Risk Nothing, Gain Nothing

I will not jump out of a plane or off a bridge.  No need for me to soar like a kite over the ocean.  No interest in putting my life savings on a roulette table, or even crossing the street without looking both ways.  I am not risk taker.  In fact, I might be the exact opposite.

Looking back, I can't really remember any risks I've taken.  Except for maybe quitting my college backed career to pursue a childhood passion.  Other than that, nada.  I realize this is unfortunate.

Last week, I gave a woman with scissors in her hand full control, and she gave me bangs.  If I had published this blog a week ago, I would have said it was the last risk I'd ever take.  Day 1 went something like this.  Got hair cut.  Purchased a hat that the salon randomly was selling so that I could cover up the risk I'd just taken.  Fell out of the salon by finding and stepping on the one remaining patch of ice in Maryland.  Punched my finger through the side of my coffee cup during fall and was unable to save the remains.  Sat in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot and stared at myself in my mirror.  After deciding I was not ready for the world to see me, I went through the drive thru and got a new coffee.  Drove to work.  Sat in parking garage and stared at myself some more.  Found lone bobby pin in my car and with some help with some serious Control Force hairspray, pinned bangs back to pretend they never existed.  Got to work.  Took my break and went to GNC and bought Biotin and Hair Skin and Nail Formula, suggested to make your hair grow faster.  Bought purse pak of bobby pins and a few headbands.  Returned to work.  All in all, I think I handled it well.

The next few days were better.  I fought the urge to shellac my hair back again and boldly sported my new bangs.  At my mom's house the next night, my uncle asked me if I was wearing a wig.  He then said "I mean, it looks like a good wig."  My dad told me I shouldn't have cut my hair.  My aunt stared at me for a good 5 minutes in silence, while deciding what she thought of it.  Turns out, by the end of the night, she did. 

Since then, I give the bangs a chance about every other day.  And I have to say, I don't hate them as much as I did.  They're growing on me.  Ha!  GROWING on me, get it!?  Fine, moving on.  Now some of you might be reading this thinking, really?   She's making this big of a deal over a haircut?  But, I'll have you know that not only did I take a real risk here, but a few years ago, after 8 inches got hacked off my hair, I locked myself in the work bathroom and cried.  Then, I cancelled all plans I had for a week.  I'd say I've come a long way in handling difficult situations!

My stylist said that she gives people bangs and they get boyfriends.  Hmm, risk hair, gain a boyfriend?  I don't want to ruin her reputation or anything, but my membership to match.com expires in 6 days.   And considering that in 3 months I went on 2 dates, the chances are not good.  I guess I'll have to start meeting people in real life.  Bring it on bangs, bring it on...

What Women Want

On a daily basis, I'd say I'd have about...say...0 dating prospects come in to my life.  I suppose it could be my field of work, the fact that my ripe old age of 29 prohibits me from my once ability to party hardy on a work night, or, that none of my friends are even attempting to set me up.  After what I learned this week though, I don't really think it matters.  It seems I don't have what men want...

Twice this week it happened.  While on a less than salesy sales pitch (yes, I'm that good) a women says to me "I'm sorry, I am really not hearing anything you're saying to me right now because I can't stop looking into your eyes.  They're mesmerizing." And the next day, in yet another similar situation, a different woman says "You're going to have to repeat that.  I'm completely in awe of your perfect hair and nails. I can't stop staring."  She then proceeded to awkwardly hold my hands as she examined them closer. 

Now sure.  I'm flattered to say the least...but really?  I realize that hair and nails aren't necessarily the assets that men are struck by when a girl walks by.  But I couldn't help but wonder as I watched the ridiculously pretty, overly endowed girls on The Bachelor tonight if that's really what most guys prefer.  Pretty, yes.  Some, strikingly beautiful.  But, 98% of them are certified crazy.

One group date, and they're madly in love.  They cat fight amongst themselves, tear up while watching other girls talk to "their man", and after just one week, full out cry when they get sent home.  One girl tonight swore off dating simply because of the rejection she felt from this one guy who she really knew nothing about.  If I were to pursue a guy so intensely so quickly, or, even text a guy after a date without following the 3 day rule, they'd probably run, screaming, for the hills.  I'd be called needy, a stage 5 clinger, dependant, and annoying.  Possibly even a stalker.  But...low and behold, beloved Brad gave a rose to the most obvious needy, dependant, annoying, stage 5 clinger stalker. 

The latest "prospect" I've had was a recently-fired-from-Safeway 19 year old boy at the gas station who wanted to "text my phone."  And yes, the recently fired part was part of his intro.  He wasn't even scared off when I told him I had a boyfriend, and insisted that it was no problem...we could just "start out" as friends.  I think I'd be better off platonically accepting compliments from women, both who, by the way, bought everything I suggested. At least my well groomed dead cells are good for business...

Another 52 Weeks To A Better Me

As if in typical me fashion, I just wrote an entire blog about my journey of 2010 and commitment to the journey of 2011, and, while typing the very last sentence, deleted the entire thing.  So, now I'm annoyed, but am fighting the urge to step away from the computer, and am devoting the next 20 minutes to rewriting the entire damn thing, even though its midnight and I should be sleeping. 

So.  Pretending the above never happened, here goes...

In December of 2009, I decided to take a 52 week journey to a better me.  I decided to resolution weekly, finding faults in myself and devoting 7 days to changing each issue.  I quickly realized 2 things.  One, 52 things to change is a lot, even for someone as far from perfect as I am.  And 2, most things I did need to change would take a lot more time than 7 days. 

That said, I feel improved on the resolutions I did make.  Write more.  Well, I posted 34 more blog entries than I did in 2009.  Success.  Read more.  After knocking out Jen Lancaster's "Bright Lights, Big Ass," I continued on to read 7 more books this year, thanks to my borrowed/permanently stolen mother's Kindle.  Stop cancelling plans so much.  Check!  Manage money better, take more pictures...done and kinda done!  I at least have some pics to prove my existence in 2010. 

I also battled some other demons.  For the first time in 5 years, I went on a few dates.  Unsuccessful, but I went.  I even rejoined match.com, which, well, no comment.  Plus, on the pages that I'm not cursing at or criticizing, my latest book read, "Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough" by Lori Gottlieb, is teaching me to fight my natural urge to not want to meet new people, and, not give up on people with bad habits too quickly.  For example, I now see why not pursuing someone with an annoying laugh or small hands is unacceptable and not a good reason to reject.  And yes, I'm still single, but I'm much closer to not being in the dating dark than I was this time last year.  WWLGD has been my new dating life slogan..."What would Lori Gottlieb do?" 

A great end and a greater beginning...in accordance with my resolution of "go places, do things" New Years Eve was so much fun, and day 1 of 2011 even better, at, what my friends and I refer to as "game of life," the Winter Classic, where the Caps beat the Pens 3-1! 

So no, 52 weeks to a better me didn't go quite as I'd hoped.  But, nothing happens overnight (or in my case, 365 nights) right?  So, here we go again.  There will not be 52 resolutions this time, but there will be changes with realistic goals.  My first task?   A measurable one.  In 2011, I will double the amount of posts from 2010.  Goal: 72+. 

Happy late New Year friends, family, and all of the secret readers I pretend to have.  And, cheers to (another) 52 weeks to a better me!  Hope you'll stick around, and, if I haven't been clear...post comments to prove that you did! 

XOXO,
Gossip Girl  (Fine.  Shauna.)

Tell Me How You Really Feel

As much as I love writing for my own entertainment, I really like to know that people are reading.  You know how I know?  Comments.  Now, I appreciate the direct to my gmail emails I get from you, but comments are like public proof that people read.  According to the Hollywood producer and/or publisher who could stumble upon my blog, I have no readers.  And so, they will pass me by for the next blogger whose readers actually comment.  And when that happens, dear readers I assume I have, I will blame you.  So, in short, please comment.  Otherwise, I will post your emails for you.  As I have below...

In response to "Masochism and Match.com":

"We're idiots.  Women are more confusing than we are idiots though.  I've tried several different styles when writing my profile and have had about the same success or lack of success.  Minimal interest.  What the hell do women want to hear in those things..." 

"I wish you would write one every day.  I would enjoy reading every morning with my cup of coffee!"

"Hahahaha - this is a good one!! There are so many wack jobs out there! BUT I am glad that you are back out there :) You will find someone!!"

"Another good one!  You're too funny!"

"Hilarious! I laughed out loud MANY times.  There is a book of collected stories about online dating. You should see if you could submit a story to something like that. The editors were on a radio show I listen to the other day. I thought of you..."

I love it.  But please post publicly so other people can see how important I am.  Thanks!

Masochism and Match.com

I just realized that I haven't spoken a word out loud today. And I like it. I woke up early and continued reading a book that was lent to me over a year ago. Eventually, the need for coffee outweighed my need to stay in bed, and I ventured to the kitchen to push the button on the Keurig.

I would have accompanied my coffee with a bowl of cereal, only the milk had gone bad. So, I skipped breakfast and finished my book instead. I have to say though, after reading my last 2 books via Kindle (stolen from my mother) I found it inconvenient to have to turn my own pages. I've already picked out my next book to download (which is even better as the Kindle is also tied to my mom's Amazon account and credit card) which is apparently about how not to be too picky and how to avoid ending up alone. At least, that's what I got from the online excerpt. But, it comes highly recommended by trusted people, so Marry Him - The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough by Lori Gottlieb, it is.

Anyway, another month has come and gone. Was October super irritating to anyone else? I mean, so exciting that fall sports have started (woo, Go Caps!) but if I see another pink jersey I'm going to lose it. I mean, clearly, girls can make fantastic fans. But girls. Come on. Ravens fans especially. The color is already purple, so do you really need to sport a pink jersey instead?  The day I try to "Rock the Pink" at Verizon Center, somebody, please stop me.

I've also rejoined match.com. I'm a masochist, I know. But in attempt to help my roommate get over a recent end to a relationship, I offered my support and we both joined together.

Here's the difference...she attracts somewhat normal, reasonably attractive, seemingly successful men. Me? I attract either 65 year old men or 30 somethings that think gang signs and sideways (or, should I say "sidewayz") baseball hats are attractive profile pics. Let me inform you...they're not.

The more profiles I read, the more I wonder what is wrong with people. Or, the more I wonder...am I too picky? Should I be flattered by the "winks" from men old enough to be my grandfather? Should I consider the guys who email me with the subject line of "Hi there pritty, what's you're name"? Should I have a 2nd date that needs to chug a beer before he can carry a half decent conversation? I also wonder what the author of "Marry Him" might have to say about my situation. Am I being too judgmental when it comes to my match.com suitors?

Most recently, I've been contacted by a guy who photographed himself sitting at his kitchen table, wearing no shirt, posing in his best Hulk Hogan "guns" stance. His profile reads, and I quote, "im a laid back kidda shy but tough nice funny a gentleman looking for the same in a woman. not greaty knows how to treat a ladie...."

I'm speechless.  Obviously. And, in case you were concerned, don't be.  You too could have all of this, all for just $40 a month.

Desperate-er Housewife

The more I read (and re-read and re-read) my college essay, the more I realize how long its been since I wrote it. 

A friend pointed out another fault with my essay...I'd assumed that I'd receive a paper invitation to the reunion.  Formal invite, asking for my attendance.  Reply card and everything.  But, no.  I was invited simply by Facebook.  I received a friend request from my class president, followed by an immediate event invitation where I could reply electronically, and also post comments on the event wall.  Maybe by the time I get married, it'll be totally normal to just text a date and time and just skip the whole invitation process in general.

Also.  I'd imagined a prom like reunion (again, I'll refer to Romy and Michelle...great movie if you haven't seen it, by the way) in the high school gym/auditorium.  We'd all meet back in the place where we originally formed our cliques, and reminisce as we walked through the overly decorated halls of a place we now knew as our alma mater.  But, no.  Our reunion was held at Power Plant Live, where I frequented too often during college.  Often enough that I didn't feel the need to visit again.  Not even for my reunion.

12 years.  Have I really changed that much in 12 years?  I don't feel like its been that long, and I certainly don't feel like I've really done much in all that time.  But, during my first day off in over a week, I decided to be productive, and I continued to discover what 12 years really means...

At 17, on a day off, I might have slept until noon.  Then, I would have driven to Dunks for a blueberry coffee.  From there, I might have spent the day with my friends driving around in my silver Saturn, getting a manicure, going to the mall, and then trespassing after hours on a school playground.  After that I might have gone to a party, where clearly parents were present.

Yesterday, I did this...

I woke up at 8:30am and forced my self to fake sleep for another half hour.  I got up, made my own coffee via Keurig in the kitchen.  As I drank it, I threw a load of laundry in the washer, got dressed, and drove to Columbia to meet my friend and her two kids at Target.  I bought a box of cereal and some laundry detergent, and then drank Starbucks while attempting to maintain sanity amongst her two kids. 

From there, I drove back home, moved laundry from wash to dry, and threw another load in.  Then I cleaned the kitchen.  Deciding to take a break, I sat on the couch to watch an "On Demand" episode of a recently discovered favorite show, How I Met Your Mother.  I saw my own future as I watched the episode where Ted goes on a blind date with a girl who he realizes, he's already blind dated 7 years prior. 

Realizing I hadn't eaten, I poured a bowl of my newly purchased cereal.  It got soggy as I'd already poured the milk when I, A. Bought cheaper Target brand cereal because I've become my mother, and B. Realized I needed to swap the laundry again because, I've become my mother.

I decided to have soup instead.  Because there was some left over, I searched for a tupperware container to save the rest when I realized, I have lids that have no matching container, and vice versa!  How does that happen?  Where does it go?  Well this was just not ok,  so, begin project "match lids to container and throw away the rest."  Riveting.

That was essentially my day.  So this morning, after folding my final load of laundry, I sat down with my coffee to finally watch this weeks Modern Family (seriously, if you don't watch this show you have to...I literally lol'd for nearly the entire episode).  In one of the scenes, Claire, mom of three kids over the age of 10, realizes she has mismatched tupperware, and so she begins the same project I completed yesterday.  

Somehow, in the midst of the last 12 years, I've skipped the regular steps of husband and kids part, and went straight to becoming my very own desperate housewife.  Lucky for me, not only do I still have my grandmother offering to pay for more time online soulmate searching, but my mother, even while vacationing in California, full time searching for my husband offline.  Every day, my parents send me an email with a picture of something in CA.  Yesterday, it was a picture of them lunching in Laguna Beach, the day before, my dad living his dream on a Pebble Beach golf course.  Today? 

Email subject line:  Good Looking Men. 
Email:  Your mother sending this for you. SWAT Team. 
Picture:

As much as I've started to become my mother, I vow to never go this far...she likes the one in the black t-shirt.  And yes, she said "Excuse me, you're very cute, can I take a picture of you to send to my single daughter in Baltimore?"   Hopefully she followed it with "But she's very good at cleaning and doing laundry..."

One Enchanted Evening

"The lights dimmed as music from the late 90's hummed in the background.  I stepped into the auditorium, took a quick look around, and scanned for familiar faces.  Disappointed, I pivoted and started to the steps.

"Diet coke please," I requested politely.  Already needing fresh air, I took my drink and headed back out through the double doors.  I took a seat on what used to be my favorite bench, and placed my soda next to me.  Last night, I sat awake in my bed, stared at the ceiling, as so many things ran through my mind.  I'd envisioned the invitation that now sat on the nightstand beside my bed.  "The class of nineteen hundred and ninety nine cordially invites you to share an Enchanted Evening, May 21, 2009, for its 10 Year Reunion." 

It was interesting to me, and somewhat scary, that so much time had passed since I'd seen so many people I'd once called my friends.  What have other people done with their lives?  Would my real life meet up to the expectations people had for me?  I felt as though I'd just stepped out of Romy and Michelle's own high school reunion.  Would people believe I'd invented Post-Its?

I still haven't come up with the perfect way to describe my life.  My teaching career is everything I could ask for.  I work in an elementary school near home, teaching 2nd grade to a great group of kids.  My husband is a successful journalist, writing for the local newspaper where we live in Amherst, Massachusetts.  And, with two beautiful children, a dog, and a house with everything but the white picket fence, I have everything I've always wanted.

Thinking about this as I sat outside the reunion, on my favorite bench, just me and my diet coke, I realized something I hadn't before.  I'm happy, and even though I haven't done anything particularly amazing, I've done everything I'd set out to do. 

It was then that I wanted to share how far I'd come with everyone I bumped into.  So with that, I stood up, and walked back through the double doors, more ready than ever to have that enchanted evening with the people who awaited me in the dimmed auditorium."

That was a college essay I wrote in 1998 to the theme of , "Where do you hope to be in 10 years time?"  It's funny (and also depressing?) about how wrong I was about the life I'd imagined for myself back then. 

A teacher?  I'd made it exactly one semester in the education program before I realized that if I ever was going to have kids, I couldn't spend my entire days working with other people's.   

A husband?  Not much need to delve further into this I don't think.

Kids?  No thanks, not now.  Maybe one day?  No promises, Mom.

Massachusetts?  I'm guessing this was my essay for UMass Amherst, and yes, I did get in.  And maybe had I gone there, I might have relocated (or have a husband?) but I chickened out, stayed local, and went to Towson U instead.  Now that I think about it, I haven't even been to Massachusetts...

So clearly, my psychic abilities failed me at 18 and I got it all wrong.  And in an effort to get my life back on track this year, I created this "Mark My Words" page.  Now, I realize that I've done a terrible job at resolutioning after June. That said, I've also realized that its close to impossible to make so many significant changes in a year. Its not an easy thing to realize that your life isn't where you thought it would be. And its not an easy thing to figure out, and point out, all the things that are wrong with your life, (even if its just the fact that you can't keep up with your laundry) all while giving yourself a time limit.

I'm going to spend the next few months refocusing on this. Although that was the idea from the beginning, I think I went about it the wrong way, and have proof that it was considering that I feel less progressed than I did on New Years Day, and have epically failed at resolutioning and documenting.  So game back on.  No pressure on myself, as I'm not promising weekly changes.  But, I can assure me, and you, that I plan to make the best of the end of 2010.  And, as things progress, I will share.

As I'm sitting here typing and drinking my Bailey's and coffee, I've also just realized another thing I was wrong about in 1998.  Most incorrectly, I'd imagined that in ten years, in a stressful situation, I'd order a diet coke to calm me down?  Ha.  So so very wrong...