Thousands of twenty-something single women are finding themselves bogged down with: Subconsciously Single By Choice Syndrome.
I was speaking with my buddy Robin, and this strange-but-not-so-strange phenomenon suddenly occurred to me. I think I'm on to something.
Those of us ladies who are single, who relentlessly complain about it, who are smart, ambitious, attractive, who can't seem to find a decent guy...but is it all so accurate? Are we finding decent guys? Perhaps we are. Let's say we like a guy, in fact, are crazy for a guy, and the minute that guy shows interest in us, we scurry like pigeons after a bum with bread. We freak. We find any little thing wrong with the seemingly once-perfect guy so as not to like him that much. The question we should be asking ourselves is: Are we single gals subconsciously making ourselves single?
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wanted: Hot Guy Offering Guitar Lessons
I have three things I'd like to talk about:
1. The Ex Files
So The Ex was in town a month ago. Come to find out, he asked my friend E for her phone number, claiming, "Yeah, we should all hang out sometime." Of course she assumed I would be included, she barely knew who the hell he was. Three weeks later (not three days, as in the "Three Day Rule," but three weeks), he calls her. He says, "I'm The Ex. We met a few weeks ago?" She's like, "The Ex? Where'd we meet?" He's all, "A bar. I was with another guy." She's like, "What bar?" He's all, "I don't know. I'm tall. Um, The Ex, Tina's friend." Three years later he mentions me. So then she remembers him and is like, "Oh? How's Tina? I haven't talked to her in a while." He hasn't talked to me in a while either. Not in three weeks. He's all, "I don't know. Do you wanna come visit out here in LI? Stay a weekend?" Huh?? What's with picking up my friends behind my back? Acting like she's not going to piece together that I'm Your Ex. If you want to hook up with my friends, I probably wouldn't care, because I'm so over you and your big ugly weiner. But don't intentionally do it behind my back. And if you're going to do that, at least be smooth and call her when she'll remember your dumb face. Some boys are stupid.
2. The Orange Crush
There's someone out there who I think is cute. He sent me a sweet text message yesterday, and of course, I immediately responded, thinking he might respond. Nope. I hate being the last person to send a text—it gives the other party all the control. Please send me a text message. So I can not text you back and have my control again, thank you.
3. Future Rockstar
So...(drum roll, please)...I'm going to buy a guitar! Maybe a pink acoustic one, but how freakin' AWESOME would that be? More awesome than a chocolate-covered butterfly, I'll tell you that. Kidding, I would never eat a butterfly, I do not support b-fly homicide. Ooh..what a cool album title..."Butterfly Homicide." Release date TBA. Anyway, back to my guitar. I figure I can get a decent one for $100. And check into some cheap lessons around here, but this is not talk. I'm totally doing this in the next two weeks. I'll be one of those cool guitar-music chicks. It's all just v. exciting!
1. The Ex Files
So The Ex was in town a month ago. Come to find out, he asked my friend E for her phone number, claiming, "Yeah, we should all hang out sometime." Of course she assumed I would be included, she barely knew who the hell he was. Three weeks later (not three days, as in the "Three Day Rule," but three weeks), he calls her. He says, "I'm The Ex. We met a few weeks ago?" She's like, "The Ex? Where'd we meet?" He's all, "A bar. I was with another guy." She's like, "What bar?" He's all, "I don't know. I'm tall. Um, The Ex, Tina's friend." Three years later he mentions me. So then she remembers him and is like, "Oh? How's Tina? I haven't talked to her in a while." He hasn't talked to me in a while either. Not in three weeks. He's all, "I don't know. Do you wanna come visit out here in LI? Stay a weekend?" Huh?? What's with picking up my friends behind my back? Acting like she's not going to piece together that I'm Your Ex. If you want to hook up with my friends, I probably wouldn't care, because I'm so over you and your big ugly weiner. But don't intentionally do it behind my back. And if you're going to do that, at least be smooth and call her when she'll remember your dumb face. Some boys are stupid.
2. The Orange Crush
There's someone out there who I think is cute. He sent me a sweet text message yesterday, and of course, I immediately responded, thinking he might respond. Nope. I hate being the last person to send a text—it gives the other party all the control. Please send me a text message. So I can not text you back and have my control again, thank you.
3. Future Rockstar
So...(drum roll, please)...I'm going to buy a guitar! Maybe a pink acoustic one, but how freakin' AWESOME would that be? More awesome than a chocolate-covered butterfly, I'll tell you that. Kidding, I would never eat a butterfly, I do not support b-fly homicide. Ooh..what a cool album title..."Butterfly Homicide." Release date TBA. Anyway, back to my guitar. I figure I can get a decent one for $100. And check into some cheap lessons around here, but this is not talk. I'm totally doing this in the next two weeks. I'll be one of those cool guitar-music chicks. It's all just v. exciting!
Monday, March 28, 2005
Twentysomething Adolescence
Sometimes...I just feel like I'm going through puberty all over again. Or adolescence. Maybe not puberty, I have that particular 5-day-a-month timeframe down pat.
But adolescence. I hated it. I couldn't decide between blonde, brown or red hair, so I tried them all. I didn't know if I was a bodysuit-and-cords preppy or a dad's-flannel-and-baggy-jeans grungy, so I did both. I fell into a Nirvana phase after Kurt's death, but I still loved TLC. Some days I knew all about life's deepest secrets. Other days I was an unpopular shy girl with braces and big glasses who didn't have a clue.
That was Junior High. And Ewic. Then High School came and went. Popularity came and went. Same with part-time jobs and college. And moving across the country.
Now here I am. I've decided on brown hair, and I've come to realize that it's OK to have an ecclectic taste in music. I still can't decide if I want to be a working-girl professional with power pantsuits or if I want to go to work looking like a rockstar. I'm not sure if everyone else can see that I feel like a kid living in an adult's world. I'm still an insecure girl who bites her lip and can never grow her nails because they're always chewed to the quick. A girl who's still baffled by the opposite sex, when all she wants is someone to hold her hand and walk her to her hypothetical locker.
I'd never want to relive adolescence. I hated it.
But adolescence. I hated it. I couldn't decide between blonde, brown or red hair, so I tried them all. I didn't know if I was a bodysuit-and-cords preppy or a dad's-flannel-and-baggy-jeans grungy, so I did both. I fell into a Nirvana phase after Kurt's death, but I still loved TLC. Some days I knew all about life's deepest secrets. Other days I was an unpopular shy girl with braces and big glasses who didn't have a clue.
That was Junior High. And Ewic. Then High School came and went. Popularity came and went. Same with part-time jobs and college. And moving across the country.
Now here I am. I've decided on brown hair, and I've come to realize that it's OK to have an ecclectic taste in music. I still can't decide if I want to be a working-girl professional with power pantsuits or if I want to go to work looking like a rockstar. I'm not sure if everyone else can see that I feel like a kid living in an adult's world. I'm still an insecure girl who bites her lip and can never grow her nails because they're always chewed to the quick. A girl who's still baffled by the opposite sex, when all she wants is someone to hold her hand and walk her to her hypothetical locker.
I'd never want to relive adolescence. I hated it.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
The 10th Anniversary of My First Kiss
Easter, 1995. I was 13 and in the 8th grade at James Bridger Junior High School.
His name was Eric, and he was a freshman at Fort Osage High School. The only thing was, he had a horrendous speech impediment and pronounced his name "Ewic." We met at Praise Tabernacle Church when he was visiting with some religious friends. It was love at first sight when he boarded the PTC van and said "Hi, I'm Ewic." We proceeded to talk on the phone a lot and occasionally sit next to each other in church. After about 3 weeks, I invited Eric over for Easter dinner with my 'rents.
My mom was in the kitchen making dinner, and Eric and I were hanging out in my room with the door open, because that was the rule. Eric and I were playing Mario Paint on my Super Nintendo when he suddenly went in for the kiss. His lips met mine. My eyes were wide open, and then I remembered I was supposed to close them, so I did, as I fumbled my tongue, not quite knowing what to do with it. I opened my eyes again, forgetting I had to keep them closed. The next few kisses of my life went like this. Eyes open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Then we stopped kissing and resumed our game of Mario Paint. Didn't say a word about the kiss. It obviously wasn't his first kiss, but oh, it was mine.
The next time Eric came to visit, his hand went up my shirt. When it touched my uber-padded bra, I flinched. I remember him touching my boob, wondering why is he touching my boob? This isn't fun for me. It's so tiny, surely he's not getting pleasure out of this. He must think I like it, but I don't. And here I am, trying to close my eyes, work my tongue magic and get his hand off my chest. A horrible situation for an 8th grader to deal with.
A few more weeks into our relationship, Eric and I were talking on the phone. He begged me to sing Janet Jackson's "Again" to him. Apparently he loved singers. I was a horrible singer, but I tried my best to get my vocal chords to match the notes. He was in high school, and I wanted to impress him. And kiss some more. He lied and said I wasn't a bad singer. Our next phone conversation went something like this:
Me: What's wrong?
Eric: I don't think I can see you anymore.
Me: Why?
Eric: I just love you too much. I don't want you to get hurt.
Me (in tears): OK. Bye.
I hang up the phone, actually thinking Eric is a nice guy because he really loves me. I mean, he loves me too much to go on. How sweet is that? I was 13. My first introduction to male bullshit. (No offense guys, but some of you can be full of shit, as am I at times.) A few years later I was happy to run into Eric and learn that he never got his speech impediment fixed.
His name was Eric, and he was a freshman at Fort Osage High School. The only thing was, he had a horrendous speech impediment and pronounced his name "Ewic." We met at Praise Tabernacle Church when he was visiting with some religious friends. It was love at first sight when he boarded the PTC van and said "Hi, I'm Ewic." We proceeded to talk on the phone a lot and occasionally sit next to each other in church. After about 3 weeks, I invited Eric over for Easter dinner with my 'rents.
My mom was in the kitchen making dinner, and Eric and I were hanging out in my room with the door open, because that was the rule. Eric and I were playing Mario Paint on my Super Nintendo when he suddenly went in for the kiss. His lips met mine. My eyes were wide open, and then I remembered I was supposed to close them, so I did, as I fumbled my tongue, not quite knowing what to do with it. I opened my eyes again, forgetting I had to keep them closed. The next few kisses of my life went like this. Eyes open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Then we stopped kissing and resumed our game of Mario Paint. Didn't say a word about the kiss. It obviously wasn't his first kiss, but oh, it was mine.
The next time Eric came to visit, his hand went up my shirt. When it touched my uber-padded bra, I flinched. I remember him touching my boob, wondering why is he touching my boob? This isn't fun for me. It's so tiny, surely he's not getting pleasure out of this. He must think I like it, but I don't. And here I am, trying to close my eyes, work my tongue magic and get his hand off my chest. A horrible situation for an 8th grader to deal with.
A few more weeks into our relationship, Eric and I were talking on the phone. He begged me to sing Janet Jackson's "Again" to him. Apparently he loved singers. I was a horrible singer, but I tried my best to get my vocal chords to match the notes. He was in high school, and I wanted to impress him. And kiss some more. He lied and said I wasn't a bad singer. Our next phone conversation went something like this:
Me: What's wrong?
Eric: I don't think I can see you anymore.
Me: Why?
Eric: I just love you too much. I don't want you to get hurt.
Me (in tears): OK. Bye.
I hang up the phone, actually thinking Eric is a nice guy because he really loves me. I mean, he loves me too much to go on. How sweet is that? I was 13. My first introduction to male bullshit. (No offense guys, but some of you can be full of shit, as am I at times.) A few years later I was happy to run into Eric and learn that he never got his speech impediment fixed.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Sack Time: Dominance vs. Submission
Disclaimer: This entry contains slight sexual content, a rarity in Still Wanna Know..., mind you.
My friend M and I were just chatting, and we may very well have stumbled upon an earth-shattering theory. Are shy guys known to be domineering in the sack, therefore, super-outgoing guys are submissive? We think the answer to this question could be True. Now let me clarify, I'm not Ms. Expert. But I'm certainly Ms. Enough Experience To Know. M and I have determined that we certainly have our preferences when it comes to fooling around or to doing the deed. We're not whips-and-chains aggressive, but we know what we want and are not afraid to say so. But this phenomenon is rather interesting:
I once dated a guy—MB. He was incredibly outgoing, a real goofball. Great guy. But once any level of intimacy arose, I was the aggressor. I had to be. But in MB's case, I think he was being respectful. That's OK.
M once dated a guy—K. K was crazy-shy. Borderline socially awkward, until you got to know him, of course. Great guy, too. But this guy was the total opposite in the sack. Domineering, forcful, you name it. Great stuff. What gives?
Shy Guy = Dominant Partner
Outgoing Guy = Submissive Partner
I want feedback! Do you agree? Disagree? Think we're full of shit and wasting valuable sack time analyzing? Post comments.
My friend M and I were just chatting, and we may very well have stumbled upon an earth-shattering theory. Are shy guys known to be domineering in the sack, therefore, super-outgoing guys are submissive? We think the answer to this question could be True. Now let me clarify, I'm not Ms. Expert. But I'm certainly Ms. Enough Experience To Know. M and I have determined that we certainly have our preferences when it comes to fooling around or to doing the deed. We're not whips-and-chains aggressive, but we know what we want and are not afraid to say so. But this phenomenon is rather interesting:
I once dated a guy—MB. He was incredibly outgoing, a real goofball. Great guy. But once any level of intimacy arose, I was the aggressor. I had to be. But in MB's case, I think he was being respectful. That's OK.
M once dated a guy—K. K was crazy-shy. Borderline socially awkward, until you got to know him, of course. Great guy, too. But this guy was the total opposite in the sack. Domineering, forcful, you name it. Great stuff. What gives?
Shy Guy = Dominant Partner
Outgoing Guy = Submissive Partner
I want feedback! Do you agree? Disagree? Think we're full of shit and wasting valuable sack time analyzing? Post comments.
