Looking back

Twenty-something Bloggers' June blog carnival is all about looking back. In looking back at some of my earliest posts on this blog, most of them were about newsy things. I ranted and raved about my beliefs and celebrated those doing good things. The one I'm commenting on today, Date with the Night, was one of the very few about me personally. Over the past two years, I've gotten increasingly comfortable talking about myself, not caring who reads it. I am me, deal with it.

-----
Date with the Night

Ah, Date night last night.It's been a while since I've been out and about and going on dates... which is probably why I agreed to go on this one in the first place. However, it merely convinced me of two things I already knew:
1) Dude was really nice and everything went fine, but I'm just not that into him.
2) I really am not a fan of dating.

I'm surrounded by girls who tend to measure themselves with the amount of interest that accumulates around them and I'm just not one of these. In my girl-power, independent woman way, I'm entirely alright with not having a boyfriend or anything. My last uber-serious relationship ended because I got sucked into it and forgot what I wanted out of life... hell, if I was still in it, I would still be living around London (Ontario, not UK). I'm so much better off out here, knowing what I want, working towards my own happiness.

Lately, I've been trying to explain this to Kik, one of the sisters. At 18, she seems to think that if she doesn't have a boyfriend, she's undesirable. Please! There are so many beautiful, intelligent women out there making themselves crazy over the male population. I'd rather just go with the flow and ride that wave when it hits.

-----

I found it interesting to see where I was at then in the pre-Boy days, and how it still applies. I still hate dating. I'm still independent and opinionated. The only difference is that I've found a boy who lets me be me. He celebrates my involvement in my community, he supports my decision to go back to school, and he acknowledges that I don't always have to agree with what he believes. In short, he's a-okay.

As the countdown to cohabitation is now on with a vengence, it's reassuring to know that I haven't waivered from being the person I was in January 2007.

This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and their readers!

We've heard one too many over-used pick up lines

I haven't been to a bar to shake it like a Polaroid picture in some time. One of the last times I put on the high heels and sauntered out of the house while showing a bit of cleavage to entice the fellows was way back in the summer of 2007 before I realized I had a colossal crush on the Boy.

I remembered this story when my friend and I were contemplating locales for drinks on Friday eve. One of the possibilities (Stir!) used to be Overtime. A bar we discovered that summer because it was a) within stumbling distance of my apartment, and b) a mid-twenties crowd -- we were sick of drunk 18 year olds... a side effect of the low drinking age in Alberta.

You better believed we picked up that night.

We don't do one night stands. We don't do skeezy boys. You can do it, I don't judge, it's just not my style. We had been chatting up cute Maritime boys, recent imports to Alberta. It was a situation Roomie and I remembered all too well. We all giggled together at the fact that their female friend was making out with a really short boy, really hard. And then, when the night was over, Roomie asked Twinsie and I if we wanted them to come back to our place.

Duh, duh, duh.

We tumbled out of the bar, and I collected my flip-flops from underneath the porch of a nearby commercial building -- an act that made the boys' jaws drop in awe. "What? I'm not walking home barefoot, and my feet hurt", I commented while holding up my beautiful houndstooth heels. Apparently they were impressed with my foresight.

We discussed the Maritimes, being new Albertans, and trash-talked how badly we were going to whoop them at boys versus girls Cranium when we got home. Roomie made after-bar snacks, we had a couple more drinks, and laughed until nearly 5 in the morning, when we proceeded to send the boys home with hugs and the exchange of phone numbers.

We hung out with them a few more times, and talked fairly often, later befriending their sweet female friend, who had been too busy making out to play games with us. It was a legendary night, one that would be later be referenced in that time we picked up a girl at the bar. Memories like this one remind me of summer, good friends, and how refreshing it can be to meet those who aren't about hooking up at bars, but who are truly about getting to meet new people.

That, and I miss flip-flop weather. *sigh

An unexpected love letter

Dear Roomie's Boyfriend,

I don't know if you know this, but you are pretty great. My girl has been through a lot of crappy men in her lifetime, and it pleases me to no end that you are not another one of Them. You listen to what she has to say, you get her, and most importantly, you give her a break from feeling like she needs to fix people all of the time. You make sure she makes time for herself.

I know many of Roomie's friends haven't been super supportive, or confident, in this relationship. Age difference has that effect on people. The thing with our girl though is, while she can be immature at times, she is grown up beyond her years. Antoine de Saint-Exupery said that love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction. I feel like, for the first time in as long as I've known her, she finally has that. Actually, I don't just feel it, I know it.

Roomie is pretty outgoing, she's known for being sexually adventurous and open, she's honest about everything and keeps nothing hidden. I've heard more than I ever wanted to know about her boyfriends' man parts. But you know what? I haven't heard about yours. Don't think that I want to hear about yours (gross!), but I think that this is pretty significant. Instead of bragging about the size of your meat, or complaining because the lack thereof, she talks about how amazing it is to kiss you. Previously, she had mentioned that she didn't understand the big deal about kissing, that its place is as the precursor to the main event. But with you, it's all she talks about. How sweet you are, how she gets butterflies when your lips touch and how being with you is unlike anything she's ever felt.

Our girl tends to lose herself in relationships. She feels the need to censor herself, or devote all of her time and attention to the new guy, or hide some awesome part of her that he's not keen on. The best thing I could ever say about your relationship is that this doesn't happen. She's still the old roomie, her completely lovely self. I love that you want to meet her friends, and that you invited the Boy and I along to the comedy club last week. I love that you're coming to our not-really-fancy-but-kinda-pretend-fancy wine and cheese party this weekend, meeting lots of people who you've never met before. You realize that Roomie's friends are important to her, and you encourage her to keep those relationships alive. Even better, you want to get to know the people she talks about.

I just wanted to let you know that I really hope you are The One for her. She's found a good thing in you, and you've definitely found something wonderful in her.

...And if you ever break her heart, I will cut you.

xoxo, Elle

It's the Economy, Girlfriend!

I'm not a radical feminist. I believe in a woman's choice, in pretty much all sense of the word. I used to get into heated arguments where I'd subconsciously grab the hair and smack the bitches who suggested that any woman who didn't work for a living was going against everything feminists fought for. Um, I'm sorry, I thought they fought for equity and the right to be treated the same as everyone else, my bad. If a woman truly wants to stay home and raise her family, I say it's an important job like any other, and a decision that should be supported.

The thing that makes me angry is when any woman (or man for that matter, really) gets the whole entitlement attitude about them. This is precisely why this article made my blood boil. Sure enough, I probably should have let it go and not clicked on the blog. But I did. For the same reason that I continued going to my Feminist Philosphy classes. For some reason, I really like to be pissed off. I was hoping that there'd be some kind element to the girls that I could relate to, or even understand, but nope.

I can't stand the one who married a finance guy saying, "his friend told me that I need to support him and let him know I love him so he's not dead by 35... this is not what I signed up for". I can't stand the one from the conversation below, whining that her boyfriend won't take her on expensive trips because his wife is checking the finances.

Suddenly, I found myself being taken out less and less frequently. A recent argument went along these lines:
Me *pouting*: You haven’t taken me on a trip since we went to Bermuda in September. What’s going on?
Charles: Honey, finances are tight right now so my wife has taken it upon herself to check up on all of our accounts. She will notice any big expenditures.
Me *cute voice*: Wellllllllllllll, what are you going to do to make it up to me?
Charles: Can we talk later sweetheart? I’m really busy right now.
Me: No. Give me an answer NOW. Don’t you realize what you have? I’m way too hot to be treated like this.
Charles *yelling for the first time in our almost two-year relationship*: I’VE GOT TO FIRE TWENTY PEOPLE BY THE END OF THE WEEK. Z has four kids, X just had a baby girl, Y just sent his son to college and I’ve got to get rid of two of those guys… and you’re complaining about vacations and dinner? God, you are so 24! GROW UP!
Me *stunned*: Okie dokie, let’s talk later lover.

Girls who have this kind of "I'm so pretty, I deserve to be spoiled!" mentality make steam come out my ears. Really, that's the only reason why you're in this relationship or this marriage? And actually, in the marriage vows there's usually some kind of "for better or worse, for richer or poorer" line. Did you not mean them? It shows such a lack of compassion and lack of understanding on the part of these girls, who care more about bottle service and Bergdorfs than about the men who they're in the relationships with. Both the Boy and I have had our respective organizations talk about cutting jobs, and really, I'll be there for him no matter what happens, as I know he'd be there for me. I'm with him because of who he is, not because of his paycheque. I'm with him because of the qualities he has, the ones that wouldn't let him allow a situation like that to ruin him. The whole point of relationships is for them to be supportive, to love someone through good times and tough times.

These DABA girls, and the women who wrote in to them in support of their lifestyles and incessant whining, make all women look bad.

Not quite the first

I've already told the tale of my first kiss, but it's Monday Memories day, so I thought I'd share my second.

I went into tenth grade with a plan. The Ontario government had decided that it was doing away with OAC (grade 13) and that the year I finished highschool would be its last. This decision would result in a dramatic influx of students graduating my year, and because I am not fond of competition, I was going to get out fast. It would mean a lot of trickery, like taking my necessary grade 13 credits in grades 10-12 and taking grade 11 and 12 English at the same time. It would mean missing out on things that I would have liked to do, but that weren't necessary courses to take, such as photography and family studies (aka the class where you carry around the screaming doll). I wasn't in love with highschool, so the thought of getting out in four years rather than five worked for me.

Grade 11 English Writing (which I took that year, in grade 10) was quite possibly my favourite class ever. Mr. B was the most hilarious teacher, he once forced my grade 9 class to purposely snort while laughing just to send us on a laughter rollercoaster (once you start laughing at people snorting, the laughter is impossible to stop), he opted to have us act out the whole of Midsummer's Night Dream rather than doing any grammar, he plied my friend and I with chocolate-covered coffee beans when he spotted us in the hallways, and we had a class where we did nothing but turn out the lights and tell ghost stories. With my love of writing, and my adoration of him, this class was bound to be a success. I didn't even anticipate meeting my first "official" boyfriend there (more official than having your whole relationship last the length of recess, or longer, but without actually hanging out or talking, as was the style in elementary school).

Brent was a comedian with a sensitive side. We sat beside each other, spending much time reading Matt Good's manifestos, and chatting, and not quite so much time writing. This was fully acceptable in this class. I worked with Brent's ex-girlfriend. Customers constantly mixed us up, thinking that they had been talking to one of us when really it was the other, regulars would think one of us had been working the longest shift in the history of coffee-pouring, merely because we looked somewhat alike. It didn't hurt that we both had the hideous uniform and a ponytail. Sarah and I became fast friends, and it's only 900-and-something days until I'll be walking down the aisle at her wedding as her Maid of Honour, a job she bestowed upon me because "any trouble we got into we did it together, so I know you won't give yourself up and tell embarrassing stories about me!". She ended her relationship with Brent because she had a thing for one of his best friends, the man she'll be marrying in July of 2010.

Apparently, Brent saw the similarities in Sarah and I. As we started to hang out in a group, he started spending more time around my locker and wrote me love notes. One day, he had a pack of SweetTarts in class, and I took a blue one when he offered, telling him that they were my favourite. The next day, he brought me every last blue SweetTart that he had uncovered in the roll. It was the sweetest thing my 15 year-old self had ever experienced. It was young, dizzying, puppy love.

My aunt and uncle lived in town, and I'd stay there when I had to work in the morning, to save my parents the trip. It became routine that he'd walk me back to their place after hanging out with the gang. We flirted constantly, he poetically attempted to woo me, the only thing stopping us from being an out-and-out couple was the fact that he didn't have the nerve to break up with his short-term girlfriend. I know. Me, being the good girl I was, refused to let him make a move while she was in the picture.

Eventually, she found out that he liked me and took care of things for him. We were in the clear. The butterflies that had accumulated all of that time had been easy to tame with the constant reminder that he was taken, but now that there was nothing restraining us, those assholes were fluttering around all over the place. One night, he walked me "home" as per usual, stopping to kiss my hand and be his charming self, and we sat on my aunt and uncle's porch for hours talking. Hours. As the sky started to lighten, he finally got the nerve to place his lips on mine. And that's when the bathroom light went on and I nearly jumped out of my skin thinking my aunt or uncle would come outside looking for me. God forbid they find me outside kissing a boy! A couple sweet, innocent kisses later, I was sneaking into the house to catch a couple hours of sleep before work, completely infatuated.

Our little relationship didn't last long, as I don't take peoples' crap and he ended up being fluent in bullshit, but those moments of anticipation and innocent flirtation made my little heart beat, beat, beat.

In an epic too small to be tragic

He was my first relationship that lasted longer than approximately six weeks. It was over a year of the Tragically Hip in the CD player. Not my first love, I tend to fall easily, but it was the first significant one. One with talk of someday. My mother adored him, questioning me to ensure I made the right choice in breaking up with him. He was responsible, charming, and he had a plan.

I used to think he was a good guy, but not the guy for me; later, I decided he wasn’t that good after all. He was someone who seemed to listen to me. But when he stated my opinion back, it morphed into something that was not mine at all. It became exactly what he believed. We couldn’t have differing opinions. And he was “so glad I wasn’t a feminist.” I am a feminist. I firmly believe that any woman wanting the most for her gender is.

He decided what we did, where we did it, and who we did it with. Which if you know me, and the fact that I tend to not care, it’s not a huge surprise. Only he decided even when I had a strong opinion about it, like the time I was sick and wanted to stay home but he made me go to the Drive-In anyway. “I’ll go pack some food and blankets, you think about it.” I got heat stroke from climbing the Sand Hills. Feet burning from hot sand. Tears streaming down my face. He never let me quit. I was so mad.

When I disagreed with him, and made it a point to let him know I disagreed, he got angry. Yelling, door slamming, angry. He’d never raise a hand to me, but he hurt me in other ways. Subtly. He was always the guy claiming he was a good guy, as if that gave him an excuse to be a jerk. “You’ll never find anyone as good as me.”

We got back together a couple times, just because it was easy. After being with someone so long, it was hard to have no one. He tried to romance me, and I cried. He thought I was overwhelmed, really I had realized how over it was. How I no longer had any feelings for him. It was the fact that he was willing to fight for things, and I wasn’t, that broke my heart.

He was good looking, but he became so ugly to me. “My female friends all find me attractive, so I don’t believe that you don’t anymore. You must be a lesbian.” If it makes you feel better, you can try to believe it, I said.

Armed with a strong, smart woman to commiserate with, I was able to say goodbye. And later helped her to the same to a similar man of hers. Over drinks at the Barking Frog, we wondered how to be single again. Laughed about the undesirable prospect of dating. Cursed. Hysterics because he took my vibrator but left his TV. “If he can’t make you happy, he figures you can’t make you happy,” she snorted.

He was wrong. I found someone far greater than he ever was. Someone who appreciates me, and shows it. Someone who gave me the most adorable Poinsettia for no reason at all. Someone who makes me sandwiches. Someone who asks me about my day, and is genuinely interested in what I have to say. Someone who will have drunken debates about economics, energy and politics with me. Someone who will agree to disagree, while agreeing that disagreeing is okay. Someone who is glad that I’m a feminist. Someone who I love more every day. Someone who is one of the most beautiful individuals, inside and out, I’ve ever known. Someone with whom I have many somedays. Someone who has come to hang out with me on my couch when I’m sick. Someone I can fight with. Fighting because we care. Someone I can build a life with. A future.

I remember months after. “I’ve ever been friends with my exes, but I want to be friends with you.” Me talking him through dating again, though I’m sure it was a half-assed attempt to make me slightly jealous. His dismay and wonder at the fact that I wasn’t dating. “I’m not ready,” I said. “I told you I needed to figure out me, what I want, and what my goals are, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.” It’s exactly what I did. And in doing so, I realized he was never someone I would be friends with. It’s a little strange that he’s getting married to that girl he told me about years ago. I wish them well. It’s the reason I broke things off, so he could find someone who loved him as much as everyone deserves to be loved. I’m glad he found it.

I did.

[Mis]adventures in dating

Since Kaye has been on a dating binge lately, it’s been making me look back on my own dating [mis]adventures.

This morning, as I was crossing the street on my way to work, I spotted a guy who looked so much like one of these hilarious dating disasters I was immediately transported back to high school.

I like my boys nerdy. I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone. But this boy had recently traded in his coke-bottle glasses for contact lenses and had the bluest most beautiful eyes my teenaged heart had ever seen. He was smitten with me, and because I had nothing better to do, I gave him a chance.

We didn’t do a whole lot other than hang around while waiting for our respective parental units to pick us up from choir practice. We may or may not have grabbed coffee with a group of other people at Timmy’s, we met up at a party where we went with separate groups of people. Usual high school things. We went on our first, and last, real date one evening to see a movie at the small theatre in town.

The J.Lo. flop The Cell was playing and we were the only people in the theatre. About ten minutes into the movie, the lights went on and remained that way for the remainder of the “film”. It was awkward to say the least. No funny business took place. I was a goody-goody book worm, virginal and pure.

But that’s not what he told his friends.

In a small town, in a high school where everyone knows everyone, it’s probably not smart to brag to your friends about something that never happened. Telling your friends that the girl you took out was all over you, and detailing the dirty things you wish she had done, is so not cool. Needless to say, I found out about his lies and refused to go out with him again.

That’s when the real fun started.

He didn’t want to accept that we were over, while I refused to acknowledge that we had even started. One night, after choir, he handed me a stack of loose leaf papers. Handwritten journal entries. About me. Only with my name painted over in Wite-Out. Also, anywhere that he had written “date”, he painted over and replaced it with “meeting”. I don’t know what he attempted to prove by giving me these private letters to himself, but they were absolutely hilarious.

And I showed them to all my friends.

Tell me more, tell me more (like does he have a car?)

One of the best parts about being not only an older sister, but an older sister in a couple, is hearing the adventures of the baby's dating life. Though dating is not always a fun endeavor, it's fun to be told swoon-worthy stories of cute boys and adventures with them.

After waking up yesterday to a text message telling me to check my Facebook mailbox for details, I've been looking forward to the "what's next" of Kaye's dating life. Ahhh, the excitement. So far, nerdy engineering boy + Guitar Hero = much potential. I should know, that's how my relationship started out (though it was Rock Band).

All I have to offer Kaye in return for her stories, is this article. These women are doing amazing, very important work. Even more important is that they're doing it without judging. Their concern is for the health of these women during their pregnancies and the health of their babies.

Using $95,000 from the Public Health Agency of Canada, a part-time nurse and two street-smart outreach workers find homeless, pregnant women. They help them get medical care and test them for syphilis to prevent the sexually transmitted disease from making their babies sick.

It's a very interesting, very insightful article. I fully recommend it.

Why dating blows...

...and why it's a world I never want to ever go back to (that, and you know, I love the Boy).

Spawned from a conversation today with a good friend.

This is why dating blows. It's not so much the meeting people or even the games as it is all the little hits that your ego takes while people reject you. You know they're not the right person because of it and each hit is only tiny but they add up and make it hard to be strong. It's why I appreciate the great people in my life, like you, because they make it easier to stand tall. I'll find my man but I'm not worried about it because I'm not alone.

Each little hit builds up to something so big that makes you question everything about your self and wonder if you'll ever find that Prince Charming. It has the ability to take you from a strong, confident, intelligent woman to a babbling maniac who constantly complains that no man will ever love you. It creates cat ladies. It makes you feel like you have no one to depend on, even when you don't need anyone to depend on but yourself.

It's why you need good friends to remind you how fabulous you are.

What constitutes cheating?

The Duchess of Kickball asked this question yesterday... and I thought I'd further this conversation over here, since I didn't really want to write a novel in her comments.

I had a problem with this once. I'd like to say that I have never, would never cheat. It's a pretty shameful thing. Because it happened so long ago, I tend to forget it ever happened in the first place. It wasn't that I'd go around making out with other guys at parties or anything. It wasn't a physical thing at all. If you don't kiss, it's not cheating, right?

Wrong.

It was purely an emotional thing. It started out fairly innocently as a friendship, became a little flirty, turned into something where I would tell this other person things I wouldn't tell my boyfriend at the time. The Other just seemed to get me. He was supportive. He listened to what I had to say. He gave advice only when it was solicited, and when he did, it was only a suggestion and not that he was telling me what to do. All excellent qualities that were lacking in my relationship.

In my opinion, that's how cheating works. You find someone who has something that your relationship or significant other doesn't. Whether it's that emotional, supportive relationship or whether it's a chemistry, sexual attraction type of relationship. Anything that you feel like you have to hide from a significant other should be a big, red flag that something is going on that's not on the up-and-up.

It doesn't even necessarily mean that the person you are with is not the person you should be with. It could just mean that you have to work at taking those things that you crave from someone else and find a way to incorporate them into your existing relationship. Communicate.

Though, on the other hand, it could be a sign that you're just not as compatible with your boyfriend as you initially thought. It's easy to hide the problems in a person when you're getting satisfaction elsewhere. There's no reason to break up with him, was a common excuse for me. On top of that, everyone I knew thought we were so perfect together. I forgot that the whole getting-my-support-elsewhere thing was perfect reason to break up.

Bottom line is: if you feel like things are less than optimal in the relationship you've got either attempt to fix them or get out. Cheating is not just a sexual thing, it's any relationship where there's "more than friendship" going on.

How time flies...

It's been one year since this night.

Having enough of those mysterious drinks in that red cup to kiss that boy that I had a crush on and didn't realize I had a crush on (though he knew it, and Roomie had been telling people I did for months). A sleepover with a grand total of five, fully-dressed (of course!), intoxicated Halloweeners in my bed. Not having enough of those red-cupped drinks to prevent us from ever seeing each other again.

Date with the Night

Ah, Date night last night.

It's been a while since I've been out and about and going on dates... which is probably why I agreed to go on this one in the first place. However, it merely convinced me of two things I already knew:

1) Dude was really nice and everything went fine, but I'm just not that into him.
2) I really am not a fan of dating.

I'm surrounded by girls who tend to measure themselves with the amount of interest that accumulates around them and I'm just not one of these. In my girl-power, independent woman way, I'm entirely alright with not having a boyfriend or anything. My last uber-serious relationship ended because I got sucked into it and forgot what I wanted out of life... hell, if I was still in it, I would still be living around London (Ontario, not UK). I'm so much better off out here, knowing what I want, working towards my own happiness.

Lately, I've been trying to explain this to Kik, one of the sisters. At 18, she seems to think that if she doesn't have a boyfriend, she's undesirable. Please! There are so many beautiful, intelligent women out there making themselves crazy over the male population. I'd rather just go with the flow and ride that wave when it hits.