Greetings, dear reader (that is, assuming there is at least one of you)...
You may have noticed a lack of post for this week. Sixlillies and I have decided to take a little break from the blog for about a month while we both tackle some busy weeks ahead. No worries, we will be back. In the meantime, check out the archives and we will see you soon!
-Six and the Queen
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Life and Regret
To regret or to not regret-- that is the question. I've often struggled with the concept of regret. As a single woman in particular, I often wonder if I do (or even if I should) live a life without regret in regards to my past relationships.
Regrets are not to be confused with mistakes. Mistakes are universal--everyone makes them. Regret is not universal; just ask a handful of your friends. Some people live regretless lives, while others have plenty to go around.
I know I've made mistakes in my relationships. Probably too many to count. I've let people down, I've expected too much or too little, and I've made rash decisions that have hurt both me and the person I was with. There have been times when I've let my standards slide. None of these are things I can take back, and what's the point in wishing that I could?
It's a decision I've come to more recently, but it's been formed over time. I just don't believe in regret anymore. There is a Katherine Mansfield quote that says,
I find that being single allows me to think about mistakes I've made, but I'm learning not to dwell on them. So believe what you want in regards to regret. As for me, I'm slowly but surely finding freedom in letting go and living without it.
Regrets are not to be confused with mistakes. Mistakes are universal--everyone makes them. Regret is not universal; just ask a handful of your friends. Some people live regretless lives, while others have plenty to go around.
I know I've made mistakes in my relationships. Probably too many to count. I've let people down, I've expected too much or too little, and I've made rash decisions that have hurt both me and the person I was with. There have been times when I've let my standards slide. None of these are things I can take back, and what's the point in wishing that I could?
It's a decision I've come to more recently, but it's been formed over time. I just don't believe in regret anymore. There is a Katherine Mansfield quote that says,
And it's true. I acknowledge my mistakes, don't get me wrong. But each and every bad decision I've made, each and every time I let my standards slip; I learned something invaluable. I'm flawed for sure, and have a past marked with mistakes. And those mistakes and the pain that came with them are what have made me who I am today."Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy; you can't build on it; it's only for wallowing in."
I find that being single allows me to think about mistakes I've made, but I'm learning not to dwell on them. So believe what you want in regards to regret. As for me, I'm slowly but surely finding freedom in letting go and living without it.
Monday, March 19, 2007
We Have Our Cake, and We're Eating It Too!
At one point, I said to a co-worker that it is a great time to be a girl in this country. He asked me how I could say that, given the fact that women only make 70 cents on the dollar compared to men.
Actually, according to Rutgers, women made 73% of what men made in 2000 (73 cents on the dollar). I can only imagine that this figure has improved, but even if it hasn't, I still stand by my original statement: It is a great time to be a girl.
To begin with, women in America currently have it better than most of the women at any point in history and better than many of the women of the world at this time. We have representation in the government, and our votes count for equal to a male's vote. We can define ourselves in any number of ways, none of which are restricted to how many babies we raise or how well our husbands are fed. In fact, many women are either waiting until later in life to marry or are choosing not to get married at all, preferring to stay single, which was not always an option unless one wanted to live with one's parents forever. We can own property without permission. Fewer of us die in childbirth than ever before, and birthcontrol is easily attainable with minimal side-effects. We can give and receive sex freely without being labeled publicly (meaning through the legal system) as immoral. We don't even need men to have babies anymore. So, when you think about the fact that even a century ago, women could not vote in federal elections and it was nearly impossible for a woman to succeed on her own without a man of some kind backing her, it is pretty remarkable that we have come as far as we have.
And I'll say it, as women in the United States, we are incredibly spoiled right now. (Women in other parts of the world do not always fare nearly so well.) For example, a woman in America today can choose whether she wants to stay at home or go to work. She can choose whether she wants to be single or get married. She can serve in the military (even though she can't fight in combat), but she can't be drafted. She can expect a man to hold the door for her, or she can get pissy about it. She can pick up the check or demand that the guy does. She can bash guys, especially single white guys, but they can't bash her. And even though it might be degrading, she can still use her sexuality to get what she wants, whether it be avoiding a traffic ticket by unbuttoning an extra button or getting the mechanic to run her car through the car wash by saying how nervous it makes her. She can also get almost anything she wants by crying, even though some of us refuse to invoke this method. In short, we women are currently having our proverbial cake and eating it, too.
Soon, the pendulum will start to swing the other way. It will dawn on men that we have "equal rights," and they will start looking at drafting us along with men into the military. Soon people will figure out that our equal rights are actually superior rights full of double standards. Soon, they will realize that for 27 cents more on every dollar, they could be getting far more from us.
Soon, the jig will be up, but in the meantime, I celebrate being a girl during one of the best periods and in one of the best places to be one.
Actually, according to Rutgers, women made 73% of what men made in 2000 (73 cents on the dollar). I can only imagine that this figure has improved, but even if it hasn't, I still stand by my original statement: It is a great time to be a girl.
To begin with, women in America currently have it better than most of the women at any point in history and better than many of the women of the world at this time. We have representation in the government, and our votes count for equal to a male's vote. We can define ourselves in any number of ways, none of which are restricted to how many babies we raise or how well our husbands are fed. In fact, many women are either waiting until later in life to marry or are choosing not to get married at all, preferring to stay single, which was not always an option unless one wanted to live with one's parents forever. We can own property without permission. Fewer of us die in childbirth than ever before, and birthcontrol is easily attainable with minimal side-effects. We can give and receive sex freely without being labeled publicly (meaning through the legal system) as immoral. We don't even need men to have babies anymore. So, when you think about the fact that even a century ago, women could not vote in federal elections and it was nearly impossible for a woman to succeed on her own without a man of some kind backing her, it is pretty remarkable that we have come as far as we have.
And I'll say it, as women in the United States, we are incredibly spoiled right now. (Women in other parts of the world do not always fare nearly so well.) For example, a woman in America today can choose whether she wants to stay at home or go to work. She can choose whether she wants to be single or get married. She can serve in the military (even though she can't fight in combat), but she can't be drafted. She can expect a man to hold the door for her, or she can get pissy about it. She can pick up the check or demand that the guy does. She can bash guys, especially single white guys, but they can't bash her. And even though it might be degrading, she can still use her sexuality to get what she wants, whether it be avoiding a traffic ticket by unbuttoning an extra button or getting the mechanic to run her car through the car wash by saying how nervous it makes her. She can also get almost anything she wants by crying, even though some of us refuse to invoke this method. In short, we women are currently having our proverbial cake and eating it, too.
Soon, the pendulum will start to swing the other way. It will dawn on men that we have "equal rights," and they will start looking at drafting us along with men into the military. Soon people will figure out that our equal rights are actually superior rights full of double standards. Soon, they will realize that for 27 cents more on every dollar, they could be getting far more from us.
Soon, the jig will be up, but in the meantime, I celebrate being a girl during one of the best periods and in one of the best places to be one.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Sick wuss, table for one
My life is a busy one, probably more so than most. I live on my own, I pay my bills on-time (usually), and I consider myself fully capable and independent. I'm single, and I'm quite okay with that-- usually. But this past week I found myself curled up in a ball on my bed, shivering, coughing, sore, and lonely. And for the first time in forever, I truly wished that I wasn't single.
What is it about a simple cold that can turn me into a co-dependent wuss? I am at a loss. Why does being sick make me wish I had a significant other? I really cannot tell you.
I guess I've come to find that despite my semi-feminist beliefs, my self-assuredness, my independence, and my invincibility, I still want to be taken care of; particularly when I'm sick. I'd love nothing more than to have someone around to drive me to the pharmacy, to rub my back when I cant sleep, and to supply me with endless amounts of 7up. Someone who would kiss my forehead with genuine concern and make everything better. Someone who would cuddle up next to me even if it meant that they might get sick.
If you're lucky enough, you have a great mom who did all of that for you when you were growing up. And if you're lucky enough, when you do grow up, you'll find the kind of person who will fill that role again-- not because you're needy, but just because it's one of the most genuine ways you can be cared for.
So I guess I'm in the inbetween-- a place of familiarity throughout one's 20s. But I think I'll be okay for now, and perhaps someday when I do grow up, I'll be lucky enough.
What is it about a simple cold that can turn me into a co-dependent wuss? I am at a loss. Why does being sick make me wish I had a significant other? I really cannot tell you.
I guess I've come to find that despite my semi-feminist beliefs, my self-assuredness, my independence, and my invincibility, I still want to be taken care of; particularly when I'm sick. I'd love nothing more than to have someone around to drive me to the pharmacy, to rub my back when I cant sleep, and to supply me with endless amounts of 7up. Someone who would kiss my forehead with genuine concern and make everything better. Someone who would cuddle up next to me even if it meant that they might get sick.
If you're lucky enough, you have a great mom who did all of that for you when you were growing up. And if you're lucky enough, when you do grow up, you'll find the kind of person who will fill that role again-- not because you're needy, but just because it's one of the most genuine ways you can be cared for.
So I guess I'm in the inbetween-- a place of familiarity throughout one's 20s. But I think I'll be okay for now, and perhaps someday when I do grow up, I'll be lucky enough.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Single on a Saturday Night Tip #1
One of the most difficult things about being single can be watching all your "couple" friends wander off in twos on "date night."
But to me, this is the thing that married people forget: Being single is wonderful in so many ways. People tend to define themselves only in terms of their sexuality, but people are so much more than that. We have so many dimensions, and to me, being single on a Saturday night is a perfect time to celebrate these. It's a perfect time to feed your other needs.
If you're sick of the typical club and bar scene, though, try this for something different.
Last year, my single girlfriends and I had a standing Saturday night "date" for about six months. Each Saturday night, we tried a new restaurant. The rules were as follows: It had to be under $20 a plate (preferrably including an alcoholic beverage), none of us could have ever eaten there before, no more than four people could go, we would rotate choosing the restaurant, and whoever chose the restaurant drove to the restaurant. In addition, we usually planned to go around 3:30 or 4:00 to beat the supper crowd. We found many of the restaurants from City Search, and I don't believe we once had a bad experience. We tried lots of great cuisine, including everything from mango shrimp at a Malaysian restaurant to sweet potato fries at a great little neighborhood joint with an awesomely sarcastic waitress.
There were many great things about this experience. To begin with, I never once envied my couple friends for their date night. Why would I? Every week I had a new and interesting experience to look forward to. In addition, it brought "us girls" closer together, and we would usually plan a movie or a museum or a night on the town afterwards. We have an extensive list of restaurants to choose from when we want to eat out, and we have some great stories to re-tell when we get together now. We still quote the sarcastic waitress: "Was it everything you hoped it could be and, oh, so much more?" We still go back to some of our favorite spots.
So, if you're single and wondering what to do in the upcoming weeks when the winter starts to bring you down, try getting a group of your single friends together for a restaurant sampling of your own city. There's no reason why couples should be the only ones with dates on Saturday night.
But to me, this is the thing that married people forget: Being single is wonderful in so many ways. People tend to define themselves only in terms of their sexuality, but people are so much more than that. We have so many dimensions, and to me, being single on a Saturday night is a perfect time to celebrate these. It's a perfect time to feed your other needs.
If you're sick of the typical club and bar scene, though, try this for something different.
Last year, my single girlfriends and I had a standing Saturday night "date" for about six months. Each Saturday night, we tried a new restaurant. The rules were as follows: It had to be under $20 a plate (preferrably including an alcoholic beverage), none of us could have ever eaten there before, no more than four people could go, we would rotate choosing the restaurant, and whoever chose the restaurant drove to the restaurant. In addition, we usually planned to go around 3:30 or 4:00 to beat the supper crowd. We found many of the restaurants from City Search, and I don't believe we once had a bad experience. We tried lots of great cuisine, including everything from mango shrimp at a Malaysian restaurant to sweet potato fries at a great little neighborhood joint with an awesomely sarcastic waitress.
There were many great things about this experience. To begin with, I never once envied my couple friends for their date night. Why would I? Every week I had a new and interesting experience to look forward to. In addition, it brought "us girls" closer together, and we would usually plan a movie or a museum or a night on the town afterwards. We have an extensive list of restaurants to choose from when we want to eat out, and we have some great stories to re-tell when we get together now. We still quote the sarcastic waitress: "Was it everything you hoped it could be and, oh, so much more?" We still go back to some of our favorite spots.
So, if you're single and wondering what to do in the upcoming weeks when the winter starts to bring you down, try getting a group of your single friends together for a restaurant sampling of your own city. There's no reason why couples should be the only ones with dates on Saturday night.
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Ex-Files
It’s been quite a week in the world of entertainment news. Britney shaved her head, Anna Nicole Smith’s bizarre life and death became even more bizarre, and, oh yeah-- my ex-boyfriend emailed me.
Why is this news? Because folks, I really thought this chapter in my life was over. To give some background, things didn’t end well. He dumped me, twice. And he broke my heart more times than I can count. He’s been inconsistent, unreliable, and generally unstable for most of the time that I’ve known him. And what do I do? Every time he decides that he needs me, I am there for him, regardless of the fact that I know he will run away and hurt me again.
I can’t help it. Logic tells me to delete his emails, and in fact, it was logic that lead me to attempt to cut off contact with him a few months ago. But logic doesn’t really resonate in my heart, and in my heart, for whatever reason, I really care for this messed-up semblance of a man. And regardless of the fact that I’m not giving him another go at a relationship while he still has so many issues, he still has the power to hurt me. And regardless of the fact that he holds this power, I can’t just decide that I don’t care about him. So in the end logic seems irrelevant, though it probably serves a wonderfully useful purpose.
So I’m holding my breath, closing my eyes, and jumping into a pool full of pins and needles hoping that, by some miracle, it will turn into water by the time I get there. I know that it wont. I know that it will hurt when I land. But I am predictable, and I will patch up all of my wounds (which will complement the scabs and scars already there, of course), and I will go stand by the diving board and wait to jump in again. It sounds twisted and dysfunctional, and by all means, it is. But I just keep hoping that someday I’ll hit water.
“As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.” --the Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
Why is this news? Because folks, I really thought this chapter in my life was over. To give some background, things didn’t end well. He dumped me, twice. And he broke my heart more times than I can count. He’s been inconsistent, unreliable, and generally unstable for most of the time that I’ve known him. And what do I do? Every time he decides that he needs me, I am there for him, regardless of the fact that I know he will run away and hurt me again.
I can’t help it. Logic tells me to delete his emails, and in fact, it was logic that lead me to attempt to cut off contact with him a few months ago. But logic doesn’t really resonate in my heart, and in my heart, for whatever reason, I really care for this messed-up semblance of a man. And regardless of the fact that I’m not giving him another go at a relationship while he still has so many issues, he still has the power to hurt me. And regardless of the fact that he holds this power, I can’t just decide that I don’t care about him. So in the end logic seems irrelevant, though it probably serves a wonderfully useful purpose.
So I’m holding my breath, closing my eyes, and jumping into a pool full of pins and needles hoping that, by some miracle, it will turn into water by the time I get there. I know that it wont. I know that it will hurt when I land. But I am predictable, and I will patch up all of my wounds (which will complement the scabs and scars already there, of course), and I will go stand by the diving board and wait to jump in again. It sounds twisted and dysfunctional, and by all means, it is. But I just keep hoping that someday I’ll hit water.
“As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don't know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.” --the Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
Friday, February 16, 2007
Just Say No to Bridesmaid Dresses
Like most single women, I have no fewer than two ugly bridesmaid dresses hanging in my closet. I have been three times a bridesmaid (never a bride), and I swear to God that I will never do it again. I understand that most married/engaged people will insist that this makes me a bastard. That's easy to say from their end of the aisle. They never have to do it again. I believe three times is quite enough, thank you. Anyone who asks me is getting turned down.
Despite my heartfelt conversations with all of my friends about never wanting to be in another wedding (pre-engagement, of course), they nevertheless continue to ask me to be the maid of honor. I do not capitalize this because I do not feel it is any particular honor, particularly after the last bridezilla told me that our other friend (who was too busy drinking to be aware of half the wedding and did none of the prep) was her best friend (on the day of the wedding).
I feel that brides are bitches. I don't care that it is their day. It is not their six months, yet they continue to act like it is. For months prior to the wedding, it consumes every conversation (and the conversations all cease once the blessed event has occurred), and hundreds of dollars worth of my hard-earned money. I spent nearly $1,000 on the last one, which I feel is excessive for anyone's special day, particularly someone who now has a new, and married I might add, best friend and little to no time to talk to me.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? Off the newly-wed goes into her club of married women where they look down on those of us who only have to wash one person's laundry, and all we get is an ugly dress. They get tax breaks, even though there's two of them, and fancy silver, and pretty china. I get the same ugly dress in several different shades.
I'm selling the dress, I've decided, as soon as I get it dry cleaned. I feel this is a wise move, especially because we are coming up on prom. Everyone when they see it says, "Ooo, you could even wear this to something else!" Never mind that I attend no event formal enough to require such a dress. Who re-uses bridesmaid dresses? Has anyone ever worn one a second time? Has anyone out there ever done something interesting with one? Perhaps made a kite from it?
If I get married someday (and that's a big "if"), I'm asking bridezilla to be my maid of honor, and I am going to torture her in every way that she tortured me. Either that, or I'm going to keep it nice and simple and get married at the courthouse. I'll cough up money for a photographer. Me and my party will wear jeans. I will have no maid of honor because I'm not into servants. It will be lovely, and no one will have to listen to one more butchered rendition of "The Wedding Song."
In the meantime, the dress hangs in my closet, taunting me because I know exactly how much money I paid to wear it a total of once. I cringe a little every time I think of the IPod I might have had if I had just said no.
Despite my heartfelt conversations with all of my friends about never wanting to be in another wedding (pre-engagement, of course), they nevertheless continue to ask me to be the maid of honor. I do not capitalize this because I do not feel it is any particular honor, particularly after the last bridezilla told me that our other friend (who was too busy drinking to be aware of half the wedding and did none of the prep) was her best friend (on the day of the wedding).
I feel that brides are bitches. I don't care that it is their day. It is not their six months, yet they continue to act like it is. For months prior to the wedding, it consumes every conversation (and the conversations all cease once the blessed event has occurred), and hundreds of dollars worth of my hard-earned money. I spent nearly $1,000 on the last one, which I feel is excessive for anyone's special day, particularly someone who now has a new, and married I might add, best friend and little to no time to talk to me.
Because that's the thing, isn't it? Off the newly-wed goes into her club of married women where they look down on those of us who only have to wash one person's laundry, and all we get is an ugly dress. They get tax breaks, even though there's two of them, and fancy silver, and pretty china. I get the same ugly dress in several different shades.
I'm selling the dress, I've decided, as soon as I get it dry cleaned. I feel this is a wise move, especially because we are coming up on prom. Everyone when they see it says, "Ooo, you could even wear this to something else!" Never mind that I attend no event formal enough to require such a dress. Who re-uses bridesmaid dresses? Has anyone ever worn one a second time? Has anyone out there ever done something interesting with one? Perhaps made a kite from it?
If I get married someday (and that's a big "if"), I'm asking bridezilla to be my maid of honor, and I am going to torture her in every way that she tortured me. Either that, or I'm going to keep it nice and simple and get married at the courthouse. I'll cough up money for a photographer. Me and my party will wear jeans. I will have no maid of honor because I'm not into servants. It will be lovely, and no one will have to listen to one more butchered rendition of "The Wedding Song."
In the meantime, the dress hangs in my closet, taunting me because I know exactly how much money I paid to wear it a total of once. I cringe a little every time I think of the IPod I might have had if I had just said no.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Beware of men carrying red flags
It’s the age of online dating, folks. It may not be fair to say that “everyone’s doing it,” but a lot of people certainly are. No longer are e-personals solely reserved for 40-year-old men still living with their mothers. As the stigma slowly fades, more and more people seem to be eagerly seeking the convenience and sense of control that online dating seems to offer. But as with many approaches to the mating and dating game, there are a few pitfalls too. So in the interest of weeding through the pervs and narcissists, here it is: my unofficial, unscientific guide to avoiding creeps in the world of online dating.
At the very least, online dating can provide one with the opportunity to meet some interesting people. Just beware, because for every decent man, there may just be 4 other sex-obsessed, self-absorbed, hopelessly average men with tasteless tattoos waiting for your email.
- A screenname, or handle, is one of the first things displayed on your profile. Screennames like texasboy23 or music_is_life are nice and neutral. Try to avoid guys with screennames such as hornyman2000, sex_u_up, or vaginamuncher (I swear this is one I actually came across once). Also steer clear of any guys with “pimp” in their handle. Seriously, if a guy can’t make something as simple as his screenname non-sexual, he probably thinks with something other than his brain.
- It’s always nice to see the goods before you test-drive them. A picture is a good way to decide whether or not there is attraction, because for better or for worse it does matter. Men who post pictures of themselves shirtless should be avoided at all costs. I don’t really care if you have great abs, and I don’t really want to see them. Actually, the fact that you have no humility whatsoever makes me want to beat you with sharp objects. Enough said.
- This could just be me, but I believe it should be a standard for all women. Men who post things in their profile description such as “I’m just a typical guy” or “I would describe myself as average” should not be allowed to stay within the realm of consideration. I’m certainly not looking for a guy who thinks he’s fan-freaking-tabulous, but who wants average? You might as well add “dull” and “mediocre” to the list for all I care. At least be interesting.
- Other eliminators include mustaches (because I don’t want to date you if you look like a porn star from 1972), men who insist on saying “baby” or “angel” a lot (you don’t know me, you have no right to shower cheesy endearments on me), and guys with barbed-wire or kanji symbol tattoos (this means you’re trendy, and would probably would have bought me trendy things like giga pets and beanie babies in 1997, and that’s just unoriginal).
At the very least, online dating can provide one with the opportunity to meet some interesting people. Just beware, because for every decent man, there may just be 4 other sex-obsessed, self-absorbed, hopelessly average men with tasteless tattoos waiting for your email.
Friday, February 2, 2007
26 and Single
As a single Christian woman of 26, people always want to know when I plan to get married. By the time my mother was 26, she had been married for several years. By the time she was 27, she had me. I know that when I went off to my school, a Christian college, everyone thought that I was going to leave with two things: A degree and a husband. One out of two isn’t bad, but to be fair, if it were a letter grade, it would be an F.
The problem with being a single Christian woman over the age of 21 is that you start to get The Look, especially from people at church. People start to look at you as though something is wrong with you because you’re single. They don’t know any other single people your age, so they can’t set you up, but they feel instinctively that you should know some single people. And not only that, but these mysterious, invisible single people that you should know and be dating should meet a certain laundry list of required characteristics.
For starters, they must absolutely be Christian. It doesn’t matter that they believe, just that they are. They should also be “pure,” meaning virgin. In addition, they shouldn’t drink or smoke. They should be educated, and they should, if at all possible, resemble Freddy Prinze, Jr. the way he looked on She’s All That before he got that weird haircut. They shouldn’t look at porn. Additionally, they should be interested in all the same things you are (so long as none of them are weird. I mean, come on, you can’t expect a hot guy to role play), they should play a sport, they should want to get involved at church, they should want 2.5 children, and they should make a shitload, preferably in pharmaceuticals or some other career that will get you a house in suburbia with a KitchenAid Mixer and that will someday allow them to donate pews with little memorial plaques on. Probably they should sing, too, so that the two of you can get good, front row seats in Heaven. That’s important. You don’t want to be stuck in the back with all the hippies.
The problem with this list, of course, is that not only is it not anything that I want, it is also not anything that is possible to get. Rich, good looking, Christian singers are the boys my inappropriate dreams are made of, it’s true, but at the end of the day, you can’t snuggle with your dreams. And despite what the people who got married at 21 and are now cooking other people’s food might tell you, snuggling is important. I’ll say it: More important than words on pages out of a book that was written (by men, no less) long before I was around to enjoy snuggling. Possibly even more important than a picket fence or pews with little name tags on them, though I never said it.
I’m pseudo-dating a guy right now, and while the “R” word has been dropped, I am still officially single, and yeah, sometimes he annoys me. But at the end of the day, he thinks the stars shine just for me. He would give me the last vanilla cupcake with sprinkles, especially if I pouted, because he hates to see me sad. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is. I mean, there are not many I would give up vanilla cupcakes with sprinkles for. He puts up with all my eccentricities (i.e., refusing to do dishes until the counter looks like it will require a hazmat team to clean it up and the fact that my bathroom sink hasn’t drained properly the entire time I’ve known him). However he has two big strikes against him: He doesn’t read, and he’s not a Christian, both of which are incredibly important to me.
Now to be fair, I am the uber-liberal variety of Christian that got myself censored from Craigslist because no one thinks it’s possible to be a liberal Christian. I take the Bible at its word when it says, “Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial,” which means that I listen to the first half and take the consequences of the second because life is too damned short not to enjoy it while you’re in your 20s. The odds are high that the kind of guy I am looking for is not out there. I want someone who’s going to push the envelope while still being religious, and I suspect that if that’s what I really want, then what I really want may not be a Christian yet.
I can’t deny that the Bible says not to be unequally yoked, but when it comes to that, I’m not such a good teammate anyway. Maybe it’s time to pull beside someone who at least seems to be going in the same direction for now.
And at the end of the day, if the candidate in question meets all your personal requirements (loyal, owns a Harley, makes good money, cares about his family, worships you and the ground you walk on and probably the mantle and core of the earth beneath where you stand, likes the same geeky things that you like [minus a few key ones that you can win him over on], doesn’t drink [which is better than you’re doing], doesn’t smoke [which is good cause you have asthma], is a virgin [more so than you are], thinks all your personal faults are adorable [even though they aren’t] and just generally makes you feel like a million bucks every time he touches you), then how important is it if he doesn’t meet all of everyone else’s requirements?
And how important is it if he doesn’t meet all of yours? Specifically, if he’s not a Christian, but he’s the closest thing to it you’ve pretty much ever dated even though he doesn’t sing tenor in the choir on Sundays and thinks religion is a waste of time, then do you go with it or dump him on principle? Or do you go with him with glee and resign yourself to heavenly nosebleed seats amongst the hippies?
I’m not sure.
I’m just not sure.
The problem with being a single Christian woman over the age of 21 is that you start to get The Look, especially from people at church. People start to look at you as though something is wrong with you because you’re single. They don’t know any other single people your age, so they can’t set you up, but they feel instinctively that you should know some single people. And not only that, but these mysterious, invisible single people that you should know and be dating should meet a certain laundry list of required characteristics.
For starters, they must absolutely be Christian. It doesn’t matter that they believe, just that they are. They should also be “pure,” meaning virgin. In addition, they shouldn’t drink or smoke. They should be educated, and they should, if at all possible, resemble Freddy Prinze, Jr. the way he looked on She’s All That before he got that weird haircut. They shouldn’t look at porn. Additionally, they should be interested in all the same things you are (so long as none of them are weird. I mean, come on, you can’t expect a hot guy to role play), they should play a sport, they should want to get involved at church, they should want 2.5 children, and they should make a shitload, preferably in pharmaceuticals or some other career that will get you a house in suburbia with a KitchenAid Mixer and that will someday allow them to donate pews with little memorial plaques on. Probably they should sing, too, so that the two of you can get good, front row seats in Heaven. That’s important. You don’t want to be stuck in the back with all the hippies.
The problem with this list, of course, is that not only is it not anything that I want, it is also not anything that is possible to get. Rich, good looking, Christian singers are the boys my inappropriate dreams are made of, it’s true, but at the end of the day, you can’t snuggle with your dreams. And despite what the people who got married at 21 and are now cooking other people’s food might tell you, snuggling is important. I’ll say it: More important than words on pages out of a book that was written (by men, no less) long before I was around to enjoy snuggling. Possibly even more important than a picket fence or pews with little name tags on them, though I never said it.
I’m pseudo-dating a guy right now, and while the “R” word has been dropped, I am still officially single, and yeah, sometimes he annoys me. But at the end of the day, he thinks the stars shine just for me. He would give me the last vanilla cupcake with sprinkles, especially if I pouted, because he hates to see me sad. If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is. I mean, there are not many I would give up vanilla cupcakes with sprinkles for. He puts up with all my eccentricities (i.e., refusing to do dishes until the counter looks like it will require a hazmat team to clean it up and the fact that my bathroom sink hasn’t drained properly the entire time I’ve known him). However he has two big strikes against him: He doesn’t read, and he’s not a Christian, both of which are incredibly important to me.
Now to be fair, I am the uber-liberal variety of Christian that got myself censored from Craigslist because no one thinks it’s possible to be a liberal Christian. I take the Bible at its word when it says, “Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial,” which means that I listen to the first half and take the consequences of the second because life is too damned short not to enjoy it while you’re in your 20s. The odds are high that the kind of guy I am looking for is not out there. I want someone who’s going to push the envelope while still being religious, and I suspect that if that’s what I really want, then what I really want may not be a Christian yet.
I can’t deny that the Bible says not to be unequally yoked, but when it comes to that, I’m not such a good teammate anyway. Maybe it’s time to pull beside someone who at least seems to be going in the same direction for now.
And at the end of the day, if the candidate in question meets all your personal requirements (loyal, owns a Harley, makes good money, cares about his family, worships you and the ground you walk on and probably the mantle and core of the earth beneath where you stand, likes the same geeky things that you like [minus a few key ones that you can win him over on], doesn’t drink [which is better than you’re doing], doesn’t smoke [which is good cause you have asthma], is a virgin [more so than you are], thinks all your personal faults are adorable [even though they aren’t] and just generally makes you feel like a million bucks every time he touches you), then how important is it if he doesn’t meet all of everyone else’s requirements?
And how important is it if he doesn’t meet all of yours? Specifically, if he’s not a Christian, but he’s the closest thing to it you’ve pretty much ever dated even though he doesn’t sing tenor in the choir on Sundays and thinks religion is a waste of time, then do you go with it or dump him on principle? Or do you go with him with glee and resign yourself to heavenly nosebleed seats amongst the hippies?
I’m not sure.
I’m just not sure.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Faith and Questioning Sex
Lately I've been thinking about sex. A lot. No, not in a lusty, "I wonder what it be like to screw Johnny Depp" kind of way (although, that is what I'm thinking about now), but in a philosophical "what does this all mean?" kind of way. In order to avoid mass confusion, I'm going to go ahead and define, for the purposes of this entry, what I mean when I say "sex." Unless I specify otherwise, I am referring to vaginal intercourse. I'll save the "defining sex" debate for another time.
I am, for all technical purposes, a technical virgin, but upon further self-examination I've concluded that there is nothing virginal about me. I'm known for pushing the envelope and bending the rules in many areas of life, and this seems to be no exception. I told a friend of mine recently that I no longer feel I can claim the title of "virgin." "Sure you are," she said "Just change the meaning, like I did." But I can't seem to find it in myself to claim it, partially because I won't pretend to be something I'm not, and partially because I'm not sure the term holds much value to me anymore.
In my last relationship, sex was considered. He wanted it, I wanted it, we were in love, and dammit, he was hands down the hottest guy I'd ever dated (I know that's not a good reason to sleep with someone, but I'm just saying...). In the end I decided against it, mainly because I couldn't shake the feeling that I just might be making a big mistake.
Here's where my faith complicates things. You see, I was always taught that being a good Christian meant waiting until marriage for sex. Even in my slow but steady conversion from conservative to liberal Christianity I've held onto this principal. Then I began to date more seriously. Then I began to question the bible. And now, I'm steeped in confusion.
Will I be doomed to a terrible, unfulfilling marriage someday if I decide not to wait? I know that there are plenty of married people who did not wait who have great marriages, and many who did who are either divorced or miserably sticking it out. I'm not sure I believe that waiting will form the foundation for a strong marriage.
I've been told that sex before marriage will leave you feeling used, guilty, and regretful. In my experience, all of the stuff leading up to sex was amazing, liberating, and I haven't ever felt guilty about it. We (in my last relationship) were very purposeful in making sure that our sexual relationship was in line with our emotional one, and even though we are no longer together neither of us has regrets. So what does that lack of guilt mean? Am I just a bad Christian?
I'm sure that my struggle with this has something-- or everything-- to do with my view of God. Over the past couple of years he has morphed from a generous father-figure into a mean and vindictive supreme being. Everything he does is justified, and suffering needs no reason. He is the God of the Old Testament all over again. And I hate-- HATE-- being told to blindly obey him. Obedience is something I despise in the first place, but being told to unquestioningly obey someone you can't trust is something else entirely. I can't count how many times I have fallen into a dark and scary place, crying out for someone to save me, or at least be with me, and God has not been there. Seriously? I'm supposed to trust him? I'm just supposed to stick to this no sex before marriage thing even though it makes no sense to me?
I do know one thing, and that is that my two sexual experiences outside of a relationship did leave me feeling regretful and guilty. I know that I watch Sex and the City, and I honestly wonder how these women can sleep with so many men and not be dead inside. I know that sex is a big deal, and I don't take it lightly. But that's where I'm at with it.
I know that there are many people who can't relate to this struggle, but I think there are also many who do. I can see how, especially in a non-Christian context, my contemplation may seem like fear and over-analyzation. But here's the deal: there are many elements of Christianity that I have, quite happily, tossed down the drain. For whatever reason, I want to toss the sex issue and I can't. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to settle my uneasiness about it. So I will remain a single woman, clinging to some semblance of the Christian faith, who is sick of everyone else's answers and just wants to find her own. Maybe, hopefully, my answers will come sooner rather than later.
I am, for all technical purposes, a technical virgin, but upon further self-examination I've concluded that there is nothing virginal about me. I'm known for pushing the envelope and bending the rules in many areas of life, and this seems to be no exception. I told a friend of mine recently that I no longer feel I can claim the title of "virgin." "Sure you are," she said "Just change the meaning, like I did." But I can't seem to find it in myself to claim it, partially because I won't pretend to be something I'm not, and partially because I'm not sure the term holds much value to me anymore.
In my last relationship, sex was considered. He wanted it, I wanted it, we were in love, and dammit, he was hands down the hottest guy I'd ever dated (I know that's not a good reason to sleep with someone, but I'm just saying...). In the end I decided against it, mainly because I couldn't shake the feeling that I just might be making a big mistake.
Here's where my faith complicates things. You see, I was always taught that being a good Christian meant waiting until marriage for sex. Even in my slow but steady conversion from conservative to liberal Christianity I've held onto this principal. Then I began to date more seriously. Then I began to question the bible. And now, I'm steeped in confusion.
Will I be doomed to a terrible, unfulfilling marriage someday if I decide not to wait? I know that there are plenty of married people who did not wait who have great marriages, and many who did who are either divorced or miserably sticking it out. I'm not sure I believe that waiting will form the foundation for a strong marriage.
I've been told that sex before marriage will leave you feeling used, guilty, and regretful. In my experience, all of the stuff leading up to sex was amazing, liberating, and I haven't ever felt guilty about it. We (in my last relationship) were very purposeful in making sure that our sexual relationship was in line with our emotional one, and even though we are no longer together neither of us has regrets. So what does that lack of guilt mean? Am I just a bad Christian?
I'm sure that my struggle with this has something-- or everything-- to do with my view of God. Over the past couple of years he has morphed from a generous father-figure into a mean and vindictive supreme being. Everything he does is justified, and suffering needs no reason. He is the God of the Old Testament all over again. And I hate-- HATE-- being told to blindly obey him. Obedience is something I despise in the first place, but being told to unquestioningly obey someone you can't trust is something else entirely. I can't count how many times I have fallen into a dark and scary place, crying out for someone to save me, or at least be with me, and God has not been there. Seriously? I'm supposed to trust him? I'm just supposed to stick to this no sex before marriage thing even though it makes no sense to me?
I do know one thing, and that is that my two sexual experiences outside of a relationship did leave me feeling regretful and guilty. I know that I watch Sex and the City, and I honestly wonder how these women can sleep with so many men and not be dead inside. I know that sex is a big deal, and I don't take it lightly. But that's where I'm at with it.
I know that there are many people who can't relate to this struggle, but I think there are also many who do. I can see how, especially in a non-Christian context, my contemplation may seem like fear and over-analyzation. But here's the deal: there are many elements of Christianity that I have, quite happily, tossed down the drain. For whatever reason, I want to toss the sex issue and I can't. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to settle my uneasiness about it. So I will remain a single woman, clinging to some semblance of the Christian faith, who is sick of everyone else's answers and just wants to find her own. Maybe, hopefully, my answers will come sooner rather than later.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Where'd All the Manly Men Go?
I am dating a sissy. That's right; I said it: A Sissy. I do not say this lightly. I happen to love a man who can talk about his feelings and who enjoys art and maybe a little theatre from time to time. But this guy is not that kind of sissy. He doesn't read, and he hates art and sports for that matter. To make matters worse, he also has no friends. He is the kind of sissy who calls me more than he needs to and gets pissy if he feels that I don't call him enough.
Where is it written that to be in a relationship you have to give up having a life? I have certainly had my days of co-dependency, but I like to think I have grown up since then. I like to go out with the girls and have a beer, talk about our conquests, call the boy toy up for a little swaction (sweet action for those of you who don't know), and move on with my day. It's fine to call me, but I'm not looking to settle down here. I find it weird that he is so eager to settle down with me. And the thing is, if I was a man, this would be completely normal, but since I'm not, I'm the bitch. I should make more time for him. I should re-arrange my whole schedule to suit his neediness.
Right now, I am battling a cold, and he basically told me that if I don't come over tomorrow, he is coming over to see me. Period. I find this irritating. I have a lot of homework due tomorrow by midnight. In addition, I am a bad sick person, and I would very much like to lie on my couch and whine. He will only distract me from this project.
I guess what I really want to know is, what happened to all the manly men? I would love to find the kind of man who would come around, sweep me off my feet once a week, and then go out with the boys on the other nights. I would love to find the kind of man who just wanted to play around for awhile and see what came next. I would love to go on casual dates and see a movie or have dinner here and there. I would love to find a man who didn't whine and cry and piss and moan every time I said I was too busy to see him right this minute. What happened to those men? And do you have to sacrifice class if you find them? For example, the manly man I dated previously had a plastic bull's balls replica hanging from his pick-up truck hitch. Say it with me boys and girls: Mistake.
I guess that in the end, I don't want a guy to throw himself at me, and I wonder how and when it all got so serious. I miss the days when I could go to the movies with a guy, and it didn't automatically mean that I wanted to buy a split level together and have his babies. I wish I had the balls to say "If I'm playing it cool, you play it cool, too. Don't throw yourself at me; it makes you look desperate." I would like to do a little chasing for a change, too.
Where is it written that to be in a relationship you have to give up having a life? I have certainly had my days of co-dependency, but I like to think I have grown up since then. I like to go out with the girls and have a beer, talk about our conquests, call the boy toy up for a little swaction (sweet action for those of you who don't know), and move on with my day. It's fine to call me, but I'm not looking to settle down here. I find it weird that he is so eager to settle down with me. And the thing is, if I was a man, this would be completely normal, but since I'm not, I'm the bitch. I should make more time for him. I should re-arrange my whole schedule to suit his neediness.
Right now, I am battling a cold, and he basically told me that if I don't come over tomorrow, he is coming over to see me. Period. I find this irritating. I have a lot of homework due tomorrow by midnight. In addition, I am a bad sick person, and I would very much like to lie on my couch and whine. He will only distract me from this project.
I guess what I really want to know is, what happened to all the manly men? I would love to find the kind of man who would come around, sweep me off my feet once a week, and then go out with the boys on the other nights. I would love to find the kind of man who just wanted to play around for awhile and see what came next. I would love to go on casual dates and see a movie or have dinner here and there. I would love to find a man who didn't whine and cry and piss and moan every time I said I was too busy to see him right this minute. What happened to those men? And do you have to sacrifice class if you find them? For example, the manly man I dated previously had a plastic bull's balls replica hanging from his pick-up truck hitch. Say it with me boys and girls: Mistake.
I guess that in the end, I don't want a guy to throw himself at me, and I wonder how and when it all got so serious. I miss the days when I could go to the movies with a guy, and it didn't automatically mean that I wanted to buy a split level together and have his babies. I wish I had the balls to say "If I'm playing it cool, you play it cool, too. Don't throw yourself at me; it makes you look desperate." I would like to do a little chasing for a change, too.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
the Untamed Woman
It has been a year since we broke up, and he is engaged. He, the commitment-hesitant, self-centered, easy-way-out ex of mine, is engaged. And in the end, he didn't choose me. In the end, he didn't love me.
I can rationalize my way out of a lot of things. I'm logical, overly emotional but cognitive to a fault. I know that so many things were lacking in our relationship, I know that I quieted my own needs to an unhealthy level, I know that I deserve someone who doesn't just look at me and say "I guess she'll do." I've accepted that our fate has been written and that we are not meant to be together; and still this voice in my head wonders-- "why wasn't it me?" and all the rationalization in the world can't shut it up.
One Sunday I got my answer in the strangest of ways. I was knee-deep in a Sex and the City marathon that had lasted all weekend. I was finishing disc 3 of season 2 when I watched an episode that tugged at my heart-- so much so that I'm almost ashamed to admit it. In the episode, Carrie is struggling to make peace with the fact that-- after two years of dating Big, he has moved on and is engaged to someone he has only dated for 5 months. "I broke him in" says Carrie, "I broke him in and now someone else gets to ride him."
Eventually Carrie confronts Big, and asks him the question that she believes will help her move on-- why wasn't it me? "I don't know," Big says. "It just got so hard." And Carrie has her answer.
When did we decide that relationships shouldn't be hard, I wonder. When this guy and I broke up, one of his good friends imparted her wisdom to me. "Things were just too hard, too complicated. Love shouldn't be that way, and it's better that you guys aren't together," she said with certainty. Though I am pretty sure she had the best of intentions, I'm also pretty sure that's bullshit.
Take a peek into the dating world and you'll see men, everywhere, who want to put as little into a relationship as possible. Men who want things easy and uncomplicated, with an extra dose of sexual chemistry and very little responsibility. I'm not saying that all men are like this, or that some women aren't either. But I've met countless men who are afraid of the hard work it takes to be in a great relationship.
I'm learning to see my complexity in a fairer light. Being complex doesn't mean that I am unnecessarily dramatic and immature. In reality, I am authentic, confident, and self-assured. I don't play mind games and I am not manipulative. But I am also complicated; I am a collection of mysteries just waiting to be figured out. I'm tired of being told to pretend that I don't have baggage, that I don't have doubts, or that I have it all figured out. The truth is that I'm a lot to take-- I believe that anyone who is truly vulnerable in a relationship can easily overwhelm others with their complexity. But I am also worth it. I am a great girlfriend, a great listener, a great companion. I am unlike any woman you will ever meet. And one day I hope I will meet a man who will not retreat at the sight of my naked, complex vulnerability. One day, I hope I will meet a man who will respond in the same way, a man who will not work towards his own self-preservation but for the preservation of us. A man who is willing to do the work, who is willing to fight for me.
The episode ends with Carrie's conclusion: "Then I had a thought. Maybe I didn't break Big. Maybe the problem was, he couldn't break me. Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free, until they find someone just as wild to run with."
I move on, wild and untamed. Maybe someday I will find someone with the strength to catch me.
I can rationalize my way out of a lot of things. I'm logical, overly emotional but cognitive to a fault. I know that so many things were lacking in our relationship, I know that I quieted my own needs to an unhealthy level, I know that I deserve someone who doesn't just look at me and say "I guess she'll do." I've accepted that our fate has been written and that we are not meant to be together; and still this voice in my head wonders-- "why wasn't it me?" and all the rationalization in the world can't shut it up.
One Sunday I got my answer in the strangest of ways. I was knee-deep in a Sex and the City marathon that had lasted all weekend. I was finishing disc 3 of season 2 when I watched an episode that tugged at my heart-- so much so that I'm almost ashamed to admit it. In the episode, Carrie is struggling to make peace with the fact that-- after two years of dating Big, he has moved on and is engaged to someone he has only dated for 5 months. "I broke him in" says Carrie, "I broke him in and now someone else gets to ride him."
Eventually Carrie confronts Big, and asks him the question that she believes will help her move on-- why wasn't it me? "I don't know," Big says. "It just got so hard." And Carrie has her answer.
When did we decide that relationships shouldn't be hard, I wonder. When this guy and I broke up, one of his good friends imparted her wisdom to me. "Things were just too hard, too complicated. Love shouldn't be that way, and it's better that you guys aren't together," she said with certainty. Though I am pretty sure she had the best of intentions, I'm also pretty sure that's bullshit.
Take a peek into the dating world and you'll see men, everywhere, who want to put as little into a relationship as possible. Men who want things easy and uncomplicated, with an extra dose of sexual chemistry and very little responsibility. I'm not saying that all men are like this, or that some women aren't either. But I've met countless men who are afraid of the hard work it takes to be in a great relationship.
I'm learning to see my complexity in a fairer light. Being complex doesn't mean that I am unnecessarily dramatic and immature. In reality, I am authentic, confident, and self-assured. I don't play mind games and I am not manipulative. But I am also complicated; I am a collection of mysteries just waiting to be figured out. I'm tired of being told to pretend that I don't have baggage, that I don't have doubts, or that I have it all figured out. The truth is that I'm a lot to take-- I believe that anyone who is truly vulnerable in a relationship can easily overwhelm others with their complexity. But I am also worth it. I am a great girlfriend, a great listener, a great companion. I am unlike any woman you will ever meet. And one day I hope I will meet a man who will not retreat at the sight of my naked, complex vulnerability. One day, I hope I will meet a man who will respond in the same way, a man who will not work towards his own self-preservation but for the preservation of us. A man who is willing to do the work, who is willing to fight for me.
The episode ends with Carrie's conclusion: "Then I had a thought. Maybe I didn't break Big. Maybe the problem was, he couldn't break me. Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they need to run free, until they find someone just as wild to run with."
I move on, wild and untamed. Maybe someday I will find someone with the strength to catch me.
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