Thursday, June 11, 2009

The Case of the Disappearing Skirt

Yesterday I was sent home from work because my skirt was too short. Seriously.

Now, I am no hussy (at least not during a weekday) and to say that this skirt was obscene would have been an overstatement at best. It was a mere 2 inches above the knee. I mean, my god, my mother bought it for me! But none the less, it was too much for the head of HR and I was sent home, humiliated, to change.

While I was less than pleased with being called out as I had so many times in grammar school when Sister Jackie would bring me into her office and make me kneel to check that my plaid uniform grazed the ground, I have to say I handled it a lot better than I may have years or even months ago.

I have always had a tendency to overreact, to spiral at the sign of conflict and dive into the worst possible conclusion. This has almost always been the case in my relationships with men, who are elevated in my mind too quickly and left with no where to go but disappointment.

And that was always the case with the X, who recently called things off with me for what I hope will be the final time. We have been going around in circles for almost seven years, making half-hearted stabs at a relationship and ending things in a thunderstorm of anger, hurt and blame whenever it got too real.

This time was different, or at least it feels different. This time feels less like a reaction and more like a choice. It is a terrible feeling to know that despite the investment of time and emotion, something just is not right and most likely will never be. There are moments when I still feel like the air is being sucked out of my lungs and I might collapse from the weight of missing him. But they are just moments, rather than days and this is something I can handle. There is also a bitter-sweet joy in it all. Knowing I have a clearer vision of what I am looking for and who I want to be. This hasn’t happened accidentally. It has been a conscious effort to strengthen myself and my emotional health.

I think that it is funny that as a society we have no qualms with spending countless hours and dollars trying to perfect our exterior but can too easily overlook the insides. These days I am really beginning to like the looks of the inner me.

And you know what – I looked pretty damn good in that skirt too.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Puerto Rico, Dad & The Three Day Rule

This morning my father emailed me about our up coming Father’s Day fishing trip and to inquire about my recent date with Puerto Rico. I could have told him about my steamy hot evening with the man that I suspect will be my short-lived foray into dirty paper back lust but for his benefit I simply replied:

“The date went really well. We actually went out again on Sunday to see a movie but he hasn’t called since so we will see….”

To this my father responded:

“Don’t worry he is operating out of the standard male play book - RULE -- 21.b section 8: clearly states no calls for 3 days after an initial date. Calls earlier than this time frame can result in the appearance of desperation and/or loss of relationship control. Note: The 3 day rule is considered 1 of the top 10 male dating rules.”

Now, I wasn’t actually concerned but found my father’s insight into the male mind particularly hilarious.

I shared this with V, my not so gay, gay-best friend. (I pretend he is gay, despite the fact that we dated, as it makes our relationship far less complicated and less awkward when in a drunken stupor he still tries to make out with me.)

This was V’s response to reading my father’s email:

“Hahaha! You know who established that rule…. Jesus! He waited 3 days!”

Me: “I knew it was all Jesus’ fault!”

V: “Seriously, if he had waited just one day people that hadn't seen him in a while would've been just like, ‘Hey JC, Waddup foo?’ But nooooo... He waited the perfect amount of time and showed up at a church. That earned him the title of Messiah.”

At this point I was rolling and thinking to myself that V might be one of the cleverest men I had ever met. I couldn’t understand how guys had not thought of this excuse earlier.

Me: “Please tell me you came up with that!!!”

V: “No, it was from How I Met Your Mother. Neil Patrick Harris said it…. I thought it was perfect, though.”

Now this is that part where I make some bratty, lewd comment about how Neil Patrick Harris is a gay best-friend I would more than happily make out with but I will go ahead and let him make the dirty comments:

Better than a Happy Ending

I had a roommate in college who refused to watch romantic movies if she new they had a happy ending. I always thought that it was ridiculous and part of her tortured artist persona but for her, they just didn’t seem realistic. “Love is not a fairy-tale,” she would say. These movies were the very reason women like me couldn’t find contentment in relationships.

Now I am not sure if that was the whole truth but I definitely have to admit a tendency toward high expectations. It’s not like I expect price charming to come sauntering up to me on a big white steed or to have a love life filled with wine and roses.

Believe me at this point, I feel like if I get out of an evening without a minor disaster, I am ahead of the curve. I may not have found my soul mate yet but I have picket up a dating merit-badge or two and plenty of stories that range from the absurd to the truly unbelievable. Hopefully enough to be entertaining if not educational.