Bikini-Bod

I've been thinking a lot about self image, about what's healthy, and what's maybe sort of expected of women. A lot of people seem surprised that I'd put pictures of myself on the internet in a bikini, considering I don't have a Gisele-like physique (actually, to hell with Gisele, I dream of having Stacy's body). Are we expected to be ashamed of our bodies if we have more than 2% body fat? And, hey, I use an anti-cellulite cream just like everyone else (not that it works). Certainly I (sometimes) have moments of dissatisfaction with my body, usually on a Friday night when I'm standing in front of my closet in my underwear bitching on the phone to Jill about having nothing to wear. But otherwise (and especially) when camping or running around in a two-piece (and anytime I'm naked) I feel great about my body. I don't know why, but when I'm drinking a cold beer and swimming in the freezing water and soaking up the warm sun my skin feels so good I just don't feel fat in it. So maybe that's what it's about, being happy with an imperfect body because it feels good and it's healthy and it can do amazing things, even without a six-pack.

Irons In The Fire

One of my girlfriends has two boyfriends. I say that with absolutely no judgment, she's not a shady lady, and if either of these men was giving her everything she needed she wouldn't need both of them, and if either of them had a problem with this she would rethink the situation. You see, she's not cheating, she's just keeping some irons in the fire. It's a pretty good policy I think. And one I used to adhere to as well, I'd always date at least three men at a time. It keeps you busy, you don't get too serious too fast, you don't end up obsessing about any one man in particular or wondering why he hasn't called because you're busy out with another one. As a matter or principle I think it's the healthy thing to do. What's the point of committing to one person you barely know, when you could get to know several people and find out if any of them are actually worth getting involved with. Some ethical questions certainly arise here, and I think the answers are personal choices. If you are dating several men do you explicitly tell them all or in this day and age is it implied? Do you sleep with one, or any of them? Do you introduce them to your friends? Like I said, that's up to you. What I like about the irons-in-the-fire mentality, is that the longer you date someone casually, the more you get to know them. If you aren't sleeping together and you have some other options, you might not be tempted to keep on with someone you don't really like just because you have nothing else going on. Usually when someone gets booted from the rotation it just makes room for someone new, but eventually one of your prospects might rise to the top and you may find yourself not wanting to date anyone else anymore. If so, woohoo. Now, as much as I like the irons-in-the-fire dating mentality, it can be exhausting. And it can be messy. So I've started to worry about my girlfriend a bit; how long can you keep up with two boyfriends? It's got to be tough, but hey, she's a tough girl, and she's got more energy than me.

Who's The Boob, Me Or The Tube?

As you are well aware, in a few months time I'll be packing up and relocating to Chicago. I am more than excited about this for many reasons, but the biggest reason (today at least, it seems to change regularly) is the opportunity to change my lifestyle. Right now I'm bogged down with grad school stuff. I work a long day, more often than not lately I take work home, and work all night while zoning out in front of the TV. I rarely used to watch TV, and never had cable until about 2 years ago when Monday Night Football moved to ESPN. Then I took the plunge; and while I used to listen to music, read everyday, take long walks with my dog, and visit museums, now I pretty much just watch Law and Order. All the time. So I have decided that the number one thing I am going to do when I move is leave my TV behind. I've really thought this through, any can't miss shows I can catch online, and Bronco games probably won't be shown in that new market anyway. I have a whole pile of books that have been waiting patiently for this semester to be over ...

Just How Much Do Opposites Attract?

Lately I've been thinking about the idea that opposites attract. I understand an initial attraction to someone who is different from you, the excitement, the rush of something new, a passport to a whole new world. But after the flush of newness has worn off, what chance do opposites have for happiness? And at what level does it really start to matter? Is it as basic as adventuresome foodie vs. picky eater? Or gym addict vs. couch potato? City slicker vs. country bumpkin? Is lifestyle choice more important? For instance, how do you spend your Sunday? Watching football? Camping in the back country? Strolling through farmers markets? Enjoying a museum? Sipping mimosas? Cleaning house and doing laundry? Are religious differences a concern? How about political differences? I don't have answers to any of these questions, but I'm a rather adventurous sort, so maybe I'll do some research and find out.

Questions

I have a journal (that I never write in) full of playful questions meant to provoke and inspire. I came across it the other day while I was looking for another book, and gave it a little flip though. I read this question and laughed out loud. Q: Once when you were ill and said you would change if only you got well again, what did you mean? A: Oh, the dangers of binge drinking. I wonder if binge drinking is a new phenomenon of if our grandfathers also binged but didn’t have such a politically correct, clinical word for it. Last time I was ill it was the direct result of a bender that was the direct result of my favorite girl in the world’s broken heart. Don’t judge, are you telling me the first thing you do after a break up isn’t get pretty and hit the town to get your flirt on? That’s what I thought. So we don our Thursday’s finest, hike up the girls, slick on some gloss, dig out the heels and the jeans that make your ass look like you spend at least six hours a week in the gym (I don’t), and hit the town. An order of mussels, $5 happy hour wine, then on to a couple of artisanal cocktails, a dark and stormy or two, a couple vodka & sodas, then pitchers and pitchers of beer. The particular bar we were patronizing is normally overrun with college aged boys on Thursday nights, but this particular night it was packed to the gills with attractive 30-ish men. I suppose this could have been a beer goggles situation, but an abundance of hottitrons is the way I like to remember it. I also remember that we were the only girls in the bar. Now, I know this can’t be true, but I can honestly say we took no notice of any other women in the joint. We’d only been there an hour before we both had our little harems set up. Jill on one side of the bar, playing skee-ball with her group of admirers, me on the other with mine, watching basketball and pelting them with peanuts (we were at The Walrus). This is where things get a little dicey. The next three or so hours of the night are gone, pfssst, vanished. I do know at five-thirty that morning Jill and I woke up, fully clothed (thank god!) in a hotel room with three strangers (two men, one woman) to the not-so-dulcet tones of the hotel’s fire alarm. I guess she left then, I went back to sleep until about 8 when I had to hard-core walk of shame it out of there. I mean hard-core. Knee-high boots, mascara smeared all across my face, bra stuffed in my purse, and some serious bed head. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, preferably before any of the strangers woke up so as to avoid any awkward conversation, so I grabbed my bag and figured I’d use the bathroom lobby. I forgot about the (very nice) hotel’s (very large) lobby. I clip-clap-clopped across it’s expansive hardwood floor in my stilettos, trying my best not to garner the attention of the businessmen and hotel staff who I am absolutely sure, at this point, think I’m a hooker; cleaned up the best I could and made my way to the car. I drove the whole way home with the air conditioner on full blast, praying I’d make it home before I got sick. I made it as far as my parking lot, parked the car, and threw up in the bushes 20 feet from my apartment. What followed that day was worse than any hangover I ever had after any frat party in college. It was worse than any New Years Day. It was worse than any day I can remember. I have never been so miserable. I’ll spare you the details. Jill was in equally bad shape. We both called in hung over to work and spent the day on our respective couches occasionally calling each other and wondering how we ended up in such bad shape. In retrospect, it’s no wonder we got so sick the next day, but, hindsight is 20-20. I literally cried I was so sick. I swore, that day, I’d never drink that much again. I swore I’d never wake up in a stranger’s hotel room again, whatever the circumstances. I swore I’d change my ways. Harrumph.

Rice Prices

What's hotter than making out to Fiona Apple? I can't think of a thing... maybe making out to NPR. Oh Marketplace, talk nerdy to me.

Nonsense

Would someone please explain to me why I'm afraid of bugs. I don't understand. I am a non-nonsense kind of gal. But still, every single time I kill a bug I shudder. And please don't leave me any comments about how wrong it is to kill bugs because we're all god's creatures. I don't care, no bugs in my house.

California or Chicago?

Lately I have been singularly focused on work. Work now (finishing up eleventy-five homework assignments, finishing my research and writing my damn thesis) and work in the future (What, where, for whom and for how much). Work now is just some sludge that I have to muck through to get to the greener pastures. This building, these labs in which I spend all of my time, feel like they are shrinking. The people here are driving me mad. I am just itching to be done. I could bitch and moan about it, but instead I’ll focus on bright side. The bright side being, now that I have a deadline, a goal, and actual end in sight, I have renewed motivation to get this over and done with. Work in the future is super exciting. I’m waiting to get an offer from the company in California (sometime this week). I am obsessed. Every time I check my e-mail (which is about every five minutes these days) I’m not checking to see if a friend or cute boy has dropped me a note. I am looking out for one thing and one thing only. This weekend, during the Beerfest (a spontaneous, spur of the moment thing, I’d grounded myself for the duration of the weekend, but I have weak resolve) I watched Jill and Kristy flirt with cute boys from the sidelines, barely paying attention. Instead I was making pro and con lists in my mind. I changed the topic of almost every conversation to ‘California or Chicago?’ I have until May 1 to make a decision. Hopefully once that happens, I’ll get my brain back.

A Few Things I Learned This Weekend:

A Few Things I Learned This Weekend: Three dogs is two dogs too many for this girl. Going on a date with a boring guy who is really nice is still going on a date with a boring guy. A push-up bra + a tiny top = free drinks (I suppose I knew this once, but it's been a while). Room service is the tops. Drunk girls are annoying, and they look ridiculous. Unless you are also drunk, in which case you are all excellent dancers. I love going to bed at 9 pm.

I'm SO Not Going

I just got an invitation/announcement for my 10 year reunion. I think instead I'll just get drunk and watch Romy and Michele's High School Reunion again.

Delete

A few months ago The Boy dropped completely off the face of the earth. Not that I really blame him. There was the unfortunate "job" incident, the drunken Christmas cards, the mixed messages, and the fact that we never once hung out while we weren't wasted. Still, when I found out he started dating a 42 year old I'll admit I felt a little rejected. But there was still MySpace, and The Crazy. Between his MySpace updates, friend status', and bulletins I want to smack him in the mouth. So I did what might be the utmost in passive aggressive childish behavior. I deleted him from my MySpace friends.

Gathering Dust

Last June, Foss General Store, a Golden landmark, closed it's doors to business. Prior to closing they had a huge going-out-of-business sale. I took advantage of the sale to stock up on non-perishable necessities. I bought bottles of contact solution, the lotion I like to use, toothpaste, deodorant all for 80% off. What can I say, I'm cheap. I went home with boxes of stuff, my medicine cabinet stocked to the gills. I also stocked up on condoms. Pleased as punch with my bargain hunting, I told Jill about it that night. She laughed at me, and made a joke about how, now that I had all those condoms I'd probably never have sex again. We laughed and ordered another round of drinks. If I'd only known. Fast forward to March 14, 2008. I haven't used a single one! Those boxes of condoms sit untouched, stacked in my medicine cabinet, mocking me every day. Every single day, but especially on days like today when I break out yet another bottle of contact solution (my third since June), but those boxes sit, unopened and collecting dust. Just like something else I can think of, but don't need to mention. You're smart folks, you can make that inference yourselves.

Cookies!

You remember how, when you were little, your mom would be cooking dinner, and about twenty minutes before it was ready she'd catch you nosing around in the cupboards and just as you're about to eat a cookie she'd say "Don't eat that you'll ruin your appetite!" Well it's awesome now that we're grown-ups, there's no one to stop you from eating all the cookies you want. Although, there's also no one to keep you from ruining your appetite.

Gray Area

I think the most frustrating thing, when you are interested in someone new, especially someone you don't really know, is the ambiguous reference to a woman. Having many male friends myself, I don't automatically assume if he mentions a woman that she is a girlfriend. But you have to admit it is a real possibility. Unless he says "My sister Donna," "My friend Annabel," or "My coworker Lynette," it's a real gray area. All of those names sound like they are straight out of Beach Blanket Bingo, apparently it is 1965. Anyway, it's a little too obvious to ask, "Who's Anette? Your sister?" Then you risk sounding all hopeful and desperate. And while the whole rejection thing doesn't really bother me, I'm not really trying to beat it's door down and shake hands. Maybe I should worry more about my date tonight than about whether or not some guy I don't even know has a girlfriend. Because frankly if I don't know him well enough to know if he is single, I probably don't know him well enough to have a little crush.

Getting Exactly What I Deserve

I'm writing this little missive at my favorite coffee shop in Golden. It is right next door to my office, a cute little place with great coffee and free Wi-Fi. Whenever I need to get away and get some work done without being interrupted I pack up my laptop and my i-pod and head over for a cup of joe. My favorite coffee shop guy works most weekday mornings, he's super friendly and always has a great recommendation about the day's coffee selections. He's probably about 50 years old and it's always nice to chat with him before settling down to get a little work done. But I digress... So Friday night I met Jill and Sameera out in Denver. We were going to have a nice, quiet cocktail some good conversation and catch up with some quality time. Oh, the best laid plans. We had a great night out, many cocktails, dancing, flirting with all the cute boys we met. I meet a cute guy, we dance, we flirt and then, nearing the end of the end of the evening, around bar time, I make a game time decision. I decide to take the plunge and say goodnight to the ladies and head home with Mr. Wonderful. Well the rest of the night might as well serve as a public service announcement as to why one night stands are a terrible idea. First of all I should remind you about my number one rule when dating, no bartenders, musicians or athletes. Maybe that sounds a little judgmental, but I've made the mistake often enough (most recently with The Bartender) to know better. Or at least I should know better. Turns out Mr. Wonderful is an unemployed struggling musician who just got fired from his bar tending job (of 2 years!) at a douchey Denver night club. You'd think that would be enough for me to rethink this little venture, but no, I'm a real glutton for punishment tonight. We get to Mr. Wonderful's house which is, incidentally, a short walk from my favorite coffee shop in Golden. Making small talk I notice a few pictures of him holding a teeny-tiny baby, I remark on the baby's cuteness, to which he replies that it is his baby, and he's a month old. He then tells me that his "Baby-momma" lives in Wisconsin which is too bad because babies are great for picking up chicks. I'm rendered speechless at this point, when he pulls out the futon in the living room. I'm a little taken aback by this, so I ask what he's doing. And here it comes. He sleeps in the living room here because he just moved in with his dad and he doesn't have a bedroom. WTF?! Who brings a girl home to the couch in their dad's house? I can't even tell you how disturbing this was. The look on my face no doubt betrayed my horror because he says "No worries, my dad's cool." At this he gestures to his gigantic bong sitting on the coffee table. All this was just too much for me, and needless to say, despite my intentions to the contrary I am still celibate. I am such a disaster with men that I can't even successfully have a one night stand. If I'd have thought of it I would have walked to my office and crashed there, but all those cocktails had (obviously) impaired my judgment so I slept there on the couch. In the morning Mr. Wonderful is telling me a *hilarious* story about how he was planning on going over to his ex-girlfriend's place but then he met me and I'm "way hotter than her" so he changed his game plan. I'm thinking this whole scenario can't get any worse. And then it did. All I could think of was getting a cup of coffee. I ask Mr. Wonderful to give me a lift home. This is when he tells me that he can't because he and his dad share a car (the minivan from the night before) and his dad took it to work early this morning. He'd be home at 11 at which time Mr. Wonderful could drive me home. I don't really like this plan. For one thing, Mr. Wonderful's dad has already seen me asleep on the couch, sorry, the futon, when he left for work. I don't want to have to make awkward polite chit-chat with the dad when he gets home from work. Also I'd really like to leave before 11. I'd like to leave right now. While I'm rethinking my exit strategy, I ask what his dad does to work such odd hours. Would you like to know what Mr. Wonderful's dad does? Mr. Wonderful's dad is my favorite coffee shop guy. Serves me right. Thankfully he's not working this morning.

Today on Post Secret

Do you guys ever read Post Secret? I do every Sunday. I get my coffee ready and settle down to read people's secrets. I love reading them, some are super serious, some are frivolous. Sometimes people's deepest secrets are things I would never be ashamed of, sometimes people's secrets are my secrets, and sometimes I read people's secrets and they make me think about my secrets that I don't even admit to myself. Photo via Post Secret This one made me think about one of those secrets that I keep hidden. I think this secret's time has come. Our big breakup was years ago, I got over it years ago too. I even thank my lucky stars that things didn't work out between us. But I always secretly hoped he regretted it. Today I'm going to stop doing that. I've held on to this residual grudge long enough. From now on I am going to hope that his life is everything he ever dreamed it would be and that he is wildly happy with his choices. I'm going to stop feeling guilty that we didn't work just a little harder on the relationship. I am going to accept once and for all how fortunate we both are that we didn't stay together. And I am going to truly start believing that one day I'll fall in love again. Maybe.

No Premium on Modesty Around Here

I think I might be even less modest now than I was two years ago. I can't believe it either, I didn't think it was even possible, yet here we are. Interviewing has always been my thing, I'm excellent on first dates too. I think it has something to do with the unabashed self-promotion involved in both the situations. My two interviews this morning felt good. I may not be what they are looking for, or they may not be what I'm looking for, at this point only time will tell, but they felt good. One thing became glaringly clear to me this morning. I have never been as comfortable in my own skin as I am now. For the first time I am proud of my education, I feel smart, I know what it is that I want and what I’m looking for. I feel articulate, assertive and engaging.

The glaring difference in the interviews I am having now and the ones I had right after undergrad is that now I have some serious options. I don’t feel desperate for someone to hire me; I’m looking for the right fit.

I guess over the last few years I really have started to believe that with some hard work, everything happens the way it should. I guess for the first time in my life I am starting to have some faith in… something. Maybe it’s faith in me, which would be a huge step in the right direction.

Fight or Flight

I've been thinking a lot lately about the whole marriage and kids thing. What a major decision. At the end of a long day, all I want to do is get home, cook up some supper, and sit down on the couch. I don't want to compromise on dinner or share the remote. I don't feel like talking to anyone. I want to read my book or write a little. Maybe I want to knit or drink wine in a bubble bath. I might watch a Keeping Up With the Kardashians marathon and pick my nose for a while. Make a big bowl of popcorn for dinner and lay in bed watching DVD's on my laptop. I'm not ready to give up this strange behavior, and I expect I'd have to were I to marry. This is one reason that I'm not just happy, but some days I'm down right relieved I'm single. At a party on Saturday night with maybe 12 couples I found myself a little overwhelmed. Not because I felt lonely but because it occurred to me just how big a commitment marriage is. I find some solace in the absolute truth that I haven't met the right person yet. I know this absolutely because I've not met someone for whom I'd be willing to make these compromises and change my ways. I'm certain I will get married, everyone does, but the idea of spending the rest of my life with any of the men I've dated in the past is laughable. To the point where I'm starting to wonder if my terrible dating choices aren't so much just bad decisions but some kind of sub-conscious commitment phobia. The idea of spending the next 60 years with one person actually makes my flight or flight response kick in a little. I guess I'm just not sure I'm looking to settle down just yet.

I'll Give You a Kick in the Pants

rs27 over at Your Beard is Good has bestowed upon me an award he made up, The Beardie, for The Best Picture Blog. I have to say, this completely fictitious award honoring what amounts to nothing more than my shameless vanity absolutely made my day. What can I say, I'm easy to please. I have decided that this is just the kick in the pants I needed to fulfill Lisa's request and re-post this picture (from 2006) of me bedecked in all my wonder Woman glory. Ha! I have Suzie to thank for immortalizing me in such a flattering way. I think 2007 was Wonder Woman's last hurrah. It may be because I don't have much of a life right now, it may be her impending return to the stage, but I think I've decided on 2008's costume already. I see lots of tequila shots in my future.

Friday Night Alone With Gus

I canceled my date with The Hippie tonight to stay home and read a book I've already read. It's such a funny thing, being single. It would be the easiest thing in the world to have a boyfriend if I didn't mind settling just a little bit. And really, you could hardly call it settling. The Hippie is a good looking, intelligent, successful guy. We have a fair amount in common, and like doing a lot of the same things. We can talk about work and understand each other because we are in related fields. He is interesting to talk to, and rather adventuresome. So what is holding me back? You could argue that nice guys finish last, but I'm not all together convinced he is a nice guy, not after everything that happened between us a few years ago. I really do feel like that isn't a big deal, he and I weren't ever close enough for me to hold a grudge. There is just something missing. That something just isn't there. I think it has a lot to do with this simple fact; he isn't funny. He doesn't make me laugh, he's too earnest. He is perfectly pleasant, but he's never made me cackle (I have maybe the worst laugh in North America), and I can't remember him ever even making me chuckle. We can stay up late and argue about politics and talk about climbing. We can make dinner and watch baseball together. But, as cliche as it may sound, what really does it for me is humor, and he's not funny. No amount of rationalization or even settling for just a little less will suffice. And I wouldn't want it to. My heart breaks just a little for everyone who might settle (even just a little) for whatever reason. And when it comes down to it, if I'd rather sit at home alone and read a book for the 21st time than go out climbing and grab a couple of beers, then it's just not going to happen.