The other day I was talking to Tumbleweed about the concept of forgiveness, versus cutting people out of your life. Some people are constant forgivers, and some are instant cut-and-run types. I think there has to be a happy medium.
What causes some people to choose one option or the other? She and her sister were raised in the same family, yet they have different approaches. My brother and I were also raised the same way, but he is more forgiving and accepting, and I am more ready to throw my hands up and walk away. I always thought it was because of my military upbringing - we moved so often that I didn't have much of a chance to learn how to develop long-term friendships, the kind that endure plenty of ups and downs and rough patches. But if that's my excuse, why isn't my brother the same way?
Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts
Friday, March 21, 2014
Friday, July 26, 2013
Muffins Vs Cupcakes
Genie: there are a good number of women out there who really need to start thinking about better hygiene!
Genie: I just went to the bathroom. One stall smelled like an Indian buffet. One was a gargonzola cheese factory. One was a can of fermented cat food
Genie: and it's not even 10am!
Peanut: ewwwwww
Peanut: this is one of those times I'm glad I work with mostly dudes!
Peanut: so far all that's happened to me is I got a donut, and had a convo about whether donuts = deep fried cake or not
Genie: I'm pretty sure they're just deep fried cake
Genie: and muffins are just huge cupcakes w/o frosting
Peanut: noooooooooooo
Peanut: Genie you are blaspheming right now
Col. Dr.: I usually agree with Genie on most things, she is a modern day sage. But muffins are not large cupcakes. Muffins are healthy or hide in the appearance of being healthy. Cupcakes are pridefully aware that they are trying to kill us.
Genie: I speak only the truth
Genie: when I grow up, I'm going to open a stand called 'Genie's Muffins' and I'm going to sell cupcakes w/o frosting
Peanut: I'm going to open a stand next to you called Actual Cupcakes and sell the same thing
Col. Dr.: I'm going to gain 50 to 60 pounds and visit every morning. I may need a rascal
Peanut: Genie says she will buy you a horn for your rascal
Col. Dr.: that horn will be be the center of my all my rascal decorations
Genie: I'll also get him a bumper sticker for the rascal that says "I brake for muffins"
Peanut: except then I have to get an addendum sticker that says "...and cupcakes"
Col. Dr.: right next to my "Hooray for boobies" with a blue footed boobie bird sticker
Peanut: should we get streamers for the handles? wait. that's a silly question. of course we should!
Genie: pshhhh
Genie: like you had to ask
Genie: and a basket on the front
Peanut: oh yes
Peanut: and some sort of animal tail on the back
Peanut: perhaps a zebra
Col. Dr.: I was thinking a rhino tail
Col. Dr.: just a fat gray stubby thing
Col. Dr.: and a horn on the front
Col. Dr.: next to my other horn
Genie: I saw a motorcycle over the weekend with real cow horns on the front and a real cow tail on the back
Genie: and when you pushed a button, it would mooooo
Genie: ...I'm working on doing the same kind of thing to my truck
Peanut: that is the best idea I think you've ever had in your entire life
Col. Dr.: This may be the greatest idea ever from humanity
...the point of this entire post is whether or not donuts = deep fried cake. The muffins vs cupcakes thing isn't even up for debate because muffins and cupcakes are very much like apples and oranges in that THEY ARE NOT THE SAME, GENIE. And I have the blog, so I win.
Genie: I just went to the bathroom. One stall smelled like an Indian buffet. One was a gargonzola cheese factory. One was a can of fermented cat food
Genie: and it's not even 10am!
Peanut: ewwwwww
Peanut: this is one of those times I'm glad I work with mostly dudes!
Peanut: so far all that's happened to me is I got a donut, and had a convo about whether donuts = deep fried cake or not
Genie: I'm pretty sure they're just deep fried cake
Genie: and muffins are just huge cupcakes w/o frosting
Peanut: noooooooooooo
Peanut: Genie you are blaspheming right now
Col. Dr.: I usually agree with Genie on most things, she is a modern day sage. But muffins are not large cupcakes. Muffins are healthy or hide in the appearance of being healthy. Cupcakes are pridefully aware that they are trying to kill us.
Genie: I speak only the truth
Genie: when I grow up, I'm going to open a stand called 'Genie's Muffins' and I'm going to sell cupcakes w/o frosting
Peanut: I'm going to open a stand next to you called Actual Cupcakes and sell the same thing
Col. Dr.: I'm going to gain 50 to 60 pounds and visit every morning. I may need a rascal
Peanut: Genie says she will buy you a horn for your rascal
Col. Dr.: that horn will be be the center of my all my rascal decorations
Genie: I'll also get him a bumper sticker for the rascal that says "I brake for muffins"
Peanut: except then I have to get an addendum sticker that says "...and cupcakes"
Col. Dr.: right next to my "Hooray for boobies" with a blue footed boobie bird sticker
Peanut: should we get streamers for the handles? wait. that's a silly question. of course we should!
Genie: pshhhh
Genie: like you had to ask
Genie: and a basket on the front
Peanut: oh yes
Peanut: and some sort of animal tail on the back
Peanut: perhaps a zebra
Col. Dr.: I was thinking a rhino tail
Col. Dr.: just a fat gray stubby thing
Col. Dr.: and a horn on the front
Col. Dr.: next to my other horn
Genie: I saw a motorcycle over the weekend with real cow horns on the front and a real cow tail on the back
Genie: and when you pushed a button, it would mooooo
Genie: ...I'm working on doing the same kind of thing to my truck
Peanut: that is the best idea I think you've ever had in your entire life
Col. Dr.: This may be the greatest idea ever from humanity
...the point of this entire post is whether or not donuts = deep fried cake. The muffins vs cupcakes thing isn't even up for debate because muffins and cupcakes are very much like apples and oranges in that THEY ARE NOT THE SAME, GENIE. And I have the blog, so I win.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Embrace the Sex, Religions!
Recently I read a really fantastic article/personal story that I think everyone who was raised in, is being raised in, or is raising children in a religious-minded home should read and consider: http://www.salon.com/2013/05/06/my_virginity_mistake/
I won't claim to be an expert on religions - I'm nowhere near that. I was, however, raised in a strict, Southern, conservative, very religious home. When I was in elementary school, I started reading Sweet Valley Twins. To this day, I remember being confused by a part in one of those books where the family slept in on Sunday, had breakfast, read the paper, toodled about... but didn't go to church. What.
Doesn't everyone go to church? I thought. Isn't that what Sundays are about? We went Sunday morning for classes and a nice long "worship service." Sunday lunch was a big affair, then usually there were naps, and then it was back to church for evening services (no class). Sunday morning involved dressing up - and for me, as a girl, this meant dresses/skirts. Sunday night was a more casual affair with jeans, but never, ever shorts. Wednesday nights were like Sunday nights, except we usually had class followed by a short service. This was my life: church 3 times a week, every week, for over 17 years.
I won't claim to be an expert on religions - I'm nowhere near that. I was, however, raised in a strict, Southern, conservative, very religious home. When I was in elementary school, I started reading Sweet Valley Twins. To this day, I remember being confused by a part in one of those books where the family slept in on Sunday, had breakfast, read the paper, toodled about... but didn't go to church. What.
Doesn't everyone go to church? I thought. Isn't that what Sundays are about? We went Sunday morning for classes and a nice long "worship service." Sunday lunch was a big affair, then usually there were naps, and then it was back to church for evening services (no class). Sunday morning involved dressing up - and for me, as a girl, this meant dresses/skirts. Sunday night was a more casual affair with jeans, but never, ever shorts. Wednesday nights were like Sunday nights, except we usually had class followed by a short service. This was my life: church 3 times a week, every week, for over 17 years.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
The P word and the D word
And by that, sadly, I don't mean penis and dick. Sorry.
Politics and divorce! What fun! I mean, really, those are everyone's favorite topics at a dinner party, aren't they? Casual banter with a stranger on a bus ride? Holiday topics with family?
Huh. Well. I'm gonna go ahead and write about them anyway. I feel qualified because I both voted and got divorced... one much more recently than the other, of course.
Politics and divorce! What fun! I mean, really, those are everyone's favorite topics at a dinner party, aren't they? Casual banter with a stranger on a bus ride? Holiday topics with family?
Huh. Well. I'm gonna go ahead and write about them anyway. I feel qualified because I both voted and got divorced... one much more recently than the other, of course.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Quack Quack, Motherfucker
(title is an homage to The Bloggess)
I've been chatting here and there with my ex-husband a bit more frequently lately, and while it's never anything of any real importance, it's kind of nice. First of all, it's a good feeling to know we've somehow managed to regain a semblance of friendship after everything we went through together. And second, it's a reminder to me that once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (please don't sue me, Mr. Lucas), someone loved me. Someone thought I was worth the risk and the effort and that I had something real and valuable to offer him.
The downside to thinking that is that it's made me think about my current state in life. In the almost-decade since our divorce, I can count on one hand the number of men outside of my family who have said "I love you." Hell, I can count on two fingers - one was ridiculously drunk and possibly concussed at the time, and the other listened to AM talk radio and believed in chem trails (if you don't know what those are, oh please do Google them).
I feel like a duck surrounded by swans* (kind of a reverse Ugly Duckling story). You may think I get treated like a duck because I believe I'm a duck - it's a chicken & egg (okay, duck & egg) question. But I think of myself as a swan most of the time. When I start seeing someone new, I believe I'm a swan. I believe that we're good together, that this could work, that I'm worthwhile to him and he can see that. Even the guys who say they aren't ready for a relationship yada yada yada - stupidly, foolishly, I believe that he will see my worth and somehow, my patience and kindness will gradually heal his broken heart and he will realize that I was so wonderful to him and I am so right for him. FAIRY TALES.
Yeah, yeah, I know it's stupid. I'd tell anyone else to run. But that's how earnestly I start out believing I'm a swan.
I've been chatting here and there with my ex-husband a bit more frequently lately, and while it's never anything of any real importance, it's kind of nice. First of all, it's a good feeling to know we've somehow managed to regain a semblance of friendship after everything we went through together. And second, it's a reminder to me that once upon a time, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away (please don't sue me, Mr. Lucas), someone loved me. Someone thought I was worth the risk and the effort and that I had something real and valuable to offer him.
The downside to thinking that is that it's made me think about my current state in life. In the almost-decade since our divorce, I can count on one hand the number of men outside of my family who have said "I love you." Hell, I can count on two fingers - one was ridiculously drunk and possibly concussed at the time, and the other listened to AM talk radio and believed in chem trails (if you don't know what those are, oh please do Google them).
I feel like a duck surrounded by swans* (kind of a reverse Ugly Duckling story). You may think I get treated like a duck because I believe I'm a duck - it's a chicken & egg (okay, duck & egg) question. But I think of myself as a swan most of the time. When I start seeing someone new, I believe I'm a swan. I believe that we're good together, that this could work, that I'm worthwhile to him and he can see that. Even the guys who say they aren't ready for a relationship yada yada yada - stupidly, foolishly, I believe that he will see my worth and somehow, my patience and kindness will gradually heal his broken heart and he will realize that I was so wonderful to him and I am so right for him. FAIRY TALES.
Yeah, yeah, I know it's stupid. I'd tell anyone else to run. But that's how earnestly I start out believing I'm a swan.
Friday, September 14, 2012
On Suicide and Shame
I swear I'm not trying to take the easy way out and just give you guys links to things instead of writing actual content, but I have more links for you. I'm gonna write about 'em, though! So this is like a combination post. Hooray!
First link is this book I'm reading with one of those ridiculously long titles involving a colon that lets you know right up front it's kind of a self-help book: I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't): Making the Journey from "What Will People Think?" to "I Am Enough". There is no way to refer to that book that isn't cumbersome (god I hate that song), but I'm giving it a chance anyway.
Normally, I have zero interest in self-help books. They're usually doofy and written by someone who is just pulling pyscho-pop babble out of their ass to make money off sad people. I used to work at a bookstore, and would just boggle at the nutty titles of these things when straightening that section. Really? Some old frosted-blonde lady with 3-inch French tip fingernails is going to tell me how to land a man? Because we're all the same, you know, we women. And men, of course, are all the same, too. There's a formula to finding love/happiness/transcendence/Waldo. Just, um, don't look at that book right next to this one, which gives you a totally different formula, because THIS IS THE ONE. BUY ME.
This one is by an author recommended by Jenny Lawson, a.k.a. The Bloggess. I'm a huge Bloggess fan because she's a great writer who is open about her struggles with anxiety and depression, and approaches the topics with the best sense of humor. She makes these problems accessible to people who don't suffer, while bringing a sense of community and hope to those who do. It's damn awesome, and her book made me laugh so hard I couldn't eat while reading it, so I should probably go ahead and recommend that, too. She's hugely popular right now for this Traveling Red Dress thing she's started, and she also likes to emphasize the idea "depression lies." If you've never suffered from depression, then A. are you old enough to be reading this blog? and B. you probably don't get it. But if you have, even temporary post-sad-event depression, you probably realize that it's SO TRUE. Depression's an asshole that gets all up in your brain bits and lies to you about who you are and what you're worth.
First link is this book I'm reading with one of those ridiculously long titles involving a colon that lets you know right up front it's kind of a self-help book: I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't): Making the Journey from "What Will People Think?" to "I Am Enough". There is no way to refer to that book that isn't cumbersome (god I hate that song), but I'm giving it a chance anyway.
Normally, I have zero interest in self-help books. They're usually doofy and written by someone who is just pulling pyscho-pop babble out of their ass to make money off sad people. I used to work at a bookstore, and would just boggle at the nutty titles of these things when straightening that section. Really? Some old frosted-blonde lady with 3-inch French tip fingernails is going to tell me how to land a man? Because we're all the same, you know, we women. And men, of course, are all the same, too. There's a formula to finding love/happiness/transcendence/Waldo. Just, um, don't look at that book right next to this one, which gives you a totally different formula, because THIS IS THE ONE. BUY ME.
This one is by an author recommended by Jenny Lawson, a.k.a. The Bloggess. I'm a huge Bloggess fan because she's a great writer who is open about her struggles with anxiety and depression, and approaches the topics with the best sense of humor. She makes these problems accessible to people who don't suffer, while bringing a sense of community and hope to those who do. It's damn awesome, and her book made me laugh so hard I couldn't eat while reading it, so I should probably go ahead and recommend that, too. She's hugely popular right now for this Traveling Red Dress thing she's started, and she also likes to emphasize the idea "depression lies." If you've never suffered from depression, then A. are you old enough to be reading this blog? and B. you probably don't get it. But if you have, even temporary post-sad-event depression, you probably realize that it's SO TRUE. Depression's an asshole that gets all up in your brain bits and lies to you about who you are and what you're worth.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Maybe This Time
Despite the fact that I know every time I enter a similar situation, I get a similar outcome, I've realized that I can't seem to stop doing it.
There's a hopeless romantic inside of me, and to be honest I'm pretty sure she was dropped on her head as an imaginary inner voice baby, because bitch just does not learn. I look at a situation and I go, "ohhhh. This is bad news. I should not allow my feelings to enter into this." That stupid thing inside me pipes up, at first sort of quiet but soon more insistent, "but... you know... x, y, and z are different this time... so... maaaaybeeeeee..."
Me: You idiot. A, b, and c are the same. It's going to turn out the same. You know it, I know it, everyone fucking knows it!
Inner Voice Twerp: ...okay, but! Science! In an experiment, if you leave a, b, and c the same but change x, y, and z, you can get totally different results! It's FACT! You can't argue with that. You're logical. You can't refute SCIENCE.
Me: ....harrumph.
IVT: Oh come on. These feelings are good! They're happy! And I could be right this time. Just because I've been wrong ... umm... a lot of times before, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't be right this time! It only takes once!
Me: ...That's... true. Hmm. Well... okay...
IVT: HOORAY!!
And let me tell you, that Pollyanna bitch hasn't been right a single damn time yet, and she is never anywhere to be found when the whole thing falls apart at my feet. I suppose that leads to the question of why I bother listening to her. Why I keep jumping back in and trying over and over. Am I like a Don Quixote, charging windmills, completely foolish but kind of admirably brave? Or is this just flat-out idiocy?
Do I listen to my head, or to my heart?
Right now, there's nothing to listen to either way, so it seems like a good time to muse about it... quick, let's talk while the delusional romantic bitch is sleeping!
There's a hopeless romantic inside of me, and to be honest I'm pretty sure she was dropped on her head as an imaginary inner voice baby, because bitch just does not learn. I look at a situation and I go, "ohhhh. This is bad news. I should not allow my feelings to enter into this." That stupid thing inside me pipes up, at first sort of quiet but soon more insistent, "but... you know... x, y, and z are different this time... so... maaaaybeeeeee..."
Me: You idiot. A, b, and c are the same. It's going to turn out the same. You know it, I know it, everyone fucking knows it!
Inner Voice Twerp: ...okay, but! Science! In an experiment, if you leave a, b, and c the same but change x, y, and z, you can get totally different results! It's FACT! You can't argue with that. You're logical. You can't refute SCIENCE.
Me: ....harrumph.
IVT: Oh come on. These feelings are good! They're happy! And I could be right this time. Just because I've been wrong ... umm... a lot of times before, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't be right this time! It only takes once!
Me: ...That's... true. Hmm. Well... okay...
IVT: HOORAY!!
And let me tell you, that Pollyanna bitch hasn't been right a single damn time yet, and she is never anywhere to be found when the whole thing falls apart at my feet. I suppose that leads to the question of why I bother listening to her. Why I keep jumping back in and trying over and over. Am I like a Don Quixote, charging windmills, completely foolish but kind of admirably brave? Or is this just flat-out idiocy?
Do I listen to my head, or to my heart?
Right now, there's nothing to listen to either way, so it seems like a good time to muse about it... quick, let's talk while the delusional romantic bitch is sleeping!
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Would you change history?
I genuinely, 100%, with no reservations wish that I had never met Cowboy. There is not one single thing I can think of that I took from that relationship that was worth what it felt like having it end. Usually if I think in anger, "I wish I'd never [something]," I then think, oh but then I might not have [something rad] - met someone, moved somewhere, done something awesome, etc. With Cowboy, I have no such "oh but" thoughts. We clearly are not going to be friends, we didn't do anything that I hadn't already done, and I didn't meet anyone worth knowing through him. DELETE. ...if only.
Is there anything in your life that you would erase if you could? Obviously there are ripple effects to consider... would you be the same person? would you be where you are now? would you just make the same mistake again?
Is there anything in your life that you would erase if you could? Obviously there are ripple effects to consider... would you be the same person? would you be where you are now? would you just make the same mistake again?
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Don't Push Your Peener on Me
I'm running into a problem lately.
Here's my thing: when I'm in social situations and I get uncomfortable, I blurt things out, I ramble, I generally get panicky and say stupid things. And when am I uncomfortable in social situations? Almost always. No joke. So then I announce, "Ducks have corkscrew penises!" which inevitably leads to me explaining how barnacles have the largest peens, as far as peen size:body size ratio goes, and this is because hey! Barnacles don't move much! This way the boy barnies can just reach over to a girl barney with their peener and go *waggle waggle* (which is weiner-speak for "Hey baby, come here often? WANT TO?") and then sexing happens with minimal effort on the parts of both barnacles, except the part that is the reaching, searching, traveling peen.
There, see? I talk about stuff like that, because it's funny to me, but really, not terribly appropriate. Especially if I've just met you. "Hi. Nice to meet you. Um. So did you know that ducks are rapists?" This is why I don't get invited back to people's houses very much. Lovely low-key party? Don't invite this girl, unless you get a kick out of seeing all your other guests become wildly uncomfortable.
Where am I going with this? Well, I suppose it results in two problems, actually. One, I don't get invited to things. Which is probably fine, since I panic and feel anxious almost the entire time I'm there, anyway, and wish I'd stayed at home with a book instead. But two, and the one I really want to get into, is that people - and here I mean DUDES - think it's okay to bring up suggestive things to me on a regular basis.
Yeah, okay, I talk about peens. But you know what? Corkscrew duck wangs and blind waggling barnacle beacons are pretty de-sexualized. That is not me saying, "Your turn! Tell me about your personal, private peener now!" And it is certainly not me saying, "Please make eyes at me every time we talk and make sexual comments to make it very clear that you want to be in my pants at some time in the near future."
First of all, does that work? Ever? Just randomly blurting to your female friend something suggestive? Does she ever go, "Oh my god, I didn't know you wanted to bonk me! Let's go!"? (the punctuation in that is weird, and wrong, but I am standing by it, because I'm a rebel.)
Second of all, I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because it happens to me a lot, and it NEVER fails to make me uncomfortable, and I wondered, is sexual harassment just a workplace thing? And I don't think it is.
Sexually suggestive remarks/actions that are unwelcome make me uncomfortable. If I do not respond in kind the first time, don't fucking keep doing it. Also you should probably find a better way to hit on women, because there's a really fucking high chance that it will not work, and now you've made me feel awkward around you forever.
Maybe this isn't true for all women. But the guys that do this to me are guys who know me, and thus should know that if I wanted to have anything at all to do with their nether regions, I would have made that pretty clear right away. And really, I know it's me and I know everyone thinks I'm just this raging boner-loving slut machine who is perfectly happy to jump in the sack with anyone who smiles at me, but NEWSFLASH: that is not me. I enjoy flirting. It's fun, it's light, and it doesn't have to lead anywhere, and I love that. But flirting does not mean telling me I have big boobs, or suggesting that I want to hump [you/him/anyone], or asking about my masturbation habits.
Why don't I just tell these guys to go fuck themselves and leave me out of the whole process and NO, I don't want to hear about it later? Because when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, I feel helpless. Throw me a fucking life preserver, because I'm flailing out here, and I'm not as strong as I pretend to be. This was proven to me in a big, scary way just recently. I'm not sure why, but I can grab some convenient pop psychology to pretend to guess at it and say maybe it's because I was raised with a very strong sense of male authority and female subservience, and no matter how much I may logically disagree with that notion, things sort of get ingrained in you during your formative years and they're difficult to scour off. Plus I always wonder if I'm overreacting, because I do that.
SO. I hope that what you have taken away from this post is that barnacles have ginormously long dongs, and I hope that you're wondering, like me, how the hell the great traveling penis even knows it's reached a lady barnacle. Does a barnacle penis also have eyes so it knows where it's going? What if he bumps it into something that vaguely feels lady-barnacle-like and ends up raping an oyster? I feel like that would just turn out badly for both parties. Or would it turn out great for evolution?
Here's my thing: when I'm in social situations and I get uncomfortable, I blurt things out, I ramble, I generally get panicky and say stupid things. And when am I uncomfortable in social situations? Almost always. No joke. So then I announce, "Ducks have corkscrew penises!" which inevitably leads to me explaining how barnacles have the largest peens, as far as peen size:body size ratio goes, and this is because hey! Barnacles don't move much! This way the boy barnies can just reach over to a girl barney with their peener and go *waggle waggle* (which is weiner-speak for "Hey baby, come here often? WANT TO?") and then sexing happens with minimal effort on the parts of both barnacles, except the part that is the reaching, searching, traveling peen.
There, see? I talk about stuff like that, because it's funny to me, but really, not terribly appropriate. Especially if I've just met you. "Hi. Nice to meet you. Um. So did you know that ducks are rapists?" This is why I don't get invited back to people's houses very much. Lovely low-key party? Don't invite this girl, unless you get a kick out of seeing all your other guests become wildly uncomfortable.
Where am I going with this? Well, I suppose it results in two problems, actually. One, I don't get invited to things. Which is probably fine, since I panic and feel anxious almost the entire time I'm there, anyway, and wish I'd stayed at home with a book instead. But two, and the one I really want to get into, is that people - and here I mean DUDES - think it's okay to bring up suggestive things to me on a regular basis.
Yeah, okay, I talk about peens. But you know what? Corkscrew duck wangs and blind waggling barnacle beacons are pretty de-sexualized. That is not me saying, "Your turn! Tell me about your personal, private peener now!" And it is certainly not me saying, "Please make eyes at me every time we talk and make sexual comments to make it very clear that you want to be in my pants at some time in the near future."
First of all, does that work? Ever? Just randomly blurting to your female friend something suggestive? Does she ever go, "Oh my god, I didn't know you wanted to bonk me! Let's go!"? (the punctuation in that is weird, and wrong, but I am standing by it, because I'm a rebel.)
Second of all, I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because it happens to me a lot, and it NEVER fails to make me uncomfortable, and I wondered, is sexual harassment just a workplace thing? And I don't think it is.
Sexually suggestive remarks/actions that are unwelcome make me uncomfortable. If I do not respond in kind the first time, don't fucking keep doing it. Also you should probably find a better way to hit on women, because there's a really fucking high chance that it will not work, and now you've made me feel awkward around you forever.
Maybe this isn't true for all women. But the guys that do this to me are guys who know me, and thus should know that if I wanted to have anything at all to do with their nether regions, I would have made that pretty clear right away. And really, I know it's me and I know everyone thinks I'm just this raging boner-loving slut machine who is perfectly happy to jump in the sack with anyone who smiles at me, but NEWSFLASH: that is not me. I enjoy flirting. It's fun, it's light, and it doesn't have to lead anywhere, and I love that. But flirting does not mean telling me I have big boobs, or suggesting that I want to hump [you/him/anyone], or asking about my masturbation habits.
Why don't I just tell these guys to go fuck themselves and leave me out of the whole process and NO, I don't want to hear about it later? Because when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, I feel helpless. Throw me a fucking life preserver, because I'm flailing out here, and I'm not as strong as I pretend to be. This was proven to me in a big, scary way just recently. I'm not sure why, but I can grab some convenient pop psychology to pretend to guess at it and say maybe it's because I was raised with a very strong sense of male authority and female subservience, and no matter how much I may logically disagree with that notion, things sort of get ingrained in you during your formative years and they're difficult to scour off. Plus I always wonder if I'm overreacting, because I do that.
SO. I hope that what you have taken away from this post is that barnacles have ginormously long dongs, and I hope that you're wondering, like me, how the hell the great traveling penis even knows it's reached a lady barnacle. Does a barnacle penis also have eyes so it knows where it's going? What if he bumps it into something that vaguely feels lady-barnacle-like and ends up raping an oyster? I feel like that would just turn out badly for both parties. Or would it turn out great for evolution?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Chin Up, Old Chap!
I just wanted to do a quick post since my last one was so dark and dreary and pathetic and all those other sad adjectives. Work's been rough lately, the weather's been miserable, and little things just really take their toll on me sometimes. Saying I accept I may never have a real relationship again is one thing; really accepting it in both mind and heart is another altogether. Everything combined just led me to a really ridiculously shitty couple of days.
The good news is that the more I accept things, the less miserable I am. At this point, I've accepted my current situation as a fun, casual something-or-other, and I will just have to keep trying to learn more at work so it won't be so difficult. I can't do a damn thing about the weather, sadly, but winter always treats me like its little bitch, so I should be used to it by now!
In other news, can we please talk about pheromones? Do you ever kiss someone because you like being around him/her and you think there should probably be Something there, even though you don't feel any sexual tension when you're hanging out? It's a mad disappointment. Really nice, attractive, hilarious, easy to talk to, easy to be with, great date planner, sweet, attentive, totally into me, smart... but I just didn't feel any need to be touching him. We kissed, and it just felt like lips smooshing lips. I could smell his face and that just made it even weirder. He wasn't a bad kisser, but I may as well have been making out with my own hand for all I felt. Telling someone who is in every other way totally awesome that you simply don't feel a spark is SO. AWKWARD. And trust me, trying to continue dating someone that you've realized you have no interest even kissing, not to mention humping, is awful.
Why doesn't this happen in the movies? In the movies, the first kiss scene almost always cuts to a bed scene, either steamy or post-steamy. No matter the circumstances of the two parties getting together, there's never a weird "Oh. Huh. So turns out there's no spark. Sorry" moment following the first kiss. It's always fireworks and pounding hearts and pulsing sexy parts for both people.
Why do some people make your loins tingle even if you're just thinking about them, even if they're probably wrong for you in most other ways? Why do these mysterious little scientific bits called pheromones have so much power over us? Is that what settling means? Settling for someone who is good in every other way, but just doesn't get your passions roaring? Is it selfish of me to want it all?
Things I'm accepting: it is entirely possible I will not ever be in a real, loving relationship again in my life. This is a truth for a lot of people, and I may be one of them. I realize 32 isn't exactly old maid spinster cutoff age, but I feel like if I just go ahead and accept the possibility this may be my life, it will much easier to deal with getting there. Already it has helped me calm down about my current dating situation, and be okay with a very casual situation that is not likely to lead to anything serious, ever. Why can't I just have some fun and occasional companionship along the way? Even if it does mean sometimes having awkward conversations about missing chemistry... when the chemistry is in my favor, I'm gonna enjoy it. Something inside me decided sometime in the last year that I really wanted a relationship, something real, something lasting, etc etc. But you know what, sometimes you just gotta tell your own self to shut it.
Now go forth, and spend entirely too long thinking about the mechanics of kissing, because holy shit guys that is a REALLY weird thing to be doing with your mouth, especially without any sexy stirrings to go along with it.
The good news is that the more I accept things, the less miserable I am. At this point, I've accepted my current situation as a fun, casual something-or-other, and I will just have to keep trying to learn more at work so it won't be so difficult. I can't do a damn thing about the weather, sadly, but winter always treats me like its little bitch, so I should be used to it by now!
In other news, can we please talk about pheromones? Do you ever kiss someone because you like being around him/her and you think there should probably be Something there, even though you don't feel any sexual tension when you're hanging out? It's a mad disappointment. Really nice, attractive, hilarious, easy to talk to, easy to be with, great date planner, sweet, attentive, totally into me, smart... but I just didn't feel any need to be touching him. We kissed, and it just felt like lips smooshing lips. I could smell his face and that just made it even weirder. He wasn't a bad kisser, but I may as well have been making out with my own hand for all I felt. Telling someone who is in every other way totally awesome that you simply don't feel a spark is SO. AWKWARD. And trust me, trying to continue dating someone that you've realized you have no interest even kissing, not to mention humping, is awful.
Why doesn't this happen in the movies? In the movies, the first kiss scene almost always cuts to a bed scene, either steamy or post-steamy. No matter the circumstances of the two parties getting together, there's never a weird "Oh. Huh. So turns out there's no spark. Sorry" moment following the first kiss. It's always fireworks and pounding hearts and pulsing sexy parts for both people.
Why do some people make your loins tingle even if you're just thinking about them, even if they're probably wrong for you in most other ways? Why do these mysterious little scientific bits called pheromones have so much power over us? Is that what settling means? Settling for someone who is good in every other way, but just doesn't get your passions roaring? Is it selfish of me to want it all?
Things I'm accepting: it is entirely possible I will not ever be in a real, loving relationship again in my life. This is a truth for a lot of people, and I may be one of them. I realize 32 isn't exactly old maid spinster cutoff age, but I feel like if I just go ahead and accept the possibility this may be my life, it will much easier to deal with getting there. Already it has helped me calm down about my current dating situation, and be okay with a very casual situation that is not likely to lead to anything serious, ever. Why can't I just have some fun and occasional companionship along the way? Even if it does mean sometimes having awkward conversations about missing chemistry... when the chemistry is in my favor, I'm gonna enjoy it. Something inside me decided sometime in the last year that I really wanted a relationship, something real, something lasting, etc etc. But you know what, sometimes you just gotta tell your own self to shut it.
Now go forth, and spend entirely too long thinking about the mechanics of kissing, because holy shit guys that is a REALLY weird thing to be doing with your mouth, especially without any sexy stirrings to go along with it.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Maze Theory
Something is bugging me, and I'm bugging my friends. Solution? Blog about it! Get it out of my head and onto the interwebz and hope that lets my brain calm down (being an obsessive type is pretty exhausting) and move on and not fuck me over.
I'm going to paint you a picture. If a picture is worth a thousand words, does that mean it's going to take me a thousand words to describe this? Jeez, I hope not.
Have you seen Labyrinth? If not, you should probably just stop reading right now and go watch it, because WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? If you are old enough to be reading this blog, you are old enough to have Labyrinth be part of your required childhood movie-watching curriculum! I mean, COME ON. You totally get to see David Bowie's junk (through spandex), and it's sort of amazing. Plus there are bits of the movie (not THOSE bits) that are completely terrifying to a young child and they just don't do that to kids anymore (seriously, remember The Dark Crystal? Holy fuck).
Okay, you've seen the movie now? You're ready? The whole premise of the movie - and if you're lazy or stubborn and still haven't seen it, don't worry, I'm pretty sure this is not a spoiler - is that a young girl is trapped in a giant maze. It's been a while, but I remember it being made largely of huge hedges. This is important. This is the picture I want you to have in your head: a massive maze made of huge hedges. (Let's take a second to appreciate that alliteration.)
I'm going to paint you a picture. If a picture is worth a thousand words, does that mean it's going to take me a thousand words to describe this? Jeez, I hope not.
Have you seen Labyrinth? If not, you should probably just stop reading right now and go watch it, because WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? If you are old enough to be reading this blog, you are old enough to have Labyrinth be part of your required childhood movie-watching curriculum! I mean, COME ON. You totally get to see David Bowie's junk (through spandex), and it's sort of amazing. Plus there are bits of the movie (not THOSE bits) that are completely terrifying to a young child and they just don't do that to kids anymore (seriously, remember The Dark Crystal? Holy fuck).
Okay, you've seen the movie now? You're ready? The whole premise of the movie - and if you're lazy or stubborn and still haven't seen it, don't worry, I'm pretty sure this is not a spoiler - is that a young girl is trapped in a giant maze. It's been a while, but I remember it being made largely of huge hedges. This is important. This is the picture I want you to have in your head: a massive maze made of huge hedges. (Let's take a second to appreciate that alliteration.)
Friday, October 21, 2011
FB v FWB
FB = Fuck Buddy
FWB = Friends with Benefits
They seem to be basically the same thing, right? Someone with whom you have fun sexy times, but without the strings of a relationship/commitment. I think they're different.
"Buddy" is like a level of friendship. One can be a buddy but not a friend; however, one cannot be a friend without also being a buddy. If you're bored and want to go see a movie, you call up a buddy OR a friend. If you're going through a rough breakup and you just want to pour your heart out and cry, you call up a friend.
I feel I've had both in the past. The Fuck Buddy is one I simply cannot stand anymore. I've had this, and it worked on a weird level. We only saw each other every few months or so at the bar; sometimes we'd go home together, sometimes we wouldn't... it was what it was. We're still buddies and always have a smile and a hug (sometimes a bit of smoochin) when we run into each other, but there's not any plans made or communication otherwise - we aren't even Facebook Friends.
I want someone I can hang out and talk to before/after. Someone I can have an actual conversation with, and on topics covering much more than just favorite positions. Someone I can hang out with sometimes and not have sex, and that's okay. That's the Friend with Benefits: sometimes you have sex, sometimes you don't, but always, you're friends.
It's a fine line, and a frustrating one. I recently came to a Friends with Benes agreement with someone, but I feel like the more we F, the less we're F.
FWB = Friends with Benefits
They seem to be basically the same thing, right? Someone with whom you have fun sexy times, but without the strings of a relationship/commitment. I think they're different.
"Buddy" is like a level of friendship. One can be a buddy but not a friend; however, one cannot be a friend without also being a buddy. If you're bored and want to go see a movie, you call up a buddy OR a friend. If you're going through a rough breakup and you just want to pour your heart out and cry, you call up a friend.
I feel I've had both in the past. The Fuck Buddy is one I simply cannot stand anymore. I've had this, and it worked on a weird level. We only saw each other every few months or so at the bar; sometimes we'd go home together, sometimes we wouldn't... it was what it was. We're still buddies and always have a smile and a hug (sometimes a bit of smoochin) when we run into each other, but there's not any plans made or communication otherwise - we aren't even Facebook Friends.
I want someone I can hang out and talk to before/after. Someone I can have an actual conversation with, and on topics covering much more than just favorite positions. Someone I can hang out with sometimes and not have sex, and that's okay. That's the Friend with Benefits: sometimes you have sex, sometimes you don't, but always, you're friends.
It's a fine line, and a frustrating one. I recently came to a Friends with Benes agreement with someone, but I feel like the more we F, the less we're F.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Bad Bottling
I'm a bottler. For some reason, all my life, I've kept my emotions to myself. I'm strong and independent and I don't need anyone and I don't need feelings and I CAN DO IT!
Once in kindergarten, I decided to get off the school bus at the stop before my regular one and walk. Why? Because I wanted to be adventurous and independent! I was a big girl! (I was not.) The problem is that I have always been geographically challenged, and at the age of 4 it was even worse. I had no idea which stop would be the one before mine, and having decided this whole thing spontaneously, I certainly hadn't been paying attention and plotting and planning. I was wingin' it, baby!
I picked a stop that felt close to home. I exited the bus, tremulous with fear and excitement (knowing myself, I probably was literally trembling. I do that when I'm nervous, and it's REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING.), and stared out at the expanse of strange sidewalk ahead. ...nothing looked familiar. Oops.
Once in kindergarten, I decided to get off the school bus at the stop before my regular one and walk. Why? Because I wanted to be adventurous and independent! I was a big girl! (I was not.) The problem is that I have always been geographically challenged, and at the age of 4 it was even worse. I had no idea which stop would be the one before mine, and having decided this whole thing spontaneously, I certainly hadn't been paying attention and plotting and planning. I was wingin' it, baby!
I picked a stop that felt close to home. I exited the bus, tremulous with fear and excitement (knowing myself, I probably was literally trembling. I do that when I'm nervous, and it's REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING.), and stared out at the expanse of strange sidewalk ahead. ...nothing looked familiar. Oops.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Desk: the Sequel
If you've been reading this blog since its inception, you already know who Desk is. If you don't, I have created a handy label so you can easily find all posts re: him, both the good and the bad, because apparently even though we did not date long, he is destined to be an important piece of my life. These things happen.
The latest, which some of you know, is that last night I got an invitation for that professional networking site LinkedIn from none other than Desk himself. I stared at it for quite a while. My body felt all funny and I was sure that I was somehow misreading the name on the email. His first name is pretty common... but no, his last name is terribly unique and it was definitely Desk. I even clicked on it to see his profile, and the job description matched up. WHAT.
I wondered what the hell he was thinking. Now, I am a curious sort, especially when it comes to things like relationships and how brains work and how people think. I'm also prone to knee-jerk reactions, spontaneous decisions, and obsessing... so I was not even remotely surprised when, after trying for about 10 minutes to ignore the whole thing, I hit reply on LinkedIn and wrote, "This is a joke, yeah?" Mostly I just wanted to express my surprise to him; I didn't truly expect a response.
Internet: he wrote back.
The latest, which some of you know, is that last night I got an invitation for that professional networking site LinkedIn from none other than Desk himself. I stared at it for quite a while. My body felt all funny and I was sure that I was somehow misreading the name on the email. His first name is pretty common... but no, his last name is terribly unique and it was definitely Desk. I even clicked on it to see his profile, and the job description matched up. WHAT.
I wondered what the hell he was thinking. Now, I am a curious sort, especially when it comes to things like relationships and how brains work and how people think. I'm also prone to knee-jerk reactions, spontaneous decisions, and obsessing... so I was not even remotely surprised when, after trying for about 10 minutes to ignore the whole thing, I hit reply on LinkedIn and wrote, "This is a joke, yeah?" Mostly I just wanted to express my surprise to him; I didn't truly expect a response.
Internet: he wrote back.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Sexy Times: What Worries You?
Let's say you have a date/date-type-thing coming up that you are pretty certain is going to involve sex. With a new person.
What do you think about leading up to this?
I would imagine for the ladies: leg/pit shaving, makeup... for the men: will she think his peener is good enough?... for both: landscaping, clean home (whoever is hosting), showering, will it be any good?, will s/he like me?, are there condoms? (you should both be prepared, people! never rely on the other party)
Here is my deal: if sex happens without forethought or with someone I've already been with and am comfortable around, I'm not even remotely concerned with things like leg hair or if I've showered or if there's dirty clothes on the floor. But if I know SEX WILL HAPPEN, I think way too much. Sometimes I just decide that I am desirous of sex, so the next date I have is the winner. Date gets set up, and then... I have time to think about it. And... hmm.
What do you think about leading up to this?
I would imagine for the ladies: leg/pit shaving, makeup... for the men: will she think his peener is good enough?... for both: landscaping, clean home (whoever is hosting), showering, will it be any good?, will s/he like me?, are there condoms? (you should both be prepared, people! never rely on the other party)
Here is my deal: if sex happens without forethought or with someone I've already been with and am comfortable around, I'm not even remotely concerned with things like leg hair or if I've showered or if there's dirty clothes on the floor. But if I know SEX WILL HAPPEN, I think way too much. Sometimes I just decide that I am desirous of sex, so the next date I have is the winner. Date gets set up, and then... I have time to think about it. And... hmm.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Being Likeable
What do you do when you think you've made a fab new friend, but then you realize this new friend has a crush on you?
OPTIONS!
(am writing this from perspective of female crushee and male crusher, but feel free to play footloose and fancy-free with the pronouns and body parts until it suits you)
1. Smack him in the face and run away, à la The Bobcats. Hopefully he doesn't have a Thing For Crazies.
2. Ask him if he's gay. Repeatedly. Then ask if he's really, really sure.
3. Tell him you don't have a vagina. It simply fell out when you were 15 and you never bothered to worry about it because hey! No periods! No sexual frustration! Win-win. No really, go look it up in some kind of scientific journal.
4. Move to another city.
5. Bring up some Hot Guy You Love every time you hang out. Hope he gets the hint. Burst into tears a lot (lamenting unrequited love from Hot Guy). Allow snot to flow freely.
6. Talk incessantly about the weirdish purpley wart your left big toe seems to be cultivating despite your best efforts to burn it/cut it/soak it in kerosine.
7. Announce your intentions to make a coffee table book of photographs of deformed penes. Excitedly tell him he looks like he'd be a shoe-in to be a participant - he just has the face of someone with a problematic peener, you know?
8. Salivate a little while talking lustily about how you've always thought Van Gogh was SOOOOOOO sexy and it would just be SOOOOOO amazing to date a guy who would CUT OFF HIS EAR for you, and you are just pretty sure you cannot settle for anything less. Then hope he's not into body mutilation.
9. Tell him you're actually a lesbian, and resign yourself to never dating another boy as long as you remain friends with this one.
10. Ignore it and hope he never musters the balls to make a move. If/when he does, gently explain you just don't see him that way and hope this doesn't negatively impact the friendship. If it does, respect his wishes and give him his space.
Guess which route I usually choose?
OPTIONS!
(am writing this from perspective of female crushee and male crusher, but feel free to play footloose and fancy-free with the pronouns and body parts until it suits you)
1. Smack him in the face and run away, à la The Bobcats. Hopefully he doesn't have a Thing For Crazies.
2. Ask him if he's gay. Repeatedly. Then ask if he's really, really sure.
3. Tell him you don't have a vagina. It simply fell out when you were 15 and you never bothered to worry about it because hey! No periods! No sexual frustration! Win-win. No really, go look it up in some kind of scientific journal.
4. Move to another city.
5. Bring up some Hot Guy You Love every time you hang out. Hope he gets the hint. Burst into tears a lot (lamenting unrequited love from Hot Guy). Allow snot to flow freely.
6. Talk incessantly about the weirdish purpley wart your left big toe seems to be cultivating despite your best efforts to burn it/cut it/soak it in kerosine.
7. Announce your intentions to make a coffee table book of photographs of deformed penes. Excitedly tell him he looks like he'd be a shoe-in to be a participant - he just has the face of someone with a problematic peener, you know?
8. Salivate a little while talking lustily about how you've always thought Van Gogh was SOOOOOOO sexy and it would just be SOOOOOO amazing to date a guy who would CUT OFF HIS EAR for you, and you are just pretty sure you cannot settle for anything less. Then hope he's not into body mutilation.
9. Tell him you're actually a lesbian, and resign yourself to never dating another boy as long as you remain friends with this one.
10. Ignore it and hope he never musters the balls to make a move. If/when he does, gently explain you just don't see him that way and hope this doesn't negatively impact the friendship. If it does, respect his wishes and give him his space.
Guess which route I usually choose?
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
On Dating
I got back on OKC a few days ago. I was a little surprised to see that the Swede had already re-joined and was making changes to his profile - we'd both deactivated our accounts, but he was saved as a "favorite" on mine from when we were first emailing, and as soon as I re-activated and logged in, OKC was all "Guess what the Swede has been up to!" Oh. Timestamped a whole 2 days after the breakup, even? Well... all right then.
Once I was done processing that information, I went ahead and started revamping my own profile. Namely, I added the following:
I am not, in fact, actively seeking a monogamous relationship. Being single is pretty rad and I quite enjoy it. That said, I'm also not looking for any kind of "friends with benefit" arrangements - that implies a lack of emotional intimacy and accountability that I find pointless. I'm also not against the idea of finding myself in a monogamous relationship, but it's not something I'm trying for or willing to rush into.
Once I was done processing that information, I went ahead and started revamping my own profile. Namely, I added the following:
I am not, in fact, actively seeking a monogamous relationship. Being single is pretty rad and I quite enjoy it. That said, I'm also not looking for any kind of "friends with benefit" arrangements - that implies a lack of emotional intimacy and accountability that I find pointless. I'm also not against the idea of finding myself in a monogamous relationship, but it's not something I'm trying for or willing to rush into.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Poly, part 2
FINALLY, right?
I've had a lot going on lately, so updating this has taken a backseat. Especially since when lots is going on, my brain becomes Grand Central Station and I'm lucky if I can form coherent sentences, much less write blog posts that anyone would care to read. But here I am with a little time on my hands, and a few topics rolling around in my noggin.
The Ethical Slut... I cracked it open on vacation, and while I haven't yet finished it, I do have some preliminary thoughts. I'd say I'm about halfway through, and I haven't stopped reading for lack of interest - just information overload because I'm learning a shit ton of new stuff at work and my poor little brain just wants a break when I get home.
Time for a list! My impressions thus far...
I've had a lot going on lately, so updating this has taken a backseat. Especially since when lots is going on, my brain becomes Grand Central Station and I'm lucky if I can form coherent sentences, much less write blog posts that anyone would care to read. But here I am with a little time on my hands, and a few topics rolling around in my noggin.
The Ethical Slut... I cracked it open on vacation, and while I haven't yet finished it, I do have some preliminary thoughts. I'd say I'm about halfway through, and I haven't stopped reading for lack of interest - just information overload because I'm learning a shit ton of new stuff at work and my poor little brain just wants a break when I get home.
Time for a list! My impressions thus far...
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
On Friendships
Have you missed me?
I've been kind of hibernating a lot lately. Re-evaluating friendships/non-romantic relationships/who I am and where I'm at. All that deep mumbo jumbo that tends to require a lot of alone time. I've been half-assedly doing this for a couple of years now, but I'm now starting to be way more selfish than ever before with my time and energy. I am the kind of person who knows a huge number of people and am always meeting more - I've reached the point where I can rarely go to any event in this city without seeing at least one person I know - but I have very few people I actually consider friends. I'd like to change that, but I'm about on par with a basement-dwelling super-nerd when it comes to talking to women.
I want to have female friends, and I know women who are delightful and I would love to be friends with them, but I totally, abjectly fail at actually accomplishing this. No, really, I am a pasty-faced, acne-ridden, terrified teenage nerdling boy on the inside. If we're emailing, I'm fine (although I probably will stick my e-foot in my e-mouth a few times). In person, though, I flounder. It's very strange - I'm completely intimidated by other women, women who seem to have their shit together, either as a whole or at least just as a female. Put me with a dude or group of dudes, I'm a-okay. I'm not scared of dudes, despite the number of guys who have hurt me, lied to me, cheated on me, etc. When things don't work out with a female friend (because I feel friendships, much like romantic relationships, can sometimes just not work out despite a promising beginning), I retreat, scared to try again. How do other women understand things like hair, makeup, fashion, shoes, so inherently? Because I do not, and I don't even care enough to try. And I often feel like a failure as a woman for that.
Anyone else like that? I can't help wondering why getting hurt by a female friend is so much harder for me to deal with and recover from than getting hurt by a romantic partner. Girls I end up being close to are girls who reach out to me, who are open with me, who generally make all the moves to generate & further the friendship, at least until I'm coaxed out of my shell.
This is the first time in well over a decade that I have lived somewhere long enough to forge deep, long-term friendships with people "in real life" (rather than over the interwebz), and I'm finding that I'm just not very good at it, at all. I do still have friends I met when I was a teen, but that was before I was scared of it all, honestly, and those interactions are now web-based since I don't live near them anymore. Maybe (very likely) I just don't know what I'm doing. Ah, the effects of being raised a military brat. Are there studies on this, perhaps? Military brats having a hard time making lasting friendships, forging true connections, etc? Or am I just lacking certain emotional capabilities that are wholly unrelated to my upbringing?
I've been kind of hibernating a lot lately. Re-evaluating friendships/non-romantic relationships/who I am and where I'm at. All that deep mumbo jumbo that tends to require a lot of alone time. I've been half-assedly doing this for a couple of years now, but I'm now starting to be way more selfish than ever before with my time and energy. I am the kind of person who knows a huge number of people and am always meeting more - I've reached the point where I can rarely go to any event in this city without seeing at least one person I know - but I have very few people I actually consider friends. I'd like to change that, but I'm about on par with a basement-dwelling super-nerd when it comes to talking to women.
I want to have female friends, and I know women who are delightful and I would love to be friends with them, but I totally, abjectly fail at actually accomplishing this. No, really, I am a pasty-faced, acne-ridden, terrified teenage nerdling boy on the inside. If we're emailing, I'm fine (although I probably will stick my e-foot in my e-mouth a few times). In person, though, I flounder. It's very strange - I'm completely intimidated by other women, women who seem to have their shit together, either as a whole or at least just as a female. Put me with a dude or group of dudes, I'm a-okay. I'm not scared of dudes, despite the number of guys who have hurt me, lied to me, cheated on me, etc. When things don't work out with a female friend (because I feel friendships, much like romantic relationships, can sometimes just not work out despite a promising beginning), I retreat, scared to try again. How do other women understand things like hair, makeup, fashion, shoes, so inherently? Because I do not, and I don't even care enough to try. And I often feel like a failure as a woman for that.
Anyone else like that? I can't help wondering why getting hurt by a female friend is so much harder for me to deal with and recover from than getting hurt by a romantic partner. Girls I end up being close to are girls who reach out to me, who are open with me, who generally make all the moves to generate & further the friendship, at least until I'm coaxed out of my shell.
This is the first time in well over a decade that I have lived somewhere long enough to forge deep, long-term friendships with people "in real life" (rather than over the interwebz), and I'm finding that I'm just not very good at it, at all. I do still have friends I met when I was a teen, but that was before I was scared of it all, honestly, and those interactions are now web-based since I don't live near them anymore. Maybe (very likely) I just don't know what I'm doing. Ah, the effects of being raised a military brat. Are there studies on this, perhaps? Military brats having a hard time making lasting friendships, forging true connections, etc? Or am I just lacking certain emotional capabilities that are wholly unrelated to my upbringing?
Friday, July 29, 2011
Input, Steph-a-nie!
Number 5 is ALIVE!
But seriously, a while back I posted about a guy who wants to love his lady but let her love others. A sort of one-sided polyamory situation, I guess? One commenter said she is, in fact, in such a situation, and I asked if she could convince her husband to respond and explain the appeal.
He did! So everyone else who was curious, go back and read the last comment. It's really interesting, and I would like to thank Anonymous Husband for taking the time to give us all some insight into that lifestyle and his through processes surrounding that choice.
But seriously, a while back I posted about a guy who wants to love his lady but let her love others. A sort of one-sided polyamory situation, I guess? One commenter said she is, in fact, in such a situation, and I asked if she could convince her husband to respond and explain the appeal.
He did! So everyone else who was curious, go back and read the last comment. It's really interesting, and I would like to thank Anonymous Husband for taking the time to give us all some insight into that lifestyle and his through processes surrounding that choice.
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