tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58087444626547455752024-02-02T04:44:53.163-05:00Tatiana TalksTatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-75909552898681277212013-12-10T11:25:00.000-05:002013-12-10T11:25:13.993-05:00We've MovedYou can now find my musings (as well as all these old posts) at <a href="http://thatsarahklem.com/">thatSarahKlem.com</a>.<br />
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Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-40764674285951773072013-06-23T15:28:00.000-04:002013-06-23T15:29:25.634-04:00Day 19 - Now with Less Snark<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, again, there is some hubabaloo on the site about something I wrote. I want to clear things up. And to reduce the miscommunication and bring it all down a level, I am going to try to do this without relying on sarcasm.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This could get ugly. And by ugly I mean boring as I'm not sure what kind of writer I am without my snark.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">I started reading this book because I am genuinely interested in why some folks think that by allowing two men or two women the opportunity to get married, their marriages or marriage in general will be less. I agree the government has an interest in regulating marriage. I don't want to see 15-year-olds walking down the aisle. I don't want to see first cousins getting married. I also don't think you should be able to marry someone you've known for less than 24 hours, yet, all of those things are presently legal in at least one state.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Also presently legal in some states is gay marriage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And while I don't see or hear an uproar on television or online about Nevada's lackadaisical marriage (and divorce) laws, I am currently reading an entire book laying out why gay marriage is bad for our society.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So far it has yet to fulfill the promise of its title. Of course, I am only on chapter 4.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The arguments the authors are presenting have already begun to fold in on themselves. In the introduction we learned their definition of marriage to be “a comprehensive union: a union of will (by consent) and body (by sexual union); inherently ordered to procreation and thus the broad sharing of family life; and calling for permanent and exclusive commitment, whatever the spouses’ preferences. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But then they offered that straight couples that can't have children (“This is not to say infertile couples cannot marry” followed by a confusing sports analogy) or simply don't want to have them (“procreation need not (even where it can) be the most important aspect of marriage”) can also considered comprehensively married. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In chapter one they write that the revisionist view of marriage being based on emotional connections and bonds opens the door for polygamy, which of course is in direct opposition to the exclusivity requirement of conjugal marriage. Then in chapter three they write that polygamy is fine. It isn't perfect, but it is okay so long as it is a man with multiple women.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is a little confusing to the reader, because to borrow the author's words for a minute:</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So a husband and wife’s loving bodily union in coitus and the special kind of relationship that is seals are valuable, even when conception is neither sought nor achieved. But two men, two women, and larger groups cannot achieve organic bodily union: there is no bodily good or function toward which their bodies can coordinate. </span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">So, then, why is polygamy okay? How can a man and his two or three or four wives coordinate their bodies to achieve an organic bodily union?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Further, if gay marriage allows for polygamy, then why isn't the reverse true? Why doesn't polygamy allow for gay marriage. Why is this inorganic bodily union okay, but not the bodily union of two men or two women without a man present? </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, I’m glad I went back and reviewed the text. Because, I think I might have found the root of the authors issues. It is hinted at in this chapter. It is fear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes. Just like when the no-fault divorce law passed, divorce in this country was normalized, allowing gays to get married will legitimize their relationships in our society. Being gay will be looked at as something perfectly normal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because it is and should be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And maybe that is what my father's issue is. Maybe he is afraid. Afraid that if gay marriage is allowed in our state, I will come out as gay and get married and beaten up by gay-haters and my children will be taunted and teased and beaten up and they will hate me and kill me and my partner as we sleep and Lifetime will make a movie about my life and Craig T. Nelson will refuse to play my father.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daddy, if you are reading this: Again, I'm not gay. Picky. But not gay.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Okay, the Mark Twain quote was just too good and too appropriate to not include here: In his short story <i>Letter’s from the Earth</i>, Twain writes as Satan, banished to the earth, who is writing letters to the other angels to recruit for his cause. One of his observations proving God’s finest creation Man is mad goes like this: “Now there you have a sampling of man’s “reasoning powers,” as he calls them. He observes certain facts. For instance, that in all his life he never sees the day that he can satisfy one woman; also, that no woman ever sees the day that she can’t overwork, and defeat, and put out of commission any ten masculine plants that can be put to bed to her. He puts those strikingly suggestive and luminous facts together, and from them draws this astonishing conclusion: The Creator intended the woman to be restricted to one man. </span></span><br />
<br />Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-91174390988235842582013-06-19T10:25:00.000-04:002013-06-19T10:25:36.773-04:00Day 17<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know. It has been entirely too long. The problem is, once I put that book down, I struggled to pick it up. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was always around, taunting me. Taunting me from my bedside table. Teasing me on my coffee table. Calling out to me from inside my pocketbook, “Tatiana! Read me! You have blog readers curious about what additional nonsense lies inside these pages that wills slowly drive you to madness.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, after remember one of the new rules I learned in “The Happiness Project” (because I can never read one book at a time) “tackle a nagging task” I picked up a highlighter, a notepad and this god-forsaken book.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And oh boy am I glad I did. I forgot how much fun it can be to laugh at idiots.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a name='more'></a></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We continue with the explanation about why the state should be involved in the regulation of marriage in the first place. I can’t argue with the premise that society is better off when we are all invested in the well being of the next generation (and the one after that) and yes, after the passage of no fault divorces and society’s general acceptance of the divorcee, divorces skyrocketed. Of course, how that isn’t an argument for banning no-fault divorces is beyond. But hey, I didn’t go to Harvard. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The discussion about how marriage actually binds three parties -- the husband, the wife and society, I found particularly interesting. The authors bring up a valid point: when the state recognizes a marriage – everyone else has to. So, say there is a law on the books that states if a woman if married and a man enters her room, impersonating her husband and engages in intercourse with her, it is rape </span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/03/california-appeals-court-_n_2406167.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">like this California law</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> (from 1872); that intruder is being forced to recognize the validity of her marriage and is therefor a rapist. That a single woman, as it turns out, doesn't have the same protection is a matter for another post.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, in California, it is currently not the law for two women (or two men) to get married, so a homosexual couple wouldn’t be protect by this law either. Further proving the Supreme Court's point in <em>Brown v. the Board of Education Topeka, Kansas</em>: Separate is not equal. Civil unions do not a marriage make. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Onward. The authors make a final impassioned plea for why the states need to regulate marriage. Because it protects society. Much like traffic laws (yes, they are comparing one’s right to get married to one’s right to obtain a driver’s license – I couldn’t make this up). The obvious fault in this logic is that the state isn’t allowed to discriminate as to who can and can’t get a license. If you are of age and pass the pre-requisites, you get to drive a car. The state can’t say to a young woman, after she has passed all the necessary tests, “Oh, yeah, hey, nice work. Congratulations on passing and all, but you have blonde hair and blue eyes and I have seen “Clueless” enough times to know you must be a terrible driver. So, come back after you’ve dyed your hair. Buh-bye.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, after that bulletproof argument, we are back to talking all about how important it is for children to be raised by married biological parents. According to the book, children fared far worse when raised in a “single-motherhood, cohabitation, joint custody after divorce, and stepparenting” household. Fascinating. I noticed there wasn’t a specific mention of gay couples. Are you lumping them under cohabitation? Stepparenting? <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course, there have been extensive studies proving children raised by married, gay couples also fare worse, right? <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Again, interesting. So, children raised by married parents do the best, but we don’t have a lot of studies of married gay couples raising children BECAUSE MOST GAY COUPLES CAN’T GET MARRIED. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like I said, fascinating.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I pointed this out before, but I have to say, again, to Anonymous and the authors – if this is all about the future of our children and we can all agree that every study proves children raised in households where the parents were married and remained married fared best – why aren’t we talking about banning divorce.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Or licensing parents?<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But wait. This wasn’t even my favorite part of the chapter. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mentioned in my earlier post that I wondered how the authors would deal with the issue of polygamy. In my head, I assumed they would blissfully ignore it. I assumed they were too smart to touch this topic, especially after pointing out that allowing gay marriage would inevitably lead to polygamy and eventual lawlessness. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here, on page 48 we learn that exclusivity is not even that important in the conjugal view of marriage – so long as rearing children remains the central focus. Yes, other cultures throughout history have had different opinions about what is important and what is moral. So, yes, “permanent, exclusive commitment -- is less represented. Hence the presence of polygamy in many cultures.” And then a footnote:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Unlike a union that involves coitus, children and permanent commitment, but not (say) exclusivity, the partnerships of two men or three women lacks even what is most basic to marriage. So such partnerships cannot even be seen as imperfect participation in the good of marriage; they are not true marriages at all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To be clear. The authors aren’t talking about a man being married to two women not counting as marriage – that is an“imperfect participation in marriage.” They are saying that two men, or two women (or three women – wherever the hell that came from) who are exclusively engaged in a bodily union with a connection to creating and raising children aren’t involved in true marriages. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> If you recall, earlier the making babies part wasn't all that important either, whether a couple couldn't make a baby or just didn't want to, so long as the couple was engaged in coitus. And coitus here is defined as a penis penetrating a vagina. </span></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It gets better. They then rail against polyamory (again) (I thought these dudes went to Harvard, you think they would be too smart to bring it up right after pointing out that polygamy was cool). Because, again, if you want gay marriage, you can’t not allow polyamory, which would eventually lead to the downfall of society. The same can’t be said for polygamy because, again with another footnote:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Polygamy -- whereby a man can have more than one wife -- would undermine women’s social and political equality. But the proposal considered here is <i>polyamory </i>(emphasis theirs): legal recognition of a group (of <i>whatever </i>(again them, not me) gender distribution) as a sexual-romantic unit. </blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But hey, I mean, if women have to lose their social and political statuses, that’s okay. They have only had them for what? Less than 50 years. It is not as if they have gotten used to them. But gay marriage! Gay marriage will result in polyamory and that could bring our whole society to a screeching halt. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Raise your hand if you think it might be time for our current society to come to a screeching halt.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Also, these dickheads are okay with arranged marriages, because there is nothing saying an arranged marriage can’t be consensual. <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/13/130313-child-brides-marriage-women-sinclair-photography/" target="_blank">Tell that to these little girls</a></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">, you effin’ pricks.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-43964687443818148602013-06-15T18:14:00.000-04:002013-06-15T18:15:18.026-04:00For My Dad on Father’s Day<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What follows has more curse words than is typical for me, but it is a post for my father and he would want it that way.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Like many in America, I heard about the recent <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/05/29/pew-study-shows-women-leading-breadwinners-in-40-percent-of-households.html" target="_blank">pew study finding more than 40 percent</a> of households are being supported by women.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I can’t say this surprised me, though the total shit-storm that erupted because of it did take me back a bit. And I was going to post a rant about how screwed up some of these douchebags are, especially after watching <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/closeread/2013/05/megyn-kelly-dominates-on-fox.html" target="_blank">Megyn Kelly</a> (really? Can we see a birth certificate as I don’t buy her mother named her Megyn with a y) handed two of these assholes their hats and I found myself cheering for her. But since it is Father’s Day, and my dad has a secret crush on Megyn, I decided I would be nice.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Instead, I think I am going to take this opportunity to tell you a little something about my family. My unholy, unnatural family.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My mom was the primary earner in our house.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That’s right. My mother was one of the 40 percent before there was such a thing. Always a trailblazer that one.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Whether it was because he was in school or economic hard times kept him out of a job, for portions of my childhood, my dad stayed at home while my mom worked. Even when he worked, my mother’s paycheck was bigger than his. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And, according to some asshats out there, my family is what is wrong with America.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Because, instead of wringing her hands and spending her time in the kitchen, my mother worked. While she was working, my father was the one who took me to dance class and piano lessons and shopping for my first bra.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Which is why I am such a fuck up today. I mean, I’m a total degenerate. As are my brother and sister.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh, wait, that’s not right. We're actually all pretty normal, functioning members of society. We work. We pay taxes. Ivan and Lana even rescue dogs for crying out loud. Bad people don’t rescue dogs. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yes. It’s true, more people know my father as “my father” or in some cases by Ivan’s first name because they just assume he named his son after himself, than they might know him from his professional life. But it doesn’t seem to bother him. Give him a cigar and a Scotch and my father will tell you story after story about running into our old teachers and coaches and friends’ parents and friends. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My father loves being a father. More than he ever loved working. And there is nothing wrong or unmanly or unnatural about that. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In fact, Erick Erickson, I think you should go knock on my parents door and tell my father to his face you think our family is unnatural and the reason America is going down the toilet. Because I think it would be hysterical to watch you explain to your viewers how a man who stayed at home taking care of his kids while his wife worked to support the family gave you a black eye and a broken nose.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe instead of blaming feminists or women who support their families out of desire or necessity, you should be looking for ways to turn this bullshit paradigm on its head.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe we should stop defining men by the title on their business card, the zeroes on their pay-stubs or the number of women they’ve banged and instead ask if he is a good fathers. Is he a good providers, not just of a roof over his family's head, but of love and support of his family and occasionally a shoulder for his teenage daughter to cry on, say when her best friend stole her boyfriend and it feels like her world is coming to an end.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Because right now, there is a man who did just that, sitting on his deck, smoking a cigar, next to a pile of opened Father’s Day cards, possibly with a tear in his eye because he got emotional after reading what his favorite daughter wrote, wishing his children would give him grandkids instead of just golf balls and cigars.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And you know what? There is nothing unnatural about him.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Happy Father’s Day, Dad.</span></div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-79355765514622130152013-06-10T21:59:00.000-04:002013-06-10T22:02:51.595-04:00Forgiveness <br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A few weeks ago I was sitting across from my friend Nicole as she went on and on about the One.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Nicole and I haven’t been friends for very long, and friends who haven’t known me since college or spent a night drinking wine with me on my couch discussing all of our past mistakes don’t know about the One. Mostly because I can’t sum our history up in a cute word or even a novella. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, as she extolled the destroyer of my innocence, I nodded and smiled and did everything I could to hide the fact I didn’t have 20 (or 20,000) questions.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eventually, as is the case with all pain, my body eventually numbed, and I could stop faking my inner peace and actually start listening to everything she was saying. Which is when the something astounding happened.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The year before it would end for the and the One, Alanis Morissette released her song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOgpT5rEKIU" target="_blank">Thank U</a>. Twelve months later, right about the time we stopped talking to each other, the song was on heavy rotation in our gym -- it is possible our strength trainer was also going through something at the time. Two lyrics really struck me as I snatched more weight than a 21-year-old girl should be capable: “How ‘bout me not blaming you for everything.” And “how ‘bout how good it feels to finally forgive you.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">More than wanting the One to love me the way I loved him, I wanted to feel those things.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And, because you know I got through the stages of break-up with the One many years ago, I did eventually stop blaming him for every bad decision I made after he broke my heart and even managed to forgive him for not wanting to spend the rest of his life with me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">However, sometimes, mostly on nights when I can’t sleep, or when I hear our song or am watching <i>Sliding Doors</i>, or just finished beating myself up because I can still recognize him from behind, from 30 feet, I still blame myself for falling for him in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I hurt for so long and didn’t trust myself for even longer. And on those early mornings, in my bed, I think about how it all could’ve been different if I was just smarter. When my heart is throbbing under my sweaty tank top, both from running and his proximity, I shake my head and whimper, “You did this to yourself, Tati.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, sitting across from Nicole, listening to her say the same things I used to say to my friends all those years ago, I realized two things: (1) my very smart, successful, attractive friend was falling victim to the One’s charms and, (2) it was time to forgive my 19-year-old, naive self for doing the very same thing. </span></div>
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Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-25679385920427867562013-06-03T09:40:00.000-04:002013-06-03T09:40:07.365-04:00What is Marriage: A Review of the Book that Is Meant to Change My Mind About Gay Marriage<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So I decided to live blog (sort of) the reading of <i>What is Marriage: Man and Woman: A Defense.</i> Since I’m not that far along, I would suggest you all buying the book and reading along with me. But that would mean giving these two guys more money. So, maybe next time. Oh, I know, we can all read the Millionaire Matchmaker’s book together. I don’t mind lining Patty’s pockets.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In the meantime, here we go:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Day One</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The introduction. Where I learn that there are two definitions of marriage. The revisionist and comprehensive (also conjugal). The revisionist is what most of us are currently subscribing to even those (I gather) that are opposed to gay marriage. It is the belief that you marry someone you love more than anyone else. No, for real. Here’s the quote:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It sees marriage as a union of two people who commit to romantic partnership and domestic life; essentially an emotional union, merely enhanced by whatever sexual activity the partners find agreeable.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The comprehensive (or conjugal) union is something only a man and women can form. But I have no idea why. It is defined as:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A union of will (by consent) and body (by sexual union) inherently ordered to procreation and thus the broad sharing of family life; and calling for permanent and exclusive commitment, whatever the spouses’ preferences.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Beyond not really understanding (yet, I’ll give them that, it is only page 6) why this has to be between a man and a woman, it would seem to me that the only other difference is the permanence thing. Which makes me wonder -- why outlaw gay marriage and not divorce?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Day Two. AKA I Can Do This. I Can Get Through This Book:</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Seriously, is there anything I won’t do for you guys? I think I’d rather read <i>Why He Didn’t Call You</i> again, or maybe the <i><a href="http://beetlejuice.wikia.com/wiki/Handbook_for_the_Recently_Deceased" target="_blank">Handbook for the Recently Deceased</a></i>. Both seem an easy read in comparison. Fortunately it is short.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">In defense of the book and the authors, under the comprehensive definition of marriage, it is hard to say where we will stop. No, I am not suggesting we will soon allow men to marry goats or women to marry their cats (though, didn’t some <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/04/lauren-adkins-las-vegas-student-marry-robert-pattinson-cardboard-cut-out_n_2237270.html" target="_blank">chick marry a cutout of Robert Pattison</a>, so why not a cat?). But, if we say two consenting adults of the same sex can get married, why can’t three consenting adults get married? But really? Why can’t they? I will bring this up again later (if the author doesn’t address it) but for a very long time (like, really long time) polygamy was the norm. Why? Because the more wives a man had, the more kids he had. So, he had more help in the fields and hunting and spares to be heir to his mini kingdom. It is only after the industrial revolution (and child labor laws) that having tons of kids (and polygamy) went out of fashion. Not because people suddenly hated having so many kids around, but because kids are expensive when they aren’t pulling their own weight in the fields or factories. True Story. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He expressly states that the conjugal view of marriage prohibits marriage between more than two people -- but that is crap. Read your bible, sirs. Jacob and all his wives were all married in your conjugal sense -- it was permanent and for the good of the family and society. In fact, it was this very definition that allowed him to marry so many women. After all, we get old. Our insides dry up and we can’t keep making babies, but Jacob still needed sons to work and support his expanding brood. So, he went out and found younger, fertile wives. The older wives accepted this because what choice did they have? Watch their husband get it on with a teenager or get kicked out of the family: essentially a death sentence. Yep. The conjugal definition of marriage sounds awesome. I can’t imagine why we ever moved away from this.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But, I digress. Back to reading what marriage isn’t (here’s a hint, roommates are not married).</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Day Three: </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I’m also going to need someone to explain to me why the U.S. Supreme Court is undemocratic. And, as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Samesex_marriage_in_USA.svg" target="_blank">popular opinion turns</a> (good for you, Minnesota, that makes 12 states), if the Supreme Court decides in favor of marriage equality, does that make it more democratic? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Day Five -- Another Marathon Session: </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Here’s the thing: you can’t say “procreation is the good that fulfills and extends a marriage” and then go on and on about how sex that leads to making babies (even when it doesn’t lead to making babies but it could possibly lead to making babies) is what makes a marriage a marriage because it is a reinforcement and reminder that these two came together for the better good of making a family and then, three paragraphs later -- the same freakin’ page for crying out loud -- say, but of course this doesn’t mean infertile couples aren’t married.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">How. How does that not mean that?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He says he will explain it in Chapter Five. I’m not sure I can make it to Chapter Five, but I suppose I must.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Oh, wait, now the dudes are just effin’ with me. Did they even read this book. On one page they write “That is why marriage alone is the loving union of mind and body fulfilled by the procreation -- and rearing -- of whole new human beings.” Then, on the next page, practically directly across from the text I just typed are the words, “On the other hand, procreation need not (even where it can) be the most important aspect of a marriage, nor should it be its sole point.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He’s trying to make it clearer using baseball, but I still don’t get it. I don’t get why as a woman who is attracted to men, I can get conjugally married, even though I don’t want children. But two men (or two women) who want lots of babies and want to raise them to be the best possible people ever, can’t be married. Not in the conjugal sense anyway. Because they can’t make the babies. But infertile couples who can’t make babies can be married, even if they have to make the babies using the exact same options available to gay couples. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To the author’s credit -- they make wonderful arguments for why marriages must be exclusive and permanent. However, nothing they have said thus far makes it clear how a) this differs from the “revisionist” view and b) why this exclusivity and permanence can only exist between a man and a woman. If it is because only a man and a woman can “unite” to make a baby -- then it would seem to me that the government should also prevent any man and woman who a) can’t physically make babies or b) don’t want to make babies from getting married. Because they aren’t really married in the first place.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Also, at this point I am giving up on the “revisionist” definition of marriage. Primarily because I don’t think it exists outside this book. I don’t know anyone who gets married thinking “I’ll give this a go, but, hey, if I get bored with him in a couple of months, I can divorce him.” I think everyone gets married thinking I want to share my mind, body and soul with this person for the rest of my life. This person is not just my best friend, they are a part of me and my life and I need them for the rest of it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Of course, if this isn’t the case, and there really are people out there who believe marriage is just the sharing of space with someone you really like a lot right now, then I will concede this is complete crap, not what marriage is about, and possibly the reason we have such programs like <i>Teen Mom</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I will not concede, however, that in order to allow gay couples to get married we must change the definition to this. I can’t. And so far I have read nothing that proves as much.</span></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-9752801804963967402013-05-28T18:10:00.001-04:002013-05-28T18:12:30.944-04:00The Best Laptop Ever (In Memoriam) <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8GeT2huBDHFX6c1Yyue9v0fSnJ6E740kVEwkNHkFNBFdGjPfL7bYFWARno5ZgQUa4H0Xje0jSezzzz87RLZ49nIW8acaos56gKgU9EmjwPA8LXMXamsxzpd-WgCJN2f_Q2kM-o0GVlMb/s1600/Steve+and+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8GeT2huBDHFX6c1Yyue9v0fSnJ6E740kVEwkNHkFNBFdGjPfL7bYFWARno5ZgQUa4H0Xje0jSezzzz87RLZ49nIW8acaos56gKgU9EmjwPA8LXMXamsxzpd-WgCJN2f_Q2kM-o0GVlMb/s200/Steve+and+I.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Steve during happier times.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For those of you who follow me on Twitter or like me on Facebook,
you were expecting the first in a series of blog posts about that marriage book
the anonymous commenter told me to read.<br />
<br />
Of course, if you follow me, then you also know tragedy struck
this weekend. My laptop, Steve (he also liked to be called Magic Mac) died.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Did you all know I called my laptop Steve?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I give a lot of inanimate things names, however I don’t
really use them. But when I was working from home for the year, I often spoke
to (and of) my co-worker Steve. <br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Steve and I were working on a press release Saturday night
(I know, I make being single look so glamorous) when suddenly, he just went
black. He’s done this sort of thing before, so I restarted him and waited,
cursing him under my breath.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
It pains me to think that the last words he ever heard me
say were, “Not now, Steve.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
After several failed restart attempts, I made an
appointment with a genius at Apple and then drank an entire bottle of red wine: mostly medicinal since my anxiety for Steve may have kept me from sleeping.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The next morning the genius (and really, that’s a stretch)
informed me that (1) my computer is old, (b) the video chip probably failed and (iii) they
can’t replace it because they no longer make it (“We don’t want to encourage
people to put that kind of money into such an old computer.”), and in conclusion I can take
it to a third party, get the hard drive removed and then use that as an
external drive because he was pretty positive the hard drive was still intact.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
One last gift from my favorite co-worker.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
After realizing I hadn't lost eight years of my work (I think its backed up, but who knows), so
there was no cause for serious alarm, the sadness set in.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
As well as an irrational anger every time one of these
barely post-pubescents called my computer old.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
We were going over the paper work for leaving my computer
for servicing when the third-party guy said “VIN just stands for vintage, which
is the label they give because your computer is so old.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“You know, when they label a Chanel clutch vintage, it
means it’s more valuable.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
He stared back at me blankly for a minute and then
responded. “It could be worse, it could be labeled obsolete. Those computers
can’t even get on the Internet.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
What do you think the odds are this kid has “vintage”
t-shirts or video games back at his apartment? The t-shirts from television
shows he's never watched but spent $50 each on at Urban Outfitters are cool, but my
vintage computer was something to disdain. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Was I being ridiculous. Absolutely. But Steve and I had a
lot of history. We watched the first season of LOST together. We drafted
countless query letters and columns and blogs and press releases together. We emailed
friends and foes, stalked celebrities and exes and exes new girlfriends. We
wrote a novel together. And sure most people don’t develop emotional bonds with
their laptops, but most people are comfortable having feelings for other
people. I prefer to reserve my feelings for computers. They are more reliable.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Well, until they’re not.<o:p></o:p>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-4544992392473227072013-05-22T21:53:00.001-04:002013-05-23T11:59:30.238-04:00Keep Philadelphia Beautiful, Guys<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5U-Tr7wa1foC5eiCWCPDTJhaO7nl2BXEK-khPHCe88nA5uZjd6D9Shq89pqtpho09R6KhV1rmQca1mm4eP-jPOPmWFOQAChjg78FjmEpYy1R8Mlc864e3w4t8EwlpGJL5pNUHbdbgjDpk/s1600/photo-Crazy-Stupid-Love-ryan-gosling-shirtless-portable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5U-Tr7wa1foC5eiCWCPDTJhaO7nl2BXEK-khPHCe88nA5uZjd6D9Shq89pqtpho09R6KhV1rmQca1mm4eP-jPOPmWFOQAChjg78FjmEpYy1R8Mlc864e3w4t8EwlpGJL5pNUHbdbgjDpk/s200/photo-Crazy-Stupid-Love-ryan-gosling-shirtless-portable.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, now that it is finally warming up on the East Coast, I think it is time to address something that has long bothered me when I am running on Kelly Drive.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">No, not the crazies, or the horn honkers, or the high school rowers who walk six across on the path. I’m talking about something I can actually do something about. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Guys. Running. Without shirts on.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I understand running is a sweaty activity, and when the mercury climbs you want to be wearing as little as possible. So, if the PECO building is flashing a temperature above 90, I will give you guys a pass. I'm even a little jealous.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Eighty-nine degrees and below, fellas, and I'm telling you, cover it up.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And this isn’t just for me. It's for you, too.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I mean, why are we running on Kelly Drive in the first place? To get healthy. Right. Okay, so what’s our second reason? To look good. Maybe even to attract a potential mate?</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">No? That's not why you are out there (insert eye-roll). Fine. You get a pass, too. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, if you happen to think, as you are coordinating your running shorts with your wristbands, how nice it would be to run into a cute girl who can keep your pace, keep reading.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While I recognize I don't represent women everywhere, I did conduct a quick survey and found that unless you look like Ryan Gosling in Crazy Stupid Love, we will not be impressed when your sweaty self comes lumbering towards us. Instead, we may be repulsed.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">However, if I see a perfectly normally shaped man headed towards me, even if he is a little round in the belly, I can find him very attractive and start wondering about all the other sweaty things we can do together.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But, when I see a guy naked from the waist up, nine times out of ten I'm thinking only one thing: Where the eff is your shirt?</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
Take, for example, Peyton Manning.</div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have loved Peyton Manning for most of my adult life. However, I had never seen him shirtless. Not until he was on SNL a few years back. He did <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/1592" target="_blank">this sketch</a> (I warn you, it isn’t funny), and if I didn't already love him I wouldn't be capable of getting past his frozen chicken breast like chest (really, he’s a professional athlete?). No amount of pass completions or clever MasterCard commercials could have erased that image from my retinas.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Need something closer to home. You got it.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was recently out on Kelly Drive (in capri pants and a tank top even though the <a href="http://www.whattoweartool.com/" target="_blank">Runner’s World app</a> suggested I wear the shortest shorts I could find and a sports bra) when I passed an acquaintance running sans shirt. Now, because I’m single for life, I wasn’t attracted to this guy before this run-in. Still, I knew he was single and had considered his potential for any one of my wonderful friends. And, if it came down to describing him, I would’ve said: tall with a pretty decent body. After all, he was always talking about all the races and working out he did; I figured it was fair to assume his body was nice.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh, would I have been wrong. His skin was so pale it was practically translucent. It was like that scene in the first X-men movie when the senator is walking out of the ocean all jellyfish-like. I didn’t know if I should avert my eyes or find him sunscreen. Either way, he quickly moved from potential hottie for one of my friends to how do I tell her about his six chest hairs. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And while you might not think being on my hot list is an honor, being hooked up with one of my friends certainly is. Reason number 7 you should always wear a shirt -- the first six being skin cancer.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh, and lest you think I'm being sexist, I don't want to see you Ryan Gosling look-a-likes without your shirts either. But that is mostly because I find it distracting. And when I'm distracted I fall.</span></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #222222; font: 13.0px Arial; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Or run into light posts.</span></div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-45538924951678209252013-04-16T17:50:00.000-04:002013-04-16T17:55:10.186-04:00A Moment for Boston<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCr93m3-JfLP0dPUE2XdWt7hTBCMNASuilkFWVZ8L0yoY-EBw3jeYTjsHtrK4oHfxa7x9mkePehIZWgHpdPVjLKIvErudrgfa2P8brqhJqPrrVNR7UwsV6DbGyFKYkZEPFFZkSg4NzNpLS/s1600/Boston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCr93m3-JfLP0dPUE2XdWt7hTBCMNASuilkFWVZ8L0yoY-EBw3jeYTjsHtrK4oHfxa7x9mkePehIZWgHpdPVjLKIvErudrgfa2P8brqhJqPrrVNR7UwsV6DbGyFKYkZEPFFZkSg4NzNpLS/s200/Boston.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rue La La is selling these tees <br />
if you are interested (proceeds benefit <br />
the Emergency Medicine Fund <br />
at Massachusetts General Hospital).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have a couple of posts due to you
kids, but as a runner, I felt the need to address this first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I sat at my desk yesterday afternoon
fighting back tears. I don’t know it if was all the calls and texts asking me
if I knew anyone running Boston, or my sister emailing me about how happy she
was that I didn’t qualify for Boston this year, or the tweet I read from a reporter passing
folks on the street in Boston on their phones all saying the same thing: Mom,
I’m okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yep. Just typing that makes the tears
well up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Regardless, like many of you, I was
saddened by what happened at the Boston Marathon yesterday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I was angry.</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a name='more'></a></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Irrationally so.<o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wanted to throw everything off my
desk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wanted to scream and kick things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wanted to walk into Hot Attorney’s
office and break his jaw. And I probably could – I've been taking kick-boxing.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But before I did any of this – though,
after I used the eff word as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb and conjunction – I
stopped to ask myself why I so desperately wanted to destroy something
beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Honestly, because that is one of the
ways I respond to fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The other is humor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A few years back, I was at the starting
line for the New York City Marathon. There I was on Staten Island, waiting for
my race to begin, when I noticed the snipers. The guy standing next to me
followed my eyes to a nearby rooftop and asked. “Is that a sniper?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I took a deep breath, looked away from the
sniper and up at the stranger next to me and responded “Seems like a pretty harsh punishment for bandits.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For the uninitiated, “bandits” are
people that run the race without a bib.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">See. I was trying to be funny. That is
what I do when I am scared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That and get angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yesterday, I couldn't be funny. So instead, I went to rage.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Until I remembered more destruction
wouldn’t help the situation. Destruction. Anger. That is how we got here in the
first place. Because whoever did this – whether it was one guy, one gal, or a
team of folks – I’m pretty sure he, she or they did it from a place of fear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Being afraid is perceived as a
weakness. But anger. Anger is awesome. Anger inspires fears. Anger garners respect. Someone who is
angry isn’t a pussy; they’re a badass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Except they’re not. They are scared.
The person who did this is a coward. And so instead of responding with more
anger, I’m going take deep breaths and thank the universe that my friends and family are
safe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m also through being afraid. I may
be a little suspicious of adult males I see walking around the city with a
backpack, but really that is nothing new. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And now, I’m going for a run.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-56086909336454237042013-04-01T15:08:00.001-04:002013-04-01T17:07:40.941-04:00This Symbol Means I Support Marriage Equality, Not That I Love Bacon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTFmofHzZoJt2dRijLa1a6KJgLquXOl1Q2bLj5w056rHch2VXCLGirARYNb64Vzx_XaYvsTLCIelVI8AwwLTvqSWfPWewDEvk7n0IEEp_ye4lNsGFHy269x5vFTutM_cdBWvCorI6ABNr/s1600/equal+rights.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghTFmofHzZoJt2dRijLa1a6KJgLquXOl1Q2bLj5w056rHch2VXCLGirARYNb64Vzx_XaYvsTLCIelVI8AwwLTvqSWfPWewDEvk7n0IEEp_ye4lNsGFHy269x5vFTutM_cdBWvCorI6ABNr/s1600/equal+rights.png" /></a></div>
There have been a number of times in my past when I wished
I was gay. Most of these times coincide with being hit on by a hot,
accomplished, funny female and wondering why I can’t simply be attracted to
her. <br />
<br />
But never in my life had I wanted to be gay more than last
week.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
See, last week, as you all know, the Supreme Court heard
arguments to strike down both Proposition 8 in California and the federal
Defense of Marriage Act. Like so many others, I changed my Facebook profile
picture to the red equals sign. <a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And so did my sister.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And so did my brother.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
When my father logged onto Facebook that afternoon, he
asked me why all three of his children had the same profile picture. I
explained the meaning to him and this set off a firestorm.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
In hindsight, I probably should’ve said it was to show how much we all love bacon or something equally uncontroversial. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
My father than posted to my sister’s and brother’s pages,
voicing his disapproval of their pictures (he never actually said he didn’t
like my mine, but that could simply be because he is used to me doing things
like this), stating he disagrees with marriage equality and isn’t happy with
their decision to support it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
This broke my heart.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Because my father is a good man. He’s a crazy, gun-toting,
Fox News watching conservative, but he’s a good man.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And I know if I went home this weekend and told him I was
a lesbian and had met someone and wanted to marry her, he would be 100 percent
supportive. He would walk me down the aisle, give me away to my wife, toast the
two of us at our reception, and love and spoil our children.<br />
<br />
And there would be one less person out there supporting DOMA and Prop 8 and discrimination against the LGBT community.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I am not gay and, like so many others, my
father can’t make the jump from his children’s happiness to the happiness of other’s
children. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
We hear it all the time., We've heard it in the recent rape cases: What if it were your daughter or sister or mother? Well, so
what if it’s not? Does that make rape any less heinous? Because it isn't happening to someone you love it is okay? Because your child is
straight and legally allowed to marry and divorce as many times and he or she
sees fit, you don't care if your neighbor’s child has the same right? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I would like to believe that even if I didn't know a single gay person, I would still have changed my profile to the red equals sign. I can't know for sure, because I have a number of people in my life who I love and call friends who happen to be gay. And, while I know my changed profile picture will have zero impact on how the Court votes, I still changed it to show my friends, loved ones and strangers that I think it is pretty shitty that I can go out tomorrow and marry some random stranger, meanwhile they can't marry their partners of many years. </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I only hope one day my father will feel the same way. And that it won't take having a gay grandchild to make him change his mind.</span>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-25858745358030413332013-03-06T14:34:00.001-05:002013-03-06T14:34:54.637-05:00Why Didn't He Call?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNrZnENFSXud67UG2S4T9HF_3IVqasWYaPkUBxilDwR9U6WZgX0zDvGc24QrC4bwHCOaXwhcm3w6u1SVNxsWOIxzheWReDF8fRQIzf1gdGg8QMUySMvsO8Aj9ZTKnvTZHmotVnJf2PSpo/s1600/lip+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNrZnENFSXud67UG2S4T9HF_3IVqasWYaPkUBxilDwR9U6WZgX0zDvGc24QrC4bwHCOaXwhcm3w6u1SVNxsWOIxzheWReDF8fRQIzf1gdGg8QMUySMvsO8Aj9ZTKnvTZHmotVnJf2PSpo/s200/lip+phone.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Show of hands: Growing up, who asked their<br />
parents for this phone? Keep 'em up if you got it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Guys. I think I’ve been pretty helpful over the past
couple of weeks – show of hands, how many of you took my advice about
Valentine’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All four of you? That’s
what I thought. So, now I’m going to ask you to help me solve one of the great
riddles that has perplexed women since Alexander Graham Bell first asked Mr.
Watson, “Can you hear me now?”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Why do you ask for our phone numbers and then never call?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Now, because this is something I have been researching
extensively for the past 20 years or so, I will tell you, I understand in some
instances it is a play to get in the panties. You’re out, you’re talking to a
woman you wanna bang and in an effort to close the deal, you ask for her phone
number, hoping she will take this to mean you aren’t just looking for sex and
will take you home to make the beast with two backs.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And for every time that has worked for you, I say
well-played, sir.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
However, why ask for the phone number the next morning? Is
it to spare her feelings? To make her feel less cheap? What about weeks later,
when you happen to bump into her but haven’t seen or heard from her since the
night and everything seems okay? Why ask then? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I’m asking for a friend.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Okay. I’m asking for me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
As predicted, I ran into Miller Lite (the dude I closed
the book on 2012 with) recently. Now, before that moment, I barely attempted to
cyberstalk him, I didn’t call or email our mutual friends to fish for details
about him, nor did I attempt to gain an invite (or crash) any happy hours they
planned. After all, it was a one-night stand and I was fine with that.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The moment the bump-in happened, I was perfectly content
doing the polite thing and pretending I didn’t even know who he was. But then
he initiated contact. We laughed about the awkwardness and how funny it was we
hadn’t run into each other sooner and just as I was ready to walk away, glad
the initial meeting was over, he asked for my number.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
You know, so we could maybe get a drink some time.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And then, he. Never. Called.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Sure, I’m not looking for a relationship, nor do I want
one. But I can’t help that I’m a girl. And so, yes. I obsessively checked my
phone for the week that followed. Friday morning, I shaved my legs and wore an extra-cute outfit just in case a last minute happy hour invitation arrived.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But it never did. So what the hell is the point of getting
my number in the first place? Seriously. I’m asking. <o:p></o:p>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-32610741774154659282013-02-28T09:22:00.000-05:002013-02-28T09:52:52.824-05:00It Gets Better, Preston The <a href="http://www.tatianatalks.blogspot.com/2013/02/how-women-set-themselves-up-to-fail.html" target="_blank">post from the other day</a> got me thinking – no, not
about how I’m setting myself up to fail – but about young men in general – and
no, not that way you perverts.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Clearly, Preston (the author) is hurt. His girlfriend got
tired of sitting around the house with him and out of the blue dumped him for
an older guy who has to wear a suit to work every day. Preston didn’t see this
coming and so after a night of heavy drinking, he took his pain out on his keyboard.*<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I’ve been there, Preston. I get it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Poor Preston. He considers himself a good guy, and you
know what, all that misogynist crap he posted aside, he might be. Pain makes
you say and do some strange things. And because he is young, instead of
wondering what he could’ve done differently, he is blaming his girlfriend’s new
boyfriend – well, him and his girlfriend and then all women in general –
setting him up as the asshole to his hero.<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Maybe the Duke grad is an a-hole. Maybe Preston’s
girlfriend likes a-holes, in addition to being taken out for dinner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
But this doesn’t mean all women like jerks. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And because I've been seeing this a lot lately, I feel it
needs to be addressed. For Preston and for all the nice guys out there, convinced
they are doomed to finish last for the rest of their days.<br />
<br />
Women don’t like jerks.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Or bad boys.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Or assholes.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Not all women, anyway.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And saying we do is tantamount to women decrying men only
date crazy women. Or bitches.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Is that true, Preston? Do you only date crazy bitches?
Because if that’s the case, you are setting yourself up to fail, sir.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Yes, most women have a bad boy (or six) in our past. When
we are young and don’t know any better, some of us find ourselves attracted to the
challenge of an asshole. All our friends tell us he’s bad news, but we argue
they don’t know what it's like when it's just the two of us. When he can’t
make plans because he’s just so busy, we feel extra special when he does call
to come over – even if that call is a text message at 1 a.m. on Saturday morning.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But, just like, eventually, you outgrow the women who kill
your pets because they shouldn’t have to share your affection, eventually we
start to resent how rude he is to us in front of his friends. We realize being
someone lowest priority doesn’t make us special and we move on. We grow up and
go looking for someone who doesn’t cut us off in the middle of a story. Someone
who doesn’t answer his mobile phone in the middle of dinner. Someone who
compliments our clothing, not criticizes it. Someone who, when asked if he
wants to do something this weekend, responds, “Sure.” Not, “Well, if my buddies
go down the shore, then maybe.” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
In short, someone nice.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
However, Preston, I must warn you. I don’t know any woman,
bitch or not, who wants to sit around and watch their boyfriend play Call of
Duty, or watch TV, or clip his toenails or whatever it is you are doing when
you are just being lazy. The 19-year old you spoke of so highly at the end of
your piece might hang around for a bit – especially if you buy her and her friends beer. But,
eventually, she will turn 21, and want to rub her ID in a bouncer’s face. She will
want to see a movie or get a meal. And because all her friends are busy seeing
movies and eating meals with their boyfriends, she will turn to you to do these
things. So, yeah, you’re going to actually have to do stuff your girlfriend
wants to.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
That will never change. <br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
*I don't actually know Preston, nor do I know if this is really how it all went down. He could be a troll just desperate for attention for all I know. But since I'm sure there is someone out there a lot like the Preston I imagined here, let's just go with it.</div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-3798697876406742602013-02-26T11:05:00.001-05:002013-02-26T14:02:43.558-05:00How Women Set Themselves Up To FailWow. I mean. Wow.<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
So, Theresa sent me a link on Facebook – I’m still
debating posting it – of an article on how women set themselves up to fail. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
First, I think it is a great show of maturity on my part
that I’m not nearly as angry about this post as I would have been, say two
years ago. From the beginning when he calls all women crazy (yes, those are the
first three words of this post), to the part where he tells me, I (as a woman)
have been brainwashed, to when he points out that we (women) all lose our looks
after 26 (no brainwashing there, Preston), I didn’t scream or punch the back of
the neck of the guy sitting in front of me on the subway, or use the eff word,
or even throw my phone down in disgust.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Mostly I just laughed, because I feel terrible for this
poor, simple, 20-something (my guess and hope as if he is in his 30s, then I
feel scared for our future) idiot. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Actually, I think we should collectively feel terrible for
the author of this post who was clearly recently dumped by his girlfriend for a
Duke graduate who studied finance and psychology and likes doing things the
author didn’t, which seems to be almost anything since the author likes “being
lazy” and just “lying in bed all day doing nothing.” </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Please note, just because he admits he likes being lazy and doing
nothing does not mean he lacks ambition. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Because his now ex-girlfriend wanted to do more with her
life, the author reasons “women are insecure” and “like to compete with their
friends, and they would rather die than see their friends end up with a better
guy than they have.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
So true. The only reason I’m single is because I'm waiting for all my friends to marry so I can find someone better and win (and not die). Unfortunately, all my
friends are with such wonderful guys it may be impossible for me to find
someone better. Really. <a href="http://www.tatianatalks.blogspot.com/2012/01/number-five.html" target="_blank">My list of four</a> is becoming less about looking for a 6’5”
man with a laser rocket arm, and more about Peyton Manning being one of the few guys
I can think of who would beat my friends husbands and boyfriends. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
But wait, it gets better. You see, every relationship “gets
stale” and this is why men cheat and women walk away. But women shouldn’t walk
away when it gets stale (or, I guess, if their men cheat), because (my hand to
god) “the devil you know is always better than the devil you don’t.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Also, it seems, nice guys are the guys who are willing to
do the minimum in return for decent sex and blow jobs (I couldn’t make this up)
and the assholes are the guys in the suits with the fancy degrees taking you
out to dinner. But <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>don’t be fooled,
ladies, those guys in the suits with the hard to get reservations are only
doing all of that to court you and will eventually dump you for a 22-year old.
Leaving you sad. And miserable. And apparently suffering from a mid-life crisis
at 30.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Oh, more bad news: you’re only going to live 60. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
And I guess this is how women are setting themselves up to
fail. <o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Oh,
eff it, here’s the <a href="http://elitedaily.com/elite/2013/women-unrealistic-expectations-men/" target="_blank">link</a>.
Enjoy – the pictures, not to mention the conclusion, are worth the visit.</span></div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-78992984155504669382013-02-20T10:23:00.000-05:002013-02-20T10:23:31.779-05:00Recovery and Moving OnWell, Single Ladies, we made it past President’s Day. How’d
we do? Did you drink every time a family member asked you about your ex at
Thanksgiving, get drunk and finally stand up and say, “You know what?
You can all go f*ck yourselves.” Grabbed the bottle of wine off the table and
later pass out in your childhood bed? Did you sit in one weekend in December,
eating all the cookies you made for co-workers and cry through all the made
for Hallmark holidays movies that were less about the holidays and more about
finding love in time for Christmas dinner?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How many times did you check your phone New Year’s eve for a text from
you-know-who? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And I’m not even gonna ask about last week.<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Welcome to recovery. The longest and possibly least
exciting stage of the break-up process. Because it is during this time things
start to return to normal.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Your friends stop asking you if you are okay. They start
saying his name again around you. They also start judging you if you spend
entire days in your pajamas eating peanut butter from the jar and watching the
Real Housewives of anywhere. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
You will also start to notice you are okay when you hear
your ex’s name. Your urge to ask if his new girlfriend’s boobs are bigger than
yours is manageable and the thought of spending a Saturday night in alone
doesn’t freak you out to the point you post a status update on Facebook looking
to see if someone (anyone) wants to hang out.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
As you progress, you'll find immediately upon meeting a new guy you don't ask yourself, "If so-and-so bumped into me when I was out with this guy, would he be jealous?" You're
no longer making up excuses to not meet that friend of a friend. Or listing all
the reasons why you don’t want to go out with the guy you met at happy hour the
other night. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Then, just like that, one day you find yourself smiling at
a memory of your ex. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And, a few weeks (or months or years) later, you hear
something good has happened to him. Maybe he got married or promoted or had a
child and you respond, “That’s great.” And you find you actually mean it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Congratulations.
You survived.</span>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-7373921713541798672013-02-15T15:38:00.000-05:002013-02-15T15:38:44.265-05:00Bizarro Valentine’s Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5nuJhK33naCYxCe2urn4CyPJF-NIogsbv3Pr1Dt5uu4u5g3OYWlwDBWN7LAvkD-PG5BZ2WMmHjaXmiy6WgjJD1dLjWkOO3WaURP04tolJD-78yijxwE5pO8quiN8fCSAW8irsW7YCsPX/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5nuJhK33naCYxCe2urn4CyPJF-NIogsbv3Pr1Dt5uu4u5g3OYWlwDBWN7LAvkD-PG5BZ2WMmHjaXmiy6WgjJD1dLjWkOO3WaURP04tolJD-78yijxwE5pO8quiN8fCSAW8irsW7YCsPX/s200/photo.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
My father isn’t afraid of many things. He’s a former
Marine who owns a lot of guns and quite frankly, if you don’t know him, looks
terrifying in a big, angry sort of way.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
One thing that does scare his socks off is my
independence. He fears my not needing anyone will lead to my never finding
someone and spending my life sad and alone. This manifests itself in many ways,
most notably on Valentine’s Day when my father sends me a bouquet of flowers so
he doesn’t have to picture me sitting at my desk, fighting back tears because I’m
the only girl in the office who doesn’t have a Valentine.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And while I could definitely do with fewer talks on the
back porch of my parent’s home about how he would really like me to find
someone, I do love getting flowers from him every Valentine’s Day.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I mean, what girl doesn’t love to get flowers?<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
So, in keeping with tradition, waiting for me on my desk
when I arrived at work yesterday morning was a big stupid bouquet of light pink
and dark pink Gerbera Daisies. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And I do mean big. My boss audibly gasped when she saw it.
I heard people on the floor talking about it. I’m not sure if this is what my
father intended, or if the florist got a deal on daisies or if my father
insisted on purple daises and the florist couldn’t find them so she (or he)
over-compensated by doubling the number of pink daisies, but whatever happened,
I have a vase filled with a lot of Gerbera Daisies – which aren’t small flowers
to begin with.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But I’m not just telling you this to brag – I swear. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I was sitting there, in my pink dress (because a single
girl who wears black on V-Day is just asking for sideways glances and tongue
clicks of pity) when one of my married co-workers approached.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“Look at you with your bouquets (I only had one – I swear)
and your pretty pink dress. I bet this is just your favorite holiday.” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I can say with certainty no one has ever accused me of
that before.<o:p></o:p><br />
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-21746147271120964682013-02-12T14:15:00.001-05:002013-02-12T14:15:24.187-05:00It's A Wonder People Ever Get Together in the First Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLBDaKSMulaRx5NlyI2b9S31SNPCM2ffZ58I05teKtF39GkH89K3YKThcjcVvb7cLpblkLFZS8CsJ3197pB_KylNSaupup1RzmNY0O1mNiPUGCNFmbtAXxm0IJ9akQweL8QmrJYMdMeBL/s1600/necco-conversation-hearts_jpg_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLBDaKSMulaRx5NlyI2b9S31SNPCM2ffZ58I05teKtF39GkH89K3YKThcjcVvb7cLpblkLFZS8CsJ3197pB_KylNSaupup1RzmNY0O1mNiPUGCNFmbtAXxm0IJ9akQweL8QmrJYMdMeBL/s200/necco-conversation-hearts_jpg_1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Maybe it is all the conversation hearts I’ve been
consuming -- I’m so glad they don’t make those all year round -- but I’ve been
thinking a lot about relationships lately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Don’t worry, I’m not thinking about getting in one. I’m
still a perfectly happily single woman. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Still, it is on my mind (and constantly mentioned in my
horoscope), which is how I came to be reading a blog article on <a href="http://goodmenproject.com/sex-relationships/10-dos-and-donts-for-dating-from-professional-matchmakers/" target="_blank">tips for dating for men</a>.<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Let me tell you, all you daters out there, no wonder
people have such a hard time connecting. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Now, if you just clicked back from the above link, you
might be thinking, Tati, there is nothing wrong with that advice. And you would
be correct.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But, when we put this advice in context with what we are
telling women (remember this is advice for men) you start to see how this
complicates things.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
For instance, Tip 2: Never talk about the future. Makes
sense if this is a first or second date, but what about the third or fourth or fifth
date? When is it okay to start talking about the future. Because women are told
to be upfront (though never on the first date) about what they want (isn’t that
right, Steve Harvey?).<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And then there is Tip 7. Don’t over-pursue. Good tip. Unfortunately,
it is almost word for word what every dating book I have ever read (and keep in
mind I read almost all of them) tells women. So, imagine, two people have a
great time and neither of them reaches out to the other for fear of looking
desperate. I don’t have picture the woman wondering why she never heard from a
guy after -- I’ve been her. But it is laughable to think some of those guys
were sitting around their living rooms drinking bottles of wines with their
friends wondering what they did wrong by doing nothing.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Of course, this is if there is even a great date to begin
with, which won’t be the case if guys follow Tip 9: don’t talk about yourself.
Why? Because your date has been told to not talk about herself, and instead
seem (I love that) interested in listening to you talk about yourself and your
work. So, we take all conversation about you (and her) off the table, as well
as the future, politics, religion, anything else too deep, and I guess that
leaves you with the weather. I suppose once the food arrives you could comment on
that as well.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I don’t think it is supposed to be this complicated. In fact,
I’m pretty sure, when you are with the right person, he will actually be
interested in listening to talk about yourself (yes, even on the first date)
and she will be delighted when you send her a text and an email and then called
her. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
s for talking about the future, I think it is foolish not
to. Personally, I smell <a href="http://www.blogger.com/(http://tatianatalks.blogspot.com/2011/01/three-monther.html" target="_blank">three-monther</a> any time a guy starts telling me he can see us growing old together, so I would
wait for the where-do-you-see-us-in-five-years conversation until you two are
ready to bump private parts (though obviously not right before). <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Of
course, I’m also jaded, so maybe you shouldn’t take any dating advice from me.</span>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-14420594781694121102013-02-04T16:44:00.003-05:002013-02-04T16:44:40.523-05:00A Valentine's Day Primer - Chapter Two
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">As a commenter and a couple of my guy
friends pointed out -- there are a lot of women out there that hate Valentine’s
Day and insist they want nothing to do with it.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"></span> </div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">These women fall into one of two
categories. She has either a) been burned by this bullshit holiday in the past
and is pissed she ever put any stock into the whole candy hearts and flowers
industry. She is still smoldering and doesn’t want to get hurt again. Or, b)
she's testing you.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">Fortunately, you don’t need to know which
type you are dealing with to know what to do.</span><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">Similar to the commenter’s suggestion,
your answer is to plan a low key, but romantic, evening. Go by her place,
or invite her to yours, with some fun junk food or take-out, along with
something red and/or heart shaped and a romantic comedy. Put in the movie, get
on the couch, and make fun of just how truly terrible and unrealistic the movie is. When you
can no longer tolerate Kate Hudson, start making out and then move the party to
the bedroom (or not -- go crazy and do it on the couch). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">Now, if your girlfriend is in the first group, she may wake up on February 15 with a renewed sense of hope and wonder in the world. You could very well be her hero, having restored her faith in all things lovely and romantic and Hallmark. At the very least, next year when her girlfriends are all complaining about what a waste of a day February 14 is, she may shrug and say, "I don't know. It's not so bad."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">However, if you girlfriend is in the second group
-- well, she is going to be less than happy with this evening. Though she said
she wants nothing, she’s expecting reservations at the most exclusive
restaurant in town, two dozen roses and a little (or not so little) blue box.
Your first clue you are dealing with a woman from the second group will be when
she answers her door in a brand new, strapless mini dress in full make up and
an up-do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">Unfortunately, your chance of getting any
-- and really isn’t that the whole point of this holiday for you, men -- has
just dropped to near zero. Even if you anticipated this may be the case and got the table in Bistro
Romano’s wine cellar, she still won’t be happy. Instead of being happy and
rewarding you (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) later, she will yell at you and throw
your roses in your face, calling you contrived and screaming that you never
listen to her. Why? Because you are with a girl who tests her boyfriend. She is not looking for a winner. She is looking for drama. And, even as terrible as some of the acting is in those rom coms, they just don't provide enough drama for her. Nor does being happy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;">On the plus side, you now know your
girlfriend is chicken-killer crazy and so you can run as fast as you can and hey, maybe if you
head to a bar, there is still a chance you will get some. Of course, if you are
one of those guys who actually enjoys being yelled at and never right -- then
Happy Valentine’s Day to you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-85234362748319373462013-01-24T15:12:00.000-05:002013-01-24T15:12:38.230-05:00Valentine's Day: A Primer for MenAt the Wawa (for those of you not from the Philadelphia
area: this is a convenience store with the absolute best coffee ever. Also,
back when they were still in the city they were a perfect place to pick up a
hoagie after a late night of drinking – not that I know anything about that.)
this morning I was reminded (by the display of candy hearts) that Valentine’s
Day is right around the corner. <br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Now last year, following this most glorious day, I
overheard a co-worker telling another co-worker about how excited his
girlfriend was when she opened her Valentine’s Day gift. In his words, her
excited was comparable to someone handing him keys to a vintage Camaro.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
And what was this gift that inspired such excitement, you
ask.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Yoga pants.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Poor boy. He saw what his girlfriend looks like when
she’s faking it and didn’t even know it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
I pledged right then and there I wouldn’t let another
woman fake excitement over yoga pants again. So, men, this year, I’m here to help.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
First: your girlfriend does not want yoga pants for
Valentine’s Day. I don’t care how into yoga she is – trust me, yoga pants, a
yoga top, hell, even a new yoga mat is not what she is hoping to unwrap on
V-Day.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Now, a coupon for couple’s yoga – that’s a possibility.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
So, you ask, how do you know if your girlfriend or wife or
fiancé wants couples yoga or something else entirely? Well, because she’s going
to tell you. In fact, she may have already.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth and I was a
short-haired feminist college student living in Fairmount and working at a
café, I got one of the greatest presents from boss: an amber necklace that
never fails to receive a ton of compliments when I wear it – and you know how
much I love compliments.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
You might not expect one’s boss to hit one out of the park
like that. How’d he do it? Simple. He took me shopping.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
No. Not for the necklace. For a present for his sister.
And while at the store, as he pretended to browse for his sister, he paid more
attention to what caught my eye. I actually tried the necklace on and fell in
love with it and while I figured out how long I would have to live on mustard
packets and Ramen noodles to afford the necklace and determined it wasn’t worth
it, he motioned to the sales clerk to wrap it up.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Do you have a sister you could pretend shop for? What
about a mother? </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
No. I’m sorry. But there is still hope. Start paying attention when you
two are watching TV. Take note when she says, don't you think So-and-So's earrings are gorgeous? Or when you two are out with another couple and she asks your best friend's new girlfriend what perfume she is wearing. When she is complaining about how old and tired she feels, she doesn't want you to tell her how great she looks; well she does, but she's also hinting that a gift certificate to the spa might be nice. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Believe me, she is dropping hints all over the place
because she doesn’t want you to fail any more than she wants that juicer you
got her last year.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-59808405481218500202012-12-27T10:51:00.002-05:002012-12-27T10:51:38.918-05:00The Stride of PrideThat right kids, your occasional blogger finally got some.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I won’t go into the gory details. You just need to know I
went out with unshaven legs so of course I met a cute guy who wanted to come
back to my place.<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
The hot dress I was wearing (with tights to hide the leg
stubble) and the many Miller Lites I drank may have also contributed to the
inevitably of the situation I found myself in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Oh, and, mom, if you are still reading this: Stop. Don’t
torture yourself. I don’t redeem myself. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>As predicted, the following day I carried around with me a
mixed bag of guilt and shame, in addition to feeling bloated and dehydrated.
In an effort to alleviate these, I emailed and sent text messages to
my friends, letting them know their friend was a dirty stay-out who actually
didn’t stay out, but instead, had to hurry home that evening to clean the boy
off of her apartment.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And because they are my friends and were probably starting
to worry about how long it had been, they were equal
parts thrilled and assuring that there was no reason to stitch red letters onto all my sweaters. They asked all the
standard questions about his looks and performance and the awkwardness level
reached the next morning and one that caused me to pause.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
All my girlfriends (with one exception) asked me if I had
plans to see him again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I laughed and reminded them it wouldn’t be called a
one-night stand if they lasted more than one night and that I was sure to see
him again and again (if my random hook-up history repeated itself) but we
wouldn’t actually talk. Instead we would avoid eye contact and pretend we
didn’t recognize each other with clothes on.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Still, their optimism prevailed and they followed up days
later to see if I had heard from him.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Of course I hadn’t.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Their follow-up? Well, why don’t you reach out to him?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
How’s that?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Beyond all my typical protests that would prevent me from
ever doing that I had to ask why I would?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
“Because he meets all your prerequisites for dating
someone.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Very true. He does. And had I not slept with him after
knowing him for only a few hours (Mom, seriously? I tried to tell you) I suppose there is a slim chance he
could have <a href="http://www.tatianatalks.blogspot.com/2012/01/number-five.html" target="_blank">filled the empty number five spot</a>.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But I did sleep with him. I was one of those girls. I
opted for immediate gratification over giving him my number and crossing my
fingers he would call. A single girl who wanted to get some, saw her
opportunity and took it, knowing by doing so she would drastically reduce her
chance of seeing this gentleman again.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And yes, there are those out there that will call me a
slut (none of my friends, I mean people like Steve Harvey and Dr. Phil) and tell me this is precisely the behavior that keeps me single. In turn,
I suppose I could blame it on the alcohol or say it wasn’t me, it was the
dress. <o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">However,
I prefer to think that because I'm single and am not looking to change that,
this is exactly the way I should be behaving.</span>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-11743172272700719832012-11-15T10:45:00.002-05:002012-11-15T10:46:42.279-05:00How Not To Go on a DateNow that you are celebrating your single-dom again, you
are going to start getting asked out. Some of these invitations will be welcome
and during those dates my only advice is to not get drunk, bring up the
ex-boyfriend, start crying and then drunk dial the ex after your date drops you
off<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– not that I ever did that.<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Unfortunately, along with the good will come the bad. And
for those, you can simply say something like, “Awe, thanks. That is really
sweet of you, but I am really just getting over someone and so I’m not looking
to date right now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What? Most of that
is true.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
But what do you do when you aren't sure you are being asked out? </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
For example: A guy friend calls or emails or texts you
something funny and you two are going back and forth and are laughing
and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>then suddenly you hear (or read), “Hey,
wanna grab a drink?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
What is that?<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Funny story (I swear I’ll make it quick): The first time
this happened to me, I had no idea my covert date was into me until my second
drink when dude (who was engaged be-tee-dubs) leaned over and told me just how
sexy he thought I was and started to enumerate all the things he wanted to do
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Nothing friendly about that. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Now, the above scenario (the friend asking you to grab a
drink – not my accidental date with an engaged man) presents the obvious problem.
You have no idea if you are saying yes to a date or drinks with a friend. And
since I don’t know any cool way to go about ascertaining this, I suggest you
decide if you want to go on a date with your guy friend. If you do –
awesome-sauce. I hope your life is made of all the wonderful things that happen
in almost every rom-com ever written and that he isn't just asking you out for a drink between friends.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, if you have no romantic interest in
this friend. May I suggest one of the following options for ensuring you aren’t
going on a date (or at least that there won’t be a second):<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Option One: Invite other friends. Probably the easiest and
most obvious. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Option Two: Sleep with someone he finds despicable. I call
this move "In Memory of the Geisha" (from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Memoirs of a
Geisha</i>). Sometimes the only way to let a guy know that you aren’t
interested is to have sex with his sworn enemy. If you think this is a bit
extreme (and maybe it is, I am pulling this play from a sex worker’s playbook)
then perhaps you can just extol the virtues of his sworn enemy. If he doesn’t
have a sworn enemy, talk about how you think the quarterback from the Dallas
Cowboys is dreamy (only works for Eagle’s fans). If he doesn’t follow football,
then there must be someone he hates. You're his friend, you should know this
and you should feel free to use it to your advantage this one time. <br />
<br />
One
drawback of this plan is it could end your friendship. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Option Three: Pay for everything. I know this is going to
sound antiquated and will probably piss off Gloria (just when we were becoming
friends again) but there are signs that a guy puts out there and picks up on
when he is on a date (at least I think there are, but really what do I know?).
So if you find during drinks that it seems to be more a date than just two
friends catching up, and you really want to drive home the fact that it isn’t a
date – pay. Pay for everything. Or at least insist on paying for your portion
(just don’t do the wallet-grab-psych-out). <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Warning: If he thinks this is a date, he will fight you on
paying. You must win this fight. Otherwise the words <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think we are just better as friends” are in
your near future.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Now, what if the date you don’t want to be on isn’t with a
guy friend? What if your boss or your mom or someone else you can’t say no to,
has offered to fixed you up.<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Sure getting fixed up can work. It worked for Marie, for
instance. But assuming you have really good reasons to object to this pairing,
here is the best way to make sure it is only once (without pissing off your
boss or mother).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 12pt 0in 0pt;">
Exaggerate: Unfortunately, you have to go on the date. You
also have to do some soul searching. You need to think of something about
yourself that even your own lovely mother would shrug and say, yeah, she does
do that, and then exaggerate it. Do you love cats? Talk about how you like to
dress them up and how much you hate that your landlord only lets you have
three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Has someone told you, you curse
like a sailor? Well, get ready to make truckers blush. Have a bit of a mean
side? Attempt to make your waiter/waitress cry (and then double back and give
them a super large tip after explaining everything).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Another word of warning: Exaggeration will most likely
lead to this guy never calling (score).<br />
However, it could also lead to your
boss, mother, friend with terrible taste in dudes, to never fixing you up
again. I will leave it to you to decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing.<o:p></o:p>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-68224474510375354792012-11-12T11:30:00.000-05:002012-11-12T11:30:24.320-05:00Let’s Party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmuNEZjNDJ8D_NGH5ci6ptsfuRjRWggZVXVgStOnIn3lzKv5X__1rTDyX3fudCFvJs6sNP6mNpaRMZxD5RrD6TIcoM3Y6GLJ1g2gjOWeyemOyU1c6KUPKC45hFrBsiU-DYhJcaRr93rzF/s1600/Fireworks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmuNEZjNDJ8D_NGH5ci6ptsfuRjRWggZVXVgStOnIn3lzKv5X__1rTDyX3fudCFvJs6sNP6mNpaRMZxD5RrD6TIcoM3Y6GLJ1g2gjOWeyemOyU1c6KUPKC45hFrBsiU-DYhJcaRr93rzF/s200/Fireworks.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I bet you thought I forgot all about you kids out there
suffering through your break-ups. Well, I didn’t. But as I explained earlier,
this is a process, a cycle, and I wanted to give you lots of time to go back
and forth between disgusting and cleansing before I prepared you for the next
phase.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
That and I’ve been really busy. I mean, I did run a
marathon and all.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And now that I am no longer training (who are we kidding?
I barely trained) and you are through cycling – let’s party.<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
The celebration stage is crucial – not just because if you
continue to drink alone people are going to start to suggest you have a problem
– but because it is time for you to be happy . Why are you still wallowing in
this break-up? Why are you still eating whole packages of Oreo Double Stuffs
and crying because your ex didn’t want to be with you? Why would you want to be
with someone who didn’t want to be with you? Who didn’t recognize just how
amazing you are and how freakishly lucky he was to land you? Seriously? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
He did you a favor. He clearly wasn’t who you thought he
was and thank goodness he didn’t waste another day of your life. You should be
thanking him. But since that would mean reaching out to him and believe me, we
aren’t there yet, let’s get gussied up, call our friends, and celebrate that
you are no longer wasting your life with that loser.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Can’t buy any of that? Okay, well, then how about this?
Imagine how pissed/shocked/upset/regretful he is going to feel when he finds
out (either through the grapevine or by stalking your Facebook page) that you
are over him and already back out there – having fun and looking amazing?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
That’s my girl. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Also, and believe me I know this from experience, you
aren’t ever going to get laid home alone, sitting on your couch, drinking wine
straight from the box. A necessary part of the healing process is getting some strange.
Even if it is just a hot and heavy make-out session in a dark alleyway with
a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>little under the shirt action, feeling
sexy and desired by the opposite (or same – no judgment) sex goes a long way.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
A word of warning here, however. As you are well aware,
you are still emotionally raw right now. Couple that <a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/oxytocin" target="_blank">with the oxytocin your body is going to produce</a> after a few minutes in that dark alley and you
may start thinking you have found the one. Spoiler alert: He’s not the one. He’s not
perfect or the man you have been waiting your whole life for. Hell, it is very
likely you won’t even remember his name in a couple of months. He's a means to an end. He can't even count as a transitional person because he isn't going to be around that long. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The celebration phase is not the time to find your next
boyfriend. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
It is the time to remember just how amazing you are (with
or without a guy) and to celebrate all you have to offer.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
So what are you waiting for? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-18717390419537711072012-11-09T10:51:00.001-05:002012-11-12T11:31:19.447-05:00Thank You, Superstorm Sandy<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TNa7dKywFdm2-W8x8CNsqaWRc6W5qPMBcyGuSv5sUNQWg7wiDe-1hNVKAENxD-6ZHacuKtXd8-b6YdIYc2TqdhonKBOTOitbxqk2RF9fN8xLMlnrz9V3tGd6SRUftWE26BPMVz_e91ZO/s1600/Sisters+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TNa7dKywFdm2-W8x8CNsqaWRc6W5qPMBcyGuSv5sUNQWg7wiDe-1hNVKAENxD-6ZHacuKtXd8-b6YdIYc2TqdhonKBOTOitbxqk2RF9fN8xLMlnrz9V3tGd6SRUftWE26BPMVz_e91ZO/s200/Sisters+pic.jpg" width="196" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lana bought this book for me for my 16th birthday. <br />
I still have it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When someone asks “How are you doing?” I almost always
respond: “Well, thanks. You?” “Well” is simple. The truth is not. But the
well-meaning stranger doesn’t want the truth. They were just being polite. So, I
return the favor by not regaling the person with all the problems keeping me up
at night.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The same can be said for when someone asks, “Are you
and your sister close?” The simple answer is “Yes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is more complicated than that. <a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
I love my sister. I can (and do) tell her everything. When
Houdini dumped me via text message, she was the person I called and she was
there in less than an hour with a big bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes. When
I lost my job, she was my first call, and again she was there with
cigarettes and wine. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
She is my biggest fan and cheerleader and challenges me to
be a better person. She is my sister. We email everyday and text on the weekends and have inside jokes, and no one's opinion means more to me (with the possible exception of my mother). Is that close? <br />
<br />
But it wasn't always like this. Growing up, Lana was a few
years older than me and often saddled with the responsibility of watching me
while our mother slept (she worked nights) and my father studied. Imagine
being 14-years-old and wanting to just hang out with your friends and talk
about boys, but all your friends are too busy cooing over your super adorable little
sister. You would hate me too.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
As I got older, I became a bigger pest, borrowing her
clothes and subsequently ruining them, giving her even less privacy than she
had at 14, and telling my mom whenever she did anything wrong. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Eventually, Lana left home, went to college and got a
tattoo: cementing her status as the coolest person I knew.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
In return for no longer having her favorite sweaters stolen, Lana began to give me advice, took me to parties, and when she was home on break she
helped me cut class. Even without email, Facebook and cell phones, it was probably
during this time that my sister and I were closest.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
But then I started to grow-up and over the next few years
she had to adjust to the idea that I was also a grown-up that didn’t always
need her big sister. <br />
<br />
I had to realize that my hero was also a human.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
It was a tough adjustment period, and at times I
wondered if my sister weren’t my sister, would she still be my friend?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I got my answer last week.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Hurricane (or, I’m, sorry, Superstorm) Sandy hit the East
Coast last week. While Philadelphia was relatively unscathed, airports (as well
as the city) shutdown in anticipation of a catastrophe. And my sister, who was
in town to cheer me on in the Marine Corp Marathon, was stuck in Philadelphia.
I didn’t have anywhere to go – my office was closed – so while Sandy ravaged
New York and New Jersey, Lana and I sat on my couch, ate junk food, watched
trashy television, farted, didn’t shower, laughed, and talked. Neither of us
needed anything from the other. She didn’t need my shoulder to cry on; I didn’t
need her to fight a battle for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I feel terrible for all those that have suffered loss
because of this superstorm. But I can’t help but be grateful for the good
things that came out of it – corporations opening their doors and donating
their warmth and more importantly their electricity to those without both, Republicans and Democrats coming together to get relief to those that need it, and New Yorkers actually learning their neighbors' names.<br />
<br />
And my sister and I becoming close. Again. <o:p></o:p>Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-31578924281104715442012-10-15T16:37:00.000-04:002012-10-15T17:38:14.894-04:00The First Amendment: A PrimerI interrupt our quest through the five stages of a break-up because I have to get something off my chest. I promise to have the next stage to you shortly – I won’t even make you wait a week.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, the Reddit Troll Violentacrez was outed last week. If you have no idea what I am talking about <a href="http://gawker.com/5950981/unmasking-reddits-violentacrez-the-biggest-troll-on-the-web?post=53473431" target="_blank">click here</a>.<br />
<br />
I am not going to get into just how disgusting, despicable and detestable I find this man’s online persona – mostly because as a troll, that is what he wants. I do, however, need to address his defenders. Those decrying Gawker for exposing his true identity. Folks flying the First Amendment flag in our faces.<br />
<br />
Here’s the thing about the First Amendment (big fan, by the way). It gives every American citizen the right to speak his/her thoughts freely without having to fear persecution by their government. <br />
<br />
That last part is the important part. So, I’m gonna say it again: by their government.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>If you want to say you hate our president. Our president can’t aim a drone missile at your house and press send. He can’t call the Secret Service and have you detained until you publicly apologize and then tell everyone that will listen that you think he’s an awesome guy. You can lie about our president (because he is a public figure and libel and slander laws are a little more lax for them, not to mention the all the political speech protections). You can protest our president’s residence (you might need a permit, but you can do it). You can Photoshop our president’s head onto a donkey’s body and set-up a Tumblr account with all sorts of nasty captions and compromising positions and the government can’t touch you.<br />
<br />
However, if your boss, or your father, or your girlfriend sees it and doesn’t like it. They can take offense. They can stop talking to you. Withhold sex (not your father. Your girlfriend and maybe your boss). And in some states (like my home state of Pennsylvania), if you work for a private company, they can even fire you. <br />
<br />
A long time ago I had <a href="http://devilwearsbrooksbrothers.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">another blog</a>. I openly blogged about people I worked with (though I did my best to protect their identities) and one day I blogged about a guy that I thought was an asshole. And a few days later that asshole approached me about the blog and called me a bitch for writing it.<br />
<br />
When he did (he was actually really respectful about it – asked me into the hallway so as to not do it in front of my co-workers, though that may have had more to do with identifying himself as the asshole) I listened to what he had to say, said something placating back, turned and walked away.<br />
<br />
I didn’t apologize (I wasn’t sorry. Besides, apologizing would have confirmed for him that he was the asshole I was talking about) nor did I throw my freedom of expression in his face. I didn’t even bring up my first amendment right weeks later, when I was asked to stop blogging about my co-workers. <br />
<br />
Why you ask? Because while I enjoy the liberties that the First Amendment allows me, I know that it doesn’t free me from consequences of my actions. I called someone a name. He told on me and I got in trouble. My rights were not violated.<br />
<br />
The First Amendment doesn’t protect you from consequences. For instance, if you are head of a corporation – say a fast food chicken restaurant – and it comes to light that you support organizations that are anti-gay marriage, and a bunch of people get together and decide to boycott your restaurants; those folks are not trampling on your First Amendment right. They are merely exercising theirs. <br />
<br />
Now, if one of those folks decides to burn down your fast food restaurant, the government (whether they agree with you or the protesters) has to prosecute the offenders. Otherwise, your rights would be violated.<br />
<br />
In relation to VA – he absolutely has the rights to post half naked pictures of 14-year-old girls. Just as the author of the Gawker article had a right to post his real name (if you read the article you will know he obtained this man’s name lawfully). And now VA has to face the consequences of his posts and opinions.<br />
<br />
Something to consider as we make our way “anonymously” through this new world. We are accountable for what we are putting out there. <br />
<br />Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-20140906286187148102012-10-09T10:14:00.000-04:002012-10-09T10:14:59.118-04:00Stage Two: Let the Cleansing BeginSo, after a week of not showering, not changing your pajamas, sleeping on the couch, watching NCIS marathons and only eating meals that can be delivered, you smelled yourself, swallowed back vomit and ran to the bathroom where you saw your tear-stained, swollen, blotchy face. You grabbed either side of the vanity to steady yourself as you asked your reflection, “what the fuck happened?”<br />
<br />
<br />
Please note shopaholics, you will experience a similar feeling when you see your email credit card alerts.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>You will then take a deep breath, brush your fuzzy teeth, run a comb through your greasy hair and shuffle back into the living room, turn off the TV and start picking up the take-out food wrappers with your fingers crossed that you don’t now have rodents or bugs.<br />
<br />
Welcome to stage two: the cleanse. It begins with the realization you have become a disgusting unrecognizable mess. Then comes the hangover (I recommend lots of Gatorade and aspirin). Finally the serious work. <br />
<br />
Well, not super serious – we save that for Recovery – but more serious than just kicking food wrappers under your couch (yeah, I saw that). First, you really should shower and put on some fresh pajamas. Then, let’s really clean up the kitchen – you don’t want bugs. <br />
<br />
Now, I’m gonna need you to walk around your apartment and gather up all the presents and ticket stubs and photos and other flotsam and jetsam from your relationship. Separate his stuff out of the mess, put it in a bag and leave it right by your door. The "by the door part" is necessary. Here’s why: Sometime in the future, you may have to give this stuff back to him. And when he stops by, you don’t want to invite him in. <br />
<br />
Why? Because there is no telling what stage you will be in at this point. And I should warn you, in the beginning you will be bouncing back and forth through all the stages. You could be feeling sound in recovery, he stops by, and a couple hours (as well as a bottle of wine and some sex) later, you are right back in grossness. Better to keep his shit by the door so that when he stops by you can hand him the bag, lie to him and tell him you think he looks good and you are so glad to see him and then close the door in his grinning-because-he-thinks-there-is-a-chance-he-is-gonna-get-some face.<br />
<br />
So, what to do with the rest of the stuff. Don’t worry. We’re not going to burn it. The cleanse phase – much like that juice fast I tried –s not about permanent change. Now is not the time for tattoos or haircuts or relationship bon fires. This is about short, quick, drastic measures with results that won’t last very long but will get you on the road to making better choices. <br />
<br />
Speaking of which, after you hide that box of everything that reminds you of the guy who just dumped you, I need you to sit down on your couch, search through the contacts on your phone, delete all his cute/sexy text messages and then change your ex’s name. <br />
<br />
Why do you keep asking me why? You know I have a good reason. <br />
<br />
In the next stage, you are going to be doing some celebrating. And sometimes when you celebrate (if you are anything like me) you might overindulge. And on some nights, even with all the smokey eye make-up and plunging necklines and pronouncements that you are "so drunk," you will come home alone. And because your body is so used to getting it on the regular, you'll get home, want some, and drunk you will think it is a really good idea to text your ex and invite him over.<br />
<br />
Your last defense will be a searching for a name in your phone that might (and this is really only effective about 37 percent of the time, but hey, it’s something) have you thinking twice before hitting send.<br />
<br />
I personally prefer to call them awful things like Douchebag. Or Asshole. Or Shit for Brains.<br />
<br />
My sister is more direct and will change his name to “Do Not Call” or “Never Text" or "He Made You Cry."<br />
<br />
If you don’t think either of those approaches will work, how about changing his name to “Daddy." Seriously, just think about texting something dirty at 3 a.m. to your “Daddy.” Unless of course, that is the sort of thing that turns you on – no judgement – then maybe Dad? Father? Papa? Just your dad’s name? Mom?<br />
<br />
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5808744462654745575.post-59474725968244173142012-10-01T16:33:00.000-04:002012-10-01T16:33:58.925-04:00How To Be Dumped: Part One: GrossnessI'm not sure if it was the <a href="http://www.free-tarot-reading.net/live/anna/monster-moon-in-aries-29-september-2012/" target="_blank">monster moon this past weekend</a>,or the upcoming holidays, but a number of my friends have recently found themselves single again. And while I believe I clearly demonstrate on this blog that I am terrible when it comes to relationships, my friends are still coming to me for advice.<br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe they don’t read the blog.<br />
<br />
The last time I was dumped, I offered <a href="http://www.tatianatalks.blogspot.com/2008/07/road-map-to-washing-that-man-out-of.html" target="_blank">a very simplified road map</a> to how I get over a guy. My plan – like another plan that you may have heard of – has five stages/steps: Grossness, Cleansing, Celebrating, Recovering, and then, finally, Moving on. Though, I only really talk about the first four in my old post. <br />
<br />
The first stage, in my opinion, is the most important. The gross stage. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
This means different things for different people, but basically is boils down to this is the time you get to be a self-indulgent brat. If you want to drink and smoke while wrapped in an afghan your nana knit you watching marathons of “Say Yes to the Dress,” do it. If you want to eat your way through the entire Ben and Jerry’s catalog, I'll get you a spoon and elastic waistband pants. If you need to go out and purchase one of everything in your size, I will only warn you to keep the tags on as there is a good chance you will want to return some of it at a point in the near future. If you want to do all of the above while crying and screaming “what is wrong with me?” I’m not gonna say no.<br />
<br />
Why? Because you are hurt. Being dumped sucks and you have all sorts of questions and doubts and you can’t text or call (or rather you shouldn’t text or call) your ex and demand answers, and you can only hear from your friends so many times that he’s an idiot. So you need to self-soothe. You have all these emotions and feelings and you need to get them out. So why not get the majority of them out all at once. No, you won’t get rid of them all, but a couple of days not showering, eating nothing but chocolate covered carbs, and watching Lifetime television for women (or Spike TV is Jason Statham running around killing people is more your speed) should deplete you of most of your self-loathing. <br />
<br />
Think of it this way – remember that episode of Who’s the Boss (or was it Roseann? Growing Pains? Some sitcom I watched growing up) where Sam was caught with cigarettes and Tony Danza made her smoke the whole pack and she got sick and never smoked again. That is what this period is – doing something that is really bad for you until you make yourself sick – when you look in the mirror and see a bloated, gray, oily version of yourself staring back. <br />
<br />
It will be like the kick in <em>Inception</em>. It will snap you right back to reality. Then, after possibly throwing up, you will ask yourself what the hell you are doing. You will scream at yourself for letting it get this bad and then remind yourself no guy is worth this, you are better than this, and it is his loss – you know, all the stuff you already knew but needed to go a very dark place to remember.<br />
<br />
Then you take the longest, hottest shower of your life, maybe pop out for a pedicure and prepare yourself for stage two – Cleansing.<br />
<br />
The second most important thing to remember about this phase is that is just a phase: give yourself a time limit in the bell jar. You don’t want to get stuck here. For many reasons, the most obvious being your friends will only indulge you for so long. <br />
<br />
The first most important thing to remember about this phase is that now is not the time to do anything permanent. Save any tattoos, surgeries, or resignation letters for stages four and five. <br />
<br />
Tatianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11798184469834478557noreply@blogger.com0