mollyelizabeth

“There’s only one dude in your grad program? How’s that going?”

“We’re friends, he’s probably my favorite in the class, we flirt over gchat during lecture. The other day he was mockingly calling me baby.”

“Of course. Sorry, forgot whom I was talking to. He have a chance?”

“Dunno. Maybe. He’s a good guy – physically my type: tall, skinny, dark hair. Went to [very religious undergrad university] and a pastor’s son.”

“Shit. And there are no other dudes to distract you in the program?”

“He’s a GOOD GUY and I am not Satan; this MIGHT BE OK.”

“Jesus Christ, Molly, just leave the poor bastard alone. Nothing will end up happening anyway.”

“What if I am bored with nothing ever happening?”

“So make something happen. But with someone else. You’ll get bored of this guy in three months, tops. Probably less than three weeks. And then you’ll be awkward around him. If you want a fling, go for an asshole – at least you won’t be bored. You don’t do well with bored.”

To achieve equilibrium with the niceness The Nice One, I sometimes give him more grief than I would others – as I know he will laugh and counter with a fairly witty rebuttal. He balances my stress and reasons away my stressful drama with comments such as, “why are you wasting time upset when we could be flirting and having uncomfortable amounts of sexual tension between us?”

Since we rarely see each other anymore, we’ve started Internet dating (emailing), but our lighthearted banter is never overtly sexual. For example, when we were discussing the half-nude modeling of his swimwear collection and the possibilities for my matching wardrobe, he suggested, “and while I am modeling these speedos for you, will you be parading around in old prom dresses or some other sort of eye-catching loveliness?”

“Yes, with long white gloves and a parasol. I hope later we will go to dinner in our finery, me in my dress and you in your speedo.”

“We’ll be the hottest couple in town. No one will be able to challenge our pure sexuality. Parasols are so hot.”

Cute, right? He’s fun. Makes me smile. So what is wrong with me that I only want to keep this at the Internet-dating level? Why don’t I like the ones that could are good for me? Oh, also, after staying at the office until 9pm on a Friday night, he emailed the following message to my work account:

When you receive this it will be Monday morning and you will no doubt be crabby and stressed. Just remember that my speedo-clad body is just a short email away.

Have a great day! xoxo

Such a freaking nice guy. And not unattractive. What the hell is wrong with me? If he was an asshole, or even a little distant, I would be all over that. I think I need the dating scene needs to knock me to the ground a few more times to fully appreciate guys like him – for the most part, he’s wasted on someone like me.

Although I’ve never seen the movie, I’ve memorized the Steel Magnolias quote, probably from a sap-prone friend’s away message or facebook profile, as it seems to fit my dating approach:

” “I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”

The promise of thirty minutes of wonderful trips me up from settling for one that could keep me quietly content. I like those stomach-floppers, I search for them, even if their general wonderfulness only lasts thirty minutes. Not my lifetime perfect match –none of that soul-mate crap – but stomach-flop of wonderfulness.

Seems that I’ve grown tired of these guys whom I adore and, according to my friends, visibly adore me in return, but whom I can never have, not feasibly anyway. I might need a break from those guys and their allure of wonderful; whether I’m attracted to them because they are safe in that I can’t have them or because I only want what I can’t have, who knows, but my attachment to them is there, and has grown frustrating.

Question. What is the collective opinion on settling? In regards the dating scene? Not permanently. Just a temporary settle.

Wonderful is an addicting high, though. The smiles, the racing heart, the innuendos –gives me hope, makes me feel alive, even if the relationship never develops further than casual flirtation. It’s somehow worth it. But then again, maybe it’s overrated. I’m not saying I’m giving up on a search for a stomach-flipper, but what if I would chose someone safe that would bore me in say, three months. A three-month break. A steady, safe, NICE guy.

A route I’ve never really chosen before; I think I have a fear that the nice, safe choice would suck me in, eventually becoming a lifetime of nothing special.

And your opinion, my dear Internet: to settle or not to settle?

Chicago was great. Haven’t written about it mostly because I am still processing it. Certain jobs, certain guys, certain loves. I’m processing. Will let you know if/when I come up with any tangible conclusions.

Dear Boy I Used to Like,

I used to like you.

You used to make me smile and tease me that we would be good together. I used to believe it.

I don’t believe that anymore. We want different things. I want a guy that makes me smile and you, apparently, want someone so superficial that her Christmas presents include tanning sessions and hair extensions. Even though fake hair made her happy, the purchase enabled her superficiality and behavior. You supported fakeness. I don’t care if you did have the common sense to sound embarrassed when you confessed these details, you still are not the person whom I thought you were, nor someone with whom I could ever see myself. This tells me that you are the type of person that might “hint” at breast implants. If we would date, my confidence level would decline due to the influence of your vastly contrasting values.

Furthermore, I find it pathetic that your Facebook profile picture is now a couples shot with her face as three-fourths of the frame. And yes, I realize from the wall postings that you two are very much “in love” but I have learned it is possible to love someone while maintaining your own identity. Taking up more space than the picture’s northeast corner would illustrate a healthy start. Also, if your amour is so all-consuming, then stop asking me to make-out. Even though you’re bluffing, it is still inappropriate. Learn how to be friends with a girl or stop the communication.

I am happy to know these details about you, however, as I find it a redeeming sort of closure.

I hope you two have a thoroughly insecure life together.

Sincerely Unlike Truly,

Molly

PS: Also, please stop inviting me to hang out with you and your girlfriend. I am not interested and would find it awkward as all hell. You should have the decency to realize that.

“Did you know that [mutual friend from high school] is getting married in Vegas?”

“Really? Can I be your date?”

“… Seriously?”

“Yeah, I like attending weddings of friends when not invited. I find it fun in a slightly awkward sense.”

“But you have a girlfriend and by March, it’ll be that much more serious …”

“She trusts me. I work that weekend but there’s a slight chance that I might be able to get out of it. I’ll let you know.”

My credit cards are disastrous. I’ve already spent The Sister’s rent (that was supposed to go towards this month’s mortgage payment). Tuition is due in less than six weeks. I have not been scheduled for serving shifts. Due to the economy, my place of employment is not giving annual raises. At all. Money, or lack thereof, is my primary cause of stress. Unfortunately I am unable to isolate the problem to purely financial woes –because I am slightly prone to overreaction –and have elevated the freaking out to all areas in life where I am failing (read that: all areas).

Fuck it. Being a failure can eat at my ulcer next week.

This weekend, I’m taking a spontaneous roadtrip to Chicago. Drinking, shopping, my favorite college roommate, and Work Boyfriend. I effing love that town. Itinerary suggestions, anyone?

How is it that I’m a sucker for any guy that casually calls me Mol? I find it more adorable than almost all other nicknames, which is somewhat odd considering I associate the name with family not relationships? No idea why I find it endearing. Such being the case, the only straight male in my grad school program (he might need a shorter name) has just been elevated to a new comfort level. Either we’re buds or he’s plotting, remembering when I suggested (at the bar) that he should set a personal goal to sleep with as many females in our grad program as possible (he agreed that it was a good idea, especially after debating which ones were active candidates – again, we had been drinking). Maybe the Mol-usage is part of his plan to achieve that goal –what he had claimed to be doing all semester: setting the groundwork for total manipulation. If so, it’s working. For one/twenty of us, at least.

The past two years have not been my prime.

2007 was the year my heart broke, the year I learned depression, the year I spent devastated. 2007 was not a good year. In 2007, many times, getting through the day was enough. I was mostly a sloppy mess. In 2008, I picked myself up. 2008 was the year I glued my pieces together. I redefined my life in 2008, setting a new map and changing what my course had been. I accomplished a lot in 2008, especially in juxtaposition to the lows of 2007. 2008 was the year that I became me again.

2009 is going to be the year that I flourish. The year where maintaining is no longer good enough. I am ready for 2009 to kick some serious ass.

In 2009, I resolve to:

1. Write. I like this blog thing and want to keep it even if it’s worthless and self-indulgent.

2. Excel. My job and school are my highest priorities and I want to be awesome at them. No slacking.

3. Selective responsibility. I resolve to pick my responsible battles – to win battles like financial responsibility (Molly, you do not need more jeans PAY YOUR MORTGAGE) and to waiver on emotional responsibility (lessening my guard on some and letting go of others such as my anger towards The Kid –which I thought I had but then it takes just one blacked-out Christmas Eve to pick a fight and hang up on a person to realize that’s not true) and to lose the battle on thinking (I overanalyze way too much).

4. Revel (to include flirting and general socializing). This also includes going out with friends and meeting new people. I don’t need a dude to make me happy but does it sometimes help? Oh yes. If only for the sole purpose that smooching makes me happy. Last Saturday, I went out with three cute boys from work to play pool and drink cheap beer. When one of them asked me if my attendance meant that I go out now (ouch, sad, I am the girl that never goes out), I used my scapegoat excuse of typically being too tired/stressed from all the stuff I have going on, and he replied, “Yes, I can see how coming up with excuses is exhausting.” Touché, little bartender, tou-fucking-ché. This will require a stifling of my hermit tendencies and an increase of productivity/time management but new year, new leaf, I can do it.

5. Adventure. At least one really dumb or really great thing that results in an amazing story to tell my grandchildren. If December hits and I am still without one, I might need to get a tattoo of something ridiculously meaningless – like Betty Boop or a piece of fruit or my name spelled backwards.

6. Self-maintenance. Whether this entails running or reading or sleeping, I need to start structuring activities for me into my schedule. Keeps me sane.

2009 will be the year that I shine. The year that was incredibly amazing.

How about you? How would you describe your 2008 and what will 2009 be?

Last year, during our holiday high-school girl reunion, I was sympathetically told, “Don’t worry, Mol, you won’t be single your whole life.” The friend repeated it THREE TIMES. The comment was unprovoked, as I am not one to spend energy lamenting my relationship status, especially at the time, when I was busy deferring the spotlight from my guy interests in general — I had too much pride to delve too deep into details pertaining to The Kid and his girlfriend. Plus, this time last year, I had only been single for five months after a six-year relationship, so no, I guess I had never worried that I would be single my whole life. The comment irked me even though I think she was trying to be heartening with the words coming out wrong.

I had nothing to hide for this year’s reunion and have remained in fairly regular contact with the girl foursome, so I was excited for our brunch. These girls are great people and I love them dearly.

Brunch was awesome, lovely, perfect chance to catch-up and relax my guard compared to the previous year. When it was my turn in the circle, I told of my life excitement (school! work! travel! busy! but happy!). To which one friend responded, “Well, Mol, have you ever thought about [online dating site]?”

And I looked around the table and each pair of eyes reflected the same mixture of sympathy, quiet encouragement, and … pity. They felt sorry for me.

They felt sorry for the single girl that, at 25, just might be single for her entire life. The old maid of the group. At twenty five.

What hurt the most is that these people had obviously not heard a word I said. When I told of my new life – the two jobs and school and new house and how I rarely have free time and how I am always so busy but loving all that I do –all they must have heard was single! single! single! Because I don’t have a man, my life is LACKING. Did they not hear all that I have been doing? Do they not realize the lengths I have made in the last year? Did they not think to question all the other areas that fulfill me? My life isn’t lacking; I’m just single. It’s not cancer; I’m not in need of a cure.

And yes, maybe if I had spent time saying, oh poor me, I am so lonely or all my life needs is a man – then fine, totally suggest online dating like it’s a new, novel concept on that Internet thing that all the kids have been talking about. Sure, give the recommendation. But I wasn’t bemoaning the woes of singledom. I LIKE this single thing. Also, the male gender isn’t completely devoid from my life; I told a few stories about my prospects and adventures in dating –I was WITTY, goddammit. It is ENTERTAINING. I ENJOY it. And really, if I wanted some dude, just to have some dude, I could probably get one, considering that I don’t have a club foot or three nipples or weigh 800 lbs (or maybe I do, you guys don’t know, I could totally being lying to you, what other reason could there possible be to explain that I am single?).

And these are my friends that went to college and have successful careers – I never would have expected that type of sentiment from them. These were supposed to be my feminist friends.

I realize their intentions were well- meant, wanting me to be happy in all areas of my life (blah blah), but really, how disappointing. Disappointing that they don’t know me, they don’t realize what else is out there, that that is who they are. To them, my life will always be lacking without a man. If I were the competitive sort (I totally am), I would have been tempted to go around the circle, pointing to each and telling them each how their lives are lacking (boyfriend cheats, has never left American soil, financially dependent on a dude, fiancé is seventeen years older) – but luckily, I’m above that.

My New Year’s Eve midnight moment involved no kissing. The DJ counted backward from ten, the crowd raised their glasses, the ball descended, and when the clock hands met at twelve, I gleefully exclaimed, “Happy 2009!” And got a grunt in return. A grunt. Quick recap: Me: “Yay!” Him: “Bh.” (That’s my grunt sound for him.) And then I was all, um, are you kidding? So I demanded a hug because goddammit, it was midnight and I am not above asking for a pity hug. Fuck, it was a new year and I wanted a goddamn show of affection from goddamn boy and start the year off goddamn right.

I got a pity hug. A one-armed, weak-pressure, no body contact, two sympathy back-pats hug.

Still counts! Yay 2009!

My real New Year’s celebration came about two hours later when my shift at the restaurant ended I left my pathetic-excuse-for-a-hug (but cute) bartender to join my friends in their drunken stupor. The delayed New Year celebration included hugs that twirled with feet lifted off the ground and kisses that were sound and affectionate (platonic, but whatever). Thank God my friends at least know the proper way to welcome a new year.

If I’m going to claim this evening was indicative of the new year – working to pay bills, friends who genuinely love me, and no hangover the following morning – 2009 and I are going to be along famously – might even become BFFAEs, who knows, gonna have to see if it puts out first. I am feeling optimistic of this coming year.