The Definition of a Hiatus

I must give credit where credit is due in the fact that I’m going to spill some schmaltzy content in this post as my thoughts are along the same lines of those of the brilliant Ms Courtenay Rogers (http://www.siblingsnotspouses.com/?p=1188)–thank you for being brave to share your thoughts and feelingsšŸ™‚

I’ve not exactly had the most spectacular dating history myself–but unlinke Courtenay, I’ve been theĀ antitheses of a serial monogamist. I have been out on countless wonderful first dates–ones that even in my jaded mind I could start envisioning summertime trips and maybe even getting a dog together. I’ve had a few pretty cool second dates, but for the most part, this is where my “love” stories end. I tend to be a “cut my losses” kind of gal after a couple of dates. This is usually where I see he plans a trip like Clark W. Griswold and just “isn’t into dogs” and yeah, that’s about it. No drama, no muss or fuss, just kind of the point in the choose your own adventure book where the story ends abruptly and in a boring manner. Over and over and over…

When I moved up to Chicago, in an act of bravery I dared to try online dating. I have been on all the big sites and I’ve tried some of the free sites for shits and giggles and essentially the results have been the same as far as dates go. But on two occasions, I met a guy with whom I was instantly smitten. The length of the relationships was similar–not long enough for me to refer to him as a boyfriend, but long enough for me to know what his house looks like, whether or not he’s a cover hog and whether or not he farts in his sleep. Both gentlemen have been sweet, smart, accomplished and funny–but unfortunately, they both had baggage that I discovered a little too late. I’d kind of fallen for them. Guy #1 did the dumping deed. Guy #2 got a scripted voice mail from me lamenting the fact that it seemed he was content with just “hanging out” and not really doing the sorts of things that you want to do with a guy you’re crazy about. His reply was something to the effect of “Really enjoyed our time! UR incredibly sexy! Wsh u the best”. Great…way to make a girl feel special.

So after having been a hot mess over wondering whether or not the quarterback was into me (or in adult world, the FBI Agent)–I just couldn’t take not knowing anymore and put the kibosh on it. And I’ve realized that if I try to jump back into dating again like I did after Dude #1 gave me the heave-ho, I’m going to end up with just as disastrous results.

So with the fact that I signed my ass up to run the 8K Shamrock Shuffle on March 25th, I have to dedicate this next month not just to running and getting my ass into shape, but into keeping my mind clear and unclouded by nefarious suitors who could potentially upset my game plan. So until after the Shamrock Shuffle, there will be no dates, no engaging in flirtatious conversation that could lead to a date and certainly no hanky panky just to get by. Cuddling with Boogie is acceptable–he’s neutered and all he wants from me is a food bowl filled twice a day.

So yeah, that’s my hiatus. No men at all, other than my Dad, Stepdad, roomie, brothers, and a select few male friends who have helped me keep my sanity through the past month or so. Wish me luck.

 

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Dear Tory Burch-Clad Bitch

I hope you’re happy with yourself. You managed to humiliate me, make me feel like a second class citizen and take what very few material possessions I own in one fell swoop. Thanks.

It was semi-cute when you passive-aggressively reached over me to get a straw and managed to knock an entire Makers & Ale 8 into my crotch. Of course, you chortled and made a half-assed “OMG I”M SOOOOOO SORRRY” apology and yeah, classy move buying me a fresh cocktail.Ā 

But what’s not classy is the fact that as it stands right now, less than an hour later, my wallet is missing. Mind you, it’s not Tory Burch, but rather a Hobo brand wallet that I found on sale and I’m proud of that fact. That wallet contained my debit card, my work discount card, my CTA card and a couple bucks. I hope you’re happy with your achievement of snagging the entirety of my net-worth, which is about $200. Oh, and there’s maybe a benadryl and some B-12 in the change purse. You really scored, you whore.Ā 

So to you, Fuck You. I hope you get pushed in a shush puddle and you get the herp. This anger is not a good look on me, but neither is stealing from someone who has very little when you’re walking around with a shit ton of accessory gold and a blank check for the rest of your life.Ā 

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Grains of Salt Sure Can Hurt

***NOTE*** Yes I realize I’ve been absent for 3 months, but there’s been a lot going on in my life…we’ll catch up on that later.

Since moving to my new city and securing an awesome new job, I finally felt that it was time for me to get out there and start dating again. It’s not as though I haven’t had dates over the past several years, but with respect to my frame of mind and place in life, it was essentially a pointless exercise with little to no emotion. The bottom line is I wasn’t ready for a long term relationship. But after scraping along and making some major changes in my life, I signed myself up for a couple of online dating sites with the hope that I might be able to get out and have some fun, meet some interesting people and find myself a fella that would make me smile from the inside out. And wouldn’t you know? I found myself a fantastic guy who by all accounts had me rather smitten within a couple of weeks. Long story short, he didn’t feel the same way and on Tuesday night I was given the old “I don’t feel an emotional connection” speech. Yes I was sad. I had myself an ugly cry while blow drying my hair so no one would hear me. I have allowed myself to be a little mopey about the situation. I know that a month isn’t a very long time, but for the first time in YEARS I allowed myself to genuinely become attached to someone. This, however, is not the source of my ire.

With the end of relationships, no matter how short-lived they are, comes advice from your more romantically successful friends (read: married people). Most of it is rather innocuous, cliched drivel that you can just tune out. But sometimes, the advice comes from a place of complete ignorance which makes you realize just how very little your friends actually know about you as a person.

I was speaking to a long-time, very dear friend of mine yesterday and of course she had advice for me in my future endeavors. What really hurt my feelings is the fact that the advice she gave me was the same exact advice she gave me 5 years ago:

“You’re way too picky” (No, I’m not picky, I’m selective–picky is casting someone aside for wearing velcro tennis shoes, selective is casting aside someone who insults you the entirety of your first date under the guise of sarcasm).
“Your personality is way too intense–try and tone it down a bit” (Guess what? That intense personality of the past was likely fueled by a couple of cocktails too many–I can keep that shit in check these days).
“Don’t talk so much about sports” (I like sports, I know sports and if someone wants to have a discussion about it, I’m going to engage).

All of this advice comes from a place of love and caring, but the bottom line is, this friend has spent very little time with me over the past 5 years and has made very little effort on her end to do so. I understand that being a wife and mother is time consuming and takes a lot of work, but it’s not so time consuming that you can’t shoot me a text or email once every couple of weeks to see what’s new in my life. I’ve grown and changed as a person tremendously over the past several years, even though I’ve not earned any of the “Adult Badges” that seem to be the hallmarks of growth in our society. Yes I am still single and sans-kids, but I’m no less an adult than anyone who is married with kids–and my life is vastly different than it was even a year ago.

Anyway, I know that in the past I have seemed a bit intense, overzealous about the whole sports fan thing and yes, at times I have been very picky to a point of being shallow. But that’s not who I am as a person and as a woman anymore. I do understand the nuances of femininity and that being a woman isn’t such a horrible thing. I understand that not everyone is going to meet every bit of criteria on a partner “wish list”, but if you know what you want and have the appropriate qualities prioritized, it’s okay to choose not to pursue a relationship with someone who doesn’t meet your list of Must-Have’s.

I will not let anyone insult, berate or belittle me in a relationship–and if it’s happening on Date #1, it will only get worse.
I will not pair up with someone who hates animals. People who don’t like animals are lacking empathy, which is a very necessary quality in a man.
I will not pair up with someone whose only commonality with me is that we are both single–you would be amazed at how many times I’ve had friends try to set me up and couldn’t tell me anything we have in common other than the fact that we’re both unattached. That’s bogus.
And as much as it hurt me to hear the words coming from my former suitor, I will not pair up with someone if I don’t feel an emotional connection to them–it’s extremely important in the long run and we all deserve to have someone who we can feel in our soul.
Mutual attraction is important as well, but it’s obviously not the single most important thing.

So, while I appreciate my friends’ advice to me, I know that the only person who can really guide me in the right direction in the dating department is me. I know myself better than anyone else does–and I am confident that I don’t have to alter who I am deep down to get what I want out of a relationship.

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In Honor of the All-Star Break…

…I bring you the sweetest piece of Eye Candy taking the field in baseball today…Joe Mauer.

You’re Welcome.

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My Mid-Life Superlative…

...should absolutely be "Most Likely to Need a Suit Made of Bubblewrap". 

Yesterday while hustling to work (thank you CTA for fucking up my on-time arrival plans), for the second time this year, I completely ate pavement on Wells Street in downtown Chicago. The first time I'd had a cocktail and I was wearing heels.

This time, I was completely sober and wearing flip-flops. 

As I get older, I become more and more accident prone--I see this as foreshadowing to my future. My Mamaw Eula--my Dad's mother--was fortunate to live a long life without any major illnesses other than the occasional sinus infection. She was, however, a major klutz and only grew more and more klutzy as she got older. 

Once upon a time I was a rather graceful and coordinated lady--I was rather accomplished in dance--tap, jazz, ballet and pointe--I danced in Youth Theater productions during the summer, I took gymnastics for many years and I even played soccer (although tackling and falling were parts of the game, I was able to avoid any major injuries). 

Nowadays, I can't clear a doorjamb without running into it or open a gate without knowing that I'm going to slam my thumb into it. 

To think so many of my friends and family were worried that I'd be subjected to violence or crime in moving to Chicago, when in reality, the biggest danger I face on a daily basis is myself.
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It’s so bizarre…

Living in a city where I’m a virtual stranger, under-educated compared to so many and from a nearly foreign place…I feel more like myself than I ever have back home. I feel so free…I can be myself. If anyone makes any sort of snide remark about where I’m from, I can turn it right back around on them, but in a positive way.

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