At Least My Mom Thinks I'm Hot

I am an only child of divorced parents.  I was raised by my mom, and she believed the sun rose and fell at my feet.  She told me I was smart and special and could do anything I wanted.  One of the most difficult parts of life after college was realizing that a lot of what she’d told me only contained a sliver of the truth—I would not get any job I applied for, I wasn’t necessarily meant for great things.  Like most people, I am destined to live a mostly average life. 

The mom-lie she told me that is only really sinking in lately is the lie about my appearance.  If the rest of the world saw me the way my mom does, I would not be single at 31.  My mom believes I am beautiful.  When I’m having a conversation with her about cleaning my apartment, she’ll interrupt me to tell me how pretty my hair is even though it’s frizzy and up in a ponytail.  When we go out to restaurants, she believes that every man is turning his head to look at me.  And when I have talked with her about men I’ve been interested in who wanted nothing to do with me romantically, she never believes it has anything to do with my extra fat cells or big nose or squinty eyes.

I’ve never believed I am hot.  I’ve always been humbled by the beauty of my friends and the attention they received from the opposite sex.  Growing up, it let me know, at the very least, that I was not destined to be a model or to date the hot guys.  And this was good.  Because I didn’t garner male attention, I focused on my studies, learned how to be a great friend, and cultivated my mind, a rich inner life, a fierce independence and sense of humor.  I think I’ve turned into a pretty awesome person to know, if I may say so myself. 

Even though I never believed I was hot, I never thought I was ugly.  At least not until recently.  After many years of not really hanging out with single women at all, or at least not with single women in a larger group of people, I made a single lady friend.  This friend is tall and skinny and tan and blonde—very pretty.  People are always telling her how pretty she is, too.  They talk about fixing her up with their single friends.  They wonder aloud how it is possible that she is still single.  Men clearly are giving her the eye.  As for me?  No one makes mention of their single male friends to me or comments on my appearance at all.  I might as well be invisible except for a few silly comments I throw into a conversation here and there. 

It’s started to make me wonder just how unattractive I actually am.  I think because of my level of security with my personality and intelligence I have body dysmorphia, only instead of believing I’m much fatter than I am, I think I’m thinner.  Maybe my hair is scragglier than I imagine.  Maybe I have more than just the 2^nd chin I see in the mirror.  Perhaps people can barely see my eyeballs at all for how narrow they are.  Is it possible that my lips are actually so thin that I just look like some old lady without her teeth in every time I talk? 

I’ve always wanted to find a man who appreciates me for who I am inside, but is that even possible without a pretty package to lure him in?  I don’t have any answers, only dateless nights.  All I can do is tell myself my own lies and hold out hope that I can find a man who sees me through the eyes of my mom.

Summar Slump

Today is my first official day of summar.  No, that's not a spelling error; only pronouncing it "summar" gives summer the proper amount of simultaneous excitement and dread that a single teacher like me experiences at the start of this season each year.

One of the reasons you become a teacher, apart from wanting to help kids and stuff, is the guaranteed vacation time: three days at Thanksgiving, two weeks at Christmas, a week for spring break, and a little more than two months off every summer.  What they don't tell you is that you won't be able to survive in the teaching profession without all that time away all the demands of the job.  And they definitely won't tell you about the summer slump.

In my first several years of summer vacation as a teacher, I didn't have this sense of dread.  I went into summer like a kid, excited about spending time at the pool, sleeping in, and hanging out with my friends.  I spent those first few summers as a seasonal alcoholic with friends who were still in undergrad, grad school or who were just loafing about until they figured out life.  That kind of stuff is still socially acceptable when you're 24. Not so much when you're 31.

The further you get away from college, the fewer friends you have who are able to hang out with you in the middle of the day.  It can become a lonely, lonely time filled with conversations with your cat, not-showering and sleeping like a factory worker on the night shift.  You can really lose your sense of time, place and self.  Sure, there are other teachers you could hang out with, but the truth is that as much as you need a break from students, you also kind of need a break from coworkers by the time June rolls around.  There's also the high probability that most of those coworkers have children, which greatly affects either the activities available or their available time.

And the older you get, the more you realize that you really should be spending some of that down time taking care of adult responsibilities like getting your oil changed in your car because it probably resembles hot fudge by this point.  I'm not sure if this habit comes from my Midwestern mother who has probably the craziest work ethic on the planet, but summer has become a time of goals for me.  Goals I rarely accomplish, but goals nonetheless.  Here are this summer's goals to meet some adult responsibilities and stay busy enough to avoid the summer slump:

Lose the weight I gained over the course of the school year
This school year I made the decision to sponsor the student council at our high school.  It was an effort to find a new challenge, and, boy, did I find one.  The magnitude of what I'd taken on hit me sometime in September, which is when I started stress eating and avoiding the gym because of sheer exhaustion by the time I left work.  By the end of the year, it was a rewarding experience; however, I carry around a pound to help me remember each of my StuCo officers.  As much as I want to remember those kids, I don't need to carry around the extra baggage.

Use all of the Groupons and gift certificates I've accumulated 
Here's more of a glimpse into my neuroses--I have five Google calendars, people.  Five. One for student council--coded green.  One for work appointments--coded blue.  One to schedule in grading time because it's impossible to get all the grading of an English teacher completed during school hours--coded red.  One for training (clearly I didn't stick to that one very well this year)--coded orange.  And, finally, one for my own social calendar--coded purple.  While I am able to be social during the school year, it takes a lot of planning to make it happen and it's difficult to squeeze in unexpected events sometimes.  And my eyes are bigger than the free space in my calendar.  This year I've purchased Groupons for Dolce Vita (eek!  It expires tomorrow!), The Melting Pot, and a pottery class for two.  I've also been gifted a generous gift certificate for cooking classes at The Silver Whisk and a gift card for an Aveda salon.  Time to mark those things on my calendar!

Write more
When I started this blog, I set some goals for myself, none of which I've met.  It's time to finally write the saga of Hotel San Jose, for cryinoutloud.

Read more
Through the accountability of my book club and a long-distance friend, I've managed to read a few books over the course of the school year.  But now it's time to devour them.  Some of my favorite summers have consisted of me and a series of books keeping each other company until the wee hours of the morning.  It's time to curl up with David Sedaris, Margaret Atwood, and many others to have a giant literary orgy again.

Ensure that I no longer have summers off
I'm sure there are people reading this who hate me a little for complaining about summer.  All I can tell you is that I hope to no longer have summer vacation by the end of this summer break.  My plan is to spend at least part of each day working to find a new job (today I bookmarked a bunch of jobs for which I'll be applying in the coming week--check!).  As much as I've loved the creative aspects of teaching, enjoyed the relationships I've formed, honed my craft, and developed a love/hate relationship with summers, it's time for me to try something new.  At least until I long for summers again.

The Perks of Being a Fat Girl

Mama's big boned-ed, y'all.

(Mama is me, in case you didn't know)

I've been overweight since I was about 11.  There are countless complaints I could attempt to innumerate like: listening to skinny bitches complain about how fat they are, listening to skinny bitches talk about their eating habits, listening to skinny bitches comment about how fat other skinny bitches are, and other things about skinny bitches.

However, instead of focusing on the more annoying, sometimes downright maddening, issues related to being a larger lady, I've decided to begin my blog commentary about life as a fat girl by discussing some of the brighter points of this life I've led.

Now, in case you're thinking, Lisa, you skinny bitch, you aren't fat! here's my statement of truth about my size:  I've hovered between the heavy side of normal and the lower side of obese on the BMI chart for my height and fluctuated between the larger sizes in the women's section and the lower sizes in the WOMEN's section since high school.  So, no, I'm not as large as some ladies, but I'm definitely not skinny.

Now, here are the perks I've experienced as a lady of size:

Cushioning
Two weeks ago, I was trying to not let a cat out of a friend's house, missed a concrete step while walking backwards and went crashing down on my derriere.  Now, if I was a twig, I'm convinced I would have snapped in half.  Instead, I landed with a buoyancy that let the rest of my body sort of float to the ground.  I came away with only a sore rear end and not the concussion I surely would have had without my layer of fat.  Cats and children also seem to enjoy the extra layer of love I carry around.  It's good for napping, apparently.

Feeling Secure
Speaking of others who love the layers, don't forget men.  Now, not every man likes a little cushion for the pushin', but the ones who do...really do.  I don't think I'm really large enough to attract men who like the Big Beautiful Women, but, wow, those men really dig some bigger ladies.  They seem to worship them with a fervor that you don't see in men who like your average size 6 woman.

Also, I've never worried that a man was only after me for my looks in the way that my blonde, size 2, model-like friend may have worried.  I generally feel pretty confident that the men who are interested in me may find me attractive, but mostly they like my intelligence, humor or some other aspect of my personality.  And I usually feel pretty confident that they are secure enough in their own manhood to date a woman who does not necessarily fit society's version of beauty.

Being a Ringer
Nobody expects the fat girl to be good at sports.  So when you run a 10K, people give you a ton of support.  And when you play volleyball, the other team doesn't usually expect you to be able to break serves or spike the ball.  I've used this misconception about chunkiness to my advantage since I used to kick ass on the soccer field.  Plus, I could knock the other girls down with a quick jab of my powerful hips if i wanted.

Singing (and Dancing) Along to "Bootylicious" 
There are songs that skinny bitches will never fully understand.  Destiny's Child's "Bootylicious" is my favorite of them all.  In college, my best friend and I changed the lyrics to cause my body's too flab-ilicious for ya babe.

I shake my jelly at every chance
When I whip with my hips, you slip into a trance
I'm hoping you can handle all this jelly that I have[...]
I don't think you're ready for this jelly

Being Friends with Skinny Bitches
There's a lot of competition in the world of women.  I don't think we always know what we're competing for, but we're doin' it.  And doing it with all the passive aggressiveness we can muster, dammit.   But the nice part of being flabby is that a lot of women do not view you as a threat when it comes to men.  Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think I've moved in and out of circles of female friends with much more ease than if I'd been a size 4 and hot.  Everyone trusts the chubby girl!

Eating
Sure, plenty of people judge you when you're chubby and you order dessert at dinner even though everyone else in your party is doing the same.  But at the same time, you got chubby for a reason: you allow yourself to actually eat (and maybe you go overboard sometimes).  I watch some of my thinner friends count calories, workout tirelessly, and pull out their hair to remain thin.  I've been there during times when I've tried to lose weight, and it can become all consuming and, frankly, can take some of the joy out of life.  Not being as stringent with my food means that I can say yes to a request to meet someone for brunch or I can have a few beers.  And, best of all, I'm not that whiny girl who clearly wants to eat a piece of cheesecake but just picks at it or stares at it longingly whilst drinking her ice water with cucumber for flavor.


The Boobs
This is probably my favorite part of being a chubby girl.  When I lose weight, my boobs feel droopy and sad like all their friends the fat cells moved away and they can't seem to perk up from the loss.  But when I'm a little chunkier, my breasts feel like two torpedoes ready to fire jiggly hotness in any second at the next man who glances at my decolletage.


And, finally...

You get to say big boned-ed.

Hey fellow chunky gals, what are some of the perks I left out?

The Internet Dating Chronicles: Eh. Just OkCupid

Before I dive into more dating stories, I want to pause and talk about OkCupid.

OkCupid embodies the phrase: you get what you pay for.  (It's a free site.)  

I've had an OkCupid account for about 4 years now, though I've activated and deactivated it so often that it's probably only been available to the mens a total of one year.  I find the site appalling but feel compelled to look at it often when my account is active for reasons that I do not understand.  

I'm a fan of lists.  Here are the benefits and detriments of OkCupid:


Benefits:

• It’s free!  When you inevitably do not find the love of your life through the site, you don't feel bitter and dead on the inside because of how undesirable the opposite sex seems to find you.
• More creative freedom.  The questions asked when creating your profile are much more open and allow for a greater word count in the response section than eHarmony.  This means it’s possible to get more of a sense of someone’s personality from looking at his profile.  Check out the bulleted list (my favorite kind of list!) I made on my profile.  Plus, you know that if he really didn’t fill in anything at all, he really doesn’t give a shit.

Bulleted list within a bulleted list.  I'm so meta.

• You can look at anyone’s profile.  With eHarmony, I can only look at the people the program has matched me with at the rate at which they decide to deliver them to me, but OkCupid lets you look at anyone in the world regardless of age, match status, gender, or location.
• You go straight to the messaging.  There’s no multiple choice question section.  Once you start communicating with someone, it’s often within a week that you meet up at some bar around town.
• Fun quizzes and questions!  The part of me that is still a 15-year-old girl loves that there are all sorts of personality quizzes on the site.  When am I going to die?  When I'm 78.  What is my dating persona? The sonnet (whatever that means).  What type of man turns me on?  The mystery man.  Quality stuff for procrastination.  Once I answered a series of sex-related questions in a row and forgot to answer privately; my activity was posted on OkCupid and I was extremely popular for about an hour...oops.

But does the way this person answers about kids correlate to how much privacy they'll give a partner?  Tricky.

Detriments:

• It's time consuming.  There’s a lot of sorting that has to happen if you’re taking a proactive approach. Since it’s free, it seems that everyone and his brother has signed up for the service.  Some of these guys are super active and others create a page and then rarely come back to it.  It’s also just a larger pool of users and you can access them at any time. 
• It makes you feel unworthy. OkCupid classifies its users into leagues according to how many people have rated your looks or personality highly.  This doesn’t mean that you can’t search and find people in a higher league than your own, but it does take more work.  And it’s kind of depressing to look at the matches on your list and realize they’re a reflection of how the opposite gender views you.  From what I can tell, I’m about a 4 on a scale of 1-10 in the world of OkCupid.  
• Less monitoring.  OkCupid isn’t always great at monitoring uploaded pictures the way eHamony is.  I’ve seen a few penises in my time on the site…
• Kockamamy matching and labeling.  The algorithms used for creating match percentages is flawed, in my opinion.  OkCupid uses multiple choice questions created by users to who is a good match.  Users are presented with a question like “How willing are you to try something new in bed?” or “Would you ever get an abortion?” that they answer.  Then, you decide which answer selections would be acceptable from a possible match and select how important that question is to you.  Are these really good indicators for a love connection?  The tricky part is that anything you rate as being really important or mandatory, often shows up in a tab called “personality” on your profile.  Something I answered led to me having a “more kinky” label on my personality tab, which led to a bunch of weird dudes sending me messages.

Here's my personality, according to OkCupid.

• Serial daters and dudes just looking for hookups.  OkCupid is not necessarily the place where people looking for serious relationships should flock.  Yes, it does give you the option of stating if you are looking for new friends, activity partners, casual sex, short term dating or long term dating, but people lie.  I went out with a guy who was supposedly looking for new friends who only wanted to get in my pants, and I went out with a guy who was supposedly looking for long term dating who only wanted to get in my patns.  There are also, clearly, guys spamming the inboxes of the women in their match list.  Why in the world would I reply to someone who cut and paste the same message into several messages and then maybe added one little P.S. that related to me as a human being?  Gross.  

Through OkCupid, I've met some of the worst, most disrespectful or awkward men and also some of the most interesting.  I don't think this is where I'll meet my ultimate match, but it's absolutely a good place to find a date.    For anyone looking to get back in the saddle of dating after a divorce, break-up or long ass dry spell, I highly recommend the site.  It allows you to wade in slowly by browsing profiles and ignoring messages or to jump into the freezing water all at once by meeting the first person who contacts you.  

The Internet Dating Chronicles: Fish Lips

So I lied in my post about eHarmony when I said that I only went out with one teacher.  I forgot all about the guy that started it all.

Fish Lips and I met on OkCupid back in 2009.  At the time, I was probably the heaviest I've ever been, but I was experiencing a surge of interest in fashion and jewelry that boosted my confidence enough to finally giving internet dating a go.

I was also completely immersed in my job as an English teacher and thought that my ideal mate would share my choice of profession.  I imagined us sitting to grade together on weekends, bitching about "our kids" at dinner and chaperoning prom together.  So when Fish Lips showed up as a high match according to OkCupid's cocamamy algorithms, and he was a math teacher, and he was a heavier-set gentleman, I thought--perfect!  At the very least, we'd have something to talk about; we're both fat teachers!

Friends who talked like old pros about the unwritten rules of internet dating instructed me to try to ensure that the first date is as low key as possible.  You wanted the first meeting to go one of two ways:

1. You realize quickly that you don't like each other and end the evening politely after one drink, be it coffee, tea, beer, wine or even a glass of water before a meal comes out, or
2. You realize you like each other and take the options of extending the evening somehow--add an appetizer, a meal, a dessert, or have the ability to easily, and safely, walk someplace else to keep the night from ending.

I took their words as gospel truth and chose The Gingerman as the location of the date.  It was dark.  I knew it well.  And we decided to meet on a Sunday evening, so it was the least datey date possible, except if we'd gone to Sunday brunch or a funeral or something.

Since this was the first date I'd ever been on with a stranger, I agonized over what to wear.  I didn't want to overdo it, but I didn't want to look like I didn't care.  After trying on who knows how many outfits, I settled on a black dress, black tights, and what I referred to as my kissy boots.  Looking back, this is the kind of outfit one wears to impress girlfriends, not the kind to wow a new potential mate with legs and boobs and booty.  I'm pretty sure I looked like a nun wearing hiking boots--an Alpine nun.  

I could have at least chosen some sexier boots...
Photo Source: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_luvkfmRVPe1qdz26to1_500.jpg

One of the quirks of my personality, which I like to think my friends and family have come to view as endearing, is my punctuality incessant early arrival to any event.  This especially becomes the case when I'm doing something out of my comfort zone--going to a new place where I have to find parking, going to a place I've been to several times but at a different time or day of the week, and meeting new people.  Getting there early, wherever "there" is, calms me.  It gives me time to stop sweating before people arrive because, let's face it, I'll be sweating.  It allows me to be the one to choose where we'll sit, a place where I won't be distracted by TVs or a lot of traffic flow.  And it allows me to do some nerdy self-talk and preparation on a date.  The night with Fish Lips was when that habit started.  The inner dialogue goes something like this:

Stop sweating.  Stop sweating.  Are there napkins around so I can dab the sweat?  Do I need to go to the bathroom?  Better go to the bathroom before he shows.  I can check to see if the sweat is noticeable, too.  Ok, you just look dewy...for now.  Better sit still for a while.  Breathe.  Deep breaths.  Ok, so what can we talk about?  We're both teachers.  There's that.  I just saw insert movie title here.  We can talk about what we've done over the winter break.  That should fill a half hour, right?  Maybe I'll get a beer before he shows... Is that him?  No.  Is that him?  No.  Maybe he's not going to show and I can just go home.  Oh, look, that's him.  Here we go.

By the time Fish Lips showed up, I think I'd actually ordered a beer already and was about a quarter of the way down the pint glass.  I'm sure I appeared cool and collected, but inside my stomach was doing flip flops.

But the flip flops weren't the good kind that also make you tingly all over just a little.  There was no first-meeting-sweatiness with Fish Lips.  Nope, I was not attracted to him.  

Here's the deal, though.  There have been men in my life who I was not attracted to at all when I first met them and then became incredibly attracted to as I got to know them as people.  And I'm a teacher, I'm bred to give people the benefit of the doubt and a bazillion chances before I really give up on them.  

So I spent my half hour with Fish Lips, like my seasoned internet dating friends suggested, and we had some somewhat interesting conversation about teaching.  We discovered we had a mutual acquaintance.  He told me that most people assumed he was a mean guy because his lips were perpetually stuck into kind of a frowny face, and we bonded over that because people always think I'm angry or bitchy when they first see me.  

In my head, this is what his lips were like.
Photo Source: http://files.coveringthemouse.com/images/uts03.jpg

So I agreed to another beer.  And another.  And after about an hour to an hour and a half, the conversation was coming to a slow and painful halt while my intoxication level was slowly making its way past the point of tipsy.  By now, I knew I was not interested in Fish Lips.  We were not a match, we just had a profession in common.  But then he suggested we get food.  My beer addled brain knew my sloshy stomach needed sustenance.  And so I committed the unthinkable act--I went with him to a second location.

By the time we walked out of the bar and onto the street, I could tell that he was thinking this was going pretty well.  I must have pretended to be interested in what he had to say pretty well--must be all the practice pretending to care about what my students talk about.  In any case, based on his proximity to my side as we walked through the December cold, he was definitely interested in holding hands.  I kept mine in my pockets.

He didn't have a place in mind (another sign that he was not the one for me; I like a planner), so we ended up at Jo's.  We're probably three hours into the date at this point (All you internet daters are shaking your heads at me right now, I can feel it.  I should have cut it off by now!).  We split a sandwich and chips, another stupid move on my part.  While we're sitting and eating, he starts making veiled comments about sex, which make me uncomfortable.  Not because of the sex, but because I know now that I have definitely led him to think that I'm, like, super interested.  And I'm not.  

But it'd apparently been so long since any man expressed interest in me that by the time he walked me to my car, four hours after our date had begun, I was exhausted and full of beer and pastrami and when he asked if he could kiss me, I thought, why not?

That is no way to begin a lip lock, friends.  Suddenly, I realized how much larger his head was than mine.  And how huge and u-shaped his lips were.  When his lips met mine, they didn't move.  At all.  But they were open, which for some reason, I took as a cue to French a little.  So we stood there on 2nd Street: me, mashing my thin lips against his stoically frowning mouth.  Thinking of it now, four years later, it still makes me shudder in horror.  It was the worst kiss of my life, both because of the technical awfulness of it (the Russian judge gives it a 2.7) and because I felt so uncomfortable but just couldn't stop for some reason.  It was like I was just hoping he would move those lips at some point, but he never did.  It was like kissing this guy:

Photo Source: http://www.progressivekitch.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/sadfish.jpg

The worst part is that he must have enjoyed it.  He contacted me the next day to see if I wanted to meet up with him again.  Finally, after all that, I did the thing I should have done 30 minutes into our date and politely told him that I thought he was a nice guy but that I didn't think he was the guy for me.

And that is how I started my internet dating experience.  Reflecting on it, I think it went so terribly because I was not being myself.  I was being the woman-who-goes-out-on-dates, trying to play that part.  I was doing what I thought I should do, instead of what my guts were telling me.  And, even though I let the date continue on that long out of my own fear of being mean by saying I wasn't interested, ultimately I was meaner by not telling him early into the date that I didn't think we were a match.  I'd like to say that I learned my lesson the next time, but you'll see that that is far from the truth. It took me three years to give it another go.  I made many of the same mistakes, and more!

Next installment: Hotel San Jose

Less Good than Goodall

Photo Source:
http://www.southwestern.edu/livewhale/content/images/
30/11006_goodall_photo_web_cstuart_clarke_36ceccb23d6d0a9b0817e9531a6a8708.jpg

When you live alone, you have a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.  And when you get tired of being with your thoughts, then you must find other activities to fill your time.  One of the things I like to do with my time is attend lectures.  It's nerdy, I know, but I like that this type of event gives me more to think about when I'm alone with my thoughts.  See how that works out for me?

Austin, a university town, is a great place for this past time.  Most people just think about UT when they think of Austin, but Southwestern University in Georgetown, my alma mater, also offers some quality events to the community, many of which are free (at least they are to alumni).

One of the events Southwestern holds every year is the Shilling Lecture.  I've only been to it three times.  The first was when I saw Desmond Tutu while I was still a senior.  Last year, I went with friends to see Thomas Friedman speak.  And last night, I saw Dr. Jane Goodall give her speech called A Reason for Hope.  Of the lectures, hers was the one I was most looking forward to, even though all I really knew about her is that she's "the monkey lady" in my head (I actually even confused her with Dian Fossey, the gorilla lady--oops).  I've always loved animals--I used to sing songs to my dog Peaches in the back yard when I came home from kindergarten--and even thought of studying animal behavior when I was at Southwestern.  I went into the evening, expecting to hear stories of monkey socialization patterns, but I came away with so much more.

Something that strikes me about the people who are brought in to speak at the Shilling Lectures is how determined they are and how much conviction they have about what they're doing in their lives.  Dr. Goodall had a scientific curiosity about the world from a young age.  She had an interest in Africa as a child.  She always loved animals.  Through a series of personal connections, her own intelligence, and luck (or divine intervention?) she met Louis Leakey while she was living in Africa with a friend from England.  At the time, she did not have more than a high school education, but he was so struck with her auto-didactic knowledge that he hired her to help with one of his studies.  From there, she proved herself quite the scientist, obviously, and only went on to get her degree once her work started to become famous.

She spoke of attending a conference in the 1980s that changed her focus from living in Tanzania and studying chimps to doing what she's done for almost 30 years: traveling 300 days out of the year to raise awareness about what we are doing to the planet with the Jane Goodall Institute and organizing groups of teens to create change through a program called Roots and Shoots.

First of all, I think it's incredible that a woman who just turned 79 today travels that much.  I'm only 31, and I drag my feet trying to leave the apartment to go to the grocery store.  But it's even more amazing to me that she gave up something she loved so dearly to do good work for us all.  Her gifts led her to success; her success led to fame; fame led to an increased awareness of other issues; and awareness led to her own selflessness; her selflessness, through giving her time and giving up the work she loves, will hopefully make the world a better place.

Listening to people like Jane Goodall, knowing that they exist in the world, evokes a range of emotions for me.  The first are inspiration and awe.  It's incredible that people like her exist.  The next is gratitude.  We are so lucky to have people like her doing work like this.  A little jealousy. How do I find that same level of conviction in my life? And finally, like the good Catholic girl I am/was, guilt.  What the hell am I doing that is remotely close to this?

Looking at the faces of the college students attending the event, they still have that bright, shiny glint in their eyes that says I can change the world, just give me a chance.  I can see them sitting there, thinking about what they will invent to make our lives on this planet more sustainable or what organizations they will found that will solve the problem of poverty in Appalachia. 

I used to be like them.  I thought I could change the world.  That's why I became a teacher.  I saw myself making a difference in the lives of students--through teaching them The Canterbury Tales?  Perhaps I'm too entrenched in the day-to-day frustrations of the job at this point to see the good I do, but I have to say that I feel I've used The Teacher Card for too long when it comes to contributing to the planet.  I let it make me believe that I'm doing enough when I see commercials about starving kids or hear requests for donations to the Red Cross.

Maybe I'm too hard on myself.  I do give money to Radiolab when they ask me to text for a $10 donation.  I give any time I have cash and I see a Salvation Army Santa.  I buy one overpriced box of Girl Scout Cookies every year.  Why, just yesterday, I gave $100 to Pasta for Pennies at work.  Of course, I only did this once I found out that the school was just $100 shy of reaching our $1500 goal that would lead to our principal having to wear a crazy costume to work.  But the money still goes to Leukemia and Lymphoma research, right? \

My questions are these: how much is enough?  Is it enough to give money to different organizations?  And does it matter which organizations?  Is the money I give to NPR or PBS less good because they provide programming I enjoy?  Is donating to the arts less good than donating to the Red Cross or The American Lung Association?  And do our motives matter?  The money I give to attend a charity event still goes to charity, even though I'm having a great time, right?  Is that $100 going to be less effective because part of the reason I donated it was the vision I had in my head of my principal dressed like a clown?  Or should we just forgo the monetary donations altogether and donate our time and talents?

This is what happens when I'm alone with my thoughts.  All questions.  Not even the beginning of an answer.

My hope is that people like Jane Goodall felt as lost as I do even though they appear to have planned it all out from the beginning.  I hope that I will be able to recognize the moments of luck or divine intervention should they ever drop in my lap.  I hope that the things in my life that feel random are somehow leading to something greater, not for my own good, but for the good of those around me.  And I just hope to do a little good here and there in the meantime.

Predicting the Future

I'll be honest--I'd made plans for blog posts for the entire week.  But today was too stressful for too many reasons that I'll elaborate upon later, and I just couldn't make something with a narrative structure come together.

However...I did take an extremely long bath to decompress from the day.  And while singing The Dixie Chicks: The Hits (this doesn't exist, that I know of, other than in my head), I noticed that my hands were incredibly wrinkly and the lines in my palms were deep and prominent 

So, dear readers, I'd like to invite you to take a stab at reading my palms.  As far as I can tell from my reading on the internets during periods of extreme boredom, there are a few schools of thought with palm reading.  Some want to read the left hand, some the right.  Below, I've included both for your future-reading pleasure.

In the future, perhaps I'll visit an actual palm reader in Austin.  Because as all Girls fans know, this is where the magic happens.

Photo credit: http://25.media.tumblr.com/40a5123a068c7fd00388b583010db566/tumblr_mhdbu0Y6mv1qzv4fjo1_500.png

So here are my palms.  Predict away in the comment section, if you please.

Here's Righty:

Photo credit: http://www.verbalmigration.com/skeptic-palm-reading/skeptic-palm-reading.jpg

And Lefty:

Photo credit: http://www.chuanonline.com/images/palm%20reading%20diagram%20illustrated.jpg

If, and when , I do visit a palm reader, I'll post about the experience.  A gift goes to the person with the closest analysis of my wrinkly palms.

Post your readings below.

The Internet Dating Chronicles: eHarmony and the End Times

About a year ago, I grew frustrated with the men I was meeting through OkCupid, a free online dating website.  They were cute and funny on their profiles and in messages, but in person, they weren't great for a a variety of reasons.  A few were Ok, but they were clearly looking for something other than what I had to offer--bigger boobs? lower BMI? a smaller head? less sweat? dating with all the "perks" and none of the exclusivity and emotional connections? Could be any one of them.

So I decided to sign up for eHarmony.  What can I say?  I fell for the advertising.  A huge quiz that makes me feel like a teenager with the best edition of Cosmo ever that will match me with my soulmate?! Sign me up!  I thought that a paid service with all those questions might lead me to men who were looking for something a little more serious.  Because, let's face it, I've always been more on the serious side when it comes to relationships, even though I tried my damnedest to change that in my year of internet dating.

Well, eHarmony was no better than OkCupid in the end.  The only benefits were that I finally started weeding out some "matches" based on their initial contact before we suffered through the awkward first date.

If you've never used eHarmony (take a moment to thank your lucky stars), here's how it works.  If you see a profile you like in the mix of gentlemen holding Samurai swords on the beach and dudes hanging out with small children in a way that makes them look kind of like pedophiles, you have three options:

1. The Wussy Option: send an "icebreaker" with a pre-written statement like "your profile brought a smile to my face" and hope he responds
2. The Internet-Socially Acceptable Option: hit "start communication" and send a list of 5 multiple choice questions written by the good Christian folks at eHarmony.  These questions fall in a range between "which activity would you prefer on a Saturday night?" to "What is the relationship like between your parents?"
3. The Balls-to-the-Wall Option: screw all the eHarmony nonsense and go straight to direct messaging.  

I've weeded guys out from their profiles plenty, but I got more savvy about paying attention to their responses in the initial communication phases.  In Option 2, the second stage of communication asks you to send a list of "must haves" and "can't stands" to each other.  If he says he must have someone who is organized, I take that as code for neat freak who couldn't handle even a little clutter.  Goes in the no pile.  If he says he can't stand someone who is depressed, I take that as doesn't want to hear about my feelings at all, especially anything I'm unhappy about.  Goes in the no pile.

But if we get past that point, you get to send three open-ended questions to each other.  For me, this is the fun part.  You, again, choose from a pre-configured list of options like "how does life look for you right now?", "if you had three wishes, what would you ask for?", or "describe your best friend."  Here, you also have the option of creating your own questions, which can be helpful if you like nearly everything you've seen so far, but all those photos of him in bars bug you or you think he might be a mama's boy based on his in depth description of how inspiring she is when the question specifies that he should not talk about his parents.

After that clearance, it's on to normal messaging.  And after that, it usually doesn't take long before you actually meet in person.  Imagine that!

I'll be writing to you about the three gentlemen I met through eHarmony (and OkCupid) in the next few weeks, though likely not in the order in which I met them (I do what I want!).  Here's a few of the gems from eHarmony I'll be writing about:

• The Doctor: this guy took the Balls-to-the-Wall approach since he was in his last few weeks of his subscription to eHarmony.  He was the most intimidating on paper but like a fluffy bunny in person.
• Lady Name: this guy took the socially acceptable approach.  He was my first and only fellow teacher and the most frustratingly awkward ending of a date.
• Male Nurse: I took the Wussy approach with him.  He was so stinkin' handsome.  I still get a little sweaty thinking about his face.  Sadly, we only went out twice.

Obviously, I wasn't so impressed by any of these dates or guys I saw online that I continued meeting these people in person.  I just couldn't take any more bad dates.  I think I had somewhere between 10-15 bad dates over the course of a year.  Maybe that's normal for some people, but it was more than I've ever dated in my entire life.  If that's what dating is like, I think I might be ok just being on my own and dating a guy I actually like once every five years.  Maybe....  Anyway, the magical eHarmony system did not match me to my soul mate, or even a kindred spirit.

This past month, knowing that my subscription is almost up, I opened my search to include  more than just the Austin area.  I included THE ENTIRE EARTH!!  

Apparently a lady like me is wildly popular in Canada.  Do they just want me for a Green Card?

At this point, the internet dating websites are just a form of entertainment.  What kook from some random place in the world wants to be loved by me today, I wonder as I click on the link in my inbox from eHarmony.

My experiment in internet dating has ended, but I will capture the good, the bad, and the ugly in a series of posts.  Get ready, friends.  It's been a bumpy ride.

Pitiful or Awesome? The Shower Beer

Pitiful or Awesome? is an interactive post in which the reader gets to weigh in on whether the topic of the day is sad or genius.  

Today's Topic: The Shower Beer 

Photo source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0BPMyltrBErPAI1xD2X7O7wBZ-MAtaerdNMn-qsqmmkTvpsLVACTL83KJ_CxWwmmWSFe2HapulMUa6owTIpFF0E3lzkg0PIhVSaLzXRIg6qHuSG5ZMRX08-d2423Ybx0wrL68jK6m_ko/s1600/b.jpg

I first learned of the shower beer from a group of male friends the summer before my senior year in college.  It was a 100 or more degree scorcher, and one of them had just spent the day working on a new garden on the university grounds (worst summer job ever in Austin, if you ask me).  He'd been sweating so long that it seemed like he likely had no more moisture left in his body.  He looked tired.  And hot.  And worn out.

But relief flooded his face when he grabbed a tall cold bottle of Shiner (the beer of choice at that time in my life) and walked toward the shower.  When he came out, I questioned him about this action.  I'd never seen this before.  It struck me as something only an alcoholic would do, and I was concerned for my friend.  How would I save him from drinking himself into ruin in the tub?

He claimed that it was the most relaxing beverage you'd ever experience.  I was doubtful, but he donated a beer to me as I made my way back to my dorm room.

It just felt wrong.  The bathroom is not a place for imbibing or eating anything.  There are poo particles flying out of toilets, for goodness sake!  But I closed the lid of the toilet seat and held the open bottle away from the commode on my way to the shower.  I held on to it as the water warmed up from the faucet and held it at arm's length away from the spray of the shower head.

I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water hit the back of my neck and cascade around my curvy parts.  The heat enveloped me as I stood and sipped.  It was just a plain old Shiner from the fridge like I would normally drink hanging out with friends.  But it was magically transformed between the white shower curtain and three tiled walls.  The contrast of the warmth flowing around my neck with the cool bubbly tickle of the suds flowing down my throat was invigorating.  Had I ever even noticed the bubbles before?  I could feel the cool liquid flow all the way to my middle and slosh around before it warmed.

Eventually, I had to put the beer down.  I moved my shampoo and conditioner bottles off of the bath's ledge and positioned the bottle carefully in their place.  I did some of your normal showery things, and then went back for another drink of this new elixir.  I found the bottle sweaty with cool condensation, like the delicious insides of the bottle were trying to make their presence known.  Now the beads dripped down my hand, wrist and forearm, crossing streams with water from the shower.

I don't normally drink a beer in a matter of 15 minutes, about the length of my average shower, but a shower beer must be finished in the shower, which only added to the enjoyment.  There are all these different physical sensations, and they're only enhanced by the slight tipsiness that sets in about halfway through.

If you do an image search on Google for "shower beer" you'll see that my friends and I are not alone in our love for the shower beer.  The lady in the image below has the right idea.  See the condensation on the bottle?

Photo source: http://i.imgur.com/2Exqb.jpg

Now I'm not too sure how I feel about this person's shower beer.  I feel like there's too much risk for dilution and possible warming of the brew with a pilsner glass.  Also, it's rather precariously perched on that tile ledge.  That looks like a scene from Psycho waiting to happen, if you ask me; but, you know, minus all the murder.

Photo source: http://boardingarea.com/blogs/thewanderingaramean/files/2010/11/IMG_0472.jpg

An important note: it is a shower beer, not a bath beer.  A bath doesn't create the same balance between warm and cool, and there's not enough steam.  It's still good, but it's not magical.

In my opinion, the shower beer should be reserved for the end of a long day; however, I do know those who like to use it as a warm up for a long night of fun ahead.

Clearly, I believe the shower beer is awesome, but maybe you're like 21-year-old me who thought only alcoholics or sad people would do such a thing.

Give your verdict below.

Why I'm Single, Reason #1: The Sweat

I'm a sweaty gal.  I've come to terms with it.  I don't deny it.

I'm the one you see at the gym wiping down a sweat slick on the weight bench.  I'm the girl who can't wear her hair down if it's above 70 degrees outside because it won't take long before it looks like she just stepped out of the shower.

I inherited these sweat glands from my dad.  I have very clear memories of helping my dad outside in the yard or garage and noting that the back of his shirt was a complete shade darker than the front of his shirt.  Not just in patches, either--the whole back of the shirt.  And he's a bald man with a very large dome of a head, too.  The sweat would bead as it came out of the pores on his scalp and dribble down, collecting at the end of his nose.  As I would stand near him, ready on deck with the next tool he'd need for his project, I would wait in anticipation for the moment when the drip on the end of his nose would drop.

Of course, I describe this only with affection, because I know exactly how he feels.  Maybe I feel even worse that he feels.  Because as grossed out as people might be by a sweaty man, they must pity a sweaty woman.  Women aren't supposed to sweat in great drops that pool at the waistband of their jeans.  Women are supposed to only slightly glisten, to glow, to appear dewy--not to look like a wet rat.

I cite my sweatiness as just one of the many reasons I still find myself single today.  Not only does my body react to even the slightest heat with oceans of salt water, it also takes cues from my emotions as to when to release the tide.

I sweat when I'm nervous.  A lot of people do.  But it's probably not the same full body sweat I experience.  Once, at a conference for English teachers, I was selected by my round table in a creative writing session to share my quick-write with the entire group.  Of about 300 people.  Now, everyone knows that one of the reasons you go to a conference as a single person is to try to meet other single people.  You wear your cutest outfits.  You try to sit next to attractive people and wow them with your amazing insights on whatever bullshit professional topic is being discussed.  And this should have been my shining moment.  Not only would I be on display for all of the men in the room who would surely decide they needed to talk to me after my reading, I was also singled out for my creativity and writing abilities.  All men are amazed by that, right?  Uh huh.

Well, I've spoken in front of groups of 30 people for years.  I'm a teacher.  That's a daily part of my job.  But at that point, I'd never spoken in front of 300 people.  And definitely never with a microphone.  I am pulled up to the front of the hotel ballroom, and the microphone is shoved in my hand.  Immediately, my body starts to quiver.  Then I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.  The panic sets in.  The red, hotness in my face is a sign that the sweat is about to come.  I start to read the words that are in front of me, probably with the microphone too close to my mouth, but all that's going on inside my head is: stop sweating, stop sweating, stop sweating!  But it just keeps on coming.  By that point, my voice was shaking as much as the hand holding the microphone.

Needless to say, zero men approached me to talk about writing when I sheepishly made my way back to my chair.  I like to believe that they would have if the sweat didn't come.

The worst part about the sweat is that it's also my reaction to attraction.  I'm sure there's some scientific reason that has to do with pheromones, but I just don't agree with science (one thing I have in common with Creationists!) when the thing releasing the chemicals that are supposed to attract a mate also completely disgusts him.  As soon as I lock eyes with a new attractive man and get within a normal range of personal space, it all starts--the redness, the heat, the sweat.  Not just a faint bead on my upper lip.  Full on face sweat.

If I'm lucky, I've interacted with a man enough from a safe distance before this happens and it's not the first impression I make.  But that's usually not the case.

As with most shitty situations in life, I've tried to make the best of it.  I've learned to just not even bother leaving my hair down between April and October in Texas.  I've learned that if I have to be outside when it's warm, it's best to wear a dress or skirt and let the breezes flow.  I've learned to pay attention to types of fabric when shopping for clothes so I don't end up like my dad in the yard.

But my favorite lesson is that my body tells me who I'm attracted to before my head realizes it.  It's become my own little detection system.  It's come in handy in places like the workplace where you don't necessarily want to be flirting with coworkers or when you meet a married man so you know not to joke around with him too much because it might get weird.

And it actually helped me realize I was interested in the last guy I dated when we were left alone at a picnic table and I suddenly felt sweat dripping down my neck.  As I tried to subtly wipe it off with a head-scratch-to-wipe move, I thought, oh, I guess I like this guy.

Luckily, it was a breezy night and the sweat dried quickly.

Cuddle and Make Out Club: Join Today!

Welcome to the Club!  

Our bi-level clubhouse features many amenities for members*.

Upon arrival you'll be greeted at the door by our founder who will hand you your very own Snuggie and berry-flavored Chapstick (we hear if you're extra friendly when you meet her, she'll even throw in some face lotion for you ladies who meet men with beards).

Miss those days of teen make out parties with rousing games of Spin the Bottle and 7 Minutes in Heaven?  Lucky you, there's a room designated to each activity.  And if you've never played before, there are plenty of friendly members to help you feel it out.

Not a fan of team sports?  Enjoy one of our many lounge rooms with extra large bean bags made or two (or three if you're nasty).

We look forward to your visit!

*We are a smoke and alcohol free environment.

Secret Single Behaviors

According to The New York Times, "1 in every 4 American households is occupied by someone living alone."  The article goes on to discuss some of the strange behaviors that humans cultivate when left to their own devices, away from the civilized world.  I will now cop to some of my own Secret Single Behaviors (SSBs) I've developed in my 8 years of living alone.  Beware: some of it isn't pretty.

Being a Filthy, Filthy Human Being
Now, if I know that people are coming over or if I have people visiting on a regular basis, I keep my humble abode pretty tidy.  The cleanest I've kept it in my adult life has been when I've had boyfriends or when I had weekly parties at my place.  But 99% of the those 8 years have been spent with me knowing that people pretty much do not come to my apartment ever.  Therefore, shit can get crazy.  Piles of laundry in the dining room.  Plates from dinner on the coffee table.  Plastic bags from HEB and Target flying about my apartment like the most beautiful thing in the world.  And personal grooming can become an issue, as well.  Some weekends, if I don't have a reason to leave the apartment and join the world, I may wear the same clothes and not bathe until Sunday evening.

Interesting Fashion Choices
Often when I come home from work, I know I'm not going out again.  That means shoes get kicked off and go flying into a pile of laundry or stack of books.  Pants drop and may not leave the spot where they fell.  And I may do one of two things--walk around for the rest of the evening in the nice shirt I wore to work and my underwear, or change into "house clothes."  House clothes are the items you never want any living person to see you in.  Some of my prized items include:

• a nightshirt my mom gave me for Christmas when I was in 3rd grade that now barely covers my ass and is so thin that you could see straight through if it weren't for the giant Santa hat wearing bear drinking cocoa on the front of it;
• a heather grey deep v-neck tee from American Apparel that has a hole the size of a cantaloupe in one of the armpits (this might be worn with comfy pants, but is more often than not worn with just underwear);
• a pair of red gingham pajama pants with hokey sunflower trim around the ankles, of which come up around my calves because I've had them since high school and have washed them so many times,
• my burnt orange UT Snuggie;
• a men's large pullover hoodie that is most comfortable to wear with the hood up;
• and any kind of fabric headband to keep the hair out of my eyes.  My current favorite has green, shiny sequins on it and makes me look like a flapper.

But my favorite fashion choice is no choice at all.  Hanging out in the buff is the way to go, my friends.

Taking Far Too Many Baths
Hugh Grant's character in About A Boy has that segment in which he describes how a man can be an island if he uses his units of time correctly.  Baths are something that fill up units of time for me.  Bored?  Take a bath.  Really bored? Take an hour long bath with a fizzy bath ball or eucalyptus scented bubble bath.  Use the time to meditate, shave your legs, get creative with *ahem* other shaving, or turn on some music and sing along because the acoustics in the bathroom really are the best, and the neighbors in your apartment complex surely love your singing voice.

Singing--A Lot
The silence of living alone can be deafening at times; therefore, the radio, my record player, itunes and Spotify are my second favorite companions in the apartment.  I will put my Bonnie Raitt record on the player and sing along with side A for one week while I make dinner and then flip it over and listen to side B the next week.  It's best when you listen and sing along obsessively to really be able to nail those notes, you know.

My Cat is My Friend
Willis is my favorite companion at home.  She's really the only one I have to talk to, unless I'm on the phone. And I talk to her a lot.  If I had a recording device running at home, I'd like to count the number of times I say the following phrases:

• "Whatcha doin, Willis?"
• "Hey pretty girl"
• "You're so pretty"
• "You're a good girl, Willis"
• and, for good measure, "What the hell, cat?!"

Technology is Also My Friend
When there's not a human to interact with, sometimes technology can fill the void.  Movie marathons!  Did you just spend an entire week watching Pride and Prejudice with your students?  Well, then...you absolutely must watch the 6 hour A&E version immediately!  You don't know how many incarnations of Mr. Darcy Colin Firth has played?  Well, look it up on Wikipedia and get swallowed into clicking on link after link for at least two hours.  No one is around to rush you, so you should just take your time.

What's Happening with the Neighbors?
When there's very little activity going on within your home, sometimes it's easy to get wrapped up in what's happening with the neighbors.  Of course, I never talk to them directly or look them in the eye.  I do my best to avoid leaving my apartment when they're walking by.  One summer, I had particularly noisy neighbors.  I'm convinced that I was awakened in the middle of the night by this woman and one of her many boyfriends having sex outside.  I was also convinced that she was a prostitute.  She had so many men in and out of that apartment at all hours of the day--I don't know what else it would have been.  This is just one of the stories I've concocted in my head through stealthily observing my neighbors through the blinds.

And, of course:

Thanks, PostSecret.

Care to share any of your SSBs?

The Stand-ins

There are reasons human beings couple off.  And when you've not been in a relationship for 98% of your life, like I have, you have to find coping mechanisms for dealing with everything you're missing out on by not having that other half.  My own greatest coping mechanism are The Stand-ins.

Stand-ins do exactly what you'd think--they stand in the place of a romantic partner and perform the functions that your ideal mate would.  Now, a Stand-in doesn't necessarily have to be from the gender you'd prefer your mate to be.  He or she also doesn't have to fulfill all of the roles described below.  But it's important that we single folks find ways of meeting these emotional, social, and (yes) physical needs somehow.  The Stand-ins are all we have.

Over the years, these are the roles my own personal Stand-ins have performed:

Date Nights
I've always been somewhat of a tomboy; among other things, when left to my own devices, I would almost always choose to wear what is comfortable over what is attractive.  But there are definitely times when I want to dress up and I want to feel pretty, damn it.  The Stand-in isn't usually aware for the fact that I'm using our fun night out as an excuse to feel like I'm pretty, but that's what's happening.  In the last few years, I've even started going so far as to purchase tickets waaaay too far in advance for events that might turn into these fake, emotionally and sexually bankrupt dates.

Flirting
Since the invention of instant messaging and texting, everyone wants to be in on the fun of e-flirting, don't they?  I certainly do.  Hopefully the double entendres and teasing comes off as my own silly, dirty brand of humor to these Stand-ins.  I have to practice these skills on someone, don't I?


Occupying Head Space 
When you're single, there's great danger that you'll become selfish and self-involved.  One of the things I like most about being in a relationship is that I have someone other than myself to think about.  It might be "I wonder how he's doing today?" or it might be "oh, he'd really like this movie".  Pretty inane stuff.  But it keeps me from focusing too much on my own thoughts, wants and feelings.  These Stand-ins are the ones I text out of the blue with random comments, questions and pictures.

Snuggling and Snogging
The need for physical connection is just a part of who we are.  I'd say that about 95% of the time, I take care of the snuggling issue by wrapping myself up in my Snuggie or hugging my cat, Willis.  But there's only so much love a cat can provide before it takes a turn into Creepville.  Over the years, there've been a few male friends who have filled in for this role a mate would provide in my ideal world.  The absolute best Stand-in was a roommate I had once who would cuddle on the couch with me nearly every evening.  Then there were those days of drunkenness in my youth when a (sometimes gay) male friend and I would look at each other through our booze goggles and say "why the hell not?" and make out with each other until the wee hours.  Now, I know there are people who've struck up friends-with-benefits situations with friends who will do more than just snog until the wee hours.  I've never been able to have that kind of casual intimacy with someone, but more power to 'em, I say.  Single, dateless people have needs, too.

Major Holidays
There are two types of holidays that are difficult to navigate as a single person.  The first are the holidays in which the entire world expects you to have a date--the dreaded Valentine's Day, or VD as I like to call it, and New Year's Eve.  VD is a single person's worst nightmare.  VD just won't go away.  It's impossible to ignore VD.  For several years, one of my Stand-ins was My Platonic Valentine <3.  The first year, he bought me flowers (he was actually the first and only man to ever do this) and we went on a double date with my best friend and her Stand-in for the evening.  Another year we were in different states, so we each purchased a bottle of wine and rented a movie.  We called each other, pressed play at the same time, and watched the movie together over the phone.  That's still the best VD I've ever had.  New Year's Eve is a different beast.  Whoever came up with the tradition of kissing someone at midnight deserves to be killed in a firing squad by all the single people on the planet once we build our time machine.  My Platonic Valentine stood-in for me one year and we just stared at each other awkwardly at midnight, but mostly my girlfriends are the Stand-ins for this holiday.  We would just hug each other or kiss on the cheek at midnight to occupy ourselves while couples around us made out.  It did get awkward once they all paired off with boyfriends and husbands and I was the only one left without a date when the clock strikes midnight--Where do I look?!  What do I do with my hands?!

The other type of holiday, that might even be worse than VD and New Year's, are the holidays you're expected to spend with your family--Thanksgiving, Christmas, and sometimes Easter.  If you're a non-single reader, think back to the last time you had to handle your family solo.  Now think about doing that for every single holiday since you've been alive.  It's ok for the first 20 or so years, but there comes a point when you've been living apart from your family long enough that spending an entire day or, worse, series of days pretending like you still live at home is a living nightmare.  A nightmare that you want to share with the person you love most in the world.  Sometime in college, I started inviting a friend or multiple friends to join me at my mom's house for holidays.  I just think of those Stand-ins as the spouse or children I'd bring were I married.  They help with the cooking, watch whatever sport you're supposed to watch that day, laugh at my mom's jokes, and act as a great buffer until I, cross your fingers, have a family of my own.  (Love you, Mom!)

Emotional Support
This is the most important role of a Stand-in because, in my opinion, the hardest part of being single is not having that one person who knows all your stuff, who actually wants to hear about the problems with your boss or the memory you had from your childhood today or what you had to eat that day.  The average, casual friend does not want to hear about these things, and should you share too many of these small details of your life with the casual friend out of sheer desperation to talk to anyone, you can be sure that you won't be seeing that friend much in the future.  The Stand-in for emotional support is the most generous of the Stand-ins.  He or she understands that you spend the majority of your time outside of work completely alone and that if you don't tell these things to someone, you are sure to create an imaginary friend or to start holding conversations with your cat.  Most of the support is small, but I've been especially grateful to these Stand-ins when shit in my life has gotten real, when whatever is going on really is too much for me to handle on my own.  The worst fear with these Stand-ins is that I'll wear out my welcome, after all, we don't have the motivation of sex or shared property or whatever to keep us together.

If you're reading this, and you realize that you've been a Stand-in for me, thank you.  You've helped me make it to 31 without completely losing my mind.  I hope it's never been awkward or an inconvenience.  And, no, it's not a paying job, you whore.

The Pity Party

The other day I was at Kohl's, hunting for items to use up the $50 gift card I'd bought for a friend who snubbed her nose at it, thus granting me the permission to shop for myself.  Recently, I've been spending a lot more time at home in the kitchen and have realized that my past failures (leaving pans "soaking" in the sink for a week, burning the bottom of pots, scrapping Teflon off the bottom of pots with metal utensils, you know...) have led to a lack of necessary tools.

It occurred to me as I perused the housewares section and looked at prices that most people my age already have a healthy stock of items like a mandolin, a garlic press, a salad spinner, fork tongs, and other devices that I've never purchased for myself.  I've been cooking for years with 1 frying pan, 1 13"x9" pan, 1 sauce pot, 1 soup pot, 1 ladle, 1 slotted spoon, 1 spatula, 1 whisk--you get the idea.  It's bare essentials in my tiny apartment kitchen.  The few extra items I own are a cheese grater and some plastic-like mat you put on the bottom of a cookie sheet to keep cookies from burning, both of which were purchased from the dollar bins at Target.

Suddenly, a wave of jealousy ran over me as I stared at different sized CorningWare.  All those lucky bastards who got married got to register for these items.  All those homeowners got to have housewarming parties and beg for these items.

But not me.

I remembered an episode of Sex and the City in which Carrie finally became fed up with buying her girlfriends expensive gifts for engagements, weddings, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, baby showers and housewarming parties.  She finally decided it was her turn and registered for expensive shoes.

I like her thinking.  But I don't just want the stuff, and a little payback from all those friends who I adorned with gifts for the last decade--I want the party.

By the age of, say, 35, people who are spouseless, houseless, childless and everythingless should be entitled to throw a pity party.  Our friends and family get to acknowledge that they actually do feel kind of bad for us.  And we finally get to acknowledge that the single life with all this freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be.  We get to register for the items that we never bought for ourselves, but more importantly, we get to have a huge blow out to celebrate the lives we've led without all of those other celebrations.

We can celebrate the nights spent curled up on the couch alone.  All the bills we paid all by ourselves.  The number of friends we've managed to find to help us move from apartment to apartment.  The animals who become our companions.  The technology that keeps us entertained and thinly connected to the outside world.  The fact that we've made it this far without breaking down completely or running away and going off the grid.  We can rejoice in it all and the fact that we've come so far with so little change.

And I, myself, will be the life of my own pity party.  Because, really, I'm the only one who knows how much there really is to celebrate.

In 2017, I'll be registered at Target and another to-be-determined location.  It'll be the party of a lifetime.  You're all invited.