confessions of a reformed husband hunter

Quick-- load up on Miss Frizzle's magic school bus, because I'm about to give you a sneak peek into my crazy brain.  Setting:  2008, spring.  Me at a party/bar.  I've just met a cute guy wearing something preppy.  We've flirtily exchanged the basics...age, where are you from, what do you do, etc.  The gears in my head are churning, turning, at the speed of light:  

Inhale.  [Montage flashing through head of picnics in the park, dinners out, sailing together, throwing snow balls at each other, kissing on the couch in front of the fire].  His parents, progressive and supportive, would find me a breath of fresh air with my country-mouse ways in their big-city existence.  I'd bake them cookies and win them over with my perfect manners. We'd wed in a small but tasteful wedding at a vineyard.  Every morning before another draining day at the office, I'd have his coffee ready just the way he liked it, and I would make sure dinner was ready before he got home.  I'd iron his shirts the way he liked them, and give him foot rubs on the weekends, and take our dog, a golden retriever named Kennedy to the vet.  We'd live just outside of the city with a big yard for our kids to run through, because I'm still scared of the city.  And that's what he'd love about me.  Exhale.

This was (a very, very, very exaggerated version of) me.  Until about a year ago, I was what you might call a "husband hunter."  Disillusioned by Disney movies and romance novels, I wanted a husband and marriage and kids, and I wanted it ASAP, by golly!  Now don't mistake me for a gold digger -- money wasn't what this is about, though certainly for some husband hunters it might be.  For me?  I wanted a husband and marriage because it would mean emotional security, and an end not only to my loneliness, but also the awful carousel that is dating.
 
On the surface, I never saw anything wrong with being a family-oriented girl who wanted to get married, settle down, start a family, have a few kids.  But there's a fundamental problem with all of this -- being "married" to the idea of being married doesn't allow for healthy relationships.  When you're forcing a guy into the role that you want without his consent, it's never going to end well.  [Cue: Awful story where Lindsey meets Harsh Reality.]

It's been a long and sometimes painful process, but I can now proudly call myself reformed.  I'm starting every type of a relationship with an open mind, and really focusing on connecting with the guys I meet.  We can choose the nature of our relationship together.  I'm enjoying my journey through life, and I'm not going to wait for the "I do" as a permission or signal for the beginning of emotional security and happiness.  Sure, I want a beautiful wedding someday, but I've already worked out a back-up plan... marrying myself!  Hopefully it doesn't come to that, but you never know.  Besides, I don't think living with myself for the rest of my life would be so bad at all!

Look for my wedding invitations in the mail circa 2025!

L<3

the beauty of brunch

Once upon a time, before the summer got absurdly busy and I wasn't in Ann Arbor for a single weekend for 2 months straight.... I had Brunch Crawl Sundays with my BFFAEAEAT (Best Friend Forever and Ever and Even After That, obviously) Harriet the Spy.  Basically, we'd meet up every Sunday for a fancy brunch, have a few too many mimosas, and begin a pub crawl.  There's really no way to say you're pub crawling on a Sunday without sounding like an alcoholic, so instead we sound like fatties who eat several brunches in a row.  I'm okay with that.

But why brunch, and not lunch?  Because brunches are perfect.  Let me count some ways:

1. Brunch feels like retirement.  Unlike the rest of the work week, when you're running around like crazy, brunch is about wasting time.  Taken out of context, driving across town, buying a newspaper, and waiting in line for an hour for food that you could have made at home seems pretty ridiculous.  But that's what's so fun about brunch-- wasting an entire morning around breakfast.
2. Brunch has unlimited alcohol.  And the menu is full of alcoholic drinks that are perfectly acceptable to drink before noon.  You're an alcoholic if you drink vodka with orange juice before noon, but champagne with orange juice or vodka and tomato juice?  You're a normal productive member of society.
3. You get to mix coffee with alcohol.  Inappropriate in nearly all social settings, this is just fun.
4. You get a fancy, creative meal for way less money than it would cost at dinner time.  
5.  Some would suggest that brunch links to getting laid.  It's a couples thing... lay in bed all morning being naughty and then go out for brunch.  Even years after someone cheats and the relationship ends, the connection is there, and it makes the quiche lorraine taste that much better. 

I'm counting down the weekends 'til my next Brunch Crawl (August 14...Birthday Brunch Crawl!), because this list just made me hungry.  Oh, and if you were wondering, my favorite brunch in Ann Arbor is at grange.

Get your brunch on this weekend!

L

a blog about blogs...

..so meta, right?  (Thank you G6 for teaching me a new word today). 

So apparently my little exercise in creativity is catching on.  Two of my friends have started blogging, obviously due to my Ever-So-Inspiring work here.  Check out Ryan Bingham's travel/life blog, and G6's funny picture blog.  [End free advertisements for friends]. Also, I've been a little slow on posts, so if there's anyone who wants a little outlet for creativity without actually creating an entire blog... let me know.  [End shameless solicitation for guest bloggers that would enable my laziness].

[End shortest blog post ever].
 
L

everyday is a great day

Well, maybe not.  But that's what our crazy high school health teacher used to tell us every day, one of his many catch phrases that you had to memorize for the final.  But today.... today is a great day.  My 4-inches-shorter-with-red-highlights hair rocks.  I'm so sparkly they can locate me in Ann Arbor from the space station without a telescope.  And I'm just feeling... happy!  I'm so blissed out on life that I'm practically levitating when I'm walking around town. 

Never mind that it's over 90 degrees and 90% humidity.  Forget that it's Art Fair and the traffic is terrible and my usual routine is thrown off.  Nothing can bring me down, because I'm walking on sunshine.  And I'm so giddy today that I'm dotting my "i"s with hearts.  Yeah, that's right, hearts. Happy Hump Day!

L <3

the magic in a haircut

My friend Third Degree and I are getting hair makeovers this week.  In fact, I'm getting my hair done in t-minus 94 minutes, and while I'm a little terrified, I'm mostly thrilled.  You see, I  believe that New Hair = New You.  And I'm not the only one-- Third Degree has decided that after a long, emotional roller coaster month, she needs a change.  A fresh start if you will.  And I've become a little bored with my party girl lifestyle.  I'm in a rut, and I feel like I'm losing my sparkle.  The solution to both of our problems, what we hope will be an impetus for change?  A new hairdo. 

For many, it's the "breakup haircut" a la Felicity, but it could just as well be the "moving on" haircut.  What you get out of the simple act of a haircut is indescribable.  It's a sense of liberation, an emancipation of that part of your life.  You're literally chopping off a part of you, and making a change.  Starting a new you-- because the old you is being swept up by the bottom-of-the-food-chain intern at the hair salon and thrown in the garbage bin.  Hasta la vista, baby.


The curious thing about the cathartic hair cut?  It seems that women are the only ones who subscribe to it.  There are slideshows dedicated to newly-single celebrity women who "Cut That Man Out Of Her Hair," but I have yet to see males changing their hairstyles because they've been dumped.  And I've pestered surveyed most of the men I know, and a new haircut doesn't even make the Top 10 List of Things to Change When Seeking Change.  (Results of the survey might be slightly skewed by one Ryan Bingham, who also admitted to never wanting to change, let alone change his hairdo).  Maybe it's because men don't have as much hair, so they generally can't lop off 6 inches for effect.  Or maybe it's because they see working on their Guns and Buns as being a better step towards change.  Give me your theories, because I really don't know.

At any rate, I'll be rocking a new look tonight, highlights and all.  (This is a Big Deal, as usually I don't even brush my hair, let alone get all fancy and color it).  And good or bad, it's just hair.  It'll grow back.  So here's hoping that having the confidence to try something new will pay off and help me reclaim my sparkle!

L

the zacklies

I'm not an adult.  I work 8-5.  I pay my car insurance.  I have retirement savings.  I pay my student loans.  I do that boring "adult" stuff.  But apparently, I also find it appropriate to go binge drinking on Hump Day.  Not so adult.  In honor of the massive hangover I'm sporting today, I present to you all the fun ways to describe/name a hangover (I'm so hungover I can't think about anything else):

1. "I feel like a homeless man spent the night in my mouth!"
2. The brown bottle flu.
3. Tap dancing on your brain
4. The Zacklies.  As in, your mouth tastes 'zackly like your butt.
5.  The morning tremblies.
6. "Did a monkey take a dump in my mouth last night?"
7. "My blood feels toxic"
8. The Irish flu
9. Punishment for not offering enough to the Great Porcelain God.
10. Run over by a truck.
11. Katzenjammer

That's all for today, folks.  I simply don't have much more in me.  I've been Katzenjammed.

L

PS:  Nice work to Third Degree, Muhammad Ali, and Rumpelstiltskin.  How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

but surprisingly...upbeat!!

It occurred to me last night that sometimes my friends might think of me like a little puppy-- entertaining, cuddly, funny, occasionally annoying, and (nearly) always happy.   I think my friends find my constant upbeat-ness a little irritating at times, especially when sh*ts goin' down... Please excuse my language.  But other people seem like they could use a little more happiness, even when sh*ts NOT going down.  So I'm here to share my secret theory of happiness:

Your mood doesn't have to be based on the number of good things and bad things that you're experiencing.  If you live life being content if and only if the good outweigh the bad, get ready for a long life of unhappiness-- you might not ever break even.  Abandon this method of mood determination and reclaim your happiness.  Stop waiting for the world to give you a reason to be happy, because...

You don't have to have a reason to be happy!  It might sound nutty, but take it from someone who's annoyingly happy for no reason 92% of the time (no one's perfect), this is a foolproof way to live!  Just try it-- wake up tomorrow and tell yourself that you're going to be happy.  And then when anything bad rolls your way, brush it off, instead of letting it consume you.  (Also, problems are easier to solve when you're not upset/unhappy).  So decide to be happy just because you want to be. And who doesn't want to be happy?

If this craziness is a little too much for you, take baby steps and be happy for the little things.  Be happy because 10 people read your blog post instead of just 5. If that boy you're crushing on sends you a text message, let that instant grin spread over your whole self and warm your heart, too.  Be happy because someone "liked" your Facebook status, or because it's sunny outside.  Take pleasure in the little things and use them to bolster your good mood, or turn around a bad mood.  Today, I switched my usual lunch of peanut butter and rice cakes for a salmon burger on a croissant.  And it totally recharged me from a crumby morning.

And if you're still trying to find a reason to be upbeat, come find me -- smiles are always contagious and you can bet I'm sporting one! :)

L

PS:  If you can name the movie I'm referencing with my title here, text me/call me/email me and I'll include you in my next post.  So get ready to be famous!  Just beware-- I'm the one creating the nicknames...

my battle with technophobia

I know that probably sounds weird, coming from someone who owns a Crackberry and posts fairly frequently on a blog, but it's really the truth.  I own a laptop that I haven't turned on in almost a year, and I don't use iTunes or have a real iPod -- I opt to have my sister Kiwi send me mixed CDs that I play on the boombox I used to lifeguard with, and she updates my 2nd generation iPod Shuffle at the holidays when I'm home.  I hate Kindles and I only like books.

My technological skills pretty much stopped progressing senior year of high school when I took Media Tech with our creepster "media specialist" Mr. Cupid.  Basically, it was an independent study where you learn to use Macs, Photoshop, video cameras, Final Cut Pro, Powerpoint, etc.  while occasionally being solicited to have a pizza party at your teacher's house.  I can't say that I remember much Final Cut Pro or Photoshop, but it seems easy enough to pick up when I need to.  But currently?  My skills involve word processing, surfing the world wide web, gchat, Excel, and Facebook.  And I'm happy with it staying that way.

And now... Google + happened.  I joined yesterday, but all I felt was annoyed, confused, and overwhelmed.  It looks just like Facebook to me, and has all the same functions/features with new names (+1 vs. "like", "circles" vs friend lists).  I've spent 6 years developing my Facebook page and photo albums, getting to know the system very closely, and making/blocking 1200+ facebook acquaintances friends.  Why would I want to start from scratch?  I don't.

Well, taking a step back, I'm realizing that it's not technology I don't like, it's change.  Learning how to use a new computer, a new operating system, a new phone, or a new social networking site?  Ugh.  Sign me up for a support group, this 22-year-old girl is officially a stubborn 94-year-old woman who hand writes letters and uses a land line and an ice box.  I'm still not sold on Google+ or Kindles, but I hereby vow to give new technology a chance.  Who knows? I might even do something crazy and boot up my laptop.

L

can exes be friends?

Recent events have me thinking about whether exes can truly be friends.  Demi and Bruce Willis seem to do just fine, vacationing with Ashton.  And if the crazy celebs can do it, why not us normal human beings?  My conclusion is yes -- you can be friends with your ex, but only if the following conditions are met:

1. There is no restraining order.  I don't think this needs to be explained.
2. Both parties are done breaking up, and both parties are done dating.  If there's unresolved anger/problems/feelings, it's not going to work.  The first relationship as lovers has to end before the second relationship as friends can begin.  And that also means that ...
3. You can't remember what they look like naked.  Can't be dredging up old sexual chemistry.  Even the closest of friendships don't easily survive a hook-up, or weird sexual feelings.  So why would it be any different for lovers-turned-exes-then-friends?
4. You actually want to be friends.  Too often, we think we want to be friends with an ex, but the subconscious motive is to find closure of some sort, and resolve problems/feelings.  Go back to #2 and try again.  If you truly want to be friends with your ex, it should be because you truly like him or her as a friend, not because you're avoiding moving on.  Focus on the initial attraction points --He's still got a great sense of humor, and is great to go to Tigers games with, or She is the coolest one at the office, likes the same music, and will go to dive bars 'til 3am hunting down bands with you.  It shouldn't be about the ease and familiarity. (He/She knows you watch Lifetime movies and don't shower on Sundays).

I've only had a few serious boyfriends, and friendship isn't easy to come by.  Big Blue and I are civil, and check in with each other every few months on Facebook chat to see how things are, but I suspect it's mostly out of a sense of obligation.  Voldemort and  I will probably never be friends -- there's a reason he's named the Dark Lord.  Tree and I managed to develop a great friendship.  We like to talk and visit, and we're supportive of each other's dating lives.  That said, I found out the hard way that just because you can be friends with exes doesn't mean it always works out.  Tree's new girlfriend was weirded out that we were friends, and our friendship has had to take a hiatus for the time being.  And that's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes...

And on that note, I'm peacing out like the 4th of July.  (Don't ask me what this means, because I truly don't know).

L

PS:  Something funny to follow on Monday.... I've been saving up.

the art of osculation

Kissing.  It's nature's ultimate litmus test.  Hitch got it right when he said,  "One dance, one look, one kiss, that's all we get...one shot, to make the difference between 'happily every after' and, 'Oh? He's just some guy I went to some thing with once.' "  A study at University of Albany found that 59% of men and 66% of women ended contact after a first kiss.  We've all been there before.  How many times have you really liked someone, only to kiss for the first time and be totally repulsed?  The kiss of death for the relationship, so to speak. 

So what makes for a good first kiss?  According to that same study, most men like wet, tongue-y kisses, and women ...don't.  And there are all kinds of theories that say when you swap that little bit of spit, you're trading genetic info so you know if your kisser is a good mate.  Increasing your future kids' genetic diversity, survival of the fittest, and all that.  But if you ask me, it's a simple matter of compatible kissing techniques. 

When a kiss goes awry, the blame is always, always, always placed on the other party.  You'll never hear someone describe a horrible first kiss and say "Jeez, it was horrific!  I was slobbering all over him and jamming my tongue into the back of his throat."  I say that 90% of the time, a bad kiss is actually no one's fault-- it's just about mismatched preferences.  It's all about the proportions of preference for tongue, slobber, teeth, ice cubes/hard candy/foreign objects, or whatever else you prefer.  And it's no one's fault that you don't appreciate the same things as the person you kiss.  The remaining 10% of the time? You can point fingers and blame the other party for a bad kiss if:

1. Your face is being eaten.  Om nom nom = gross and unforgivable. 
2. You are caused physical harm.  This could mean broken teeth, literal suffocation by tongue, bleeding of the lips from excessive "nibbling," or any other type of injury (if you don't like it, that is -- like I said, I'm not judging preferences here).
3. You are covered in slobber to the point you need a towel.  Keep your tongue off my chin. There's just no excuse for that.

My friend Sneakasaurus Rex once kissed a girl he liked and it was terrible, but he was too nice to cut off contact and embarked on a long-term, long-distance relationship with someone he had to get drunk to enjoy kissing.  If you like someone that much, it's possible to modify your partner's kissing technique.  You really have to like the person, because it's a long, long process but it is possible.  Trouble is, some suggest bad kissing chemistry only translates to... bad other chemistry.  Something to think about.

I'll continue Extensive Firsthand Fieldwork (anyone want to volunteer as a test subject?) on all of this and report back...

Until then,

L

dear reader, a few notes about crushes

That last post was a poor excuse to subject the world to more of the terrible MS Paint work that brings me so much joy.  My sincere apologies.  Note to self: First write, then Paint.  Because in all actuality, I had a lot of things I wanted to say about crushes, crushing, crushedness, and crushdom.

I was thinking about that scene in Sixteen Candles (my hands-down favorite coming-of-age movie from the 80's) where Sam's dad wisely imparts that "That's why they call them crushes.  If they were easy, they'd call them something else."  And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about -- even if you haven't seen the movie, the line has been immortalized with facebook bumper stickers, t-shirts, cards, facebook statuses, facebook bumper stickers, etc.  Well guess what?  That's not why they call them crushes, Mr. Baker.

More Very Extensive Internet Research informs me that the word "crush" was first recorded being used in the sense of a person someone is infatuated with in the 1880s.  Crush as a verb took another three decades.  But why the word crush, which would normally mean to press or squeeze with force?  Turns out dance parties in the 1800's were called "crushes."  And as the main forum at which boys and girls could meet and moon over each other.... presto magico, borrowed terms.... the modern "crush" was born. Who says etymology isn't cool?

And how many types of crushes are there?  Millions.  The puppy love crush.  The friend crush.  The Hollywood crush.  The hero crush.  The internet crush.  The random stranger crush.  The work crush (which by the way, is encouraged, as it results in higher work performance and morale).  The age-inappropriate crush.  The public figure crush.  The obsessive crush.  And then there's limerence, the dark side of crushing.  Called the "stalker crush" by some, it's a crazy, dark, OCD, you-are-the-center-of-my-universe kind of crush. Eww.

Fear not, friend.  My crush is rainbows and butterflies and unicorns.  No dark obsession.  In the famous words of Jennifer Paige, "It's just a little crush."

Until next time,

L

PS:  I still maintain that my favorite kind of crushing is the kind that turns grapes into wine.  Just saying.

this is your brain on crush

I like to think that --besides some of the very obvious craziness about me-- I'm a pretty level-headed, happy person.  But recently, I've been just a little happier, and a tad more hyper.  There's an extra skip in my step, if you will.  It's because I've reverted back to my middle school self (and I don't just mean the extra acne that mysteriously appeared on my face recently)....

I have a crush.  And not the orange soda pop variety.  When a Certain Someone sends me a text message, my uber-emotive face lights up like a freaking light bulb.  It's pathetic, but it's also wonderful.  And that's why I'm proposing a new PSA (abovetheinfluence is getting old) encouraging everyone to develop a little crush (or 2!):

I just think the world would be a better place. 

L