I’m just a girl in your cell phone, but you’re just a line in a blog.
I can’t remember if I have alluded to my man-a-month summer; a period of six (6) months where in fact, each month I had a new man I was telling my girlfriends about.. Sometimes good stories, but more often than not they were hilariously awful stories. Anyway when I mention this to some of my friends – guys and girls alike – they often mistake my terminology of choice thinking that something juicy happened when really it was quite the opposite. Now under normal circumstances I wouldn’t mind, but in the sense of the dating game a verbal misunderstanding can often turn into a blowup.
Let me explain: During my man-a-month summer I did indeed go out with 6 different men, but I did not ‘date’ them: No, I in fact conducted what I like to call an ‘interview’. To clarify, an ‘interview’ is what I refer to as the first few dates – i.e. 2 strangers meeting to see if a) there is a connection and b) if they can stand each other after the initial politeness wears off. My ‘interview’ process at best last three times; meaning the guy will have had three chances to impress me, and he will have had three chances for me to impress him. Interviews usually involve public places, rescue-me calls and code-words to get out of a terrible situation. This is what happened with The Cop, The Cameraman, The Organic Grocery Store Man and The Hippie. One coffee date was had with each, followed by either a mutual thank you and good-bye or a non-negotiable but still awkward ‘no thanks’ phone call or email.
Anyway, if we both pass the ‘interview’ stage, because remember; a relationship is a mutual selection process, then would I move on to the ‘seeing’ stage – where you’ve decided you like the person enough to continue, well, seeing them. This stage usually involves dinners at one persons place and slightly more personal conversation, not to mention the kiss. This is what happened with The Medic and The Teacher. After a few extra dates, well, in the life of Carrie, after this stage I would either transition into the ‘dating’ area (semi-exclusive and beginning introduction to friends and colleagues) and eventually reach ‘relationship’ status (the talk has been had and agreed upon) – or in both of those previous cases, neither man would ever call me again. Or was it I who forgot to call them? I can’t remember – but either way it ended and probably for the best, as if I can’t remember why or who forgot to call, they probably weren’t on my mind enough to make me want to date them.
So I guess a few of my friends incorrectly assumed that I ‘dated’ – meaning I went out with six men on three or more dates and kissed each and every one of them before deciding “Nope – just kidding! You can leave now, buh-bye!” Of course, this is not the case. That’s poor form. And apparently if you’re female, so is ‘dating’ (as defined above) six men in as many months. I mention this because the friends that misunderstood me and my intentions immediately labeled me as ‘one of those’ girls – loose, promiscuous, and even easy… Despite the fact that men do this all the time – and for some reason that’s perfectly acceptable.
A friend of mine once told me that it didn’t matter if a guy ‘liked’ this one particular girl – he’ll still flirt with you and try to win you over as well. Why? Because guys go for multiple girls at a time – and I gotta hand it to you men: This idea is golden. Its brilliance lies in its simplicity: It’s all about statistics. The more you play the field, the better chances you’ll have to find the right person for you, or in some cases, you’ll have to get laid. So why is it ok for guys to ‘date’ that way based on how well it works and how intelligent it really is, but it’s not ok for us girls to do so as well?
Before anyone gets mad at me – I’m not referring to those kinds of girls that I mentioned above. You know, the ones that prey on men’s stupidity by going to the bar wearing practically nothing and flirting in order to get drinks, dinners, even jewelry and clothing but never letting anything go further? Yeah – No. I’m talking about those of us, male and female, who legitimately try to find the right person but are incorrectly judged as promiscuous based on the methods we chose to engage in during our search. We’re not being promiscuous; we’re being smart. We’re actually using that statistics crap we’ve been taught in lecture to our benefit!
But in the end it doesn’t really matter what those friends of mine think – They’re usually my bitterly single friends who complain about never being able to find a date, or how terrible the other sex is, or when they DO get a date have it spiral into friendship. This masculine form of dating is not only intelligent – it works. At least, it did for me.
But that post will come later.
Showing posts with label Singlehood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Singlehood. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Ask and Ye Shall Wait...
… or Go Get It and Save Yourself the Trouble
I don’t ask for a lot of things. I’m stubborn like that. I’d rather do something for myself or get something by myself rather than have to rely on someone else to do it for me. Perhaps it is a cynical view I carry that really, the only person you can rely on is yourself, but think about it. If you need something, say a cup of coffee or a manicure, I am not the kind of person to wait for it to come to me or project my needs onto whoever is closest to me when it would take less effort to stand up and get it myself. From what I have experienced thus far, people are too busy worrying about what they have to do than to really take the time to do something for you, so why bother when it’s nothing off your back to do it? Having to work around someone else’s priorities sounds a hell of a lot harder than working around your own, and at least you’ll have an idea of when whatever you need will be done. A few of my friends refer to this belief as my innate independence; I just see it as common sense, and I can’t be the only one.
I was having dinner with Pete one night and we got to talking about how I somehow managed to break my TV by turning it off on a Thursday night after “The Office” and “Grey’s Anatomy”. He had asked me if I was planning on getting it fixed, to which I replied “well I don’t know” and still don’t know. Although it being an inopportune time, seeing how “Grey’s Anatomy” is now on for 3 hours a week, (same as a standard university lecture; coincidence? I think not!), getting my television fixed would require me having to rely on a few things: first, a TV repair man, if they even still exist, and having to work around his schedule or even worse have to lug the damn thing somewhere in my non-existent car with my not-so-legal-by-myself license, so second someone else with a car and a heart of gold. Neither option was too pleasing to me, so until a better one pops into my head I’m just not going to do anything about it.
This made Pete burst out laughing at my natural stubbornness, mentioning that he a) has a car and b) would be willing to take me to get it fixed. However, Pete knows me pretty well and through his chuckles threw out there that I would “carry that thing on your back and drag it down the street yourself!” his emphasis on yourself. I know that eventually I will break down and get my television fixed, or buy a new one, but still… it does not take away from the fact that I do not like to ask or rely on anybody else for anything.
Now I admit there are a few things that I simply cannot do for myself and thus rely on other people. Brazilians for example. I mean, I guess I could do it in theory, however I cannot inflict that much pain upon myself willingly, thus I pay almost 50$ every 5 weeks for my waxer to do it for me. I also can’t drive, but living in the city not many twenty-something students do who live on their own. So I rely on the bus to get me places that I can’t or really shouldn’t walk to. And finally, I cannot survive without my friendships which means in the end relying on other people. It is true that no woman is an island, but at the same time there is nothing stopping any capable girl (or guy for that matter) from being independent and self-reliant.
I guess it’s the “some else will do it” mentality that plagues a percentage of the population, tying into the fact that nobody cares what happens so long as it doesn’t happen to them, but if it does well someone better be there to fix it and that someone better not be me! It’s a shame that the percentage of this lazy population is unfairly clumped into my generation, the twenty-something Echo’s of the Baby Boomers who to some people gave us everything except the value of hard work. Granted yes, the majority of these lazy freeloaders I speak of are in my generation, but I know quite a few people in my age-range who gladly work for their own money, clean their own apartments, maintain their own cars, and basically are as independent as a twenty-something student can be. That being said, I’ve run into more than my fair share of sponges who create messes but refuse to even acknowledge them, let alone clean them up for themselves.
I know a few people who believe that it is much easier for another person to do whatever needs to be done and for some things I agree. It is much easier to have someone clean your apartment, for example, or for someone to cook for you and change your light bulbs 2 months after they have burned out. However I can’t for the life of me understand people who do as little as possible every chance they get, as if they are deflecting the smallest task just so that they don’t have to do anything or use anything of themselves. I’d think that consistently delegating any and all tasks to someone else would cause more stress, not less. I mean, what if they don’t do what you ask them on time, or at all? What if they forget? What if they simply do not feel like it? It seems to me that you’re creating more complications by hoping that someone else will take care of it than solving the same problems on your own.
I don’t ask for a lot of things. I’m stubborn like that. I’d rather do something for myself or get something by myself rather than have to rely on someone else to do it for me. Perhaps it is a cynical view I carry that really, the only person you can rely on is yourself, but think about it. If you need something, say a cup of coffee or a manicure, I am not the kind of person to wait for it to come to me or project my needs onto whoever is closest to me when it would take less effort to stand up and get it myself. From what I have experienced thus far, people are too busy worrying about what they have to do than to really take the time to do something for you, so why bother when it’s nothing off your back to do it? Having to work around someone else’s priorities sounds a hell of a lot harder than working around your own, and at least you’ll have an idea of when whatever you need will be done. A few of my friends refer to this belief as my innate independence; I just see it as common sense, and I can’t be the only one.
I was having dinner with Pete one night and we got to talking about how I somehow managed to break my TV by turning it off on a Thursday night after “The Office” and “Grey’s Anatomy”. He had asked me if I was planning on getting it fixed, to which I replied “well I don’t know” and still don’t know. Although it being an inopportune time, seeing how “Grey’s Anatomy” is now on for 3 hours a week, (same as a standard university lecture; coincidence? I think not!), getting my television fixed would require me having to rely on a few things: first, a TV repair man, if they even still exist, and having to work around his schedule or even worse have to lug the damn thing somewhere in my non-existent car with my not-so-legal-by-myself license, so second someone else with a car and a heart of gold. Neither option was too pleasing to me, so until a better one pops into my head I’m just not going to do anything about it.
This made Pete burst out laughing at my natural stubbornness, mentioning that he a) has a car and b) would be willing to take me to get it fixed. However, Pete knows me pretty well and through his chuckles threw out there that I would “carry that thing on your back and drag it down the street yourself!” his emphasis on yourself. I know that eventually I will break down and get my television fixed, or buy a new one, but still… it does not take away from the fact that I do not like to ask or rely on anybody else for anything.
Now I admit there are a few things that I simply cannot do for myself and thus rely on other people. Brazilians for example. I mean, I guess I could do it in theory, however I cannot inflict that much pain upon myself willingly, thus I pay almost 50$ every 5 weeks for my waxer to do it for me. I also can’t drive, but living in the city not many twenty-something students do who live on their own. So I rely on the bus to get me places that I can’t or really shouldn’t walk to. And finally, I cannot survive without my friendships which means in the end relying on other people. It is true that no woman is an island, but at the same time there is nothing stopping any capable girl (or guy for that matter) from being independent and self-reliant.
I guess it’s the “some else will do it” mentality that plagues a percentage of the population, tying into the fact that nobody cares what happens so long as it doesn’t happen to them, but if it does well someone better be there to fix it and that someone better not be me! It’s a shame that the percentage of this lazy population is unfairly clumped into my generation, the twenty-something Echo’s of the Baby Boomers who to some people gave us everything except the value of hard work. Granted yes, the majority of these lazy freeloaders I speak of are in my generation, but I know quite a few people in my age-range who gladly work for their own money, clean their own apartments, maintain their own cars, and basically are as independent as a twenty-something student can be. That being said, I’ve run into more than my fair share of sponges who create messes but refuse to even acknowledge them, let alone clean them up for themselves.
I know a few people who believe that it is much easier for another person to do whatever needs to be done and for some things I agree. It is much easier to have someone clean your apartment, for example, or for someone to cook for you and change your light bulbs 2 months after they have burned out. However I can’t for the life of me understand people who do as little as possible every chance they get, as if they are deflecting the smallest task just so that they don’t have to do anything or use anything of themselves. I’d think that consistently delegating any and all tasks to someone else would cause more stress, not less. I mean, what if they don’t do what you ask them on time, or at all? What if they forget? What if they simply do not feel like it? It seems to me that you’re creating more complications by hoping that someone else will take care of it than solving the same problems on your own.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
The Bachlorette (Party)
I’m in the middle of planning another bachlorette party for Angelica, my girlfriend who is getting married this summer. Christie, myself and another friend, let’s call her ‘Holly’, had a successful impromptu bachlorette for Angelica this past summer, which involved endless drinks, food and adoration from a group of generous guys we picked up at a local night club in the heart of the downtown core. Following an adventure home which included piggy back rides through the valley of sketch, the memories (and pictures) live on in infamy as one of the most fun nights of the entire summer.
That evening we were celebrating a lot of things; first and foremost, Angelica’s impending nuptials. Second, the arrival of Angelica’s wedding tiaras of which we all wore to the bar. Third, Holly’s most unusual cameo. And fourth, we were celebrating the joie de vive that twenty-something girls have for a mid-summer Friday night out. We were celebrating a lot of things, and as we drank, dressed and took pictures that idea got me thinking about my own state of non-union. It’s not that I was upset or jealous; I don’t think I am the marrying, white picket fence and 2.5 kid kind of girl, but on a night historically spent celebrating the last hurrah of singledom, I couldn’t help but wonder why we tend to celebrate being single only when we know it is slipping away?
Now I don’t know about you, but a Stagette thrown by yours truly involves drinking, dancing, flirting, eating, and pictures, oh so many pictures. A typical girls night out with the exception of a gigantic rock on a girls finger that manages to get the attention of any and all available (and not so available) men currently at the bar. It’s a proven fact, at least among my circle of friends, that nothing attracts a group of men willing to buy you drinks like a woman they know they can’t possibly have. A stagette/bachlorette, whatever, is an evening with your closest girlfriends doing all the things you would do, or wanted to do, while you were single. So begs the question… if one has to wait until they are engaged to, well, engage in such free spirited acts of independence once dominant in a girl’s single life, why are such special nights regulated only for those who will lose it?
According to these types of parties, the single life is meant to be enjoyed. Sure at the end of the night (or the beginning of the morning) you may return to your bed alone, or find yourself walking the walk of game alone (with a stop at Second Cup for a vanilla bean latte) in last nights killer outfit and equally killing shoes, but they are all signs of a good single night out. Being single, unattached, whatever allows you the freedom to do such things, be wild and free, and to celebrate this just because you can. The party may ease up once you find yourself in a relationship but until you do, the joie de vive of the single life is there, just waiting for you to grasp it.
A co-worker and I once discussed at length the concept of a we’re all bachlorette party; where a bunch of girls, single or otherwise, would dress up with veils or tiaras, hit the bars for an epic night on the town with the goal of getting as many free drinks, kisses and phone numbers as humanly possible. Now why would an evening that fun, that fresh, that exciting and eventful be reserved only to brides? I mean, in the sense of singledom we are all potential bachlorettes, looking or otherwise, for our Mr. Right. I think that single gals should, nay MUST celebrate their single hood long before it’s traded in for a Vera Wang wedding dress and sky-high Manolo Blahnik wedding shoes. I mean, what’s really stopping us? In my opinion, when Mr. Right eventually comes along, I think he’d rest easier knowing that when our final bachlorette comes we’ve managed to enjoy our seriously-single time enough to let it fade as soon as we watch him get on one knee. That way, not only do we know what we are losing, the freedom and spontaneity of singledom, but we also know what we’re gaining… Someone to come home to.
That evening we were celebrating a lot of things; first and foremost, Angelica’s impending nuptials. Second, the arrival of Angelica’s wedding tiaras of which we all wore to the bar. Third, Holly’s most unusual cameo. And fourth, we were celebrating the joie de vive that twenty-something girls have for a mid-summer Friday night out. We were celebrating a lot of things, and as we drank, dressed and took pictures that idea got me thinking about my own state of non-union. It’s not that I was upset or jealous; I don’t think I am the marrying, white picket fence and 2.5 kid kind of girl, but on a night historically spent celebrating the last hurrah of singledom, I couldn’t help but wonder why we tend to celebrate being single only when we know it is slipping away?
Now I don’t know about you, but a Stagette thrown by yours truly involves drinking, dancing, flirting, eating, and pictures, oh so many pictures. A typical girls night out with the exception of a gigantic rock on a girls finger that manages to get the attention of any and all available (and not so available) men currently at the bar. It’s a proven fact, at least among my circle of friends, that nothing attracts a group of men willing to buy you drinks like a woman they know they can’t possibly have. A stagette/bachlorette, whatever, is an evening with your closest girlfriends doing all the things you would do, or wanted to do, while you were single. So begs the question… if one has to wait until they are engaged to, well, engage in such free spirited acts of independence once dominant in a girl’s single life, why are such special nights regulated only for those who will lose it?
According to these types of parties, the single life is meant to be enjoyed. Sure at the end of the night (or the beginning of the morning) you may return to your bed alone, or find yourself walking the walk of game alone (with a stop at Second Cup for a vanilla bean latte) in last nights killer outfit and equally killing shoes, but they are all signs of a good single night out. Being single, unattached, whatever allows you the freedom to do such things, be wild and free, and to celebrate this just because you can. The party may ease up once you find yourself in a relationship but until you do, the joie de vive of the single life is there, just waiting for you to grasp it.
A co-worker and I once discussed at length the concept of a we’re all bachlorette party; where a bunch of girls, single or otherwise, would dress up with veils or tiaras, hit the bars for an epic night on the town with the goal of getting as many free drinks, kisses and phone numbers as humanly possible. Now why would an evening that fun, that fresh, that exciting and eventful be reserved only to brides? I mean, in the sense of singledom we are all potential bachlorettes, looking or otherwise, for our Mr. Right. I think that single gals should, nay MUST celebrate their single hood long before it’s traded in for a Vera Wang wedding dress and sky-high Manolo Blahnik wedding shoes. I mean, what’s really stopping us? In my opinion, when Mr. Right eventually comes along, I think he’d rest easier knowing that when our final bachlorette comes we’ve managed to enjoy our seriously-single time enough to let it fade as soon as we watch him get on one knee. That way, not only do we know what we are losing, the freedom and spontaneity of singledom, but we also know what we’re gaining… Someone to come home to.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Diamonds
... are a girl's best friend
In this festivus season, among many things, I got to thinking about girlfriends. I read an article recently in a trashy tabloid magazine (shut up; it's my thing, let it go) about a growing trend with 20-something girls, at least, the 20 something girls in the celebrity world. Anyway, in this piece the author makes an observation that the relationship between girl friends are replacing the level of relationship once held by boyfriends. Celebrity 'couples' like Paris & Britney, Marisa & Rachel and Oprah & Gayle are constantly and consistently seen together... well, maybe just Oprah & Gayle, doing all sorts of everyday mundane activities that are always 10x better with the pleasure of someones company: shopping, coffee-ing, holding hands and of course, partying until the wee-hours of the morning.
Now in the real world where every day ordinary relationships aren't so scrutinized, this isn't really new. At least not to me. Girls nights out, 'dates' and everlasting friendships have always existed with bonds that are so strong that they sometimes defy logic. I know: I have had the honour and pleasure of having such relationships that defy logic, escape explanation and just exist, as if we were created for each other. I mean, after I read the article I got to thinking about these relationships that I have with my girlfriends, and how close and important they all are to me in their own special way. With Angelica, Mackenzie, Christie and countless others in my life, my heart and on my mind I can't help but wonder... are girlfriends the new boyfriends?
In this day and age, a Manolo-lite can and does have a number of loves in her life. I know I do. My area of study, my family, my friends... although sometimes those terms are interchangeable. Maybe girlfriends aren't the new boyfriends... they're your new family. She's there when your man is not (if you have one; and if you don't she's that much more important), and try as he might the men in your life will never understand you the way the girls in your life already do. They can read you like a magazine; seeing right through your filler and pretty pictures to get at what's REALLY bothering you. They call you on your bullshit without making you feel like a failure, and the girlfriends who do that like my girl Mackenzie are the girls you want and need in your life. They see the real you... and love you all the same.
Maybe Charlotte was right in making her girlmates her soulmates, because really, it is just as hard, if not harder, to find a true girl friend than a good boyfriend. Break-ups with girlfriends are harder on the heart, your soul, your other relationships at work and at play because ... well, that level of intimacy took years to establish, and so will the pain of its sudden and often nasty endings. Luckily I have had only 1 break-up with a girlfriend of mine, and I'm twice as lucky since I still had and have the girlfriends who picked up the pieces of me while we all floated on ok.
One of those girlfriends... let's call her "Chris", is a girl I've known for a while whose friendship I can't even begin to describe. She is a girl of few words but when she speaks I listen. She has the uncanny ability to simplify whatever it is I am going through without dismissing the smallest detail to find the truth underneath the confusion. I credit her for smacking enough sense into me countless numbers of times, and most recently for getting me out of my destructive and abusive relationship with Philippe. She also held me up when my relationship with Vegas... Well, when it made me not want anything at all. Chris is my conscience: I don't know what I'd do without her. Kind of like the rest of my girlfriends, I'd be lost without them.
Don't get me wrong here, there are plenty of backstabbing, manipulative girls out there who pass themselves off as your friends but quickly shed their civil-persona to unveil their true nature. So that makes finding good girlfriends even harder. So this festivus season, let your girlfriends know how much you care for them; and the ones who must leave your life, let them know even more. Finding a good girlfriend in high school, in college, or in life, is like finding a diamond in a stock-pile of cubic zirconias. They all may look the same, but you'd never ever for a second think of trading away the diamond.
Just like your girlfriends.
In this festivus season, among many things, I got to thinking about girlfriends. I read an article recently in a trashy tabloid magazine (shut up; it's my thing, let it go) about a growing trend with 20-something girls, at least, the 20 something girls in the celebrity world. Anyway, in this piece the author makes an observation that the relationship between girl friends are replacing the level of relationship once held by boyfriends. Celebrity 'couples' like Paris & Britney, Marisa & Rachel and Oprah & Gayle are constantly and consistently seen together... well, maybe just Oprah & Gayle, doing all sorts of everyday mundane activities that are always 10x better with the pleasure of someones company: shopping, coffee-ing, holding hands and of course, partying until the wee-hours of the morning.
Now in the real world where every day ordinary relationships aren't so scrutinized, this isn't really new. At least not to me. Girls nights out, 'dates' and everlasting friendships have always existed with bonds that are so strong that they sometimes defy logic. I know: I have had the honour and pleasure of having such relationships that defy logic, escape explanation and just exist, as if we were created for each other. I mean, after I read the article I got to thinking about these relationships that I have with my girlfriends, and how close and important they all are to me in their own special way. With Angelica, Mackenzie, Christie and countless others in my life, my heart and on my mind I can't help but wonder... are girlfriends the new boyfriends?
In this day and age, a Manolo-lite can and does have a number of loves in her life. I know I do. My area of study, my family, my friends... although sometimes those terms are interchangeable. Maybe girlfriends aren't the new boyfriends... they're your new family. She's there when your man is not (if you have one; and if you don't she's that much more important), and try as he might the men in your life will never understand you the way the girls in your life already do. They can read you like a magazine; seeing right through your filler and pretty pictures to get at what's REALLY bothering you. They call you on your bullshit without making you feel like a failure, and the girlfriends who do that like my girl Mackenzie are the girls you want and need in your life. They see the real you... and love you all the same.
Maybe Charlotte was right in making her girlmates her soulmates, because really, it is just as hard, if not harder, to find a true girl friend than a good boyfriend. Break-ups with girlfriends are harder on the heart, your soul, your other relationships at work and at play because ... well, that level of intimacy took years to establish, and so will the pain of its sudden and often nasty endings. Luckily I have had only 1 break-up with a girlfriend of mine, and I'm twice as lucky since I still had and have the girlfriends who picked up the pieces of me while we all floated on ok.
One of those girlfriends... let's call her "Chris", is a girl I've known for a while whose friendship I can't even begin to describe. She is a girl of few words but when she speaks I listen. She has the uncanny ability to simplify whatever it is I am going through without dismissing the smallest detail to find the truth underneath the confusion. I credit her for smacking enough sense into me countless numbers of times, and most recently for getting me out of my destructive and abusive relationship with Philippe. She also held me up when my relationship with Vegas... Well, when it made me not want anything at all. Chris is my conscience: I don't know what I'd do without her. Kind of like the rest of my girlfriends, I'd be lost without them.
Don't get me wrong here, there are plenty of backstabbing, manipulative girls out there who pass themselves off as your friends but quickly shed their civil-persona to unveil their true nature. So that makes finding good girlfriends even harder. So this festivus season, let your girlfriends know how much you care for them; and the ones who must leave your life, let them know even more. Finding a good girlfriend in high school, in college, or in life, is like finding a diamond in a stock-pile of cubic zirconias. They all may look the same, but you'd never ever for a second think of trading away the diamond.
Just like your girlfriends.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
in solemn stillness
to hear the angels sing...
Six hours after I had left my apartment, and after a harrowing rush through the airport and the check-in line at the hotel I was there. My prep-time had been significantly reduced, from 3 hours to less than 1, so with half-curled hair, rushed on make up and not-so-sticky sticky-boobs my girl friends and I trekked down to the basement and arrived for the party. I was greeted by familiar 'voices' and old friends and got lost in the conversations that arise when old friends, new friends and alcohol are mixed in an energetic and friendly atmosphere. Slowly but surely the entrance area filled with commotion, so much that I didn't even realize that Paris had arrived, slipped in under my radar and I can only assume was instantly swamped with admirers and colleagues.
I was surrounded by my girlfriends, but from the corner of my eye I saw him across the room... or maybe he saw me. Our eyes met for a second... and the next 15 minutes were spent with a glance here, there and everywhere, and before words were spoken a smile. I required a bit of liquid courage and Paris by himself... not only to speak to him in person, the first time in months, but hopefully to put me in the right state of consciousness to not get sucked back into the two years of never being different between us. I had determined to not let myself fall back into fog that was Paris... Another man in my life who left me asking 'what becomes of us?', hoping that this time, next time, some time... it will be different.
And it wasn't. Different, that is. Paris was, is and ever shall be himself. Calm and popular, effortlessly cool and magnetic. I got maybe 20, no, 30 minutes of sporadic conversation before being stolen away, or have him stolen from me... and I could tell and so could he just by being around each other that we no longer shared the same connection and understanding that came so naturally that we once had.
But oh how I missed him! The looks, the smiles, the piercing eye contact, the warm hugs, that kiss... friend kisses on the hand and the back of my head as he put me in a loving headlock... and just his presence was both nerve wracking and familiar at the same time. I'd see him steal glances of me from the shadows all throughout the evening as my girlfriends and I stole the spotlight. And yet... he never went out of his way to find me; I had to go to him. I mean, to his credit he did go out of his way after I had gotten his attention to be sure we could speak in relative privacy, but otherwise... it's been two years of never being different. And I guess it never will.
We spoke a few times more before he vanished for the night. I was informed, by someone else, that he was hosting a small after-party in this suite but as I arrived in my red dress and silver shoes my knocks on his door were met with silence, and I ended my evening the same way I started it; alone.
And now I am back in Ottawa... and although I know that he and I will speak again, I can't say the same about seeing him again. Paris' lame quasi-attempts to come to my city have thus far been few and far between... in fact, the only time I've seen him this year is when I made the effort to go. I doubt that I will attend another function like this, where he and I will meet in person, and as I turned to walk away I left any desire to return to see him on the threshold of his unanswered door. Again, we never said goodbye.
I think Paris had done all that he was supposed to do in my life; and now that he has, it is time to move on. Our connection was intense as it was brief; similar and uncanny like an uncharted island. However you can only stay on one island for so long before you get restless, needing to spread your proverbial wings and explore. But the most important component for me to move on, really and truly move on from him, is the fact that I finally realize that Paris, and any other man can not start or continue to drag me along pretending to want me when really, he doesn't. Paris' greatest lesson to me, is that I need someone who wants me just as much as I want them. And for that lesson I will forever be grateful to Paris... but nothing more.
Six hours after I had left my apartment, and after a harrowing rush through the airport and the check-in line at the hotel I was there. My prep-time had been significantly reduced, from 3 hours to less than 1, so with half-curled hair, rushed on make up and not-so-sticky sticky-boobs my girl friends and I trekked down to the basement and arrived for the party. I was greeted by familiar 'voices' and old friends and got lost in the conversations that arise when old friends, new friends and alcohol are mixed in an energetic and friendly atmosphere. Slowly but surely the entrance area filled with commotion, so much that I didn't even realize that Paris had arrived, slipped in under my radar and I can only assume was instantly swamped with admirers and colleagues.
I was surrounded by my girlfriends, but from the corner of my eye I saw him across the room... or maybe he saw me. Our eyes met for a second... and the next 15 minutes were spent with a glance here, there and everywhere, and before words were spoken a smile. I required a bit of liquid courage and Paris by himself... not only to speak to him in person, the first time in months, but hopefully to put me in the right state of consciousness to not get sucked back into the two years of never being different between us. I had determined to not let myself fall back into fog that was Paris... Another man in my life who left me asking 'what becomes of us?', hoping that this time, next time, some time... it will be different.
And it wasn't. Different, that is. Paris was, is and ever shall be himself. Calm and popular, effortlessly cool and magnetic. I got maybe 20, no, 30 minutes of sporadic conversation before being stolen away, or have him stolen from me... and I could tell and so could he just by being around each other that we no longer shared the same connection and understanding that came so naturally that we once had.
But oh how I missed him! The looks, the smiles, the piercing eye contact, the warm hugs, that kiss... friend kisses on the hand and the back of my head as he put me in a loving headlock... and just his presence was both nerve wracking and familiar at the same time. I'd see him steal glances of me from the shadows all throughout the evening as my girlfriends and I stole the spotlight. And yet... he never went out of his way to find me; I had to go to him. I mean, to his credit he did go out of his way after I had gotten his attention to be sure we could speak in relative privacy, but otherwise... it's been two years of never being different. And I guess it never will.
We spoke a few times more before he vanished for the night. I was informed, by someone else, that he was hosting a small after-party in this suite but as I arrived in my red dress and silver shoes my knocks on his door were met with silence, and I ended my evening the same way I started it; alone.
And now I am back in Ottawa... and although I know that he and I will speak again, I can't say the same about seeing him again. Paris' lame quasi-attempts to come to my city have thus far been few and far between... in fact, the only time I've seen him this year is when I made the effort to go. I doubt that I will attend another function like this, where he and I will meet in person, and as I turned to walk away I left any desire to return to see him on the threshold of his unanswered door. Again, we never said goodbye.
I think Paris had done all that he was supposed to do in my life; and now that he has, it is time to move on. Our connection was intense as it was brief; similar and uncanny like an uncharted island. However you can only stay on one island for so long before you get restless, needing to spread your proverbial wings and explore. But the most important component for me to move on, really and truly move on from him, is the fact that I finally realize that Paris, and any other man can not start or continue to drag me along pretending to want me when really, he doesn't. Paris' greatest lesson to me, is that I need someone who wants me just as much as I want them. And for that lesson I will forever be grateful to Paris... but nothing more.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear...
A glorious song of old...
Tonight I am going out for an evening of dinner, drinks and dancing... Very Old New York, seeing how it's a kind of reunion of sorts with people I haven't seen or spoken to in person for a very long time. There are old friends who have moved away, new friends I've kept in contact with.... and there are friends that are a bit more, shall we say, complicated?
I'm talking about Paris. I haven't seen him since June or really spoken to him since my decision to, well, stop talking to him. And since then we've spoke here and there, but nothing like we used to. Long conversations throughout the day, playful flirting and mis-spoken sentences have dissipated to 'good mornings' and 'have a great weekend'... you know, things you'd say to an acquaintance. I admit I miss the friendship we used to have, but I don't miss the mind-fucks I'd find myself in, unable and unwilling to move away from what was obviously destructive to my head.
To recap: Paris and I have had this quasi-but-not-really relationship for about a year now; we clicked instantaneously but only after he had left the city for another. I thought we clicked one way, he thought another, I put myself out there, he returned an ambiguous answer and actions that followed until recently this year. My summary does no justice but for the sake of my returning readers I must continue.
This evening, at a formal function (to which I am wearing a low cut halter v neck fire engine red Grecian style dress with fabulous silver shoes) with hundreds of people, friends and strangers... I'll see him again. This week he kept asking me if I was excited to go, excited to see people; which I am. I'm excited to finally meet the face behind the message, or the person behind the voice, or even more, the fuckwit behind all those rude comments. But I can't help but wonder what my reaction will be when I see Paris again. 5 months is a long time; in 180 days anything and everything can happen... and pretty much did.
When you make a decision to cut destructive personnel out of your life, whether it be because of embarrassment, bad chemistry or simple annoyance (I refer to people who bring the worst in you out for reasons you can't explain) you don't really plan on a reunion anytime soon. The risk of being pulled back into the fire is omnipresent, especially if there is music and wine where you and your excommunicated meet again. But at the same time I refuse to NOT live my life, especially when the party, drinks, food and lodging is on someone else's credit card.
So what's my plan? Look hot - act cool. Enjoy the evening with familiar friends and make some new ones; eat, drink and be merry... and be sure to return to my room the same way I plan on leaving it; solo.
Tonight I am going out for an evening of dinner, drinks and dancing... Very Old New York, seeing how it's a kind of reunion of sorts with people I haven't seen or spoken to in person for a very long time. There are old friends who have moved away, new friends I've kept in contact with.... and there are friends that are a bit more, shall we say, complicated?
I'm talking about Paris. I haven't seen him since June or really spoken to him since my decision to, well, stop talking to him. And since then we've spoke here and there, but nothing like we used to. Long conversations throughout the day, playful flirting and mis-spoken sentences have dissipated to 'good mornings' and 'have a great weekend'... you know, things you'd say to an acquaintance. I admit I miss the friendship we used to have, but I don't miss the mind-fucks I'd find myself in, unable and unwilling to move away from what was obviously destructive to my head.
To recap: Paris and I have had this quasi-but-not-really relationship for about a year now; we clicked instantaneously but only after he had left the city for another. I thought we clicked one way, he thought another, I put myself out there, he returned an ambiguous answer and actions that followed until recently this year. My summary does no justice but for the sake of my returning readers I must continue.
This evening, at a formal function (to which I am wearing a low cut halter v neck fire engine red Grecian style dress with fabulous silver shoes) with hundreds of people, friends and strangers... I'll see him again. This week he kept asking me if I was excited to go, excited to see people; which I am. I'm excited to finally meet the face behind the message, or the person behind the voice, or even more, the fuckwit behind all those rude comments. But I can't help but wonder what my reaction will be when I see Paris again. 5 months is a long time; in 180 days anything and everything can happen... and pretty much did.
When you make a decision to cut destructive personnel out of your life, whether it be because of embarrassment, bad chemistry or simple annoyance (I refer to people who bring the worst in you out for reasons you can't explain) you don't really plan on a reunion anytime soon. The risk of being pulled back into the fire is omnipresent, especially if there is music and wine where you and your excommunicated meet again. But at the same time I refuse to NOT live my life, especially when the party, drinks, food and lodging is on someone else's credit card.
So what's my plan? Look hot - act cool. Enjoy the evening with familiar friends and make some new ones; eat, drink and be merry... and be sure to return to my room the same way I plan on leaving it; solo.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
The Feral Factor
I have decided, among other things, that the outside world and its population of twenty-something men think me and most of my girl friends as some sort of Amizonian-type women. Seriously: most of the guys I've dated thus far have treated, or revered me I should say, as they would a wild animal, and although yes I am "wild" in the sense that I am unpredictable, spontaneous and can change my mind in the blink of my DiorShow covered eye-lashes... I wouldn't go as far as classifying me or better yet responding to me like a tiger in a cage.
Here me out here: it is an accepted concept that men aren't too sure how to act around women... anybody watch 'Everybody Loves Raymond' or 'The King of Queens' or any other crappy sitcom of that sort? Don't get me wrong here, it's the same with women... sometimes I am unsure about how to act around men and quite often manage to come off as either Carrie the Ice Queen or Carrie the Moron. So, as a twenty-something female, and more importantly a twenty-something female in a science field, I find myself categorizing the behaviour that I have experienced with the men I have dated... in the sense that it was either completely clueless or completely bogus. He either had no idea how to behave or act around me, or he had a twisted idea of how to treat me.
Granted nobody comes with an instruction booklet, but it has come to my attention that the twenty something men I've managed to find myself in a relationship with either have no idea or a freak show idea as to how to treat a Manolo-lite such as myself. So instead of observing how good men treat their women (and ladies you too... observing good women treating their men) he acts in 2 different ways: he is either too shy or too nervous to make a move on a "wild" and undomestic goddess, or he's too confident and thinks he knows exactly how to treat a "wild" and undomestic goddess.
Both of these traits make up what I like to call the Feral Factor.
A new breed of woman creates a new breed of man, and vise versa... which in turn creates a new set of behaviours. These behaviours can be seen in both men and women, and I've seen them in action. So far I have experienced 2 Feral Factors and both have successfully prevented or ended a relationship... factors I wish to share with you today.
Feral Factor 1 = The Avoidance tactic. From far away he learns and observes, keeping his distance physically, mentally and emotionally, all the while getting close enough and far enough to want more. In other words, these men successfully become intimate with women either physically, mentally or emotionally.. or all 3 if he is really good, without actually becoming intimate; he observes but never really enters your world. He lures you in with charm and ease... but never cares to remove the bars that prevents you from truly becoming one.
Feral Factor 2 = The trap and tame. Not only does this guy let you into his world, also luring you with charm and ease, but he slowly and deliberately begins to take over yours and eventually makes it his own. Domestication soon follows, along with a sense of learned helplessness, where what's yours is his and what used to be yours isn't really necessary in this new world he created with reminants of you in it.
Obviously Feral Factor 2 relates to my exs who couldn't take NO for an answer... at least not from me. Thats when you rely on the service of your local police force, as they are there to serve and protect. Remember gentlemen and ladies, stalking is illegal. Any man or any woman who believes that Feral Factor 2 is a correct or good way to treat a significant other is wrong: a relationship is not a commit or be committed situation. Each person is "wild" in the sense that they are free; free to chose, free to stay and most importantly free to leave.
No, it is not Feral Factor 2 that really bothers me to the core... it is Feral Factor 1. The intimaybe... When I wrote this I was still conversing with Paris; and that day he threw me off completely with his observations. He had managed to learn and observe my behaviour and even called me on some actions I subconsciously do... and I was blown away. I remember mention it to him, how I was shocked and awed of his indepth knowledge of me, almost intimate... yet we had never exchanged anything above a gaze or a hug. His response? "What... that someone listens to you and pays attention to you?" Apparently I am a person he likes and sticks in his mind... to him my smile "will light up the sky" and that objects "pale in comparison" to me... but I'm still not enough for him to cross the fence and join me in my world, or let me loose into his.
It is because of these factors, among other things, that each relationship ended or each relationship failed to begin. The underlying uncertainty of oneself and of others drove each person to act and react the way they did; and although I am not excusing their behaviour and any other persons similar behaviour... now I can sort of understand why this happens so that next time, maybe it won't happen again. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Here me out here: it is an accepted concept that men aren't too sure how to act around women... anybody watch 'Everybody Loves Raymond' or 'The King of Queens' or any other crappy sitcom of that sort? Don't get me wrong here, it's the same with women... sometimes I am unsure about how to act around men and quite often manage to come off as either Carrie the Ice Queen or Carrie the Moron. So, as a twenty-something female, and more importantly a twenty-something female in a science field, I find myself categorizing the behaviour that I have experienced with the men I have dated... in the sense that it was either completely clueless or completely bogus. He either had no idea how to behave or act around me, or he had a twisted idea of how to treat me.
Granted nobody comes with an instruction booklet, but it has come to my attention that the twenty something men I've managed to find myself in a relationship with either have no idea or a freak show idea as to how to treat a Manolo-lite such as myself. So instead of observing how good men treat their women (and ladies you too... observing good women treating their men) he acts in 2 different ways: he is either too shy or too nervous to make a move on a "wild" and undomestic goddess, or he's too confident and thinks he knows exactly how to treat a "wild" and undomestic goddess.
Both of these traits make up what I like to call the Feral Factor.
A new breed of woman creates a new breed of man, and vise versa... which in turn creates a new set of behaviours. These behaviours can be seen in both men and women, and I've seen them in action. So far I have experienced 2 Feral Factors and both have successfully prevented or ended a relationship... factors I wish to share with you today.
Feral Factor 1 = The Avoidance tactic. From far away he learns and observes, keeping his distance physically, mentally and emotionally, all the while getting close enough and far enough to want more. In other words, these men successfully become intimate with women either physically, mentally or emotionally.. or all 3 if he is really good, without actually becoming intimate; he observes but never really enters your world. He lures you in with charm and ease... but never cares to remove the bars that prevents you from truly becoming one.
Feral Factor 2 = The trap and tame. Not only does this guy let you into his world, also luring you with charm and ease, but he slowly and deliberately begins to take over yours and eventually makes it his own. Domestication soon follows, along with a sense of learned helplessness, where what's yours is his and what used to be yours isn't really necessary in this new world he created with reminants of you in it.
Obviously Feral Factor 2 relates to my exs who couldn't take NO for an answer... at least not from me. Thats when you rely on the service of your local police force, as they are there to serve and protect. Remember gentlemen and ladies, stalking is illegal. Any man or any woman who believes that Feral Factor 2 is a correct or good way to treat a significant other is wrong: a relationship is not a commit or be committed situation. Each person is "wild" in the sense that they are free; free to chose, free to stay and most importantly free to leave.
No, it is not Feral Factor 2 that really bothers me to the core... it is Feral Factor 1. The intimaybe... When I wrote this I was still conversing with Paris; and that day he threw me off completely with his observations. He had managed to learn and observe my behaviour and even called me on some actions I subconsciously do... and I was blown away. I remember mention it to him, how I was shocked and awed of his indepth knowledge of me, almost intimate... yet we had never exchanged anything above a gaze or a hug. His response? "What... that someone listens to you and pays attention to you?" Apparently I am a person he likes and sticks in his mind... to him my smile "will light up the sky" and that objects "pale in comparison" to me... but I'm still not enough for him to cross the fence and join me in my world, or let me loose into his.
It is because of these factors, among other things, that each relationship ended or each relationship failed to begin. The underlying uncertainty of oneself and of others drove each person to act and react the way they did; and although I am not excusing their behaviour and any other persons similar behaviour... now I can sort of understand why this happens so that next time, maybe it won't happen again. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Only Me
Aka your 1:7 billion...
Another recurring and scary trend that I have noticed during my run on the mating game is that men you have for one reason or another deemed as a 'friend' may not always have your best interest in mind. I suppose that is not something groundshaking or new; but each time it presents itself to me I am shocked... friends are friends: they hold you up when you are down, they convince you you're a good person/beautiful/not incompetent when you believe you're awful/ugly/ridiculously incompetent... and when being your friend is that simple, guys and girls do an equally amazing job. However once dating advice comes into play, why is it that a number of guys, ok, a number of my so-called platonic guy friends bring up the "only me" statements that misdirect the conversation from you and guy-of-interest to you and guy- friend?
I do not know if this holds true for every girl with a handful of platonic male friends; someone you've deemed as having a quality or two that makes sleeping with them completely unacceptable. But for some reason or another, and whether or not they have girlfriends or significant others, they slip in some passive-aggressive statements that make you think, or at the very least pause and stop, that they are the only male on the planet who understands you?
Now we all know that this is impossible: there are 7 billion people on this planet, which comes out to a better chance that you will eventually find someone or many someone's out there who understand you. Besides, he's your friend, a buddy and not a potential boyfriend. You know that and as far as you are concerned he knows that. Except for the fact that this notion has not stopped three, yes three of my platonic guy friends from saying at one time or another, and repeatedly in one way or another that they are the only guy I know who 'gets me'.
I find this notion both laughable and insulting. If a girl said that to a guy, if a woman said that to a man, she would be written off as psychotic, unstable and crazy.... but when a guy does it to a girl, if a man does it to a woman... he is a hero; a knight in shining armor waiting to rescue her from the black-hole sun that is her dating field.
Let me give you an example: while watching a movie with my platonic, wonderful yet completely unfuckable friend... let's call him "Pete", made comments to me throughout and after the movie about my many quirks that he supposedly noticed during the few hours that we were together; now it was a nice revelation to hear, however he followed it up with "see? and I am probably the ONLY one of your friends who notices these things about you; I know you." He's said those things before, emphasis his, on the only that he dishes out to hammer home the fact that he and he alone knows my soul...
Point of fact: a lot of people know my quirks and can read me like a book, some better than others. But just because you have learned to recognize my idiosyncrasies and my small neurosis and believe them to be cute does NOT mean that you can convince me that you and I are eternal soulmates when I have already filed you away under the 'friends' category. Congrats, you know me, but that's not enough.
Another example: a friend of mine, let's call him "Vince", is currently dating and has dated this one girl for quite a while, a string of women that never seems to end. I don't blame him; he is smart, charming, giving and apparently amazing in the sack. Who wouldn't want him? ... oh, well besides me. We are friends: we decided that a while ago and have had a wonderful relationship ever since... but he's let slip many many many times that no other man could treat me as well as he could, and that he's upset that he'll never get to show me what real romance is, and that he is the only living proof that good men exist in this world.... well, you get the point.
Point of fact: yes there are a LOT of Sketchbag McGees out there who do not treat women or anyone for that matter well. Yes I have had my unfair share of them. However, I have to believe that there are more good men out there than there are bad... otherwise how else would I explain why those nice guys are always trapped with those bitchy girls and vice versa? Out of ... let's say 3.2 billion men in this world, more than 1 will know how to treat a lady. Seriously.
I guess it is so upsetting because this kind of passive-aggressive sell is only dished out once a person-of-interest enters your life, and it seems as if they are subconsciously trying to prevent a relationship from beginning so as to not lose that sense of hope that maybe, one day, some day, you'll turn around and see the light, proclaiming your undying love for them. First they find something wrong with your new guy while playing up their strengths; then they keep reiterating how well they know me in comparison without understanding that oh em gee this guy is brand new and hasn't even had a chance; and then they advise as 'friends' that I be careful and that there are a lot of wackos out there (dually noted) and that they are 'always here' if I need them (yeahuh). This kind of behaviour is only friendly on the surface: they make it seem as if they are looking out for your best interest when they are clearly only serving their own.
Not too long ago, Vince let slip that when he knows that I am single, and I venture that it is the same for all girls with platonic friends who want more, it gives him a sense of comfort knowing that I am 'still available'. What I can't help but wonder is ... we discussed the fact that we would never date, each friend of mine and I... so why in the face of the facts does he and Pete and other guy friends still try to sabotage another man's chance of legitimately being with me?
Seriously; in this drama scare tactics and reverse psychology only work on the stupid. If you successfully scare me into believing that no other can do whatever it is that you magically can... then I won't love you. I'll settle for you. And is that really want you want, to be settled for? To have her say 'I do' when it's really 'You'll do'? Really. If I am not dating you, and remember I am single, it's because you're missing something that I need in order to have a relationship with you. Scaring me into believing that no other man could possibly live up to your place of superiority is not the way to find what you don't have that I need. Oh no; but it does gets me off. Pissed off.
Another recurring and scary trend that I have noticed during my run on the mating game is that men you have for one reason or another deemed as a 'friend' may not always have your best interest in mind. I suppose that is not something groundshaking or new; but each time it presents itself to me I am shocked... friends are friends: they hold you up when you are down, they convince you you're a good person/beautiful/not incompetent when you believe you're awful/ugly/ridiculously incompetent... and when being your friend is that simple, guys and girls do an equally amazing job. However once dating advice comes into play, why is it that a number of guys, ok, a number of my so-called platonic guy friends bring up the "only me" statements that misdirect the conversation from you and guy-of-interest to you and guy- friend?
I do not know if this holds true for every girl with a handful of platonic male friends; someone you've deemed as having a quality or two that makes sleeping with them completely unacceptable. But for some reason or another, and whether or not they have girlfriends or significant others, they slip in some passive-aggressive statements that make you think, or at the very least pause and stop, that they are the only male on the planet who understands you?
Now we all know that this is impossible: there are 7 billion people on this planet, which comes out to a better chance that you will eventually find someone or many someone's out there who understand you. Besides, he's your friend, a buddy and not a potential boyfriend. You know that and as far as you are concerned he knows that. Except for the fact that this notion has not stopped three, yes three of my platonic guy friends from saying at one time or another, and repeatedly in one way or another that they are the only guy I know who 'gets me'.
I find this notion both laughable and insulting. If a girl said that to a guy, if a woman said that to a man, she would be written off as psychotic, unstable and crazy.... but when a guy does it to a girl, if a man does it to a woman... he is a hero; a knight in shining armor waiting to rescue her from the black-hole sun that is her dating field.
Let me give you an example: while watching a movie with my platonic, wonderful yet completely unfuckable friend... let's call him "Pete", made comments to me throughout and after the movie about my many quirks that he supposedly noticed during the few hours that we were together; now it was a nice revelation to hear, however he followed it up with "see? and I am probably the ONLY one of your friends who notices these things about you; I know you." He's said those things before, emphasis his, on the only that he dishes out to hammer home the fact that he and he alone knows my soul...
Point of fact: a lot of people know my quirks and can read me like a book, some better than others. But just because you have learned to recognize my idiosyncrasies and my small neurosis and believe them to be cute does NOT mean that you can convince me that you and I are eternal soulmates when I have already filed you away under the 'friends' category. Congrats, you know me, but that's not enough.
Another example: a friend of mine, let's call him "Vince", is currently dating and has dated this one girl for quite a while, a string of women that never seems to end. I don't blame him; he is smart, charming, giving and apparently amazing in the sack. Who wouldn't want him? ... oh, well besides me. We are friends: we decided that a while ago and have had a wonderful relationship ever since... but he's let slip many many many times that no other man could treat me as well as he could, and that he's upset that he'll never get to show me what real romance is, and that he is the only living proof that good men exist in this world.... well, you get the point.
Point of fact: yes there are a LOT of Sketchbag McGees out there who do not treat women or anyone for that matter well. Yes I have had my unfair share of them. However, I have to believe that there are more good men out there than there are bad... otherwise how else would I explain why those nice guys are always trapped with those bitchy girls and vice versa? Out of ... let's say 3.2 billion men in this world, more than 1 will know how to treat a lady. Seriously.
I guess it is so upsetting because this kind of passive-aggressive sell is only dished out once a person-of-interest enters your life, and it seems as if they are subconsciously trying to prevent a relationship from beginning so as to not lose that sense of hope that maybe, one day, some day, you'll turn around and see the light, proclaiming your undying love for them. First they find something wrong with your new guy while playing up their strengths; then they keep reiterating how well they know me in comparison without understanding that oh em gee this guy is brand new and hasn't even had a chance; and then they advise as 'friends' that I be careful and that there are a lot of wackos out there (dually noted) and that they are 'always here' if I need them (yeahuh). This kind of behaviour is only friendly on the surface: they make it seem as if they are looking out for your best interest when they are clearly only serving their own.
Not too long ago, Vince let slip that when he knows that I am single, and I venture that it is the same for all girls with platonic friends who want more, it gives him a sense of comfort knowing that I am 'still available'. What I can't help but wonder is ... we discussed the fact that we would never date, each friend of mine and I... so why in the face of the facts does he and Pete and other guy friends still try to sabotage another man's chance of legitimately being with me?
Seriously; in this drama scare tactics and reverse psychology only work on the stupid. If you successfully scare me into believing that no other can do whatever it is that you magically can... then I won't love you. I'll settle for you. And is that really want you want, to be settled for? To have her say 'I do' when it's really 'You'll do'? Really. If I am not dating you, and remember I am single, it's because you're missing something that I need in order to have a relationship with you. Scaring me into believing that no other man could possibly live up to your place of superiority is not the way to find what you don't have that I need. Oh no; but it does gets me off. Pissed off.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
The Champagne Year
Tomorrow is my birthday, a day to sit back and reflect upon the year that has passed to see where I was, where I have been, and most importantly what I actually did and what I didn't do. At 22, although I'm still uncomfortable at giving up 21, I admit that I do not have an enormous wealth of knowledge of live, but from what I've learned during my short hour upon the stage that is life is that life is short, fleeting, and will pass you by before you even know it.
Isn't it funny how many people don't, or refuse, or neglect, or even forget to do something, or hum and haw at another, wasting precious time thinking of excuses that prevents them from doing the very thing they are trying so hard to avoid? Well... I think I've come up, well not really, but I've got a solution of some sorts to this little dilemma... at least for me. This solution is related to the impending arrival of my Champagne Year.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept of a Champagne Year please allow me to elaborate: the Champagne Year is the year you turn the age of the day that you were born. So, for example I was born on the 24th, therefore my Champagne Year runs from September 2008 to September 2009, in other words, the year that I am 24. So as of today I have exactly 2 years to decide what, when, where and how I will spend my Champagne Year... oh, and how the hell I am going to pull it all off. My current guestimate is I will be entering either my final year of undergraduate studies, or have graduated already and maybe started some post-grade education or work. Either way, 24 is a great age, almost ideal to have as a Champagne Year.
The Champagne Year, for me at least, is like a marker: not set, as it is unique depending on the person celebrating, it's not scary like the dreaded quarter-life or mid-life crisis, and not as final as 50, or whatever age finishes the "____ is the new _____" sentence. The Champagne Year is meant to celebrate you in every way you can imagine. As the creaters of the "Totally Unique Thought" website say "Thoughts become things...." and trust me, you'll want to think about this.
I must admit that the idea of a Champagne Year is not entirely mine... or really, not mine at all. No, that idea came from a friend of mine after spending his 24th year travelling and seeing the world. Fitting, as on benefit of travelling at any time broadens ones horizons, exposes one to new cultures, and let's not forget about the shopping. Understanding all of this, my obvious choice for my Champange Year is to travel, which should come as no surprise. Europe is the hot bed for 20 something travellers either just beofre, in between or just after our education. With so many places to choose from, one could get lost in deciding where to go, where to stay, what to see and of course, where to shop. But after about a year of careful consideration I have decided where in Europe I will spend, at least one week of my Champagne Year, in Paris France.
Why Paris? Well... to be honest the closest I've been to France is that little bakery in the Market off of Dalhousie, or my manicure that I've already managed to ruin. I'd also like to explore and experience the so-called 'city of love' for myself; walk the streets of paris in ridiculously high heels, eat those famous French pasteries, smoke those fabulous French cigarettes, climb... well gaze up at the Eifel Tower, tour the Louvre, complete that Da Vinci tour and but of course, visit the accessories at Chanel. Going to Paris like this has been in my head for the past 5 years and as a result it is something that I've always wanted to do ... something that I would like to do, and I can think of no better time than to do something like this than a Champagne Year.
The entire idea behind the Champagne Year is to do stuff like this, stuff that in the dull reality of the 'real world' you would hum and haw over. The Champagne Year is a year of doing, of celebrating, of living your life the way you wish you could live. It may even be a jump start into a better state of mind. Maybe afterwards I and anyone else 'Champagning' out there won't want, or will not want to stop living life to it's fullest. And seriously, I can't think of a better gift to give to oneself for a Champagne Year.
Isn't it funny how many people don't, or refuse, or neglect, or even forget to do something, or hum and haw at another, wasting precious time thinking of excuses that prevents them from doing the very thing they are trying so hard to avoid? Well... I think I've come up, well not really, but I've got a solution of some sorts to this little dilemma... at least for me. This solution is related to the impending arrival of my Champagne Year.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept of a Champagne Year please allow me to elaborate: the Champagne Year is the year you turn the age of the day that you were born. So, for example I was born on the 24th, therefore my Champagne Year runs from September 2008 to September 2009, in other words, the year that I am 24. So as of today I have exactly 2 years to decide what, when, where and how I will spend my Champagne Year... oh, and how the hell I am going to pull it all off. My current guestimate is I will be entering either my final year of undergraduate studies, or have graduated already and maybe started some post-grade education or work. Either way, 24 is a great age, almost ideal to have as a Champagne Year.
The Champagne Year, for me at least, is like a marker: not set, as it is unique depending on the person celebrating, it's not scary like the dreaded quarter-life or mid-life crisis, and not as final as 50, or whatever age finishes the "____ is the new _____" sentence. The Champagne Year is meant to celebrate you in every way you can imagine. As the creaters of the "Totally Unique Thought" website say "Thoughts become things...." and trust me, you'll want to think about this.
I must admit that the idea of a Champagne Year is not entirely mine... or really, not mine at all. No, that idea came from a friend of mine after spending his 24th year travelling and seeing the world. Fitting, as on benefit of travelling at any time broadens ones horizons, exposes one to new cultures, and let's not forget about the shopping. Understanding all of this, my obvious choice for my Champange Year is to travel, which should come as no surprise. Europe is the hot bed for 20 something travellers either just beofre, in between or just after our education. With so many places to choose from, one could get lost in deciding where to go, where to stay, what to see and of course, where to shop. But after about a year of careful consideration I have decided where in Europe I will spend, at least one week of my Champagne Year, in Paris France.
Why Paris? Well... to be honest the closest I've been to France is that little bakery in the Market off of Dalhousie, or my manicure that I've already managed to ruin. I'd also like to explore and experience the so-called 'city of love' for myself; walk the streets of paris in ridiculously high heels, eat those famous French pasteries, smoke those fabulous French cigarettes, climb... well gaze up at the Eifel Tower, tour the Louvre, complete that Da Vinci tour and but of course, visit the accessories at Chanel. Going to Paris like this has been in my head for the past 5 years and as a result it is something that I've always wanted to do ... something that I would like to do, and I can think of no better time than to do something like this than a Champagne Year.
The entire idea behind the Champagne Year is to do stuff like this, stuff that in the dull reality of the 'real world' you would hum and haw over. The Champagne Year is a year of doing, of celebrating, of living your life the way you wish you could live. It may even be a jump start into a better state of mind. Maybe afterwards I and anyone else 'Champagning' out there won't want, or will not want to stop living life to it's fullest. And seriously, I can't think of a better gift to give to oneself for a Champagne Year.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Oops!
Oops: a summation of a relationship, however brief, torrid, or catastrophic, generally understood by all parties involved to have been a mistake.
I was attending a good-bye party for one of my girlfriends, let’s call her Emily, who in a few days is gallivanting to South Eastern Asia for four months with her boyfriend, let’s call him David. The majority of the party was her girlfriends, I included, except for one “happy” couple, and I use that term objectively. See, this couple constitutes one of my domesticated friends, let’s call her Abby, along with her boyfriend of over a year, let’s call him Bram.
Let me begin with the fact that I adore Abby; she is smart, beautiful, career oriented, comes from a good and loving, God-fearing family and is on her way to a fantastic job and a fantastic life. So it confuses the hell out of me every time I see her as each time is few and far between and she is almost always attached to Bram. It is simply mind-boggling to me every time I see him holding her hand, or with his arm around her, or Heaven-forbid kissing her. Maybe I should expand; Bram is a bit older than her, give or take 4 years, with a job but no career, not very attractive facially, physically, intellectually, anything? He’s immature, funny only to himself, makes inappropriate remarks and jokes at the worst possible times… basically he is a walking train wreck, except one you simply MUST look away from. So I had to ask myself, how did this gong show of a guy have my gorgeous girlfriend in the palm of his hand?
The first thought that popped into my mind was obvious; however Abby is a good girl, traditional and proper, so the “he must be good in bed” excuse is out of the question. Money? I ventured a guess that he spoiled her rotten with gifts, dinners, mini-breaks and the like… until the bill came at the martini bar we were at, and it was Abby who pulled out her credit card from her clutch while Bram kept chatting away, like he was expecting her to pay for the pleasure of his company, his food, is alcohol, and his dessert. Now I am the modern type of woman; I enjoyed treating my man to a dinner, a drink or 2, or a movie no problems; however an acknowledgement was always in order for each of us, whoever was paying; a thank you from Bram would have been nice, however it seemed as if a thank you, let alone a glance at the bill was the furthest thing from his mind. So it cannot be money. Company? As I alluded to before, Abby is... well, perfect. Given the chance she could get any man at any time… so why Bram? Then it hit me; Pity! This must be a pity date, or a pity quickie relationship! During the past year we all kept thinking that one day Abby would show up solo, smiling and laughing like before with a “just kidding!” look in her eyes… but it’s been over a year, and Bram is still around. So really, what is going on here? This isn’t the first case I’ve come across where a gorgeous, intelligent, otherwise perfect girl is in a so-so relationship with a guy her friends wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot clown pole. So why is it that this otherwise reject-of-a-guy is getting the fantastic girl?
I guess it comes down to what a lot of people have been telling me; guys are intimidated by good looking girls. That is why you see a lot of hot girls walking around, holding hands and getting married to less than hot guys. The nice guys and the hot guys are not making any moves, therefore leaving the attractive women ripe for the taking. The nice guy complains that there are no nice girls left and that we all want the jerks; to this I say, well then make a move before the jerk gets her! Personally speaking, not a lot of men speak to me for one reason or another, so whenever a guy shows interest and makes a move, I will most likely respond just out of curiosity or who knows? Maybe even attraction; but this chain of events cannot occur spontaneously; you must make a move in order to see results. Jerks and less than … worthy I suppose? Gentleman get the girl simply because they try; they put in the little bit of effort that the nice guy can’t seem to do and as a result, the jerks and less than worthy men get all the women.
And I find that frustrating; not only for my friend Abby, but for myself. Heaven knows I’ve had my share of “oops!” with men I shouldn’t ever have touched with a 10-foot clown pole, but I did because they put in the effort while the nice guys I really liked sat back and watched, shaking their heads and seeing fit to lecture me when the relationship didn’t work out. I guess the final word is this; nice guys, make a move; and nice girls… don’t settle for the less-than-worthy guy … except if you can explain it away as a temporary bout of insanity, otherwise known as an oops!
I was attending a good-bye party for one of my girlfriends, let’s call her Emily, who in a few days is gallivanting to South Eastern Asia for four months with her boyfriend, let’s call him David. The majority of the party was her girlfriends, I included, except for one “happy” couple, and I use that term objectively. See, this couple constitutes one of my domesticated friends, let’s call her Abby, along with her boyfriend of over a year, let’s call him Bram.
Let me begin with the fact that I adore Abby; she is smart, beautiful, career oriented, comes from a good and loving, God-fearing family and is on her way to a fantastic job and a fantastic life. So it confuses the hell out of me every time I see her as each time is few and far between and she is almost always attached to Bram. It is simply mind-boggling to me every time I see him holding her hand, or with his arm around her, or Heaven-forbid kissing her. Maybe I should expand; Bram is a bit older than her, give or take 4 years, with a job but no career, not very attractive facially, physically, intellectually, anything? He’s immature, funny only to himself, makes inappropriate remarks and jokes at the worst possible times… basically he is a walking train wreck, except one you simply MUST look away from. So I had to ask myself, how did this gong show of a guy have my gorgeous girlfriend in the palm of his hand?
The first thought that popped into my mind was obvious; however Abby is a good girl, traditional and proper, so the “he must be good in bed” excuse is out of the question. Money? I ventured a guess that he spoiled her rotten with gifts, dinners, mini-breaks and the like… until the bill came at the martini bar we were at, and it was Abby who pulled out her credit card from her clutch while Bram kept chatting away, like he was expecting her to pay for the pleasure of his company, his food, is alcohol, and his dessert. Now I am the modern type of woman; I enjoyed treating my man to a dinner, a drink or 2, or a movie no problems; however an acknowledgement was always in order for each of us, whoever was paying; a thank you from Bram would have been nice, however it seemed as if a thank you, let alone a glance at the bill was the furthest thing from his mind. So it cannot be money. Company? As I alluded to before, Abby is... well, perfect. Given the chance she could get any man at any time… so why Bram? Then it hit me; Pity! This must be a pity date, or a pity quickie relationship! During the past year we all kept thinking that one day Abby would show up solo, smiling and laughing like before with a “just kidding!” look in her eyes… but it’s been over a year, and Bram is still around. So really, what is going on here? This isn’t the first case I’ve come across where a gorgeous, intelligent, otherwise perfect girl is in a so-so relationship with a guy her friends wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot clown pole. So why is it that this otherwise reject-of-a-guy is getting the fantastic girl?
I guess it comes down to what a lot of people have been telling me; guys are intimidated by good looking girls. That is why you see a lot of hot girls walking around, holding hands and getting married to less than hot guys. The nice guys and the hot guys are not making any moves, therefore leaving the attractive women ripe for the taking. The nice guy complains that there are no nice girls left and that we all want the jerks; to this I say, well then make a move before the jerk gets her! Personally speaking, not a lot of men speak to me for one reason or another, so whenever a guy shows interest and makes a move, I will most likely respond just out of curiosity or who knows? Maybe even attraction; but this chain of events cannot occur spontaneously; you must make a move in order to see results. Jerks and less than … worthy I suppose? Gentleman get the girl simply because they try; they put in the little bit of effort that the nice guy can’t seem to do and as a result, the jerks and less than worthy men get all the women.
And I find that frustrating; not only for my friend Abby, but for myself. Heaven knows I’ve had my share of “oops!” with men I shouldn’t ever have touched with a 10-foot clown pole, but I did because they put in the effort while the nice guys I really liked sat back and watched, shaking their heads and seeing fit to lecture me when the relationship didn’t work out. I guess the final word is this; nice guys, make a move; and nice girls… don’t settle for the less-than-worthy guy … except if you can explain it away as a temporary bout of insanity, otherwise known as an oops!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Beyond Our Front Door...
I realize that the majority of my posts have been about stereotypical twenty-something issues with an extra focus on shoes; it is the prerogative of youth to act our age, however there is a time and place for everything, including the issues that nobody my age wishes to discuss. It is a common mistake, I know I do it too… I have kept my mouth shut when the right thing was to speak out, but never mistake silence for stupidity. As a young woman in 2006 I may not always say what is on my mind, but that doesn’t mean that I actually don’t have anything important to say.
My generation is notorious for our lackadaisical attitudes towards others; not caring what happens so long as it doesn’t happen to us. We’re unaware or worse, disinterested in the goings on of the world outside our social circle and at most outside of our sphere of influence. The “why should I care what happens?” stigma, I feel, is unfairly placed upon all twenty-something’s, at least myself and a good number of twenty-something’s I know. The confusion or misconception lies in the fact that although we are aware of what is going on in the world around us, we don’t quite know how to deal with it yet, or what we should or should not do about it. Contrary to popular movies that claim otherwise, twenty-something’s don’t think that they declared peace in the Middle East, we know that AIDS is real not just because Alicia Keys told us so, and that in comparison to 20-30-40 years ago the world we live in is a very different place. So to all the “adults” who look down upon my generation as a group of know-nothing-know-it-alls I say this: we’re conscious of our environment beyond our immediate friends and family; it’s just hard to make a stand on our principles when those in power aren’t listening because it’s already been decided that we don’t know anything. How can those of us who want to change the world if the world right now doesn’t acknowledge that we want to?
I bring this up because of the recent news article about the alleged bombing plot on 10 UK to US flights and other potential acts of terror that seep over the Atlantic Ocean into the back of our minds. As a frequent and already petrified traveler I find this news especially disturbing, not because I plan on flying in the near future, nor because my family, my father especially, tends to fly quite often. No, this disturbs me because as a human being in an insecure world, news like this should disturb me, despite it being about perfect strangers one continent away from my cozy cubicle in a safe (for now) country. I mean, one would have to be REALLY selfish or really removed from reality if a news article like this doesn’t affect you in the slightest. We’re social creatures: we all know somebody who flies/commutes/works/otherwise lives their daily lives. Some call me paranoid for being frightened, my mother to be exact, even though she herself hates flying; I’ve had friends and relatives remind me that you are safer in a plane than in a car, that the chances of this/that/the other actually happening to you are slim to none and every other cliché you can throw at me… but clichés are another topic that I’ll discuss later. Either way the end result was the same; I was scared before, and now I am scared stiff.
I guess its human nature, not twenty-something nature, to not want to think about events or happenings that has the potential to cause us harm or danger or anxiety, or to rationalize it away like my friends and family have tried to do in respects to my fear of flying. And personally, when I catch myself thinking about the social issues that will eventually effect my work, like AIDS in Africa, the ridiculous price of easily made pharmaceuticals to third world populations, and the overall lack of funding and attention my field received despite performing a critical function within society, I find myself frustrated at the external loci of control that for the moment is making all the decisions about topics I care deeply for. So what does one do? If I kept thinking about it eventually I’d find myself in a state of helplessness, that even after I get my degrees and experience and the skills necessary to make a difference I would have convinced myself through years of thought and doubt that no matter what I do or who I do it to, nothing will change. The idealism of my youth and the passion that drives me would have been crushed a slow and painful death by the distorted reality of the forty/fifty-something’s opinions on the current world we occupy. So I stop thinking about it all the time until the day I can actually do something about it, more than the monthly donations, the volunteer work and the education I give myself that keeps me close enough to make it real, but far enough to let me focus. To everyone outside our heads this seems pretty selfish, like we’re ignoring the problem, but we’re not. We’re just waiting for our turn.
Isolationism didn’t work for the States cerca WW1 and WW2; as hard as they tried to ignore the problems that were occurring a world away because in the end, geographic proximity doesn’t matter in the modern world. We are free to move about, as are those who wish us harm. We know that. We painfully, obviously know that to the point where we know-nothing-know-it-alls don’t know what to do. And for a stubborn independent twenty-something, that is not a good feeling.
But if you’ll excuse me, I have to go board my flight.
Friday, August 18, 2006
The Importance of Something and the Meaning of Nothing
I think that one of the most frustrating feelings one could have while engaged in the dating game is the feeling of something that is missing, especially when you can’t place your finger on that “something”. Granted the entire idea of dating is finding out whether or not you are compatible with someone, and really when you think about it you’re going to get more misses than hits… but still. The moment of realization that this person you’re seeing may not be “the one” is always a let down. It’s not that there is anything wrong with that person… it’s just the fact that they are not right. You may not be able to concretely describe why this person is not right but deep down you know; and I guess that’s all the proof you need.
Last night I saw the teacher, a guy I met not too long ago with a profile (and jaw-line) that looked promising. He’s a bit older than I am, and although I understand that older doesn’t necessarily mean more mature, I prefer to see men who are at least 2-3 years older than I am. The teacher is attractive, intelligent, has a good job and a set routine, he’s great with kids and so relaxed, which is a nice opposite to my overactive mentality. We’ve had four or five dates and things were starting to appear promising. But last night was different; something was off about me, about my body, about my mind, so much that I had to stop what I was doing (and that wasn’t easy, let me tell you!) and think. It was like I had just run into a window pane of foggy glass. Apparently this “something” was quite noticeable, as even the teacher noticed the change in my mood, saying that he had never seen me so “pensive” and “gone so long without you talking”.
I have had the pleasure of meeting many people such as myself: that although I may not always say what is on my mind, if you know them/me well enough you can simply read it off their facial expressions and body language. In this case with the teacher, it seemed confusing to him but so obvious to me. I have a good understanding of my body language and how my mind works. I’m stubborn, so answers or warning signs that are clear to others often takes a bit longer to sink into my thick head, and I think that’s what happened last night with the teacher. I finally realized that something was off, and it was bothering me all night until this morning when it finally clicked. When it comes to the teacher, although he seems to have everything he is still missing something that I need:
Butterflies. He doesn’t give me butterflies, not when I see him nor when I think of him. And that is what I am missing. That is my “something” that has the potential, and probably will, to prevent me from dating the teacher. It is the “something” that I simply cannot do without, because without it what we have is … well, nothing.
I guess that’s the downside to knowing yourself too well; you know what you want and what you don’t want… but most importantly you know what you need. As nice as the teacher is, as cute and smart and oh-so-attractive, that something is missing; something important enough to make me reconsider our quasi-relationship.
I will admit that I am young; 21 to be exact, not really what one would call “seasoned” in the game of love. However I have been in love and I have been in relationships that feel right… well at least they did at the beginning, and I’ve been stuck in relationships that have felt so wrong I had to escape. So in a sense I know what I should be feeling and what I shouldn’t, what I need to feel and what I need to pursue a relationship with someone who fulfills those needs.
With the teacher I am content; I am not unhappy but at the same time I am not exquisitely joyful. And it’s not because of anything he has done or hasn’t done. We get along just fine, we’re both somewhat attracted to each other, we have similar interests and can make the other laugh. Now on paper this sounds lovely, and being with him is nice… but that’s all it is. The butterflies are missing, and I can’t trick my body or my mind into believing something else after experiencing what real love is like. I can’t, and nor should anyone else, fool myself into believing that a 5/10 relationship is worth it or good enough. I guess what it comes down to is this, my third dating mantra: Give me Butterflies, or Give me Space.
Some people call it butterflies, some people call it the zsa-zsa-zsu. Either way it’s that feeling in the pit of your stomach of nervousness that makes you feel excited and alive. Butterflies can change the way you breathe, the way you eat, the way you act, the way you speak. It’s the initial contact, the first touch, glance or stare that takes your breath away… and with the teacher it isn’t there. And that made me sad… but at the same time I do not believe in settling for an ok-relationship when I could find someone who gives me butterflies. As sad as I am in light of this fact… I don’t settle for anything else in life, not for shoes, not for education, not for friends, and not for me; so why should I settle for something as important as a potential lover? Settling for an ok lover makes absolutely no sense, and any lover/boyfriend/significant other I taken on must at least give me butterflies.
Monday, August 14, 2006
We're one, but we're not the same...
I really hate it when people should me. You know, “you should do this” or “you shouldn’t do that” or “you should be …..”, especially when the should relates to any and all events that contain emotions. One thing that I have learned in my studies is that there is a difference between sympathy and empathy in the sense that although you can relate to what someone is going through, you cannot truly know what it feels like for them simply because you are not them. Just because you had experienced a similar situation to someone doesn’t necessarily give you the right to decide where someone is in their recovery, or decide for them what they should do (see, there is that word again!). Particularly when you’re dealing with matters of the heart. As critical as your friends are when it comes to overcoming heartbreak, I can’t help but wonder how much help anyone can be with something so individual, as often I’ve found myself justifying my emotions rather than expressing them.
I was recently speaking to a guy about this, and maybe that was my first mistake, as men seem to be able to repress emotions better than women, about an ex of mine, Vegas actually, whose story still stings my chordae tendineae despite being two years over. This guy friend of mine, although well-meaning and wonderful, should-ed me in respect to the fact that I still am not completely over him… like I was wrong or inadequate for not being able to “look him in the eye and say ‘whatever I’m over you”. When I tried to explain that what happened really hurt and that since it didn’t happen to him it would be hard to understand, he shot back with a previous break up of his. Now under normal circumstances this would be all good and well, as empathy is always welcome when the heart hurts, however in this case the girl he broke up with that was so painful… well they are now engaged, not to mention that he got under his own free will and mind a permanent reminder of her etched on his body. So maybe I am missing something here, but all I could focus on was the fact that although yes they had broken up, yes both had experienced heart ache not unlike my own, their story had a happy ending, or should I say a happy beginning come this time next year at their wedding.
Half of me wished to respond in kind: to say “Well can you look her in the eye and say ‘whatever I am over you?’… Oh that’s right, no, because you looked her in the eye and said ‘marry me’.” Don’t get me wrong here: I am truly happy for them as they are wonderful people and even more wonderful together, but that fact, that ending negates all credibility in him emphasizing with my situation. What started out as a similar notion of love lost and pain found ended very differently for the two of us. In short he got what he wanted and I did not. He said those words to her that I wanted to her from my ex, but my ears are still half-straining for words that will never be said and an ending that will never happen. It confused me and still does now how he could say something like that knowing full and well that coming from him that expectation is baseless. It is one thing to be a “survivor” so to speak, of a particularly bad break up and to have successfully moved on and ask me why I haven’t been able to do the same. Granted I’d still be pissed off but I would understand: coming from someone who was there and maybe still is there, I can listen. But coming from someone who was there for a short time only to have their hope fulfilled and their wishes come true to ask me why I haven’t gotten over someone? It doesn’t seem right… maybe because it’s not.
The other half of me can see where this attitude is coming from. It is unfair to categorize this kind of behaviour to just teenagers and adolescence, the idea that “nobody understands what I am going through because NOBODY has hurt as much as I have/like I have… I’m such a victim”. In that scenario I can see how that kind of attitude is annoying, selfish and self centred. However I am well aware of the fact that there are people out there in the world who have suffered far more than I ever will in every sense of the world, that heart ache and loneliness has existed before I was born, and yes I have hurt, but the world goes on whether or not I chose to join it. Understanding all of this and trying to avoid the spotlight effect, it still hurts when someone expects me to be something I am not or do something that I simply cannot do right now, especially when it’s about love.
Current research suggests that the old cliché of your “first love” has a scientific basis; that when it goes awry it will always hurt the most and more disturbingly will always be permanently etched in your brain and heart. This is so because before your first love our minds and bodies did not know what love was, so during that first intimate or adult relationship your brain is creating new synapses and connections, much like learning a new language, that you refer back to when you think of love, thus referring back to the person who helped create those synapses, those connections between your higher brain functions and your heart. So in a sense we are chemically doomed to refer back to our first love as a basis for our subsequent relationships where “love” is re-stimulated. It is a bleak picture, but it makes sense; therefore I am not surprised that I am not fully over him and know that I never will be.
Individual experiences are just that: individual. Just like you cannot literally feel another persons physical pain, such you cannot completely understand another persons emotional pain. Knowing this, it is very difficult for me to accept another person’s obligations or expectations when it comes to “getting over” anything in accordance to their schedule no matter who they are or what they have gone through. Seriously, I can barely follow the bus schedule to get places on time, let alone something as important as my emotional well-being. I guess what I am trying to say is… To put it another way, a similar injury, say a myocardial infarction of similar strength and severity, can harm one person and kill another. Such is the pain of the first love; a similar injury of similar strength and severity, which I guess in this guys mind is the case, can harm one person (him) and kill another (me). You wouldn’t chastise the patient who died from a MI, or make the comparison to their family in regards to why one survived and one did not, so why chastise someone for a slow emotional recovery, or for not recovering at all?
The bottom line is this: His story and my story and all other stories are all completely different situations. I appreciate his attempt and all other attempts to emphasize with my pity-party, however you shouldn’t “should” someone. Your recovery is your own, however way you want it to be and however long you want it to be. If you’re reading this and hurting about something remember this: don’t let anyone dictate how long you should feel bad; you know yourself best. Don’t let anybody should all over you.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Cheap & Easy
... and not as good as you think!
It’s simple, it’s cheap, and it’s plentiful. Take it easy, I’m talking about food, fast food to be exact. Just walking down Bank Street this afternoon I am inundated with inexpensive meal options, just begging me to take a look and see exactly how much food I can get for one low ridiculous price. Me being a student and more apt to spend my hard earned money on clothing and shoes and the occasional book am instantaneously attracted to this, knowing that the less I spend on food the more I can save or more likely spend at the mall. However, me being a student of life sciences, I also know better… or at least I know to know better regarding what I put into my mouth. And yet I still find myself oddly attracted to the fast food nation, McDonald’s specifically, thinking that every time I eat there will be different, I won’t feel sick to my stomach afterwards, and I’ll be just fine. Obviously I am wrong, but hey, it’s the prerogative of youth to act our age once in a while.
I admit, I used to frequent McDonalds on a semi-weekly basis, whether it be a quick breaky with my roommate, an inexpensive dinner and hang-out place with Angelica and another one of my friends, let’s call her “Christie”, or a late night or early morning snack with my clubbing and McDonalds friend, let’s call her “Kelly”. An ex-boyfriend of mine used to chastise me (among other things) about eating at McDonalds as often as I did. At first, well now even, it really pissed me off. I mean, I’m 21, don’t you think that’s a little too old to baby-sit what I eat? Especially someone who is studying life science, I’m pretty sure I have a better idea of health and wellness than my ex who… well, wasn’t even in school. Apparently watching Oprah and Dr. Phil gave him license to “fix” whatever was “wrong” with me, including my selection of eats. Anyway, back to my point: I ate at McDonalds knowing full well that it is bad for me, I saw “Super Size Me” and loved it, but immediately following headed for McDonalds. Afterwards, and every other time afterwards, I couldn’t help but begin to speculate as to why I continue this obvious self-destructive behavior of eating bad food while understanding the consequences.
Cheap food is bad for you, but it’s bad because it’s so cheap to make… and knowing how cheap it is to make, it’s just gotta be bad for you. It is a vicious cycle that nobody had quite yet figured out how to completely break free from, and I mean absolutely no cheating whatsoever: not on birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, stagettes…
The funny thing is, and I can’t for the life of me figure this out, is that the diet “pill” phenomenon makes millions of dollars a year selling us … well, crap. Crap that either doesn’t work, works momentarily, or works so well that it kills you. So we’ll shell out the 30,40,50$ for a bottle of “miracle” weight loss, and yet when it comes to purchasing food that is already healthy, won’t make us fat or won’t clog our arteries we’re suddenly skittish, even shy and sometimes downright resentful for having to spend that little extra on those “healthier” choices.
Oh, and don’t even get me started on those so-called “healthier choices” one can find in today’s vending machines. Last time I checked, diet Coke is still Coke, except we’ve replaced sugar with aspartame. Oh ok, give me more chemicals rather than something that exists naturally. There’s the ticket to everlasting health! Something else that I find amusing is that those “healthier choices” are more expensive than the usual crap… which doesn’t make much sense. You’re charging me .25 cents more for a bottle of water that contains 2 hydrogens and an oxygen molecule, plus some sodium, maybe potassium… and yet for a bottle of soda that contains considerably more ingredients/chemicals/dyes
I mean after these fries I really don’t have to eat for the rest of the day, or hell maybe even the rest of this week! But I will; I have to. My body, although currently in the 21st century, still believes it’s back in the days of famine, of starvation, of hunt or perish, kill or be killed, so it will hoard most of this “energy” I’ve consumed and save it just in case all the grocery stores sink into the earth and I am left stranded with the little food I currently have in my fridge… if I even have food in my fridge. My body doesn’t know any better, but that’s ok. That’s why I have a mind. That’s why I can think, because I can, and I should. I should really think about what I’m putting into my body if I am going to demand optimal performance out of it. Maybe I should stop fueling it with crap.
It’s not like my body doesn’t know the difference between healthy food and unhealthy food. Oh, it does, and I sure as hell paid for my choice of fuel the day I wrote this. On Thursdays I venture to the gym for a 2 hour cardio session; 1 dance and 1 kickboxing. Under normal (read: healthy) circumstances I love to dance and can let the music move me until I can’t move anymore… only to recharge with Powerade or whatever and kick-box/karate chop my way through another hour of high intensity exercise. Last Thursday after my 4$ meal at McDonalds I could hardly move. I was sluggish, inconsistent, tired and just plain awful when I glanced into the mirror to check my form. It felt as if my body was actually punishing me for eating garbage for lunch by making my limbs that much heavier, my heart more sluggish and unwilling to beat quicker, my mind wander into the blissful peace of sleep… in the middle of a loud and sweaty dance studio?
That being experienced, I’ve learned my lesson. It’s a misconception that if one works out, one can eat whatever the hell one likes… but that’s not true. My athletic body is slowly but surely rejecting junk food, at least for lunch, and if I plan on keeping this active lifestyle as I age then I’d best learn what it means to eat healthy or more plainly, to follow my own advice. Drink lots of water; eat fruits and veggies and lean sources of protein, whole grain carbs and the occasional sweet treat. I mean, what is the point in spending all my money on hot clothes and shoes if I am too fat or too skinny to wear them well and do it justice?
But if you’ll excuse me, my breakfast coffee is getting cold. D’oh!
Saturday, August 05, 2006
It's Just A Little Crush...
Wanted: An object simply to crave…
As the title suggests, I have a crush. Well, this isn’t news. I’ve had this particular crush for oh… 3 years now? Yeah, three years. The entire concept of this crush is ridiculous; I am 21 and the term crush is usually reserved for pre-teens and adolescents who are too embarrassed to admit when they like someone in fear of the repercussions … however I think we’re all just big kids at heart, so although I am admitting to the world of a crush I have, I’m still going to keep his name somewhat hidden. For those of you who know me, you probably know who I am talking about, but either way, I have to protect the innocent… ie me. Does anybody else remember when crushes used to be fun, and you didn’t have so many things to think about except your dream wedding with that person and the happy life you’d lead?
Anyway, on with my story: I have a crush on a certain athlete (every woman’s prerogative, of course!), let’s call him “Charlie”. Now “Charlie” plays for a local professional team in my city, a city that just happens to worship this team through good times and sometimes even through bad times. I first laid sights on “Charlie” when I was a bright-eyed 17 year old attending a rookie-tournament with my father and brother, as I was raised right to first appreciate the beauty of the sport and then the beauty of the players. He did not stand apart from the rest of the team at that particular moment; however there was this glimmer of excellence behind those lovely blue eyes that showed drive, passion and perseverance, all very attractive features in a man. Not to mention that after I got home and Google’d his photograph, well, off the ice he is just as pleasing to look at. Afterwards, I was hooked. I officially had my latest celebrity crush, thinking it would be similar to all the other celebrity crushes I’ve had in my short life.
Except this time I guess, it was meant to be different. “Charlie” is about… 2 years older than I am, so 23. Ok… usually I tend to fall for older men, meaning I’d solidify the fact that I simply have no chance in hell. “Charlie” also spends the majority of his time in this city… as do I. Ok… usually I tend to fall for men who have absolutely no geographic proximity to me at any point in my life. “Charlie”, being the typical 23 year old, oh except with millions of dollars, endorsements and women throwing themselves at him, goes out and enjoys the bar scene in this city. Ok… I am known to sometimes dabble in the cirque that is the bar and club scene downtown or in the West end… I guess what I am trying to say is, this is my first celebrity crush where I actually have a chance to meet “Charlie”, maybe even say a word or two.
However, and yes, there is always a however, it’s really not that simple. I’m not saying I am a celebrity, famous or even important in the grander sense of things. But I do know important people, and I do represent important people at times. These important people happen to know people who know “Charlie”. Hmm.... this puts quite the damper on my little crush. How so, you ask?
I had a recent (and very frustrating) chance that I had chosen not to take which would have ended up with me meeting “Charlie” at an intimate (read: small) location. After regaling this story to my girl friends, all of whom shared in my pain, I got to thinking about this crush in the grand sense of things and about how, as much as I would like to act on my impulses regarding “Charlie”, in reality I really can’t.
Allow me to explain: given the chance I would gladly make out with “Charlie” in a closet, or out in the open, whatever. Except I know that I’ll never get that chance, not because I am not pretty enough or I do not know the right people, but because my mind will always get in the way. First of all, when I mention this crush to my girl friends most automatically assume that I want to meet “Charlie” just so I can sleep with him and that is not true… for the most part. I generally like to know a person first hand before sleeping with them, and really all I know about “Charlie” comes from 2nd hand sources, or a friend of a friend of a friend of a guy who knows him. It really is the equivalent of sleeping with a perfect stranger who happens to be famous. If he wasn’t famous, would you sleep with him right off the bat? No, I didn’t think so. “Charlie” may be young, hot, successful and wealthy, but he’s still a person and not all twenty-something female-fans are so quick to give it up… or at least I am not. To any and all twenty-something and thirty-something female fans who can meet an athlete at a bar, go home with them and think nothing of it; good on you, and I am not be factious. I personally am not strong enough or secure enough to do so; and what’s not for me may be exactly what the next person finds appealing. Happy is she who follows her own path. Mine just happens to take me away from suddenly sleeping with “Charlie” if I ever meet him.
Now because of obstacle number one it wouldn’t be so simple afterwards, hence obstacle number two. Under normal circumstances regarding celebrity athletes a fuck-and-flake is perfectly acceptable; you sleep together and never see each other again, or maybe once or twice at the bar. Oh no… it is not so for me. See “Charlie” happens to know and be around people that I know, and not just any people. Remember those important people I mentioned? Yeah; them. Can you say awkward? Because I can say that would be totally humiliating and really not worth the fleeting pleasure of an I-know-you-but-it’s-still-a
Finally, the obstacle I currently find myself in, the third and most common obstacles to crushes is that secret crushes hardly ever stay that way. I can safely say that an entire community well known to the people who know “Charlie” is fully aware of my school-girl crush. I don’t care how old you are or how mature you are perceived to be; I already feel a slight twinge of embarrassment just thinking about how I’d be introduced should I ever get the chance to meet “Charlie”. It’s true that when you’re introducing people you should add in a fact about them, like “she’s studying this”, or “he does that”… but for some reason judging on the reactions I’ve gotten from this community the introduction would probably go a little like this: “Oh this is Carrie, she’s had a thing for you for ages!!” All in all I guess
You know, for something once so simple like a crush, I’ve managed to make this pretty complicated. The more plausible your day-dreams are to come true, the closer you get to realize the fantasy, the closer you get to the reality of having to think about your actions, or non-actions in my case, which can be quite the task when you are actually given your daydreams on a silver platter or satine sheets. So all of a sudden after having to think about “Charlie” actually being present in my life with all the people I know… My crush … sucks. I mean, so long as you don’t think about them crushes are a lot of fun but in the end “Charlie” is just another guy, like Paris, that I can’t seem to be able to get without complications.
If I think about it, and I obviously do, this crush of mine is kind of discouraging. I mean, one of the pleasures of a crush or a dream is the hope that one day it may come true. So in short, thanks to me thinking things through about the chances of me actually meeting “Charlie”, that crush has been effectively... well, crushed
Friday, July 28, 2006
La Belle et Le Dumb Ass
I’m so over, I need a new word for over.
I’ve decided to add, amongst other things, another mantra to my ever-expanding set of dating standards; one of my very close friends, lets call her “Mackenzie” came up with our first and very useful manta of “Wow me or else I haven’t much use for you” has proven very effective in my not-so-effective search for a good date. However I realize that manta number one, although broad and umbrella-like, does not expand to those men in my life who have managed to wow me but at the same time have left me hanging. I'm talking about those men who play these games of red-light ~ green-light with me until… well until I’m just about ready to turn around leave the playing field altogether. Maybe those in science, or those who have read and remembered Angels & Demons by Dan Brown will know exactly what I am talking about, but for those of you who do not, I introduce Carrie’s 2nd dating mantra for the Manolo-lite: “Substantiate or Suffocate”.
Substantiate or Suffocate, Publish or Perish, or more specifically in this situation, Prove it or Lose it. Like with any good research and in the end good dating involves a little bit of research in the field about a person(s) you are interested in, either you prove your theory or get out of the lab. This theory I speak of could be one of two things: either we are good together or we are not. Don’t get me wrong here; we could be good together as friends, but not on the dating scene. Either way once you’ve managed to extract the information you need to draw your conclusions, publish or share your thoughts and either move in or move on. The absolute worst thing you can do to a potential lover is keep them on the line by dragging out your “experiment” for any reason whatsoever. I don’t care if you are curious to see how intimate you can become without actually becoming intimate, or if you can get that guy or girl in bed without having to call them your boy/girl friend, or even call them at all. There are plenty of guys and girls out there who are looking for that, but for those of us who are legitimately looking for someone to love and be loved by, leave us the hell alone.
I mean, it is one thing to keep your distance at the beginning of a relationship, when at first you are unsure of the other persons motive, but that stage usually lasts oh … 3, 4 months? I mean, if you are sleeping with them or suggesting sleeping together then already you are way beyond the point of understandable distance. If you know what you want, or what you don’t want, then say something. Substantiate your need and share it with those implicated, otherwise you’ll end up suffocating not only yourself but the person you’ve involved in this twisted little game.
But the game can be hard to quit, especially when it is orchestrated by someone you want. Even intelligent women can fall into this trap of ambiguity, believing that something, no matter what it is, is better than nothing. Sure it sucks to be alone and life really is much better with someone you have “something” with, but when that “something” begins to stifle your confidence, your style, and your life? I find it hard to believe that something that is supposed to be an incredible experience can in the end leave you in a bind. Is this "something" really better than nothing? I guess I am about to find out.
I stopped talking to Paris. Well, not really, but we no longer speak the way we used to. I am very good at speaking from a soap box from behind my computer screen, spilling my idyllic opinions, but really my words don’t count for half as much as my actions. It is one thing for me to type out my beliefs, especially one as important as this, but it is another to act on it. So I’ve stopped speaking to Paris… and trust me, it is so hard.
It is not as simple as me not liking him anymore. Oh no. He is still the coolest of cats, the hippest of men in my life, and the embodiment of unrequited awareness to the point that if I continue down this path of ambivalence with him I think I actually might choke on the words that go unsaid. I may stumble over my words when I am tired, overworked and underplayed, but I can no longer allow something as natural as my emotions trip me up and distract me from my existence.
It seems to me, and I may be wrong that the modern man either wishes to dominate the person he is with or be dominated by them. I know plenty of girls, myself included, that inadvertently found themselves in a dominating relationship. These changes occur slowly, almost unnoticeable until it is too late. Some, like me, fight back while others allow it to eventually take over. If these women are happy this way then so be it; happiness is subjective. However, being dominated 100% of the time is simply not my bag, baby. Nor is being the dominant one in a relationship. I do not wish to control my significant other, what’s the point? I can hardly control myself, especially now that surprise sidewalk sales are popping up along these crowded streets. Nor do I find it empowering or liberating to be in command of all the aspects of a relationship, oh no. That is way too much work for anyone to take on, let alone a modern Manolo-lite such as myself. I have enough trouble being in command of my laundry.
However, and there is always a however, I can’t help but wish that there was a slightly more mature way of dealing with a toxic researcher. I understand completely that my not speaking to Paris is completely immature and juvenile, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? The hardest part is… well, Paris knows me too well and sensed that something was up or “off” about me the second the phrase “Substantiate or Suffocate” rang in my head. He knows that something is up and has even asked me about it… but I know that if I even hint at beginning a conversation it will not end the way I want it to. I know how that looks, like I want to control the situation and him instead of having it the other way around. Trust me, this is not the case. I simply want control back over myself, and that cannot be too much to ask. Except… I think he is on to me. He (after initiating a conversation and failing to get what was “up” with me out of me) no longer says good-bye or anything civil… he didn’t even end the conversation, he just let it fade away.
Why is it that when I finally catch on to the games people play and using this knowledge to impede its proceeding, does another game begin? It is so easy to say, and in a sense it is true, that this entire thing is his fault, but in the end, it’s still my problem. I’m sure he cares about me… but that’s not enough. I’m still suffocating and what I need right now he can’t give me: a breath of fresh air.
I’ve decided to add, amongst other things, another mantra to my ever-expanding set of dating standards; one of my very close friends, lets call her “Mackenzie” came up with our first and very useful manta of “Wow me or else I haven’t much use for you” has proven very effective in my not-so-effective search for a good date. However I realize that manta number one, although broad and umbrella-like, does not expand to those men in my life who have managed to wow me but at the same time have left me hanging. I'm talking about those men who play these games of red-light ~ green-light with me until… well until I’m just about ready to turn around leave the playing field altogether. Maybe those in science, or those who have read and remembered Angels & Demons by Dan Brown will know exactly what I am talking about, but for those of you who do not, I introduce Carrie’s 2nd dating mantra for the Manolo-lite: “Substantiate or Suffocate”.
Substantiate or Suffocate, Publish or Perish, or more specifically in this situation, Prove it or Lose it. Like with any good research and in the end good dating involves a little bit of research in the field about a person(s) you are interested in, either you prove your theory or get out of the lab. This theory I speak of could be one of two things: either we are good together or we are not. Don’t get me wrong here; we could be good together as friends, but not on the dating scene. Either way once you’ve managed to extract the information you need to draw your conclusions, publish or share your thoughts and either move in or move on. The absolute worst thing you can do to a potential lover is keep them on the line by dragging out your “experiment” for any reason whatsoever. I don’t care if you are curious to see how intimate you can become without actually becoming intimate, or if you can get that guy or girl in bed without having to call them your boy/girl friend, or even call them at all. There are plenty of guys and girls out there who are looking for that, but for those of us who are legitimately looking for someone to love and be loved by, leave us the hell alone.
I mean, it is one thing to keep your distance at the beginning of a relationship, when at first you are unsure of the other persons motive, but that stage usually lasts oh … 3, 4 months? I mean, if you are sleeping with them or suggesting sleeping together then already you are way beyond the point of understandable distance. If you know what you want, or what you don’t want, then say something. Substantiate your need and share it with those implicated, otherwise you’ll end up suffocating not only yourself but the person you’ve involved in this twisted little game.
But the game can be hard to quit, especially when it is orchestrated by someone you want. Even intelligent women can fall into this trap of ambiguity, believing that something, no matter what it is, is better than nothing. Sure it sucks to be alone and life really is much better with someone you have “something” with, but when that “something” begins to stifle your confidence, your style, and your life? I find it hard to believe that something that is supposed to be an incredible experience can in the end leave you in a bind. Is this "something" really better than nothing? I guess I am about to find out.
I stopped talking to Paris. Well, not really, but we no longer speak the way we used to. I am very good at speaking from a soap box from behind my computer screen, spilling my idyllic opinions, but really my words don’t count for half as much as my actions. It is one thing for me to type out my beliefs, especially one as important as this, but it is another to act on it. So I’ve stopped speaking to Paris… and trust me, it is so hard.
It is not as simple as me not liking him anymore. Oh no. He is still the coolest of cats, the hippest of men in my life, and the embodiment of unrequited awareness to the point that if I continue down this path of ambivalence with him I think I actually might choke on the words that go unsaid. I may stumble over my words when I am tired, overworked and underplayed, but I can no longer allow something as natural as my emotions trip me up and distract me from my existence.
It seems to me, and I may be wrong that the modern man either wishes to dominate the person he is with or be dominated by them. I know plenty of girls, myself included, that inadvertently found themselves in a dominating relationship. These changes occur slowly, almost unnoticeable until it is too late. Some, like me, fight back while others allow it to eventually take over. If these women are happy this way then so be it; happiness is subjective. However, being dominated 100% of the time is simply not my bag, baby. Nor is being the dominant one in a relationship. I do not wish to control my significant other, what’s the point? I can hardly control myself, especially now that surprise sidewalk sales are popping up along these crowded streets. Nor do I find it empowering or liberating to be in command of all the aspects of a relationship, oh no. That is way too much work for anyone to take on, let alone a modern Manolo-lite such as myself. I have enough trouble being in command of my laundry.
However, and there is always a however, I can’t help but wish that there was a slightly more mature way of dealing with a toxic researcher. I understand completely that my not speaking to Paris is completely immature and juvenile, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? The hardest part is… well, Paris knows me too well and sensed that something was up or “off” about me the second the phrase “Substantiate or Suffocate” rang in my head. He knows that something is up and has even asked me about it… but I know that if I even hint at beginning a conversation it will not end the way I want it to. I know how that looks, like I want to control the situation and him instead of having it the other way around. Trust me, this is not the case. I simply want control back over myself, and that cannot be too much to ask. Except… I think he is on to me. He (after initiating a conversation and failing to get what was “up” with me out of me) no longer says good-bye or anything civil… he didn’t even end the conversation, he just let it fade away.
Why is it that when I finally catch on to the games people play and using this knowledge to impede its proceeding, does another game begin? It is so easy to say, and in a sense it is true, that this entire thing is his fault, but in the end, it’s still my problem. I’m sure he cares about me… but that’s not enough. I’m still suffocating and what I need right now he can’t give me: a breath of fresh air.
Monday, July 24, 2006
You've Got Male!
Zen and the Art of Internet Dating
As odd as this may sound, maybe not so much anymore, I have found and received (and had delivered right to my door!) a lot of great things from the internet. For example, I take pride in saying to whoever compliments me on my favourite red dress that yes, "I got it from the internet"! More recently, my straightening iron from a power seller in the States and a box of green tea from Mighty Leaf in Canada have helped to reduce the gong show that is my (current) morning routine. So if Ive been so lucky in finding material and food goods from the internet with little to no problems, I can't help but be curious: why not try finding a man on the internet, or at the very least a date?
As odd as this may sound, maybe not so much anymore, I have found and received (and had delivered right to my door!) a lot of great things from the internet. For example, I take pride in saying to whoever compliments me on my favourite red dress that yes, "I got it from the internet"! More recently, my straightening iron from a power seller in the States and a box of green tea from Mighty Leaf in Canada have helped to reduce the gong show that is my (current) morning routine. So if Ive been so lucky in finding material and food goods from the internet with little to no problems, I can't help but be curious: why not try finding a man on the internet, or at the very least a date?
I know what you are thinking: "Carrie, that's SKETCH CENTRAL. Why don't you go out and meet people the normal way?" To this I reply: Thanks Einstein, but I already knew it was sketch central, but so are bars. And clubs. And shopping malls. And the gym. And anywhere else I've met these so called "normal" people. It is an overly-simplistic view that psychopaths ONLY congregate on the internet, leaving those of us who surf only to check our emails, check our status on the almighty Ebay, or Google the latest eliminated pair on "So You Think You Can Dance?" in consistant danger as supposed to being out there with the so called "normal" people out in the physical world. Hmmm... last time I checked you have a better chance of running into a sketch-bag at Bulldog than in my apartment through a computer screen, but who knows? I might be wrong.
Not to discount completely what you say. There is of course the risk of meeting a psychopath online, thank you "Dateline", as the greatest advantage to online dating is being able to hide behind a screen, but I've met my fair share of psycho-men in real life and let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot easier to shut your computer down, or remove your semi-anonymous listing from the site than changing your locks, moving out of your apartment and informing the police. So as I sit here sipping my internet tea, I ask the question: what is the good, the bad, and the oh em gee of internet dating?
I read an article once about how the semi-prevalence of ADD in todays society is in fact, caused by todays society. The fact that we as students, as workers, as friends, and as lovers are being asked, no, demanded, to multi-task and do as many things as possible all at once; like typing this out while working and on the phone sipping my non-fat-double-foam mocha latte. So if the amount of tasks we have to complete in a day have doubled, maybe even tripled, yet the number of hours in a day have clearly not, where and how is the modern girl supposed to squeeze in time to hunt for or be sought after by a man?
Enter the match-makers: you know, the well meaning friend, co-worker or even boss (don't laugh: it HAS happened) who know the so-called "perfect guy" for you and when it turns out that they are, in fact, NOT the perfect guy for you the situation just gets messy. Don't get me wrong here; match-makers are great. Their job or hobby is a lot harder than you think, and dating in general is a hit-or-miss situation. However the best person really to play matchmaker with your heart is you. As well as your girlfriends, or guy friends may know you, in the end you and only you know exactly what you want, who you are looking for, and what you are looking for.
Which brings me to my point: I've heard of a few internet dating sites, mostly from watching late late night television prevalent during an insomniacs morning. I agree that the majority of internet dating sites are sketch: the Ashley Madison;s and sites like that which encourage "exploration" while in a monogamous relationship are not the kinds I am speaking about. That is something I hope I never have to experience in any way, shape or form. No, I am talking about those local sites that are always advertised on the radio or in your email that really nobody pays attention to.... or do they?
I couldn't help but remember my first run-in with internet dating: I was 17 and in Toronto visiting my cousin, who at the time was just about to turn 18. She had met this guy, apparently really nice, on Lavalife and spent the evening before we were to meet on the phone with him. Seriously, I went to bed and she was on the phone, and I woke up and you guess it, she was still on the phone with him. I was going as a sort of escort, which was good on her, however not 2 minutes before he walked over to us she turned and said to me "Oh by the way we are 19 and you go to university." I stood there flabbergasted at this outrageous lie, as I was clearly in high school, grade 12, with no idea what it was like to be in university, and the same went for her. If my cousin, someone genuinely removed from some types of reality can fool a person she met on the internet... what chance do regular people have?
I couldn't help but remember my first run-in with internet dating: I was 17 and in Toronto visiting my cousin, who at the time was just about to turn 18. She had met this guy, apparently really nice, on Lavalife and spent the evening before we were to meet on the phone with him. Seriously, I went to bed and she was on the phone, and I woke up and you guess it, she was still on the phone with him. I was going as a sort of escort, which was good on her, however not 2 minutes before he walked over to us she turned and said to me "Oh by the way we are 19 and you go to university." I stood there flabbergasted at this outrageous lie, as I was clearly in high school, grade 12, with no idea what it was like to be in university, and the same went for her. If my cousin, someone genuinely removed from some types of reality can fool a person she met on the internet... what chance do regular people have?
I was listening to the Team 1200 one morning, or evening, I don't remember, when I heard the advert for one local dating site named after the infamous cherub, or Saint really, who makes February the reason for or bane of ones existance depending on if you are in a relationship or not. Figuring that I had tried the usual bar scene and got sick of it even before I could legally drink, and my lifestyle being what it is (read: not condusive to meeting said-normal people) I thought "hey, what the hell? Let's give it a shot". So about 10 minutes later as I sat in my sweatpants and scrunchie, I created my very first internet dating profile. I didn't expect to get a lot of hits, especially since my profile has but a silhouette instead of a photograph, but you know what they say: nothing ventured, nothing gained. I figured the last date was so greviously awkward I really had nothing to lose, except maybe 10 minutes of my time. So I filled out the little boxes with descriptions of who I am and what I am looking for, clicked "saved" and off I was. This site claimed to be able to "match" you with men who, according to your profile and his, would be suitable for each other. Me being skeptical said "yeah uh-huh ok let me take a look for myself thank you very much..". So I did.
And herein lies the rub. The problem with internet dating is that to me... when I was searching through this sites datase, it kind of felt and still feels like I am picking from an inventory of single men within 50 miles of my area code. It was like a "Google" search for a soulmate. Not to sound judgemental or anything, but it felt... well, awkard. You open up someones profile, headed by the usual one-liners, punch lines or song lyrics, take a look at what they say about themselves, and maybe even a picture of 2, and you go from there. I found myself being really, how do you say, picky, when choosing the people I'd actually click on/with... and about after half an hour I just got sick of it.
As modern as we are in the 21st century, and as fabulous as it is to search for a significant other while in your panties without it being awkward, it really isn't as fun as searching in real life. Real time glances, eye contact and flirtatious moves cannot be replaced or replicated onto a server, no matter how good the site you sign up for is. Not to mention doing all of this while looking drop-dead gorgeous.
By the way, the date that my cousin ended up dragging me along to was hilarious. They had spent the night speaking to each other so much that when they finally met face to face, they had nothing to say. So, thanks said-internet-dating site, but no thanks... I'm sure you must have tonnes of matches out there for me just like you did for my cousin... now if only I could remember to check my inbox... I guess I'm too busy living life in real-time to find a soulmate online.
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