Okay, maybe "theeee most dreaded" question isn't what this post is about... But it's right up there with, "What's your credit score," "What's your honest opinion," and "do I look fat?"
What type of music do you listen to?
Oh, please no! I always feel like this question is a trap. Whether it's being asked by the sexy professor after a few cocktails, my previous EVP that's anxious to judge, a really fun girl that I want to force into being my friend or anyone, I never see the conversation going well.
Do I admit that I still belt out Disney tunes in the shower? Or that I secretly adore country music on long drives to visit my grandparents? What about the fact that I instantly learn the lyrics to rap and R&B after hearing it a few times? I clean listening to my dad's Eagles records, I dance to oldies with my big sister and I like to get down on the get down to some EDM at the local gay bar....or in my car. No matter which of those responses I select, I'm going to reveal myself as the bag of crazy that I am.
Is there a right answer to this? Absolutely not. I try to play it off as, "oh, I just little to a little of everything." It's totally true but I realize it's vague and doesn't answer anything. However, when getting to know someone new I typically find it to be best practice to wait to confess that I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to music. I know what I like, I know what I don't. If I hear something with well written lyrics or a beat that I can get my dance on to, I'll download it and play it again and again. That's about it. Maybe it would be better to ask, "what's on your playlist right now?" Nah, that probably wouldn't be good because it's just Ellie Goulding on repeat. Awkward.
Ask me that question at 9am over Starbucks (trenta iced green tea, nosweetner and extra ice) and you'll probably get a decent answer. Try again over a $2 long island at The Q and I'll tell you all about my Britney obsession (not a joke). Ask me when I'm feeling sullen and you will hear about Explosions in the Sky and how much I love Taylor Kitsch and the series Friday Night Lights. ADD much? Perhaps.
Either way, I'm always looking for someone to educate me about music. I love to sing, I just don't care what it is. If I want to pretend that I'm Ariel in the shower and sing Part of Your World, then I'm going to! You can catch me and my mother jamming to Luke Bryan at any given moment. Applications being accepted for a teacher....ideally one with lots of patience and that realizes I'm an idiot. Thanks in advance. xx
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Stupid Questions equal Stupid Answers
Moving to Chicago, moving in general, or really just having any ambition whatsoever is apparently frowned upon by the vast majority of people that surround me.... which lead me to post the following status update on my Facebook page
The next pessimistic, negative excuse for a friend that asks me if I am aware of how expensive, cold, dangerous, or different Chicago is from Lincoln will be getting a swift but powerful slap to the face from my wrinkly grandma hands. Thank you.
This was brought on by endless questions and statements by the idiots that surround me on a regular basis. Initially, I tried to fake interest and at least pretend to listen to the input on others about where to live, how much money I should expect to spend, blah blah blah. And then my give-a-shit broke and is too pricey to fix since I'm moving to suuuuuch a costly city. So, being the sarcastic asshole that I am, I've come up with some fabulously sassy responses to the negative fools that try to put me down.
#1 : Do you know that Chicago is so expensive to live in?
Americans are nosey and love to ask about money. Do I tell them that the apartments I'm looking at are upward of a grand? Sure don't! Do I take the time to explain that the money I'm saving by not having a car payment, car insurance, gas or maintenance, knocks the price of my future home down to that of any nice one bedroom in my college town? I don't care enough to take the time. My favorite replies include:
Thank goodness I'll be working the corner and getting paid more than the alleys here in Lincoln.
Oh really? I thought things were cheaper in bigger cities; prostitutes, booze and blow. Right?
Oh, you thought I worked 80 hour weeks all summer for funsies? No, I've been saving so I can escape.
#2 : Have you heard how cold Chicago is?
I live in the Midwest. I've had snow in October and snow until May. It's not the snow that gets me, it's the ice. I am a baaaaad driver in any poor weather condition...which is why I used to make my mom drive me to my college classes. I have no shame. Do I enjoy cold, snow, ice and wind? Not at all but I deal with it just like every other person that lives in the Northern third of the country. The best and only response I need for this is:
I'm so glad I'll be sharing a bed with a gay man and we'll keep warm with our body heat. Followed by a classy wink.
(Please note that I can't wink. I look like I'm missing a chromosome, making it ten times more awkward)
#3 :
a) Did you know Chicago is the murder capitol of the country?
Response:
Did you know I don't care?
Good. I'll blend right in with the rest of the serial killers.
I won't unpack too soon so that Often Annoyed Designer won't have to mail everything back to my mom before my funeral.
Did YOU know that Chicago is sometimes beat out by Omaha, Nebraska, which is only a tractor ride away?
b ) Do you know how unsafe Chicago is?
Oh, you mean the city that I've acquired more than one stalker, been slipped a date rape drug on TWO occasions, had my leg sliced open by a methhead, and my car broken into is the safest place to be? Newsflash, fools: every where is risky if you put yourself into stupid situations. I'm often referred to as Princess -- and I don't object to this as long as it's used in a loving and not condescending way. Actually I don't care how it's used... if the tiara fits, ya dig? But do you really think someone that is literally called Princess by many of her customers, friends and family, is going to go for an evening stroll in Jackson Park or Michigan Avenue? If you get this wrong please head to the nearest psych ward.
#4 : Do you realize how different Chicago is from Lincoln?
My reply:
THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!!!!
Case closed. Save your negativity for someone that it will have an impact on. Or just get a better attitude, keep your unsolicited opinion to yourself, wish me good luck and then Facebook-stalk me and make fun of me to your friends like everyone else does.
Also, I have wrinkly hands and feet due to a skin condition. I own my grandma hands so leave me alone!
The next pessimistic, negative excuse for a friend that asks me if I am aware of how expensive, cold, dangerous, or different Chicago is from Lincoln will be getting a swift but powerful slap to the face from my wrinkly grandma hands. Thank you.
This was brought on by endless questions and statements by the idiots that surround me on a regular basis. Initially, I tried to fake interest and at least pretend to listen to the input on others about where to live, how much money I should expect to spend, blah blah blah. And then my give-a-shit broke and is too pricey to fix since I'm moving to suuuuuch a costly city. So, being the sarcastic asshole that I am, I've come up with some fabulously sassy responses to the negative fools that try to put me down.
#1 : Do you know that Chicago is so expensive to live in?
Americans are nosey and love to ask about money. Do I tell them that the apartments I'm looking at are upward of a grand? Sure don't! Do I take the time to explain that the money I'm saving by not having a car payment, car insurance, gas or maintenance, knocks the price of my future home down to that of any nice one bedroom in my college town? I don't care enough to take the time. My favorite replies include:
Thank goodness I'll be working the corner and getting paid more than the alleys here in Lincoln.
Oh really? I thought things were cheaper in bigger cities; prostitutes, booze and blow. Right?
Oh, you thought I worked 80 hour weeks all summer for funsies? No, I've been saving so I can escape.
#2 : Have you heard how cold Chicago is?
I live in the Midwest. I've had snow in October and snow until May. It's not the snow that gets me, it's the ice. I am a baaaaad driver in any poor weather condition...which is why I used to make my mom drive me to my college classes. I have no shame. Do I enjoy cold, snow, ice and wind? Not at all but I deal with it just like every other person that lives in the Northern third of the country. The best and only response I need for this is:
I'm so glad I'll be sharing a bed with a gay man and we'll keep warm with our body heat. Followed by a classy wink.
(Please note that I can't wink. I look like I'm missing a chromosome, making it ten times more awkward)
#3 :
a) Did you know Chicago is the murder capitol of the country?
Response:
Did you know I don't care?
Good. I'll blend right in with the rest of the serial killers.
I won't unpack too soon so that Often Annoyed Designer won't have to mail everything back to my mom before my funeral.
Did YOU know that Chicago is sometimes beat out by Omaha, Nebraska, which is only a tractor ride away?
b ) Do you know how unsafe Chicago is?
Oh, you mean the city that I've acquired more than one stalker, been slipped a date rape drug on TWO occasions, had my leg sliced open by a methhead, and my car broken into is the safest place to be? Newsflash, fools: every where is risky if you put yourself into stupid situations. I'm often referred to as Princess -- and I don't object to this as long as it's used in a loving and not condescending way. Actually I don't care how it's used... if the tiara fits, ya dig? But do you really think someone that is literally called Princess by many of her customers, friends and family, is going to go for an evening stroll in Jackson Park or Michigan Avenue? If you get this wrong please head to the nearest psych ward.
#4 : Do you realize how different Chicago is from Lincoln?
My reply:
THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!!!!
Case closed. Save your negativity for someone that it will have an impact on. Or just get a better attitude, keep your unsolicited opinion to yourself, wish me good luck and then Facebook-stalk me and make fun of me to your friends like everyone else does.
Also, I have wrinkly hands and feet due to a skin condition. I own my grandma hands so leave me alone!
Monday, September 16, 2013
My Life as a TV Series
People often tell me that my life should be a reality show... I can rarely distinguish if this suggestion is a compliment or insult but I like to be optimistic so I'll act flattered regardless. I, however, have always had the vision that my life will be some fabulous combination of the following:
1. A Disney movie. I wasn't crazy about Enchanted, but it would be similar. I do believe that I wake up every morning to birds singing beautiful tunes, well-dressed mice picking out my stunning gown, baby deer making breakfast (vegetarian of course, otherwise that would be weird), and soft bunnies and fluffy squirrels doing my hair and make up. This goes on in my head most mornings, so I'm already partially living the dream. People think I'm joking, but let me assure you: I AM NOT.
2. A musical. I am obsessed with the movie 500 Days of Summer, and I want my life to be like this scene in the movie where everyone randomly breaks out into song and dance after JGL (my man crush) gets laid by an awesome chick. I want it to be socially acceptable for me to sing, shimmy, and have a band follow me around when I'm having a stellar day. Wha's wrong with that? Nothing. Let it happen and the world will be a far better place.
3. A reality show. This will naturally be starring me and my closest friends ; most of which are gay. Of course it will be aired on Bravo or Logo. Don't tell the latter, but I would prefer Bravo so that I can have regular encounters with Andy Cohen. I think living and sharing a bed with my closest ladyboy, Often Annoyed Designer , would make for an awesome show. We continually joke about the awkward threesomes we'll be having when a guy is brought home. He will tell his Grindr hook-up not to worry about me because I a) take Ambien before bedtime and, b) totally love gays so it's super cool. My solution to the problem: hanging a tiara on the door. If the tiara is rocking, don't be cock blocking, girl.
My perfect relationship with my soulmate would be the main focus of the show, but like any good Bravo or E! show, I would set mine up for spin-offs. The three most popular :
1. A Disney movie. I wasn't crazy about Enchanted, but it would be similar. I do believe that I wake up every morning to birds singing beautiful tunes, well-dressed mice picking out my stunning gown, baby deer making breakfast (vegetarian of course, otherwise that would be weird), and soft bunnies and fluffy squirrels doing my hair and make up. This goes on in my head most mornings, so I'm already partially living the dream. People think I'm joking, but let me assure you: I AM NOT.
2. A musical. I am obsessed with the movie 500 Days of Summer, and I want my life to be like this scene in the movie where everyone randomly breaks out into song and dance after JGL (my man crush) gets laid by an awesome chick. I want it to be socially acceptable for me to sing, shimmy, and have a band follow me around when I'm having a stellar day. Wha's wrong with that? Nothing. Let it happen and the world will be a far better place.
3. A reality show. This will naturally be starring me and my closest friends ; most of which are gay. Of course it will be aired on Bravo or Logo. Don't tell the latter, but I would prefer Bravo so that I can have regular encounters with Andy Cohen. I think living and sharing a bed with my closest ladyboy, Often Annoyed Designer , would make for an awesome show. We continually joke about the awkward threesomes we'll be having when a guy is brought home. He will tell his Grindr hook-up not to worry about me because I a) take Ambien before bedtime and, b) totally love gays so it's super cool. My solution to the problem: hanging a tiara on the door. If the tiara is rocking, don't be cock blocking, girl.
My perfect relationship with my soulmate would be the main focus of the show, but like any good Bravo or E! show, I would set mine up for spin-offs. The three most popular :
- Peggy's Palace: This will be about my mom getting wild and hosting parties now that I've flown the coop. She would invite the random people she drives home at three in the morning (something I will post about later), my friends that like to buy her shots of tequila, and her crazy fun coworkers.
- The Valley: The men at the golf course I've been employed at are seriously nutso. They have opened my eyes to what it's like to be mid-40's, which is basically the same as it is right now. These guys, some are amazing men and I will miss getting kicked out of a bar at two in the morning on a Wednesday, and some are completely off their rockers. However, most are an endearing and fun combination of the two. Either way, this summer has consisted of hearing of their break ups, watching a fight, listening to all of them gossip about each other, and being their Dr. Phil about their relationships. I don't get paid enough for this.
- Finally, The Real Housewives of Lincoln: I've met too many women that aren't much older than I and that are too big for their small town, rhinestoned britches. These women think that it's okay to put others down, calling other girls white-trash because they have a "single mom," (is that what a widow is called? I don't think so), and find a vast majority of their enjoyment in gossiping about their closest friends. Some of these women are people that friends have told me about, girlfriends or wives of my own friends, or the women are my actual friends that I will conveniently lose contact with once I'm in Chicago. Am I any better than these women? Probably not. But I do try to be... and I certianly don't scroll through Pinterest while I'm having a goodbye lunch with one of my "besties." Ugh.
Hashtag NarcoProbs
As many of my friends know, through my telling them or witnessing my antics, I am narcoleptic. Not self-diagnosed via WebMD but literally narcoleptic. My neurologist, an amazing woman btw, put me through the embarrassment of wearing a halter collar to monitor my heart rate and oxygen levels as well as awkward sleep studies in a hospital setting in order to diagnose this condition. This was just another mixer in my cocktail of autoimmune and health issues.
I'm actually awake writing this because the plans that I had for the evening with a cute university professor rescheduled. Not wanting to awkwardly pass out over a cocktail or have him watch the life slowly drain from my face, I decided to take my Nuvigil and enjoyed a two hour afternoon snooze with my dog. I was very prepared for this! Now, unfortunately for me, I have more energy than I know what to do with. Nuvigil for me is like the drug Bradley Cooper takes in Limitless; it keeps me focused, awake, and full of pizazz! I do believe that this is a glowing endorsement. Nuvigil, if you want to use me as your spokeswoman, I will send you my demands.
Anyway, I've had a lot of interesting encounters as a narcoleptic. First of all, no one believes me. Literally not one person has ever heard me reference my condition and trusts me the first time I say it. The second reaction is always referencing the YouTube Narcoleptic Dog video. Sigh. I can't go to movies in the theater, I hate watching television or movies with others, videos or movies in class or at work are challenging, and watch out if I forgot to take my meds that day.
The first time I truly realized that I may have an issue that's not normal to others was a few years ago at the downtown movie theater. I had gone with a friend that recently admitted to being into me and asked me on the standard date (that I hate, fyi); dinner and a movie. After an okay dinner, we headed to the 8 o'clock movie. I was asleep by 8:15 and being woken up by a semi-frustrated, mostly confused friend/date. I wasn't into him as more than a friend, so my oxygen issues did the speaking for me. I couldn't have planned this better myself. It was two months later that I was diagnosed and the light bulb went off. I hope he reads this because he's a really great guy. Oops!
Very recently, I fell asleep in the Starbucks drive-through. I believe the text that I sent to my friend Often-Annoyed Designer read, "Just fell asleep in Starbucks drivethru. I may have more of a problem than though. #narcoprobs." The #narcoprobs has been somewhat of an ongoing joke for a while now, as I've told the tales of my random passing out.
At my draining job as a glorified telemarketer, I would occasionally forget my Nuvigil in the morning and struggle to stay awake. The girls I worked with would laugh and then realize that I was serious and it was only a matter of time until I fell asleep face first into the alphabet on my keyboard. I enjoyed tweeting these happenings with the same hashtag.
Finally, and perhaps the most irritating to me, is that I can't watch TV or movies. I love cinema and studied it for a few semesters in college. As Goddess of the Gays, I (try to) watch all of the up and coming shows, popular dramas and catch up on my gossip through E! News, but I just can't do it. Want to know how many tries it took for me to watch the second to last episode of Newsroom? Six. SIX!!!! It's a sixty minute show that I adore. There is no reason I can't sit through more than ten, give or take, minutes at a time without passing out. I have slowly weaned myself off a lot of shows because of this reason. For most people, it's just a one hour a week commitment, but for me, it is a six ten-minute PLUS 50-minute nap commitment that I just can't make time for.
So, if you are my friend, please do not ask me to go to a movie with you, it makes me sad that I can no longer sit through movies. I don't want to go to your house for an all-night Game of Thrones series night, though that is one of the shows I allow to drain my time. Please, don't ask me to drive through to pick up your PSL from Starbucks if you know I haven't taken my medication. All I do is realize what I weirdo I am. Luckily, I fall asleep shortly after and dream about my life as a Disney character and life is good again.
I'm actually awake writing this because the plans that I had for the evening with a cute university professor rescheduled. Not wanting to awkwardly pass out over a cocktail or have him watch the life slowly drain from my face, I decided to take my Nuvigil and enjoyed a two hour afternoon snooze with my dog. I was very prepared for this! Now, unfortunately for me, I have more energy than I know what to do with. Nuvigil for me is like the drug Bradley Cooper takes in Limitless; it keeps me focused, awake, and full of pizazz! I do believe that this is a glowing endorsement. Nuvigil, if you want to use me as your spokeswoman, I will send you my demands.
Anyway, I've had a lot of interesting encounters as a narcoleptic. First of all, no one believes me. Literally not one person has ever heard me reference my condition and trusts me the first time I say it. The second reaction is always referencing the YouTube Narcoleptic Dog video. Sigh. I can't go to movies in the theater, I hate watching television or movies with others, videos or movies in class or at work are challenging, and watch out if I forgot to take my meds that day.
The first time I truly realized that I may have an issue that's not normal to others was a few years ago at the downtown movie theater. I had gone with a friend that recently admitted to being into me and asked me on the standard date (that I hate, fyi); dinner and a movie. After an okay dinner, we headed to the 8 o'clock movie. I was asleep by 8:15 and being woken up by a semi-frustrated, mostly confused friend/date. I wasn't into him as more than a friend, so my oxygen issues did the speaking for me. I couldn't have planned this better myself. It was two months later that I was diagnosed and the light bulb went off. I hope he reads this because he's a really great guy. Oops!
Very recently, I fell asleep in the Starbucks drive-through. I believe the text that I sent to my friend Often-Annoyed Designer read, "Just fell asleep in Starbucks drivethru. I may have more of a problem than though. #narcoprobs." The #narcoprobs has been somewhat of an ongoing joke for a while now, as I've told the tales of my random passing out.
At my draining job as a glorified telemarketer, I would occasionally forget my Nuvigil in the morning and struggle to stay awake. The girls I worked with would laugh and then realize that I was serious and it was only a matter of time until I fell asleep face first into the alphabet on my keyboard. I enjoyed tweeting these happenings with the same hashtag.
Finally, and perhaps the most irritating to me, is that I can't watch TV or movies. I love cinema and studied it for a few semesters in college. As Goddess of the Gays, I (try to) watch all of the up and coming shows, popular dramas and catch up on my gossip through E! News, but I just can't do it. Want to know how many tries it took for me to watch the second to last episode of Newsroom? Six. SIX!!!! It's a sixty minute show that I adore. There is no reason I can't sit through more than ten, give or take, minutes at a time without passing out. I have slowly weaned myself off a lot of shows because of this reason. For most people, it's just a one hour a week commitment, but for me, it is a six ten-minute PLUS 50-minute nap commitment that I just can't make time for.
So, if you are my friend, please do not ask me to go to a movie with you, it makes me sad that I can no longer sit through movies. I don't want to go to your house for an all-night Game of Thrones series night, though that is one of the shows I allow to drain my time. Please, don't ask me to drive through to pick up your PSL from Starbucks if you know I haven't taken my medication. All I do is realize what I weirdo I am. Luckily, I fall asleep shortly after and dream about my life as a Disney character and life is good again.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Why aren't you on Match.com? This is why.
Because I've historically had poor luck choosing my own dates, perhaps I should let an online algorithm select a date for me. Yes, I've considered it but I'm not interested in pursuing a profile anytime soon after Cherry's recent run-in (see Bow-fishing). Also holding me back is the list below that would likely end up on my profile page, thus scaring the crap out of any man or woman browsing the site. This is real life people!
Everyone loves to play Match Maker. I, personally, am intrigued by Patty Stanger and watch Millionaire Matchmaker religiously - though I rarely admit to it. So, two darling coworkers of mine both said they would love to set me up. These ladies asked what I'm into and what are dealbreakers. I told them to expect a detailed email shortly. I think they they thought I was joking. Well, the joke was on them because they received this in their Facebook inbox:
Likes:
Education (duh) - usually someone smarter than me but not judgy of my flightiness! Ambition is a total panty-dropper.
Independence - or at least respects mine so they don't become clingy and drive me nuts.
Family oriented.
HOBBIES. I don't care if it's geeky, sporty or creepy (okay, maybe not creepy) but something they're passionate about.
MUST LOVE GAYS.
Basic Social Skills. Outgoing, extroverted personality. I like a good date to events; not someone that's a whiny brat if I leave a table to say hi to a friend. Fun friends. As you know, I love having a good time and I'm a blabberbox.
Confidence. So sexy.
Spontaneity.
Then the usual boring stuff; thoughtful, appreciative, not a douche. Blah blah.
Dislikes:
Bible Thumpers. We discussed this.
Stage 5 Clingers.
Party poopers.
Not a fan of video gamers (except FIFA), WOWers, or other stupid things that 14 year olds do in their basement between watching pornos.
Arrogance.
Ignorance.
Rudeness.
Fratastic man-whores.
Ten minutes later followed by:
I realize that there's a lot going on there. I would apologize but, as the saying goes, SORRY NOT SORRY. I won't apologize for knowing what it is that I want and what will send me running for the hills. I have gone on my fair share of bad dates, been involved in not so great relationships and have had some very erratic men and women pursue me. These reasons make me solid in the above items. I don't believe in "types," I despise the "out of your league," mentality, and will try anything once, but the above list is more of a guideline, rule of thumb, instruction manual, than a checklist. I'm pretty amazing, but I highly doubt that when I meet my straight soulmate I will be everything that's on his list... that's why an open mind, a Summer of Yes, and a need for a free drink is always important when dating.
Everyone loves to play Match Maker. I, personally, am intrigued by Patty Stanger and watch Millionaire Matchmaker religiously - though I rarely admit to it. So, two darling coworkers of mine both said they would love to set me up. These ladies asked what I'm into and what are dealbreakers. I told them to expect a detailed email shortly. I think they they thought I was joking. Well, the joke was on them because they received this in their Facebook inbox:
Likes:
Education (duh) - usually someone smarter than me but not judgy of my flightiness! Ambition is a total panty-dropper.
Independence - or at least respects mine so they don't become clingy and drive me nuts.
Family oriented.
HOBBIES. I don't care if it's geeky, sporty or creepy (okay, maybe not creepy) but something they're passionate about.
MUST LOVE GAYS.
Basic Social Skills. Outgoing, extroverted personality. I like a good date to events; not someone that's a whiny brat if I leave a table to say hi to a friend. Fun friends. As you know, I love having a good time and I'm a blabberbox.
Confidence. So sexy.
Spontaneity.
Then the usual boring stuff; thoughtful, appreciative, not a douche. Blah blah.
Dislikes:
Bible Thumpers. We discussed this.
Stage 5 Clingers.
Party poopers.
Not a fan of video gamers (except FIFA), WOWers, or other stupid things that 14 year olds do in their basement between watching pornos.
Arrogance.
Ignorance.
Rudeness.
Fratastic man-whores.
Ten minutes later followed by:
ADDED:
Dislike: Guys that play games. Or that text too much. Annoying.
Another five minutes later:
Like: Twins that run in the family.
Dislike: Guys that play games. Or that text too much. Annoying.
Another five minutes later:
Like: Twins that run in the family.
I realize that there's a lot going on there. I would apologize but, as the saying goes, SORRY NOT SORRY. I won't apologize for knowing what it is that I want and what will send me running for the hills. I have gone on my fair share of bad dates, been involved in not so great relationships and have had some very erratic men and women pursue me. These reasons make me solid in the above items. I don't believe in "types," I despise the "out of your league," mentality, and will try anything once, but the above list is more of a guideline, rule of thumb, instruction manual, than a checklist. I'm pretty amazing, but I highly doubt that when I meet my straight soulmate I will be everything that's on his list... that's why an open mind, a Summer of Yes, and a need for a free drink is always important when dating.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Offensive and Stupid Questions: Valley Edition
The title is pretty self-explanatory. Take notes. Because I work in a bar, at a golf course and generally interact with a lot of oddballs, this will be a regular topic here.
I know what I want, I know what I don't like and I don't like to be told by what is usually a stranger what I should be doing differently.
This specific post is strictly regarding the members at the golf course I've been slinging drinks to over the summer. I've come to love these men in the way that Tom Cruise loves Rainman; they have good hearts, make me laugh until I cry, and I spend more time with them than anyone else. The average member at the Valley is in or around his 40's, has been a member for longer than I've had a period and is married to a saint of a woman. So, naturally, the men of the Valley are the ones that ask me the questions that no twenty-four year old, recently single, and hot mess of a woman wants to hear. The worst part is that the questions are good natured and meant as compliments. Case in point: the most offensive question that I get asked on a semi-regular basis.
Why are you still single?
This question is the tired topic of countless Cosmopolitan magazine articles, ThoughtCatalog posts, randoms I follow on Twitter and conversations between close friends. I cannot describe the hatred I have for this question. I typed it into Google and had two types of results: catty responses for the question and ways to not be single. I don't know which is more irritating to me. The first, the sassy replies to this question, is annoying mostly because the responses are cheesy and imply that the person doesn't want to be single. Ways to not be single simply so you can avoid the "why are you single," prose seems ridiculous to me as well. Does it not occur to anyone that some people prefer this life?
I had been asked this many times before the specific night a member of the Valley, Roy, posed the same old question and I truly realized how offended I was. My response prior to this point was simply, "because I want to be single," which would usually lead to a conversation about my semirecent breakup, my priorities of career, family and friends, and that I don't want to settle for someone just so I can be in a relationship.
So, Roy had some follow up questions to my response. In his best Dr. Phil impression, he decided that I'm single because I want a gay man as a boyfriend and that I'll continue to be alone as long as I spend a majority of my free time with queens. I let Roy know that I love my gays and would never date someone that wasn't supportive and friends with them as well, but despite the fact that they're fabulous friends, I don't want a femme man as a boyfriend. I told the Roy and the rest of the crew that had began to join in that I like manly guys; athletic and active, intelligent in a slightly intimidating way, and that I feel safe with. Yes, yes, those things are important, but so is an open mind and big enough heart to be pals with my lady-boys, as they WILL be involved in my wedding - no ifs, ands or buts!
The rest of the still ongoing discussion about my eternally single life consisted of the Valley boys telling me why I'm wrong. They see me with a "pretty boy," citing my last boyfriend because he had good hair. I pointed out that he was a Republican that was addicted to work and the gym and he dressed very well with some (lots of) help from me, and yes, he had amazing hair thanks to our incredible and shared hair stylist. He was right for me in many ways, and wrong in more. The Wednesday night crew has gotten almost a complete run down of each and every one of my exes, what was good about them and why we broke up. I've been a three month long case study for these guys.
Also part of this discussion is projects. Roy specifically likes to point out certain guys and or types of guys and how that would be "good with a lot of direction," or "potentially great husbands." UGH!! I know that in my younger years, as with any girl, bad boys are hot. Your mom hates them, which makes them sexier, they make you try something you wouldn't normally do, whether it's drugs, skydiving or some BDSM shit, and they allow for you to be the wild version of yourself and encourage it. Everyone has had this "relationship," and maybe one was enough or, perhaps ten years later, you're still dating this guy. Idiot. Girls want bad boys that need changing and will be a project. Women want a mature man. You know, the ones that aren't afraid of commitment. Not as in the $150k emerald cut diamond ring I tried on at Cartier in Vegas, but like an apartment with real furniture and a mattress that isn't on the floor. Post of my true dating requirements, expectations and deal-breaks to come shortly.
These guys are lucky I adore them, otherwise I would leave work feeling shitty about myself and they would run from the golf course with my tiny hand print across their cheeks. As my time with the Valley guys comes to an end, I hope that my case study offers some conclusive results. If they can crack the code to why I'm still single, then they are truly worth their weight in ProV1x golf balls.
I know what I want, I know what I don't like and I don't like to be told by what is usually a stranger what I should be doing differently.
This specific post is strictly regarding the members at the golf course I've been slinging drinks to over the summer. I've come to love these men in the way that Tom Cruise loves Rainman; they have good hearts, make me laugh until I cry, and I spend more time with them than anyone else. The average member at the Valley is in or around his 40's, has been a member for longer than I've had a period and is married to a saint of a woman. So, naturally, the men of the Valley are the ones that ask me the questions that no twenty-four year old, recently single, and hot mess of a woman wants to hear. The worst part is that the questions are good natured and meant as compliments. Case in point: the most offensive question that I get asked on a semi-regular basis.
Why are you still single?
This question is the tired topic of countless Cosmopolitan magazine articles, ThoughtCatalog posts, randoms I follow on Twitter and conversations between close friends. I cannot describe the hatred I have for this question. I typed it into Google and had two types of results: catty responses for the question and ways to not be single. I don't know which is more irritating to me. The first, the sassy replies to this question, is annoying mostly because the responses are cheesy and imply that the person doesn't want to be single. Ways to not be single simply so you can avoid the "why are you single," prose seems ridiculous to me as well. Does it not occur to anyone that some people prefer this life?
I had been asked this many times before the specific night a member of the Valley, Roy, posed the same old question and I truly realized how offended I was. My response prior to this point was simply, "because I want to be single," which would usually lead to a conversation about my semirecent breakup, my priorities of career, family and friends, and that I don't want to settle for someone just so I can be in a relationship.
So, Roy had some follow up questions to my response. In his best Dr. Phil impression, he decided that I'm single because I want a gay man as a boyfriend and that I'll continue to be alone as long as I spend a majority of my free time with queens. I let Roy know that I love my gays and would never date someone that wasn't supportive and friends with them as well, but despite the fact that they're fabulous friends, I don't want a femme man as a boyfriend. I told the Roy and the rest of the crew that had began to join in that I like manly guys; athletic and active, intelligent in a slightly intimidating way, and that I feel safe with. Yes, yes, those things are important, but so is an open mind and big enough heart to be pals with my lady-boys, as they WILL be involved in my wedding - no ifs, ands or buts!
The rest of the still ongoing discussion about my eternally single life consisted of the Valley boys telling me why I'm wrong. They see me with a "pretty boy," citing my last boyfriend because he had good hair. I pointed out that he was a Republican that was addicted to work and the gym and he dressed very well with some (lots of) help from me, and yes, he had amazing hair thanks to our incredible and shared hair stylist. He was right for me in many ways, and wrong in more. The Wednesday night crew has gotten almost a complete run down of each and every one of my exes, what was good about them and why we broke up. I've been a three month long case study for these guys.
Also part of this discussion is projects. Roy specifically likes to point out certain guys and or types of guys and how that would be "good with a lot of direction," or "potentially great husbands." UGH!! I know that in my younger years, as with any girl, bad boys are hot. Your mom hates them, which makes them sexier, they make you try something you wouldn't normally do, whether it's drugs, skydiving or some BDSM shit, and they allow for you to be the wild version of yourself and encourage it. Everyone has had this "relationship," and maybe one was enough or, perhaps ten years later, you're still dating this guy. Idiot. Girls want bad boys that need changing and will be a project. Women want a mature man. You know, the ones that aren't afraid of commitment. Not as in the $150k emerald cut diamond ring I tried on at Cartier in Vegas, but like an apartment with real furniture and a mattress that isn't on the floor. Post of my true dating requirements, expectations and deal-breaks to come shortly.
These guys are lucky I adore them, otherwise I would leave work feeling shitty about myself and they would run from the golf course with my tiny hand print across their cheeks. As my time with the Valley guys comes to an end, I hope that my case study offers some conclusive results. If they can crack the code to why I'm still single, then they are truly worth their weight in ProV1x golf balls.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Bow-fishing
I have to start my admitting a few items that some see as faults, mainly the first one.
1: I do not follow sports. It's not that I don't enjoy sporting events, the uniforms that athletes wear or anything else that gets people fired up. I don't have the attention span, eidetic memory, or passion that others may have.
2: I am not in a relationship and am not "actively" seeking one, whatever that means. Therefore, my advice is likely a moot point, my apologies, but I'm still weighing in on things because I'm 'Murican and that's how we do.
3: Writing this blog is probably going to be the nail in the coffin for my forever singledom. Thank goodness Often Annoyed Designer and I are already concocting an open marriage so I don't need to fret.
Now that those items have been addressed, I can begin. However, please note that #3 has very little to do with anything -- just word vomit mostly.
A girl that I've been lucky to consider a friend is more of the "big-city," style (also doesn't mesh with with cornfields despite the fact that she literally lives in one) and had signed up for one of the dating apps that are far more common in larger cities. She is far more brave than I and always wants to give love a chance. Despite the atrocious things that have hurt her, she continues to have the biggest heart of anyone I know. Like, SCARY big. She is accepting, a wonderful mother, a sweet friend and a blast to spend time with. Let's call her Cherry, as a lot of people do on accident. A few years ago, my sister and I were discussing her and how she is 100% "the complete package," that every male dreams of: intelligent (we went to college together, duh), naturally gorgeous, the standard Midwestern values and work ethic, and -to top it off- possibly the most stunning voice. Her voice is what would happen if Katy Perry, Adele and Sara Bareilles had a savant-baby girl. As any reader can tell, she is my lady crush and I am now getting off topic.
Back to bow-fishing. Cherry was on a popular dating site and we thought she had finally struck gold with her recent match, David. I have to say that Cherry and I are very similar in dating, which is why I think that online or long-distance "relationships," are IN-THEORY a good fit for the two of us. She and I are both independent and value our own time or with friends. That, and we both have a habit of falling hard and falling fast so distance allows for slowing that process down.
This guy seemed wonderful. He was in the tech business (us psych nerds can't wrap our heads around that industry so vagueness is appreciated) and traveled a lot. Cherry was swept away by his love for his family and dog, worldliness and sensitive personality. Obviously, did I even need to say that? They spoke via email, text, and the phone constantly for almost two months. David said he was falling in love with her and wanted to meet her in Chicago the weekend following Labor Day. Cherry felt the same and arranged for someone to cover her shifts over that weekend so she would be free. She was telling me about this over lunchtime margaritas on a Monday. Cherry's enthusiasm was contagious and I could feel the butterflies in her stomach.
Fast forward three days: I'm on facebook at my girlfriends house after an eight mile run at 1 in the afternoon during a heat advisory. I thought I was suffering from a mild heat stroke when I read her recent post. Cherry updated that the man she's been seeing (figuratively, of course) was in a car accident while texting her. I can't imagine the way she must be feeling ; confused, sad, guilty, and upset. I text her that I love her and to remind her to call me if she needs anything. A couple of hours later, I leave the pool and I'm feeling a bit tipsy from my amazing combination of a great time, cocktails and the 105 heat advisory. I check my phone and see that Cherry had lit it up with one message:
Fuck lady. I've been catfished. It's a lie.
Followed by another, which is also why I love her:
I'm getting drunk as shit tonight!! What are you doing?
I give her a quick call since I'm making a conscious effort to avoid the whole texting and driving thing...even though my amazing car will be useless in about three weeks. Because I'm scheduled to work that night, I tell her that I can't pour shots of tequila down her throat, as we usually do, but instead can offer a safe ride to and from downtown. She goes on to describe the elaborate way that this skumbag lied to her and how he's still going with the prank, despite the obvious redfalgs: stock photos from Google, conflicting information, etc.
I want to slap her and kiss her at the same time, probably because we're so similar. The amazing thing about this woman is that she sees the best in anyone for no reason. Sure, there were red flags before -- which we discussed at lunch because I'm the type of friend to bring those things up-- but Cherry moved past them.
And that's why we suck and are stuck with the same obviously fucked up dating pattern: one socially awkward loser after self-absorbed asshole after pseudo-stalker at a time. In the days since this whole thing came to light, I've thought about a lot of things; mainly why I date men that are not good for me, but also, why the hell is it called catfishing?!?! I may be from the Midwest and I know a lot of people that are into fishing, but I am certainly not. The only thing fishing is good for is being on a boat with a beer. But if you're on a boat, you don't need an excuse to have a Shock Top in hand, so a fishing pull is redundant anyway.
I have gone Bow-Fishing though. Never heard of it? You shoot a fish, I believe a carp? I'm not sure. But you shoot it with a bow and one would expect the water to fill with blood like a True Blood vampire immediately being staked in the back. The fish vanishes instantly in the blood until ripped out of the water by the bow.
I wish, that would be so badass. But no, the fish thrashes around in confusion and pain while the redneck holding the bow yells and grunts like the "manly," Midwesterners 'round here do. The fisher is likely wearing a ratty cutoff made from a high school sports tshirt and probably drops his Pabst Blue Ribbon and homemade deer jerky stick in the excitement, just so you get the full visual.
The painful movements are evolved from a fishie going about his evening, looking for food and headed over to a friends to hang out and talk about the latest events in his life and then being ripped out of his surroundings, pulled out of his comfort zone and then laughed at. This is probably how Cherry felt as this douche with so many mental and emotional pain was messing with her mind. Why do people find joy in tricking others into a fake relationship? Because they're disgusting human beings that were turned into that by even worse people or events. And this is why I think that bowfishing is a far better analogy for catfishing. Catfishing = relatively relaxing summertime activity that is harmless to the fish because everyone throws the catfish back since they're nasty anway. Bowfishing = violent, painful and takes a lot more effort with a lot less booze.
I hope that asshole David reads this and knows that I will come for him.
1: I do not follow sports. It's not that I don't enjoy sporting events, the uniforms that athletes wear or anything else that gets people fired up. I don't have the attention span, eidetic memory, or passion that others may have.
2: I am not in a relationship and am not "actively" seeking one, whatever that means. Therefore, my advice is likely a moot point, my apologies, but I'm still weighing in on things because I'm 'Murican and that's how we do.
3: Writing this blog is probably going to be the nail in the coffin for my forever singledom. Thank goodness Often Annoyed Designer and I are already concocting an open marriage so I don't need to fret.
Now that those items have been addressed, I can begin. However, please note that #3 has very little to do with anything -- just word vomit mostly.
A girl that I've been lucky to consider a friend is more of the "big-city," style (also doesn't mesh with with cornfields despite the fact that she literally lives in one) and had signed up for one of the dating apps that are far more common in larger cities. She is far more brave than I and always wants to give love a chance. Despite the atrocious things that have hurt her, she continues to have the biggest heart of anyone I know. Like, SCARY big. She is accepting, a wonderful mother, a sweet friend and a blast to spend time with. Let's call her Cherry, as a lot of people do on accident. A few years ago, my sister and I were discussing her and how she is 100% "the complete package," that every male dreams of: intelligent (we went to college together, duh), naturally gorgeous, the standard Midwestern values and work ethic, and -to top it off- possibly the most stunning voice. Her voice is what would happen if Katy Perry, Adele and Sara Bareilles had a savant-baby girl. As any reader can tell, she is my lady crush and I am now getting off topic.
Back to bow-fishing. Cherry was on a popular dating site and we thought she had finally struck gold with her recent match, David. I have to say that Cherry and I are very similar in dating, which is why I think that online or long-distance "relationships," are IN-THEORY a good fit for the two of us. She and I are both independent and value our own time or with friends. That, and we both have a habit of falling hard and falling fast so distance allows for slowing that process down.
This guy seemed wonderful. He was in the tech business (us psych nerds can't wrap our heads around that industry so vagueness is appreciated) and traveled a lot. Cherry was swept away by his love for his family and dog, worldliness and sensitive personality. Obviously, did I even need to say that? They spoke via email, text, and the phone constantly for almost two months. David said he was falling in love with her and wanted to meet her in Chicago the weekend following Labor Day. Cherry felt the same and arranged for someone to cover her shifts over that weekend so she would be free. She was telling me about this over lunchtime margaritas on a Monday. Cherry's enthusiasm was contagious and I could feel the butterflies in her stomach.
Fast forward three days: I'm on facebook at my girlfriends house after an eight mile run at 1 in the afternoon during a heat advisory. I thought I was suffering from a mild heat stroke when I read her recent post. Cherry updated that the man she's been seeing (figuratively, of course) was in a car accident while texting her. I can't imagine the way she must be feeling ; confused, sad, guilty, and upset. I text her that I love her and to remind her to call me if she needs anything. A couple of hours later, I leave the pool and I'm feeling a bit tipsy from my amazing combination of a great time, cocktails and the 105 heat advisory. I check my phone and see that Cherry had lit it up with one message:
Fuck lady. I've been catfished. It's a lie.
Followed by another, which is also why I love her:
I'm getting drunk as shit tonight!! What are you doing?
I give her a quick call since I'm making a conscious effort to avoid the whole texting and driving thing...even though my amazing car will be useless in about three weeks. Because I'm scheduled to work that night, I tell her that I can't pour shots of tequila down her throat, as we usually do, but instead can offer a safe ride to and from downtown. She goes on to describe the elaborate way that this skumbag lied to her and how he's still going with the prank, despite the obvious redfalgs: stock photos from Google, conflicting information, etc.
I want to slap her and kiss her at the same time, probably because we're so similar. The amazing thing about this woman is that she sees the best in anyone for no reason. Sure, there were red flags before -- which we discussed at lunch because I'm the type of friend to bring those things up-- but Cherry moved past them.
And that's why we suck and are stuck with the same obviously fucked up dating pattern: one socially awkward loser after self-absorbed asshole after pseudo-stalker at a time. In the days since this whole thing came to light, I've thought about a lot of things; mainly why I date men that are not good for me, but also, why the hell is it called catfishing?!?! I may be from the Midwest and I know a lot of people that are into fishing, but I am certainly not. The only thing fishing is good for is being on a boat with a beer. But if you're on a boat, you don't need an excuse to have a Shock Top in hand, so a fishing pull is redundant anyway.
I have gone Bow-Fishing though. Never heard of it? You shoot a fish, I believe a carp? I'm not sure. But you shoot it with a bow and one would expect the water to fill with blood like a True Blood vampire immediately being staked in the back. The fish vanishes instantly in the blood until ripped out of the water by the bow.
I wish, that would be so badass. But no, the fish thrashes around in confusion and pain while the redneck holding the bow yells and grunts like the "manly," Midwesterners 'round here do. The fisher is likely wearing a ratty cutoff made from a high school sports tshirt and probably drops his Pabst Blue Ribbon and homemade deer jerky stick in the excitement, just so you get the full visual.
The painful movements are evolved from a fishie going about his evening, looking for food and headed over to a friends to hang out and talk about the latest events in his life and then being ripped out of his surroundings, pulled out of his comfort zone and then laughed at. This is probably how Cherry felt as this douche with so many mental and emotional pain was messing with her mind. Why do people find joy in tricking others into a fake relationship? Because they're disgusting human beings that were turned into that by even worse people or events. And this is why I think that bowfishing is a far better analogy for catfishing. Catfishing = relatively relaxing summertime activity that is harmless to the fish because everyone throws the catfish back since they're nasty anway. Bowfishing = violent, painful and takes a lot more effort with a lot less booze.
I hope that asshole David reads this and knows that I will come for him.
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