I’m not complaining or anything— but being single is haaaard. And I’m not whining or anything— but being single in Honolulu suuuucks.

With the 400,000 people living in Honolulu (a recent estimate released by the U.S. Census Bureau), about half of that is the male population. Now that’s a pool of about 200,000 boys, men, and old men. Now of course, I would only date men, though in the past, I think I may have dated some who, mentally, were 10 and 60. So 200,000 men is a lot of people, but for me, quality trumps quantity any day— unless we’re talking about bacon (yeah, I have a pork obsession).

And speaking of bacon, I feel like dating in Honolulu is like that concept behind that trivia game, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, where you can pretty much link actor Kevin Bacon to any actor based on the movies they both have acted on, in six steps or less.

I find myself trapped in these links a lot of times. I would meet someone, and later I would find out that he’s dated a friend of mine who has also dated someone else that I had dated in the past. It’s almost funny actually— if it wasn’t so sick. It’s not difficult to meet men. I’ve run into them everywhere— the beer aisle or floral sections of Safeway, at a jazz bar, at an art gallery, or through friends, to name a few. But again, quality trumps quantity any day.

There just aren’t that many quality men out there and those few good ones are probably dating a friend or another… Anyway, not to whine or anything, but being single and dating in Honolulu is exhausting, but some of us have that “breather”. That default-opposite sex— a platonic friendship that’s almost an illusion of dating. I’m not talking about your booty-call, I’m not talking about your gay friend. I’m talking about someone you have a relaxed and exciting conversations with over coffee, or a cocktail— Someone, after having your ego bruised in this roller derby called dating, dusts you off with reminders of how cool and wonderful you are. And you do the same for him or her.

Well, I don’t exactly have a person like that.

What I do have is this beautiful Pacific Ocean that hugs Honolulu. My default is surfing. When being single and the unwanted attachments that pounce at me at random times like loneliness and insecurities kick my butt, I go and whine to my default. He’s so good to me that while I’m with him, I can’t imagine being with someone else. Like last night, in Waikiki, he played the Blues for me while I surfed my blues away. He even painted me a beautiful sunset with strokes of peppermint pink— you know, that fluffy reddish color you see that bleeds into the sweet minty white after sucking on a peppermint candy— I’ve never seen that in the sky before. Simply cool.

After the surf therapy, I paddled in, my bruised ego healed with a magic kiss— My soul, once again, at ease.

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