Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Oh, the Skeevy Men I Have Known

Men rock. Most of my friends are guys. Sometimes I secretly think that I might be a guy. Nothing makes me happier than an evening of beer, pizza and Playstation. I find it completely adorable when a guy waves at a little kid, picks me up when he hugs me hello, or offers to parallel park my rental car for me. Men don't care where I shop, what size I wear, or whether I order a Yuengling at the fancy martini bar.

But there are the skeevy, creepy, annoying guys, too. And they deserve their moment in the sun. So, here's a salute to the Skeevy Guys I Have Known:

1. Creepy MySpace Guy: If you're a reasonably attractive woman with a MySpace page, you're total weirdo bait. Every few days, I get a Friend Request from some guy I've never heard of, usually with a name like I Drive a Mercedes or Ca-Sino Sexy. I can never resist a creep, so I hop over to the profile. Usually it's a man wearing excessive and sparkly jewelry, and most of his "friends" are scantily clad women sprawled across various sorts of red cars. So, no, Creepy MySpace Guy, I do not want to be added to your gallery of trophies. A thousand times yuck.

2. No Baggage Guy: This is the guy who claims he is seeking a woman with "no baggage." Newsflash: any woman over the age of 25 is going to have an emotional history. And if she's smart, she'll wear her baggage with pride. If she's really smart, she'll have learned from those experiences and be a better person for them. A woman with no baggage is so ridiculously sheltered that she'll bore you out of your wits. Learn to deal or buy a Real Doll.

3. Monologue Man: I salute you, Monologue Man. I am astounded at your ability to conduct our date as if I am not even there. I cheer your ability to tell me exactly how I should lead my life, what sort of food I should like, and what my political views should be...even though I have not spoken a word in the last 20 minutes. I am amazed by the level of information that you can extract from my bored silence. I am impressed that you do not see every stranger in the room regarding me with wonder and pity. Most of all, however, I wonder if I ought to chew off my own leg in order to escape.

4. Baby, You Can Drive My Car Guy: Wow! So, you totally drive a BMW. I appreciate you telling me that within 30 seconds of meeting me. My clothes are mysteriously falling off of me, and I must go see your totally awesome ride. A hot car is a perfectly valid substitute for intelligence, integrity, and a sense of humor.

5. Husband-to-Be Guy: This is the guy who wants to get married, right. this. second. He's got the decent job, the Toyota Camry with only two payments left, and the condo in Arlington. The only hitch? He doesn't have a girlfriend. So, it's time to go shopping for a wife. I mean, all women are interchangeable, and letting life unfold in even a remotely natural way is boring. So why not reduce a fellow human being to an item on your personal to-do list? I'm all for knowing what you want, but I can tell when a guy is a-shoppin' for a ball-and-chain. And it's creepy.

6. Satellite Man: When I was 20, this was the guy who would orbit my ass at dance clubs. I'd be all innocently dancing with my friends, and some guy with a beer on his hand would latch on from behind and attempt to cut me off from the herd. As I got older, the Ass Orbiter never seemed to truly go away. Now he's the guy who does laps of me at bars and parties, but never actually speaks to me until I'm ready to go home. Satellite Man, next time, just talk to me. You aren't being mysterious, you're being ooky. I'm approachable. I'm nice. And if I'm not interested, I'll find a way to tell you without crushing your sense of self.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Incompetent Advice, Relaunched

This was a shiny new toy I played with back in 2003 (pre-marriage, post-politics). Then I found other shiny things to play with, and this fell by the wayside. Well, it's time for a relaunch!

The deal is this:

Problems are FUNNY. If you want the advice of a 30-year-old divorcee who lives alone, neglects her houseplant, and whose career path is a festival of nonlinearity, send your drama to I have no qualifications whatsoever to dispense advice over the Internet, but what do you have to lose?

Thursday, March 15, 2007

The Five Stages of Quitting Your Job

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Now comes the super-secret sixth phase: soul-crushing fear. See, I've decided to temporarily forgo life in management track corporate America. I've quit my super career chick job with the suits, the giant keyring, and the door that closes. I'm going back to temping, in hopes of landing a decent secretarial post somewhere. This way I can try out different jobs and companies before I sign on long-term. I have one week left at my current job.

I realized I'd been using my job as something to hide behind. If I was really stressed out and came home dog tired, then I couldn't write, couldn't think, and couldn't deal with how completely loopy the last year has been. I could instead obsess about work. I've been told at least 100 times to write a book, and I never got up the nerve to do it. I never even got up the nerve to say I was even considering it. I don't know if it will ever really happen, but it definitely won't with the way my life is currently set up. If you can't get there from here, then it's time to change course.

I have no real responsibilities. I don't have a spouse, a mortgage, a car payment, or kids, just one very demanding houseplant. So if I'm going to take risks, now is the time to do it. Unfortunately, what with being 30 years old and all, I'm old enough to know exactly what it is I'm doing. Hence the soul-crushing fear.

So, yeah, eeeeeeek. But I'm happy. Scared, sure, but all that courage I've had to build up over the last year has to pay off sometime. At least that's what I'll tell myself as my bank account gets shot to hell.

Happiness is a choice, and sometimes it's the hardest choice that brings the most happiness.