Baaack!

Whoa! See what happened was–I was doing a lot of blogging on my phone. My phone was set to automatic login–and I forgot my password and failed to reset it until now.

That being said, let’s delve into this. As you get older, your parents get more interested in your lack of love life. They love telling you why you are single. I still live at home because–like most people I’m paying down nasty college debt and with the economy–well, what can I say? Plus, I was kind of stuck at a company that was…well, we won’t get into that. Let’s just say my boss quit before my review, recommended a certain income level for me–but since she left–I was denied that for a few years. Definitely a set back. Anywho–my parents LOVE asking the same question repeatedly. They also don’t like it when I talk to them the same way the talk to me. I mean, really? Where do you think I learned it? I’m very reactionary. Well–here’s what it came down to today. My mother, so loving indeed, tells me that the reason I am single is because of the way I treat her and my father. (Bull-crap.) Additionally–I am unloving. She also said that after she said that I don’t have a terrible relationship with them. Wow, all her good and glory must make up for my horrible soul.

Uniforms, they’re so hot right now…

I think this is common. Men in uniforms=bonus points on the attractive scale. It has to be the right kind of uniform of course. UPS and FedEx don’t really make a girl look twice. However, military and police and firefighters…so good. I say this because I am here at the airport and so is the navy! I wonder if those kind of uniforms bring the image of security which women love!

Pearls, Scarves and Inner Soul

I am on the train to the Big City. Pondering. I am looking around and the thoughts are random.

I am sitting behind four young, black ladies. I am not sure how old they are. One looks like she could be in college. Maybe older. The rest seem like they could be in high school. They are studying their Sunday School lessons. They are on one tix in and during the course of their conversation-I wonder what they were doing.

Next to me is an Indian woman and her daughter. I don’t know if they live in the ‘burbs or in the city. I find Indian culture so fascinating sometimes. I don’t know much (Happy Diwali?), although probably more than most people who aren’t Indian. Outside of Faux Tofu. She’s actually been to India, for a wedding no less. (Jealous? Yes!) What I know is mostly learned from working at a software and data company that had a few Indian owners. That and working with teams in the India office. I guess this is a topic for another time.

I have a knock off Burberry scarf. I bought it for $12 on the streets a month ago or so when Joker and I went to the city for girls’ weekend. I feel pretentious and self-conscious with it right now. It is a pretty good knock-off. Part of me doesn’t care. The part that feels pretentious, I am trying to figure out why I have it. I have really pretty scarves from Egypt and India that Faux got me.

I get stuck between feelings of materialism and philanthropy. My goal in life is to be a philanthropist, so I will have to have money. I was once told I couldn’t be a missionary or humanitarian worker because I was too prissy. I then develpoed my goal of being a philanthropist. I could then fund “less prissy” people and go into the field every few months for a month or two.

There is a song by The Band Called Perry, I think it is called “If I Die Young.” Part of the song says “put on your best boys and I’ll wear my pearls.” At that moment, I decided I needed pearls. I decided I wanted to wear cardigans and button downs all the time. (I don’t.) I want to wear pencil skirts and pleated skirts. (I don’t.) I want to dress super classy. And a part of me wants to wear sweaters that are for an age group older than myself. Why don’t I just embrace prissy to the fullest? I guess this stems from my unquenchable desire to be Southern.

See my mom’s family is from the South. It is where I feel I belong. Plus, I like the weather more. When we moved further north, I got treated like a backwoods hillbilly. Excuse me, I moved from another city…even if it was smaller. It’s still a city! So why not just embrace the South? I have roots in it. I didn’t realize how Southern I was still I met girls who thought it was acceptable to leave the house without doing hair and make-up. Or until I started not wearing nylons and my friends had been doing it for ages. I think too when I realized I didn’t really judge people, I just took them as they were. I am still willing to leave the bubble more than the rest up here.

This string of thoughts started because I was thinking about how Joker wanted a BMW or Mercedes for her next car, soooo baaad. They can’t afford it, she should know it. She’s out of her mind and I hope her husband puts his foot down. Now that is pretentious.

Tiny Bones

Tiny Bones. I am sure it’s an absurd title anyone, especially since I am referring to myself. I don’t really know how to lead into this story, or explain very much. I realize that most of my posts have been…not pleasant? Insulting perhaps? This is where I scream, in a figurative sense, about all the nonsense. So, let me share a little more about…ME.

I am about 5′ 7″ roughly speaking. Doctors predicted that I would be tall, like my dad. He is close to 6 feet! When my brother was born…they predicted short like my mom. Luckily, I did not end up as tall as my dad and my brother did not end up as short as my mom. (He is actually taller than me!) I did, however, end up with small hands and maybe small feet for my height. My hands are the size of my mother’s hands. They look like a child’s and are even somewhat…I don’t want to say it. Chubby. They kind of look like chubby little kid’s hands that would get stuck in a cookie jar. I just stare at them sometimes and wonder. I’ve pulled the skin-tight on them, and they won’t get that much skinnier. I don’t think there is really that much fat in my fingers…extra fat, right?

Last night, I showed my hands to my mom after announcing that my hands were uncharacteristically small for my height. I can’t even wrap my hand fully around a water bottle. I can however wrap my hand around my own wrist. For me to fully wrap my hand around something, it would have to be the size of a half-dollar. I feel as though that is not quite the norm. After I made this announcement, my mother declared that I must be smaller-boned (opposed to big-boned) than she thought. Apparently, I have her older sister’s frame and she always knew it. I have…ta da! TINY BONES.

You are Beautiful

Smokin’ Hot vs. Beautiful

I was thinking about this on the way home from work today. Every woman wants to be told she’s smokin’ hot here and there. Hot means that you are attractive, it means you are an attention-getter. However, it means that someone is more than likely having a physical reaction to you.

Here’s the thing, that kind of makes you feel like a piece of meat or a tray of cheesecake. Someone just wants to devour you. It doesn’t say anything about your smile…or your eyes…or your personality coming through. No, if you really want compliment a woman, tell her she is beautiful. Unless she’s wearing feathers and fishnets. Sometimes, hot is the right word and sometimes we want to hear that. But tell a woman she’s beautiful and it says that you really see her…she’s stunning.

Fine Lines

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There is a fine line for women today I think. You want to be sensitive, but not so vulnerable that you get walked all over. I’m one tough chica if I do say so myself. I will also admit that I am more cynical here. I am not this cold usually, I’m just quiet. I think it is because here–it’s only my thoughts and no one trying to correct me. I do not feign sympathy or empathy, I offer only my honesty. This is not to say that I am unfeeling, but you usually aren’t left second-guessing anything.

Faux Tofu on the other hand is not the same. She’s kind of weak. She doesn’t know when to stand up for herself and gives in easily to the whims of others. Her boyfriend, for instance, has had her on an emotional roller coaster for the past year, but she’s still with him. (What “guy” tell his girlfriend he’s 90% sure he wants to marry her? Leave the numbers to yourself.) She is also notorious for exuding sweet, sticky sympathy. However, it is really a selfish effort to make her well liked. How do I know this? Well, first there was that time that Faux Tofu and I went out to eat with another one of our gal pals. This gal has had marital strife for sometime. Her hubby, I would say–in all my Psychology undergrad expertise, is unstable. They are on the verge of divorce because he walked out on her and moved across the country before they completed their first year of marriage. Crazy right? Also a story for another time. At this dinner, Faux’s voice was dripping with a twinge of concern that I myself, as one of her besties, have never been showered with. It’s the kind that makes your cringe because it is just so insincere. Her whole voice is different!

She’s been playing these games again, but in the most bizarre and inappropriate ways. One of the guys that is at my old job with her recently suffered a tragedy. I am not going to go into it, but I am just going to outline some of these relationships. Iworked closely with this guy for about 2-2.5 years. In fact, when I left my job (on my own accord, woot!), I made sure that he was set to take over my position. Why? Because I knew he needed to move on and if I am not there, why not him? As much as I wanted to see the company suffer without me (and they kind of would), I wanted to see him have the opportunity to better himself. He also has a family. Let me clarify, the tragedy was a death in the family. Keep in mind that Faux Tofu really doesn’t have a relationship with him. He’s just that guy that I worked with that sits across the office in some cube. Tell me why, in his hour of need, is she texting him constantly letting him know that she is there. Good for you! You don’t have car to get out to the suburbs. Tell me, how on this green planet are you going to help him? You don’t even know him, leave him alone in this desperate hour! I guess it’s hard to convey here, without any details and I probably sound could. This incident happened a month ago and the gentleman returned to work today.

She and I gchat at work:

Faux: ps ABC is back today

me: ps k

Faux: I think he crushed my ribs when I hugged him!

me: that’s fantastic!

Really?! What am I supposed to say? Why are you telling me about this weird hug? Our other co-worker, I guess XYZ, agreed with me on this one. Maybe because he knows her? I also want to admit that most of my animosity towards her stems from my sheer anger that her boyfriend is such an idiot! XYZ also pointed out to me that he finds this amusing because she sits 20 feet from the CEO’s office and she’s often throwing little fits or swearing. It is all just very strange, but another line crossed perhaps.

Theories

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At first, I sat here writing all kinds of nonsense. Then I deleted it when I found the path I wanted to take. I have a few theories, but they aren’t necessarily all mine. At least not this first one.

Theory 1-This was developed in college with a friend of mine. It’s going to sound judgemental and it probably is. The trick here–you’ve thought it too. I am just writing out what you have always thought. (Oh, I am sure you have NEVER thought this way! This is for everyone else.) This theory is dubbed the “Gene Pool Theory.” It’s the theory that all ugly people pair off pretty quick. When they find each other, they know they have a slim chance of finding someone else–so they dive in. It encompasses all the thoughts you have when you see a couple and think “Really?! How can they be in a relationship when I am so single!” Take what you can get. It can also apply to really good-looking people. They find each other and so they date. They know if they mate–their offspring will also be good-looking. Unless the theory about ugly people having beautiful babies and good-looking people having ugly babies is true. (By the way, I don’t think Suri or Shiloh are that awesome for celeb babies. C’mon!)

Theory 2-This one is mine. I thought of it whilst writing random thoughts. I will explain the best I can. Maybe we should call it competitive dress. There is an attractive guy at work, but he’s married. He actually got hired to take the place of another guy, whom I also thought was attractive. Anyways, how much I care about hair, make-up and dress is proportionate to how many guys I find attractive. I was trying to figure this out because I don’t mess with relationships, so why would I care what that guy thought necessarily. However, he dresses nice…so I want to dress nice. I think it is the competitive spirit in me. I have to keep up see, show that I am on the same level? I guess? While I find him attractive and kind of refer to him as a “prototype” to my friends, I am really not interested in him. My heart doesn’t flutter when he walks in, I just think he’s nice to look at. However, when there are no “attractive” guys–I don’t care as much. I decided it is because I vainly think in my head that I am already “dressed nicer” because I’m the cuter one.

Theory 3-This one is pretty simple and I think everyone relates. If you are in an environment for too long where there are no legit good-looking people–someone will start to look good to you. At my last job, that happened to me. If I saw this guy on the street, I would’ve only taken a second look because he was big and tall like an ogre. Seriously, some Polish people have big heads. I am making that up based on 2 out of 3 of my ex-co-workers…since they were Polish. This guy had meat-hands, like Brock Lessner. He dressed nice, but he was a perv and not my type. No standards and typically…not my type. But he was basically the cutest one, so I started having a physical reaction to him. I think his alwasy flirty, provocative statements helped in all honesty. But my heart would beat a little faster, I would want his attention. (Clearly, he was single or at least never in a relationship long enough for me to keep up.) It’s basically like twisted beer goggles after awhile. People start to look good and they should not.

To the future and beyond!

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I do wonder sometimes what I will be like in a relationship. I like to think I will NOT be a clingon, stage 5. I have a friend who always refers to her hubby as “my husband.” Isn’t that Amish or Quaker or something? It’s just weird and ANNOYING. She’s the co-dependent type.

DISCLAIMER: I can’t think of code names for the people in this post. As an afterthought, the one mentioned above is Clingon 5.

I am romantic though, don’t get me wrong. I am the Pride & Prejudice kind though. Or what about “What a Girl Wants” with Amanda Bynes? I totally stand by the kiss where they are in the boat-sweetest/best cinematic kiss. I just have my own ideas about it all though. I was hanging out with one of my gal pals the other night. As we were leaving the very ritzy Panera, we saw a couple saying goodbye. She thought it cute, I thought it weird. They were having one of those long gazes into each others eyes with the almost embrace. It was just very high school…but with adults. Ew and not cute. I guess I don’t do cute anyways. Oh maybe I do. Isn’t hand holding cute?

Won’t You Hold My Hand?

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Well, since I am pretty much anonymous…I guess I can be honest! I was on birth control for two years. Only for the sheer fact I had outrageous PMS.  However, a correct diagnosis of a hypothyroid could have saved me from all of this. Needless to say, I was on “the pill.” Don’t they just refer to all brands as “the pill?” Anywho. The Joker told me when she was on it took away her “sex drive.” Well, I didn’t care, I wasn’t using it for that! A saving grace really. A good way to stay single and not even care.

Now I have been off of it for a few months. (Remember when I said no one night stands, I have morals? I don’t know if you are picking up on this, but the lack of a certain activity makes it perfectly ok for me to be off it.) But, now that I am not on it…it is like I have this incessant need to look around and consider the options. If I am sitting next to one of my single guy friends…I will wonder what it would be like to date him or hold his hand, etc. It is so weird. When this all starts happening, I have to consider (no offense and all), but am I lowering my standards? Throwing caution to the wind? I mean, I like my friends, but I know that some of these guys–not for me. They are great, there are just a few missing points.

So does one loosen up the standards as they get older? I know there has to be some realistic compromise. Even still, maybe it is that I just don’t know what I want.

Suitable Place for Suitors? Wha?

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So here is my epic question…and of course I am being melodramatic, but I’d really like to know how real life plays out. I am pretty sure I cannot count on the Hallmark channel to reflect reality. I am, for sure, not looking for a Lifetime event. That would make my life dark, twisted and scary. What I am seeking is a bit of truth and a bit of direction.

My university was an epic fail for providing suitable suitors. There is no chance that I will rekindle a never-before existent romance with a high school crush. This is not Hallmark! Plus, let’s face it. Where I grew up is…alright, most of the guys from that time are unmarried with kids who may or may not be living with the baby mama. Needless to say, that would be a flame I would willing extinguish myself. I just want…a bit more opportunity in my life. I think that is the nice way of putting it.

All that aside, where does one find…suitors? A beaux? Someone eligible to date? The college times have passed. When you are all grown-up, where do you go? I have a theory about bars. Once you hit 25, you better watch it! You have to know that all the 21-24-year olds think you are a CREEPER. Plus, I have a thing against trying to start a relationship in a bar. So how does dating work these days? I mean, I just don’t imagine a guy walking up to me in the grocery store, striking up a conversation that leads to a date which leads to a relationship that somehow magically ends in marriage. Does that happen in real life? I need to know because apparently I am giving off the “do not talk to me, I’m busy” vibe. Which, I must say, is better than the “please look at me, I am so desperate!” vibe.

The Joker is always trying to get me to sign up on eHarmony. [FAIL] Or, she tries to set me up with subpar gentlemen (eeeeww). OR, she tries to set me up with her friends who are across the country. (One time, it was to someone stationed overseas. I am sure that is what he was looking for!) The best part is when her husband tells her that it’s not a good match and basically it’s a no-go. I wonder sometimes if it is because he knows me and my standards so well. Perhaps, it is because he thinks I should be single for the rest of my life? I will rule out the latter. He and I were pretty good friends in college, like siblings. So I am going to assume he’s got my interests at heart.

So no really, if you aren’t picking up drunks in the bar…and you’re not doing the online thing…how does this happen??