One of these days, I'm going to build up the courage to go out (off-campus/non-DH/SC) to lunch, or dinner, or breakfast even ... by myself.

Maitre d': Hello sir, how many are dining with us tonight?
Wes Solo: Hi, yes, table for one please.
M.D.: Table for ... one?!
W.S.: YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT TABLE FOR ONE!

If college has taught me anything - and believe me it has - I've learned to accept and embrace solo dining. And why not?

I think people want to be independant, but only if they can receive recognition for it. If they can pitch a story glorifying their adventures alone, then its golden.

I say this in light of a conversation I had over the weekend with a friend. It didn't have to do with solo-eating, per se, but rather a close cousin of it: solo-movie going. Apparently, the thought of a person, sitting by themselves, with their lonely popcorn for one, with their sad soda pop for one, and pitiful box of Raisonettes for (dare I say it) one is depressing. To which I promptly picked up a large book and dropped it on his toe. OK, I didn't, but violence gives the blog so much more depth.

Why do things have to be a group activity? Let's face it: playing catch? throwing the frisbee around? Those are group activities. They are dependant on having two or more bodies to participate in said activity. So unless you're of the tragic disposition of armless/fingerless person, you can feed yourself popcorn, and anyone but yourself at the movies is purely secondary.

The same goes for solo dining (kind of). Atleast when you go out to eat, you can engage in conversation. But sometimes, I just want to eat to the sultry sound of my fat mouth chewing. A moment for me in this crazy world of everyone else. Why are we so scared to be alone for two damn seconds? Soon, the new social norm is going to group vaccinations, group waxing, or group lobotomys.

I need a hug.