Balance
Aug 30th
For a really long time, my life has been way off balance. It’s been off balance for so long, in fact, that off balance feels natural and normal. Off balance is a comfort.
Lately, I’ve been trying to find more balance. It actually all started with finally being a mature individual with a budget.
I’ve kept a clean apartment, so it’s not a mad dash to pick things up when someone is coming over. Also, it’s just nice to come home to a clean apartment. I never really knew this would make such a difference, but it’s incredible how awesome it is to get into a bed that’s made. Walking into a closet full of clean clothes on, all on hangers, is also really nice.
I’ve been trying to eat better, though so far I haven’t made many changes. Which is why I’ve decided to go vegan again on September 1st. This time I’m going to try it for two months, instead of one. Since I’ve been so successful at forming new cleaning habits (so far), I’m hoping that this will help me establish some new eating habits.
If someone could get me to the gym, that would be great. I miss rock climbing, but I’ve decided to find something more martial arts/self-defense related for now. I loved Jiu Jitsu when I took it last summer. It’s expensive, but probably worth it. This time, though, I’d like to start with something that’s straight up self-defense. I can’t wait to get back to the climbing wall, though. I just need to get myself in a bit better shape. Feeling strong, physically, is very important right now. And I don’t feel strong.
Relationships, as always, have been the hardest for me. Finding a balance in relationships with friends and family is more difficult than I thought. Adding other people into the mix just complicates things. I usually have a lot trouble with family, much to my mother’s dismay. I can’t seem to explain to her the WHY, though. A couple of week’s ago, we had lunch, because I wanted to talk to her about the trouble I’ve been having with this whole “selling myself as a writer” thing. During lunch, I got the requisite lecture about how “distant” I am with family and about how she wishes my sister and I were closer. “Because, at the end of the day, family is all you have.”
I hate that statement. It’s just not even true. Plus, I love my sister and I would absolutely be there for her if she needed me (which…she just doesn’t). I just don’t really feel the need to talk to her everyday (not to mention she never bothers to return phone calls or emails, which makes me less inclined to even bother). We don’t have very much in common, and honestly, it’s just easier and less stressful if we don’t talk a lot. And my conservative Christian grandparents? Yeah, I just…can’t. My Nana is probably the most self-absorbed person on the planet; my Pops, while sweet, comes with a side of Nana. Also, we don’t agree on anything, so it’s hard to make conversation. Which just means that for the entirety of the interaction, I feel uncomfortable and on-edge.
My dad’s parents are easier, but they live in Tennessee. The older I get, though, the harder it is to sit around and take the lectures about conservative politics and the evil homosexual agenda. I’m expected to respect them and their beliefs (and to hold my tongue), while they hold no respect for me or mine, simply because they’re older. It’s a concept I find difficult, to say the least. So rather than put myself in the position of being uncomfortable, I just avoid the situation as much as possible.
Friends should be easier, because you get to choose your friends. That hasn’t really been the case for me lately, though. Let’s just say, this is a work in progress.
As for more intimate or romantic relationships, this is where I struggle the most. As a person with a very strong sense of self, I know I have to make some compromises, if I’m ever going to let myself get close to someone again. But I don’t want to lose myself or put myself on the back-burner, either. I do that too easily, mostly because I know that I’m strong and I’m tough and I will be okay. The truth is, though, I won’t be okay if I lose myself to be with someone else. My problem is striking a balance between knowing when to hold my ground and when it’s okay to compromise. It can’t be my way or the highway, but it can’t be “whatever you need,” either.
At the end of my last long(ish) relationship, I came up with a list of ways I had felt in that relationship that I will never feel in a relationship again. These are, as they say, the deal-breakers. The things are the list on broad enough in concept that they can be applied to any relationship, with any other human.
Rather than make a list of the qualities I want to find in a partner (as in that atrocious Hallmark movie I watched last night), I think this is a healthy thing to do at the end of a relationship. Particularly one that ended poorly. This is simply a list of warning signs. If I feel this way because of someone else’s actions or words again, I will hopefully be much more likely to walk away.
It’s Friday, we should break up – Cotton Balls*.
Aug 27th
Okay, @DysFuncJunc , I’m really sorry. I know this is probably going to break your heart. However, I will still say “cotton balls” and I will still giggle every time.
Cotton balls (hehe) kind of freak me out, though. I don’t like the noise they make when I squish them. I don’t like that they’re not food. They really seem like they’d be tasty. They’re not.
And now, I have my choice of cotton squares or cotton rounds. They can be textured or not. They probably come in colors. I’m secretly hoping for flavors, but so far, no luck on that front.
Who needs a lowly cotton ball any more? They shed and they’re too small and I don’t really like the way they look in the container on my bathroom counter.
It’s been fun, cotton balls, and I will still giggle every time I think of you, but I think we’re finished. I’m going with the ever versatile cotton round, from now on. Textured on one side, smooth on the other, the cotton round really knows how to make me happy. It really knows what I need in life.
It’s not me, cotton balls, it’s you.
*Basically I just wanted to see how many times I could legitimately say “cotton balls” in one post, in an effort to make @DysFuncJunc and @GingerMandy pee their pants from the giggles. Squish mitten!
Remember when your little black panties were enough?
Aug 26th
Disclaimer: No, this has nothing to do with my date last weekend, in case any of you try to jump to that conclusion. I started writing this several months ago and forgot about it.
I remember the days when all it took were five little words: “I’m not wearing any underwear.” I fear those days are gone, my friends.
Sex these days is like a three-ring circus. Or at least, it sounds that way. My suspicion is that sex actually hasn’t changed all that much, just the way we talk about it. But the fact remains that there is so much porn now, with people doing things that…well, that I probably don’t even want to do. And the sex toys. Wow. I mean, not that I’m against a good sex toy. I think we all know I’m not.
It’s weird, though. Maybe I’m just crazy, but it doesn’t seem that the expectations of men in the bedroom have really changed all that much. Show up, well equipped, all engines firing, and you know, get the job done. Women, however, are now supposed to be up for anything. It’s like an actual game of Hide the Salami, only apparently now, we’re expected to let you hide it anywhere. And while you’re hiding it, we should be gymnasts who are open to the idea of having sex with a woman (if that strikes your fancy) and don’t mind dressing up like your third grade teacher and giving you a spanking all the while making you feel like the king of the castle manly man.
It wears me out. What happened to regular ol’ sex? Which, by the way, was really good.
I don’t want to swing from a chandelier, dressed like Catwoman, while I regale you with my fantasies of making it with the toaster oven, but of course I’ve never done any of this before because you, you’re the only man I ever want to touch.
PLEASE.
Actually, in my life, I’ve mostly only dated simple guys (long-term). Guys who were happy with a girl in some cotton panties and a T-shirt. Guys who, if I tried to wear anything that might be considered fancy (we’re talking more than three hooks, people), would look at me and say, “Seriously. Take that off, it’s ridiculous.” And of course, I never had SEX with any of them. Hi, Aunt Kim.
For most of my life, the only thing I’ve really been confident about was sex. Again, not that I’ve had any. Hi, Mom.
These days, though, sexy feels cheap. Okay, plus, I SUCK at being sexy. Like in any sort of obvious way. I’m much more likely to giggle and fall on my face than be actual sexy. But sex was the one place I always felt I owned.
NOT in a wetsuit, with five of my girlfriends and a trout, waiting to be shot in the eye with man juice.
Just sex. The good old fashioned kind. Without a movie set full of props.
I’m just not sure how I feel about it any more. Mostly, I feel like because sex has never been some hugely emotional thing for me, I’ve had a fairly casual attitude about it. Not that I’ve had a lot of it. I mean, you know, because I’ve never had sex and all that. Hey, sister’s boyfriend.
This is getting awkward. So I’m going to shut up and just say this:
Men? When did sex become this big production? Do you guys all feel like this, or is it more talk from the peanut gallery than anything else? Is just sex good enough? Should I keep my little black panties, or shall I wear a French Maid costume permanently under my clothes? Do you feel like women have crazy expectations of what you’re willing to do during sex, too?
Miss you?
Aug 24th
This is one of those things that’s not going to make me any more popular. But frankly, I’m pretty sure 90% of you are thinking it, you just have the good sense not to say it.
As of two years ago, you could use the following methods of communication to get in touch with me:
- Cell Phone
- Email (I have at least nine email addresses)
- MySpace (I SAID two years ago)
- Google Chat
- Comment on my blog
- Knock on my door
- Send me a letter or card in the mail
- Carrier Pigeon
The list is shorter now, as I’ve deleted my MySpace and Facebook accounts. All the other methods are still completely valid (secretly, I’ve always wanted to get a message via carrier pigeon). If you’re reading this, you have, in your possession, at least TWO ways of contacting me, as you can comment on this blog or you can email me.
Please don’t knock on my door, you creepy freak.
I’m puzzled then, when people choose to leave messages on a Facebook wall or Twitter that say, “I miss you.” or “I miss talking to you.” Because generally speaking, any and all people who do that have some way to get in touch with me that might, you know, SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Like, if I know you in real life, don’t leave me a fucking message on some social media message board, text me. “Dude. I miss you. Wanna get some coffee and catch up?”
If I know you in real life, but you don’t live near me, don’t put some passive aggressive message out there on social media about missing talking to me. TALK to me, if you miss talking to me. Is that so hard? Why sit around and bitch about something you can actually fix? Email me, chat me, text me, whatever. I have faith in you that you will figure this out or shut up.
My personal favorite is the person who says, every time I see him or her, “We never hang out any more. Why don’t you call me?” Well…why don’t YOU call ME, if you’re so upset about it that you feel like you need to say something? Honestly, I don’t really need the guilt.
Now, I realize, most of the time these are just empty statements. Things we say that we don’t really mean. “Call me!” rarely means “No, actually, call me, damn it.” Usually it means, “I don’t want this to be awkward, so I’m going to tell you to call me or that I’ll call you because we both know neither of us is ever going to make that happen, but this way we can save face and pretend to be friends when really…we’re just not.”
I try to avoid that. Actually, I try to avoid saying things I don’t mean, the end. If I say we should hang out, I probably mean it (because I don’t want to be put in the awkward position of having to hang out with you when I don’t really want to hang out with you). But I might forget to make it happen. If I do forget to get in touch with you to make plans, however, I’m not going to try to make YOU feel guilty about it. That’s just ass.
I’m not completely opposed to people saying they miss me, though. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of people who probably just mean that they miss me. It’s these few scenarios in which people say shit that they can easily fix or change that bug the shit out of me.
Also, I should say, I’m not really one for “missing” people. I’m more of an “out of sight out of mind” kind of girl. Yes, I know, you can just add that to the list of many characteristics that make me impossible.
On being right. And an apology.
Aug 23rd
There are lots of people in my life who would probably tell you that I have an overwhelming need to be right.
They’d be right.
Ha. No, but really, I do like to be right. I like it a lot. But, believe it or not, I can admit when I’m wrong. It just doesn’t happen very often.
Again, I joke. I’m wrong all the time. I just approach being wrong with less enthusiasm than I approach being right. Generally speaking, I try not to shout from the hilltops about things, unless I’m pretty sure I’m right. Even then, I really don’t shout from the hilltops because that’s really obnoxious. At that point, it ceases to matter if I’m right or wrong and it only matters that I’m being an obnoxious prick.
I have confidence in my opinions and the things I believe because I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about them. I do the research, if I can. I study. I like to know things anyway, so it’s not really a chore. I am certainly not the expert on everything, however.
I would also never presume to tell you how to live your life (aside from this whole leggings as pants situation, and I think we can all agree that no one is listening to me anyway, right @gingermandy ?). Which is why I find “life coaches” or those “quarter-life crisis” types really irritating. Also, seriously, people. Twenty-five? It ain’t shit. It’s not a crisis. It’s growing up. It’s life. It’s figuring out who you are and who you want to be and how to achieve your goals and chase your dreams. It’s not a crisis. It’s LIFE.
/rant
And now I’m going to tell you about being wrong. Lots of people would probably say that I’ve been pretty unfair to men, in the past (I’d argue that it was mostly with damn good reason, but that’s not the point). Over the last, say, eight months or so, I’ve really been thinking about my attitude about men and what it says about me. I’m a feminist, yes, but I’m not the sort of feminist who dismisses opinions or ideas simply because they came from men. In my opinion, that diminishes the message and makes you a hypocrite.
What I never really saw, though, was how much pressure there is on men to be…well, men. It comes with very strict rules, you see. You must not be emotional. You must never appear weak. And above all, you must never, ever, in any way, appear to be feminine or gay. This can dictate your reactions, your clothes, your attitudes about everything and everyone.
Now, in my opinion, this speaks to the sad state of all things men and women, but today, I want to apologize. I want to apologize for anything I’ve said or done to promote a masculine stereotype that forces men to be anything but “like women.”
I don’t like crying, but that’s about people, not just about men. I will admit, that despite my best attempts to curb it, there is something more unsettling about a crying man than a crying woman. I’d rather not be around either, though. It makes me uncomfortable. I have no idea what to do or what to say. I think it’s safe to tell you guys that I’m a bit of an insensitive ass, so my only recourse is to try to make said crying person laugh. This doesn’t mean that my friends can’t come to me with problems. They just have to be aware that my default switch is set at “make the crying stop.”
Also, seeing someone cry makes me want to cry sometimes, and I don’t really like to cry.
(True confession: I totally cried at the end of a book a month or so ago. Like heaving sobbing had-to-get-a-box-of-tissues hiccuping crying.)
I’m apologizing because I don’t really ever want to spread around an opinion that promotes traditional gender roles. I don’t think the man needs to be the care-taker, any more than I think the woman must do the laundry. Such ideas are ridiculous to me. I mean, if that’s the way your relationship works out, I have no issue with it, but those aren’t the sorts of things that should be forced on someone just because of their genitalia.
Everyone is different. That’s what makes relationships so complicated. We all need and want just what we need and want. Some people are willing to make compromises, some aren’t. Some women want a nice guy, some want an asshole. Some men care about nothing but a skinny girl, some want to be with someone who is confident and smart. Some of us want it all, wrapped up with a lovely bow.
So while it’s easy to try to put everyone you meet in some neat little box, it just won’t really work.
I’m working on my attitude, and really learning to think about things before forming an opinion. I’m keeping in mind that it’s pretty ridiculous to pigeonhole someone simply because of gender, since I don’t like it when that’s done to me. I think it’s important to be cautious and to use your experience as your guide, but not to let your fear get in the way of something that might be good for you.
Life is hard, y’all. And this maturity thing is for the birds.
And a note to my girlfriends: If you’re going to get all outraged that he couldn’t look past the size of your ass and see the real and wonderful you as a human being? You best the fuck not count some guy out because of a bald spot. It oozes hypocrisy and it’s kind of disgusting. Also, he can probably do less about that bald spot than you can do about the size of your ass. Just sayin’.
Yes, this is coming from someone who doesn’t really like to date guys who are shorter, but there’s a REASON for that. Shallow as it may be. And it’s not even about height. So there. Also, I like to think I’d give anyone a shot who impressed me in some way, unless I just legitimately couldn’t stand to look at him. Funny goes a long way, but attraction is key.
