I am so over dating

November 28, 2006 at 4:27 pm | Posted in boys, life | 5 Comments

I’ve been single for about 3 1/2 years, since my college boyfriend and I broke up the summer after our graduation. After proclaiming that I was done with boys, done with dating (something I say roughly 10 times a year), and nursing a broken heart and a bruised ego, I jumped back into the dating pool. Or maybe I waded in gingerly after dipping my toe in to test the water, I don’t know. Either way, I kind of feel like I’m done with it for now.

I’m in no hurry to get married and, as I don’t even know if I want kids, children are not on my radar. I currently live in Toronto but God knows where I’ll be in a year. The nonexistence of a biological clock and my geographical uncertainty are excellent and convenient excuses for stepping out of dating, but the real reason is that I just don’t think I can go through it all again right now.

In the past year, I’ve ended one 6-month long-distance relationship, slept with a guy not even old enough to legally drink in the U.S., hooked up with a couple of my classmates, dated a guy who decided I was scum when I drunkenly made out with his best friend after the World Cup final, met a guy I really liked who gave me the “I’m just not ready for this” speech, and finally, had to hurt someone I didn’t want to hurt in order to do what was right for me.

So, I figure that I’ve put in enough time and done enough damage to earn a bit of a respite. I cannot go through another “Oh my God I really like him” that turns into a “well, I still really like him, and even though it turns out he’s really into drugs/money/Jesus, I’m gonna keep trying anyway because our love will see us through,” which is really just another way of trying to jam a square peg into a round hole (and we all know how well that works), or another “Oh my God I really like him but I don’t think he’s really that into me,” or another “I’m not really that into him but I think he’s reeeeeaaaaally into me.” I just can’t do it.


In the words of Simon and Garfunkel:

November 27, 2006 at 3:59 am | Posted in boys, life | 2 Comments

“I am a rock; I am an island.

…And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries.”

My new motto?  You can’t draw blood from a stone.

I am 100%, completely, utterly, entirely done with feelings.  They do nothing but get me into trouble and I am sick of it.  If I didn’t have feelings, I wouldn’t spend half of my life crying; I wouldn’t spend the other half worrying about whether or not I’m adequate.  If I didn’t have feelings, I would be able to go with the rationality of what my head says, each and every time.  I can be a very, very emotional person, particularly when I’m not on anti-depressants or when I’m in the clutches of the red monster, but when I’m “myself,” I am actually a very practical girl.  Therefore, if I could eliminate feelings and hormones and chemicals from my body and my life, I would be able to rely on my thoughts instead of worrying about how I feel.  Fuck how I feel!

And I don’t want any comments from the peanut gallery (that would be you, Aundra) about how if we didn’t have feelings, life would be boring, and what about the good feelings, and all of that.  As if I haven’t weighed my options!  I totally have, and I’ve considered the boredom factor and the presence of positive emotions, but in the end, I had to decide that the boredom factor isn’t enough of a motivation, and positive emotions are always, always fleeting, and what goes up must come down, so I’m doing away with feelings.

To recap:

  1. No more feelings.  And while we’re at it, no more:
  2. Boys.
  3. Crushes.
  4. Dating.
  5. Kissing.
  6. Sex.

I might eventually decide to elaborate on the events behind all of this, and while most of you have already talked to me about it and the rest of you can guess what it is, it might be good to “talk” about it, but for now, I’m exhausted and it’s bedtime.

Happy belated American Thanksgiving and I hope all of your Black Fridays were consumptive.

Fuck off, period

November 11, 2006 at 6:15 pm | Posted in life, things that annoy | 1 Comment

Dear period,

I have been dealing with you since I was 11 (11! What the hell does an elementary school student need with bloody non-babies?) and I’m pretty much sick of it. Before I started taking the pill, I had the worst pre-you symptoms: raging mood swings, cravings for foods that are bad for me, blah blah blah. Then, when you arrived, I’d have the cramps from hell. So bad that I would be doubled over in pain as my uterus cranked up the rusty old sloughing machine. Then, I started taking the pill. I don’t get cramps any more, but I still crave the goddamn foods (chips, cookies, etc.) and I get suuuuuper low right before you arrive. And really, what is your purpose? To prepare me for the hopeful implantation of fertilized egg in the uterine lining of next month? News flash, body: I DON’T WANT KIDS. To prove to me that I’m not pregnant? That’s useful, true, but the second I suspected something we both know that whatever would be trying to grow would get cut. To make sure that the hormones in my body keep me looking and feeling young? Like I fucking care. Ugh. I am so sick of you.

Fuck off and die,


The missing stylist: She be found

November 11, 2006 at 1:20 am | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Praise Jeebus and the gods of the internet.  Thank you, MySpace.  Don’t ever say that e-stalking never worked.

I found my stylist.  She didn’t die or elope (at least not that I know of) or anything of the other explanations that Lorien and I had cooked up for her recent disappearance.  I don’t really know what happened, and I suppose I don’t much care.  She’s found and she will be able to cut my hair once more.  However, I now have a minor hair-related dilemma.  I have my hair colored and I’ve got some seeeerious roots going on right now.  I made an appointment for tomorrow with someone else, for a cut and a color, cause I was desperate.  But now that my stylist has been found, I kind of want to wait for her magic to wash over me.  That would mean God only knows how long of roots and headbands and dubious bangs.  Should I take the plunge and try someone new (please say no please say no please say no), thus eliminating the color problem, or should I wait and be assured of magic hair?

Allergic to the adoring gaze

November 9, 2006 at 7:54 pm | Posted in boys | 2 Comments

You know how a new boy-pal (I’m not using the compound word boyfriend just yet) will sometimes give you the Adoring Gaze? Like, chin propped up by hand; head tilted back, positioning you slightly above him (this is important, as it leaves no doubt about who is the alpha dog); nostrils flared (thanks, Princess Awesome!); eyes sort of half-closed? The Adoring Gaze, right?

I’ve been the recipient of this look more than once but less than thrice and both times, it’s made me severely uncomfortable. I’m not really into attention of any kind, and the two worst, in my opinion, are the Adoring Gaze and the Really Pissed Off Look. Look at me with jaded indifference and I’m yours; if I even so much as suspect that you’re just not that into me, be you friend or lover, you become much cherished. However, gaze upon me adoringly and it makes me want to run far, far away. Even worse: say sweet, loving things to me and I cringe and turn away. Love poetry makes me a bit nauseous, romantic comedies make me laugh mockingly; even my mother telling me she loves me in person turns me shy and foolish. I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to the adoring gaze, the compliments of a friend, the pride of a parent.

Just don’t.

November 8, 2006 at 6:26 pm | Posted in things that annoy | Leave a comment

At the second floor entrance to Robarts Library, there are two revolving doors.  People often stand outside in the covered courtyard-type area and smoke cigarettes.  Fine.  I don’t actually have a problem with people who smoke (thanks, Mom!) and I figure that as long as they don’t berate me for my suicidal tendencies, I’m not gonna get on them for the cancer sticks.

However.  This afternoon, some girl was standing inside one of the revolving doors–inside, as in, in one of the four divisions of the door–smoking a goddamn cigarette.  As in, as soon as someone (me) exited, the smoke from her cigarette was going to go inside the building.  Who even does that?

Here’s my reasoning: just don’t.  If you’re thinking of doing something utterly retarded, just don’t do it.  You and others like you are the reason that the US is a litigious society and that everything comes with a safety warning.  Why must we be protected from ourselves?  Because of people like you.

Again, just don’t.

The case of the missing stylist

November 7, 2006 at 3:19 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Oh. My. God. I called the salon today to make an appointment for my stylist to work her considerable magic on me. This woman is a hair genius. The first time I went to her and she asked me what I wanted, I said, “Oh, just a trim.” She looked at me–and I swear there was a gleam in her eyes–and replied, “How about this? We give you a little colour. Have you thought about highlights? Highlights would be great. Then, I cut your hair so that it shows your face more. No more hiding behind your hair!” I love a woman who knows what she wants. Anyway, I called today to make an appointment, and the woman on the phone said that she was no longer working there. Not only that, but they didn’t know where she went.

My heart stopped. Not knowing where she went? Do you not know how desperately I need my roots touched up? Do you know that she had visions for my hair? How can you not know where she went?

I nervously scheduled an appointment with someone else, and then did what any sane internet-stalker would do: I Googled her. I found her MySpace. I checked to see when the last time she logged in was–4 days ago–and sent her a message. Hopefully, it’s not too stalker-y, as she’s cool and I wouldn’t want to scare her off, but really people, this is my hair we’re talking about.

Take this job and shove it

November 5, 2006 at 12:03 am | Posted in life, work | 4 Comments

Yesterday, a friend (who shall remain nameless unless she wants her name published, in which case I can edit) and I had a long conversation about library jobs and places in which we would consider living. For those of us about to graduate from library school, I think we can all appreciate the sentiments contained within:

Me: So, I’m looking on Library Jobs, mainly just to see what’s out there. Clearly, there are many, many director positions that need to be filled; I think it’s safe to say that we qualify for approximately zero of these. Because I haven’t decided whether I would actually like to be a young adult librarian, I am reading those job descriptions plus reference and other librarian positions. But I don’t really WANT to do reference. I don’t think I’d be that good at it, unless it was in some sort of specialized context.
Ugh. This is making me depressed.

Nameless Friend: Well, I just want to be a special librarian, and it is pretty safe to
say that I am not qualified for any of those jobs…wait, except for
the one I applied to last week that hasn’t called me back yet. Talk
about depressed.

I look at job sites every day and never ever see anything I could do
in a place I would be willing to live (I admit, I don’t even look at
the ones in places like Ohio or Arkansas).

Yes, library jobs=depressed.
Business class = depressed.

Me: Library jobs = depressed
All classes = depressed
Graduating in six months with not enough experience to get jobs = depressed
The sheer number of library jobs available in Miami the place I hate more than any other place on earth = depressed

NF: Well, we’re just fucked then, aren’t we? Why don’t they tell us this
on the first day of school? ‘Don’t fool yourselves. You will not get
jobs. Unless they are in Miami or Arkansas.’

Did we already talk about whether you would live in Nashville or not?
I think I might.

And, we are graduating in less than six months. 5.5 to be more exact.

Me: Um, Nashville? No. I just don’t think I could bring myself to do it. Isn’t Nashville like the home of country music? I fucking hate country music. Here are the non-desirable places that I would live in if I was forced to:
1. The research triangle in NC
2. DC
3. Any small town in New England
4. Most small towns in the Pacific Northwest
5. Possibly St. Augustine, FL or maybe whatever town New College of South Florida (I’m not sure if that’s the name) is in
6. Austin, TX
7. New Orleans, LA (but I would have to think long and hard about it)

Here is a list of places that I won’t even apply to:
1. Miami, FL
2. Miami-Dade County, FL
3. Ft. Lauderdale, FL
4. Broward County, FL
5. Anywhere in the panhandle, FL
6. Orlando, FL
7. Mississippi
8. Alabama
9. Arkansas
10. Kentucky
11.Southern California
12. North Dakota
13. South Dakota
14. Houston, TX
15. Dallas, TX
16. San Antonio, TX
17. Anywhere outside of Atlanta, GA, or Savannah, GA
18. Possibly Atlanta, GA
19. The rest of NC
20. All of SC, except for Charleston

The moral of the story? It turns out I’m not so geographically flexible.

NF: Ok, the non-desirable places I would live in if forced to:
1.Nashville (I like old-school country and it is very pretty there)
2.Los Angeles (kills my soul, but I have wonderful friends
there…remember, this is the forced to list)
3. DC
4. NY
5. New Mexico
6. Small town New England
7. Boston

Places I will happily move to:
1. Portland
2. Seattle or Olympia
3. Santa Cruz
4. SF Bay Area
5. Vancouver
6. Stay in Toronto
7. Austin, TX
8. Cool European city

In that order.

I am competely geographically unflexible. Because really after number
4 on my list, I am a lot less happy. You know what this means? We
are going to be horribly underemployed and unhappy.

I like how you were able to break Florida into several parts you would
not live in, whereas I would just say: Florida.

Me: Places I would gladly live:
1. Toronto
2. Portland
3. Seattle
4. Bay Area
5*. Vancouver
6. Kansas City, MO
7. Chicago
8. Savannah, GA
9. Charleston, SC

* = After this number, my desire to live in these places drops considerably.

I wouldn’t live in Olympia. I’ve only been there twice but it was soooo small. And, really, Evergreen is the most ridiculous excuse for a school. Seriously, there were students living in the goddamn woods. Like, get a job, hippie! Although it is gorgeous. So MAYBE I’d consider it. Consider. I’ve only been to St. Augustine twice but I really liked it, and if I was forced to live in FL, that’s probably the only place I would realistically consider.

So, yeah, this is my future: underemployed in Portland or fully employed in Miami. Which would be less likely to kill me? I think it’s safe to say the former. Which means that I will NEVER make any money and will be forced to have roommates for the rest of my life.

NF: I think that living unemployed in Portland would be way better than
fully employed in Miami. Plus, you probably woudn’t be unemployed.
You would just be underemployed working in a bookstore. Plus, if you
sold some of your crafts I am sure you could live alone in a studio.
There is always the option of getting married and staying (unemployed)
in Toronto.

So there you have it, folks. My options are to grab the first Canadian I see (either gender!) and get hitched down at city hall, or live in a stinking cesspit of a city somewhere in Nowhere, USA.

Meeting the friends: an interview of sorts

November 4, 2006 at 6:00 pm | Posted in boys | 2 Comments

Paperback Writer and I have been seeing each other, or dating, or whatever–we haven’t discussed our status–for about five weeks now. Last night, we had plans to go see Borat, and I originally thought that a bunch of my friends were going to come. PW invited several of his friends, and then my friends decided not to come. Which left me, PW, and PW’s friends. Here are some things I don’t do well: meeting new people, impressing new people, talking to new people. When faced with the prospect of having to interact with people I don’t know, my instinct is to want to cry or sleep. Or both. Before the movie, we were going to go out for drinks/dinner, which really put the fear of God into my heart. There is nothing more terrifying for those with an anxiety disorder that loves to display itself in social interactions than dinner with new people. Particularly new people who have already heard about me–Paperback Writer, in response to my panicky, “But they’re going to hate me!” said, “Aw, come on. It won’t be that bad. They’ll love you–I’ve been singing your praises.”

“Singing your praises.” That phrase, when used in the context of Tasha, is heart-stopping. I can’t stress enough how strongly I dislike unfamiliar social situations, and knowing that I would have to live up to expectations made me pretty much want to die. I immediately messaged everyone on Gmail Talk and emailed those who weren’t, desperate for advice. My friends did a good job of talking me down off of that particular ledge. I was still unsure of myself, so I went home and took a nap. (My philosophy is sort of an ostrich-bear hybrid — If I’m sleeping hibernating, I can’t see the problem and it can’t see me.)

I was relieved of much of my tension when PW sent me an email (we still haven’t exchanged phone numbers) saying that dinner was off and we would just be seeing the movie. I went over to his place and hung out with him, his roommate and their friend, Anastasia. I had been pretty nervous about meeting her (ya know, the whole girl who is a friend thing), but she turned out to be pretty easygoing and easy to talk to. The final member of our party arrived and we proceeded to the movie theater.

(Can I just say that Borat was super hilarious? I haven’t seen any new episodes of the show, nor have I seen any clips from the movie, so it was all new to me, and there were parts at which I was laughing so hard I was simultaneously crying AND unable to breathe.)

After the movie, we were supposed to go out for drinks but I bailed. I was so tired and still kind of feeling, not nervous or anything, but not exactly social. PW came home with me, which was cool though I did feel kind of bad about him leaving his friends. I thought I made it pretty clear that I wouldn’t be upset if he went out with them, so it was entirely his decision to come with me instead.

So, all in all, it ended up being a pretty good night. Which should teach me to not freak out about things, that everything will end up ok, but instead just reinforces another of my approaches to life–if I don’t panic about something, the worst will happen. If I do panic about it, the universe recognizes that and therefore prevents bad things from happening. It’s like Karma Koins. Or something.

The quarter-life crisis

November 3, 2006 at 7:48 pm | Posted in life, school, work | 2 Comments

Whoever said that being in your mid-twenties was the best time of your life was seriously mistaken.  Yeah, it can be fun–we can stay out all night drinking and still make it to work on time; we are young and healthy and look as good as we ever will.  We are too old to be completely irresponsible and too young to be tied down.  Generally, we don’t have spouses or kids, mortgages (most of us still have roommates), or even real careers.  Some of us love the freedom that comes with no responsibilities; others of us find it annoying or terrifying.

Guess which one I am?  It’s not that I’m looking to get married or have kids; indeed, I finally realized that maybe I’m not even looking for a serious relationship right now, or if I am, it’s going to have to develop slowly.  However, I don’t really appreciate the uncertainty that this stage of life brings.  I hate not knowing where I will be living next year.  I hate not knowing which direction I want to take with this degree.  I hate having been through the move-to-new-city-make-new-friends song and dance several times, with more to come (most likely).

When I was younger, in middle and high school, I looked at twentysomethings with careers as boring and staid.  I know people who still see things through that lens.  However, I have long since realized that I will never be one of those people who wants to backpack through [insert name of Latin American, European, or Asian country here] for six months, then come home and work at some crappy job for a while before taking off again.  I want my working life to have some actual meaning to it, and I don’t think that is possible to achieve by flitting around the world at random.  I want to travel, for sure, but how can you afford to travel without having a real job?

Unfortunately, most of my interests and abilities don’t really parlay into actual careers.  Knitting and spinning?  Not likely.  Photography?  Possible, but given the nature of my personality and the fact that I wouldn’t make a very good self-employed businesswoman, not likely either.  I am terrrrrrible at math and science, despite having a keen interest in epidemiology.  I am, in theory, interested in history, but my mind just doesn’t seem to be interesting in retaining facts and dates.  The only parts of my academic and extracurricular careers that seemed at all lucrative were my interests in books, reading, and writing.  So archives and library science it was.  Which is fine.  However, there are sooo many different paths within library science, and I still haven’t decided on one.  Nothing has presented itself as a particularly attractive option, though I’ve been able to rule out the following: law librarian, gov docs librarian, any kind of digital services librarian.  That still leaves about a billion options, and as my schedule for next term isn’t solidified yet, I have some decisions to make.

To make this matter worse, I’ve been looking at job postings online (thanks a lot, Heather, for the inspiration to pursue that particular avenue of self-doubt), and I have no remote idea what in the hell I want to do with this degree.

Thus, I am having a quarter life crisis.

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