Showing posts with label calling you out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label calling you out. Show all posts
The Follow-Up
My ex is dating a cocktail waitress. (Insert smarmy, judgmental, unsuccessfully-stifled laugh here.) O.M.G. Seriously? Seriously. Dude.
I hadn't heard anything about my ex's dating life, or lack-of, since we broke up. Naturally, I worried I would hear news of his next girlfriend or that he was seeing someone and then feel like breaking up was a huge mistake and want him back for the first time since we ended things nearly 11 months ago. So worried was I that I made sure to tell my best friend that, if she were to hear anything through the grapevine of our intertwined connections, she should please keep it away from my so-moving-on self.
Not being in this I-broke-up-with-the-guy-I-once-thought-I'd-marry position before, I figured I should safeguard my fragile little feelings by doing the following: 1) Date someone new as soon as possible. Check, 2) Avoid places he may be likely to go. Check, 3) Think about him only in negative/humiliating lights. Check, and check. And, perhaps the most important act of all ... 4) Resist inquisitions about ex's personal life. Check.
Until today when I got wind of a little gem of information. The cocktail waitress. Dumbfounded, giggly, and a feeling a little sad for my ex, I knew my so-moving-on self had indeed moved on. Yet, a question lingered: a cocktail waitress? That's my follow-up? Really? There is nothing wrong with cocktail waitresses, of course. I have a great deal of respect for these fine purveyors of delicious libations. Especially when I am at a bar and want another margarita. (The humor in all of this also lies in the fact that my ex doesn't--or at least didn't--drink. Never had, in fact. Irony? I think yes.)
Well, if anything I'm glad he's moved on. Maybe she's a cocktail-waitress-slash-actress. Or a cocktail-waitress-slash-scientist. I'm also glad that I am anything but sad. Life, with it's continuous tests...well, I passed this one. Whew.
Maybe it's just me...
...but watching Sex and the City makes me hate men. A little. Not actually hate but strongly dislike. And distrust.
I was watching the episode where Carrie catches Big on a date with another woman (she thought they were dating exclusively...she thought wrong). After that happens, they go to a party together and one of his friends calls Carrie the wrong name--one which belongs to another woman Big's been dating (no, not the one she saw him on a date with, a different one). So she gets all pissed and ends up hanging out with another guy instead and then pathetically calls Big and pretty much begs him to meet her at 3 a.m. in a park.
No one wants to date that guy. And no one wants to be that girl because of him.
Of course, I don't know if Carrie and Big had had "the talk" at that point in the show. For the record, I hate "the talk." I hate wondering when "the talk" might occur. I hate the fact that I am (as the woman) not supposed to initiate "the talk," however the guy typically won't do so unless he is pressed into it, which puts me in a really bad spot because, and I hate this too, "the talk" is necessary for my mental sanity and relationship-self-esteem.
Anyway. Big sucks. I think I must have been the only girl on earth not happy watching the SATC series finale. Aiden was a much, much better choice.
I was watching the episode where Carrie catches Big on a date with another woman (she thought they were dating exclusively...she thought wrong). After that happens, they go to a party together and one of his friends calls Carrie the wrong name--one which belongs to another woman Big's been dating (no, not the one she saw him on a date with, a different one). So she gets all pissed and ends up hanging out with another guy instead and then pathetically calls Big and pretty much begs him to meet her at 3 a.m. in a park.
No one wants to date that guy. And no one wants to be that girl because of him.
Of course, I don't know if Carrie and Big had had "the talk" at that point in the show. For the record, I hate "the talk." I hate wondering when "the talk" might occur. I hate the fact that I am (as the woman) not supposed to initiate "the talk," however the guy typically won't do so unless he is pressed into it, which puts me in a really bad spot because, and I hate this too, "the talk" is necessary for my mental sanity and relationship-self-esteem.
Anyway. Big sucks. I think I must have been the only girl on earth not happy watching the SATC series finale. Aiden was a much, much better choice.
Cocky Writer Talking Smack
All writers know that writing sucks. Writing is putting your most personal thoughts down on paper for a bunch of strangers (you hope), as well as everyone in your life who knows you well, to read. Scary stuff. But maybe that's why we do it. Ponder this.
The process of writing also sucks. You sit there for hours in a coffee shop, maybe changing two words, two letters even, on each page. Then you go again and read over your draft and change them back. Or cut whole sections completely. Or move everything around so much to the point where you have no idea what the heck you just did and what your book (and is it even a book, anyway?) is about anymore.
But instead of bitching about all of this, I have a new approach. Guess what, suckers? I freakin rock. In fact, after starting with between 50 and 80 pages just four weeks ago of this new book/thesis/thing, I now have 152. And I will get it to 300 by the time it is due in eight weeks. And it will be freakin good.
You know what, I'm done calling it a book/thesis/thing. Let's just call it what it is. A book. As seen on book store shelves in the near future, bitches.
Because, at this point, I love this book so much that I want to marry it on Facebook. I love it so much that I just want to finish it and I could care less if it gets published. Okay, that's sort of a lie because I also want to be able to say haha to some people by being successful, but, one thing at a time. Get the book written. Revenge, sweet, sweet revenge, comes next.
What prompted this change in attitude, you might ask? For one, I have eaten coffee, a rice-krispie treat, a piece of blueberry crumble cake, some yogurt, and some chips today. So I'm a bit loopy.
But, there is some reason to this new stance. I used to hate it in college when everyone who was working super hard (ok, me), moped around all the time complaining about how much work they had. As if to make the slackers feel better for not doing their work. Oh, doesn't this totally suck: I went to the library all night and wrote my paper and I'm going to get an A, let's all feel bad for me and how smart I am. Lame.
So, I say, screw that attitude. I'm going to brag. I wrote for over eight hours today. In two different coffee shops. Boo-yah. And you know what I'm doing tomorrow? Gonna write some more.
I don't see the point in complaining about work I'm inflicting upon myself or trying to make it seem like I don't think what I am doing totally rocks. I get to sit here and go cross-eyed in front of my laptop doing what I love. Writing. About myself. And I'm just going to own it.
As for the rest of you, I have a challenge: Do better. I dare you.
The process of writing also sucks. You sit there for hours in a coffee shop, maybe changing two words, two letters even, on each page. Then you go again and read over your draft and change them back. Or cut whole sections completely. Or move everything around so much to the point where you have no idea what the heck you just did and what your book (and is it even a book, anyway?) is about anymore.
But instead of bitching about all of this, I have a new approach. Guess what, suckers? I freakin rock. In fact, after starting with between 50 and 80 pages just four weeks ago of this new book/thesis/thing, I now have 152. And I will get it to 300 by the time it is due in eight weeks. And it will be freakin good.
You know what, I'm done calling it a book/thesis/thing. Let's just call it what it is. A book. As seen on book store shelves in the near future, bitches.
Because, at this point, I love this book so much that I want to marry it on Facebook. I love it so much that I just want to finish it and I could care less if it gets published. Okay, that's sort of a lie because I also want to be able to say haha to some people by being successful, but, one thing at a time. Get the book written. Revenge, sweet, sweet revenge, comes next.
What prompted this change in attitude, you might ask? For one, I have eaten coffee, a rice-krispie treat, a piece of blueberry crumble cake, some yogurt, and some chips today. So I'm a bit loopy.
But, there is some reason to this new stance. I used to hate it in college when everyone who was working super hard (ok, me), moped around all the time complaining about how much work they had. As if to make the slackers feel better for not doing their work. Oh, doesn't this totally suck: I went to the library all night and wrote my paper and I'm going to get an A, let's all feel bad for me and how smart I am. Lame.
So, I say, screw that attitude. I'm going to brag. I wrote for over eight hours today. In two different coffee shops. Boo-yah. And you know what I'm doing tomorrow? Gonna write some more.
I don't see the point in complaining about work I'm inflicting upon myself or trying to make it seem like I don't think what I am doing totally rocks. I get to sit here and go cross-eyed in front of my laptop doing what I love. Writing. About myself. And I'm just going to own it.
As for the rest of you, I have a challenge: Do better. I dare you.
The Intelligence Curse
Speaking of things I have been noticing, I've discovered (along with my amazing roommate Ms. Meagan McCrary), this: the smarter the girl, the higher chance she will stay single.
Smart girls can spot red flags, even smarter ones know to walk away when they see them. (I am still working on this.) Smart girls know every guy they date is replaceable. It is their (our) curse.
Girls who are in relationships because they feel like they should be, because they are too comfortable, because they are afraid of change, or because they just want to get married--well, we can call them stupid girls, sorry, but it's true. Of course they're going to stay with a guy because they've already put so much time in, of course they're going to put up with bullshit, even when they sometimes know they shouldn't--they aren't smart enough to know better.
And I envy them. As Meagan said last week, in talking about a recent guy situation, "I wish I was the stupid slut you treat me like." Wouldn't life just be so much easier that way?
I Ain't Sayin She a Gold-Digger. Oh Wait. Yeah I Am.
As someone writing her Master's thesis on post-college marriage mania (a phrase I made up, thankyouverymuch), I can't help but be attuned to the relationship-status changes on Facebook from "In a Relationship" to "Engaged."
Another young woman in my network recently got herself ringed. Like many of the newly-fianced I see, she is younger than me. (My 10th grade self would not be pleased. A couple weeks ago, I stumbled upon an entry in my diary in which I wrote, to my future self, not to worry about the stupid boy I had a crush on because when I'm twenty-five, "I will have a gorgeous fiance." Nope.)
I've asked the question many times--why are these girls getting married at 23/24/25? (The religious reasons, I understand. I'm talking about the girls who have clearly lost their viriginty some time ago.) I typically look at the gal's photos to get some clues. Sometimes I see vacations to tropical locales. Sometimes there are private planes. Diamonds the size of dimes. Lacoste polos. Lots of Ralph Lauren. The girl is typically gorgeous. The guy is so-so at best. This is where my stomach gets queasy.
These girls are gold-diggers, whether they want to admit it or not.
Call my attitude bitter, bitchy, whatever. But, as someone who has been on the other side, someone who has been called a gold-digger (by her own sorority sisters, mind you), I feel like this is my terrain.
I've done the private plane thing. The VIP, field-access, secret-entrance, back-door, special-pass-only, front-of-the-line, only-this-key-gets-you-in, open-sesame song and dance. It gets old. Saying this isn't a stab at the boyfriend who allowed me to learn this lesson, it's just something I know to be true. Money can't buy me love. When you marry a man for his--or his parents'--money, (and I'm not calling anyone out specifically, just talking about this as an idea), money is what you get. For some people, that's enough.
Private planes don't cultivate passion. Vacation homes don't get me hot. Diamond rings don't give me butterflies. It's only the man himself who can electrify your every cell with one brush of his lips on your collarbone, one word whispered in your ear, one look.
This is one more thing I've learned in my twenty-five years: If I had to choose, I would rather simply screw a guy I was crazy about than be stuck married to a rich dude with the sexual capacity of a snail.
Just sayin.
An Open Letter
Dear [insert name of guy I have dated/am dating/will date],
How are you? Hope you're doing well. I'm pretty good myself. Doing a little blogging, a little teaching, finishing grad school.
Anyway. The reason I am writing to you is to apologize. I have this new blog called The Little Black Blog of Big Red Flags, and you're probably going to be written about at some point. If I haven't written about you already. You may or may not be comfortable with this, which is why I am saying sorry preemptively.
But before you click the link and try to figure out which of the nearly 50 posts are about you, let me just say this: I am not writing about you out of spite, anger, or vindication. You are a great guy in many ways. In some other ways, you are not so great, just like everyone else.
In fact, I thought I would take this opportunity to list some reasons why I am not so great, just to make you feel better:
1. Sometimes when we talk on the phone I will tell you to hold on while I have a full conversation with my roommate and laugh with her about some inside joke, while you wait for us to finish, which I'm sure is really annoying.
2. I read into everything you do way too much.
3. I joke around a lot, and will poke fun at you, which apparently comes off to some as passive aggressive but really isn't. I just think I'm funnier than I am.
4. If you so much as look at another girl, not to mention talk to her, joke with her, or touch her in any way, I will assume you: a) Want to sleep with her or b) Already have. I won't say anything to you about this, I will just be kinda bitchy for a minute. (And, yes, that is passive aggressive.)
5. I let my dog kiss my on the mouth. And drink from my water glass.
And those are just from the top of my head. The point is, I have this blog, and you're going to be on it, so please don't be mad at me. Really, the blog isn't even about you. It's about women coming together to commiserate about the stupid things you guys do to us (like, maybe don't do those things and blogs like this wouldn't have to exist). It's about me wanting to get a book deal and make lots and lots of money.
I mean, hey, feel free to start a blog of your own. You can even use my five flags above to get you started.
lots of love,
Natasha
How are you? Hope you're doing well. I'm pretty good myself. Doing a little blogging, a little teaching, finishing grad school.
Anyway. The reason I am writing to you is to apologize. I have this new blog called The Little Black Blog of Big Red Flags, and you're probably going to be written about at some point. If I haven't written about you already. You may or may not be comfortable with this, which is why I am saying sorry preemptively.
But before you click the link and try to figure out which of the nearly 50 posts are about you, let me just say this: I am not writing about you out of spite, anger, or vindication. You are a great guy in many ways. In some other ways, you are not so great, just like everyone else.
In fact, I thought I would take this opportunity to list some reasons why I am not so great, just to make you feel better:
1. Sometimes when we talk on the phone I will tell you to hold on while I have a full conversation with my roommate and laugh with her about some inside joke, while you wait for us to finish, which I'm sure is really annoying.
2. I read into everything you do way too much.
3. I joke around a lot, and will poke fun at you, which apparently comes off to some as passive aggressive but really isn't. I just think I'm funnier than I am.
4. If you so much as look at another girl, not to mention talk to her, joke with her, or touch her in any way, I will assume you: a) Want to sleep with her or b) Already have. I won't say anything to you about this, I will just be kinda bitchy for a minute. (And, yes, that is passive aggressive.)
5. I let my dog kiss my on the mouth. And drink from my water glass.
And those are just from the top of my head. The point is, I have this blog, and you're going to be on it, so please don't be mad at me. Really, the blog isn't even about you. It's about women coming together to commiserate about the stupid things you guys do to us (like, maybe don't do those things and blogs like this wouldn't have to exist). It's about me wanting to get a book deal and make lots and lots of money.
I mean, hey, feel free to start a blog of your own. You can even use my five flags above to get you started.
lots of love,
Natasha
O.M.F.G. Levi Johnston Needs to Grow a Pair
Well, here's yet another GMA gem, this time of Levi Johnston, the poor kid stupid enough to get Sarah Palin's daughter Bristol pregnant.
Typically, anything having to do with Sarah Palin floats past my consciousness along with other topics that shouldn't be given any attention whatsoever, like hate crimes against Neo-Nazis or endangered pigeons, but I could not ignore this one. Levi, apparently, has decided he is not ready to be a dad. Hmm. That's funny, considering he ALREADY HAS A KID, WHO WAS BORN IN DECEMBER. Anyway, this interview isn't particularly revealing, mostly because Levi seems to have donated most of his brain cells to hockey, but it really pissed me off and I felt compelled to share.
This is just another way young women get completely f-ed over. More so, how we can't avoid being f-ed over simply because of our biology. Bristol, while clearly responsible for sleeping with Levi and having their baby, is now a single mom and can't do anything about it. She is unable to leave her baby, as the child depends on her for nourishment. Levi, on the other hand, was found by GMA on his way to the gym, just living his life. Both teens made some huge mistakes (forgetting a condom would be number one, I think), yet Bristol is the one who's paying for them. No one said life was fair, but I feel for the girl. Even if she is Palin's daughter.
Oh, and I like how Levi says he wants to marry Bristol "some day." What does that mean? When he feels old enough to be a dad? When the kid's out of diapers and is easier to take care of? Hopefully Bristol has the good sense to tell that boy to get a life.
Ungrateful Wife Slams Mr. Mom Hubby on GMA
In a moment of procrastinatory weakness this afternoon, I went over to Jezebel.com to get my media/feminist fix and came upon this clip from Good Morning America about a couple experiencing a role reversal due to the financial crisis. And I realized why I can't read Jezebel because then I get all huffy and have to climb up on my soap box.
Basically, the clip demonstrates why couples get divorced. Or why they kill each other. The husband lost his job and now plays the "Mr. Mom" role of taking care of their child, while his wife works long days in sales and comes home after the kid is in bed. The couple now sleeps in separate bedrooms because of this arrangement.
However, while the husband says he is grateful to be at home, to spend time with their daughter, etc, the wife disclosed that she has lost respect for her husband (especially when she comes home to find him donning "her apron") because she always dreamed of a life where a man put a roof over her head and took care of her.
When I watched this, I wanted to freakin' strangle this woman. First of all, hello, it's 2009. Roles of men and women are changing to accommodate the new views of masculinity and femininity that the women's movement in particular works tirelessly to advocate. In fact, when we put men and women into binary roles (men are the breadwinners, women are the housewives), people become extremely dissatisfied and anxious, according to some studies. Part of living in an egalitarian society is that the gender roles are flexible and, as a result, men and women can operate on a more even ground.
While I understand that the heinous woman in the clip was just being honest, I can't help but hate her. How dare she put that kind of pressure on her husband, who is doing the best he can. The guy probably feels awful enough already having lost his job. And then to belittle him for being fulfilled by his role of a caretaker/stay-at-home Dad? This woman's warped perception of the way things "should" be sends a horrible message to her daughter (who clearly isn't benefiting from her mother's inability to get with the program and realize that she's the problem, not her husband), and it perpetuates a system that divides men and women based on out-dated, gender-centric stereotypes.
Anyway. Watch the clip. Interested to hear what other people think about this. I, for one, will gladly take a husband who enjoys being a dad and can cook/clean/do laundry. But maybe that's just me...
Basically, the clip demonstrates why couples get divorced. Or why they kill each other. The husband lost his job and now plays the "Mr. Mom" role of taking care of their child, while his wife works long days in sales and comes home after the kid is in bed. The couple now sleeps in separate bedrooms because of this arrangement.
However, while the husband says he is grateful to be at home, to spend time with their daughter, etc, the wife disclosed that she has lost respect for her husband (especially when she comes home to find him donning "her apron") because she always dreamed of a life where a man put a roof over her head and took care of her.
When I watched this, I wanted to freakin' strangle this woman. First of all, hello, it's 2009. Roles of men and women are changing to accommodate the new views of masculinity and femininity that the women's movement in particular works tirelessly to advocate. In fact, when we put men and women into binary roles (men are the breadwinners, women are the housewives), people become extremely dissatisfied and anxious, according to some studies. Part of living in an egalitarian society is that the gender roles are flexible and, as a result, men and women can operate on a more even ground.
While I understand that the heinous woman in the clip was just being honest, I can't help but hate her. How dare she put that kind of pressure on her husband, who is doing the best he can. The guy probably feels awful enough already having lost his job. And then to belittle him for being fulfilled by his role of a caretaker/stay-at-home Dad? This woman's warped perception of the way things "should" be sends a horrible message to her daughter (who clearly isn't benefiting from her mother's inability to get with the program and realize that she's the problem, not her husband), and it perpetuates a system that divides men and women based on out-dated, gender-centric stereotypes.
Anyway. Watch the clip. Interested to hear what other people think about this. I, for one, will gladly take a husband who enjoys being a dad and can cook/clean/do laundry. But maybe that's just me...
Red Flags
We were supposed to be looking at each other in the light and touching each others hair (and of course writing about it for a grade, love love LOVE grad school!) but somehow conversation broke out among Meagan, Molly and I (weird, I know) and steered swiftly towards girl talk. Crazy how this happens.
Recently, conversations with my girlfriends have centered around how generally ignorant men are, so I decided to make a little list of red flags, culling from these talks. I'm doing this mainly because I don't want the Valentine's Day post to be the most recent one on here. (It's getting close to the actual day and I am feeling a little dumb for writing it, even more dumb for admitting that I actually like the holiday. Vulnerability is not my strong suit. But that's a whole other story...)
So here it goes--highlights from lowlifes. (Just FYI, none of these are my stories/anecdotes--I have borrowed and stolen them from others. And some are kinda "racy" so if you aren't into that, skip this one.)
A couple of these have questions attached. If anyone has insight, answers, further questions, feel free to share.
1. "It's cool if I rail other chicks right?" This was said mid-sex. I know...douchebag award of the century.
2. When you have a party and the dude you're dating spends the whole night talking to a total slut-bag (and ignoring you) and then expects you to come home with him. And then doesn't call you the next day. Is this a punishment for not sleeping over? Is he embarrassed because he spent so much time talking to a woman the rest of us couldn't take for more than two minutes?
3. "Spit on the cock!" These words should not be uttered. Especially when the guy is giving himself a hand-job.
4. When a dude asks you to bite his nipples and then calls you nasty. (On a side note, nipple-biting should be invite-only right? We aren't expected to just, like, go there, are we?)
5. A guy who calls on Sunday night at 10:30 p.m. after a Thursday night date. And then in the message he doesn't even inquire about when he gets to see you--because yes it is a privileged--he just stutters on about nothing for 30 seconds. Do guys wait this long because they think they have to? And then do they leave weird messages because they are afraid to show us they like us? Or is the call obligatory? Is he--dare I say it?--just not that into you?
6. "I'm not going to stay the night tonight. No, you're perfect. Nothing's wrong. I just want to slow things down. I'll stay over next week." We still have no idea what happened here. Clearly the dude never called.
7. "I'm going to Japan. Give you a call when I get back." Somehow this happened to one of my friends three times. Two of the times the guy did not call back. Japan-Guy number three is jetting off on Thursday, so we'll see if third time's the charm.
8. A guy asks you out to a party. The party is that night. You say no, you're busy. Then he calls the next day and leaves an obnoxious voicemail about how you, "soooooooo missed out." What about this makes you want to call him ever again?
9. Pulling the "Here he, Here he." When a guy writes an email giving you the details of his whole day...without asking about yours, "So I went for a run and then I wrote for five hours and then I studied the chakras, and now I'm going to check out this trendy Asian fusion restaurant." Did I ask? Do I need to know you're every move?
10. Here's a text: "If you were into me, you'd be the perfect women for me." And another, three months later: "I'm a little drunk, I wish we had tried to date." He tried. She did not. There was no we.
Hopefully this post doesn't come off as mean. I like men. I LOVE men. But some of them are really kinda dumb. Or they just don't listen to us. Or they're delusional. Or scared. I get that. We're scared too. But I think women maybe try harder? We care more about men's feelings, we put them before our own. Maybe this makes us dumb...
Or as a guy friend of mine said, "The problem is that men have to try hard while trying even harder to look like they're NOT trying hard." Maybe if we all tried a little harder to be ourselves, and better yet, to accept other people for who they are without all this stupid game-playing-waiting-three-days-to-call crap, we would all be better off...
Recently, conversations with my girlfriends have centered around how generally ignorant men are, so I decided to make a little list of red flags, culling from these talks. I'm doing this mainly because I don't want the Valentine's Day post to be the most recent one on here. (It's getting close to the actual day and I am feeling a little dumb for writing it, even more dumb for admitting that I actually like the holiday. Vulnerability is not my strong suit. But that's a whole other story...)
So here it goes--highlights from lowlifes. (Just FYI, none of these are my stories/anecdotes--I have borrowed and stolen them from others. And some are kinda "racy" so if you aren't into that, skip this one.)
A couple of these have questions attached. If anyone has insight, answers, further questions, feel free to share.
1. "It's cool if I rail other chicks right?" This was said mid-sex. I know...douchebag award of the century.
2. When you have a party and the dude you're dating spends the whole night talking to a total slut-bag (and ignoring you) and then expects you to come home with him. And then doesn't call you the next day. Is this a punishment for not sleeping over? Is he embarrassed because he spent so much time talking to a woman the rest of us couldn't take for more than two minutes?
3. "Spit on the cock!" These words should not be uttered. Especially when the guy is giving himself a hand-job.
4. When a dude asks you to bite his nipples and then calls you nasty. (On a side note, nipple-biting should be invite-only right? We aren't expected to just, like, go there, are we?)
5. A guy who calls on Sunday night at 10:30 p.m. after a Thursday night date. And then in the message he doesn't even inquire about when he gets to see you--because yes it is a privileged--he just stutters on about nothing for 30 seconds. Do guys wait this long because they think they have to? And then do they leave weird messages because they are afraid to show us they like us? Or is the call obligatory? Is he--dare I say it?--just not that into you?
6. "I'm not going to stay the night tonight. No, you're perfect. Nothing's wrong. I just want to slow things down. I'll stay over next week." We still have no idea what happened here. Clearly the dude never called.
7. "I'm going to Japan. Give you a call when I get back." Somehow this happened to one of my friends three times. Two of the times the guy did not call back. Japan-Guy number three is jetting off on Thursday, so we'll see if third time's the charm.
8. A guy asks you out to a party. The party is that night. You say no, you're busy. Then he calls the next day and leaves an obnoxious voicemail about how you, "soooooooo missed out." What about this makes you want to call him ever again?
9. Pulling the "Here he, Here he." When a guy writes an email giving you the details of his whole day...without asking about yours, "So I went for a run and then I wrote for five hours and then I studied the chakras, and now I'm going to check out this trendy Asian fusion restaurant." Did I ask? Do I need to know you're every move?
10. Here's a text: "If you were into me, you'd be the perfect women for me." And another, three months later: "I'm a little drunk, I wish we had tried to date." He tried. She did not. There was no we.
Hopefully this post doesn't come off as mean. I like men. I LOVE men. But some of them are really kinda dumb. Or they just don't listen to us. Or they're delusional. Or scared. I get that. We're scared too. But I think women maybe try harder? We care more about men's feelings, we put them before our own. Maybe this makes us dumb...
Or as a guy friend of mine said, "The problem is that men have to try hard while trying even harder to look like they're NOT trying hard." Maybe if we all tried a little harder to be ourselves, and better yet, to accept other people for who they are without all this stupid game-playing-waiting-three-days-to-call crap, we would all be better off...
Literary. Or Not.
To follow up on my writing school post, I was in Memoir class yesterday, soaking in some glowing comments about the fictionalized memoir pages I had turned in last week. "Very funny and visual!" "Great voice!" "Contemporary and marketable!"
Totally genius, I thought, just a tad smug. After all, I worked on those pages. I re-worked them after my first session of Janet's class, creating high-brow-esque metaphors, trying to sound like a real writer, using to sensory details to make my readers "feel" it.
Then, the critiques began, always a longer list than those glowing comments. Most were totally right and I am grateful to receive them. It was my teacher's off-handed comment about how my voice was "casual," and "notliterary," that stoked my fires.
Not literary? Not literary?! How humiliating. Especially because I really thought that, this time, I was literary. I could feel the literary-ness coursing through my veins, collecting in my fingertips and propelling just the right taps on my MacBook's white keys.
Not literary.
So, I decided that I am going to post fiction on here once a week. Not to prove that I, in fact, am literary. I am reading my pages to Fitch and co. tonight, so unless she decides I am a literary genius, I'm guessing I will still be decidedly "casual" tomorrow as well. But I have to do these two page shorts for Fitch each week and she wants us to rework them after we get comments. She's not going to grade them, she said, reworking is just for our own growth. And I apparently really, really need it.
But by putting out my promise to cyberspace to post these re-manifestations of me trying to be literary, 1) I will actually re-work them, and 2) I will have to be accountable for my literary-ness or lack thereof. Both good for that growing I need to do.
Yeah, so that comment kinda pissed me off, right?
Totally genius, I thought, just a tad smug. After all, I worked on those pages. I re-worked them after my first session of Janet's class, creating high-brow-esque metaphors, trying to sound like a real writer, using to sensory details to make my readers "feel" it.
Then, the critiques began, always a longer list than those glowing comments. Most were totally right and I am grateful to receive them. It was my teacher's off-handed comment about how my voice was "casual," and "notliterary," that stoked my fires.
Not literary? Not literary?! How humiliating. Especially because I really thought that, this time, I was literary. I could feel the literary-ness coursing through my veins, collecting in my fingertips and propelling just the right taps on my MacBook's white keys.
Not literary.
So, I decided that I am going to post fiction on here once a week. Not to prove that I, in fact, am literary. I am reading my pages to Fitch and co. tonight, so unless she decides I am a literary genius, I'm guessing I will still be decidedly "casual" tomorrow as well. But I have to do these two page shorts for Fitch each week and she wants us to rework them after we get comments. She's not going to grade them, she said, reworking is just for our own growth. And I apparently really, really need it.
But by putting out my promise to cyberspace to post these re-manifestations of me trying to be literary, 1) I will actually re-work them, and 2) I will have to be accountable for my literary-ness or lack thereof. Both good for that growing I need to do.
Yeah, so that comment kinda pissed me off, right?
Brides-to-Be Haunt the Queen Mary
Here is the little film I put together after attending my first bridal show with Jenn.
Don't worry, we aren't really "Brides-to-Be." Just doing a little undercover research for my thesis/book. The footage is mostly from the "fashion show" that was put on during the event.
Needless to say, we left terrified. Enjoy!
Something Sparkly That Way Goes
Minutes after logging onto Facebook recently to procrastinate/"check" my profile (anything to prolong my writer's block, really), I find out that yet another college pal is engaged. Before you write me off and label me jealous, let me just assure you that I am completely denial-less of that fact. Of course I'm jealous! She's got the security of having her future all tied up in pretty package wrapped in white tulle and lace. And she's got three-months of her boyfriend's salary on her pretty little finger while mine remains stark naked with no hope of covering up any time soon. When everyone around you seems to be getting engaged or married, it's hard to feel good about introducing people to your "boyfriend." I'm stuck in relationship purgatory without a paddle.
While I admit that yes, I would love it to be me this time, typically I am also happy for someone when they get engaged. Yet, I can’t help but think about how she and her SITM started dating after my boyfriend and I did. About a month after to be precise. I can't help feeling a little bad about myself. Aren’t I fiancé-worthy? Aren’t I marriage material too? As Meg Ryan says in "When Harry Met Sally": "What's the matter with me?"
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