Page 2 of My New and Improved Alien Lovers

If only I wasn’t wired to be attracted to men. They’re such…downers. Total buzzkills.

I’ve done everything they say you’re supposed to do; I’ve gotten my career in a stable place, I own a condo, I exercise three times a week, I eat right, and I go ondateafterdateafterdate. Every time I think I’ve met the worst single man, I’m miraculously proven wrong.

Remind me; what does it take for a girl to meet somebody that will show up on time and put forth a little effort into their appearance? Why is it so damn hard to find somebody interested in an actual relationship, and not a quick hook up? Somebody more interested in getting to know me than the sound of their own voice?

Well, that alcohol is really…yep, it’s working. My waiter stops by to drop off the bill. “He seemed like an interesting fellow…”

“He wasn’t, I promise you.”

“I’ve seen you in here a few times before, and you’re always with somebody new. No luck finding someone you want to keep?”

Is this guy a waiter or therapist? “At this point, I think I’ve lost hope for the male gender as a whole.”

“My wife always says she took the last good one off the market,” he replies with a wink.

Great. Another happy person. “She might be right about that,” I mumble, counting out some bills for a tip and dropping them on the table.

He doesn’t leave quite yet though. “Hey this really isn’t my business, and it’s pretty crazy, but have you thought about that recruitment program the government rolled out? I only bring it up because I’ve heard my cousin complain about dating, and she’s about your age as well. She snapped and signed herself up, had a brief courtship and then they whisked her away. She claims those aliens are nothing like human men.”

Did not see this going there. I stand up and collect my things, wobbling only slightly from numerous shots of alcohol consumed since I sat down. “Great. Thanks for the advice?” If even the server is recognizing me and telling me my life is a shithole and that I’d be better off seeking love somewhere otherthan earth, I think I might have hit rock bottom. “Tell your wife she’s a bitch,” I tell him as I start to walk off.

He looks at me, shocked. And I can’t help laughing. “I mean for taking the last good guy,” I amend. “I’m going to leave. I’ll pick a new restaurant next time.”

I stumble out of the restaurant, completely drunk now. I decide to interview a couple people on the street on the way home, asking them if I should give up all hope of finding a man that deserves me and go bang an alien instead. There’s a certain charm to it, for sure. The results are mixed and quite possibly highly skewed by my alcohol-induced emotional state, but still informative.

I have to walk by the capitol building to get to my condo, and when it comes into view, the server’s words ring in my head, and a certain purple machine installed near the building catches my eye. An accord was reached with the species alliance, and there’s an alien race that has vowed that they will be peaceful with us, if they’re allowed to try and recruit mates from our planet. It's all completely voluntary, and these machines are a means of communication.

Giggling, I approach the screen and touch buttons. “Hello?” I call out as I try to make sense of the screen, reading through the questions. Am I single? Yes. Any children that need to be included in this agreement? No, no kids. “Oh look, there’re different packages! I can take my time and get rid of my shit myself, or I can sign my life away now and someone else will do it all. Bonus!”

Wow they’re really reaching, aren’t they? If I sign up right now, all that money will just go to a bunch of foster kids. How do you even say no to that? Slow courtshipandmanual labor? That sounds awful.

I click some buttons, and a voice starts speaking back to me.

“Erm, hello?”

The voice is heavily accented, and in my drunk ass state, it sounds like friggin’ music.

Dreamily, I answer destiny’s call. “Hello future husband. I just want you to know I am ready. I am ready right now. Does this thing have a camera? I look so hot right now.” I back up in case there is a camera, smoothing down the dress I'm wearing, fluffing up my short hair, tipping my glasses down my nose and wagging my eyebrows.

There's the sound of scuffling and groaning noises, but I feel too far away from them. I place my hands on either side of the screen and lean forward, wondering if I'll be able to see who’s making the noises if I look hard enough.

“Love, you're giving us a straight shot down your cleavage right now. If that's not your intention, you might want to straighten that posture up a bit.”

I look down to see my boobs fully on display and bring my shoulders together to squish them together even more. “Not sure that'll help,” I tell the voice in the box. “My boobs are pretty massive. So is my ass, now that I think about it.” I step forward and turn around, trying to show my ass to them, only to end up spinning in circles a few times because it's hard to see it myself. “Anyway. The moon is so pretty right now.”

“We just... that is, a notification was just...”

A heavier, rougher voice interrupts. “You clicked yes and hit submit. You wish to be mated, human woman?”

“This is hilarious! So fun! Do you know how many times I’ve walked past this box? The men down here suck. Pleeease take me with you.” I give them my best pout, then remember that I’mtrying to impress them. “No, no, no, that's not— what Imeantto say is, I’ll besucha good mate, and look, I can entertain you! Not to brag, but I was a baton twirler for like three years in elementary school.”

I turn around and find a stick on the ground, bending over to reach it. They groan again, leaving little doubt that there’s a camera. I look around the screen, trying to see where the lens might be.

“Up here love,” the gentler voice comes back and says. “I believe there's a large green arrow next to it that says ‘camera’.”

“Hey-O! So it does!” This is so funny to me. I laugh, because how did I miss that? Oh right, alcohol.

I wag my finger at them. “Stop trying to distract me. I was going to show you how useful I can be.” I start my routine, trying to twirl the stick that's just not weighted correctly, and end up smacking myself in the face. Lovely. “Usually I’m better at this.”

---