I am standing at the platform, bruised and bored. It took a while, but the conductor finally caught up to me, and I was ejected from You Have Your Whole Life to Live. That was a local train, with overnight stops in Self-Absorption, Victimhood, and White Girl Wasted-ville.

In the ensuing brouhaha, the conductor and I “decided” to leave a lot of my baggage behind. So, as I wait for the 3 p.m. Dinner Theater Train to Oblivion—featuring special musical guests Bell Biv DeVoe, En Vogue, George Michael, Tina Turner, Huey Lewis, Digable Planets, and OutKast—I need to stop living in a fantasy land. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of the ride relying on machines to get me off.

I need to be more open-minded. I’ve always been attracted to a type—or two types, really: tall and skinny, or big, lush earth mothers. But I am not the older, wiser one in a relationship, nor will I ever look the part.

And since the final train is an express—and since I was told yesterday that I look 46(!)—I refuse to lust after children (the 40-and-under crowd). It’s time for my final type: the polar bear, of either sex.

They are tall, padded with scars, and one fight away from the ice floe. Old as hell—dropping my visible age to 36. I will be the chocolate caramel filling in a Santa and Mrs. Claus sammich if it kills me.

The elves and the guy who sings—

She’s driving me out of my mind That’s why it’s hard for me to find …can’t get her out of my head…”

All watching in horror. Come see the show; every other hour in Polar Bear XXXPress to Hell Lounge , 2 sugar cookie minimum.