Dating - fun or fearsome?

How red can a girl turn?

Pretty red – especially when the girl is a redhead, is sun burnt, and is sitting three tables away from the man she just started seeing (and slept with the night before).

Last night a group of us went out to a pub for drinks and laughs. All of a sudden Angela started shrinking in her seat. When we asked her what was wrong, she covered her face and nodded in a vague direction. It didn’t take us long to squeeze the info out of her. Eric and I, the rowdiest of the group, wasted no time in teasing her and playing all sorts of antics on her, pretending to get the boy’s attention in all sorts of ridiculous ways.

But what DO you do when the man you just started seeing is enjoying himself three tables away from you? Do you walk over and talk to him? Do you ignore him? Do you call him? Text him? Spit paper wads at him?

And then how do you act if you DO talk to him? Do you touch him? Do you act standoffish? Do you flirt? Do you pretend last night DIDN’T happen?

After what seemed like hours of merciless teasing, Arlene wisely advised Angela to ask the waitress to send him a drink of her behalf. Ah…we sat back and reveled in this amazing advice. So cool. So classy. So Sex-In-the-City suave.

The dating gods must have been with her because as it turned out, our waitress was dating the waiter of the other table. It took 3 seconds to figure out his drink of choice and within 10 minutes the boy was at our table introducing himself.

A dating game well played.

As I sat there watching this circus unravel before me, I thanked my lucky stars that I no longer had to swim the treacherous waters of dating politics. Applying makeup meticulously, worrying about the perfect outfit, staring at the phone, rehearsing your most flirtatious line…all that takes energy. Granted, it can be a lot of fun, and sometimes I miss those days. But as I am low maintenance and horribly lazy, I am grateful that I can come home to Jason with no makeup, fart under the sheets, laugh when he farts back, and still know that I am beautiful without condition in his eyes.

Friends Forever?

Is it possible for a non-single or married person to maintain a friendship with someone of the opposite sex?

Growing up, I had A LOT of male friends. It wasn’t on purpose; I simply got along much better with the boys. But you attract people who are like you and I attracted the ones who were simple, funny, and brutally honest. In short, I was always friends with boys. I didn’t care for maneuvering the red tape of adolescent girls.

Before long it was common for me to be the only girl in the room. I was one of the boys. (It wasn’t until college that it became a problem: my longtime crush started thinking of me more as a guy pal than a possible girlfriend, thus crushing my fantasy and forcing me to rethink my identity.)

It was that way my whole life. I didn’t have to try – I was naturally more attracted to boys for friends. It wasn’t until we “grew up” that I began to question the stamina of our friendships. One by one they found their true love. Some of them got married. And slowly but surely, we began to lose touch.

But it was more than distance. If I ever got to talk to them again, the spark of our friendship was gone. No more coarse sex jokes. No more brooding about love. No more spontaneous a.m. trips. We went from talking about everything to talking about nothing.

Where did my friends go?

So I’m wondering…is this just a part of life that I have to accept? Does this mean they have matured (ew)? Does this mean we were never really friends in the first place? Is it only possible to be close to a guy while he’s single?

Editor’s note: Oddly enough, I attract only women on my blog, despite the opposite in real life. Is this weird? (Not that I’m complaining, gals. Ya’ll are awesome.)

I Can Kiss Ass, Too.

Apparently being an outlier sucks. And, as I understand it, not being recognized for being an outlier sucks even more.

So...

Emerald, being an outlier is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, outliers are always studied more because they reveal more insight. In short, you are special. Not special in a short bus kind of way, but special like red carpet special. Special like...like the question mark jelly belly special. So don't cry. Not when there are question mark jelly bellies to be had.

And Becky...dear Becky...please accept my apology for not recognizing your genius suggestion of both buying a Powerbook and getting a kitten for free. Looking in the classifieds for a free kitten? Bloody brilliant. Totally surpasses e=mc2 brilliant and is up there with sliced bread brilliant. So don't cry. Us stupider people are just trying to catch up with you.

As for Angel and Nikky, my other outliers,...well you guys seem to be okay and moving on with life fairly well. Good. I can conserve my kiss-ass energy for relocating my dignity...

Teehee.

I need more money.

If the last post were an experiment, then Scientist Leslie would have concluded that decisions are dependant on the gender of the decision-maker. All of the men I asked said “Buy the Powerbook.” All of the women said “Buy the kitten.” I might as well have been deciding between a Phillips box of tools and a Celine Dion concert. (As with all studies, I had two outliers, with Emerald and Angel vouching for the Powerbook and Nikky decreeing the Foosball table. Poor foosball table…only one vote.)

Jason, who ALWAYS manages to throw a wrench into my decisions just when I have things figured out, suggested – nay, vehemently insisted – on option D.) Save my money.

This – coming from the man who doesn’t value the dollar sign unless it has at least two zeros behind it.

His reasons? Because. Because because because. That’s it. (Why not foosball table? Because. Why not Powerbook? Because. Why not kitten? Because.)

When I kept pressing, he replied “Fine, get the Powerbook.” That’s when I decided for the kitten. (See? Girl = kitten, Boy = Powerbook.)

He protested that one too, listing a slew of reasons, with the cutest one being “Besides, if you get a cat, you’ll have to spend time taking care of it and then you won’t have time to come see me.”

That was enough to delay me for a while, and after a pause, he said, “So…my toenails are still pink.” **

What, I replied innocently. I just wanted us to match.



**I painted Jason's toenails a pinkish orange while he slept the night before last. Teehee...must do again!

Decision-making 911!

Pretend you are me. You’re don’t have a lot to spend, but you have just enough to buy ONE cool thing for the rest of 2006. The problem is, you want THREE things. What do you do?

Do you…

A.) Buy a foosball table. It’s a Tornado Cyclone II, the Jedi Master of all foosball tables. It’d be SO much fun for all the guests to enjoy in your spacious apartment. It normally sells for $1300, but a guy in town will sell his new, still-in-box one to you for $750. You’re pretty sure you can talk him down, but even so, you’re looking at $500 minimum.

B.) Buy an Apple Powerbook. You’ve never owned a laptop, and now that you’re working in the creative industry, you want to learn graphic design. Sure you work on one 40 hours a week, but you never know when you'll want it for the rest of those hours! (Plus, after the last two failed attempts to secure one, you want one more than ever.) A used one will be about $1400. You’ll have to wait until at least the end of the summer to buy this one.

C.) Buy a kitten or a chinchilla. The landlord wants $400 extra in security deposit for a pet. Then you’ll need money to buy the pet and buy all of its toys, food, and supplies. Not only are you looking at about $600 spent right off the bat, you will need to take care of the little tyke for the rest of its furry days. Still, you’ve never owned a pet before, and how fun would it be to have a little companion at home?

What do I do, guys? I need help!

5 Thinker Questions

Queen Kimananda of Memes sent me 5 personalized questions to answer. If you'd like me to ask you 5 questions, just say 'interview me' in the comments. =)

1. It is clear from the things you write that your faith is very important to you. Have you always felt the same sense of religious conviction, or if not, then how has your religiousness changed over time?

Yes, Christianity is important to me, but it’s more accurate to say that I am very important to God. I say that because, despite my many wanderings over the years, I am always drawn back again and again to a constant, loving God. I feel this pull whether I want to or not. In this way, I have always believed in God, but now that I am more grown, I more clearly see His mercy in light of my ever-wandering heart.

2. You can plan exactly where you will be in 10 years, in only one area of your life (e.g. career, home life, creative life, etc.). Please say which area you are choosing, and give some details of where you will be in 10 years in that area.

I will take home life for 500, Alex.

10 years. That would make me 33. At age 33, I plan to be well established in my own home. It will be a small but tasteful 2-story house with large windows to let in the sun. Each room will be decorated with bold but classy colors, filled with all kinds of knick knacks that I found on the cheap. I will be married to a affectionate, goofy, and stubborn man (Jason, think BIG diamond, please). By then we will have at least one child – a boy. The boy will need someone to beat up, so we’ll be working on our second child – a girl. Every day my husband and I will wake up to each other’s bed hair, dragon breath, and laughter.

3. You are given a week-long all-expenses paid holiday, of any type that you choose (such as adventure, romantic, big-city, etc.). What type of holiday would you choose and why?

Travel questions have always been the hardest for me to answer 1) Because geography is my worst subject and 2) Because I’m a domestic homemaker at heart. However, I will do my best.

Well, I know what I don’t like. No beaches. No big cities. No carnies. And NO mosquitoes.

So…take me to Austria in the spring, please. The Sound of Music is one of my favorite movies/musicals and I would count myself an angel in heaven if I could lay my eyes on the green grass and rolling hills of Austria.

Oh, and please hire a personal masseuse. The hills are alive with the sound of “Ahhhhhhh…”!

4. You clearly love food, but is there one food you truly love above all others? If so, tell us about it. If not, why not?

FOOD FOOD GIMME MORE FOOD! You know, last week, I was hungry and I sliced my finger open on the aluminum foil cutter. But since I was hungry, I just held my finger up so I could finish preparing my supper. Only when I was full did I pay attention to my finger and stop the bleeding.

Anyway…

Yes, food. For the entrée, give me Indian. No one makes meat or cream sauce like Indians. I now buy frozen Indian entrees so I can eat it all the time.

Dessert? Greek, please. Gyros are good in themselves, but baklava? Ooooo…that is love in a pastry.

5. What has been the best part of your past so far, and what made that time in your life special? Please note: of course the present is always the best, but please focus on the past.

Um, I would say the best part of my immediate past was when I painted Jason’s toenails while he was sleeping last night…

As for my past-past, the best part of my young life was the 2 weeks I spent at a camp at Purdue University every summer for 4 summers. Life was VERY hard and painful at that time, and for 2 weeks every year, I could forget the pain and live the life I always wanted. For 2 weeks, I was beautiful, wanted, and popular. For 2 weeks, I had wonderful friends. For 2 weeks I was happy and free. I’ll never forget those times.

Blood sucking bastards.

No one loves summer more than I do, but the one thing I dread more than anything else (and that includes sand up my butt, sticky skin on a humid day, and chlorine water up my nose) is mosquitoes.

I'm allergic, and I hate the damn things.

They, on the other hand, love me. I've had skeeters follow me into my car and attack me in my sleep.

Now I have red golf ball-size bumps all over me. I can't stop itching...the little bastards.

So other than me clawing myself to death day and night, I am well. I've all moved in, I'm far far away from my dickless old landlords, and I still swing between lasagna or indian food for lunch. Mmmm...

How is your summer going?

I'm 23 and home!

Funny how hour upon hours of lifting, loading, unloading, and unpacking will make the weekend fly by. I nearly forgot it was my birthday!

But thanks to you all, I have remembered. I am 23 and it feels good.

The new apartment is starting to come together. I loved placing items in their own respective nook and cranny. I don’t care how nerdy that is. I can finally call a place home.

Last night Jason kept hopping on my bed, chanting “I know something you don’t know, I know something you don’t know!” I figured it out hours later, when Chenney and Heather walked into my room with a little chocolate cake and lit candles, singing “Happy Birthday”. I don’t need a lot to make me happy, and that was all I needed for a truly happy birthday.

After we sang and dug into the cake with forks, I asked Jason, “So was that what you knew that I didn’t?”

He said, “Yes. But I still know a lot of things that you don’t know.”

What a smartass.

On the road again!

You’ll hear me say I’m a real Susie Homemaker a lot, and it’s true. For example, I’d like to stay in the same place, dig my roots in, and grow old on a rocking chair until my boobs sag to the ground.

That’s why it’s ironic that I’ve never stayed in the same place for very long- ever. Before college, I moved to 3 different houses and 6 different schools. Once college started, I’d leave for 9 months, come back for 3, then leave – to another place on campus. Then I graduated, moved back home for 6 months, and moved somewhere else in the city. One year later, I’m moving again. How many moves is that? 6? 9? 25? I’ve lost count. Frankly, if I’m not moving out of a place after a year’s stay, something’s wrong.

(I know you want to know why, and the answer is…so do I. We always had a reason, and every time, the reason seemed legitimate.)

So here I go again! As High Queen Domestic Planner, I started packing around Mother’s Day. Then when Kevin the Coward, my bastard landlord, pulled that bullshit stunt on me, I started packing even more diligently – my way of sticking it to the man.

Now it’s countdown time and I could not be more excited. My walls and drawers are stripped bare, so that my room resembles more of a warehouse than it does a bedroom. We’ve already started to move boxes into the new place. Yesterday I helped Chenney move her bed up two flights of stairs. Our faces were smashed against walls, pushing and pulling and huffing and puffing; we collapsed onto the floor in hysterics.

I may not be online until next week. Not only do I have to move, I have about 10 private sellers I must visit across the city to pick up various pieces of furniture. But when I do get back, it’ll be from my new, 2 floor, 4 bedroom apartment! Whoppee!

Pic-chaz!

I've a few new pictures on my Flickr, for any of ya'll who care.

(If you look closely, you can see the hickey he intentionally planted several days ago...)

Life after X.

I was 14 when I met Steve.

Steve. My first date. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. My first high school memories.
Steve. My first betrayal. My first heartache. My first tangible loss.

With Steve went my friends, my confidence, and my strength to climb out of the mud hole I was quickly slipping into. Even after I won my battle many years later, Steve would still wriggle his way into my memory through the story of my life. And every time I retold my story, his name would appear.

Eventually time healed the wound that could not heal itself. Yet every now and then, I’d imagine what it would be like to see him again. My imagination started out with beating the shit out of him, but as I grew up, so did my thoughts, and after a while I simply wanted to know where he was, what he was doing, and if I’d recognize him on the street.

I know the answer now. When I passed him in the hallways of my church yesterday, I recognized him almost immediately. He recognized me too, squinting his eyes, tilting his head, and asked, “Leslie?”

Steve?

Yes, it was. It had been 9 years, and with the exception of his sun bleached, wavy hair, he looked the exact same.

We exchanged quick life stories so as not to allow room for awkward pauses. He told me he and his entire family had moved to South Carolina (that explained the hair), and he, his family, and his fiancé, were in town for his grandparents’ 50th anniversary. I introduced Jason, and my past and my future shook hands. We chatted for a few minutes before parting on well wishes, knowing we would never see each other again.

As we walked away, I told Jason who that was.

“Want me to beat him up?” he asked, slamming his fist into his open palm.

I laughed, not at the absurdity of his suggestion, but out of surprise that I didn’t think of it first. Still, I shook my head, and took his hand.

No, I’m good, I smiled.

And we walked out, hand in hand, without looking back.

I'm hungry, damn it.

Online conversation with Jason, 3:00 in the afternoon yesterday. We keep each other balanced.

I’m hungry. I’m going to the mall to get chicken nuggets.
No. Stay where you are.
Why?
It’s 3:00 in the afternoon. You’re supposed to be working, not going to the mall for nuggets.
I’m hungry.
You can wait.
No I can’t. I will keel over.
You’ll be fine.
I am going to faint from hunger.
You’ll survive.
Here I go…I’m passing out…
I don’t believe you.
I’m going to kick the bucket, all on account of nuggets.
No you won’t.
You don’t know me.
Yes I do.
I want nuggets!
No.
Hmmph.
Are you mad?
No. I’m hungry.

hel-LOOOOO NURSE!

Cat calls. Whistles. The perverse “I’m undressing you in my head” grin.

I don’t like it. And I’m pretty sure I’ll never get used to it.

This morning I walked the 4 blocks from my car to my building in the heart of downtown, as usual. First it was the cabbie whose shameless grin unnerved me. Then it was the truck driver who shouted, “he-LLO!” and raised his eyebrow. Then the group of businessmen in the car, all turning to ogle me through the windows. And finally the group of construction guys standing outside my building, who turned around, one by one, to scan me with elevator eyes.

Sure, this has happened before. But I already said it – I’ll never get used to it. In fact, after the cabbie bore invisible holes through my breasts, I stopped to check myself out in the building. When someone looks at me like that, I always think one thing and one thing only.

There must be a gimungous booger hanging from my nose.

So I checked. But no booger. No ‘I’m with stupid’ stamp on my forehead. No breast prematurely sagging to my knees.

Maybe if my cleavage was hanging out, my midriff was showing, and my bare bottom was flagging down cars, I could understand that I was asking for it. But c’mon, I don’t dress like that when I’m at bars, let alone to work.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy attention or compliments. I’m a woman. I want to feel beautiful just like any other gal. But can’t a guy smile at me warmly? Can’t he nod at me and say ‘good morning’? But no. It’s always the “I wonder what you look like naked” stare with a side of drool.

Yuck, I say. Yuckity yuck.

Okay okay, I'm back!

Real friends kick me in the ass when I disappear.

You guys are real friends. (Seriously. So much for a quiet hiatus.)

I apologize for not updating sooner. Last week was a bit of a drama, and dramas are always long and hard to explain. Hence the hiatus.

Last Monday, I put up a few notices around the house, complaining of the awful conditions. The next day, as I was sleeping in my room, my male landlord barged into my room TWICE, barking at me and cussing me out. The second time, he raged beside my bed (mind you, I was still trying to wake up to figure out what the hell was going on), crumpled up my notices in his fist, threw them at my head, and told me to ‘get the fuck out’.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was no less dramatic. My bestfriend and his friend rushed over to be with me, as I was quite shaken. Jason, who was working an hour away, fled out of work, rushed home, grabbed a gun, and was at my front doorstep in record time.

In the mean time, my landlord managed to sneak out of the house to avoid confrontation. A cowardly beast. That was 6 days ago, and he hasn’t been home since (he and the other landlord live in the mansion with me, along with 5 other tenants).

The next day, my future housemate’s dad tried to disown her if she tried to move out. (We’re scheduled to move out on the 17th.) The other housemate and I rushed to be by her side, trying to console her and support her as much as possible. The possibility of all our future house plans falling apart loomed ahead.

The day after, I was verbally attacked online by a group of drunk college boys. Don’t ask, it’s a long story, and it was my fault for not leaving the conversation…but they said some pretty vile things, and I was pretty distraught.

Coming right on the heels of that conversation, my roommate chewed me out for half an hour. I had tried to share Jesus with one of the college boys a few weeks before, and apparently he had relayed that conversation to Rachel, because she came storming into my room, rallying about “what a shitty thing” I did by mentioning Jesus to a Jew. I could not believe she was attacking me on a conversation that was never even meant for her, let alone my good intentions. But she continued to tear me apart, conjuring up a whole history of Jewish oppression and Jewish rights.

Oy vey. By the time the week was over, I was emotionally drained. I spent the weekend with Jason - sleeping, eating, and sleeping some more.

I’m sure you’re wondering what became of all that, so here’s the update:

My landlord, as I said, is a coward and hasn’t been home since the incident. He knows he violated a ton of my rights. What he doesn’t know is that I am fully aware that he is guilty of 12 years of tax evasion…enough to throw his ass in jail. I don’t care to ever see him again, but if he tries anything funny, the only thing he’ll ever see is bars.

My housemate is still going to move out, despite her bastard father. She’s decided to try counseling to resolve her deep-seated family issues, and I offered my own counselor.

I am totally over everything those boys said to me. One of them tried to AIM me the next morning. That box was X’d.

Rachel and I are still friends. I have my own reservations towards her, but I recognize a good friend when I see one.

Move-out day is still scheduled for June 17. That day cannot come soon enough. In the mean time, I have begun to pack and look for furniture. It’s my small way of sticking it to the man.

And yes, dear emerald, my birthday is coming up on the 18th. Wanna party? =)