Dating Myself
Mon, Jul 19 2010 06:21
| 1999, 2003, early twenties, 2001, 2002
I had this really good post planned for today about Threesomes but, I totally chickened out after I found out that apparently one of the kids I used to babysit for has been reading my blog (OH GOD). He's 20 -something but, still (OH GOD). Yup, that's me...corrupting the youth.
It makes me wonder, who else is reading this?!
So in lieu of another tawdry story about my shady dating history, I thought I'd share the story about how I learned to stop dating other people...and instead learned to date myself.
As the oldest of two children, I've always been pretty independent. When I was growing up I loved socializing. I was the kid who was so busy talking during the lunch-hour that I'd actually forget to eat my lunch. I was also a goody-two-shoes (work with me here). The only time I ever got in trouble was for talking too much (some things never change). With that said, I was also the kind of kid who could spend hours in her room, playing with her stuffed animals & barbies, working on art projects, making up dance routines, completely content to amuse myself for hours on end. As a teenager I also loved spending time alone: writing, listening to records, going for walks on the beach. My family is small and close knit and while I was growing up I always had a tight circle of close friends. Being alone wasn't lonely because I knew that whenever I didn't want to be alone, I was surrounded with all these wonderful people who had known me my own life.
I'd always dreamed of leaving my sleepy seaside town for some big, strange, exciting place. When I was 18, I did exactly that. Instead of going to University, I signed up for some college classes and bought a one-way ticket to Toronto, a city thousands of miles away where I knew virtually no one. Once I started "living my dream" I realized something: I was completely alone...and for the first time, alone felt lonely.
I was so desperate to meet people, that I would literally be friends with ANYONE. If you were a weirdo or mentally unstable in 1999, I would probably be your friend. During this time of my life I met a few really wonderful people (who later became good friends) however, the majority of people I met were less than wonderful. I just didn't see it at the time because I was young, naive, desperately lonely and hadn't quite figured out that a lot of people just didn't have good intentions. That's how I ended up hanging out with people like The Worm. However, getting Tequila'ed up & molested by The Worm in his Porsche, was just the tip of the ice-berg when it came to bad experiences. I was wracking up disturbing life experiences like it was going out of style. Maybe at some point I'll actually start to get into detail about what actually happened, but for now its just safe to say that by the end of my first year in Toronto I was kind of a mess emotionally.
It makes me wonder, who else is reading this?!
So in lieu of another tawdry story about my shady dating history, I thought I'd share the story about how I learned to stop dating other people...and instead learned to date myself.
As the oldest of two children, I've always been pretty independent. When I was growing up I loved socializing. I was the kid who was so busy talking during the lunch-hour that I'd actually forget to eat my lunch. I was also a goody-two-shoes (work with me here). The only time I ever got in trouble was for talking too much (some things never change). With that said, I was also the kind of kid who could spend hours in her room, playing with her stuffed animals & barbies, working on art projects, making up dance routines, completely content to amuse myself for hours on end. As a teenager I also loved spending time alone: writing, listening to records, going for walks on the beach. My family is small and close knit and while I was growing up I always had a tight circle of close friends. Being alone wasn't lonely because I knew that whenever I didn't want to be alone, I was surrounded with all these wonderful people who had known me my own life.
I'd always dreamed of leaving my sleepy seaside town for some big, strange, exciting place. When I was 18, I did exactly that. Instead of going to University, I signed up for some college classes and bought a one-way ticket to Toronto, a city thousands of miles away where I knew virtually no one. Once I started "living my dream" I realized something: I was completely alone...and for the first time, alone felt lonely.
I was so desperate to meet people, that I would literally be friends with ANYONE. If you were a weirdo or mentally unstable in 1999, I would probably be your friend. During this time of my life I met a few really wonderful people (who later became good friends) however, the majority of people I met were less than wonderful. I just didn't see it at the time because I was young, naive, desperately lonely and hadn't quite figured out that a lot of people just didn't have good intentions. That's how I ended up hanging out with people like The Worm. However, getting Tequila'ed up & molested by The Worm in his Porsche, was just the tip of the ice-berg when it came to bad experiences. I was wracking up disturbing life experiences like it was going out of style. Maybe at some point I'll actually start to get into detail about what actually happened, but for now its just safe to say that by the end of my first year in Toronto I was kind of a mess emotionally.
I realized early on that school year that a "good" way to deal with my problems was to party. As hard and as often as possible. I'm not really sure how much of this had to do with me wanting to run away from my problems or whether this is something that all people feel when they are young but, I had this strong desire to always be OUT. Staying at home, doing quiet things was absolutely unbearable. I felt like if I was home I was a missing out on something and obviously a total "loser" (something that now seems pretty ridiculous now that I am older). If I was at home alone, then it would mean that I would actually have to stop and reflect on what was going on with my life. I wanted to avoid that at all costs... so instead I went to great lengths to ensure that never happened. I went to University full time and worked 25-30 hours a week. I scheduled all my shifts so that I would never be home alone on the weekends. I'd work all weekend, party all night, and leave myself just enough time during the week to study & maintain a B average. Even if it meant that I went to my part time job hung-over beyond belief (or god forbid, still kind of drunk from the night before), working a 9 hour shift in this state was actually preferable to being home alone with my thoughts.
When it came to partying, I wouldn't just have a few. I'd drink to the point that bordered on oblivion, where I was comfortably numb. Where I didn't have to feel anything. I also loved to dance, so I would consume to the point where it would just be me, the music and whoever I was dancing with. My self-destructive behavior extended into other areas of my life, mainly boys. I dated a drug dealer. I dated a drug addict. I spent a year being some guy's mistress because on some level I didn't think I deserved any better. It's like I searched out these situations that were destined to end painfully. I like to call these my "train-wreck years". There were signs along the way that I should have stopped what I was doing but I chose to ignore them.
The real wake-up call happened in September of 2003, shortly after my 22nd birthday.
My paternal Grandma, who I had always been very close with, passed away.
I was heartbroken.
My grandma was one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever known (of course, maybe this is the way most people feel about their grandma's). Losing her gave me this weird feeling that my childhood was now officially over.
September of 2002 was a bad month. To add insult to injury, right after my grandma passed my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Looking back, this was a blessing in disguise however, at the time it sucked. It felt like someone was taking my already bruised, bleeding heart & was stabbing it repeatedly with a butter knife.
Shortly after the break-up, the leaking started. I noticed that water was squirting out of the light fixture in my bedroom ceiling (why this happened in the first place remains a mystery). I figured I didn't need to add "accidental electrocution" to my list of problems so, I packed an overnight bag & decided to stay on my friend's couch until building maintenance could come and fix the leak. The maintenance people never showed up. Three days later I returned to my apartment to find a 4ft x 4ft hole in my ceiling, and the "ceiling" (pieces of wood, insulation, plaster) on my BED.
I looked up at the hole & saw my upstairs neighbor looking down at me.
him: "So, like... your ceiling fell through while you were away"
me: "Yeah I noticed"
I actually laugh whenever I tell this story because, it is kind of funny. It felt like my world was imploding...and then it actually did.
Even though my heart hurt & I felt overwhelmed, for the first time in years I didn't feel like partying that feeling away. Have you ever had one of those moments where you wake up and say "What the fuck am I doing with my life?". I've had a few. This was one of them. I knew that if I was going to get through this I would need to STOP everything.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stopped dating. I stopped sleeping with my ex. I started to systemically to cut off all of my friends that reminded me of any of these things (even if they were good people). I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to talk about how I felt. I didn't want to fake being happy any more. When I am truly upset this what I do: I hibernate. I also decided I needed to learn how to do the one thing I used to fear so much: I needed to learn how to be alone. And, this was exactly what I did.
I forced myself to stay home on the weekends. It was hard at first. I'd feel shaky & jittery, like I couldn't sit still. Even though I knew I didn't want to be out partying, I felt like I was scratching at the walls. But, once I eventually got over the initial anxiety and I realized, THIS IS AWESOME.
I COULD DO ANYTHING I WANTED.
Since I wasn't spending my weekends wasted or in the emergency room sitting bedside as my boyfriend had his stomach pumped, I HAD SO MUCH SPARE TIME. I re-discovered what it felt like to wake up on a Sunday without a hangover (omg you have so much energy!). I started to fill my Friday & Saturday nights with things that I enjoyed. I'd borrow my neighbor's VCR (I was a broke student) and rent videos that only I wanted to see. I discovered Sex and the City, and was like "Whoa! I'm not the only one having all these bizarre dating experiences...and they are laughing about it!". I substituted food for booze. On Friday nights I'd go to the grocery store & I'd buy WHATEVER the hell I felt like eating. I'd get brie, avocados, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, cookies, gummi bears, croissants, pepperoni sticks, popcorn & cheezies. I learned that eating all of these things in succession isn't that great an idea. I stopped being underweight. I put on a well-needed 5-8lbs. My body filled out in a good way. I spent a lot of time at the library because it made me feel less lonely. My B-average turned into an A-average. I started my first blog & met people who I are still my friends today. Did I still feel lonely through any of this? OH HELL YES. Sometimes I felt totally lonely. It was hard but, I worked through it. I decided to embrace the feeling of being a bit lonely because I knew what I was doing was healthier than what I was doing before (minus the new found gummi bear & pepperoni problem)
That winter, I found the perfect solution for what to do on my free Saturday nights: I got a job working at (what was at the time) a high end club/cigar lounge. I started making more money than I had ever made before. FYI. Want to wean yourself off of alcohol? Get a job somewhere where YOU'RE SOBER and everyone around you is WASTED. It's eye-opening. And hilarious.
Working at the club was a good thing because it broke me out of the shell I had been living in. I started to feel better. I started to make new friends & connect with old ones. I started to date again. I realized that I could still go out, have a few drinks & have fun with my friends without being self-destructive. I started to smile & laugh again...but this time, real smiles, not the fake-smiling-eventhough-I'm-sad-ones. Most importantly, on the nights when I wasn't working at the bar I loved going home to my apartment alone, kicking my feet up and saying "I'm OK with this" because I was. I learned to sit still. I learned to be alone again and love it.
So, what is the point of all this? Lately, I've been going through a hard time emotionally. The circumstances are completely different & don't worry - no one has died. Still, its been difficult. Looking back on this other era of my life I've realized this: sometimes shitty things happen. Very shitty things. But, sometimes its these really hard times that push us forward...push us to make changes...push us to get to know ourselves better...push us to face things that we fear. And, if history repeats itself (as I'm hoping it will), its these struggles that lead us to better things.
xox
(Photo found via Rebecca Thuss)
Can anyone else relate to this?
My paternal Grandma, who I had always been very close with, passed away.
I was heartbroken.
My grandma was one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever known (of course, maybe this is the way most people feel about their grandma's). Losing her gave me this weird feeling that my childhood was now officially over.
September of 2002 was a bad month. To add insult to injury, right after my grandma passed my boyfriend at the time broke up with me. Looking back, this was a blessing in disguise however, at the time it sucked. It felt like someone was taking my already bruised, bleeding heart & was stabbing it repeatedly with a butter knife.
Shortly after the break-up, the leaking started. I noticed that water was squirting out of the light fixture in my bedroom ceiling (why this happened in the first place remains a mystery). I figured I didn't need to add "accidental electrocution" to my list of problems so, I packed an overnight bag & decided to stay on my friend's couch until building maintenance could come and fix the leak. The maintenance people never showed up. Three days later I returned to my apartment to find a 4ft x 4ft hole in my ceiling, and the "ceiling" (pieces of wood, insulation, plaster) on my BED.
I looked up at the hole & saw my upstairs neighbor looking down at me.
him: "So, like... your ceiling fell through while you were away"
me: "Yeah I noticed"
I actually laugh whenever I tell this story because, it is kind of funny. It felt like my world was imploding...and then it actually did.
Even though my heart hurt & I felt overwhelmed, for the first time in years I didn't feel like partying that feeling away. Have you ever had one of those moments where you wake up and say "What the fuck am I doing with my life?". I've had a few. This was one of them. I knew that if I was going to get through this I would need to STOP everything.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stopped dating. I stopped sleeping with my ex. I started to systemically to cut off all of my friends that reminded me of any of these things (even if they were good people). I didn't want to face them. I didn't want to talk about how I felt. I didn't want to fake being happy any more. When I am truly upset this what I do: I hibernate. I also decided I needed to learn how to do the one thing I used to fear so much: I needed to learn how to be alone. And, this was exactly what I did.
I forced myself to stay home on the weekends. It was hard at first. I'd feel shaky & jittery, like I couldn't sit still. Even though I knew I didn't want to be out partying, I felt like I was scratching at the walls. But, once I eventually got over the initial anxiety and I realized, THIS IS AWESOME.
I COULD DO ANYTHING I WANTED.
Since I wasn't spending my weekends wasted or in the emergency room sitting bedside as my boyfriend had his stomach pumped, I HAD SO MUCH SPARE TIME. I re-discovered what it felt like to wake up on a Sunday without a hangover (omg you have so much energy!). I started to fill my Friday & Saturday nights with things that I enjoyed. I'd borrow my neighbor's VCR (I was a broke student) and rent videos that only I wanted to see. I discovered Sex and the City, and was like "Whoa! I'm not the only one having all these bizarre dating experiences...and they are laughing about it!". I substituted food for booze. On Friday nights I'd go to the grocery store & I'd buy WHATEVER the hell I felt like eating. I'd get brie, avocados, Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream, cookies, gummi bears, croissants, pepperoni sticks, popcorn & cheezies. I learned that eating all of these things in succession isn't that great an idea. I stopped being underweight. I put on a well-needed 5-8lbs. My body filled out in a good way. I spent a lot of time at the library because it made me feel less lonely. My B-average turned into an A-average. I started my first blog & met people who I are still my friends today. Did I still feel lonely through any of this? OH HELL YES. Sometimes I felt totally lonely. It was hard but, I worked through it. I decided to embrace the feeling of being a bit lonely because I knew what I was doing was healthier than what I was doing before (minus the new found gummi bear & pepperoni problem)
That winter, I found the perfect solution for what to do on my free Saturday nights: I got a job working at (what was at the time) a high end club/cigar lounge. I started making more money than I had ever made before. FYI. Want to wean yourself off of alcohol? Get a job somewhere where YOU'RE SOBER and everyone around you is WASTED. It's eye-opening. And hilarious.
Working at the club was a good thing because it broke me out of the shell I had been living in. I started to feel better. I started to make new friends & connect with old ones. I started to date again. I realized that I could still go out, have a few drinks & have fun with my friends without being self-destructive. I started to smile & laugh again...but this time, real smiles, not the fake-smiling-eventhough-I'm-sad-ones. Most importantly, on the nights when I wasn't working at the bar I loved going home to my apartment alone, kicking my feet up and saying "I'm OK with this" because I was. I learned to sit still. I learned to be alone again and love it.
So, what is the point of all this? Lately, I've been going through a hard time emotionally. The circumstances are completely different & don't worry - no one has died. Still, its been difficult. Looking back on this other era of my life I've realized this: sometimes shitty things happen. Very shitty things. But, sometimes its these really hard times that push us forward...push us to make changes...push us to get to know ourselves better...push us to face things that we fear. And, if history repeats itself (as I'm hoping it will), its these struggles that lead us to better things.
xox
(Photo found via Rebecca Thuss)
Can anyone else relate to this?
Has my love for the Muppets caused me to me to make Bad Dating Choices?
Another thing that you probably don't know about me is that I am a big Muppets fan. Like, freakishly big. Since I was a kid I've probably seen "Muppets Take Manhattan" at least 55 times (did I mention I know all the songs by heart?). I still have my felt Kermit the Frog doll (a relic from my childhood) that up until a few years ago I still kept in my bedroom. Every time I see something green and fuzzy my heart kind of goes aflutter with nostalgia. I can't help it. Over the years I've learned to keep my love for the Muppets under wraps because let's face it--its NOT COOL. I've also learned that boys and Muppets don't mix. If you've slept with me in the past ten years there was probably this moment, like when you first came over to my house where I rushed inside my apartement "to tidy up" before I lead you to my bedroom. My house is usually pretty spotless so most likely I was in the bedroom grabbing the Kermit doll (and anything else potentially embrassing) and stashing it in the closet. I learned to never leave Kermit out in plain sight after I dated this one dude who used to like to pose Kermit in indecent positions. I'd leave the room, come back and find Kermit touching himself or humping my furniture, and the dude laughing hysterically. This guy was 35. (And people always asked me why we broke up...)
{The photo on the left was taken a few years ago after my friend & I stumbled across this shirt @ an outlet mall. She wouldn't let me buy it. Friends don't let friends buy hideous souvenir t-shirts}
Aside from my pervy ex who liked to do indulge in some Kermit Sutra, I've never really made much of a connection between my love for the Muppets and my love life. That was until last weekend when BF handed me a page from the Globe & Mail and said "YOU NEED TO READ THIS SIMONE".
The article was about Julie Klausner's new book "I Don’t Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters and Other Guys I’ve Dated". Klausner, a comedian and former writer for Saturday night live says that she spent most of her twenties "taking dating cues from Miss Piggy, chasing every would-be Kermit in my vicinity with porcine voracity.” In her book she says that she sees bits of Kermit in all of the men she dated. Men "who gave in to her pushy advances but ultimately preferred hanging out with friends and pursuing their own projects, just like Kermit did on The Muppet Show". When she watched "The Muppet Movie" as adult Klausner said that Kermit reminded her of the "vintage-eyeglass-frame-wearing guys … who pedal along avenues in between band practice and drinks with friends, sans attachment, oblivious to the impending hazards of reality and adulthood"All of this sounds strangely...familiar.
In my twenties, did I date "Kermits"?
OH, HELL YES.
In my early twenties I was starstruck. I deliberately went after guys who had this "star quality": beautiful boys with big personalities who loved being the center of attention (this explains why I dated a lot [wannabe] struggling actors, musicians and models]. I thought I was fabulous and therefore deserved to be with someone equally as fabulous & glamorous. However, I eventually realized that there was only room for one under the spotlight.
Most of these guys were more interested in playing their guitars, hanging out with their friends, snowboarding or having movie marathons with their gay neighbour (don't ask) than they were in dating me. But did that stop me? NO!
Their apparent "resistance" just made me try harder. In true Miss Piggy style I THREW myself at these guys. You might even say I was "aggressive". I seduced guys in their dorm rooms. I pushed boys into the Men's room at Element Bar for impromptu make out sesssions. I lured a guy I was attracted away from the party we were attending, to a dark corner just to show him what kind of underwear I was wearing. For all my efforts & aggressive hook-up strategies none of these entaglements ever really ammounted to much. Often the guys went running in the opposite direction.
My favorite example of a "Kermit guy" is this guy I dated in 3rd year university. He was tall, thin, & attractive in an emo-boy Topher Grace kind of way. He was an "aspiring poet". He always seemed kind of pre-occupied which I mistook as a sign that he was in deep intellectual thought --really I think he was just distracted and probably not that into me. We'd been dating for about 3 months. I really wanted him to like me as much as I liked him. For his birthday I decided to cook him an amazing birthday dinner. I made all of my favorite Eastern European home cooking dishes: stuffed Hungarian peppers, perogies, fried Kolbassa, Latkas, saurkraut. I bought a new dress & new scandalous lingerie. I thought surely that all of this would impress him and he'd see just how awesome I really was.
What happened when he came over was pretty much the opposite: He picked at his food, staring distractedly at the TV. When I saw that dinner wasn't going to happen, I stradled him and initiated a make-out session. Mid-makeout session I asked him coyly if he wanted to see a private show of my new lingerie purchases. His response was "You shouldn't squander all of your money on such silly stuff Simone". He pushed me off. Before I could muster up a reply his phone rang. A few seconds later he said:
"Zack has tickets to the new Star Wars. He's been waiting in line for 13 hours. Gotta go"
(HUH?)
A few minutes later he was out the door. I was left feeling like an idiot in a brand new dress, some pretty fucking hot lingerie and enough food to feed a former Soviet Union Satellite country.*
Ok, so this guy was a bit of a doofus. But overall, the guys I dated during this period aren't to be blamed here. At the time I was all about MOI MOI MOI. I wanted so desperately to love and be loved that I ignored a lot of the signals these guys were giving me. Instead, I projected all my crazy hopes and expectations for the relationship on to them. If I had only listened to what they were really telling me and paid attention to their actions, I might have seen that they just didn't like me enough.
Knowing what I know now, I think Miss Piggy had it all wrong. I think if she (like me) had taken a step back she would have seen she was just pursuing the wrong kind of dude. She's a strong woman (hello karate chops!) with killer fashion sense (she rocks purple satin gloves like nobody's business!). That's a whole lotta woman for any guy to handle, let alone a frog. I can't help but wonder, if she had held out longer she might have found someone who could handle all of her fabulosity (Rolf? The Swedish Chef maybe?). I DID. He's more of a Fozzy Bear type: loveable, loyal to a fault and tells lots of corny jokes (and some good dirty ones. I like those best). And even when I'm at my most Miss Piggiest: demanding, dramatic, over the top, he loves me just as is. That's all anyone can ask for right? WOCKA WOCKA.
Does any of this sound familiar?
{The photo on the left was taken a few years ago after my friend & I stumbled across this shirt @ an outlet mall. She wouldn't let me buy it. Friends don't let friends buy hideous souvenir t-shirts}
Aside from my pervy ex who liked to do indulge in some Kermit Sutra, I've never really made much of a connection between my love for the Muppets and my love life. That was until last weekend when BF handed me a page from the Globe & Mail and said "YOU NEED TO READ THIS SIMONE".
The article was about Julie Klausner's new book "I Don’t Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters and Other Guys I’ve Dated". Klausner, a comedian and former writer for Saturday night live says that she spent most of her twenties "taking dating cues from Miss Piggy, chasing every would-be Kermit in my vicinity with porcine voracity.” In her book she says that she sees bits of Kermit in all of the men she dated. Men "who gave in to her pushy advances but ultimately preferred hanging out with friends and pursuing their own projects, just like Kermit did on The Muppet Show". When she watched "The Muppet Movie" as adult Klausner said that Kermit reminded her of the "vintage-eyeglass-frame-wearing guys … who pedal along avenues in between band practice and drinks with friends, sans attachment, oblivious to the impending hazards of reality and adulthood"All of this sounds strangely...familiar.
In my twenties, did I date "Kermits"?
OH, HELL YES.
In my early twenties I was starstruck. I deliberately went after guys who had this "star quality": beautiful boys with big personalities who loved being the center of attention (this explains why I dated a lot [wannabe] struggling actors, musicians and models]. I thought I was fabulous and therefore deserved to be with someone equally as fabulous & glamorous. However, I eventually realized that there was only room for one under the spotlight.
Most of these guys were more interested in playing their guitars, hanging out with their friends, snowboarding or having movie marathons with their gay neighbour (don't ask) than they were in dating me. But did that stop me? NO!
Their apparent "resistance" just made me try harder. In true Miss Piggy style I THREW myself at these guys. You might even say I was "aggressive". I seduced guys in their dorm rooms. I pushed boys into the Men's room at Element Bar for impromptu make out sesssions. I lured a guy I was attracted away from the party we were attending, to a dark corner just to show him what kind of underwear I was wearing. For all my efforts & aggressive hook-up strategies none of these entaglements ever really ammounted to much. Often the guys went running in the opposite direction.
My favorite example of a "Kermit guy" is this guy I dated in 3rd year university. He was tall, thin, & attractive in an emo-boy Topher Grace kind of way. He was an "aspiring poet". He always seemed kind of pre-occupied which I mistook as a sign that he was in deep intellectual thought --really I think he was just distracted and probably not that into me. We'd been dating for about 3 months. I really wanted him to like me as much as I liked him. For his birthday I decided to cook him an amazing birthday dinner. I made all of my favorite Eastern European home cooking dishes: stuffed Hungarian peppers, perogies, fried Kolbassa, Latkas, saurkraut. I bought a new dress & new scandalous lingerie. I thought surely that all of this would impress him and he'd see just how awesome I really was.
What happened when he came over was pretty much the opposite: He picked at his food, staring distractedly at the TV. When I saw that dinner wasn't going to happen, I stradled him and initiated a make-out session. Mid-makeout session I asked him coyly if he wanted to see a private show of my new lingerie purchases. His response was "You shouldn't squander all of your money on such silly stuff Simone". He pushed me off. Before I could muster up a reply his phone rang. A few seconds later he said:
"Zack has tickets to the new Star Wars. He's been waiting in line for 13 hours. Gotta go"
(HUH?)
A few minutes later he was out the door. I was left feeling like an idiot in a brand new dress, some pretty fucking hot lingerie and enough food to feed a former Soviet Union Satellite country.*
Ok, so this guy was a bit of a doofus. But overall, the guys I dated during this period aren't to be blamed here. At the time I was all about MOI MOI MOI. I wanted so desperately to love and be loved that I ignored a lot of the signals these guys were giving me. Instead, I projected all my crazy hopes and expectations for the relationship on to them. If I had only listened to what they were really telling me and paid attention to their actions, I might have seen that they just didn't like me enough.
Knowing what I know now, I think Miss Piggy had it all wrong. I think if she (like me) had taken a step back she would have seen she was just pursuing the wrong kind of dude. She's a strong woman (hello karate chops!) with killer fashion sense (she rocks purple satin gloves like nobody's business!). That's a whole lotta woman for any guy to handle, let alone a frog. I can't help but wonder, if she had held out longer she might have found someone who could handle all of her fabulosity (Rolf? The Swedish Chef maybe?). I DID. He's more of a Fozzy Bear type: loveable, loyal to a fault and tells lots of corny jokes (and some good dirty ones. I like those best). And even when I'm at my most Miss Piggiest: demanding, dramatic, over the top, he loves me just as is. That's all anyone can ask for right? WOCKA WOCKA.
Does any of this sound familiar?
Questions and Answers
Its a rainy night here in Toronto and I'm experiencing a bit of writers block. Its not that I don't have things that I want to write about but, rather I feel like I have too much to say and I'm not really sure where to start. Luckily, my friend Megan tagged me in this "Questions and Answers" exercise that she posted in her blog.It's basically like a mini "interview"--she asks me a set of questions and I post the answers here. A good way to kick start the writing process! If you're interested in participating, here is how it works:
• You comment on my questions and I'll respond by asking you five questions so I can satisfy my curiosity
• Update your blog with the answers to the questions.
• Include this explanation in the post and offer to ask other people questions.
Megan asked some really good questions & here are the answers:
1.Who was your favorite professor in university and why?
This is kind of a bit of a cop-out because I think almost everyone in my program loved the guy but, I'd have to say Professor Ivan Kalmar. He taught the Linguistic & Semiotic section of the first intro Anthropology course I took. He did a whole lecture about the cultural context of Hip Hop where he analyzed 2Pac lyrics and played Eminem songs for us. A few weeks later I switched my major to Anthropology and never looked back. Later in my degree I took his class on the Anthropology of Popular culture--one of my favorite classes from undergrad. We discussed everything from Wrestling, to Foucoult to Sasha Baron Cohen to Pornography to Strip Bars. The course also had a "field work" component where we had to go out into the community and conduct research on contemporary aspects of pop culture. My research group was sent to spend a week hanging out at The Brass Rail (a local strip club) & write about our observations. That was the first and only time I've ever had the chance to use the expressions "spread eagle" and "erection section" in an academic paper. That paper was also the first A+ I received at U of T. My prof published it on his website. I don't know if it is still up but it used to be one of the first things that popped up when you googled my name. Try it if you're bored and you want to read about me and strippers.
2. If you could go back and un-date one of the people you had dated in the past, who would it be and why?
This a toss-up between two people...
I) Dating THIS DUDE. I was around 18-19 when I got involved with him. My family and friends hated him-- for good reasons. He was bad news: older, a player, manipulative, drug dealer...the list goes on. I was very naive when I met him. I thought he was "charming" (In retrospect he was just creepy and manipulative) and got lured in by his bad-boy appeal. He wooed me, I fell for him. Once he had me wrapped around his finger things got ugly. Without getting into the gory details, the fall-out of our relationship left me with both emotional and physical scars. I was really traumatized for awhile after we stopped seeing each other and I'd sporadically have nightmares & anxiety attacks related to the situation. This was years ago and now I rarely think of him. However, whenever I DO, I kind of feel like throwing up.
I know that you can learn a lot from painful experiences. But this is why I wish I had never dated him: there isn't some big lesson to be learned here other than he was a shitty person and I shouldn't have trusted him. I think learning NOT to trust people is a lesson that has hindered me more than helped me in some ways. After this experience I had difficulty trusting people--even the good people in my life. And it took a few years to really get past this--I still am working on this to a certain extent. Learning that you can't trust everyone IS an important part of growing up however I'm pretty sure I could have learned the same lesson some other way without ever dating this guy.
II) The runner up: dating my co-worker a few years ago. I'd love to also erase that one. It was a rebound relationship that never should have happened. He was a nice person but we weren't right for each other. Plus I wasn't in the right place to be dating anyone at that time. In normal circumstances we would have just broken up and gone our separate ways. However, when things ended we still had to work together. All day. Everyday. So awkward. Plus there was the office rumor mill to deal with. We dated in secret, but a few people found out, then a few more....then people started asking me if the rumors were true...ugh. It just never went away. It was embarrassing. People were still asking me about it almost 3 years later. ERASE! DELETE!
(I did however learn an important lesson here: don't shit where you eat)
3. If you were Tyra Banks (stay with me here) and it was a new season of Top Model, only better than the crap it currently is, what would be the first modeling challenge you'd assign?
Oh god, this is a tough one! Maybe this is better suited to a show like Project Runway or the Rachel Zoe show but, I would love to send the contestants to a store that is ridiculously unfashionable in the traditonal sense (ie. a store that sells works clothes, military surplus or a particularly decrepid thrift store) and then have everyone compete to come up looks like reflect current runway trends. My sister and I came up with this idea a few summers ago while wandering around Mark's Work Warehouse while my cousin purchased a new hard hat and goggles for her husband. Maybe this could be an all new reality show of its own!
4. do you find yourself a procrastinator or do you plan ahead and get things done early?
I'm a bit of both. When it comes to doing stuff that I don't enjoy (ie. calling call centers, dealing with money issues, confronting people) I tend to procrastinate until the very last minute. However when it comes to stuff I actually consider as "fun" (deciding what to pack for trips, planning my birthday party or doing my Christmas shopping) I plan ridiculously far in advance (that's the Virgo in me I think). As a student I started off as a proscrastinator and pulled a lot of all-nighters during First Year University. However that got old fast. I started working on all my projects as far in advance as possible because it created less stress.
5. What is the biggest/best difference between Vancouver and Toronto?
Definitely PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENT. As far as setting and natural beauty goes, Vancouver wins hands down: the mountains, the ocean, Stanley Park, the laid back atmosphere--all of this makes Vancouver really spectacular. And on a warm sunny day, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. However what Toronto lacks in beauty it makes up for in diversity: people, food, culture, things to do in the city. Also the night life is way better (in my opinion). You just have so many more options: hundreds of pubs, bars, clubs & countless events to choose from on any given night. What Toronto lacks in a laid back vibe, it makes up for in energy & spirit. Even on a night where the temperatures are far below zero, you'll still find the clubs packed, often with line-ups out the door. I think we party more here to make up for how crappy the winter is. If I could live in Vancouver but also have access to all the things I love about Toronto (the people I love, the cultural events, the nightlife, the shopping) all in one city, THAT would be the perfect city for me.
Who wants to be interviewed next?
{Today's photo was found via we heart it
and it totally reminds me of winter on the West Coast!}
I'll always remember you fondly...as an asshole.
Closure.
How many times have you heard people I know say "I just need to get closure" following the fall-out of a relationship? Ideally getting "closure" means that the loose ends from the relationship are neatly tied up, everyone moves on and all of this is accomplished in a mature & civilized manner. However, in the real life "closure" rarely works that way. I've learned that the most effective closure is most often messy, ugly & painful. Sometimes it's that extra dose of hurt that is final incentive for you to move on once and for all.
In my early 20's there was this guy that I loved fiercely and blindly. For many reasons, being with him was never healthy. Eventually I realized this. A few weeks after he had told me that he wasn't ready for a relationship, I found out that he was suddenly in a relationship with this new girl that he had just met. I was livid and stopped speaking to him for several months. However, when I found out that he was planning to move overseas, I contacted him so that I could get some of my things back (a crappy Billy bookcase, some CDs and my amethyst studded crucifix necklace) that were left at his house. I thought maybe if I got my stuff back it would be good "closure". In retrospect I think I was just lying to myself. I wasn't ready to let go and was using the idea of "closure" as an excuse to see him one last time.
When he showed up at my house that day he conveniently forgot to bring any of my things. He did however remember to bring a bottle of my favorite wine and some take-out sushi. He knew my weaknesses well.
He also was very well versed in the layout of my apartment: a tiny studio, sans kitchen table, where the only seating area was on my bed. During our awkward bed top meal, he told me that things had cooled with New Girl since she had moved overseas. The wine started to takeover & in typical fashion, one thing to led to another. The sushi was abandoned in favor of some good old Going out of Business Sex.
Right before he came he looked me in the eye and said:
"You know I love you but that we'll never be together right?! Because I'm still in love with _______* "
*his ex he had been with when he met me
WHAT?!
I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I felt like the air had been taken right out of my lungs. Even if what he was saying was true, why did he have to say it out loud? And why say it NOW?! Who the hell says that while they're having sex with someone?! Why couldn't he just have kept it to himself and preserved the fantasy? This was supposed to be a fun last ditch roll in the hay, but instead it felt more like a cruel joke. How could I be so stupid to ever think this was a good idea?!
{And in case you were wondering, inappropriate comment aside, the sex wasn't nearly as good as I remembered it . To be more accurate: the sex was just BAD period}
Afterwards, still feeling shell shocked from his comment but needing to fill the silence I asked,
"So, that thing you said earlier......I assume that's why things also didn't work out with New Girl?"
"No, New Girl and I are still together"
WHAT?!
"She moved away but we're still having a relationship. I'm also still having a relationship with _______(the ex). And you know I've been getting out there dating other people"
WHAT?!
AND he just slept with me. OH GOD.
The sushi and wine combo was not mixing well in my stomach. Suddenly I wanted to THROW UP, CRY & SHOWER all at the same time.
Anxious to usher him out of my apartment & head out for a walk to clear my head, I threw on a velour JLo track-suit, my Adidas & grabbed my monogrammed handbag (hey, cut me some fashion slack. We're talking the early 2000's here) and walked him out.
{ as a side note, it's important to mention that throughout the time that we were together this guy never missed an opportunity to remind me that he was "brown" and I was...not}
When we got out to the street, he looked at my track suit ensemble & said very sarcastically,
"Hmm, so I see you're finally applying for that Race change you obviously want so badly"
I don't remember what my comeback line was for that. Honestly, what do you say to that?!
I just know that everything became clear at that moment. HE'S A JERK. HE ALWAYS WAS. And I never wanted to see him ever again.
And that's how I officially and irrevocably fell out of love with my ex.
I never saw my stuff again. But I also never looked back.
And that my friends, is what you call:
CLOSURE.
