I remember the day he said it. The light thumb finger pressing against my chin, both pushing me away and pulling me closer at the same time. That familiar movement used for too wide an array of scenarios -- for gently scolding children and puppies, for encouraging loved ones, for inspiring perseverance. That.
"And that is your problem Autumn. You always believe in someone's ability to become better. You're always giving second chances, unlimited hope in their potential."
And that analysis struck me. Deep. It hit a chord because it was... true. I give infinite second chances. For as long as I can remember, I have been the champion of second chances and endless encouragement. Friend, family, boyfriend, stranger... it doesn't matter who they are or what their relation is to me, I always believe in their ability to become the absolute best version of themselves. I am the girlfriend at the door after the second missed date, worrying about their day at work. I am the stranger on the street corner, worrying whether my donation to the homeless man who just chatted me up was enough. I am the daughter at the dinner table, reminding my mother after a long day of work with kids that there is such hope there, they'll get better.
What hit me most about what he said, about this supposed flaw of endless hope in individuals, was that this is precisely what made me really, really good in my chosen professional career. This belief in individuals to rise above, to make their own happiness no matter what they may have previously done, propelled me to nonprofit work. It propels me to not give up hope, no matter how many articles or books I read on the many, many problems within the word. It's the thing that keeps me from getting overwhelmed when so many others look around and say but where do you even start.
However, the thing that makes me strong within my profession is the very thing that makes me weak in my personal relationships.
For no matter how many times a person fails me, disappoints me, hurts me, or lies to me, there is always that voice in the back of my head that says they can be better, they can be better. Every time, I am convinced that person will be better -- that they will recognize their own flaws, and be moved to change them. Not for me. But for themselves, for their futures.
And they don't.
In fact, I don't think I can find a single example of when these second chances actually resulted in change.
And yet the voice in my head, the breath in my soul keeps speaking.... they can be better, they can be better, they can be better. Just believe.
This things that makes me so strong at work, it kills me at home.
It's that old adage... your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. How often have we been trained to spin that interview question into a strength until there are really no weaknesses, just humble strengths? What is your greatest weakness? No no we say... I'm working on it, and it's really just a strength in the making. I'll be stronger, because I had to work for it.
Is there a dichotomy between your work-self and personal-self?
Do you have something that makes you kill it at work,
Move Over, Carrie is a whenever-I-feel-like-it weekend series of The Unreal Life. No pictures. No GIFS. Just straight up (hopefully) witty, sociological discussion about modern relationships.
Let's talk about something that's been on my mind all week. Because let's face it, people with intense guilt complexes let things percolate for probably longer than they should.
Where is the line between being demanding and having self-respect?
In my relationships, I find that what the boy calls "demanding," I usually see as "No, I just know that I'm worth it." I know that I push boys to make very outright, obvious actions of their intentions/affections. If you like me, if you want me...show me.
And this lands me in hot water 90% of the time. Boys these days are very, very laid back (or maybe just the ones I'm attracted to?). They see my expectations for being pursued as demanding. I see it as having self-respect. I know I'm great. Do you? I respect myself enough to not continue dating someone who can't show me that he understands he's got a great person (And vice versa. I would not expect someone to keep dating me if I didn't show them that I appreciated the awesome person they are. Of course not.).
So, ladies....
Where is the line between being demanding and having self-respect?
In today's society, is "being pursued" out-dated and no longer practiced?
Do you expect boys to show you they like you before you continue pursuing a relationship, or do you roll with the flow and think that will come with time?
Sound off! Your comments on Move Over, Carrie are my absolute favorites!!
I hope you enjoy this series as much as I do! Thanks for reading!
If you read my blog yesterday, you know that for a while now I've been in this awkward "transition" period oh wait that's called 20something life in general. Now that all the right things have been tied up neatly on my end, I'm so happy that I can finally share with you the big change coming my way:
I'M MOVING BACK TO MICHIGAN!
I am SO excited to get back and get going on this next adventure called grad school!
For your daily dose of Unreal awkwardness, please visit the lovely Patricia over at Kisses and Croissants. She's put together an awesome Throwback Thursday post about "The Craziest Thing You've Done for Love." Some of them are crazy stupid, some are crazy romantic...either way, they're all such a fun idea. So. Want to know what the dumbest thing I've done for love is? Here's a hint: it involves one of my favorite things ever, road tripping. Go check it out!
Today's topic: At what point do you become responsible for another human being?
This one's been percolating for a bit now. It may go around for a bit, but stick with me...we'll get there. You hear it a lot. "I told you not to expect anything." "It's your choice." "No one made that choice for you." "I don't owe you anything."
I've heard it said from boys you have flirtatious flings with. They throw it out like a complete catch-all that will cover them should you try to push them for more than one night, surface-level conversation...once they say it--"I told you not to expect anything"--they act like they can get off Scott-free for the rest of your time together.
But I've also heard it from boys who have made deep and grave promises to me. One boy, in particular. We had a ring, a date, a plan. And then he left me high and dry with no plans. Naturally what followed was a myriad of tearful conversations and screaming matches. And to this day, I will always remember the coldest smack in the face I ever received. After telling him how much he had hurt me and made me feel lost and alone with his action, he very quietly and simply said in the most even of carefree tones: "Why? Who am I?"
Who are you? You're the man I built my future plans with. You're my partner in this thing called love. You're my best friend. And even then, he wouldn't take responsibility for the fact that his actions hurt me. In his mind, the fact that I was unhappy and hurt was my choice and problem to deal with, not his. You made promises, I made choices. You broke those promises and now it's....my responsibility to pick up the pieces, while you have to deal with nothing?
Another example is from my mom and dad. Growing up, it was impossible not to notice that my father's mood always affected my mom's. How often do you remember making plans with one parent, only to have the other come home in a bad mood and have to cancel them?
That's the type of responsibility I'm talking about. The ability to look someone in the eye and say: Who am I? I'm someone whose words, opinions and even moods influence the choices you make. And I own up to that. You didn't make those choices alone. You were affected, by me. And that's a big deal. For both you and me. So I promise to be gentle and take care knowing that what I say carries extra weight.
Which brings me to the question....at what point do you become responsible for another person and the way your actions affect them? If you move in with your boyfriend and it doesn't work out and you move out, does he in fact have some responsibility for the emotions that follow? Or, was it really "your choice" and therefor your responsibility to deal with the outcome, whatever it may be?
If you make your choices based on input from other people,
what responsibility do they hold for the outcome of those choices?
In a world where no one takes responsibility,
is true love the best example of a self-sacrificing, pure miracle?
Move Over, Carrie is a whenever-I-feel-like-it series providing, hopefully, witty sociological commentary on modern relationship issues.
I'm Patricia and Kisses & Croissants is my little corner of the internet. Autumn is really awesome and was nice enough to give me the opportunity to guest post. I'm an American girl who studied abroad in college, fell madly in love with a man who barely spoke English my first week there, and moved to France after graduation to marry that hunk. I sound kind of corny already, don't I?
That's Us!
But before finding Mr. Right (know as Monsieur Right on the blog) my first few years of dating were pretty traumatizing. You know all those girls who complain because they can't find anyone who's looking for a serious relationship? I used to have the opposite problem.
It all started at the ripe old age of 14, when I decided that I wanted a boyfriend so that I could hold hands with someone at the football games and not look lame. About two weeks into our little msn chat/hallway relationship, he started mentioning how excited he was to marry me one day soon and spend the rest of eternity by my side. The first time he said this, I thought he was just getting caught up in the moment. But a couple of weeks worth of love e-mails later, I realized he was dead serious. Obviously, I panicked and broke up with him (over e-mail, because I was super mature at 14 years old).
This is my yearbook photo from that year. For the record, he should have known better. Anyone who still wears t-shirts saying "Bring Your Tiara - Princess Resort" is obviously not ready or mature enough to talk about getting married.
Contrary to my mother's wishes, I really loved being single. I liked going on adventures and doing whatever I wanted without worrying about how my actions would effect my boyfriend. I never felt the need to find my other half. I was already a whole person, all by myself.
But I'm sure as a single person, you have already noticed that some people really love giving terrible unsolicited advice. It's almost like singleness is a disease and your mom some people want to cure you as soon as possible. Let me tell you about some of the real gems of crap wisdom I received.
1. You should never turn someone down for a first date.
Everyone deserves a shot, right? Wrong, especially if he seems like he could be dangerous. This is the stupidest dating rule ever. Before I realized this, I went on at least 40 dates that I really didn't want to go on, because I didn't want to seem mean.
If you're not sure if you're interested or not yet, then go for it. Dates are all about getting to know people better. But if you're dreading the date before it even starts, or you're already complaining about it to your girlfriends, do both of you a favor and just say "no." This way neither of you wastes your time or money.
2. If you have the opportunity to marry someone and you turn them down, God will punish you.
I wish I was joking, but I really had someone tell me that when I was 18. Good heavens. 18 and single. I might as well start investing in my cat collection. I'd had recently been on dates with a few too many commitment psychos in a row (including one who told me that I needed to stop eating shrimp if I was planning on popping out babies anytime soon) and announced that I was taking a break from dating. A friend of mine then gave me the above gem of wisdom, apparently was worried about how my salvation factored into this dating thing.
I'm a religious person, and all for believing that marriage is ordained of God. But God does not want you to be miserable. He doesn't want you to try to control your gag reflex every time you think of kissing your future husband.
3. Let him make the first move, or it will never last.
Let's just not even touch on the fact that this advice is old school and super sexist. Maybe he's too shy, or you're just super gorgeous, and it's intimidating. Contrary to what you may have heard, men are terrified of rejection. As long as you aren't making all the moves (while he runs in the opposite direction), you should be fine. Do you really want to date a pig guy who would turn down an awesome girl, just because she was a little gutsy?
I made the first move with my husband, and he was relieved. Apparently, he was afraid that the exotic American girl might reject him. (What can I say? Sometimes having a foreign accent comes with benefits.) I was actually a total chicken and had sent him a Facebook invite to a Pancake Party I was throwing, because I was too afraid to ask him face to face. Maybe it was the lamest move ever, but it totally worked.
Alright Unreal Life Fans, what is the worst dating advice you've ever received?
(Seriously...by this point I will have been locked in a hotel with my coworkers for five days. Tweet me the worst dating advice you've ever heard, I'll need a break from small talk! Love, Autumn)
Hello Folks!! My name is Maggie and I blog over at a little blog called Mess in the making. I am super excited to be guest posting with Miss Autumn today because, well... she is hilarious and I LOVE HER!
If you have never stopped by my little blog, I will give you a little background for this post.
I have a wonderful boyfriend named Greg. You can read a little bit more about {the totally unromantic and totally awkward} way we met HERE.
Back in January, I made a big decision and I decided to move from Minneapolis, Minnesota to West Lafayette, Indiana to live with Greg while he was in graduate school. This move has been amazing and I have been loving Lafayette AND living with my guy.
There is just one problem.
People say the dumbest shit.
The other day I was talking to a new coworker and they asked me why I moved to Indiana from Minnesota. I responded and told them that my boyfriend Greg was in graduate school at Purdue. Their response... "Oh.... so, you just followed him here?"
My response... "Yes, I did. And I love it here." And I walked away.
When I made the decision back in October to move to Indiana with Greg it was the hardest thing I have ever done. Sure, I was scared of leaving my comfortable home, but mostly I was scared of the ridicule.
I didn't tell anyone other than my immediate family about the move for about a month.
The thing is, I like to think of myself as a very independent person. I love Greg very much, but I never wanted to be the girl who NEEDED a boy. But when I faced the idea of being hundreds of miles away from the love of my life for 3 years, I couldn't face that. And I didn't have to.... so I didn't.
Once I finally went public with my plans to move away I realized something very important. Greg wasn't asking me to do this, I was making this choice myself. I also wasn't leaving some glamourous life behind.
One day when I was serving coffee to one of my regulars at Caribou Coffee my move came up in conversation. He said "You know, you should never leave a great apartment or a great job for a man."
I said "I live with my parents and I am serving you coffee... I'm not giving much up"
He laughed and threw $2 in my tip jar.
So lately I have been thinking, why is there such a stigma over "following"?
I think in this situation we can blame a lot of things, but we can also blame our Hero... Carrie.
Carrie never gave up herself for a guy. She was the picture of an independent woman, and whenever she took a risk for a man IT FAILED.
Moved in with Aidan? Failed.
Moved to Paris with the Russian? Failed
This idea of not taking risks for a man is programmed into us. Independence and dream chasing are valued and if you take a different path, you are seen as weak and submissive.
I agree that no one should ever give up their dreams for another person. But why can't a person make an informed decision to stay with the person they love?
There is one very important difference between Carrie and I. Aidan and Petrovski were not the right guys {I was always a big fan. Sorry bout it.}... Greg is the right guy. He is worth the risk, and if it fails... oh well. I took a dive and it didn't work.
The time I have spent with Greg in the last 3.5 years has been amazing, and even if it all fell apart, I wouldn't regret a second of the time I spent with him, and I definitely would not regret this move.
Sure, this might not work for every person, not everyone can pick up and move their life to another state, but I could, and I don't want to feel like some spineless piece of crap just because people have made up a dumb stereotype.
So yes. I followed my boyfriend and his dream to go to grad school. Do I regret this at all?
Not for a fuckingsecond. So, what do you think? Is there a stigma over "following" your guy? Have you ever struggled with people's negative comments towards sacrifices you made in a relationship?
I went on a first date that was going very well, until that awkward moment when the first date activity is done and you're just standing there like uhhhhh what now? So of course, being the awkwardly unreal girl I am, I let the awkward silence sit for a few minutes before going "So uhhhh what now?" He looks at me with doting eyes. Wraps his arms around my waist. And says:
"I just want to take you somewhere and cuddle."
The following conversation ensued:
Boy: I just want to take you somewhere and cuddle.
Me: Uhhhhh....no.
Boy: Babe...
Me: Yeah. Not happening on our first date.
Boy: Why not?
Me: That's just way, way too much for a first date. Too fast.
Boy: I mean come on, it's not like we're having sex or anything.
Back. The. Fuck. Up.
Let's talk about it. Sure, 'cuddling' has cute connotations of puppy love and chemistry and attraction and intimacy. But what is it really? When you break it down, cuddling is letting another person physically hold your body with their arm around your waist or shoulders, generally with some motion from their other hand of stroking your hand or thumb or arm gently or playing with your hair.
Now back to the first date. First date. You are a stranger. A literal stranger. Replace the word stranger in that definition: letting a stranger physically hold your body with their arm around your waist or shoulders, generally with some motion from the stranger's other hand of stroking your hand or thumb or arm gently or having a stranger play with your hair.
Dictionary.com defined cuddle as "to fondle in the arms." Would you let a stranger fondle you in the arms?
My mother's favorite phrase is "Don't go shoppin' if you're not lookin' to buy." She says this nearly every time she learns of a new boy I've gone on a date with. My mother and I are polar opposites, you could say. She got married a month after she graduated high school and had four kids by the time she was 24. While she does not completely understand why I want what I want, she does know that boys are ultimately not in the proverbial "plan" right now. So she falls back to "Don't go shoppin' if you ain't lookin'" quite a bit. She's not the only one. Throughout college, I heard from friends, peers, professors, role models that dating should be taken seriously, and you should only date someone if you legitimately see a future with them.
Which brings me to today's Move Over, Carrie topic: Expectations. Are you better to enter a relationship and lay all your expectations out on the table from day one? If you find your expectations will not be met, is it best to leave the potential relationship? Or, should you enter with no expectations and be either pleasantly surprised or unshockingly disappointed? Do you only date if you're planning on long term, or do you approach each relationship as just another experience to be had?
Oh, and let's define expectations. I'm talking about "the list," ladies. You know, the "he must be A, B, C and D or this really isn't happening." Not the "I expect a phone call every night" type things. Habits can change, character cannot.
Against my mother's "don't go shopping" advice, I started dating someone my last semester of college. What I thought was a rebound, turned out to be a pretty great guy. Shocking.
My rebound-turned-not-rebound with MMM was made distinct by two things:
1) We were brutally honest with each other.
2) We laid our expectations out on the table first thing.
Let's focus on number two. Right off the bat, MMM laid out his expectations. Labels, time commitment, monogamy--you name it, I knew it. I also knew, from day one, MMM's checklist for a wife (we went to a really, really small private school where this was seen as a pretty typical conversation. I realize for most of you reading this it will be a 'WTF' moment). And based on that list, I knew MMM and I would never get married.
According to my mother, I should've walked away. If we weren't going to get married, why waste my time and energy? Well. I didn't. Shocking, I know. And it was great.
Not having to worry about whether he was "the one" opened the relationship up to a degree of a freedom I hadn't had before. Every time we got in a fight, I didn't have to question "can I really stay with a man who believes X Y Z? Will he do that annoying tick the rest of his life? Is this a quirk, or a deal breaker?" Hours of my life were freed from over analysis. I wore sweatpants. I ate Chinese out of a box. I put on makeup if I wanted to, but if I didn't want to I didn't. I wasn't trying to win him over, because I knew that wasn't really an option. This freedom made the relationship fun.
One night, we were sitting on his couch eating Subway and watching a movie.
"You know what's great," I said, turning to him. "I don't have to worry about any stupid relationship dramas with you, because we're never going to get married."
I think he choked a little bit. "Wait, we're never gonna get married?"
"Yeah. I mean, you already told me what you want in a wife,
and I'm clearly not those things. So now we just...don't have to worry about it."
He nodded, slowly. "I guess. But that kind of worked backwards."
Most relationships I enter into with the mind-set of "let's see where this goes, I think you could have potential for long-term commitment" crash and burn because they place unrealistic suffocation on one or the other involved parties. They lead to a whole lot of arguments and over-analyzing. My favorite relationships have been those that were entered into with a "I know I will not marry you, ever" mentality. Which has become my Catch 22. Those relationships flourish because they're given air. You don't pretend, you don't play games and you end up falling for that person the hardest of all because you've seen the real them and they've seen the real you...and stuck around anyways. At the end of the day, you're standing there simply because you genuinely like that person. You enter with "I will never, ever marry you" and leave with "I would marry you" because in between you're given the freedom to just be yourself. Is it possible to "date intentionally" and not even a little bit change your actions based on the pressures of "this could be the one"? I'm just talking about little changes you probably don't even notice, not huge things like suddenly converting religions.
Should dating be intentional, or should it be spontaneous? Do you "waste your time" window shopping, or only go when you have the intent and capability to buy? Or, do you do a combination of both realizing that love isn't something you can control either way? Or, am I just crazy?
Move over, Carrie. There's a new single girl in town.
*Move Over, Carrie is a whenever-I-feel-like-it series of The Unreal Life that hopes to provide witty, sociological insight on today's relationship issues. You can read the first Move Over, Carrie here.
The issue of #notdentist. We need to talk. As you know, I've recently discovered the joy of #livedating, otherwise known as #babe or #datestalking. But date stalking is not just a one way street. Oh no--it's a two way. I do not merely get stalked, I also occasionally...stalk.
Let's start from the beginning.
A co-worker and I (we'll call her...Sally...to protect her identity) were talking about the man manchild who is the unknowing star of #livedating. His profession (dentistry) came up as well as where he lives, where he went to school blah blah (these are normal kitchen questions, right? I don't sound creepy yet). We discovered that Sally knew an equally annoying male from the same dental school graduation class. She asks me his name to see if it's the same person. Problem--I don't know his last name. Soon after this, she sends me a picture of the graduating dental class.
"Show me which one he is." (Oh please, don't pretend you've never shown your friend a Facebook picture of a total rando)
He's not there.
By everything he's told me about graduation dates, schooling, etc...he should be there. He's not there.
So. We move to Plan B. He's told me 20gazillion times the name of his "dental partner." We do a quick web search (#JONUDGIES--that's no judgies, people) and pull up the practice's web page.
He's not there.
We go into full on stalker-mode (this is my dating life on the line, durr). I call the dental office.
"Hi, a friend of mine referred me to Dr. XXXXX's partner but I just can't remember his last name. Can you tell me his name?"
"Dr. YYYYY."
"Noooo, it definitely started with an M....@#$@ (name protected) M something..."
"No one by that name works here."
He's not there.
We pull our friend Janey in, who used to work in investigative reporting. While Sally's first vote is to stalk Facebook, Janey's first move is straight to the sex offender and prisoner public records.
He's not there.
Phew.
Finally, I am forced to confront him for maximum clarity revealing the situation.
This, children, is how 20/20 starts. But thanks to my friends Sally, Janey and #livedating partner Amanda...this is how 20/20 ends. With a group of friends banding together, raising red flags of awareness. If you or a loved one you know is dating a "dentist" who lives at home, has more than 100,000 tweets (no lie), sends you possessive texts like "Dinner. Seven. I'll pick you up." when you had absolutely no plans with him and invites you on trips to Texas when you've known each other for 3 days--raise the red flag.
A few weeks ago, I made the first move. And it was glorious. A perfect "wait, you too?!" moment. What ensued was two weeks worth of flirty texts and two-hour phone calls during road trips that make you remember just how fun it is to get the butterflies. And then.
Radio silence.
Last night, after a week's worth of radio silence, I sent out an SOS. A flirty, "to hell with it, I'll never see you again" text to check the waters again. Today (a full 24 hours later), I heard back from the fellow for the first time in over a week.
"Sorry for being absent. Been hectic l8ly."
My first reaction (besides thinking who the eff still texts using numbers to abbreviate?) was to text a quick "Oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize for anything." But then, I stopped. Did he owe me an apology? Was he fine? The fact is, everything had been going great and then radio silence....so was it really "fine"? If I was being honest, what would I say?
But really, what would I say? We are taught that a woman who cuts all communication after a break-up or failed one night stand is "handling it with grace" and "cutting her losses." A woman who holds the man accountable and asks for an explanation or dares tell them that their action was rude/deusch-y/etc is "having trouble moving on." Who picked those descriptors? Who decided that not speaking your mind was "graceful" and "tactful"? Shouldn't we be encouraging people to speak their mind, good or bad?
My blog is most often found by typing into Google "dating disasters comedy blog." But my reaction to his text today made me think, am I setting myself up for a dating disaster? If I tell him it's fine, that he has nothing to apologize for, I'm really giving him a free pass. Granted, this is someone I've just been texting with so it's not life or death. But, I think this same thing is applicable to more serious relationships. If you tell your significant other that "it's fine," they really are getting a free pass to go on about their life and keep repeating that bad behavior. How often have you been out with your girlfriends and told some dating disaster story and their response is a sympathetic "oh he totally knows better, what a dick." Does he? What if we're all running around saying "he knows better," but he doesn't actually know better because no one has told him? We're all assuming someone did, or will, but no one actually does say "that was a dick move, don't do it again."If we continue to run around the dating pool without speaking up for ourselves and just assuming that some girl some where at some time told him what we're really dying to tell him, are we setting ourselves up for a dating disaster? And how can we ever break this cycle if a woman who cuts all communication with a bad date/relationship is deemed "tactful" and "graceful" and someone who doesn't is met with a raised eyebrow and a "hot mess" label?
If I look at my life for evidence, I would have to admit that the idea I sometimes set myself up for dating disasters is true. I'm trying to lose weight and make a healthy lifestyle, and I brought a box of cupcakes home from work. I want to be a nonprofit executive director, but I procrastinate signing the paperwork that would be the next step in making that happen. Examples are endless. I'm setting myself up (potentially) for disaster.
How would dating change if we were all completely honest? No, it's not fine. Yes, you do owe me an explanation. Explanation received? Cool. No hard feelings. But, if you're hoping to find a long-term significant other in the near future I encourage you to stop that annoying action.
What do you think? Are we setting ourselves up for dating disasters by not being honest? When did being honest become synonymous with being negatively critical? Would you rather date a completely honest person, or does the thought of potential "harsh honesty" scare you?
Oh, and I still haven't said anything back. Because I don't know what to say. Society taught me to make excuses for people and say "oh you're fine, you don't need to apologize." But maybe I don't want to make excuses for people anymore.
Move over, Carrie. There's a new single girl in town.
It's time for another tale from the dating disasters pool. Really, I should just write all of these down to make sure I don't forget any. My top Google search term has always been "dating disasters comedy blog" and well...I'm happy to be here for you. Please, learn from my mistakes.
I recently went on a first and second (don't ask me why) date with a very potentially nice young man. Nice, conservative, Catholic, older...he had all the fixings of a potential summer fling love connection. Until he didn't. Until he started or ended every sentence with one word...
Babe.
I'm sorry. What? This is our second meeting. I am literally a stranger. You are literally a stranger. I am not your babe. Nor am I "your girl" so please don't try to mix it up with that one either.
Babe you're so funny.
I'll pick you up at 7 babes.
This is why I like you babes.
We got chemistry babe.
Babe.
Babe.
Babe.
[Literal Conversation from car ride]
Boy: Woah bro, that is a funny story.
Me: I'm sorry, what? Bro? Are you friendzoning me before the date even ends?
Boy: Babe, we are definitely not in the friendzone.
Me: I mean...you called me bro.
Boy: Would you rather I called you bro or babe?
Me: Are those my only two options?
Boy: Babe you're so funny! At this point, I am literally questioning whether he knows my name or not. For the love of all that is holy and romantic and sane, please save your terms of endearment for someone YOU ACTUALLY KNOW. What's the term of endearment that just grates your ears? How soon is too soon for pet names?
I don't know if you know it, but you're carrying precious cargo in your glove box. My TomTom charger and USB cord. I know. It's hard to believe you've had such precious goods in the recesses of your car for so long, and knew nothing about it.
I know. It's equally hard to believe I never had the chance to ask for it back in the middle of dealing with your son's fake bouts of depression. What? That's over now? That's good. But there's still one thing, Vicki.
I need those cords.
I know you resent me for never wearing enough Charger blue to home games, or making up for it by bringing a hefty plate of baked goods. I know you think I'm stupid when I get nervous when you interrogate me about why I'm not wearing Charger blue and I mumble "Uh, uh but it might rain." I know, Vicki, I know.
But I need those cords.
Can we make a deal? I'm picturing something tense and emotionally charged on top of the dam overlooking the river. The sun will be setting and our cars can roll slowly across the gravel. We'll step out. Our fingertips brushing only for the brief moment when you take the bottle of wine from my left hand and I take the cords from your right.
I know, Vicki, I know. I don't like the idea of me driving all the way through Ohio anymore than you do, trust me. But you know what's worse than the thought of me driving all the way through Ohio? Having to spend even more time in Ohio because without my TomTom I get lost and confused and paralyzed by fear.
What's that, Vicki? I can have my cords back now?
Thanks, Vicki.
P.S. In case you missed it, it's road trip week here on The Unreal Life. Follow along with my snarky sass as I voyage through the midwest this weekend via twitter and instagram.
*** A fist had made a canvas of his left eye, and swirls of disturbing shades of blue, purple and pink were rising to the surface. She waited patiently on the worn leather couch and let the realizations role over her. This wasn't the first time a stranger's fist would connect with his face. In fact, in the life he had chosen, it was likely to be a very routine incident. And how willingly he chose it. He would put his face and his body and his mind and his heart in front of strangers seeking to hurt him, to kill him, to destroy him. And he would do it willingly. Willingly. He would put it all on the line to protect...all of this. To protect the freedom to have rowdy college nights and young loves and fist fights and friendships and laughter and everything in between. He came in gruffly and shut the door with a bang, collapsing on the couch next to her. His whole body was rigid and she could feel and see the tension running through him. "Thanks for waiting," he said quietly, placing his hand on her knee. "Of course," she whispered back, intertwining her fingers on top of his. They sat in silence for a few minutes until she added "I think you need some ice." "No I'm fine." "I think you need some ice." He shook his head, and she saw his jaw clench tight. So she just sat there and rubbed his shoulder until finally he looked over and said "I think I need some ice." She nodded and waited for him to return with a clumsy handful of ice in an old towel rag. She took it from him and tied the rag ends together so the cubes wouldn't fall out. He reached for it, but she pulled back and pushed his hand down. "Let me," she said. Ever so gently, she raised it up to the injured eye and let the cooling ice cubes lightly touch the raw bruise. She bit her lips, remembering the revelations of earlier. Grateful, eternally, for the lesson he had taught her about a soldier's sacrifice. He looked her closely in the eye. "Why are you doing this?" "Because I won't always be able to."
Happy Friday, friends! I'm sure everyone's Monday (Tuesday?) weekend update posts will be nice and long to accommodate for the THREE DAY WEEKEND. Woot woot. What will I be doing?
A lot of this:
While listening to this:
(I heard a lot about this music video. And then I watched it and caught myself going "Dear God. I would actually prefer your to be naked MORE than you already are because your outfits are so hideous. Also, TI is the best part because he just looks so genuinely confusedas to why he's there.)
While reading this:
Pre-ordered book magically popping up on my Kindle? Yes please. I'm a huge fan of his work. Hope this one lives up to the expectation!
And in case you choose to read some funniez while recovering from a delicious hangover sunburn, check these out:
I know. There are things like Google. Wikipedia. Self-help books. Friends.
But sometimes, you just need that one person. That one person you KNOW has the answer. Even if you know you're not supposed to talk to them, and there are other options. I am the worst at this (but, getting much better!).
Here are some awkward things I've had to call/text my ex for:
5. "I think your mom still has my TomTom charger, and since I'm moving halfway across the country...I need that."
4. "Where did you put that thing that I stole from that frat house when you moved out? Because I kinda need to return it..."
3. "Can you send me the amortization table you made for my student loans?"
2. "I think the Holocaust is stalking me."
1. "I can't tell if this is razor burn or bugs under my skin. You remember when you and your housemates got skivies and the whole place had to be fumigated? Well, how did you know those were bugs? What did your skin look like? Because I think I might have that."
This one's for me. I'm not writing it for sympathy. I'm not writing it for any other reason than the fact that this blog is primarily for me. And when I look back at these posts in a year, I want to remember this day. This day, when it didn't hurt to think about you, write about you or see your name on my phone. This day. The day the sunshine didn't hurt.
But I'm also writing this because I want to be honest. I want you, reader, to know who I am. There's nothing better than a brand new friend who knows nothing about you, except an old friend who knows everything about you.
It's spring. All around me, I see photos of people graduating. I think of everything they're about to go through. I think of dogwood days and sunshine and my own graduation. I think of where I was at this point a year ago.
But to think of that, we need to go back a little farther.
****
During my senior year of college, I was in a super serious relationship. We fell in love. We made choices, sacrifices. Or more, I made sacrifices. But they were willing sacrifices because I had so much faith and trust in us. We put his job first. I decided not to take the GRE, not to apply to graduate schools and not to apply to any other jobs or programs until we figured out where his job would be first. If the point was to be together, it didn't make sense for me to apply to anywhere until we knew where his job would be. So I put everything on hold. We had a plan, we had a date, we had everything. Until we didn't. Or more realistically, until I didn't have it all anymore. I started getting really weird texts from him at all hours of the night talking about dark holes and dark places and not dragging me down with him. Most of our calls ended with both of us in tears, him from depression and me from trying desperately to help him through something I couldn't. And then three months later, three months of dealing with his depression and my sudden lack of concrete anything, I learned it was all a lie. There wasn't any depression. But there was another girl, that he couldn't fess up to. Thanks, Facebook. Those months were rough. Suffice to say, when I walked across that graduation stage I felt emotionally and physically drained. I didn't have a plan like most of my friends. Any plan I would've pursued, I'd missed the boat on. It was too late for grad school apps or most of the other programs I wanted. Worse than not having a plan was feeling like someone else had put me in that position of having nothing. I felt lost. Insanely, insanely lost. I hadn't just lost my boyfriend, I had lost my best friend. The person I would normally go to with these feelings of uncertainty was no longer on the other end of the phone.
And it kept going. A lot of people don't understand why it took me so long to "get over it." Because it never ended, that's why. Just when I would get going again, he'd pop up. I finally accepted a job offer halfway across the country from him, in Missouri, when he popped up again. Suddenly it was more phone calls and 3 am voicemails with hopeless declarations of love and apologies. Suddenly it was "well what if I moved there too?" I didn't want to say no. We were planning on getting married, you don't just flip a switch and suddenly not want that again. But like the first time, it ended again. It was a midnight phone call talking about how much he missed me, and then an 8 am Facebook post about his engagement to "the other woman." I realized her and I had switched roles. Suddenly I had become 'the other woman.' And that's when it ended.
*****
Here's my point. I've been R****-sober for three months now and it feels GOOD. It feels AMAZING. I finally feel like me again. I'm finally HAPPY. I look in the mirror and I don't see a girl recovering from a plan gone completely awreck. I see a girl with OPTIONS and a FUTURE and genuine HAPPINESS. And this is a big deal to me. And yes, I knew these things before. Yes I knew my self-worth wasn't rooted in that relationship. Blah blah blah. But life happens and love happens and I think anyone who has been in that type of deep love understands what I mean.
Some of you may roll your eyes. Some of you may think I'm exaggerating Some of you may think that I shouldn't give a fuck anymore. Well, whatever. This one's for me. And for me, today, I'm EXCITED. I came out the other side of a situation that was pure insanity--fake depression, hidden girlfriends, failed futures, lost loves--and I came out laughing and healthy and happy. I gave myself a pat on the back once just for surviving it. But I'm past that. I'm better than that. I'm happy and ready and excited. Today, I'm grateful that I get to stand in the sun and make any damn choice I please. I'm happy that the thought of him no longer makes me cringe.
I feel like this is my second graduation. Now, when I stand out in the bright rays of the sunshine and look towards my future I feel uncertainty and butterflies and misgivings and excitement and joy all at once. I may be scared, but I am filled with such, such joy at the certainty that any choice I make is mine and mine alone. No one is in control of my future except me. I get to choose. Nobody's writing this story except for me. And that my friends, is a most wonderful, wonderful feeling.
Happy graduation, Autumn.
Thank you to all of you who read through that whole thing. I hope you'll stay along for the ride--good things are to come! And a huge, huge thank you to all the women who made me feel so comfortable at the beginning of the week when I posted Dogwood Days--I couldn't have pushed publish without you.
(You should know I struggled to push publish on this. They come here for sass, not sentimentality I told myself. I said the story wasn't good enough, wasn't big enough, wasn't worthy enough. It was trivial and childlike and meaningless, I argued. So here's me, pushing publish anyways.)
We're gettin' sentimental up in this joint today.
It's springtime. It's sunny. The trees are in full bloom. And here's what I'm thinking of.
The dogwood trees of Hillsdale College.
When I see a dogwood, I think of you. And you. I think of a spring haze leading to a summer daze. I think of finding you, of losing you, of first meeting you. I think of the early days when everything was happy and bright and our story was just beginning. I think of how those dogwoods looked like relief. Sweet, sweet relief. They looked like a hurdle overcome, a past left behind, a future open before me. I think of sending you away in front of those dogwood trees to war, to deserts, to people who wanted to hurt you. I think of being renewed. I think of the college that shaped us, the times that tried us and the love that relieved us. They've always been kind to me, the dogwood days.
**
The scent of the dogwood trees was a drug to their senses, guiding them, goading them. In the bright clean heat of a springtime afternoon, when the world was tinted pink and lovely underneath the loaded branches of the dogwood trees, they had made such a tiny bet. One buckeye bite per every flower. She, a part-time feminist who stood unnecessarily tall in her desire to never reduce herself to a baking, cooking, husband-hunting girl. He, an overly large, bulging, heavy football player who preferred the little moments to grand gestures. She wanted a grand gesture.
But somewhere in the middle of finals, summer plans, interviews, offers, acceptances, graduation goodbyes and sentimental sisterhood moments she snapped. She didn't want flowers because they were part of a bet. She wanted flowers because he wanted to give them to her, not because she had made him something. She told him as much on the phone in a 30-second tirade to which he promptly responded "take a nap and call me back in an hour."
But she didn't take a nap. Her Catholic guilt washed over her in an instant, and she huffed and puffed her way into the kitchen. She dropped the four ingredients--powdered sugar, peanut butter, butter and chocolate chips--onto the counter with a loud bang and got to work.She would be the bigger person here. She would make them because she cared, not because anything was coming from it.
That night was harder than she imagined. They said a terse and strained goodbye for the summer. Neither one of them wanted to budge, neither one give the first inch. She pulled back from his arms and propped herself up on his chest.
"New bet," she said.
"What?" He didn't know where this was going.
"In the next 5 minutes, I bet I can surprise you more than you can surprise me."
"What?"
"I'm going to surprise you."
"I don't believe you."
"Wait here."
She scrambled off the bed, down the stairs and into her car. Back at the house, she threw the buckeyes into any container she could find, and drove back there in a flash. He was half asleep when she popped his door open and she sat down softly on the edge of the bed.
"Close your eyes."
"They are closed, I'm sleeping."
She punched him. Softly, of course. "Close them. Open your mouth."
He obediently did as he was told. She popped a buckeye into his mouth, and watched as his face lit up. He grabbed her in a bear hug and threw her on the bed, showering her in kisses and compliments.
"I thought the bet was off?" He grinned mischievously.
"It was. I just did it because I care." He smiled in response, and rolled her back on top of him.
After a few more minutes, it was time for the next goodbye. The real goodbye, this time. She gathered her things, and was surprised when he got up too. He grabbed his car keys. "You don't have to, I drove here."
"Well I can at least walk you to your car."
"It's fine. You have an exam at 8 am, get in bed."
"No, I'm going to walk you to your car."
She would have been happy with just that. They walked in silence, hand in hand, down the stairs, their arms pulling apart as she veered right to her parked car. He let their arms extend fully before pulling her back into his side, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I told you, I drove here! What are you doing?" He pulled her along with him towards his car."What--"
"Shhh."
"I--"
He clicked his key fob twice, and the back gate of his car lifted up, triggering the overhead light to shine down.
Dogwoods.
Everywhere.
Back seat laid down, dogwoods stretching as far as the eye could see. Bathed in the overhead light, the beautiful pink petals shown brighter than any star in the sky. Branches and branches of dogwoods. There must of been hundreds of flowers on those branches, and they were beautiful and bright and light and sweet smelling and simple and grand and perfect and all hers. It was a carpet of dogwood flowers and it was for her.
"I thought the bet was over," she whispered.
He nuzzled the top of her head. "I think I won."
Somwhere between that setting sun I'm on fire and born to run You looked at me and I was done Well, we're just getting started
