Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: career women, life, networking, professional women, random, relationships, thoughts, women
This morning’s drink: Peet’s Italian Roast
Growing up, I never considered myself to be a tomboy, though I played sports, took auto shop and graduated from sports bras to real bras in high school. But I always felt like I was different from other girls. I didn’t really care about makeup or expensive underwear, but I sort of felt like I was missing something as a result; that I was lacking an important point of bonding with other girls.
It made my relationships with other girls sort of complicated and mysterious. I felt like I didn’t know how to approach my own gender. I even questioned whether or not I was a lesbian, though I’d never been attracted to women. But I was getting that same apprehensive feeling about talking to women that I was about talking to men that I was attracted to. I’d sort of already assumed they had an upper hand – I guess because they had the girl thing down.
I’m still not really into makeup or expensive underwear, but I’ve realized that it doesn’t make me less of a woman, just a different sort. It’s actually helped me to appreciate all women more, which is part of the reason why I had such a great time at the eWomen Network lunch yesterday. I walked into a group of women who spanned the gamut of demographics and social tiers, and found that I already sort of belonged due to the sheer fact that I am a “career” woman. I didn’t have to justify why I was there, which gave me the freedom to interact and network without feeling like I was hitting on someone. Sort of ironic, in a way – the thing that used to hold me back has suddenly liberated me.
While I’ve been a professional woman of sorts for a few years now, I feel like I’ve just discovered this part of myself, and the opportunities for me therein.
Now just throw a little wine in the mix and we may have something here.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: growing, life, progress, random, success, thoughts, women
Tonight’s drink: hopefully some red wine at Gordon Biersch Chevy’s, very soon.
It’s been a long time, and a lot has happened. I hardly recognize myself in the memories of a tiny studio apartment, within which every post up until now has been couched, and cached.
Suddenly my entire life: my apartment, my bed, my tv, my workplace, my boyfriend, my reality; has been blown up, like the end of Honey I Shrunk the Kids. I have room to do yoga without moving furniture, and room to breath in that metaphysical sort of way. Everything’s bigger, but not overwhelming – just more spacious, and more comfortable.
Truth be told, my waistline has undergone it’s own little expansion project, too. I guess I should be doing a little more of that yoga.
A couple of years ago, I started to try to write a story about mirrors that has been in the back of my mind for what seems like forever. Mirrors are crazy things – they come across as so transparent, because it’s a reflection of the original item. However, mirrors are easily influenced by a variety of invisible things. Light, shape, depth, angles – all of these things effect the message a mirror sends you. So even though you see the original, you see it through the mirror’s interpretation.
But even if you get the physics worked out, you find that atmosphere also plays a part in how your image translates back to you. Maybe you’re in a stranger’s apartment, and you look completely awkward and out of place. Maybe you’re in your parent’s mirror, and your reflection is young and fresh in place of theirs. Maybe you’re in a bathroom in Vegas looking sultry and sharp against the black marble. Or maybe you’re just at home, putting your makeup on, and curling your hair like any other schmoe.
Either way, you start to realize that you never actually see yourself as you are, but rather as your environment sees you. Like a goldfish, I’ll grow into my new environment, and get ready for the next size up.
But, sorry booty – you need to stay right where you are.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: 20-something, aging, beauty, life, random, thoughts, women, youth
Tonight’s drink: King Fish Merlot
It’s warm in San Diego, and at 8 a.m. this morning I headed to class in a pair of short shorts and a conservative tee. As a semi-professional young woman, and named editor to a small group of reporters, I repeatedly questioned my choice of attire. Even though I had shaved my legs, and the mirror told me I wasn’t too hoochie, I kept asking myself if I was crossing the image I was trying to make as a respectable, responsible leader.
“What the hell, I’m still young,” I thought as I threw my bag into the car and put the top down. “After all, I am only… 27.”
The thought struck me for two reasons. First, because I won’t be 27 for a little over a week still. And second, because that excuse doesn’t seem to work with that age anymore.
They say that 40 is the new 30, and 50 is the new 40 – so why does the 27 feel like the new 37? Perhaps because the decade of the 20’s is so segmented. 20 is just the age of frustration: no longer a teen, but not yet legal in terms of drinking. 21 through 24 are like the party ages. 25 is sort of the age where reality strikes – where you start to see that 30 is not so far away. So far, 26 and almost 27 have been the ages of recount, and recoil.
You start taking your inventory a little more closely. You no longer work out because it helps you stay toned – you work out because it keeps you from getting fat. You begin to evaluate your professional status with more critique, as well as your love life. You start to feel like you need to keep up – apartments, cars, clothes, education, outlook. Maturity isn’t an option, but a virtue. The late 20s are a sort of scramble to stay young, but be above it. Your late 20s begins the adage of feeling younger than you look.
Nothing aggravates this sensation more, for me, than watching America’s Next Top Model. Women on that show who are at the top of the age limit – I think it’s 24 or 25 – are criticized as looking “old.” The sad thing is that the girls who say this – typically 20 or so – are not entirely wrong. There is something more weathered about their look than the other girls. If they have kids, the effect seems to double.
Zack and I used to talk about “Mom eyes” in some of the women he dated who already had kids. When women have kids, something changes in their face – no matter their age. The eyes become deeper, and softer – the face more angular somehow. Even if these things aren’t factually true, you sense them in the vibes, the aura, whatever you want to call it. Purpose – an external purpose – puts it there. I don’t think that kids are the only things that have this effect. Any pursuit that beats you down some adds a strain to your demeanor, and humility to your face.
“You look younger than your age,” is something all women like to hear. Two years ago, when I was 25, I used to get that a lot. After the way the last year or so has gone, I’m not surprised I haven’t heard it as much. I’ve been alley-smacked by a lot of different experiences, and it ain’t even close to being over. They say smoking and drinking take years from your looks, but I have to argue that life’s tumult does triple the damage, and with more immediate results.
So I run, apply facial masks, pay attention to what I eat and drink lots of water. But the truth is that it really does comes down to mind over matter. You have to be right in your head before any of that other stuff can work its magic.
I try to figure out how to keep my mind youthful in the same way that I’m trying to salvage this body – I’m drawing blanks. All I can think to do is to put my heels on, enhance my still perky boobs, put some makeup on, and assume the fabulous look of carefreedom while I still can.
But, at this moment, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I can’t wear heels anymore.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: apartment, bitter, debt, landlords, lease, life, love, men, random, relationships, rent, single, thoughts, women
Tonight’s drink: Tierra Brisa Merlot
I have to preface this by first saying that I am very lucky to have my apartment. It’s cute, cozy, safe, and cheap, and it has a killer view. The one bummer that I’ve dealt with for the past three or so years is that I live directly next door to my landlady. She sees all, she hears all, she knows way too much about my life for someone who takes a third of my paycheck each month.
There are two primary conditions to my lease: 1) that you must always err on the side of quiet; and 2) that no more than one person is allowed to live in the apartment. The quiet rule, I’ve been busted for on occasion. The one-per-apartment rule has never been an issue until Josh.
Josh spends a lot of time in my apartment, but he doesn’t live here, at least not by my definition. He does have a key, but if we broke up tomorrow, he could walk in, gather his things in both arms, and leave without too much trouble. Definitely no furniture, decorations, coffee mugs or movies. Though he has downloaded a lot of music onto my computer, so that might be sort of a pain. For him.
Anyhow, as individuals, Josh and I are quiet people, for the most part. We’re both pretty internal, so if either one of us is in the apartment alone, no one is the wiser. In the evenings, when we’re together, we watch jeopardy and get a little competitive, but there’s no yelling or slamming eachother. When we have sex, we’re quiet, except for the occasional squeak here and there. We do laugh a lot when we’re together. We do have conversations where there is some inflection. But we rarely fight, and if we do, it’s like two text messages long.
So last night, I came home to a note from my landlady which said that she’d had complaints from other tenants that two people were living in the apartment, and that it was generating a lot of noise. Frankly, I call bullshit on that explanation. If there are any complaints from others about my having a boyfriend, it’s because it’s stirring up a lot of bitterness.
I live a very simple, independent life – I don’t ask much of anyone, I don’t impose myself on others, and I don’t complain about the psychotic guy two doors down who regularly builds things (I’m talking saws and hammers on wood) at 1, 2, 3 a.m.; or my next door neighbor who plays her terrible music loudly, and sings to it with a microphone, karaoke style. Since they continue to do these things, I’m assuming no one else has complained either. Is that because they are doing these things alone, and looking pretty pathetic in the process? No shit – I watched the man have his 70-year-oldish mom help him carry wood into his apartment.
By the nature of our apartments, everyone living here is either single or on the verge (aka, not engaged or married). Whether grouped in a bar or huddled together in an apartment complex, a bunch of single people together begin to grow bitter - especially at the sight of happy couples. By policing the sex lives of its tenants, it’s sort of perpetuating that environment. I have to think that my landlady isn’t so much bothered by the sound of my boyfriend and I laughing over YouTube as she is by the fact that my warm body is a man, and hers is a cat.
Of course, I’m pissed that I’m basically being threatened with eviction for having a relationship, but I can’t afford to move. So, until I finally pay down this debt, I guess I’ll have to sneak Josh into my room when my landlady isn’t looking.
I didn’t see “reversion to high school privileges” in the list of credit card penalties.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: cheating, disillusionment, infidelity, life, love, marriage, men, random, relationships, sex, thoughts, women, work
Last night’s drink: Louis Jadot Beaujolais
Helen is a coworker that I spend a significant amount of time with – especially since, at least once a month, we drive six hours together to and from Indio. Helen is in her 40’s, from a traditional Mexican heritage, in her second marriage to a Chinese man who cooks American/French fusion cuisine, and the mother of two daughters about my age. Helen is the kind of person that likes to give advice, and I’m the kind of person that likes to hear people’s opinions - sometimes, I’ll ask her insubstantial questions just to hear what she’ll say.
Last week, I was venting to Helen about my disheartening experiences with marriage, as of late. It seems like, for every four married men I meet, three are having affairs.
“That’s about right,” she said. “Most married people these days cheat. It’s rare to find monogamy in marriage.”
Her response took me aback, but the opinions that followed were pretty interesting.
The people who were more likely to cheat, she said, were the ones who were wealthy, or who wanted to appear to be. This includes young upstarts with nice cars and crappy apartments, and established men with fat nest eggs and even fatter heads. Having multiple women is like a luxury to them – a logical continuation of the affluent lifestyle they seek. It really isn’t anything personal against their wives – it’s just another investment in being the part…maybe even the part their wives expect them to play.
In some cases, men and women in these situations both cheat – or they may even have an understanding between the two of them that there will be others outside of their marriage. Let’s face it – nobody’s perfect. Neither is marriage, from what I’ve heard. If your sole purpose for getting married is to have a comfortable living or simply a body to come home to, then it may make perfect sense for you to get married first, and then find your intimate connections after.
Another reason people cheat, Helen said, is to network professionally. Whether you’re trying to make a name or simply move up, no one can deny that sex sells. Mixers, conferences, professional organizations or even boards – these things bring people together from different tenticles of an industry for their own benefit, and the benefit of the product. In general, the more professional “connections” you have, the more successful and reputable you appear to be.
So you have a lot of like-minded people in one place, oftentimes drinking, and meeting under seemingly serendipitous terms, and it creates all the chemicals needed to produce explosive connections. These types of connections between men and women can feel very emotional and intimate, but it’s more than likely that heterosexual males are having the same connections with eachother. Work or no, it’s exciting to meet people you connect with. The difference is that the prior example will likely lead to sex at some point – marriage or otherwise. If a man can have a professional and a personal conquest in one, why wouldn’t he say yes? It’s twice the food for his ego, with only half the work.
In both the “luxury” and the “success” perspectives, the affair is a way to build yourself up with more instantaneous gratification than, say, honor and hard work will proffer. Plus, guys get to feel like they have a modern day harem, and what guy doesn’t love that image.
The thing to keep in mind, though, is that the root of the word “harem” actually means “protected” in Arabic, and in other early languages. This is because the harem of classical terms (the original harem) was meant to protect the women, not to exploit them.
Isn’t that the reason why you guys are bigger and stronger?
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: age, California, labels, life, random, thoughts, women
This Morning’s Drink: SLO Roasted Peruvian.
Jenn and I had a discussion a month or so ago about the advantages and disadvantages of dating younger men (she blogged about it here). One of the reasons why we could intelligently paste together this argument is due to the fact that we are actually old enough to be older women in a substantial dating scenario (i.e., we’re not talking seniors versus sophomores in high school). I, myself, will be 27 in just over two months, and the proximity to 30, and the speed at which I am getting there, is a little unnerving. Aside from that point, I came to realize yesterday that five years ago – in what Jenn and I considered to be “younger” years – I had just moved to San Diego. While I was born in the Central Valley and I spent my formative years in Northern California, I can honestly say that I’ve “grown up” here in SD.
I would never try to assert that I’m a San Diego native, a term that actual natives hold proudly in high esteem. Nor would I want to. I will always feel lucky that my childhood was filled with pastures, Round-Ups, crawdad fishing, and Apricot Fiestas. But at the age of 22 I don’t think I ever referred to myself as a woman – the inference just seemed ridiculous. Especially in light of the fact that I was still going to school, working at a coffee shop, and buying clothes from the Junior’s section. Even though all but one of those things are still the same (I have a grown-up job now, I suppose), I feel like a lot of other things have changed since then. So much so that I could actually think of myself as a woman. And I’m starting to.
I’m so much more sure of myself now, for starters, and I find that I bend to pressure less and less. I’m comfortable in my own skin, I don’t worry about my dress as much, and I’ve given less and less merit to overt decoration, for better or worse. I don’t apologize as much, and I worry less, too. I need fewer things to survive, and I appreciate my family more. They’re crazy, but so am I.
Even still, I worry a little about the gilding effect San Diego has had on the life of a girl who was regularly described as “earthy” in the past. In the beginning, I tried to hold on to that part of me, but I found that, with everything else, I had to let it go in order to grow into myself. I don’t think it’s too obnoxious, thanks to some of the wonderful people and experiences I’ve met with down here, and bars like the Red Fox Room where you couldn’t be pretentious if you tried. A healthy perspective on surrealities like Del Mar, Pacific Beach, and North Park have helped me to stay centered in Mission Hills, too. It’s easy to get caught up in the classifications, though – San Diego has a variety of pigeonholes to choose from.
I can’t help but wonder how I’ll see my 26-year old self in five years. Will I be able to call myself a woman then? Will I be stomping on the pedal of a new convertible, or a sensible sedan? Should I be prepared to cycle back from a quarter-life crisis to a mid-life one? Or will life simply pan out, and maybe even make sense a little.
All I know is that, once again, my time for self-indulgence is up, and I need to get in the shower. Maybe the smart thing is to hold on tight to whatever youth I have left. I’m growing older, but so are the people around me – so maybe that’s my consolation.
That, and the fact that it isn’t all up to me.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: clothing, fashion, image, life, random, shopping, thoughts, weight, women
Last night’s drink: CBTL Lavendar Mint Tea with vanilla powder. Laundry perfection.
I’m the kind of person that turns the tv on solely for the purpose of having noise in the background. I’ll turn it to a benign channel where there aren’t explosions or car commercials banging in the background, and just let my little set mumble to itself behind me. Part of me imagines that this is some sort of hearkening back to the womb, where the baby supposedly can hear the people outside talking. I don’t know how anyone every confirmed this fact, but non-descript, indirect conversation certainly helps to calm me down, so I’ll bite.
Some of my favorite channels for accomplishing this goal are the shop-from home channels, like QVC, the Home Shopping Network (HSN), or ShopNBC, though that last one can get a little too animated at times. Yesterday morning, however, I flipped on the tv to make coffee and when I returned, I saw myself faced with a mini-fashion show that I couldn’t divert my eyes from. In a bad way. These women were wearing dyed-to-match stretch jeans, stretch denim jackets, and cotton v-neck shirts in lime green, hot pink, and lavender – all of it BeDazzled.
My first reaction was a subdued shudder, but then I just moved on to coffee and checking email. Still, in the background, I could hear the designer, Diane Gilman, playing up her jeans, and her belt, and her shirts, etc. etc. All the while touting that the clothes were available in L, XL, XXL, and XXXL. She also continued to talk about how these clothes could help you look good in jeans again, and that the monochromatic look was similar to those found in boutiques in the high end malls of Las Vegas. I could no longer ignore the extravagance behind me. I had to change the channel.
As I turned around, the price for these clothes flashed onto the screen. $60+ for the jeans, $60+ for the jackets, $30+ for the shirts “…in 1X, 2X, and 3X,” she kept saying. Suddenly, I was just mad. This woman was basically extorting money from plus-sized women who were too uncomfortable to leave the house to shop. It’s as if she were saying: I know you’re a big girl, sitting at home. Buy my clothes and be fabulous instead. And don’t be cheap about it.
The combination of ripping off and humiliating women, especially vulnerable women, infuriates me. People will say that women with a few extra pounds basically have themselves to blame, but so far I’ve only heard that from men and naturally skinny women. My weight fluctuates throughout the year, and I find that I can control it sometimes. Other times, however, it’s like my hand has taken on a life of its own, and cannot stop shoving chocolate flavored anythings into my mouth. Call it what you will, but gaining weight isn’t a punishable offense – it’s just a part of life. The nice thing is that, when you’re ready for it to go away, you can make it. I think some women hold on to their weight at a certain point, though, because it’s a part of who you are.
When Jenn left and my ex and I fell out, I was in a bad place. I stopped eating, drank a lot, and smoked even more. As a result, I lost a lot of weight (consult your doctor before starting that diet). I’d be lying if I said that being thin wasn’t a sort of consolation for everything else that was happening, but I couldn’t get past the fact that my thighs looked like little, frail sticks. I hated it, because it didn’t feel like me. When I looked down, I saw someone else’s legs.
After a little holiday fluctuation, I’m starting to feel like myself again. My legs have more jiggle, but it sort of feels like home. Of course, the junk in the trunk is a little excessive, but that’s just par for the course. I was more than ready for this jelly.
Not every woman feels this way about their weight, though – for some, it’s a burden, or an emotional struggle. As a frequent slave to emotion, I get this. There is a point when my jelly starts to piss me off, or bring me down – when it breaches the comfort zone and starts to expand its territory. I grew up active and semi-athletic, so I know how my body responds to diet and exercise, and can use those tools. Not every girl grew up with those experiences, or with families who were supportive and loving, or with bodies that process calories and fat in a predictable way. If these women are influenced by society, which many of us are, the effects on your emotions and self-esteem can be compounding, and destructive.
For these women, then, to be at home, listening to a “designer” talk about the clothes that are good for their bodies, stylish in Vegas, and perfect for spring, all the while modeling outfits that mimic a cabaret color scheme – and then charging them three to four times what they are actually worth, it makes me want to wag my finger and give her a good, grandma-style, “Shame on you.” I don’t care if you look like Twiggy - a monochromatic, sparkling, key-lime colored outfit is not slimming.
I’m a far cry from the Fashion Police, and I respect people with their own style, so if monochromatic hypercolors and coordinating rhinestones are your thing, I’m not digging on you. What I am digging on is the presentation of clothing as a “solution” to your body type. In order for there to be a solution, there has to be a problem – and I take issue with salespeople telling the world that clothing sizes equates to a problem.
I won’t complain about vanity sizing, though. I love being pleasantly surprised.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: debate, life, men, random, relationships, sex, thoughts, women
Last night’s drink: Coffee.
I’ve been writing up a storm, lately, with school and some mild freelancing – both of which I am excited and grateful to be doing. Of course, it also means that my mind is on overdrive, which is why last night, when I received a comment from “Jack” on my Spatulesque post, I ended up writing a response that was long enough to be a post in and of itself.
As such, I’ve decided to dedicate this post to Jack, and Roissy, and “The Elements of Argument,” which is the textbook from my composition class last month. So, without further ado…
Jack said:
“Um, I saw your post on Roissy’s blog. It is unbelievable that you think men shouldn’t ask women about their sexual history. Women, like you, who are opposed to that are usually promiscuous and deceitful. I would have no problem being honest with a girl about myself, and you should have no problem being that way with a man. In this day and age of AIDS and other STD’s, both partners should be able to know the other’s previous activities to protect themselves accordingly. It has nothing to do with insecurity or not liking sex. But a man has a right to know if the girl he is dating is a slut, or if she is a respectable girl. He can better make a decision about their future accordingly. And by the way, there are ways to figure out if a girl is being honest, as well.
So I came to your blog and you appear to be a thoughtful and attractive girl who can write pretty well. I just thinkyour opinion on asking sexual history is ridiculous, and that both women and men should make a habit of doing that. There are already too many STD’s around.”
My response is as follows:
Hi, Jack.
Thanks for the comment, the compliments, and the implicit flash judgement. However, I think you misread what I wrote. Just to recap:
“It seems to me that if a guy is obsessed with the notches of a girl, they are either:
a) a pervert;
b) insecure about themselves and/or their own sexual prowess;
c) considering sex a recreational sport, and trying to figure out if it’s safe to play without protective gear; or
d) don’t or can’t enjoy sex, and want to show they are above it by putting down the other people that do.
There’s nothing worse than a guy who wants to talk about your sexual history. Not only is it pathetic, intrusive, and the ultimate buzzkill, but it’s completely irrelevant.
If you’re just casually fucking a girl, then that’s on you to take the responsibility for that risk. If you want a relationship, and you can’t trust her to take care of her sexual health and abstain from sleeping around with other men, the issues you need to deal with are in the present, not in her past.”
http://roissy.wordpress.com/2008/01/28/it-counts/
–
First of all, I’m not saying that men shouldn’t ask women about their sexual history – I’m giving my opinion that it is a misguided question. Your comment above says that you ask that question to find out if a woman is:
a) promiscuous; b) deceitful; c) a carrier of STDs; d) a respectable girl (as opposed to a slut); e) worthy of a committed relationship (that is what you mean by future here, correct?)
Asking a woman about the number of guys she’s slept with doesn’t really answer any of those questions. Let me go through this specifically:
a) Promiscuity is defined as having sex indiscriminately. If a woman has sex with one guy without any regard for who he is or what he looks like, she is technically being promiscuous. So, unless you are going to sit there and drill her about every detail of that one guy, simply knowing the number isn’t going to give you a hint about her promiscuity. A woman can have sex with a bunch of guys she has meticulously picked out, and not be promiscuous by definition. If you meant to say “slut” here, then I’d be curious to hear 1) your definition of a slut, 2) why you wouldn’t want to date one, and 3) why you didn’t know she was a slut before you started dating her.
b) Deceit has to do with honesty, I’ve never seen a person’s level of honesty measured in past sexual partners. A person’s honesty is evident in every part of their lives, and can more easily and more accurately be determined through your experiences with their behavior rather than the number of people they’ve gone to bed with before you. A woman who’s only slept with one man is, by virtue, no less deceitful than a woman who’s slept with ten. If you want to ask a woman if she’s ever cheated on a man, I think that’s a relevant question, and will probably help you find your answer more accurately and efficiently.
c) STDs: Of all of the arguments for asking about her history, this is the least compelling. It only takes one partner for a person to contract STDs, so the number of people you sleep with has no bearing on whether or not you’ve put yourself at risk for contracting disease. What -does- matter is how a person takes care of their sexual health. Do they always use protection during sex? Do they get regular checkups? Have they recently been tested? Do they talk to their partners about their habits as well? These activities are more important, and more telling, as to a person’s proclivity to STDs than simply asking the numbers of partners they’ve had. I -highly- recommend you use these questions instead.
d) Respectability is a complex and subjective characteristic that typically involves a combination of personal traits, not just one. However, if number of partners is a dealbreaker for you, that’s your call. My question here, though, is a simple one: what is the number of partners that moves a girl from respectable to not? 2? 5? 10? 20? 50? If you have settled on a number, I’d be interested to know how you arrived at it. I’m willing to bet that most guys who ask this question don’t just have a number in their head and pass or fail a girl based on her answer – I’m willing to bet they’re factoring in a lot of other things, too, in which case, this question becomes cursory, not vital.
e) Committed relationships involve so much more than sex. If you hinge your ability to commit to a woman based on her sexual history, then I defer to my original answer for why that might be.
Any other takers?
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: dating, friends, life, love, men, random, relationships, thoughts, women
Last Night’s Drink: 7&7.
Anyone over the age of 24 should remember the “This is your brain on drugs” public service announcement with the frying pan and the egg. The insinuation is that your brain is a soft delicate mass that is irreversibly affected with drug use and, since you assumedly value your brain and wouldn’t harm it, you should value a drug-free lifestyle.
People are also irreversibly affected by the relationships they allow into their lives – arguably, at a level that is more damaging than recreational drug use. Dating and loving people inevitably leads to a string of broken hearts, baggage, and damaged goods, all of which permanently affect your brain at an emotional level.
Before you started dating, it was new and exciting. You just did it here and there, sometimes with your friends. But the more you did it, the more important it seemed to become. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough that you were dating – you wanted something more hardcore: a relationship. Once the relationships started, it was too late to go back to simply dating. Now, if you dated, you laced it with relationship cues, recognition of red flags, and hypercritical observation. It wasn’t just a good time anymore – it was part of your life.
Once you’re in a relationship, your subconscious knows that stopping will kill you, because the withdrawls will be so intense. Suddenly, you’re schizophrenic and paranoid about the slightest things – what did he mean when he asked, “how can you eat that?” – does he think I’m a fat slob? Or Why did that girl at the store smile at him – is he mouthing suggestive comments to ladies at Nordstrom while I’m not looking? You don’t know who or what to believe anymore, and your logic and composure have long since flown out the window. The egg is officially frying.
If the core of your relationship is good, though, your significant other will take you by the hand and lead you away from the superficial high of a new relationship, and into a methodonish sort of come-down of companionship. Here, you can exercise the roots of all your dating and relationship evils, and put the past behind you. You become healthier and happier. You become yourself again.
Your dating friends will say you’ve changed, but if they truly love you, they will stand by you and wish you well on your new-found happiness. Relapse is highly likely, until you find the companionship that truly supports you.
And that, like a new leaf, or a fried egg, flips you over.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: confidence, life, observations, poise, random, relationships, thoughts, women
Last Night’s Drink: Sideshow Contortionist
There is an aspect of beauty and self-image that is missing from the usual mantras of diet, exercise, and confidence: that aspect is poise.
It seems like many people view poise as a stuffy, archaic idea that your grandma used to harp on you about, or a natural byproduct of confidence. However, poise is a complex attribute all its own that combines a person’s physical, intellectual, and emotional states into an intangible, yet noticeable, exuberance. It’s that thing about someone that people are drawn to, but can’t quite describe.
Poise gives an air of confidence, whether or not you actually have it. Just like you can plaster on a fake smile and look effortlessly cool, you can pull on a suit of composure and look as if you’ve got the world by a string. As such, confidence isn’t a requirement for poise; rather, confidence will often follow it. Just like smiling when you’re down will help to bring you up, faking it helps to bring it to fruition.
Poise isn’t about being thin, beautiful, smart, gifted, or anything else that popular media desires - it’s about carrying yourself in a way that shows you are in this world, and that it’s a good thing. However, one of the key factors in poise is class, so that you aren’t being self-righteous about the space you are taking up. Rather, you’re considerate, but substantial. You are not invisible, but your modesty doesn’t apologize for who you are.
The one prerequisite to poise is self-acceptance, because before you present yourself, you have to know what you’re presenting. Everyone has things about themselves that they don’t like, but the key to gaining acceptance of these things is to understand why you don’t like them. Is it because it’s a bad habit that keeps you from feeling your best? Is it because it’s sending a message to others that doesn’t accurately reflect who you are? The most important thing about this first step is to ensure that it’s really you that doesn’t approve of that part of you. If you base your opinion of yourself on popular media and stereotypes, you’ll find that self-acceptance is a moving target. Public opinion is more fickle than a Mac-ophile. However, if this is one of the qualities you enjoy about yourself, then rock on.
Obviously, poise is a balance that you have to strike between good posture, positive attitude, and a self respect. It attracts people’s attention in the same way as overt sexuality and obnoxious behavior, but it maintains your mystery and dignity. No matter what you do and how you bend, someone’s going to criticize you. May as well be ready to justify your actions to yourself, and to keep your back straight as you pass them by.
F*&# ‘em if they can’t take a joke.
