Are you kidding me?
http://personals.yahoo.com/us/static/dating-advice_sports-fan
It kind of reminds me of an article I wrote my senior year of college for Vox. Except mine was basically the opposite of this, or a "how to not be the annoying girl who uses sports to pick up guys" article.
But you know, me walking around muttering "Die, kansas, Die" under my breath for the next couple of weeks might just help me get a hottie who hates the jayhawks. But for some reason, I don't think that'll get me any come'ons, just weird glances. Ah, well...I'll probably do it anyway.
*For those guys who read this and can't resist me because of my witty sports-banter title, well, you know where to find me. But you better agree with me here.
Showing posts with label Dating/Guys/Relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating/Guys/Relationships. Show all posts
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
20 Years of Valentines
At age 6: My parents help decorate a shoebox for my first-ever Valentine's Day party. Lots of doilies and pink and red construction paper go into making the perfect box to shove my expected Valentine's into. The day ends with being stuffed with lots of cupcakes and red punch (that's me, and not the box that's stuffed with that).
At age 11: I now make my own doilied and pink and red box. And spend way too much time analyzing which of the five pre-worded Valentine's in the theme-box-o'-Valentines I should give to each classmate. I end the day with spending way too much time analyzing what each received Valentine REALLY means about my relationship with said classmate.
At age 16: I don't have any boxes for Valentine's anymore. The girls with boyfriends get bouquets of flowers delivered to the office. It's not that I want a boyfriend, but I do want to get that note telling me to pick up my delivery at the office. I end the day with my mom asking a stupid question about why I don't have a boyfriend.
At age 21: Although all my roommates have boyfriends, two of them aren't in town. So we still hang out and have a good time. I end my day comforting the roommate whose boyfriend is in town...they got into a fight, and she came home early.
At age 26: I have to answer to way too many people why I'm stuck working on Valentine's Day night. But I notice that there are WAY more lonely and sad adult guys on Valentine's Day than there are girls. As much as single girls get sad on V-Day, I think there comes an age when guys do even more. I realize that working made this my best Valentine's Day ever; I end the day knowing I'm not the only one who ponders my single life...and with a bit more money too.
At age 11: I now make my own doilied and pink and red box. And spend way too much time analyzing which of the five pre-worded Valentine's in the theme-box-o'-Valentines I should give to each classmate. I end the day with spending way too much time analyzing what each received Valentine REALLY means about my relationship with said classmate.
At age 16: I don't have any boxes for Valentine's anymore. The girls with boyfriends get bouquets of flowers delivered to the office. It's not that I want a boyfriend, but I do want to get that note telling me to pick up my delivery at the office. I end the day with my mom asking a stupid question about why I don't have a boyfriend.
At age 21: Although all my roommates have boyfriends, two of them aren't in town. So we still hang out and have a good time. I end my day comforting the roommate whose boyfriend is in town...they got into a fight, and she came home early.
At age 26: I have to answer to way too many people why I'm stuck working on Valentine's Day night. But I notice that there are WAY more lonely and sad adult guys on Valentine's Day than there are girls. As much as single girls get sad on V-Day, I think there comes an age when guys do even more. I realize that working made this my best Valentine's Day ever; I end the day knowing I'm not the only one who ponders my single life...and with a bit more money too.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Am I Alone?
Do you ever get confused about life? Sometimes I feel like everyone else has their lives figured out...or that you're just not thinking about it as much as I do.
It's not that I want to ponder the meaning of life (and mine in particular) all the time. I just can't help but feel that if I don't think about it, then I'll wake up one day and be old, poor, single (save one pitiful cat I'll probably rescue from the throes of death), and in a job I never loved. And that scares me more than being young, poor, single, and still wondering if there will ever be a job I love. So, I sit and consider everything I should be doing to not be these things in 15 years. And I've no idea where to start.
And sometimes my confusion is almost as bad as feeling as though I'm the only one confused.
It's not that I want to ponder the meaning of life (and mine in particular) all the time. I just can't help but feel that if I don't think about it, then I'll wake up one day and be old, poor, single (save one pitiful cat I'll probably rescue from the throes of death), and in a job I never loved. And that scares me more than being young, poor, single, and still wondering if there will ever be a job I love. So, I sit and consider everything I should be doing to not be these things in 15 years. And I've no idea where to start.
And sometimes my confusion is almost as bad as feeling as though I'm the only one confused.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Oy! Oy! Oy!
While researching a story angle today, I came across this quiz. I thought I should post my results not only because I know they're like SO true, but also because I knew my one lone Aussie guy reader will probably get a kick out of it.
You're a down to earth, outdoorsy kind of girl And you need a guy who can keep up with your adventures A rugged Austrailian guy is just your style Better start learning how to surf!You Should Date An Australian! 
Guess next time I come across an Aussie I'd like to date, though, I should probably do the exact opposite as last time. I can see now how literally running out of a room after you overhear said crush tell your friend he wants to take you out (and he realizes you accidentally overheard, so looks at you and says, "well?") could maybe send the wrong message.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
I Go Back
It's funny how the smallest thing can take us back to a memory or moment (however short or long) in life. Smelling my mom's dressing (AKA "stuffing" to some of you) always takes me back to my parent's dining room table and me sneaking out to do homework, go no. 2, or anything else I could think of to get me out of doing all the Thanksgiving or Christmas dishes. Hearing Janet Jackson's "Control" always takes me back to Epworth and being told I had to "stay below and wash the deck" as my sister and Joy danced above and laughed at my nearly crying face. Watching the annual Mizzou-Illini game always makes me excited about basketball and hopeful of the upcoming season (well except for that year we lost by like 30 points). These are all the things I remembered when I was in MO last month.
And as I realized on this past trip home, it's not just things that can take me back. People can too. Inevitably, when I see my college roommates, I always feel carefree and life just seems to get easier, funnier, and the future seems so far away. When I am with them, I become so much more like the girl I was four years ago. I was even moreso reminded of who that girl was when I saw one of those cute, nice guys from college while at home. I was once again a seemingly confident girl, who knew what I wanted...yet still was able to be left wondering if I'm just too much of a dork, if there's something wrong with me, or why or if I even cared about what he thought of me.
But back in L.A., everything is just as it was before I left...and those memories are once again memories.
And as I realized on this past trip home, it's not just things that can take me back. People can too. Inevitably, when I see my college roommates, I always feel carefree and life just seems to get easier, funnier, and the future seems so far away. When I am with them, I become so much more like the girl I was four years ago. I was even moreso reminded of who that girl was when I saw one of those cute, nice guys from college while at home. I was once again a seemingly confident girl, who knew what I wanted...yet still was able to be left wondering if I'm just too much of a dork, if there's something wrong with me, or why or if I even cared about what he thought of me.
But back in L.A., everything is just as it was before I left...and those memories are once again memories.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
We Do It Up High and Down Low
Someone please tell me...when did I become the High-Five Girl?
I've always known that I'm a tomboy. I've come to accept that. I know I've got a lot of guy friends. I even have started to accept that I may be someone difficult to show emotion to. But really is the high-five the only thing I warrant from all guys?
Don't get me wrong now...I love a good high-five every now and then. We used to do it all the time when I played high school sports. In college my fellow MU fans high-fived often throughout the football and basketball seasons. Even now, I'll expect a good high-five from a fellow Cards fan when Molina does something amazing on the screen before us. But when it comes to guys I'd like to "score" with (hahaha, couldn't resist the pun), the high-five...I mean what is that?
The first time I got a high-five recently I was listening to this guy speak about his new project. When I asked him a question, I could've sworn we had a moment (or at least a nanosecond) where we locked eyes; I was thinking, "Holy cow, this guy is adorable AND idealistic AND passionate! Wow. That's sexy." (Although he was probably thinking, "Holy cow, this girl is a Teach For America alumni AND thinks what I'm doing is important AND is Asian! Wow. I love Korean BBQ.") But as he left in a bit of a hurry, he decided not to thank each person individually. Still he came by, said something about keeping up what I was doing (or something like that) and walked toward me with a hand held high in the air. I high-fived it. He left. And I've hardly heard from him since.
My current crush must have been at the same "how-to-greet-Jaynar-seminar" and has recently decided that a high-five is a great way to talk to me. Sure, we sometimes talk about sports, but that's not when these hand slaps come about. Oh, no, it's more like, "Hey, how was your weekend? [insert high-five here]" or "I'm back! [insert high-five here]." Still there've been no, "Want to go to *** with me? [insert high-five there]."
And today, I got a myspace invite from a college friend. His myspace headline is "I like you. Do you like me? High-five!" Granted, this isn't from one of my current boys on the side. But still...it pretty much says the same thing to me..."We're friends. Hit me up high, baby!" And I guess what it does is leave me wondering...will I always be the guys' ol' buddy, ol' pal who hits them up high? [Then I think maybe I should stop calling guys "my buddy, my pal, and champ..."]
I've always known that I'm a tomboy. I've come to accept that. I know I've got a lot of guy friends. I even have started to accept that I may be someone difficult to show emotion to. But really is the high-five the only thing I warrant from all guys?
Don't get me wrong now...I love a good high-five every now and then. We used to do it all the time when I played high school sports. In college my fellow MU fans high-fived often throughout the football and basketball seasons. Even now, I'll expect a good high-five from a fellow Cards fan when Molina does something amazing on the screen before us. But when it comes to guys I'd like to "score" with (hahaha, couldn't resist the pun), the high-five...I mean what is that?
The first time I got a high-five recently I was listening to this guy speak about his new project. When I asked him a question, I could've sworn we had a moment (or at least a nanosecond) where we locked eyes; I was thinking, "Holy cow, this guy is adorable AND idealistic AND passionate! Wow. That's sexy." (Although he was probably thinking, "Holy cow, this girl is a Teach For America alumni AND thinks what I'm doing is important AND is Asian! Wow. I love Korean BBQ.") But as he left in a bit of a hurry, he decided not to thank each person individually. Still he came by, said something about keeping up what I was doing (or something like that) and walked toward me with a hand held high in the air. I high-fived it. He left. And I've hardly heard from him since.
My current crush must have been at the same "how-to-greet-Jaynar-seminar" and has recently decided that a high-five is a great way to talk to me. Sure, we sometimes talk about sports, but that's not when these hand slaps come about. Oh, no, it's more like, "Hey, how was your weekend? [insert high-five here]" or "I'm back! [insert high-five here]." Still there've been no, "Want to go to *** with me? [insert high-five there]."
And today, I got a myspace invite from a college friend. His myspace headline is "I like you. Do you like me? High-five!" Granted, this isn't from one of my current boys on the side. But still...it pretty much says the same thing to me..."We're friends. Hit me up high, baby!" And I guess what it does is leave me wondering...will I always be the guys' ol' buddy, ol' pal who hits them up high? [Then I think maybe I should stop calling guys "my buddy, my pal, and champ..."]
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Another One Bites the Dust?
I just had another friend get engaged on Wednesday (Granted, I didn't listen to the message until Thursday). And even I was surprised at my reaction. I gasped. Then smiled. I was truly happy for her.
People (myself included) have come to think I'm abhorrent to the idea of love and marriage. But my reaction to said friend's engagement defies that conclusion (I even bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate with them). My reaction was much like it was to my two fellow married bloggers' wedding news years ago. So after a week's worth of reflection as to why my reaction to wedding news varies so much, I've come to a few of my own recent conclusions.
It's not the idea of marriage that disturbs me. But it's getting married to escape an unhappy life that disturbs me. It's marrying someone because you're afraid to be alone that disturbs me. And it's marrying someone to use them (or be used) that disturbs me.
I freak out not because I hate the idea of marriage. But because I think so highly of it.
People (myself included) have come to think I'm abhorrent to the idea of love and marriage. But my reaction to said friend's engagement defies that conclusion (I even bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate with them). My reaction was much like it was to my two fellow married bloggers' wedding news years ago. So after a week's worth of reflection as to why my reaction to wedding news varies so much, I've come to a few of my own recent conclusions.
It's not the idea of marriage that disturbs me. But it's getting married to escape an unhappy life that disturbs me. It's marrying someone because you're afraid to be alone that disturbs me. And it's marrying someone to use them (or be used) that disturbs me.
I freak out not because I hate the idea of marriage. But because I think so highly of it.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Toy Meets Girl
Being in the same room with Rider Strong and ending the night with a vibrator -- that was pretty much my fantasy at age 13. (Well, except for the vibrator...maybe just some hand holding or some heavy petting...) But tonight I had that, and all I could think about was how Rider was so far away from where I was 12 years ago. So when I left the launch party for a new book (with memoirs about the upscale sex industry in LA) -- and was then handed a goodie bag with a vibrator -- all I could think about was how unstarstruck I had been (and how weird it was to get a vibrator as a parting gift).
I mean, I could've been the president of the Rider Strong fan club during middle school. Now, though, nothing. Much like the thank-you-for-coming toy that I got, my uninfatuation with Rider was evidence that I've apparently matured -- or at least changed. Gone are the days of my crushing on long-haired rebellious types. Gone are the days of lusting after a teen heartthrob. Gone are the days of getting caught up in the leather-jacket-wearing guy. Gone are the days of getting a Barbie Doll as a parting party gift.
But then, I crawled into bed (without even wondering what it would be like to snuggle with him under the covers) and saw my childhood teddy bear on the center of my bed. It's been with me for 25 years. Maybe I haven't matured that much after all.
I mean, I could've been the president of the Rider Strong fan club during middle school. Now, though, nothing. Much like the thank-you-for-coming toy that I got, my uninfatuation with Rider was evidence that I've apparently matured -- or at least changed. Gone are the days of my crushing on long-haired rebellious types. Gone are the days of lusting after a teen heartthrob. Gone are the days of getting caught up in the leather-jacket-wearing guy. Gone are the days of getting a Barbie Doll as a parting party gift.
But then, I crawled into bed (without even wondering what it would be like to snuggle with him under the covers) and saw my childhood teddy bear on the center of my bed. It's been with me for 25 years. Maybe I haven't matured that much after all.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Thinking About It...Dating That Is...
So, I've come to the conclusion (in the last 24 hours), that I should be dating right now. I know I'm very anti-dating, but well, I don't always like going to the gym, either...but I still do that (OK, sometimes) because I know I should.
But I've got two legitimate reasons to put myself out there on the dating scene:
1. After telling some of my recent tales to a friend, she told me I needed to write a dating column. "What??? But I don't date...I hate it!" Which, she told me, was exactly why it would be so much fun and different than the others out there. I kind of think she's right...and I could use a little fodder for my writing...
2. I had a (happily) married person in her 30s today tell me that I should be living up my 20s. She said I should take advantage of the fact that I CAN go out and I CAN date. I won't be able to do those things when I'm married...so, I should start dating like crazy now. My 20s shall be my Mardi Gras before the Ash Wednesday of marriage. That's my new vow.
Now...just where am I going to find these guys? Well, that's been a bit harder to figure out these past few hours. See, I've got a close guy friend who I can't decipher what feelings I have for him. I can see myself marrying this guy in a few years...but I can't see myself dating him right now. I've also recently developed a crush on a balding Kiwi -- don't know when I'll see him next, though. Then, there's a couple of guys that I've met that are SO not who I should be dating -- a 21-year-old with an affection for pot and video games and a male model with a motorcycle who lives on a boat -- but I actually have crushes on them...and at this point, crushes are at least a step in the right direction. Right?
But I've got two legitimate reasons to put myself out there on the dating scene:
1. After telling some of my recent tales to a friend, she told me I needed to write a dating column. "What??? But I don't date...I hate it!" Which, she told me, was exactly why it would be so much fun and different than the others out there. I kind of think she's right...and I could use a little fodder for my writing...
2. I had a (happily) married person in her 30s today tell me that I should be living up my 20s. She said I should take advantage of the fact that I CAN go out and I CAN date. I won't be able to do those things when I'm married...so, I should start dating like crazy now. My 20s shall be my Mardi Gras before the Ash Wednesday of marriage. That's my new vow.
Now...just where am I going to find these guys? Well, that's been a bit harder to figure out these past few hours. See, I've got a close guy friend who I can't decipher what feelings I have for him. I can see myself marrying this guy in a few years...but I can't see myself dating him right now. I've also recently developed a crush on a balding Kiwi -- don't know when I'll see him next, though. Then, there's a couple of guys that I've met that are SO not who I should be dating -- a 21-year-old with an affection for pot and video games and a male model with a motorcycle who lives on a boat -- but I actually have crushes on them...and at this point, crushes are at least a step in the right direction. Right?
Monday, July 31, 2006
Hawking for Men
I think I saw my dream man Saturday night. And, yes, I was the biznatchy girl who repeatedly checked him out although he was obviously with his girlfriend (although I tell myself she could just be his cousin or best friend's visiting sister or something like that).
I didn't tell anyone I was with, though, how hot I thought this guy was. I don't think they would've believed me. Given my past history with guys, one would assume I like preppy or jock-y dudes who walk the typical life path. But, for some reason, I think guys that don't look so straight-and-narrow are fabulous. I've tried the straight-and-narrow, and I think that's why I get bored so easily in dating.
But said Saturday-night guy had a mini mohawk going on. And it was SO sexy. Of course he was cute anyway, but the mohawk just made him my Dr. McDreamy. But I kept it to myself. Last time I reported how hot I thought some tatted-out guy was, nobody believed I would actually date him. Thing is, I really think I would...but I don't think these guys would date me.
Still, though, I'm holding on to the hope that there's a hottie out there with a mohawk, weird piercing, or tattoo (I don't know if a Donkey Kong one counts) that's for me.
I didn't tell anyone I was with, though, how hot I thought this guy was. I don't think they would've believed me. Given my past history with guys, one would assume I like preppy or jock-y dudes who walk the typical life path. But, for some reason, I think guys that don't look so straight-and-narrow are fabulous. I've tried the straight-and-narrow, and I think that's why I get bored so easily in dating.
But said Saturday-night guy had a mini mohawk going on. And it was SO sexy. Of course he was cute anyway, but the mohawk just made him my Dr. McDreamy. But I kept it to myself. Last time I reported how hot I thought some tatted-out guy was, nobody believed I would actually date him. Thing is, I really think I would...but I don't think these guys would date me.
Still, though, I'm holding on to the hope that there's a hottie out there with a mohawk, weird piercing, or tattoo (I don't know if a Donkey Kong one counts) that's for me.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Why I'm Indebted to That University
If you know me well, you know I'm not the biggest fan of the university where I received my MA in Secondary Education. However, I must say that the last couple of days have made me happy I have my MA.
After some good ol' fashioned girl talk with my undergrad gal pals this weekend, I started thinking more and more about marriage. We joked that in 10 years we'd get together and still not be married -- we're all so far from that point in our life right now.
Today I found out that our joke may not be that far off of what our future holds. According to a recent Newsweek article the average age for a woman's first marriage is almost 26. I have to admit I felt a little relief when I read that. I realized I'm not completely behind on the game...then I saw the average age for women with their master's or a professional degree -- that age is 30 years old. Four of the five of us MU girls either have a master's degree or are working on it. The other is considering it. So, if statistics hold true, there's a good chance none of us will get married in the next five years (although 10 years is probably pushing it).
Other interesting tidbits from the article include the fact that women with BAs are now more likely to marry (which wasn't the case a few decades ago) and that the divorce rate has gone down for college-educated women in the last couple of decades and gone up for those who didn't go to college.
Sidenote: All this made me think back to my human sexuality psych course in college. One of the few things I remember from that class is that the more advanced degree a person (especially a woman) has, the more likely they'll orgasm. I wonder if that's why the divorce rate is down for college grads?
Whatever the reason, I'm glad to know that it's not that weird for me to not to want to be married right now.
PS: The weekend with my girls has provided many topics for the blog. However the "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" school of thought will prohibit me from revealing all that should be revealed. Well, at least some of it...more tk.
After some good ol' fashioned girl talk with my undergrad gal pals this weekend, I started thinking more and more about marriage. We joked that in 10 years we'd get together and still not be married -- we're all so far from that point in our life right now.
Today I found out that our joke may not be that far off of what our future holds. According to a recent Newsweek article the average age for a woman's first marriage is almost 26. I have to admit I felt a little relief when I read that. I realized I'm not completely behind on the game...then I saw the average age for women with their master's or a professional degree -- that age is 30 years old. Four of the five of us MU girls either have a master's degree or are working on it. The other is considering it. So, if statistics hold true, there's a good chance none of us will get married in the next five years (although 10 years is probably pushing it).
Other interesting tidbits from the article include the fact that women with BAs are now more likely to marry (which wasn't the case a few decades ago) and that the divorce rate has gone down for college-educated women in the last couple of decades and gone up for those who didn't go to college.
Sidenote: All this made me think back to my human sexuality psych course in college. One of the few things I remember from that class is that the more advanced degree a person (especially a woman) has, the more likely they'll orgasm. I wonder if that's why the divorce rate is down for college grads?
Whatever the reason, I'm glad to know that it's not that weird for me to not to want to be married right now.
PS: The weekend with my girls has provided many topics for the blog. However the "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" school of thought will prohibit me from revealing all that should be revealed. Well, at least some of it...more tk.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Hate, Date; They Rhyme for a Reason
I wish I enjoyed dating. I wish I could be the girl who got giddy every time a date became a possibility. I wish I loved talking to a guy after a date happened. I wish that I only pretended to hate the chase but really enjoyed the uncertainties of crushes and early relationships. But I don't. And I don't understand girls who do.
I loathe dating. I've gotten butterflies preparing for a date maybe once or twice in my life. Other than the recent pseudo-dating thing, I've dreaded answering the phone after the first date. And I hate it when I think I like someone more than he likes me; and I hate it when I think he likes me more than I like him. I really hate dating.
That's why for so long I thought there was something wrong with me. And maybe there is. I can't truly articulate what it is I'm looking for in a guy, but I just know when I don't find it. So, I figure why waste my (and his) time? It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the guy -- let's face it; I'm so vain that I won't even go out on a date (unless it's blind) with a guy unless I find him attractive. And he won't make it date number two unless he's super charming. But even if a guy is those two things, I still may not like him.
Apparently, though, my roommates (both in college and now) think I like guys that most others don't...so you'd think it wouldn't be that hard for me to find someone. But it is. And even though my dreams tell me I want someone in my life, I hate trying to find that someone. I wish I were a nun.
I loathe dating. I've gotten butterflies preparing for a date maybe once or twice in my life. Other than the recent pseudo-dating thing, I've dreaded answering the phone after the first date. And I hate it when I think I like someone more than he likes me; and I hate it when I think he likes me more than I like him. I really hate dating.
That's why for so long I thought there was something wrong with me. And maybe there is. I can't truly articulate what it is I'm looking for in a guy, but I just know when I don't find it. So, I figure why waste my (and his) time? It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the guy -- let's face it; I'm so vain that I won't even go out on a date (unless it's blind) with a guy unless I find him attractive. And he won't make it date number two unless he's super charming. But even if a guy is those two things, I still may not like him.
Apparently, though, my roommates (both in college and now) think I like guys that most others don't...so you'd think it wouldn't be that hard for me to find someone. But it is. And even though my dreams tell me I want someone in my life, I hate trying to find that someone. I wish I were a nun.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
The Cat's Out of the Bag -- and the Dream
The Dream: I was in a white room with a girl from work and her cat. At first this wasn't odd to me -- I had recently spoken with her about pet-sitting (her dogs). But then...I started to realize that she had on a blue, orange, and green sweater...and the cat's fur was blue, orange, and green as well. The cat came and played with me, and even though cats can often be indifferent, this cat really seemed to like me. It rested in my lap as I petted it's blue fur (the orange was stripes outlined in thin lines of green). I was really starting to like it.
When my coworker left (and I was supposed to take care of the cat) the blue kitty followed her out the door. I told her about it, but she didn't seem to care. She shrugged it off -- like the "it'll be back home eventually" shrug we gave when our childhood pets ran out the front door.
I waited and waited. The cat never came back. And I couldn't forget it's blue and orange fur -- this cat was obviously unique, and I didn't think I would ever find another like it. I finally got in my car and drove around for hours and hours looking for it. I wanted to find it SO badly. I don't think I ever did.
Trusty dream dictionary symbolism interpretations: The blues represented negative feelings, orange respresented balance of emotion and intellect or religious feelings or insight, and the green represented healing or positive change. And the cat? It represents physical contact and affection and the need to be cared for and to have warm affection.
The Rundown: Even though I knew it wasn't mine to keep, I was given a little physical contact and affection. When it left, others told me I'd get it again. And even though I have negative feelings about love and affection, I am truly hoping to find someone who could give me that affection while also sharing intelligence and religious feelings with me. Perhaps I'm looking for it and hoping it will bring me some positive change...whatever the reason, I want it more than I realize.
When my coworker left (and I was supposed to take care of the cat) the blue kitty followed her out the door. I told her about it, but she didn't seem to care. She shrugged it off -- like the "it'll be back home eventually" shrug we gave when our childhood pets ran out the front door.
I waited and waited. The cat never came back. And I couldn't forget it's blue and orange fur -- this cat was obviously unique, and I didn't think I would ever find another like it. I finally got in my car and drove around for hours and hours looking for it. I wanted to find it SO badly. I don't think I ever did.
Trusty dream dictionary symbolism interpretations: The blues represented negative feelings, orange respresented balance of emotion and intellect or religious feelings or insight, and the green represented healing or positive change. And the cat? It represents physical contact and affection and the need to be cared for and to have warm affection.
The Rundown: Even though I knew it wasn't mine to keep, I was given a little physical contact and affection. When it left, others told me I'd get it again. And even though I have negative feelings about love and affection, I am truly hoping to find someone who could give me that affection while also sharing intelligence and religious feelings with me. Perhaps I'm looking for it and hoping it will bring me some positive change...whatever the reason, I want it more than I realize.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
A Totally Normal (Yet Special) Day
Today was just like any other. Which is good. After having my heart broken, I had days, (weeks, really) when I didn't feel like myself. My mind had been elsewhere. It was like a long-term out-of-body experience. It was like when I've found out someone is dead, or when I quit a job. Everything was numb, and daily activities only happened out of a reaction. I went through the motions without thought or effort.
But not today. It's been a slow road here, but I'm finally back to Jayna pre, pre-well, whatever it was I was attempting this fall/winter. It's nice to be normal again.
But not today. It's been a slow road here, but I'm finally back to Jayna pre, pre-well, whatever it was I was attempting this fall/winter. It's nice to be normal again.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Should've Been a (Gay) Cowboy
'Cause I've lost loved ones in my life
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
-Garth Brooks
Cowboy love songs aren't really love songs. They essentially talk about not being loved or the inability to love. And essentially that's why I am a cowboy. Much like the now-famous gay cowboy, Ennis from Brokeback Mountain, I find it nearly impossible to show others how much I care for them. Although it was clear Ennis enjoyed his time with Jack, we as viewers were stunned by the scene following the end of the first summer; pounding the wall and crying in an alley, Ennis finally showed an emotion that outsiders didn't know was there.
We didn't see it before because cowboys aren't supposed to show their true feelings. Crying, love and dependence aren't supposed to be seen. They're not supposed to be in their lives. Much like every other truck-drivin' cowboy, I keep those feelings at bay. I've always found showing these emotions to be painful and a strain.
However, just because I don't show them, doesn't mean I don't feel them. There have been few regrets in my life, but the fact that most people I care about don't know I love them, will always be my main regret in life. Although I don't like showing that I love or care, I think it's important for people to know they're loved. But I don't think my family will ever know just how much I appreciate the love and sacrifices they gave for me. I don't think my friends will ever know how much I appreciate their listening ears and words of wisdom. And I don't think the few guys I've cared about will ever know that I truly cared. With all those people, articulating my feelings fails me...usually my words sound insincere, or my actions are inconceivable as one who cares. Thus, I'm trapped in a world where I hate showing my feelings, but when I try, they're unbelievable. It's just easier to not have feelings or to pretend, even to myself, that they don't exist.
Unfortunately, with that comes even more pain. Because even though people may get to know many sides of me, I've unwittingly fooled many into thinking I can't be hurt. That I don't care. So, my heart isn't handled with care. But it beats just the same as everyone elses; maybe even harder. And a heart that's been covered to look hard doesn't bounce when it's dropped; it shatters into pieces. And even after its put back together, some of those pieces are lost forever, only to leave a hole in the heart.
In the words of Rascal Flatts:
What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was tryin' to do
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
-Garth Brooks
Cowboy love songs aren't really love songs. They essentially talk about not being loved or the inability to love. And essentially that's why I am a cowboy. Much like the now-famous gay cowboy, Ennis from Brokeback Mountain, I find it nearly impossible to show others how much I care for them. Although it was clear Ennis enjoyed his time with Jack, we as viewers were stunned by the scene following the end of the first summer; pounding the wall and crying in an alley, Ennis finally showed an emotion that outsiders didn't know was there.
We didn't see it before because cowboys aren't supposed to show their true feelings. Crying, love and dependence aren't supposed to be seen. They're not supposed to be in their lives. Much like every other truck-drivin' cowboy, I keep those feelings at bay. I've always found showing these emotions to be painful and a strain.
However, just because I don't show them, doesn't mean I don't feel them. There have been few regrets in my life, but the fact that most people I care about don't know I love them, will always be my main regret in life. Although I don't like showing that I love or care, I think it's important for people to know they're loved. But I don't think my family will ever know just how much I appreciate the love and sacrifices they gave for me. I don't think my friends will ever know how much I appreciate their listening ears and words of wisdom. And I don't think the few guys I've cared about will ever know that I truly cared. With all those people, articulating my feelings fails me...usually my words sound insincere, or my actions are inconceivable as one who cares. Thus, I'm trapped in a world where I hate showing my feelings, but when I try, they're unbelievable. It's just easier to not have feelings or to pretend, even to myself, that they don't exist.
Unfortunately, with that comes even more pain. Because even though people may get to know many sides of me, I've unwittingly fooled many into thinking I can't be hurt. That I don't care. So, my heart isn't handled with care. But it beats just the same as everyone elses; maybe even harder. And a heart that's been covered to look hard doesn't bounce when it's dropped; it shatters into pieces. And even after its put back together, some of those pieces are lost forever, only to leave a hole in the heart.
In the words of Rascal Flatts:
What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was tryin' to do
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Hahahaha
"I know! I'll dump her like she'd never been dumped before, and then we'll go back to being friends."
-Bart Simpson in today's episode of The Simpsons
Normally, lame-o TV shows don't allow for more than one mention on this blog. However, today's yahoo news headlines caught my eye. No, it wasn't the one with 4,000 wrongly low SAT scores. But The Bachelor headline made me open up the article. Turns out the "perfect" Sarah wasn't so perfect for the doctor. I find this funny only because I was appalled at the finale. In none of the episodes did Travis ever really appear to like Sarah. She was simply comfortable to him. He never looked at her with any passion. And although Moana was a little wonky at first, it was clear she won his heart over. She took a step and started to fall for the guy. He let her. He slyly winked at her (never with Sarah) and seemed genuinely happy with her. She opened up to him. And he truly cared about her. That's why his niece liked Moana better...something I've come to realize over the years is that kids don't listen to people. They see them. His niece saw him happy and saw that Moana did that for him.
Unfortunately, Travis didn't see that. He wanted the safe route. He chose the girl that could articulate her feelings to others. He chose the girl who his parents liked. He chose the girl that threw herself at him...He chose the one that made things easy for him. But, surprisingly (at least it may have been to him), those things didn't end up making him happy.
The break-up article ends with talk of the no-longer couple's future. "And we both agree and know that we'll be friends forever," Sarah said. That's when I laughed. She must have been the one that dumped him.
-Bart Simpson in today's episode of The Simpsons
Normally, lame-o TV shows don't allow for more than one mention on this blog. However, today's yahoo news headlines caught my eye. No, it wasn't the one with 4,000 wrongly low SAT scores. But The Bachelor headline made me open up the article. Turns out the "perfect" Sarah wasn't so perfect for the doctor. I find this funny only because I was appalled at the finale. In none of the episodes did Travis ever really appear to like Sarah. She was simply comfortable to him. He never looked at her with any passion. And although Moana was a little wonky at first, it was clear she won his heart over. She took a step and started to fall for the guy. He let her. He slyly winked at her (never with Sarah) and seemed genuinely happy with her. She opened up to him. And he truly cared about her. That's why his niece liked Moana better...something I've come to realize over the years is that kids don't listen to people. They see them. His niece saw him happy and saw that Moana did that for him.
Unfortunately, Travis didn't see that. He wanted the safe route. He chose the girl that could articulate her feelings to others. He chose the girl who his parents liked. He chose the girl that threw herself at him...He chose the one that made things easy for him. But, surprisingly (at least it may have been to him), those things didn't end up making him happy.
The break-up article ends with talk of the no-longer couple's future. "And we both agree and know that we'll be friends forever," Sarah said. That's when I laughed. She must have been the one that dumped him.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
I'm Not Sayin' I'm a Gold-digger
From a young age, I've been conditioned to think about how I'll take care of myself in the future. I know that I have to figure out how to have a career that I enjoy but that will also support me. I know what I have to do to get there, and I'm working to get myself there.
When I think of my future, it's not that I believe I'll put my career first in life. I mean, the hope that I'll someday have a husband was enough for me to opt to not become a broadcast sports reporter. But I do know that I'll always want a career that is fulfilling and that provides me with enough finacially. I've seen too many women who were so reliant on their husband's income that they stayed in abusive relationships or marriages that lacked any love. I've also seen enough women who were completely staggered by the loss of their husband (through divorce or death) and were at a complete loss financially. I don't want that to be me. My future, if ever, husband will have to know that I don't need him because of what he can give me financially but need him because of what he gives me in other areas of life. And I will know this as well.
Taking all this in, that's not to say that finding a man who is financially well-off is a turn off. Men who are stable financially offer me the opportunity to have what I've planned for...and more. But men who are not, are scary. It's not that I have to have men to support me. But nowhere was I raised to plan for supporting a man. So when a guys' financial status is in limbo, it's hard to get past that. It's not in my vernacular. I can support myself, but I can't support a man, too. But after talking to many of my female friends lately, it's something I've come to realize guys don't understand about many of us. Some guys have even gone so far as to call my like-minded friends gold-diggers.
Guys, we're not gold-diggers. We just don't have the money to be a sugar momma.
When I think of my future, it's not that I believe I'll put my career first in life. I mean, the hope that I'll someday have a husband was enough for me to opt to not become a broadcast sports reporter. But I do know that I'll always want a career that is fulfilling and that provides me with enough finacially. I've seen too many women who were so reliant on their husband's income that they stayed in abusive relationships or marriages that lacked any love. I've also seen enough women who were completely staggered by the loss of their husband (through divorce or death) and were at a complete loss financially. I don't want that to be me. My future, if ever, husband will have to know that I don't need him because of what he can give me financially but need him because of what he gives me in other areas of life. And I will know this as well.
Taking all this in, that's not to say that finding a man who is financially well-off is a turn off. Men who are stable financially offer me the opportunity to have what I've planned for...and more. But men who are not, are scary. It's not that I have to have men to support me. But nowhere was I raised to plan for supporting a man. So when a guys' financial status is in limbo, it's hard to get past that. It's not in my vernacular. I can support myself, but I can't support a man, too. But after talking to many of my female friends lately, it's something I've come to realize guys don't understand about many of us. Some guys have even gone so far as to call my like-minded friends gold-diggers.
Guys, we're not gold-diggers. We just don't have the money to be a sugar momma.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
A Very Sarah Jessica Parker Moment a la The Family Stone
She screams “Does nobody in this family love me?” before running out of the room.
Today I came to work hoping to avoid thinking about my personal life and the story for my class that I should be finishing. While settling in and reading the forum board for people in my industry, I was surprised to find a thread with my magazine’s title in it. There had been so many responses, that two pages of comments were now filled. Clicking on it, I saw that the original post was reaming a short FOB piece I wrote (which wasn’t bylined) that had an accompanying risqué photo. Others chimed in on their surprise at my magazine for running it, but eventually it led to a ream into the huge feature I’d written in that issue (yes, the one on Vietnamese techs that I’d been excited about and had spent much time researching).
OK, I knew the feature would not be received well by all in the industry (that was part of the motivation for writing it), but really now. There was no need for the thread to eventually become a tear-into the writer topic.
I don’t regret writing it. I’m glad I did it. But I am saddened that perceptions of race and nationality control so much of people’s thinking. “Xenophobia is rampant,” one tech told me (in thanking me over the phone last week for writing it). Yes. It is. But it sucks that other people’s fear of the unknown and unfamiliar makes me feel like poop.
It is days like today that I wish I would marry some stupid chump for his money, write quietly in a journal that nobody ever sees, sit around half the day watching CMT and take runs along the beach.
Instead though, I scream into the void of this blog, “Does nobody in this world love me?” before walking out to figure out my place in this world.
Today I came to work hoping to avoid thinking about my personal life and the story for my class that I should be finishing. While settling in and reading the forum board for people in my industry, I was surprised to find a thread with my magazine’s title in it. There had been so many responses, that two pages of comments were now filled. Clicking on it, I saw that the original post was reaming a short FOB piece I wrote (which wasn’t bylined) that had an accompanying risqué photo. Others chimed in on their surprise at my magazine for running it, but eventually it led to a ream into the huge feature I’d written in that issue (yes, the one on Vietnamese techs that I’d been excited about and had spent much time researching).
OK, I knew the feature would not be received well by all in the industry (that was part of the motivation for writing it), but really now. There was no need for the thread to eventually become a tear-into the writer topic.
I don’t regret writing it. I’m glad I did it. But I am saddened that perceptions of race and nationality control so much of people’s thinking. “Xenophobia is rampant,” one tech told me (in thanking me over the phone last week for writing it). Yes. It is. But it sucks that other people’s fear of the unknown and unfamiliar makes me feel like poop.
It is days like today that I wish I would marry some stupid chump for his money, write quietly in a journal that nobody ever sees, sit around half the day watching CMT and take runs along the beach.
Instead though, I scream into the void of this blog, “Does nobody in this world love me?” before walking out to figure out my place in this world.
Monday, February 20, 2006
A Dating Hangover
I should've gone ahead and worn the shirt on Tuesday.
Last night, for the third time in my life I consumed an entire bottle of wine. The first bottle was drank because I was consumed by feelings of stress and guilt. The second bottle was to disappointment. Last night was to sadness, anger, fear and injured pride.
And as the alcohol set in, nobody...not I or those around me...knew just how much it was affecting me until I'd passed the point of tipsy. I guess it was the same with dating...I didn't know how much it was affecting me until I came to, with it all over.
This morning's hangover is painful and makes me never want to drink again, but I know the haze and headache will pass. I'll get past the dating hangover just the same.
Last night, for the third time in my life I consumed an entire bottle of wine. The first bottle was drank because I was consumed by feelings of stress and guilt. The second bottle was to disappointment. Last night was to sadness, anger, fear and injured pride.
And as the alcohol set in, nobody...not I or those around me...knew just how much it was affecting me until I'd passed the point of tipsy. I guess it was the same with dating...I didn't know how much it was affecting me until I came to, with it all over.
This morning's hangover is painful and makes me never want to drink again, but I know the haze and headache will pass. I'll get past the dating hangover just the same.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Romancing the Rust
Monday night my roommates (well the ones not watching 24) watched The Bachelor in Paris. Seeing the clips of previous shows, I started getting really annoyed (and annoying, I’m sure). As proof that true love can be found on reality TV, the show was interviewing the past couples who are now married or engaged. Granted I was not there, but I find it hard to believe that real love blossomed in a time when the show’s bachelor (or a couple of times, the bachelorette) shared intimate moments (i.e. sex) with quite a few of the remaining contestants. Perhaps love did exist, but I became embittered watching the edited reels that made it look like “it was love at first sight.” Puke.
Then, the roommates and I began discussing Trista and Ryan’s love. (Yes, I realize for the cynic I am, I’ve watched way too many seasons of this horrid show) I was completely disgusted by Ryan in the last few episodes of that season. Near the end, he wrote Trista a poem and cried when he read it. Barf. I declared that I would not want a guy to do that. Roommate #1 wasn’t quite as turned off as I, but Roommate #2 said she would actually like this display. When my two-minute analysis of our view of love was complete, it was clear our views of romance were developed from our parents. I have not seen my dad cry in 25 years, so seeing any guy cry while reading a poem just doesn’t fit into my vision of what a guy should be. Roommate #2, however, said her father would do something like that. Thus, that’s why she would expect, or at least like something like said poem reading. But to me, that’s just not romance. At all.
Ironically, on Tuesday, I happened upon a how-romantic-are-you? quiz. My score out of 100 was 47. I was labeled a “borderline romantic.” My test results told me, “Though you aren’t entirely wooed by splendid shows of love, you can get into a little bit of romance.” For the most part, I have to agree. I mean, I do count Love, Actually as one of my favorite movies.
And as the intrepid February holiday was this week, I had to ponder just how borderline romantic to be. Although I did hang out with a certain guy that night, he and I opted for a very non-V-Day night. As I was getting dressed, I wondered how non-V-Day to be. To give a real middle finger to the day, I considered wearing my “Boyfriends are Replaceable” shirt (not that I’m labeling him or I in any way here), but I opted against it. Yes, said guy probably would have thought it was funny. But I figured wearing said shirt around him would be disrespectful. And I’m just that darn romantic that I don’t want to disrespect him. Next year, though, I’m definitely going to the burlesque show/Mexican wrestling/midget throwdown on February 14.
Then, the roommates and I began discussing Trista and Ryan’s love. (Yes, I realize for the cynic I am, I’ve watched way too many seasons of this horrid show) I was completely disgusted by Ryan in the last few episodes of that season. Near the end, he wrote Trista a poem and cried when he read it. Barf. I declared that I would not want a guy to do that. Roommate #1 wasn’t quite as turned off as I, but Roommate #2 said she would actually like this display. When my two-minute analysis of our view of love was complete, it was clear our views of romance were developed from our parents. I have not seen my dad cry in 25 years, so seeing any guy cry while reading a poem just doesn’t fit into my vision of what a guy should be. Roommate #2, however, said her father would do something like that. Thus, that’s why she would expect, or at least like something like said poem reading. But to me, that’s just not romance. At all.
Ironically, on Tuesday, I happened upon a how-romantic-are-you? quiz. My score out of 100 was 47. I was labeled a “borderline romantic.” My test results told me, “Though you aren’t entirely wooed by splendid shows of love, you can get into a little bit of romance.” For the most part, I have to agree. I mean, I do count Love, Actually as one of my favorite movies.
And as the intrepid February holiday was this week, I had to ponder just how borderline romantic to be. Although I did hang out with a certain guy that night, he and I opted for a very non-V-Day night. As I was getting dressed, I wondered how non-V-Day to be. To give a real middle finger to the day, I considered wearing my “Boyfriends are Replaceable” shirt (not that I’m labeling him or I in any way here), but I opted against it. Yes, said guy probably would have thought it was funny. But I figured wearing said shirt around him would be disrespectful. And I’m just that darn romantic that I don’t want to disrespect him. Next year, though, I’m definitely going to the burlesque show/Mexican wrestling/midget throwdown on February 14.
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