I'm Single-- But Have a Very Serious Boyfriend

I’m the queen of being single. Really. I’ve definitely spent the majority of my life unattached. But, then again, if you count childhood, most people my age can say the same. Personally, though, I think I’ve had my fair share of being single, and when I am, it’s something that I’m usually OK with and have come to terms with. After all, being single can be a blast. It can be liberating to not have to report to anyone but yourself, to not have to worry about when you’ll be home so you can have dinner on someone else’s schedule.

Some people, though, don’t think of being single the way that I do. They think of it perhaps as being “alone,” that they have no companion with whom to share their life. Some girls equate singledom with failure: there must be something wrong with me that I can’t get a boyfriend! Even that weirdo girl who doesn’t shave her legs in my history class has a boyfriend. I shave and shower, so why don’t I!?

Obviously people can cope with their feelings of despair various ways. Some choose to actually be proactive, to put themselves out there, meet men, online date, go out more, you name it. And sometimes those tactics work.

Other times, though, people do what drives me absolutely insane: they lie. They tell their close friends that they’re “seeing someone” and tell acquaintances (or anyone who doesn’t know much about their daily routines) that they’re with someone who’s going to soon be popping the question with a five carat Harry Winston.

Sour singles, as I like to think of them, at times lie to exes and say they have a new person in their life. This occurrence can happen when, in reality, it’s evident that they’re still sitting home watching Say Yes to the Dress on TLC at 9:00pm on Friday nights. (Please note that single or taken, that’s actually a fun way to spend a night!)

Maybe you’re thinking, alright, people lie. So what?

The “so what” is that lying becomes frightening when the liar actually begins to believe their fictitious stories. It goes without saying that this is a common phenomenon among all liars, that they start being unable to distinguish between real life and their creations. But, for some reason, I keep noticing this happening more and more with people I know and people they know, and their cousin’s friend’s sisters and their father’s best friend’s daughters.

More and more people, it seems, feel increasing pressure to be dating someone. So much pressure, I think, that it feels more acceptable to invent elaborate tales of their experiences with Mr. Perfect than to admit that they’re just not at the point where they’ve actually found him!

Well, listen up, ladies and gents. I’ve gotta tell you that whether or not you realize it, it’s much easier to get caught in your lies these days since the invention of what we call the internet. It becomes especially clear when you’re posting fifty photos per month on Facebook that you don’t have a boyfriend because he’s not in any of the photos. And you know that thing called Twitter? Yea, well, if you’re tweeting every hour on the hour about how you ate a banana for breakfast and took a bathroom break from that painfully boring meeting at work, it seems a little odd that you never once mention your boyfriend for the general public to read about, no?

And think your friends won’t see you hanging out on dating websites? Believe me, friends know. I’ve run into countless people I know on sites, as have most of my friends. So if your dear friend doesn’t notice that you’re chilling on Jdate for three hours at a time, not to worry: someone else will. And you will get caught. Liars always get caught.

Why am I bothering to write about this? And why do I write this with such passion and emotion? Because it makes me sad-- legitimately upset-- that people can’t just accept that there are periods of time where they WILL be single. Meanwhile, there’s no need to be upset about it, especially as it usually doesn’t reveal much about your character. We all go through those rough patches. (It’s different if you’re unable to ever score a date, but that’s a different story.)

Instead of lying to others and, most importantly, yourself, do me a favor. Embrace being single. Spend extra time with your friends and family. Go eat dinner alone in a restaurant from time to time and watch couples fighting so you’re reminded that it’s a joy to not be involved with that. Being single is nothing to be ashamed about-- if anything, it’s a fabulous excuse to be selfish and do the activities that YOU want to do all the time.

His Mommy Wrote His Personal Ad... And Now We're Dating.

When I was a senior in high school and had just been accepted to college, my grandmother’s cousin happened to be speaking at an event hosted by my soon-to-be school.

“It’s a great honor to be speaking here today,” he started, “and extremely special to me personally. My cousin’s granddaughter just got into B* University this past week, so being here speaking and supporting this school means a great deal to me.”

Innocent statement enough, right?

Wrong.

Immediately after his speech to alumni, friends and family of the university, an elderly lady approached him. She wasn’t about to compliment his articulate speaking or explain how proud she was that he supported the same cause she did. She introduced herself so she could set me up with her grandson-- a boy who apparently was also accepted at my school.

Yes, she wanted to set him up with me. Me being the girl who was in Connecticut at the time, the event being in Florida, she of course hadn’t ever seen me. For all she knew I had tons of moles and two lazy eyes. Maybe she decided that I was of comparable intelligence to her grandson because we were to attend the same school, or maybe my cousin made an impression good enough to pique her interest in his family members.

So even though this lady immediately whipped out her grandson’s phone number and photo, I never actually met him. Or maybe I did and didn’t know it. To this day I have no idea who the boy was, although I do know he entered my school the year I did, was tall, dark and handsome (of course) and that he was from New York. My cousin fortunately lost this boy’s contact information, something that he and I are probably both grateful for.

So why, now, many years later, am I reflecting on an event where I wasn’t present, one that never really impacted my life in any way whatsoever?

Well, to be quite honest, that was the fist thing that popped into my head when I read Moms Post on “Date My Single Kid,” a CNN article about a new website where mothers can post personal ads on behalf of their children. (See http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/07/19/matchmaker.parent.date.my.kid/index.html.)

The article profiles some sad soul named Colby Brin, age 31, who routinely allows his mother to set him up on dates. In fact, he estimates that his mother has set him up on over thirty dates. And he wonders why none of them have amounted to anything. Every girl dreams of her matchmaker being her future mother-in-law! Nothing like her meddling in your relationship from the very beginning.

Towards the end of the article, the author states that Brin insists that “if a relationship becomes serious...‘his girlfriend won't have to fret.’ He says his mother tends to be more hands-off with his love life once he is in a committed relationship.”

And he expects us readers to believe that? That his mother is coordinating his dating life, but-- don’t worry-- once he becomes a thing with some naive lady mom will step out of the picture? And what about later, when there are kids? Not to worry, she certainly won’t attempt to control the way her grandchildren are raised. It’s not like she cared at all who their mother was. And, after all, she knows her son better than he knows himself, and she certainly know's who the best choice for a girlfriend (read: ultimately his wife) is.

Honestly, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to ever consider going on a date with a man whose mommy put him on the site. Besides the whole control issue at hand, why would I want to date someone who doesn’t have the guts to self-promote on his own behalf?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love moms and on occasion love their sons. But really, I don’t want to love those moms until I'm deeply involved with their sons. One lady calling and nagging me to pick up the phone and call my relatives is enough, thank you. I already have one mom and I certainly don’t need another.

XOXO,
R.

Wait, What? Feeling Bad for Celebrities?

This past week I went on a date. A unique type of date, for that matter. A date with my boyfriend's mom. I'll call his mom C for the purposes of this post. The plan was to see the documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work. C showed up at the theater a half hour before the movie was supposed to start so she could purchase our tickets. About twenty-six minutes before the previews were set to begin, she called me.

"The movie's sold out. We have to pick something else."

"Um, are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, I just asked and they said there's not a seat left!"

"OK, but I'm not sure how that's possible," I began, the disappointment evident in my tone. "I mean, the movie came out almost a month ago, it's a WEDNESDAY NIGHT, why would it be so packed?"

I had waited for weeks to see this woman perform on the big screen, to gauge how much plastic surgery she had since the last time I watched her criticizing red carpet outfits on television.

"The theater where it's playing holds fourteen people," she replied, almost incredulously.

Fourteen people. Right. Because any public theater would have that few seats. But as we walked by that room on the way to another movie, I peered inside. Sure enough, there were only fourteen seats. Although I was so anxious to see the film that I was willing to sit on the floor, I knew that might not be the most appropriate suggestion for the occasion. Not everyone would like to listen to Rivers spewing obscenities with dropped popcorn embedded in their clothing. Perhaps I'm the only one.

After my disappointment, I was finally able to see the movie. Of course I had to wait three whole days until I was home in a different state and with my mom. The wait was painful but I survived.

When we arrived in the theater, I was shocked to see a completely different scene than I had expected: an extraordinarily large, completely empty theater! And as the opening scene flashed on screen, another unexpected scene: Rivers with no makeup on. None. Zilch. Nada. Not even a stroke of foundation. But, of course, we viewers didn't get to see her entire face as that could be too damaging to her image. We only caught pieces of it.

What's interesting, though, is that this one makeup-less scene seems to have foreshadowed what I was about to learn from the rest of the film. I know, I know, it seems silly that I would actually learn something from watching this vulgar creature's escapades from rural Wisconsin to fashionable neighborhoods in Los Angeles to her luxurious apartment in Manhattan.

But I did.

I realized that behind all that makeup lies an incredibly vulnerable woman. There hides an older lady who, even at seventy-five years of age, feels like she still has so much to accomplish in her life, that nothing in her career has been satisfactory enough to call it quits and retire like a normal person. She flaunts herself in the eye of the media, only to be judged, torn to shreds and judged again, just so that she will hopefully feel one day that she has accomplished something so large that she can finally consider herself a success.

I understand that it might seem strange that I'm siding with this successful woman who, as wealthy as she is, still chooses to present this unprotected side upon herself. But this movie made me consider anyone who's in the public eye.

Like just now, for example, I'll admit that I just clicked Perez Hilton's Twitter link to see what Lindsay Lohan's mugshot looks like. (I accidentally just typed "mugshit" and it seems like an appropriate Freudian slip here.) Not only is it pathetic that I'm looking at the mugshot of a girl who I don't even know, but what's worse is that she's having so many people look at it while she's also dealing with this situation on a personal level. People are judging her, they have since The Parent Trap, and they will for as long as she's exposed in the media. So for as much as she's messed up, and as many issues as she has, I almost feel a little sorry for her. What if my every move were scrutinized? What if I felt that I needed to have my life broadcasted throughout the world just to make myself feel successful? (OK, maybe in some twisted way I'm doing that now here...)

Anyway, I'm realizing that it's important to consider the flip side of fame: all of the negative ramifications that come along with it. Everyone has problems, but some of the biggest problems come to those like Joan or Lindsay who have decided to make their fame in front of anyone with a computer. It's times like these that I'm proud to be a nobody who's at home eating an ice cream pop in my pajamas.

XOXO,
R.

The Hardest Part of Life After College: Eating?!?

Life after college can be an adjustment, that's for sure. We leave that campus that we've come to know and love-- beer cans, puke piles, libraries and all-- and get shoved into that adult life that most of us really don't want to face. But real life is a reality, and a harsh one sometimes.

When we graduate and eventually get jobs and apartments, we know things have changed in our lives. Maybe it's that mommy and daddy are no longer supporting us financially or that we finally have to learn how to scrub a toilet for the first time. We're not used to having our friends a couple of miles away, nevermind across the country or even, in some instances, across the world. We all go our separate ways and the vast majority of us survive. Our parents and their parents made it on our own, so we can, too, right?

It takes time to establish ourselves and to "find our footing" as we venture out into the unknown. We often face challenges that we never really expected to confront. One of the biggest, it seems, for our generation? Money. Of course. That's the evil that plagues every generation, always has, and probably always will.

But the second biggest? Eating. OK, maybe it's not the second biggest, but it's a big one. I have no credibility on this front, I haven't read any data on the subjects, nothing. I'm just going by an incredibly unscientific poll of my friends... and considering some of their comments I heard in passing.

Anyway, you'd think it'd be a great relief to escape the dining hall. It's maybe even more exciting to never again enter that frathouse kitchen that-- c'mon, admit it-- should be marked as "unsanitary" and "hazardous to your health" by the health commission. I mean, I don't know about you, but I most certainly don't miss overcooked Easy Mac from the microwave or elastic band-like dark meat chicken (skin and bones and all) from the school cafeteria. (I'll admit, though, that I do miss my favorite cafeteria workers who really worked way harder than I ever will. Shout-out to Pat and Beverly and the lady with the missing teeth!)

So now that I've passed that phase in my life, I somehow live in an apartment with a beautifully updated kitchen. And what do I do with it when I'm there? I stare at it. It's not like it's so gorgeous that you'd find it on the cover of some home magazine, and I certainly don't have any art hanging up that's so marvelous I can't take my eyes off of it. Yet I stare. And keep staring. If you were to watch me you'd think I'm confusing this space with a page out of a Magic Eye book.

Alright, so maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit. Just a little though. I really have done more than turn on the faucet. Yep, I've turned on the faucet, managed to catch the water in ice cube trays and even put those trays in the freezer to--POOF-- make ice!

But really, I have cooked a dinner here and there, had a couple house parties that involved more than calling my favorite delivery guy, even experimented a little with some baking. But this whole cooking thing really remains an obstacle. I just can't seem to do it well-- or well enough to my liking-- and I certainly don't have the time to perfect it. It's always easier to call the local sushi place and order a couple of rolls than to pull a Julia Child and create a masterpiece from simple household ingredients.

Today, as I was legitimately contemplating what to make before dinner after I rush home from work but run out again to meet a friend for a movie date, I came across a great blog: In Good Taste, written by Maris Callahan, another twenty-something living in a major city. You can find it here: http://ingoodtasteblog.typepad.com/in_good_taste/. Maris began this endeavor in 2008, right before I was nearing the end of college yet before I knew that I'd soon have to actually make sure that I eat and do it in a semi-healthy way. It certainly seems like this girl has something figured out. That, or she knows how to photoshop a photo of food she whipped up to make it look extremely appealing. I think I'll believe that she does it all herself and it's all legitimate, though. :)

Here's how she explains her blog in her "About Me" section:


How many times have you looked into the fridge of a young, single man (okay, or woman) who works long hours outside of their home, to find nothing but a six-pack of beer, half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio and leftovers from last night’s Chinese take-out?
I’ve seen my fair share.

My name is Maris Callahan and I began writing this blog in May 2008. It has since evolved into a resource for twenty-somethings, like me, who want to cook healthy meals with some indulgences. Whether you're starting your first post-college job, newly married or looking for fast, easy weeknight meals, my goal is to show you that anyone can cook, no matter how much time or experience they do (or don’t) have.


What do I take from discovering this site? I'm learning that, with a little help, we can tackle the parts of post-college life that might seem a little intimidating... to say the least. A few mouthwatering pictures, some easy recipes and a talented writer really might be able to make the difference. If she's got a recent grad who has this amazing talent of overcooking everything she pops in an oven can get excited, maybe we all can.


XOXO,
R.

The Truth Behind the Tough Girl

I've always maintained that girls are meaner and more manipulative than guys. I've had boys and men do some pretty horrible things to me over the years, but rarely are their actions as calculative, cunning and downright evil as those I've observed from girls.

I think that I'm starting to understand-- on the most basic of levels-- why girls are so cruel to guys sometimes. This explanation and analysis is barely touching the tip of the iceberg, that much I know. But observing a conversation between two college aged girls this morning on the way to work really made me stop and think. It went something along the lines of this:

Girl A: "I was SO mean to him for all of August. Like really cold to him. We'd be at parties and I'd just flat out ignore him. Sometimes I'd even make a nasty comment. Then at the end of the night he'd come up to me and ask if everything was alright and I'd just say "yep!" and not let him know anything about what I was thinking. I'm a terrible person," she admitted with some edgy sarcasm and a giggle. Her friend's giggle echoed hers.

Girl B: "No I totally understand. I've been doing that, too! I'm so mean to him!"

Girl A: "Yea, that's just how it is. I think though when I was being mean I subconsciously realized that I was scared-- scared to have a boyfriend. I always freak out when some guy says we should be boyfriend and girlfriend. That's when I get so mean and back off!"

This blip of conversation gives me some insight into a part of girl-world that I like to distance myself from. One reason girls treat guys, as these two described it, "like shit," is because they're scared. It's frightening to think that maybe someone really likes us for who we are, and moreso to think that the other person will ultimately decide they don't like us. If we're mean, of course we won't get the guy of our dreams anyway, but at least it will be our fault in a direct sense and not because the guy decided he didn't like our kind, compassionate side.

So immediately when I arrived at work I went online and started talking to one of my friends who works nearby. I started telling her about the conversation that I had just witnessed. How could these girls be so blatently rude to their love interests? I wondered. If they're that mean, I thought, no guy will be interested in them, nevermind keep them as a girlfriend!

Sure, I've read books like Why Men Love Bitches where the author encourages girls to be tough and, at times, difficult, holding their ground without being swayed in any other direction. Being tough is one thing-- not putting out too early on into a relationship, not allowing the guy to always choose a restauarant or decide on the plans for the night. None of those books, though, and I really mean not one,encourage bitchiness or catty behavior.

My friend, we'll call her H., provided me with a seemingly accurate and to the point response:

"Honestly," she explained, "I think if I wreck things ahead of time I can't get rejected... because I already took care of it." She proceeded to add that "it's one of those things I do when I think I stand a chance and I can't believe my luck."

After thinking about her comment-- one that, really, when I consider it, makes sense-- I wondered what this all means. What could I do with this information, not only to help her realize that she's beyond worthy of a doting boyfriend, but also to help the boys in my life learn how to deal with their Ice Queen crushes?

First, it's important to realize that some girls really are downright mean and have very few redeeming qualities. It's unfortunate but it's true and a fact of life: there are just some people out there who are exceptionally mean and nasty. There's no changing that.

Beyond that select group of people, though, there are plenty of good-hearted, caring women who put up that tough facade to protect what's really some ultimate form of kindness mixed with fear on the inside. The issue at hand, of course, becomes the challenge of differentiating between the mean bitchy girls and the nice bitchy girls. (Sounds absurd, right?) This might be a silly analogy, but here's what I think of: when I'm eating a juicy Maine lobster-- OK this is going to be a quick analogy or I'm going to get too hungry-- the shell seems exceptionally tough and strong. When I finally crack it and get to its meat, its sweet and juicy and feels like all of the effort was very much worth the work.

Should girls be kind up front? Of course. Is there ever a reason to be bitchy? Definitely not. But do girls, just like men, feel the need to protect themselves from potentially hurtful situations? Duh, of course.

So to all of my guy friends out here, this is my thinking-- you've gotta crack that lobster, baby. You've gotta work hard to get to the very core of that girl, the girl you truly believe is sweet on the inside, even if she displays a hard shell. We're all scared at times to take risks, but of course if we never do we'll never get where we really want to be in life.

But, girls, don't make the guy do all of the work. I know it's hard to believe, but not every man out there is out there to hurt us. In fact, many represent the very opposite: they dream of making our lives easier and more pleasant. We've just got to let them in-- with proper protection, of course! :)

XOXO,
R.