I've been trying to come up with a juicy blog title to draw you in, an interesting topic to keep you and a way to tie in my apology to placate you. I think this might cover it.
My absence has been due to a few things, not the least of which being my insecurity in my writing, and 'dating' a boy. For this, I sincerely apologize. I only received positive feedback from any of my friends or followers, but my brain creates an alternate reality for me. A reality where people whisper about my pathetic attempt at the single life and my lackluster prose. The truth is, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of failing, and of letting you down, and of turning out poor work. But that is the time to act! So here I am. Attempting, again, to act.
Fear is a powerful motivator. It makes us silent, it makes us run, it makes us attack. Fear can distort memories and it can influence decisions. Recently we've heard a lot about misogyny. Namely, the murders and mass shooting carried out by Elliot Roger, a college student from California. His unadulterated hatred for women drove him to hunt women he didn't even know, that had never wronged him, and gun them down in the streets. He posted videos of himself spewing his extreme loathing of all women and then he carried out his well-contemplated plot to rid the streets of them and then of himself. And this made me very afraid.
This incident brought the subset of men identifying as 'Failed Pick-Up Artists' and their severe loathing of women to light. I read the story in horror, and then I watched his video titled Retribution. Stomach acid welled in my throat by minute 3 and was threatening to choke me by minute 6. By the end of the video I was shivering with disgust. I became obsessed with finding out more about this branch of society and dove deep into the bowels of online chat rooms, blogs, vlogs and articles to find out more. One of the most bone chilling rants I came across is as follows:
I wish there was some way to encapsulate pain and make a weapon out of it. So guys like me could track down all the women who rejected us and who were f**king lucky we even spoke to them, but because of their delusional society ingrained idea of them being special, they simply brushed us off like ants,
And then we could just fire that weapon on them and all that intensified humiliation and self-degradation could just beam right into their soul and stay there and it would take years or a f**king lifetime for that injury to heal over.
When the abominable acts of Elliot Rodger played across my television screen, I became fearful for my life simply because I was a woman. After reading forum after forum of these men who wanted nothing more than to run me through a band saw because I was born with ovaries(actual statement found on a forum), I became terrified. Shortly after the Elliot Rodger event, and because the dark(er) underbelly of this well organized misogynistic society was revealed, a trend arose. A trend brought on by the women who stood their ground and decided to leak the identities of the men who treated them like garbage. And most of these men could be found on online dating websites such as OKCupid and Plenty of Fish. I mention these, because these were the ones I participated in.
I wanted to meet a good man. But I also wanted to mark these particular men for what they were; dangerous. There was a sense of comradery among women as we submitted the disgusting messages we received to blogs dedicated to this endeavor. We were uniting against the onslaught of woman-hating shitbags and it was empowering! Warnings for women in certain areas were published about men who had attempted rape, the true nature of these men were revealed. There were also examples of how a man should take a rejection, with grace and humility. It was a win/win. But I began to notice a change in myself. The fear had changed me.
Amidst being solicited for prostitution, being sent photos of men's genitals and wading through pages of porn involving myself (one man expressed his desire to scoop my eyeballs out of their sockets and urinate in the empty space, all for his sexual gratification) I began turning bitter. The thought of a man touching me in any way made me physically sick and I began to get anxious in public. I saw every man as a potential rapist/murderer, every message I received was a man waiting to be pushed over the edge and take his guns to the streets. I could see my messages rejecting one of those pornographers as evidence in a murder trial. I became so petrified of men that I began looking at each of my male friends in turn, trying to decide if they would murder a woman for rejecting them. I eventually stopped speaking to them altogether. I knew I had to stop.
I stopped submitting my entries and deleted my profiles. Where, once, reading the various whistle-blowing blogs were part of my morning routine, I now sat gathering my courage back around myself. What was supposed to be a way for me to educate myself and connect with other women who had been victimized by this behavior at some point in their lives, I had turned into my own, personal Fear Monger. It took me about a month to come down from my cloud of suspicion and bitter terror. But I've resolved myself to remain aware of my surroundings but not project my illogical fears out into the world.
This entry is not to condemn the fail blogs designed to mark the men who deserve it. This entry is to outline my experience and to warn you of the dangers of following in my footsteps.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Thursday, May 1, 2014
The Perils of the Unshaven Stem
One of the first things I told my girl friend when I decided I was going to spend a year trying to fall in love with myself was 'oh man... I don't have to shave my legs anymore!'. We clinked margarita glasses and drank to the health of my long-oppressed leg hair.
I can't deny the glorious feeling of slipping into your freshly washed sheets with newly shorn stems, but my recent liberation from the shackles of the leg razor got me thinking; other than the sinfully guilty pleasure of feeling your silky legs against your favorite dress, what's the big deal with pruned pins?
We've all heard the stories about how the trend got started. There was an ad in Harper's Bazaar in 1915 featuring the new sleeveless dress! It was a revolutionary, fashion breakthrough that not only brought women freedom from their neck to ankle coverage, but revealed the dreaded armpit! And lo, it was hairy. The legs followed a few years later when pinups and shorter hems fell in line behind sheer and sleeveless dresses. What I gather from any research I've done is that it's a fad. A very long standing, profitable fad that razor companies have been banking on for decades.
Don't get me wrong! I'm not arguing that strong women everywhere should toss out their razors the same way our foremothers burnt their bras. I love that it can be a sign of femininity (or being on the swim team). I'm questioning the apparent necessity for women, in or out of a relationship, to shave their legs. I still shave my legs, but it's only when I want to. Why didn't I subscribe to this theory sooner? I have so much more time for activities now that I'm not slowly dragging sharp objects over my skin every other day!
There's a question on OKCupid (don't lie, you've at least checked it out...) that states "Do women have an obligation to shave their legs?" and the amount of 'yes' answers submitted by men is nothing less than staggering. I'm sorry sir, but I am not obligated to do anything to my body for you or anyone else. I've even seen some women who agree that they have an obligation, not the option, to keep their legs clear of stubble. And not because it feels nice for them, but because it's 'gross', 'not sexy', 'prickly'.
I'm in a unique position where I don't care that I'm not sexy to anyone else but myself. My trips to the gym have even waned a little, because I realized I wasn't training for a sport of any kind. I was training to train. Well if I'm the only one I'm trying to impress right now, I would be really dazzled by that new brownie recipe and a Netflix marathon.
The same goes for my legs. I'm the only one caressing them at night, and bully for me, I'm just not that particular about the length of the hair that grows on them. The best part about this distinct issue, I'll be able to carry my new outlook into a relationship in the future. That's just one more thing I wont be over the top self-conscious about. Because I've walked through the Leg-Hair Fire, and I have emerged victorious!
I can't deny the glorious feeling of slipping into your freshly washed sheets with newly shorn stems, but my recent liberation from the shackles of the leg razor got me thinking; other than the sinfully guilty pleasure of feeling your silky legs against your favorite dress, what's the big deal with pruned pins?
We've all heard the stories about how the trend got started. There was an ad in Harper's Bazaar in 1915 featuring the new sleeveless dress! It was a revolutionary, fashion breakthrough that not only brought women freedom from their neck to ankle coverage, but revealed the dreaded armpit! And lo, it was hairy. The legs followed a few years later when pinups and shorter hems fell in line behind sheer and sleeveless dresses. What I gather from any research I've done is that it's a fad. A very long standing, profitable fad that razor companies have been banking on for decades.
Don't get me wrong! I'm not arguing that strong women everywhere should toss out their razors the same way our foremothers burnt their bras. I love that it can be a sign of femininity (or being on the swim team). I'm questioning the apparent necessity for women, in or out of a relationship, to shave their legs. I still shave my legs, but it's only when I want to. Why didn't I subscribe to this theory sooner? I have so much more time for activities now that I'm not slowly dragging sharp objects over my skin every other day!
There's a question on OKCupid (don't lie, you've at least checked it out...) that states "Do women have an obligation to shave their legs?" and the amount of 'yes' answers submitted by men is nothing less than staggering. I'm sorry sir, but I am not obligated to do anything to my body for you or anyone else. I've even seen some women who agree that they have an obligation, not the option, to keep their legs clear of stubble. And not because it feels nice for them, but because it's 'gross', 'not sexy', 'prickly'.
I'm in a unique position where I don't care that I'm not sexy to anyone else but myself. My trips to the gym have even waned a little, because I realized I wasn't training for a sport of any kind. I was training to train. Well if I'm the only one I'm trying to impress right now, I would be really dazzled by that new brownie recipe and a Netflix marathon.
The same goes for my legs. I'm the only one caressing them at night, and bully for me, I'm just not that particular about the length of the hair that grows on them. The best part about this distinct issue, I'll be able to carry my new outlook into a relationship in the future. That's just one more thing I wont be over the top self-conscious about. Because I've walked through the Leg-Hair Fire, and I have emerged victorious!
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Somebody's Boring Me
I think it's me. -Dylan Thomas
I could not have stumbled across (googled) a more perfect quote for myself! I made an interesting discovery the other morning, as one usually does when one is staving off the eminent alarm. That discovery was this; I am a snooze.
I'm a colossal bore! I bore myself! I understand that this was the basis of my 2014 project to begin with, but it has really set in. I don't do a thing. And something that has always haunted me in one way or another is getting blown off. Throughout my semi-social life, from the time I was in middle school to now, I've been consistently bailed on. And I get it now! I'm so immensely mind-numbing that people actually forget to call me back, invite me out, include me in activities. And after spending these few months reviewing myself and trying to excavate my interests, I can't say as I blame them!
This is not a sob entry, though. I feel like you got enough of that out of me from my last post. (Which, I sincerely appreciate everyone's positive feedback on. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.) No, this post is an update on what I've been doing to date myself! I've become more interesting to me, and I have to say, I like it!
My first real foray into creating hobbies for myself came in the form of a motorcycle! I spent weeks cleaning and detailing my uncles' motorcycle that he intended to sell. Halfway through the process I realized, 'I want this!'. So I bought it! Riding motorcycles has been a family tradition for years, my dad raced motocross when he was sixteen, and both he and my mom still ride today. I'm so excited to be a part of this custom on a bike that I became so familiar with over the last month. Now, to learn how to ride it! I've signed up to take a weekend class at the community college by my apartment. (And when I say weekend class, I mean Friday night to Sunday afternoon. Worth it? We'll see!)
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I've also tentatively taken up French. I say tentatively because it's an app on my phone. As the app takes me through the lessons, I take extensive notes and dedicate an allotted amount of hours a week to studying them. I've never really learned a spoken language before (sign language is my family's dialect of choice) so I'm motivated to become fluent as soon as possible! There's a movement I've become aware of called 'Give It 100'. The challenge is to practice something that you've wanted or needed to do for 100 days straight. No excuses. The community builds each other up and encourages each other not to skip a day. People are losing weight, learning how to unicycle and my personal favorite, a man is telling his wife he loves her in 100 ways in 100 days. I am going to give French 100 days in a row! And lucky ya'll, you get to be updated on it! (I wont update you every day. That's even more of a snooze than what I used to be!) Below is the link to the Give It 100 website. I encourage you to find something that you're interested in to dedicate a mere 100 days to. If I start today, my 100th day will be July 21st! What day will your 100th be?
https://giveit100.com/
I could not have stumbled across (googled) a more perfect quote for myself! I made an interesting discovery the other morning, as one usually does when one is staving off the eminent alarm. That discovery was this; I am a snooze.
I'm a colossal bore! I bore myself! I understand that this was the basis of my 2014 project to begin with, but it has really set in. I don't do a thing. And something that has always haunted me in one way or another is getting blown off. Throughout my semi-social life, from the time I was in middle school to now, I've been consistently bailed on. And I get it now! I'm so immensely mind-numbing that people actually forget to call me back, invite me out, include me in activities. And after spending these few months reviewing myself and trying to excavate my interests, I can't say as I blame them!
This is not a sob entry, though. I feel like you got enough of that out of me from my last post. (Which, I sincerely appreciate everyone's positive feedback on. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.) No, this post is an update on what I've been doing to date myself! I've become more interesting to me, and I have to say, I like it!
My first real foray into creating hobbies for myself came in the form of a motorcycle! I spent weeks cleaning and detailing my uncles' motorcycle that he intended to sell. Halfway through the process I realized, 'I want this!'. So I bought it! Riding motorcycles has been a family tradition for years, my dad raced motocross when he was sixteen, and both he and my mom still ride today. I'm so excited to be a part of this custom on a bike that I became so familiar with over the last month. Now, to learn how to ride it! I've signed up to take a weekend class at the community college by my apartment. (And when I say weekend class, I mean Friday night to Sunday afternoon. Worth it? We'll see!)
I've also tentatively taken up French. I say tentatively because it's an app on my phone. As the app takes me through the lessons, I take extensive notes and dedicate an allotted amount of hours a week to studying them. I've never really learned a spoken language before (sign language is my family's dialect of choice) so I'm motivated to become fluent as soon as possible! There's a movement I've become aware of called 'Give It 100'. The challenge is to practice something that you've wanted or needed to do for 100 days straight. No excuses. The community builds each other up and encourages each other not to skip a day. People are losing weight, learning how to unicycle and my personal favorite, a man is telling his wife he loves her in 100 ways in 100 days. I am going to give French 100 days in a row! And lucky ya'll, you get to be updated on it! (I wont update you every day. That's even more of a snooze than what I used to be!) Below is the link to the Give It 100 website. I encourage you to find something that you're interested in to dedicate a mere 100 days to. If I start today, my 100th day will be July 21st! What day will your 100th be?
https://giveit100.com/
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
An Open Letter to the Men Who Abandon Women
I owe anyone most unfortunate enough to read this an apology. This project proved to petrify me far quicker than I thought it would. I have a hard time opening up emotionally to people I know and care about, so I'm not sure why I thought opening up to the internet would be any easier. It took me two months to stop making excuses, to stop giving myself the easy way out. I've taken on this project because I've put myself in the position where I do not deal with certain issues. I simply wait until something else comes along to take my attention, so I have this build up of proverbial soul-gunk.
And even with this particular entry... I so badly did not want to write this. I hate the idea that I'm publicly wallowing in my (not so secret) abandonment issues instead of silently stuffing them until something good happens and I think I'm over it. But this issue/hurdle/pitfall has deposited a significantly large amount of gunk into my soul and I need to purge it before it buries me. So, here goes.
Before I publish the letter I've painstakingly written to those 'men' out there that leave their women, I'd like to assert that my dad has been ever present in my life. Any and all abandonment issues have come from other sources, sometimes even women. But never from my dad who has been a steadfast rock in my life. My point is not to brag about my dad (although, come on, he rules) so much as to remind the reader that a problem like this can arise from people you don't necessarily have around your whole lives. It can be brought on from people you've dated, friends, extended family members, co-workers, teachers. In my opinion, a relationship has to develop for there to be feelings of abandonment afterward. But don't pigeonhole abandonment issues; those can come from anyone. I've had it happen enough times by the men I've dated and friends I've made that I can't deny, feelings of abandonment have manifested and lingered. Allowing them to fester is a disservice to myself and I can't let it continue.
That being said, let's get to the good stuff.
To Whom it May Concern,
Allow me, first, to congratulate you on your uncanny ability to disappear. Harry Houdini himself would be jealous of your act that you've undoubtedly repeated time and again to numerous, unsuspecting audiences. The creative ways in which you make your exits are always sure to surprise and excite! Whether it's after a fight over problems you've invented or with no warning at all, your cowardly abandonment never disappoints in the devastation arena. I'd like to explain to you the repercussions of your actions.
First, by abandoning a woman that you helped create a relationship with, you have confirmed to her every negative thought she's ever had about herself. Every body image issue, you put your stamp of approval on. Every reservation she had about her intelligence, you shook your head yes in a condescending manner. Ever time she felt less than for any reason, every single time the little voice in her head told her she wasn't good enough, every question she had about her ability to get on in this world, you have solidified. You.
Which brings me to my second point; everything you ever told her, is now a lie. If you told her that she was beautiful, well she doesn't believe you anymore. If you told her that you love her, well, you both know that was a lie from the get. If you ever told her how much you enjoyed her company, her quirks, her conversation. If you ever complimented her traits, her characteristics, her skills. Anything you ever said to her to build her up is now fodder to bring her down. And she remembers. She remembers every look you gave her, every tender moment, every special tradition. And she now sees it all for what it really was; a joke.
Which brings me to my third, and thankfully final, point. You have made her your fool. You've turned her into a one-woman comedic act and all because you couldn't man up and give the poor girl some closure. You couldn't be a man, make one adult decision, so you've left her holding the bag. Now she questions everything you've ever said, everything she's ever felt, and she can feel the laughter from you and anyone else fortunate enough to have watched the whole thing unfold. You've turned her in to everyone's favorite kind of train wreck.
I will conclude this letter by saying that a woman is not your dress rehearsal. She is not where you make mistakes and flippantly move on without a word. She is not your plaything with which you act out your scenarios to discover what you like, what you would do, what you can get away with. She is your opening night. She is your full house, your second act and if you let her, she'll be your standing ovation. But if you are too weak, if you are too boyish, if you cannot handle the simple task of respecting your woman's time and affection, then you are still in rehearsal and you will create heart ache and chaos wherever you go. Drama and pain will follow you and your wake will be rife with anger and bitterness. When you put your head down at night your ears will be ringing with words spoken in spite instead of those spoken in love. And you have no one to blame but yourself.
Regards,
A Woman
And even with this particular entry... I so badly did not want to write this. I hate the idea that I'm publicly wallowing in my (not so secret) abandonment issues instead of silently stuffing them until something good happens and I think I'm over it. But this issue/hurdle/pitfall has deposited a significantly large amount of gunk into my soul and I need to purge it before it buries me. So, here goes.
Before I publish the letter I've painstakingly written to those 'men' out there that leave their women, I'd like to assert that my dad has been ever present in my life. Any and all abandonment issues have come from other sources, sometimes even women. But never from my dad who has been a steadfast rock in my life. My point is not to brag about my dad (although, come on, he rules) so much as to remind the reader that a problem like this can arise from people you don't necessarily have around your whole lives. It can be brought on from people you've dated, friends, extended family members, co-workers, teachers. In my opinion, a relationship has to develop for there to be feelings of abandonment afterward. But don't pigeonhole abandonment issues; those can come from anyone. I've had it happen enough times by the men I've dated and friends I've made that I can't deny, feelings of abandonment have manifested and lingered. Allowing them to fester is a disservice to myself and I can't let it continue.
That being said, let's get to the good stuff.
To Whom it May Concern,
Allow me, first, to congratulate you on your uncanny ability to disappear. Harry Houdini himself would be jealous of your act that you've undoubtedly repeated time and again to numerous, unsuspecting audiences. The creative ways in which you make your exits are always sure to surprise and excite! Whether it's after a fight over problems you've invented or with no warning at all, your cowardly abandonment never disappoints in the devastation arena. I'd like to explain to you the repercussions of your actions.
First, by abandoning a woman that you helped create a relationship with, you have confirmed to her every negative thought she's ever had about herself. Every body image issue, you put your stamp of approval on. Every reservation she had about her intelligence, you shook your head yes in a condescending manner. Ever time she felt less than for any reason, every single time the little voice in her head told her she wasn't good enough, every question she had about her ability to get on in this world, you have solidified. You.
Which brings me to my second point; everything you ever told her, is now a lie. If you told her that she was beautiful, well she doesn't believe you anymore. If you told her that you love her, well, you both know that was a lie from the get. If you ever told her how much you enjoyed her company, her quirks, her conversation. If you ever complimented her traits, her characteristics, her skills. Anything you ever said to her to build her up is now fodder to bring her down. And she remembers. She remembers every look you gave her, every tender moment, every special tradition. And she now sees it all for what it really was; a joke.
Which brings me to my third, and thankfully final, point. You have made her your fool. You've turned her into a one-woman comedic act and all because you couldn't man up and give the poor girl some closure. You couldn't be a man, make one adult decision, so you've left her holding the bag. Now she questions everything you've ever said, everything she's ever felt, and she can feel the laughter from you and anyone else fortunate enough to have watched the whole thing unfold. You've turned her in to everyone's favorite kind of train wreck.
I will conclude this letter by saying that a woman is not your dress rehearsal. She is not where you make mistakes and flippantly move on without a word. She is not your plaything with which you act out your scenarios to discover what you like, what you would do, what you can get away with. She is your opening night. She is your full house, your second act and if you let her, she'll be your standing ovation. But if you are too weak, if you are too boyish, if you cannot handle the simple task of respecting your woman's time and affection, then you are still in rehearsal and you will create heart ache and chaos wherever you go. Drama and pain will follow you and your wake will be rife with anger and bitterness. When you put your head down at night your ears will be ringing with words spoken in spite instead of those spoken in love. And you have no one to blame but yourself.
Regards,
A Woman
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
My Best First Date was with Myself
I have a confession; I lied. The first blog entry is not the most difficult. The second one is. After the excitement and genius of whatever idea you've had wears off and the reality of what you're doing sets in, it gets a little scary. And by 'a little scary', I mean that I've read two books, worked out, made several dinners, caught up on work and started other projects in order to avoid writing this entry. And this one is going to be cake compared to next time... This one is my first real foray into my journey. My first date. No pressure.
My cousin made this for me. She asked me, 'What color best represents a strong, independent woman?' and I said 'well, my power stilettos are mint.' And the statement on the ecard is true! It was the best first date I had ever been on!
It started out pretty awkwardly. I sat down at a high top in the bar and the hostess brought two menus. I had to let her know that it would just be me this evening, and I got my first (and certainly not my last) confused look as she walked away with her extra menu. I explained again to my (awesome) server that no, the hostess didn't forget to leave a menu for my guest, because I was my guest. And even though I'm Dating Myself, I still only need the one menu.
I put my phone away, (it's rude to be on your phone on a date) and forced myself to look around, take it in, think quietly. My first drink came and I was grateful I had something to do with my hands as I'd made awkward eye contact with several patrons I'd been 'people watching' and was starting to feel like a creeper. Halfway through my drink, something hit me. Something big.
I realized that I could take my time. Take my time with the drink, take my time with the appetizer. There was no sweating the menu prices or rushing to pick something low maintenance. If I saw it on the menu, I ordered it. No questions. Did I want another drink? Why, yes I did! I didn't have to worry about getting sloppy, I already knew I was going home with me!
I was thoroughly enjoying my revelation concerning the little date nuances that we don't really think about until we don't have to anymore, when I reached my favorite one yet; That garlic garnish for my tuna? I could eat that. Know why? I wasn't going to be kissing anyone or laughing uproariously at their jokes or giggling cutely by their ears. I began carefully constructing each bite with green onions and sesame seeds. I ate the food like it was supposed to be eaten, and it was positively succulent.
So far I'd experienced food like I never could with another person. I'd taken my time, enjoyed anything and everything I wanted without regards to pricing or the way it made me look, and I hadn't even gotten the dessert menu yet! I had focused on the food and not on a conversation or how my hair looked or was I sounding clever enough. I ordered dessert! I was so much more comfortable by myself, sitting alone, in the bar area of a high volume restaurant on a Friday night than I ever had been on a date. So much so, that when that first bite of my indescribable ice cream hit my lips, I closed my eyes, rocked my head back and said an audible 'mmmmmmmm!' through my big, smile. Every bite I did that, or some variation. I didn't have to just nod my head and agree 'yes, this is amazing, isn't it?'. No, I could do a tiny happy dance after every single bite if I wanted. And I did.
Before I left, a manager came by and asked me if I would like to play a game. 'Absolutely!' (clearly the girl sitting alone at the bar would like to play a game. Any game as long as she didn't accidentally lock eyes with the woman who somehow always happened to be scanning the room at the exact same time.) The manager set an envelope down on my table and said, 'Inside this envelope is a present for you. But the game is, you cannot open it until you get home.' and off she went. She doesn't know that I was struggling with trying to be secure with myself. But that gesture helped bring me to a point that I could truly enjoy the people around me, even if I wasn't interacting with them. And I could have fun, even by myself, as long as I kept myself open to it.
My cousin made this for me. She asked me, 'What color best represents a strong, independent woman?' and I said 'well, my power stilettos are mint.' And the statement on the ecard is true! It was the best first date I had ever been on!
It started out pretty awkwardly. I sat down at a high top in the bar and the hostess brought two menus. I had to let her know that it would just be me this evening, and I got my first (and certainly not my last) confused look as she walked away with her extra menu. I explained again to my (awesome) server that no, the hostess didn't forget to leave a menu for my guest, because I was my guest. And even though I'm Dating Myself, I still only need the one menu.
I put my phone away, (it's rude to be on your phone on a date) and forced myself to look around, take it in, think quietly. My first drink came and I was grateful I had something to do with my hands as I'd made awkward eye contact with several patrons I'd been 'people watching' and was starting to feel like a creeper. Halfway through my drink, something hit me. Something big.
I realized that I could take my time. Take my time with the drink, take my time with the appetizer. There was no sweating the menu prices or rushing to pick something low maintenance. If I saw it on the menu, I ordered it. No questions. Did I want another drink? Why, yes I did! I didn't have to worry about getting sloppy, I already knew I was going home with me!
I was thoroughly enjoying my revelation concerning the little date nuances that we don't really think about until we don't have to anymore, when I reached my favorite one yet; That garlic garnish for my tuna? I could eat that. Know why? I wasn't going to be kissing anyone or laughing uproariously at their jokes or giggling cutely by their ears. I began carefully constructing each bite with green onions and sesame seeds. I ate the food like it was supposed to be eaten, and it was positively succulent.
So far I'd experienced food like I never could with another person. I'd taken my time, enjoyed anything and everything I wanted without regards to pricing or the way it made me look, and I hadn't even gotten the dessert menu yet! I had focused on the food and not on a conversation or how my hair looked or was I sounding clever enough. I ordered dessert! I was so much more comfortable by myself, sitting alone, in the bar area of a high volume restaurant on a Friday night than I ever had been on a date. So much so, that when that first bite of my indescribable ice cream hit my lips, I closed my eyes, rocked my head back and said an audible 'mmmmmmmm!' through my big, smile. Every bite I did that, or some variation. I didn't have to just nod my head and agree 'yes, this is amazing, isn't it?'. No, I could do a tiny happy dance after every single bite if I wanted. And I did.
Before I left, a manager came by and asked me if I would like to play a game. 'Absolutely!' (clearly the girl sitting alone at the bar would like to play a game. Any game as long as she didn't accidentally lock eyes with the woman who somehow always happened to be scanning the room at the exact same time.) The manager set an envelope down on my table and said, 'Inside this envelope is a present for you. But the game is, you cannot open it until you get home.' and off she went. She doesn't know that I was struggling with trying to be secure with myself. But that gesture helped bring me to a point that I could truly enjoy the people around me, even if I wasn't interacting with them. And I could have fun, even by myself, as long as I kept myself open to it.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Day 1 (But Really Day 4)
The first post of a blog you feel passionate about is always the hardest. I have to be objective and realize the way that all of my ideas are swimming around in my head is decidedly not the way to put them to the world. They are erratic, sporadic and, let's be honest, completely incomprehensible. No; I need to organize my thoughts for anyone most unfortunate enough to read them. I need to organize my thoughts for you, should you choose to digest them. And I truly hope you do because I'm going to need some help with this one. I'm going to need some accountability. Writing in my journal doesn't do that, and it cramps my hand. But a blog? My fingers are rejoicing at the thought!
This is me. I'm 24 years old, my bangs are growing out and that jacket is actually a salmon color. I have my septum pierced, I work for my dad in Houston, Texas, and this is The Year I Dated Myself.
I've had many goals lately. Mostly those involving getting into shape, picking up hobbies, eating healthier. But last night I realized I was doing all of those things, making all of those things my goals (or resolutions, if you will) because I wanted to be more interesting. I am so one dimensional, I've even bored myself. But I don't want to become un-boring just in time for some guy to reap all of the benefits! I don't want to improve Ashley, hone her, sharpen her and mold her just to have zero alone time with her! Oh no.
No, I am going to reward myself, with myself. I am going to do all of the things I wanted to do with my exes. I'm going to do for myself, all of the things I wanted them to do. Because why have a significant other do for you the things you've never even done for yourself? Why should I expect him to buy me flowers if I've never bought them for myself? If I deserve a fun date, I'm going to take myself on a fun date whether I have a boyfriend or not.
This is my journey to myself. I want to have a crush on myself, then spend more time doing the cute things people say they like doing on their online dating profiles. Then, I want to really like myself. I want to enjoy spending time alone, with myself. Then I want to realize that a day without me, the real me, would be a sad and lonely day. Then I want to learn new skills and have long walks on the beach with myself until the undefinable, indescribably yet completely tangible moment that I fall in love with myself. This is the year that I become good enough for me. This is the year that I prove to me that I deserve the sweet things in life.
This is: The Year I Dated Myself
I've had many goals lately. Mostly those involving getting into shape, picking up hobbies, eating healthier. But last night I realized I was doing all of those things, making all of those things my goals (or resolutions, if you will) because I wanted to be more interesting. I am so one dimensional, I've even bored myself. But I don't want to become un-boring just in time for some guy to reap all of the benefits! I don't want to improve Ashley, hone her, sharpen her and mold her just to have zero alone time with her! Oh no.
No, I am going to reward myself, with myself. I am going to do all of the things I wanted to do with my exes. I'm going to do for myself, all of the things I wanted them to do. Because why have a significant other do for you the things you've never even done for yourself? Why should I expect him to buy me flowers if I've never bought them for myself? If I deserve a fun date, I'm going to take myself on a fun date whether I have a boyfriend or not.
This is my journey to myself. I want to have a crush on myself, then spend more time doing the cute things people say they like doing on their online dating profiles. Then, I want to really like myself. I want to enjoy spending time alone, with myself. Then I want to realize that a day without me, the real me, would be a sad and lonely day. Then I want to learn new skills and have long walks on the beach with myself until the undefinable, indescribably yet completely tangible moment that I fall in love with myself. This is the year that I become good enough for me. This is the year that I prove to me that I deserve the sweet things in life.
This is: The Year I Dated Myself
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