OK Y’all,
So I was laying on my couch drinking an entire bottle of pinot grigio and incoherently babbling to my cat in an attempt to figure out what went wrong in my last dating foray when I had an idea. No, it wasn’t that I shouldn’t have had the whole bottle of wine, or even that I shouldn’t be talking to a cat, but this idea of Degrees of Dating. It’s not degrees as in education, but more degrees in terms of measurement—temperature and distance. Just to make it fun, I’ve come up with my own Six Degrees of Dating (not to be confused with Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, though I’m sure if I trace it back far enough I’ve probably dated him by association at some point).
1. 0 degrees (or 32 degrees if you are keeping it strictly Fahrenheit)--this is sort of a double duty degree—it could represent the freezing point of a relationship, where one or both of you decides to throw in the towel, hang it up, dump or be dumped, etc. It could also represent the lack of interest when one party is interested in the other but the feeling is not mutual. You decide. Either way, baby, it’s cold outside.
2. 65 degrees—I’m a fan of this degree for many reasons. I see it as the point to where you’re not really sure about the new person you’re dating and you’re trying to keep it a little cooler than usual before you haul off and get into the deep end. It could be that he/she has a reputation about town and you’re still doing your research, or it could be that they have a few things you need to inquire about before you decide to give it your all, like habits and what have you. 65 is the perfect temp to idle for a while and check out your situation, and it’s also a smart strategy so you don’t go from 0 to boiling too fast and end up blowing a gasket. You could also consider this the “time out” degree, as in, cool off, take a step back, and re-evaluate before you do or say something stupid.
3. 75 degrees—Most people are comfortable being outside when it is 75 degrees relative to the humidity, and this is the point in the relationship where you start to get comfortable with each other. You’re going out more, learning all the things you have in common, and meeting each other’s friends. You’ve decided that at 65 everything checked out so you want to turn up the heat a little. Just make sure you don’t stay at 75 forever in the beginning stages of a relationship, because that spells doom. You get too comfortable and you never raise your temperature, you’re going to be sitting around 5 years from now wondering why he/she hasn’t proposed. It’s like the 75% rule—you’re ¾ of the way there, but where’s the other 25%? Is it ever going to make a complete pie chart? Of course after your relationship is on solid, committed ground, 75 is pretty good. You don’t want to be too comfortable here either, so make sure you do something to bring it up to boiling every now and again, but you can spend a lot of time at 75 and be perfectly happy in the long run. You like 75% of what this person’s about, and the other 25% is tolerable.
4. 100 degrees (or 212 for you Fahrenheit-loving Red White and Blue Bleeding Americans)—This is the boiling point—the point where the stars have aligned, all is right with the world, the birds are singing, and the sun is shining. Your amour is perfect in every way, right down to the adorable way he/she drools all over your side of the pillow. You want to share the drool eternally! You want to be there to share every experience, tackle every obstacle, and smell every fart! Good for you! The only problem is, when you hit boiling, you can’t stay there forever. You can only boil for so long before you boil over or you run out of steam. So be careful. Cool it back down to 65 and take stock. It’s hard to do, but it’s going to save you some hassle and possibly keep you from spending the next third of your life going from 0 to boiling and back again. That’s hard on a radiator and it’s hard on a heart.
5. 180 degrees—Ah, the old 180. It’s a classic term used for a complete change in tack, as in “I thought we were getting along great, then he does a complete 180 and dumps me! As if!” Sometimes a 180 is a good thing, if someone’s really turned their life around, but a lot of times the 180 is used in a derogatory sense. I don’t have any words to explain how shitty a 180 can make you feel until you’ve lived it. Anybody is capable of it and you never know when it’s going to strike. But when it does, I bet I know the first words out of your mouth.
6. 360 degrees—I like to use this degree to describe two phenomena—When you are stuck in a vicious cycle of breaking up and making up, thus bringing you full circle in your relationship over and over and never getting out; and when you have come full circle and are ready to stop doing what you’re doing because you see what’s coming and it’s getting you nowhere fast. I like it better in the latter sense, but not everyone has the sense to pull a 360 that way. It’s unfortunate because it usually ends up leading to another 360 of the former sense and then they can’t see the forest for the trees.
Alright, that’s all I’ve got! Let me know what you think!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Wookin' Po Nub...
OK Y’all,
So I was in a movie kind of mood the other night, and I couldn’t find anything on the cable movie channels, so I turned to my DVD collection. I picked a classic—Urban Cowboy. For those of you not familiar with this lil’ gem, it’s about a fella named Bud who moves from a small town in Texas to a medium small town in Texas and meets a gal named Sissy at Gilley’s, the local watering hole. They get married, move into a trailer, get in a fight over mechanical bullriding, cheat, and get back together after foiling a robbery, all in the span of about 6 weeks. It’s a fun movie to watch if you are in the mood for some redneck intrigue, and it certainly makes you wonder whatever happened to Mickey Gilley. As I was watching it, I got to thinking about the kind of people Bud and Sissy were—simple, blue collar, poorly educated, and viscerally driven. They have no concept of what life is like outside of their tiny little hamlet; they essentially don’t know any better and don’t want to. And you know what? On a very basic level, their lives indicate that ignorance is bliss. If you don’t know that there’s anything better, if you believe what people say at face value and allow your thoughts and feelings to stay simple and naïve, you can be happy. And I think that’s where I’ve got a problem: I’m too smart for my own good, or at least I’ve learned the hard way too much for my own good. It makes me sad in a way, because I can’t ever take anyone at their word—especially when it comes to dating, and that’s exactly where trust matters the most. When I was younger and just starting out on my dating journey, I believed my boyfriend/date/whatever when he said he hadn’t called because he was out late with friends/stuck at work/whatever. He loved me—how could I not believe him, and how could he not be honest with me at all times? It seemed easy enough. I was always honest with him. When you’re in love, you’re always above board! Boy, did reality come crashing down around me and quick. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to cover it. And that was just the beginning of my difficult and painful education about the inner workings of the human heart. Since then, it seems like I’ve seen it or heard it all, and quite frankly, it’s made me a wary and suspicious person. It’s made me into someone who can’t take a compliment without wondering what the complimentor is hiding or trying to butter me up for. It’s caused me to suspect less than honorable intentions and subterfuge in even the most innocuous of missed connections. And unfortunately, it’s proven me to be right in a HUGE majority of cases. It's disappointing and more than a little upsetting that I am too self-aware to be happy. I would love to be that small town girl with wide eyed optimism who doesn’t know any better and has the myopic vision of a simple heart. It makes me wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then. But I do, and the force is strong with this one. I am working on how to deal with it--until then, I guess I can blog about it.
So I was in a movie kind of mood the other night, and I couldn’t find anything on the cable movie channels, so I turned to my DVD collection. I picked a classic—Urban Cowboy. For those of you not familiar with this lil’ gem, it’s about a fella named Bud who moves from a small town in Texas to a medium small town in Texas and meets a gal named Sissy at Gilley’s, the local watering hole. They get married, move into a trailer, get in a fight over mechanical bullriding, cheat, and get back together after foiling a robbery, all in the span of about 6 weeks. It’s a fun movie to watch if you are in the mood for some redneck intrigue, and it certainly makes you wonder whatever happened to Mickey Gilley. As I was watching it, I got to thinking about the kind of people Bud and Sissy were—simple, blue collar, poorly educated, and viscerally driven. They have no concept of what life is like outside of their tiny little hamlet; they essentially don’t know any better and don’t want to. And you know what? On a very basic level, their lives indicate that ignorance is bliss. If you don’t know that there’s anything better, if you believe what people say at face value and allow your thoughts and feelings to stay simple and naïve, you can be happy. And I think that’s where I’ve got a problem: I’m too smart for my own good, or at least I’ve learned the hard way too much for my own good. It makes me sad in a way, because I can’t ever take anyone at their word—especially when it comes to dating, and that’s exactly where trust matters the most. When I was younger and just starting out on my dating journey, I believed my boyfriend/date/whatever when he said he hadn’t called because he was out late with friends/stuck at work/whatever. He loved me—how could I not believe him, and how could he not be honest with me at all times? It seemed easy enough. I was always honest with him. When you’re in love, you’re always above board! Boy, did reality come crashing down around me and quick. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to cover it. And that was just the beginning of my difficult and painful education about the inner workings of the human heart. Since then, it seems like I’ve seen it or heard it all, and quite frankly, it’s made me a wary and suspicious person. It’s made me into someone who can’t take a compliment without wondering what the complimentor is hiding or trying to butter me up for. It’s caused me to suspect less than honorable intentions and subterfuge in even the most innocuous of missed connections. And unfortunately, it’s proven me to be right in a HUGE majority of cases. It's disappointing and more than a little upsetting that I am too self-aware to be happy. I would love to be that small town girl with wide eyed optimism who doesn’t know any better and has the myopic vision of a simple heart. It makes me wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then. But I do, and the force is strong with this one. I am working on how to deal with it--until then, I guess I can blog about it.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
You Gotta Start 'Em Early
OK Y’all,
So there’s this problem I used to have, and I thought I had conquered, or at least calmed it down enough not to drive myself crazy. But it seems that though I have tried, it still comes back to haunt me from time to time despite the fact that I am all too aware that it’s happening. It’s the problem of “expectations,” or more specifically, “high expectations,” aka “getting your hopes up.” I don’t know why I have them anymore, at least not for other people, because years and years and YEARS of experience have taught me that the minute you put even the most infinitesimal expectations on someone, they inevitably let you down. And it’s only getting worse out there, folks. Not only have expectations become the stuff of myth when dealing with dating partners, but it’s seeping into our collective consciousness too. How many times do you say to yourself on a daily basis, “man, does anybody even CARE anymore?” when dealing with the customer service industries? I know! Me, too.
I was pondering this latest bout of Am-I-Really-Crazy-Or-Do-People-Just-SUCK-itude when it occurred to me that my placement of expectations and the lessons learned by subsequent crushing of them happened quite early on in my life. Like kindergarten early. See, I used to be kind of a flirt at age 5. Seriously—I got in trouble more than once for kissing boys on the playground. So it was only natural that I would expect the boys to like me back. When they didn’t, it cut me, it cut me real deep. Two episodes stand out to me more than the others—picture it, Bristol, 1984. A cute-as-a-button Big E dressed in her tailor made finery (complete with tag reading “Made With Love By Mommy” sewn into the back) was out on the playground when she spies a kid named Andy. He’s got something in his chubby hand that he says is a present, and of course Big E thinks it’s for her. He walks toward her, coming closer, closer…and walks right past, to another girl named Amanda. He gives Amanda a ruby ring he had stolen from his mamaw’s jewelry box (hey, this is Bristol we’re talkin’ about here) and Amanda fawns over it with sickening glee. Big E stomps her tiny oxford clad feet and pouts the rest of the day. The next day on the school bus, Big E feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s Jimmy Yarber, her fellow kindergarten classmate. He says to her that he’s brought her something, and produces a gold metal ring with a red plastic jewel perched atop it. He says that he wanted Big E to have her own ruby ring so he got one for her from the chicken egg machine at the grocery store. He spent a whole quarter on it! Big E proudly dons the ring and walks into Mrs. Tauscher’s class feeling like the best girl in the world.
Cut to first grade—Big E is still not only the cutest girl in her class, but naturally the smartest. She gets her work done, always has examples ready to demonstrate for her “letter of the day” presentations, and knows how to bat her eyelashes for an extra Oreo at snack time. Since she’s a good girl, she always gets to go to recess, but not all of the children are as good as her. Especially not a little boy named Wes Combs. Wes is incorrigible and seems to have a hard time staying in his seat, thus causing him to miss recess frequently and have to sit in the classroom and write sentences. One lovely day, Big E comes in during recess to get a kickball or some sort of game equipment from the room. There sits Wes in all his badassery, writing sentences and generally making a mockery of his education. The teacher assigned to watch him has her head down, reading a book. So what does Wes do before Big E goes back outside? He says, “hey, look at this!” and proceeds to show Big E his tiny, 6 year old wiener. Yep, that’s right—indecent exposure. Big E squeals and runs from the room, still scarred by the experience 25 years later. To this day I don’t know his motivation, but I’m 99% positive he probably saw his dad or his older brother do it and thought it was a good idea.
So what lessons did I learn from these early life experiences?
Lesson #1—there are still nice guys out there.
Lesson #2—those guys usually have don’t stay in from recess because they were bad.
Really though, what it taught me is that I can’t expect every guy to like me, and if I do, that’s my fault. Some guys just aren’t that into you, or they have too many hang ups, or all they want to do is show you their dong. And the minute that you get your hopes up that he’ll call, or take you on another date, or generally act like someone you’d want to be seen with in public is the minute that you can throw all that out the window. People are people, and they screw up. If you have your sights set too high, all you’re going to do is drown when it rains. You have to have a healthy dose of realism when it comes to dating. Trying not to expect too much while still keeping your standards where you want them to be is a tough thing, but it’s not impossible. Trust me, I learned the hard way.
So there’s this problem I used to have, and I thought I had conquered, or at least calmed it down enough not to drive myself crazy. But it seems that though I have tried, it still comes back to haunt me from time to time despite the fact that I am all too aware that it’s happening. It’s the problem of “expectations,” or more specifically, “high expectations,” aka “getting your hopes up.” I don’t know why I have them anymore, at least not for other people, because years and years and YEARS of experience have taught me that the minute you put even the most infinitesimal expectations on someone, they inevitably let you down. And it’s only getting worse out there, folks. Not only have expectations become the stuff of myth when dealing with dating partners, but it’s seeping into our collective consciousness too. How many times do you say to yourself on a daily basis, “man, does anybody even CARE anymore?” when dealing with the customer service industries? I know! Me, too.
I was pondering this latest bout of Am-I-Really-Crazy-Or-Do-People-Just-SUCK-itude when it occurred to me that my placement of expectations and the lessons learned by subsequent crushing of them happened quite early on in my life. Like kindergarten early. See, I used to be kind of a flirt at age 5. Seriously—I got in trouble more than once for kissing boys on the playground. So it was only natural that I would expect the boys to like me back. When they didn’t, it cut me, it cut me real deep. Two episodes stand out to me more than the others—picture it, Bristol, 1984. A cute-as-a-button Big E dressed in her tailor made finery (complete with tag reading “Made With Love By Mommy” sewn into the back) was out on the playground when she spies a kid named Andy. He’s got something in his chubby hand that he says is a present, and of course Big E thinks it’s for her. He walks toward her, coming closer, closer…and walks right past, to another girl named Amanda. He gives Amanda a ruby ring he had stolen from his mamaw’s jewelry box (hey, this is Bristol we’re talkin’ about here) and Amanda fawns over it with sickening glee. Big E stomps her tiny oxford clad feet and pouts the rest of the day. The next day on the school bus, Big E feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s Jimmy Yarber, her fellow kindergarten classmate. He says to her that he’s brought her something, and produces a gold metal ring with a red plastic jewel perched atop it. He says that he wanted Big E to have her own ruby ring so he got one for her from the chicken egg machine at the grocery store. He spent a whole quarter on it! Big E proudly dons the ring and walks into Mrs. Tauscher’s class feeling like the best girl in the world.
Cut to first grade—Big E is still not only the cutest girl in her class, but naturally the smartest. She gets her work done, always has examples ready to demonstrate for her “letter of the day” presentations, and knows how to bat her eyelashes for an extra Oreo at snack time. Since she’s a good girl, she always gets to go to recess, but not all of the children are as good as her. Especially not a little boy named Wes Combs. Wes is incorrigible and seems to have a hard time staying in his seat, thus causing him to miss recess frequently and have to sit in the classroom and write sentences. One lovely day, Big E comes in during recess to get a kickball or some sort of game equipment from the room. There sits Wes in all his badassery, writing sentences and generally making a mockery of his education. The teacher assigned to watch him has her head down, reading a book. So what does Wes do before Big E goes back outside? He says, “hey, look at this!” and proceeds to show Big E his tiny, 6 year old wiener. Yep, that’s right—indecent exposure. Big E squeals and runs from the room, still scarred by the experience 25 years later. To this day I don’t know his motivation, but I’m 99% positive he probably saw his dad or his older brother do it and thought it was a good idea.
So what lessons did I learn from these early life experiences?
Lesson #1—there are still nice guys out there.
Lesson #2—those guys usually have don’t stay in from recess because they were bad.
Really though, what it taught me is that I can’t expect every guy to like me, and if I do, that’s my fault. Some guys just aren’t that into you, or they have too many hang ups, or all they want to do is show you their dong. And the minute that you get your hopes up that he’ll call, or take you on another date, or generally act like someone you’d want to be seen with in public is the minute that you can throw all that out the window. People are people, and they screw up. If you have your sights set too high, all you’re going to do is drown when it rains. You have to have a healthy dose of realism when it comes to dating. Trying not to expect too much while still keeping your standards where you want them to be is a tough thing, but it’s not impossible. Trust me, I learned the hard way.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Creating the Perfect Storm
OK Y’all,
So I’m going to do a little exercise today, and not of the physical variety (though Lord knows I needed to get on THAT wagon a loooooong time ago). I’m going to indulge myself a little and be creative—all for the sake of l’amour. We all have the requisite “list” of things that we want in a partner; some people have a much longer list than others. So I thought, why not create myself a perfect man, piece by piece, using qualities I find in those men I admire, famous and non-famous? It sounded pretty good, so here we go: The Big E’s Perfect Specimen: Exhibit A.
1. Face: Obviously face is going to be first, because let’s “face” it…you’ve got to want to look at this guy every morning and think, Boy howdy! I am one lucky cowgirl! So I will have to go with Paul Walker. He is soooo pretty. I mean, ridiculously blue eyes, sculpted jaw, and lips like pillows of marshmallow crème—what else could a girl want to look at when heavy breathing is involved? Bradley Cooper would be a close second, and though he has limpid pools of gorgeousness for eyes, he’s a little big in the snout for me, which could potentially hinder proper kissing technique. Paul’s got the perfect face for causing me to melt into my socks. I know a lot of girls wouldn’t want a “pretty” boy, they’d want a rugged man, and honestly I can see that. But like I said, if I’m going to wake up and want to shake my own hand for how well I’ve done, Paul can get it done every time.
2. Body: Paul’s a very good contender for this category as well, but he’s a little lean for me. I’d want someone who’s built well but not too skinny. I’m going to go with Gerard Butler in his 300 days. He looks like a guy who would whoop Batman’s ass and still be able to lift heavy furniture without issue, but would certainly go wing for wing with you at the bar. I like how broad his shoulders are and he’s got a cute bum—perfect for squeezing when congratulating him on a job well done after moving said furniture.
3. Voice: I would want him to talk to me like Matthew McConaughey. I love that Southern drawl that sounds like honey dripping off a graham cracker. He’s got to be a crooner too, and for that, nobody beats Michael Buble. That boy has magic in his larynx; I don’t know why in the world he would ever say regular words when he could sing them all and entrance hoards of women into doing his bidding.
4. Sense of Humor: Hands down, Vince Vaughn. He’s dirty, he’s quick, and he will take it to levels you never considered before, all while you’re struggling to catch your breath from laughing so hard. It takes intelligence to be that fast on the draw, to make impromptu connections and non sequiturs that work perfectly. And I want it. BAD.
5. Intelligence: I’m not going to lie; I like to feel like the smart one, but not the one who’s so much smarter that it’s a struggle to hold a conversation. I don’t want some mook, I want a reasonably smart guy who appreciates my predilection for trivia and craftiness. So I am going to have to go with my pal Big Worm. He’s super smart, and probably the only one I consider to be as smart or possibly even smarter than me. He has a fantastic trivia recall, and like me, can’t stand math. If we were truly smart, we’d probably breed our own race of superhumans, but for now I’ll settle for being intellectual counterparts.
6. Romantic Tendencies: I’m the kind of girl who likes attention, and who likes to feel wanted and needed. I like presents, I like compliments, and I like to be taken care of. I want someone who will share my interests, but still have some of his own. I need just the right amount of mush and thoughtfulness combined with a backbone. For that, I would want someone to treat me the way my Dad treats my Mom. He acts like my Mom absolutely hung the moon and the entire world revolves around her. He wants her to have what she wants and he always tells her how pretty she is and how impressed he is with her, but he isn’t a pussy. I really respect my Dad—he’s a man’s man who loves his woman. Paul-Gerard-Matt-Michael-Vince-Worm has big shoes to fill.
Alrighty y’all! That’s all I’ve got. Hit me up if you have comments!
So I’m going to do a little exercise today, and not of the physical variety (though Lord knows I needed to get on THAT wagon a loooooong time ago). I’m going to indulge myself a little and be creative—all for the sake of l’amour. We all have the requisite “list” of things that we want in a partner; some people have a much longer list than others. So I thought, why not create myself a perfect man, piece by piece, using qualities I find in those men I admire, famous and non-famous? It sounded pretty good, so here we go: The Big E’s Perfect Specimen: Exhibit A.
1. Face: Obviously face is going to be first, because let’s “face” it…you’ve got to want to look at this guy every morning and think, Boy howdy! I am one lucky cowgirl! So I will have to go with Paul Walker. He is soooo pretty. I mean, ridiculously blue eyes, sculpted jaw, and lips like pillows of marshmallow crème—what else could a girl want to look at when heavy breathing is involved? Bradley Cooper would be a close second, and though he has limpid pools of gorgeousness for eyes, he’s a little big in the snout for me, which could potentially hinder proper kissing technique. Paul’s got the perfect face for causing me to melt into my socks. I know a lot of girls wouldn’t want a “pretty” boy, they’d want a rugged man, and honestly I can see that. But like I said, if I’m going to wake up and want to shake my own hand for how well I’ve done, Paul can get it done every time.
2. Body: Paul’s a very good contender for this category as well, but he’s a little lean for me. I’d want someone who’s built well but not too skinny. I’m going to go with Gerard Butler in his 300 days. He looks like a guy who would whoop Batman’s ass and still be able to lift heavy furniture without issue, but would certainly go wing for wing with you at the bar. I like how broad his shoulders are and he’s got a cute bum—perfect for squeezing when congratulating him on a job well done after moving said furniture.
3. Voice: I would want him to talk to me like Matthew McConaughey. I love that Southern drawl that sounds like honey dripping off a graham cracker. He’s got to be a crooner too, and for that, nobody beats Michael Buble. That boy has magic in his larynx; I don’t know why in the world he would ever say regular words when he could sing them all and entrance hoards of women into doing his bidding.
4. Sense of Humor: Hands down, Vince Vaughn. He’s dirty, he’s quick, and he will take it to levels you never considered before, all while you’re struggling to catch your breath from laughing so hard. It takes intelligence to be that fast on the draw, to make impromptu connections and non sequiturs that work perfectly. And I want it. BAD.
5. Intelligence: I’m not going to lie; I like to feel like the smart one, but not the one who’s so much smarter that it’s a struggle to hold a conversation. I don’t want some mook, I want a reasonably smart guy who appreciates my predilection for trivia and craftiness. So I am going to have to go with my pal Big Worm. He’s super smart, and probably the only one I consider to be as smart or possibly even smarter than me. He has a fantastic trivia recall, and like me, can’t stand math. If we were truly smart, we’d probably breed our own race of superhumans, but for now I’ll settle for being intellectual counterparts.
6. Romantic Tendencies: I’m the kind of girl who likes attention, and who likes to feel wanted and needed. I like presents, I like compliments, and I like to be taken care of. I want someone who will share my interests, but still have some of his own. I need just the right amount of mush and thoughtfulness combined with a backbone. For that, I would want someone to treat me the way my Dad treats my Mom. He acts like my Mom absolutely hung the moon and the entire world revolves around her. He wants her to have what she wants and he always tells her how pretty she is and how impressed he is with her, but he isn’t a pussy. I really respect my Dad—he’s a man’s man who loves his woman. Paul-Gerard-Matt-Michael-Vince-Worm has big shoes to fill.
Alrighty y’all! That’s all I’ve got. Hit me up if you have comments!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wishin' and Hopin'...and Buildin' and Directin'...
OK Y’all,
So I was reading an article today online about a book this lady named Helen Fisher wrote about the 4 “types” of people and how they date. Apparently Helen did some research with a bunch of people looking for love on match.com and translated it all into these biological types that depend on the presence of higher levels of different chemicals in the brain: Explorer, Builder, Director, and Negotiator. If you’d like to read the article, just copy this link: www.yourtango.com/helenfisher. I read through the types and I realized that I am a combo of two of the types: I am a “Builder” and a “Director.” Here’s the article’s description for each and how they tend to date:
“The second type is the Builder, who expresses with serotonin. These people are calm, social, popular, cautious, but not fearful. Very managerial, they're very good at networking, family's very important to them. They're traditional, conventional, often religious.”
“The third type is the Director, expressive of testosterone. They're direct, decisive, tough-minded and often understand music very well because music is very structural. They're competitive, ambitious and very good at spatial relations.”
“The Builder tends to follow rules and schedules, but you've got to take some risks when you're dating. They're also very social and very network-y so they'll take a new date to meet all their friends when the date might just want to spend the night with them.
The Director often thinks dating is a pain in the neck. They want to get to the point. They also make up their mind too fast so in the middle of the date, if they realize this isn't going anywhere for them, they can be very rude. They've got to relax.”
So I think what Helen is trying to tell me is that I am a hard-headed, dirty old man. And really, I’m fine with that. The thing that sort of got me, though, was that basically the article said that any of these types could date any of the others successfully as long as they thought each other were the shizz. I don’t know who wouldn’t think I’m the shizz, but for argument’s sake, let’s take a closer look.
I’m part Builder, so I’m a rule-following, overly cautious social butterfly. Great! I’ll fit right in at the mixer down at the Moose Lodge with all the other virgins in the quilting circle. Then again, I’m part Director, so not only will I compete so viciously with all the other virgins for the last remaining man at the Moose Lodge Mixer that I will completely railroad them all, but when I acquire said man, I’ll find him absolutely abhorrent in the middle of the first date and proceed to point out all his flaws until he cries or runs screaming. And all he really wanted to do was take me home and give me a railroading of his own. Wow. What a future I have ahead of me! I can almost smell the faint stench of desperation that will certainly be oozing off of me in just a few short months of continuing down that path. So what’s a Builder-Director Girl to do? Helen says Relax. I’m just going to keep networking, socializing, and being popular. There’s got to be somebody out there ready to Build and Direct a life with me.
So I was reading an article today online about a book this lady named Helen Fisher wrote about the 4 “types” of people and how they date. Apparently Helen did some research with a bunch of people looking for love on match.com and translated it all into these biological types that depend on the presence of higher levels of different chemicals in the brain: Explorer, Builder, Director, and Negotiator. If you’d like to read the article, just copy this link: www.yourtango.com/helenfisher. I read through the types and I realized that I am a combo of two of the types: I am a “Builder” and a “Director.” Here’s the article’s description for each and how they tend to date:
“The second type is the Builder, who expresses with serotonin. These people are calm, social, popular, cautious, but not fearful. Very managerial, they're very good at networking, family's very important to them. They're traditional, conventional, often religious.”
“The third type is the Director, expressive of testosterone. They're direct, decisive, tough-minded and often understand music very well because music is very structural. They're competitive, ambitious and very good at spatial relations.”
“The Builder tends to follow rules and schedules, but you've got to take some risks when you're dating. They're also very social and very network-y so they'll take a new date to meet all their friends when the date might just want to spend the night with them.
The Director often thinks dating is a pain in the neck. They want to get to the point. They also make up their mind too fast so in the middle of the date, if they realize this isn't going anywhere for them, they can be very rude. They've got to relax.”
So I think what Helen is trying to tell me is that I am a hard-headed, dirty old man. And really, I’m fine with that. The thing that sort of got me, though, was that basically the article said that any of these types could date any of the others successfully as long as they thought each other were the shizz. I don’t know who wouldn’t think I’m the shizz, but for argument’s sake, let’s take a closer look.
I’m part Builder, so I’m a rule-following, overly cautious social butterfly. Great! I’ll fit right in at the mixer down at the Moose Lodge with all the other virgins in the quilting circle. Then again, I’m part Director, so not only will I compete so viciously with all the other virgins for the last remaining man at the Moose Lodge Mixer that I will completely railroad them all, but when I acquire said man, I’ll find him absolutely abhorrent in the middle of the first date and proceed to point out all his flaws until he cries or runs screaming. And all he really wanted to do was take me home and give me a railroading of his own. Wow. What a future I have ahead of me! I can almost smell the faint stench of desperation that will certainly be oozing off of me in just a few short months of continuing down that path. So what’s a Builder-Director Girl to do? Helen says Relax. I’m just going to keep networking, socializing, and being popular. There’s got to be somebody out there ready to Build and Direct a life with me.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz...Oh What A Relief It Is!
OK Y’all,
So here recently I’ve been guilty of doing something that I hate when other people do. In fact, it’s happened twice in the last six months. No, it’s not the ‘dine and dash,’ though that is completely tasteless. It’s what I like to call the “Slow Fizzle.” It’s when you go out with somebody, and either you’re not feeling them, or they’re not feeling you, or you’re both not feeling each other (up or otherwise) and you’re both too lazy to call the other one and say “hey Bub, this is kinda bleh. You say tomato, I say potato…let’s call the whole thing off, whaddya say?” So you just don’t do anything, nobody calls anybody, you both go AWOL, and frankly neither one of you is all that put out by it.
Like I said, I really hate it when people do that to me, but I have been a two time offender in recent months.
The first guy seemed to be pretty interesting, and I was actually interested in him. He was cute, and smart, and we had people in common. I thought there may be something that came of it, or at least some fun to be had. But the more we hung out, I noticed that he didn’t seem to be all that wild about me for whatever reason. And the more disinterested and distracted he acted, the less interested I became. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there were too many things getting in the way and I didn’t really have that much invested in the process. I decided to give him one last chance, just to see if maybe I was wrong, or just confused with the signals I was getting, but my gut was right. He was the firework in the 9.99 bundle at Crazy Al’s that just didn’t want to spark, no matter how many times you tried to light it. So I thanked him for our date, got in my car, drove home, and didn’t hear from him for weeks. I sent him a text at one point just to make sure he was in fact still alive, and he was. So I just left it at that. It didn’t really bother me because I felt like I was worth more than a lukewarm response. I’m sure he’s fine. I’m fine. It just fizzled little by little and didn’t end with a bang but a whimper.
The second guy I wasn’t so interested in outwardly, but he had a lot of good qualities on paper. I thought I’d at least give him a shot, and he did impress me in a superficial sort of way. He obviously set out to do his best and he really gave it a nice effort. But I just couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that I would always be on the lookout for someone better looking. I really wanted to like him. So what did I do? I gave it the old college try. I argued with myself. I tried to talk myself into it. But when I went out of town for a week and didn’t even give him a second thought, I knew I had to let it go. I know that sounds really, really shallow and awful, and I admit that I am a really, really shallow, awful person sometimes, and even with that admission and realization I still couldn’t get past it. I just couldn’t imagine myself with him 10 years down the road. I’m not saying you have to be Dash Riprock, and I’m not saying I’m Hottie McHotness, but I’ve got to see something in your appearance that I like or it’s just not going to work. It’s a primal instinct. Fortunately for me, I think he took my lack of contact as a hint and he progressively slowed the contact as well. Sure enough, I never heard from him after a brief text exchange one evening. I was a complete coward and never bothered to get in touch with him again either. It all worked out in the wash I guess. I don’t condone the Slow Fizzle, but I suppose now I’m just as guilty as the rest of us who’ve done it. I suppose my sentence is to remain single. Fortunately it’s a sentence I’m used to.
So here recently I’ve been guilty of doing something that I hate when other people do. In fact, it’s happened twice in the last six months. No, it’s not the ‘dine and dash,’ though that is completely tasteless. It’s what I like to call the “Slow Fizzle.” It’s when you go out with somebody, and either you’re not feeling them, or they’re not feeling you, or you’re both not feeling each other (up or otherwise) and you’re both too lazy to call the other one and say “hey Bub, this is kinda bleh. You say tomato, I say potato…let’s call the whole thing off, whaddya say?” So you just don’t do anything, nobody calls anybody, you both go AWOL, and frankly neither one of you is all that put out by it.
Like I said, I really hate it when people do that to me, but I have been a two time offender in recent months.
The first guy seemed to be pretty interesting, and I was actually interested in him. He was cute, and smart, and we had people in common. I thought there may be something that came of it, or at least some fun to be had. But the more we hung out, I noticed that he didn’t seem to be all that wild about me for whatever reason. And the more disinterested and distracted he acted, the less interested I became. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there were too many things getting in the way and I didn’t really have that much invested in the process. I decided to give him one last chance, just to see if maybe I was wrong, or just confused with the signals I was getting, but my gut was right. He was the firework in the 9.99 bundle at Crazy Al’s that just didn’t want to spark, no matter how many times you tried to light it. So I thanked him for our date, got in my car, drove home, and didn’t hear from him for weeks. I sent him a text at one point just to make sure he was in fact still alive, and he was. So I just left it at that. It didn’t really bother me because I felt like I was worth more than a lukewarm response. I’m sure he’s fine. I’m fine. It just fizzled little by little and didn’t end with a bang but a whimper.
The second guy I wasn’t so interested in outwardly, but he had a lot of good qualities on paper. I thought I’d at least give him a shot, and he did impress me in a superficial sort of way. He obviously set out to do his best and he really gave it a nice effort. But I just couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that I would always be on the lookout for someone better looking. I really wanted to like him. So what did I do? I gave it the old college try. I argued with myself. I tried to talk myself into it. But when I went out of town for a week and didn’t even give him a second thought, I knew I had to let it go. I know that sounds really, really shallow and awful, and I admit that I am a really, really shallow, awful person sometimes, and even with that admission and realization I still couldn’t get past it. I just couldn’t imagine myself with him 10 years down the road. I’m not saying you have to be Dash Riprock, and I’m not saying I’m Hottie McHotness, but I’ve got to see something in your appearance that I like or it’s just not going to work. It’s a primal instinct. Fortunately for me, I think he took my lack of contact as a hint and he progressively slowed the contact as well. Sure enough, I never heard from him after a brief text exchange one evening. I was a complete coward and never bothered to get in touch with him again either. It all worked out in the wash I guess. I don’t condone the Slow Fizzle, but I suppose now I’m just as guilty as the rest of us who’ve done it. I suppose my sentence is to remain single. Fortunately it’s a sentence I’m used to.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Learn From My Fail
OK Y’all,
So I was reading my newest ladies magazine the other night and they had a breakdown of different types of guys and how to spot them. It was pretty stereotypical, with the brooding intellectual, the surfer dude, and the well-dressed heartbreaker all making an appearance. Reading those descriptions got me thinking about the men I have known or dated in my own life, and led me to create some descriptions of my own. Here’s what I came up with:
1.The Goodyear Blimp: I call this guy a blimp not because he is fat (though the one I dated was a total chubbo) but because he is full of hot air. This guy talks a good game, but when it comes right down to it, he’s got nothing to show for his peacockery. The guy I dated looked great from the outside—a sports career, nice car, good family, attentive nature. He seemed to be exactly what I was looking for as far as ambition and drive, and presented himself as a hard-working, moral person. I had visions of us making a life together and conquering the world with his business savvy and my creativity. What he turned out to be was a failure at life, relying on his parents for a job, a ride, and a place to live. He had no faith, no self-esteem, and he couldn’t give a compliment if his life depended on it. Unfortunately, it took me 2.5 years of my life to finally be done with him, and the humiliating part was, HE dumped ME. Ridiculous!
2.The Rodeo Clown: This guy is a clown not because he’s funny, but because he makes an ass out of himself from all the drama he gets himself into or chooses to be a part of. He’s a rollercoaster of emotional turmoil, and dating him is much akin to riding a bull and trying to stay on for the whole 8 seconds. You’re trying to follow the dips and bucks, but it’s the most frustrating thing you’ve ever tried to accomplish. Well guess what friends? I’m not Lane Frost, and this guy is no good for you, especially if you’re more into pony rides than steer roping. He’s always pining away over some long lost love, or finding himself embroiled in some latent feelings from a “friend” or some mystery person from the past that only revealed themselves when you decide to go out with him. It’s not as bad as it seems, though, because eventually this guy will recede so far into his cocoon of emotional upheaval that he’ll forget to call or text you for weeks. And surprisingly, it’ll not even occur to you until you sit down to write your next blog.
3.The Wolf: this guy is almost the opposite of the Blimp, because he actually does have the qualities you’re looking for and demonstrates them regularly. You get all comfortable being treated like you’re the best stuff on earth besides Snapple, and suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under you. The sweet, loving, well-mannered guy you were dating turns into a total cad. He stops calling when he says he will, breaks plans or makes them and doesn’t show up, and generally turns into a frat boy at midnight—he’s gone from the Sheep to the Wolf. It may take a little while to figure out the Wolf, as his deceptions begin somewhat innocently, with a little extra time elapsing between calls or dates, accompanied by what seems to be a reasonable excuse. But trust me ladies, the time to wise up is not the time that your friend that lives across the street from him tells you that some girl has a moving truck outside his apartment and is hauling all his furniture out. Just a little warning to prepare yourselves—don’t say I didn’t tell you.
4.The Rick Astley: this guy is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…until he does it for the 14th time again this week. This poor guy has all the best intentions, and really does mean well, but he’s overextended himself to the point that having a girlfriend is only a theory and not a scientific fact. He’s working full time, into several hobbies, and has a passel of friends that always want to hang out. It’s easy to see why—he’s got personality in spades and is great at one-liners. But this guy is never going to have the time to really devote to your relationship if you’re even vaguely interested in spending more than 10 minutes with him, while he’s awake, and not working, and…..you get my drift. He tries hard, but he’s got too much going on to really make a relationship work, despite his many promises that he will do better. Do both of yourselves a favor and just let this one go. You can always be friends, but you won’t have to sit around for hours after he said he’d be someplace on Friday night.
Ok folks, that’s all I’ve got this week. Hit me up and let me know what you think—rants, raves, comments, questions!
So I was reading my newest ladies magazine the other night and they had a breakdown of different types of guys and how to spot them. It was pretty stereotypical, with the brooding intellectual, the surfer dude, and the well-dressed heartbreaker all making an appearance. Reading those descriptions got me thinking about the men I have known or dated in my own life, and led me to create some descriptions of my own. Here’s what I came up with:
1.The Goodyear Blimp: I call this guy a blimp not because he is fat (though the one I dated was a total chubbo) but because he is full of hot air. This guy talks a good game, but when it comes right down to it, he’s got nothing to show for his peacockery. The guy I dated looked great from the outside—a sports career, nice car, good family, attentive nature. He seemed to be exactly what I was looking for as far as ambition and drive, and presented himself as a hard-working, moral person. I had visions of us making a life together and conquering the world with his business savvy and my creativity. What he turned out to be was a failure at life, relying on his parents for a job, a ride, and a place to live. He had no faith, no self-esteem, and he couldn’t give a compliment if his life depended on it. Unfortunately, it took me 2.5 years of my life to finally be done with him, and the humiliating part was, HE dumped ME. Ridiculous!
2.The Rodeo Clown: This guy is a clown not because he’s funny, but because he makes an ass out of himself from all the drama he gets himself into or chooses to be a part of. He’s a rollercoaster of emotional turmoil, and dating him is much akin to riding a bull and trying to stay on for the whole 8 seconds. You’re trying to follow the dips and bucks, but it’s the most frustrating thing you’ve ever tried to accomplish. Well guess what friends? I’m not Lane Frost, and this guy is no good for you, especially if you’re more into pony rides than steer roping. He’s always pining away over some long lost love, or finding himself embroiled in some latent feelings from a “friend” or some mystery person from the past that only revealed themselves when you decide to go out with him. It’s not as bad as it seems, though, because eventually this guy will recede so far into his cocoon of emotional upheaval that he’ll forget to call or text you for weeks. And surprisingly, it’ll not even occur to you until you sit down to write your next blog.
3.The Wolf: this guy is almost the opposite of the Blimp, because he actually does have the qualities you’re looking for and demonstrates them regularly. You get all comfortable being treated like you’re the best stuff on earth besides Snapple, and suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under you. The sweet, loving, well-mannered guy you were dating turns into a total cad. He stops calling when he says he will, breaks plans or makes them and doesn’t show up, and generally turns into a frat boy at midnight—he’s gone from the Sheep to the Wolf. It may take a little while to figure out the Wolf, as his deceptions begin somewhat innocently, with a little extra time elapsing between calls or dates, accompanied by what seems to be a reasonable excuse. But trust me ladies, the time to wise up is not the time that your friend that lives across the street from him tells you that some girl has a moving truck outside his apartment and is hauling all his furniture out. Just a little warning to prepare yourselves—don’t say I didn’t tell you.
4.The Rick Astley: this guy is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down…until he does it for the 14th time again this week. This poor guy has all the best intentions, and really does mean well, but he’s overextended himself to the point that having a girlfriend is only a theory and not a scientific fact. He’s working full time, into several hobbies, and has a passel of friends that always want to hang out. It’s easy to see why—he’s got personality in spades and is great at one-liners. But this guy is never going to have the time to really devote to your relationship if you’re even vaguely interested in spending more than 10 minutes with him, while he’s awake, and not working, and…..you get my drift. He tries hard, but he’s got too much going on to really make a relationship work, despite his many promises that he will do better. Do both of yourselves a favor and just let this one go. You can always be friends, but you won’t have to sit around for hours after he said he’d be someplace on Friday night.
Ok folks, that’s all I’ve got this week. Hit me up and let me know what you think—rants, raves, comments, questions!
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