So I haven't been dating recently (as one probably realized due to the complete and utter lack of posting), but I felt the old blog needed a humorous update. Since in 27 (now 26, ah!) days I will be turning 30, what I always determined in my mind would be the "adult" cutoff, I've decided to combine a list of 30 things that only people turning 30 in the last few years would understand.
1. I used to have a VCR where it popped out of the top, you inserted the tape, and you pushed it back down into the machine.
2. I had a portable child's record player complete with a set of Disney music records.
3. BoyzIIMen sang the slow songs at my middle school dances.
4. My idea of fun was playing Sega Genesis for hours on end with the sound off while listening to really old Mariah Carey tapes.
5. Most of my adolescence scrunchies were acceptable hair accessories.
6. I played games on computers at my dad's office that had one color (either green or orange), came on a 5inch floppy disc, and had to use a DOS prompt.
7. Once my mom and I had a conversation about why there were two German flags - one was "good Germany" and one was "bad Germany."
8. My first cassette tapes were Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson.
9. There are pictures of me playing in orange shag carpet as a baby.
10. They had cigarette dispensers (the ones with the knobs) at most restaurants when I was little.
11. My mom tried to teach me how to make a web page in 1994, but you had to use crazy code and I gave up. The only picture I managed to put up was the cover from Dumb and Dumber.
12. Schools didn't have metal detectors or cops or really any security at all.
13. When I was first introduced to Michael Jackson's music, he was still black.
14. My mom would crimp my hair in elementary school. This stopped when she burned me on the ear with the crimper.
15. Banana Republic sold t-shirts out of crates and had a broken down VW in the window.
16. Some of the stuff that Disneyland, Disneyworld, and Epcot have since torn down was still considered futuristic.
17. I couldn't get enough Reading Rainbow.
18. I had a birthday party at a roller skating rink and no one had rollerblades.
19. Mr. T did public service announcements.
20. It was a good day in school when they wheeled in the tv and let us watch 321 Contact, because apparently it was educational.
21. I read all the Babysitters Club books in order.
22. Slap bracelets and Pogs were banned at school, but I can't remember the reasons.
23. I still can sing the theme of Duck Tails.
24. I may or may not have done the Macarena at my 14th birthday.
25. It was cool to get a Hard Rock Cafe shirt wherever you went on vacation to prove you went there.
26. I started watching Saturday Night Live when George Bush I was in office, and got all my political news from it.
27. I thought it was stupid when they added the Florida Marlins and Colorado Rockies. And I still do.
28. I may or may not have gone to an XFiles convention when I was 13.
29. Clear Pepsi tasted weird but I drank it because it looked cool. I also loved the "Crystal Gravy" ad from SNL with Chris Farley.
30. I remember when Elmo joined Sesame Street.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
ADVENTURES WITHOUT ARTIFICIAL HORMONES, PART ONE
I get crazy ideas when I read books, and I read a lot of books, so I'm probably filled with crazy ideas. Most recently, reading a book on the brain and how the unconscious and conscious mind work together, I learned that there is a significant difference when it comes to men being interested in women who are ovulating versus women on the pill. Seeing as I'm painfully single and am unlikely to participate in baby-making activities, I figured I'd give the whole "go off birth control and see what happens" thing a try.
I've been on birth control for 11 years. Coincidentally, I went on it at the same time I went on my crazy pills, which in some form or another I have also been on for 11 years. I have no concept of what my body would be like without all these foreign chemicals, and since I've tried to get off my crazy pills at other times and turned into a raging lunatic, I decided to start small and do the BC first.
Day 1: Nothing to see here, move along.
Day 4: Have period, don't vomit like I used to in high school. For that reason only, this day considered a win.
Day 7: Still feeling somewhat normal, noticing I'm losing weight in the stomach area and I have been slacking on exercise. Boobs have remained the same size. Another win.
Day 9: Craziness begins. Cry because I don't have a job. Cry at my parents because I feel bad asking for help. Cry at my parents because I feel bad making them worry. Cry at my roommate because I was already crying when she came home. Cry when the pharmacist gives me some pills for free because I have $12 to my name and can't afford the whole refill. Probably cry myself to sleep.
Day 10: Cried more. Napped a lot so things wouldn't make me cry. Made it to the gym, worked out for 30 minutes without crying. Small win. Watch Biggest Loser finale. Want to cry but successfully hold it in until I hear Christmas music on the radio driving home.
Day 11: Go to mailbox, find card from Grandma with check in it. Cry because I can finally not eat Starbucks. Cry because I love my grandma. Go deposit check, return home to FedEx envelope containing my $200 Amex gift card my parents sent so I could eat. Cry opening that, cry at my parents being so great, cry because I won't see them for Christmas. Successfully hang out all evening with humans and don't cry.
Day 12: Cry at home, decide to nap around noon. Wake up at 4:30. Count this as a win because I spent 4 hours not crying. Eat first meal of the day at Subway at 4:30. Come home and cry more. Cry at roommate again. Go to friend's house and she feeds me Indian food and lots of wine. Don't cry for the rest of the night. May have found solution in what I eat and drink.
Day 13: It's 3:10pm. Haven't cried yet. This is a big accomplishment. While walking around the lake giving myself props for not crying, I have a terrifying realization: Holy shit, I think I want babies. Ok, not a LOT. And not NOW. Walk home petrified as to what this realization means. Think of the quote from Family Guy that women only "cry and have babies." Want to cry realizing that this might just be true.
Eagerly awaiting the end of the craziness. I never turned into a crazy crying PMS-type when I wasn't on the pill, I never had symptoms of anything other than the one day of morning sickness each month which kept me out of my early classes. Does anyone want to tell me when this will end? I'm dehydrating myself through my tearducts. This can't be healthy.
I've been on birth control for 11 years. Coincidentally, I went on it at the same time I went on my crazy pills, which in some form or another I have also been on for 11 years. I have no concept of what my body would be like without all these foreign chemicals, and since I've tried to get off my crazy pills at other times and turned into a raging lunatic, I decided to start small and do the BC first.
Day 1: Nothing to see here, move along.
Day 4: Have period, don't vomit like I used to in high school. For that reason only, this day considered a win.
Day 7: Still feeling somewhat normal, noticing I'm losing weight in the stomach area and I have been slacking on exercise. Boobs have remained the same size. Another win.
Day 9: Craziness begins. Cry because I don't have a job. Cry at my parents because I feel bad asking for help. Cry at my parents because I feel bad making them worry. Cry at my roommate because I was already crying when she came home. Cry when the pharmacist gives me some pills for free because I have $12 to my name and can't afford the whole refill. Probably cry myself to sleep.
Day 10: Cried more. Napped a lot so things wouldn't make me cry. Made it to the gym, worked out for 30 minutes without crying. Small win. Watch Biggest Loser finale. Want to cry but successfully hold it in until I hear Christmas music on the radio driving home.
Day 11: Go to mailbox, find card from Grandma with check in it. Cry because I can finally not eat Starbucks. Cry because I love my grandma. Go deposit check, return home to FedEx envelope containing my $200 Amex gift card my parents sent so I could eat. Cry opening that, cry at my parents being so great, cry because I won't see them for Christmas. Successfully hang out all evening with humans and don't cry.
Day 12: Cry at home, decide to nap around noon. Wake up at 4:30. Count this as a win because I spent 4 hours not crying. Eat first meal of the day at Subway at 4:30. Come home and cry more. Cry at roommate again. Go to friend's house and she feeds me Indian food and lots of wine. Don't cry for the rest of the night. May have found solution in what I eat and drink.
Day 13: It's 3:10pm. Haven't cried yet. This is a big accomplishment. While walking around the lake giving myself props for not crying, I have a terrifying realization: Holy shit, I think I want babies. Ok, not a LOT. And not NOW. Walk home petrified as to what this realization means. Think of the quote from Family Guy that women only "cry and have babies." Want to cry realizing that this might just be true.
Eagerly awaiting the end of the craziness. I never turned into a crazy crying PMS-type when I wasn't on the pill, I never had symptoms of anything other than the one day of morning sickness each month which kept me out of my early classes. Does anyone want to tell me when this will end? I'm dehydrating myself through my tearducts. This can't be healthy.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE FILTHY AND NEEDY
Step back in the dating time machine to one of the most mindblowing failures of a year, 2008.
Around Halloween, I began casually seeing a law school acquaintance who lived about 250 miles away from my current home of Austin. We'd hang out when I went to Dallas, he took me to some nice dinners, and I watched his band play at local clubs.
The last time we hung out, he invited me to his law firm Christmas party. I heard the words "law firm" and "Christmas party" and imagined a fancy hotel, dressing up, free-flowing liquor, plentiful delicious foodstuffs, and other young attorneys with whom to drink and party. I of course said yes, thinking it would be in Dallas. I was instantly corrected - it was going to be in Longview. Never heard of Longview? There's a reason.
I was less excited, but figured at least the local Holiday Inn and an open bar couldn't be that bad, I mean, they're lawyers - lawyers throw nice, expensive parties. And the whole firm was going to be there, so it had to be huge. I made plans to come to Dallas to have a goodbye dinner with friends, then head out to Longview with my date. I was moving to Missouri in one week, and wanted to have a last hurrah with my law school crew.
The next day, my date and I headed on the 2 hour drive from Dallas to Longview, basically a tiny town in northeast Texas. He mentioned he "cleaned up his whole place" for me, which I thought was a nice gesture, and was looking forward to the party. That would soon change.
I walk into his house, which is a duplex, and it looked like it hadn't been cleaned in MONTHS. Papers, dvds, dirty dishes, and random crap was strewn along the floor, on the couches, and completely covering the kitchen counter. Not only that, but there was a foul smell, like spoiled milk or something. Neither of us could figure out where it was coming from. He actually thought perhaps an animal had died somewhere, since he was really close to the woods. After 20 minutes of searching, we find the culprit - a cooler that hadn't been cleaned out and contained POUNDS UPON POUNDS OF GROUND BEEF...obviously rotting. His response?
"Oh, I guess I forgot to clean out my cooler when I went camping TWO WEEKS AGO."
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?
I was horrified, and the smell didn't get better after he removed the cooler and meat from the room. I'm immediately wanting to go home, knowing that I have to come back to the house of death after the party, probably intoxicated, and have to smell that all night as I attempt drunken sleep.
I go take a shower, where I have to make do with one bar of soap as my shampoo, face wash, and body cleaner, since I mistakenly assumed he might have BASIC HYGENIC NECESSITIES at his home. I dressed, and he took forever. He changed his clothes 50 times, asking me very self-consciously if he looked alright, and which outfit I preferred. I didn't give a fuck, but apparently he wanted a really excited reaction so I pretended to be thrilled with a shirt and jacket combo.
We get in the car, and start driving. It didn't even occur to me to ask where the party was, but I soon found out I was not sticking with the theme of the evening. He pulled into what I can only say looked like a pasture, and we walked on the dirt road to a BARN and were greeted by a bunch of older people in western attire. I, however, was wearing a plaid skirt, cute sweater, and knee-high leather stilettos - NOT cowboy boots or western wear of any kind.
Turns out his law firm is small (20ish people), he's the YOUNGEST MEMBER, and everyone is madly in love with country music, dirt floors, and Bud Light. If I could create my own personal hell, it would be nearly identical to this "party." They have a country band, which makes me nearly deaf, and he's apparently been talking about me around the office. An older woman comes up to me as he's making a speech on the stage and says "Oh I bet you're so proud of him, I bet you're like 'That's ma baby!'" I vomit a little in my mouth and attempt a smile. Then she asks what we're going to do when I move to Missouri. Seriously, did this guy tell them my life story? If so, why didn't he say WE AREN'T EVEN DATING?? I just HAPPEN to have gone to dinner with him a few times over the course of MONTHS and agreed to be his date to this rodeo-gone-awry.
Not only is there no one my age to talk to (he has left me to my own devices while he socializes with random old men for over an hour), but even if there was I felt like I was at a political rally for GW Bush, the lonely liberal city girl surrounded by drunk rednecks with money. I was so miserable I thought about resorting to drinking myself stupid, but then couldn't fathom having to go home with this guy later in the night to his putrid-smelling home. I kept reasonably sober, and then I pulled the ultimate bitch move...I asked him to take me home.
I'm really not sure how I pulled it off, but I managed to tell him I was leaving without a big confrontation, and at 11:30pm I began the 2-lane road drive to Austin through the tiniest towns I've ever seen. I managed to get back to my apartment at 2:30am, fall into my bed, and relish the fact that the horror of a weekend was the last one I'd ever have to spend in Texas.
Around Halloween, I began casually seeing a law school acquaintance who lived about 250 miles away from my current home of Austin. We'd hang out when I went to Dallas, he took me to some nice dinners, and I watched his band play at local clubs.
The last time we hung out, he invited me to his law firm Christmas party. I heard the words "law firm" and "Christmas party" and imagined a fancy hotel, dressing up, free-flowing liquor, plentiful delicious foodstuffs, and other young attorneys with whom to drink and party. I of course said yes, thinking it would be in Dallas. I was instantly corrected - it was going to be in Longview. Never heard of Longview? There's a reason.
I was less excited, but figured at least the local Holiday Inn and an open bar couldn't be that bad, I mean, they're lawyers - lawyers throw nice, expensive parties. And the whole firm was going to be there, so it had to be huge. I made plans to come to Dallas to have a goodbye dinner with friends, then head out to Longview with my date. I was moving to Missouri in one week, and wanted to have a last hurrah with my law school crew.
The next day, my date and I headed on the 2 hour drive from Dallas to Longview, basically a tiny town in northeast Texas. He mentioned he "cleaned up his whole place" for me, which I thought was a nice gesture, and was looking forward to the party. That would soon change.
I walk into his house, which is a duplex, and it looked like it hadn't been cleaned in MONTHS. Papers, dvds, dirty dishes, and random crap was strewn along the floor, on the couches, and completely covering the kitchen counter. Not only that, but there was a foul smell, like spoiled milk or something. Neither of us could figure out where it was coming from. He actually thought perhaps an animal had died somewhere, since he was really close to the woods. After 20 minutes of searching, we find the culprit - a cooler that hadn't been cleaned out and contained POUNDS UPON POUNDS OF GROUND BEEF...obviously rotting. His response?
"Oh, I guess I forgot to clean out my cooler when I went camping TWO WEEKS AGO."
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?
I was horrified, and the smell didn't get better after he removed the cooler and meat from the room. I'm immediately wanting to go home, knowing that I have to come back to the house of death after the party, probably intoxicated, and have to smell that all night as I attempt drunken sleep.
I go take a shower, where I have to make do with one bar of soap as my shampoo, face wash, and body cleaner, since I mistakenly assumed he might have BASIC HYGENIC NECESSITIES at his home. I dressed, and he took forever. He changed his clothes 50 times, asking me very self-consciously if he looked alright, and which outfit I preferred. I didn't give a fuck, but apparently he wanted a really excited reaction so I pretended to be thrilled with a shirt and jacket combo.
We get in the car, and start driving. It didn't even occur to me to ask where the party was, but I soon found out I was not sticking with the theme of the evening. He pulled into what I can only say looked like a pasture, and we walked on the dirt road to a BARN and were greeted by a bunch of older people in western attire. I, however, was wearing a plaid skirt, cute sweater, and knee-high leather stilettos - NOT cowboy boots or western wear of any kind.
Turns out his law firm is small (20ish people), he's the YOUNGEST MEMBER, and everyone is madly in love with country music, dirt floors, and Bud Light. If I could create my own personal hell, it would be nearly identical to this "party." They have a country band, which makes me nearly deaf, and he's apparently been talking about me around the office. An older woman comes up to me as he's making a speech on the stage and says "Oh I bet you're so proud of him, I bet you're like 'That's ma baby!'" I vomit a little in my mouth and attempt a smile. Then she asks what we're going to do when I move to Missouri. Seriously, did this guy tell them my life story? If so, why didn't he say WE AREN'T EVEN DATING?? I just HAPPEN to have gone to dinner with him a few times over the course of MONTHS and agreed to be his date to this rodeo-gone-awry.
Not only is there no one my age to talk to (he has left me to my own devices while he socializes with random old men for over an hour), but even if there was I felt like I was at a political rally for GW Bush, the lonely liberal city girl surrounded by drunk rednecks with money. I was so miserable I thought about resorting to drinking myself stupid, but then couldn't fathom having to go home with this guy later in the night to his putrid-smelling home. I kept reasonably sober, and then I pulled the ultimate bitch move...I asked him to take me home.
I'm really not sure how I pulled it off, but I managed to tell him I was leaving without a big confrontation, and at 11:30pm I began the 2-lane road drive to Austin through the tiniest towns I've ever seen. I managed to get back to my apartment at 2:30am, fall into my bed, and relish the fact that the horror of a weekend was the last one I'd ever have to spend in Texas.
Friday, August 12, 2011
YOU'RE (I'M) SINGLE BECAUSE YOU'RE (I'M) A BUMBLING IDIOT
Yes, this post is about me. And I'm a huge bumbling idiot.
Today at work I went into the kitchen to refill my water bottle. The kitchen is shared between the two rooms of our office space, both of which are currently filled with 3 separate projects - one large one in my room, and two small ones in the other. We rarely see or speak to the people in the opposing room, so I wasn't prepared when a really hot guy came into the kitchen as I finished my refill.
Immediately I turn into a 12-year-old meeting Justin Bieber. I cannot form words, probably turn bright red, and force a really creepy smile so that Cute Boy doesn't think I'm a raving bitch. Unfortunately, it probably makes him believe I'm a raving lunatic. In a huff, I return to my seat and try to calm down, wondering how bad of a first impression I just made.
About half an hour later, said water bottle is empty and my bladder is full. I leave the confines of my project space to enter the hallway. Walking to the bathroom, I see the back of Cute Boy leaning against the wall texting. Luckily he doesn't see me before I make it into the bathroom or I might have fallen on my face or thrown up on him a la Stan from South Park. When I get back to my seat, I text my friend across the room that there's a cute guy in the hall, and we decide we're going to "go downstairs to get a cookie."
We leave the room and Cute Boy is still in the same position, texting away (our job is REALLY boring). We pass him on the way to the elevators and he mentions he's seen us in the other room, and introduces himself. I don't remember what I said other that my name, but it was probably "I AM GOING TO EAT A COOKIE HERE WE GO" with crazy eyes and an unnecessary sense of urgency.
Downstairs, I buy said cookie, if only for show, and then decide to check my bank balance at the lobby atm. I pull out my receipt, turn around, and Cute Boy has followed us into the lobby. I make some joke about him stalking us, and head back to the elevator. All the while the atm is beeping loudly, since of course I forgot to get my card. The guard at the security desk followed me to the elevator and had to explain to me that the beeping was my card being left in the machine. I sprint across the lobby, in front of Cute Boy, retrieve my card, and embarrassingly get back into the elevator.
My friend and I were laughing so hard we stood there, the doors closed, and we began having a conversation. Unfortunately, neither of us had pushed the button for our floor, so the doors reopen momentarily and guess who is standing outside the elevator waiting for a ride. We all laugh hysterically (if not uncomfortably) and continue up to our floor. But because I'm a complete tool around guys I think are cute (and who actually happen to be nice), he probably thought I was the most bizarrely awkward, spastic person he has ever met, while my friend, who wasn't painfully attracted to him, was able to form complete sentences and look him in the eye.
We go into our separate rooms upon parting the elevator and I don't see him again for the rest of the day. THIS, my friends, is why I'm single.
Today at work I went into the kitchen to refill my water bottle. The kitchen is shared between the two rooms of our office space, both of which are currently filled with 3 separate projects - one large one in my room, and two small ones in the other. We rarely see or speak to the people in the opposing room, so I wasn't prepared when a really hot guy came into the kitchen as I finished my refill.
Immediately I turn into a 12-year-old meeting Justin Bieber. I cannot form words, probably turn bright red, and force a really creepy smile so that Cute Boy doesn't think I'm a raving bitch. Unfortunately, it probably makes him believe I'm a raving lunatic. In a huff, I return to my seat and try to calm down, wondering how bad of a first impression I just made.
About half an hour later, said water bottle is empty and my bladder is full. I leave the confines of my project space to enter the hallway. Walking to the bathroom, I see the back of Cute Boy leaning against the wall texting. Luckily he doesn't see me before I make it into the bathroom or I might have fallen on my face or thrown up on him a la Stan from South Park. When I get back to my seat, I text my friend across the room that there's a cute guy in the hall, and we decide we're going to "go downstairs to get a cookie."
We leave the room and Cute Boy is still in the same position, texting away (our job is REALLY boring). We pass him on the way to the elevators and he mentions he's seen us in the other room, and introduces himself. I don't remember what I said other that my name, but it was probably "I AM GOING TO EAT A COOKIE HERE WE GO" with crazy eyes and an unnecessary sense of urgency.
Downstairs, I buy said cookie, if only for show, and then decide to check my bank balance at the lobby atm. I pull out my receipt, turn around, and Cute Boy has followed us into the lobby. I make some joke about him stalking us, and head back to the elevator. All the while the atm is beeping loudly, since of course I forgot to get my card. The guard at the security desk followed me to the elevator and had to explain to me that the beeping was my card being left in the machine. I sprint across the lobby, in front of Cute Boy, retrieve my card, and embarrassingly get back into the elevator.
My friend and I were laughing so hard we stood there, the doors closed, and we began having a conversation. Unfortunately, neither of us had pushed the button for our floor, so the doors reopen momentarily and guess who is standing outside the elevator waiting for a ride. We all laugh hysterically (if not uncomfortably) and continue up to our floor. But because I'm a complete tool around guys I think are cute (and who actually happen to be nice), he probably thought I was the most bizarrely awkward, spastic person he has ever met, while my friend, who wasn't painfully attracted to him, was able to form complete sentences and look him in the eye.
We go into our separate rooms upon parting the elevator and I don't see him again for the rest of the day. THIS, my friends, is why I'm single.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
BLOGGER HAS IRRATIONAL FEAR OF BEING SUNG TO
Perhaps not the traditional post, but it does have to do with dating, and the blog needed an update.
At the food court of a fancy outdoor mall today, I was enjoying some Greek food in the sunlight when I noticed there was a guitar player instead of recorded music. I didn't think much of it until he began walking around the eating area, stopping for short periods at peoples' tables and playing. Quickly I became absorbed in shoveling food in my mouth in hopes he would pass me by instead of awkwardly drawing attention to me eating alone at 2pm on a Saturday.
I succeeded, but an unfortunate couple who looked as though they hadn't been dating long got bombarded with what this guitarist probably thought was a "romantic gesture." I watched in horror as the couple stopped eating, felt the need to stare at the guitarist, and sat in awkward silence for MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES as the guy kept playing. At one point, the girl thought he might be waiting for a tip, so she got out her wallet and was thumbing through some cash. I felt terrible for them, as such an incident is my ultimate dating fear.
My intense fear of "musical displays of affection" started very early, and not even in a dating context. I remember probably 20 years ago my grandparents had come to visit us in Texas and we had taken them to a Mexican restaurant on the Riverwalk. I think it was my grandfather's birthday (or someone's), and our large group tipped off the mariachi band that perhaps there was an event. All I remember is that once they found out there WAS a birthday, they proceeded to play about 50 songs at our table, drawing attention to us from every person in the restaurant. Not only that, but they were taking up valuable eating time.
Here's the question - what's the appropriate response when someone sings to you? This could be a professional musician, a mariachi band, your significant other thinking he's doing something romantic when in fact he's slowly killing you with humiliation even if you're in the comfort of your own home. Do you drop everything and stare at them? Do you continue eating or whatever you were doing as not to awkwardly stare at them? Is not looking at them continuously considered "rude" or "not paying attention"? Do you have to tip them for them to go away? How do you GET THEM to go away? Are you supposed to clap and shower them with praise when they're finished, thereby encouraging them to play more? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!
The last thing I want to hear from someone I'm dating is "I play guitar." While my first boyfriend played and never played FOR me (thank god), but my second actually sang TO me some song he was making up as he went along. I almost died, threw up, and exploded with horror all in the same moment. When I met my third boyfriend, I was thrilled to find out he had no musical talent at all.
My worst fear is that someone I date will use their "musical talent" to write some sort of romantic love song for me and sing it at an inappropriate place and time (which to me is ANY time and ANY place). So in fact, if a potential date says to me "I play guitar" all I hear is "I have herpes."
It's like I draw these kind of people to me. Mariachis always sing at my table, the opera singers at Macaroni Grill would come over to us more than I cared for, and I even got song-bombed by a frumpy transvestite at a grocery store in Dallas. And she was singing a Christmas carol, in February, to JUST ME. WHYYYYYY??
At the food court of a fancy outdoor mall today, I was enjoying some Greek food in the sunlight when I noticed there was a guitar player instead of recorded music. I didn't think much of it until he began walking around the eating area, stopping for short periods at peoples' tables and playing. Quickly I became absorbed in shoveling food in my mouth in hopes he would pass me by instead of awkwardly drawing attention to me eating alone at 2pm on a Saturday.
I succeeded, but an unfortunate couple who looked as though they hadn't been dating long got bombarded with what this guitarist probably thought was a "romantic gesture." I watched in horror as the couple stopped eating, felt the need to stare at the guitarist, and sat in awkward silence for MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES as the guy kept playing. At one point, the girl thought he might be waiting for a tip, so she got out her wallet and was thumbing through some cash. I felt terrible for them, as such an incident is my ultimate dating fear.
My intense fear of "musical displays of affection" started very early, and not even in a dating context. I remember probably 20 years ago my grandparents had come to visit us in Texas and we had taken them to a Mexican restaurant on the Riverwalk. I think it was my grandfather's birthday (or someone's), and our large group tipped off the mariachi band that perhaps there was an event. All I remember is that once they found out there WAS a birthday, they proceeded to play about 50 songs at our table, drawing attention to us from every person in the restaurant. Not only that, but they were taking up valuable eating time.
Here's the question - what's the appropriate response when someone sings to you? This could be a professional musician, a mariachi band, your significant other thinking he's doing something romantic when in fact he's slowly killing you with humiliation even if you're in the comfort of your own home. Do you drop everything and stare at them? Do you continue eating or whatever you were doing as not to awkwardly stare at them? Is not looking at them continuously considered "rude" or "not paying attention"? Do you have to tip them for them to go away? How do you GET THEM to go away? Are you supposed to clap and shower them with praise when they're finished, thereby encouraging them to play more? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!
The last thing I want to hear from someone I'm dating is "I play guitar." While my first boyfriend played and never played FOR me (thank god), but my second actually sang TO me some song he was making up as he went along. I almost died, threw up, and exploded with horror all in the same moment. When I met my third boyfriend, I was thrilled to find out he had no musical talent at all.
My worst fear is that someone I date will use their "musical talent" to write some sort of romantic love song for me and sing it at an inappropriate place and time (which to me is ANY time and ANY place). So in fact, if a potential date says to me "I play guitar" all I hear is "I have herpes."
It's like I draw these kind of people to me. Mariachis always sing at my table, the opera singers at Macaroni Grill would come over to us more than I cared for, and I even got song-bombed by a frumpy transvestite at a grocery store in Dallas. And she was singing a Christmas carol, in February, to JUST ME. WHYYYYYY??
Monday, July 11, 2011
*GUEST BLOG* YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU WEAR SWEATPANTS ON A DATE
**Ok, THIS is why I don't internet date anymore. I can't even believe this person exists. Thanks to my guest blogger for taking one for the team for this story!**
I had just joined the Internet dating world 3 months prior when I pimped myself out on a free dating site. Why would I want to pay money for something I could do for free? I should've been tipped off when the site had "Do you own a car?" as one of their standard questions. As well as "Do you use drugs?" The number of contacts I received from men with unmentionable advances significantly outnumbered the few decent once in my inbox. I was somewhat creeped out by this so I joined the site that states that they've had more marriages than any other dating site. I figured that if I had to pay for this, surely it has to have a better crop of men to choose from. Right?!
My first actual date from this site was Bachelor #1. Bachelor #1 was a couple of years younger than me, an investment banker, and seemed to have goals. We chatted back and forth for a couple of days. After the 3rd or 4th day he asked if I wanted to go out. I stalled. He then asked would it hurt to meet for a drink? I was hesitant to date someone younger but I quickly decided that maybe I wouldn't find my soul mate if I didn't explore this opportunity. I agreed to meet him. He wanted to go NOW. Stupid me, I called up my mom and asked her if she could watch my kiddo so I could go on a date with random Mr. Sweatpants from the Internet. Mom said yes. (Thanks Mom.)
I drive to meet my dating game contestant at a local bar. I go inside, look around, and am greeted by a guy who stands up from the table in SWEATPANTS. Who wears sweatpants on a first date?! Did I end up on MadTV's Lowered Expectations? Should I have worn Pajama Jeans? Clearly I was overdressed by wearing regular jeans. Remind you, I'd only been back in the dating world for 3 months so I decided to roll with it and sat down.
I ordered my beer and proceeded to listen to this guy talk on and on about himself. He was an investment banker, had the blue Audi parked right out front, was part landlord to the bar, just got the blue Audi parked out front, had originally gone to theology school but changed to business, and, oh, did I see the blue Audi out front?! As soon as I was about to say that I could give a rat's ass about that blue Audi Mr. Sweatpants informed me he was only buying me my first drink. Uh, okay. Awkward. I was planning to pay for myself anyway.
We start to talk about experiences with dating people from the site. I asked how many dates he'd been on. "Oh, probably at least a hundred." Looking back, I don't know why I didn't run then.
Less than an hour into this date, I am bluntly informed that Mr. Sweatpants does not believe in having sex until at least six or seven months into the relationship. How the conversation got to this point I don't know. I had just started another beer at this moment and decide not to come up for air. He took that as a sign to continue and rambled on. Apparently sex before six or seven months is too much of an emotional thing for him. He also didn't want to have an unplanned pregnancy. BUT, and he continues to talk while I continue to drink, "the Bible says we can pleasure our partners so how do you feel about oral?" As if it is going to seal the deal he rambles "by the way I like to give." WTF?!!
The moments after that are a bit blurry not because of my beer but because I was mentally scarred by what had just happened. I mumbled something about the time of the month, said I needed to go get my kid, please don't contact me, and paid my bill. I called my friends and listened to them laugh hysterically about what just happened to me. Maybe the sweatpants were "easy access" for something casual and worn for a reason. Barf.
I had just joined the Internet dating world 3 months prior when I pimped myself out on a free dating site. Why would I want to pay money for something I could do for free? I should've been tipped off when the site had "Do you own a car?" as one of their standard questions. As well as "Do you use drugs?" The number of contacts I received from men with unmentionable advances significantly outnumbered the few decent once in my inbox. I was somewhat creeped out by this so I joined the site that states that they've had more marriages than any other dating site. I figured that if I had to pay for this, surely it has to have a better crop of men to choose from. Right?!
My first actual date from this site was Bachelor #1. Bachelor #1 was a couple of years younger than me, an investment banker, and seemed to have goals. We chatted back and forth for a couple of days. After the 3rd or 4th day he asked if I wanted to go out. I stalled. He then asked would it hurt to meet for a drink? I was hesitant to date someone younger but I quickly decided that maybe I wouldn't find my soul mate if I didn't explore this opportunity. I agreed to meet him. He wanted to go NOW. Stupid me, I called up my mom and asked her if she could watch my kiddo so I could go on a date with random Mr. Sweatpants from the Internet. Mom said yes. (Thanks Mom.)
I drive to meet my dating game contestant at a local bar. I go inside, look around, and am greeted by a guy who stands up from the table in SWEATPANTS. Who wears sweatpants on a first date?! Did I end up on MadTV's Lowered Expectations? Should I have worn Pajama Jeans? Clearly I was overdressed by wearing regular jeans. Remind you, I'd only been back in the dating world for 3 months so I decided to roll with it and sat down.
I ordered my beer and proceeded to listen to this guy talk on and on about himself. He was an investment banker, had the blue Audi parked right out front, was part landlord to the bar, just got the blue Audi parked out front, had originally gone to theology school but changed to business, and, oh, did I see the blue Audi out front?! As soon as I was about to say that I could give a rat's ass about that blue Audi Mr. Sweatpants informed me he was only buying me my first drink. Uh, okay. Awkward. I was planning to pay for myself anyway.
We start to talk about experiences with dating people from the site. I asked how many dates he'd been on. "Oh, probably at least a hundred." Looking back, I don't know why I didn't run then.
Less than an hour into this date, I am bluntly informed that Mr. Sweatpants does not believe in having sex until at least six or seven months into the relationship. How the conversation got to this point I don't know. I had just started another beer at this moment and decide not to come up for air. He took that as a sign to continue and rambled on. Apparently sex before six or seven months is too much of an emotional thing for him. He also didn't want to have an unplanned pregnancy. BUT, and he continues to talk while I continue to drink, "the Bible says we can pleasure our partners so how do you feel about oral?" As if it is going to seal the deal he rambles "by the way I like to give." WTF?!!
The moments after that are a bit blurry not because of my beer but because I was mentally scarred by what had just happened. I mumbled something about the time of the month, said I needed to go get my kid, please don't contact me, and paid my bill. I called my friends and listened to them laugh hysterically about what just happened to me. Maybe the sweatpants were "easy access" for something casual and worn for a reason. Barf.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
YOU'RE SINGLE BECAUSE YOU USE PET NAMES
And I thought that because I hadn't been on a date since Houdini left me to fend for myself for 3 hours that I wouldn't have blog material. So painfully wrong.
This is somewhat of an extension of Jill's blog, "You yell at girls on the street," but a little bit more subtle. Yes, there's the whistler, the catcaller, and the general obnoxious honker, but sometimes you find quieter versions of the same thing.
Today I decided to leave my current quarters for lunch because I'd been very good about saving food money for the past few days, and thought I'd treat myself to a non-home lunch, all $10 of it. Being the complete lazy ass that I am, I threw on some yoga pants, my Wipeout tshirt, flip flops, and my glasses. While I was wearing makeup, it was just mascara so I wouldn't offend strangers with my blonde eyelashes.
I drove a few blocks to Beverly Dr., where there is every restaurant under the sun from Subway to Ruth's Chris. I sat outside eating a delicious gyro plate, watching fancy people walk by with their tiny dogs and $1000 purses. After lunch, I decided to use a little more of my free 2 hour parking to take a little walk and look in the store windows of places I'm too afraid to go in for fear of being kicked out because I'm poor. Passing a jewelry store, there was a security guard out front. As I passed (remember the outfit here), he goes:
"Hey beautiful, how YOU doin?"
I gave a polite "Hi" and walked quickly away. I can't express to you why I get so offended when people call me "baby," "beautiful," "sweetheart," "gorgeous," etc. While these are things I would like to hear from a boyfriend (after the requisite amount of dating - don't start this shit up on the first date), the fact that you think you can just roll up and call me whatever the hell you want pisses me off.
I've had guys in bars approach me with "Hey baby." IMMEDIATE turn off. Had they just come up and said hi, and introduced themself, I might have been more obliging. I'm not your baby. I'm not some object that you have the privilege of staring at. I find it SO demeaning. You don't KNOW me. How can you already give me a pet name? Especially one that I find so horrifyingly offensive. Do other girls respond to this? Does "Hey beautiful" make you feel good about yourself and in turn you pay attention to said guy? Am I really off the mark here?
To me the use of a pet name as a pick up line either screams "you are something I want to show off to my friends and I don't care about any other part of you other than your looks" or "I'm a huge sleaze and will probably cheat on you and treat you like crap." I'm probably smarter than your ass, you sissy bitch. No I'm not going to make you a sandwich, shithead. Make your own goddamned sandwich.
While I have a firey hatred for pet names outside of a relationship, I can't say I haven't been a party to the use of pet names with boyfriends. Generally they're a mockery of real pet names, like "Sex Muffin" and "Love Biscuit," and only used for the sake of humor. But once I did receive a note from a boyfriend after he left for work that said "Have a good day, beautiful." I kept it til we broke up.
But really, guys. There's nothing creepier than someone you don't know calling you "baby." It's like they're oozing cologne and sleaze all at the same time. It's so...Jersey Shore. Ugh. Now I'm going to have nightmares of big guidos calling me baby on the street. And seriously, I understand such comments are often likely when I'm dressed up to go out, but if it looks like I made an EFFORT to be under the radar and unattractive (gym clothes and glasses...), at least respect my attempt at looking like crap.
This is somewhat of an extension of Jill's blog, "You yell at girls on the street," but a little bit more subtle. Yes, there's the whistler, the catcaller, and the general obnoxious honker, but sometimes you find quieter versions of the same thing.
Today I decided to leave my current quarters for lunch because I'd been very good about saving food money for the past few days, and thought I'd treat myself to a non-home lunch, all $10 of it. Being the complete lazy ass that I am, I threw on some yoga pants, my Wipeout tshirt, flip flops, and my glasses. While I was wearing makeup, it was just mascara so I wouldn't offend strangers with my blonde eyelashes.
I drove a few blocks to Beverly Dr., where there is every restaurant under the sun from Subway to Ruth's Chris. I sat outside eating a delicious gyro plate, watching fancy people walk by with their tiny dogs and $1000 purses. After lunch, I decided to use a little more of my free 2 hour parking to take a little walk and look in the store windows of places I'm too afraid to go in for fear of being kicked out because I'm poor. Passing a jewelry store, there was a security guard out front. As I passed (remember the outfit here), he goes:
"Hey beautiful, how YOU doin?"
I gave a polite "Hi" and walked quickly away. I can't express to you why I get so offended when people call me "baby," "beautiful," "sweetheart," "gorgeous," etc. While these are things I would like to hear from a boyfriend (after the requisite amount of dating - don't start this shit up on the first date), the fact that you think you can just roll up and call me whatever the hell you want pisses me off.
I've had guys in bars approach me with "Hey baby." IMMEDIATE turn off. Had they just come up and said hi, and introduced themself, I might have been more obliging. I'm not your baby. I'm not some object that you have the privilege of staring at. I find it SO demeaning. You don't KNOW me. How can you already give me a pet name? Especially one that I find so horrifyingly offensive. Do other girls respond to this? Does "Hey beautiful" make you feel good about yourself and in turn you pay attention to said guy? Am I really off the mark here?
To me the use of a pet name as a pick up line either screams "you are something I want to show off to my friends and I don't care about any other part of you other than your looks" or "I'm a huge sleaze and will probably cheat on you and treat you like crap." I'm probably smarter than your ass, you sissy bitch. No I'm not going to make you a sandwich, shithead. Make your own goddamned sandwich.
While I have a firey hatred for pet names outside of a relationship, I can't say I haven't been a party to the use of pet names with boyfriends. Generally they're a mockery of real pet names, like "Sex Muffin" and "Love Biscuit," and only used for the sake of humor. But once I did receive a note from a boyfriend after he left for work that said "Have a good day, beautiful." I kept it til we broke up.
But really, guys. There's nothing creepier than someone you don't know calling you "baby." It's like they're oozing cologne and sleaze all at the same time. It's so...Jersey Shore. Ugh. Now I'm going to have nightmares of big guidos calling me baby on the street. And seriously, I understand such comments are often likely when I'm dressed up to go out, but if it looks like I made an EFFORT to be under the radar and unattractive (gym clothes and glasses...), at least respect my attempt at looking like crap.
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