Made a rookie facebook/dating mistake that I shouldn't have. Why is the "add as friend" button so tempting and innocent looking until you actually click the damn thing? Sometimes you're lucky and the waiting game only lasts a few hours. Sometimes you're not. All the time you immediately regret putting yourself out there if you're not 100% sure they'll accept.
When did social network interactions become more stressful than their real world counterparts?
Oof. Lesson learned. Moving on. I think.
Here's for hoping the universe takes pity on me and spins this in my favor? Please?
UPDATE: Would you look at that? Accepted. Out of my misery. On the facebook front, that is.
Now playing: Britney Spears - Oops!... I Did It Again
via FoxyTunes
Showing posts with label The Book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Book. Show all posts
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The One Where Things Move Too Fast
Sorry for the one-part two-parter, but after reading it through I realized that I had said all I needed to say on the Facebook matter. You let people in, in real-life and in fake-life, when you’re ready – and it’s different for every situation. Done and done. Chalk it up to my (occasional) love of the economy of words. Or April Fool’s. Whatevs.
On to today’s post.
Here’s a shocking revelation: I, in my impressionable, hopeful, naïve, and foolish (but super fun!) youth, have made quite a few mistakes when it comes to members of the opposite sex. Telling too much about myself, not telling enough. Not appreciating what I’ve had, putting all my marbles into one basket. You name it, I’ve done it. But there is one mistake I’ve madeonce or twice a few too many times that every dating book in the land will tell you to avoid: don’t kiss on the first date.
Except, I’ve been on maybe 5 dates. Ever.
Revised for my life, the rule I break more often than I should reads more like this: Don’t let anyone see you naked unless you’re going steady.
Seems simple enough right?
With the level of intimacy that really goes along with seeing someone in their birthday suit, you’d thinkmore people I would wait a little longer before letting someone sneak a peak. But with the advent texting instead of talking on the phone, “hanging out” instead of going to dinner, infinite periods of “kind of seeing each other” instead of “being in a relationship,” and, you know, alcohol, it’s not really that simple anymore. In a hyper-sexed, instant-gratification society it’s become more the norm to get in, get out, and move on than to actually cultivate an emotional relationship before progressing to a physical one. Now, I don’t jump into bed with anyone that buys me a cocktail, I actually tend to not let anyone buy me a cocktail. But I’ve done my share of walks-of-shame from the dorm rooms and apartments of guys that in retrospect I should have liked enough to wait. Chivalry might not be dead, but it is most definitely on life-support. So, yeah, sometimes I put on my frat-boy cap and go with the flow instead of batting my eyelashes and waiting to get pinned (in the boyfriend-girlfriend sense not the naughty-naughty sense!).
Which is fine. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with a little bump and grind.
Unless there are feelings involved. Whether those feelings are budding or long-standing, when someone’s heart is in play a one-nighter pales in comparison to a night finally spent with someone you really care about, and who really cares about you. And unfortunately, one-nighters tend to serve as big, insurmountable roadblocks to anything that resembles a substantial relationship. Yes, there are exceptions. But, no, Virginia, there is no such thing as f-ing your way to love.
To put it bluntly.
I’ll usually be the first one to share naughty details of my conquests with girlfriends, but I’ll also be the first one to know exactly what went wrong when a friendship or courtship on track to be something more is derailed by a vodka infused night of mischief. Now, my regret is usually never based on an, “Eek, I shouldn’t have done that,” moment. At least not for the usual reasons. I truly believe that women have as much of a right to express their sexuality as men without judgment. My backsteps are almost always due to the social anxiety and awkwardness that come after the fact – where neither party can really assess the ramifications of their actions. When things are kept simple and everybody keeps their clothes on, lags in calls or texts or Facebook messages or smoke signals are pretty benign signals of busy schedules or genuine lack of interest. And who can argue with that? Things progress as they should, and people end up together or they don’t. But when the getting-to-know-you phase is replaced by the getting-to-know-what-you-look-like-naked phase, all of a sudden there are about 9 trillion reasons that can be assigned to a change in pace when things go not so well. Did we move too fast? Does he think I’m a slut? Do I even like him? Was it awkward because we didn’t know each other well enough or because we had no chemistry? All questions that wouldn’t need to be asked or wouldn’t need to be answered and wouldn’t drive me NUTS if I (we, people in general…) had slowed down and reverted to a 1950s way of doing things.
I’m not saying that I think I need to be engaged to go to first base, but I’m thinking that I’ve been in a few relationships that would have been better served if I had been a little less college and a little more Ellen Fein. There are a few experiences that, while great, I wish had happened after a night of being romanced and wooed off my feet instead of knocked on my ass by 3 too many cocktails. At the time, did I think it would matter if I hit a triple before I had gone through a proper warm-up? Hells no, that’s why they call it getting lucky. But, did a bunch of things hurt later on that probably wouldn’t have if I had taken my time?
Youbetchya.
Now playing: Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland - Promiscuous Girl
via FoxyTunes
On to today’s post.
Here’s a shocking revelation: I, in my impressionable, hopeful, naïve, and foolish (but super fun!) youth, have made quite a few mistakes when it comes to members of the opposite sex. Telling too much about myself, not telling enough. Not appreciating what I’ve had, putting all my marbles into one basket. You name it, I’ve done it. But there is one mistake I’ve made
Except, I’ve been on maybe 5 dates. Ever.
Revised for my life, the rule I break more often than I should reads more like this: Don’t let anyone see you naked unless you’re going steady.
Seems simple enough right?
With the level of intimacy that really goes along with seeing someone in their birthday suit, you’d think
Which is fine. I don’t see nothin’ wrong with a little bump and grind.
Unless there are feelings involved. Whether those feelings are budding or long-standing, when someone’s heart is in play a one-nighter pales in comparison to a night finally spent with someone you really care about, and who really cares about you. And unfortunately, one-nighters tend to serve as big, insurmountable roadblocks to anything that resembles a substantial relationship. Yes, there are exceptions. But, no, Virginia, there is no such thing as f-ing your way to love.
To put it bluntly.
I’ll usually be the first one to share naughty details of my conquests with girlfriends, but I’ll also be the first one to know exactly what went wrong when a friendship or courtship on track to be something more is derailed by a vodka infused night of mischief. Now, my regret is usually never based on an, “Eek, I shouldn’t have done that,” moment. At least not for the usual reasons. I truly believe that women have as much of a right to express their sexuality as men without judgment. My backsteps are almost always due to the social anxiety and awkwardness that come after the fact – where neither party can really assess the ramifications of their actions. When things are kept simple and everybody keeps their clothes on, lags in calls or texts or Facebook messages or smoke signals are pretty benign signals of busy schedules or genuine lack of interest. And who can argue with that? Things progress as they should, and people end up together or they don’t. But when the getting-to-know-you phase is replaced by the getting-to-know-what-you-look-like-naked phase, all of a sudden there are about 9 trillion reasons that can be assigned to a change in pace when things go not so well. Did we move too fast? Does he think I’m a slut? Do I even like him? Was it awkward because we didn’t know each other well enough or because we had no chemistry? All questions that wouldn’t need to be asked or wouldn’t need to be answered and wouldn’t drive me NUTS if I (we, people in general…) had slowed down and reverted to a 1950s way of doing things.
I’m not saying that I think I need to be engaged to go to first base, but I’m thinking that I’ve been in a few relationships that would have been better served if I had been a little less college and a little more Ellen Fein. There are a few experiences that, while great, I wish had happened after a night of being romanced and wooed off my feet instead of knocked on my ass by 3 too many cocktails. At the time, did I think it would matter if I hit a triple before I had gone through a proper warm-up? Hells no, that’s why they call it getting lucky. But, did a bunch of things hurt later on that probably wouldn’t have if I had taken my time?
Youbetchya.
Now playing: Nelly Furtado ft. Timbaland - Promiscuous Girl
via FoxyTunes
Monday, March 30, 2009
The One With the Facebook Dilemma (Pt. 1)
I realized a few days ago, as I was integrating my Twitter account with my BlackBerry, Facebook, not MySpace, and Ze Blog, that there are a lot of ways for people to constantly be in the know about not that much about me. Honestly, if I sneeze, I have a direct line to inform about 1,700 people should I feel they urgently need that information. They don’t, so I don’t, but still.
As usual, I digress.
The updating of my Newsfeed or Twitterfeed or whateverfeed isn’t what is angsting me out today though – it's who has access to that feed - it is the age old, long-pondered over question: To friend, or not to friend?
Cyberstalking is as old as dirt, or Google, but it is definitely the go-to tool for finding out too much information before you should, in theory, rightfully have it. Honestly, do I need to know that my crush LOOOOVVEESSSS Whitesnake before we’ve even shared appetizers? Probably not. But these are the kinds of tidbits of information that we squeeze out from the premature scouring of the social networking sites of our potential paramours.
Now. I try to stay away from this where I can – seeing pictures of old girlfriends or MySpace backdrops of topless girls on motorcycles are things that I’m best equipped to absorbed after I’ve completely determined that the person is single and not a total horn dog. But, it necessitates an answer to the question: When is the appropriate time to commence your virtual relationship alongside your real-life one? When do you click that “add as friend” button without it being too early? Too late?
Think about it.
If you go on a few dates with a guy, when should he have access to the virtual self you’ve set up for yourself online? When do you want access to his? And if things don’t work out, do you dump them online too or are they now forever licensed to know when you update your picture or go from “single” to “in a relationship” with someone who made it past the 5th date? If someone friends you – do you HAVE to accept right away? Can you leave them in friend purgatory until you figure it out?
It seems like a lot of pressure is packed into this pretty loaded action. Inviting someone into your virtual circle allows them access to all your pictures, thoughts, opinions, whatever you’ve decided to put out there. I know sometimes my opinions of a person live and die by what they’ve crafted as their virtual presence, and while my online self is borderline as fabulous as my real-life self, I don’t know if this is the criteria I would like to be judged upon.
More on this later…
Now playing: Eva Cassidy - You don't Know me
via FoxyTunes
As usual, I digress.
The updating of my Newsfeed or Twitterfeed or whateverfeed isn’t what is angsting me out today though – it's who has access to that feed - it is the age old, long-pondered over question: To friend, or not to friend?
Cyberstalking is as old as dirt, or Google, but it is definitely the go-to tool for finding out too much information before you should, in theory, rightfully have it. Honestly, do I need to know that my crush LOOOOVVEESSSS Whitesnake before we’ve even shared appetizers? Probably not. But these are the kinds of tidbits of information that we squeeze out from the premature scouring of the social networking sites of our potential paramours.
Now. I try to stay away from this where I can – seeing pictures of old girlfriends or MySpace backdrops of topless girls on motorcycles are things that I’m best equipped to absorbed after I’ve completely determined that the person is single and not a total horn dog. But, it necessitates an answer to the question: When is the appropriate time to commence your virtual relationship alongside your real-life one? When do you click that “add as friend” button without it being too early? Too late?
Think about it.
If you go on a few dates with a guy, when should he have access to the virtual self you’ve set up for yourself online? When do you want access to his? And if things don’t work out, do you dump them online too or are they now forever licensed to know when you update your picture or go from “single” to “in a relationship” with someone who made it past the 5th date? If someone friends you – do you HAVE to accept right away? Can you leave them in friend purgatory until you figure it out?
It seems like a lot of pressure is packed into this pretty loaded action. Inviting someone into your virtual circle allows them access to all your pictures, thoughts, opinions, whatever you’ve decided to put out there. I know sometimes my opinions of a person live and die by what they’ve crafted as their virtual presence, and while my online self is borderline as fabulous as my real-life self, I don’t know if this is the criteria I would like to be judged upon.
Now playing: Eva Cassidy - You don't Know me
via FoxyTunes
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