Every year, I make New Year's resolutions that I know I'll never keep. But I thought that this year, I would focus my resolutions on the things that are important to me. It will be interesting to compare my success with my goals at the end of next year. So without further ado, I give you the self-improvement resolutions for 2006:
1) Listen more, talk less
2) Do more things that scare me
3) Change the things that I don't like about myself; accept the things I cannot change; become a better friend, sister and daughter in the process
4) Learn about the things that interest me
5) Strive to improve myself through the arts, literature and conversations with strangers
And now, the resolutions that are rolling over from last year that I doubt very much I'll keep (but might make some progress on):
1) Lose that 10 pounds I've gained since college
2) Drink less (applicable to both Coca Cola products and alcohol)
3) Clean up my language
4) Resist the temptation of recycling old boyfriends
12.30.2005
12.29.2005
A film critique: Memoirs of a Geisha
I went to see the film Memoirs of a Geisha today. I've read the book probably half a dozen times, so I have to admit that I had high expectations.
First of all, the film is visually stunning. As someone who is not well-versed in the Geisha culture of Japan, I had a hard time imagining the elaborate costumes, locations and scenery described in the book. The film takes great care to make everything appear genuine and realistic. Much of the book is dedicated to description, so with the film there is a lot more room for dialogue and interactions between the characters. I liked that aspect.
Another thing that I liked was that the film kept the bones of the book intact, for the most part. There were some scenes (like a fire in the okiya and an American colonel) that never surfaced in the book, but I felt that the changes the filmmakers made helped to move the plot along and didn't detract from the point of the film itself.
If you haven't read the book, I'd recommend doing so. It might have been kind of hard to follow along otherwise, because certain key themes from the book (what a danna is, for example) weren't really expanded upon in the film. It would have been pretty easy for "older sister" Mameha to explain that a danna was more than just a customer of a geisha, but a companion. A geisha became like a second wife to her danna and therefore afforded certain priveleges to him that an ordinary customer would not receive. I don't think that was made clear in the movie version.
Finally, I didn't feel that the relationships between the film's main character (Sayuri) and some of the film's more minor characters (Nobu and the Chairman) were really as deep as they could have been. That could have been because there was so much ground to cover. They never got into the fact that Sayuri and Nobu were actually great friends, or that the Chairman for the most part ignored Sayuri during her time as a geisha.
Overall, I think the film was good, but didn't really exceed my expectations. Final grade: B+
First of all, the film is visually stunning. As someone who is not well-versed in the Geisha culture of Japan, I had a hard time imagining the elaborate costumes, locations and scenery described in the book. The film takes great care to make everything appear genuine and realistic. Much of the book is dedicated to description, so with the film there is a lot more room for dialogue and interactions between the characters. I liked that aspect.
Another thing that I liked was that the film kept the bones of the book intact, for the most part. There were some scenes (like a fire in the okiya and an American colonel) that never surfaced in the book, but I felt that the changes the filmmakers made helped to move the plot along and didn't detract from the point of the film itself.
If you haven't read the book, I'd recommend doing so. It might have been kind of hard to follow along otherwise, because certain key themes from the book (what a danna is, for example) weren't really expanded upon in the film. It would have been pretty easy for "older sister" Mameha to explain that a danna was more than just a customer of a geisha, but a companion. A geisha became like a second wife to her danna and therefore afforded certain priveleges to him that an ordinary customer would not receive. I don't think that was made clear in the movie version.
Finally, I didn't feel that the relationships between the film's main character (Sayuri) and some of the film's more minor characters (Nobu and the Chairman) were really as deep as they could have been. That could have been because there was so much ground to cover. They never got into the fact that Sayuri and Nobu were actually great friends, or that the Chairman for the most part ignored Sayuri during her time as a geisha.
Overall, I think the film was good, but didn't really exceed my expectations. Final grade: B+
12.28.2005
I was at the gay bar last night, when...
My friend Rebecca and I hit the Nasty 'Nati last night for some fun. Her friend Megan, Megan's brother Kyle and Kyle's friend decided to go to a club called Purgatory. Becca and I went with. Purgatory is a pretty fun club in downtown, and Tuesday night is gay night at the club.
As a woman, gay night at a dance club is the best invention ever. You get to get all dolled up and dance your a$$ off without the worry of getting hit on. No guy who comes up to dance with you on gay night is trying to take you home. Plus, most of the gay men that I know are a) a complete blast to hang out with; b) incredibly and ego-boostingly gorgeous; and c) great dancers. It is the best of both worlds.
So how random is it that the only two straight guys in the club last night ended up hitting on Rebecca and me? Just sort of funny that we went to gay night to get a little skanked out and have a good time and still ended up getting hit on. By a guy named Constantine. Yes, Constantine.
As a woman, gay night at a dance club is the best invention ever. You get to get all dolled up and dance your a$$ off without the worry of getting hit on. No guy who comes up to dance with you on gay night is trying to take you home. Plus, most of the gay men that I know are a) a complete blast to hang out with; b) incredibly and ego-boostingly gorgeous; and c) great dancers. It is the best of both worlds.
So how random is it that the only two straight guys in the club last night ended up hitting on Rebecca and me? Just sort of funny that we went to gay night to get a little skanked out and have a good time and still ended up getting hit on. By a guy named Constantine. Yes, Constantine.
12.22.2005
Assholes...everyone has one. Some people have two.
My life is filled with fucking assholes.
Example 1: The Big Cheese is in from L.A. this week and sent out a fire-and-brimstone memo to the staff saying that there will be major cuts in expenses, salaries and staff. No word yet on when these cuts will be made. But it was nice of him to inform us three days before Christmas that we might be in jeopardy of losing our jobs. No one knows for sure who will get canned, who will be asked to take a cut, or how we'll all be affected by these cuts. Fucking Asshole.
Example 2: I have this tentative pseudo-friendship with Andy going on. It is nice: I find I like him a lot better when I'm not dating him. And we both know that there is no chance in hell of us getting back together. It is an unspoken understanding.
So when he asked me if I wanted to go see the Nutcracker, I figured "why the hell not." The show is supposed to be tonight. Did he ever call to confirm that we're actually going (even though he supposedly already bought the tickets, as per a conversation that we had a few weeks ago)? No. So when I called to see if we are supposed to be hanging out tonight, I find that he's gone to work. This is why we aren't dating anymore: because he is too inconsiderate to offer an explanation for his flightiness. Good thing I assumed that he'd flake and had already made other plans. Fucking Asshole.
Okay, needed to vent that. I'm going to go home and have a nice vodka tonic. Maybe two. And hope that Lori hurries up and gets home so we can hit the street with hottie Terry and have a good ol' time.
Example 1: The Big Cheese is in from L.A. this week and sent out a fire-and-brimstone memo to the staff saying that there will be major cuts in expenses, salaries and staff. No word yet on when these cuts will be made. But it was nice of him to inform us three days before Christmas that we might be in jeopardy of losing our jobs. No one knows for sure who will get canned, who will be asked to take a cut, or how we'll all be affected by these cuts. Fucking Asshole.
Example 2: I have this tentative pseudo-friendship with Andy going on. It is nice: I find I like him a lot better when I'm not dating him. And we both know that there is no chance in hell of us getting back together. It is an unspoken understanding.
So when he asked me if I wanted to go see the Nutcracker, I figured "why the hell not." The show is supposed to be tonight. Did he ever call to confirm that we're actually going (even though he supposedly already bought the tickets, as per a conversation that we had a few weeks ago)? No. So when I called to see if we are supposed to be hanging out tonight, I find that he's gone to work. This is why we aren't dating anymore: because he is too inconsiderate to offer an explanation for his flightiness. Good thing I assumed that he'd flake and had already made other plans. Fucking Asshole.
Okay, needed to vent that. I'm going to go home and have a nice vodka tonic. Maybe two. And hope that Lori hurries up and gets home so we can hit the street with hottie Terry and have a good ol' time.
12.21.2005
Goodbye, boobies!
I got my breast reduction approved. Yipee! I will have surgery on February 14 -- Valentine's Day -- so this year I'll have something to look forward to...like being doped up on painkillers. At least I won't be alone. :)
I will probably blog a little bit about the experience, I hope its not too much for some of you! I think it will be a really positive change in my life...just one of many...and so I can't wait for it to happen!
I will probably blog a little bit about the experience, I hope its not too much for some of you! I think it will be a really positive change in my life...just one of many...and so I can't wait for it to happen!
12.15.2005
On Friendship
It is sad, the growing apart of friends. Whether due to the busy-ness of everyday life, circumstances beyond our control, the loss of commonalities or simply the passage of time, it hurts to lose a friend, literally or metaphorically speaking. When it comes to friendship, how do you know where you stand?
This has been on my mind a lot recently, because I've "lost" several friends. One person was toxic, so I cut him out of my life. One person entered rehab, a move that probably saved his life, for which I am incredibly grateful. And one I've simply grown apart from: J.
Since moving back to Dayton after graduation a few years ago, the one friend that I've felt I could always count on has been J. Sure, I get on her nerves and she gets on mine, but eventually everything worked itself out. We'd have a silly girls night out (or in) and all would be forgotten. I most definitely considered her my best friend in Dayton.
But lately it hasn't been the same. She has just recently completed her first semester of law school, the hardest semester of her life, to be sure. I know that it was challenging for her...especially considering that she is also raising an amazing and rambunctious 4-year-old. It's become pretty hard to get ahold of her. When she's not in class, she's studying. When she's not studying, she's raising her daughter. When she's not raising her daughter, she's with her boyfriend. When she's not with her boyfriend...well, I have no idea where she is.
I have a vague idea about how she spends her time, because I see her away messages when we're both online. But I can't actually remember the last time we spoke on the phone. We used to talk every day, sometimes twice a day...and now I can't remember the last conversation we had.
I saw her at BW3 the night before Thanksgiving. It was the first time I'd seen her in a while...I was hanging out with her boyfriend and some other mutual friends. She spotted me and seemed surprised to see me:
"I didn't know you were going to be out tonight," she said.
"Yup!" I replied brightly. But I couldn't help that niggling little thought in the back of my head: You would have known if you ever thought to call me.
I know that the street runs both ways. And maybe I'm being overly sensitive; after all, she is in one of the busiest times of her life. But I feel like I've made the effort, plenty of times. It just seems that, on her days off, she's always had something better to do, something more important, someone else to hang out with (like her boyfriend).
Let me make one thing very clear: I do not begrudge the fact that J. has a boyfriend and I don't. She has had to deal with a lot of shit in her life. It is hard to be a single mom - but she has handled the situation with a grace and resilience that humbles me, and that I deeply admire. Her boyfriend treats her well and is good to her and accepting of her child. She deserves that happiness; but at the expense of a friendship? Of course there is a certain amount of envy: She has a good relationship, and I want that for myself. But it certainly isn't to the extent that her relationship with her boyfriend is a point of contention for me.
The real boy who is a point of contention between J. and myself is my "relationship" with my ex-boyfriend. I think that to a certain extent, she doesn't approve of my newly formed pseudo-frienship with him - and with good reason, for if the situation were reversed, I wouldn't approve either. How many times did I call her when he and I were together to vent my frustration about the situation? How many times did I lean on her and cry about the way that he treated me and the way he made me feel.
I suffered through a bit of an identity crisis when I was with him - I wasn't the opinionated woman who wouldn't take shit from a guy. I let slide some of the things that I had previously said were important to me in a relationship. She saw her friend hurting and changing for a guy who wasn't worth her time, and that bothered her. She doesn't want me to be in a situation where I might do that to myself again. I get that.
And when she finally yelled at me and let her frustration show in an attempt to snap me back to reality (which, frankly, is exactly what I would have done in a reversed situation) I got my feathers all ruffled because despite the fact that she was right, it wasn't what I wanted to hear. She spoke her mind, but I didn't want to hear it...I just felt like she was judging me. In reality, she just doesn't want to see me get hurt.
But its more than just the fact that she doesn't like who I let myself become when I was dating my ex-boyfriend. It is also the fact that we just never talk anymore. She's got this law school thing, and all of these new law school friends that she hang out with, and I don't. There is no attempt on her part to integrate the new friends with the old friends. I guess I feel a little left out, a little left behind.
So I sit here, feeling rather sorry for myself, missing my best friend and wondering if she even notices. I actually had to check my caller ID to find out the last time I've had a missed or incoming call from her...her number didn't even show up on the call list (which dates back to November.) And as I sit here, I'm half hoping that things will go back to "normal"...and I'm half thinking that they won't, and my concept of "normal" will become the past.
How do you make time for the new endeavors that you undertake without losing touch with the old friends, and with your old self? You don't. You pick and choose priorities, and sometimes people fall through the cracks. "I'll call her tomorrow" turns into next week, next month. The longer you go without talking, the harder it becomes to actually pick up the phone and call.
And so rather than actually picking up the phone I write it all down. It is easier for me to vent through the anonymity of the Internet than to do so in person or on the phone. It is easier to avoid direct conflict that way. And a little cowardly, even, but pride goeth before the fall and all that.
I guess the lesson learned through this carthatic expulsion of emotion is that sometimes you just have to swallow your pride and keep making the effort, and hope that in doing so, the effort pays off. Or at least brings some resolution to the contrary. After all, it is easier to accept the growing apart of friends when there is someone else to blame than yourself.
This has been on my mind a lot recently, because I've "lost" several friends. One person was toxic, so I cut him out of my life. One person entered rehab, a move that probably saved his life, for which I am incredibly grateful. And one I've simply grown apart from: J.
Since moving back to Dayton after graduation a few years ago, the one friend that I've felt I could always count on has been J. Sure, I get on her nerves and she gets on mine, but eventually everything worked itself out. We'd have a silly girls night out (or in) and all would be forgotten. I most definitely considered her my best friend in Dayton.
But lately it hasn't been the same. She has just recently completed her first semester of law school, the hardest semester of her life, to be sure. I know that it was challenging for her...especially considering that she is also raising an amazing and rambunctious 4-year-old. It's become pretty hard to get ahold of her. When she's not in class, she's studying. When she's not studying, she's raising her daughter. When she's not raising her daughter, she's with her boyfriend. When she's not with her boyfriend...well, I have no idea where she is.
I have a vague idea about how she spends her time, because I see her away messages when we're both online. But I can't actually remember the last time we spoke on the phone. We used to talk every day, sometimes twice a day...and now I can't remember the last conversation we had.
I saw her at BW3 the night before Thanksgiving. It was the first time I'd seen her in a while...I was hanging out with her boyfriend and some other mutual friends. She spotted me and seemed surprised to see me:
"I didn't know you were going to be out tonight," she said.
"Yup!" I replied brightly. But I couldn't help that niggling little thought in the back of my head: You would have known if you ever thought to call me.
I know that the street runs both ways. And maybe I'm being overly sensitive; after all, she is in one of the busiest times of her life. But I feel like I've made the effort, plenty of times. It just seems that, on her days off, she's always had something better to do, something more important, someone else to hang out with (like her boyfriend).
Let me make one thing very clear: I do not begrudge the fact that J. has a boyfriend and I don't. She has had to deal with a lot of shit in her life. It is hard to be a single mom - but she has handled the situation with a grace and resilience that humbles me, and that I deeply admire. Her boyfriend treats her well and is good to her and accepting of her child. She deserves that happiness; but at the expense of a friendship? Of course there is a certain amount of envy: She has a good relationship, and I want that for myself. But it certainly isn't to the extent that her relationship with her boyfriend is a point of contention for me.
The real boy who is a point of contention between J. and myself is my "relationship" with my ex-boyfriend. I think that to a certain extent, she doesn't approve of my newly formed pseudo-frienship with him - and with good reason, for if the situation were reversed, I wouldn't approve either. How many times did I call her when he and I were together to vent my frustration about the situation? How many times did I lean on her and cry about the way that he treated me and the way he made me feel.
I suffered through a bit of an identity crisis when I was with him - I wasn't the opinionated woman who wouldn't take shit from a guy. I let slide some of the things that I had previously said were important to me in a relationship. She saw her friend hurting and changing for a guy who wasn't worth her time, and that bothered her. She doesn't want me to be in a situation where I might do that to myself again. I get that.
And when she finally yelled at me and let her frustration show in an attempt to snap me back to reality (which, frankly, is exactly what I would have done in a reversed situation) I got my feathers all ruffled because despite the fact that she was right, it wasn't what I wanted to hear. She spoke her mind, but I didn't want to hear it...I just felt like she was judging me. In reality, she just doesn't want to see me get hurt.
But its more than just the fact that she doesn't like who I let myself become when I was dating my ex-boyfriend. It is also the fact that we just never talk anymore. She's got this law school thing, and all of these new law school friends that she hang out with, and I don't. There is no attempt on her part to integrate the new friends with the old friends. I guess I feel a little left out, a little left behind.
So I sit here, feeling rather sorry for myself, missing my best friend and wondering if she even notices. I actually had to check my caller ID to find out the last time I've had a missed or incoming call from her...her number didn't even show up on the call list (which dates back to November.) And as I sit here, I'm half hoping that things will go back to "normal"...and I'm half thinking that they won't, and my concept of "normal" will become the past.
How do you make time for the new endeavors that you undertake without losing touch with the old friends, and with your old self? You don't. You pick and choose priorities, and sometimes people fall through the cracks. "I'll call her tomorrow" turns into next week, next month. The longer you go without talking, the harder it becomes to actually pick up the phone and call.
And so rather than actually picking up the phone I write it all down. It is easier for me to vent through the anonymity of the Internet than to do so in person or on the phone. It is easier to avoid direct conflict that way. And a little cowardly, even, but pride goeth before the fall and all that.
I guess the lesson learned through this carthatic expulsion of emotion is that sometimes you just have to swallow your pride and keep making the effort, and hope that in doing so, the effort pays off. Or at least brings some resolution to the contrary. After all, it is easier to accept the growing apart of friends when there is someone else to blame than yourself.
12.10.2005
Where do your dreams go?
Where do your dreams go when you're done dreaming them?
I ask this because I've been trying to remember lately why I chose my profession. Don't get me wrong - I love being in public relations, and I'm very, very good at what I do. I declared my major in college and never looked back. I absolutely made the right career choice, one that I've never regretted. In the grand scheme of things, I'm probably pretty lucky to actually be doing (and liking) what I set out to do in the first place.
But that's not what I wanted to be when I was a child. The life that I have created for myself wasn't a childhood dream. Actually, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an entertainer. I wanted to be an actress, a singer, a fashion icon. I wanted to be rich and famous. At what point did I stop dreaming about being all of those things? At what point did I succum to reality and decide to be something more practical?
I sometimes wish that I had followed that dream. I was in drama club in high school, was in the school's talent show...I even wanted to go to Los Angeles the summer between my senior year in h.s. and freshman year in college to try to "make it." Looking back, what could I have accomplished in three months, really?
But I never followed through on that dream. I'm too practical for that. When it comes to my livelihood and well-being, I'm not a risk taker. I need to know where I'm going to live, where my next paycheck is coming from, etc. So even though picking up and moving to a basement apartment in Venice Beach sounded exciting (and still does, I have to admit) I could never actually bring myself to do it.
That's the same reason I didn't move to Chicago right after graduating from college, even though it is a city where I've always wanted to live. I had just graduated, didn't have a job, didn't have a roommate, didn't have a place to live...it seemed like the list of what I didn't have and couldn't count on was too long to even consider. So I opted for practicality and moved back home with my parents.
And I'm still there today.
So I look back and I wonder whether I made the right decisions. I look back on the dreams that I had for myself, and I'm not really sure when or how I decided they couldn't come true. And I wonder: Can we ever really be sure of the path that we create for ourselves?
Question: What did you want to be when you grew up?
I ask this because I've been trying to remember lately why I chose my profession. Don't get me wrong - I love being in public relations, and I'm very, very good at what I do. I declared my major in college and never looked back. I absolutely made the right career choice, one that I've never regretted. In the grand scheme of things, I'm probably pretty lucky to actually be doing (and liking) what I set out to do in the first place.
But that's not what I wanted to be when I was a child. The life that I have created for myself wasn't a childhood dream. Actually, when I was a kid, I wanted to be an entertainer. I wanted to be an actress, a singer, a fashion icon. I wanted to be rich and famous. At what point did I stop dreaming about being all of those things? At what point did I succum to reality and decide to be something more practical?
I sometimes wish that I had followed that dream. I was in drama club in high school, was in the school's talent show...I even wanted to go to Los Angeles the summer between my senior year in h.s. and freshman year in college to try to "make it." Looking back, what could I have accomplished in three months, really?
But I never followed through on that dream. I'm too practical for that. When it comes to my livelihood and well-being, I'm not a risk taker. I need to know where I'm going to live, where my next paycheck is coming from, etc. So even though picking up and moving to a basement apartment in Venice Beach sounded exciting (and still does, I have to admit) I could never actually bring myself to do it.
That's the same reason I didn't move to Chicago right after graduating from college, even though it is a city where I've always wanted to live. I had just graduated, didn't have a job, didn't have a roommate, didn't have a place to live...it seemed like the list of what I didn't have and couldn't count on was too long to even consider. So I opted for practicality and moved back home with my parents.
And I'm still there today.
So I look back and I wonder whether I made the right decisions. I look back on the dreams that I had for myself, and I'm not really sure when or how I decided they couldn't come true. And I wonder: Can we ever really be sure of the path that we create for ourselves?
Question: What did you want to be when you grew up?
12.06.2005
Snow showers
I'm waiting for the snow.
The first big snowfall of the season is supposed to occur tonight, and I can't wait. I love the first snowfall, especially this close to Christmas. It truly feels like the holidays when there are a couple of inches of snow glistening in the yards.
The clouds build up steadily throughout the day, and you can smell it in the air that something is about to happen. The atmosphere gets heavy. The first few snowflakes drift down - hopefully, big, fat flakes that stick to your nose and forehead and eyelashes. And of course, you have to catch a couple on your tongue, a throw-back to childhood that is just too good to pass up.
There is a silence to snow....the whole world gets quiet. You're cocooned inside your house, all snuggly with a thick sweater and a fire and hot chocolate. Its like being in a snow globe, all beautiful and quiet and still. And the moonlight! The whole world takes on an ethereal glimmer.
The first snow should be celebrated. I can't wait for it to come down!
The first big snowfall of the season is supposed to occur tonight, and I can't wait. I love the first snowfall, especially this close to Christmas. It truly feels like the holidays when there are a couple of inches of snow glistening in the yards.
The clouds build up steadily throughout the day, and you can smell it in the air that something is about to happen. The atmosphere gets heavy. The first few snowflakes drift down - hopefully, big, fat flakes that stick to your nose and forehead and eyelashes. And of course, you have to catch a couple on your tongue, a throw-back to childhood that is just too good to pass up.
There is a silence to snow....the whole world gets quiet. You're cocooned inside your house, all snuggly with a thick sweater and a fire and hot chocolate. Its like being in a snow globe, all beautiful and quiet and still. And the moonlight! The whole world takes on an ethereal glimmer.
The first snow should be celebrated. I can't wait for it to come down!
12.02.2005
Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?!
And this is why I started this blog. Because things like the scenario that follows only happen to me. First, a little history. Then the actual point of this post.
Meet Jason (fondly remembered as squinty-eyed Jason to some...), a man 7 years my senior whom I dated briefly (read: 2 months) in 2003. He is a nice enough guy, for a rocket scientist. Literally, a rocket scientist: He was getting his Master's in aerospace engineering via a certain branch of our fine country's armed forces.
Things went south after a few weeks of dating...that happens to me sometimes. I think I like a guy, we date for a bit, and then I get bored and stop dating them. The boyfriends I have had (three official ones) have been the guys that capture my interest immediately and then keep capturing it. Aaaaanyway, that's what happened with Jason - after a few weeks, he started to annoy me and I got bored. I thought I'd just stick it out and see if his annoying habits became less annoying over time. They didn't. I started to pull away. He started to cling harder. Oh god.
And then the fateful night that will be indelibly printed on my mind forever, and the night that I officially became the worst person in the world: New Year's Eve, 2003. A party at my house. A very fun party, with lots of food and drink, and a few good friends. The perfect get-together. Until HE showed up - that'd be Jason. Already slightly drunk from another party he'd attended. Ready to ring in the new year with his girl. Ew.
I'm not even sure how it started...but somehow, we started arguing. He pulled me out onto the front porch of my house. More arguing ensued. Then the unacceptable: He yelled, "What the f*#%, LAUREN!" and did that whole angry moving your body towards the other person thing. Hands in the air, flailing wildly.
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
I politely responded that no one speaks to me in that way. Then I told him to get the f#$% out of my house. Immediately. And that is when he started crying. I kid you not, ladies and gentlemen. Crying real, grown-men tears. Over a girl he'd known exactly two months?
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
And that is when I told him he really needed to leave. That it wasn't working out. That he really needed to go, because I didn't want him at my house anymore. Yes, I "broke up" with him on New Year's Eve.
He ended up leaving, and a few days after the "break up" when I dropped off the alcohol he'd left at my house (there was no way I was keeping that shit) he told me about a very informative story he'd seen on CNN, about couples who had been married less than a year but were already having trouble. He informed me that he could see parallels between our relationship and the ones on tv. He felt that we could work through our problems, and take some of the marriage counseling tips that the CNN story had and apply them to our relationship to make it better. I told him no. He started crying again. I got out of there - fast.
And then he started stalking me.
I guess technically it isn't stalking - not in that scary, police on speed dial, restraining order stalking way. But he called me every Wednesday, at the same time of day, for a month. He emailed me three or four times a week (plaintively asking "why aren't you returning my calls?" each time). Until I finally told him that I thought it would be a good idea if he stopped contacting me altogether. When he moved to California in May of 2004, I was relieved that I'd never see/hear from him again.
The emails started coming about a year after we met, but only sporadically and always very neutral in tone - you know, the "how is the family" and "how was your Christmas"-type emails. I send friendly replies. I send Christmas cards. But that is the extent of it. Until today, when I received an email informing me that he'd been in my neck of the woods next week. Keep in mind that my neck of the woods is Dayton, Ohio. He'll be in Nashville, Tennessee. And as he said in his email, "I know its kinda far, but if you can make it down, we can party like country rock stars, plus you'll have a place to stay. I'm staying at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel..."
Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?! You crazy-ass muthafucka, did you seriously just ask me to drive to Nashville to see and STAY WITH YOU after I haven't seen you for TWO YEARS? And, like, who else does this happen to? And by this, I mean stalker-esque, squinty-eyed, emotionally damaged ex-whatever-he-is's asking them to come visit him in Nashville, a good 6 hour drive away. When, for all he knows, I could very well have a boyfriend (and I did, the last time I talked to him) or be married or a lesbian or JUST NOT INTERESTED.
Now, am I being a little over sensitive, or is that just weird? And how do I keep this from happening again? Thoughts, reactions, gag reflexes? C'mon people!
Meet Jason (fondly remembered as squinty-eyed Jason to some...), a man 7 years my senior whom I dated briefly (read: 2 months) in 2003. He is a nice enough guy, for a rocket scientist. Literally, a rocket scientist: He was getting his Master's in aerospace engineering via a certain branch of our fine country's armed forces.
Things went south after a few weeks of dating...that happens to me sometimes. I think I like a guy, we date for a bit, and then I get bored and stop dating them. The boyfriends I have had (three official ones) have been the guys that capture my interest immediately and then keep capturing it. Aaaaanyway, that's what happened with Jason - after a few weeks, he started to annoy me and I got bored. I thought I'd just stick it out and see if his annoying habits became less annoying over time. They didn't. I started to pull away. He started to cling harder. Oh god.
And then the fateful night that will be indelibly printed on my mind forever, and the night that I officially became the worst person in the world: New Year's Eve, 2003. A party at my house. A very fun party, with lots of food and drink, and a few good friends. The perfect get-together. Until HE showed up - that'd be Jason. Already slightly drunk from another party he'd attended. Ready to ring in the new year with his girl. Ew.
I'm not even sure how it started...but somehow, we started arguing. He pulled me out onto the front porch of my house. More arguing ensued. Then the unacceptable: He yelled, "What the f*#%, LAUREN!" and did that whole angry moving your body towards the other person thing. Hands in the air, flailing wildly.
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
I politely responded that no one speaks to me in that way. Then I told him to get the f#$% out of my house. Immediately. And that is when he started crying. I kid you not, ladies and gentlemen. Crying real, grown-men tears. Over a girl he'd known exactly two months?
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
And that is when I told him he really needed to leave. That it wasn't working out. That he really needed to go, because I didn't want him at my house anymore. Yes, I "broke up" with him on New Year's Eve.
He ended up leaving, and a few days after the "break up" when I dropped off the alcohol he'd left at my house (there was no way I was keeping that shit) he told me about a very informative story he'd seen on CNN, about couples who had been married less than a year but were already having trouble. He informed me that he could see parallels between our relationship and the ones on tv. He felt that we could work through our problems, and take some of the marriage counseling tips that the CNN story had and apply them to our relationship to make it better. I told him no. He started crying again. I got out of there - fast.
And then he started stalking me.
I guess technically it isn't stalking - not in that scary, police on speed dial, restraining order stalking way. But he called me every Wednesday, at the same time of day, for a month. He emailed me three or four times a week (plaintively asking "why aren't you returning my calls?" each time). Until I finally told him that I thought it would be a good idea if he stopped contacting me altogether. When he moved to California in May of 2004, I was relieved that I'd never see/hear from him again.
The emails started coming about a year after we met, but only sporadically and always very neutral in tone - you know, the "how is the family" and "how was your Christmas"-type emails. I send friendly replies. I send Christmas cards. But that is the extent of it. Until today, when I received an email informing me that he'd been in my neck of the woods next week. Keep in mind that my neck of the woods is Dayton, Ohio. He'll be in Nashville, Tennessee. And as he said in his email, "I know its kinda far, but if you can make it down, we can party like country rock stars, plus you'll have a place to stay. I'm staying at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel..."
Seriously? No, SERIOUSLY?! You crazy-ass muthafucka, did you seriously just ask me to drive to Nashville to see and STAY WITH YOU after I haven't seen you for TWO YEARS? And, like, who else does this happen to? And by this, I mean stalker-esque, squinty-eyed, emotionally damaged ex-whatever-he-is's asking them to come visit him in Nashville, a good 6 hour drive away. When, for all he knows, I could very well have a boyfriend (and I did, the last time I talked to him) or be married or a lesbian or JUST NOT INTERESTED.
Now, am I being a little over sensitive, or is that just weird? And how do I keep this from happening again? Thoughts, reactions, gag reflexes? C'mon people!
11.30.2005
The goodness of humanity
Every now and then, I start to lose faith in the goodness of humanity. Then a story like this one (as reported by MSNBC) comes along and my faith in the human race is restored.
Cabbies strikes gold for returning lost diamonds
Wow! A cabbie finds more than a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds and he returns them. His honesty is rewarded. It just goes to show you that the most humble among us are sometimes the most decent, honest, good people that we might ever encounter.
Question: If you found a ton of diamonds in the back of your cab, would you return them? How long would you search before you found their rightful owner? And what does your answer say about you?
Cabbies strikes gold for returning lost diamonds
Wow! A cabbie finds more than a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds and he returns them. His honesty is rewarded. It just goes to show you that the most humble among us are sometimes the most decent, honest, good people that we might ever encounter.
Question: If you found a ton of diamonds in the back of your cab, would you return them? How long would you search before you found their rightful owner? And what does your answer say about you?
11.28.2005
Holy Ex-Boyfriends, Batman!
In the past week, I have received "we should hang outs" from not one, but TWO ex-boyfriends. Andy, my most recent ex-boyfriend (whom I did see on Wednesday, gooooood time) and Nathan, my very first serious ex-boyfriend (whom I haven't spoken to or seen since September). These two men in particular seem to move in and out of my life at the most random and bizarre times.
Do they come back because I'm such a catch, or do they come back because I'm a last resort? Something to ponder...
Do they come back because I'm such a catch, or do they come back because I'm a last resort? Something to ponder...
11.22.2005
The forgotten holiday
Thursday marks the annual return of America's forgotten holiday: Thanksgiving. And while most Americans will consume copious amounts of fowl, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole, it seems that more people are gearing up for the start of the holiday shopping season than they are Thanksgiving's past times of football, cranberry sauce and vast amounts of alcohol.
Thanksgiving is, technically speaking, America's oldest national holiday. It came way before Independence Day was declared in 1770whatever. But more and more, the gap between Halloween and Christmas grows increasingly more dedicated to snow globes, Santas and the Coke polar bears. What happened to turkeys, cornucopias, Pilgrims and pumpkin pie? Why did the perenially cheesy Christmas ornaments appear before the July 4th overstock was off the shelves at Sears? Why is it that Thanksgiving has become the red-headed step child of national holidays, seemingly crammed between a holiday dedicated to witches and goblins and a holiday dedicated to a jolly fat man? (And don't even get me started on the vast commercialization of Christmas...I'm sure that post will come in a few months.)
I think that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of all the ones that I celebrate. I love waking up and watching the Macy's Day Parade, eating the special breakfast that my family only eats on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter (Eggs Benedict, fresh squeezed orange juice and this delicious, crumb-topped coffee cake), watching football all day, the smells that fill the house, setting the table, the few precious moments of silence while everyone savors those first bites of Thanksgiving finery before asking someone to pass the rolls. I love the anticipation that builds as the day approaches, and knowing that the holiday season has begun. I love that there is still more anticipation of holiday celebrations to come, because there isn't that let-down that I always feel after Christmas has come and gone.
Let's remember to celebrate and anticipate Thanksgiving this year, folks. Eat a little turkey, take a little nap and be thankful that the holiday season is truly upon us. And if all else fails, at least stuff yourself with pie and potatoes until you can barely move.
Thanksgiving is, technically speaking, America's oldest national holiday. It came way before Independence Day was declared in 1770whatever. But more and more, the gap between Halloween and Christmas grows increasingly more dedicated to snow globes, Santas and the Coke polar bears. What happened to turkeys, cornucopias, Pilgrims and pumpkin pie? Why did the perenially cheesy Christmas ornaments appear before the July 4th overstock was off the shelves at Sears? Why is it that Thanksgiving has become the red-headed step child of national holidays, seemingly crammed between a holiday dedicated to witches and goblins and a holiday dedicated to a jolly fat man? (And don't even get me started on the vast commercialization of Christmas...I'm sure that post will come in a few months.)
I think that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of all the ones that I celebrate. I love waking up and watching the Macy's Day Parade, eating the special breakfast that my family only eats on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter (Eggs Benedict, fresh squeezed orange juice and this delicious, crumb-topped coffee cake), watching football all day, the smells that fill the house, setting the table, the few precious moments of silence while everyone savors those first bites of Thanksgiving finery before asking someone to pass the rolls. I love the anticipation that builds as the day approaches, and knowing that the holiday season has begun. I love that there is still more anticipation of holiday celebrations to come, because there isn't that let-down that I always feel after Christmas has come and gone.
Let's remember to celebrate and anticipate Thanksgiving this year, folks. Eat a little turkey, take a little nap and be thankful that the holiday season is truly upon us. And if all else fails, at least stuff yourself with pie and potatoes until you can barely move.
11.21.2005
Mr. Laughs-at-my-jokes
I was talking with one of my friends the other day about marriage. She came up with her "Top 10" list of qualities that she wants her husband to have. Then she asked for mine. I kind of struggled with what I'd want in a husband, because although I've though about getting married, it has always been in that abstract kind of way. Like, I can appreciate what it takes to be married and what a struggle it can be, but what a reward it can be as well....and it sounds nice and all, don't get me wrong. But it is SO not what occupies my mind right now.
So I came up with the list that I'd like my ideal boyfriend to have...and since a husband is sort of like a glorified boyfriend, I think I'm probably on the right track. So here goes:
1) Tell me you love me every day. Tell me you're glad that you're married to me and occasionally tell me that it is the best decision you ever made.
2) Never go to bed angry. Fight with me until we make up, but always make up.
3) Have a "date night" where it is just us - even when we have kids.
4) On those "date nights", trade off between things I want to do and things you wants to do. Make plans...but make them as suggestions, not as requests. Be assertive in your date making! And I'll do the same.
5) Make love with me at least once a week. And let's occasionally do the dirty.
6) Leave me alone while I'm puking - but have a glass of water ready when I'm done.
7) Bring me flowers, but not just on our anniversary or my birthday. That is too stereotypical and shows no creativity or real though. Bring me flowers because. Just because.
8) Do the dishes if I cook. Or cook, and I'll do the dishes. And I promise to always sort and start the laundry, if you'll fold.
9) Laugh at my jokes, even when they are lame.
10) Be honest with me about everything. Tell me if I don't look good in those pants, just don't tell me my butt looks huge.
If I had to add anything, it would be that Mr. Laughs-at-my-jokes take me at my word. If I say that I want him to tell me his opinion, or tell me the truth, that is what I want him to do. I don't want a guy who tells me what he thinks I want to hear. I like to date people who are opinionated and aren't shy about telling me what they think or putting me in my place. Otherwise, I'll probably see right through you, roll my eyes, tell you you're full of shit and then ask what you really think.
Thanks for listening, world. If you know Mr. Laughs-at-my-jokes, you can give him my number.
So I came up with the list that I'd like my ideal boyfriend to have...and since a husband is sort of like a glorified boyfriend, I think I'm probably on the right track. So here goes:
1) Tell me you love me every day. Tell me you're glad that you're married to me and occasionally tell me that it is the best decision you ever made.
2) Never go to bed angry. Fight with me until we make up, but always make up.
3) Have a "date night" where it is just us - even when we have kids.
4) On those "date nights", trade off between things I want to do and things you wants to do. Make plans...but make them as suggestions, not as requests. Be assertive in your date making! And I'll do the same.
5) Make love with me at least once a week. And let's occasionally do the dirty.
6) Leave me alone while I'm puking - but have a glass of water ready when I'm done.
7) Bring me flowers, but not just on our anniversary or my birthday. That is too stereotypical and shows no creativity or real though. Bring me flowers because. Just because.
8) Do the dishes if I cook. Or cook, and I'll do the dishes. And I promise to always sort and start the laundry, if you'll fold.
9) Laugh at my jokes, even when they are lame.
10) Be honest with me about everything. Tell me if I don't look good in those pants, just don't tell me my butt looks huge.
If I had to add anything, it would be that Mr. Laughs-at-my-jokes take me at my word. If I say that I want him to tell me his opinion, or tell me the truth, that is what I want him to do. I don't want a guy who tells me what he thinks I want to hear. I like to date people who are opinionated and aren't shy about telling me what they think or putting me in my place. Otherwise, I'll probably see right through you, roll my eyes, tell you you're full of shit and then ask what you really think.
Thanks for listening, world. If you know Mr. Laughs-at-my-jokes, you can give him my number.
11.15.2005
Raquetball Dodgeball
My brother and his roommate made up this game: Raquet Dodgeball. Here is a link to a video he made. It's actually pretty funny.
http://media.mattdoyle.net/video/RacquetDodgeball.wmv
Yup, that's my brother.
http://media.mattdoyle.net/video/RacquetDodgeball.wmv
Yup, that's my brother.
11.11.2005
My kind of town, Chicago is...
I'm going to Chicago, my favorite city in the world! But I'm going in January, so the lake winds and snow might take a little bit of the fun out of it. Still, I'm excited!
The reason that I'm going is because one of my clients is attending their biggest trade show of the year. Although I'm going for business, not just to visit, I'm still excited. Plus, everything is being taken care of by the client...food, accommodations, travel, etc...so the trip is free. Yay for expense accounts!
Here's the thing about that I love about Chicago: It has all of the appeal, culture, hustle and bustle of a huge city, but it has a friendly, Midwest vibe that makes it seem smaller than it really is. I love the smells of Chicago. I love taking the train in and out of the city, the crush of people as the doors slide open and everyone tries to get on, get off and get going at the same time. I love rush hour, strangely enough. I love Michigan Avenue. I love the high rise buildings. I love that you can find pretty much any cuisine that you want within a 10 block radius. I love that you can stop a stranger and ask for directions and they don't look at you like you are crazy! But I hate trying to find parking...that's a drawback.
Chicago is the only city that I have ever been able to picture myself living in, other than Dayton. And since Dayton is home, it doesn't really count as a place I want to live. If I could find a job in Chicago, I would move there in a heart beat. The dream lives on!
So, does anyone wanna go to Chicago with me January 22-25?
The reason that I'm going is because one of my clients is attending their biggest trade show of the year. Although I'm going for business, not just to visit, I'm still excited. Plus, everything is being taken care of by the client...food, accommodations, travel, etc...so the trip is free. Yay for expense accounts!
Here's the thing about that I love about Chicago: It has all of the appeal, culture, hustle and bustle of a huge city, but it has a friendly, Midwest vibe that makes it seem smaller than it really is. I love the smells of Chicago. I love taking the train in and out of the city, the crush of people as the doors slide open and everyone tries to get on, get off and get going at the same time. I love rush hour, strangely enough. I love Michigan Avenue. I love the high rise buildings. I love that you can find pretty much any cuisine that you want within a 10 block radius. I love that you can stop a stranger and ask for directions and they don't look at you like you are crazy! But I hate trying to find parking...that's a drawback.
Chicago is the only city that I have ever been able to picture myself living in, other than Dayton. And since Dayton is home, it doesn't really count as a place I want to live. If I could find a job in Chicago, I would move there in a heart beat. The dream lives on!
So, does anyone wanna go to Chicago with me January 22-25?
11.10.2005
Funk-E
I have been in a funk all week. Even my fabulous haircut and facial haven't helped snap me out of it. Then I had date night with my oldest friend in Dayton, David, as I do every Thursday night, and the funk went away. Thank goodness for old friends.
By the way, did you know that Ralph Lauren's real name is Ralph Lifshitz? It's a good thing he changed it, because I don't think Lifshitz would go over real well with the fashion critics.
By the way, did you know that Ralph Lauren's real name is Ralph Lifshitz? It's a good thing he changed it, because I don't think Lifshitz would go over real well with the fashion critics.
11.09.2005
7 inches makes a big difference
So here is the after photo - with straight hair. My stylist cut off about seven inches and darkened my hair by several shades. I'm completely happy with the results!
11.06.2005
Show me whatcha workin' wit
I'm getting my hair cut on Tuesday. Shorter. Much shorter. So I thought I'd do before and after pictures for my viewing audience. So here is my "Before" picture.
11.03.2005
Sex and the City as Life?
I was watching a rerun of the television series "Sex and the City" the other night when it struck me how similar my life is to show, minus (of course) the Manolo Blahniks. In the next episode, it struck me how I wish my life was more like the show. It made me wonder: Do women relate to "Sex and the City" because it closely resembles our lives? Or do we relate to it because it represents the lives that we want?
We all want to lead exciting and fascinating lives. There are weeks, I'll admit, when I come home from work and curl up in my "fat pants" and watch three hours of t.v. Which shows how "Sex and the City" is completely unrealistic - even when Samantha was sick in bed, she never wore sweat pants. She wore a nightie and a silk bathrobe. But I digress.
Then there are other weeks where I feel like my life is an episode of the show. Those are the weeks when my life most closely resembles Carrie's fictional life: A busy social calendar, moments of social anxiety and unusual predicaments, all topped off with great shoes. And I do get myself in some predicaments (you may refer back to my "Hi, I'm a stranger..." post). And I do have some fabulous shoes, even if they aren't Manolos.
Then there are the characters themselves, which really is what draws us to the show in the first place. We feel close to the four women because they remind us of someone: ourselves. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha are caricatures of real women, and that is why we identify so closely with them. They each represent different qualities that every woman has, but they are blown way out of proportion. As a wise friend once told me, every woman is neurotic and full of self-doubt (like Carrie). We're all smart and self-depracating (like Miranda). We are all confident, sexy and uninhibited (a la Samantha). And ultimately, we all desire to love and be loved...not to mention, married...(like Charlotte).
And we all have a Mr. Big. You know who I'm talking about: the guy who is unavailable, who treats us badly and is bad for us, who disappoints us and hurts us and makes us cry, but who we can't live without. We're deeply, viscerally, gut-wrenchingly drawn to Mr. Big. We love him, we hate him, we love to hate him, we hate the way he makes us feel, we love the way he makes us feel, and ultimately, we hate ourselves for loving and hating him, even though it feels SO GOOD.
Of course, the real-life Mr. Big is of the pre-flying to Paris to save Carrie variety. In real life, Mr. Big doesn't fly to Paris. He doesn't save us from another man, or from ourselves. But that doesn't stop us from entertaining fantasies of him recognizing the error of his ways and reforming his bad-boy behavior to be with us. Every woman, at some point in her life, wants Mr. Big to come crawling back.
The only difference between the "Sex and the City" Mr. Big and the real-life Mr. Big is that in real-life, we move on. And our Mr. Big don't look like Chris Noth, but that's a minor detail.
We all want to lead exciting and fascinating lives. There are weeks, I'll admit, when I come home from work and curl up in my "fat pants" and watch three hours of t.v. Which shows how "Sex and the City" is completely unrealistic - even when Samantha was sick in bed, she never wore sweat pants. She wore a nightie and a silk bathrobe. But I digress.
Then there are other weeks where I feel like my life is an episode of the show. Those are the weeks when my life most closely resembles Carrie's fictional life: A busy social calendar, moments of social anxiety and unusual predicaments, all topped off with great shoes. And I do get myself in some predicaments (you may refer back to my "Hi, I'm a stranger..." post). And I do have some fabulous shoes, even if they aren't Manolos.
Then there are the characters themselves, which really is what draws us to the show in the first place. We feel close to the four women because they remind us of someone: ourselves. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha are caricatures of real women, and that is why we identify so closely with them. They each represent different qualities that every woman has, but they are blown way out of proportion. As a wise friend once told me, every woman is neurotic and full of self-doubt (like Carrie). We're all smart and self-depracating (like Miranda). We are all confident, sexy and uninhibited (a la Samantha). And ultimately, we all desire to love and be loved...not to mention, married...(like Charlotte).
And we all have a Mr. Big. You know who I'm talking about: the guy who is unavailable, who treats us badly and is bad for us, who disappoints us and hurts us and makes us cry, but who we can't live without. We're deeply, viscerally, gut-wrenchingly drawn to Mr. Big. We love him, we hate him, we love to hate him, we hate the way he makes us feel, we love the way he makes us feel, and ultimately, we hate ourselves for loving and hating him, even though it feels SO GOOD.
Of course, the real-life Mr. Big is of the pre-flying to Paris to save Carrie variety. In real life, Mr. Big doesn't fly to Paris. He doesn't save us from another man, or from ourselves. But that doesn't stop us from entertaining fantasies of him recognizing the error of his ways and reforming his bad-boy behavior to be with us. Every woman, at some point in her life, wants Mr. Big to come crawling back.
The only difference between the "Sex and the City" Mr. Big and the real-life Mr. Big is that in real-life, we move on. And our Mr. Big don't look like Chris Noth, but that's a minor detail.
10.31.2005
I am a magnet for unavailable men
For the past few years on Halloween, I have met guys that I have ended up dating. Two years ago, it was Jason, whom I dated very briefly before he sketched me out and it had to end. Last year, it was Andy, who I dated off and on until August. So naturally, I met someone again this year.
Meet Andy (hello, irony!), a 27-year-old from Cincinnati. He is smart. He is funny. He is HOT. He is married.
Okay, well not really....anymore. He is in the process of getting a divorce. Apparently, his wife woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore. Specifically, to him.
Which further proves the hypothesis that I am a magnet for unavailable men.
Meet Andy (hello, irony!), a 27-year-old from Cincinnati. He is smart. He is funny. He is HOT. He is married.
Okay, well not really....anymore. He is in the process of getting a divorce. Apparently, his wife woke up one day and decided she didn't want to be married anymore. Specifically, to him.
Which further proves the hypothesis that I am a magnet for unavailable men.
10.29.2005
A shout out to my homies
First, I want to thank everyone who has expressed their support as a result of my last post. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful group of friends, and it is so gratifying to see that friendship played out through IMs, phone calls and comments to this blog. I love you guys!
Second, I want to laugh about something that one friend in particular said. "As your friend, I want you to know that I support your decision. But as a red-blooded, heterosexual male chauvenist pig, I am sad." That one made me giggle.
In truth, I'm a little sad myself. Will I regret it? Will I wish that I still had big boobs once I don't have them anymore? The answer that I keep coming up with is: Probably not.
Second, I want to laugh about something that one friend in particular said. "As your friend, I want you to know that I support your decision. But as a red-blooded, heterosexual male chauvenist pig, I am sad." That one made me giggle.
In truth, I'm a little sad myself. Will I regret it? Will I wish that I still had big boobs once I don't have them anymore? The answer that I keep coming up with is: Probably not.
10.24.2005
Boobs: Not everybody loves 'em
I felt that it was time to provide you with a bit of social commentary (read: blog rage) on everyone's favorite topic: boobs. More specifically, my boobs. It is unfortunate that they are such a topic of conversation, yet it seems I don't go a day without someone making a comment. Men, women, friends, strangers. Why does it seem that everyone feels compelled to inform me of the size of my chest? I've had these boobs of mine for quite some time now. I get it.
Part of it may be that I often make comments myself. I try to make jokes and laugh about it. So that may be why people think it is okay to bring the topic up at any given moment. But has anyone stopped to think about the fact that this might be a defense mechanism after having endured years of countless cat calls, questions, or just out-and-out stares?!
Here's an example. I was out at OSU this past weekend with my brother. On the way to the bar, I got a, "Nice tits" from a passing car. On the way home, a similar comment was thrown at me from a balcony.
My response was a very polite "#$%& you!" to the first and a "so does your mom" the second. I'm so used to comments like these that I have an arsenal of witty remarks, dirty looks and "I'm-ignoring-you" tactics at the ready. But it doesn't mean that comments like these bounce off me, like I'm the Bionic Girl or something. (Did the Bionic Girl have bounce-off super powers?)
I mean, I'm with my BROTHER for God's sake. Common sense and good manners should prevail, and men should refrain from yelling. I mean, it's not like I'm yelling at them about the size of their penis (although most men would probably appreciate any comment about their penis because it would mean that I'm looking at it. And they therefore have a chance of sleeping with me.) But here's the thing: they don't. Men tend to think with the head that is south of their neck, not the one that is north.
To me, having big boobs, and being constantly reminded of the fact, is kind of like being on the receiving end of a racial epithet. It becomes my only identifier. Instead of being the girl with the fun personality or whatever, I become the girl with the big boobs. And when I try to explain that calling me out on the size of my chest just ain't cool, I become the bitchy girl who can't take a compliment or a joke. What gives?!
And here's the other thing. I'm someone's sister. I'm someone's daughter. I could be someone's girlfriend, lover or wife. I'm a person, who despite years of tolerating cat calls and stares, is still appalled and hurt and beaten-down when it happens. Would you want someone to say things like that to your sister, to your mom, to your best friend?
It is humiliating. It is hurtful. It is degrading. Not to mention that sexual harassment is generally ill-advised.
You don't realize the toll that it takes. When a guy comes up to me and wants to buy me a drink, or tells me that I'm hot or whatever, I don't think it is because he noticed my sparkling wit or pretty face. I think it is because I have a huge pair of cans. More often than not, that is because it is true. I second-guess everyone's motives. You have no idea how disheartening it is to be talking to someone and have to physically readjust their line of vision (i.e. use my finger to push their chin up, or just walk away) so that they are looking at your face instead of your chest.
There is also a certain stereotype that comes along with big boobs. Because I'm tiny everywhere else, people tend to think that my breasts are implants. I have actually had guys take bets on whether they are actually real (imagine my horror when a man recently copped a feel to win said bet)!!! Women have asked me, or kids who haven't quite learned that it isn't polite to ask if you've ever had plastic surgery.
Then there is the stereotype that because I have big boobs, I must be easy. A whole 'nother can of worms, that one. Sometimes, it is assumed that because of my physical appearance, I'll sleep with anyone. Ain't. Gonna. Happen.
Even women say things to me! Trust me, ladies, you don't want an extra 10 pounds of fat hanging from the front of your chest. It gets you plenty of attention, but not the type of attention that you want. I realize that to some, I'm "lucky." Cleavage in a turtleneck is not lucky.
Not to mention the physical effects. Stretch marks (at 24!!), grooves in my shoulders, back pain that is so constant that I have always assumed it was normal. I can't run because my chest muscles get too sore. I can't lay on my back sometimes because it feels like it is breaking. But this might officially cross into the "too much information" territory.
All in all, big tits ain't what they're cracked up to be. Unless you're a Playboy bunny and you're going to make millions of dollars from a nude centerfold. Which sort of brings me back to the whole stereotype thing.
Luckily, I hope to not have to worry about this for too much longer. I have started the process to have a breast reduction. If the insurance company approves it, I should have the surgery in the first part of 2006. My plastic surgeon said that 100% of the patients he has treated were happy with their results and glad that they'd had the surgery. So I'm looking forward to it, as much as a person can look forward to a major surgery.
Then I'll really have a nice rack. And I won't have to use "so does your mom" anymore.
Part of it may be that I often make comments myself. I try to make jokes and laugh about it. So that may be why people think it is okay to bring the topic up at any given moment. But has anyone stopped to think about the fact that this might be a defense mechanism after having endured years of countless cat calls, questions, or just out-and-out stares?!
Here's an example. I was out at OSU this past weekend with my brother. On the way to the bar, I got a, "Nice tits" from a passing car. On the way home, a similar comment was thrown at me from a balcony.
My response was a very polite "#$%& you!" to the first and a "so does your mom" the second. I'm so used to comments like these that I have an arsenal of witty remarks, dirty looks and "I'm-ignoring-you" tactics at the ready. But it doesn't mean that comments like these bounce off me, like I'm the Bionic Girl or something. (Did the Bionic Girl have bounce-off super powers?)
I mean, I'm with my BROTHER for God's sake. Common sense and good manners should prevail, and men should refrain from yelling. I mean, it's not like I'm yelling at them about the size of their penis (although most men would probably appreciate any comment about their penis because it would mean that I'm looking at it. And they therefore have a chance of sleeping with me.) But here's the thing: they don't. Men tend to think with the head that is south of their neck, not the one that is north.
To me, having big boobs, and being constantly reminded of the fact, is kind of like being on the receiving end of a racial epithet. It becomes my only identifier. Instead of being the girl with the fun personality or whatever, I become the girl with the big boobs. And when I try to explain that calling me out on the size of my chest just ain't cool, I become the bitchy girl who can't take a compliment or a joke. What gives?!
And here's the other thing. I'm someone's sister. I'm someone's daughter. I could be someone's girlfriend, lover or wife. I'm a person, who despite years of tolerating cat calls and stares, is still appalled and hurt and beaten-down when it happens. Would you want someone to say things like that to your sister, to your mom, to your best friend?
It is humiliating. It is hurtful. It is degrading. Not to mention that sexual harassment is generally ill-advised.
You don't realize the toll that it takes. When a guy comes up to me and wants to buy me a drink, or tells me that I'm hot or whatever, I don't think it is because he noticed my sparkling wit or pretty face. I think it is because I have a huge pair of cans. More often than not, that is because it is true. I second-guess everyone's motives. You have no idea how disheartening it is to be talking to someone and have to physically readjust their line of vision (i.e. use my finger to push their chin up, or just walk away) so that they are looking at your face instead of your chest.
There is also a certain stereotype that comes along with big boobs. Because I'm tiny everywhere else, people tend to think that my breasts are implants. I have actually had guys take bets on whether they are actually real (imagine my horror when a man recently copped a feel to win said bet)!!! Women have asked me, or kids who haven't quite learned that it isn't polite to ask if you've ever had plastic surgery.
Then there is the stereotype that because I have big boobs, I must be easy. A whole 'nother can of worms, that one. Sometimes, it is assumed that because of my physical appearance, I'll sleep with anyone. Ain't. Gonna. Happen.
Even women say things to me! Trust me, ladies, you don't want an extra 10 pounds of fat hanging from the front of your chest. It gets you plenty of attention, but not the type of attention that you want. I realize that to some, I'm "lucky." Cleavage in a turtleneck is not lucky.
Not to mention the physical effects. Stretch marks (at 24!!), grooves in my shoulders, back pain that is so constant that I have always assumed it was normal. I can't run because my chest muscles get too sore. I can't lay on my back sometimes because it feels like it is breaking. But this might officially cross into the "too much information" territory.
All in all, big tits ain't what they're cracked up to be. Unless you're a Playboy bunny and you're going to make millions of dollars from a nude centerfold. Which sort of brings me back to the whole stereotype thing.
Luckily, I hope to not have to worry about this for too much longer. I have started the process to have a breast reduction. If the insurance company approves it, I should have the surgery in the first part of 2006. My plastic surgeon said that 100% of the patients he has treated were happy with their results and glad that they'd had the surgery. So I'm looking forward to it, as much as a person can look forward to a major surgery.
Then I'll really have a nice rack. And I won't have to use "so does your mom" anymore.
10.20.2005
Hi, I'm a stranger. Can I touch your baby?
Allison's last night in town was last night, so to celebrate (read: mourn) her move to Columbus, we went to the Oregon District for dinner and drinks. Our Constantine "the camera loves my sexy, pouty look" Maroulis look-alike waiter spent more time checking himself out (read: fixing his hair) than serving, but it was fine.
Then later, when we were walking down Fifth Street en route to the Trolley Stop, I said the most inappropriate thing I have ever said. "Hi, I'm a stranger. Can I touch your baby?"
In my defense, it wasn't supposed to come out like that. There was this DARLING baby, being held by his mommy, just sitting there checkin' things out. He had on this little brown courderoy jacket and one of those little caps with the bill and the ear flaps. And he had all this dark, curly hair and these big brown eyes and he was just so cute that I had to stop and look at him. And when he reached out his hand (presumably to give me a high five), that was the point at which the most inappropriate thing I have ever said tumbled out of my mouth. "Hi, I'm a stranger. Can I touch your baby?"
Sheesh....
Then later, when we were walking down Fifth Street en route to the Trolley Stop, I said the most inappropriate thing I have ever said. "Hi, I'm a stranger. Can I touch your baby?"
In my defense, it wasn't supposed to come out like that. There was this DARLING baby, being held by his mommy, just sitting there checkin' things out. He had on this little brown courderoy jacket and one of those little caps with the bill and the ear flaps. And he had all this dark, curly hair and these big brown eyes and he was just so cute that I had to stop and look at him. And when he reached out his hand (presumably to give me a high five), that was the point at which the most inappropriate thing I have ever said tumbled out of my mouth. "Hi, I'm a stranger. Can I touch your baby?"
Sheesh....
10.17.2005
I must be crazy
I must be crazy. I just turned down the job in Cincinnati. A job that offered me more money in a better run, larger company. A job that opened up new possibilities and opportunities. A job that had more pros than cons. And I turned it down?!
I've decided that here is where I really want to be right now. The position was to promote the agency, a job that I would be very good at, but not completely satisfied with. It wasn't until I went through the interview process that I realized that the client experience and the account management experience is really what I want. And when she asked me whether my decision would change if there was an opening the PR Department, my answer was basically no, not at this time. I guess I kind of like living in Dayton.
The lady who would have been my boss gave me this piece of advice: Keep in mind whether you are really ready to make a move when you are going through the interview process. It is an investment in time for both you and the company. It made me feel sort of bad for a minute, like she was chastising me for going through the process and then making the decision that I did. But right now, at this point in time, it is absolutely the right decision. And I'm not going to feel bad about it. It is just business.
So I guess it is back to work at the job that I am keeping. I hope I'm not kicking myself in six months.
I've decided that here is where I really want to be right now. The position was to promote the agency, a job that I would be very good at, but not completely satisfied with. It wasn't until I went through the interview process that I realized that the client experience and the account management experience is really what I want. And when she asked me whether my decision would change if there was an opening the PR Department, my answer was basically no, not at this time. I guess I kind of like living in Dayton.
The lady who would have been my boss gave me this piece of advice: Keep in mind whether you are really ready to make a move when you are going through the interview process. It is an investment in time for both you and the company. It made me feel sort of bad for a minute, like she was chastising me for going through the process and then making the decision that I did. But right now, at this point in time, it is absolutely the right decision. And I'm not going to feel bad about it. It is just business.
So I guess it is back to work at the job that I am keeping. I hope I'm not kicking myself in six months.
10.14.2005
Port-O-Potties in the roadway
Nothing can make your morning better than hearing your morning traffic reporter say, "There are Port-O-Potties in the roadway, Southbouth 75 near the Springboro exit. Crews are trying to clean up, but it may be a slow-go through that stretch."
Aaah, the morning commute.
My morning commute might be getting a little more difficult, actually. I've been offered a job with an awesome company in Cincinnati. I have until Monday to make my decision. The work is really different, and I wouldn't have any clients, per se. My "client" would be the agency itself, because it is an internal PR position. It could be a really exciting change and a good opportunity to get some additional experience. But I'm afraid of failing. And even though it is more money, I'm happy in Dayton. I have friends here. My family is here. I like my work and I like my clients and I'm not sure if I want to leave all of that behind. Granted, I'd only be an hour away - but it is a big change in a very short amount of time.
As further proof that this blog might actually be a good idea, I received the following message in my fortune cookie yesterday: You should share your insight with friends. Karma, anyone?
Aaah, the morning commute.
My morning commute might be getting a little more difficult, actually. I've been offered a job with an awesome company in Cincinnati. I have until Monday to make my decision. The work is really different, and I wouldn't have any clients, per se. My "client" would be the agency itself, because it is an internal PR position. It could be a really exciting change and a good opportunity to get some additional experience. But I'm afraid of failing. And even though it is more money, I'm happy in Dayton. I have friends here. My family is here. I like my work and I like my clients and I'm not sure if I want to leave all of that behind. Granted, I'd only be an hour away - but it is a big change in a very short amount of time.
As further proof that this blog might actually be a good idea, I received the following message in my fortune cookie yesterday: You should share your insight with friends. Karma, anyone?
10.13.2005
Falling to the dark side...
So, this is it.
I've fallen to the dark side and started a blog.
I know what you're thinking: How could the most technically-challenged person on the face of this planet every consider starting - and running - a blog? I can barely operate my cell phone most days. And I know that the number of people reading said blog will be limited to a few dedicated friends...but I thought it would be fun to share the crazy, quirky, funny, sad and scary moments of my life with a few million people worldwide. Yes, I'm a maverick.
So here it is, my first post! I guarantee they will get better with time. Well, no, I can't guarantee that...but I'll try.
So I guess you are all probably wondering about the title of my blog, "Gripping the Dashboard". It seems that every blogger has a deep and meaningful - or at least somewhat witty - title for their blog. Some are quirky, some are irreverant, some are descriptive of their personalities. I got nothin'.
So I got this. And I kind of like it. I suppose there is some double meaning there, i.e. I'm riding life along at a frightening pace, gripping the dashboard and trying desperately to keep from falling out of the car. And there's my deep thought for the day. Now I think I'll go get some Chinese food....
I've fallen to the dark side and started a blog.
I know what you're thinking: How could the most technically-challenged person on the face of this planet every consider starting - and running - a blog? I can barely operate my cell phone most days. And I know that the number of people reading said blog will be limited to a few dedicated friends...but I thought it would be fun to share the crazy, quirky, funny, sad and scary moments of my life with a few million people worldwide. Yes, I'm a maverick.
So here it is, my first post! I guarantee they will get better with time. Well, no, I can't guarantee that...but I'll try.
So I guess you are all probably wondering about the title of my blog, "Gripping the Dashboard". It seems that every blogger has a deep and meaningful - or at least somewhat witty - title for their blog. Some are quirky, some are irreverant, some are descriptive of their personalities. I got nothin'.
So I got this. And I kind of like it. I suppose there is some double meaning there, i.e. I'm riding life along at a frightening pace, gripping the dashboard and trying desperately to keep from falling out of the car. And there's my deep thought for the day. Now I think I'll go get some Chinese food....
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