Leaving with Nowhere to Cleave

The past year or so has been a new kind of struggle for me. My relationship with my family has been changing. In the sense that I’ve been growing into a more independent individual. I’m more private about my affairs. I don’t solicit opinions for every major life decision. This all probably should have happened long before my 27^th year, but some of us are slow learners ok? I’ve actually been making this journey for some time. Little steps here and there, but the ties of influence still remained stronger than they should for an adult child.  My decisions were still colored by the opinions of my parents. Essentially if Benjamin Moore made a shade called Parental Approval, my walls would have been covered with it.

The process has been somewhat painful in that change tends to sting. And my parents are having a difficult time of it. I think ultimately they will accept that the change in our relationship is a healthy one, and that it’s good that I don’t depend on them as heavily as I once did. But they still see it as losing their daughter on some level. It’s been difficult for all of us to find a balanced relationship that doesn’t require them to approve of everything I do. I attribute the abnormal amount of difficulty, in part, to my Christian background. Biblically speaking an individual leaves his or her parents and cleaves to their spouse.

But what happens to those of us who leave with nowhere to cleave? Without the logical breaking point signified by the life-altering rite of marriage, the transition can become muddled. We aren’t marrying as teenagers anymore. Some of us are waiting until our 30s, 40s or forever to tie the knot. When the wedding didn’t happen for me, I remained in this limbo between full adulthood and childlike dependence.

I know this isn’t the case for everyone. Most people (Christians and otherwise) probably figured out how to navigate around this archaic milestone to establish their complete independence on the first day of college, in their first apartment or after they took their first job. But not me. My dad was still the first person I called when my car broke down or when I lost my job. And it was great to have that relationship. I still hope elements of that will make their way into the new resurgence.

There are still things my parents instilled in me that will always be there. My core faith. My love and loyalty toward my family. But I’m beginning to accept that there may be dissonance on some of the lesser issues. And that doesn’t mean our relationship has to completely crumble. I think that’s been my biggest fear. Losing the relationship I have with my parents altogether. I’ve held on to what it has been. Refusing to let it change because if it’s not defined by the parent/child parameters, what could possibly be left?

I know. It seems stunted and ridiculous. But my identity has been so shaped by the eyes of my parents that if I disappointed them in even the smallest ways I felt I wasn’t being true to who I was. I’m learning now that being true to who I am is going to undoubtedly look very different than living the life my parents would want me to lead from time to time. Because it is not their own. This means I’m going to make some mistakes that I never would make if I followed every step my parents would take. But I’m also going to uncover a lot about what will make me happy in the long run.

It’s a bit scary. I know I’m going to disappoint them from time to time. And that is not a feeling I deal with very well. To their credit, they haven’t been unreasonably disappointed about much in the past, which is why I’ve come to value what they think to an unhealthy fault. But as my life has taken different turns and my path becomes more complex, I know I will choose a turn or two that they may not agree with. I just have to trust that altering our relationship does not mean ending it. And that I will always have a refuge in their home if I should ever need it despite diverging from the path they envisioned for me from time to time.

Happy Life Means Nothing to Write

As you may have noticed, I’ve been experiencing a bit of writer’s block as of late. Though that writer’s block may be attributed more to a dry spell that leads to two posts about the same scenario in which I get stood up. Wow. The more I write the more pitiful I sound, maybe that’s why I’ve lacked the motivation to post as of late.

Fact is, I’ve realized something I already knew, bad relationships (or just bad dating experiences) make excellent muses. They also help you to really appreciate the fruits of someone else’s turbulent love life. I have an embarrassing amount of playlists created to help me get over some scumbag guy. And now, with nothing driving me to a state of melancholia, all of this empowering Beyonce and commiserating Jeff Buckely lacks a purpose. I can barely remember what it’s like to need Schulyer Fisk to strum my pain with her fingers.

I always thought I loathed relational drama and that it served no purpose in a life I tried to build on solid ground. But now I’m starting to second-guess this theory. Maybe all those knockdown, drag-out fights with my ex were exactly what I needed in order to feel feelings? Ok, that’s a gross path to even hypothetically meander down. Pointless, hurtful fights are not worth the little ink on the page they may produce. Maybe I should just take my inspiration from the tragic, public altercations of others?  

Yes, I know I can find something other than broken relationships to spur my writing. I’ve essentially been doing that for the past two years. And crappy, uninspired short fiction by definition requires no inspiration. But getting over a relationship can also serve to be a great motivator for other things. After you make it through the “hand me my sweat pants and a box of Thin Mints my life is over and I am now going to commit suicide by overconsumption of processed sugar” phase, there’s the “I’m going to do everything I can to be a bigger, better version of the girl he dumped because screw him and I wanna win and all that jazz” phase.

This is the stage I really kind of miss. The one that makes you chop your hair (ok I do that without prompting too) and put on your running shoes. I remember it like a Rocky Montage with the single solidarity and woman empowerment section of the aforementioned playlists rocking in the background. You have visions of doing all the things you never got to do while you were in that stifling relationship. You are going to travel the world, learn a new language, move up in your career and become a concert pianist just because you are that good at life and you are going to prove it to him—er I mean yourself. Of course, many of these grand dreams of post-relationship greatness tend to be tempered by the reality of work, life and Cheesecake Factory’s Red Velvet Cheesecake. But still that feeling is pretty awesome while it lasts. And it’s a unique feeling really only experienced when coming out of that low period.

I realize how insane this all sounds. No one in her right mind would long for a break up. Well maybe Kim Kardashian because it means more publicity. Bam! Topical! (I am so, so sorry. That really was unacceptable.) Desiring a relationship? Sure, that’s normal, but the demise of a relationship? I guess I just miss the range of feelings a relationship can make you experience sometimes. Yes, I’m happy with my life right now and happy is a great feeling. And I get sad about things like a normal human being with a pulse. But there is an exclusive and entirely different set of emotions that can only stem from the ups and downs of interacting with someone who you allow to have a great deal of influence over your world because of loooove. And as much as I loathe to admit it sometimes, those feelings either side of the pendulum have merit and some of them are even—nice? 

The Empty Fantasy Keeps Me Hanging On (But Only for a Night)

After some serious over-analysis of last night’s—or last week’s (depending on when I post this or when you read this I guess, whatever catch up here)—disaster as per my relentless, neurotic M.O., I’ve realized what a disease my involuntary fantasies can be. You know the ones. You meet a guy and one thing or another leads you to think, “hm he could be kinda great.” And this naturally leads to thoughts of which matching sweater vests you should wear in your Christmas card picture. Even though logically you know it probably won’t get past the first few glasses of wine after you somehow manage to insult his mother, favorite sports team and haircut—in that order. It’s hard to keep your mind from trotting along to some blissful utopian where he is thoughtfully arty, hates watching football and loves doing dishes.

Anyway, multiple times last evening (and a few this morning) I thought I should give Jonny Come Not At All the benefit of the doubt for reasons that solely existed in my head. Because he never really bothered to give me a solid explanation or a decent apology for that matter. I thought I owed him a bit of understanding as a basic human courtesy. Then my friends lovingly pointed out that I, in fact, owe this guy nothing. I don’t know him from Adam and he had done nothing leading up to this point to suggest he deserved the courtesy of Mother-Theresa-like patience. He certainly didn’t do me any favors with the way he mishandled the situation. So good riddance Prince Charming turned Duke Detestable, I wash my hands of you!

But maybe not always? I mean, yes, the only reason I would give this guy or some other putz another chance at a first impression would be the hope of potential. And we certainly shouldn’t be building our relationships on mythical potential. Unless you want to end up writing a blog on dating years after the thing crumbles to embarrassing pieces of wasted dreams. In that case, knock yourself out. Still, I look at how easy it is for some people to pick up relationships like they’re on sale on J.C. Penny, and I have to wonder if they don’t pursue the things heavily despite a few major stumbles even early on.

It’s not an issue of settling, because these people seem to date eligible partners. The only thing that throws me is how quickly they can make these relationships happen. And I think maybe I’m doing it wrong? Maybe I need to make more of an effort to pursue that fantasy despite a few early glitches? I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with this because I really don’t think that is the route I should take. Especially in this particular case. Because dude obviously doesn’t give a damn about the impression he made so why in the world would bother with him? But I do tend to give up pretty easily. Typically all it takes is an empty promise to call and I’m handing my number to the next guy. Maybe this just means I’m not as desperate as I think I am. Oh man, wouldn’t that be great? If the only reason I haven’t found my Shnoodlecoot (I’m using that little number on the next lucky guy for sure) is because I simply don’t want it bad enough?

The thing is I think I have too much pride to give someone a second opportunity to disrespect me. The biggest complaint I have about last night isn’t that the date didn’t happen. It’s that I allowed the whole thing to be strung out and I became a bit of a fool because of it. I should have simply told him to forget it at least one of the three times he drug the wait-time out. Not because my time was wasted—it wasn’t really I got some good blog time in—but because my gentle little ego had be kicked around several times over the course of one evening. That oughta learn me for next time. Five minutes late because your sick grandma needed help with her meds? Unforgiveable sir, I don’t need this nonsense from you!

The Temp

Sometimes it feels damn good to have that mushy, connected-deeply-to-another-soul crap in our lives doesn’t it? So much so that you’ll go to strange (though maybe not great) lengths to get it from places and people you maybe shouldn’t. Most likely from some guy (or girl) who is there to fill in for just long enough to make you feel loveable and capable of real human emotions on occasion. Because sometimes you forget how to feel feelings when you aren’t constantly bickering with the one you love. And that’s no good, right? So what better way to deal with it than some truly unhealthy and delusional fauxmance? (See what I did there? That’s a portmanteaux kids. Pretend like nobody’s ever used that blend before.)

The transitory figure known as the counterfeit boyfriend (or girlfriend—for the purposes of simplicity just assume all this pertains to the opposite gender as well) can take the form of that one ex you’re inexplicably drawn to despite all the really good reasons that he became an ex, some poor sap in the friend zone, or a guy who’s relegated you to the friend zone—or worse the friends with benefits zone. (Side note: my grandma used that term the other day and it was decidedly unsettling.) It’s so easy to fall into a destructive pattern because you enjoy being with your fake boyfriend.

For one reason or another there is some level of connection there. Whether it’s the previous moments you actually shared together as a couple or the relationship you wish you could have with this great new non-committal dude, you feel naturally comfortable, safe and about a million other sickening things that boyfriends make you feel. It’s so instinctive to be all cuddled up next to him, attending events with him and doing superfun coupley things except for antique shopping. Because you can’t make him do that. Because at the end of the day, you’re not actually a couple.

It’s at this point you have to ask yourself, is it really worth all of this if I can’t make him take dance classes or get him to stop wearing those Crocs? The answer will always be “no, it is not worth it.” Because anyway you look, at it these fauxmances are only going to end tragically for all involved. Most likely on some night when you’re out having one too many vodka cranberries. Nice and public like. You’re going to get more attached than you thought you would because that’s what happens when you go through the motions of a relationship with a guy you like but can’t actually have. Or worse, your sad little friend zone guy is going to become even more attached to you, and you’ll crush his miserable heart, making you even more cold and unfeeling than you were before you got in this mess.

Sure, many great relationships begin as friendships: Ross and Rachel, Will and Kate, Gumby and Pokey, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s those situations where it has been made abundantly clear by one person or another that an actual relationship is not going to happen. Either because you don’t want one, because he was a terrible boyfriend or because he just wants you to be the transitional interlude in his romantic pursuits. You’re smart enough to tell the difference between someone who might want a relationship with you and someone who just thinks you’re ok to go apple picking with when there’s nothing good on TV. Mostly because he’ll tell you. If not flat out “I don’t want a relationship with you” then through subtle cues like not fully committing to plans, not being comfortable with the boyfriend/girlfriend label after an acceptable amount of time, making everything else a bigger priority or dating multitudes of other women. So if your subsisuitor (ok that one is a stretch) is giving you the runaround, maybe get out before you get hurt. Because you deserve better and it’s better to be alone than with someone who doesn’t care about you and, I dunno, all those other platitudes that are true but annoying because they typically mean you can’t get what you want right now. But for real, you deserve a real-live boyfriend who wants you to be his real-live girlfriend. It’s better that way. I promise.

This Has To Be It.

Just waiting for the marriage train to pick me up...or run me over.

Sometimes I get the impression that love is like musical chairs. You switch loverkinses until the point when you are ready to settle down and once you reach that age or life-change, that chair better be available or you’re going home without any wedding cake. I have gotten myself into situations where I’ve stayed in a relationship because I had convinced myself that this has to be it. It’s the right time and he’s right here so this must be it.

As problematic as this thinking is in the midst of a relationship, it can be even worse as you begin a new relationship. I recently spoke with a friend who entered a relationship with that attitude. He had dated multiple people. He was at a point in his life where he was considering marriage and she was right there. She had to be the one. Unfortunately, it turned out to be more disastrous than matrimonious. He wouldn’t have let it go as far as it did, if he hadn’t already convinced himself that she was it.

We go into things with expectations of happy endings before we even get through the beginning. Suddenly red flags are easily dismissed as tiny idiosyncrasies that can be overlooked because this is your One. She/he has to be.

I think our biggest problems in love and marriage can stem from this idea that love, like so many other things in our lives, must fall within this neat little timeline. We go through the beginning of our lives meeting these deadlines with first words, potty training, kindergarten, high school graduation then college. Each step falls in place with the appropriate corresponding age. It only seems right that love, marriage and babies in the baby carriage should follow in kind. For years I was on track with this timeline. I dated in high school and college and as college drew to a close and I entered the workplace, I was engaged, just as should be expected. I would soon begin my career and family simultaneously. Then that came crashing down and I felt like a dateless girl a week before prom.

Now what? I had clearly fallen off the track and set myself back years. At the time, it was among the more devastating realizations that went hand-in-hand with a wedding that never would be. I had to shake this idea that life was a straight path. As a logical human being, I knew this. But I thought I had my path mapped out. Other people’s detours had nothing to do with my neat life blueprint. I was going to get my familial utopian dammit. It was the next thing on the life-fulfillment checklist. Right after get a job and just before become a corporate wonder who balances work and family effortlessly while also writing a short work of fiction on the side.

In the end, I came to love the new direction my life took after I had shrugged the burden of looming romantic deadlines (along with the idea that I had to climb the corporate ladder to be successful). Yet I still struggle with it. There are days when I am thrilled to be unattached. I realize that I won’t always be able to enjoy the freedom that comes with singledom so I should do everything I can to love it while I have it. That feeling would stick with me nearly every day if I could just know when that chapter in my life would be complete. Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works (a-duh). This not knowing can be unnerving. And the trap of believing that the next one must be The One can be an easy one to fall into with the uncertain nature of love and all things romantic. Dumping the expectations of happily ever after on each new guy you date isn’t fair to him or you.

Eschewing this pressure of “I need to know when” can be difficult, but lesson number 10 of this post helped put things into perspective for me. I can do very little to control how, when and where I meet the man o’ my dreams. No matter how much I put myself in a position to meet new potentials, I can’t find the one who sticks like it’s some treasure hunt. There are no clues I can follow. I can only be who I am and enjoy my life as it is now (pretty damn great), the rest is up to God. It’s on Him.

I’ve often lamented the fact that it is more difficult for me to find my doodlebug due to the restrictions my faith puts on my romantic expectations. But, if I look at it from Lauren’s angle, it should make it easier in some ways. Because it isn’t in my control. It’s in God’s control. Now granted the girl is getting married at 23, so her experience with singlehood is fairly limited in the grand scheme of things. But she did meet her loverboy on Twitter of all places. From halfway across the country. After a fairly mixed up dating history by her own account. That has to have something to do with grace, though you could give the credit to Jack Dorsey I suppose.

No matter how you look at it, overthinking love takes the romance out of it. Worse yet, putting your life on hold as you wait for your man simply because you have this order of events laid out in your head and the next step is contingent on Prince Charming can waste precious years. Finding your one and only shouldn’t be a square you land on before you can advance to Go and collect the rest of your future. The path along the way can be just as rewarding and is most decidedly different for every person. Some lucky girls will find him early on while others have more time to mature and fly solo before the big I Do. And ultimately some woman may choose (le gasp!) to be happy as a bird on her very own for her whole life.

Wow. That got all touchy feely and positive…next time “Boys Suck and Always Will.”

Laying it Bare

More Sunday mornings than I would like, I wake up and a feeling of guilt sets in as I remember the series of mistakes I’ve made the night before. Most of these errors in judgment are considered standard behavior for a 26-year-old single on a Saturday evening: one drink too many, dancing in a manner that wouldn’t exactly make my mama proud, associating with men who are not the righteous type (and not in an '80s catch phrase kinda way—sorry bad joke in an effort to break the tension of an altogether too serious post), etc. But these seemingly mild-mannered mistakes set my floundering Christian heart reeling with guilt. There have been times when I’ve purposefully slept through church to avoid driving the self-loathing stake deeper as I’m surrounded by fellow church goers who I’m convinced have it all figured out.

Even writing this is causing some discomfort. Partially because I’m opening up my shortcomings to the world at large, but mostly because I’m laying it bare in front of my Christian friends. And while they are not the type to throw stones, I admire them and don’t exactly want them to see me as the giant ball of sin I am.

No, this is not an easy post to pen, but I was inspired by this guy. And while my behavior may seem less disgraceful than porn addiction and reckless sex, I’m no less ashamed. Especially considering the fact that I’ve succumbed to my weaknesses in the much more recent past than Max’s three years. But I came to the realization that wrapping myself up in a cocoon of chagrin is not going to make things better. Especially when I saw how God battled Max’s demons when the hapless sinner finally admitted to himself (and God) that he was not strong enough to do so on his own.

I realize that this is a bit off-topic from my usual singlehood narrative, but it all ties together. It’s likely that I’m way off base (as I so often am), but I get the impression that singles struggle silently in their sin more than others do. In my conversations with singletons (more specifically Christian singletons) and through reading blogs like Make It Mad, I realized how hard we work to put on a front and pretend it’s easy to battle temptations that seem designed to specifically derail the singles of the world. Temptations like the drinking that goes hand-in-hand with the social life of a young single. Or compromising our bodies in an effort to either feel loved or to keep someone we love.

For me personally (and I’m sure for others), I fear that admitting these things are actually a struggle for me will make me look weak in my faith. Especially when there have been times that I’ve felt the very act of being single is sinful in the eyes of some. Now I realize that most Christians don’t share this view and God certainly doesn’t, but one of my weaknesses is that I feel I have more to prove. This all makes it even more difficult for me to open up about my shortcomings. In turn, I don’t get the guidance I need, so I continue to do the very thing I hate. It’s a cycle that I hope I can break by owning my shame and asking for help. Even if it does open me up to embarrassment and possible judgment from others. Because pretending I don’t struggle is only going to lead me to further rely on my own strength to resist my demons. The same strength that has failed me so many times before.

The Online Saga Part Three: A Mainstream Approach

via www.glasbergen.com

Well, as I mentioned a few weeks ago, I’ve begun sampling all that the online dating world has to offer (not much). The Christian sites yielded disappointing results, so onto the online dating darlings of the masses. OK, nobody really knows what Zoosk is, but eHarmony? Everybody’s doing it. Right??

Zoosk

I hit this site pretty hard when I first started and then became kind of indifferent about seeking people out. Now, like a true snob, I wait for people to contact me and then review their profile to determine if I shall grace them with a response (honestly, it’s just because I’m lazy). It’s pretty standard; answer a few questions about yourself, post a few pictures and then begin your search. There weren’t a ton of eligible bachelors in the greater Minneapolis area, but perhaps I should give it another perusal before I close out my account completely. Though I’m a bit hesitant to traipse down that path again. The last time I did I found myself staring The 'Baby' Guy in the face (the profile actually belonged to his friend, still weird though).

Their “scientific matching system” is pretty limited and essentially gives no consideration to preferences you’ve set. Also, there is an enormous hidden fee for signing up. We’re already losers in need of dating CPR, and yet you kick our wallets when we’re down? Not awesome Zoosk, not awesome at all. Refusal to fork over the exorbitant fee doesn’t prevent individuals from sending an opening message. This means that most people hand out their phone number like a 21-year-old experiencing her first night of barhopping and the many eager men such an experience presents. I declined to contact these individuals because I’m not looking to pick up a stalker, especially one with “mental health issues that [he] has under control” or one looking for a “f*$% buddy.” Whelp, I appreciate the honesty, but I think I’ll pass.

I’ve gotten a lot of “wink, wink” messages, which, as I said before, I refuse to respond to on principle. There have been a few possibilities, but they’ve fizzled out before getting the point of meeting. There is one I’ve been corresponding with on a regular basis and would meet if circumstances didn’t prevent it. He seems humorous and has a certain level of wit in written correspondence, but who knows if it will hold up in person. (I really am a pretentious twit aren’t I?) And lord knows he likely won’t find me nearly as charming in a face-to-face interaction. I won’t go into great detail about this individual lest he happen upon this blog and have a reaction similar to that of Rachael Leigh Cook when she found out that Freddie Prinze Jr. was using her. (If you recall, she was so appalled she cashed in on a swear you’re only allowed to use once in a PG-13 movie and never in a trailer.)

eHarmony

So eHarmony is kind of spectacular in that it is perfect for the ambivalent online dater as it delivers your prince charming right to your inbox. The omniscient website knows your type based on an extensive survey (apparently I’m in need of an attorney/engineer who loves Malcolm Gladwell and sarcasm—OK, I’ll give you that one eHarmoguru). Unfortunately, perhaps because of the match pre-sets, all of the profiles start to look the same after awhile. This makes it difficult to pick out the gem among Bedazzler ammo.

The guided communication is potentially good in theory, but most of it is lacking in depth. With the exception of the last level of pre-message communication, the “Must Have; Can’t Stands.” This is where the deal breakers come out. I corresponded with a few gents, but most disappeared after I sent them my list of “Must Haves; Can’t Stands,” which further suggests my standards are out of control. I chose them from a list that eHarmony gave me, so it’s not like they are unheard of; that should give me some kind of reprieve no? And, in defense of my standards, I dropped out of the running after I received a couple of requisite lists I simply could not live up to.

So far, eHarmony seems to be the best fit for my online dating needs. Mainly because it requires little effort for the first few rounds of communication. Perhaps when my trial is up, I will venture over to Match.com or OK Cupid. Or I will be married to Mr. Everything I Have Ever Wanted But Didn’t Know I Could Find Lurking Online. 

The actual result of these endeavors remains to be seen. Thus far I’ve only gone on one actual date and it was a bit disappointing, but that, Kidlets, is a different discussion for a different post. For now, I shall sally forth in the land of virtual dating and see what comes of it.

“For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate.”

For the past two weeks I’ve come across a barrage of survival guides designed to help singletons make it through the ever-so-challenging holiday that is Valentine’s Day. This is the day that is supposed to make you feel miserable because you lack that special pooh bear to send loverly flowers to your work (because it doesn’t count if others don’t see it, sort of an if a bear poops in the woods kind of thing) and recreate the perfect Zales moment just for you. Alas, whatever shall I do to make it through with no one to love?

While I have fallen victim to holiday-induced pity parties, Valentine’s has never sparked any sort of sadness. Last year I explained that I’ve never taken the day as an assault on the single populous. I always had my own traditions that were completely disassociated with the romantic, mushy sentiments of the day. This year, the weekend was occupied with a visiting friend from high school. Unfortunately, this made it impossible for me to host the annual all-girls Valentine’s, but it still meant spending time with people who’ve unfailingly been a part of my life for more than ten years.

I’m not going to go into a detailed discussion of the origins of the holiday and how the martyred saint(s) actually had nothing to do with love. Nor am I going to offer up cheesy advice about how to endure this day that is so obviously going to destroy your soul as a single person if you aren’t careful. I can only suggest that you spend the day as it suits you.

Honestly, even though I think it’s absurd that Glamour, Comso, and the world at large all think being single requires a decisive game plan on Valentine’s Day, I get that it might be disheartening for some. So what? Let it be. If you want to watch a few romantic comedies and fully sulk in your singleness for one day, go ahead. (Just please for the love of all that is good in the world, do not rent the god-awful “Love Actually” knock-off that is “Valentine’s Day.” Seriously, how can one movie suck so hard?)

I’m a firm believer that accepting those not-so-pleasant moments in life and letting them wash over you when need be is cathartic and healthy. Sometimes all you need is a good cry dammit. (Look at me going all Joyce Brothers; please take my counsel with a boulder of salt, I’m far from a licensed professional.)

On the flip side, don’t let the stigma associated with the day force you out of sorts. Just because a bevy of women’s magazines tell you that you are going to be depressed on this day, doesn’t mean you have to be. You (hopefully) don’t listen to them every time they come up with some fantastic (read: terrible) “Top Ten Ways to Leave Your Man Wanting More,” so don’t pretend they could possibly know more about your emotional well being and innermost feelings than you do. 

The Relationship Paradox of the Little Bit Wicked

I recently finished reading “A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love and Faith in Stages”, the Kristin Chenoweth memoir. I honestly picked it up because I wanted something fluffy and light to pass a weekend stranded indoors due to the Midwestern Snowmageddon of 2010, but I was surprised by how much I could relate to the content. In addition to being a petite sprite with a fantastic rack (ok, only half of that is relatable), she is a dyed-in-the-wool Christian who perpetually struggles with the duplicity of her nature especially in terms of love. She loves her some Jesus, but can’t escape the draw of the witty intellectual whom she has aptly dubbed Mr. If Loving You Is Wrong I Don’t Want To Be Right.

I know many women face this issue of being attracted to the wrong guy, but in my attempts to lead a life befitting of my belief system I find myself in a more twisted quagmire than most. I have a friend whose faith and oddly subversive bent mirror my own and she encounters the same issues.  For those who walk that straight and narrow with limited curiosity for what lies outside the path before them, settling down with the straight-laced Christian guy and making oodles of straight-laced Christian babies is so natural that it’s easy to slip into that role and fall for the perfectly nice guy. And those unrestrained by conventional religious moral codes can embrace that somewhat dark side of their psyche and fall unabashedly in love with Mr. Wrong without being a hypocrite.

I think something went wrong when I was created. Perhaps I was supposed to be twins. One twin destined to be the good little angel who is elated to settle down with a bore as long as he was a good provider with a strong faith. The other a rebellious child who completely rejects what she is supposed to want and gladly embraces the tenebrous elements of her nature. I keep telling myself that this friend and I cannot be the only people on the planet to feel this way and we certainly can’t be an exclusively female species, because that’s just cruel.

My outlook on this situation of mine has been worsened by Christian guys who have misused faith as a way to control me, to the point where it has stifled that part of me that doesn’t quite fit into the 700 Club mold. I’m not saying I’m an uncontrollable, unrepentant hellion, but you’d be surprised what guys with corrupt “Christian” views will construe as sinful.

Even amongst those who have their head on straight and their faith figured out, I struggle to find someone who sparks my interest. I need someone with an edge. I don’t necessarily seek someone who is naughty, but I’d appreciate if he could be and just chose not to act on it. Guys who don’t have a wicked bone in their body are boring and those who have an entirely wicked skeleton are dangerous. I long for someone with a vexatious femur. I know that seems insane to a normal, rational human being. And it probably is; therein lies my dilemma, I may be certifiable.

As much as I battle with the oxymoron that is my proverbial type, I don’t want to change that inconsistency of my nature. That inconsistency isn’t sinful and it’s one of my most unique characteristics. Why would I want to alter something that is so undeniably me, even if it would make the path to Mr. Loving You Is Just the Right Amount of Wrong less treacherous and a heck of a lot shorter?

I don’t mean for this to be a self-indulgent, woe-is-me-I’m-so-misunderstood post, though it certainly sounds that way. Maybe I’m just seeking validation. Am I crazy? Or is what I’m looking for actually in existence somewhere?

Ok, Online Dating, I Give

It was inevitable. I had to tackle this dating phenomenon eventually. I still feel dirty even considering plentyoeharmomatchcupid.com as a viable option. But apparently I stand alone in this miry opinion. So, as it is my duty to my many (read: three) faithful readers to explore all aspects of the modern dating world (within moral reason), I feel must cowboy up and explore the icky world of online dating.

I’ve been encouraged, cajoled, pushed and pressured into coming out to the cyber dating society. (Perhaps I shouldn’t refer to it as cyber. It seems archaic and further paints a picture of pasty, ineligible bachelors seeking some vile e-lovin’.) My protests are many. And, I feel, valid.

As a single person I am supposed to be, and most days am, thrilled about my unattached status. My mentality should be: “if I meet someone, great, if not, whatever.” Participating in online dating seems to scream, “being single is NOT ok. I must remedy this malady by any means possible!” I’m not there…yet. This argument seems solid, no?

I am aware of a number of people who are not desperately seeking a mate, but still skip through the land of blurry photos (it’s 2011 people suitable mega pixels are not that hard to come by) and contrived profiles (see there is still a stigma). According to them, most people join out of positive curiosity and a “why not?” mentality rather than a last-ditch effort to keep their mug off of a children’s card game (so cruel).

Then there is the fact that being online seems to be an open invitation to the leering eyes of sleazy old men and the aforementioned basement dwellers. Shallow though it may be, it’s a terrible blow to the self-esteem to know that some 53-year-old, goateed creeper thinks he has a legitimate shot with you.

Above all, the latent romantic in me is disheartened at the thought of eliminating the meet cute moment between my smoochiekins and me. The world will be forever deprived of that cutesy story about how Mr. McDreamypants was sitting next to you at Quintessential Idyllic Coffee Shop when you both pulled out a copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera.” You had a knowing giggle and he bought you a non-fat caramel mocha latte with a dusting of cinnamon. Instead you will have to simply respond “online” when someone inevitably asks you to share the tale of meeting Mr. Perfectheimer. That story sucks.

For all its not-so-awesome points, online dating does have one very tempting advantage aside from the fact that it’s not a bar. It provides a superb method of eliminating the “Oh Hellz No” potentials with a simple click (though that particular type seems to come out in droves on the Interweb). Depending on the site there are a number of ways to get the basic deal breakers out of the way. Wants kids - check, doesn’t smoke - check, not an alcoholic – check, has a big-boy job – check, doesn’t worship Satan – check. That way you don’t get all twitterpated about some guy before you find out he sacrifices babies to the dark prince.

In reality, I will never know the good, bad and the very, very ugly truth about online dating unless I give it a shot. So in the coming weeks I will conduct a not-so-scientific experiment, exploring the endless dating websites. Stay tuned for the riveting reviews to come.

I Won't Be That Girl, But I Will Be That Girl, and That Girl, and That Girl...

It’s that special time of year when those who went unsmooched on New Year’s Eve must evaluate where they went wrong (or right) in the previous year in the romance department. I suppose this includes me, which means it's time for the obligatory resolution post. There are a number of things I should probably do to better myself and just maybe get past that third-date wall I so often hit, but I think perhaps I should start with one.

I’ve come to realize that I possess one of the most loathsome traits in the dating universe, chameleon qualities. If I become all goo goo over a guy I tend to unwittingly tweak conversations and behaviors to reflect a girl I believe he might like. Though I’m not as bad as this, because I don’t fake interest or lie, but I will amplify certain aspects of my personality that may be more attractive to him than others. I understand that, to some degree, this is almost expected in dating situations, but I still feel like a fraud when I do it.

Part of the issue is my teasingly diverse range of interests are on the level of schizophrenia. I love me some hip-hop and anti-folk. Can’t get enough of Dickens and Palahniuk. Enjoy yoga and a good run. Joseph Gorden Levitt and Jason Statham are both my ideal men. I seldom follow through with anything because of the ADD-nature of my passion. Half the time I don’t even know what I’m most intrigued by from moment to moment, which makes it easy to strongly embrace a particular interest if I may share it with a charming boy.

The breadth versus depth essence of my hobbies ends up making me look like a fraud. I’m basically a poser in a number realms and an expert in none. I impress the artsy boy by showing him my crappy paintings, knowing out of politeness he will pretend not to notice the hotel art quality of each piece. I connect with the amateur emcee through my limited knowledge of indie hip-hop, hoping he won’t question why I’ve only ever heard three songs by The Dialated Peoples. In each situation I downplay interests that I think will bore Mr. McDreamboat and talk up skills and expertise I know would pique his interest.

The only thing that makes this remotely defensible is that I never feign interest in anything I don’t care about, but it still feels unnatural to neglect various facets of my multiple personalities simply because I’m trying to inspire swoony butterflies in a passionate cutie.

So what do I do? Pick three things to love and become a savant in each area? That doesn’t seem like a viable option given the fact that I completely lack the discipline to commit to one hobby without being distracted by another a week later. Also, only reading books, listening to music, wearing clothes and watching movies that fall into the category of the personality I choose to stick with is even more insane than thinking 75 areas of interest are the best thing evah.

No, narrowing my broad interests would be the opposite of the appropriate (re)solution. I’ve decided to embrace each area regardless of the dating situation I’m in. If I have a date with a sweet lil hipster, I refuse to dress like a hobo just because I love M.I.A. I will not pretend I’m deeply interested in the current state of politics than I actually am when I interact with a hot human rights attorney despite my political science minor. I will embrace my manic interests for what they are and not let the attention of a random Hottie McHotterson define my passion of the month. 

Super Fun Times With Married People

After a conversation with a coworker, I came to the realization that I’m a bit of a snobby single. Many of my conversations with him have revolved around how doing things with married people was a terrible way to spend my time. I may have implied that I’d rather be impaled by unicorns, Triton’s spear and a myriad of other sharp mythical objects than socialize with the married people. I don’t really feel this way, but it entirely depends on the dynamics of the group and, more importantly, the ratio of singles to espoused. When I’m mingling within a group peppered with those flying solo and those happily entrenched in a duet, I have a splendid time and don’t think twice about the distinguishing line that becomes so pronounced when it’s me and a room full of couples.

Maybe I’ve been conditioned to be unfairly skittish in these situations because of past experiences. Or maybe it’s because when a group of random individuals get together, the conversation will naturally tend toward the topic to what the greatest number in the group can relate to, making it difficult for others to join in and feel included. The same holds true if I hang out with a bunch of law school students, groups of gamers or a legion of sports fans.

Still, it does go beyond the conversational topics. When you arrive at a social gathering with a spouse, you are inherently paired off so when there is a lag in the conversation, you can go to your spouse and strike up a new conversation or interject yourself into one he/she is already having. It’s like a social safety net. So when you are the only single person in a group of people paired off it’s like being left chairless when the music stops.

There are individuals within couples who are cognizant of this and make a point to bring the lonely cheese into the conversation. But, as with most things, we are often left to fend for ourselves while the paired off hyenas gnaw on the bones of conversation in their exclusive little corner… Ok…wow… that was jaded even for me. The reality of the matter is there are some fantastic individuals who happen to be married and some wonderful couples who are more fun than a barrel of mating monkeys. Just because I’ve had some less than spectacular experiences with coupled people, doesn’t mean I should assume all of my encounters will be equally abhorrent. I know this to be true because, though I sound like a embittered old hag who spends her free time flinging feral cats at twittering love birds as they pass, I have spent time with some truly lovely couples (you know who you are, so please don’t stop being my friend after reading this).

So I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry coupled people. I’ve unduly judged you and made broad generalizations. You don’t all suck as social companions. However, the next time you have an all couples meeting, could you pass along the concerns of the singletons? And maybe distribute a list of single-friendly topics that don’t include babies, buying a house together, wedding plans and adorable things my pooh bear does? Thanks, much appreciated. In return we will refrain from talking about our cats and how awesome it is not being tied to the same person day in and day out for all of FOR-EV-ER.

Andy Williams is a Damned Liar

Since before I can remember, I’ve looked forward to Christmas with an over-excited anticipation rivaled only by this kid. I still love decorating my tree, baking Christmas cookies and selecting the perfect gifts for my friends and family. But after spending the Thanksgiving with my happily paired off family, a gloom has fallen over the once festive time.

(I’m sorry again for the sappy, pathetic post. Apparently something was knocked lose a few weeks ago. And by something, I mean the logical, emotionally mature portion of my brain.)

During most of the year I appreciate my single status—though lately the truth seems to be draining from that statement—but at Christmas I am surrounded by saccharine couple love that seems to be further sweetened by the holiday lights and spiked eggnog. ‘Tis the season for smitten couples, holiday proposals (I witnessed three during one trip to Rockefeller Center last New Year’s), and Mr. & Mrs.’s first Christmas. My immediate family has grown by two lovely sister-in-laws in the past couple years. And though they are a blessing to my two love struck brothers, it can be a bit strange being the only sibling who hasn’t held her own in the family expansion.

In addition to the seemingly increased visibility of the happily-ever-afters, there are so many activities the holidays bring that appeal to my dormant romantic side. Activities that inevitably trigger my desire to join the ranks of the blissfully attached. Work Christmas parties can be a challenge when you are the only individual lacking a plus one. (Though this year, I think I may actually have company at the singles table—yet another perk of the new gig.) Viewings of holiday movies tend to be more fun when they involve nauseating cuddling. And New Year’s without someone to smoochie poo when the ball drops is a bit of a let down.

I have no intention of picking up some random yet willing sucker to couple up with for the holidays so I’m left with one of two options. Wallow and embrace the delicious seasonal drinks that will mask self-pitying alcoholism as festive imbibing or continue to enjoy the numerous perks of a singleton including the freedom to spend the holidays with spectacular friends and family.

When I started this post I was so focused on the crappy aspects of a holiday spent alone and the truth is, there is a great deal of seasonal fun to be had with my detached friends. Ice skating at the Depot can be a mighty fine time even without a cuddly bear to break your fall. And building ginger bread houses with the girls can be a lot more fun than sharing the activity with a pouty scrooge who begrudgingly adheres red hots to a slanted ginger roof in attempt to placate you and your hyperactive holiday spirit. Also the lack of a guy to spend an inordinate amount on frees up funds so I can put more under the tree for friends who mean more to me than some of the passing ships on whom I’ve spent stupid cash and hours of time finding the perfect Star Wars/Sports/Insert other lame guy thing here-themed gift.

So maybe I was wrong, maybe Andy Williams isn’t a damned liar. Perhaps I just need to pull myself out of my absurd, self-induced malaise and enjoy the season for what it is.

When it all Falls Apart

I've talked about my moments of weakness in the past. Those times when my world comes down and I want nothing more than to curl up in the arms of someone who loves me. Someone in whom I can find security. That longing hit me hard when I lost my job last week. I had been so focused on being independent and taking care of myself that I didn’t realize how quickly it could unravel. One of the first things that crossed my mind, I’m ashamed to say, was wishing I was married.

Having a spouse would make this entire experience less terrifying. At least I would have someone to come home to. I could depend on his income while I searched for a new position. I would have his constant support as I approached each new interview. I admit this perspective makes it seem like I view marriage as a twisted career fallback plan, but you’d be surprised what desperate things go through your head when everything you define your independence by disappears. I admittedly put too much of myself into my career in terms of letting it define who I am as a successful individual and the unpleasant news rattled my ego and identity to the core.

So with a heavy heart, I drug my unemployed, single soul to the one place where I knew I would feel completely secure. I pulled into my parents’ driveway and entered into a world of escape that would bolster my spirits and repair my broken psyche. It only took one day in this haven to I realize that, despite my unmarried state, I am far from single and alone. I have been blessed with a family who offers all the support and security I need. I began to understand once again that sympathetic parents and caring siblings were all I could really need.

My family still sees me as a talented and capable individual. They made me realize that just because I ended up in an unfortunate circumstance does not mean I am incapable of success. Their willingness to support me on every level put my mind at ease and prepared me for the next steps I would have to take to get back on my feet and conquer the new challenges I’m bound to face in the coming months.

As my head cleared and rationale returned I knew that a wedding ring doesn’t guarantee security or support. I am in a much better position than the married women who come home to distant and selfish husbands. Though I am jobless I can focus all of my attention on doing what it takes to recover and not have to worry about what my current state of unemployment might do to compound preexisting marital difficulties.

This is not to say that as I continue on this new, uncertain leg of my journey I won’t envy individuals who made it through similar periods of their lives with the support and love of a caring spouse, but I absolutely know I will be ok and likely even better when it all comes back together again.