Men and women speak different languages. I'm sure that when I talk my guy hears something akin to Jabba the Hut.
Honey, I think you're the greatest thing since bananas. <- what I say
Do wema huma ha ha ha. <- what he hears, also I think he sees me slobbering and approaching him with my arms open in an attempt to smother him
It used to frustrate me when he shut down because I was being affectionate, and then I realized something. I would be pretty freaked out to if a galactic slave trader suddenly possessed him too. Hell, I'd probably be in fear for my life. He'd probably eat me. Running away WOULD be the best solution.
It works the other way too. When he says something like, "I met this great girl last night. She seemed really cool. You'd like her."
I hear, "Guess what sweetheart! I just found your replacement! Aren't you excited for me? She's so cool!"
That translator has got me into a lot of trouble over the years, and I think most girls and guys have one. I don't think we can expect our others to not say something that seems harmless to them. That isn't realistic. The trouble isn't your significant other being an arrogant, cold-hearted, inconsiderate...I digress. The trouble is turning the damned thing off. How do you turn off the knee jerk reaction? How do you listen for what is actually said rather than what you hear?
Well, I'm just starting to learn, but I will share what I have for posterity in the event that I find Buttercup the Killer cow incarnation II and perish dramatically before my time.
I guess the simplest way to say it is this: don't react. That seems simple enough, right? Anyone who agrees probably has never had the intense flare up of outrage/fear/sadness/etc. that come along with a really good misunderstanding. So I made a process.
Phase one, identification aka what in the hell is wrong with my head that I am ready to spit nails here?
First recognize the intense emotion, and identify the cause. In the above example the words great, girl, like, and cool are my triggers. Realize why they are triggers, oh yeah, cat boy cheated on me with a great girl that I would like if I got to know. Okay this is not due to current boy's issues. Good. I have identified why I have the overwhelming reaction. Phase one. Check.
Now phase two, identification of meaning aka what in the hell was my beloved moron actually trying to say?
I find it helpful in my intense anger to visualize my SO very negatively, like a mentally challenged third grader. This helps me to calm down and understand why they are so bad at communicating with me. I can't expect a mentally challenged third grader to be able to say things the way I want to hear them. So now I can set about trying out different options of what they said to see which one is probably right. Here's a hint: GENERALLY it was the one that pisses me off the least. Who knew?
So phase three, I have a list of options, how do I choose? Well, ask. Even mentally challenged third graders can clarify and answer direct questions. Questions like, "Can you clarify that?," or "I realize that you probably didn't mean what you said the way I heard it. Just so we are on the same page here, you do not want to leave me for this new cool girl, right?" are helpful. Questions like, "What are you, stupid?" and "Was she hotter than me?" Are generally inflammatory and should be avoided. Repeat this step over and over until you actually learn what your special friend was trying to communicate.
Phase four, to be (upset) or not to be (upset). You have a good grip of what your SO was actually getting at now. Are they actually inconsiderate arrogant asses? Was what they said actually meant to hurt you? If yes, be pissed. If not, well, they are just partially poor communicators, but you love them anyway, right? So don't fight. It isn't their fault. They are just mentally challenged third graders.
PS: I have absolutely nothing against the mentally challenged, or third graders. Although, I did pretty much hate my life in third grade. Crap. Now I'm going to have to go explore this...
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Men and Women are like buses
I’ll never forget how I would come home torn apart from a break-up in grade school, (high school, undergrad, or now) and my mother in all her callousness would tell me that “Men are like buses, Lauren. If you stand in one place long enough another one is going to come by.” God, I hate(d) her for that sometimes. I would go and cry to my girlfriends. They would appease me. We would rail about the dumbass guy and bitch about my mom. Would it really have been too much to get sympathy?
Well, yes, actually. The man/bus comparison has helped me a heckuva lot more than any sympathy would have ever done. It helped more than the tear laden bitch fests and the brownie batter. Actually not only has it helped me, it has helped countless friends too, so mom if you ever read this: thank you. We all appreciate your wisdom.
So what exactly is this analogy and how does it work for you? On to the fun part: so, you’re recently dumped or have had your heart broken in a variety of creative ways (believe me I know how random and easy it is to have happen, if you're curious go back a few and see the post on the paperclips). You are of course, miserable, vindictive and, uhm heartbroken - for lack of a better phrase. Whatever do you do? I have found that in general there are three basic ways to handle the situation. Most people use a combination of the three techniques.
1. Mope & cry – a lot of fun for a few days but sooner or later that constant pain behind your eyes is going to get old and there is only so much chocolate ice cream available.
2. Drink yourself silly – also a lot of fun if you can remember your actions and not wake up regretting those actions. Oh and be careful, it frequently leads back to #1.
3. Move on – probably the best. Well, no probably about it really. It is the best. But we all know it can be hard to let go of a bad relationship, and traumatic to leave a decent one so this is the hardest reaction to have.
On that whole moving on bit, many of my guy friends would prescribe beer and hook-ups to get you over the slump and to that stage. I suppose there is some truth there. My female friends swear by the chocolate ice cream tub and tear-laced bitch fests. Well, those work too, to a point. But crying and drinking and all those coping mechanisms aren’t really the ticket to success.
It is important to note that I'm not saying you shouldn't cry, grieve, mourn over your beer, or indulge whatever your coping mechanism of choice. This isn’t about how you shouldn’t grieve for the death of your relationship or drown your pain in an endorphin rush – this is about realizing that just because you had a relationship failure it IS NOT the end of the world.
“But Lauren,” you might say, “I LOVE X.” Okay, I get that. You love your ex. How can you move on with X still around and so utterly alive? You should realize that you aren’t supposed to grieve your ex, you’re supposed to grieve the relationship. For all intents and purposes the relationship is dead. And there comes a point where all the tears and pain aren’t worth it. Your ex is your ex. Trying to be nostalgic for the relationship doesn’t do shit to them; it just hurts you. Let it go. That’s the secret of the “Men are like buses” philosophy.
The sun will still rise tomorrow. Your friends and family will still be there, and guess what, if you stand on that corner long enough another freaking bus is going to pull up. There are millions of people looking for mates, sooner or later another one is going to walk on by.
So grieve and for God's sake let it go. Move on, check out the map. Who knows, maybe the next one will have an even better route to take you on.
Well, yes, actually. The man/bus comparison has helped me a heckuva lot more than any sympathy would have ever done. It helped more than the tear laden bitch fests and the brownie batter. Actually not only has it helped me, it has helped countless friends too, so mom if you ever read this: thank you. We all appreciate your wisdom.
So what exactly is this analogy and how does it work for you? On to the fun part: so, you’re recently dumped or have had your heart broken in a variety of creative ways (believe me I know how random and easy it is to have happen, if you're curious go back a few and see the post on the paperclips). You are of course, miserable, vindictive and, uhm heartbroken - for lack of a better phrase. Whatever do you do? I have found that in general there are three basic ways to handle the situation. Most people use a combination of the three techniques.
1. Mope & cry – a lot of fun for a few days but sooner or later that constant pain behind your eyes is going to get old and there is only so much chocolate ice cream available.
2. Drink yourself silly – also a lot of fun if you can remember your actions and not wake up regretting those actions. Oh and be careful, it frequently leads back to #1.
3. Move on – probably the best. Well, no probably about it really. It is the best. But we all know it can be hard to let go of a bad relationship, and traumatic to leave a decent one so this is the hardest reaction to have.
On that whole moving on bit, many of my guy friends would prescribe beer and hook-ups to get you over the slump and to that stage. I suppose there is some truth there. My female friends swear by the chocolate ice cream tub and tear-laced bitch fests. Well, those work too, to a point. But crying and drinking and all those coping mechanisms aren’t really the ticket to success.
It is important to note that I'm not saying you shouldn't cry, grieve, mourn over your beer, or indulge whatever your coping mechanism of choice. This isn’t about how you shouldn’t grieve for the death of your relationship or drown your pain in an endorphin rush – this is about realizing that just because you had a relationship failure it IS NOT the end of the world.
“But Lauren,” you might say, “I LOVE X.” Okay, I get that. You love your ex. How can you move on with X still around and so utterly alive? You should realize that you aren’t supposed to grieve your ex, you’re supposed to grieve the relationship. For all intents and purposes the relationship is dead. And there comes a point where all the tears and pain aren’t worth it. Your ex is your ex. Trying to be nostalgic for the relationship doesn’t do shit to them; it just hurts you. Let it go. That’s the secret of the “Men are like buses” philosophy.
The sun will still rise tomorrow. Your friends and family will still be there, and guess what, if you stand on that corner long enough another freaking bus is going to pull up. There are millions of people looking for mates, sooner or later another one is going to walk on by.
So grieve and for God's sake let it go. Move on, check out the map. Who knows, maybe the next one will have an even better route to take you on.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
My love affair with checklists
A few months ago I had a friend tell me that I wasn’t picky enough with who I dated. He was right. He suggested I make a list. I did. I literally made checklists of all the qualities I wanted, and all the ones I couldn’t stand. Now this is interesting because, by nature I make lists, my entire life has been nothing but a checklist of things I needed to get done. I needed to graduate college, get a husband, get a job, get a house etc. etc. Following that list through to a T is what got me in the predicament of not being picky to begin with. So why did I think making more lists would solve my problem?
I think it is because human nature leads us to want to categorize everything. For some reason we try to apply a mental template to every detail in an attempt to qualify our actions and to provide a so called “logical” basis for our decisions.
In that little exercise I discovered one very important thing. At the end of the day what makes you happy can’t be identified by going down a checklist. Career happiness isn’t always defined by the most checks in the logical decision column. Compatibility isn’t always defined by the series of yes or no answers about someone. The things that our minds tell us are deal breakers about anything, aren’t always deal breakers.
Now, I’m not saying that my non-picky tendencies were a good thing either. For instance: it is always important to find a respectful partner, but the checklist version of this could be something like “doesn’t argue with me,” and honestly, do we want someone that let’s us walk all over them? No. The point of the matter is that our definitions of desirable qualities are frequently flawed. At the end of the day all the supposed perfection with Prince Charming would just get darned annoying. I don’t know about anyone else, but I have discovered at this day in the game that I am going to complain about whatever I’m doing and whoever I’m with at some point. Personally, I’d prefer it be that I’m on a deadline at work than I hate my job and I hate cleaning up soda cans than he doesn’t respect me.
Another problem with the checklist model is that unless you actually date most people or explore different job opportunities you never actually know enough about them to be able to properly assume anything anyway. How do you know that the guy who dresses metro can’t change the oil in a car? That the girl with the eyebrow ring is a floozy? How do you know that the job working as a hostess is demeaning? How do you know that the executive position is rewarding? You just can’t know these things without some study and actually doing them.
Long story short our lives and experiences aren’t that easy to qualify. You can’t quantify a good person (or a good partner) just because they have 16 checks in the yes column and you can’t be sure a dream job is a dream job just because it looks good on paper.
Is that scary? Hell yes. We all wish that life could be easy and logical, but the joy and wonder of life is that it isn’t like that. Ever. We might pretend that it can be, but at the end of the day we are just more upset when life doesn’t fit into our narrow boxes that can be checked yes or no. So go forth and embrace the joy and mystery that is actually living and choose your path and partner not on how many checkmarks they have but in what makes you feel right.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Dating Disclaimer
Time and time again my friends and myself have found ourselves in “relationships” that we never agreed to be in. Have you ever been in the same situation? Five texts later and the girl from the bar has proclaimed herself yours? Random booty call decided that they can’t live without you? Guy think that just because he bought you dinner you can’t date anyone else?
Well, here is the solution. I present to you a legal disclaimer to be used when entering into initial communication with potentially interested parties. Enjoy!
This signed agreement constitutes and understanding between _____________________(hereafter known as the Interested) and ___________________________ (hereafter known as the Interestee) effective on ______________________.
In signing this form both parties acknowledge that the following clauses are true.
A) Talking, texting, emailing, or any other form of communication does not constitute the existence of a relationship, or represent feelings in any way between the Interested and the Interestee.
B) Acceptance of any type of gift including, but not limited to: food, drinks, movies, DVDs, CDs (burned or bought), flowers, jewelry, confectionaries, or other does not constitute the existence of a relationship, or represent feelings in any way between the Interested and the Interestee.
C) Physical contact of any sort does not constitute the existence of a relationship, or represent feelings in any way between the Interested and the Interestee.
All of the above clauses are held to be true, and only a verbal agreement in the form of a query between the Interested party and the Interestee with a positive response from the Interestee to the Interested constitutes a binding relationship.
_______________________(Interested)
_______________________(Interestee)
__________________(Date)
_______________________(Witness)
_______________________(Witness)
See how easy that was? I recommend printing off several and keeping them on your person. It’s always better to be safe than sorry in this crazy world.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Poor Props
Props are great, not just in movies or plays, but in almost everything! I am all for using props in presentations too. Flow charts make complicated concepts easier to understand. Pictures make concepts more memorable. Intelligently used props that pull in audience interest are great! Are you giving a presentation about how great it is to print from a file that is on your phone? By all means actually do it!
But there is one time when props do not make things better…
Yeah, that’s right, break-ups do not need visual aids. I know you might think your ex is an utter psychopathic moron with hamburger helper for brains, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say he/she can probably understand the meaning of “it’s over” without some grandiose display of your mad Powerpoint skills, graph making abilities, or even, paper clips.
Yes, that’s right, paper clips. My overwhelming hatred of PPT aside, I would like to dwell here a moment on my intense dislike of paper clips. This dislike sprung about from an ex of mine who ever so lovingly had me hold out my hands and placed a paperclip in my left palm for everything he hated about me, and one in my right for my good qualities. He then asked me to do the math like a retarded kindergartener that had to count red balls versus yellow balls and see which one was more. While the visual aid did help me to understand that I was a total piece of crap that no one could ever love, and that I could only hold 67 paperclips in my hand before they started to fall, I don’t think it was warranted. I’m pretty sure I would have grasped that things were over from hearing “it’s over,” and perhaps then I could have moved on without developing a very strange paper clip paranoia.
Anyway, I was discussing this event last night with a friend whose reaction surprised me. Before I had thought the tale at best, amusing. It has been long enough ago that my ego has rebounded and despite my preference for staples, I lead a fairly normal life. She, however, could not believe that my ex had done such a thing. It seemed crazy to her to ever use a prop like paper clips, or perhaps marbles, during a break-up. It started me thinking, what other poor prop choices could be made? This lead me to try and compile a list of things where visual aids should not be used:
1. Break-ups
2. Seminars for the blind
3. Powerpoints on how bad Powerpoints are
4. Lessons on how to breathe
5. Anything at all that you might try to teach to a goldfish
6. Powerpoints on just about any subject
7. Explanations to one’s grandparents about what “fuck saws” are
8. Explanations to anyone, ever, about what you did while black out drunk at a bar
9. Red posters for color blind conventions
10. ________________________________________________
Number ten is for you. What do you think is the worst possible use of a visual aid? Comment below. I’m intrigued.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The power drill rant... **not PG
I just have to say this. Men, your penis is like a power drill. The only
time a woman wants to see it is when she wants to screw something.
For the love of God, please, please, please listen to me. I know you think
it's sexy to accost unsuspecting women with wild waggles in the hallway
while shouting "whoo whoo", but it isn't. It's kinda disturbing actually.
No, it's really, really disturbing if I'm going to be honest here. I can't
tell you how awkward you look or truly explain the depth of how unattractive
that motion is, but believe me the best you can hope for with that is some
sort of "aw, he's retarded" response; nothing resembling "oh my God, take me
now." I have taken an unofficial poll on this one. The women I have
questioned agree with me. Men are sexier with the boxers on.
Really, think about it, and I don't mean to be cruel, how in the hell would
you feel if you turned around from folding laundry to find yourself staring
at that. It is really weird, not to mention creepy. And no, it does not
immediately turn us on.
Life isn't a porno, as much as you might wish it was. Most women are turned
on by mental, not visual, stimulation. The waggles (best word I can think of
for that unholy movement) do not turn us on. So I implore you, please
remember and apply the simple phrase.
There is alliteration and everything...
time a woman wants to see it is when she wants to screw something.
For the love of God, please, please, please listen to me. I know you think
it's sexy to accost unsuspecting women with wild waggles in the hallway
while shouting "whoo whoo", but it isn't. It's kinda disturbing actually.
No, it's really, really disturbing if I'm going to be honest here. I can't
tell you how awkward you look or truly explain the depth of how unattractive
that motion is, but believe me the best you can hope for with that is some
sort of "aw, he's retarded" response; nothing resembling "oh my God, take me
now." I have taken an unofficial poll on this one. The women I have
questioned agree with me. Men are sexier with the boxers on.
Really, think about it, and I don't mean to be cruel, how in the hell would
you feel if you turned around from folding laundry to find yourself staring
at that. It is really weird, not to mention creepy. And no, it does not
immediately turn us on.
Life isn't a porno, as much as you might wish it was. Most women are turned
on by mental, not visual, stimulation. The waggles (best word I can think of
for that unholy movement) do not turn us on. So I implore you, please
remember and apply the simple phrase.
There is alliteration and everything...
Monday, June 27, 2011
Life is just a matter of perspective
I am a very strong believer that life is what you make of it. Case in point, I grew up in a small town in southern Illinois. To the naked eye there wasn’t that much to do. Especially not on a farm. My closest neighbor was a half mile away. Now, to some that may sound boring, but to me it isn’t. Everything is just a matter of perspective.
For example, I could say that last Friday was stressful. I woke up late, had to turn around because I forgot to feed the cat, and then had a boring day at work with the exception of one shitty customer.
Or I could say this…
That Friday started out as any other. But as soon as I opened my eyes I could feel something different. The air was heavy, expectant, like the very universe was holding its breath, waiting for greatness. It is impossible to lie still with the entire universe waiting on you to fulfill your destiny.
So, I woke up, pissed off my cat, and choked down a granola bar on the way to my car. Halfway down the driveway I realized that I had not fed Natasha. I had run over her eight days earlier, and rescued her from her attempted suicide. She is a tiny striped tabby cat, and FIV positive so she can’t live with Dex, because he’s hateful. So, she roams the basement like a wild disease ridden panther. I slammed on my brakes. They made a dramatic scrunching noise on the gravel as I flew to a stop. As I backed down the driveway with I was hit with the sneaking suspicion that it was going to be one of “those” days. The universe was still waiting, but dammit if she wasn’t going to make it difficult for me to fulfill my glorious quest, whatever it was meant to be.
I returned to the fortress of my parent’s home and wended my way through the obstacle course of dogs that run rampant and insane through the driveway. I could see the entrance to Natasha’s lair from my car. Then I heard it. Thump. Thump. Thump. What was that noise? The screech of claws came against my car door. What unholy beast could be trying to rip apart my protective steel cocoon? Was it? Yes, it was. Susan the Skunk Dog. On the surface she appeared to be a harmless pit bull cross, but beneath the overjoyed exterior her evil lurks. I cracked the door, and the dreaded stench permeated my senses. She was there. How could I avoid her overjoyed lunges and dastardly attempts at affection? I didn’t dare touch her. I would smell of skunk for days. I would be avoided, ridiculed, I would be the smelly girl. On such a magical day I could not let that happen. I searched around my car for some sort of weapon to wield against her. My eyes landed on the crushed up partial bits of granola bar. Success. I wouldn’t attack the vile creature. I would lure it away. Picking up the crumbs of oat and honey I rolled down the window, and with a short prayer, I threw the hunks away. Would they tempt her? Would the other canines eat them before they could work their magic?
The clever deception worked. Susan and her canine cadre raced across the yard to search for the bits of human food. I sprinted for the door to Natasha’s lair. What would I find there? I edged the door open and descended into darkness. Natasha’s cry echoed through the room disorienting me as I fumbled pointlessly for the light switch. Before I could operate it, she was there, winding through my ankles. Onlookers would say that she was just wanting affection, but I knew better. She was a clever, clever kitty. I perched precariously on the stairs in the darkness. Her movements through my legs shifted me forward inch by inch towards my imminent demise. If I slid down the stairs I would do her work for her. The voracious beast that she was, she would consume me if I showed any sign of weakness or injury. The potted meats that kept her temporarily sated, never truly satisfied her appetites. The striations of her fur were a mesmerizing blur, disorienting me further. I felt myself teetering on the edge of the concrete stair. Warm cat brushed constantly against my legs. Plaintive cries filled my ears. A small part of my being cried out for me to shake free of the trap before it was too late, but I couldn’t. I stumbled over the cat, and tumbled down the last four steps. I landed against the bank of cat cages. My head swam. My arm stung, but miraculously I survived. As the jolt of my landing slammed through my body I realized that Natasha was advancing on me slowly, stealthily, she came down the stairs. I was free, I had to act quickly! But, I was also in pain. I muttered a curse and limped valiantly towards the cans of processed meat. I ripped the pull tab open and with a loud “schlock” plated the meat in front of the vicious beast. My morning supplication pleased her. She allowed me to escape the darkness of her lair. I shook my head as I came out and into the bright sunlight. Was that the epic battle that the universe had prepared me for? I feared not. I still had to survive the most harrowing part of the day, work.
I traveled many miles uneventfully, nursing my wounded arm and ego. I would not fall victim again! And I didn’t. Work was really boring actually. I typed some stuff, and filed some stuff, and then I broke the copier, but I didn’t actually break it. I just thought I did. Then I went to lunch, and it was okay, but not poisoned or anything exciting. I drove back to work and clocked in and the secretary was like “Lauren you had a call.” And then, just like that my peaceful day was blown out of the water by my most challenging adversary ever, a customer (*duh duh na* <- dramatic effect). Customers are worse than Susans, Natashas, or anything else really because they hide themselves so well. On the surface they look like rational, reasonably intelligent people, but below that benign exterior their evil knows no bounds. Some of them function well, as in they actually pretend to know what they want and give the semblance of being “happy.” But really, those are only decoy customers to lure me in with a false sense of success and confidence so that the ringers can come out and trod my poor little brain into mush. Customers wear on you. They require you to be perky, and giving because “they’re always right” even when they’re dumb and cranky and needy as hell. So anyway, I laid out my weapons. Catalog, price list, and inventory levels were placed close at hand for whenever I need them in my upcoming duel. I picked up the phone and dialed my nemesis, steeling myself to sound happy. I would not lose this battle. After all, on this day the universe has great expectations of me. I chanted to myself, “Above all I will not get frustrated and cry.” It was on a loop in my head. The rings stopped. A voice answered. The battle lines are drawn. I have entered the arena. I finger the edge of my catalog nervously, ready to flip it open at a moment’s notice. Then I hear it, a part number… that doesn’t exist. I try to explain, but no, it can’t be, the customer can’t be wrong. My stores of perkiness wear thin. I resist the urge to shout “There is no damn XH85! Go get a freaking tape measure. There is XH at 103mm and X85 at 83mm. Nothing else! Learn how to measure and then call me back!” into the receiver instead I say, “Okay sir, can you do me just a little favor and measure the width of that chain for me? I want to make sure that I have this absolutely right for you, and I don’t seem to have any XH85 callouts here.” There. Success. I have survived the encounter. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hang up the phone. I have battled a customer and won. Still I feel as though my epic journey is not finished.
I clock out. I crave liquor. I crave chocolate. I crave chocolate liquor. And then it hits me. There is somewhere I need to be. I am making another journey this night, but where, and why? I am going to be fighting miles of traffic and the insurmountable obstacles known as farm equipment. I am amped to do battle past unknown roads and deer of certain doom. But for what? I flip past the meaningless blurbs in my Google calendar that attempt to distract me with their colors and seeming importance, and it hits me. The very universe shifts with my realization. Suddenly, I know what my battles have been for. I know the great purpose that I woke up with that very morning. It’s Friday. I’m having wine with V.
See there. It’s all a matter of perspective. You’d be amazed at how much more eventful and fun life can be when you picture yourself as the hero in your story – which you are. So, go out and battle a “Garbage Dragon” instead of being stuck behind a boring old garbage truck. It’ll be fun. Trust me, after all I survived a vicious Susan attack, an encounter with the dread Natasha, a boss level challenge with a customer, and I got to drink with a princess. Hells yeah.
For example, I could say that last Friday was stressful. I woke up late, had to turn around because I forgot to feed the cat, and then had a boring day at work with the exception of one shitty customer.
Or I could say this…
That Friday started out as any other. But as soon as I opened my eyes I could feel something different. The air was heavy, expectant, like the very universe was holding its breath, waiting for greatness. It is impossible to lie still with the entire universe waiting on you to fulfill your destiny.
So, I woke up, pissed off my cat, and choked down a granola bar on the way to my car. Halfway down the driveway I realized that I had not fed Natasha. I had run over her eight days earlier, and rescued her from her attempted suicide. She is a tiny striped tabby cat, and FIV positive so she can’t live with Dex, because he’s hateful. So, she roams the basement like a wild disease ridden panther. I slammed on my brakes. They made a dramatic scrunching noise on the gravel as I flew to a stop. As I backed down the driveway with I was hit with the sneaking suspicion that it was going to be one of “those” days. The universe was still waiting, but dammit if she wasn’t going to make it difficult for me to fulfill my glorious quest, whatever it was meant to be.
I returned to the fortress of my parent’s home and wended my way through the obstacle course of dogs that run rampant and insane through the driveway. I could see the entrance to Natasha’s lair from my car. Then I heard it. Thump. Thump. Thump. What was that noise? The screech of claws came against my car door. What unholy beast could be trying to rip apart my protective steel cocoon? Was it? Yes, it was. Susan the Skunk Dog. On the surface she appeared to be a harmless pit bull cross, but beneath the overjoyed exterior her evil lurks. I cracked the door, and the dreaded stench permeated my senses. She was there. How could I avoid her overjoyed lunges and dastardly attempts at affection? I didn’t dare touch her. I would smell of skunk for days. I would be avoided, ridiculed, I would be the smelly girl. On such a magical day I could not let that happen. I searched around my car for some sort of weapon to wield against her. My eyes landed on the crushed up partial bits of granola bar. Success. I wouldn’t attack the vile creature. I would lure it away. Picking up the crumbs of oat and honey I rolled down the window, and with a short prayer, I threw the hunks away. Would they tempt her? Would the other canines eat them before they could work their magic?
The clever deception worked. Susan and her canine cadre raced across the yard to search for the bits of human food. I sprinted for the door to Natasha’s lair. What would I find there? I edged the door open and descended into darkness. Natasha’s cry echoed through the room disorienting me as I fumbled pointlessly for the light switch. Before I could operate it, she was there, winding through my ankles. Onlookers would say that she was just wanting affection, but I knew better. She was a clever, clever kitty. I perched precariously on the stairs in the darkness. Her movements through my legs shifted me forward inch by inch towards my imminent demise. If I slid down the stairs I would do her work for her. The voracious beast that she was, she would consume me if I showed any sign of weakness or injury. The potted meats that kept her temporarily sated, never truly satisfied her appetites. The striations of her fur were a mesmerizing blur, disorienting me further. I felt myself teetering on the edge of the concrete stair. Warm cat brushed constantly against my legs. Plaintive cries filled my ears. A small part of my being cried out for me to shake free of the trap before it was too late, but I couldn’t. I stumbled over the cat, and tumbled down the last four steps. I landed against the bank of cat cages. My head swam. My arm stung, but miraculously I survived. As the jolt of my landing slammed through my body I realized that Natasha was advancing on me slowly, stealthily, she came down the stairs. I was free, I had to act quickly! But, I was also in pain. I muttered a curse and limped valiantly towards the cans of processed meat. I ripped the pull tab open and with a loud “schlock” plated the meat in front of the vicious beast. My morning supplication pleased her. She allowed me to escape the darkness of her lair. I shook my head as I came out and into the bright sunlight. Was that the epic battle that the universe had prepared me for? I feared not. I still had to survive the most harrowing part of the day, work.
I traveled many miles uneventfully, nursing my wounded arm and ego. I would not fall victim again! And I didn’t. Work was really boring actually. I typed some stuff, and filed some stuff, and then I broke the copier, but I didn’t actually break it. I just thought I did. Then I went to lunch, and it was okay, but not poisoned or anything exciting. I drove back to work and clocked in and the secretary was like “Lauren you had a call.” And then, just like that my peaceful day was blown out of the water by my most challenging adversary ever, a customer (*duh duh na* <- dramatic effect). Customers are worse than Susans, Natashas, or anything else really because they hide themselves so well. On the surface they look like rational, reasonably intelligent people, but below that benign exterior their evil knows no bounds. Some of them function well, as in they actually pretend to know what they want and give the semblance of being “happy.” But really, those are only decoy customers to lure me in with a false sense of success and confidence so that the ringers can come out and trod my poor little brain into mush. Customers wear on you. They require you to be perky, and giving because “they’re always right” even when they’re dumb and cranky and needy as hell. So anyway, I laid out my weapons. Catalog, price list, and inventory levels were placed close at hand for whenever I need them in my upcoming duel. I picked up the phone and dialed my nemesis, steeling myself to sound happy. I would not lose this battle. After all, on this day the universe has great expectations of me. I chanted to myself, “Above all I will not get frustrated and cry.” It was on a loop in my head. The rings stopped. A voice answered. The battle lines are drawn. I have entered the arena. I finger the edge of my catalog nervously, ready to flip it open at a moment’s notice. Then I hear it, a part number… that doesn’t exist. I try to explain, but no, it can’t be, the customer can’t be wrong. My stores of perkiness wear thin. I resist the urge to shout “There is no damn XH85! Go get a freaking tape measure. There is XH at 103mm and X85 at 83mm. Nothing else! Learn how to measure and then call me back!” into the receiver instead I say, “Okay sir, can you do me just a little favor and measure the width of that chain for me? I want to make sure that I have this absolutely right for you, and I don’t seem to have any XH85 callouts here.” There. Success. I have survived the encounter. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hang up the phone. I have battled a customer and won. Still I feel as though my epic journey is not finished.
I clock out. I crave liquor. I crave chocolate. I crave chocolate liquor. And then it hits me. There is somewhere I need to be. I am making another journey this night, but where, and why? I am going to be fighting miles of traffic and the insurmountable obstacles known as farm equipment. I am amped to do battle past unknown roads and deer of certain doom. But for what? I flip past the meaningless blurbs in my Google calendar that attempt to distract me with their colors and seeming importance, and it hits me. The very universe shifts with my realization. Suddenly, I know what my battles have been for. I know the great purpose that I woke up with that very morning. It’s Friday. I’m having wine with V.
See there. It’s all a matter of perspective. You’d be amazed at how much more eventful and fun life can be when you picture yourself as the hero in your story – which you are. So, go out and battle a “Garbage Dragon” instead of being stuck behind a boring old garbage truck. It’ll be fun. Trust me, after all I survived a vicious Susan attack, an encounter with the dread Natasha, a boss level challenge with a customer, and I got to drink with a princess. Hells yeah.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Vowels Sue for Equal Rights in Written Language
For years the spelling of words has been governed by dictionaries across
the land. Not since the olden times when no one had a clue as to how
things should be spelled other than by sound has the spelling of words
been so fluid. You all know what I am referring to, the startling trend
of creating new words containing nothing but singular letters. This
trend has left many vowels saying, WTF? I decided to investigate.
In order to understand this suit I decided to catch up with a consonant
sympathizer, H.
I: So, H, can you tell me a little bit about how the concept for this
suit got started?
H: Yeah, sure thing. This whole thing was started by O. She was sick and
tired of being left out of words like: you, before, and sorry. I can see
it. I mean, she was crucial in those words before, you know? So, anyway,
she and Y were commiserating over a couple of cold ones one night. E and
A happened to be in the same bar, and you know how it is when the drinks
start flowing. Well, O got a little loose and started bawling to anyone
who would listen. She was all like, " How sorry are people when they
can't even take the time to write out the damned word? I mean, how
disrespectful can you be?" and, "I might as well not even be in the
alphabet anymore!" E and A started nodding over in the corner, and by
the end of the night E and A got on board.
I: Well, that sounds like one heck of a night H. I am to understand that
you and a few other consonant supporters are going to be making the trip
to the capitol with the vowels in order to see this suit through?
H: Yeah. It started out with just the vowels but now a lot of us
consonants are on the bandwagon. T was all like, screw the numerals I
have a place in the word to too dammit. G isn't too happy with being
synonymous with the big guy upstairs either. He has always been a
stickler for capitalization when talking about nouns, and let's face it
when people start writing without vowels they sure as heck don't use
things like capitalization.
I: That's true. So, it sounds as if many of the letters of the alphabet
are outraged?
H: Oh no. That isn't to mean that all the vowels and consonants are
happy about this suit. Honestly, U was pissy about the whole thing.
Things have worked better for her. She never knew why Y and O were in
you anyway.
I: I see. I see. Is anyone else going to be making this trip?
H: Well, a couple punctuation marks were thinking about going, but
honestly, no one has seen Semi Colon or Apostrophe in so long that the
other marks are busy doing a missing person report and scanning the
boards to see if they have somehow disappeared. It is still up in the
air right now. I think they will make the trip if they find any trace of
them. It is a very dark time to be written communication I, a very dark
time.
Thanks to that interview with H I believe we can all see the point of
those brave vowels, consonants, and oft overlooked punctuation marks as
they march on legislature tomorrow to try and get equal representation
in text messages, Facebook posts, and even emails once more. Even though
I have not been effected nearly as much as my fellow vowels I too will
be there tomorrow, praying for a brighter future. This is I, and I am
just one more written symbol of communication looking for equal rights.
the land. Not since the olden times when no one had a clue as to how
things should be spelled other than by sound has the spelling of words
been so fluid. You all know what I am referring to, the startling trend
of creating new words containing nothing but singular letters. This
trend has left many vowels saying, WTF? I decided to investigate.
In order to understand this suit I decided to catch up with a consonant
sympathizer, H.
I: So, H, can you tell me a little bit about how the concept for this
suit got started?
H: Yeah, sure thing. This whole thing was started by O. She was sick and
tired of being left out of words like: you, before, and sorry. I can see
it. I mean, she was crucial in those words before, you know? So, anyway,
she and Y were commiserating over a couple of cold ones one night. E and
A happened to be in the same bar, and you know how it is when the drinks
start flowing. Well, O got a little loose and started bawling to anyone
who would listen. She was all like, " How sorry are people when they
can't even take the time to write out the damned word? I mean, how
disrespectful can you be?" and, "I might as well not even be in the
alphabet anymore!" E and A started nodding over in the corner, and by
the end of the night E and A got on board.
I: Well, that sounds like one heck of a night H. I am to understand that
you and a few other consonant supporters are going to be making the trip
to the capitol with the vowels in order to see this suit through?
H: Yeah. It started out with just the vowels but now a lot of us
consonants are on the bandwagon. T was all like, screw the numerals I
have a place in the word to too dammit. G isn't too happy with being
synonymous with the big guy upstairs either. He has always been a
stickler for capitalization when talking about nouns, and let's face it
when people start writing without vowels they sure as heck don't use
things like capitalization.
I: That's true. So, it sounds as if many of the letters of the alphabet
are outraged?
H: Oh no. That isn't to mean that all the vowels and consonants are
happy about this suit. Honestly, U was pissy about the whole thing.
Things have worked better for her. She never knew why Y and O were in
you anyway.
I: I see. I see. Is anyone else going to be making this trip?
H: Well, a couple punctuation marks were thinking about going, but
honestly, no one has seen Semi Colon or Apostrophe in so long that the
other marks are busy doing a missing person report and scanning the
boards to see if they have somehow disappeared. It is still up in the
air right now. I think they will make the trip if they find any trace of
them. It is a very dark time to be written communication I, a very dark
time.
Thanks to that interview with H I believe we can all see the point of
those brave vowels, consonants, and oft overlooked punctuation marks as
they march on legislature tomorrow to try and get equal representation
in text messages, Facebook posts, and even emails once more. Even though
I have not been effected nearly as much as my fellow vowels I too will
be there tomorrow, praying for a brighter future. This is I, and I am
just one more written symbol of communication looking for equal rights.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Rhyming Rant
Ever feel like your man isn’t listening to you? Perhaps your partner just can’t get it through his head what it is you’re saying? Guys, is she speaking in gibberish? I came to the conclusion that maybe guys would get it a bit better with short stanzas and rhymes. Actually this idea started out as a pop-up book for that speacial someone. Poor guy; hope he has a sense of humor.
Here it goes:
Every man is a dumbass;
regardless of race or creed.
They are all confused,
by a woman’s basic needs.
In light of this,
this advice I beg you to heed.
To be desired is a goal much aspired!
But for the love of God respect that we’re tired!
Remember please that all good things happen in time.
(Or in my case if you add enough wine!)
Dates are lovely too,
but only if the planner is you.
I know decisions are scary
But the results rarely vary.
I am Always happier with you.
To be cherished and loved is great!
But please be warned,
If I feel possessed you’ll get nothing but hate
And you and yours will be scorned.
To be needed is simply divine,
But please act older than nine.
I swear if you act older and wiser
I’m really not a physical miser.
Gifts and flowers are amazing.
Preferably when the reason is hazy.
They always mean more,
When they don’t come from the store.
For reasons non-to obscure!
Compliments are always nice,
But only if you mean them.
Even in relationships lying is a vice!
You really don’t want to demean them.
Listening isn’t a gift.
Do it, or it will cause a rift.
It isn’t an optional thing.
So, please stop living that dream.
I hope these suggestions have helped.
Perhaps new insight they’ll whelp.
I hope you’re more inclined,
To actually know my mind,
*And maybe remember what I have said this time!*
Every man is a dumbass,
Universally confused.
They say they want smart sexy woman,
And then all act like they’re abused.
Smart sexy woman are rare.
So appreciate yours while she’s there!
Follow the rules said in rhyme.
Both will be happier in time!
Before I go, one last thought:
When you get what you say you wanted,
Be glad with what you got.
Please don’t be a fool like the rest of your lot!
Here it goes:
Every man is a dumbass;
regardless of race or creed.
They are all confused,
by a woman’s basic needs.
In light of this,
this advice I beg you to heed.
To be desired is a goal much aspired!
But for the love of God respect that we’re tired!
Remember please that all good things happen in time.
(Or in my case if you add enough wine!)
Dates are lovely too,
but only if the planner is you.
I know decisions are scary
But the results rarely vary.
I am Always happier with you.
To be cherished and loved is great!
But please be warned,
If I feel possessed you’ll get nothing but hate
And you and yours will be scorned.
To be needed is simply divine,
But please act older than nine.
I swear if you act older and wiser
I’m really not a physical miser.
Gifts and flowers are amazing.
Preferably when the reason is hazy.
They always mean more,
When they don’t come from the store.
For reasons non-to obscure!
Compliments are always nice,
But only if you mean them.
Even in relationships lying is a vice!
You really don’t want to demean them.
Listening isn’t a gift.
Do it, or it will cause a rift.
It isn’t an optional thing.
So, please stop living that dream.
I hope these suggestions have helped.
Perhaps new insight they’ll whelp.
I hope you’re more inclined,
To actually know my mind,
*And maybe remember what I have said this time!*
Every man is a dumbass,
Universally confused.
They say they want smart sexy woman,
And then all act like they’re abused.
Smart sexy woman are rare.
So appreciate yours while she’s there!
Follow the rules said in rhyme.
Both will be happier in time!
Before I go, one last thought:
When you get what you say you wanted,
Be glad with what you got.
Please don’t be a fool like the rest of your lot!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The Run-Chase Rule
If you have ever sat back and watched dogs and cats together you have seen
this relationship rule played out in a very explicit way. You observe the
dog lying still beside you and his head perks up as he notices a cat walk
across his line of sight. Now typically the dog will just lay there. There
is one move that will doom the poor feline though. The minute Mr. Puss
begins to run, good ole’ Spot’s instincts rev up and he puts on the chase.
Now how exactly does that apply to the dating world? Well, to put it simply
men and women play the parts of the pursuer and of the pursued. Women chase
and men run. Men chase and women run; it is a fact of life. Curse the
“games” we play all you want, it is an evolutionary part of courting.
Women are programmed to want men who are the best providers, have more
options for mates, etcetera. How does that translate now? Women want men who
have active lives apart from themselves as well as good jobs, and social
circles. Men want the same things from women. When women are clingy in the
first months of a relationship it either drives men away or permanently
stamps doormat on our foreheads for the rest of the relationship – not fun.
So, you are sitting back saying damn this is complicated. Why do I care if
my ancestors acted a certain way and found things attractive? I have a
crush! I live him/her. All I need is to talk to them to feel complete! Wait,
why are they ignoring me?
The important thing to note is that with initial self control and proper
application of the Run-Chase rule you can manipulate the situation to be the
pursued not the pursuant.
Does this mean that you have to be a total ass to make someone interested in
you? No (although this rule certainly explains why the jackass men are so
attractive to women: we have to chase them to get a second glance). Do you
have to completely ignore them? No (it also explains why bitchy girls seem
to have so many guys: they have to get in line to get a chance at winning
our hearts). Merely backing off and allowing the race to play out is
generally sufficient.
So, how do you do that?
Throw out enough information that it can be assumed you are interested. If
the interest seems to be mutual arrange a date. If a day is not good for
whatever reason, never try to reschedule something for the same date. I
would go as far as to say wait at least three days before scheduling
something else. Then back off a little bit. Wait awhile to answer texts (I
give them the quarter/half hour rule, unless they appear dire) or calls
unless it was previously agreed that you would chat. Limit phone calls to
twenty or thirty minutes before you “are busy” and need to call back
later/tomorrow. This allows time for camaraderie to build and for you to get
to know each other, but it also allows for the attractiveness to build while
you are apart.
I know it sounds like a good idea to keep good things going, but it is
crucial to not give up your own social activities completely – and more so
to appear to not give them up at all. We all want to know that we are
important, but we also want to be important to people that have OTHER things
going on in their lives. Everyone is much more attractive that way.
Playing the Run-Chase rule generally will incite enough interest to garner a
few dates; which is enough to begin most relationships. There are always
exceptions – in which case did you really want someone who wasn’t really in
to you anyway?
Of course, after a few initial weeks of this, if you fall into a steady
relationship never forget to pursue your mate. So many relationships fail
because once the prize is one either party thinks they don’t have to work
anymore. The Run-Chase rule applies to dating and marriages with the same
rigidity.
After all, why do you think the grass winking at you and walking away on the
other side of the fence is always so much greener?
this relationship rule played out in a very explicit way. You observe the
dog lying still beside you and his head perks up as he notices a cat walk
across his line of sight. Now typically the dog will just lay there. There
is one move that will doom the poor feline though. The minute Mr. Puss
begins to run, good ole’ Spot’s instincts rev up and he puts on the chase.
Now how exactly does that apply to the dating world? Well, to put it simply
men and women play the parts of the pursuer and of the pursued. Women chase
and men run. Men chase and women run; it is a fact of life. Curse the
“games” we play all you want, it is an evolutionary part of courting.
Women are programmed to want men who are the best providers, have more
options for mates, etcetera. How does that translate now? Women want men who
have active lives apart from themselves as well as good jobs, and social
circles. Men want the same things from women. When women are clingy in the
first months of a relationship it either drives men away or permanently
stamps doormat on our foreheads for the rest of the relationship – not fun.
So, you are sitting back saying damn this is complicated. Why do I care if
my ancestors acted a certain way and found things attractive? I have a
crush! I live him/her. All I need is to talk to them to feel complete! Wait,
why are they ignoring me?
The important thing to note is that with initial self control and proper
application of the Run-Chase rule you can manipulate the situation to be the
pursued not the pursuant.
Does this mean that you have to be a total ass to make someone interested in
you? No (although this rule certainly explains why the jackass men are so
attractive to women: we have to chase them to get a second glance). Do you
have to completely ignore them? No (it also explains why bitchy girls seem
to have so many guys: they have to get in line to get a chance at winning
our hearts). Merely backing off and allowing the race to play out is
generally sufficient.
So, how do you do that?
Throw out enough information that it can be assumed you are interested. If
the interest seems to be mutual arrange a date. If a day is not good for
whatever reason, never try to reschedule something for the same date. I
would go as far as to say wait at least three days before scheduling
something else. Then back off a little bit. Wait awhile to answer texts (I
give them the quarter/half hour rule, unless they appear dire) or calls
unless it was previously agreed that you would chat. Limit phone calls to
twenty or thirty minutes before you “are busy” and need to call back
later/tomorrow. This allows time for camaraderie to build and for you to get
to know each other, but it also allows for the attractiveness to build while
you are apart.
I know it sounds like a good idea to keep good things going, but it is
crucial to not give up your own social activities completely – and more so
to appear to not give them up at all. We all want to know that we are
important, but we also want to be important to people that have OTHER things
going on in their lives. Everyone is much more attractive that way.
Playing the Run-Chase rule generally will incite enough interest to garner a
few dates; which is enough to begin most relationships. There are always
exceptions – in which case did you really want someone who wasn’t really in
to you anyway?
Of course, after a few initial weeks of this, if you fall into a steady
relationship never forget to pursue your mate. So many relationships fail
because once the prize is one either party thinks they don’t have to work
anymore. The Run-Chase rule applies to dating and marriages with the same
rigidity.
After all, why do you think the grass winking at you and walking away on the
other side of the fence is always so much greener?
The dating buffet
I’ll never forget how I would come home torn apart from a break-up in grade
school, and my mother in all her callousness would tell me that “Men are
like buses, Lauren. If you stand in one place long enough another one is
going to come by.” God, I hated her for that. Would it really have been too
much to get sympathy?
Well, yes, actually. The man/bus comparison has helped me a heckuva lot more
than any sympathy would have ever done. Actually not only has it helped me
it has helped countless friends too, so mom if you ever read this: thank
you. We all appreciate your wisdom.
On to the fun part: so, you’re recently dumped or have had your heart broken
in a variety of creative ways (believe me I know how random and easy it is
to have happen). You are of course, miserable, vindictive and, uhm
heartbroken - for lack of a better phrase. What do you do? I have found that
in general there are three ways to handle the situation. Most people use a
combination of the three techniques.
1. Mope & cry – a lot of fun for a few days but sooner or later that
constant pain behind your eyes is going to get old and there is only so much
chocolate ice cream available.
2. Drink yourself silly – also a lot of fun if you can remember your
actions and not wake up regretting those actions. Oh and be careful, it
frequently leads back to #1.
3. Move on – probably the best. Well, no probably about it really. It is
the best. But we all know it can be hard to let go of a bad relationship,
and traumatic to leave a decent one so this is the hardest reaction to have.
On that whole moving on bit, many of my guy friends would prescribe beer and
hook-ups to get you over the slump and to that stage. I suppose there is
some truth there. My female friends swear by the chocolate ice cream tub and
tear-laced bitch fests. Well, those work too.
This isn’t about how you shouldn’t grieve for the death of your relationship
or drown your pain in an endorphin rush though – this is about realizing
that just because you had a relationship failure it IS NOT the end of the
world.
The sun will still rise tomorrow. Your friends will still be there, and
guess what, if you stand on that corner long enough another freaking bus is
going to pull up. There are millions of people looking for mates, sooner or
later another one is going to walk on by.
Who knows maybe the next one will have an even better route to take you on.
school, and my mother in all her callousness would tell me that “Men are
like buses, Lauren. If you stand in one place long enough another one is
going to come by.” God, I hated her for that. Would it really have been too
much to get sympathy?
Well, yes, actually. The man/bus comparison has helped me a heckuva lot more
than any sympathy would have ever done. Actually not only has it helped me
it has helped countless friends too, so mom if you ever read this: thank
you. We all appreciate your wisdom.
On to the fun part: so, you’re recently dumped or have had your heart broken
in a variety of creative ways (believe me I know how random and easy it is
to have happen). You are of course, miserable, vindictive and, uhm
heartbroken - for lack of a better phrase. What do you do? I have found that
in general there are three ways to handle the situation. Most people use a
combination of the three techniques.
1. Mope & cry – a lot of fun for a few days but sooner or later that
constant pain behind your eyes is going to get old and there is only so much
chocolate ice cream available.
2. Drink yourself silly – also a lot of fun if you can remember your
actions and not wake up regretting those actions. Oh and be careful, it
frequently leads back to #1.
3. Move on – probably the best. Well, no probably about it really. It is
the best. But we all know it can be hard to let go of a bad relationship,
and traumatic to leave a decent one so this is the hardest reaction to have.
On that whole moving on bit, many of my guy friends would prescribe beer and
hook-ups to get you over the slump and to that stage. I suppose there is
some truth there. My female friends swear by the chocolate ice cream tub and
tear-laced bitch fests. Well, those work too.
This isn’t about how you shouldn’t grieve for the death of your relationship
or drown your pain in an endorphin rush though – this is about realizing
that just because you had a relationship failure it IS NOT the end of the
world.
The sun will still rise tomorrow. Your friends will still be there, and
guess what, if you stand on that corner long enough another freaking bus is
going to pull up. There are millions of people looking for mates, sooner or
later another one is going to walk on by.
Who knows maybe the next one will have an even better route to take you on.
A weasel is a weasel no matter how many times you polymorph it:
Guess what! People don’t change!
No, seriously they don’t. Stop kidding yourself. We’re all kinda staring at
you with pained smiles right now.
Save yourself the pain and accept the fact that you can’t change them. It is
much better to just accept them for what they are than deal with the
heartbreak of finding out that you have been lying to yourself about their
behavior. That is the jaded voice of experience there. It took me years to
learn that the hard way, and I still have to mentally beat myself every so
often when I find that I am doing it again.
So, for those of you that may not get the analogy the weasel represents the
behavior in your partner that you can’t stand. You try to polymorph it into
a chicken. Guess what, it is still a weasel. You polymorph the chicken into
a horse, it is still a freaking weasel.
Now basic behaviors like leaving soda cans around can be changed, but the
weasel behaviors don’t leave. Personally I hate smoking. I abhor it. My
weasel epiphany came from my ex who smoked.
Now my ex loved smoking. I think he smoked anything he could get his hands
on. He told me he I was important enough to quit for (poof! A chicken wow!),
well he didn’t (still a darned chicken shaped weasel). He told me he would
quit pot and cigarettes. He got sneakier and fooled me for a few months
(what a pretty horsey shaped weasel-chicken).
He was a lying scum-bag. Really the lying scum-bag part is the weasel. If
the person you are with is disrespectful, deceitful, or abusive just walk
away. They won’t change. They are weasels, and no matter how many times you
pretend that they change shape they never do. Please don’t lie to yourself
like I did. That pretty white stallion was all in my head because at the
heart of it, he was still a lying weasel.
No, seriously they don’t. Stop kidding yourself. We’re all kinda staring at
you with pained smiles right now.
Save yourself the pain and accept the fact that you can’t change them. It is
much better to just accept them for what they are than deal with the
heartbreak of finding out that you have been lying to yourself about their
behavior. That is the jaded voice of experience there. It took me years to
learn that the hard way, and I still have to mentally beat myself every so
often when I find that I am doing it again.
So, for those of you that may not get the analogy the weasel represents the
behavior in your partner that you can’t stand. You try to polymorph it into
a chicken. Guess what, it is still a weasel. You polymorph the chicken into
a horse, it is still a freaking weasel.
Now basic behaviors like leaving soda cans around can be changed, but the
weasel behaviors don’t leave. Personally I hate smoking. I abhor it. My
weasel epiphany came from my ex who smoked.
Now my ex loved smoking. I think he smoked anything he could get his hands
on. He told me he I was important enough to quit for (poof! A chicken wow!),
well he didn’t (still a darned chicken shaped weasel). He told me he would
quit pot and cigarettes. He got sneakier and fooled me for a few months
(what a pretty horsey shaped weasel-chicken).
He was a lying scum-bag. Really the lying scum-bag part is the weasel. If
the person you are with is disrespectful, deceitful, or abusive just walk
away. They won’t change. They are weasels, and no matter how many times you
pretend that they change shape they never do. Please don’t lie to yourself
like I did. That pretty white stallion was all in my head because at the
heart of it, he was still a lying weasel.
What you really need is a Wal-Mart...
One stop shopping is as necessary in our dating lives as it is in our
society as a whole. Let me elaborate…
I am a firm believer that people only have so much innate ability to go
around. For example, a man that is an excellent listener might not be that
great in bed. A guy who is awesome in bed probably won’t help out around the
house. A woman who loves to cook may not be as inclined to go to a ball
game. Examples aside, everything in a relationship is a tradeoff.
You might be saying to yourself, “oh no X is so great! They can do
everything!”
Well, that’s kind of my point if you want a guy who can fix a car,
sympathize with you, be a sex god, and who cleans (insert other qualities
here) you are going to have a Wal-Mart guy. Chances are if you find all of
your checklist of qualities in one person they are going to be good at all
of them, but great at none. For example:
The best lay I ever had = total jackass emotionally.
The best sympathizer = completely useless unless the hug generator ceased
functioning on something. Oh wait, my bad, that’s still completely useless.
The point is the guys I mentioned above were like specialty stores. They
were amazing at what they did, but they didn’t carry groceries and tires if
you catch my drift.
Specialty store guys and gals are great for dating, but when you want to
settle down with someone you really want a Wal-Mart. They may not have the
best selection in town, but you can get enough of anything there to get
yourself through. Could you find better produce somewhere? Yes. Could you
get better tools somewhere? Hell yes. Can you get both of them in one spot
anywhere else? That isn’t as likely.
*Don’t discount your relationship because they aren’t the best at everything
in comparison to what you’ve had.* Sometimes the one-stop-shop ability to
get a hug, be listened to, have good sex, and watch the garbage whisked out
the door is much better than putting up with a whole bunch of deficient and
non-stock goods for that one specialty item.
society as a whole. Let me elaborate…
I am a firm believer that people only have so much innate ability to go
around. For example, a man that is an excellent listener might not be that
great in bed. A guy who is awesome in bed probably won’t help out around the
house. A woman who loves to cook may not be as inclined to go to a ball
game. Examples aside, everything in a relationship is a tradeoff.
You might be saying to yourself, “oh no X is so great! They can do
everything!”
Well, that’s kind of my point if you want a guy who can fix a car,
sympathize with you, be a sex god, and who cleans (insert other qualities
here) you are going to have a Wal-Mart guy. Chances are if you find all of
your checklist of qualities in one person they are going to be good at all
of them, but great at none. For example:
The best lay I ever had = total jackass emotionally.
The best sympathizer = completely useless unless the hug generator ceased
functioning on something. Oh wait, my bad, that’s still completely useless.
The point is the guys I mentioned above were like specialty stores. They
were amazing at what they did, but they didn’t carry groceries and tires if
you catch my drift.
Specialty store guys and gals are great for dating, but when you want to
settle down with someone you really want a Wal-Mart. They may not have the
best selection in town, but you can get enough of anything there to get
yourself through. Could you find better produce somewhere? Yes. Could you
get better tools somewhere? Hell yes. Can you get both of them in one spot
anywhere else? That isn’t as likely.
*Don’t discount your relationship because they aren’t the best at everything
in comparison to what you’ve had.* Sometimes the one-stop-shop ability to
get a hug, be listened to, have good sex, and watch the garbage whisked out
the door is much better than putting up with a whole bunch of deficient and
non-stock goods for that one specialty item.
The Dating Buffet
Why is it considered horrible to date around? So many people are focused on
maintaining a relationship despite its flaws just because they don’t want to
be alone, or perhaps they think they can’t do better. I have been one of
those people before. It took me years to get out of a mediocre relationship
only to find that when it came down to dating I didn’t know if I wanted the
steak or the salad bar.
Okay, so the analogy goes like this: dating is like a buffet and marriage is
like ordering an entrée off the menu. If you know for sure that you want the
steak, by all means go for the steak! You are a lucky individual if you
start off knowing exactly what you want without being tempted by the
chicken.
I sincerely feel that dating should be your trip to the buffet go out and
sample a little bit of everything! Once you place your entrée order it is
really hard to change it; so sample the salad, shrimp, and chicken while you
have the ability.
All too soon you’ll have to commit to one order for the
rest of your life, so you had better make damn sure that you aren’t going to
be looking around wondering if something else is going to taste better.
maintaining a relationship despite its flaws just because they don’t want to
be alone, or perhaps they think they can’t do better. I have been one of
those people before. It took me years to get out of a mediocre relationship
only to find that when it came down to dating I didn’t know if I wanted the
steak or the salad bar.
Okay, so the analogy goes like this: dating is like a buffet and marriage is
like ordering an entrée off the menu. If you know for sure that you want the
steak, by all means go for the steak! You are a lucky individual if you
start off knowing exactly what you want without being tempted by the
chicken.
I sincerely feel that dating should be your trip to the buffet go out and
sample a little bit of everything! Once you place your entrée order it is
really hard to change it; so sample the salad, shrimp, and chicken while you
have the ability.
All too soon you’ll have to commit to one order for the
rest of your life, so you had better make damn sure that you aren’t going to
be looking around wondering if something else is going to taste better.
Brain Candy
We all know the dangers of sugary, delicious, utterly bad for you candy. We all love sweets in some way shape or form. My personal weakness is baked goods. When Christmas rolls around I stuff myself so full of cookies and pie that I almost forget my love of turkey and green bean casserole. I know that I loved them but how could they be better than that massive slice of apple pie? I completely forget reason and practically have to detox off the sugar. Seriously. There are cravings.
This raises the question about brain candy. What is brain candy you ask? It functions the same way as that slice of pie. It’s horrible for you. It rots your teeth (brain cells). It fills you up. You don’t remember how great intellectually stimulating things are, all you want is another sugar fix. What’s an example of this? How about romance novels? The writing is crap. I read it and find typos and spelling errors, but oh my God give me another. Trashy novels are my secret addiction. Well, so are horrible youtube videos. I have watched several and I swear I can feel my brain cells screaming out their saccharine sweet demise. I think most people have their secret or not so secret sugary fix - whether it is a blog, video site, poorly written novels, or even television shows and movies. The point is we are immersing ourselves so deeply into all of this brain candy that we are forgetting how good it feels to actually think and learn about things that expand our minds.
I noticed the other morning that I had started reading my facebook news feed like it was the daily paper with my coffee. If that one isn’t a case in point I don’t know what is. I hadn’t even realized that I had started relying on good ole FB for news. I can tell you, as hard as it was to start doing, reading the WSJ on my phone in the morning instead puts me in a better frame of mind throughout the day. And, surprisingly enough, I don’t miss all of the drama and puppy videos all that much.
Has that switch made my mind broader? Has it encouraged me to read more mentally stimulating books? Pay more attention in class? Well, probably not, but much like that piece of turkey at Christmas it has reminded me that I used to like more than the sweets. And maybe, just maybe, if I put down the pie I’ll find the turkey more fulfilling.
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