Of maxi dresses and intrinsic value

This may sound like another self deprecating post, but bear with me.

First, thank you to my friends who kindly listened to the tempter tantrum I threw on Friday. Like the kicking, screaming, crying temper tantrum that one would expect from a five year old. I got myself all worked up over how I’m literally the only one in my social group who isn’t married. All of my female friends are married and have been for at least 2 years. IĀ I hear the same compliments and encouragement over and over again. I’m smart, funny, pretty, and someone you just generally want to be around. As my BFF put it, to know me is to love me. My knee jerk reaction? They’re just being nice. Clearly all of that, if it’s even true, isn’t enough. Normal boys aren’t interested in me, so I need to change something about myself to be more desirable.

After I calmed down, I asked myself the very simple question that I’m pretty sure I need to write in big letters on my mirror or on a sticky note on my computer or some place where I’ll be reminded of it regularly.

Why am I basing my value as a person on a boy?

I pride myself on keeping a group of friends who don’t bullshit me. I am of above average intelligence. I’m very good at making people laugh, provided they understand my sense of humor. Attractiveness is highly subjective, but for argument’s sake, I’m of average attractiveness. I pride myself most on my loyalty. I’m the kind of friend who if you call me at 2 in the morning, clearly it’s important. I might grumble a little as I wake up, but I’m not going to ignore the call. My friend needs me and I’m going to be there. They wouldn’t be telling me all of the above if they didn’t mean it.

I’m worth something as a person independent of those around me. Yes, I feel left out. Yes, it sucks to make the inevitable comparison to my friends, then wonder where I fell short. It’s human to compare yourself to others. As loathe as I am to admit it, I’m human. For all I know, they compare themselves to me and think “You know, she’s got a pretty good gig going on”. I don’t need to pretend to be someone I’m not just to say I’m in a relationship. Sooner or later, who I really am would come out anyway. I’m a pretty damn awesome chick and if boys can’t see that, their loss.

Tomorrow morning, I’m getting back to doing things for myself. Funnily enough, it fell on the first day of the month. I reactivated my ClassPass membership & I’m getting back into that. I think part of why I gave up the early morning workouts is because it was so fucking cold. Now that it’s a decent temperature in the morning, I think it’ll be a lot easier to get out of bed. Then I have my workout done by 7a & feel accomplished before I even get to work. I haven’t been getting enough exercise & I know it’s very important for my mental health. I’m setting a weekly goal of one thing to add in my diet & one thing to remove. This week is remove soda and add green smoothies. I can store my NutriBullet at work along with frozen fruit. They get a little pissy about filling up the fridges at work, but no one cares about the freezers. It was the totally obvious solution that didn’t occur to me until last week. I love it when that happens. My goal is to build on the dietary cleaning. For example, I remove soda this week, then I remove candy along with soda the following week. I’ll add green smoothies this week, then add more lean protein the week after that. I’ll cap out eventually as I run out of ideas. I’ve learned from past experience that removing too much at once leads to bingeing later on. I’m not a big sweet eater, but when the mood strikes, I’ll have higher quality sweets on hand. There’s a Trader Joe’s about 15 minutes from the house & they have tons of healthy snacking options. This isn’t about slimming down or toning up so I’m more attractive for a boy. It’s about taking care of my body because it’s the only one I’ve got. I’ve spent too long not respecting it by dumping crap in & then just sitting around.

So there you have it, beloved readers, my Sunday morning musings. I hope that everyone has a lovely rest of the weekend & I will report back with the success of my early morning exercise escapades.

XOXO!

P.S. I’m pretty sure my mood vastly improved when I rebuilt my basic summer wardrobe of maxi dresses, maxi skirts, and sandals. Who knew not having your crotch pinched improved your mood? šŸ˜‰

Of keeping promises and favorite colors

I promised a happy, uplifting, funny post. I was informed today that I must provide a happy, uplifting, funny post. I threatened kittens and rainbows, but I’l too lazy to pull them off Google Images.

So what’s a girl to do? Make a list! Ah ha!

Things That Make Me Smile:

  • Unexpected gifts. Who doesn’t love that?
  • My Harvey Prince Hello body stuff. I smell *amazing*
  • My new Sketchers memory foam sneakers. Holy shit, it’s like walking on a cloud. Where have you been all my life?!
  • Getting a super enthusiastic recommendation for a job in another department. As in, she walked down to the hiring manager and sold me like a cheap sarong at a flea market in the Bahamas.
  • My gross, threadbare tee that I’ve had for forever and a day that I refuse to get rid of. It’s practically sheer & absolutely can’t be worn in public, but I love it.
  • Glitter nail polish. My favorite color is sparkles. Le-fucking-git.
  • Using an exercise ball as a chair. Hilarity ensues.
  • Stupid jokes. Apparently I didn’t play along appropriately today. Oops. There was a do over.
  • Hair flowers. I’m pretty goddammit.
  • Renewing my ClassPass subscription. Kickboxing, here I come!
  • Fizzy water. Proper hydration = good. Or so I’m told.
  • Shit talking people on House Hunters.
  • Getting my hair blown out. Again, I’m pretty goddammit.
  • Kitten cuddles
  • Rainbows šŸ˜›

Okay, so not some of my *super* best work. One of these days I may post a “vlog” entry so everyone can hear my charming intonation. That is, if I can get past hating how my voice sounds. I let you decide, fair readers. That’s what the comments are for. Also…

Stalk Me:

Instagram: @retroindiequeen

Twitter: @retroindiequeen

Scintillating I am not, but you’ll see lots of pictures of clothes and my cat. And whatever random shit pops into my head while I’m driving (#commusing).

XOXO!

Of very nice guys and please stop screaming

This entry is incredibly difficult for me to write. It’s not very triggering (at least I don’t think so), but I won’t be offended if you need to stop.

I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I was going to have to tell a potential romantic interest what happened to me and how it might have an impact things going forward. I just didn’t think it would be this “sooner”.

I don’t remember exactly how much detail, or not, I’ve put in here. So here’s the crash course. I went on a date 2 weeks ago with Very Nice Guy. We’d been chatting for a few weeks online & over text and decided to finally meet. The tattoos came up in conversation, as they do. Instead of dodging the question, I asked him if he wanted to really know what they meant or the bullshit answer I usually give to people. He asked for the truth. I made sure he was ready to hear something unpleasant, then told him they were my self injury scars. I gave him a two sentence explanation about where they came from. This was all of an hour after we met face to face. We ended the date with a hug because it was more than a handshake, but less than a kiss. It was also 3 in the morning. That’s another story for another time.

This past weekend was Date #2. He’d been feeling sick, but felt up to going out anyway. As with last time, we ended with a hug. I told him (half joking) that if he’d been sick I didn’t want to kiss him. Awkward, party of 2. I told him later that I felt like I’d really flubbed it. He agreed that it was awkward, but I hadn’t totally screwed it up. He told me that he wanted to make a move, but he wasn’t sure what to do given what I’d told him. After thinking about it, I told him that I’d need him to be patient with me and err on the side of explicit communication (“You put your left foot in, you take your left foot out…”). He said that was fine and left it at that. While there is no official Date #3, it would appear that’s where this is going.

With all that in mind, Hailey started SCREAMING.

“What do you think you’re doing?! You can’t let him touch you! He’s lying! He’ll go too far and you won’t stop him! You can’t stop him! You’re such a slut, you’ll just let him do whatever he wants!”

No, I won’t. I know how wildly unhealthy it would be for me to revert back to judging myself based on who will sleep with me. I could easily undo months of progress. I don’t want that. While sometimes it can be hard to remember something like that in the heat of the moment, I know if I say “stop”, that will be respected. No, not all men. I am worth, and deserve, more than just who will sleep with me.

It kind of felt like having a giant scab ripped off my chest. It’s not a theory any more. I said it out loud. That made it real. I really told someone what happened and he really listened. It was absolutely terrifying. I think I would have been less anxious trying to jump out of a plane. Even if he drops off the face of the earth tomorrow and I never speak to him again, I survived the first time. I did it. In spite of Hailey’s incessant screaming, it’s done. The next time will be a tiny bit easier. I would like to think there won’t be too many more “next times”, but that’s another blog post in and of itself.

Now I’ve put it out there for you, faithful readers. Now it’s real for you, too. I promise I’ll put a funny / uplifting / ridiculous post up here soon. Pinky promise.

XOXO!

Of identity crises and I’ll laugh about this someday

Last week, I finally made the decision to give up dance for good. I went to class last Monday and before class was even over, my knee was screaming at me. It’s not just the patellofemoral pain, it’s also the leg with the poorly healed groin injury, and the side with the formerly pinched sciatic nerve. In short, it’s a hot mess. I’ve been told multiple times that I need to find some other option for exercise. This time, I finally decided to listen.Ā I did the movie cliche of getting in the shower and crying once I’d decided it was time. I felt like I’d lost who I am once and for all. I promised myself when I extracted myself from Will that I wouldn’t give it up again. I wouldn’t let someone take it away from me. It’s the last shred of who I was before. It’s the last shred of the girl who got lost that day.

I find myself, once again, with an identity crisis. I gave up dance for the betterment of my own health. It wasn’t taken from me. I know I’m doing the right thing. That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. I’ve gone back to my cave analogy. I find myself sitting outside the cave, not sure how to get back down there. I’m not even sure what’s down there to see.

I had an honest conversation with my friend who has morphed into this odd mix of big brother, dad, & friend. I’ve kept him actively involved in my adventures in online dating both for his take on the situations and entertainment. I asked him what drew him to me in the first place. He told me that he remembered seeing a picture of me he thought was cool & decided to start talking to me. As he got to know me better, he appreciated my wit & (funnily enough) maturity that he didn’t see in people his own age. In the past 6 years, we’ve come and gone in the other one’s world, some times less fucked up than others. True friends, he said, always stick around. He loves me and doesn’t want to see me get hurt because I lost sight of the fact that I’m worth more than who will sleep with me. That, unfortunately, is a nasty side effect of not having a solid grip on who you are. Fortunately, I have his voice in my head (and his texts on my phone) to remind me.

“Dancer” is really just an adjective. It’s not the core of my personality. I was rather fond of that adjective. I’m sorry to see it become part of my past rather than still in my present. I like to think that this will leave space for something, or someone, to fill the gap.

I am not a victim of life. I’m an active participant. I’ll just keep repeating that until I believe it.

XOXO!

Of Game of Thrones and trying not to throw up

Warnings before you enter this entry:

SPOILER ALERT: REFERENCES TO GAME OF THRONES EPISODE THAT AIRED 5/17

TRIGGER WARNING: SUBJECT MATTER FROM ABOVE NAMED EPISODE

I’m not a rabid Game of Thrones watcher largely because I don’t have HBO. After an unfortunate incident in one of the early episodes that gave me nightmares for a week, I read the synopses before deciding whether or not to watch an episode. I hadn’t yet read the synopsis for this week’s episode when I saw that Twitter had exploded with references to a rape scene. If you haven’t seen the show – quick & dirty character summaries.

Ramsey is the sociopathic sadist who gets off on chopping off people’s junk & “hunting” women by literally letting them loose in the woods and killing them with a crossbow. Sansa is the oldest daughter of Sean Bean’s characters family. She’s still technically married to someone else, but since she’s the (assumed) only living heir of this particular tract of land, she’s forced to marry Ramsey because he & his dad want the land. Theon, the third member of our party, was the one who had his junk cut off by Ramsey. He also grew up with Sansa.

In one sentence, after they’re married, Ramsey rapes Sansa while Theon watches. I literally got nauseous when I read the summary. When I was raped, Will let someone watch. He actually invited him to watch. That’s the sticking point for me. Not that rape scenes don’t phase me, but this one hit a little too close to home. I refuse to actually watch the episode because I know I’ll be in tears & have nightmares for days. What made it worse was seeing comments starting to pop up about “Well, she never actually said no” or “She knew what she was getting into when she married him!”. I have never, so badly, wanted to scratch out the eyeballs of a total stranger on the other side of a computer screen. Never. They justify it by saying that it’s a fictional character, so it’s not as bad.

Newsflash: Yes it is.

I dare someone to look me in the face and say “Well, I don’t see why you’re upset. It’s not *real*. It’s not like what happened to you really happened to her”. Go ahead, I’ll wait. No takers? I thought not.

It’s bad enough to endure something like that. It’s bad enough when it’s just you and him (or her) in the room. Add in another person and it’s something I would never, ever wish on anyone, real or fictional. There was someone who witnessed it, knew I said no, & didn’t do anything about it. It’s no small wonder that I tried to tear myself apart over it. It’s not just that feeling of helplessness that comes with the act itself. It’s not just one person who doesn’t give a shit about you, it’s two. They could do something to help you and they don’t. For the rest of the day, the thought of anyone even touching me made my stomach turn. I went to dance, I shook it off, and I should actually be able to sleep tonight.

I’m not sure how that will alter her story arc, but I really hope she’ll pull a Lucrecia Borgia and poison his sorry ass. Team Sansa.

In summary – I don’t care if it’s reality or fantasy. Victim blaming is never okay. Ever.

XOXO!

Of concerts and the things we learn

This weekend has been a case of “Let’s hose Emily’s sleep schedule”. I’m okay with that.

Friday night, I went solo to the Butch Walker show. I didn’t try and talk myself out of it at the last minute. I had my hair done, I put together what is definitely one of my favorite outfits now, and hopped in the car just like I would if I were meeting someone there. They’d covered the pit and put seats there, so I ended up being 11 rows back. It was still a really good seat. The show, as with all of his, was amazing. I probably looked like I was having a really shitty time. I was perfectly happy to just sit / stand and take it in. People watching later in the show when the booze started to kick in was equally entertaining. There was a girl about 3 rows in front of me wearing a dress that looked like a lamp shade. She started jumping up and down and all of us behind her got a free show. There were 3 guys in the row in front of me & two were clearly more drunk than the third one. They kept swaying back & forth like drunks do & the third one was giving them the “If you make me spill my beer, I will cut you” look. I didn’t end up getting back until 1a and crawled into bed around 130a. For those keeping score at home, that’s a good 3 hours after when I normally go to sleep, even on a weekend.

He played a bunch of my favorite songs and went easy on the newer stuff. I think someone may have advised him that a lot of the songs sound the same. He ended with the song he wrote for his dad & had everyone crying as we walked out the door. He got me up front with “ATL”, so I was one of the few not pretending to not cry. He got so emotional that he had them kill the stage lights while he was singing.

What did I learn? I’m totally okay with going to something like that by myself. I didn’t need someone standing next to me in order to enjoy the show.

Last night, I went on a last minute date. When I say last minute, I mean I left the house a little before 11p. Again, about an hour past when I normally go to sleep. We’ll call him Not Creepy. After a bit of confusion over where we were meeting, we had a good time. When Taco Mac kicked us out, we moseyed over to Waffle House. Only the best for a first date. We spent a good portion of the time laughing & figuring out we had A LOT of overlap among people we knew. We’re the same age & he went to the public school closest to my high school. He went to Georgia Tech & it turned into “Oh, did you know [person]?” “Yeah I totally knew them!”. For being a major city, Atlanta can be a very small town. I ended up staying out until 3 this morning. It was fun, though. A second date is somewhere in the future. I paid for Waffle House, so he owes me. šŸ˜›

What did I learn? First dates don’t have to be awkward. And it’s okay to bring up some things that may not be “first date” topics of conversation.

What did I learn (sidebar)? The recommendation that women should initiate conversation & are more likely to get a reply is total bullshit. Of the few times I’ve started a conversation, I never got a reply. This is only messaging people who also expressed an interest in me. On the flip side, if he opens with a line about my tattoos, then it will devolve very quickly. Not Creepy said he considered it when he first messaged me, but decided against it. Good plan, my man. Good plan.

Today is the bowling event for the MeetUp group. I got an email earlier saying that over 100 people (!!) had signed up. If that’s not a good opportunity to meet people, I don’t know what is. It doesn’t start until 6 & ostensibly goes until 9. I’m going to give myself an hour. If I’m not having fun or falling asleep standing up, then I’ll leave. If I’m having fun, then we’ll see if I end up staying the entire time. I do feel like I need to get my sleep back in line, though. Of course, that’s what Benadryl is for.

What will I learn? Who knows

Another thing that was driven home last night / this morning was that everyone has their burdens. As much as my mom & I don’t get along, she’s been carrying a lot of weight with her. I felt bad for sniping at her over stupid stuff. She drinks because she’d rather do that than cry. I suppose I can relate to that. Except that I was physically incapable of crying. I want to try to remember that when she’s driving me nuts, it’s not personal. She’s got enough worries in there to last all of us a lifetime. Maybe I need to start using my airhorn app for that, too.

On a more superficial note – I got sucked into Urban Decay’s new line. I got one of every new product they have. I normally don’t wear blush, but I think I’ve figured out how to apply with without making myself look like a circus clown. I got a little bit of a darker color than I have currently. I think I like it better, especially when I apply it with my finger rather than a brush. I’m also slowly mastering brow powder. It’s something I didn’t really consider before, but it helps in pictures. I’ve been taking a lot of those lately courtesy of selling myself on various dating sites. šŸ˜‰ My hair even still looks good from Friday. I’ve found a favorite stylist. Since I’ve got another long weekend next weekend (It’s Memorial Day for those of us in the States), I’ll get myself another blowout. It’s seriously 1000x better than a mani / pedi.

I hope everyone else has had a kickass weekend. If not, you still have a few hours to make up for it. As always, I appreciate you, fair readers.

XOXO!

Of adventures in online dating and dicks up your ass

So you know how I said online dating isn’t for me? It’s still not. Observing human behaviour on the Internet when it comes to mating rituals, on the other hand, is entertaining as all hell.

Until not one, but two, guys somehow come to the conclusion that tattoos = being okay with having a dick (or something else) up your ass. I wish I were kidding. I also got not one, but three, dick pics. Same dick from 3 different angles. Guess he wanted to make sure his buddy got his best side? I literally laughed out loud when I saw the pictures. Penises are just funny. It doesn’t matter what size or shape or status they are. They provoke laughter pretty much every time. I’m sure I’ve unintentionally ruined a few guys’ self esteem. Sorry. My profile now says to not message me if they’re under the impression that tattoos do somehow equal anal. It appears to have worked so far (famous last words).

I’ve also come across both a former one night stand and one of my co-workers. I was tempted to “like” both of them, but I decided against it. It’s easier for everyone that way. A friend from DragonCon also found me. Apparently he and his wife are poly. They weren’t asking me to be their third, though. šŸ˜› I’ve had a few not creepy conversations, but mostly idle chat until one of us gets bored. I highly doubt anything will come out of any of them. It’s metaphorically getting me out of the house.

I’ll be literally getting out of the house on a Friday night for the first time in God knows how long tomorrow. I bought tickets to see Butch Walker way back in March. My dad is usually my date, but he’s going to be in Minnesota this weekend with my sister. I asked pretty much everyone I could think of if they wanted to come along. No dice. Originally, I was just going to sell the tickets & not go. The reviews had been pouring in on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram that this was a mindblowingly awesome show. He always puts on great shows, but this appeared to have a lot more glowing reviews than usual. I decided fuck it, I’m going by myself. I refuse to miss what will be an amazing show just because I don’t have someone to sit next to. I did end up selling the other ticket, so some poor sucker will be stuck sitting next to me. Who knows? I might make a new friend. At least I already know we have a common interest. šŸ˜€

I’m a grown woman and I deserve a fun night out. I’ll be my own date, dammit. What’s that cliche? You can’t love someone else until you love yourself? Treat yourself the way you’d want a partner to treat you? Both? I’m taking the day off work. I’m getting my hair blown out. I’ll pick out a cute, but relatively practical, outfit. I’ll take myself to a nice dinner somewhere, then take myself to the show. He won’t take the stage until sometime around 9, so I don’t have to bust my ass to get there when the doors open. I know it’ll be a lot more fun than sitting around in sweatpants watching more Criminal Minds.

Here’s to the best date I’ve had in years and not having some guy threaten to put a dick in my ass. Cheers!

XOXO!