the progression here, I did have breakfast by myself at the Denny’s among a gaggle of cheerleaders. Unpleasant, but I survived.)

Okay, so then I took the leap. I went to a real restaurant unconnected to a hotel. The Doubletree is across the street from Lloyd Center (Oregon’s largest tax-free shopping mall—whee). And attachd to Lloyd Center is a Stanford’s. It was Saturday night, and I ventured out there. Alone. And more than a little nervous. I mean, what would I do if there were a big waiting list or something?

I only had to wait a few minutes, which was good. I did have to announce myself to the hostess and tell her I was a party of one, in front of the other waiting customers, but it wasn’t so bad. When my table was ready, the hostess asked me if I’d like a magazine (you know, to keep me company, since I’m so lonely and pathetic). I declined. I was shown to my table, which was in a room filled with two large parties in the center and the surrounding booths filled with cozy couples or bustling families. I felt a little self-conscious when I sat down and they whisked away the other table settings, just to announce to the world that I was indeed eating alone and not just waiting for someone.

But I survived. In a real restaurant. Alone.An interesting thing I noticed is that servers are very friendly when you’re dining alone. Maybe it’s a pity thing. Maybe it’s a Portland thing. Or maybe they can focus on you more when you’re alone rather than in a little grouplet.

Previously, I’ve had anxiety about doing things alone. All kinds of things. Ordering takeout by myself causes a little stress, as does hanging out in the library or bookstore for any length of time. The prospect of walking down the aisle of the airplane once it’s in the air is enough to make me hold my bladder for six hours. But maybe I’ll be a little better now.

I know in one part of my brain that none of the strangers out there in the world give a crap about what I do. They’re not even paying attention to me. And even if they are pondering what a loser I am, so what?

I actually liked eating alone. It was nice to not have to carry on a conversation or be witty or sociable for a change. I got to just sit there and read my book and take in the scenery. I could order whatever I wanted and not feel that envy and regret when I see the delicious-looking plate on the other side of the table.

So maybe I’m on my way to being more independent, more comfortable in my own skin.

I’m not saying I’ll be going to the movie theater by myself anytime soon, but it’s a start.

Well, not really a big fear. And I’m not sure I totally overcame it. But I took a step, and I guess that’s good. And enough.

I ate alone in a restaurant with a folding menu.

I’m doing a show in Portland, so I’m eating on the expense account money. This is usually a problem, because I’m afraid to eat alone in a real restaurant that serves real food, so I end up getting fast food, which is bad. But I determined before this trip that I would bite the bullet and sit by myself at a table in a restaurant that had a folding menu instead of a light-up menu. A place that took your order at the table rather than at the counter.

And today I did it. Granted, it was Denny’s, but it still counts.

Next step will be to dine solo in a restaurant whose folding menu is not laminated. I’m toying with the idea of trying the hotel restaurant, but I’m not sure if I want to go overboard all in one day.

Plus, I’ve been annoyingly un-hungry lately. The thought of eating is vaguely repellant most of the time, but I know I have to eat or I’ll get a huge headache. Or even worse, I feel hungry but at the same time feel like I’ll hurl if I eat anything. Sure, this is better than the times when I’m famished every hour, at least better for my waistline, but it’s so frustrating.

Maybe I’m just un-hungry when it comes to the options I have available to me. If I had a personal chef to whip up exactly what I wanted, I’m sure I’d think of something I felt like eating. But when I imagine the kinds of foods I’ll likely find at various establishments within walking distance, blech.

Specifically, I want an Outback salad. And an Outback baked potato. And some Spaghetti Factory broccoli. And maybe some cream of mushroom soup, from a can.

But I digress. At some point this evening, I’ll have to decide on a place to eat, and I don’t wanna. But maybe I’ll have the courage to sit there by myself and eat rather than getting it to-go.

It’s long been my dream to just get away from it all for Christmas. Spend it in a tropical location where I don’t have to worry about all the junk that comes with the holiday. This year, my wish comes true! I’m sure it won’t be everything I hope it will be. It’ll have problems I don’t anticipate, and benefits I didn’t expect. Whatever happens, it will be different, and that’s exactly what I need this year. 

Things I Won’t Miss About Missing Christmas:

The big dinner that has to be planned and prepared, fretted and fussed over.

Deciding who goes where for Christmas Eve, and for Christmas morning, and for Christmas dinner.

The tree. I love the smell of Christmas trees, but I can certainly live without trudging through a muddy field to find an imperfect tree, paying more than I’d pay for a nice pair of shoes that would certainly give me more than two weeks’ use, and then hauling it home only to discover that it’s too tall, too short, crooked, ugly, half-dead, and lumpy. And that’s just the beginning. Then you have to string lights, add ornaments, and cram two thousand presents underneath it. And as soon as Christmas is over, it’s time to go through the whole saga in reverse.

Putting lights on the house. Not that I don’t thrill at the thought of freezing to death while stapling lights that only work half the time to the paint job I don’t ever want to repeat, but I can live without that little tradition for at least a year.

Planning a huge holiday party. I loved the party every year, and especially the white elephant gift exchange, but it’s nice to have a break.

The inevitable day-after-Christmas “that’s it?” let-down. This year, post-Christmas-morning activities will include exploring Mayan ruins, cave tubing, kayaking in a clear-bottom boat, and zip-lining through the jungle.

1. Freezing to death in Central Park, despite the furry deerstalker hats.

2. Becoming addicted to Webkinz in Huntsville, and then spending large chunks of the day glued to separate computers.

3. Entering our hotel room at the Paramount in NYC and learning that our room’s magnificently large art canvas headboard was blank.

4. Discovering the horror of rednecks who still talk about “them colored folks” at the Chili’s in Huntsville.

5. My graceful face-plant on Halsted Street in Chicago, followed by the nastiest black knee-bruises known to mankind.

6. Having 11-year-old versions of ourselves drawn by a man on the verge of a brawl in Times Square.

7. Inventing, naming, and drinking tasty alcoholic beverages in NYC, and repeating the process on every other trip.

8. Drinking glasses and rave teeth in Huntsville.

9. Wearing gorgeous false eyelashes in the Big Apple, but having tons more fun subsequently attaching them to our recently-drawn portrait in various arrangements.

10. Laughing until we cried over Pam’s bat story in Chicago.