Always Wear Lipstick: Advice From Grandmothers

Both of my grandmothers are insane.  I mean this is a good way, because I think that's where I've inherited my nutty tendencies which make me charming and delightful. (I can hear you scoffing, just keep it to yourselves.)  I've gotten some sage advice from both of them like, "Work for the city or the government" - Grandma in Georgia, or "Don't forget to wash your underwear in hot water." - Abuelita, aka Burrito.  Pretty insightful stuff, yes?  I think so.

However, these women and other grandmotherly-types have given me some odd dating tips.  Here are a few of my favorites that I have compiled for your reading pleasure:

• Always carry lipstick. Always wear it too.  And, if you're feeling spicy, rub some on your cheeks for blush because "it makes you look like a cherub and you need all the help you can get."
• Don't shave your legs before a first date.  Having freshly shaved legs on a first date makes you look loose.  If you have hairy leg problems, wear stockings.
• Too much makeup makes you look like a jezebel.  Too little makes you look lazy.
• Do not drink beer from a bottle under any circumstances.  It makes you look butch.
• In fact, don't drink beer at all.  It gives you the burps, which is also butch.
• Carry Gas-X with you at all times.  If you have to pass gas and you can't excuse yourself, drop something on the floor and stop to pick it up, then quickly walk away.
• Never eat everything on your plate.  If you need to fill your empty leg, eat a meal before your meal and then you can say "Gosh, I'm SO FULL!" during 2nd lunch/dinner without lying.
• Avoid knowing how to do anything "manly" or being more knowledgeable about sports than he is.  If you know how to change a tire/oil or the ERA of every closer, keep it to yourself, for Pete's sake.  (Addendum: Keep it a secret, at least until you get married.)
• Also, if you play video games, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER admit that.  You are trying to "catch a husband, not a shooting game partner."
• You do not poop.  You do not fart or even "get the vapors."  You do not burp.  You are a delicate flower and you do not heed the call of nature. 
• Never call first.  If he calls, you end the conversation as soon as you can because you are doing something incredibly interesting, even if you are just catching up on Downton Abbey.
• DO NOT laugh your regular laugh with him until you are a couple.  You may giggle, but you shouldn't ever guffaw, snort or boisterously laugh like you normally do.  EVER. 

In short, I should not be myself for at least 3 months.

Happy Thursday!
~j

How I Became A Creeper

I'm not proud of what I'm about to share with you, but I'm being honest about my sad, non-dating life.  Also, I know that I'm not the only one that has done some variation of what I did, so that makes it easier.  Anyhow, the point is that I have transitioned into a mild version of a creepy, stalker-y type person.  I'm not sure when it happened, but it did and here I am, telling you about it. 

Ed note: I'm using the term "stalker" lightly.  It's not like I'm breaking into anyone's house and stealing their pillows or pictures, so calm down. 

One day, a few weeks ago I stopped into a drugstore to get a drink (yes, Diet Pepsi, duh) and there was this cute guy in line a few people in front of me.  My brain acknowledged his attractiveness, then was promptly distracted by the row of trashy magazines featuring every member of the Kardashian clan.  (Or should it be "klan"? I'm not sure.) 

A few days later at the gas station, I saw him filling up his car while I was doing the same.  "What a coincidence!," I thought, as I got into my car and drove off.

The next day I saw him running while I was out running/walking/huffing/puffing/slightly dying.  "Hmmm. That's funny," I contemplated. "He must live around here." 

That weekend, I saw him at the grocery store.  I checked his finger - ringless!  My internal dialogue started. "This is a sign!  I've seen him 3 times in 1 week, totally accidentally.  I should speak to him!  Oh crap, he's heading toward the door! Hustle girl!"   

And that's when it happened.  We checked out at the same time and headed to our respective cars.  We drove down the same street and turned into the same entrance to the neighborhood.  He went straight and I was about to turn down my street...then I lost control of my mental faculties and followed him.  He lived just down the street, in a house I run by all the time.  Fancy that.  I made the loop, came back to my house and sat, thinking about how close Scotty (he looked like a Scott) McHottie was to me.

Naturally, I jogged by his house everyday for the rest of the week.  I thought about what time it was the last time I saw him out and tried to make sure I went around that time.  I jogged up the street and back a few times in case I missed him somehow.  At this point, I'm fairly certain that the neighbors were all staring out their windows with their fingers poised over their phones to call 911 because they thought I was casing their houses.  I had, albeit inadvertently, become a stalker. 

What was I doing?  I had literally lost my mind.  I was purposefully putting myself in a position where I could run into him and pretend it was causal and intentional.  I was 2 seconds away from becoming that girl.  Blerg.  I ran my normal loop and went home, passing his house once more on the way back for good measure.

I haven't seen Scotty McHottie since that week, but that's cool.  I know where he lives.

~j

You're Not Who I Thought You Were

Like many other single neurotic women my age, reflecting on past relationships is one of my  favorite pastimes.  It's our baseball.  I go over critical moments and try to break them down to figure out what went wrong, piece by piece.  Maybe I was wrong to be so stubborn.  Could I have been more understanding?  Was it the fact that he was a complete and total jerkface?

I always end up coming back to the fact that it didn't work out because the person wasn't who I thought they were and, therefore, we weren't going to work.  Maybe we weren't as similar as I thought we were or they actually hated my horrendous laugh instead of feeling it was endearing or they like Kirsten Dunst movies and our relationship wasn't strong enough to overcome that.  That's the point of dating - to figure out of this is the person for you.  (Let me tell you, if you listen to Nickleback or aren't supportive of my Diet Pepsi addiction, we have no staying power, no matter how awesome you may appear to be.)

We didn't last because they were different than I thought they were going to be.  They aren't what I thought they were.

But really, how true is that?  I've never dated anyone who downplayed their faults, so where is the disconnect?   

In talking to one of my best friends, I came across the idea that maybe the problem comes from trying to be understanding.  You build a connection with someone and grow to care for them, so the first time that you see them be a little rude to someone or commit some other minor infraction, you overlook it as long as it isn't a major dealbreaker.  You spend more time with them, start to love them and then when you see something else that make you think, "Hmmm...I'm not sure about that," but you overlook that too, because you are in love.

Then you overlook the next thing and the next and the next, then when a HUGE problem comes along, a giant RED FLAG (*Warning! Warning! Danger ahead!*), you're so deep into the relationship you let it go because you're enmeshed.  You overlooked one issue, so what is one more?  You don't want to lose this person because you've grown attached to them, even though you can see it isn't going to end well.  They aren't the person for you, but you aren't ready to hear that yet. 

It isn't that they've changed, it's that you let so many things you have a problem with slide.  Instead of guarding and protecting your heart (Copyright: Crazy Kasey Kahl), you jumped in and forgave things you wouldn't have otherwise because your feelings were so involved.

I'm not saying that forgiving some faults is bad, in fact, it's crucial.  What I am saying is that if someone you are dating does something that is an affront to you, it's okay to end it.  It's okay to be careful.  It's okay to fast-forward a little bit and realize that you're boyfriend's habit of not texting back, inability to say thank you or refusal to tip more than 8% will be a problem you just can't get over.  It's okay to see that the person you love right now isn't necessarily the person that you're going to marry.

It's okay to end a dating relationship if you want.  Don't be scared about it; if that person isn't for you that's not going to change because you overlook one thing or forgive another.  It's just not.  Keep looking - instead of staying with a person who annoys you, look for the person whose annoying tendencies are just a part of their charm.  They're out there.

~j

How The Bachelorette is Ruining My Life

Ah, the Bachelorette is back.  What a premise this show has.  Let's be honest, who wouldn't want 25 handsome men who intend to date/marry you arriving at your doorstep?  That sounds like a fun time to me.  Really - it takes all the work out of the whole dating thing.  Someone went out, interviewed a crap ton of dudes, weeded all the candidates down and sent them directly to you.  Hel-lo!

Except that doesn't happen in real life.  Real life means you have to wade through all the bad ones to find the one good one, without the help of a producer.  There will never be, at any point in my life, 25 guys (or even 5 guys) vying for my attention.  I won't be whisked away to a tropical location for a few dates.  No one is going to propose to me because I chose them over another guy, after dating, then dumping two dozen men over the course of a few weeks.

The thing is that watching this show puts me in a frame of mind that creates these totally unrealistic expectations of how love goes and/or grows.  The show creates situations in which people force themselves to feel something for the other person.  They convince themselves they are falling in love, or something like it, something close to it.  This spells disaster, not only for them, but for the viewer too.  We begin to look at our own love life and think, "Um, I'm on my 4th date with this person and I like them, but should I be feeling something more?"  Love should grow in time, shouldn't it?  It isn't always fireworks right away.  It's bigger than that.  Love should be more than that. 

(To be fair, I've been in a situation where I felt completely connected with someone right away and there is something to be said for that overwhelming feeling of "Gah! This person is Just. So. Amazing!"  It's really great, that feeling.)

If I'm honest, I would be such an egomaniac if I was the Bachelorette.  "Look at me, being perused by all these super-hot dudes!  Oh, you're just watching TV?  Check it out - now I'm taking a helicopter ride over the Alps!  What are you doing? Oh, just working and doing laundry?  Oh.  Well, that's...cool."  I would be a jerk.  No one would like me.  I would be Brad.  No one likes Brad. 

But it would be a nice change to see some average, normal person be the Bachelor/Bachelorette.  When was the last time you saw a homely Bachelorette?  Never.  As I told someone the other day, I don't hide what I have NOT going for me.  At this point, you see what you're getting yourself into.  There isn't going to be some surprise when you come over and notice all my giggly bits because I'm Spanx-less.  You won't gasp because I forgot to put on fake eyelashes or undereye concealer and I have a gnarly zit making itself at home on my chin.  You see me for me - not me under the best of conditions. 

Maybe that's where the show misses the mark.  The people don't get to see each other in all circumstances, but only in the best locales, with full hair/make-up and perfect lighting.  Maybe Chris Harrison and company should have the season at regular house, with regular, not-so-beautiful people and the dates should be, like, to the movies or Chili's.  Now that, I would watch.

Getting Whistled At and Other Perils of Being Me

I'm not sure if it's my personality or the fact I have a friendly face or possibly because I humor them, but weird people flock to me.  It's been this way my entire life.  This has gotten me into some awkward, strange and interesting situations over the years.  Odd men have given me some of the best stories ever.  Here are a few strange things that have happened to me in the past month:

• I went to a gas station to by a drink and while I was checking out, the clerk told me I had nice hair and then reached out and touched it and then smelled his hand. Diet Pepsi, I love you, but you are totally not worth hair molestation.
• During a late night stop at Jack In The Box, the cashier told me that he liked my face.  "Well, that's nice," I thought, until he told me I looked like his ex-girlfriend who had put a restraining order out on him.  I did not eat the Breakfast Jack that I ordered from him.
• While at the salon, a man asked me if my hair was my hair.  After I responded with an affirmative, he told me that people pay a LOT of money for hair like mine and started staring menacingly toward my head.  When I left, I literally ran to my car and sped off in case a scalping was imminent.
• I left my phone inside a bowling alley and went back in to retrieve it.  Before I could take 2 steps in, a server was racing toward me at full speed with my phone in his hand.  That wouldn't be so weird, but my sister and cousin had named him "Stranger Danger" because he had been staring at me for the better part of the night.  I had my cousin give him my number, natch.
• At a patio-type place with my friends and random guy came up and asked me if I was a lesbian.  (Sidenote: What a great question to lead with!  I'm going to try that sometime.)  I replied that I wasn't and smiled kindly, politely talked to him for a few minutes and turned away.  He proceed to bite my butt. Yeah, I said it. It was a little funny, but mostly strange.  He also sorta put me in a headlock.  Quality.
• After going on a few sorta dates with a guy, he told me I should follow him on Twitter.  Like any good girl, I went through a bunch of his Tweets.  Interestingly enough, he bragged about having slept with a stripper in the same week as our first interaction.  I no longer follow him.
• A certain friend of a friend sniffs my hair when he goes in for the causal "hi" hug. *Shudder*

These things make me wonder if this is all that is left out there.  Is this what a single girl has to choose from these days?  Hair sniffers, psychos and weirdos?  There has to be some normal-ish guy out there that won't sniff my hair until I want him to - which I won't.  I guess I just need to be patient until he shows up somewhere random, like a Five Guys or in line at Discount Tire.  In the meantime, I am going to bide my time by writing poems about Twix PB bars and sending tweets to famous people.      

Happy Monday!
J

When Stalkers Text: An Actual Transcript

(Ed Note: This is a verbatim conversation between me and my stalker, McStalkerson.  [He is not an actual stalker, obvs, he is simply an overzealous suitor.  If he was a stalker, I would be hiding in my house with all the lights off texting one of you to come help me.] I've left all misspellings and grammar errors alone, so you can sincerely take the journey to Crazytown with me. )

[Scene opens on our heroine, folding her sheets.]

McStalkerson: Hey girl.  what you doin'?

Me: Hiya. Nothing much. Laundry.

McStalkerson: Been thinkin' about ya

Me: Oh, yeah? That's interesting.

McStalkerson: Interesting??? lol  been thinkin' 'bout how your doin'. 

*A few minutes go by*

McStalkerson: so how are ya lol

Me: I'm pretty good, thanks.

*3 minutes elapse*

McStalkerson: that's it then? lol

Me: What's it?

McStalkerson: Your just pretty good?

Me: Yup. As good as it gets.

McStalkerson: ???  whats that? lol

McStalkerson: when are you free to talk

*10 minutes go by*

Me: Aren't we talking right now? 

McStalkerson: lol such a smart alex. i mean, so we can talk talk

Me: Um, I think your version of talking and my version of talking are a liiiiittle different.

McStalkerson: lol i luv how funny you are.
McStalkerson: really think your great
McStalkerson: really want to see you soon

Me: ...

McStalkerson: srsly
McStalkerson: ???
McStalkerson: nothin' to say to that huh?

*1 day later*

McStalkerson: so really, when do i get to you see you??

[End scene]

The Maybe Date

Of the many mysteries men keep, the Maybe Date is one of the greatest sources of confusion to single women.  A man asked you to "hang out" or wanted to know if you would go to a movie with about 40 of his closest friends or invited to come see him play at some venue or asked you to come to a friends' party with him, but never really distinguished if what you were doing was, in fact, a "date."  Where does this ambiguity come from?  Fear of rejection?  Lack of awareness?  Assumption that I know what you mean?  Determination to make me suffer as much as possible?

I am going on the dreaded Maybe Date tonight.  I have no idea if what we are doing is simply hanging out (which I'm okay with) or hanging out (which I'm also okay with).  Do I worry about what I look like or do I just wear a shirt, jeans and Chucks to make it appear I'm not trying too hard?  What if, in his mind, this is our first date and I show up super causal like I don't care?  A great first impression I'll give, I'm sure.  On the other hand, what if I make myself look presentable and he's dressed down?  I end up  one of those girls on a sitcom that doesn't get that she's not on a date, and boy, doesn't she look silly and boy, don't you just feel sorry for her.

This whole thing is giving me heartburn.  Dating is hard.

I just want some clarification.  Please guys, for all that is good and holy in this world, don't use the phrase "hang out."  I used to be ambivalent to that term, but all of my soul groans when I hear it.  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN???" says my brain.  If you're actually asking me out (I know, I know - longshot!), why don't you just let me know that you are interested in taking me out, one on one.  Otherwise, say something like, "Hey friend, you're fun.  Come to meet my other fun friends and we'll all be fun and friendly together."  I need specificity.

Is it really that hard? *le sigh*

Of course, I could just ask him, but where's the fun in that?

~J 

Single Girl Syndrome

I am a part of a generation that is cynical.  We question everything.  We want to see what people's intentions really are, how far they are willing to go for us.  In relationships it translates into something we might expect from a romantic comedy.  We're waiting for the one that gives us the "big gesture", proof that we're worth someone going to extreme lengths for us.  A part of me wants someone to do something outrageous and, yet. I don't.  I think I've figured out where I'm going wrong here...

I've had a few boyfriends over the years and not a single one of them has done anything over the top for me.  There could be a lot of reasons for this: 1. They're idiots (in some cases, likely), 2. I don't deserve it (HIGHLY UNLIKELY, as I am worth my weight in platinum), 3. They weren't inclined to do those things (pretty likely) or 4. I laughed off all their attempts at being cute/sweet/romantical (ding, ding, ding!).

Don't get me wrong, I love love.  I love seeing old couples smiling at each other and holding wrinkly hands.  I love my married friends who appreciate each other.  I love seeing people fall in love.  I love the whole thing!  It melts my frozen, hard heart.  What I'm not good at though, is accepting those declarations of love or affection.  It could be a cultural phenomenon for aspiring hipsters such as myself, but I find myself laughing off those really sweet, sincere acts from guys.  (Yes, I'm that skeptical of someone doing something nice for me.)  Hello!  If I do that, these guys aren't going to want to try to make me feel special again.  Duhz.  Just say thank you for Pete Campbell's* sake.

I know I'm not alone here.  I call it Single Girl Syndrome.  I, like many other women, talk myself into believing certain things, because thinking that way is easier.  I say, "Ugh, flowers are such a waste of money," even though I would love to get some.  I say, "Oh, we don't have to make [insert important occasion] a big deal," when I want it to be the biggest deal ever.  I say, "You can't make it? Oh, no worries," and proceed to have a meltdown because I was looking forward to whatever we planned on doing.  We say these things because we don't want to be disappointed, but what's wrong with a little expectation?  A little hope?  A little belief in love? 

Instead of accepting the attention, I toss it away.  Instead of saying what I mean, I try to buffer my feelings.  In an effort to self-perserve, I act like I didn't really care about it.  I'm not being honest with myself or other people.

I'm officially making a stand against this way of thinking today.  Feel free to buy me flowers or tell me I'm beautiful, boys.  I'll just smile my best Miss America smile and say thank you, because, well, I deserve your attention.

~J

*Mad Men reference. If you're not watching the show, you should. If you don't like it, I'm not sure why we're friends.  

Not Really Taking My Own Advice

I'm good at giving advice.  I won't say that I'm usually right, but I'm usually right.  But, in fairness, it's totally easily to fix other people's problem, isn't it?  You have distance, aren't emotionally involved and can categorically say what you think without hesitation.  I caution friends to take their time getting serious, to stop fixating on what isn't a problem, to let things run their course, to be themselves.  I have clarity with their issues.  But my own dilemmas?  Not so much.

One of my best friends told me that I wasn't going to be happy with the kind of guy that I'm looking for.  He went on to say that I'm always interested in really conservative guys and those guys aren't interested in me, because I'm not so conservative and I wouldn't be happy with them in the long run.  Whoa.  Could it be true?  I am sabotaging myself?

Now, I'm not a radical or anything, but I'm not uptight either.  I like to be silly, have fun and not take things too seriously.  Guys I usually end up dating are so buttoned up and stoic, they don't understand fun me.  They're missing the best part of my personality - I'm upbeat and goofy, who could not love that, I ask you?  (Answer:  Many, many folks.  Some people are just so touchy.) 

My friend is right, but why couldn't I see that earlier?  If I was looking at someone else in my position, I would tell her to wait and the right person, who not only gets her quirkiness and flair but appreciates it, will come along.  You shouldn't have to fit in a box, meet certain requirements or fill in enough boxes on a checklist to make someone like you, they should like you because you are you. <- Saying that is easy, learning that is the hard part. 

Who Am I Anyway?

I turned in my final school assignment yesterday, for my last class.  Ever.  For 25 years, I have been in school.  That's been my identity - a student.  And now, with the submission of that final final, I'm done.  That's it.  The chapter that's encompassed a bulk of my life and the entirety of my adult life is over.  I'm feeling a little sentimental about school now, of course, but I'm certainly thrilled to be done. I won't have to stay home to work on a paper or stay up late to prep a thesis, all my time is for me! For things I want to do! But what, exactly, do I want to do? I have no idea. Outside of school, I don't do much else besides eat (awesomely), sing (semi-okay) and run (badly). Maybe I'll audition for The Voice and make Adam Lavine fall in love with me...

So, if I'm no longer a student, then who am I?

I know I'm being a little existential here, but it lead me down a train of thought that I couldn't stop.  I mean, should you even be defined by what you do or what your hobbies are anyway?  Probably not, but in this period of transition I'm suffocating myself with introspection.  It's not pretty.  

What does this mean for my dating life (or lack thereof)?  I've heard on numerous occasions that you need to know yourself before you start to date anyone, but I'm left to wonder if that's true.  What's wrong with figuring yourself out while your dating?  I'm not going to change intrinsically; as Popeye says, I am who I am, but what if I figure out that I love to square dance?  Or to competitively bass fish?  Couldn't the person I'm dating grow to understand my new love of knitting or canning vegetables?

I would think that if someone can tolerate enjoys my robust personality, loud laugh, long, winding (and nearly unending) stories, occasional flatulence, love of tacos, addiction to Diet Pepsi and propensity to cry, they could handle me suddenly wanting to become an expert scrapbooker or fluent in Flemish.  I'm just going to count on that and start to figure out who this Jeana the Graduate person is.  (Spoiler alert: She's going to be more awesome...if it's possible.) 

Keep Your Clothes On: An Argument Against Dirty Texts

2012 is making everyone lose their minds.  It could be that this has been brewing for a while and is just now an issue.  Alternatively, I could blame the invention of the camera phone.  Whatever it is, I'm taking this moment to declare that I, Jeana, do not want your sexts.

That's right gentlemen (and I use that term, very, very, very loosely), I do not want pictures for your half or fully naked bodies.  I am not interested in seeing you in your birthday suit.  I am not interested in viewing your six-pack.  I do not want to know "what you're workin' wit."  I am not going to tell you what I'm wearing.  I am not going to discuss anything of a sexual nature with you.  I don't know you.  I probably wouldn't even tell you what I'm drinking (answer: Diet Pepsi.  It's always Diet Pepsi.) or eating, much less show you any part of my body that is typically covered by my uniform of dress pants and a gently used cardigan.

But, seriously, what gives?  Is this what we've regressed to?  I want to have a conversation with you, get to know you.  I want to know if you grew up here, if you have siblings or a pet, if you are as much of a music nerd as I am.  I want to find out if we're compatible, not if you have a tattoo on or around your naughty bits.

The fact that these men I have a causal acquaintance with are sending very personal pictures is, at the very least, disconcerting.  Moreover, there are women that engage in this very activity.  I'm just going to assume that these guys were hoping I would return the favor.  Someone please explain to me why anyone would think that I would gladly take a picture of all of this *hands waving all over myself* and send it to a person I've had very little interaction with.  Please, tell me.  I wouldn't, for that matter, send anything to anyone I knew well!  It's just dumb.  It's a bad policy.  Women and girls who engage in this behavior need to be weary - it's not going to work out well.

And if you happen to send me a dirty text, you'll probably get this picture in return:

~J

 

XBox and the Single Girl

As I get older I'm aging out of certain crowds.  Places I used to love to go to are full of annoying kids now.  At one time, I was (obviously) one of those annoying kids and now I'm complaining about them.  Music is too loud, people are too rude and girls don't wear enough clothing.  Now, please excuse me while I take my Metamucil and go to Denny's for the early bird special, because I'm clearly geriatric.  

The gap between where I am and where most 25 year old guys are is huge.  Staggering even.  Meathead is about this age.  Again, he's not exactly what I'm looking for, but he seems like a nice enough guy.  (He's also not too bad on the ol' peepers either.)  I was giving him a chance to win over my cold, decaying heart, because I'm a equal opportunity dater these days - you know, for the sake of the blog. 

Anyhow, during a text conversation* he mentioned that he wished we could hang out.  I said, and I quote, "That may be cool."  Sure, I was a little detached, but I didn't want him to lose his often-wandering train of thought.  He then asked me if I would like to hang out ("Sure, that sounds like fun."), what I would like to do ("Um, well, something fun?"), if I wanted to see him (Didn't I just answer that? "Sure, why not?"), if I would be okay with a casual date (Seriously? *le sigh* "Yup. I am a causal kinda of girl.") and finally if I would like to watch him play XBox.  I'm going to repeat that again, just to let you really take the journey with me - not play XBox WITH him, but WATCH him play.  Just sit and watch.  Are all 25 year olds like this?

This is me, owning a game.

Um, I'm sorry sir, but what?  I couldn't have read that text correctly.  Did you really just ask me if I would like to watch you play video games?? What kind of alternate universe have I stepped into?  I responded that I would most likely not watch him, but I might play with him.  He seemed to be astounded by this notion.  Has no girl ever shown an interest in playing before?  This girl likes first person shooters.  This girl is the master of Halo 2.  This girl knows Tekken and Mortal Combat like the back of her hand.  This girl does not want to sit and watch, I want to play.

The differences between Meathead and I became glaringly obvious about this time, extending far beyond our respective ages.  It could be possible that certain women just love sitting and watching their boyfriend play Modern Warfare (Please don't let this be true.  Please.), but that's just not me.  I want to involved.  I want to be an active participant, not an observer.  That's the whole reason I'm trying new things, dating different kinds people, taking on new responsibilities - I want to present and engaged.  I want to experience life with someone, not watch them live their life.

I eventually just stopped responding to Meathead's texts and he stopped sending them.  Either he got the idea or he got into a wicked Call of Duty session and hasn't come up for air.  Totally possible.

~J

*Yes, a whole conversation in text.  And he's fully capable of calling.  What is happening to the youth of America, I ask you?

I Guess I Need to Break Up With My Passwords Too

I went to sign into Amazon yesterday and realized my password was a variation of the nickname of a ex-boyfriend from almost three years ago.  Now, I go to Amazon often (honesty moment: way too often), but somehow I just noticed this.  How did I go this long and not change that password?  Maybe it was just easy to remember.  Maybe I got lazy and didn't want to update it.  Maybe I was hoping I wouldn't have to change it.  Whatever the reason, he and I obviously aren't together anymore and it's kinda of a bummer to be reminded of him when I go to sign in to buy a One Direction cool, hipster album.

Afterward, I began to do an inventory of my passwords - all 4,000 of them.  It seems that I have a bit of a habit of using ex-boyfriend's names, nicknames, dog's names and/or street names for things.  In a fit of rage at myself, I changed all of them.  This means 2 things: 1. I rid myself of all the daily reminders of my exes I've collected over my adult dating life and 2. I won't be able to log into my Netflix, emails, Twitter, Facebook and about 1/2 dozen other things because I can't remember the new password.  

There is always a cleansing after a break-up, especially a major one.  We take down pictures, delete phone numbers, emails and texts, defriend or unfollow try to keep that person from popping up in our minds.  That's probably the worst part: all the things that we've gathered over time in joy become reminders of our failures.  It could be sad, and it often is, but it has to be done in order to move on.  Right?  

Even though I'm dusting off the remnants of relationships gone south, I still have the hope that someday I'll be able to fill those areas with memories of someone new.  Someone whose nickname I can make a password that I won't have to change...ever.

~J  

A Difficult Woman

My officemate is a riot and I couldn't be luckier to have her around.  She makes going into work fun. Originally from the Philippines, she has all kinds of fun things to say about the single life I haven't heard before.  The other day she told me something that I've been marinating on: there is a saying where she is from, if a person isn't married by the time that they're 30, they are either a difficult woman or they are gay.  I found this very, very interesting. 

Just to rule things out, I know I'm not gay. 

So, that leaves the other, more heinous, option - that I am a difficult woman. 

Could this be true?   In the states, it's not unusual for a woman to still be single at my age.  We are told to be picky, to be selective, that we deserve more than settling for someone, but when does the weeding of potential suitors become detrimental?

Some friends of mine have lists of things that their partner must or must not have/do.  Some of the lists are quite extensive.  It isn't surprising that they are still single!  (I mean, really how many Hispanic engineerers between the ages of 27-35 who work out frequently who have a house/condo, but no children are you going to find?  Really.)  They only talk to those type of guys, leaving out whole segments of the dating population.  Hello!  There are perfectly nice, quality men outside of those boundaries!  (Don't ask me where they are though, cause I still haven't found out.)

As for me, I'm a little more realistic.  You can't judge anyone based on their "stats."  (Lord knows I don't want to be judged on mine.)  I'm simple.  I have a list of things the person I date can't do: no drugs, no illegal activities, no abusive tendencies.  I have a list of things the person I date must have: a job, a stable life, a kind heart.  Everything else is debatable.  It's more of a "can I deal with this habit/minor (or major) annoyance?" once we get to know each other, which is the whole purpose of dating, isn't it?  Does this make me difficult?  I don't think so.

So, if I'm not too difficult and I'm not gay, what gives?  Maybe I'm more difficult than I think...