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.
10.31.2005
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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