Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Ladies Privilege

It came to my attention (and not because of the terrible Amy Adams’ movie) that Leap Day has historically been a day when it is perfectly acceptable for women to propose to men.

Now, setting aside the fact that I think it is always acceptable for women to propose to men and that I have no intention of getting married and thus have no intention of getting down on one knee to ask a man to be my groom, I do like the idea of proposing to someone today. So long as we all understand that by propose, I don’t mean marriage but merely making out with me until March.

Now, kiddies, back in my day, I wouldn’t have needed a special day on the calendar to approach a random guy and say, “You. Me. Lip-lock. Now.” Sadly, though, I don’t know where that girl went. I mean, I have some idea – she might have been run off by all those fools who kept telling her guys don’t like aggressive girls. But I digress. It is 2012. I am older and not much wiser and now require an occasion to get my groove on.

Ideally, I would propose to CK, but since the chances of randomly bumping into him are slim and none, and this doesn’t feel like the sort of thing one should plan, I crossed him off the list. This also eliminates Peyton, Ryan and Daniel from proposal contention. Leaving my two current crushes, Trainer Boyfriend (who is not really my boyfriend, aka Fake BF) and Hot Attorney.

Forgetting for a moment that he is so hot he melts my face off, when it comes to Hot Attorney, it actually shocks me a bit I haven’t already blurted out “Do you wanna make out?” I’m also shocked that I have refrained from doing anything else to make myself entirely too ridiculous to ever consider desirable. Maybe for this reason alone I won’t be throwing myself at Hot Attorney today. Or maybe it is because as horrific as rejection would be, I think it would be worse to actually have to come into the office tomorrow knowing what his mouth tastes like and not be able to do anything more about it.

This brings us to Fake Trainer Boyfriend. He is hot. I want to make out with him. I am going to the gym after work. This should be a no brainer. Except, that is exactly the problem. I’m not sure he has much of a brain. He starts talking and even when he is talking about something he should know about (like hamstrings, or quads, or the Brachialis muscle) he just doesn’t sound bright. And while much, much younger me wouldn’t have minded, current me struggles to get hot and bothered by someone who I worry might not be able to spell hot or bothered.

I think I’m beginning to understand why guys get so worked up about proposing. Thank god we women only have to deal with this once every four years.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Valentine’s Day Wrap-Up

For more than 20 years I have hated Valentine’s Day. I say more than 20 even though I am more than 30 because I am pretty sure I loved Valentine’s Day as a kid. Then again, as a kid you don’t worry that the candy is going to make you fat and you were pretty much guaranteed a valentine from everyone in your class.

Four years ago, I had a boyfriend, and still managed to mess up Valentine’s Day. Three years ago, I was in the Poconos, with Bridie and her boyfriend, texting the Republican. Two years ago I promised not to hate the day, but still ended up drunk and sad, and then last year, well, last year was a blur, so I’m guessing more alcohol was involved.

This year was different. As the day grew closer I noticed my animosity didn’t grow; my mood didn't sour. I didn’t scoff at any of the thousands (yes thousands) of emails about Valentine’s Day specials, I didn’t fret about being out in NYC the Saturday night before, heck, I even wore red on the big day. I didn’t want to jinx my attitude, but I did begin to wonder if accepting that I was going to be single for life also released Valentine’s Day’s hold over me.

Still, part of me was convinced the lovefest couldn’t last. Part of me was waiting for the tears and self-hatred that always comes on February 14.

Now, earlier this year (or maybe it was last year) I made Rifka (a friend I met while trying to find a new best single girlfriend) sign-up with me for a Valentine’s Day Single’s Run. If anything was going to shake my bliss, surely being in a room of sweaty singles on the most romantic day of the year would do it.

Except, it didn’t. I enjoyed the run. Laughed with some strangers. Rifka and I got hit on by a couple of guys who bought us a round of drinks, it was actually a lot of fun.

And as I stood there, overhearing other conversations, women complaining about being alone and sad and just wanting somebody – anybody – I felt so relieved. I wasn’t angry or sad that I didn’t have a boyfriend. I wasn’t questioning my worth because this guy was hitting on me and not someone I perceived as better that was hitting on someone else across the bar. I didn’t feel rejected, later, when that guy started hitting on someone else, and I didn’t feel like a loser when Rifka and I cut out to grab burritos on our way home.

Instead, I felt incredibly lucky.

It was a Valentine’s Day miracle.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Trainers are the New Bartenders

As I mentioned in passing a couple of weeks ago, I am trying to lose some weight. In addition to cutting back on the wine, I've also been exercising.

So, a week ago I am in a class, trying to focus on rowing at an 80 percent threshold – whatever that means – when the instructor (or coach as he prefers to be called) came up to me and asked if I was a rower.

I responded I used to be.

He responded, “I can always tell a rower. It’s the dedication and focus on your face.”

What? I had so many thoughts jump to the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered I was supposed to be at 80 percent and I couldn’t remember when Women’s Health told me I should be able to hold a conversation but I was pretty sure it was something less than 80 and so instead I smiled weakly and continued rowing.

Then this week I was again in a class with this coach, again worrying about whether or not I was giving it my 80 percent, when he approached me. He looked at my numbers, smiled, made another strange comment – this time about my personality – and walked away.

Now, as terrible as I am at flirting, I am even worse at recognizing when someone is doing it to me. Still, as I climbed up the simulated hill, I couldn’t shake the feeling this guy was.

But that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t wearing any make-up, I was sweating and wearing spandex that did nothing to hide any of my squishy parts. Still, stranger things have happened. Climbing got a little easier as I contemplated whether or not I wanted to make-out with my trainer. He’s cute in that I obviously work for a gym sort of way, he has crazy muscular arms, and that D’Angelo v-thing going on. He’s not quite 6 feet tall, but I can slide him under the Jason Statham Exception but just as I decide it would happily make-out with him, I spy him flirting with a woman on a treadmill directly across from me.

A little while later, he was back at my side, this time touching me and asking me, “do you feel that?” I understand correcting my form is part of his job, but whispering seductively into my ear (that is how I remember it)?

And that is when it hit me. It is part of his job. If he wants to keep his job – and by keep his job I mean keep clients like me coming back to his class – he flirts a little with the women. We think he actually likes us, that there could be something there, and keep coming back for more, essentially paying him to flirt with us until one day we discover he is married with three kids. Or gay.

He’s just like a bartender, but with lunges instead of lagers.

Now, I do have a rule prohibiting crushes on bartenders, however I don’t think I will write the same rule here. One, crushes in general are pretty fun and healthy and two, a crush on your trainer is extra healthy as it keeps you going to the gym.

Unlike a crush on a bartender that only keeps you drinking until way past last call.