TYPOS be Damned!

One of the editors in my office who is always chasing me around for having the wrong type of dash had this hanging on her wall today. . .

"Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe. "

I couldn't believe it! All this time I have worried about typos and all I needed to do was get the first and the last letter right. . .granted only getting the first and last letter right would probably eventually lead others to conclude you have a chronic learning disability but I am not so sure I can't live with that. Perhaps I will try this in limited amounts at first and branch out. . .until I like the writer of the above paragraph write completely understandable gibberish all the time.

The Folly of Rewarding X While Hoping for Y

There is an economic theory that basically says we often don't get what we want from people because we reward X behavior when what we really want is Y. For example say you want high quality widgets. . .But what you pay your worker for is simply the number of widgets not the quality. So you basically get lots of poorly made widgets.

I have been giving this theory a great deal of thought lately. . .And have decided that perhaps this is what I have been doing in my dating life. I want a relationship with a stable rational individual (lets call this Y) but I have often settled for and rewarded something less (e.g. a relationship with someone who is more focused on achieving a high score on play station than on dating me). At the time I have fed myself all sorts of lines about well. . .Yes, but they are really smart and I have hobbies too, but eventually I come to realize my hopes of Y with this person were really unwise. So unlike so many other people. . .Who are dishonest about their own shortcomings (yes I do know I have shortcomings but that is a topic for a different blog). . .I have been dishonest with myself about the shortcomings of my potential partners and have largely only ended up with X (what I didn't want). So, I am trying an experiment . . .Being brutally honest and critical (quietly and to myself of course, there is no need to be cruel) of those I go out with. I suspect that at least being severely honest about the other person might be slightly more productive than the oblivious approach . . .Or perhaps I am still over reacting to my last foolishly undertaken relationship. . .time will tell.

Why do they call them "Happy" Holidays?

So when did the holidays become torture the single people days? Even the movie Bridget Jones Diary has noted the traditional flogging that "singletons" must endure during the holiday season. Like it isn't bad enough to be alone at "special" times a year when the whole world is coupled up. . .why do my relatives insist upon rubbing it in and asking questions there are clearly no good answers to. Yes, I have read the advice on how to deal with these situations . . .but family politics only allow for so much lattitude.

My grandmother (who admittedly is senile) spent the entire weekend asking me the dreaded question "SO when are you going to get married?" Like I all that getting married involves is me picking some mysterious date. Let's ignore the fact that I haven't met anyone who I want to spend the rest of my life with or if I have I don't know it. Let's also ignore the fact that my Grandmother has been divorced twice, once from a man who drinks too much and was abusive to her. Let's also ignore the fact that over half of the marriages in this country end in divorce and perhaps if everyone was a little bit more thoughtful about this decision then we might be able to improve that number a little. In other words lets just ignore the reality of the situation all together. I am getting married June 2007. . .why not?

I am always up for ridiculous conversations with no definitive answer so I always answer the same way. . ."I am not going to get married. I am going to stay young and single and buy a BMW." Ok, so it is slightly unrealistic but it usually reminds people how silly the whole exchange is. . .but not my Grandmother, who has denial abilities up there with Vice President Cheney and President George W. Bush, soldiers on undetered by my flip response. She lectures me that I need to get serious about finding someone. . .AGGGGHHHH!!! After all I am not getting any younger.

I then went into the kitchen like any sane rational person and consoled myself with a piece of pumkin pie and the idea that someday I could afford to fly my parents out to visit me and then I wouldn't have to be subjected to my grandmother. At least years of this abuse have made me thick skinned enough to not allow her to not make me cry anymore.

Flirting with Disaster

Why is it that flirting feels so good? My mother says I am a world class flirt and often insinuates that I flirt to get my way. She loves to take me to businesses run by and/or staffed by men swearing she gets better service than if it just her and Dad. I swear I don't flirt to get my way or anything else for that matter.

I also swear I don't flirt with anyone who I wouldn't want the attention from. This leaves me with some serious questions about some of the male behavior I observe on a daily basis.

Unless, I don't even know I am doing it. Maybe I am sleep flirting?

Perhaps that would explain my socially weird co-worker's behavior around me which could be seen as some super odd form of flirting. Unfortunately for my co-worker (who my boss says has a "thing" for me) it just makes me want to run and hide out when he attempts to even speak to me. What I don't understand is why he doesn't take a clue. . .If someone avoids you for weeks they don't like you. I wish I could find the summon the crueler parts of my personality in order to just get these painful exchanges over with for good.

He isn't the only flirting disaster I know and regularly come into contact with. The other two are so horrific that just thinking about them makes my skin crawl even though I have only been subject to the attention of one of the two. This duo inhabits the same graduate program as I do and are collectively referred to by the women in the department as "creepy" insert guys name here.

The first need serious instruction in personal grooming and socially acceptable drinking behavior and resembles the GEICO Caveman. He recently invited one of my friends back to his "dorm room" to drink some beers. What woman could pass that up?

The second is roughly the same age as my father, bald, a know-it-all and insists on picking the tab for my drinks at happy hours. He is always invading my personal space and telling me how beautiful I am. ICKY!

I swear with god as my witness, I have done nothing to encourage any of them! It is my new quest to figure out how to anti-flirt with these people. Until then I must curb my natural southern raised charm and find new and interesting ways to hide out. . .I am thinking about asking some of my special forces friends for pointers on this but I don't think camo works very good in academic departments unless they make it to blend with bookshelves or file cabinets.

Self Inflicted Damage is the Worst Kind

I unlike many people fully understand my role in the disasters that befall me or at least better than those people who regularly appear on daytime talk shows such as Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer. If anything I wish I could obliviously ignore the fact that my own worst enemy at the end of the day is me. Perhaps my major failing is that I don't see the train wreck coming until I am already in the middle of it or perhaps it is the fact that I still try to give people the benefit of the doubt even though I clearly often know better than to do so. I also tend to be prone to crushes. Crushes are in many ways the most dangerous of all love adventures because you the crusher already have your mind made up about the crushee before you even go out on the first date. I suffered most of the summer with two crushes one I pursued and one I have to date mostly left alone.

The pursued crush is the reason I believe I am my own worst enemy and the reason my blog has been relatively quiet since I started it in September is that I sorta kinda fell for someone against my own best advice. The whole thing developed as a crush which I attempted to resist telling myself that it would pass and I should focus on the other parts of my life right now like my career. I afterall am about to graduate for the last time and take my first real grown up job and more than likely move across the country. This is a decidedly bad time to start a relationship or complicate my life, but perhaps I craved complexity and drama something my single life on the average day tends to be missing.

On the surface the guy was perfect but something just didn't quite add up. I knew in my gut that he was a bad idea but just couldn't quite put my finger on why he was a bad idea. Something in my gut told me there was something wrong and that there just had to be something to the reason I was holding back.

I thought maybe I was just being cynical and picky so I talked myself into ignoring the obvious flaws. For his part he was doing one hell of a sales job, but in dating as with almost all other transactions the harder someone is trying to sell you something the more certain you can be that there is something wrong with it. I know this was a bad idea. Afterall if you can't take your own best advice then who will you listen too? My mother? No. My friends? No. What is even worse in this case even they were duped. My cynical and hard to please friends instead of being the voice of reason in this debate helped to usher me to my latest fall.

And fall I did. I got so caught up in who he presented himself to be that I didn't stop to think that the image that many people project hides the things that are the most wrong with them. Then the fatal flaw became so unbelievably obvious it might as well been written in big flashing letters across the sky by Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz. So I had to go through the whole painful process of yet another break up. . .yet another set of explanations as to why this one is wrong.

Now I don't actually beat myself up for falling. . .since at least this shows I still have some faith that there is someone out there. . .but what I do beat myself up for is the manner in which I fell and the fact that post fall I will now be more afraid. I should know better than to rush in. . .I should know better than to get carried away. . .I should know better than to complicate my life when there are already a dozen too many things happening right now. I also worry that by passing up on other things I just might just have cheated myself out of the falling for the right guy or doing something extraordinary in some other area in my life. I guess this is what the economists mean by opportunity costs.

Hope and/or stupidity springs eternally. . .so I am sure in a couple of weeks or a couple of months I will be ready to make the same mistake all over again. Perhaps if the right signs are made by the other crush I would even be willing to take another sucker punch even sooner. I just hope this time cupid is kinder and I am a little smarter. Or perhaps it might be better to wish I were a little dumber since all those people on daytime TV seem so much more certain about the directions of their lives and the correctness of their actions than I do even about picking out my wardrobe for the day. Maybe success in this regard is really about being certain in the face of overwhelming evidence that it is a bad idea . . .or maybe that is what the half of all people who fall in love, get married and get divorced tell themselves. I wish there were some class or text to clear this whole thing up for me.

Dinosaur Man

So against my better judgement. . .I think all of my blogs about going out in search of a member of the opposite sex should really begin this way. . .my roommates, JC and M, and I once again ventured out into the world of the opposite sex. We attempted to take the high class approach this time going to a bar where you can actually hear yourself think and therefore hopefully hear other people speak. I realize that in general worrying about what people actually have to say at a bar is a bad idea but it least it was a bad idea we had yet to try.

The evening started out a little slowly since several TVs were still on in the bar and most of the male attention was diverted to the football action on screen. So my roommates and I each decided to try one of the exotic martinis on the menu. I chose the "Absolut Hunk" mostly for its name and in a symbolic ritual of wishful thinking. The drink like most wishful thinking was ok but didn't quite live up to its promise. My roomies after about an hour of talking to each other exclusively were getting restless and wanting to move on to a more happening bar.

Then the first contestant for the night decided to approach the group. He looked normal enough but once we agree to let him sit down he seemed to be dumbstruck. He would ask questions which didn't really require too much of an answer but we trying to be good sports would keep the conversation rolling for a few minutes. The real problem was when questions went the other way. . .he seemed incapable of talking for more than a sentence which led to a great deal of akward and painful silence. Who ever said silence was golden had clearly not ever had a conversation with this guy. Finally, my roommate JC who was the focus of his attentions and who looked as if she might be willing to chew off a body part to escape this conversation got tough with the guy (aka openly mocked him to his face). Unfortunately, this did not seem to deter him. . .instead it seemed to spur him on in his attempts to woo her and not only did he not get up and leave he tried to get her to go and have a drink with him in private. Thankfully when she declined outright he did finally go away.

So, somewhat shell shocked but feeling as though things really can't get any worse our brave little band decided to scout a new position in the bar. Having shifted position and reinforced with a new round of drinks we were approached by the second contestant for the evening, Drunk Guy #1 for the night. Drunk Guy #1 while seeming to ooze personality and goodwill made up for what he lacked in conversational skills with swift action and affection. He walked straight over and put an arm around first JC and then M and told them he loved them. The looking more confused than scared were then kissed squarely on the mouth with sloppy drunk guy style. I completely stunned in the way you are usally only when watching a traffic accident should have known to move faster and was then not only kissed squarely on the mouth but also picked up arms locked at my sides making escape nearly impossible. Strike Two for the evening. . .but it can't get worse right?

Wrong. We have just regained our composure and thrown back most of our second round of drinks hoping the alcohol will kill most of the germs we have just been exposed to when the third and strangest contestant, Dinosaur Man, for the night strikes up a conversation with me. He begins by asking me if I think he and the woman sitting to his right would have beautiful children. I try to diplomatically stay out of it since my opinion would likely not be complementary. Still he persists exclaiming she is his fiance which we both know from the frightened look on her face that she is not. He continues talking and regailing his new audience, my roommates and I with stories and jokes, giving the previous girl time to wriggle away. While somewhat funny and charming he has some odd behavioral traits the first and most obvious of which is penchant to do dinosaur impersonations. No lie. . .I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.

We continue talking with this guy mainly because. . .well he seems to be at least entertaining and funny and he is so loud you really can't ignore him. Finally he somehow manages to talk us into going to breakfast, his treat, in exchange for giving him a ride back to his car. We feeling the damage has been done for the evening agree this sound like not the worst idea ever and set out for Village Inn. He for his part is very entertaining insisting on bringing in the headrest from M's car and requesting an additional seat for the head rest, hugging the staff, and fullfilling the as of yet unfullfilled obligatory comparison for any night out of me to some actress in this case Jennifer Garner. The most fascinating thing about him is his inability to give a straight answer to what he does for a living. . .

It is now time to go home. . .the question is what to do with Dinosaur Man? He is clearly too drunk to drive and now we have some sort of responsibility for him. So somehow it is decided he will come back to the house with us and sleep on the couch at least until he is sober. I some how being the oldest or some similarly shaky criteria get elected to drive his car with him in it back to the house. He is not a very good passenger trying at least once to try to grab the steering wheel and threatening at the light to jump out and rejoin the other car because "you are no fun." In order to distract him and avoid being pulled over I give him my cell phone to call the other car in the hopes it will distract him long enough to get us home safely.

We finally arrive home and he refused to sleep on the coach and installs himself in my roomie JC's bed. JC always the trooper takes this in stride and turns out the light on him and announces she is going to go shower in the hopes that he will be passed out when she returns. Unfortunately he isn't and not only is he entertaining thoughts of getting a little somethin' somethin' from her but keeps asking her to go get me. . .apparently visions of grandure and threesomes are dancing in his alcohol marinated brain. Thankfully my roomie doesn't disturb me even though I have wandered down the hall several times to check on her. In the morning. . .he like most bad dreams is gone and order is restored to the house. JC really took one for the team this time. . .I owe her one. . .lets just hope she never feels the need to collect.