Hokay, So... UPDATED.

There will be a little bit of a title format change. For a few reasons.

1. It’s really hard to fit every story/scenario into a nice little package that lends itself to dressing the title up as a Friends Episode (and if you hadn’t caught on that that’s how the titles were formed…then…I’m not not judging you.) Never mind, still going to do this. Huzzah!
2. If advertising has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t be everything to everybody. So this is a blog about the ups and downs and ins and outs and laughs and tears regarding my love (try not to laugh) life. Which brings me to…
3. These are supposed to be things I’ve learned, right? So from now on I’ll frame posts as such. Rules almost.

It’ll be great.

Trust me. :)

PS: I'm back! (11/29/09)

Commercial Break: Whoops!

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

The One With the Most Romantic Story in the Whole World

Okay. Maybe not the whhhhooollllleeeee world. But it’s definitely the most romantic story in my world.

As I mentioned before, I was in a very serious relationship for a very long time. He was my first everything. First love, first real best friend, first person that made me feel like it was cool being my quirky, awkward self, first breakup I wanted to make-up.

You get it.

He was also the first (and last) boy to go so mind-bogglingly out of his way to do something sweet for me that the memory will always be seared into my brain. I can play it back like a movie at will, and sometimes I still don’t believe it happened to me.

Backstory: Until the summer entering my senior year of high school we had been apart for at maximum three weeks at a time. Near the end of the school year I got notice that I had been accepted to a prestigious summer program for gifted students that would give me a 98% chance of getting into GeekU (read: Nerd Camp). Problem was, it was a six week program. If you ever want to see an otherwise well-adjusted girl with big dreams be willing to sacrifice it all in a most irrational way, tell her she won’t be seeing her boyfriend for a whopping six weeks. Small potatoes now, but it was Apocolypse, Then.

Anyway, there’s a reason that your parents make most vital decisions for you until you’re 18. So they did, and I went.

Three weeks into the program I was missing him dearly, but at the same time gaining my first real taste of independence since we had started dating, and I had gotten, well, hot. So the phone calls were less frequent, I don’t even think texting existed, there was no such thing as Facebook, and I was getting used to the fact that more than one guy in the whole world would ever think I was pretty. This wasn’t to say I wanted to be with my boo any less, but I definitely needed a serious reminder of what I had since technology had yet to gain the reach to step in and do it for me.

Well I got that reminder. In a big way.

I get a phone call from him one afternoon saying that he had sent me a package, and that it should be there that day. Woohoooooo! I think. He knows I like Chocolate Chip Teddy Grahams! And he knows I can’t find them here! So he sent me a case!!!!! I literally RAN back to my dorm. It’s embarrassing. I get to my dorm, get the package, realize there is no way 900 boxes of Teddy Grahams can fit into it, and quickly become disappointed (I was a brat!).

With his call to tell me about the package, he also gives me a very stern warning to not, under any circumstances, open it before he calls me and tells me to do so. Being 16 and completely incapable of following any directions that didn’t appear at the beginning of a Calculus exam (I told you I was a nerd!), I immediately sit in my hallway with an RA and tear into the package. Purple vase. Bottle of Fiji Water. Confusion, but he better be sending me flowers as well (brat!). Phone rings.

“What are you doing, babe?”
“Oh, nothing. Hanging out.” (Feverishly repacking the box)
“What’s that rustling noise?”
“Cleaning my room.” (LIES. He knows I hate to clean. Can’t think on my feet)
“Okay well did you get your package?”
“Yes Sir! When can I open it??? I can’t wait to see what you sent!!!” (Stay one lighting bolt away from me at all times people)
“Okay, you can open it now.” (Crinkle Crinkle Crinkle)
- Feigned Surprise - “Hmmm, I don’t get it? What’s the vase for? Thanks for the water?”
“Look Up.”

And there he is. Walking down the hall with a single red rose in his hand.

Did I mention I was in Boston at the time and we both lived in South Florida? Did I mention it’s a 3hr plane ride, and a 26hr drive?

Did I mention he DROVE 26 hours, 1,470 miles to give me a single.red.rose?

I must have kept talking to him through the phone for a good 3 minutes out of shock before he made me stand up and kiss him hello.

Knowing he couldn’t stay for more than 2 hours, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to steal any moments away together (hey, I was at Nerd Camp, Door open and 4-feet on the floor rules were paramount), he packed his friends into a car and drove up the Eastern Seaboard for OVER A DAY to give me a flower.

Now that’s love.


Now playing: Skid Row - I Remember You
via FoxyTunes

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 made once 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 think more 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

Commercial Break: Netflix Edition

I really don’t think that this “phenomenon” is…well…real.

Seriously? I especially love the disclaimer thrown in at the end. Methinks someone was coming up on a deadline and used an isolated domestic spat as content instead of discussing something substantial.

It’s okay, NYTimes, you can’t win everyday. I <3 you anyways.



Now playing: Rilo Kiley - Breakin' Up
via FoxyTunes

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

The One With The Nothing Fight

Okay. You know what The Nothing Fight is, yes? If not, click here.

(Sorry about the anime? Let’s just be creative and say it adds a new dimension to the point.)

Anyway.

Now that we’re all caught up, and possibly hankering for some Dragonball-Z, here’s what I don’t get – why would ANYONE, much less seemingly competent people who function normally in all other aspects of their life, be content to stay in a relationship that is constantly steeped in conflict?

Disclaimer: Despite the potential entertainment value that you’d think I’d get as a single woman seeing “happy couples” around me fight, I gain no joy from seeing strangers, friends, or co-workers is situations like this for two reasons. 1) I really feel bad for couples who are genuinely unhappy but for some reason can’t get themselves out of a toxic relationship and 2) because it makes me feel like a big two-headed freak that two people who borderline HATE each other have standing Friday night dates and a steady source of jollies - but I don’t.

Moving on.

While it’s admittedly been a while since I’ve been in a relationship long enough for a deal-breaker to surface and have my first thought be, “How do I deal with this?” instead of “Hmmm…wonder how long I should wait until I unfriend this tool on Facebook,” I really don’t understand the point of staying with a person who you can’t stand more frequently than you can.

Let me draw you a little picture of how this works in my mind:


As you can see, my threshold is low. While my list of deal-breakers may seem petty to some of my friends (like the fact that I can’t stand a person who has no ability to differentiate between homonyms [“your” and “you’re” are TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THINGS PEOPLE]), one of the biggest, most non-negotiable ones is a basic lack of respect and appreciation for each other in the relationship. During almost every fight that I’ve gotten into with a significant other I’ve had the distinct feeling that the person was being crazy, an idiot, or both. Now, if this holds true, then that means that there are a bunch of couples walking around at any given time that are harboring ugly thoughts for the person that their with for a significant amount of time. That’s a big sign to get out, yes? Aren’t these fights a symptom of a relationship that has run its course?

Apparently not.

I don’t know. I don’t have the answer on this kiddies. It’s totally possible that I throw relationships away before I’m ready to make the grown-up sacrifice of dealing with Nothing Fights. Is there a ratio of Good to Bad that people go by? If you only fight 30% of the time, is that cool?

The best I can come up with is that maybe for some people fighting is a way to show that they care. Or maybe the people who have the most numerous, most ridiculous Nothing Fights have makeup sex soooooo good they’d rather hate the crap out of each other than give it up?

You tell me.

UPDATE: Upon further thought - this is what the graph really should look like.


Once I've reached my threshold, a fight about where we're going for dinner could potentially make me abandon ship. Plus, always title your graphs, kids. :)

Now playing: Puddle of Mudd - She Hates Me
via FoxyTunes

The One With the Birthday Boy

In the season of…this season…here’s a topical flashback:

It is my experience that nothing good ever happens on Fat Tuesday.

Rephrase.

Nothing that I would ever want mom and pops or any future significant others to know about EVER happens on Fat Tuesday.

Case in point: the events of Fat Tuesday, 2k7.

GeekU’s version of Cheers is a charming little establishment that is part restaurant (first floor), part bar (second floor), and part club (third floor). Levels of sketch increase the higher up you go. So much so that the third floor was a place you could only get me to go if it was clear that I no longer remembered my name.

Anyway.

The Bar staff/management decide to throw a Fat Tuesday party in celebration of all things God debauch. I, ever the loyal patron, hurry over immediately after practice (with bag full of gym clothes, toiletries, toothbrush, small children, you get the point…) to meet up with The Crew and get my drink on.

After 30 minutes I quickly realize it’s going to be one of those nights and take another shot of tequila as a de facto way of deciding class is NOT going to happen the next day. This is around the time I set my cross-hairs on a young chap I had kind-of, sort-of been eyeing for a few weeks around campus.

The kind of Girl Game that only presents itself when there is a little lot of liquid courage in play explains what happens next:

I bat my eyelashes. He comes over. It’s his birthday? Where are his friends? Staying in? Don’t worry, Young Chap, I’ll show you a good time. ::Drink Drink Shot Drink::

- Three Hours Later -

Me. One shoe. Heels in hand. Stumbling home from Casa de Young Chap through 3 inches of snow (seriously, in ONE shoe). 153 Mardi Gras beads around my neck.

Him. Going to sleep with a smile on his face because I gave him the best birthday present of his life.

Details. Hazy.
__________________________________________________
- Note to Self: Self, don't be such a slacker when updating the blog. ;)


Now playing: Asher Roth - I Love College
via FoxyTunes

The One With the Disclaimer

In case you were wondering (worried, bored, confused…), my blog will NOT consist of whinings about me being single and blah blah blah. I actually think single is a pretty good color on me. And it’s made for some incredible, ridiculous, incredibly ridiculous adventures.

At GeekU I put my liver through some serious boot camp/enlistment, and upon graduation I promptly forgot to become a grown-up in that respect. So, even though some of these stories might bring shame to my family and cause me to die of embarrassment, I think I’m game to post them here for the world to see.

So check back in because my ‘what the bejeesus just happened?!’ moments are O’ plenty.

;)

Now playing: Ozzy Osbourne - Crazy Train
via FoxyTunes

The One With All the Weddings

My wedding is going to be incredible.

Seriously. There are a few people who tell me on a regular basis that they’re looking forward to it, in an I’m-gonna-party-like-it’s-1999 kinda way. No matter that I’m not currently nor am I anywhere close to being one-half of a “we.” Or, that in 1999, I was 14, hadn’t met my friends Jack and Jim, and thus had yet to learn the true meaning of the word party.

I digress.

It’s going to be a big deal. And I’m only planning on doing it ONCE.

One and done. Thankyouverymuch.

I was a sociology major, with some dabblings in psych and women’s studies, so I know the stats. As soon as my prince charming bends down on one knee and blinds me with that giant rock while he pops the question, the following things will be running through my head: Is this really happening? Am I sure I want to spend the rest of my life with him? Yes. Yes I am. Look at that rock! But…well, has his hairline been receding lately without me noticing? Eek. Oh my god what if he never learns that boxer shorts and socks worn with nothing else is not even a remotely attractive ensemble? Double Eek. Will we call off the engagement in a bridezilla-esque blow out over me not wanting to invite his crazy uncle that always smells like booze and thinks my eyes are at boob-level to the wedding?! Oof. And then, finally, if we do make it to the big day…will we be part of the 50% of couples that don’t make it ‘till the cows come home?

My point: having more than one husband in my lifetime is not something that is on my to-do list. As annoying as I find Mr. and Mrs. Smith v.1 –Will and Jada, not Brad and Ange– they have a point with the whole “divorce is not an option” thing.

I, like Ross, would take serious issue with having a marriage come to an end. Granted, three divorces* is a LOT. While it wasn’t his fault that his first wife was a lesbian, it WAS his fault that his called his second wife the wrong name at the altar and was wasted when he married his third. Regardless of the circumstance, I don’t think I want divorce to be my THING any more than he did.

When marriage becomes next logical step in a relationship, rather than the last stop on the train**, it seems like any issue, big or small, can morph into a life-changing deal-breaker.

Which means a lot of time and money is wasted celebrating something that has a shelf life.

Methinks a marriage is an event that a person should only be the star of once in a lifetime, with a co-star that knows what they’re doing and won’t bail mid-shoot. Call me old fashioned, but the words, “I will love and cherish you forever” follow the law of diminishing returns (dabbled in econ too!): after the first time, each time they're employed you’re getting less bang for your buck.

What do you think? Are we so out-with-the-old and in-with-the-hot-new-cabana-boy/girl (depending on your swing) that “I do” just means “Yeah, okay. For now.”? Does it really make sense to have a big bash with a white dress and an open bar if you’ve already done it once (or twice) before?

Or should I just give in and be on the lookout for Ex-Hubby #1?
__________________________________________________
*Season 6, Episode 1.
**With rides! And fun things to keep you happy! And presents! This stop is a very fulfilling and amazing stop is my point.

Now playing: Tracy Chapman - Wedding Song
via FoxyTunes

The First One

I might be single for the rest of my life.

Well.

Probably not. BUT, I’m fully convinced every time the ‘old-cat-lady’ fantasy goes running through my head that I’m a little bit psychic.

That’s not to say that I’ve never been…not single. In fact, for a good 5.5 – 6.8 years (depending on who you ask and what kind of mood they’re in) I was in a loving, amazing, crazy, totally unhealthy at times but ultimately life-changing relationship with a person I thought was my soul mate. And then it ended.

More on that later.

But, every once upon a time, (translation: every other day, sometimes more) I ask myself, “Self, how are you still on the market? You’re smart, you love football and know the rules (that’s how I know you’re for reals), and hell, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed...” And every time I’m greeted with, “(Shrug) When’s the Pats game on?”

So.

I’m detailing my search for the answer to that nagging question in part for accountability (hell, I have to start being honest with myself at some point and consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, my chronic singledom could perhaps be due to my tendency to fall asleep with Friends* DVDs blaring in the background or occasionally putting empty containers back in the refrigerator because the garbage is full) and in part to spare my friends having to hear about it anymore (I’m sensing an intervention may not be too far on the horizon).

Also, it will give me a place to showcase my ability to create long and meandering run-on sentences. Huzzah!

Here I go.

‘Cause my life’s a joke, I’m broke, and my love life is most definitely DOA.**
__________________________________________________
*Brownie points to you if you read that and, with the title, can spot the soon-to-be recurring theme;)
**Ditto.
Now playing: Britney Spears - Toy Soldier
via FoxyTunes