hey pretty

Damage Control

News carries very quickly in my office, and like all stupid gossip it's always blown out of proportion and distorted beyond recognition of actual truth. For the first several days after I learned of my layoff I chose to keep the information mostly to myself, only letting my teammates and a couple of others in on what is going on. But this week I've decided to inform a few more people simply because it would seem odd to just go away without really talking about it. Since learning about my layoff there's been one person in particular who I've wanted to discuss the issue with.

During my wild pre-47 days, I had an on-and-off-again co-workers-with-benefits-situation with a young man here in the office. We rarely worked together and seldom even saw one another and mostly managed to interact as buddies when we did so it was never a very big deal. In fact, we did grow to be pals despite some occasional awkwardness. He's been away for the past week and a half, so today was the today to break the news to him. I IM'd him to give him the deets. Only it seems as if he already knew. So rather than IMing him to tell him what was up, our conversation morphed into a damage-control type of situation where I found myself debunking any potential rumors that I was leaving because something spectacularly terrible happened and I was fired.

Those of you who have never been laid off may not be familiar with this phenomenon, but for those of us who have been, the distinction between "laid off" and "fired" is an important one. "Laid off" implies complicated sets of circumstances mostly beyond your control. "Fired" implies that you're a screw up and the whole thing is your fault.

While my young co-worker with benefits didn't up and *say* that he heard I was fired, it did sound to me like the rumor mill had reached him and that it was lacking for critical details. So I filled him in. Which then lead to a very nice discussion which ended with him asking if we can still be friends. So that was nice. Now I'm wondering if there's any point in throwing myself a going away happy hour as has been the tradition here among young employees. I'm rather conflicted on the whole matter. There are a couple of people here who I don't mind never seeing again who I would never in a million years dream of inviting to a happy hour. That person mainly really being one person and that one person being...deep breath...47's ex.

While friends of mine have been down with the situation from day one, I've been reticent to discuss the details of how I know him. But now that I'm leaving my job I really don't care anymore. Besides, I hate keeping secrets from my blog.

To make a long story short, 47's ex works in my office. The whole reason for us meeting was because he accompanied her to the company holiday party two years ago when they were in their brief phase of "making things work for the sake of the child." But they were barely speaking to one another at the time, which is how he and I came to wind up spending the better part of the evening smoking cigs together outside the party. So ironically, while I was thinking how swell this man was and how lucky my coworker was to be married to him and how I hoped to find somebody just like him some day, she was trying rather hard to ditch him.

When we reunited it was this past July, the divorce papers had already been signed and she was in Italy visiting her Italian lover for the summer. This was at a party thrown by another co-worker, who 47 happens to be friends with. Are you keeping up? Okay, good. It's about to get more complicated.

So as friends and devoted readers will recall, 47 and I spent a rather blissful 6 weeks playing house, playing "getting to know you" and collectively dreading the return of his ex. Then she came back. Since then his daily life has been a non-stop series of fights about all the stuff people fight over when going through a bitter divorce. While he and I fought to keep our relationship a secret, she eventually found out. Which turned my daily life into a headache as a result. Actually, headache isn't so accurate as "constant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach in anticipation of running into her." Which I have, many times.

I have learned over the past couple of months that an interesting thing happens when you're dating the man your coworker used to be married to but is ultimately divorcing from due to the fact that she had been having an affair over email for several years. Essentially, you're locked into an unspoken agreement that neither shall ever speak to one another or anyone else about what is going on. While she could very well tell our mutuals that I'm a hussy for dating her ex, it would necessitate her also having to explain that he's about to be her ex and why. And while I could very well tell our mutuals that I'm seeing 47, it would then necessitate explaining the divorce, which would be totally inappropriate and would ultimately make me look like a complete hussy for getting involved with him in the first place.

When 47 and I initially got together I had huge reservations about the relationship. Given my proximity to his ex, it seemed like a risky and not altogether smart idea. While part of me hoped she wouldn't care, another part knew it would be asking for trouble. That, and as I already had a situation with a coworker, I was starting to think that it was time to start dating outside the context of my work environment. But ultimately, romance won out and 47 swept me off my feet.

While many of you reading this are no doubt thinking that I'm a total slut at this point, I'd like to point out that while I haven't always been that practical in regards to who I have become involved with, I have entered into each of those situations after a great deal of thought to possible outcomes. Never in my life have I launched a relationship or a fling if I had any inkling that somebody either in the center or on the periphery might get hurt. With the case of 47 and his ex, I truly thought she'd be indifferent. After all she's the one who cheated, right? Women who cheat don't get an opinion, right?

In reality, there's no stopping anyone from thinking what they want to think. And apparently, 47's ex thinks I'm a ho-bag out to destroy civilization. It takes one to know one. In the end I don't particularly care what she thinks, especially since she doesn't know me. We've had maybe two conversations with one another ever, so whatever she thinks she knows about me is all second-third-and fourth-hand. I've told 47 that I don't want to hear about what she says to him about me, and he has been very kind in respecting this wish while simultaneously ignoring whatever she's had to say about me.

When I learned of being laid off, one of my first thoughts after panicking about the financials and the pain of enduring the job hunting process yet again was an overwhelming sense of relief knowing that the number of encounters I'd have to have with her in the future had been drastically reduced. No more pained silences when alone in the elevator with her, no more running into her in the ladies room, no more avoiding the wing of the building that she works in. No more of those pointed glares she throws me. No more minor anxiety attacks at the site of her sunken black eyes, the grey circles under her eyes and that menacing stare that says all too much. I'm not the only one whose relieved to see me go.

I find it funny that while others here at work spend their days gossiping about the most inane events ever, an entire Lifetime channel drama has been unfolding beneath their noses and they have been completely unaware. Most of my colleagues think that I'm single while one or two know that I'm dating some mysterious man I never feel like talking about or introducing to anyone. Hardly anyone here knows the exact truth. As juicy as all this gossip is, and as much as I truly dislike her for the emotional state she has inflicted upon him, I'd never dream of broadcasting the story to those who know the players. Some punishments are a little too harsh, even for karma. Besides, I can't even begin to imagine how the rumor mill would distort this particular drama.

To be certain, I have learned quite a bit at this job, mostly in regards to affairs not quite appropriate for my resume.

I'm Not There

Nothing feels more surreal than rolling into work after a long weekend knowing you have less than a week left at your job and no idea where you're heading next. By in large, I've been handling the fact of my impending unemployment with a considerable measure of maturity and calmness. I haven't had a single mellow-dramatic crying fit; I haven't spent any time moping about the apparent non-chalance that many of my acquaintances have displayed in reaction to the event; I have entertained no thoughts about sabotaging any of my remaining projects. Instead, I am dutifully applying for jobs, reaching out to past managers to secure their help as references, taking my only suit to the dry cleaners, and trying like hell to maintain a positive outlook.

Spending the past four days with 47 helped, although it felt like I was cutting off a toe when we finally parted last night simply because I had grown so accustomed to his presence over the long weekend. We've morphed into a nice secure little unit, and there are times when it definitely feels as if its us against the world. I always try to not let boyfriends become dominating presences within my social life, but these days I'm feeling way hermity and rather done with the whole notion of trying to constantly convene friends for social activities, so if my options are "hang out alone" or "hang out with 47" I happily choose the latter. It's not that I don't welcome the presence of others, it's that others don't really seem to be that reliable and I don't have the energy to be that charming all the time. That, and my heart is a little tired of reaching out.

Anyway. Today I am back in the real world, where people don't live off of takeout from Joe's Noodle House and Mama's Little Dumplings for all their meals. And where people attend their weekly staff meetings. I skipped last week's but decided to attend this one, as it would be my last of my career at this organization. As much as I don't really mind the fact that I won't be working here after Friday, something that did bum me out was thinking about how everyone else's life here will simply go on after I'm gone. Topics such as year-end performance reviews, the company holiday party, year-end leave came up, and none of it applied to me. Somebody asked me if I'd attend the holiday party, which is this Thursday, and I replied that I wasn't planning on it because it would seem weird. While they clucked sympathetically and said I should attend, I knew it really wouldn't matter in the long run if I wasn't there. That a few people might wonder where I was, that those who know about my current fate here would inform the others in low voices about my layoff, and that I'd probably serve as cocktail party conversation fodder for all of three minutes until their minds wandered to more pressing topics like football scores and Christmas travel destinations. While I am friendly with some people here, those who I loved the most have long since left for other opportunities. I don't even think I'll throw myself a going-away happy hour like others have before me. It would seem a bit forced since it wasn't really my decision to leave. While I obviously know that I am not the center of the universe, it's strange to witness that reality come into play in regards to something as life-altering as losing a job. As much as I dislike my job, it's still a bit sad.

Hopefully moving on will be easy. I have a telephone interview later today, an in-person interview somewhere on Wednesday, and I just made an inside contact at an organization I have wanted to work at since I was a teenager. I know that things are good. I just need to make it through this week. I know that more people here have found out about my layoff, which feels weird. I'm never comfortable in environments where I know that people are talking *about me* but not actually *to* me.

I think this miserable weather has a bit to do with my mood as well.

In other news, I saw and disliked the new Bob Dylan movie; rocked the house playing poker on Saturday; and am newly in love with Asian art, especially pottery and sculpture. And any of you who have yet to see the Whistler exhibit at the Freer should do so immediately. 

Happy Holidays, You Get a Pink Slip

I suppose the writing was on the wall and that I was simply ignoring it. Late afternoon Friday I was called into an impromptu meeting with my managers and HR. Knowing that's never a good sign, my stomach immediately lurched into my ovaries. They sat me down and started blah blahing about funding cuts to my contract, a lack of available work in other parts of our company, two week's notice, crappy severance package, COBRA, and the like. Apparently, it had nothing to do with my performance, it was merely a matter of money. Too stunned to efficiently process the information being presented to me, I blurted out some nonsensical first impressions of the situation. They asked me if I had any questions. I paused for a moment and asked if I could go home early. They all stifled a laugh and said that would be okay.

That was three days ago and I've been vacillating between several contrasting emotional states ever since. To be honest, I sort of hated my job anyway and was only hanging in there due to the fact that I wanted to see if my pet website project would ever get off the ground. I had applied for a couple of jobs a few weeks ago but had since discovered a new sense of loyalty towards that project and thought it might be something worth sticking around for. Now I'm just a little mad that I let the website project distract me from what I apparently should have been doing all along--conducting a balls to the wall search for new employment. I've noticed recently that I haven't been nearly as funny or as entertaining as I have been in the past, and I'm almost positive that it's a result of working in a boring office with very low employee morale. Yesterday I spent the day with 47 and a friend of his from out of town. Freed from thoughts of the oppressiveness of my job, I found myself saying things that were downright hilarious. So hopefully this trend will continue and my sense of humor will manage to climb out from underneath the rubble that is my mindnumbingly dull (soon to be ex) job.

I've been laid off before and it's something that I'm actually pretty good at. The last time it happened I was a complete mess leading up to my final day in the office, but I managed the actual fact of being jobless with a considerable measure of elan. This time around, I intend to use my unemployment as an opportunity to find a job that I actually like, that pays a better salary than the one I currently have, that provides me with an office with a door, and that is actually located within the District of Columbia rather than a crappy suburb that requires me to commute 45 minutes on the metro. I also intend to go to the gym every weekday morning and volunteer. I expect this experience to reward me with a fatter paycheck, a more engaging job, a better body and some interesting new friends and experiences.

While I've been told a million times over the past several days that this is actually a good thing, and while I know this to be true, my actual emotions are having a hard time catching up and accepting this fact. I'm happy to be leaving a situation that I was unhappy in, and grateful for the unemployment insurance that I get to collect. But I'm pissed off at the timing. Hello? Christmas is right around the corner. What sort of grinchy company lays somebody off in mid-November? Why not rename us as The Consulting Firm That Stole Christmas? While I have some funds in savings, I dread the prospect of having to find a flight to Boston as well as the prospect of buying Christmas gifts. I know that Christmas isn't about presents, but I feel bad that I won't be able to afford the usual tokens of appreciation that I lavish upon my mother this time of year. I hope she likes the macaroni necklace I'm going to have to give her.

Your Gossip Girl Addiction is Bad When...

...shopping for a little something for an upcoming party you judge an outfit on whether it's more "Blair" or "Serena." For the record I am a staunch Blair fan. Yes, I am totally okay with admitting that I have a soft spot for snarky, pretty, spoiled, vindictive brunettes. While I can't directly hate on Serena, I do empathize with Blair's feeling that everything is always about Serena. Haven't we all had a friend we've secretly felt that way about? Oh that's just me? Carry on then. Thanks to the genius costumers for the CW, Blair is the bomb. I now covet her entire wardrobe, especially the headbands and the ruby red lips. I read somewhere recently that Serena's look was inspired by Kate Moss in that they imbued her character with the ability to simply "throw on" a bunch of stuff and have it always look amazing. By a bunch of stuff they no doubt mean a bunch of stuff from Barney's or Bergdorf's. And she does look good, but I'm tired of society telling me that tall leggy blonds with hair extensions are the apex of beauty.

Anyway. Since my new clothing philosophy is that it's better to have a few wonderful things than an entire closet of boxy generic schmattes from H&M, I haven't been purchasing a whole lot recently. I've actually been hording much of my money in my "clothing budget" to spend on items that I think are truly beautiful. I've also been bringing my lunch to work quite a bit and going out much less often. Yesterday work had gotten me a little down so I decided to hop into Green and Blue on my way to happy hour. I'm too embarrassed to tell you what I bought because then you'd find it online and find out exactly how irresponsible I am with money, but let's just say it was black silk and had enormous black silk bows all over it and I've been lusting after it for months. I mean, come on...black silk bows! Of course purchasing it will now necessitate the purchase of a new pair of pants, but I needed new good black pants anyway as the only other pair I have that fit (weight LOST not GAINED, thank you very much) are JCrew suit pants, which would work in that boring "DC" way that everyone pairs nice things with suit pants, but this piece really deserves a slamming pair of un-conservative narrow (but NOT skinny) black pants. The saleswoman thought my find needed a pencil skirt. Since I had already opined on the challenges of finding tops that flatter larger than average breasts, I decided that I'd just internalize my rant about the pitfalls of pencil skirts on short hourglass figures.

So the shirt is gorge, and with alterations it will be even better. I believe it's versatile enough to be paired with lots of other pieces, within the "Blair Aesthetic", to that of Serena, and back.

In the comments section validate my terrible spending habits. Then tell me who your TV clothing crush is.
       

Neo-Maxo Zoom Dweeb

Several minutes hours ago I read on Jezebel that Drew Barrymore's latest film role is that of Edith Beale. While several Jezebel commenters had much to say about this, I just sat there reading it thinking "who is this person?" Luckily for me there's Google and Wikipedia and after just several minutes I was up to speed.

Now I'm wondering how it could be that I reached the age of 31 and have never heard of Edith Beale and her mom. I mean, crazy rich people who infiltrated the popular psyche due to their sheer loopyness? 20th Century Pop Culture? Hello? I live for that stuff. My brain is crammed with all sorts of useless po-mo cultural interpretations of the various decades in the last century and how they can serve as "texts" for understanding how our society has evolved to be the way it is today, or why Peyton Place isn't a soap opera as much as it was *the first mainstream novel to address taboo subjects like incest and rape*.

Allow me to geek out for several minutes while I fill you in on some crucial Hey Pretty trivia. Not only was I an English major in college, I was the uber annoying variety who actually liked critical theory. I specialized in postmodern theory and cultural studies not only because it meant I didn't have to take any classes that involved Chaucer, but because I *liked* trying to convince people that Derrida wasn't completely full of hot air, and I found it fun to apply Foucault's theories of the state dominating the subject through the body to Shakespeare's Measure for Measure (probably my favorite and most successful college paper ever. My professor Ms. Gorfain was so proud of me). I was enthralled by the Allan Sokal Social Text Hoax and was sad when Lingua Franca went under. I considered continuing on and earning a Phd in English with a similar sort of pretentious concentration, but decided against it when I finally came to terms with the fact that I really don't care for professors that much.

And then I entered the real world where people will just think you're an insufferable snob of you talk about any of that stuff so my attention instead drifted over to finding a job, boys, and the various foibles of Lindsay Lohan (which will totally be compelling cultural context for early 21st Century literature in college classrooms everywhere in about 50 years folks--you heard it here first!). But what does Edith Beale have to do with all that? I'm not really sure, but learning of her and Grey Gardens completely reawakened my inner lit-crit geek, the one that truly believes that novels can only be appreciated within their historic contexts and rolls her eyes at anyone who would ever find it sufficient to do a mere line reading of a text.

I've always found the 1970s to be an interesting period in American history, although I am woefully uninformed about really critical things like the Vietnam War. In college my Postmodern Fiction class deconstructed Salem's Lot as a metaphor for the crisis in masculinity that (according to my prof) was pervasive within popular portrayals of men following the war. I've always wondered what the "differences" are between people who came of age in the 70's versus the 60's and whether they resent having to grow up in a decade that followed the 60's, which was so absolutely revolutionary nothing could really ever compare to it. And now add Edith Beale and Grey Gardens to the strange miasma of disco, Quaaludes, Studio 54, Jimmy Carter, the oil crisis, avocado green and orange appliances and 60's burn out that was the 70s and I am officially re-enthralled with the era. So now I totally have to investigate this whole Grey Gardens thing. Similarly, I feel some sort of need to run home and read some of my old books from college. The ones I hold on to partially as trophies of past intellectual hunts, but also (yes, I can admit this) to look all smart and stuff.

Yet another blog post that ran away from me. Someday soon I'll relearn that thing of value called "context". After all, Ofred did say in the Handmaid's Tale that "context is all."

In the comments section tell me about your geekiest intellectual passion. Either that or say something really pretentious. The person who leaves the most pretentious comment gets a free copy of Madness and Civilization!

The Half-Full/Half Empty Dilemma

My boss is one of those bubbly, perpetually happy types. Great at cocktail parties and even when diffusing tension in group settings, but I often feel as if she isn't equipped to handle routine personnel issues. While I've never really managed anyone (aside from an occasional intern) I have long believed that the mark of a great manager is the ability to be open to the ideas and issues of one's underlings. Often when I talk to her, I feel as if she isn't really hearing me, no matter how hard she might be trying.

In general I respect the contributions that optimists bring to the job and to other areas of life. We all need the glass-half-full types reminding us that we're over-reacting to life's challenges. But on the other, I feel as if optimism is pointless if it makes you unsympathetic to the people who rely on you for professional or emotional support. People who are having a hard time making a go of something, whether it be at work or in some other area of their lives need an open ear, not somebody who glosses over their frustrations. I have struggled for years to be a more positive individual. I know that I'm overly sensitive and that I tend to let small problems drag me down. Sometimes it may not seem this way, but it's a battle I'm slowly winning. Compare the me of today to the misanthrope of 10 years ago, and I'm a radically stronger and sunnier individual. And while I may not always bubble over for a love of the world and everyone around me, I think that my relationships with low-grade depression, ennui and general malaise have made me a more empathetic person. So while I'm by no means trying to justify the darker side of my personality, I do believe that it lends me certain interpersonal skills that the optimistic population of the world may not possess as strongly.

This realization has been a notable one over recent months. Rather than letting myself be cowed by other peoples deductions that I'm "being negative" it's actually helping me gain a bit of self acceptance. Maintaing a postive attitude is important. Indeed, it's an admirable skill and I envy those who can do it. But being open-minded and accepting of those who have evolved differently is equally important. At the very least I understand that negative thoughts do not exist within a vacuum. They have a root and even a source of nourishment. While people who voice their negative feelings may be downers and difficult to be around, writing them off with facile descriptors of their personality really isn't helping anyone.

I'm not really sure where this blog post is going at this point. I generally try to contextualize whatever is on my mind but in the case of this post it seems to have gotten away from me. Suffice to say, it's an issue I've given some thought to over the years and this is my latest understanding of the topic, although like everything else in this crazy, ever-shifting life, I expect these perceptions to change as time goes by. A friend recently suggested to me that I try a bit harder to cultivate some self esteem. Clearly she hasn't heard my egotistical boasting about my intellect/hair/ability to lose weight real fast/killer eyes. I think that in general I keep those opinions to myself. But as a part of her challenge I've decided to forgive myself for my sub-par personality quirks, to cultivate an appreciation for their virtues, and then to balance them out with more positive ones.  And if I can do that, maybe the bubbly types of the world can learn to be a bit more accepting.

The Age of Diminished Expectations

It's occurred to me recently that I spend quite a bit of time being disapointed in other people and stressed out by their disinterest in living up to what I actually expect from them. Which isn't to say that I have extremely high standards, simply that I have some standards and that I tend to take people for their word. So when somebody says they'll do something or behave in a certain way I tend to believe them and then feel horribly disapointed and slighted when they don't which is coming to be like, 80% of the time these days. In looking around I've noticed that other people don't seem to have this problem. Which leads me to wonder how they manage to do that. How does one cultivate enough of a detachment towards other humans to form meaningful social bonds without really expecting anything from them? It's a talent I hope to explore over the coming years.

A Reason Not To Come Up With My Own Blog Topic Today

I'm pretty sure I've done this one before, but I have been tagged by the lovely 123 Valerie to share with you all 7 strange things about myself. Since my birthday is in a little over a week, I thought I'd make this a birthday themed meme.

1.) I don't like to be sung to. Happy Birthday? Not so much. It makes me want to crawl under a table and curl up into a little ball.

2.) I do not like birthday cake. I'm just not a fan of foods that are that sweet, yet people always insist on cakes to celebrate birthdays. I'd much prefer a loaf of homemade white bread just out of the oven with a candle stuck in the middle of it or a heaping plate of pasta. Actually, any savory carbohydrate dripping with butter or cheese will do nicely.

3.) I have a habit of buying myself a present on my birthday, even if it's beyond my budget. Seven years ago I shelled out 200 dollars (a very big deal on my then non-profit salary) to buy a long black, faux shearling coat. Even though the damn thing is starting to look extremely threadbare, I get compliments on it all the time. Women have been known to stop me on the street and ask where it's from and is it vintage. Ironically, it's from a store that I find to be completely tacky and definitely not vintage. Several weeks ago, I bought a pair of red ankle boots from Carbon. While I rationalized the purchase with the explanation that they were an "early birthday present", I suspect that I may also take a little trip to Urban Chic within the next week or two to find a cocktail dress for upcoming holiday parties.

4.) My family is really into birthdays and for that reason I'm conditioned to think that you're supposed to make a big deal about them. But on the other hand the whole practice embarrasses me a little. I hate drawing attention to myself (yet I hate being ignored, it's a tenuous paradox) yet I still believe that my birthday should be observed in some way. Every year I try to convince myself that the day is more special than *any other day* while living in fear that somebody will make a really big deal about it.

5.) There isn't one birthday that stands out as the absolute best. Some have been great and others less so. One that stands at the top however, was the trip I took with my then boyfriend to Paris and Amsterdam. The weather in those cities leans towards the cold and drizzly in early November, but it really didn't matter. And then-boyfriend, who tends to be a little shy and introverted, did a beautiful job of stepping up and procuring me some of Amsterdam's finest when the occasion called for it. I also took some of the most beautiful photographs in my "portfolio."

6.) For the past two years my mother has made me a quilt by hand as a present. I have a penchant for handmade quilts, and my bed is starting to look like some sort of crazy collage of coverings.

7.) I think that birthday celebrations should begin in the morning and last all day. That cup of coffee I have when I first wake up? It's not just any cup of coffee it's my *birthday* cup of coffee. That turkey sandwich at lunch? Yup, it's my *birthday* turkey sandwich at lunch. You get the picture.

So that's that.

Are any of you still watching Grey's Anatomy? My interest has waned since Addison's departure, yet I can't get myself to watch Private Practice. It looks kind of like 30-Something set in a toney medical practice in California. Plus the pilot was unbearable. I had secretly hoped it would flop so Addison would stay at Seattle Grace and give me a character to enjoy on Grey's Anatomy. Some quick thought on Greys:

1.) Never much liked Mer, but now am totally over her. Why isn't she in therapy? Mer, get some help.

2.) George and Izzy. Ew. I have never seen two people fictional or real with such lack of chemistry. This is the dumbest relationship in the history of the show. Utterly unconvincing and painful to watch. I hope the show eventually recognizes this reality and weaves it into the plot.

3.) Just make George gay. It's been well documented that the character who portrays George is gay. So give him a cute visiting attending to flirt with and let the actor have love scenes with somebody he has actual chemistry with. Also, what is the point of G being an intern again?

4.) Callie is slowly growing on me, and I can't wait for her and Sloan to get in on.

5.) Alex seems to be floundering a little. Remember last season when he developed a talent for neo-natal care and showed his sensitive side? Are we to believe he can only be that way with Addison around? Another reason to bring back Addison.

6.) Yay for Dr. Hahn. Never cared for her in past episodes, but I really liked her last night. I'm glad this show is presenting us with more strong female personalities to distract us from Mer, Izzy and Mer II.

In the comments section share some quirks you have in relation to birthdays. Or weigh in on the current season of Grey's. Has it jumped the shark or is there a possibility for improvement?

I also just remembered that I need to tag a bunch of you to fill out the 7 weird things meme. Instead I'll just open it up to whoever wants to participate.

Ah, Yes. Distance.

I was thinking the other day about the boy I was so completely hung up on several months ago. Perhaps you remember him. He'd pop in and out of my life without notice offering a lame excuse for why he'd been absent, which I would interpret as him being all mysterious and deep which was of course, so *totally* cool, and then I'd go over to his lame studio apartment and makeout with him for several hours. Then he'd be all distant and weird the next day and ignore my email and the cycle would start all over again. Somewhere in each of these cycles I'd pen some missive about how it was really okay that he did that and in the comments section you'd all be like *Pff. Whatever, HP. You're in some serious denial.*

The denial that you all read into it was that I was secretly developing *feeelings* for the dude, which wasn't really the case. But now with some distance built into the situation I am no able to see it for what it was.

Yes, I was in denial. What I was denying wasn't my deep-seeded love for the guy but the fact that the ridiculous cycle was never ever going to develop into anything more than what it was--him stringing me along and dropping in whenever it was most convenient for him. And the fact that underneath it all, he was really just an immature douchebag. Women sometimes get so caught up in the drama and mystery of a romantic situation that they forget some very basic facts:

1.) If you have to work for it, it just ain't working.
2.) Guys who string you along are jerks and you shouldn't put yourself through that kind of emotional torture for a jerk.

In thinking about him the other day, I was trying to remember what about him seemed so great. On our first date I made most of the efforts at conversation, yet I interpreted his smiling across the table at me as boyish shyness. Wrong. He really just didn't have anything good to say. He was also a vegan, which presented a serious chink in our dating plans because I am a foodie and a rather adventurous one at that. While I spent several years as vegan in my youth and I understand where they're coming from, the adventure of eating exotic foods that very often contain the body parts of various animals is way too important to me to ever go vegan again. Moreover, he lived in a thoroughly crappy apartment that depressed me to no end. The fact that he was willing to shell out money for it suggested a definite lack of appreciation for the value of a dollar. I understand that housing is tight in DC, but he could have done much better. He employed mild taunting as a form of foreplay. For reals, he could really only get in the mood if I was being a bitch to him. At first I saw this as a challenge, but now the whole performance seems absurd. People who are dating and in relationships should be nice to one another. In thinking about all these negatives I finally remembered one positive:

He was absurdly hot. Granted, I do tend to gravitate to a type and he did fill that type, so I could be biased, but friends of mine have seen him and have confirmed my opinion to be sound. Tall; messy hair; scruffyish facial hair; crooked smile; eyes that were blue, blue, blue; and he looked damn smoking in a pair of cut-off army fatigues. As warped as it may be, I guess I thought that his attractiveness reflected well upon me and that I must also be pretty attractive if somebody like him would go for me.

I suppose I could have just bought a mirror. [This is somewhat off topic, but I used to be "special friends" with this guy whose favorite line was "have you looked in the mirror recently?" To which I'd always freak out and be like "Oh no, do I have food in my teeth? Is something wrong with my hair?" And he'd be all "Because you're gorgeous..." I fell for that damn trick every time. Anyway...]I just think it's funny that no matter how many times a loved one, random dude on the street or a girlfriend compliments my appearance, for some reason at that particular moment in my life, I was really only accepting that validation from the vegan douche-bag and not even receiving any at that. I'm going to try to not do that again.

So here is what I am proposing. The next time you see a girlfriend wallowing in the depths of misery because some guy she is dating mainly to validate her own beauty or other wonderful qualities is ignoring her, buy her a mirror. Looking at it will remind her of all her lovely qualities. It may not inspire her to kick her particular loser to the curb altogether, but I bet it would be a start.

Good looking men get away with so much, it's unbelievable.

In the comments section, agree with me that this guy was a jerk; or tell me what the stupidest reason you ever had for dating somebody was.