I was on the subway, reading Keith Richards' autobiography – it’s a good subway read because he is so frantic and all over the place when he is telling his life story that I can only take it in small doses before it gives me a headache – not really noticing anyone or anything around me.
As we approached my stop, and I approached a good place in my book to pause, I got up and headed for the door.
Already standing by the door was a guy, taller than me, smiling at me. I smiled back, to be polite, but then looked away.
He said hello.
I looked back up. “Hi.” Thankfully the train came to a stop and I could exit the train.
However my friend from the subway followed me. “Can I ask you a question?”
Further proof that I am not as horrible as some people take me for, I didn’t respond “umm, you just did.” But instead said, “sure.” And tried to twist my face into something that resembled engrossed.
“Are you single?”
I tried to catch myself from rolling my eyes, but I probably didn’t get it in time.
“I’m just wondering, because I’ve seen you. On the train and on broad street and even downtown and I wanted to talk to you …”
His stammering gave me a chance to think about my response. Normally when I’m sober and random strangers come up and ask me if I’m single, I lie and tell them I live with my boyfriend. What? I’m a single girl that lives in the city by herself. It is my first line of defense.
But as Thomas the Train Guy continued to enumerate all the different places he had seen me, I thought about how I can’t justify the waste of money that is online dating, and none of my friends have anyone they can fix me up with, and Salty’s firefighter husband refuses to fix me up with any of his firefighter friends, and I refuse to date anyone from my office, and it is damn near impossible to meet anyone of substance at a bar, so just how do I expect to meet someone if every time a guy approaches me I lie and tell him I am seeing someone.
So, instead I told Thomas the truth.
He walked me to my apartment, nervously chatting the whole way about nothing important. At some point he asked if I would like to grab coffee sometime and I said yes. When we got to my door, he had his phone and his business card out and eventually got around to getting my number and giving me his business card before we said good-bye.
That’s right. I gave Thomas the Train Guy my number. And yes, I realize he could be a deranged stalker and given his list of all the places he has seen me maybe that is something I should have considered earlier. But really, what could he do to me now that he has my number that he couldn’t do once he memorized my entire schedule? Plus, there is always my second line of defense – the Louisville Slugger I keep next to my bed.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Let Me Clear My Throat
I know. It has been awhile since I last wrote. I promise you, I can explain. Sort of.
See, I had a blog post prepared. Seriously, I did. I was just going to ignore the fact that I had been absent for so long and post this one piece (which I swear you will all be able to read tomorrow or the next day or even the same day, depending on when you read this), but then I was out tonight and was berated by friends and realized I just couldn’t pretend these past couple of weeks didn’t happen.
So, some of you know I used to have a column. Well, occasionally, I would use conversations and situations with friends and colleagues in this column to better make my point. Now, I thought I was being fair. I would never use my friends’ actual names nor would I ever physically describe them and sometimes I would even alter some of the details of our relationship to protect the innocent.
But then, towards the end of my run, a partner at my old firm, who I had mentioned in my column, approached me. It is important to note, he didn’t reproach me, he merely pointed out that while most people reading my column didn’t know I was talking about him -- he knew. More importantly, he worried about it; wondering who else knew it was him.
Call me daft, but I never thought about this side.
And I thought I got it -- until I posted about the Cowboy.
See, the Cowboy post took a lot out of me. It took me a lot to write it and even more to post it.
After I posted it, just moments after, Marie called me to gush about it and I anxiously asked, “Was it too much?”
Her response, “Oh god no. It’s just enough.” And then, because she is Marie, she went on to confirm that she thinks I should have hooked up with the Cowboy.
Still, I worried about it. Actually, that's not true. Only part of me worried about it. Only part of me worried it was too much. But that part of me also felt betrayed. That part of me felt like these were private thoughts, not for public consumption.
At this point feel free to roll your eyes. Because, yes, I realize that my blog is completely voluntary and that all of this is for public consumption. But the truth is, that while, yes, my blog is voluntary, and everything is for public consumption (though, to be honest it still shocks me that anyone reads this), it is an edited version of my life. However, the Cowboy post was a lot less edited than maybe I am comfortable with.
And I got even less comfortable with it as more and more people approached me with comments like, “Didn’t you say you wanted to be spanked?”
Or, “I read the Cowboy post, I know what you want.”
Or, “Giddy-up!”
I didn’t even say giddy-up. Marie said giddy-up and now people are saying giddy-up to me and I blush easily and I am just so embarrassed even if it was the most honest I have been and so now it is hard for me to write anything because I am afraid of what I might say, or what you might think or that I might not be able to ever top what I said before.
So, I wrote this. An explanation and an apology and a disclaimer. This blog is the truth, however it is not the whole truth. Because I need to keep a piece of me for me.
If that is okay with you -- keep reading. If not, I will understand.
See, I had a blog post prepared. Seriously, I did. I was just going to ignore the fact that I had been absent for so long and post this one piece (which I swear you will all be able to read tomorrow or the next day or even the same day, depending on when you read this), but then I was out tonight and was berated by friends and realized I just couldn’t pretend these past couple of weeks didn’t happen.
So, some of you know I used to have a column. Well, occasionally, I would use conversations and situations with friends and colleagues in this column to better make my point. Now, I thought I was being fair. I would never use my friends’ actual names nor would I ever physically describe them and sometimes I would even alter some of the details of our relationship to protect the innocent.
But then, towards the end of my run, a partner at my old firm, who I had mentioned in my column, approached me. It is important to note, he didn’t reproach me, he merely pointed out that while most people reading my column didn’t know I was talking about him -- he knew. More importantly, he worried about it; wondering who else knew it was him.
Call me daft, but I never thought about this side.
And I thought I got it -- until I posted about the Cowboy.
See, the Cowboy post took a lot out of me. It took me a lot to write it and even more to post it.
After I posted it, just moments after, Marie called me to gush about it and I anxiously asked, “Was it too much?”
Her response, “Oh god no. It’s just enough.” And then, because she is Marie, she went on to confirm that she thinks I should have hooked up with the Cowboy.
Still, I worried about it. Actually, that's not true. Only part of me worried about it. Only part of me worried it was too much. But that part of me also felt betrayed. That part of me felt like these were private thoughts, not for public consumption.
At this point feel free to roll your eyes. Because, yes, I realize that my blog is completely voluntary and that all of this is for public consumption. But the truth is, that while, yes, my blog is voluntary, and everything is for public consumption (though, to be honest it still shocks me that anyone reads this), it is an edited version of my life. However, the Cowboy post was a lot less edited than maybe I am comfortable with.
And I got even less comfortable with it as more and more people approached me with comments like, “Didn’t you say you wanted to be spanked?”
Or, “I read the Cowboy post, I know what you want.”
Or, “Giddy-up!”
I didn’t even say giddy-up. Marie said giddy-up and now people are saying giddy-up to me and I blush easily and I am just so embarrassed even if it was the most honest I have been and so now it is hard for me to write anything because I am afraid of what I might say, or what you might think or that I might not be able to ever top what I said before.
So, I wrote this. An explanation and an apology and a disclaimer. This blog is the truth, however it is not the whole truth. Because I need to keep a piece of me for me.
If that is okay with you -- keep reading. If not, I will understand.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Warning to All Those Persons Related to Me: You May Want to Skip this Blog.
The strangest thing happened to me in Mississippi last weekend.
I was visiting Ivan, my younger brother, and his new bride Alexia. They were having a party to celebrate their nuptials with all their southern friends, and a few of their northern friends. I was standing in a corner, taking it all in (and by taking it all in I really mean sending mass text messages to my friends) when I overheard one of Ivan’s friends say to Ivan, “I’m gonna break her.”
To which Ivan replied, “Good luck with that.” And walked away.
Now, I can’t be 100 percent sure they were talking about me. I started paying attention only midway through the conversation. But something other than my own inflated ego told me I was the her he was looking to break. Maybe it was the way the friend was behaving toward me earlier or maybe it was the way Ivan grimaced and then walked away. Either way, this feeling was later confirmed by (in my own inflated ego's opinion) by all the attention this friend continued to pay me.
And while I still find it strange that men are attracted to me, that wasn’t what has been bothering me since overhearing this conversation. What has been keeping me up at night (in addition to the upper respiratory infection I picked up on the airplane ride home) was my reaction to it.
Readers, I wasn’t righteously indignant or offended or affronted or angry or any of those things I think I should have been.
I was turned on.
Let me be perfectly clear, before that moment, I wasn’t the least bit attracted to this guy. Sure he was tall and Marie thinks he's good looking (her actual response to his picture was “giddy-up”). But he was also wearing cowboy boots and Croakies and a collared shirt tucked into way too faded blue jeans. Furthermore, I have never found a southern accent charming.
But four little words later and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had to give myself the “this is Ivan’s friend, Tatiana,” pep-talk followed by the “he has a girlfriend, Tatiana" pep-talk repeated several times over the course of the next couple of hours. And, honestly, if I wasn’t so very afraid of the Cowboy, those two talks may have failed me completely.
Thank god I still have my fear to keep me in check.
So, once I sobered up on the flight home I started to think about why I was so affected by the Cowboy. I had already been thinking a lot about the whole generation of guys phenomenon as I was surrounded by my brother’s friends, most of whom were definite guys (some are still borderline boys). And I’m not about to suggest that the Cowboy was a man – he’s more a leader of the guys.
No, I wasn’t thinking the Cowboy was a man, but of another conversation all together that Bob and I have had on a number of occasions. And because our recent conversation about guys versus men was already on my mind, this other conversation may have been lurking not far behind.
The second conversation always starts innocently enough -- what am I looking for in a guy. This inevitably turns into me listing the things I liked about my ex-boyfriends and the things I couldn’t stand about them. And because it is Bob, and because we have had one too many glasses of wine, it moves to the bedroom. While I am not about to say that my exes have been disappointing, none of them have been the sort that would throw you (me) down on the bed (or against a wall) and, for a lack of a better phrase, fuck you (me).
And I know this isn’t very feminist of me, but sometimes a girl really needs that.
Now, over the course of the last two years I have been on several dates with guys who couldn’t even make a plan, leaving me to pick the time and the place of our dates. And, whether it’s laziness or a lack of confidence, I assume if you won’t pick a place for us to meet for a drink, you aren’t going to be the sort that is ever going to pull my hair or smack my ass.
So maybe, when I heard those four little words I realized that before me stood a man that would probably do both. It’s the only thing I can come up with. That in that moment, as my subconscious raced through the last several years of dates with wishy-washy wusses and being almost completely in control of my life almost all of the time for as long as I can remember, it was attracted to the Cowboy who could offer me a break from both.
At that moment, I wonder what it would be like to be broken.
Who am I kidding? I'm still wondering.
I was visiting Ivan, my younger brother, and his new bride Alexia. They were having a party to celebrate their nuptials with all their southern friends, and a few of their northern friends. I was standing in a corner, taking it all in (and by taking it all in I really mean sending mass text messages to my friends) when I overheard one of Ivan’s friends say to Ivan, “I’m gonna break her.”
To which Ivan replied, “Good luck with that.” And walked away.
Now, I can’t be 100 percent sure they were talking about me. I started paying attention only midway through the conversation. But something other than my own inflated ego told me I was the her he was looking to break. Maybe it was the way the friend was behaving toward me earlier or maybe it was the way Ivan grimaced and then walked away. Either way, this feeling was later confirmed by (in my own inflated ego's opinion) by all the attention this friend continued to pay me.
And while I still find it strange that men are attracted to me, that wasn’t what has been bothering me since overhearing this conversation. What has been keeping me up at night (in addition to the upper respiratory infection I picked up on the airplane ride home) was my reaction to it.
Readers, I wasn’t righteously indignant or offended or affronted or angry or any of those things I think I should have been.
I was turned on.
Let me be perfectly clear, before that moment, I wasn’t the least bit attracted to this guy. Sure he was tall and Marie thinks he's good looking (her actual response to his picture was “giddy-up”). But he was also wearing cowboy boots and Croakies and a collared shirt tucked into way too faded blue jeans. Furthermore, I have never found a southern accent charming.
But four little words later and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I had to give myself the “this is Ivan’s friend, Tatiana,” pep-talk followed by the “he has a girlfriend, Tatiana" pep-talk repeated several times over the course of the next couple of hours. And, honestly, if I wasn’t so very afraid of the Cowboy, those two talks may have failed me completely.
Thank god I still have my fear to keep me in check.
So, once I sobered up on the flight home I started to think about why I was so affected by the Cowboy. I had already been thinking a lot about the whole generation of guys phenomenon as I was surrounded by my brother’s friends, most of whom were definite guys (some are still borderline boys). And I’m not about to suggest that the Cowboy was a man – he’s more a leader of the guys.
No, I wasn’t thinking the Cowboy was a man, but of another conversation all together that Bob and I have had on a number of occasions. And because our recent conversation about guys versus men was already on my mind, this other conversation may have been lurking not far behind.
The second conversation always starts innocently enough -- what am I looking for in a guy. This inevitably turns into me listing the things I liked about my ex-boyfriends and the things I couldn’t stand about them. And because it is Bob, and because we have had one too many glasses of wine, it moves to the bedroom. While I am not about to say that my exes have been disappointing, none of them have been the sort that would throw you (me) down on the bed (or against a wall) and, for a lack of a better phrase, fuck you (me).
And I know this isn’t very feminist of me, but sometimes a girl really needs that.
Now, over the course of the last two years I have been on several dates with guys who couldn’t even make a plan, leaving me to pick the time and the place of our dates. And, whether it’s laziness or a lack of confidence, I assume if you won’t pick a place for us to meet for a drink, you aren’t going to be the sort that is ever going to pull my hair or smack my ass.
So maybe, when I heard those four little words I realized that before me stood a man that would probably do both. It’s the only thing I can come up with. That in that moment, as my subconscious raced through the last several years of dates with wishy-washy wusses and being almost completely in control of my life almost all of the time for as long as I can remember, it was attracted to the Cowboy who could offer me a break from both.
At that moment, I wonder what it would be like to be broken.
Who am I kidding? I'm still wondering.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Change Me (Revisited)
It would seem some clarification to my last post is needed. Let me make it perfectly clear that I am in no way suggesting I need to change in order to find someone. I merely realized that in order to have a successful relationship, I must be open to the idea of change.
This probably seems like a no-brainer to most of you and you are wondering why I would even need to blog about such an obvious realization (let alone blog about it twice). Maybe you are even questioning my intellect because it took me so long to discover this.
Let me explain. In the past, nothing has frightened me more (not even cats) than the idea of a guy changing me. Before this realization, I couldn’t stand when my friends changed for guys. I would gag when I got into a friend’s car and heard them blaring the latest CD from their latest boyfriend’s favorite band. I would roll my eyes when one of them would show up for a run wearing a ball cap from their boyfriend’s favorite baseball team.
Now mind you, the friend with the new CD loves music, and the band was pretty good. The friend with the baseball hat has no soul and therefore never followed baseball before she met her now-husband. So it wasn’t as if they were putting aside their thoughts and feelings on a particular matter to side with their current beau. But at the time I couldn’t see that.
Meanwhile, when I would declare to my mother that I would probably never get married, but if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be in a church, and she would ask, what if it is important to your fiancé? My response: well, I can’t imagine it would be important to my fiancé, but if it were, he would have to understand my feelings on the matter. If he couldn’t accept them – we wouldn’t get married.
My mom would counter: What if it is important to his mother? Or his grandmother?
Me: I think I would be concerned that he was putting his mother’s feelings in front of my own.
And no, I’m not kidding. This is taken from an actual conversation I had with my mother.
I even took it a step further. It was a personal affront to me when Douche Bag said he could never date a smoker. Never mind that I hadn’t had a cigarette in more than a year and DB knew I had been a smoker. I still saw red and remember those words ringing in my ears a couple nights later when I asked Bridie if I could bum a cigarette from her.
Yes, my fear of changing for a guy is so powerful, that I would actually pick back up a deadly habit just so I could then crow that I won’t let a man tell me what I can and can’t do.
Keeping this aversion to change in mind, I am sure you will believe me now when I say I have no intention of changing myself just so I can find someone. Instead, my post was about how I now realize that once I meet that someone special, I will probably change
I have even started my list of areas where I would be willing to bend. As predicted it isn’t very long.
This probably seems like a no-brainer to most of you and you are wondering why I would even need to blog about such an obvious realization (let alone blog about it twice). Maybe you are even questioning my intellect because it took me so long to discover this.
Let me explain. In the past, nothing has frightened me more (not even cats) than the idea of a guy changing me. Before this realization, I couldn’t stand when my friends changed for guys. I would gag when I got into a friend’s car and heard them blaring the latest CD from their latest boyfriend’s favorite band. I would roll my eyes when one of them would show up for a run wearing a ball cap from their boyfriend’s favorite baseball team.
Now mind you, the friend with the new CD loves music, and the band was pretty good. The friend with the baseball hat has no soul and therefore never followed baseball before she met her now-husband. So it wasn’t as if they were putting aside their thoughts and feelings on a particular matter to side with their current beau. But at the time I couldn’t see that.
Meanwhile, when I would declare to my mother that I would probably never get married, but if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be in a church, and she would ask, what if it is important to your fiancé? My response: well, I can’t imagine it would be important to my fiancé, but if it were, he would have to understand my feelings on the matter. If he couldn’t accept them – we wouldn’t get married.
My mom would counter: What if it is important to his mother? Or his grandmother?
Me: I think I would be concerned that he was putting his mother’s feelings in front of my own.
And no, I’m not kidding. This is taken from an actual conversation I had with my mother.
I even took it a step further. It was a personal affront to me when Douche Bag said he could never date a smoker. Never mind that I hadn’t had a cigarette in more than a year and DB knew I had been a smoker. I still saw red and remember those words ringing in my ears a couple nights later when I asked Bridie if I could bum a cigarette from her.
Yes, my fear of changing for a guy is so powerful, that I would actually pick back up a deadly habit just so I could then crow that I won’t let a man tell me what I can and can’t do.
Keeping this aversion to change in mind, I am sure you will believe me now when I say I have no intention of changing myself just so I can find someone. Instead, my post was about how I now realize that once I meet that someone special, I will probably change
I have even started my list of areas where I would be willing to bend. As predicted it isn’t very long.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Change Me
I have been thinking a lot about relationships recently. For the first time in my brief history on this planet, more of my friends are in relationships than are single (unless of course you count eighth grade when everyone but me had a boyfriend). And as I thought about these friends and their relationships and talked to other friends (and sometimes my mom), I started to see a common theme. Well, I didn't really see it as first. It was more like I could feel there was something there that I was missing. Like looking at one of those 3-D pictures they have at the fair. You stare and stare and you know you are suppose to see a sailboat, but you just don't.
Until you do.
I was going over a recent conversation I had with one of my few remaining single girlfriends. We were talking about a mutual acquaintance and his relationship and she said, rather cynically, “I doubt that is what he signed on for when he joined Match.com.”
I’m sure she was right. I’m sure when he pictured in his mind the sort of relationship he wanted, the one he was currently in didn’t spring to mind. At the same time, our mutual acquaintance didn’t seem the least bit bitter. Quite the opposite – he is happy and excited. And why shouldn’t he be? He is in love, I argued with myself. He has found an amazing and wonderful woman that loves him and wants to spend the rest of her life with him. So he will be a little inconvenienced for a bit. Is that really worth giving up all the rest of it?
That is when it hit me – like an apple falling from the tree that I was resting under – maybe the only way we can fit together is if we are all willing to adjust. And by all, I really mean me.
Now, I have long given up on the whole idea of a soul mate – that there is one perfect person out there for all of us. Until that moment, though, I did believe there was someone out there that was going to love me just the way I am. That he was going to fit perfectly into my lovely little life I created and I was going to fit just as neatly into his.
As I typed that I realized my silliness makes looking for one’s soul mate seem practical.
We have all heard countless times that you can’t expect to change someone. This is typically given to us as advice when we are annoyed or frustrated with a partner. Sometimes, as if often the case with my mom, it is given more as an I-told-you-so. Either way, we have heard it so many times we have all accepted it to be true – and who are we kidding? It is true. But somewhere along the line, I got to believing that the inverse was all true. That so long as I don’t expect to change someone, I won’t be expected to change. However, I’m beginning to understand that I got this bit wrong (and algebra has once again failed to serve any practical purpose in my life).
I’m still working through all the details and consequences of my realization. For instance, what are things that I am willing to change? What are things I am absolutely unwilling to change? (I imagine this list will be quite a bit longer). How much change can still be called “good change”? My guess is it comes when you wake up one morning and no longer recognize yourself in the mirror (or worse, no longer like who you see staring back at you). Or maybe it goes back to that list of things you are absolutely unwilling to change. If you find yourself compromising on more and more of those items, your change has gone bad.
Of course these are just theories as I have never bent on anything in a relationship. (Insert bad joke about bending over plenty of things here if you must. But keep ‘em clean folks, my dad reads this blog).
Until you do.
I was going over a recent conversation I had with one of my few remaining single girlfriends. We were talking about a mutual acquaintance and his relationship and she said, rather cynically, “I doubt that is what he signed on for when he joined Match.com.”
I’m sure she was right. I’m sure when he pictured in his mind the sort of relationship he wanted, the one he was currently in didn’t spring to mind. At the same time, our mutual acquaintance didn’t seem the least bit bitter. Quite the opposite – he is happy and excited. And why shouldn’t he be? He is in love, I argued with myself. He has found an amazing and wonderful woman that loves him and wants to spend the rest of her life with him. So he will be a little inconvenienced for a bit. Is that really worth giving up all the rest of it?
That is when it hit me – like an apple falling from the tree that I was resting under – maybe the only way we can fit together is if we are all willing to adjust. And by all, I really mean me.
Now, I have long given up on the whole idea of a soul mate – that there is one perfect person out there for all of us. Until that moment, though, I did believe there was someone out there that was going to love me just the way I am. That he was going to fit perfectly into my lovely little life I created and I was going to fit just as neatly into his.
As I typed that I realized my silliness makes looking for one’s soul mate seem practical.
We have all heard countless times that you can’t expect to change someone. This is typically given to us as advice when we are annoyed or frustrated with a partner. Sometimes, as if often the case with my mom, it is given more as an I-told-you-so. Either way, we have heard it so many times we have all accepted it to be true – and who are we kidding? It is true. But somewhere along the line, I got to believing that the inverse was all true. That so long as I don’t expect to change someone, I won’t be expected to change. However, I’m beginning to understand that I got this bit wrong (and algebra has once again failed to serve any practical purpose in my life).
I’m still working through all the details and consequences of my realization. For instance, what are things that I am willing to change? What are things I am absolutely unwilling to change? (I imagine this list will be quite a bit longer). How much change can still be called “good change”? My guess is it comes when you wake up one morning and no longer recognize yourself in the mirror (or worse, no longer like who you see staring back at you). Or maybe it goes back to that list of things you are absolutely unwilling to change. If you find yourself compromising on more and more of those items, your change has gone bad.
Of course these are just theories as I have never bent on anything in a relationship. (Insert bad joke about bending over plenty of things here if you must. But keep ‘em clean folks, my dad reads this blog).
An Open Letter to AT&T
Dear AT&T,
I noticed on Sunday that you renamed the Pattison station, AT&T station. I’m not going to point out to you just how ridiculous this is and that no one will actually call it AT&T station, but instead will continue to call it Pattison station. Much like the way no one calls MLK Drive anything but West River (well, except those few individuals who are new to the area and get lost when anyone gives them directions involving West River).
I do have one question, though. Why is it, on Sunday, on my way home from the Eagles’ game, I couldn’t send or receive any text messages while I waited for the northbound local? Meanwhile, Marie, who has Verizon, had no problems. I would think, while standing in a station named after my wireless carrier, I would be the one with the better service.
Just curious.
Yours,
Tati
I noticed on Sunday that you renamed the Pattison station, AT&T station. I’m not going to point out to you just how ridiculous this is and that no one will actually call it AT&T station, but instead will continue to call it Pattison station. Much like the way no one calls MLK Drive anything but West River (well, except those few individuals who are new to the area and get lost when anyone gives them directions involving West River).
I do have one question, though. Why is it, on Sunday, on my way home from the Eagles’ game, I couldn’t send or receive any text messages while I waited for the northbound local? Meanwhile, Marie, who has Verizon, had no problems. I would think, while standing in a station named after my wireless carrier, I would be the one with the better service.
Just curious.
Yours,
Tati
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A Whole Generation of Guys
I had two really interesting conversations with two very different friends about relationships this past week.
It started on my way home from dinner with some friends. I was planning on walking home, but it was getting late and I really have to stop pretending I live in a super-safe neighborhood. So when my friend, Kelly, offered me a ride, I accepted.
Because we were out with a group, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to catch up with Kelly. So, as soon as we were in the car, I asked her about work, her home, her running, and then her boyfriend.
“Oh, we’re not together any more.”
You know how there are friend’s relationships that when you hear they have ended you aren’t surprised, but you sort of have to act surprise – at least at first? Well, this wasn’t one of them. I was genuinely shocked they weren’t together anymore and so I had to follow up.
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, I considered for a minute that he actually disappeared. Like in some freak Manhattan Experiment or alien abduction. And because I was intrigued by the chance that these things actually could happen, I asked, “What do you mean he disappeared?”
“He disappeared. One day he just stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped e-mailing. And he wasn’t returning my phone calls or text messages or e-mails. He just disappeared.”
I was speechless.
“Then, one day, he did pick up the phone when I called and said that he has just been really busy and trying to focus his life and he just doesn’t think he has time for me in it.”
I have to admit I was disappointed to learn he didn’t actually disappear. For a moment I dared to hope that boy disease wasn’t the epidemic I feared. That maybe, just maybe, men really are disappearing.
“And what? He didn’t think you earned the right to know about this decision?”
Kelly sighed. “The problem is we are surrounded by an entire generation of guys. Not men. But too old to be boys. Just guys.”
An entire generation of guys. I felt as if I had stumbled upon a small truth. Like my life would never be the same now that I knew this.
She continued, “They refuse to be grown-ups. They don’t want to settle down, buy a house, be responsible. They want to play and not make decisions and just not care about the consequences.”
Kelly pulled her car to the curb and I realized I was home. I wanted to sit in her car and continue to discuss what more she knew about this generation of guys. But I knew we both had to get up early the next day and so I promised myself to bring it up the next time I had her alone.
Then, a couple of days later, e-mailing with one of my close male friends, Bob, the conversation turned to our respective love lives. Bob asked me about mine and, remembering my conversation with Kelly I said, “I think the problem is I’m surrounded by a generation of guys.” (Of course I gave Kelly credit for naming my plight).
Bob responded back that women were partly to blame. That the movie Say Anything ruined a whole generation of men because women wanted that. They wanted drama. And love shouldn’t be about drama. He then went on to say that women can be selfish (something I don’t disagree with, but I also think selfishness has a certain virtue to it) and that women in their 30s are acting like they are in their 20s.
I didn’t disagree with anything Bob said, though I did wonder if I shouldn’t point out that men started it when they decided that they were better off as bachelors and started spending all their money on hair products and baseball games and going to clubs and not settling down with the woman that loved them, instead holding out for that something better that was sure to come along.
However, I refrained. Because I knew he could come right back at me that women started it when we started taking on traditional male roles in the relationship (e.g., the breadwinner) leaving men confused and insecure. And on and on we would go and really nothing would get solved.
He also added, toward the end of e-mail, that he believes relationships come down to two things – chemistry and timing.
For the second time in a week I felt like my life would never be the same.
If you are anything like me, you sometimes sit around, maybe with a bottle of wine, wondering why all your past relationships have failed? What if it is all just a matter of timing and chemistry? What if right now (or back then as the case may be) you had great chemistry with someone but it just couldn’t work because the timing wasn’t right. Or maybe the timing was perfect, but without chemistry why bother?
Sadly, I fear, for most of us (and by us, I mean single women who have their lives pretty much together and are now looking for someone to share the life with) we are surrounded by a generation of guys. So the timing could be off for quite some time.
Oh and before you ask, yes, you can expect a couple more blogs about this idea of a generation of guys. And probably a couple on timing and chemistry. So if you disagree or are already bored of these topics (this was a long post after all), I suggest you not check back for awhile.
I’ll even do you the favor of announcing on Twitter when I have tired of the subject. Promise.
It started on my way home from dinner with some friends. I was planning on walking home, but it was getting late and I really have to stop pretending I live in a super-safe neighborhood. So when my friend, Kelly, offered me a ride, I accepted.
Because we were out with a group, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to catch up with Kelly. So, as soon as we were in the car, I asked her about work, her home, her running, and then her boyfriend.
“Oh, we’re not together any more.”
You know how there are friend’s relationships that when you hear they have ended you aren’t surprised, but you sort of have to act surprise – at least at first? Well, this wasn’t one of them. I was genuinely shocked they weren’t together anymore and so I had to follow up.
“What happened?”
“He disappeared.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, I considered for a minute that he actually disappeared. Like in some freak Manhattan Experiment or alien abduction. And because I was intrigued by the chance that these things actually could happen, I asked, “What do you mean he disappeared?”
“He disappeared. One day he just stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped e-mailing. And he wasn’t returning my phone calls or text messages or e-mails. He just disappeared.”
I was speechless.
“Then, one day, he did pick up the phone when I called and said that he has just been really busy and trying to focus his life and he just doesn’t think he has time for me in it.”
I have to admit I was disappointed to learn he didn’t actually disappear. For a moment I dared to hope that boy disease wasn’t the epidemic I feared. That maybe, just maybe, men really are disappearing.
“And what? He didn’t think you earned the right to know about this decision?”
Kelly sighed. “The problem is we are surrounded by an entire generation of guys. Not men. But too old to be boys. Just guys.”
An entire generation of guys. I felt as if I had stumbled upon a small truth. Like my life would never be the same now that I knew this.
She continued, “They refuse to be grown-ups. They don’t want to settle down, buy a house, be responsible. They want to play and not make decisions and just not care about the consequences.”
Kelly pulled her car to the curb and I realized I was home. I wanted to sit in her car and continue to discuss what more she knew about this generation of guys. But I knew we both had to get up early the next day and so I promised myself to bring it up the next time I had her alone.
Then, a couple of days later, e-mailing with one of my close male friends, Bob, the conversation turned to our respective love lives. Bob asked me about mine and, remembering my conversation with Kelly I said, “I think the problem is I’m surrounded by a generation of guys.” (Of course I gave Kelly credit for naming my plight).
Bob responded back that women were partly to blame. That the movie Say Anything ruined a whole generation of men because women wanted that. They wanted drama. And love shouldn’t be about drama. He then went on to say that women can be selfish (something I don’t disagree with, but I also think selfishness has a certain virtue to it) and that women in their 30s are acting like they are in their 20s.
I didn’t disagree with anything Bob said, though I did wonder if I shouldn’t point out that men started it when they decided that they were better off as bachelors and started spending all their money on hair products and baseball games and going to clubs and not settling down with the woman that loved them, instead holding out for that something better that was sure to come along.
However, I refrained. Because I knew he could come right back at me that women started it when we started taking on traditional male roles in the relationship (e.g., the breadwinner) leaving men confused and insecure. And on and on we would go and really nothing would get solved.
He also added, toward the end of e-mail, that he believes relationships come down to two things – chemistry and timing.
For the second time in a week I felt like my life would never be the same.
If you are anything like me, you sometimes sit around, maybe with a bottle of wine, wondering why all your past relationships have failed? What if it is all just a matter of timing and chemistry? What if right now (or back then as the case may be) you had great chemistry with someone but it just couldn’t work because the timing wasn’t right. Or maybe the timing was perfect, but without chemistry why bother?
Sadly, I fear, for most of us (and by us, I mean single women who have their lives pretty much together and are now looking for someone to share the life with) we are surrounded by a generation of guys. So the timing could be off for quite some time.
Oh and before you ask, yes, you can expect a couple more blogs about this idea of a generation of guys. And probably a couple on timing and chemistry. So if you disagree or are already bored of these topics (this was a long post after all), I suggest you not check back for awhile.
I’ll even do you the favor of announcing on Twitter when I have tired of the subject. Promise.
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