Ok, so if you've been paying attention you know that I'm the queen of commitment issues. I've held steadfast to singlehood, running faster than a speeding bullet away from situations in which the first signs of relationship-ness were even hinted at. I've even been known to cause fights to get out of relationshipy-type situations.
But then, if you've been paying attention, you also know that recently I decided to let my guard down and give this whole commitment thing a whirl (gasp)! It's been a few months now and just when I was starting to get comfortable with that idea I was chucked back into the deep dark place within my psyche that only knows one word - RUN.
I was called the "FBM." By him.
Now, I'm fairly certain some of you out there just started lol-ing (yes I said it) but for those of you who don't know what that means (it took me a minute), here it is:
Future. Baby. Mama.
Uh oh.
When I was actually able to stop choking on the cheeseburger I was chewing at the time, I talked myself down from the ledge and out of changing my phone number and deleting my social media accounts. I even laughed about the term (it was a joke right? Right?) and then allowed myself just the teeniest thought of what it would be like to someday be that person.
Single Jen, meet Relationship Jen. This could get interesting.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The BIG Announcement
Do do do do!!!
Big announcement time!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's the moment you've all been waiting (and apparently praying) for...
I am on a hiatus from being single. And before you interject, I completely realize how that sounds. But let's face facts - people don't just change overnight. That holds especially true for someone who has such intense commitment issues as myself. I've been the walking poster child for singlehood for so long that I didn't even see this hiatus coming until it backhanded me in the face. And even then, the "no way, no how, nuh uh uh"of being in a (gasp) relationship came roaring out.
Here's the story (I'll fast forward through the lovey-dovey-ooey-gooey stuff. No reason to make anyone nauseous tonight) to the moment I knew I may still be grasping on to single Jen with both hands - we were hanging out with some friends when one of them said something like, "Jen is trying for the title of his wife." I can't even begin to tell you how thankful I am that he wasn't paying attention at that exact moment because my stomach did about 410 flip flops, my eyes bulged and with a crazed look I said, "no no no no no no no no" faster than it takes to say no once.
Oops.
Now that the panic attack has simmered, I have to admit I'm actually enjoying the hiatus. Life is good - even with some unexpected bumps in the last few months. Maybe...just maybe...single Jen will calm down and start to fade. Or maybe single Jen will win the war.
We shall see.....but either way, there's no reason to buy a wedding gift just yet.
May your days be filled with those who make you happy.
Big announcement time!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's the moment you've all been waiting (and apparently praying) for...
I am on a hiatus from being single. And before you interject, I completely realize how that sounds. But let's face facts - people don't just change overnight. That holds especially true for someone who has such intense commitment issues as myself. I've been the walking poster child for singlehood for so long that I didn't even see this hiatus coming until it backhanded me in the face. And even then, the "no way, no how, nuh uh uh"of being in a (gasp) relationship came roaring out.
Here's the story (I'll fast forward through the lovey-dovey-ooey-gooey stuff. No reason to make anyone nauseous tonight) to the moment I knew I may still be grasping on to single Jen with both hands - we were hanging out with some friends when one of them said something like, "Jen is trying for the title of his wife." I can't even begin to tell you how thankful I am that he wasn't paying attention at that exact moment because my stomach did about 410 flip flops, my eyes bulged and with a crazed look I said, "no no no no no no no no" faster than it takes to say no once.
Oops.
Now that the panic attack has simmered, I have to admit I'm actually enjoying the hiatus. Life is good - even with some unexpected bumps in the last few months. Maybe...just maybe...single Jen will calm down and start to fade. Or maybe single Jen will win the war.
We shall see.....but either way, there's no reason to buy a wedding gift just yet.
May your days be filled with those who make you happy.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
The Attack of the Not-So-Peppy Jen
Please don't call me peppy, energetic or positive.
Not today.
It's funny how labels become so much a part of who we are that we spend our days trying to live up to them. I recently received a group card and almost everyone who signed it referred, in some way, to my positive outlook and incredibly high energy level.
So it's confession time - I'm not always peppy (it's true, I promise). Apparently, though, I'm great at faking it (insert your favorite joke here). But in all seriousness, sometimes it can be really tiring to spend your days living up to the label of perky, peppy and positive.
Take today for example - by the time I hit my couch this afternoon I was beat. I've been sick and emotionally whiplashed, but I had a phone call to make. As I ended the conversation with my father he said, "but it sounds like you're doing ok." Score one for the pretend-to-be-peppy Jen.
Labels are our own creations and then ironically become self-fulfilling prophecies. We spend so much time and effort trying to be the person we think other people want us to be, not the perfectly imperfect selves we truly are. Labels are everywhere, and it's almost impossible to get rid of them. But it's important that we find the people in our lives who allow us to be label-free (or at least let us shed it for a little while). People who dig deeper, see more than the one-dimensional and give you the freedom to do the same. Today I was grateful for those people.
So if you'll excuse me, not-so-peppy Jen needs to go find someone to yell at. Just so you know, though, I'll be back to being peppy first thing tomorrow morning.
Not today.
It's funny how labels become so much a part of who we are that we spend our days trying to live up to them. I recently received a group card and almost everyone who signed it referred, in some way, to my positive outlook and incredibly high energy level.
So it's confession time - I'm not always peppy (it's true, I promise). Apparently, though, I'm great at faking it (insert your favorite joke here). But in all seriousness, sometimes it can be really tiring to spend your days living up to the label of perky, peppy and positive.
Take today for example - by the time I hit my couch this afternoon I was beat. I've been sick and emotionally whiplashed, but I had a phone call to make. As I ended the conversation with my father he said, "but it sounds like you're doing ok." Score one for the pretend-to-be-peppy Jen.
Labels are our own creations and then ironically become self-fulfilling prophecies. We spend so much time and effort trying to be the person we think other people want us to be, not the perfectly imperfect selves we truly are. Labels are everywhere, and it's almost impossible to get rid of them. But it's important that we find the people in our lives who allow us to be label-free (or at least let us shed it for a little while). People who dig deeper, see more than the one-dimensional and give you the freedom to do the same. Today I was grateful for those people.
So if you'll excuse me, not-so-peppy Jen needs to go find someone to yell at. Just so you know, though, I'll be back to being peppy first thing tomorrow morning.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Round Two
I think I just quit dating.
In case I haven't said this before, I'm obsessive about punctuality. If you tell me something starts at 5, chances are I'm going to be there at least 10 minutes before 5. I'll be hanging out in my car, but I'll be there. You know that if I start a blog off with this particular tidbit, the rest is not going to be pretty. Without further ado, I present the story of Random Guy #2. I know you've been waiting.
This date was doomed from the start. Random Guy #2 said "meet me at the restaurant at 7." Random Guy #2 showed up at 7:30. I was actually in the process of cashing out my bar tab to head home when he comes waltzing in. Seriously, waltzing. Like he had no cares in the world. That should have been the giant neon sign flashing RUN, but...I suddenly realized I was still hungry and if I had to go through the motions of getting ready and sitting at a bar by myself for 30 minutes, then I should at least get a free meal. So, I stayed.
Bad idea.
Halfway through dinner I found myself sitting in the middle of a Letterman Top Ten skit - the "Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Be Über Grateful I Even Showed Up And Am Sitting Across The Table From You, Even If I Was 30 Minutes Late" skit. I think I stopped listening at reason #4 and started creating my grocery list (in my mind of course - I'm not rude enough to pull out a notepad and pen to write things down, although I'm not sure he would have even noticed). THEN I started thinking about all of the things I could have been doing at home, which was yet another bad idea because all I wanted to do then was go home and start the list. (FYI, you know you're getting older when people are talking and all you're thinking about is laundry and dishes) THEN I started trying to figure out ways to pull out my phone and strategically place it under the table so I could at least do something more productive than listen to how wonderful my date was...like update my Facebook status.
Dinner's finally over and I couldn't get out of there any faster (yes, even without dessert). I honestly believe Random Guy #2 owes me 124.6 minutes of my life back, and the meal we had was nowhere near adequate compensation. I briefly considered naming him in this blog as a way to partially recoup my losses, but then the nicer part of me kicked in - plus, who wants to give a narcissist more free press? Either way, I think I may be over this whole dinner date theory.
And Random Guys.
In case I haven't said this before, I'm obsessive about punctuality. If you tell me something starts at 5, chances are I'm going to be there at least 10 minutes before 5. I'll be hanging out in my car, but I'll be there. You know that if I start a blog off with this particular tidbit, the rest is not going to be pretty. Without further ado, I present the story of Random Guy #2. I know you've been waiting.
This date was doomed from the start. Random Guy #2 said "meet me at the restaurant at 7." Random Guy #2 showed up at 7:30. I was actually in the process of cashing out my bar tab to head home when he comes waltzing in. Seriously, waltzing. Like he had no cares in the world. That should have been the giant neon sign flashing RUN, but...I suddenly realized I was still hungry and if I had to go through the motions of getting ready and sitting at a bar by myself for 30 minutes, then I should at least get a free meal. So, I stayed.
Bad idea.
Halfway through dinner I found myself sitting in the middle of a Letterman Top Ten skit - the "Top Ten Reasons Why You Should Be Über Grateful I Even Showed Up And Am Sitting Across The Table From You, Even If I Was 30 Minutes Late" skit. I think I stopped listening at reason #4 and started creating my grocery list (in my mind of course - I'm not rude enough to pull out a notepad and pen to write things down, although I'm not sure he would have even noticed). THEN I started thinking about all of the things I could have been doing at home, which was yet another bad idea because all I wanted to do then was go home and start the list. (FYI, you know you're getting older when people are talking and all you're thinking about is laundry and dishes) THEN I started trying to figure out ways to pull out my phone and strategically place it under the table so I could at least do something more productive than listen to how wonderful my date was...like update my Facebook status.
Dinner's finally over and I couldn't get out of there any faster (yes, even without dessert). I honestly believe Random Guy #2 owes me 124.6 minutes of my life back, and the meal we had was nowhere near adequate compensation. I briefly considered naming him in this blog as a way to partially recoup my losses, but then the nicer part of me kicked in - plus, who wants to give a narcissist more free press? Either way, I think I may be over this whole dinner date theory.
And Random Guys.
Monday, May 28, 2012
The Land of Expectations
Ahh...expectations. Aren't they great?
An amazing friend once told me that disappointment is a direct result of expectations and that learning to live without them is the key to a happy life. So, always willing to try something once, I threw caution to the wind and forgot all of my expectations - for about 37 seconds. And while I love him dearly, I'm going to have to respectfully disagree with his philosophy, at least in how it pertains to me and my life. Call me naive (go ahead, I've been called worse) but I like to hope for the best in people, places and things until they have proven otherwise. I expect the best in humankind.
Recently I found myself disappointed in a person and a situation and seriously reconsidered the whole "no expectations" thing. But, after those 37 seconds passed, I once again remembered that's not who I truly am at my core. It's almost impossible for me to live without them.
Bottom line is this - I have expectations and they are a product of exactly what I feel about myself. I don't expect perfection, but I do expect to be treated with kindness and respect, to not have promises made only to be broken, and to have people's words match their actions. This is who I am, what I expect out of life and the people in it. I will not lower or completely forget about the things that matter most to me.
While I'm certain I will be disappointed
In the future, I'll continue to expect the best out of life. I know that there will be plenty of people as I grow that won't be able to meet my expectations. And that's okay, because it's these expectations that will help me weed out the people who don't deserve to be part of my life.
May today you be true to yourself...
An amazing friend once told me that disappointment is a direct result of expectations and that learning to live without them is the key to a happy life. So, always willing to try something once, I threw caution to the wind and forgot all of my expectations - for about 37 seconds. And while I love him dearly, I'm going to have to respectfully disagree with his philosophy, at least in how it pertains to me and my life. Call me naive (go ahead, I've been called worse) but I like to hope for the best in people, places and things until they have proven otherwise. I expect the best in humankind.
Recently I found myself disappointed in a person and a situation and seriously reconsidered the whole "no expectations" thing. But, after those 37 seconds passed, I once again remembered that's not who I truly am at my core. It's almost impossible for me to live without them.
Bottom line is this - I have expectations and they are a product of exactly what I feel about myself. I don't expect perfection, but I do expect to be treated with kindness and respect, to not have promises made only to be broken, and to have people's words match their actions. This is who I am, what I expect out of life and the people in it. I will not lower or completely forget about the things that matter most to me.
While I'm certain I will be disappointed
In the future, I'll continue to expect the best out of life. I know that there will be plenty of people as I grow that won't be able to meet my expectations. And that's okay, because it's these expectations that will help me weed out the people who don't deserve to be part of my life.
May today you be true to yourself...
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
The Dating Puddle
And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...a glimpse into the 30-something single-girl dating diary. Dim the lights, pop the popcorn and get comfortable because you're all in for a entertaining treat.
Okay, maybe not.
I have to admit - I'm way out of practice when it comes to this whole dating thing. My last relationship was over 6 years, immediately following a 4 year-er, and my idea of date night was where someone else cooked dinner, there was more than just a fork on the table and I could wear heels (instead of flip flops) with my jeans. I know, I know.
I hate dating. Dating, contrary to what some good-intentioned friends tried to
convince me, is not like riding a bike. Because, you see, bike-riding does not involve progressively more complex and confusing levels as you age. You can wear the same bike-riding pants at 20 as you can at 30 and 40 and 50. You can even ride the same bike (or one just like it). You can get back on a bike seat and everything feels natural all over again. This is not the case for those of us who have been stepping around the dating puddle for such a long time. Apparently the rules (and clothes) of dating change as you age and all of it has the peculiar stench of awkwardness.
But, since we're on this whole living life kick I decided to give it a whirl. I got my nails done, my hair all fancied up, threw on a (gasp) dress and hit the town with random guy #1. Random guy #1 gets his name because we met in a random place, at a random time. I'm assuming there will be a random guy #2 - eventually.
Anywho, I guess in your 30s the word "date" means dinner and then maybe something following dinner if you're lucky enough to not have made a fool out of yourself in the first 60 minutes. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone you barely know that you're trying to impress and analyze all at the same time as you're chewing?? It's not that easy. Inevitably, there's always a question that comes right as you take a bite. But, awkward moments aside, dinner was filled with conversation (between chews) and very little silence, which I took as a good sign. Mission accomplished. And, I'm proud to say that I even knew enough not to consume enough alcohol to float a yacht (although the jitters were definitely encouraging me otherwise).
So...dinner's over...here's the true test...and the suggestion was dessert. Hmmm, not sure how to take that one. Here's what went on in my head, "Dessert? We just left a restaurant that served dessert. Is this a true extension of a date? What exactly does dessert mean? Am I over analyzing this? Argh."
Sigh. On to the next awkward moment.
Okay, maybe not.
I have to admit - I'm way out of practice when it comes to this whole dating thing. My last relationship was over 6 years, immediately following a 4 year-er, and my idea of date night was where someone else cooked dinner, there was more than just a fork on the table and I could wear heels (instead of flip flops) with my jeans. I know, I know.
I hate dating. Dating, contrary to what some good-intentioned friends tried to
convince me, is not like riding a bike. Because, you see, bike-riding does not involve progressively more complex and confusing levels as you age. You can wear the same bike-riding pants at 20 as you can at 30 and 40 and 50. You can even ride the same bike (or one just like it). You can get back on a bike seat and everything feels natural all over again. This is not the case for those of us who have been stepping around the dating puddle for such a long time. Apparently the rules (and clothes) of dating change as you age and all of it has the peculiar stench of awkwardness.
But, since we're on this whole living life kick I decided to give it a whirl. I got my nails done, my hair all fancied up, threw on a (gasp) dress and hit the town with random guy #1. Random guy #1 gets his name because we met in a random place, at a random time. I'm assuming there will be a random guy #2 - eventually.
Anywho, I guess in your 30s the word "date" means dinner and then maybe something following dinner if you're lucky enough to not have made a fool out of yourself in the first 60 minutes. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone you barely know that you're trying to impress and analyze all at the same time as you're chewing?? It's not that easy. Inevitably, there's always a question that comes right as you take a bite. But, awkward moments aside, dinner was filled with conversation (between chews) and very little silence, which I took as a good sign. Mission accomplished. And, I'm proud to say that I even knew enough not to consume enough alcohol to float a yacht (although the jitters were definitely encouraging me otherwise).
So...dinner's over...here's the true test...and the suggestion was dessert. Hmmm, not sure how to take that one. Here's what went on in my head, "Dessert? We just left a restaurant that served dessert. Is this a true extension of a date? What exactly does dessert mean? Am I over analyzing this? Argh."
Sigh. On to the next awkward moment.
Fears and Tears
Today's blog confession: I made my father cry.
Now I know that in my almost 33 years I've probably done a handful of things that have brought tears to my dad's eyes - like when I got caught by the parish priest writing scandalous non-Catholicy things, or when I blew out my knee and my soccer career went kaput, or when my pending nuptials went spiraling down the drain but I continued to date the ex-fiancé - but this was the first time he actually cried TO me BECAUSE of me. Well, not technically because of me, but more out of fear of something that may be happening.
If you've followed this blog at all, you'll recall my discussions about a particular health issue, which I affectionately refer to as "Carl." There's no actual reason for that other than calling it some random name seems to make it much easier to discuss (for weeks someone in my life thought Carl was a new boyfriend) and a little more palatable. It appears that Carl, much like a new boyfriend, still has a few surprises for me.
Reader's Digest version: My doctor's office called and said "biopsy" in the most chipper voice I've ever heard. Huh? I'm sorry, what is that you just said? I seriously believe Webster should strike that word from the English language. And no one should ever ever say it in a sing-songy voice. It does nothing except incite fear and, inevitably, tears. I shared the news with my dad who took it in stride until the very end of the conversation. He started to say that I needed to have every test I could possibly have, because....
Fear is a powerful thing. It can knock you over, take your breath away, remind you of the doomsday possibilities and distract you from the positive. It sits with you during the quiet, lonely moments, invades your dreams, erases the joy you should feel every day. Fear can hold you back, hold you down and ultimately immobilize you.
But I also believe that giving in to fear is a conscious decision. I sat with my own fears for a few days, then realized I had 2 choices: I could continue to let it define me, or I could defy it. Life is never promised to us, and each day is a very precious gift. So maybe, it some weird way, that too chipper phone call was a wake-up call from the universe, reminding me to grab hold of life and take in each moment I'm given (which included a great big splash back into the dating puddle - more on that in the next post).
Luckily for me, when it was all said and done, the word "biopsy" didn't turn out to be life-altering, unless you count the brand new outlook, new therapies and new meds. It was the good news I had been waiting to hear, the news that would make the fears non-existent, for both me and my dad. I'm honestly hoping this is one of the last times I ever make him cry.
May today you overcome all of your fears, dream all of your biggest dreams, and live in each and every moment.
Now I know that in my almost 33 years I've probably done a handful of things that have brought tears to my dad's eyes - like when I got caught by the parish priest writing scandalous non-Catholicy things, or when I blew out my knee and my soccer career went kaput, or when my pending nuptials went spiraling down the drain but I continued to date the ex-fiancé - but this was the first time he actually cried TO me BECAUSE of me. Well, not technically because of me, but more out of fear of something that may be happening.
If you've followed this blog at all, you'll recall my discussions about a particular health issue, which I affectionately refer to as "Carl." There's no actual reason for that other than calling it some random name seems to make it much easier to discuss (for weeks someone in my life thought Carl was a new boyfriend) and a little more palatable. It appears that Carl, much like a new boyfriend, still has a few surprises for me.
Reader's Digest version: My doctor's office called and said "biopsy" in the most chipper voice I've ever heard. Huh? I'm sorry, what is that you just said? I seriously believe Webster should strike that word from the English language. And no one should ever ever say it in a sing-songy voice. It does nothing except incite fear and, inevitably, tears. I shared the news with my dad who took it in stride until the very end of the conversation. He started to say that I needed to have every test I could possibly have, because....
Fear is a powerful thing. It can knock you over, take your breath away, remind you of the doomsday possibilities and distract you from the positive. It sits with you during the quiet, lonely moments, invades your dreams, erases the joy you should feel every day. Fear can hold you back, hold you down and ultimately immobilize you.
But I also believe that giving in to fear is a conscious decision. I sat with my own fears for a few days, then realized I had 2 choices: I could continue to let it define me, or I could defy it. Life is never promised to us, and each day is a very precious gift. So maybe, it some weird way, that too chipper phone call was a wake-up call from the universe, reminding me to grab hold of life and take in each moment I'm given (which included a great big splash back into the dating puddle - more on that in the next post).
Luckily for me, when it was all said and done, the word "biopsy" didn't turn out to be life-altering, unless you count the brand new outlook, new therapies and new meds. It was the good news I had been waiting to hear, the news that would make the fears non-existent, for both me and my dad. I'm honestly hoping this is one of the last times I ever make him cry.
May today you overcome all of your fears, dream all of your biggest dreams, and live in each and every moment.
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