You Mean THAT Guy?? O.o

I’m going to tell you a little story about how random my dating life is.

For the past, oh, 8 years, I’ve been trying to use my mother’s influence as a college professor to my advantage. By this I mean, I’ve been trying to convince her to scope out good looking guys in her classes as possible candidates for romance. Now, I realize this may be unethical, attempting to take advantage of my mother’s access to the budding minds and bodies of tomorrow, but when you’re in a situation like mine, you start to get a little desperate. My low point came when I realized that I had almost nothing in common with any of the boys in my class and I needed to start looking up.

When I was about fourteen, while the boys in my class were throwing spit balls at each other and trying to burp the loudest in order to peacock their way into our common female peripheral vision, I was trying to talk to them about things. Not things which would actually interest them, like boobs or food, but other things; books, music, the conflicts in the middles east and their not so positive views on the “gentler” sex. I didn’t have much luck with this approach.

As I got older, I realized I was being a little too picky with the traits I was looking for in a man. Smart, funny, capable of carrying on a multi-syllable conversation, able to read beyond the eleventh-grade level, not smelly, seriously, able to read anything without more than one picture per page, interest in my mind and not just my ass…the ability to write “attractive” correctly in a text, or use the work attractive in a sentence period instead of hot. All of these were simply beyond my reach, given the limited availability of boys in my class. (I studied at a private school and my graduating senior class was of twenty one students…more than half of them being girls.) My educational/social pool simply wasn’t deep enough to hold the variety of men that I felt would somehow better flavor my life. The kind of men I read about in my paperbacks; dark, brooding, with a hint of danger than made you only want to try and fix them all the more. This was pre-Twilight, so none of them sucked blood to live or glittered more than the average boy in the daylight.

Literature had ruined me for the real boys in my life, and I knew I’d never be happy simply dating one of them. And so, my quest began…

My mother was always telling me about the guys in her classes. She’d tell me the story about the boys who played pranks in class. The ones who spoke out loudly while she was trying to teach, but later came up to her and revealed a deep and hidden interest in science and the world. The ones who were drop dead cute, but already dating/married to/engaged to someone and thus unavailable to me in every way. It was like having my own real life audio candy store. Except filled with hot guys. Whether they were actually attractive in my tastes, I’ll never know. I almost never met the boys she spoke of, being much younger, and when I did they tended to underwhelm. I clung to hope though; knowing that someday she’d find the flower blooming among the weeds and he’d be all “Hey, ‘sup?” and I’d be all “Nothing much. ‘Sup with you?”

It would be magical.

Well, the years went by and I never did meet my prince charming through my mother’s student database. I met and dated my own range of boys. Some more successful than others in peeking my interest, other boring me beyond what I imagined possible. And then, we reached this semester…

I, once again, harangued my mother until she relented and agreed to scout out a good looking specimen; despite the fact that in about two weeks I’d be moving to another continent. Finally, she comes home one day and tells me, “I’ve found him! I have a boy in my class! He is cute and funny. I think you’d like him!” Joy and hurrah! The day had finally come! I insisted that the next time she had class with said student, she take a picture with him, so that I may see if he was indeed cute in my eyes. She agreed, but only if she could tell him what the picture was for. I thought it funny and said “Sure. What’s the worst that can happen?” Comedy really does strike when one least expects it…

A few days later she arrives home and after eating dinner together, I follow her upstairs to her room and ask her about the picture. She tells me a little about the mystery man, vague details about his class habits and personality, and ends the description with this little nugget of information: I had, apparently, dated this boy before! My minds went blank. How could this be possible? My list of former beaus was sadly short enough to be counted on one hand. At least those lasting enough to be considered someone I “dated”. I ask her for more details. As she continues on describing him and how we had apparently had a thing, I realize who she’s talking about…

My mother took a picture with a boy I had “dated” when I was about eleven years old…We met at a day camp in the summer, held hands for about three days, talked on the phone a bit, and then never spoke again. This was the boy my mother though was so cute. The boy who dropped the L bomb on me after talking for a few days, over the phone, when he was two years younger than me, and who I never spoke to again…I didn’t know whether to laugh at how funny the situation was, laugh at the fact that he actually remembered me, or feel saddened by the fact that in the whole pool of testosterone swimming around me, the only boy in a UNIVERSITY that my mother found who mildly fit my deepest wishes was someone who I had already met and discarded when I was eleven…

What else could I do? I laughed long and hard with my mother about it. When I went with her to work in order to use the internet and saw him in her class, I made a funny face and looked away. I didn’t dare actually say hi and talk about how my mother came close to almost setting us up. I felt embarrassed by my younger self and how she couldn’t handle crushes back then, and I wondered how my future self would feel about these kinds of events and what a spaz I am now.

It’s funny how small a small island can really be… I wonder how many more moments of reliving my past I’ll have once I move. I doubt many, since I don’t actually know many people in NYC and can’t possibly date enough of them to casually be set up with them twice. I wonder where life and love will take me. Who knows if the boy I think is Mr. Wrong now is actually Mr. Wrong Right Now But Much More Suited To You In About Five Years? I certainly don’t know and never will.

All I do know is that I’m done having my mother scope out man candy for me in her classrooms. I just can’t run the risk of her setting me up with exes anymore. They should live in the fantasy that I’m happy and successful; dating someone steadily for four years now and just waiting for him to pop the question. It wouldn’t do to have them know I’m still single and looking, content with my life but open to having my other half bump into me one day.

We can’t have them know that I’m a normal person with normal feelings, hoping for love but fearing the crushing weight of rejection, now can we?

Save the Drama for a Llama...

It seems as if everywhere I turn, there’s a word that follows me; taunting me with information no one else knows or fights I wasn’t there to see. This word is drama and while it pops up around me at the most unexpected moments, others charge after it like it’s the last parachute on an airplane with a malfunction. I have to wonder though, what is it about drama that draws people in like bees to honey? Is it the feeling of being included in a secret society that has the inside scoop, or is it the ability to judge others for their actions and decisions while simultaneously being superior to them? I know one thing and that’s the fact the MTV struck gold when they came up with the Jersey Shore; a drama filled juggernaut that exposed the world to GTL, smushing, and the poof.

I recently put on my Facebook status that the most complicated problems tend to have the simplest solution; you just have to look for them. When it comes to drama though, the simplest solution is the first one thrown out the window. People who thrive on drama don’t want simple; they want complicated, frustrating, public, drawn out, messy and hurtful. I’ve never been one to become directly involved in much drama, and when I have, it’s always been too much to deal with. I get antsy, nervous, and want to do as much possible to avoid conflict or fighting. Others out there though…they live for all that shit. Whether it’s relationship drama or family drama, some people are just magnets for it And while I understand that some can’t help being involved in it or would give anything to be out of it because it was forced upon them, there are others who have the better choice lit up in front of the with neon signs and arrows, and they still refuse to see.

I’ve given advice to plenty of friends before, but lately it seems as if I’m talking to a brick wall that’s been covered in noise cancelling magic foam or something. I mean, simply put, if I tell you the best and easiest thing for you to do is talk to people you’re having problems with and you simply refuse, just because you don’t feel like it, well it makes me wonder why you even ask me for advice? What would you rather I tell you? Go over and kick some ass, then break some shit, then sleep with someone’s significant other, and set something on fire. That’s the ticket! That will make everything so much better! Um, no. Not really. So, what can I do? I want to be a good friend to those around me, and I really do care about my drama-rama friends. But while I don’t just want to leave them high and dry, I also don’t want to get dragged into the fray. Can you imagine someone like me getting called out in public for some stupid reason? I’d probably burst into tears or lash out irrationally out of nerves.

What to do? What to do?

For now, though it pains me to say it, I think it’s a case of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”. For those around me who seem to use drama as a life force they can’t let go of, this is my letter of resignation. I can’t handle it anymore! I’m willing to hear you out, and I do care about your well being, but I can’t be mediator or sage anymore. If you’re not even going to make an effort to apply my wisdom to your situation, I can’t waste my energy. Maybe it’s time for someone to establish some sort of twelve step program for drama addicts? If they can do it for alcohol and sex, why can’t they do it for stressful interpersonal relationships? And hell, they can get sponsored by the ladies from The View and MTV. In any case, someone needs to put a stop to this fiend known as drama, before it takes over everyone’s life like some sort of zombie virus epidemic…and soon.

The us in Trust

The us in Trust

When I was a little girl, I believed wholly that one day I’d meet the man of my dreams. He’d be tall and handsome, he’d make me laugh without having to try, could speak more than one language, read all sorts of books, and would recognize instantly that I was the girl for him. As I got older, I realized that my fantasy was probably not going to come true. The most I could hope for would be to meet a nice guy who I got along with, who had a job and an education, and who would be faithful and make me happy. Now, I’m not even sure that’s real. If I were to let myself be led by the relationships I see around me, it’s very hard to hold out any sort of hope. Despite the muggy views some people seem to have about what a real relationship is, I keep waiting for my bona fide love to come, but it just keeps getting harder and harder to be optimistic.

It’s been a tough trip on my road to love so far. I’ve had heart ache, heart break, and heart hibernation, which basically means very extensive periods of time where I don’t feel anything romantic for anyone. At first, when I started thinking I was ready to have love appear in my life, I used to be kind of picky. I wanted a boy who would fit the mold I had dreamt of while I was younger. Obviously this did not come to pass, and I never got my prince charming. Instead I was met with many young fellows who thought the idea of romance meant leaving flirty messages for you online and waiting until you looked the other way before checking out your friend. Needless to say, I’ve become sort of an expert at rolling my eyes, faking interest, and bailing. However, even someone who has become as big a romance skeptic as I am can feel a little overwhelmed when faced with what seems to be a growing trend in relationships. Everybody cheats.

Now, I realize I’m making a huge generalization here, and thus I risk alienating a lot of people, but it’s simply something I’ve seen in at least 80% of the relationships around me. And I don’t just mean physical infidelity here, as I am also referring to emotional cheating. It’s a pretty rare thing for me to talk to someone in a relationship and hear that they’re completely satisfied with their situation and wouldn’t stray for anything in the world; or for anybody. The saddest part of this observation is that usually the people I know suspect what is going on, but they choose to ignore it, or worse, they do it themselves to make things fair. My dreams of love and being faithful have all but shattered because of this sudden trend to be disloyal.

I won’t pretend to be a saint here, or completely blameless, because I have at times been a willing participant in exchanges that could be considered adulterous. I’ve never cheated on a man, but I’ve reciprocated physical or emotional intimacy with one or two men who I knew were involved; either because I found out about too late, or I knew it from the start but simply chose not to see it, due to not actually knowing the girl, assuming they weren’t really happy, or any other sort of excuse I would use to brush the guilt that at times crept up off my shoulders in order to be content. The truth is though that it catches up to you and, in reality, if I’m so willing to be a participant in this sort of illicit affair, why should I be so surprised that people out there cheat? Or that it’s so easy for people to cheat on me? It shouldn’t be, but it always is, and it always hurts just the same.

I’ve tried to be better at realizing when I’m about to cross a line that I’ll regret later; to spot when I’m about to give in to temptation, and pull back from it. I haven’t perfected it yet, but at least I’m trying. It just doesn’t seem like others care to try this though and it makes me sad. The saddest moment though is when someone is being unfaithful, willing lying to their partner, and then has the gall to proclaim their love to the seven winds as if it’s a blessing from above that makes their life brighter every day. Is it really? Is your life that amazing and are you that in love with Miss A? Weren’t you were just kissing Miss B a few hours before? Who are you trying to fool, her or yourself? And ladies aren’t too far behind on this either. I will happily add that through actual concrete knowledge, it’s not just the men; a lot of times women are the ones who cross this moral line and then feign indignation when it’s done to them. Women like these, or rather little girls in women’s bodies, give us real women, strong, intelligent, faithful, a bad name. They’re the reason why a week won’t go by without me being called a bitch. Or why the word whore has become a casual nickname tossed around like honey or baby. And as far as emotional cheating is concerned, is there really anything that could hurt more? Finding out that sure, the person you love is still physically attracted to you, but they’ve actually fallen in love with someone else. That they didn’t do anything, but they thought about it…a lot; probably while they were with you. Stab me in the front this time, so I can actually see it coming, will you?

I may hate Valentine’s day, I may roll my eyes at engagement ring commercials, and I may get a little sad whenever I hear a love song, but I still hope to one day find that man who might not be THE prince charming, but he’ll be mine. I know I can be a good woman for a good man. I know I can find someone who I want to share my life with, who will fulfill me in ways that seem impossible now. I know because I’ve seen it. Despite being surrounded by so much romantically stunted crap, I’ve seen some light in the dark. There are people capable of happiness, so why isn’t everyone working for it? Maybe it’s because they’re afraid? Because they think that if they give their whole heart out, truly and unwaveringly, they might get it broken. If they claim true love, but secretly have ulterior motives, then they can’t be the ones hurt, even though they’ll be the ones doing the hurting. Better to dump than be dumped right? But what kind of a life is that to live when you keep your heart in a gossamer box so no one can ever touch it? It doesn’t seem like a very fulfilling one.

So maybe, just maybe, people should risk actually feeling something and not self-sabotaging. It could lead to real pain and heartbreak, but it could also lead to real love. True, colorful, cold chest, tingling fingertips, loosing your breath and getting it back, dancing in the rain kind of love. Isn’t that a worth it? Isn’t that worth risking your own heart? I sure hope it is…and I hope to get the chance to find out. In the mean time, I’ll keep waiting for other to realize what I’ve always known, but haven’t actually lived up to. That real love is worth fighting for, but in order to get it, you actually have to try. And in the end, there is no Us without Trust. Well, there is…but it’s not really as fun, now is it?

“The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we'll lose it. We fear that if we do not have love we will be unhappy.”

Richard Bach

I Laugh Because You're Stupid...

Day in and day out more and more men, for in this particular rant I shall focus on that Y chromosome, act foolishly and irresponsibly; stumbling along with their knuckles dragging in the dirt, making assumptions about the female mind, and proclaiming that only they are entitled to piss on the metaphorical bush of life. Just when I think I've gotten the relative gist of the whole thing, perhaps a vague outline of how the male mind works, it shocks me with another act of blatant stupidity. Alas, then I sit back and remember: These are my male counterparts I'm talking about, so of course this shouldn't surprise me. It's really sad to think that I've become so used to seeing idiotic acts in my everyday life, that they no longer stir a genuine reaction in me.

As an explanation for this observation of the males in my presence as of late, let's take Mr. A into consideration. He's a young virile example of masculinity in the prime of life; attempting to make his way into the world through recently acquired work. While one may look at this man-boy and see potential, I look upon him and see the past coming back to haunt us all. For he is not in fact living out his own life, but that of those that came before him. I speak of course of Being-Better-Than-My-Daddy Boy. Not to be confused with I-Have-Daddy-Issues-Guy, who carries around with him a WHOLE other collection of problems that can only be handled by a professional charging $200.00 by the hour. BBTMD Boy lives in the proverbial and ever present shadow of his father figure. While having the desire to work his way out of this suffocating and all consuming presence, he does not have the capacity to go about this in a decent manner. His idea: I Shall Whore Around Whenever Possible, Thus Spreading My Seed to the Four Winds and Securing My Legacy! The victims: Every female within spiting distance.

While one may find themselves overwhelmed by the presence of this at times cunning but mostly moronic figure, it's really all up to the individual to handle these encounters. One may take the Romantic Approach, also known as the Path of Moron, and think they can change this individual. That upon meeting such a fresh faced and special girl, Mr. BBTMD will see the error of his ways and learn to love the right way; one at a time and with a condom. As you can tell by my name for this path, however, I disagree with this course of action. My way of handling this type of boy is simple: Light It, Smoke It, Toss the Butt. Whenever this type of individual walks into my life and I happen to be single and bored, I take advantage of the situation. Usually this results in a few weeks worth of trysts, as the individual tends to have one specific significant other whom he rotates the rest of his agenda around, and heated but brief sessions. (In rare instances, BBTMD Boy will have a significant other who is herself a BBTMWF GF or Be-Better-Than-My-Whore-Friends Girl Friend. This girl enjoys the stability of a relationship, while simultaneously finding happiness with any and all penises near by). It's a simple set of rules to follow. Do not get emotionally attached, do not think you're more important than you are, and always be prepared to bail out as soon as necessary. Case and point: When BBTMD Boy starts to say he wishes he had met you before he met his significant other, it's time to start packing your emotional luggage and buying yourself a ticket on the next train out of Dodge, because bold statements like these only serve to pull you in even deeper so in the end you will be the Dumpee and not the Dumper. You can take the adult-ish trail here and express your ideals to BBTMD Boy, hoping that you can mutually part ways and both continue your semi-normal existence OR and here is where I am an expert: AVOID, AVOID, AVOID. Eventually you will fade from BBTMD's consciousness, simply because he is too busy keeping track of his various love affairs to notice that he has been ditched. This leaves you in the free and clear to seek out another fling to fill the days.

I realize this blog might seem like it doesn't really have an end point to it, but now I shall try to summarize my feelings in a neat package.

Men, and I will add here not all men, as sometimes one can be lucky enough to stumble over enough rocks and man-whores to land next to a pretty decent chap who will split a date night check and NOT look at a woman's ass when she walks by, are easily fooled into thinking that they know everything and can keep secrets from us. They think that we don't know they pretend they're only interested in us, while really having about three other girls on the back burner. They think we don't know that when they get quiet while chatting with us, it means they're talking on the phone with the BBTMWF Girlfriend. They think we don't know the rules of this game their playing. But the truth is, we wrote them. We know all the tricks, we know all the rules, we know all the cheat codes, we're just pretending we don't. You laugh because you're getting away with murder, but the truth is I know where all your bodies are buried. I laugh because you're stupid...and you didn't even notice I stole your Microwave when I left.

Lost and Found

When searching through one's closet, it's often times possible to accidentally stumble upon an item that's been lost in the vast void and chaos that is clutter. A shoe here, a sock there, a purse, half a lipstick, a receipt for a jacket that seemed like a good idea at the time until you realize that sequence tends to snag on any and every earring you will ever wear...it's inevitable. With the fast pace grab-and-go attitude of the world, it's hard to keep track of every little thing you once held dear. Apparently, this also happens with blogs.

While enjoying the wonders and delights that New York has to offer during a recent visit, it was suggested to me that it might be a good idea to start a Blog, so as to record my stunningly brilliant but at times flash-quick remarks about life as I know it. I pondered this suggestion for a while, and decided it was high-time I made my mark on the internet landscape for all the world to see. Well, it turns out that I already had this account set up a while ago through my Gmail web address, soooo time to dust off the old typing digits and dive into the web waters.

I'm typing this up in the hopes that somewhere out there, someone will grab a hold of this random message in a Cyber-Bottle and feel slightly amused by my at-times mindless rants about life, love, the universe, and everything.

Much love to whomever reads my words and best wishes

Tashy

Wasting a Few Minutes Before Eating Meatloaf

So, while waiting for my online episode of Grey's Anatomy to load (no judging) I read an interesting blog and decided to activate my account. While I was reflecting over the millions of wondrous and life changing things I could write about, I realized I was starving and the smell of my mom's cooking wafted up the stairs and into my deliriously weak being. So for now, this is my hello to whoever reads this. Most likely no one will except for the ghosts that haunt the interweb. And so I bid you spirits adieu and see ya laterz.