Being YOURSELF: The New “Cool”…

I was recently posed with the challenge of trying to describe myself in one paragraph. ONE! Can you imagine?! I know it doesn’t sound like a difficult task, but try it! Try to express, in 300 words or less, what makes you YOU. (In fact, if you can do it and it fits in the comments section of this post, I’ll send you a prize.)

For me, it was hard to know where to start. I mean, the general goal in putting oneself in a nutshell like that is to express–in no uncertain terms–your utter awesomeness, amazability, uniqueness, your own singular brand of “cool”. I figured the best way to get the ball rolling was to make a list. But as my list grew longer and longer, I began to realize that while everything on my list was true, I felt like they painted a picture of an awfully BORING person–not “awesome”, “amazing”, or “unique”, let alone “cool”. I wanted to sound COOL, and I wasn’t quite sure how to get there. I decided I needed to do a little research…afterall, I was a history major, and if there’s one thing us Liberal Arts majors know how to do, it’s reasarch. So I turned to the ultimate source of all things “COOL” in Seattle: The Stranger (Seattle’s alternative newspaper).

In the back of The Stranger are the personal ads, where the funky kids loiter about in the hopes of finding other funky kids to bum a smoke off of and eventually shuffle down to Neumo’s with for a show. How would these people, the very definition of “Seattle Cool”, define themselves? As I started to read, I began to see a trend: all the things that used to be avant garde and unique in Seattle, were suddenly trendy and hip! Apparently while my back was turned, it stopped being “unique” to listen to KEXP, or to hang out at the Sit N Spin. It stopped being ok to just like Starbucks coffee, and instead you have to be gulping down a cup of black mud that tastes like ashtrays and pretend you like it because it’s made from free trade beans. Paying top dollar for organics at Whole Foods WAS cool, but now it’s not anymore…everyone is shopping at their local farmer’s market now, didn’t you know?

All of a sudden, it dawned on me: these kids weren’t “unique” by any means…they were all THE SAME! I was looking for “cool” in all the wrong places… It was then that I discovered, my fingers covered with newsprint, that BEING YOURSELF is the new COOL. Something it turns out I knew all along.

At the end of the day, I knew exactly how to describe myself:

I have a membership to Seattle’s Sci-Fi Museum. Yes, I went to Comic-Con last summer…and no, I didn’t wear a costume. But I think the people that did are truly dedicated fans that put me to shame. Yes, I’m obsessed with tv shows about paranormal researchers trying to document ghosts and various otherworldly phenomena. I enjoy attending lectures by Michio Kaku. I LIKE STARBUCKS, and my car doesn’t operate on bio-diesel. Yes, I like Muse, and yes I jumped on the bandwagon a little late. So what? I write poetry every day, and prefer Diet Coke from the fountain. I like laughing so hard that my body shakes in violent fits of silent hysteria. I have a penchant for Sci-Fi tv shows like Stargate Atlantis, Battlestar Galactica, and Dr. Who. I enjoy reading books on Quantum Physics that are way over my head, and am rather proud of myself when I recognize their applications included–albeit often crudely–in a popular science fiction novel.  I go to the movies alone, hate to cook, love vaccuming, and prefer the company of my cat to that of a child I’m not related to any day.

I’m Stephanie–and on February 7th, I’ll see you at Seattle’s Science Fiction Short Film Festival, tub of buttery popcorn in one hand, and Milk Duds in the other. Please bring napkins.

You had me at…narcissist?

So I get it: for some people, being single is GLORIOUS. No strings attached, no commitments…you can be with whoever you want, whenever you want, and the possibilities are endless (in theory). But for other people, being single SUCKS. Constantly in search of their next “someone”, they’ve perfected the art of painting themselves in what they think is the most positive light imaginable. And I often find it hilarious to see exactly what kinds of things people think will attract the opposite sex. What do I mean? Well…

I’m no genius , but I do happen to have a brain (and I know how to use it). When looking for a possible mate, nothing is sexier than a guy who can crack me up one minute, then switch gears and have an intelligent conversation about foreign policy or the potential of finding alien life on Mars the next minute. So I have to admit that statements like this boggle my mind:

“I don’t require females to know much…but a passion to learn is nice.”

Ahem. Yes, you heard that right. I wanted to respond “Oh, really? Thank goodness! I didn’t want to hurt myself!” *giggle* *flip hair*

Now, I haven’t always been the self-confident woman that I am now. Like many women (and men), I’ve questioned my level of hottness, the degree of ease with which I could “bag” a guy, and the desirability of my curvaceous body. But in recent years, I’ve come to recognize that–in my own way–I’m a catch. Despite my new-found confidence, gentlemen please make no mistake: flattery will still get you everywhere. So I was glad when he chose to highlight that particular qualitity in himself:

“My female friends say that I promote their self-esteem while still making them feel comfortable.”

Ah, I see! Because nothing makes me more UN-comfortable than a little flattery, and a compliment or two. I HAD to have entered some other dimension, some alternate reality occupied by tall, skinny white guys whose brains actually formulate thoughts like these, things started to get better:

“Everything good always happens to me!”

Oh! Well, that’s positive, right? No one wants to date a guy who’s living proof that karma really IS a bitch…

“I think I’m really supportive, positive, and accepting of other people…”

YESSSS!

“…but I tend to lack compassion for people who make bad decisions.”

NOOOOO!!

And just when I thought guys only wanted athletic and toned women on their arm, he was able to set the record straight:

“…she doesn’t have to be in shape. I can already run a 5 minute mile. She just has to LOOK like she is in shape.”

I sat for a moment, confused and pondering the difference between “being in shape” and just ”looking like you’re in shape”. Then I realized we’re talking about the difference between EATING and, well STARVING YOURSELF. And just when I thought there wasn’t a humorous bone in his very long, lanky body, he pulled this gem out of nowhere:

“I’m thinking about getting citizenship in an African country so I can say I’m African-American.”

If he could have read my thoughts, he’d know I was dying to ask: “How on EARTH are you still single?!”

“What’s In a Name?”

“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
-Juliet
Romeo & Juliet

While attending a recent happy hour function for work, I was asked by a group of friends if I had any “office crushes”.

“You mean, people at work that I’m interested in?” I replied, a little surprised by the question. “Uh, no.”

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve met a TON of people at the office, and I’ve made several new friends in the year since I was hired. But I go to work to–wait for it–WORK. This isn’t a social club, and the 35^th floor isn’t a bar. Besides: I don’t date people I work with. That’s just a recipe for disaster.

“You mean, there’s no one?! No one you even think is cute?” one of them pressed.

“Well, I’m not DEAD,” I said, a quick glance around the room to see who might be listening.

“So there IS someone! Who?”

“Well, he only walks past my desk a zillion times a day,” I explained. “It’s hard not to notice.”

I paused. Oh what the hell.

“John Johnson,” I confessed, then quickly added: “But it’s not like THAT! I mean, yeah he’s hot. But I’m not interested. I just…notice.”

Blank stares. Confused stares. Concerned stares. My mind races into overdrive. “What did I say?”  I wonder. And then it hits me. My eyes go wide and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

“Oh my god! No, no that’s not who I meant!” I cry out, laughing in embarrassment. “Not John Johnson! Oh my god…I meant Mathew Mathews!”

My friends all breathed a sigh of relief, letting out their own nervous laughter.

“I mean, yes–John Johnson also walks by my desk a million times a day. But that’s totally not who I meant,” I quickly fumble, trying to recover. “I don’t know why his name came out!”

“You totally had me going there for a second,” Sally said with a big laugh. “I was sitting here wondering how to tactfully express my complete disagreement with you on that one!”

See, you have to understand:

John Johnson:

Mathew Mathews:

John Johnson:

Mathew Mathews:

Talk about a Freudian Slip!! Now, Sally calls me Essaytch Johnson (deservedly so–it was hilarious). And every time John Johnson walks by my desk, I turn a million shades of pink, recalling my blunder. At this point, he probably thinks I do have a crush on him. Crap. Oh well–whatever I can do to boost a Klingon’s ego.

Just go AWAY already!!

I’m single. And while I would be more than happy to share my time with a boy, the fact is there’s too much going on in my life right now to deal with any dating drama…and if my dating history is any indicator, there would be DRAMA.I’m not sure what happened in my childhood to turn me into a magnet for lame guys, but boy am I cursed! In any other capacity, I would consider myself a pretty stable and independent person. I’m comfortable with being by myself, am perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. But when it comes to men, they can use me, treat me crappy, ignore me, lead me on, have double standards, refuse to commit, string me along, give me a complex…and I LET them! (don’t freak: I recognize this is not healthy) The last guy I dated, I’m still in denial about. It was a classic case of someone who demanded upright living and perfection in others (including me), but he was free to do whatever he wanted. There was more hypocrisy in that man than any person I’ve ever known before or since.

But I digress. The reason for this post is that I’ve been thinking a lot lately about one ex in particular (not the above mentioned hypocrite). I have this strong desire to reconnect with him, and I’m not quite sure why. Let me fill in the background:

I almost wouldn’t consider him an “ex”: we officially only went on a couple of dates. However, we met on-line and spent the better part of a month talking every day on the phone before we even met. When we did finally go on our first date, we realized we had met previously on a few occasions at the church I went to. I was in leadership there, up in front of the congregation on a weekly basis, and I was always able to pick him out of the crowd: he was thatcute. Needless to say, by the time we actually went on our first date, there was a lot of emotional involvement already (at least on my part). He seemed to be an amazing Christian man, with a love of God and a spiritual mindset very much in line with my own at the time. The night of our first official date, he took me to dinner at a great restaurant. Afterwards, he pulled over and bought me flowers. Actually, he pulled over to this organic market in our neighborhood, took me to the florist dept (which is expansive and full of gorgeous blooms) and told me to pick whatever I wanted. By the end of the evening, I knew his entire family history, his hopes and dreams, his struggles and shortcomings. He told me (and I quote) that as far as he could tell, I “…dot all the ‘i’s and cross all the ‘t’s.” I was smitten. We went out several times after that, but within a few weeks, he’d decided that I didn’t quite “complete him” after all. So much for dotting i’s and crossing t’s. I was annoyed. Here was a guy who appeared to be all of the things I was looking for, and had basically told me that I was the same for him. But now he just wanted to be good friends. You see, I had become “one of the most important people” in his life, and he “really valued and cherished” me. So much so, that he wanted me to be his best friend, someone with which he could share everything in his life…including all the juicy details about the new girls he was dating. Ummmm, NO! Uh Uh, sorry dude.

Ok, so I’m pretty cool. I’m a great friend. I love to give relationship and dating advice to my peeps, guys and girls alike. But when I’m attracted to you, and I want to be more than just friends, hearing all the details about your newest romantic conquest just isn’t ok with me. There was a time when I would have hung on, played the “best friend” role, convinced that when all his other relationships failed (as was inevitable), he would see that what he really needed had been in front of him the entire time. (Yeah right…when does that actually happen in real life?)

So I severed contact with him. He didn’t understand. I went through the typical routine of deleting his number from my phone and his email from my contacts list, and it was satisfying. I fought against the urge to give in and call him, and I triumphed.

Then, at 8pm on a Monday night last February (close to 10 months since the last time I had even thought about him), my cell phone rang. The number was vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure about it and I’m not in the habit of answering calls from numbers I don’t recognize. I let it go to voice-mail, but none was left. Again, a week later a call from the same number…no voice-mail left. The weekend after my birthday (which is at the end of February), I received yet another call from the mystery number. This time, the caller left a message. It was him! Wishing me a happy belated birthday, apologizing for having missed it and hoping I was doing well. He signed off “Talk to you later!” as if we’d only just spoken the other day, and would be talking again real soon. WTF?!?!?!

I didn’t call him back. I told everyone I knew about it, and got mixed advice…some friends said to call him. After all, I was officially “over it” and could feasibly handle being legitimate friends with the guy. Others said that if he really wanted to talk, he’d call again. He never did. A month or so later, after having a dream in which he cameoed (nothing dirty, shut up!), I sent him a text out of guilt. I felt bad that he’d sent me his good wishes and I hadn’t even responded to say “thanks”. If he got my text, I’ll never know. I haven’t heard from him since, and its been at least 7 months.

So why, after all this time, is he nagging at my mind again? Why do I have this urge to call him out of the blue, just as he did to me almost a year ago? Last night, I found myself willing my phone to ring with him on the other end, just so I could be let off the hook. Why, after all these months, do I suddenly want to be friends with the guy, and nothing more? (for those of you who may think I’m subconsciously fishing for a new BF, trust me…I’m not)

I won’t call him. But what if I did?

Thanks, but no thanks…

Like so many singles these days, my roommate has frequented the online dating scene on and off. She’s had some success, some duds, and some…freaks. Case and point, she recently received a thoughtful poem from an online suitor. It was, in a word, obscure. Generally, when a woman says she “likes poetry”, she’s talking SHAKESPEARE people!! Sonnets and love poems and the like. She does not like unsolicited, creepy poetry about satanic cats (you think I jest….I do not). When she forwarded it to me with the hypothetical questions “What the fuck? How do I respond?”, she didn’t think I would take her seriously. I proposed she send the following reply:

Late 20’s, and I’m still alone.
My parent’s are nagging ’cause I always stay home.
Most friends are married, but I don’t mind
’cause the perfect man is so hard to find.

I’ve been on Match several times before
Since dating the conventional way is a chore.
But the guys online are such a mixed bag,
Some nice, some slutty, some boring, most a drag.

Then one day, from the bottom of the pile
Came a note from a dude and it made me smile.
Said he thought I might like it, so I read on with glee
But my smile quickly faded…he’d sent me poetry.

Not the kind filled with flowers, lovely sentiments and such,
But a dark and twisted tale, the kind that makes you loose your lunch.
Do I write him back and tell him, “No thanks, busy this week”?
Or do I bite the bullet and just say point blank “I don’t date freaks”?

One thing is for certain, and my friends, they can attest,
There ain’t no way a dude like that’s getting his hands near my chest.

So the moral of this story, and dude I hope you see,
If your poetry ain’t Shakespeare, please don’t send it on to me.

I was disappointed she didn’t send it on….cause I thought it was BRILLIANT.