"So, you get it right? Huh babe? He didn't even have a limp. And the cop didn't get it til it was too late! Classic."
Classic my ass, she thinks to herself. I get it OK? I've been watching the same movie as you. In fact, I've seen The Usual Suspects like five times. Did I ask you what just happened? No, I didn't so I don't need your retarded Cliffs Notes version to sum it up for me. You dick. Don't explain the entire plot like I'm an idiot. Is it because I'm a woman? Do I have the glassy-eyed expression of someone who just wasted the last two hours of her life on something too sophisticated and nuanced for her? This movie is like fifteen years old. I know what the fuck happened to Verbal, OK? Also, stop using the word "classic". That's such a tired, overworked adjective. In the case of The Usual Suspects it happens to be true. But stop telling me that everything you happen to like is fucking classic: In-N-Out Burger's Animal Style fries are not Classic. Your smelly basketball shoes making me gag is not hilariously Classic. Overdrawing your bank account is not Classic. I'm usually a pretty forgiving, level-headed chick but this explaining the plot of the movie crap and overuse of cliches makes me want to bury you. With my hands.
As usual, she doesn't say any of this out loud. She instead keeps her composure by taking a huge gulp of wine. "Yeah, I know. I've seen this movie a couple times." He smiles sweetly, satisfied that he's helped her navigate the complicated film and gets up to turn off the DVD player. She shifts uncomfortably on the couch, simultaneously plotting her escape and hating herself for being such a bitch.
It's not really the movie that's bothering me. Its the fact that I don't want to see him anymore for no good reason. I can't figure out why, he just irritates the living shit out of me.
This, my friends is relationship purgatory. When you're sitting there with him, thinking that it's not so bad...yet it's also not so good. You might try to convince yourselves that its OK, its worth sticking it out for the sake of getting to know each other better or because you think you have no reason to break up. You search for reasons to stay, and while you may find them, you're still convinced it might be time to leave. You think perhaps you'll stick around, things might get more exciting! Maybe someday you'll find his nasty ass Jordans endearing!
I say no way. Sticking around because there's no reason not to is not a reason to stay together. Every relationship experiences phases that are dull and that's totally natural. If you're in an otherwise satisfying relationship, a neutral phase is like a tunnel you'll eventually emerge from. You can deal with it for awhile, work on it and move on. You and your significant other might even be stronger for enduring it.
However, if the relationship is new and its already just treading water, this is not a good sign. If you find yourself getting annoyed easily and looking for an escape it might be time to bow out gracefully and guilt-free. Yes, this is not the time for feeling bad for him. Don't let the relationship spectators (your gym friend, coworker friend, manicurist, whomever) tell you that you were wrong to leave. We all have spectators ready and willing to comment on what happened on why. In this case, go with your gut. Only you can decide when its time to end it. Would you really want him to stay with you if his feelings were only lukewarm? To pretend and put up a front for you until you're drinking coffee and you see "Kobayashi Porcelain Company" on the bottom of the cup and you get the fax that puts it all together but it's too late and-Oh, sorry. I forget I don't write about movies.
All I'm trying to say is that having no reason to break up is no reason to stay together. Also, Bryan Singer is a genius.
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12.10.2010
12.09.2010
Don't Over
I have an acquaintance, let's call her Molly. I'm pretty sure Molly's only flaw is that she's constantly trying to convince the world she has no flaws. You know this girl. This girl never has a hair out of place, never spills on her shirt. She's just always there, perfection never wavering. Unwilling to step outside the neat little comfort zone of equally perfect friends and manageable situations she's built for herself.
In short, Molly is kind of dull. Or maybe I just don't know her well enough to see the "real" her. Either way, Molly was married in an elaborate ceremony this summer. She booked the uber-exclusive venue, hired waiters that could pass as models, the works. From what I've heard from the guests Molly managed to pull off a wedding that was swanky and sophisticated, yet still felt fun and full of love. She looked classically beautiful in her designer dress (which I happen to know cost more than I paid in rent last year). Her groom filled out his tux perfectly. They both shed a few attractive tears at appropriate points in the ceremony.
Even the guests got the memo that this wedding was not to be trifled with. There was no drunk cousin making an embarrassing speech and no friend of the groom's parents sneaking a crystal champagne flute into her purse. In short, all other weddings will pale in comparison to this bridal-magazine-perfect wedding. If you were planning on getting hitched any time soon, you might as well call it off because Molly's wedding will taunt the shit out of your low budget mess of a wedding until it's an insecure wreck, lying in the fetal position and crying its eyes out in the middle of David's Bridal surrounded by dye-to-match shoes. The message I hope you're getting here is that unless you are Kate Middleton, your wedding will be tacky as hell compared to Molly's.
And what's the icing on three-tiered cake? She's going on the perfect honeymoon: two weeks in some island paradise. I don't know exactly which island paradise, because I believe she's so perfect she would just so happen to have a relative in the island development industry (that's a real job, right?) who is delighted to have a private island built just for the happy couple to celebrate their honeymoon. This island is so exclusive its not even named yet.
However, I was intrigued while chatting with Molly today and she mentioned a "do-over" ceremony. What is that, you ask? Well get this: while on her honeymoon, Miss Perfect Wedding All Time Champion wants ANOTHER ceremony. Being themouthy broad concerned friend that I am, I piped up and asked; "Why in God's name would you think you need another wedding? Your first one was freakishly perfect. I heard an orchid didn't even wilt all day."
Molly nodded in agreement. "It was beautiful. But, like, I had bridesmaid drama and my Dad was freaking out about the amount of money we spent. And, well I just want one day to say my vows completely sincerely without worrying about other stuff. Just he and I, on the beach. It sounds so romantic!"
My bullshit meter must have been beeping pretty loudly because Molly looked at me, wounded. Her halfhearted explanation just wasn't ringing true with me and she knew it.
"You think it's stupid, don't you?"
No shit, I think. But what I say out loud is: "Well, maybe not stupid just...um, I don't know. I'm not in the bridal mindset, so maybe I just don't see what you mean by a 'do-over'." We left it at that, and are still pleasant acquaintances. However, the idea of this do-over wedding is still odd to me.
I know for a fact that Molly planned every intricate detail of her wedding down to the toenail polish the flower girl wore (I believe it was a lovely shade of pink called "Micromanager Molly"). If at any time she wanted a beach wedding it could have been made possible. Hypothetically, if you were desperate for a beach wedding but it was too cold or too expensive or otherwise too impossible, do a vow renewal in 5 years or something. Believe me when I say the ocean is not what this is about. This is simply buyer's remorse.
A year ago when she started planning, Molly thought wanted the lush garden wedding at the country club, surrounded by 200 guests and written up in her hometown newspaper. All of this she got, and then some. But now the shiny new bride feeling has worn off and the wedding didn't fulfill her wildest fantasies. So what's a girl to do? If you're Molly, you up and decide that you wants the intimate, wind-swept tropical ceremony. And damned if you don't get what you decide you want.
I get it, honey. You paid a lot of money for something and were disappointed at the outcome. It can happen to anyone who's made a major purchase. You sit behind the wheel of your brand-new Mustang and fell all smug until you see the latest Camaro drive by. Then you're cursing and comparing and feeling really stupid. But do we all run off to the car dealer and trade in the Pony? Usually not. We're stuck with a loan and whatever we have to drive. Weddings, I'm told, function a bit differently. If you have the money, the time and a willing groom, you can have multiple kinds of weddings. It's like keeping the Ford but still getting the Chevy.
If that's all it boils down to, fine. Throw another party. Who am I to judge? But what still bothers me about the whole situation is Molly trying to convince me (or maybe herself?) that the first one was somehow not good enough and she was unable to say her vows "completely sincerely". If she didn't really mean her vows on her wedding day due to family and bridesmaid drama, why say them at all? As I mentioned before, I know I'm not a bride but come on. You're committing to this man for the rest of your life. I would hope that all other distractions would just fade into white noise during the most important moment, on one of the most important days of your life. But no, Molly couldn't stop thinking about centerpieces or some crap. That to me is very sad. For the groom I mean. Will he always come second to calla lilies and tea lights?
In short, Molly is kind of dull. Or maybe I just don't know her well enough to see the "real" her. Either way, Molly was married in an elaborate ceremony this summer. She booked the uber-exclusive venue, hired waiters that could pass as models, the works. From what I've heard from the guests Molly managed to pull off a wedding that was swanky and sophisticated, yet still felt fun and full of love. She looked classically beautiful in her designer dress (which I happen to know cost more than I paid in rent last year). Her groom filled out his tux perfectly. They both shed a few attractive tears at appropriate points in the ceremony.
Even the guests got the memo that this wedding was not to be trifled with. There was no drunk cousin making an embarrassing speech and no friend of the groom's parents sneaking a crystal champagne flute into her purse. In short, all other weddings will pale in comparison to this bridal-magazine-perfect wedding. If you were planning on getting hitched any time soon, you might as well call it off because Molly's wedding will taunt the shit out of your low budget mess of a wedding until it's an insecure wreck, lying in the fetal position and crying its eyes out in the middle of David's Bridal surrounded by dye-to-match shoes. The message I hope you're getting here is that unless you are Kate Middleton, your wedding will be tacky as hell compared to Molly's.
And what's the icing on three-tiered cake? She's going on the perfect honeymoon: two weeks in some island paradise. I don't know exactly which island paradise, because I believe she's so perfect she would just so happen to have a relative in the island development industry (that's a real job, right?) who is delighted to have a private island built just for the happy couple to celebrate their honeymoon. This island is so exclusive its not even named yet.
However, I was intrigued while chatting with Molly today and she mentioned a "do-over" ceremony. What is that, you ask? Well get this: while on her honeymoon, Miss Perfect Wedding All Time Champion wants ANOTHER ceremony. Being the
Molly nodded in agreement. "It was beautiful. But, like, I had bridesmaid drama and my Dad was freaking out about the amount of money we spent. And, well I just want one day to say my vows completely sincerely without worrying about other stuff. Just he and I, on the beach. It sounds so romantic!"
My bullshit meter must have been beeping pretty loudly because Molly looked at me, wounded. Her halfhearted explanation just wasn't ringing true with me and she knew it.
"You think it's stupid, don't you?"
No shit, I think. But what I say out loud is: "Well, maybe not stupid just...um, I don't know. I'm not in the bridal mindset, so maybe I just don't see what you mean by a 'do-over'." We left it at that, and are still pleasant acquaintances. However, the idea of this do-over wedding is still odd to me.
I know for a fact that Molly planned every intricate detail of her wedding down to the toenail polish the flower girl wore (I believe it was a lovely shade of pink called "Micromanager Molly"). If at any time she wanted a beach wedding it could have been made possible. Hypothetically, if you were desperate for a beach wedding but it was too cold or too expensive or otherwise too impossible, do a vow renewal in 5 years or something. Believe me when I say the ocean is not what this is about. This is simply buyer's remorse.
A year ago when she started planning, Molly thought wanted the lush garden wedding at the country club, surrounded by 200 guests and written up in her hometown newspaper. All of this she got, and then some. But now the shiny new bride feeling has worn off and the wedding didn't fulfill her wildest fantasies. So what's a girl to do? If you're Molly, you up and decide that you wants the intimate, wind-swept tropical ceremony. And damned if you don't get what you decide you want.
I get it, honey. You paid a lot of money for something and were disappointed at the outcome. It can happen to anyone who's made a major purchase. You sit behind the wheel of your brand-new Mustang and fell all smug until you see the latest Camaro drive by. Then you're cursing and comparing and feeling really stupid. But do we all run off to the car dealer and trade in the Pony? Usually not. We're stuck with a loan and whatever we have to drive. Weddings, I'm told, function a bit differently. If you have the money, the time and a willing groom, you can have multiple kinds of weddings. It's like keeping the Ford but still getting the Chevy.
If that's all it boils down to, fine. Throw another party. Who am I to judge? But what still bothers me about the whole situation is Molly trying to convince me (or maybe herself?) that the first one was somehow not good enough and she was unable to say her vows "completely sincerely". If she didn't really mean her vows on her wedding day due to family and bridesmaid drama, why say them at all? As I mentioned before, I know I'm not a bride but come on. You're committing to this man for the rest of your life. I would hope that all other distractions would just fade into white noise during the most important moment, on one of the most important days of your life. But no, Molly couldn't stop thinking about centerpieces or some crap. That to me is very sad. For the groom I mean. Will he always come second to calla lilies and tea lights?
11.30.2010
I have been a first girlfriend. I want to be a last girlfriend. Also, I want more butternut squash risotto.
"No matter how cool you think she is, some guy somewhere is sick of her shit."
-graffiti seen outside a bar, Sacramento CA.
-graffiti seen outside a bar, Sacramento CA.
Through my adventures in dating, I've "trained" many a man in the ways of wooing a woman. Or in some cases, I've tried my best but to no avail. I can't count the number of times I've had to tell a guy that watching him play Call Of Duty for four hours does not count as a date only to receive a blank stare in return.
I've sent them back out in the world, and some of them have gone on to be wonderful boyfriends/husbands/cell mates. So where is my return on investment, so to speak? For all these years of dating what do I have to show for it? Besides having this blog and wonderfully supportive readers. You people rock and I would never minimize your positive impact on my life. However, I would still appreciate a functional relationship.
I am really not trying to come across as Bitter Betty, the scowling sister of Downer Debbie. I just get this way when I encounter certain exes. A wound I thought was healed gets torn back open and my emotions are reduced to jagged edges and spurting blood. It's sad to admit, but it happens. I'd like to think I'm mature and can leave the past in the past but that's not always the case.
Like last weekend when I saw my ex-boyfriend T at a restaurant. I looked cute and felt that I could take on the world that night, but a glimpse of his profile and that crooked smile left me breathless. The hostess sat them in another section of the restaurant but I could still see him through a row of potted plants. I saw her too. The little brunette in the plaid hat. I saw the way she smiled up at him when he took her coat. I saw him hold her hand under the table and the attentive way he listened as she spoke. It was flawless, any girl would've felt proud to be on that date. Of course it made me nauseous and I ordered another glass of wine. Where was this when we were together? I pouted into my risotto. Then I got angry as I realized that he NEVER took me to the kind of place that served butternut squash risotto when we were together. Not even once! I'm pissed. I look back over to their booth, shooting daggers with my eyes. Now he and Miss Plaid Hat are feeding each other rosemary focaccia bread drizzled with olive oil. Perfect. Check please.
That night at home, my rage-and-pinot noir fog lifted I began to think about why seeing T with that girl bothered me so much. It wasn't the fact that he was dating; I was dating other guys too. It was the way he was dating. In the 15 minutes of spying on him and Plaid Hat I saw more affection, more flirtation and more rosemary focaccia bread than I got in our entire relationship. There are several explainations for this, I reasoned with myself. He's older now than when we dated, so maybe he's more mature. Or maybe he's just so enamored by the little brunette in the plaid hat that he can't imagine treating her any differently.
Like last weekend when I saw my ex-boyfriend T at a restaurant. I looked cute and felt that I could take on the world that night, but a glimpse of his profile and that crooked smile left me breathless. The hostess sat them in another section of the restaurant but I could still see him through a row of potted plants. I saw her too. The little brunette in the plaid hat. I saw the way she smiled up at him when he took her coat. I saw him hold her hand under the table and the attentive way he listened as she spoke. It was flawless, any girl would've felt proud to be on that date. Of course it made me nauseous and I ordered another glass of wine. Where was this when we were together? I pouted into my risotto. Then I got angry as I realized that he NEVER took me to the kind of place that served butternut squash risotto when we were together. Not even once! I'm pissed. I look back over to their booth, shooting daggers with my eyes. Now he and Miss Plaid Hat are feeding each other rosemary focaccia bread drizzled with olive oil. Perfect. Check please.
That night at home, my rage-and-pinot noir fog lifted I began to think about why seeing T with that girl bothered me so much. It wasn't the fact that he was dating; I was dating other guys too. It was the way he was dating. In the 15 minutes of spying on him and Plaid Hat I saw more affection, more flirtation and more rosemary focaccia bread than I got in our entire relationship. There are several explainations for this, I reasoned with myself. He's older now than when we dated, so maybe he's more mature. Or maybe he's just so enamored by the little brunette in the plaid hat that he can't imagine treating her any differently.
Or maybe it's simply a case of the new catch-all excuse: He just wasn't that into me. I can deal with that, bruised ego aside. When it comes to T, we just weren't right for each other. He got sick of my shit, so to speak. Everyone is someone's ex, so I decided not to judge them too harshly.
A small, hopeful part of me still likes to think that maybe he's being so good to her because I taught him something in our time together. If I can't be a last girlfriend, hopefully I've left some good in his heart to pass onto his next girlfriend. And if that's the case, Plaid Hat owes me a thank-you card.
11.22.2010
Sometimes it is me, but not this time. It's you.
Of all the dating cliches, the nice guy myth is one that irks me most.
No, I don't mean that they don't exist. I don't believe that. Saying nice guys don't exist is a tired-ass complaint of women who have been on too many bad dates and/or made too many bad decisions. Sorry, ladies but you're just on a bad guy streak. Or, maybe you have some other dysfunctional dating pattern you need to examine. That's not what irks me today.
Today, it's the old adage that "nice guys finish last" or that girls always dump the nice guy. Why do we think this? Why do so many guys have themselves convinced that they're nice guys who were blind sided by a break up for no good reason? Are women really only attracted to assholes and leave the good guys in the gutter?
I disagree with that. I have 3 reasons why supposedly "good guys" get dumped.
THE FENCESITTER:
The first reason is that he's not that nice, but isn't that mean. He's so here-then-gone, I call him Fencesitter. He's just average but has been rewarded for his adequacy so often he doesn't feel the need to exert any effort. He doesn’t necessarily do things like kick puppies but he might eat the last marshmallow without offering it to you first. This a very serious offence in my mind, because marshmallows are little puffs of sticky perfection coated in powdered happiness. If he takes the last bit of sugary gladness without asking me first, we are fighting. This is not negotiable! Moving on…
Fencesitter is like the C-student in dating school. Average. Middle of the pack. He probably could be an A student but just doesn’t put out the extra effort. When he and his girl break up, for any reason, his friends will tell him that it must be her fault. She’s evil and crazy for breaking up with him. How could she leave someone who’s “such a nice guy”? Well I ask, how the hell would they know? These chatty friends and relatives weren’t in the relationship. They weren’t subjected to a marshmallowless existence. However, Fencesitter has heard this tired “you’re so nice” line enough times to think his behavior is grand. He can keep doing as he’s doing. Reinforcing his behavior validates him, and before you know it he looks in the mirror and sees prince charming on a white horse. All we see is a jackass in a white Honda who makes you pay for dinner on your own birthday.
ONE NOTE:
The next reason girls don't stay with otherwise nice guys is because maybe that's all he has to offer. Let’s call him One Note because that’s all he plays. He’s not interesting; he’s not witty or exciting. The niceness is all he’s known for. And while that accounts for a lot, it doesn’t lend itself to fun dates or stimulating conversation. Come on guys, bring something to the table! I for one need someone to challenge me, make me want to know more, experience more and do more with life. Of course, he should be pleasant while we do these things, but he better bring me more than one note when I plan on delivering a face-melting guitar riff, so to speak.
One Note guy can be easily identified by his inability to ask follow-up questions to things you say and general discomfort when you stray from his chosen topic. For example:
One Note: I really like potatoes. They are a vital part of the ecosystem in farming communities around the world.
You: Oh yeah, me too. I used to visit my grandpa’s potato farm in Jamaica when I was a kid. Have you ever traveled to the islands?
One Note: *cough and uncomfortable silence*.
See? Not mean, and not lazy, just…blank. If you have nothing to offer, I don’t have anything to give. Check please.
DOUGH BOY:
The last guy isn’t that nice. OK, maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to decide yet. You just need to blow him off and fast. His niceness hasn't really registered on your radar but that's not something you want to tell him so you throw out some platitude such as, “you’re nice and all, but I just don’t see this working out”. Let’s call this guy Dough Boy. I’ve made pie from scratch before, and that dough shit is tricky to handle. You’ve got to be gentle. You've got to work it just enough or else it's useless. With guys, that caution oftentimes translates into telling him how nice he is, even if you have absolutely nothing to back up that statement. If we're being honest with ourselves, doesn't it seem like we're mostly doing this for OUR benefit, not theirs? We want to make sure we come off like an angel, even while dumping him. That's not fair to anyone involved. Ladies, he’s not made of uncooked pie crust. You don’t have to baby him. Don’t just run around, throwing empty compliments. It makes you look shallow and insincere. Be respectful and polite, but not dishonest.
No, I don't mean that they don't exist. I don't believe that. Saying nice guys don't exist is a tired-ass complaint of women who have been on too many bad dates and/or made too many bad decisions. Sorry, ladies but you're just on a bad guy streak. Or, maybe you have some other dysfunctional dating pattern you need to examine. That's not what irks me today.
Today, it's the old adage that "nice guys finish last" or that girls always dump the nice guy. Why do we think this? Why do so many guys have themselves convinced that they're nice guys who were blind sided by a break up for no good reason? Are women really only attracted to assholes and leave the good guys in the gutter?
I disagree with that. I have 3 reasons why supposedly "good guys" get dumped.
THE FENCESITTER:
The first reason is that he's not that nice, but isn't that mean. He's so here-then-gone, I call him Fencesitter. He's just average but has been rewarded for his adequacy so often he doesn't feel the need to exert any effort. He doesn’t necessarily do things like kick puppies but he might eat the last marshmallow without offering it to you first. This a very serious offence in my mind, because marshmallows are little puffs of sticky perfection coated in powdered happiness. If he takes the last bit of sugary gladness without asking me first, we are fighting. This is not negotiable! Moving on…
Fencesitter is like the C-student in dating school. Average. Middle of the pack. He probably could be an A student but just doesn’t put out the extra effort. When he and his girl break up, for any reason, his friends will tell him that it must be her fault. She’s evil and crazy for breaking up with him. How could she leave someone who’s “such a nice guy”? Well I ask, how the hell would they know? These chatty friends and relatives weren’t in the relationship. They weren’t subjected to a marshmallowless existence. However, Fencesitter has heard this tired “you’re so nice” line enough times to think his behavior is grand. He can keep doing as he’s doing. Reinforcing his behavior validates him, and before you know it he looks in the mirror and sees prince charming on a white horse. All we see is a jackass in a white Honda who makes you pay for dinner on your own birthday.
ONE NOTE:
The next reason girls don't stay with otherwise nice guys is because maybe that's all he has to offer. Let’s call him One Note because that’s all he plays. He’s not interesting; he’s not witty or exciting. The niceness is all he’s known for. And while that accounts for a lot, it doesn’t lend itself to fun dates or stimulating conversation. Come on guys, bring something to the table! I for one need someone to challenge me, make me want to know more, experience more and do more with life. Of course, he should be pleasant while we do these things, but he better bring me more than one note when I plan on delivering a face-melting guitar riff, so to speak.
One Note guy can be easily identified by his inability to ask follow-up questions to things you say and general discomfort when you stray from his chosen topic. For example:
One Note: I really like potatoes. They are a vital part of the ecosystem in farming communities around the world.
You: Oh yeah, me too. I used to visit my grandpa’s potato farm in Jamaica when I was a kid. Have you ever traveled to the islands?
One Note: *cough and uncomfortable silence*.
See? Not mean, and not lazy, just…blank. If you have nothing to offer, I don’t have anything to give. Check please.
DOUGH BOY:
The last guy isn’t that nice. OK, maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Maybe you don’t know him well enough to decide yet. You just need to blow him off and fast. His niceness hasn't really registered on your radar but that's not something you want to tell him so you throw out some platitude such as, “you’re nice and all, but I just don’t see this working out”. Let’s call this guy Dough Boy. I’ve made pie from scratch before, and that dough shit is tricky to handle. You’ve got to be gentle. You've got to work it just enough or else it's useless. With guys, that caution oftentimes translates into telling him how nice he is, even if you have absolutely nothing to back up that statement. If we're being honest with ourselves, doesn't it seem like we're mostly doing this for OUR benefit, not theirs? We want to make sure we come off like an angel, even while dumping him. That's not fair to anyone involved. Ladies, he’s not made of uncooked pie crust. You don’t have to baby him. Don’t just run around, throwing empty compliments. It makes you look shallow and insincere. Be respectful and polite, but not dishonest.
11.14.2010
A food-as-love analogy. Plus diarrhea. You're welcome!
I don't know why I can't stop thinking about him, we've been broken up over two years. Its not like I think about him every day. But the days I do let my mind wander back to thoughts of him are random, unpredictable and hard to stop. Much like diarrhea. The really sick thing is I know we're better apart than we were together, I know we were incompatible, and it's time to move along. However, I haven't found anything that compares to what we had. Sad but true.
Even though we were all wrong for each other, and ended in the most anticlimactic way possible, I still pine for what I had. Not necessarily in a "he's the one that got away" sense but...OK, food analogy time: Let's say I had a piece of cake. Cake was pretty good, based on what I'd experienced so far. I spent a long time enjoying the cake, getting to know its intricacies and then one day the cake was gone. I wasn't quite sure how to feel about it at first. I missed the cake but had a feeling something wasn't right with this particular cake. Then someone explains, that wasn't real cake. You had imitation, cheap cake masquerading as real cake. Sorry about that! I promise, one day you'll have REAL cake and you'll know it's the real thing and it will last forever. It will be bottomless cake and it will taste like cake's supposed to and not give you diabetes and you'll know why no other cake will do!
I'm still sitting at the table, holding my fork, waiting and ready for the real cake...
Even though we were all wrong for each other, and ended in the most anticlimactic way possible, I still pine for what I had. Not necessarily in a "he's the one that got away" sense but...OK, food analogy time: Let's say I had a piece of cake. Cake was pretty good, based on what I'd experienced so far. I spent a long time enjoying the cake, getting to know its intricacies and then one day the cake was gone. I wasn't quite sure how to feel about it at first. I missed the cake but had a feeling something wasn't right with this particular cake. Then someone explains, that wasn't real cake. You had imitation, cheap cake masquerading as real cake. Sorry about that! I promise, one day you'll have REAL cake and you'll know it's the real thing and it will last forever. It will be bottomless cake and it will taste like cake's supposed to and not give you diabetes and you'll know why no other cake will do!
I'm still sitting at the table, holding my fork, waiting and ready for the real cake...
10.20.2010
West
When I looked at you
all I saw was forever,
and all you saw was next week.
In the end though,
it was two years of selling myself short and keeping the peace.
I deserve more
than everything I thought you were
My mistake-
I aimed for what was in reach
Not what I desired.
I told you how much it meant to me
But you didn't want to be reminded.
So now we stand apart,
and for all the empty words
There's finally a glimmer of truth.
all I saw was forever,
and all you saw was next week.
In the end though,
it was two years of selling myself short and keeping the peace.
I deserve more
than everything I thought you were
My mistake-
I aimed for what was in reach
Not what I desired.
I told you how much it meant to me
But you didn't want to be reminded.
So now we stand apart,
and for all the empty words
There's finally a glimmer of truth.
9.28.2010
Are you a rebound girl?
Besides "lefty loosey, righty tightey" and always boil pasta in a large pot with salted water, life is full of rules that can be bent or downright broken. I propose a rule today that should never be broken.
In the dating world do not ever try to make a relationship with someone who is not over their ex. Yes, I said never. I'm putting on my big-girl pants and throwing around that big, bad adverb.
I expect I might get some emails and texts about how "my best friend's cousin's neighbor met her man the day he got divorced, and they lived happily ever after! So it does happen!"
That's terrific, and I wish them a lifetime of open communication and headboard-denting sex. But I really don't care about you folks right now. Please enjoy another entry while I talk to the rest of us. Those of us who are dating or have dated someone who is still not "over" the ex.
Hard truth time: The scenario of dating someone fresh out of someone else's life will more than likely will not end up happily ever after. It will end with awkward weeping every time Phil Collins plays. That's why I wanted to share some tactics to avoid being the rebound girl.
Example time: Let's say you meet an awesome guy. Just so happens, the guy is fresh out of a relationship, got burned and doesn't hesitate to tell you about it. You stick around being supportive and listening to him rehash what happened. He compliments your long hair, and right as you're graciously ready to thank him for the compliment, he bemoans the fact that his ex kept her locks shorter than short. The final straw? He doesn't go to that ice cream shop because it was her favorite.
Chances are, he's not ready to move on and you should pull away. But you, being the determined girl that you are, won't take no for an answer. Eventually your powers of persuasion convince him that the ice cream shop is safe, it's a fun spot and they make heavenly sundaes. It will be like aversion therapy for him! He can finally move on! So, one warm afternoon he takes you there and you share a milkshake like everything is fine and dandy. You're sitting in the sunshine and you're wearing a dress and simpering like you're in a damn Nicholas Sparks movie, then you turn around and she's there. You're sitting uncomfortably and they're arguing about how he took her there on their eighth date and how dare he desecrate Petunia's Ice Cream Parlor by bringing her (aka uncomfortable me) here! So there I am, sending out an emergency text for someone, anyone, to come pick me up because Petunia's has turned into a war zone and I need to bail.
How can you tell if you're dating someone with baggage and avoid this unfortunate scenario?
Just listen to him. Does he bring her up incessantly, compare the two of you, or badmouth her in front of you? Granted, this person was a huge part of his life. It's conceivable that he might mention her from time to time. Or use her existence as a way to frame his stories and experiences, such as "Yeah, I've been to Denver. Cool place. My former girlfriend went to school there and I visited frequently yada yada yada." This is normal.
And down the road, it may be important to discuss why previous relationships didn't work out so yours can be more successful. This is also normal, and dare I say healthy. Know your patterns, and learn from the past. This shows maturity and a willingness to make your current relationship a success. But in the beginning, it should be about the two of you, not the two of you plus the skeletons in the closet.
So in summary, stay away from a man who's just out of a relationship. Give him time, befriend him, but don't rush into anything. Also, don't ignore your friends when they say they need to be rescued from an ice cream shop or else you're dooming her to one looooong, angry ride home.
In the dating world do not ever try to make a relationship with someone who is not over their ex. Yes, I said never. I'm putting on my big-girl pants and throwing around that big, bad adverb.
I expect I might get some emails and texts about how "my best friend's cousin's neighbor met her man the day he got divorced, and they lived happily ever after! So it does happen!"
That's terrific, and I wish them a lifetime of open communication and headboard-denting sex. But I really don't care about you folks right now. Please enjoy another entry while I talk to the rest of us. Those of us who are dating or have dated someone who is still not "over" the ex.
Hard truth time: The scenario of dating someone fresh out of someone else's life will more than likely will not end up happily ever after. It will end with awkward weeping every time Phil Collins plays. That's why I wanted to share some tactics to avoid being the rebound girl.
Example time: Let's say you meet an awesome guy. Just so happens, the guy is fresh out of a relationship, got burned and doesn't hesitate to tell you about it. You stick around being supportive and listening to him rehash what happened. He compliments your long hair, and right as you're graciously ready to thank him for the compliment, he bemoans the fact that his ex kept her locks shorter than short. The final straw? He doesn't go to that ice cream shop because it was her favorite.
Chances are, he's not ready to move on and you should pull away. But you, being the determined girl that you are, won't take no for an answer. Eventually your powers of persuasion convince him that the ice cream shop is safe, it's a fun spot and they make heavenly sundaes. It will be like aversion therapy for him! He can finally move on! So, one warm afternoon he takes you there and you share a milkshake like everything is fine and dandy. You're sitting in the sunshine and you're wearing a dress and simpering like you're in a damn Nicholas Sparks movie, then you turn around and she's there. You're sitting uncomfortably and they're arguing about how he took her there on their eighth date and how dare he desecrate Petunia's Ice Cream Parlor by bringing her (aka uncomfortable me) here! So there I am, sending out an emergency text for someone, anyone, to come pick me up because Petunia's has turned into a war zone and I need to bail.
How can you tell if you're dating someone with baggage and avoid this unfortunate scenario?
Just listen to him. Does he bring her up incessantly, compare the two of you, or badmouth her in front of you? Granted, this person was a huge part of his life. It's conceivable that he might mention her from time to time. Or use her existence as a way to frame his stories and experiences, such as "Yeah, I've been to Denver. Cool place. My former girlfriend went to school there and I visited frequently yada yada yada." This is normal.
And down the road, it may be important to discuss why previous relationships didn't work out so yours can be more successful. This is also normal, and dare I say healthy. Know your patterns, and learn from the past. This shows maturity and a willingness to make your current relationship a success. But in the beginning, it should be about the two of you, not the two of you plus the skeletons in the closet.
So in summary, stay away from a man who's just out of a relationship. Give him time, befriend him, but don't rush into anything. Also, don't ignore your friends when they say they need to be rescued from an ice cream shop or else you're dooming her to one looooong, angry ride home.
9.14.2010
Love Lessons part 5
*If you think he's stringing you along, he is. It's as simple as that. Prolonged confusion and misunderstanding only have a place in romantic comedies. Trust me, there will be no montage of you looking all beautiful and forlorn in your trendy loft apartment. When a man is ready to commit you will know it because he will ACT like your boyfriend. He will make plans. He will introduce you to his family and friends. His actions, not his words or your feelings, will show you that he respects you and wants you in his life.
*When I was a kid, I did pinewood derby races with my church. We would get a block of wood, some little plastic wheels and axles. Then, it was up to us (and of course our parents) to construct miniature cars. Then, they'd be judged on design and raced. It was a lot of fun, but of course the fun part was winning a prize. One year I didn't win a single stupid plastic trophy and my frown was glued to my face. My mom tried to console me by saying that at least I got a blue ribbon. Big freakin' deal. Everyone got a blue ribbon! My point is there isn't anything special about the prize everyone gets just for showing up. The same goes for you, girl. And I don't just mean your *ahem* grand prize. I mean your precious time, your pleasant company and other positive qualities. If you dole out the best of yourself to every hobo that comes along, you're devaluing yourself and making it OK for men to use you. Hold back a little, make sure he's quality and deserves you and all of your qualities.
*When I was a kid, I did pinewood derby races with my church. We would get a block of wood, some little plastic wheels and axles. Then, it was up to us (and of course our parents) to construct miniature cars. Then, they'd be judged on design and raced. It was a lot of fun, but of course the fun part was winning a prize. One year I didn't win a single stupid plastic trophy and my frown was glued to my face. My mom tried to console me by saying that at least I got a blue ribbon. Big freakin' deal. Everyone got a blue ribbon! My point is there isn't anything special about the prize everyone gets just for showing up. The same goes for you, girl. And I don't just mean your *ahem* grand prize. I mean your precious time, your pleasant company and other positive qualities. If you dole out the best of yourself to every hobo that comes along, you're devaluing yourself and making it OK for men to use you. Hold back a little, make sure he's quality and deserves you and all of your qualities.
* To quote one of my favorite bands, "men can do terrible things, yes they can." Well, so can women. Men will sleep with you just because they can. Women will sleep with men, hoping to somehow trap them or make them fall in love or some other ill-conceived notion. And yes, ladies I hate to say it but men will sometimes see you as a conquest, something so hot they wanted a piece. Don't take that as a compliment! I'm sure you are a hot piece, but if you want a relationship from this guy, giving your hot piece up is not going to get you there.
If you also just want a hot piece, however, that's a blog for a different time...
9.13.2010
Almost everything I love about Fall
Guess what, its September! I love love love me some September. I don't know if it's the fresh air or what, but this time of year just feels like a clean slate. Yes, the calendar year is more than half over, but something about Autumn just says renewal, new beginnings and new opportunity.
So, for Fall 2010, here are the pieces I'm lusting after:
*A sparkly dress kind of like this one...
except with shorter sleeves. Elbow-length sleeves look kind of weird on me. How hot would this be with neutral colored accessories (I'd throw on a lightweight scarf, big bag and simple earrings. Minimal makeup and purposefully un-done hair) and tall boots? A grungy-looking brown belt also crossed my mind, but I'd have to play with it a bit. (dress, French Connection).
...so pretty right? I love grey, it's probably my favorite neutral. And shorts can be really flattering and ladylike when worn like a skirt. As long as they're well tailored and in a nice fabric, they can even be work wear. I have been on the search for satiny, pewter colored shorts since late Spring. No luck as of yet. I have a perfectly torn red and white tshirt I'd wear tucked into them, and my black menswear-style blazer thrown on to pull the look together...Love. It. I've worn this outfit so so so many times in my head. In my head it's the right blend of low-end yet pretty. Also when I wear this outfit in my head I have cool bangs and my legs are about a mile long. But I digress.
...cool, right? A nice neutral metallic. They look comfy. This type of shoe can fill the ballet flat role, but looks a little fresher and funkier. I'd wear them with a simple skirt-top combo, maybe a vintage vest, and slouchy socks.
Speaking of socks, I'm a lover of fun legwear, especially in the fall/winter months. Riddle me this: How can you get away with a frock in October? Knee socks and a cardigan, duh. check out http://www.sockdreams.com/_pages/index.php. I love this website! Last year in the sock aisle of Target, a random woman told my sister and I about it and for that, I am eternally grateful. (Shoes, found on frugalplanet.com. No designer listed.)
IN. LOVE. The color, the mix of leather and velvet, the platform toe. Just everything about them screams, "LOVE ME!".
These orange, square lunettes are to die for. They've got a lot of personality and might detract from my otherwise boring face on the days I run out of the house without makeup *cough* like every Monday *cough*. (Glasses, Ray-Ban)
Heartier food: crock pot stew, oatmeal, sweet potatoes, home baked goodies, and all those other meals that are just too heavy for the rest of the year. Speaking of food...
Thanksgiving! I absolutely love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday: It’s not religious so no one gets offended. No one complains or gets self-righteous when you wish them a happy Thanksgiving. No one goes broke exchanging Thanksgiving gifts. It's a simple, American holiday centered around the food, gratitude, and family. Even in my dysfunctional family, Thanksgivings are usually pretty good.
Football: I won't pretend to follow football religiously but honestly, there’s nothing like a few good friends enjoying the game live (be it pro, high school, college, prison, whatever) on a chilly autumn night.
Apples: Picking them, eating them, cooking with them, when apples are in season I’m a happy girl.
Fall is my favorite time of the year, and since this is my blog, I've decided to share a few things I love the most about September, and October and November...
The clothes: Oh, clothes...this might turn into a post unto itself. To me, Fall feels like the New Year's of fashion. Ever since the days of back-to-school shopping, I've thought of Autumn as the time you ruthlessly edit your closet and head to the mall. I remember elementary school, trying to milk the last few days of Summer, still running around in sandals and t-shirts, trying to pick out sweatshirts and thick socks.
However, after a marathon trip to Mervyn's (RIP) or JC Penny's with my mama, suddenly the new pants and sweaters were too much for this budding fashion slave to contend with. So, I used to beg mama to let me wear all my new clothes right away. The caveat? I live in California. We went back to school in August. It was still technically Summer. We don't feel a dramatic swing in temperatures until October, if at all. This led to several days every Fall where I was the girl in the lumpy sweater, quietly perspiring. Now I think I've got the hang of it, and have come to love Fall for the many fashion choices it offers: Sweaters, boots, hats, scarves, and jeans. Its still fun to get dressed up, as opposed to the month of January when your only thought is dressing for warmth.
So, for Fall 2010, here are the pieces I'm lusting after:
*A sparkly dress kind of like this one...
except with shorter sleeves. Elbow-length sleeves look kind of weird on me. How hot would this be with neutral colored accessories (I'd throw on a lightweight scarf, big bag and simple earrings. Minimal makeup and purposefully un-done hair) and tall boots? A grungy-looking brown belt also crossed my mind, but I'd have to play with it a bit. (dress, French Connection). * Shiny shorts! Ok, I know. Sounds like 1970s gym wear, right? No. Bear with me....
...so pretty right? I love grey, it's probably my favorite neutral. And shorts can be really flattering and ladylike when worn like a skirt. As long as they're well tailored and in a nice fabric, they can even be work wear. I have been on the search for satiny, pewter colored shorts since late Spring. No luck as of yet. I have a perfectly torn red and white tshirt I'd wear tucked into them, and my black menswear-style blazer thrown on to pull the look together...Love. It. I've worn this outfit so so so many times in my head. In my head it's the right blend of low-end yet pretty. Also when I wear this outfit in my head I have cool bangs and my legs are about a mile long. But I digress. I know the shorts don't work miracles, but they'd look pretty damn cool so keep your eyes peeled for me OK guys? (Shorts, Diane Von Furstenberg
*Onto shoes! I am a hardcore flat wearer. Ballerinas, modified Mary Janes, gladiator sandals (which I feel are over now, big time) and anything else sans heel. Right now, I've got my brown leather ones on. They're very basic, I bought them specifically to run through O'Hare Airport and two years later, I still can't go a week without wearing them. However, I feel the new Oxfords and dance-inspired lace ups could *Gasp!* replace some of my beloved flats. Peep these...
*Onto shoes! I am a hardcore flat wearer. Ballerinas, modified Mary Janes, gladiator sandals (which I feel are over now, big time) and anything else sans heel. Right now, I've got my brown leather ones on. They're very basic, I bought them specifically to run through O'Hare Airport and two years later, I still can't go a week without wearing them. However, I feel the new Oxfords and dance-inspired lace ups could *Gasp!* replace some of my beloved flats. Peep these...
...cool, right? A nice neutral metallic. They look comfy. This type of shoe can fill the ballet flat role, but looks a little fresher and funkier. I'd wear them with a simple skirt-top combo, maybe a vintage vest, and slouchy socks.Speaking of socks, I'm a lover of fun legwear, especially in the fall/winter months. Riddle me this: How can you get away with a frock in October? Knee socks and a cardigan, duh. check out http://www.sockdreams.com/_pages/index.php. I love this website! Last year in the sock aisle of Target, a random woman told my sister and I about it and for that, I am eternally grateful. (Shoes, found on frugalplanet.com. No designer listed.)
*Shoes, again: I have been hesitant to try the lace-up bootie trend. They remind me too much of Dr. Quinn. Also the grunge trend of my youth where everyone wore hiking boots and combat boots. In case you couldn't tell, I am a 90's kid. Now excuse me while I play Jenga and watch Hangin' with Mr. Cooper.
However, I've found some lace-ups that are more like heels. Heels that went to college, let's say. Like these which I literally gasped over:
IN. LOVE. The color, the mix of leather and velvet, the platform toe. Just everything about them screams, "LOVE ME!". Except that this particular pair cost more than my rent. So, would someone please please pretty please knock these off already? I'm looking at you, Chinese Laundry. They're so ridiculously pretty, I want to grunge them up a little. I picture these with gray skinny jeans, a vintage t shirt and lots of silver jewelry. I also see a black fringey purse maybe? On a side note, I pretty much hate fringe but I do see that it has a place (albeit very small) in pulling an outfit together. I like to bring texture and visual interest into outfits, and fringe just might be the way to go. We'll see. (Shoes, Fendi)
*Since I wear eyeglasses, I feel they deserve a place on my blog. I'm looking for a geeky everyday pair in brown like these http://www.warbyparker.com/womens-eyewear-finn-eyeglass-frame-light-tortoise?sc=7&category=-107
and a more daring, fun funky pair like these:
These orange, square lunettes are to die for. They've got a lot of personality and might detract from my otherwise boring face on the days I run out of the house without makeup *cough* like every Monday *cough*. (Glasses, Ray-Ban)While we're discussing fashion, I must mention Vogue’s September Issue. That’s it, that's what it comes down to in the glossy world of fashion magazines. Fashion is my porn, and September Vogue is Playmate of the Year. It's gloriously hefty (several hundred pages. I. Die.), and ripe with trends, ideas, emerging new designers and killer photography. Yes, the issue alone is pricey in my world (I can't even afford the "e" in broke right now) but luckily, the lowly designers I can actually afford to wear (helloooo, H&M!) will be drawing inspiration from the pages of Vogue for months. September Vogue is the gold standard for magazines, hands down. It had a freakin' documentary made about it. Not the magazine itself either. The movie centered around this one issue. Out of twelve issues a year, this issue got its own MOVIE. What's not to love about this magazine?
OK, moving on to non-fashion things to heart about Fall:
Foliage: Leaves everywhere, in different beautiful colors. Bonus points for crunching as many leaves as you can while walking down the street.
Pumpkins: roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin patches, pumpkin spice bread, jack-o-lanterns and the rock star of the gourd creations...pumpkin pie! OK, its gotta be pumpkin pie with Cool Whip. But I swear I like the pie too!
Halloween: Candy, costumes, and decorations. Last year, my house was decked out for Halloween in spider webs, spiders, witches, skeletons, pumpkins, ghosts, and about 83 pounds of candy...and we got no trick-or-treaters. I also have no children. I see nothing wrong with this.
Halloween: Candy, costumes, and decorations. Last year, my house was decked out for Halloween in spider webs, spiders, witches, skeletons, pumpkins, ghosts, and about 83 pounds of candy...and we got no trick-or-treaters. I also have no children. I see nothing wrong with this.
The cooler weather: Its not 106 degrees anymore! Thank God! And we get rain for the first time in months. I love rainy days.
My birthday: First week of October. I accept cash and top shelf vodka.
School: Not for me anymore, for kids. Kids are back at school, not running amongst us grown folks as if they belong out in the real world on a Tuesday afternoon. You don’t. You’re 14, go wash your face then go learn something.
Heartier food: crock pot stew, oatmeal, sweet potatoes, home baked goodies, and all those other meals that are just too heavy for the rest of the year. Speaking of food...
Thanksgiving! I absolutely love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday: It’s not religious so no one gets offended. No one complains or gets self-righteous when you wish them a happy Thanksgiving. No one goes broke exchanging Thanksgiving gifts. It's a simple, American holiday centered around the food, gratitude, and family. Even in my dysfunctional family, Thanksgivings are usually pretty good.
Football: I won't pretend to follow football religiously but honestly, there’s nothing like a few good friends enjoying the game live (be it pro, high school, college, prison, whatever) on a chilly autumn night.
Apples: Picking them, eating them, cooking with them, when apples are in season I’m a happy girl.
That's about it I think, but hopefully this has inspired you to love Fall even a tiny little bit as much as I do.
9.07.2010
Winning and Owning
My friend Nina recently won the lottery recently. Not a $5 million jackpot, but a pretty substantial amount. Even after taxes, she's left with a tidy sum to pay some bills and splurge on some fun. I was so happy for her! And just the teensiest big jealous. But mostly happy. Especially since Nina had just gotten divorced and was in need of some good news.
The weekend she won, we went out to celebrate. I loved seeing Nina sip her large martini and smile-genuinely smile!-with a set of newly whitened teeth. She seemed so happy to be free of her foul ex husband and was on her way to being nearly debt-free.
A week later, the confident woman I went to happy hour with was replaced by a dejected, teary-eyed wreck. And it was all because she found his razor.
Yes, her ex-husband's icky, old Gillete razor hiding under the bathroom sink could reduce my beautiful friend to this state of disarray. "I don't get it," she sobbed. "I gave myself two whole days to cry over him! Why am I still so sad?" She lay face down, sobbing into her (new) set of throw pillows. I stood awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say.
I don't have experience being divorced, or being married for that matter, but I thought Nina was being way too hard on herself. Two days to grieve over the loss of a marriage? No wonder a dull razor could send her into a frantic state. I feel like Nina didn't give herself a chance.
Living as a new-aged woman in control, have we eschewed the idea of being completely broken up over the end of a relationship? Instead of feeling sad and rejected, are we too quick to get hammered and make out with an Australian tourist? Nina didn't go the alcohol-and-promiscuity route (that I know of, anyway) but at the same time, she didn't grieve the end of her marriage. She dove into work and other responsibilities instead of letting herself realize and heal from the loss. And yes, while I agree self-pity doesn't help anyone, there is such a thing as being too stern with yourself. I gently suggested that maybe she was sad because there was no closure, maybe she wasn't ready to move on yet and that was OK. There's no expiration date on sadness.
She looked at me like I said I wanted to poke her in the eye with a sharp stick. "No, I don't want to be that girl!" She spit out with disdain. "No one like the weepy girl!"
Well, yeah. Nina was right. No one wants her to live in misery. However, taking some time to let your feelings run their course can heal. And the idea that I tried to communicate to Nina was that she didn't have to take it all at once. She didn't need to spend months upon months being miserable, like a lump sum payment. She could take it as an annuity. Like the worst lottery prize ever. She could have good days, of course. But when a bad day would pop up that was OK too. Use those bad days to identify your patterns (positive and negative), own your mistakes and figure out what to next time. Or, scream your favorite angry girl song and eat cupcakes.
Whatever helps you win your next jackpot.
The weekend she won, we went out to celebrate. I loved seeing Nina sip her large martini and smile-genuinely smile!-with a set of newly whitened teeth. She seemed so happy to be free of her foul ex husband and was on her way to being nearly debt-free.
A week later, the confident woman I went to happy hour with was replaced by a dejected, teary-eyed wreck. And it was all because she found his razor.
Yes, her ex-husband's icky, old Gillete razor hiding under the bathroom sink could reduce my beautiful friend to this state of disarray. "I don't get it," she sobbed. "I gave myself two whole days to cry over him! Why am I still so sad?" She lay face down, sobbing into her (new) set of throw pillows. I stood awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say.
I don't have experience being divorced, or being married for that matter, but I thought Nina was being way too hard on herself. Two days to grieve over the loss of a marriage? No wonder a dull razor could send her into a frantic state. I feel like Nina didn't give herself a chance.
Living as a new-aged woman in control, have we eschewed the idea of being completely broken up over the end of a relationship? Instead of feeling sad and rejected, are we too quick to get hammered and make out with an Australian tourist? Nina didn't go the alcohol-and-promiscuity route (that I know of, anyway) but at the same time, she didn't grieve the end of her marriage. She dove into work and other responsibilities instead of letting herself realize and heal from the loss. And yes, while I agree self-pity doesn't help anyone, there is such a thing as being too stern with yourself. I gently suggested that maybe she was sad because there was no closure, maybe she wasn't ready to move on yet and that was OK. There's no expiration date on sadness.
She looked at me like I said I wanted to poke her in the eye with a sharp stick. "No, I don't want to be that girl!" She spit out with disdain. "No one like the weepy girl!"
Well, yeah. Nina was right. No one wants her to live in misery. However, taking some time to let your feelings run their course can heal. And the idea that I tried to communicate to Nina was that she didn't have to take it all at once. She didn't need to spend months upon months being miserable, like a lump sum payment. She could take it as an annuity. Like the worst lottery prize ever. She could have good days, of course. But when a bad day would pop up that was OK too. Use those bad days to identify your patterns (positive and negative), own your mistakes and figure out what to next time. Or, scream your favorite angry girl song and eat cupcakes.
Whatever helps you win your next jackpot.
8.20.2010
Love Lessons part 4
* you wield more power wearing a sundress than you do wearing a bikini. The girl who gives it all away up front, be it her flesh or her feelings, is boring. As I've said before, a little mystery is attractive. Not to mention it's exhausting trying to constantly outdo yourself. If you're always always always over-the-top, where else do you have to go but down?
*When you're out with a new guy go easy on the booze. This serves two purposes: One, you won't be a swearing/crying/stumbling mess. Let him get to know your charming, sober self before you unleash the gin monster upon him. And ease into it slowly. Let him know you sober many times, tipsy a few times and then if you're comfortable, go ahead and get drunk. That's the formula that works for me. Secondly, you don't really know this guy yet. I hate to get all McGruff the Crime Dog on you, but what if he turns out to be a creeper? You need to be able to get away intact, which is hard to do if you're inebriated. And even if he's not the Zodiac Killer, don't you want a clear headed, beer goggle-free impression of him? I dated a man once that I was on the fence about. I was drunk the first time we kissed and really drunk the first time we had sex. In hindsight, that really should have been a red flag.
*Remember math class? I do, because I hated it. I had some kind of mental block when it came to learning anything involving numbers (except of course, phone numbers. Those I picked up right away.) I was the girl counting on her fingers while taking the SAT's. But one thing that's always stuck with me were fractions. Remember fractions? Finding the lowest common denominator? Well, the phrase "lowest common denominator" can also apply to men. If he has some quality that irks you, play a little math game with me: Assume that the way he is right now is his lowest common denominator. What if this is as [fill in the blank] as he ever gets? Would you still love him, just as he is now? Not when he's more successful or better looking or more affectionate. Just like his is right this second. If the answer is yes, then you know everything is OK. If you can look at him and only see his potential, that might be a problem. You can't love someone for what you want them to be. That's not fair to either of you. And with that, class is dismissed.
*When you're out with a new guy go easy on the booze. This serves two purposes: One, you won't be a swearing/crying/stumbling mess. Let him get to know your charming, sober self before you unleash the gin monster upon him. And ease into it slowly. Let him know you sober many times, tipsy a few times and then if you're comfortable, go ahead and get drunk. That's the formula that works for me. Secondly, you don't really know this guy yet. I hate to get all McGruff the Crime Dog on you, but what if he turns out to be a creeper? You need to be able to get away intact, which is hard to do if you're inebriated. And even if he's not the Zodiac Killer, don't you want a clear headed, beer goggle-free impression of him? I dated a man once that I was on the fence about. I was drunk the first time we kissed and really drunk the first time we had sex. In hindsight, that really should have been a red flag.
*Remember math class? I do, because I hated it. I had some kind of mental block when it came to learning anything involving numbers (except of course, phone numbers. Those I picked up right away.) I was the girl counting on her fingers while taking the SAT's. But one thing that's always stuck with me were fractions. Remember fractions? Finding the lowest common denominator? Well, the phrase "lowest common denominator" can also apply to men. If he has some quality that irks you, play a little math game with me: Assume that the way he is right now is his lowest common denominator. What if this is as [fill in the blank] as he ever gets? Would you still love him, just as he is now? Not when he's more successful or better looking or more affectionate. Just like his is right this second. If the answer is yes, then you know everything is OK. If you can look at him and only see his potential, that might be a problem. You can't love someone for what you want them to be. That's not fair to either of you. And with that, class is dismissed.
8.17.2010
Perfect on the outside usually means crazy on the inside.
Longevity has become overrated.
Wait, let me back up: I am related to a couple I absolutely cannot stand. They are codependent, selfish and immature. And that just scratches the surface of their freak-ass dynamic. A few years ago I realized that the less time I spend around them, the healthier I felt. Blood, shmood. Say what you will, but I don't believe in being nice to or spending time with fucked up individuals just because we are "related". People can be toxic, even people with whom you share DNA. Don't believe me? Look at The Jackson family.
Anyways, this couple recently had a wedding anniversary. 27 years. Woo-friggin'-hoo. Mutual friends and acquaintances praised them for staying together all this time, creating a stable home for their child, and similar gold-plated bullshit. Their home life is anything but stable, and while on the outside they may appear to be a "perfect" little family, I know for a fact they are not.
I chose not acknowledge this alleged milestone because Hallmark does not make a card along the lines of, "Congratulations, you've struck a delicate balance between hating each other and being too lazy to get a divorce." Or, "Way to hang in there for almost three decades in hopes of getting your hands on her inheritance! I knew you could do it!" I just don't believe their relationship warrants a reward of any kind. Look, I know marriage is hard and there is no perfect couple. But this? This is a mockery. Living their life doesn't so much deserve a discount at McDonald's.
The critic who lives inside my head admonishes me, saying things like: "You're not married, you don't understand, you're being too judgey..." However, I know the difference between staying in an unhealthy situation for far too long and actually working at a successful partnership. Shit, a retarded one-eyed ferret knows the difference. Staying married to someone who makes you (and those around you) miserably uncomfortable doesn't deserve recognition. Show me the couple who can stay married for five years, while making each other stronger, happier and still in love. That deserves recognition...and at least $1 off a McNugget meal.
Wait, let me back up: I am related to a couple I absolutely cannot stand. They are codependent, selfish and immature. And that just scratches the surface of their freak-ass dynamic. A few years ago I realized that the less time I spend around them, the healthier I felt. Blood, shmood. Say what you will, but I don't believe in being nice to or spending time with fucked up individuals just because we are "related". People can be toxic, even people with whom you share DNA. Don't believe me? Look at The Jackson family.
Anyways, this couple recently had a wedding anniversary. 27 years. Woo-friggin'-hoo. Mutual friends and acquaintances praised them for staying together all this time, creating a stable home for their child, and similar gold-plated bullshit. Their home life is anything but stable, and while on the outside they may appear to be a "perfect" little family, I know for a fact they are not.
I chose not acknowledge this alleged milestone because Hallmark does not make a card along the lines of, "Congratulations, you've struck a delicate balance between hating each other and being too lazy to get a divorce." Or, "Way to hang in there for almost three decades in hopes of getting your hands on her inheritance! I knew you could do it!" I just don't believe their relationship warrants a reward of any kind. Look, I know marriage is hard and there is no perfect couple. But this? This is a mockery. Living their life doesn't so much deserve a discount at McDonald's.
The critic who lives inside my head admonishes me, saying things like: "You're not married, you don't understand, you're being too judgey..." However, I know the difference between staying in an unhealthy situation for far too long and actually working at a successful partnership. Shit, a retarded one-eyed ferret knows the difference. Staying married to someone who makes you (and those around you) miserably uncomfortable doesn't deserve recognition. Show me the couple who can stay married for five years, while making each other stronger, happier and still in love. That deserves recognition...and at least $1 off a McNugget meal.
8.06.2010
Up in the air and all up in my inbox
At one time, I was an online dater. I had some difficulty with finding love on the internet because, surprise surprise, this sparkling personality of mine doesn't always translate so well.
So went the pattern of my online love life: I'd like a guy's profile, flirt via email, become lovestruck while talking on the phone, then we'd meet in person and...nothing. The spark would be gone just like that. I'm sure this speaks to the fact that I was building him up in my mind too much, or that maybe I just wasn't ready for a relationship at the time.
Or maybe I was rebelling against the forced, artificial intimacy that online dating breeds. The daily bombardment of emails from the website, telling me "Congratulations, sarcasticgirl17, you and randomguy14 have been rated as compatible! Why don't you message him now and begin your road to a future together?". Um, ok. It felt at times as if I were in an arranged marriage, and Ematchcupidharmony.com (or whatever) was my pushy parent, hellbent on getting me married off. "Ooh you both like music and food! Your profile shows a strong tendency to breathe oxygen and drink water! You're perfect together!" So I'd find myself reading his profile thinking, "Seriously? He is the outcome of 97 different kinds of compatibility, a strict screening process and a $60 per month membership fee? Him?"
For some people, online dating works and they make successful relationships from the experience. I don't know what they are doing that's different from what I did. I think it's topless profile pictures. Damn, I knew I should have taken those down. Kidding! Those are just on Myspace. It's sluttier there.
I am reminded of online dating because one of the perks (if you can call it that) is the "virtual dating coach". I haven't had an online dating profile in almost a year, but this little treat still finds its way to my inbox. A semi-regular, long-winded email from some supposed "dating guru" who shall remain nameless. I personally think there is no guru, I believe he was a contrived for marketing sake. But that is neither here nor there. His wordy emails come to me with adorable subject lines such as, "What You SHOULD be Looking For in a Man" and "Why Being a YES Person Will Make Men Fall in Love". Ugh. Vomit.
Let's delve a little deeper into these emails, shall we? According to the most recent edition of Wreched Advice Weekly, apparently we ladies create a box that suits our perfect man, and we toss aside men who don't fit into it. Thanks for that revelation! Now maybe explain to me how my shoe laces become untied when you step on them.
This idea, while not shocking, has some merit I suppose. I am reminded of the young executive Natalie (played by Anna Kendrick) from the George Clooney movie "Up in the Air". She's describing the man she'd like to marry, and I don't just mean personality traits. I mean she claims her husband will have a one-syllable name such as Rick and drive an SUV. Specific much?
Yes, of course if you stick to such a rigid ideal, you're going to be let down and possibly stay single forever. Or conversely, you'll settle for the guy who possesses these superficial traits but is lacking, oh I don't know, your view on having children. It's all about priorities. I know that's a cliched blanket-statement but it's true. I'd rather have the simple, laid-back guy who makes me laugh even if he drives a wreck. And I did not need a virtual dating coach to tell me that.
So went the pattern of my online love life: I'd like a guy's profile, flirt via email, become lovestruck while talking on the phone, then we'd meet in person and...nothing. The spark would be gone just like that. I'm sure this speaks to the fact that I was building him up in my mind too much, or that maybe I just wasn't ready for a relationship at the time.
Or maybe I was rebelling against the forced, artificial intimacy that online dating breeds. The daily bombardment of emails from the website, telling me "Congratulations, sarcasticgirl17, you and randomguy14 have been rated as compatible! Why don't you message him now and begin your road to a future together?". Um, ok. It felt at times as if I were in an arranged marriage, and Ematchcupidharmony.com (or whatever) was my pushy parent, hellbent on getting me married off. "Ooh you both like music and food! Your profile shows a strong tendency to breathe oxygen and drink water! You're perfect together!" So I'd find myself reading his profile thinking, "Seriously? He is the outcome of 97 different kinds of compatibility, a strict screening process and a $60 per month membership fee? Him?"
For some people, online dating works and they make successful relationships from the experience. I don't know what they are doing that's different from what I did. I think it's topless profile pictures. Damn, I knew I should have taken those down. Kidding! Those are just on Myspace. It's sluttier there.
I am reminded of online dating because one of the perks (if you can call it that) is the "virtual dating coach". I haven't had an online dating profile in almost a year, but this little treat still finds its way to my inbox. A semi-regular, long-winded email from some supposed "dating guru" who shall remain nameless. I personally think there is no guru, I believe he was a contrived for marketing sake. But that is neither here nor there. His wordy emails come to me with adorable subject lines such as, "What You SHOULD be Looking For in a Man" and "Why Being a YES Person Will Make Men Fall in Love". Ugh. Vomit.
Let's delve a little deeper into these emails, shall we? According to the most recent edition of Wreched Advice Weekly, apparently we ladies create a box that suits our perfect man, and we toss aside men who don't fit into it. Thanks for that revelation! Now maybe explain to me how my shoe laces become untied when you step on them.
This idea, while not shocking, has some merit I suppose. I am reminded of the young executive Natalie (played by Anna Kendrick) from the George Clooney movie "Up in the Air". She's describing the man she'd like to marry, and I don't just mean personality traits. I mean she claims her husband will have a one-syllable name such as Rick and drive an SUV. Specific much?
Yes, of course if you stick to such a rigid ideal, you're going to be let down and possibly stay single forever. Or conversely, you'll settle for the guy who possesses these superficial traits but is lacking, oh I don't know, your view on having children. It's all about priorities. I know that's a cliched blanket-statement but it's true. I'd rather have the simple, laid-back guy who makes me laugh even if he drives a wreck. And I did not need a virtual dating coach to tell me that.
7.30.2010
Meet me by your locker
When I was growing up, there weren't any kids on my street my own age. Retirees, sure. And the occasional young married couple renting from one of the retirees. But kids my age were a rarity. That's why my heart pounded with excitement when the phone rang one lazy July afternoon. It was our elderly neighbor across the street. Our family knew her pretty well; I of course didn't like that she gave out raisins on Halloween but was willing to overlook that fact today. She asked my folks if I could come over and play with her granddaughter Jen for a few hours. Jen was visiting from out of town and started to get a little bored being all alone at her Grandma's. Understanding this boredom completely, I ventured across Judistine Drive and knocked on the door. A tall woman answered. Hesitantly, I said, "Hi, I'm here to play with Jenn?" The woman smirked. "I am Jen." Oh crap.
I'm 10, and this girl with burgundy (dyed!) hair and a crop top was 14 or 15. An adult from where I was standing. Why would she want to hang out with a dorky little kid like me? As it turns out, boredom made her less choosy about her friends and we hung out in the shady backyard all afternoon. She was five years older than me, and in high school! She wore makeup every day and had a locker! She'd been to real dates and dances! I was fascinated by her. We read YM and Seventeen magazine. She put a Tupac tape in her Walk Man and let me listen to a few songs. She was my new hero.
In December, she visited for a few days over Christmas break. Then we shared some candy on Easter and Jen told me about her first drinking experience. I sat in awe of her story, which started with someone's Mom being out of town and someone else's older brother buying them a case of beer. Beer was gross she said, but she learned to like the bubbly, happy feeling it gave her so she was willing to try it again. She also let her boyfriend up her shirt, but she was sober enough not to let him in her pants. These stories thrilled and frightened me, and I was desperate to hear more. But, Jen's folks were getting ready to head back home, so I had to go.
By the time I saw Jen again, I was a freshman in high school and she was in college. College! As giddy as I was by this development, I was even more giddy at the thought of finally impressing Jen. I thought I knew a thing or two, and was ready to show Jen how grown up I was. I put on my favorite Bongo jeans and Gap t-shirt. Some eyeliner and body spray. I thought I looked cool, and she would be impressed by how much I'd grown. Jen greeted me with a big hug, said she liked my hair, and began telling me about college. The parties, the dorms, and the guys. Again, I was reduced to wide-eyed wonderment. Try as I might, I couldn't play it cool in the midst of her new experiences. After a few minutes, she asked how everything was going for me. Did I like high school? What activities did I do? What were my friends like? I told her school was OK, I was playing volleyball and in the drama program and that my friends were few, but I was meeting more people all the time. Jen asked if I had a boyfriend, I told her no but there was a guy I sort of liked. Then I began to gush on about my best friend, how she had met this guy at lunch, and he was a sophomore and he really liked her! They had been going out for almost a whole month. He was on the wrestling team and was so handsome! They talked on the phone almost every night, ate lunch together, wrote notes, the works. He was smitten with her and she totally knew they were gonna get married.
I finished my story breathlessly, expecting Jen to be impressed that my friend had found herself a keeper so soon into the year. Jen just said, "Yeah. I was gonna marry my boyfriend when I was 14, too." There was no sarcasm or even the slightest patronizing tone to her voice. She simply insinuated that lots of people feel that way about their first boyfriend. Since not everyone is running off and eloping with the same guy they had algebra with, it obviously fails more often than not.
At 14 though, I didn't realize this. I thought for sure Jen didn't understand the depth of my friend's relationship. She and her boyfriend would make it! This would end in a happily ever after. They'd do it.
They didn't. My friend and her boyfriend broke up awhile later and were just another intensely brief high school relationship. Yes, some couples do make it through the maze of adolescence and that's peachy. But what I'm really hung up on is Jen's comment. She spoke volumes in that one little sentence. "Yeah. I was gonna marry my boyfriend when I was 14, too." In hindsight, it was wise and almost cryptic. It has stayed with me for over a decade, and although it was an offhand comment, it has given me a lot of perspective over the years. I doubt Jen ever even knew what she gave me with those words.
Sometimes, as my friend and I would learn throughout high school, things fall apart. That's all. It isn't usually fair or predictable. Like not getting into your dream college or not getting your first choice of career. You muddle through for awhile, start to find some redeeming qualities in your new situation and just make the best of it. As time moves forward, your challenges and joys become apparent. At some point, if you're lucky, you look back and think, "I wouldn't change a thing. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."
That's the idea Jen planted in my head: Life is so huge, don't get too hung up on the fact that things might not go according to plan, as in not everyone marries their boyfriend at 14.
Besides, that *Nsync-themed wedding she was planning would have been really tacky.
I'm 10, and this girl with burgundy (dyed!) hair and a crop top was 14 or 15. An adult from where I was standing. Why would she want to hang out with a dorky little kid like me? As it turns out, boredom made her less choosy about her friends and we hung out in the shady backyard all afternoon. She was five years older than me, and in high school! She wore makeup every day and had a locker! She'd been to real dates and dances! I was fascinated by her. We read YM and Seventeen magazine. She put a Tupac tape in her Walk Man and let me listen to a few songs. She was my new hero.
In December, she visited for a few days over Christmas break. Then we shared some candy on Easter and Jen told me about her first drinking experience. I sat in awe of her story, which started with someone's Mom being out of town and someone else's older brother buying them a case of beer. Beer was gross she said, but she learned to like the bubbly, happy feeling it gave her so she was willing to try it again. She also let her boyfriend up her shirt, but she was sober enough not to let him in her pants. These stories thrilled and frightened me, and I was desperate to hear more. But, Jen's folks were getting ready to head back home, so I had to go.
By the time I saw Jen again, I was a freshman in high school and she was in college. College! As giddy as I was by this development, I was even more giddy at the thought of finally impressing Jen. I thought I knew a thing or two, and was ready to show Jen how grown up I was. I put on my favorite Bongo jeans and Gap t-shirt. Some eyeliner and body spray. I thought I looked cool, and she would be impressed by how much I'd grown. Jen greeted me with a big hug, said she liked my hair, and began telling me about college. The parties, the dorms, and the guys. Again, I was reduced to wide-eyed wonderment. Try as I might, I couldn't play it cool in the midst of her new experiences. After a few minutes, she asked how everything was going for me. Did I like high school? What activities did I do? What were my friends like? I told her school was OK, I was playing volleyball and in the drama program and that my friends were few, but I was meeting more people all the time. Jen asked if I had a boyfriend, I told her no but there was a guy I sort of liked. Then I began to gush on about my best friend, how she had met this guy at lunch, and he was a sophomore and he really liked her! They had been going out for almost a whole month. He was on the wrestling team and was so handsome! They talked on the phone almost every night, ate lunch together, wrote notes, the works. He was smitten with her and she totally knew they were gonna get married.
I finished my story breathlessly, expecting Jen to be impressed that my friend had found herself a keeper so soon into the year. Jen just said, "Yeah. I was gonna marry my boyfriend when I was 14, too." There was no sarcasm or even the slightest patronizing tone to her voice. She simply insinuated that lots of people feel that way about their first boyfriend. Since not everyone is running off and eloping with the same guy they had algebra with, it obviously fails more often than not.
At 14 though, I didn't realize this. I thought for sure Jen didn't understand the depth of my friend's relationship. She and her boyfriend would make it! This would end in a happily ever after. They'd do it.
They didn't. My friend and her boyfriend broke up awhile later and were just another intensely brief high school relationship. Yes, some couples do make it through the maze of adolescence and that's peachy. But what I'm really hung up on is Jen's comment. She spoke volumes in that one little sentence. "Yeah. I was gonna marry my boyfriend when I was 14, too." In hindsight, it was wise and almost cryptic. It has stayed with me for over a decade, and although it was an offhand comment, it has given me a lot of perspective over the years. I doubt Jen ever even knew what she gave me with those words.
Sometimes, as my friend and I would learn throughout high school, things fall apart. That's all. It isn't usually fair or predictable. Like not getting into your dream college or not getting your first choice of career. You muddle through for awhile, start to find some redeeming qualities in your new situation and just make the best of it. As time moves forward, your challenges and joys become apparent. At some point, if you're lucky, you look back and think, "I wouldn't change a thing. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."
That's the idea Jen planted in my head: Life is so huge, don't get too hung up on the fact that things might not go according to plan, as in not everyone marries their boyfriend at 14.
Besides, that *Nsync-themed wedding she was planning would have been really tacky.
7.26.2010
Love Lessons part 3
* Don't punish this guy for what the last guy did to you. Yes, learn from your mistakes. It's OK to be a little guarded. But as I've said before, baggage is quite unattractive. Cut your losses, learn your lessons and move on. Then when you're ready to date a new man, treat him as just that: New. He's got a clean slate so let him prove himself.
See, those hands are not so good.
So much better, no? Smooth and young-looking.
* Slather on hand cream many times a day. I know this has nothing to do with love, but it's still a valuable lesson. Your hands show your age just as much (if not more than) your face does. Take Sarah Jessica Parker for example:
See, those hands are not so good. Her costar, Kristen Davis is the same age as she is. Check out her hands:
So much better, no? Smooth and young-looking. Trust me, use hand cream.
* When it comes to dating, yes there is a game being played. Anyone who says differently is lying. I rebelled against that concept for years. "But I want to be genuine, I don't like playing games. I want to be honest all the time!" What I learned is, that's great. Honesty and openness are swell. But always be smart about it. So what's a girl to do? Play the game without playing. What do I mean by that? I'm glad you asked. For example: The "game" tells you to play hard to get. I say, BE hard to get. The "game" says you shouldn't let on when you're upset. I say, pick your battles but don't' be passive-aggressive. In this way, you're staying true to yourself while keeping your cool.
And that is game, set and match.
Friday
I'm a sure thing in every way that matters
the first to fall, left demanding answers.
Could I confront him?
How could I just stand in front of him,
with all that love still there between us.
Replaced by something bitter, the metallic sting of change.
What happened to the sweetness,
the ignorance of our age?
Could I make it through this with dignity intact, lesson learned
and thicker skin on my back?
Was I doomed to do it all again
Give it all back to him
and let him in.
the first to fall, left demanding answers.
Could I confront him?
How could I just stand in front of him,
with all that love still there between us.
Replaced by something bitter, the metallic sting of change.
What happened to the sweetness,
the ignorance of our age?
Could I make it through this with dignity intact, lesson learned
and thicker skin on my back?
Was I doomed to do it all again
Give it all back to him
and let him in.
Thank you, Stevie.
I took my love, I took it down
climbed a mountain and I turned around
and I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'til the landslide brought it down
The day I found out he cheated on me was the worst day of my life so far. But not only had he cheated, she had gotten pregnant. Not only had she gotten pregnant, she had aborted it. I'm not a staunch pro-lifer or anything, but my eighteen year old mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that my boyfriend of three years, the boy I'd given everything I'd have to give, could father a child that was now dead. I couldn't handle it. My world was crashing down around me faster than I could keep up. The world where he loved me and we were happy was dissipating like melting snow.
oh, mirror in the sky
what is love?
can the child within my heart rise above?
can I sail thru the changin' ocean tides?
can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know...
Get ready, because this will be harsh. That's what I thought anyway. I steeled myself to show no mercy. I didn't care if he pleaded, cried, or begged for my forgiveness. I would have to be as insensitive as he had been. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to separate how you feel from what you know. I felt betrayed, hurt and confused. I knew I couldn't let those feelings out around him, because it would portray a weakness. I just had to break up with him and let that be the end of it. I looked him in the eye and told him she called me and I knew everything. I told him we were done. What did he have to say for himself? Surprisingly little. Nothing about his expression or demeanor changed. He acted like I had just told him there was air all around us. He actually smirked and said, "You're a smart girl. I thought you would've figured it out by now." What. The. Fuck. No remorse, no stammering for an excuse. Nothing. I should've figured it out and dumped him before now? Seriously? He was no longer the beautiful boy who could do anything and charm everyone around him. I no longer felt privileged to be by his side. I just felt let down. Was this love? My first real love became my first real heartbreak so quickly I was dizzy. As I turned and walked out of his life, I wondered if I'd be able to keep walking, no looking back.
well, I've been afraid of changin'
'cause I've built my life around you
but time makes you bolder
even children get older
and I'm getting older too
At first I was hesitant to move on. He was everything to me for three long, important years. I had defined myself in his presence. Who would I be without him? This was a scary question. But what was even worse was who I would be if I stayed with him: Weak. Humiliated. Resentful. I couldn't live like that. So I slowly began rebuilding myself apart from him. I tried to hold onto the good memories and take the heartbreak as a lesson learned. It was hard, sure. But it was also exhilarating.
oh, take my love, take it down
climb a mountain and turn around
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
well the landslide will bring it down.
Looking back, the scarier thing is that I let myself be so taken by someone. I fell hard and I fell fast as most of us do with our first love. But in doing so, I gave up any opportunity to create my own identity. Being years away from the situation, I'm actually grateful it happened. I know that I learned a lot. The most important thing I learned from this was that growth is sometimes painful. I needed to grow in myself, as a person. This growth had to come to me in the form of cheating, which sucked of course but I'm a lot stronger for it now.
The second most important thing I learned from that experience was that the right song at the right time can change your life.
climbed a mountain and I turned around
and I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'til the landslide brought it down
The day I found out he cheated on me was the worst day of my life so far. But not only had he cheated, she had gotten pregnant. Not only had she gotten pregnant, she had aborted it. I'm not a staunch pro-lifer or anything, but my eighteen year old mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that my boyfriend of three years, the boy I'd given everything I'd have to give, could father a child that was now dead. I couldn't handle it. My world was crashing down around me faster than I could keep up. The world where he loved me and we were happy was dissipating like melting snow.
oh, mirror in the sky
what is love?
can the child within my heart rise above?
can I sail thru the changin' ocean tides?
can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know...
Get ready, because this will be harsh. That's what I thought anyway. I steeled myself to show no mercy. I didn't care if he pleaded, cried, or begged for my forgiveness. I would have to be as insensitive as he had been. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to separate how you feel from what you know. I felt betrayed, hurt and confused. I knew I couldn't let those feelings out around him, because it would portray a weakness. I just had to break up with him and let that be the end of it. I looked him in the eye and told him she called me and I knew everything. I told him we were done. What did he have to say for himself? Surprisingly little. Nothing about his expression or demeanor changed. He acted like I had just told him there was air all around us. He actually smirked and said, "You're a smart girl. I thought you would've figured it out by now." What. The. Fuck. No remorse, no stammering for an excuse. Nothing. I should've figured it out and dumped him before now? Seriously? He was no longer the beautiful boy who could do anything and charm everyone around him. I no longer felt privileged to be by his side. I just felt let down. Was this love? My first real love became my first real heartbreak so quickly I was dizzy. As I turned and walked out of his life, I wondered if I'd be able to keep walking, no looking back.
well, I've been afraid of changin'
'cause I've built my life around you
but time makes you bolder
even children get older
and I'm getting older too
At first I was hesitant to move on. He was everything to me for three long, important years. I had defined myself in his presence. Who would I be without him? This was a scary question. But what was even worse was who I would be if I stayed with him: Weak. Humiliated. Resentful. I couldn't live like that. So I slowly began rebuilding myself apart from him. I tried to hold onto the good memories and take the heartbreak as a lesson learned. It was hard, sure. But it was also exhilarating.
oh, take my love, take it down
climb a mountain and turn around
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
well the landslide will bring it down.
Looking back, the scarier thing is that I let myself be so taken by someone. I fell hard and I fell fast as most of us do with our first love. But in doing so, I gave up any opportunity to create my own identity. Being years away from the situation, I'm actually grateful it happened. I know that I learned a lot. The most important thing I learned from this was that growth is sometimes painful. I needed to grow in myself, as a person. This growth had to come to me in the form of cheating, which sucked of course but I'm a lot stronger for it now.
The second most important thing I learned from that experience was that the right song at the right time can change your life.
7.22.2010
Offsides
My ex boyfriend J was a huge Denver Broncos fan. Like, bled blue and orange. During our first season together, a new side of him was shown to me. Sitting on the couch on cozy Sunday afternoons, I realized the Broncos weren't just a sports team he happened to like, they were a part of J's life. They seemed to permeate his every thought from draft day through the Superbowl. All conversation seemed to drift back to something team-related. Like when I mentioned I treated myself to a Coach purse for my birthday, he responded with, "Do they have a Mike Shanahan edition? Because, you know, he's the only coach that matters." J really cracked himself up with that one. At the time I thought it was adorable that he was trying to combine my love for Coach with his beloved head coach. Now I realize it was just a terrible pun.
After one particularly devastating loss, J sullenly got up off the couch and walked out the front door. In the middle of November, without a coat. When he returned about an hour later, he said he was so upset he didn't want to be around anyone for awhile. So, he walked down my street and punched a few mailboxes and a brick wall. Over a football game. I was shocked, this was the most I'd ever seen J emote in the six months I'd known him. Why couldn't he be this riled up about anything else? I just didn't understand it.
That night was also the first time J turned me down for sex. After bringing him some ice for his knuckles, I came onto him with my best "C'mere baby, I'll make you forget about the game". I thought I was doing what any good football widow would do, but sadly I was shut out by J worse than Denver was by San Diego. He'd rather wallow in his thoughts of offensive pass interferences and who was on the injured list. Bad call, J. I'm certain I could have made it all better.
Later, I lay awake embarrassed, pissed off and sexually frustrated. I thought about J's one-sided relationship with Denver. Despite what the NFL commercials say, they do not care about him as an individual. The team doesn't care how much their losses hurt him, or how much a win means to him. Every trade weighs on him as if it were a member of his own family being sent away. And the way I see it, Denver couldn't care less. J was just another ESPN viewer, another jersey-buyer. His relationship with the Broncos was totally one-sided. He loved them passionately and what did they give him in return besides heartburn, bruised knuckles and a pouty girlfriend? Nothing. It was a completely one-way love affair.
Romantically speaking, a relationship like the one J had for the Broncos would never work. Or would it? My friend Stacy proudly proclaims that the relationship she has with her significant other is totally one sided, and she loves it. I know her S.O., and I'd have to agree. Not that he's a bad guy or anything, he's a logical, straightforward kind of guy. He's intelligent and can be very kind but he just doesn't try very hard when it comes to the touchy-feely emotional stuff. I dare say he is a little socially awkward.
Stacy, however, is the most gracious person I've ever met. She is bubbly, thoughtful and makes a wonderful first impression on everyone. You just can't help but like her. She has a way of anticipating the needs of everyone around her, especially her man. Her nurturing spirit makes it easy for her to love a challenging S.O. She can decode him, understand him and love him for all of the ways he is different from her. While she mingles and works the room at parties, he is content to chat with one or two friends. In this way, they each get to be themselves.
She's always known he will never be the man to make large romantic gestures, or even remember to say "bless you" when she sneezes. She will always be the bearer of thoughtful gifts and P.D.A. Her birthday cards from him rarely have more than a few words written inside. And for her, that's just fine. She likes doing the work to keep the relationship progressing, and he (apparently) likes being taken along for the ride.
So whether or not a one-sided relationship is successful depends on the needs of the individuals. J was satisfied following his team to the point of obsession. It didn't matter that at the end of every season he had nothing tangible to show for it. And Stacy is content with her man, although it is more a project than a partnership.
I admit that I still don't really understand one-sided relationships. I need give-and-take, to share the burdens and joys of a relationship with him. If I wanted to do all the work myself, I'd just stay single. I do realize that not everyone feels this way though, and I'm happy to cheer them on from the sidelines.
After one particularly devastating loss, J sullenly got up off the couch and walked out the front door. In the middle of November, without a coat. When he returned about an hour later, he said he was so upset he didn't want to be around anyone for awhile. So, he walked down my street and punched a few mailboxes and a brick wall. Over a football game. I was shocked, this was the most I'd ever seen J emote in the six months I'd known him. Why couldn't he be this riled up about anything else? I just didn't understand it.
That night was also the first time J turned me down for sex. After bringing him some ice for his knuckles, I came onto him with my best "C'mere baby, I'll make you forget about the game". I thought I was doing what any good football widow would do, but sadly I was shut out by J worse than Denver was by San Diego. He'd rather wallow in his thoughts of offensive pass interferences and who was on the injured list. Bad call, J. I'm certain I could have made it all better.
Later, I lay awake embarrassed, pissed off and sexually frustrated. I thought about J's one-sided relationship with Denver. Despite what the NFL commercials say, they do not care about him as an individual. The team doesn't care how much their losses hurt him, or how much a win means to him. Every trade weighs on him as if it were a member of his own family being sent away. And the way I see it, Denver couldn't care less. J was just another ESPN viewer, another jersey-buyer. His relationship with the Broncos was totally one-sided. He loved them passionately and what did they give him in return besides heartburn, bruised knuckles and a pouty girlfriend? Nothing. It was a completely one-way love affair.
Romantically speaking, a relationship like the one J had for the Broncos would never work. Or would it? My friend Stacy proudly proclaims that the relationship she has with her significant other is totally one sided, and she loves it. I know her S.O., and I'd have to agree. Not that he's a bad guy or anything, he's a logical, straightforward kind of guy. He's intelligent and can be very kind but he just doesn't try very hard when it comes to the touchy-feely emotional stuff. I dare say he is a little socially awkward.
Stacy, however, is the most gracious person I've ever met. She is bubbly, thoughtful and makes a wonderful first impression on everyone. You just can't help but like her. She has a way of anticipating the needs of everyone around her, especially her man. Her nurturing spirit makes it easy for her to love a challenging S.O. She can decode him, understand him and love him for all of the ways he is different from her. While she mingles and works the room at parties, he is content to chat with one or two friends. In this way, they each get to be themselves.
She's always known he will never be the man to make large romantic gestures, or even remember to say "bless you" when she sneezes. She will always be the bearer of thoughtful gifts and P.D.A. Her birthday cards from him rarely have more than a few words written inside. And for her, that's just fine. She likes doing the work to keep the relationship progressing, and he (apparently) likes being taken along for the ride.
So whether or not a one-sided relationship is successful depends on the needs of the individuals. J was satisfied following his team to the point of obsession. It didn't matter that at the end of every season he had nothing tangible to show for it. And Stacy is content with her man, although it is more a project than a partnership.
I admit that I still don't really understand one-sided relationships. I need give-and-take, to share the burdens and joys of a relationship with him. If I wanted to do all the work myself, I'd just stay single. I do realize that not everyone feels this way though, and I'm happy to cheer them on from the sidelines.
7.21.2010
Correct me if I'm wrong AND The new rule
While bar hopping for a friend's birthday last weekend, I was in the presence of the most elegant, ladylike top I've ever laid eyes on. It was sensual and yet understated. A white cotton tank top that bore the most stirring message since Martin Luther King yapped on about his dream. In black lettering, surrounded by glittering jewels (Swarovski crystals, I'm sure) were these words: "No job, No pussy."
Eloquent in it's brevity, no? Pure poetry for the eyes. I wanted to go out and buy one for myself. I could wear it when I attend my most fancy parties. Perfect for church services, court appearances and cocktail parties. This garment truly carried a sentiment for the ages.
The above piece of biting sarcasm is not just mean for meanness sake (don't get me wrong, I still love being mean for meanness sake). But I do have two points to make here. Yes,two unsolicited opinions for the price of one. Aren't you lucky?
The first point may be obvious: I think the shirt is disgusting. Of course I respect this chick's right to wear whatever the hell she wants. The same way I expect anyone reading my blog to respect my right to rant and rave. Free speech is a wonderful thing. And yes I was at a bar, everyone there was over the age of 21. I'm sure anyone who saw her shirt has said, heard, or read worse including myself. It's not a word I use often, but I have uttered it and I understand that it exists in the English vernacular. Moving onto why it actually bothered me: Does your vagina have a price tag hanging from it, sweetheart?
You're saying that if a person is unemployed, they are automatically denied sex? Conversely, one could argue this means that anyone with a job gets a turn, right? It felt like by standing by that statement, she was reducing her body to a commodity. Trashy trashy nasty white trash. And also sad. I understand she probably slammed down her Natty Ice and made some slurred statement about "not messin' 'round wit broke ass dudes no more." More power to ya, girl. That's a great attitude to have. Now go smoke a Pall Mall and give yourself a perm.
If you really respected yourself enough to hold out for a nice, decent, employed gentleman, you wouldn't need to wear that tank top. You are totally selling yourself short.
Or, am I wrong? Am I too quick to judge her? Is this the new girl power? Is "No job, No pussy" today's "I am Woman, hear me roar?" Does being able to wear a top like that with pride mean we as women have achieved something? I respectfully disagree.
To the woman in the trash-tastic shirt: you completely undermined your own statement. By projecting that image to the world (OK, the bar. You know what I mean.) you're saying that your body is up for sale, and all one needs to enter the auction is a W-2. Anyone else see the tragedy in this thinking, or am I just being a prude?
This also raised another question: What is the new "rule" when it comes to potential dates and their employment status? Is "No job No pussy" a realistic goal? Before the economy took a dive, you had to try to not have a job. It seemed everyone had something going for themselves, and it was downright easy to make money.
I know for me personally, one of my non-negotiables has always been that a potential date had to have a job. Period, end of story. I've worked steadily since I was fifteen and gone to school. In my mind there was NO excuse for a man to be unemployed. Sure, I've dated some that were marginally employed or that didn't make as much money as I did. But to just be not working? No way. I felt it necessary to be with someone who was doing something, at least working toward a goal of some kind.
Now, people from all walks of life find themselves unable to work. It's not just the guy who prefers to sit on his mom's couch and smoke weed while killing XBox zombies. It's the guy who worked for the state and got laid off, or the owner of the small business that went into foreclosure. There's also not as much money being passed around in the form of loans and grants for college, so even a man with ambition may not have the means. His MBA or Ph.D. might have to wait, and that can be really frustrating. Times are tough out there, so should I soften my outlook? Does he deserve more leniency? Maybe, maybe not. But I still wouldn't be caught dead in that tank top.
Eloquent in it's brevity, no? Pure poetry for the eyes. I wanted to go out and buy one for myself. I could wear it when I attend my most fancy parties. Perfect for church services, court appearances and cocktail parties. This garment truly carried a sentiment for the ages.
The above piece of biting sarcasm is not just mean for meanness sake (don't get me wrong, I still love being mean for meanness sake). But I do have two points to make here. Yes,two unsolicited opinions for the price of one. Aren't you lucky?
The first point may be obvious: I think the shirt is disgusting. Of course I respect this chick's right to wear whatever the hell she wants. The same way I expect anyone reading my blog to respect my right to rant and rave. Free speech is a wonderful thing. And yes I was at a bar, everyone there was over the age of 21. I'm sure anyone who saw her shirt has said, heard, or read worse including myself. It's not a word I use often, but I have uttered it and I understand that it exists in the English vernacular. Moving onto why it actually bothered me: Does your vagina have a price tag hanging from it, sweetheart?
You're saying that if a person is unemployed, they are automatically denied sex? Conversely, one could argue this means that anyone with a job gets a turn, right? It felt like by standing by that statement, she was reducing her body to a commodity. Trashy trashy nasty white trash. And also sad. I understand she probably slammed down her Natty Ice and made some slurred statement about "not messin' 'round wit broke ass dudes no more." More power to ya, girl. That's a great attitude to have. Now go smoke a Pall Mall and give yourself a perm.
If you really respected yourself enough to hold out for a nice, decent, employed gentleman, you wouldn't need to wear that tank top. You are totally selling yourself short.
Or, am I wrong? Am I too quick to judge her? Is this the new girl power? Is "No job, No pussy" today's "I am Woman, hear me roar?" Does being able to wear a top like that with pride mean we as women have achieved something? I respectfully disagree.
To the woman in the trash-tastic shirt: you completely undermined your own statement. By projecting that image to the world (OK, the bar. You know what I mean.) you're saying that your body is up for sale, and all one needs to enter the auction is a W-2. Anyone else see the tragedy in this thinking, or am I just being a prude?
This also raised another question: What is the new "rule" when it comes to potential dates and their employment status? Is "No job No pussy" a realistic goal? Before the economy took a dive, you had to try to not have a job. It seemed everyone had something going for themselves, and it was downright easy to make money.
I know for me personally, one of my non-negotiables has always been that a potential date had to have a job. Period, end of story. I've worked steadily since I was fifteen and gone to school. In my mind there was NO excuse for a man to be unemployed. Sure, I've dated some that were marginally employed or that didn't make as much money as I did. But to just be not working? No way. I felt it necessary to be with someone who was doing something, at least working toward a goal of some kind.
Now, people from all walks of life find themselves unable to work. It's not just the guy who prefers to sit on his mom's couch and smoke weed while killing XBox zombies. It's the guy who worked for the state and got laid off, or the owner of the small business that went into foreclosure. There's also not as much money being passed around in the form of loans and grants for college, so even a man with ambition may not have the means. His MBA or Ph.D. might have to wait, and that can be really frustrating. Times are tough out there, so should I soften my outlook? Does he deserve more leniency? Maybe, maybe not. But I still wouldn't be caught dead in that tank top.
7.13.2010
The pot calling the kettle fat
News from the Overstated Cliche pile: Women have body issues. I'll pause while you recover from that revelation. I know, its shocking. Take all the time you need to regroup.
Sometimes we call ourselves (and each other) fat. Some of us go through life hating the fact that our thighs rub together. Fad diets and injury-inducing workouts can combat whatever "flaw" we perceive, yet sometimes all it takes is one snide comment to knock us down on our well-padded asses.
Some women overcome this, some refuse to face it. Some of you have no idea what I'm talking about and some of you have admitted defeat and resigned to a disgusting, slobbish existence.
Whatever, that's not the point. My job is not to write about a topic that hasn't been fresh since before the invention of the Thighmaster.
I'm merely setting up for, yes you guessed it, an observation. In order to set up my perspective here, let's agree that we all have issues of body-consciousness in some capacity. Today I happen to be talking about weight. Insert "love yourself and put down the Twinkie because it won't love you back" type feel-good statement here. OK now that that's done, here we go...
I've struggled with my looks and my weight for years. Luckily, I'm slowly but surely coming to a place in life where I'm comfortable with my figure. This was a huge silver lining to an otherwise glum quarterlife period. I was always considered "curvy" or at times, "thick" and was fine with it. However the older I got the less active I became and yes, it caught up to me. I was able to shed some pesky pounds and become the curvy girl once again, albeit a slightly larger version of her.
I learned to dress for my size and accentuate my curves and finally felt mature, confident and free. For the first time in a long time, I was free of obsessing about my shape, the number of calories consumed or whether or not guys would like me. As long as I could go up a flight of stairs without being winded and still do all of the things I wanted to do, I saw no reason to combat my natural shape. I was finally at peace with how I looked.
Or I was, until I met Brandon. On the surface he was a pretty good guy: funny, talkative, good job. We had plenty of mutual friends so I was fairly certain he was not a serial killer which is always good to know. But there was a problem. About 140 of them.
The guy was only 5'6" and weighed 140 pounds. At one time, 140 was my goal weight. I would've killed to weight 140. Let's just say I never reached that goal and learned to be comfortable about 25 pounds north of 140. Brandon was good looking, just kind of...diminutive. He was not scrawny, his frame held plenty of lean muscle (emphasis on the lean part) from his outdoor job and sessions at the gym. He was what I would call compact. There just wasn't much there.
And as shallow as this may sound, his thin build bothered me. A lot. And I didn't know what to do about it. If he were a serial killer I would know what to do-cut through the restraints and run like hell. Easy. But this? How should I know.
After sitting on the fence somewhere between "wow he's fun!" and "wow I might crush him if we have sex", I realized that me judging Brandon for being "too skinny" is just as bad as him not wanting to date me because I'm a little chubby. If that were the case, I'd eviscerate him publicly and privately. How dare he try to step on my new self-aware and confident attitude! Knowing this, me not accepting him for his God-given shape is the most hypocritical thing I could do.
It's one thing to accept yourself "just the way you are". It is another thing entirely to accept the fact that someone else will do the same. When he would make a flirty comment or compliment me, I just rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. He must have a big girl fantasy, or something like that. Whoa. Did this judgement that I passed on Brandon mean that I wasn't as comfortable with myself as I thought? It's like I was constantly telling myself, "No No No he's fit you can't have him you're too big he's too good for you..." That peek into my subconscious scared me a bit. I had more to learn about body confidence than I thought.
Sadly, Brandon and I didn't click for other reasons. We're still friendly but not dating. That's OK with me though, because he taught me something and I don't think he even realizes it: I like the way I look, and the right guy will too. Size does not determine if I'm "good enough" for him. I feel like I should thank Brandon for this realization. Would a cheeseburger and large milkshake be inappropriate?
Sometimes we call ourselves (and each other) fat. Some of us go through life hating the fact that our thighs rub together. Fad diets and injury-inducing workouts can combat whatever "flaw" we perceive, yet sometimes all it takes is one snide comment to knock us down on our well-padded asses.
Some women overcome this, some refuse to face it. Some of you have no idea what I'm talking about and some of you have admitted defeat and resigned to a disgusting, slobbish existence.
Whatever, that's not the point. My job is not to write about a topic that hasn't been fresh since before the invention of the Thighmaster.
I'm merely setting up for, yes you guessed it, an observation. In order to set up my perspective here, let's agree that we all have issues of body-consciousness in some capacity. Today I happen to be talking about weight. Insert "love yourself and put down the Twinkie because it won't love you back" type feel-good statement here. OK now that that's done, here we go...
I've struggled with my looks and my weight for years. Luckily, I'm slowly but surely coming to a place in life where I'm comfortable with my figure. This was a huge silver lining to an otherwise glum quarterlife period. I was always considered "curvy" or at times, "thick" and was fine with it. However the older I got the less active I became and yes, it caught up to me. I was able to shed some pesky pounds and become the curvy girl once again, albeit a slightly larger version of her.
I learned to dress for my size and accentuate my curves and finally felt mature, confident and free. For the first time in a long time, I was free of obsessing about my shape, the number of calories consumed or whether or not guys would like me. As long as I could go up a flight of stairs without being winded and still do all of the things I wanted to do, I saw no reason to combat my natural shape. I was finally at peace with how I looked.
Or I was, until I met Brandon. On the surface he was a pretty good guy: funny, talkative, good job. We had plenty of mutual friends so I was fairly certain he was not a serial killer which is always good to know. But there was a problem. About 140 of them.
The guy was only 5'6" and weighed 140 pounds. At one time, 140 was my goal weight. I would've killed to weight 140. Let's just say I never reached that goal and learned to be comfortable about 25 pounds north of 140. Brandon was good looking, just kind of...diminutive. He was not scrawny, his frame held plenty of lean muscle (emphasis on the lean part) from his outdoor job and sessions at the gym. He was what I would call compact. There just wasn't much there.
And as shallow as this may sound, his thin build bothered me. A lot. And I didn't know what to do about it. If he were a serial killer I would know what to do-cut through the restraints and run like hell. Easy. But this? How should I know.
After sitting on the fence somewhere between "wow he's fun!" and "wow I might crush him if we have sex", I realized that me judging Brandon for being "too skinny" is just as bad as him not wanting to date me because I'm a little chubby. If that were the case, I'd eviscerate him publicly and privately. How dare he try to step on my new self-aware and confident attitude! Knowing this, me not accepting him for his God-given shape is the most hypocritical thing I could do.
It's one thing to accept yourself "just the way you are". It is another thing entirely to accept the fact that someone else will do the same. When he would make a flirty comment or compliment me, I just rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. He must have a big girl fantasy, or something like that. Whoa. Did this judgement that I passed on Brandon mean that I wasn't as comfortable with myself as I thought? It's like I was constantly telling myself, "No No No he's fit you can't have him you're too big he's too good for you..." That peek into my subconscious scared me a bit. I had more to learn about body confidence than I thought.
Sadly, Brandon and I didn't click for other reasons. We're still friendly but not dating. That's OK with me though, because he taught me something and I don't think he even realizes it: I like the way I look, and the right guy will too. Size does not determine if I'm "good enough" for him. I feel like I should thank Brandon for this realization. Would a cheeseburger and large milkshake be inappropriate?
Love Lessons part 2
*Be wary of doing or saying things that make you seem like you don't matter as much as he does. You do. I am not advocating a parade of your accomplishments on date one-it isn't a job interview! But don't sell yourself short or be overly critical. It's not humility, it's insulting to the awesome person that you are. He will pick up on this and treat you accordingly. Regardless of how nice he is, if you are constantly degrading yourself, eventually he'll jump on the bandwagon.
*When one relationship ends, its actually OK to be single for awhile. Please don't jump from guy to guy to guy, there is nothing cute about emotional baggage. Especially coupled with promiscuity and/or herpes.
*Don't underestimate the power an interesting woman posesses. Use your single time as as a time to develop varied interests, educate yourself, reconnect with friends, or anything else you can do to enrich YOUR life.
*While we're on the subject of using single time to develop hobbies, also develop some dealbreakers and stick to them. Ask yourslef, "what will effectivley kill my next relationship?" That's something every woman and man must decide for themselves. I know that as a nice girl, you probably don't want to draw a hard line just in case he's so wonderful, and you're so graciously willing to overlook the fact that he [insert bad boyfriend behavior here]. I'm not such a nice girl so I say screw that. My demands are not unreasonable and they will be met. Among my dealbreakers? Unchecked addiction of any kind, disrespect for my beliefs and disrespect toward service workers. I've learned a long time ago that a man who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is NOT a nice person. Just trust me on this.
*Its OK not to say every thought that passes through your brain. A verbal filter can be your best weapon. If you must express yourself, get a journal. Pen and paper, lock and key. He might not admit it but a little mystery is attractive.
*When one relationship ends, its actually OK to be single for awhile. Please don't jump from guy to guy to guy, there is nothing cute about emotional baggage. Especially coupled with promiscuity and/or herpes.
*Don't underestimate the power an interesting woman posesses. Use your single time as as a time to develop varied interests, educate yourself, reconnect with friends, or anything else you can do to enrich YOUR life.
*While we're on the subject of using single time to develop hobbies, also develop some dealbreakers and stick to them. Ask yourslef, "what will effectivley kill my next relationship?" That's something every woman and man must decide for themselves. I know that as a nice girl, you probably don't want to draw a hard line just in case he's so wonderful, and you're so graciously willing to overlook the fact that he [insert bad boyfriend behavior here]. I'm not such a nice girl so I say screw that. My demands are not unreasonable and they will be met. Among my dealbreakers? Unchecked addiction of any kind, disrespect for my beliefs and disrespect toward service workers. I've learned a long time ago that a man who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is NOT a nice person. Just trust me on this.
*Its OK not to say every thought that passes through your brain. A verbal filter can be your best weapon. If you must express yourself, get a journal. Pen and paper, lock and key. He might not admit it but a little mystery is attractive.
7.10.2010
Carolina Blue
"A woman never forgets the man she could have had; a man, the woman he couldn't." -Anonymous
I hate that up until now, our story had no end. What I mean is that if our story were written down on paper the last sentence would have no period at the end. No period, or even a question mark at the end of our sentence; we are ungraciously reduced to an ellipses. Just three simple dots signifying no end in sight.
We lived our lives apart for different reasons, and I can't say that that was a good choice. Yes, after you I have loved. I've been loved. I've lost and hurt. I always thought I was going through what I needed to in order to find my way back to you. Yes, you. You were always there, as this unfinished chapter of my life. Was I ever there in the back of your mind?
Did you see us as we used to be? Playing in the park in the middle of the night or looking at the stars from your driveway after the party? What about rainy afternoons on the couch, or long bus rides or Denny's? Do you remember...at all? Maybe you don't. But I need you to know that all the letters and photographs are still in the back of my closet. Tied with a navy blue satin ribbon I used to wear in my hair. They've all faded by now I'm sure.
However, that's not what I am writing to say. What I really want to say is mean. It's bitter and immature and won't solve anything. It's really not polite but here goes: I hate her new last name.
I hate that she has the same last name that I scribbled in endless English notebooks when I was fourteen. And sixteen. And eighteen. And in college when I was about twenty. And for the last time I guess, just this year on a scrap of paper late one night after a terrible date with a man who wasn't you. He will never be you.
I don't hate her. She's someone I knew briefly yet don't know at all. She drifted into my life years ago and at the time I never thought I'd come to hate her, she was inconsequential at most. Now I hate with a passion what she represents.
No, if I'm being truthful about what I hate, it's the unfinished-ness of our situation. And also my foolishness. There I was, stupidly clinging to the hope of the ellipses, hope that sometime in some way we would find ourselves face to face again. And this time we would get it right.
We would not be fourteen and afraid of each other.
We would not be sixteen and too busy with the soap opera of high school to realize this was something special.
We would not be eighteen and too worried about making ourselves look like grownups.
We would not be twenty and living in different countries, or twenty five and you're saying "I Do" to someone else. It would just be us for once.
In some other time or place, we'd be free of the things that kept us apart. We'd finish what was started the first day I met you.
But now I hear you are a husband and a father. I think my heart stopped a little just writing that. As if writing somehow made it more real. And just like that-there is the punctuation mark I needed to see. It stings, of course. A burning pain that resonates within me, that woke me up and made me realize this non-ending I was clinging to so fitfully was really just postponing goodbye.
A non-ending may be the worst kind of ending that there is, but it's also the one that made me strongest. I am accepting of the fact that I had let you drift into my life for the last time and I was ready to open myself up for the opportunity of someone else. As long as I had my heart on hold for you, there was on way to allow anyone else in. And that wasn't fair to you, to hold you to that expectation. But I was also selling myself short, and that wasn't fair to me either. And now we're both moved on, in our own way. And for the first time that's OK.
I hate that up until now, our story had no end. What I mean is that if our story were written down on paper the last sentence would have no period at the end. No period, or even a question mark at the end of our sentence; we are ungraciously reduced to an ellipses. Just three simple dots signifying no end in sight.
We lived our lives apart for different reasons, and I can't say that that was a good choice. Yes, after you I have loved. I've been loved. I've lost and hurt. I always thought I was going through what I needed to in order to find my way back to you. Yes, you. You were always there, as this unfinished chapter of my life. Was I ever there in the back of your mind?
Did you see us as we used to be? Playing in the park in the middle of the night or looking at the stars from your driveway after the party? What about rainy afternoons on the couch, or long bus rides or Denny's? Do you remember...at all? Maybe you don't. But I need you to know that all the letters and photographs are still in the back of my closet. Tied with a navy blue satin ribbon I used to wear in my hair. They've all faded by now I'm sure.
However, that's not what I am writing to say. What I really want to say is mean. It's bitter and immature and won't solve anything. It's really not polite but here goes: I hate her new last name.
I hate that she has the same last name that I scribbled in endless English notebooks when I was fourteen. And sixteen. And eighteen. And in college when I was about twenty. And for the last time I guess, just this year on a scrap of paper late one night after a terrible date with a man who wasn't you. He will never be you.
I don't hate her. She's someone I knew briefly yet don't know at all. She drifted into my life years ago and at the time I never thought I'd come to hate her, she was inconsequential at most. Now I hate with a passion what she represents.
No, if I'm being truthful about what I hate, it's the unfinished-ness of our situation. And also my foolishness. There I was, stupidly clinging to the hope of the ellipses, hope that sometime in some way we would find ourselves face to face again. And this time we would get it right.
We would not be fourteen and afraid of each other.
We would not be sixteen and too busy with the soap opera of high school to realize this was something special.
We would not be eighteen and too worried about making ourselves look like grownups.
We would not be twenty and living in different countries, or twenty five and you're saying "I Do" to someone else. It would just be us for once.
In some other time or place, we'd be free of the things that kept us apart. We'd finish what was started the first day I met you.
But now I hear you are a husband and a father. I think my heart stopped a little just writing that. As if writing somehow made it more real. And just like that-there is the punctuation mark I needed to see. It stings, of course. A burning pain that resonates within me, that woke me up and made me realize this non-ending I was clinging to so fitfully was really just postponing goodbye.
A non-ending may be the worst kind of ending that there is, but it's also the one that made me strongest. I am accepting of the fact that I had let you drift into my life for the last time and I was ready to open myself up for the opportunity of someone else. As long as I had my heart on hold for you, there was on way to allow anyone else in. And that wasn't fair to you, to hold you to that expectation. But I was also selling myself short, and that wasn't fair to me either. And now we're both moved on, in our own way. And for the first time that's OK.
6.28.2010
The hardest part
I don't need you to see me,
reach me and keep me.
To stop me from doing something dangerous
I feel myself falling apart tonight.
Hold my hand and this bitter feeling may leave us.
I see my dingy hope glowing in the flourescent moonlight
we tried to work it out
and that's fine I guess.
until I saw
your knife in the center of my chest.
You're like a cancer
I just want to cut you out.
I thought there was something to save
because you could always make my day.
Then you started making it hell
And without looking where I was going
into this festering wound I fell.
I'd rather make myself bleed
than set myself free.
Because after you nothing will be the same
As much as I can hate the tired games we play
I don't know how else to survive the day.
reach me and keep me.
To stop me from doing something dangerous
I feel myself falling apart tonight.
Hold my hand and this bitter feeling may leave us.
I see my dingy hope glowing in the flourescent moonlight
we tried to work it out
and that's fine I guess.
until I saw
your knife in the center of my chest.
You're like a cancer
I just want to cut you out.
I thought there was something to save
because you could always make my day.
Then you started making it hell
And without looking where I was going
into this festering wound I fell.
I'd rather make myself bleed
than set myself free.
Because after you nothing will be the same
As much as I can hate the tired games we play
I don't know how else to survive the day.
Barely
My bathroom counter is littered with tubes, bottles, gels, potions, lotions, wands, brushes and god knows how many shades of lip gloss. I haven't seen my eyebrows au natural since 1997. I have beauty tools that look like medieval torture devices (the first time I saw a blackhead extractor I was a little scared. Then I used it and was delighted. It's sick, I know.)
Over the years, I have probably spent more money on makeup than food. And I'm not including pedicures, waxing, skin care, tooth whitening and hair...good God. Do not even get me started on hair care. Hair deserves it's own blog.
I know I am not alone in this pursuit of beauty. The complex relationship of women and makeup has lasted for centuries. Just look at the ancient Egyptians for example. Even in a state of mummification, they had their game faces on.
I say all of this not to win a vapidity contest. Nor am I here to bemoan the double standard society holds to women, that to be considered "beautiful" we must be made up to resemble some creepy baby doll sex toy while men get away with a shave and occasional haircut. And believe me, I am not here to declare my face a makeup-free zone. As usual I am just making an observation.
Recently, I was in my bathroom, surrounded by my arsenal. I had concealed and powdered, and was just moving onto my eyes when something startling crossed my mind: "I am getting made up to go see a man, who I've had sex with many times. Yet he has never seen me without makeup. Damn, the threshold of time it takes for a man to see me naked is brief in comparison to the time it takes him to see my face naked. What does that say about me?"
Of course I'm not saying that once you have sex, the glamour is out the window and my image should be permanently reduced to sweatpants and a scrunchie. I am saying that this particular instance happened at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning and we were going for a run together. Something is wrong with this picture, no?
I push the thought out of my head and continue to line my eyes and define my lashes. He appreciates that I am a woman who takes care of herself, right? I look nice. He doesn't need to see every flaw and blemish! I'm doing this for me, but also for him.
However, If I let myself think brutally honest thoughts, I realize that makeup is literally and figuratively a mask. Its a way of keeping my guard up, and making sure that no one sees my freckles, or the faint scar on my forehead from a childhood accident. It's one aspect of my life I've got full control of. I feel that if the makeup is thick enough, I've done what I can to ensure I'm perceived in a certain way and in that way, remain protected.
And that's really what's at the bottom of my makeup bag (besides the used Q-tips). The fact that I feel detached from my body, and while I'm willing to give that up from time to time, my face is the last frontier, the truest test of how much I trust a man.
It's vanity, it's insecurity. I know that. But it's the truth. My admission that I don't like to be seen without makeup is possibly the most honest thing about me.
Over the years, I have probably spent more money on makeup than food. And I'm not including pedicures, waxing, skin care, tooth whitening and hair...good God. Do not even get me started on hair care. Hair deserves it's own blog.
I know I am not alone in this pursuit of beauty. The complex relationship of women and makeup has lasted for centuries. Just look at the ancient Egyptians for example. Even in a state of mummification, they had their game faces on.
I say all of this not to win a vapidity contest. Nor am I here to bemoan the double standard society holds to women, that to be considered "beautiful" we must be made up to resemble some creepy baby doll sex toy while men get away with a shave and occasional haircut. And believe me, I am not here to declare my face a makeup-free zone. As usual I am just making an observation.
Recently, I was in my bathroom, surrounded by my arsenal. I had concealed and powdered, and was just moving onto my eyes when something startling crossed my mind: "I am getting made up to go see a man, who I've had sex with many times. Yet he has never seen me without makeup. Damn, the threshold of time it takes for a man to see me naked is brief in comparison to the time it takes him to see my face naked. What does that say about me?"
Of course I'm not saying that once you have sex, the glamour is out the window and my image should be permanently reduced to sweatpants and a scrunchie. I am saying that this particular instance happened at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning and we were going for a run together. Something is wrong with this picture, no?
I push the thought out of my head and continue to line my eyes and define my lashes. He appreciates that I am a woman who takes care of herself, right? I look nice. He doesn't need to see every flaw and blemish! I'm doing this for me, but also for him.
However, If I let myself think brutally honest thoughts, I realize that makeup is literally and figuratively a mask. Its a way of keeping my guard up, and making sure that no one sees my freckles, or the faint scar on my forehead from a childhood accident. It's one aspect of my life I've got full control of. I feel that if the makeup is thick enough, I've done what I can to ensure I'm perceived in a certain way and in that way, remain protected.
And that's really what's at the bottom of my makeup bag (besides the used Q-tips). The fact that I feel detached from my body, and while I'm willing to give that up from time to time, my face is the last frontier, the truest test of how much I trust a man.
It's vanity, it's insecurity. I know that. But it's the truth. My admission that I don't like to be seen without makeup is possibly the most honest thing about me.
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