February 2013 – A Series of Very Bad Decisions

Fun with G-Chat

Ah GMail – it is a wonderful thing. It auto-archives all my chats and between that and me keeping all e-mails, I now have about 400 million options of WTF to pick from for the book. Of course, not everything can go in there, but some chats are just too good not to at least talk about. So I now present to you, “Fun with GChat, 2009”:

Scene One:

Me: yeah he is definitely being shady

Anon: my friends are telling me to drop him like a hot potato. I don’t think that’s necessarily fair. I don’t think it’s a lost cause. I agree that he’s being an idiot and shady as hell, but I’ve been there, sort of, and if he ever gets his head out of his ass I think it will be worth the trouble. Just, you know, hoping that actually happens.

AND, SCENE.

Okay, what we have here is a lot of excuses and a lot of over analyzing. But what we DO NOT have is someone to say, “Hey, he’s being shady. End of story. Let’s go with: this is not and never will be worth the trouble.” Or if we did have that, we wouldn’t listen anyway.

Scene Two, a continuation:

Me: yeah. Then again you also don’t want to catch him on the rebound. Those never end well. For example, me & Dr. Evil.

Anon: true enough

Me: I love how at your party, in front of Beth, Ben was like, “we’ve both seen Dr. Evil’s Mini-Me”.

Anon: OMFG, that was hilarious.

Me: I know it totally was, but poor Beth was probably like this girl is a WHORE, and then with Ben talking about the strip club, all that’s getting back to John Doe, I would almost guarantee.

Anon: well so what?! Let it!

Me: well, you remember the game telephone, right? I whisper: I have a crush on Pat and by the end it turns into Turtle sex is funny. So this will be like an innocent story gone awry, by the time it gets back to him I will have done a body shot off a stripper’s cleavage before having a threesome in the back room.

AND, SCENE.

What we have here is a disaster. Let’s do this in bullets, it’s easier:

Issue 1 = Beth. Beth was a girl I met at a party John Doe and his roommates had one weekend. Because he was nice to her, I immediately felt that if I befriended her, he would in turn be nice to me and realize how amazing I am. False, false and more false. Plus Beth was a nice girl, but one of the most boring people on the planet.
Issue 2 = Our friend Ben talking about Dr. Evil (another story for another day) in front of Beth, which involved me going to a strip club with Dr. E the first night we met. BUT I THOUGHT WE WERE ON OUR WAY TO A BAR. Not to mention we were in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin, so I was pretty much stranded. However, after that, I can say that strip clubs are not all that big of a deal. Yawn.
Issue 3 = Fearing and hoping at the same time this story would get back to John Doe. So many issues, so little time.
Issue 4 = See issues 1-3.

Scene Three:

After discovering I correctly predicted two friends would end up dating:

Me: since I seem to be able to sense these things, I am going to speculate that John Doe & Amanda are something. When her number got called to race a turtle she like threw her arms up and he grabbed her hand and they walked over together with their arms up holding hands. I was like, “ANOTHER DRINK PLEASE THANKS.”

Anon: oh my.

Me: and they had dinner together

Anon: oh wow, yeah, you might be right

Me: all nice and fucking cozy

AND, SCENE.

First let me elaborate on the turtle. There is at least one bar in Chicago that has turtle racing on Friday nights. It is literally the dumbest, most boring thing you could imagine, but I went because John Doe was going. You actually can’t feel anything but bad for the poor things, they are so confused. I mean they don’t get hurt or anything, but it is still pretty lame watching them wander around and then having people try to decide which turtle won, since they are usually waddling around in circles.

Anyway. That night at the races was an emotional landmine for me – watching JD chat up and be normal with other girls while completely ignoring me. Eventually I’d had enough of my own sulking and just left, but not before convincing myself that he and Amanda were an item.

Nothing but a waste of time – and unfortunately, there is plenty more where that came from.

I take offense to that

If you are not one of the 18 million people who have watched this marriage proposal on You Tube, you need to do so immediately:

Okay, now that you’ve seen it, let’s chat.

Katie actually sent me the link because I had recently watched a different proposal using the same song,”Marry You” by Bruno Mars. So, this one was a lot better and I remember asking her, “is that even REAL?” Because it looked TOO perfect.

Well, the couple, Isaac Lamb and Amy Frankel, went on the Today Show, as Katie informed me, so yes, it is very much real. It is really the sweetest story ever – that he thought she deserved a proposal of this magnitude and had upwards of 60 people help him pull it off? Well, that restores my faith in humanity.

After I watched the Today Show video, I was reading the comments, most of which were so fucking rude I want to smack all these people. All these cynical Sallys that are just trolling and should have their humanity cards revoked are one thing. But one particular comment stuck out:

“The bride will be 33? 34? when the average first marriage age for women in the U.S. is about 26.

For the family it was probably as much relief as joy…..“

First of all, FUCK YOU Mr. or Mrs. Insulting. This comment (made by someone called “forbalance”, rendering their gender a mystery) was obviously made by someone who would rather get married out of obligation and social pressure than love. No one who actually understands life would say something like that. Sorry that you’re living in 1950 when the age a person gets married is still relevant to their self worth. Go back in to the fucking delusional and cynical hole you crawled out of, ass-hat.

I seriously take personal offense to that comment – I might never get married at the rate I’m at but I still have a lovely life and no one gives a shit. And shitting all over someone else’s amazingly romantic gesture is the work of a horrible person.

Ugh. Rant over.

30 for 30

Last year, The Huffington Post republished a story that Glamour magazine featured in a 1997 issue – “30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She’s 30.”

I am not here to regurgitate the entire list, but rather to comment on the ones that stuck out for me. Either link above will bring you to the full list. And yes, I am qualified to do this since I am now over 30. (*chugs vodka*)

Things you should have:

One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to and one who reminds you of how far you’ve come. Surprisingly, I have both. I wasn’t sure I would have someone I could imagine going back to, but that’s not true at all. So even though I have both, the ratio is slightly unbalanced: 1 I can imaging going back to, 8675309 who remind me how far I’ve come.
Something perfect to wear if the employer or man of your dreams wants to see you in an hour. Yes to the man, not sure about the employer. I have many options but not sure I could be ready that quickly, what with things having to match, and be ironed, and fit properly.
A past juicy enough that you’re looking forward to retelling it in your old age. Um, hello, why do you think I’m writing a book?
One friend who always makes you laugh and one who lets you cry. I am so lucky to have MANY of these.

Things you should know:

How you feel about having kids. This is so, so, SO important, and you need to be on the same page with your significant other on this, no matter what the page is. And I know where I stand, so that’s good. Actually no I don’t. Yes, I do! Shut up! YOU shut up! Okay, it’s a hard decision to make, luckily not something I need to worry about anytime soon.
When to try harder and when to walk away. I have definitely improved here – sometimes you just can’t fix whatever it is you’re working on – a job, relationship (if I just stick it out he’ll eventually realize that…No. No he won’t. He won’t realize anything), book (hey, I’m BUSY, it happens), etc. But knowing when to hold ’em, fold ’em, walk away or run is super important.
How to kiss in a way that communicates perfectly what you would and wouldn’t like to happen next. For REALS – y’all need to have this mastered.
How to live alone, even if you don’t like to. No issues here whatsoever. Living alone is the bomb dot com (yes, I really just wrote that. Deal with it. Is “not giving a shit what other people think” on this list?”)
What you would and wouldn’t do for money or love. I think Meatloaf is the only person who knows this…
Why they say life begins at 30. I think I FINALLY get this. You’re not as self-conscious as you were in your 20’s (maybe not you, but definitely me), you aren’t broke and trying to make a box of pasta last for a week, you understand that what people think of you doesn’t matter, that you think about it more than they do, the world is not out to get you and the paranoia over thinking that goes away.

I sometimes still struggle with not being 22 anymore, what with all the mistakes I’ve made and wishing I could have do-overs. But that is what makes us who we are, I suppose, and wishing things had turned out differently will never make that actually happen.

Do I wish I had handled the entire year of 2008 differently? Sure. Can I do so in 2013? Pretty sure I cannot. One of my biggest regrets was blowing off this super cute lawyer I met in San Diego because I was adamant about only dating people who didn’t actually like me. Do I wish I had answered my phone that day he called to ask me out to dinner? Yep. Can I? Nope. Part of getting older is just learning to let go, and for god’s sake relax a bit. No one makes life more complicated than humans. You don’t see apes green lighting shows called Stage Moms or Double Divas, do you?

Also, this is all how we should feel about getting older:

1+3=5

I have previously mentioned I am terrible at dating. There is nothing worse than having an awesome four-and-a-half hour first date, only to be no closer to a second date four weeks later. (It’s not you! It’s me! It’s too cold! I’m too tired!)

Oh, but how the times have changed. Even five years ago I would have moaned and obsessed and wondered. Now I’m sort of like, “if you don’t want to go out with me again, then stop being up my ass on Facebook. K thx bye.”

It’s very easy to hate things you are bad at, or be bad at the things you hate.

I genuinely HATE dating. When you meet someone online, the first date is usually your first time meeting them in person. If it’s someone you met drunk at a bar/party/on the street (if you’ve seen Clark St. during Cubs season you know what I am talking about), you go into the date wondering if you’ll like each other sober. There’s so much pressure. No one ever has the same end-result in mind. WE MAKE THINGS TOO FUCKING COMPLICATED. It’s not enough to like someone anymore. Now you need to have a fucking bachelor’s degree in texting, masters in body language and a Ph. fucking D in properly playing the game so you can come off as interested yet not crazy yet not TOO interested because that’s a turn-off, yet if you’re too aloof and they stop texting you back you’re all, hey WAIT a minute, I was playing it cool and now you’re fucking some random skank who was willing to put out while I wanted to build something meaningful so I lose either way and if this is what dating is like I’d just rather not – thank you VERY much.

Over the weekend I hit my limit with Mr. No 2nd Date and literally told him to have a nice life because I wasn’t an idiot and I can tell when someone is not interested. This was after the “too tired” excuse. Then of course the next day, he is whining on Facebook that he did nothing but sit on his couch on Saturday night.

Let me pull out my instructional manual and/or doctoral dissertation to decipher that passive-aggressive attempt at sympathy.

Was this lame status update

A) a non-apology apology?

B) fucking stupid

C) I told you that we have to have a Ph. D in this shit.

D) I could NOT care less what the meaning of that status was. I know five years ago it would have led to a two-hour phone call with my best friend trying to figure out the meaning behind it. Now I’m all, “you have no one to blame but yourself, dickwad.”

At least even the best daters sometimes still had problems:

All the single ladies

Since today is Valentine’s Day and since I have NEVER IN MY LIFE BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP THAT WARRANTED A 2/14 CELEBRATION, I wanted to instead look at the bright side of being single on this craptastic holiday. For instance:

There is no pressure whatsoever. “Will he like his gift? Does my underwear match my bra? Does it have holes in it? Did I shave? Why for the love of god did I forget to get a manicure? Does this shirt make my hair look frizzy?” Us single gals don’t have to worry about any of these things.
It’s an excuse to celebrate with your single friends. What other day of the year gives you a better excuse to collect a group of single friends to troll the bars ultimately looking to score? Chicago has an annual “Fuck Valentine’s Day” bar crawl, and while I have never participated (Durkins? Pass. Duffy’s? Maybe if I were 25), I have done fun things with my friends that made the day just as fun without all the formalities.
If you had a bad day and you just want to go home and put on sweatpants, you can! There is no one there to say, “BUT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GO TO LOU MALNATI’S AND THEN TO SEE SAFE HAVEN, HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?”
It’s a stupid holiday, who cares?
But that doesn’t mean I won’t support you should you choose to celebrate it.
Another thing about the pressure – depending on the phase of the relationship, are you going to over-analyze celebrating this day? Do you both have the same expectations? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN????
You won’t have this happen to you (my GOD I would be pissed enough to retract my “yes”).

Being single on V-Day really isn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure in high school it got you the side-eye from the popular bitches who made fun of you for being flat chested, but in the real world, no one cares, and it has nothing to do with anything. At least, that’s what I am telling myself for the 55th consecutive year or whatever.