nope, i’m not married yet

life, relationships


I crossed paths with an old boss last week. It was nice to catch up with him and hear how things had gone since his transfer to a different office.  He's doing well with his transition in Texas.  His family enjoys the area, he still enjoys his job. He was in town for his nieces wedding.

Funny thing is, because of a few minor developments at work, I'd been thinking about this ex-boss a bit.  He's the boss that hired me.  He's the one that saw my potential for the open position that wasn't entry level, even though I had no experience.  He's the one who rolled the dice against the advice of the more tenured employees and hired me. 

We talked about work, my prospects for school, and then he asked that question. Y'know, the one people want to ask but aren't sure if you're gonna freak out or not?

“So, are you dating anyone?”

I laughed. “No, not really.”  He was surprised.  Like, eyes-as-big-as-dessert-plates surprised. (They weren't quite big enough to be called dinner plates.) And he even said as much. Hands in the air and a shake of the head to match.

“I can't believe you're not married yet! I'm very surprised.”

Um, how am I supposed to answer that?? I'm still not sure, but I did laugh and say something like “yeah, so's everyone else.”

But I'm not. I'm not surprised at all.  

Kinda like when I was volunteering at the Pride Fesitval and the forklift driver (who was married, I met his wife and she was a doll!) exlaimed “I just can't get over the fact that you're single!”  I laughed then too. My response? “I guess I'm picky.”

You see, I decided a while ago that I would rather spend the rest of my life as a single person than spend another day in a relationship I didn't want to be in.

And three years later I still agree.

i belong to you?

commitment, marriage, possession, relationship, relationships, wedding ring

I had a discussion with someone recently who felt the wedding ring is a reminder that you're married and that you belong to someone. 

me: “So the ring is about possession? I belong to you?”

him: “Yeah. You belong to me. I belong to you. We're married.”

Um, excuse me?

I'll go ahead and give him the benefit of the doubt and believe he just said it wrong.  I mean, we were two sheets to the wind at the time. And thinking otherwise leaves me feeling baffled and… angry.

I understand the sentiment and point he was trying to make.  There is a certain romantisism about 'belonging' to someone, about going somewhere together and people seeing and knowing you're with the other person.  But for me it's more about the body language and the way you treat each other that shows 'together'.  More about the hand holding and smiles and tenderness between two people in love.  Not some outward and bling-y exclamation of 'til-death-do-us-part coupledom.

Not at any point in a healthy relationship is the commitment about possession.  You don't possess me.  I'm not yours.  I don't own you.  I'm mine and you are yours.  That's what makes this work. Possession breeds jealousy, envy, and resentment. Not tenderness, caring, and respect.

A ring is the physical symbol of the emotional commitment you share with the other person.  More about “I want to share my life with you.  Will you share yours with me?” Less about “You complete me.”

I would say, if you need a ring to 'remind' you that you're committed, you might want to examine your level of commitment.  Because there are bigger issues at play.

Believe me, I'm pro-wedding ring.  I look forward to the day I get to wear one again.  But I am NOT pro-possession.  I only belong to me.

you called the wrong sister Girlfriend

family, funny, Good Eats, humor, life, relationships, single, sister


So here's the deal. I'm completely able to entertain myself.  Which is why I don't have a large circle of friends.  Many acquaintances, but only a few that are close friends.

So when I get off work at 3 in the afternoon, I head my tukus home and park it for 6 more hours until bedtime.  Not that I'm opposed to going out for drinks, or putting myself in a position to meet someone interesting, or otherwise spend money I really don't have, I just don't have a high tolerance for small you-just-wasted-an-hour-of-my-life-that-I'll-never-get-back chit chat. 

You follow?

So, last night I'm transitioning from my park-it spot in the comfy chair to the other park-it spot in front of the computer.  To catch up on social networking, blogging, and otherwise time wasting.  Because the game just came on and I follow it better when it's the secondary draw instead of the primary draw of my attention.  Whatever whatever.

I pull up HelloGiggles because they have incredibly giggly articles about, well, funny things.  That are girly.  And I relate to them. I hear the sports announcer make some reference to Dirk Noringski at the same I see a tweet from DearExGirlfriend regarding the very same Dallas Mavericks player.  I giggle.  I reply to said fellow blogger.  He replies back.  I laugh out loud.  

I'm so glad I moved to the computer. Plus, because of the perfume samples I yanked out of a magazine, it smells good over here.  Like, really good.

My phone rings.  Which it never does.  And I'm so glad I changed my ringtone to the Dropkick Muprhys.  Totally awesome move on my part.  I pick up my phone, rock out for a few seconds, and then answer it before it goes to voicemail.  And because there are children playing outside my window and they are starting to stare.  I'm sure they think I'm seizing.

It's my sister.  She's looking for the recipe for No-Bake Cookies.  Because her daughter has a craving and she can't find her copy.   I'm racking my bank of baking memories (they are many) to see if I even have the recipe.  I don't recall having made them in… more than 10 years.  And never by myself. My response to her inquiry?

You called the wrong sister Girlfriend.  And then I bust up laughing.

Get it?  Because I'm her sister.  And our other sister is the one who makes (or made them) all the time.  And I've never made them.  And we're sisters.  

Ok.  Moving on.

I'm thinking at some point I got the recipe from mom because it's just one of those ones that you should have.  So I double check my stash and TaDa! I have it.  


And then that quickly, I've done inventory of my minimal baking supplies and I decide I have everything I need and dogwongchong I'm gonna make me some No-Bake Cookies too!  

Woot woot!

And then I continue to laugh with my sister uncontrollably for… 4 minutes.  Seriously.  Laughing.  Like the holding-my-side-because-it-hurts and if-I-snort-one-more-time-I'm-gonna-fall-on-the-ground kind of laughing.  And I can't even remember what we were talking about.

Then she asked me how much sugar I had eaten.  And was there someone else there making me laugh?  The answers were none and nope.  And while I'm trying to calm down enough to read her the recipe, and we keep busting up in laughter, her husband finds her copy of the recipe.  So she doesn't need it from me anymore.  Which makes the whole situation completely funny again on a totally different level that I can't even begin to explain to you.

You see, she called at the exact time I needed her to.  

Why?  Because I have a corny sense of humor and have a knack for completely terrible jokes.  And the work day was rough.  I had some pent up really bad humor!  

Even after we hung up the phone I continued to laugh.  For a long time.  The whole thing was so completely random and un-funny that the hilarity of the situation increased.

Kinda like the time I emailed the same sister information about a new guy in my life. Except that I emailed the information to my 20-something male co-worker in NY instead.  Yeah.  Funny.

See?  Who needs to go out to the bar and be in awkward chit chat conversation with random dudes when I can stay home and laugh at myself all night?  

Because if I don't go out and put myself in those awkward situations I'll never meet a guy who thinks I'm as stupidly funny and I do.  And that's just a non-negotiable.

ps – I totally made No-Bake Cookies.  But I didn't have all the ingredients.  But the butter was already melted so I ran, well walked, to the store and got some milk.  And they totally rocked.

sports from my point of view

attention, compromise, dating, relationships, sports



Dear male population,

There is a big difference in the way guys and gals look at the world of sports.

I don't come from a sports oriented family.  I was not overly encouraged to play sports and be on teams.  Though, I was not discouraged either.  If I wanted to play, I got to play.  Evidenced by a season of t-ball in elementary school, volleyball and swimming in junior high, a few seasons of track… and a couple seasons on the dance team culminating in being a cheerleader my senior year. 

I will not take this moment to argue with anyone that cheerleading and dance is in fact a sport.  Just know, I will argue about it until I'm blue in the face.  Bring it tough guy.

Where was I?  Oh yeah…

Since my parents were not sports-following people, the game was not on at my house with any regularity.  When my brother became old enough to command control of the remote every time a baseball game was broadcast, it was coming into our house loud and clear.  In fact, I was not allowed to play the piano in the other room while the game was on.  Meanie big brother.  Humph.

I was filled with facts about Ken Griffey Jr being the best player ever.  And yes, it was a fact.  In no way was I allowed to disagree or contest the FACT.  Ever.  

I have a distinct memory of another brother telling me that I didn't need to be afraid of The Joker because he was a Lakers fan.  This of course being The Joker played by Jack Nicholson who still has floor seats to the Lakers 20 years later.

I've always kept a pulse on the sports world, albeit a faint one.  I know what season it is, what championship is coming up, who's playing, and who the star players are.  If there is game on that catches my attention, I watch it.  But it's not typical for me to follow a team or wear official team gear, let alone a jersey.  It just hasn't been my thing.

As I've grown up and become interested in keeping a man's attention, I've noticed the impact the sports world has on the tender disposition of the male population. And having always been attracted to the athlete, sports comes with the territory.  Fierce loyalty and trash talk are essential.  I even enjoy it.

The truth is, I care about sports because you care.  I may not be into it as much as you are, but I consider it my job as a girl to know what makes you tick. Knowing what's going on with your team lets me know if I need to cancel my girls night out to console you over a devastating loss. Or why you're doing some kind of happy dance while reading about player trades mid-season. Or why on earth you would stay up until early hours of the morning to watch a game, which turns out to be a huge rivalry and in fact, you don't understand how I can sleep through a game like this.

The other thing?  I remember stuff.  So when I spend 5 minutes reading an article, or listening to you talk, on how they offered the Portland coach a gazillion dollars to stay in Portland instead of going to LA, and Kemba Walker is only a junior but he's already graduating early instead of staying to play another year, and that Tom Brady played for Michigan and wasn't drafted until the 6th round but is the only QB from that year still playing… I just remember it.

I understand that sports are a huge part of your life as a dude.  I've accepted it and really, it's one of the things I like about you.  

But to ensure mutual understanding and acceptance on this subject, please read the following:

 Since I may not have a team of my own, don't hate if I side with you and root for yours. It makes the games more fun to watch. 

I know that Sundays were made for watching the game and it will be on ALL the time.  I'm good with that.  As long as I get some *ahem* attention in the morning.  Or take me to breakfast if you're gonna ignore me the rest of the day.

I don't care if you go, but please don't make me go to ALL the games with you.  To ensure the health of this relationship, please have a wolf pack.  

At some point, maybe multiple times, I will test my skill in distracting you from a game.  Don't worry, I pick my games wisely.



crazy girlfriend

crazy, crazy girlfriend, dating, girlfriend, relationships

Photo 153

I consider myself a reasonably sane person.  Really, I do. 

I consciously work to keep my emotions in check.  I try not to over-analyze and over-process.  I work to stay neutral.  Too much to the right or left and my abilities to over-process go into, well, over-drive.

But we all know that an emotion suppressed is a ticking bomb. So is it really my fault? Either way, this leads to freaking out.  Good or bad, freaking out is a talent I wish I had not had the opportunity to master.

There have been times in my dating life when I go with the flow.  No problems.  No emotional break downs, no freak outs, and no relationship insecurities surface.  In hindsight, I realize it's because with these guys, perfectly nice guys, there is no fire, no connection, no… toxic spark. The relationship is missing the intangibles.  He is not what I'm looking for.  And if he isn't what I'm looking for, and this isn't gonna last, why put myself out there in such a way to become vulnerable?  Which, if I'm not opening myself to that person, how viable is the relationship, and why would I continue to spend time and energy? Waste time and energy. Not only mine, but his too? 

That would be why we no longer date.  Can you say over-process?  Whew.

The other reason he and I are no longer a “we”:  That boy drew out an emotion from deep inside me that made me want to connect, share, and be vulnerable. And I flipped into “crazy girlfriend”.  Yep, she's tragic.  An emotional disaster.  A hot mess.  She needs more validation and reassurance than I really want to admit.

The trick to the well-being of my relationship is containing “crazy girlfriend” once she rears her ugly emotional head.  It's crazy difficult.  Almost impossible. History shows that once she makes her appearance it takes a while for her to chill the hell out and leave.  Not like a zit that sticks around and taunts you for a week.  More like a bruised fingernail that can be covered up with bright cheery colors, but it's still there, tender and sore for weeks and weeks.

The worst thing about “crazy girlfriend” showing up?  Her uncanny ability to train-wreck a relationship.  And when she has successfully trashed the connection and doused the sparks, because she does every time,  she is left all alone with her craziness.

And she becomes crazy lonely.