Today I got what was possibly the rudest e-mail I've ever received. I'm not going to post the whole e-mail here, because frankly- they're not my words, and I feel strange about that. Even if the person who wrote it is undeserving of my sympathies. The person in question is someone I knew back in college. We were by NO means friends, nor were we enemies. We just liked to get together once in awhile to make out and fool around but we never actually had sex. This is important to the story.
While I feel strange about quoting his words, I will tell you that his e-mail chastised me as a person who thinks that I'm better than other people. He implied that I have an overblown ego, that I'm promiscuous, and that I will never have a boyfriend because I think I'm too good for anyone. And then of course, my favorite part where he criticized my body and told me that I was bad in bed. I must be PRETTY bad in bed for someone who hasn't even been to bed with me to pick up on it! I'm not quite sure what his motivation for this rather confused outburst was, but I think I can safely assume it has something to do with the fact that I didn't respond to his last couple of facebook messages asking me to hang out. Hell hath no fury like a penis rejected.
Here's my response:
Dear ______:
I'm sorry I didn't get back to your last couple of messages. I wasn't interested in hanging out with you, and perhaps I should have been mature enough to "man up" and tell you that. I assumed if I just ignored you, you'd get the hint. I didn't anticipate that you'd wait another several months and send me this glorifyingly warped character assassination.
My reasons for not wishing to hang out with you have nothing to do with the fact that I think I'm better than you. I don't think I'm better than you. Actually, that's a lie- I DO think I'm better than you now, but prior to this e-mail I harbored no such feelings. I'm surprised that you view me as a person with an inflated ego. Those who know me would tell you that I'm quite modest, and self deprecating and I actually have some self-esteem problems that I'm trying to work on. I have trouble accepting compliments, and I certainly don't fish for them. I know your memory of what transpired between us seems to be failing you in some regards, but surely you can remember that I tend to blush when showered with compliments. So no, the reason that I do not have a boyfriend is not because I think I'm better than most men. I am perhaps picky, but that has more to do with the fact that I don't like investing myself in anything or anyone that I'm not truly passionate about. I can only assume that you think of me as self-involved and stuck-up because I did not wish to have playtime with you under the covers.
Of course, I 'm not sure why you would even want to have that playtime. Because according to you, I'm not really all that attractive nor am I good in bed. Listen, physical attraction is completely subjective. There are plenty of people who don't find me attractive and vice versa. That's fine. But you were always very, very complimentary of my physical attributes. Perhaps that was all bullshit, which is fine too. But if I'm such a lagoon creature then why did you try to establish contact with me over a year after we'd seen each other last? Clearly I'd crossed your mind in some kind of positive way. Furthermore, why is there so much hate and seething anger in your nasty words? I think it's clearly obvious what's going on here. I guess you thought your comments about my body would take my ego down a few knotches. Let me tell you something. You can say whatever you like about my personality and my sexual skills. But don't mess with a girl's body image. Thankfully, your words bounce right off of me. I survived an eating disorder and have made peace with my body. Your opinion about my breasts means very little to me, as I have many men in my life who would disagree with you. But I guess you would just say that these "many men" are indicative of my apparent promiscuity. Get over yourself. I'm 25 and single and I still haven't found what I'm looking for. I'm not going to get into my "number" because it's none of your business, as you're not on that list. Suffice to say, that I'm very comfortable with the number of people I've had sex with and very thankful that you're not one of them.
Which brings me to my favorite part. I'm sorry you apparently had such a negative experience in the time you spent with me. However, is it really fair to say that I'm bad at sex when we never had it? I'm not going to defend my sexual skills as I know they need no defense. Any bad time had between us I'm going to chalk up to a bad sexual chemistry. We were perhaps just not compatible in that sense. If it makes you feel better to think of me as a sad single girl who will never find happiness because my standards are too high and who will never find satisfaction due to "frigidity" (that actually made me laugh out LOUD) then go right ahead. I'm not full of myself, but on a good hair day when my skin's looking clear, I think I'm a beautiful, sexy woman. Anyone who doesn't think so is just not for me.
Your e-mail was full of a lot of hate and anger. I hope you explore those issues. I harbor no resentment towards you and am not going to put you down to make myself feel better. I won't even make a snide joke about your size. Oh whoops. Sorry about that. Don't worry, I know it's all in "what you do with it". Perhaps if we'd actually gotten to that point outside of your fantasies, I'd know for myself. But frankly, I'd rather remain in the dark on that one.
Best wishes,
Chelsea
click and send! All I can say is that I apparently REALLY get under people's skin. I'm flattered in a weird way that someone would spend so much energy towards berating me.
I just hope he doesn't respond because I'm the type of person who always has to have the last word and I really don't want to waste anymore of my time on this. How do I find these winners, people?
Monday, August 3, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?
I saw a beautiful man on the subway today. I rarely use the word "beautiful" to describe members of the opposite sex- usually sticking to the more masculine adjective "handsome" or the gender-neutral "cute". But this guy was absolutely deserving of one of the prettier, typically feminine adjectives. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And he had one arm.
No, I'm dead serious. He was missing his forearm and what was there was deeply scarred. He had a prosthetic with a hook for a hand. He was reading a book and I was fascinated by the way he turned the pages. I tried not to stare. I wasn't trying to be rude- I wasn't afraid or uncomfortable, I was fascinated. The train was crowded and he was standing right in front of me. When the person next to me got off at Lexington Avenue, I slid over so he could sit down. He looked right at me with a dazzling smile. "Thank you so much" he said in what sounded to me like a possible drawl. I stammered and reddened a bit. I wanted to play it cool but I got shy. I mumbled something about hating crowded trains without looking him in the eye. He went back to his book.
I'm desperatedly saddened to think he may have thought I got quiet and withdrawn due to his prosthetic. I'm sure he deals with a lot of people who would rather ignore him and pretend he's not there so that they're not being "rude" by looking at him and his differences. He really was a cute guy. I have a strong desire to do a "missed connection" for him, but I'll probably chicken out. "Missed connections" is one of those things that I find terribly romantic in theory, but is probably closer to the pathetic in reality. It's also usually based solely on physical attraction- once in awhile, you see one about two people who had a great conversation but didn't exchange info. But usually it's, "To the gorgeous blonde girl I saw when I was waiting to cross the street at 40th and Lex". Are these all people who catch one glimpse of someone and have to reach out to find them? Could that one look possibly have told you anything more meaningful than "yuuup, I'd hit that."
Does love at first sight exist? I want it to. That idea of spotting someone through a crowded room and knowing that you just have to have them is both insane and exhilirating. People tend to think that love at first sight is what we confuse lust at first sight for. After all, how can we love someone we basically know nothing about based on their attractiveness alone? But I think there's something to be said for feeling a connection and going with it, regardless of whether or not they may fit the idea of what you want in a person. It's why I don't do the online dating thing. I don't want to get my hopes up about someone who looks great on paper, but who I feel no passion towards in person. I need to know how someone's hand feels on the small of my back, how they smell, how their body lines up with mine when we hug. These are not things they tell you on someone's Match.com profile.
Of course, this inner hopeless romantic that I try to keep hidden is probably the reason I'm single. I expect far too much. I don't need to be in a relationship, or even seeing someone, or even getting laid. I can hold out for long periods of time just waiting for someone who is worth it. I only ever really miss having a boyfriend when I need to carry something heavy, open something difficult, or when it's a really cold night. I see so many people in relationships that everyone (including the people IN it) knows is going nowhere. I can't do that. I can't invest myself in something that I don't truly believe in. So do I believe in love at first sight? No. I view it the way I view Heaven. I don't believe it exists, but if it does, won't it be a nice surprise?
Maybe I will meet someone someday and just know instantly that they're "The One". Doesn't it all come down to pheromones anyway?
Or maybe I'm just cynical out of spite that I've never been anyone's missed connection.
No, I'm dead serious. He was missing his forearm and what was there was deeply scarred. He had a prosthetic with a hook for a hand. He was reading a book and I was fascinated by the way he turned the pages. I tried not to stare. I wasn't trying to be rude- I wasn't afraid or uncomfortable, I was fascinated. The train was crowded and he was standing right in front of me. When the person next to me got off at Lexington Avenue, I slid over so he could sit down. He looked right at me with a dazzling smile. "Thank you so much" he said in what sounded to me like a possible drawl. I stammered and reddened a bit. I wanted to play it cool but I got shy. I mumbled something about hating crowded trains without looking him in the eye. He went back to his book.
I'm desperatedly saddened to think he may have thought I got quiet and withdrawn due to his prosthetic. I'm sure he deals with a lot of people who would rather ignore him and pretend he's not there so that they're not being "rude" by looking at him and his differences. He really was a cute guy. I have a strong desire to do a "missed connection" for him, but I'll probably chicken out. "Missed connections" is one of those things that I find terribly romantic in theory, but is probably closer to the pathetic in reality. It's also usually based solely on physical attraction- once in awhile, you see one about two people who had a great conversation but didn't exchange info. But usually it's, "To the gorgeous blonde girl I saw when I was waiting to cross the street at 40th and Lex". Are these all people who catch one glimpse of someone and have to reach out to find them? Could that one look possibly have told you anything more meaningful than "yuuup, I'd hit that."
Does love at first sight exist? I want it to. That idea of spotting someone through a crowded room and knowing that you just have to have them is both insane and exhilirating. People tend to think that love at first sight is what we confuse lust at first sight for. After all, how can we love someone we basically know nothing about based on their attractiveness alone? But I think there's something to be said for feeling a connection and going with it, regardless of whether or not they may fit the idea of what you want in a person. It's why I don't do the online dating thing. I don't want to get my hopes up about someone who looks great on paper, but who I feel no passion towards in person. I need to know how someone's hand feels on the small of my back, how they smell, how their body lines up with mine when we hug. These are not things they tell you on someone's Match.com profile.
Of course, this inner hopeless romantic that I try to keep hidden is probably the reason I'm single. I expect far too much. I don't need to be in a relationship, or even seeing someone, or even getting laid. I can hold out for long periods of time just waiting for someone who is worth it. I only ever really miss having a boyfriend when I need to carry something heavy, open something difficult, or when it's a really cold night. I see so many people in relationships that everyone (including the people IN it) knows is going nowhere. I can't do that. I can't invest myself in something that I don't truly believe in. So do I believe in love at first sight? No. I view it the way I view Heaven. I don't believe it exists, but if it does, won't it be a nice surprise?
Maybe I will meet someone someday and just know instantly that they're "The One". Doesn't it all come down to pheromones anyway?
Or maybe I'm just cynical out of spite that I've never been anyone's missed connection.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
So.....I have a job.
Like a real one. With salary and benefits and a 401 K. OH MY!
Yes, I'll be joining the 9-5 club, sitting behind a desk, being an administrative assistant doing administrative assistant-y things. Currently I'm concentrating on not getting the entire office sick as I have the world's worst cold. What the f*ck, immune system. I know I like to stay up really late watching movies and eating crappy food but does that mean you have to abandon me in my times of need? Would you hate me less if I ate a strict vegan diet and did yoga every day?
So yeah, thats my big news. I thought it blog-worthy. I have a grown-up job. I know some of you are probably thinking "It's about DAMN time!"
But I know there are some others among you that might be thinking...."But wait a minute, Chelsea. Aren't you like....creative and stuff? How will sitting behind a desk 24/7 allow you to pursue your dreams? DON'T GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMSSSSS!!!!"
Well, first of all, I won't be sitting at this desk 24/7. I only work 8 hours a day which leaves me another 16 hours to fit in sleeping, crappy television, and pursuit of dreams.
Honestly....I've never felt so creative as I do right this second. Well, not RIGHT this second. Right this second I'm fairly certain I'm high off a combination of cold meds. What I mean to say is....yes, I have an adult job that has nothing to do with what I studied in college, or what my creative goals are. However, knowing that I have this job has provided me with a sense of security. I feel..stable. And this stability allows me to put more hard work and time into my creative endeavors.
Par example (that's French, we can thank my fancy comp lit degree for that one!), I have been on a wicked screenwriting streak. I'm writing horror movies! I don't know if they're good or not. But I plan to make them. And star in them. And promote the H-E-Double hockey sticks out of them. Many of you know of my strong affection for the genre. I'm particularly interested in the role of women in horror. Specifically, I'm interested in there being more FEMALE horror directors and screenwriters. It's still a big boy's club, and I think that needs to stop. So...I'm-a gonna enter a little film festival that promotes this very cause. The deadline is December 31st so I gots to get cracking. I can't share my ideas here, because they're too good and I'm afraid they'll be stolen. I'm still convinced that "Underworld" was completely lifted from my cousin Ronnie and me. Seriously, we planned out that whole movie a couple of years before it came out. And ours wouldn't have sucked.
In other news, I saw Twelfth Night twice. Girlcrush on Anne Hathaway CONFIRMED. Overall, just a great production. And really, if there's anything better than good outdoor theatre on a beautiful summer evening- I haven't found it yet.
Okay, I'm off to write some more sick and disturbing short screenplays.
Yes, I'll be joining the 9-5 club, sitting behind a desk, being an administrative assistant doing administrative assistant-y things. Currently I'm concentrating on not getting the entire office sick as I have the world's worst cold. What the f*ck, immune system. I know I like to stay up really late watching movies and eating crappy food but does that mean you have to abandon me in my times of need? Would you hate me less if I ate a strict vegan diet and did yoga every day?
So yeah, thats my big news. I thought it blog-worthy. I have a grown-up job. I know some of you are probably thinking "It's about DAMN time!"
But I know there are some others among you that might be thinking...."But wait a minute, Chelsea. Aren't you like....creative and stuff? How will sitting behind a desk 24/7 allow you to pursue your dreams? DON'T GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMSSSSS!!!!"
Well, first of all, I won't be sitting at this desk 24/7. I only work 8 hours a day which leaves me another 16 hours to fit in sleeping, crappy television, and pursuit of dreams.
Honestly....I've never felt so creative as I do right this second. Well, not RIGHT this second. Right this second I'm fairly certain I'm high off a combination of cold meds. What I mean to say is....yes, I have an adult job that has nothing to do with what I studied in college, or what my creative goals are. However, knowing that I have this job has provided me with a sense of security. I feel..stable. And this stability allows me to put more hard work and time into my creative endeavors.
Par example (that's French, we can thank my fancy comp lit degree for that one!), I have been on a wicked screenwriting streak. I'm writing horror movies! I don't know if they're good or not. But I plan to make them. And star in them. And promote the H-E-Double hockey sticks out of them. Many of you know of my strong affection for the genre. I'm particularly interested in the role of women in horror. Specifically, I'm interested in there being more FEMALE horror directors and screenwriters. It's still a big boy's club, and I think that needs to stop. So...I'm-a gonna enter a little film festival that promotes this very cause. The deadline is December 31st so I gots to get cracking. I can't share my ideas here, because they're too good and I'm afraid they'll be stolen. I'm still convinced that "Underworld" was completely lifted from my cousin Ronnie and me. Seriously, we planned out that whole movie a couple of years before it came out. And ours wouldn't have sucked.
In other news, I saw Twelfth Night twice. Girlcrush on Anne Hathaway CONFIRMED. Overall, just a great production. And really, if there's anything better than good outdoor theatre on a beautiful summer evening- I haven't found it yet.
Okay, I'm off to write some more sick and disturbing short screenplays.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Hermitage, Quarterlife and my True Calling
It's a gorgeous sunny day, and I've decided to celebrate it by staying in all day writing. With occasional breaks taken to catch up on my reading. I have decided that Summer '09 is a summer I'm going to devote mainly to books. I am working on a summer reading list. Suggestions welcome and encouraged. So far I have read "The Emperor's Children" by Claire Messud which I HIGHLY recommend if you don't mind a long read. Personally, when I get immersed in a really good book I like to be there for awhile. I also read "Letters To A Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke and am now reading "The Mill On The Floss" by George Eliot. I'm so freaking scholarly.
Summer used to be the time that I devoted to the other b words- boys and booze. But Chelsea O'Houlihan is turning over a new leaf if you will, and I think getting back in touch with the bookworm I used to be is a good start.
So yes, these days I can usually be found curled up with a book and a cup of tea. I may as well get a cat so I can fully embrace my sad single girl status.
The funny thing is- I'm really not that sad. I'm enjoying spending all this time with myself. Maybe I am a recluse at heart.
I've also been writing a bunch. Screenplays. Short screenplays. There's a short film festival I want to enter, so I'm trying to committ all my crazy ideas to paper, see which one has the most potential and shoot it. I really have no idea where all this ambition came from. But as many of you know, I'm a frustrated filmmaker at heart and all I really want to do is make crazy violent horror movies. And maybe star in them. I've got a helluva scream.
Maybe it's part of "growing up" that I no longer find myself having the urge to go to crazy parties and throw myself at strange men. I'd prefer to stay in with a good book or a good movie. It's not that I'm anti-social. I love my friends. I just wish we could hang out in settings that don't involve booze. I miss going to museums with people or spending a day in the park. Most nights, I'd just rather stay in with friends and play scrabble.
Just yesterday I was having a conversation with a friend about how we're both at a place in our lives where we value friendship more than sex. Does this mean we're adults? The horror.
Summer used to be the time that I devoted to the other b words- boys and booze. But Chelsea O'Houlihan is turning over a new leaf if you will, and I think getting back in touch with the bookworm I used to be is a good start.
So yes, these days I can usually be found curled up with a book and a cup of tea. I may as well get a cat so I can fully embrace my sad single girl status.
The funny thing is- I'm really not that sad. I'm enjoying spending all this time with myself. Maybe I am a recluse at heart.
I've also been writing a bunch. Screenplays. Short screenplays. There's a short film festival I want to enter, so I'm trying to committ all my crazy ideas to paper, see which one has the most potential and shoot it. I really have no idea where all this ambition came from. But as many of you know, I'm a frustrated filmmaker at heart and all I really want to do is make crazy violent horror movies. And maybe star in them. I've got a helluva scream.
Maybe it's part of "growing up" that I no longer find myself having the urge to go to crazy parties and throw myself at strange men. I'd prefer to stay in with a good book or a good movie. It's not that I'm anti-social. I love my friends. I just wish we could hang out in settings that don't involve booze. I miss going to museums with people or spending a day in the park. Most nights, I'd just rather stay in with friends and play scrabble.
Just yesterday I was having a conversation with a friend about how we're both at a place in our lives where we value friendship more than sex. Does this mean we're adults? The horror.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Bad Date Alert! Part Deux
So....for those of you who were anxiously awaiting the next installment in "Chelsea's Date From Hell"....wait no more.
So yes. He had a giant portrait of his ex at the tender age of seventeen hanging as a HUGE warning signal to me. I could almost hear "Danger! Danger Will Robinson!"
But did this stop me? I'd like to say yes. I'd like to say a lot of things. But as will probably come as a surprise to NONE of you (unless you are a stranger who stumbled upon this blog)--I stayed.
He gave me a tour of the apartment and I couldn't help but feel that the place was a little...how should I put this? Oh right. GIRLY. Not in like a metrosexual single guy way but in like a.....a girl definitely probably lives here.
Maybe it was the Sophie Kinsella novels in the bookshelf. Maybe it was the copy of "Now And Then" on the DVD shelf. Maybe it was the embroidered pillow on the couch that said something like "Friends are flowers in the garden of life". I received confirmation that the pillow was indeed lovingly embroidered by the ex. I could tell I would hate this girl.
Despite all of these horrible signs, I ended up hooking up with my date as we watched "Evil Dead". Don't you dare judge me! I am in a really weird place in my life right now and he was REALLY cute! Of course, all the while I can't stop looking over at the giant portrait. It's like she's staring at me! I half expected her eyes to start glowing....oh, who am I kidding? I TOTALLY expected it! Anyway, mid-hookup I had to get up and pee because I am extremely smooth and not awkward in the least.
I step into his bathroom. I KNOW I'm going to snoop. Of course it's wrong, of course I shouldn't, of COURSE I'll find things I don't want to see. But like Alice in Wonderland I was "curious and curiouser" and I had to scratch my itch.
The medicine cabinet reveals that he is on Lexapro. Hey, ain't no shame in getting help from an anti-depressant. But....it did make me think perhaps he had a little more baggage than I wanted to deal with right now.
I'm not really sure what then compelled me to pull the shower curtain aside. I really, truly wish this was the part in the story where I revealed his ex-fiancee to be behind the curtain, hiding in the tub. When I make this into a movie or a one-act play, that IS what will happen. I half expected her to be there myself. She wasn't. But a couple of Herbal Essences bottles and a pink razor were!
This was all the evidence I needed. Either this guy was keeping his apartment creepily preserved like Miss Havisham in her wedding dress, awaiting his fiancee's return.....or she still lived there.
I stormed into the living room filled with high-pitched accusations when I noticed he wasn't there. I stepped into the bedroom to find him NAKED on his bed. He totally pulled the "Naked Man" on me!!! If you watch "How I Met Your Mother", you get that. If you don't...you are a loser and should really fix that. I now had to confront a NAKED man about his shady, lying ways. It was very "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and I was simultaneously laughing, crying and yelling all at the same time. The tears were, I assure you tears of laughter.
He insisted that the ex-fiancee didn't live there- she was in Atlanta at school!
"And where does she live when she's not at school?" I asked.
He got sheepish. He sold me a whole lot of garbage about how she visits there when she's not at school...blah blah blah....the wedding is on hold....blah blah blah....they're not really still engaged.
"Did she give back the ring?" I asked.
Silence.
I gathered my things to go. He put his hands on my shoulders to stop me, insisting that he can see other people.
"That's fine." I said. "But you're not going to see THIS person." This is one of the few times in my life that I've said something that I actually feel is worthy of being a line from a movie. I hope to get to use that line again someday. I'm sure, given my tormented romantic history, that I will.
He then starts to cry. Sloppy, sloppy tears. I am so uncomfortable that all I want to do is get out of there. He tells me that it's been really hard with the long distance from his "ex", that he's not sure they belong together, that he's not sure she's the one. I tell him he seems like a nice person but he should really get his sh*t together. And then I leave him, naked and crying.
Seriously. I don't think I'm going to date again. I'm going to take this as a really big sign.
At least I know how to scare people away now though! Next time I'm trying to get rid of some dude, I'm going to invite him over to my place and hang up some terrifyingly giant portrait of one of my exes. So I guess it wasn't a COMPLETE loss.
So yes. He had a giant portrait of his ex at the tender age of seventeen hanging as a HUGE warning signal to me. I could almost hear "Danger! Danger Will Robinson!"
But did this stop me? I'd like to say yes. I'd like to say a lot of things. But as will probably come as a surprise to NONE of you (unless you are a stranger who stumbled upon this blog)--I stayed.
He gave me a tour of the apartment and I couldn't help but feel that the place was a little...how should I put this? Oh right. GIRLY. Not in like a metrosexual single guy way but in like a.....a girl definitely probably lives here.
Maybe it was the Sophie Kinsella novels in the bookshelf. Maybe it was the copy of "Now And Then" on the DVD shelf. Maybe it was the embroidered pillow on the couch that said something like "Friends are flowers in the garden of life". I received confirmation that the pillow was indeed lovingly embroidered by the ex. I could tell I would hate this girl.
Despite all of these horrible signs, I ended up hooking up with my date as we watched "Evil Dead". Don't you dare judge me! I am in a really weird place in my life right now and he was REALLY cute! Of course, all the while I can't stop looking over at the giant portrait. It's like she's staring at me! I half expected her eyes to start glowing....oh, who am I kidding? I TOTALLY expected it! Anyway, mid-hookup I had to get up and pee because I am extremely smooth and not awkward in the least.
I step into his bathroom. I KNOW I'm going to snoop. Of course it's wrong, of course I shouldn't, of COURSE I'll find things I don't want to see. But like Alice in Wonderland I was "curious and curiouser" and I had to scratch my itch.
The medicine cabinet reveals that he is on Lexapro. Hey, ain't no shame in getting help from an anti-depressant. But....it did make me think perhaps he had a little more baggage than I wanted to deal with right now.
I'm not really sure what then compelled me to pull the shower curtain aside. I really, truly wish this was the part in the story where I revealed his ex-fiancee to be behind the curtain, hiding in the tub. When I make this into a movie or a one-act play, that IS what will happen. I half expected her to be there myself. She wasn't. But a couple of Herbal Essences bottles and a pink razor were!
This was all the evidence I needed. Either this guy was keeping his apartment creepily preserved like Miss Havisham in her wedding dress, awaiting his fiancee's return.....or she still lived there.
I stormed into the living room filled with high-pitched accusations when I noticed he wasn't there. I stepped into the bedroom to find him NAKED on his bed. He totally pulled the "Naked Man" on me!!! If you watch "How I Met Your Mother", you get that. If you don't...you are a loser and should really fix that. I now had to confront a NAKED man about his shady, lying ways. It was very "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and I was simultaneously laughing, crying and yelling all at the same time. The tears were, I assure you tears of laughter.
He insisted that the ex-fiancee didn't live there- she was in Atlanta at school!
"And where does she live when she's not at school?" I asked.
He got sheepish. He sold me a whole lot of garbage about how she visits there when she's not at school...blah blah blah....the wedding is on hold....blah blah blah....they're not really still engaged.
"Did she give back the ring?" I asked.
Silence.
I gathered my things to go. He put his hands on my shoulders to stop me, insisting that he can see other people.
"That's fine." I said. "But you're not going to see THIS person." This is one of the few times in my life that I've said something that I actually feel is worthy of being a line from a movie. I hope to get to use that line again someday. I'm sure, given my tormented romantic history, that I will.
He then starts to cry. Sloppy, sloppy tears. I am so uncomfortable that all I want to do is get out of there. He tells me that it's been really hard with the long distance from his "ex", that he's not sure they belong together, that he's not sure she's the one. I tell him he seems like a nice person but he should really get his sh*t together. And then I leave him, naked and crying.
Seriously. I don't think I'm going to date again. I'm going to take this as a really big sign.
At least I know how to scare people away now though! Next time I'm trying to get rid of some dude, I'm going to invite him over to my place and hang up some terrifyingly giant portrait of one of my exes. So I guess it wasn't a COMPLETE loss.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I Hate Men
The title may seem blunt, yes, but honestly....I was listening to "Kiss Me Kate". Yes, I'm the uber musical theater nerd and yes....that song speaks to me at this particular time in my quarterlife.
So, I went out on a date last week. This is a rare enough occasion that I would feel the need to blog about it anyway...but given the way things ended up with this gentleman (sarcasm intentional) I definitely would deem the entire fiasco as blogworthy.
I met him at the candy store....He turned around at smiled at me. You get the picture?
Okay, that's not at all true. But "Leader Of The Pack" remains an amazing song. In actuality, I met him on the subway. I know what you're thinking......"that's SHADY." Well, screw you. I think it's kind of romantic. It's a freaking New York fairytale and those NEVER happen to me. And it may have ended up a fractured fairy tale but still: I met someone attractive on the subway. I am therefore awesome.
Also, it was the N train which is probably the least shady subway line. It's clean, and it's often filled with very attractive people like myself. We started talking because a) the N train often likes to stop for long periods of time between stations and b) He was reading a book that I love. I will refrain from mentioning its title, because it actually is a book that brings back a whole lot of memories for me about an earlier failed romance and therefore I should probably have taken that as a sign. But instead, I bit the bullet and struck up a conversation with this charming stranger about the book which was making him laugh uproariously, which was the same effect it had over me. We talked about the book, I detected a slight drawl which led to questions about his origins, we had a cute and flirty convo and then he gave me his business card before he got off the train. I in turn, gave him my information because I am not a real adult and don't have a business card.
He emailed me about 45 minutes after I got home, which of course set off the "DESPERATE!" alarm in my head. But I ignored this, because I was trying to be optimistic for once in in my life. He was interested in hanging out over the weekend- I told him I'd be in Fire Island. The only night I was really free was the following evening. We made plans to meet up in Astoria. He let me choose the place, as he "didn't eat out very often". Yeah, yeah, my dirty mind went there too.
I chose a place I had been to before and really liked, although it's a little on the expensive side. Actually, I had been there on a date and because I have no tact in the slightest, I texted the person I went on the date with for the address of the restaurant. I mean, c'mon Chelsea, isn't that what Google is for? I'm awesome.
So we go on the date. And it's nice. I don't feel HUGE amounts of chemistry but he's nice and flirty and polite in that Southern way. He's a freelance graphic designer which I find refreshing because it's not related to theater. His favorite movies are a little generic (I'm sorry, I love "Pulp Fiction" but it's EVERYONE'S favorite movie) and his taste in music kind of horrifies me (Phish? Really?) but he's cute so I forgive these things. I can't help but feel that he doesn't talk a whole lot about himself. Every question I ask him he seems to deflect back to me. I do manage to learn that he doesn't drink (Ironic, since his name is the name of a very famous whiskey) because his dad was an alcoholic, he has a younger sister and he's been in New York for three years. I ask about his apartment. He says he's been in the same 1 bedroom since he got here.
"You've never needed roommates?" I ask, thinking "This guy must do pretty well for himself."
"Well uh....actually.....I lived with someone until about six months ago."
He doesn't seem to want to talk about his ex-live in girlfriend but I decide to pry because I am nosy. He tells me that they dated for five years and that they were actually engaged for a year. She now lives back in Atlanta.
I admit that the "I was engaged until six months ago" thing probably should have made me decide then and there to NOT be Shaquille O'Neal and NOT grab that rebound. But as I stated before, I am dumb. So after a nice walk home and some nice kissing, I decided I would see the feller again.
We go out two nights later (I actually go to Fire Island a day LATER for him.) We see "Drag Me To Hell" which I'd already seen. He likes the movie and laughs in the right parts, leading me to believe that we are perhaps compatible. Post-movie, we talk about Sam Raimi and launch into a comparison between DMTH and Evil Dead. I say it makes me want to watch Evil Dead again. He says he owns it. I go back to his place.
And here's where things began their steady decline. For as soon as we walk into his apartment, we are greeted with a giant Yearbook style portrait of a young girl holding a rose. Remember those lame graduation pictures where you wear some lame blue drape and hold a rose over your shoulder? There were many sizes you could order of that picture, including a HUGE portrait. I know because my parents ordered that size and I refused to allow them to hang it up because I found it unbelievably creepy. It made me feel like I was Laura Palmer and the portrait was a loving tribute to my life that was cut short far too soon. I was a morbid teenager.
Nonetheless, this was the portrait that stared me in the face as I walked into the apartment. The girl was brunette (like my date) and had insanely white teeth (also like my date.) I think this is what led me to ask the next fatal question. "Aww...is that your little sister?"
Mind you, as soon as I uttered this, I DEEPLY regretted it. I already knew the answer. Of course it wasn't his sister. It was his ex. There was a huge, HIGH SCHOOL portrait of his ex staring at me. He confirmed my fears and there was a really awkward pause. Until I decided to dig my grave a little deeper. I ask how old the ex is. She's 23. He's 32. That's totally fine, and trust me, as a girl who tends to go for older guys I have NO judgements regarding age difference. But one thing plagued me..
"And you've been going out for...five years?" They had indeed. Which would have made her EIGHTEEN when they started dating. He confirmed that they started dating the summer after she graduated. WHICH EXPLAINS THE FREAKING PICTURE. She probably gave it to him when they first started going out. And then hung it in their shared home.
Seriously, men: When asking a girl back to your place for possible nookie do NOT have a giant portrait of your ex waiting to greet her. It tends to kill the mood.
It only gets worse from there, but as this is already a pretty long blog I will post Part 2 sometime soon. If anyone even reads this.
So, I went out on a date last week. This is a rare enough occasion that I would feel the need to blog about it anyway...but given the way things ended up with this gentleman (sarcasm intentional) I definitely would deem the entire fiasco as blogworthy.
I met him at the candy store....He turned around at smiled at me. You get the picture?
Okay, that's not at all true. But "Leader Of The Pack" remains an amazing song. In actuality, I met him on the subway. I know what you're thinking......"that's SHADY." Well, screw you. I think it's kind of romantic. It's a freaking New York fairytale and those NEVER happen to me. And it may have ended up a fractured fairy tale but still: I met someone attractive on the subway. I am therefore awesome.
Also, it was the N train which is probably the least shady subway line. It's clean, and it's often filled with very attractive people like myself. We started talking because a) the N train often likes to stop for long periods of time between stations and b) He was reading a book that I love. I will refrain from mentioning its title, because it actually is a book that brings back a whole lot of memories for me about an earlier failed romance and therefore I should probably have taken that as a sign. But instead, I bit the bullet and struck up a conversation with this charming stranger about the book which was making him laugh uproariously, which was the same effect it had over me. We talked about the book, I detected a slight drawl which led to questions about his origins, we had a cute and flirty convo and then he gave me his business card before he got off the train. I in turn, gave him my information because I am not a real adult and don't have a business card.
He emailed me about 45 minutes after I got home, which of course set off the "DESPERATE!" alarm in my head. But I ignored this, because I was trying to be optimistic for once in in my life. He was interested in hanging out over the weekend- I told him I'd be in Fire Island. The only night I was really free was the following evening. We made plans to meet up in Astoria. He let me choose the place, as he "didn't eat out very often". Yeah, yeah, my dirty mind went there too.
I chose a place I had been to before and really liked, although it's a little on the expensive side. Actually, I had been there on a date and because I have no tact in the slightest, I texted the person I went on the date with for the address of the restaurant. I mean, c'mon Chelsea, isn't that what Google is for? I'm awesome.
So we go on the date. And it's nice. I don't feel HUGE amounts of chemistry but he's nice and flirty and polite in that Southern way. He's a freelance graphic designer which I find refreshing because it's not related to theater. His favorite movies are a little generic (I'm sorry, I love "Pulp Fiction" but it's EVERYONE'S favorite movie) and his taste in music kind of horrifies me (Phish? Really?) but he's cute so I forgive these things. I can't help but feel that he doesn't talk a whole lot about himself. Every question I ask him he seems to deflect back to me. I do manage to learn that he doesn't drink (Ironic, since his name is the name of a very famous whiskey) because his dad was an alcoholic, he has a younger sister and he's been in New York for three years. I ask about his apartment. He says he's been in the same 1 bedroom since he got here.
"You've never needed roommates?" I ask, thinking "This guy must do pretty well for himself."
"Well uh....actually.....I lived with someone until about six months ago."
He doesn't seem to want to talk about his ex-live in girlfriend but I decide to pry because I am nosy. He tells me that they dated for five years and that they were actually engaged for a year. She now lives back in Atlanta.
I admit that the "I was engaged until six months ago" thing probably should have made me decide then and there to NOT be Shaquille O'Neal and NOT grab that rebound. But as I stated before, I am dumb. So after a nice walk home and some nice kissing, I decided I would see the feller again.
We go out two nights later (I actually go to Fire Island a day LATER for him.) We see "Drag Me To Hell" which I'd already seen. He likes the movie and laughs in the right parts, leading me to believe that we are perhaps compatible. Post-movie, we talk about Sam Raimi and launch into a comparison between DMTH and Evil Dead. I say it makes me want to watch Evil Dead again. He says he owns it. I go back to his place.
And here's where things began their steady decline. For as soon as we walk into his apartment, we are greeted with a giant Yearbook style portrait of a young girl holding a rose. Remember those lame graduation pictures where you wear some lame blue drape and hold a rose over your shoulder? There were many sizes you could order of that picture, including a HUGE portrait. I know because my parents ordered that size and I refused to allow them to hang it up because I found it unbelievably creepy. It made me feel like I was Laura Palmer and the portrait was a loving tribute to my life that was cut short far too soon. I was a morbid teenager.
Nonetheless, this was the portrait that stared me in the face as I walked into the apartment. The girl was brunette (like my date) and had insanely white teeth (also like my date.) I think this is what led me to ask the next fatal question. "Aww...is that your little sister?"
Mind you, as soon as I uttered this, I DEEPLY regretted it. I already knew the answer. Of course it wasn't his sister. It was his ex. There was a huge, HIGH SCHOOL portrait of his ex staring at me. He confirmed my fears and there was a really awkward pause. Until I decided to dig my grave a little deeper. I ask how old the ex is. She's 23. He's 32. That's totally fine, and trust me, as a girl who tends to go for older guys I have NO judgements regarding age difference. But one thing plagued me..
"And you've been going out for...five years?" They had indeed. Which would have made her EIGHTEEN when they started dating. He confirmed that they started dating the summer after she graduated. WHICH EXPLAINS THE FREAKING PICTURE. She probably gave it to him when they first started going out. And then hung it in their shared home.
Seriously, men: When asking a girl back to your place for possible nookie do NOT have a giant portrait of your ex waiting to greet her. It tends to kill the mood.
It only gets worse from there, but as this is already a pretty long blog I will post Part 2 sometime soon. If anyone even reads this.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Who am I anyway? Am I my resume?
So it's been two years since I wrote in this blog. Like many things in my life, I approached starting a blog with a whole lot of passion, vim and verve. And then proceeded to write a single entry and abandon it. But I'm back, blogosphere! And I'll never leave you again. Until something else catches my wandering ADHD eye. Sidenote: The word blogosphere kind of makes my skin crawl.
Considering the fact that my last blog entry was about a year and a half ago, I am a little disheartened to see that not all that much has changed with me. Oh, certainly the drama of my personal life took various twists and turns but in terms of the big questions...well, I remain clueless. I still have no idea what to do with my life. I still work in customer service (albeit at a different job). I take comfort in the fact that most of my friends are doing the quarterlife crisis thing as well right now. Just last night I was talking with a friend about how much fun we're having in our mid-20's. And I guess it's true. I just wish that I could get my professional life at least a LITTLE bit sorted out. I think if I did that, perhaps the chaotic nature of my personal life might adapt out of necessity.
College is supposed to open all of these doors for you and help you figure out what you want to do with your life. At least, that's what I always thought it was supposed to do. Now it seems like people go to grad school for that. But I refuse to go into debt to hand over a whole bunch of money to an institution that will probably provide me with more questions than answers.
If only I had spent my life thus far gaining some kind of marketable skill, and not memorizing Freddy Krueger's snazzy one-liners and learning the lyrics to every 80's one-hit wonder known to man. If only, THESE were the kind of special skills that employers cared about.
I think I need to do some soul-searching. But who has time for that? I've got bills to pay and a whole Netflix cue of movies waiting for me.
Considering the fact that my last blog entry was about a year and a half ago, I am a little disheartened to see that not all that much has changed with me. Oh, certainly the drama of my personal life took various twists and turns but in terms of the big questions...well, I remain clueless. I still have no idea what to do with my life. I still work in customer service (albeit at a different job). I take comfort in the fact that most of my friends are doing the quarterlife crisis thing as well right now. Just last night I was talking with a friend about how much fun we're having in our mid-20's. And I guess it's true. I just wish that I could get my professional life at least a LITTLE bit sorted out. I think if I did that, perhaps the chaotic nature of my personal life might adapt out of necessity.
College is supposed to open all of these doors for you and help you figure out what you want to do with your life. At least, that's what I always thought it was supposed to do. Now it seems like people go to grad school for that. But I refuse to go into debt to hand over a whole bunch of money to an institution that will probably provide me with more questions than answers.
If only I had spent my life thus far gaining some kind of marketable skill, and not memorizing Freddy Krueger's snazzy one-liners and learning the lyrics to every 80's one-hit wonder known to man. If only, THESE were the kind of special skills that employers cared about.
I think I need to do some soul-searching. But who has time for that? I've got bills to pay and a whole Netflix cue of movies waiting for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
