Conundrum [kuh-nuhn-druhm] –noun
We’ve all had them – that moment of realization that the person you’re dating isn’t quite what you thought. The moment in which he/she does or says something that negates everything positive you may have experienced with them up until that point. The deal breaker. When all you can say is, “OH” and get out. Quickly.
Urban dictionary explains it like this:
Girl: It’s a promise ring, I made a pact to not have sex until I’m married.
Guy 1: Oh.
Guy 2: You’ve just experienced The “Oh” Moment.
I’ve had my fair share of “OH” moments – some hilarious, some devastating (which can also be hilarious, as it turns out).
Can I share a few, you ask?
Of course, of course… Continue reading
Contrary to what most of you might think, I do try and keep some level of dignity throughout these posts, and it may be surprising to some of you that I have not yet pulled out the real dirt from my past. I still have plenty of nitty-gritty with which to entertain you, and this is one of the deepest-darkest. In fact, this story, and the several that will come from it, I’m sure, centers on a relationship that I have, up until this point, chosen not to share with anyone. You see, there was, and is, some part of me that wants to protect the person in question – as always, I will not use names, but unlike the many times I have written this, I will not delete it when I’m finished. It’s time to move forward, even if that means inviting the public to know something I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with.
I have always gone to church.
Throughout my life, my level of devotion to organized religion has fluctuated from the extremely zealous to the not-giving-a-shit, but for as long as I can remember, I have attended a Sunday morning service at one church or another.
When I was nineteen, I happened to be walking the line between zeal and normalcy when a wrench got thrown into my religion-works, so to speak. At the time, I was a leader of the junior high department of the church’s youth group, along with several others, and that fall, we decided to take the junior and senior high on a retreat into the mountains. Two things of significance happened on this particular retreat:
1. The boy that I had crushed on and spent most of my time with since I was 16 told me – in the middle of a gym full of screaming teenagers – that he wanted to marry me. This both thrilled me and freaked me out.
2. I started therapy. Continue reading
I have certainly expressed some level of dissatisfaction with the way of my relationships in the past. In fact, the last several posts have been about my relationship horror stories – and trust me, nothing excites me like going on yet another horrific date for entertainment’s sake. I have been known to justify arguably horrible experiences with, “Well, at least this’ll make a good post.”
There are times, however, when I just don’t get it, and no amount of entertainment can keep me from throwing up my hands and succumbing to the urge to strangle the next male thing that walks by (and don’t even get me started on women, they’re just as bad). Like any good twenty-something, I poured this frustration out to one of my favorite bartenders just after a certain musician who had been making the most obvious eyes EVER at me all night walked out without so much as introducing himself.
I began the conversation as civilly as could be expected.
“Guys are idiots.” Continue reading
Today I read an article about “confessional culture” – in short, detailing the current trend of obsession with tell-all projects like “Post Secret” and “Cassette from My Ex”. It is what fuels reality TV and tabloids. And, I assume, it’s why all of you lovelies read my blog.
It’s either that or the elation you experience knowing that you haven’t had to experience the things I write about.
Speaking of which, let me tell you the story of my first.
Growing up, I didn’t have much of an early obsession with boys. They made me nervous, to be honest, and I liked books better. Once, in the summer after seventh grade, my cousin told me that his friend wanted to be my boyfriend. Mind you, this was all after I snuck out of my grandparents house, crashed a sleepover they were having, and he shined a laser pointer at my boobs, but the anxiety that followed the potential boyfriend-girlfriend announcement was unbearable for me. I couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not, and I couldn’t bear the thought of saying “yes” only to be laughed at for thinking the boy was for real. So I said, “My parents won’t let me,” which was pretty true at the time.
By the time I was eighteen, I still hadn’t responded in favor to any guy that asked me out, still for fear of some grand, public rejection. And, in some cases, for fear of the gross-factor of the boys who asked. That was until a friend of mine – Kristen – took it upon herself to solve the dating dilemma I didn’t even know I had. She decided to play match-maker for me, and having picked her target, she started not-so-subtly inviting us both over her house and leaving us alone for hours at a time claiming she had to “run to the store” or “pick up eggs.”
Long story short, he ended up kissing me while leaving her house one night, and asked me out on a date the very next week. It wasn’t my first kiss, else that could have been far more embarrassing of an event, but I was still pretty inexperienced. Continue reading
Happy Monday, readers!
This weekend I drank far too many bottles of wine and spent far too much time dissecting and evaluating my relationships – both past and current – with good friends. Nothing wrong with that, as far as I can tell, and fortunately for you, this little story emerged.
Once, I was engaged.
I’m in my mid-twenties and there’s nothing scandalous, wrong, or even particularly interesting about the fact that I was once engaged, but I guess that fact that I am not currently married is still interesting enough to make people look at me in surprise and/or pity when I share the past-engagement status.
Even less interesting is the story of how I became engaged. The only thing I can say is that there was a guy I was living with, drinks, and a very shiny ring. The fun story comes from the morning after. Continue reading
I have discovered that there is some sort of odd thrill in blogging about the things that I shouldn’t. It turns out that I love sharing my *private* life with the troves on the internet. Go figure.
In short, I’m a blogging whore.
Luckily for you, and sadly for me, I’m ok with this. In fact, I intend to celebrate it with this little tidbit from the history of my love life.
This past May, my little sister got married. I was intensely happy for her. I myself had just gotten out of an almost-marriage the previous fall and had spent months living in an electricity-less country where no one spoke English. Needless to say, I had been in the mood to have fun and do things that I shouldn’t for quite some time — this just happened to overlap with my sisters wedding, more specifically, with her groom’s wedding party. Continue reading