Of Always the Entertainer

“Let me entertain you, let me make you smile.” – Gypsy, Stephen Sondheim

Nicolas Cafe Valentine

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Valentine’s Day is the ultimate holiday of emotional abuse – at least, commercially. It’s the day that puts extreme pressure on those in a relationship whilst beating up the singletons with an emotional whip. No matter where you are in your love life – Valentine’s Day is gonna get you. It’s essentially the sniper of holidays.

As a single person, there are two types of advertisements that are geared in my direction:

  1. You are a strong independent female, you don’t need a man, not like those other weak girls with boyfriends. Pssh! Girl power!
  2. You are clearly desperate, lonely, and in need of some good lovin’. Here’s how to power through the day until your sad soul finds a man to make you complete.

The common thread here? Men are awful, BUT you kinda need one to be your best self. Not only do I not relate to these male focused ads because I’m a lesbian, but also because I disagree with HOW the men are supposed to function. They are either dooming the women, by making them be less than they are. Or they’ll rescuing the women, by pulling them out of their despair and into the light. Neither seems like a healthy start to a relationship, at least, not to me.

Here’s what I want in a partner: someone who will put on a show with me.
Silly, simple, and slightly nonsensical isn’t it?

I find that because I have a loud personality, a lot of the dates I go on feel like a performance. Which is not a fun feeling. I don’t enjoying having to interview someone in order to have a conversation.

In short, it often feels like this:

The women I’ve truly been smitten by have put on a show with me. The conversation flows easily and it’s clear that this person wouldn’t pull me down, nor life me up, they’d meet me in the middle.

Which, in my opinion, is how it should work. Of course people will have their ups and downs – that’s just common sense.¬†But if you’re gonna be with someone, they should be your equal. Not your savior or your baggage.

So to the currently yoked people.

  • Ignore the advertisements, you don’t need to spend a thousand dollars or whisk your partner away to paradise island. Just spend the evening together and dim the lights.

To the single people.

  • If you’re struggling, call your friends and celebrate yourselves. Bake something, play a game, build a fort, and just have fun.
  • If you’re not struggling, then you already know what to do. ūüôā

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Of the Second Cut

Alexz Johnson

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They say the first cut is the deepest, but I think we all know that’s bullshit. The cut can always get deeper. The more it slices, the more it stings, the worse it hurts, the harder you fall. Saying the first cut is the deepest is essentially romance version of Santa Clause: it can’t get any worse, someone better will come along, you’ll be fine. And while this may be fine and dandy, the blanket statement lessens the significance of the feelings at the time.

I absolutely believe things can always get better, someone else will come along and they’ll be fucking fantastic. And yes – you will be fine. But I also believe that the second cut is deeper. Way deeper.

I distract myself with noise: work, movies, television, writing, audiobooks, music. I focus on all that’s around me, for to focus on what’s inside me would be to acknowledge weakness. Once the noise goes away, as does my guard. Water creeps out the corners of my eyes as I attempt to stifle any audible sounds that may give my grievance away. My carefully compartmentalized emotions blending into one encompassing mass.

The worst thing is, I knew this would happen. I knew exactly how the conversation was going to go, Hell, I could’ve written the script. But it had to happen. I couldn’t go on pretending what wasn’t.

They say fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I also call this bullshit. At least in my situation, I knew exactly what was happening. Being led on isn’t as simple as one person lies and the other dances happily in their palm. It’s the feeling of being desired and rejected simultaneously. Being led on is seeing the reality and choosing the fantasy. For at least in the fantasy you’re special. The laughs, the cuddles, the kisses, they all feel real – so why not let them be real. I’m just as guilty as she in that aspect.

However, I can’t pretend that nothing happened. Nor do I want to. What’s done is done, it’s complicated as our circles are intermixed.

Like I told her, “It’s some Ross and Rachel bullshit.”

Of Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Girlfriends

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I’d love to be with you, but you don’t know that.

Or maybe you do, but you aren’t willing to talk about us.

So I sit.

I sit cause making a move is dangerous.

I sit cause I’m waiting for you to acknowledge or deny me.

I sit cause I’m a wimp.

I sit cause the timing is never right.

I sit cause I am a bystander in my own life.

You’ll never be mine. We could be a disaster. Hell, we could be great.

But we’ll never know.

———-

I guess it’s time for me to stand up.

Of BFF’s

Lainie wearing a balloon hat

My roomie – rocking the first balloon hat I ever made.

Lainie is my roommate, bestie, and fellow dancer. We met as extra follows when we were part of a swing dance performance team. She made me mac-n-cheese. I made fun of her tiny excuse of a living room. And we’ve been friends ever since.

Lainie greatly enjoys trying to make me do things that I really should do, and I want to do, but require effort. Things like: start a vlog, stretch, make a choice for dinner, or write a blog post.

Which is why when she sarcastically stated, “You should write about me!”

I said, “Fine.”

You’re welcome Lainie, it’s officially time for your long overdue spotlight:

I’ve never met someone so determined to stay in a cozy corner of denial. Course, I understand, making effort sucks. It’s scary and undesirable – I too, avoid it as often as I can, especially in the romantic realm.

For Lainie knows as well as I – there is little more horrifying than confessing your feelings to someone who does not return them. That leads to awkward encounters, tears, and hours of bitching out your friends who pushed you in that direction in the first place. Denial is best, even if at times it’s a wee bit lonely.

Though I feel it’s important to stress her absolute hypocrisy. She has a tendency to call me out on my shit, quite often. Rather than being a polite friend who will let me sit in my preferred bubble of denial. It’s dreadfully annoying. So of course, I return the favor and call her out whenever necessary.

But still, I let her hang around.

For despite the fact that she throws pillows at me, lightly hits anyone who says something dumb or offensive, is convinced that billowy shirts make her skinny ass look fat, and watches that awful Once Upon a Time show. She’s still the first person I go to when I have a problem, am confused about life, or want cookies made.

After all, what more could you want in a best friend, than someone who makes a killer soup, is willing to watch Gilmore Girls for hours, and also finds puppets hilarious.

Plus, we have a pact: “Roomies till partners!”

So I couldn’t get rid of her even if I wanted to.

Of “Accidents” in Bed

Pitch Perfect Meme

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I would like to declare that there is no such thing as an accidental hook up, or just happening to make out with someone, or even magically holding hands. Someone makes a move. Someone has to. Even in a blackout drunk situation at least one person has to think, this is a good idea, I’m gonna go for it, for any sort of physical action to take place. “It takes two to tango” is a clich√© for a reason, but no tango has ever started without someone asking for a dance.

And I would know, I’ve thrown my fair share of drunken, half-naked, make-out parties, and I’ve never once accidentally made out with anyone – one of us always went in for the kiss. Truthfully, I’m usually the initiator, but that’s not really relevant. I mean, the point is that I decided to make physical contact. Me. I didn’t slip on a bar of soap and end up naked in some chick‚Äôs bed.

Still, quite often I hear, “I don’t know man, it just happened. One minute we’re hanging out and the next we’re making out.” No, no. it doesn’t work that way. What really happened is that you were hanging out and one of you kissed the other, and they willingly accepted the offer.

When people start talking about accidental sex (not rape, that’s different), I find that even more baffling. I mean, you took your clothes off, or allowed someone else to undress you. You didn’t slip and as you fell, the universe tore off your outfit, leaving you stark naked and ready to go. It just doesn’t make sense. As far as I can tell, using words like accident, just happened, oops, I was drunk, etc – are used by people who aren’t willing to own up to their own behavior. And it’s not like they need to be ashamed: they’re human, they like sex, so they went for it. They don’t need to make up excuses.

So beware of those dangerous bars of soap lying around. Step on one of them – and they’ll magically yank off your clothes leaving you naked with another person,¬† who conveniently also slipped on a bar of soap. But if you don’t see one lying around – your actions are on you my friend.

Of Awkward Ex Encounters

Ex Couple

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Okay, so we all have ex’s. Or at least, most of us do.

  • With some, the relationship ended amicably and you remain close buds.
  • With others, the end was so dramatic that seeing their face still brings extreme sadness to your soul.
  • With a select few, there’s no emotional pull at all. Being around them is akin to standing in a room of strangers. Just this stranger, you happen¬†to have been intimate with momentarily.
  • With most, one of you is more hurt than the other, more attached, more likely to sit there and pine over the thought of, “What if?” A very dangerous question, mind you.

Everyone has ex stories, and I would love to hear all of them. Seriously, post them in the comment section, I will read each and every tale of lost love. I don’t care if you wish to share a story from when you were together or after you parted – I just love a good story, Hell, I even love a bad story on occasion.

Here, I’ll go first:

Recently the only man I’ve ever dated contacted me. And I think it’s important to clarify that we broke up over two years ago. That we were not a happy couple. Also, that I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation.

Anyways …

The situation was the sort of predicament that everyone wants to avoid – a former lover declaring that they miss them and want them back. And then, to inform you that they can’t afford to eat because they call out of work in efforts to avoid you.

Seriously? Don’t blame me for your hunger.¬†

Little is more uncomfortable than having someone you’d rather not talk with, cry about you over the phone.

But I was very polite, making grand statements like, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better.”

Then I got¬†a handful of text messages. Granted it’s not seventy messages in two days like a different situation of mine (but that’s a whole different story – if you want to hear it, please let me know).

The first basically said, “What if I stop picking my fingernails?” –¬†Huh? I don’t remember that being a problem.

The second asked me to think about what I’d done. Said, “It was nice to hear your voice the way that I remember it,” and urged me to take a couple of days to get back to him with why we can’t be together – Yeah, I’m not gonna do that. I think it’s VERY VERY obvious why I don’t want to date you again.

And the last accused me of rudely texting him in Spanish – I don’t even know Spanish.¬†

So there’s my most recent story. While my current dating life is quite stale, so much so that it’s borderline¬†pathetic. It seems my past wanted to stir up the unwanted drama in my life.

Which is just … annoying.

Okay, now would you be so kind as to tell me a story?

Of Creepy Vs. Cute

Creepy girl

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Everyone has the potential for coming across as an all-star creeper. Trust me, I have the skills to creep your pants off if I desire – take that literally or figuratively, I don’t care. At the same time, all humans can come across absolutely adorable, cuteness oozing through all pores. So the next time you think,¬†ugh s/he is so creepy, just remember that someone somewhere in the world thinks the exact same thing about you.

The real question is what makes a person or interaction creepy? To put it simply, I think it comes down to understanding a rapport. Are we friends? Are they attractive? Have I met them? Do I like them (romantic or platonic)? These are the questions that determine if the behavior is cute, creepy, or creepy-esque (an awkward, but awesome, friendship).

For any of you that are easily confused by social situations, if the answer to the question, have I met them? is no. Then don’t make a move other than to get to know them – for you will come across creepy unless you’re celebrity-level-attractive.

If the answer to all four questions is a heartfelt YES!!! Then any attempts at being creepy will fail. In order to succeed in making the other human uncomfortable you’ll have to put forth a lot of effort and catch your romantic interest off guard. Best to accept your fate and just be the¬†delectable¬†little dumpling that you are, for everything you do will have your partner thinking,¬†awww. So relax, watch some gag worthy romantic comedies, snuggle whilst drinking tea, and proceed to melt into an adorable pile of goo.

In all other circumstances there’s a boundary. Defining the line of cute vs. creepy will require you to pay attention to your surroundings. The same behavior can trigger very different reactions if you’re lost in your head. I’ll give you an example:

I was saying goodbye to a girl I was kind of/sorta/almost seeing for a while and she put her hands in the pockets of my¬†trench coat when we stood outside my car. We were standing in a middle-school slow dance pose chatting, when I paused for a moment, looked down, and said, “Hey, I sent a man away for putting his hand in my pocket.” To which she replied, “Yeah, but you like me.” We proceed to kiss goodbye and I drove away. It was all very simple and sweet, damn cute I’d say.

The man that I mentioned to her, trespassed into creepy territory. I was at a nightclub and I gave the bastard a chance by letting him dance with me. And to my surprise he was decent (for a club dancer) and he even bought me a drink.

I’d never had someone buy me a drink before, and I haven’t since. He continued hanging around me, which was fine,¬†after all, I did let him dance with me and buy me alcohol. But then he put his hand in the pocket of my dress.¬†Excuse me! Those are my pockets. Mine!¬†Put your arm around my shoulder or waist, fine, but don’t put your hand in my pocket, mediocre looking man I’ve just met. I lifted his hand up and said, “You can’t just put your hand in my pocket.” And he said, “But I bought you a drink.” And I said “Yeah, and thank you. But you still can’t put your hand in my pocket.” Then he huffed and puffed away and eventually was groping on a super skanky chick. Creepy.

Ultimately the behavior was the same – hands in pockets – the difference was the rapport.

The final type of behavior in these situations is creepy-esque. Basically it’s taking what would be seen as creepy and blowing it up to satirical¬†proportions.¬†Be warned, not everyone has the personality or skill to pull this off. It really is a talent you’re born with, and can only be practiced on people who actually like you as a human being. Otherwise – you’ll have no friends.

I have some friendships that are founded on my being creepy-esque and them playing the straight card. I’ll hug them, whisper sweet nothings in their ear, and they’ll stand there like I just put a gun to their head. Everyone laughs, and we go on our merry ways. Other friends will dish the creepy-esque right back – quickly those friendships turn into a competitive,¬†top that bitch,¬†type of bond. And there are some people who I wouldn’t be anything but cute and socially polite for, why?, because I understand our rapport and they couldn’t handle the creepy side of my persona.

Are you/they being cute or creepy is a question that can easily be asked daily, both in romantic and platonic situations. It’s amazing to me how many people don’t understand the nature (and beauty for that matter) of various forms of friendships and bonds.

So are you cute or creepy? The answers gotta be, “Yes.”

Of a Single Lady Lover

Santana and Britney Dancing Gif

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Normally I’m the type that avoids romance like it was a steaming cup of gasoline¬†being poured down my throat. I’ve dated a bit, been in one actual relationship, and several of those we-act-like-we’re-dating-but-we’re-not-together situations. I don’t come from a family that prizes emotions. We praise wit, humor, apathy, and intelligence – emotional needs (and heaven forbid crying) are considered weakness.

But I’m just gonna say it, I want a girlfriend. It’s true. I’m not a detached zombie, I’m a human being damn it, and humans tend to long for all that cheesy bullshit they see in romantic comedies. I’m no different in that aspect, my issue is that I’m so accustomed to pushing away feelings that I don’t have the slightest idea how to begin a relationship.

I spend most my time with my co-workers or dancing buddies, all of whom I love dearly, all of whom are straight, and all of whom do not attract me in the ‘romantic’ sort of way. I don’t have very many gay friends anymore, considering that they are all spread out across the country, coast to coast … literally.

But my biggest problem is that I have a faulty gaydar, and secondly that no one thinks I’m gay. Even when I talk about women, wear rainbows, or make jokes, they are still surprised when at some point in a conversation I actually say the word. I’ve accepted that coming out will be a never-ending process.¬†I need to learn how to actually meet someone, a dancer if possible, but a sense of humor is a must – I have no interest in dating anymore incredibly serious people.

So yeah, I want a girlfriend, but meeting someone and then having the guts to actually go for it – are two events that probably won’t occur in my near future.

If anyone has awesome tips, I’m listening.

Of Physical Affection Between the Sexes

Jermaine Clement Animated Gif

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Good point Jermaine Clement!

I’ve noticed this for years, and I am 100% certain that I am not alone in this observation.

In our culture it’s¬†accepted for females of any combination (straight-straight, straight-gay, gay-gay) to compliment each other’s physical appearance, hold hands, cuddle, be physically affectionate in public, and express emotion. However, it is only okay for men in a gay-gay combination to do these exact same actions.

Obviously I’m a female, so I can’t speak for the various degrees of male bonding, only from my observations. And from what I’ve seen men are trapped in their manliness. Right down to the I’m-Not-Gay¬†pat when they hug each other – meaning three quick pats on the back followed by immediate separation.

I think that a scene from one of my favorite TV shows, How I Met Your Mother, is the perfect way to round off this topic that I’ve written about so poorly (my apologizes – I only had three hours of sleep last night):

Marshall: [Referring to being a girl in a bar] Oh, poor me. I get to order yummy pink drinks with chunks of real fruit that guys secretly like but can’t order because they’ll be made fun of.

Ted: Dude

Marshall: They’re delicious!

Of the Prince Charming Epidemic

James Marsden in Enchanted

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Lyric’s come into being because someone felt, remembered, or dreamt something. As I’ve gotten older it these songs start to bare weight. I’m not saying that they make me nostalgic or that they remind me of better days. None of that sappiness. What’s irritating me is that I have one, count it one, person to link all the love songs to. Well, I dated a little in high school. But those relationships were far from meaningful. I don’t count those.

So … yeah … one.

By no means does this thought make me want him back and by no means do these memories make me sad. What it does is make me want a new, um … “special someone”… so to speak.

I’m officially over the single thing. Problem is – I’m a bad dater. I don’t notice when men flirt with me (unless they set off my creeper radar). My friends (and mom) tell me, “he was totally hitting on you” and I reply, “I had no idea.” I’m terrible at letting my feeling be known, even to myself. I lie to my brain thinking “Nooooo not him, I don’t like him.” Of course once it’s past the point of opportunity that’s when I realize “Huh, yep definitely liked him. Damn.” Then there’s my extreme independence. I do like being on my own. I’ve never been boy crazy – still not boy crazy (I don’t understand hyperventilating because a semi-attractive human being with a penis walked in the room). And regardless of horniness, I respect myself to much to sleep with a stranger or someone I am not interested in dating. That behavior just doesn’t mesh with my personality. If I were to suddenly be boy crazy and started sleeping around. My friends would worry. Though if that’s you’re personality power to ya, as long as your safe (condoms and such).

Thus I don’t actively pursue romance. Rather I wait and hope it comes floating by, glittering in the sky. And I’ll see the something shiny (all girls love shiny things) and grab it.

When I was younger my list of things required for a potential mate was crazy long. The shallowness of a Christian youth. Now that I’m older and “he has to love Jesus” isn’t on my list I really only care about four things: handsome, taller than me, funny, and willing to go Blues and Swing Dancing with me. End of list. I don’t think it’s impossible. I’ve met versions of him. Of course, he’s always taken but it does provide hope for us ladies. Settling is never an option.

Purpose of this rant: I’d like to have more than one human being to link songs to. I’d also like to stop day dreaming about the impossible.

Face it ladies. Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Fuck you Disney!

Things don’t turn out like romantic comedies.

And I have no idea why so many of you love Pride and Prejudice, personally I can’t finish the book (I’ve tried three times, never got past page 50). But I did watch the four-hour movie with Colin Firth and frankly Mr. Darcy doesn’t exist either. Why would you want him to? I’m sick of this “he’s so romantic and such a gentlemen” bullshit. Okay let us review: he thought he was better than the Bennet’s, he was cold and rude, convinced his friend to dump Elizabeth’s sister, made a rash proposal insulting Elizabeth in the process, but girls love him … I guess because he paid their families way out of ruin? I don’t know. P&P fans out there feel free to defend your precious Jane Austen. Just know that I will never agree with you. One of my dearest friend’s has a Jane Austen action figure complete with desk and quill – even she has never convinced me that Jane Austen is amazing.

Yep, definitely ready for a new romantic phase in my life. Not Prince Charming. Not necessarily Mr. Right.

Just Mr. Right Now.