Archive for the 'Women' Category

distance makes the heart grow fonder?

August 11, 2010

I’m not sure how it happened, but I think I’m kinda, maybe, somewhat, perhaps, a little bit… on the verge of entering into a long distance relationship.  You guys remember how Nate came down to visit last month, right? 

Well, he’s been down THREE times since then.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but 300 miles each way is pretty far to drive three times for just a booty call.

I’ve been a little scared to write about it, out of a silly fear that I’d somehow jinx it… or he’d somehow find these posts, (both of which are highly unlikely) but every time he’s been here it has been nothing but great.  Now, it seems like we’re kind of at that stage where we aren’t together together, but we’re both not really trying to sleep with anyone else (at least, this is what I’ve inferred from our VERY indirect conversations).

So, the real question is: What the hell am I doing? 

Not only is he 300 miles away, but he’s also in the Air Force.  Which means, he spends a good amount of time over seas every month.  I’ve somehow managed to see him every couple of weeks so far (and I’ll see him again in 10 days), but I’m thinking there is some real potential for me to go for much longer stretches without him. 

The last week or so since I’ve seen him have been TORTURE.  Do I really have the capacity to handle something long distance? Do I have the self control?

And it’s not JUST the sex – all contact is pretty scarce while he is overseas.  All of a sudden I feel like a military wife, anxiously awaiting his email to come in from Spain so that I’ll know if he made it there safely.  I’m missing his abundant amount of texts to keep me company during the day.  I’m literally crossing off the days on my calendar until I get to see him again.

But I guess with all things there is a plus side.  He can’t get jealous when I want to hang out with my girlfriends on the weekend, he’s got his own life and will not be expecting to hang out with me every day.  And the freedom that comes with that, I have to admit, is really really nice.

So for now, I’m just seeing where things go and hoping for the best.  (He’s even mentioned taking me snowboarding in the winter.)

10 days and counting,

Q

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giving up.

July 21, 2010

My mom and I really couldn’t be more different. 

She talks nonstop when I just want to listen.  She never fails to think the best of people when I choose to be a cynic and always question motives.  She’s an Indiana farm girl at heart and I crave the sights and sounds of the city.  So it should really come to no surprise that when it comes to certain aspects of life, I am bull-headed and stubborn as hell and Mom has no problem just giving up and walking away.

When I was young, I used to admire her ability to have no shame about admitting defeat.  To simply say “it just wasn’t for me” while throwing the towel in.  There have been so many times I’ve suffered too long through things – poor relationships or shitty jobs – just to avoid the stigma of being called a “quitter”.

But as the years progressed, and I watched her go through something like 5 jobs in a single year, quit on her marriage with my father, and change dentists and doctors more than some people change their bedsheets, it occurred to me that maybe it’s ok to be a little bit stubborn.  Maybe it’s because of her that I’ve become so persistent.

Sometimes I wish I could exchange a little bit of her ambivalence for a dose of my gumption. 

It nearly killed me when we spoke today and she told me she was having second thoughts about her relationship with her live-in boyfriend, Lenny, a man that I’ve grown to adore and someone so perfectly suited for her, the two of them might as well be Ricky and Lucy.   

Maybe she is so scared of failure that she’d rather just walk away on her own, I’m not sure.  All I know is that it’s not always easy.  It’s not always going to be perfect – we don’t live in a fairy tale.  But don’t you think that sometimes, “good” really is good enough? 

I hope she can see that someday.

Q

no shame here.

July 16, 2010

Some women treat buying condoms like robbing a bank.  They scan the store to see who’s in there, make sure it’s no one they know, tuck the box beneath one of the other 14 items they’re purchasing (all of which are purely props), make the purchase, and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible – probably with a getaway car idling out in the parking lot.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who sees me making this purchase (except for maybe my mother… that would be weird.  And, I’m pretty sure she still hasn’t recovered from finding my birth control in my suitcase that weekend I was visiting from college. )  In fact, I kind of see it as empowering and sexy.  No, I don’t wave them around in the store, or wear a big sandwich board with the words “IM HAVING SEX” written on it, but I’m not ashamed. 

It’s 2010.  I like sex.  I’m being safe about it.  What’s the big f-ing deal?

We all know you can’t rely on men to BYOC.  Let’s face it, men are pretty damn unreliable.  (Hell, I couldn’t even get my ex to remember to pick up pasta sauce on his way home from the office.)  I’m not about to stop in the middle of whatever’s goin down to run out to 7-11 to pick some up, either.  I’m a believer in always having them on hand and always within an arm’s length of my bed.

The last time a dude was tryin’ to get a piece of all this sans rubber outterwear, I told him “hey, I like sex… but AIDS is for hookers” and that was that.

So listen up, ladies.  Quit your cowering in the “family planning” aisle.  March right into your local Wegman’s and make that purchase with your chest out and your head held high, ’cause you’re taking your body and your life into your OWN hands, and that is something that we all ought to be pretty damn proud of.

So can I get a “hell yeah”?

Q

not just construction workers.

July 1, 2010

I think I could probably write a book of all the weird things men do or love that make absolutely zero sense to me – farting under the covers, the attraction to girl-on-girl action, and naming body parts (just to name a few).

But what has continued to blow my mind more than anything over the last several years is WHY men feel the need to hoot and holler things to women on the street.  I honestly don’t get it.

I’ll be all hot and sweaty, with my hair pulled up in a ratty ponytail, minding my own business while walking the dog down the street… then I’ll feel the presence of a car slowing down beside me.  “Hey Baby, where you headed?” or perhaps even more puzzling is the “Woot woot” cat call done while the car is speeding by.

Has this EVER worked for men?  Have there EVER been any successful relationships that have started from this sort of contact?  Is there a woman out there that would respond to this with a “Oh hello! I really appreciated the way you so sweetly called out to me from your car.  No, I wasn’t aware of how nice my ass looked today, so thanks for pointing it out! Would you like to get a drink?”  Are there any statistics on this?  If not, can we start keeping statistics on this?  I feel like this is something we need to track.

You know, I can almost understand or excuse this if it is done by a carload full of young men. Oh ha ha, it’s so funny… and they all laugh and exchange high-fives.  But for a middle-aged man to do this while driving alone (probably on his way to pick up his kids from soccer practice or something), is just downright weird.  What is the freakin POINT?

Still puzzled,

Q

there’s no place like home.

June 18, 2010

I just got back from a business trip in Washington DC.  All things considered, it might have been the worst trip I’ve been on in a long while, business or otherwise.

I was almost mugged in broad daylight in front of about 20 people.  A homeless man asked me for a dollar and I kept walking: “No man, I don’t have any cash. Sorry.” (I really didn’t).  The man lept up and lunged at me, grabbing my purse.  Instinctively, I immediately smacked (and ninja Karate chopped) his hand hard with my free hand and he let go. 

No one even batted an eye.

I then sat in the convention center at our booth for 9 hours a day for 3 days straight.  This, my friends, might be the quickest path to insanity.  You know you have it bad when the next thing you have to look forward to is the crappy boxed lunch at noon. And let me tell you, nothing turns middle aged men into creepers quite like being at an out of town conference does! Next time, I’m rollin in there with a shirt made that says “I can see your wedding ring.”

On a positive note, I made friends with (i.e. shamelessly hit on) a cute young guy working the booth near ours.  We exchanged business cards and I almost immediately emailed him from my phone and gave him my cell number so he could text me to meet up the next night. (“Us young people gotta stick together at these things.” he wrote back).  We smiled and waved at each other from a distance for the remainder of the conference.

As luck (MY luck) would have it, my cell phone was stolen from my purse as my coworker and I were breaking down our booth on the last night of the show.  Anyone that knows me in real life knows that my iphone is my lifeline.  My music, my pictures, my contacts… everything is gone. AND, as if that wasn’t bad enough, single conference guy (and friends) was supposed to text me that evening to meet up.

I raced back to my hotel and emailed single conference guy to tell him what happened… and went upstairs to my room to mope and call it a night.  I awoke to a blinking message on my hotel room phone.  SCG did some research and found me at the hotel… interesting. 

We’ve since enchanged a few long thoughtful emails and a few texts on my temporary cell phone from 1987. (Picture Zack Morris’s first cell phone on Saved By the Bell. No joke).

So while I lost my beloved cellphone (and not to mention several hours of my life that I will never get back while sitting in that damn convention center), I do appear to have gained a new friend, and I can’t really complain about that.

I’m just glad to be home,

Q

sloppy seconds.

June 9, 2010

Well internet, I have an interesting update on the boy with the crooked smile.

Last night I was out having happy hour drinks with a friend when a semi-frantic text came in from my roommate:  “OMG. OMG. OMG My friend hooked up with [insert BWTCS’s real name here] too.” 

Oh crap.

Turns out, not only did  they hook up, they also had the EXACT same date that we had.  (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried).  Same restaurant, made out in the car, and he never called her again.  And it gets better.

(drumroll please) …He has a girlfriend!

I’m tempted to post his real name, along with a photograph and a warning: “Ladies – Do not date this man!”  Because, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

So of course I immediately text him and oh so subtly call him out on this (wouldn’t you??):

Me:  “haha, I think you know one of my friends.  Does [friend’s full name] ring a bell?”

BWTCS: “What?”

Me:  “Yeah, the details (all of them) just came up randomly in conversation, actually… not even my conversation.”

BWTCS: “Yeah. hilarious.” 

(pause)

“So have you heard the new Arcade Fire album?”

Once again the cosmos have aligned to kick me in the shins…

…But on the brightside, I guess I got a free meal out of it.

Q

miss pennsylvania.

June 7, 2010

If I was in the Miss America pageant (which, at this time, hell would have also frozen over and pigs would be flying) and in the interview portion I was asked about my “wish for the world”, without hesitation, I would reply that I wish that everyone on Earth could have an amazingly satisfying, no strings attached, drama free booty call.  Forget about ending AIDS and world hunger for a minute, don’t you think the world would be a better and happier place?

Think about it.

There are no expectations.  No need to buy birthday gifts.  No family function obligations.  Just unadulterated unclothed sexual bliss and instant stress relief.  For this reason, I’m willing to bet that Hitler and Stalin weren’t getting laid on the regular.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m a classy girl.  I don’t bring strangers home from the bar (well, ok, maybe ONCE), but I’ve never had a one night stand.  Even that awkward night with the stranger turned into a couple of dates.  I used to have a backlog of potential booty calls : shoo-ins that I could call up for some “drinks”, both of us certain what the result at the end of the night would be.  Some are old boyfriends, some are pretty good guy friends that I like to see naked every now and then, and I’d love to keep it that way.

For some reason, I feel good about “recycling” men from previous segments of my life.  Hey, my “number” doesn’t go up and I feel like I’m doing something good for the environment.  (Go Green!)

The problem is, my booty call Rolodex is drying up.  A few have gotten girlfriends (or wives), a few have moved away, and one has inexplicably dropped off the face of the Earth.  Even in it’s most perfect form, this whole arrangement is kind of a slippery slope.  I do not tolerate 2am texts from boys looking to “hang out”.  It’s only fun when I am the one calling the shots and each rendezvous is on MY terms.  Selfish?  Maybe.  But, there’s something really sexy about being in control like this.

Currently taking applications,

Q

like a homeless dude to a crack pipe.

June 4, 2010

I have a confession to make… I’m an addict.

No, don’t worry.  It’s not drugs or alcohol, or even sex (well ok… maybe sex?).  There’s one little thing that can draw me in like a bee to honey – I’m addicted to buying pretty sundresses. (*GASP*)

There, I said it.

I know what you’re thinking: “But Q, you have a closet FULL of sundresses.  There’s really no need to buy more.”  and you would be right.  There is absolutely no need.  I own one (or several) in just about every color Roy G. Biv has to offer.

Now, I’ve never been much of a girly girl.  I don’t broadcast news of my periods or love Nicholas Sparks movies.  I like punk rock and PBR’s, but I just can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for soft material, lovely colors, and a short hemline. When I wander into a store, I’m not even thinking about satisfying my “fix”, then my eyes wander over the selection and I see it.  Sticking out like a whore in church, it calls to me. (Cue the angelic choir music).

I’m sorry, but there’s just something awesome about it being all breezy and al fresco “down there” on a hot day.  And better yet, for us relatively style-deprived broads, it’s a FULL outfit in one piece of clothing.  What could be easier?

So, I’ll see you at the Gap in an hour?

Q

two times the awkwardness.

June 3, 2010

Palms sweaty, heart beating a little bit, you make your way to your pre-arranged meeting spot.  You check for spinach in your teeth, put your best face forward, and awkwardly suffer through the new few hours, tell yourself that you had a good time, and leave praying for a call back.

Sound familiar…?

Is this a date…? or a job interview? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

As a single girl that’s ALSO looking for a new job, I feel like I’ve had enough stress and awkward situations to last the average person 12 lifetimes.

Having just left yet another job interview that will undoubtedly pan out to nothing (due to a lousy HR director that failed to screen for compatible salaries), the similarities to dating and job hunting nearly smacked me in the face.  It’s like this never-ending cycle.

Everyone’s faking it at first, wanting to be liked.  Then the one YOU actually like wont call you back and the one that is all about you doesn’t pay enough or has poor hygiene and those ungodly bright colored sneakers (you know, the ones that look like they were thrown up on by a box of crayola crayons).  What’s worse, one of you will likely wind up bored with the relationship or career in a year or two and the cycle begins again.

But the sad part is, there’s nothing you can really do about it.  It’s all part of the game, my friend.  As cheesy as it sounds, you gotta keep putting yourself out there, and keep sipping that proverbial porridge until you find the one that’s the perfect fit.

So for now, you can call me “Goldilocks”,

Q

like a fish needs a bicycle.

June 1, 2010

I never really intended for this to be a blog about my love life or a “Sex and the City-esque” retelling of my weekends.  But i suppose that is somehow what it is becoming.  I always said that I would simply write about what was on my mind, without holding anything back, so I guess this says something about my priorities right now.

It’s been four days since I’ve heard from the boy with the crooked smile.  I’m here practically sitting on my hands to prevent myself from texting him.

I won’t do it.

I refuse.

Instead, I’m making up excuses for the reasons why he was possibly too busy to do so all weekend long and willing my phone to light up any second now.

Maybe he was tragically killed while pushing a small child out of the path of a moving bus.  Or maybe he was stricken with horrible food poisoning and spent the last 3 days in the hospital.  Or maybe he is just so gosh darn into me (duh) that he is waiting even LONGER than the obligatory three days so that he doesn’t seem over-eager and blow it?

…or maybe I am certifiably insane and it is completely and utterly clear that he is “just not that into me”.

Sigh.

So now I guess I just pick myself up, dust myself off, and start reminding myself that I’m awesome and amazing and totally fine alone.  Hell, I even put my AC unit in without any help!

I don’t need no stinkin’ man,

Q