Wednesday, May 26, 2010
I'm having an existential crisis. I think.
Actually, I have only a vague idea what the word "existential" means but I'm pretty certain I'm using it correctly and I'm absolutely certain it's making me sound smarter. You're impressed, aren't you?
So today for my lunch break I decided to take a walk because my mother gave me her issue of Health magazine and in it it said that for that mid-afternoon energy slump you should take a walk. For those of you who've seen my office building, you know it's in the middle of nowhere and so it was a rather relaxing walk.
My thoughts were racing as I shuffled aimlessly down the road. They spread from "What the hell is my ex/current/who-knows-what-the-hell-he-is/boyfriend thinking?" to "What do I want to do with my life?" Yeah. I'm totally a deep-thinker, y'all. Anyway.
So I realized I'm really not that happy at my job anymore. I've been there for two years, and I feel sort of like I've grown as much as I can. I've already been told that I'll probably never become an account rep or an account rep's assistant because I'm female. Yeah, I know, it sounds sexist, but the reality is it saves my company money and HR concerns if they promote mainly men. Not a big deal, right?
So. Established: I'm ready for a new job. Then I thought, I don't even know what I'm going to school for. I mean, yeah, I know I'm most likely majoring in linguistics, and doing that so I can travel, but really, is that what I want to do? I need to find the perfect major. I need to find a new job. I need to know what I want to do for my career. I hate feeling directionless. I need to do something and I need to do something that matters. Also, I need more money.
Then I realized what I at least want to do with my summer: I'm going to rediscover myself. You can never know yourself too thoroughly, right? And what if I discover I'm a cooler person than I thought? I'm running the risk of discovering I'm even more loser-ish than I thought, but that's not a bad risk to take, I'm thinking. So I'm going to start a new hobby. And I'm not going to wait around for a certain someone to call me and ask me to hang out, regardless of whether or not he is my boyfriend, because he's sort of acting like he wants to be just friends again and this whole "Let's try again and see where it goes" thing was his idea and has lasted only two weeks and I am SO PISSED OFF. And I'm going to save money. I'm going to save like there's no tomorrow, with specific goals in mind.
So, here's a list of Summer Goals:
1. Find a new job.
2. Save, save, save!
3. Know thyself.
4. Start a new hobby.
5. Eat and act healthier.
6. Rock the freaking world.
7. To hell with anyone who says me nay.
P.S. I totally used "existential crisis" correctly. Check out this definition from Wikipedia: "An existential crisis is a stage of development at which an individual questions the very foundations of his or her life: whether their life has any meaning, purpose or value. This issue of the meaning and purpose of existence is the topic of the philosophical school of existentialism."
As my good buddy Ryan would say, "Boo YAH!"
Monday, May 10, 2010
I just don't think clothes are fair.
Boys' clothes are so much more comfortable than girls' clothes. I'm not a cross-dresser though. I just like to steal my brothers' clothes. As in, Kiffer's never getting his sweatpants back, Andrew will eventually get his basketball shorts back, and I promised Tyler I would bring back his tshirt on Tuesday or Wednesday. My mom hates that I steal their clothes. I think they're all bitter because they can't steal mine. That would be weird. And kind of gay.
So, funny story about how awesome my brothers are ... because this story is almost not awesome at all. But it is funny. It is also the reason I stole Tyler's shirt. Except, is it really stealing if he gave me permission to take it? Anyway. I went home for Mother's Day and was watching shows with my Mama when she requested I get her some crushed ice in pineapple juice. It's like ambrosia. So I walked downstairs and got it for her and while I was down there, I thought I might have a jonesing for some Coke. Not the drug; no matter how many times my mother tells me I smoke crack, I'm totally not a druggie.
There were two Cokes to choose from. One was the half-full 2 liter in the fridge, the other was a half-full 2 liter on the counter. I thought, "Well, might as well see which one has more carbonation. I don't really like flat Coke." So I took the one from the fridge and jostled it a little to see how carbonated it was. It was okay. Then I picked up the one from the counter and jostled it a little and it exploded.
Seriously, it was like Mt. Vesuvius. I couldn't even see where the cap was gone. All I could do was let out a shriek and watch helplessly as sugary brown liquid cascaded all around me ... It got on my jeans, my arms, my shirt, my face, my hair ... The western half of the kitchen was covered in Coke. Yay.
So my dad and brothers came rushing in to see why I had screeched and burst out laughing. I thought Tyler was going to choke, he was laughing so hard. This makes sense, because I'm 99.9% positive that it was he who shook up the bottle so it would explode on the next person who tried to open it. You win this one Tyler ... but be prepared. Be prepared.
Friday, May 7, 2010
So ... It's Friday afternoon. I'm at work, and there are basically no calls coming in. So I figure ... blog about it. Except there's really nothing to blog about. But this morning while I was driving to work I had a stellar idea for a blog entry. So, here goes; I'm commencing...
When you were little, did you have some sort of grand idea about love? I know I did. I thought it was this magical, once-in-a-lifetime event, something that happened with the force of an earthquake scoring over 7 on the Richter scale.Yeah, it's totally not like that. You wanna know what I've learned in the past five years of dating? Love happens gradually, it happens fairly often, and the only resemblance to an earthquake is the shattered, broken feeling you get when it's over.
When I was little, my Mimi always called me "Princess for Real". From what I can gather, this title came from an incident when I was about four; I came in crying to my mama and told her that when I'd told the neighbor girls I was a princess (a belief my mother has fostered in me since I was born. It persists, and most of the time, it's a good thing) they'd laughed at me and said that I wasn't a princess for real. Mama told me I was indeed a Princess for Real and not to pay those rude little girls any mind.
This has been my mindset since that time. I am indeed a Princess for Real and I shouldn't pay those rude girls/boys/Canadians/customers any mind. That's how I got through Chris Virostko rejecting me in the middle of the hall when I asked him out. That's why I didn't care that much when I found out Nate Burgess only asked me out because of a bet. That's what helped me through that blowup in 8th grade when my best friend turned on me and cornered me at lunch with three of her new friends. Really, that's what gets me through my day-to-day rituals of working, sleeping, eating, flirting, complaining, ignoring, hoping, texting, calling ... I do it all with the knowledge that I am indeed a Princess. For Real.
How does this relate to love, you might ask? Well, I would like to present three case studies. These case studies will, for the most part, remain unnamed. The reasoning will soon become clear, because I only have a couple of readers, and I'm pretty sure they're well-connected with at least one of those cases.
My junior year in high school, I involved my heart in my dating life for the first time ever, and it got broken. It pretty much sucked. Chase VanOrden (real name, in case you're wondering) was the biggest crush I'd ever had. I didn't fall in love with him, but I fell for him. Literally. As in, we were dancing (onstage; he was my dance partner for the waltz when we were both in our high school production of Cinderella) and I slipped on absolutely nothing in the middle of the number. It was not subtle, it was not quiet, and I'm pretty sure the couple next to us had trouble keeping time because they were laughing so hard.
Chase was tall, dark and very handsome. He still is, in fact. However, he happened to be in love with a mutual friend, a girl who may have stabbed me in the back once or twice. After several romantic encounters (no kisses, though) I was informed indirectly that not only had Jen stolen Chase's first kiss but also that they were together. Not fair.
It's been four or five years since that 9-month interlude. My mother still hates him. I told her once it was a good thing I got out before Chase and I actually dated, or I might have gotten my heart broken. She asked what made me think my heart hadn't been broken? Of course, she was right. She knows me better than I know myself. Took me a while to realize that though.
Case study #1 has a happy ending. Chase and I are now really good friends. He probably knows more of my more private thoughts than most other people. I am his counselor on all ventures romantic, and we talk at least once a week. Three years after the culmination of our doomed relationship-that-never-really-was, we are confidants and pals. I value his advice and I'm lucky to call him my friend.
Case study #2 is named Jared. I'm not going to tell you his last name, but rest assured I still think he's a douche. We started dating October of my sophomore year in college. The whole thing lasted about a year, from first butterflies to the last encounter when he had any affect on me whatsoever. We officially dated for less than a month, but the relationship itself (or whatever resembled it) lasted for four months. After that, we just made out because he is a douche and I was stupid.
I thought I was going to marry Jared. I fell in love with him by Thanksgiving. And this was real love, or at least real love as I knew it. I thought it was a regular fairy tale. He told me he loved me the week before he left on his damn cruise to Mexico. That's a marker because it's when he cheated on me ... or at least, when I was made aware that he cheated on me. Who the hell knows how many other girls there were?
I confronted him about it when he got back. I still loved him but I was damaged irrevocably and plunged into depression. He attempted to and succeeded in convincing me it was all my fault. He told me the other girls were much more immodest than I but that it was okay because they had "smokin' bods". Peeps, I'm not making this shit up. He really did this. And you know what? I must have forgotten the lesson my mother taught me when I was four, because I put up with it for FOUR FETCHING MONTHS before I grew a backbone and told him I never wanted to see him again. I let him kiss me, I let him introduce me to the other women (there were indeed plural), I let him tell me I was crazy and too this, too that, my boobs were too small and my waist was too. I was too skinny, I was too smart, I was too emotional ... I wasn't ever right. That ass.
I learned a lot from him, though. I learned that if a boy is going to have a DTR with you every week, it's a red flag. If a boy tells you he hopes you don't have a problem that he's cuddling with other girls and kissing you, that's a red flag. If you do have a problem with something, it's okay to say something and is in fact preferable that you do so. If you think you might be in love, don't even hint at it until he tells you first. I learned a lot more than these few lessons from that relationship than I'm listing here. If you're curious, just ask me sometime, because it's a Friday afternoon and my brain's cutting out. Suffice it to say, even though dating Jared was one of the most painful experiences of my life, I wouldn't take it back. I learned too much and grew too much. It made me more like my mom. :)
*Sidenote: My mom and I were comparing stories once ... turns out Jared and my biological father are basically the same person. They would use the same tactics to manipulate us and made us feel just as bad about ourselves as ever. He's not a thing like my Daddy though. My Daddy is the most wonderful man in the world.
Case study #3 may or may not be in progress. I'll leave that story for another day.
So, to make a long post even longer, I'm going to quote the Princess Bride: "It is too long. Let me sum up." (Thank you, Inigo Montoya). Love happens gradually. It sneaks up on you. It's not black or white. It's never white at all, I think, with the exception of heavenly love. You know, the kind you feel in church, or the kind a parent feels for his or her child? That love is white. But most love I've experienced (and it hasn't been a lot) is a mixture of black and gold. It's black when you're miserable and confused and angry and rebellious. It's gold when you've got butterflies and you want to stay in a moment forever because you know whatever comes next is probably gonna suck. Regardless, it's not something you want to miss out on. I wouldn't ever take it back--even though I may or may not be bitter about certain situations that involved a boy whose name started with J- and ended in -ared. My mom has a different name for him, but I probably shouldn't post it on my blog. ;)
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
So have you ever read that list of things guys should know about girls? And have you ever noticed it just makes you more lonely when you read it? Especially if you're all alone in your apartment because your roommate is over at a boy's house (or rather, the house of two boys) and you're too afraid to go over because you may or may not have been stupid enough to cuddle with one of them during a movie. Uck. I think cuddling is something that can be done between friends, but apparently others don't feel the same way.
You know, I only really care about one person's interpretation of cuddling. And I really shouldn't. It's a lot easier to exist when you aren't pining. Not that I'm pining. I'm totally not. Right?
So, let me tell you a completely hypothetical story. Remember: completely hypothetical. I'm going to attempt to tap the hypothetical honesty in me. It might be kind of difficult, because I've just downed a large Dr. Pepper and I am definitely listening to the Backstreet Boys right now ... ha ha. Anyway, here goes:
I have a friend. This friend dated a boy for a few months and he broke up with her. You know that rule about not contacting an ex for like 60 days after the breakup? She totally kept it. (Aside--it's a good thing boy bands don't really exist anymore; these Backstreet Boys make me want to slash my wrists. Uck.) She kept it and eventually reconnected with her ex on a level that was totally platonic and not really awkward. But this hypothetical ex started acting like he was interested in her again. Granted, he is hypothetically a really flirty person, but he doesn't really hypothetically flirt the way he was flirting with her. It may or may not have reminded her of the way he would act when they were starting to date. Well anyway, the hypothetical ex began talking to her more often and seeing her more often and eventually they may or may not have cuddled during Pan's Labyrinth. Hypothetically, of course. And this is all after the ex hypothetically invited her to a church activity with him and basically hung out with her one-on-one all evening. He showed her music and taught her how to play the drums and took like a kadillion pics with her, even held her hand. Hypothetically.
So my advice to this friend would be to ignore him if at all possible. Be careful, because she just might get her heart shattered again. She needs to ignore her feelings for him, because that way they can't get any stronger and will hopefully fade into pure friendship. It's just going to get too, too complicated if she lets herself fall back in love with him. Her roommate has told me that this hypothetical ex is not good enough for her. But this friend is having a tough time tonight. Probably because she's a girl. Girls are like that.
Monday, May 3, 2010
So ... what exactly makes a boy pitch a hissy fit?
Here's my thought: if I am not going to pitch a hissy fit, then neither should he. Not gonna lie, it's pretty much unattractive when a guy I may or may not be thinking about dating acts more like a girl than I do. If I don't text him back, it's because I don't want to or because I just plain forgot to do so. If I don't drop all my plans to hang out with him, it's because I have a life and I'm way past the days where I thought I had to spend every spare and even un-spare moment with a boy to keep him. Or even when I thought I had to have a boyfriend if the opportunity presented itself.
Does anyone else think it is simply too, too freshman year when a guy quizzes my roommate about me at every opportunity? I know this whole post probably sounds conceited, but I'm frustrated and I'm sick of being guilted into hangouts. What is with the manipulation, boys? That is not only a girly thing to do, it's an absurd thing to do. Really? Really? Is guilting me into a date going to make you any happier?
So here's the moral of this post I'm probably going to regret: Act your age. In fact, maybe you should act a bit older. This doesn't mean you can't act goofy every once in a while, it just means you should learn how to date. Or at least, learn how to date women. Because let me tell you, fella, I'm not going to be caught dead with someone acting like a fool. It irritates the hell out of me. So there.
P.S. I LOVE MY ROOMMATE! She's awesome.