No, You Can't Have My Number. Ok, It's 212...

I think I've mentioned it before, but guys don't often ask for my number. Or out either, but that's a different issue...something about my body language...The first time I was about 21 and was so surprised I acted like an ass. Hmmm...I think the next one was during a trip abroad. Two actually. Two men from different countries, with little to no knowledge of English, both asked me for my number within an hour of one another. Apparently Europeans have no problem with my body language. Next was the cute, young one with an accent.

A few weeks ago, I had my sixth asking. Heh. My friends and I were at a bar and he randomly came over a few times to participate in the conversation we were having. The third time he came over, he chatted for a bit before moving his position to stand next to me. I, having consumed as many alcoholic beverages my body allows, was a little toasted. Here's a reinactment, as accurate as my addled mind can replay:

Him: so...here's the part of the evening where I completely embarass myself and ask for your number.
QV: um...
Him: in front of all these people-
QV: well...
Him: let's just say I am definitely intrigued.
QV: (intrigued?) I don't really give out my number. But I'll give you my email address. (what? what am I saying?)
Him: ok here. (hands me his phone. I type in my address and give it back. He hands it back to me.) I'm sorry, but you'll have to give me your number. It won't save unless you do.
QV: ok. (what? what am I saying?)

Unable to think straight, I typed in my real number. I didn't want to give it to him. But I did.

And here's the kicker.

He never called.

Or wrote.

So why did he ask?

Yes, yes, I am glad he didn't because if I'm being honest I probably would have blown him off. I was drunk and not really acting like myself. Or rather I should say, acting like a louder, more self-involved self. The only thing I can remember about him is that ridiculousness of a conversation above. And specifically the word intrigued. I guess he just wasn't intrigued enough after the hangover finally passed.

So the point of the story is, if you ever meet me and want my number, hand me a vodka cranberry and tell me your phone won't save unless I give it to you. Apparently I'm a sure thing. And if you call and I actually answer, you must be.

A Bedtime Story

I cringe whenever I hear someone say, "get laid". I'd almost rather hear "get f***ed". Almost. So it would go without saying that you'd never hear me say, "I need to get laid". However, lately I'm kinda thinking...I need to get laid. uuueeeehhh.

I had a dream in which my virginity played the lead. Very strange. It began with a large group of friends driving me somewhere. There were all kinds of blankets and bedding around so I figured it was going to be a big camp out sleep over. We pulled into what looked like a defunct, or at least closed for the season, amusement park. It was dark outside and I started to feel creeped out. Because I was with friends though (none of who had familiar real world faces) I tried to see it as an adventure.

We parked near two lines of trees leading up to a stage. They began to set up beds under the trees which I thought was odd but hell, it was an adventure, right? I walked over to someone setting up their bed and some other friends pulled me away. They lead me toward the stage on which I could now see was a canopy bed. Someone was draping material over the canopy to enclose it. Privacy in a public place I suppose. Even my dreams are ironic.


"Your first time has to be special!" someone said. And then I realized all the chatter that had been going on was about me.

Apparently losing my virginity was the evening's entertainment. Thing was, I never got the feeling they actually wanted to watch, they all just wanted it to happen. They set it all up to make it special.

Weird.

Global Virginomics

There are a number of very basic things that every single human being on the planet has in common. We are born of women (until the practice of cloning destroys us all), we breathe, we sleep, we eat and we die. For the individual to survive, s/he doesn't need sex, but for humanity to survive, we do. (Again, until cloning destroys us.)

I am absolutely fascinated by the fact that out of all the things humans do to/for one another, sex and sexuality carry the most weight. Throughout numerous cultures across seven continents, it is used to gain power, to shame, humiliate, to celebrate, to get revenge, to hurt, to show commitment, to feel a little pleasure on a thursday, etc etc etc. It seems every human emotion can somehow be connected to it, and every political motivation, whether it be socially or locally political between two people, satisfied by it. Whether or not it is true, from my uniquely American experience (or lack of), it seems procreation is last on the list of reasons to have sex.

At the moment all I can do is look at it from this outside academic perspective. It's very odd to me that this basic human practice is something I've managed to miss out on for my entire life. And not due to any strict religious reason, or the desire to save myself for my wedding night (did you know that wearing white for a bride was merely a fashion trend in the 19th century? It did not begin as a symbol of purity. Before that brides wore whatever color they wanted! I want to wear red! My parents would murder me!) or even because I wasn't ready. I mean, I wasn't, but when has that ever stopped anyone? It's like I've just been procrastinating. Oh sex? Yeah, yeah, I'll do that later.

Remember that girl who was the first to put her virginity up for sale on ebay? I wonder how I didn't think of doing that. Then I realize a) I'd never go through with it and b) well, a is really all I need isn't it? But then I read that she eventually had sex in a run-down London hotel with a 44 year old man who paid her almost nine thousand pounds. And it makes me sad. I don't actually think either of them did anything wrong, but that gut reaction to a female turning her body into a commodity is fierce. People turn everything else about themselves into commodities, so why not their sexuality?

I don't know. It seems so much of my life, or should I say my sexuality in wait, is this contradiction between my head and heart. On the one hand I feel like I could put my virginity up for sale. Historically speaking, (for me) it really is only tradition and cultural expectations that put such value on it, thus enabling a price to be paid for it. Ok maybe not so much 'up for sale', but just lose it to the next guy who shows any interest. But on the other hand I want to sleep with someone I actually care about. I want it to actually mean something rather than just be an act of pleasure (which it may or may not end up being) between two strangers.

Oddly enough my head usually wins, but in this case I have a feeling it's going to be my heart all the way. Perhaps it's just because my head matured much faster than my heart that it comes out the winner most of the time. Late bloomer could be another alias of mine, but just because I'm late doesn't mean I won't bloom. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

All this came about from taking a look at my little map to the right. I've gotten hits from countries my ignorant self has never even heard of, and I'm astounded that the thoughts of and about my inconsequential self would appeal to so many people. At least pique their interest enough to stop by. Then again, maybe it's just because Virgin is in the title.

At any rate, I hope by sharing my thoughts I bring a little comfort to others who may be in similar situations and not know how to feel about it. Some days I don't think about it at all, some days I think about how silly it all is and some days I wonder how it is I really came to be the way I am. Thoughts I am sure pass through non-virgin minds as well. Could it be we're not so different? After all, everyone around the world is a virgin, no matter how you define it, before they're not. It's definitely a global thing.

A Good Sign?

I recently returned from a business trip.

At least half of the men I met I found attractive.

This is unheard of for me.

UNHEARD OF.

Of course I didn't do a thing about it, #1 because I was busy working, #2 because none of them were from New York and #3 because I'm a gigantic coward.

But still.

There were blondes, brunettes, west coasters, non-americans...

Needless to say it was an amazing trip.

Perhaps I just need to get out of NYC more often?

Home Is As Figurative As The Heart

I woke up the other morning without immediately opening my eyes, and for a split second I thought I was in my bedroom in my childhood home. The wall with the beatles poster was to my right, the dresser with the big, oval mirror was at the end of the bed and the closet was to my left. I could almost hear the birds that used to chirp in the tree outside the window and the clink of dishes downstairs as my mother put them away. And I felt at home. Warm and safe and comfortable.

All that in a split second.

Then I realized where I was. I was still warm and comfortable, but the safe feeling was gone. Not that it was replaced with fear of danger by any means, but I no longer felt home. Since I left my parents' house I've moved from apartment to apartment, mainly to get away from something or someone I disliked, but I suppose in a way I've also been looking for that feeling of home. I've been in the place I'm in now longer than I've ever been anywhere else but it is definitely not home.

Now I think about it and I know that I'll never be able to get that exact feeling back. It's a security blanket from childhood that I no longer need, despite wanting very much. I visit my parents now, and maybe it would be different if they still lived in the house I grew up in, but I don't feel like I'm home when I do. There is certainly the warmth and comfort and maybe even the bit of safety that I feel when I'm with them, but it's nothing like that feeling of waking up in that pink-carpeted, flower wall papered room.

Perhaps it was simply being cared for at a time when I couldn't have possibly protected myself. Perhaps it will simply be being cared for as an adult even though I don't need protecting...the knowledge that someone will be there, for me, with me, by me...It's hard to feel home by yourself.

My next home will be more about the fact that I own it (fingers crossed), than how I feel in it. After that, the best that I can do is recreate what I had as an incredibly lucky kid for my (potential) kid(s) and hope it's something they will remember for split seconds as adults to make them feel good. My search will eventually have to be satisfied by this new creation with a loving husband (fingers crossed) who makes me feel safe and warm and comfortable in a different way. I guess home is mutable, just like everything else. At this point anyway, just enough to keep me searching...

The Results Are In, I'm Still A Virgin!

I received an envelope from my new doctor in the mail today. A postcard with a picture of bright, blooming flowers was tucked discreetly in it. The other side read as follows:

Good News! Your test results were normal/negative.

(X) Pap smear was normal...
(X) Cervical cultures (for gonorrhea and chlamydia) were negative/normal.

The pap smear is a worry for all women no matter what, but gonorrhea? Really? I could have told you I didn't have that. Not that anyone in a Doctor's office would have believed me.

I flashed suddenly on what kind of card I would have gotten if the news was bad.

The News? Not so good. Your test results...well, you've got health problems sister. What have you been doing down there? Call us.

Arms Opened

"Somewhere deep inside your mind
there is a peace that you will find
with or without these arms of mine"
-Beth Wood

I miss the affection of my youth. Having grown up in a household without any at all, my mother made sure my brothers and I were hugged as often as possible. When I was a preteen I went to sleep away camp and learned to hug my friends once I realized I'd miss them terribly after having spent a solid month with them day and night. I began hugging my school friends. Not in a weird way mind you, it does kind of sound that way, but in the normal way of greeting or saying goodbye. They were receptive. For me it was just an expression of how much I cherished them as friends.

I love hugging people. Only now, as an adult, I censor it...even among people I've known for awhile who know that I hug. Sometimes it's out of respect for the other person who may not want to be touched, but mostly because I feel a little awkward about what they must think of me as I rush at them with arms opened. I used to hug people I just met if it was a friend of friend who I'd heard a lot about. Sometimes I still do, but it doesn't come as naturally as it used to. I wonder where along the way I became insecure.

As with everything else regarding being human, affection is so relative it's hard to believe any two people could connect on a similar level. I throw my arms around all of my friends, both when I haven't seen them in a while and when I've just seen them yesterday. It's really the only physical expression of any kind of love in my life so it's often a need, not a formality or habit. Obviously I've never really experienced romantic affection but I have no problem imagining how wonderful it feels and how empty it must feel without it.

I can take it one step further and say it's my only source of physical contact at all. I remember watching Crash and being fascinated at how the characters, despite having people close to them, were all so starved for connections they treated each other horribly just to be able to interact. I spend a lot of time alone but I can't imagine emoting through prejudices, or doing anything out of ordinary really, just to share a brief moment with someone whether it be filled with fear or anger or happiness even. I wanted to tell a woman on the subway the other day that her perfume smelled wonderful but I couldn't bring myself to say it. I don't know why, it would probably have made her feel good as well as me in return. Does that make me repressed? Or merely in control of my emotions with enough connections to people I know that I don't have to interact with strangers?

I don't know what the people I hug think about it...they always hug back so I assume it's ok. I take from it what I can knowing that it's probably more than they do, but that's ok with me.

I found out that someone I know lives with his girlfriend but has another on the side so to speak. A 'friend with benefits' as I was discreetly told on the side. I don't know if they know about each other, but everyone else seems to know about it, and that the one he lives with is the 'main' one. This boggles my mind. I want to ask him how he feels about each of them. Is he sleeping with the non-main one just to switch it up? Or does he feel connected to both of them in different ways? Is it just a pleasure thing, aka sex as a crash of sorts, or is there an actual need for more than one of that type of physical connection? Maybe it's a guy thing? Maybe it's QV thing to be amazed at what for some people is hardly worth mentioning? Oddly enough, I haven't judged him. At least, I don't feel differently about him knowing this. I'm really just curious as to why he does it.

But I don't have anyone I can just hug for no reason. Hug for a long length of time without it being weird. Hug just to feel someone's arms around me. I miss it. So when I do get to hug, I hug tight. And as childish as it is, the tighter I hug, the more I like you. It's just the way I am. So something I'm really looking forward to when someone finally breaks through...are the hugs. (Oddly enough I don't think I'll be a snuggler in bed...however, he better damn well wrap his arms around me every other chance he gets.) It all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

It's Ok To Peek!

Still here...just, well, haven't been motivated to write a lot lately. I suppose it's a good thing considering I seem to only write when feeling down or something stressful has happened. But on the other hand there are still times I want to write but don't know what to say considering I've pretty much beaten this dead horse well into its next life. On the third hand, I have been keeping with the positive thinking and though it may sound ridiculous, or only all in my head, I feel like I've been benefiting in small, maybe subtle ways, but benefiting nevertheless.

This post would fall under the stressful event kind I suppose. I went back to the GYN (because self-peeking is a lot less invasive than an actual self-exam.) My second appointment ever. Oddly enough I didn't feel that stressed the night before or that morning even, but that could have been because I was worrying instead about the bunch of guys that were supposed to come in the AM to fix the many things wrong with this hell hole I call an apartment.

Anyway, I made it to the appointment on time, only to end up waiting for an hour while 5 other women who arrived after me went in. This was a new doctor as the first one I went to retired (seriously, could I have more trouble with this whole issue?) so I decided this time to go to a female. I had no idea what to expect from her office, but I should have known Murphy's law would somehow play a part. I was pretty good at not completely psyching myself out though, so by the time I finally got to meet her in her office I was still somewhat relaxed.

She seemed a little rushed when she came in, but I didn't feel like she rushed me. We went through the usual barrage of questions, each one making me feel more and more like the goodiest goody two shoes that ever lived: smoke? no. drink? no. drugs? no. pregnant before? no. std's? no. sexually active? no. (I like how the pregnant/std questions came before sexually active one.) I had practiced in my head cracking a dumb virgin joke somewhere in there, or even just jumping the gun and saying 'never been', but she beat me to it. have you ever been? all I could say was no. I'm sure I was smiling broadly throughout this entire interview because that's what I do when I'm nervous.

Unlike my previous male doctor she didn't have any reaction. Not that that was any part of my being nervous but I'm always fascinated by people's reactions (the few I've witnessed anyway). Also unlike my male doctor she didn't tell me to tell the nurses that I would need the white speculum, like I was some kind of vaginal special needs patient. Within the first 5 minutes of talking with her I realized just how inappropriate the other doctor was.

Just so it's clear, I'm not trying to say don't go to a male GYN, just that in retrospect choosing this specific older male doctor wasn't the best idea for me. He was obviously on the verge of retiring and didn't have the greatest bedside manner, though he was nice enough when we spoke.

During my appointment with the new doctor I told her I wanted to start birth control (thinking 'because I'd like to start having sex eventually' but stating the real boring reason of regulating my period instead) and she explained everything in a quick but complete way. Most of it I know of course, being almost 30 I should by now whether or not I partake, but it was nice to have a doctor explain.

Her examination and the pap smear definitely felt very different and more painful than the last one. it lead me to wonder what the last doctor actually did, or if he did anything at all. My inexperience obviously speaks for itself by saying that, but there it is. He didn't warn me that I would bleed after the appointment, she went so far as to give me liner and tell me it's normal and not to worry. Overall she was gentle and kind and I will definitely go back...maybe even dread it a little less. Maybe.

I definitely felt that I wasn't my usual self, remaining mostly quiet without the self-deprecation, and I think that probably lent to the kind of quiet, good girl impression I probably gave her. Of course, I couldn't possibly know what impression she had of me, but on her way out almost as an afterthought she said, "it was nice to meet you," and smiled. I replied in same and wondered briefly if she said that to all her patients, or if (letting the cynic take over) I was the first older virgin she'd ever examined.

I have never felt righteous about being a virgin, the term itself meaning something different to everyone anyway, until I walked by a group of bible beaters on the way home from the appointment. I've passed them and their big cardboard bible quotes many times before, but for some reason this time I thought angrily to myself, "I'm more pure than any of you people will ever be." I don't know where it came from or why I thought it but I did. I don't even know what to think about the fact that I thought it. I'm not even sure it makes sense. Does anything I think really?

Thought Process

I think D has given up on me. I've emailed him a few times but he hasn't responded. I figure one of the following must have happened:

-He's incredibly busy (which has usually been true in the past) and either doesn't have time or keeps forgetting to write back.
-He's met someone and either feels guilty for keeping up a friendship with someone he used to have feelings for, or she alerted him to how silly it is to keep up a friendship with someone he used to have feelings for.
-He still has feelings for me and is tired of keeping up a friendship on the off chance it might lead to something again. Especially since we live thousands of miles apart and only email once a month if that.

I don't know. Maybe it's for the best. I can't really say that I miss him since our modes of communication are limited and we only actually use them every once in a while. But still, it's nice to check in with an old friend occassionally.

I had a little breakdown a few weeks ago. The first one in a long time...something like 2 years. I pretty much just cried and cried and cried until I realized I wouldn't stop unless I called someone. There were a couple people I could have called, but I didn't really want to call anyone. I finally picked up the phone and called the one person I knew would not only be there for me, but would be happy that I called. It bothers her that I don't often reach out for help when she knows I can make myself suffer.

Anyway, we talked, I cried, she listened, I repeated myself and was self-deprecating, she was supportive and positive. I felt better after we hung up, and I knew it was mostly because I had talked and not kept bottling. After all, it was a buildup of a couple years. The sadness lingered for a few days but eventually it was pushed aside. It was all about the same thing of course...being alone, not being able to open up, wondering why I haven't met one single person in the last 8 years that has sparked any kind of feeling in me whatsoever, how it is that I can be totally happy alone and yet still yearn for company...yes, all the same turmoil I usually harp on when I fall into the sadness spiral.

But the difference is this time, I've been promising myself things with the actual intent to follow through. Change. Being open to experiences. Opening my heart. Looking to find, hoping to be found.

It's all about thought process...I've always known that. The trouble was altering mine.

Maybe now that I'm finally changing channels my vision will clear.

My Sign (Allegedly) Says Stop

QV: Why don't you come visit for a week and help me find an apartment?
Mom: Don't you want something outside the city? A little house?
QV: If I get a little house I'll need a little car. If I get a little car I'll need a little insurance-
M: But don't you want one?
QV: Eventually I guess. When I meet someone-
M: Then meet someone! Get married! Put up a sign! Man Wanted: gentle, intelligent-
QV: Yes I need a checklist. That will make them come a'knockin'-
M: Well do something!
QV: Anyway, I thought you said I was already wearing a sign-
M: Yeah it says keep away! Hands off!

Hooray!

I had a sex dream!
And in that sex dream, I actually had sex!
Not almost. We were not interrupted . I didn't stop myself.
Though I'm pretty sure he was disproportionately large, we did it!
He was wearing a pink condom!
What could all this mean?

"Tastes like a rainbow"

Finally saw Knocked Up, if only because I heard it was hilarious from 4 different people who get my sense of humor. Overall I enjoyed it, but only after I put aside my disbelief at a number of things...namely (if you haven't seen it, don't keep reading...I don't know if what I'm about to say spoils anything so I'm just putting the warning out) not that she sleeps with him, as a friend of mine said she totally didn't believe, but that she falls for him. It's a movie granted, and he does change (interestingly enough I just realized I made assumptions about her changing based solely on being pregnant, and not on her behavior as I did his) I just don't think it would happen. I know, what an optomist. I'm not saying things couldn't work out, just that love may not be part of the picture.

Anyway, the point of this is I actually didn't identify with her at all, despite the fact that I'm also a single, working professional woman that just got promoted and have in the past few weeks gone out and gotten toasted. Well, as toasted as possible before the allergy kicked in and prevented any further consumption. Maybe the fact that I can't get drunk enough to lose all my inhibitions and have sex with someone ended my ability to empathize with her, but realistically it's probably the whole open heart thing. Because who I did identify with was her sister's husband. Her sister's husband.

Maybe if I eat some shrooms it will lead to some kind of behavior altering revelation and I can get on with my life.

A Mood With A View

So...the the young one contacted me (read: texted) again....weeks later. He asked me to a movie, one of my favorite things to do, but I was sick (among other things) so I did what I do worst. I lied. I supposed I could have just said I was sick, since that was the truth, but instead I said I had to work late. Technically it wasn't a lie because when I got home I actually did do more work, but this is beside the point. The point is, I didn't want to go. And thus begins the ride into confusion.

I suppose I should first admit that I guess I have expectations (but God forbid he have any of me) and I don't mean like he should pay or call me within 3 days. More like, when I gave him my number I kinda wanted him to call and ask me out. I really was of the mind that I would go out with him at the time. If he had asked called me that weekend at a reasonable hour, I would have gone. A month later? I've lost interest.

Or perhaps it's more general that that. I realize I've lost the mood.

Lost The Mood.

What the hell?

Honestly speaking I don't really want to go out on a date with anyone right now, unspecific to him really. And it completely annoys me that I can sit here, admit that and then still say that I'd like to be with someone. You see, I may be an anomaly, but I think there are other women out there who can't explain their actions any more than you can stop yourself from being hurt by them. It's not a justification or excuse for this behavior, it just...I don't know. When I figure it out I'll let you know.

Famous For Her...Irony

I recently missed my chance to be the face of virginity in a wide-spread publication of sorts. This saddens me because:
a) I have wanted to be professionally photographed since the day I realized professional photographers can make you look amazing.
b) My 15 minutes finally arrive and it is not in recognition of something creative or notable I've done, but rather something I haven't done at all.

Hey Alanis, that's ironic.

Wait It Out

I've just returned from a trip abroad, and it has renewed my interest in living outside of NYC. I love it here and it will always be my first home, but I think I will have to make some kind of major change, like moving to a new city, in order to change anything at all. Though, if I move to another city, I wonder if things would be all that different. The basics of city life, well, any life really, are work to live, work to live and some more work to live. Unless you're rich. And then it's partypartyparty, drive drunk, get arrested, then cry when you actually have to serve out your sentence for breaking the law. Sorry, wow where did that come from?

I know there is more to life than that, but in general you have to work in order to do any of the other things that makes life fun.

On the other hand, I'm full swing into the new job which I am enjoying, so I need to give it a while before getting up and running out.

That action obviously still prevailing over the desire to move, I feel like I have somehow convinced myself that waiting works. I waited out Jean, I waited out this job, I guess I can wait out dating because eventually he will find me. Or I'll find him despite the lack of looking. Or I'll finally stop fooling myself that the reason I can't bring myself to date is I just don't want to give up my personal time or deal with someone else's baggage...which may actually just be a reflection of my own baggage. How selfish is that?

A friend told me the other day that when she went to the GYN she asked them to test her eggs. She's in her mid 30s and and starting to worry about her fertility. She wants to have a baby, but she's in no rush to find a man. I'm not yet thirty, but I know it's something I will start to think about over the next few years. Most of the time I think there's no way in hell I'm giving birth and that I will adopt when the time comes. But who knows? Do I want a child enough to be a single mother? I don't think so. But again, who knows what five years experience will bring to my life.

How can I make myself change so I don't wake up one day, 50 and regretful that I waited?

Let [Me] Them Eat Cake

Friday was my last day doing my old job. Finally. As of Monday I am full time in the new position. I've been doing the job part time for awhile now, so it'll be nice to stop splitting my attention/time between two and focus on the better one. It's really just a long awaited shift to the creative position I should have moved into a year ago. Anyway, my question is, what does it say about me that I wanted a little goodbye kind of thing and didn't get one? I won't be working with the same people I've been working with for the past three years, and I will miss them. I told a few people it would be my last day and expected it to spread. I suppose that was dumb considering I did the same thing about letting them know about the promotion in general and months later some were still saying they'd just heard. I didn't want to walk around with a trumpet but I guess one ultimately has to be responsible for tooting one's own horn. It's my own fault but it's just so easy to play the victim...to feel almost forgotten.


So far this year I've been to two surprise thirtieth birthday parties for good friends, each thrown by their significant others. I was just invited to another one this summer for another good friend, thrown by her significant other. I can't help but wonder who would throw one for me? Not that I really want one, I think I just want to know that I have friends who care enough to put something together. Or at least one person.

A friend of mine does want to go to Vegas for my 30th. I'm not a gambler but from what I hear that's no longer the main attraction. If she can get a few of our friends together to go I'm all for it, but I doubt anyone can pull it off, time or money wise.

Maybe I'll just treat myself to a trip somewhere. One of those adventure type tours...hmmmm...

Must Like Pie

How is it that I can pray to whatever it is I pray to out of habit these days to reach a higher mind about human existence and my role if I have one in it, but still worry about following society's equation for happiness? Do the Zen Monks have it right? Or the procreating, God-fearing people? Self-enlightenment or the blind continuation of the human race?

And how dare I be pretentious enough to actually think about these things in terms of an answer as to why I am single and though am happy most of the time still struggle with it?

For me I guess it comes down to avoiding one question. How do I make myself do something I don't want to do? (which then also begs the question, if I have to force it, maybe I'm not supposed to?) I've recently come to the conclusion...well, admitted to myself anyway, that I have no desire to date. I know a lot of people say they don't really like it, but most don't have a problem doing it and even manage to have a little fun. Me? I want the instant gratification of sharing my life with someone I trust, without working through all the business that gets you to that point. So in the meantime I'm cool with being alone and the occasional unfulfilled wish to snuggle with someone on the couch.

Would therapy help? I don't know. I feel like I've identified the problem...at least somewhat. There's the fear of sex (ie embarrassing myself due to inexperience), the fear of relationships (ie giving up my freedom) and the fear of getting pregnant (ie having another life totally dependent upon my own). Legitimate? The last one maybe. Really just weird in light of the natural human behavior to couple? Absolutely. So why? Why why why why why is this an issue for me at all?

So I think, well if I am so gadam unwilling to spend my free time getting to know someone, maybe I'm just meant to be alone (fate/excuse). Or...have I just not met anyone who makes me want to break my routine (control/excuse)? Either way I hear myself and know I'm just trying to justify my position.

I recently had a conversation with a good friend about why we're single. She has only a couple friends left who are still single (as do I) and she wondered how that could be when each of us is such a dynamic personality with a lot to offer. Knowing her friends my response was that another thing we all have in common is that we are strong, independent women who I think are unwilling to make sacrifices for just anyone (just to have someone). Not that her other married friends are dull, pushovers, it just seems that they all met their spouses through work, college or other friends. I think it takes a certain kind of strong, independent male to work well with a woman of that same demeanor and if you haven't met someone through work, college or friends on the early side, it gets harder. You'd think there'd be plenty of men like that in the city...not that I'd know since I haven't tried dating any of them...but from what I hear from women who do date, they're not easy to find.

Another friend of mine told me, 'You're such an awesome person, you're absolutely going to find someone. It's just going to be hard because the kind of guy you're looking for is also going to be home asking himself why he can't meet a nice girl.' Ok it sounds totally cheesy but during the course of conversation (you'd think I talk about it all the time jeez!) it wasn't and it made me feel pretty good. She insists that she'd still be single if she hadn't met her husband through work.

Which leads me to my latest encounter that I know any guy reading this will totally hate me for. I met a guy through someone at work at a work party. Let me lay out the excuses first. It was late, I had already had two drinks (which means I was double tired, red faced, and feeling slightly nauseous) and I had to get up early for work the next morning. I had to wait to meet him because all my co-workers who got wind of him stopping by practically ordered me to stay. He arrived and I actually thought, he's cute! Score! He has an accent! Score again! He's got a job! Three scores! I decided that if he was interested maybe I could possibly, potentially, conceivably go out on a date.

But I was so tired and thinking about getting up early the next morning was killing me. Plus all the co-workers around winking at me and poking me to go stand near him just about put me over the edge. It was all very high school which they totally admitted, but still kinda of fun. Anyway, he (and all my new high school buddies) wanted me to stay but I really just couldn't. I had already wanted to leave 20 minutes ago and I wouldn't have been any fun at that point anyway. So I walked right up to him and said, "so can I get your number? Or do you want mine?"

We exchanged numbers and I went home. After a couple days he texted me. Late. He wanted to know what I was up to and if I wanted to meet up with some people and him even later. Here's where I wished I was 20 and still in college. Though even then given the hour I still probably wouldn't have gone out. As much as I hate to admit it, I've never been able to go or stay out late. I earned a very sad nickname in college because of it. Anyway, I told him that I was in for the night but to have fun.

So of course, me being me, I have come to some conclusions about why dating him wouldn't work.

He's young and new to the city- this equals late nights out drinking, two things that are on the bottom of my list of fun things to do. I would never want to deny him that because he's young and new to the city! Who doesn't want to stay out late drinking in NYC besides me?
I'm set in my ways and at the same time looking for something other than drinking/partying to break my routine- this equals me already closing it down.

I haven't heard from him since so I either came across as totally not interested or he's waiting for me to contact him. Which I probably won't do because I suck.

So if the answer to how do I make myself date if I don't want to, is find someone who'd rather catch a movie, maybe stop somewhere for a piece of pie and then head home, then the next question is how do I meet a guy who'd rather catch a movie, maybe stop somewhere for a piece of pie and then head home if he's home wondering how to meet me? Perhaps then I'm just supposed to go it alone?

And so goes the tale of the girl who cried "I want to date but not really unless I'm immediately attracted to him and he likes pie."

Ready. Set. Yawn.

Well I did it. I joined an online dating site. It was kind of an experiment more than anything else, because I knew the chances of me actually meeting someone in person were very, very slim. Perhaps thinking that right off the bat hindered any potential whatsoever and thereby made the point of joining an online dating site moot, but bear with me. I am not sure what I expected to get out of it (except maybe an ego boost. Is that a sign of pure conceit or what?) but I am not surprised by the result.

Bored.

Perhaps yet another sign of conceit? Wow.

I write in the past tense because I have since removed my picture from my profile. If I could figure out how to remove it all together I would, but I probably won't ever log in again so hopefully after a while they'll just remove it for me.

Anyway, so I signed up and filled out some of the profile. After about a week I posted a picture. Within ten minutes 2 guys sent me messages. I responded to one of them and thanked him for the compliment. He didn't respond and lived 5 states away so I think he may have really just wanted to tell me I have a great smile. Or at least that's what I'd like to believe. Over the next few days I filled out a little more of the profile and got 2 more messages. I didn't respond to any of them.

A week or so later I signed in to check on things and on the home page there was a guy's profile who I thought was really cute. I was so happy! After perusing lots and lots of pictures I actually found one I thought was cute! I read his profile. We had so much in common I couldn't believe it. In theory we'd be perfect. Then I saw where he was from. 5 states away. Why always 5 states away? I sent him a message.

I sent HIM a message.

In my usual ass-backward way I told him he was adorable and that he had great taste in music and was pretty much a perfect match, but that I was a big, fat coward that wouldn't do anything beyond sending him that message.

Who does that?

He graciously messaged me back saying I seemed cool too and that it was a shame he didn't live closer to NYC.

For a few weeks after that I didn't receive or send any messages. The site is not one of the big ones and is not well known so that's what I'll chalk up to not getting any more hits. Hey, we all have to justify things in our own heads right? At any rate I became bored and removed my picture.

So what does all this say about me? Here's what I choose to believe.

I have more of an ego than I thought, which translates to having a healthy one.

I get bored easily, though I kind of knew that before I started.

There are guys out there I find cute! Well, at least one. That's one more than before I started! Yay!

The Constant Smiler

Most people who know me would probably say that I smile a lot. Up until I was 19 it was pretty much my default face...not in that weird, lips frozen kind of way, but in a habitually easy smile so even when I wasn't smiling there was still a hint of one way. As sickening as it is, my parents provided me a childhood with very little to be unhappy about.

I say 19 was the end of the default smile because that was when I began coming into the city full time. I actually had to train myself not to smile while traveling. It invited too much unwanted attention that my innocent, unjaded self did not know how to handle. On the subways and on the streets, if I caught anyone's eye with a smile on my face it was read as an invitation to approach me, or at the very least say something (in many cases suggestive) to me. How could an overprotected, suburban girl not be scared?

Thus began the inhibiting. I remember catching myself smiling while by myself on the train and forcing myself to lower the corners of my mouth. It was an odd feeling to consciously change my behavior, especially from something positive to something seemingly negative. The good thing though was that around those I was comfortable with a smile was still never far off. In retrospect I'm amazed that I didn't shut down the ability to smile altogether, given my history of putting up walls and such.

Rest assured however, I am still an easy smile and most of the time an even easier laugh. When traveling by myself I am usually listening to my ipod, and I am totally one of those people who bobs her head and mouths the words to what she's listening to. I can't help it. It makes me happy. Every once in a while I'll smile if something funny comes to mind, but most of the time I am straight-faced. And I think I kind of look angry when I don't smile.

So I am making a pledge to start smiling again, whenever, wherever I feel like it. And whatever it invites? I'll handle it. I'm not that 19 year old girl anymore. Well...most of the time.

One For Sorrow...

I almost cried the other morning. Almost. My eyes welled up but nothing fell. I stopped it before it could happen. I suppose your definition of what crying is will determine whether or not I actually did, but this is not the point. The point is I'm beginning to think I may be a robot.

For the last few days though, I've been fighting a bout of loneliness which kind of detracts from the whole robot theory. Perhaps I'm more of an artificial intelligence, programmed to think I'm feeling emotions. If I wake up with Cylon scrawled across my mirror I won't be surprised.

It's a difficult thing sometimes for me to determine where my emotions are coming from. Rather, if they are real or due to the hormonal imbalance I must suffer monthly. When I turned on GMA the other day and saw pictures of the tragedy at Virginia Tech I felt a sorrow rise up in my chest that eventually reached my eyes. Granted television has become a competition between networks to see who can deliver (read: sensationalize) the news the fastest, the truthiest and the fairest, the images of college kids fading in and out over hauntingly sparse piano music were still images of another sad truth in our nation's history. And I almost cried. Despite it feeling very real I shut the sorrow off and finished getting ready for work.

Is that a sign of strength? Or a mechanical heart?

But in the moment I let the emotion wash over me I thought wow, I can still feel.

Then I got my period and the realness of my sadness dissipated somewhat. Am I diminishing my feelings in order to deal with them? Or am I really just so numb that only my menstrual cycle can knock me off balance enough to create a tear?

I don't know. I'm confused. I always thought I didn't want any drama in my life, but maybe I need a little to feel alive. Or maybe I'm just PMSing. Professionally I'm still frustrated as my promotion still has not gone into full effect, and I don't know how much longer I can tell myself I'm over feeling used and won't take it anymore. Guess three years isn't quite enough. Trying to find comfort in my own arms isn't quite cutting it anymore. About the job, about the tragedy...about the good stuff too. Consciously I feel like I've progressed with how to go about changing my personal life. Subconsciously I'm afraid I'm still afraid.

Dad Weighs In

Dad: So you met your cousin's fiance?
QV: Yes! He's 1000 times better than the meat heads she usually goes for.
Dad: Oh?
QV: He plays music, he's smart, soft-spoken...
Dad: Does he have any friends?

The Academics Of Sex

First, I just wanted to send a little thank you out to everyone who has commented or sent me an email. Bearing witness, even anonymously, can lighten the load (despite it being all in my mind) and those who can and do identify make it even lighter. So thanks!

Second, I'm doing some thought process rearranging. You know, trying to change the negatives into positives. In the meantime, here are some quotes from people who have had sex. Always the eternal student...I seem to have already mastered the contradictory nature of it.

"Sex.  In America an obsession.  In other parts of the world a fact." 
~Marlene Dietrich

“Nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.”
~Anonymous

“Sex is a momentary itch, love never lets you go.”
~Anonymous

“Sex is like air; it's not important unless you aren't getting any.”
~Anonymous

“Among men, sex sometimes results in intimacy; among women, intimacy sometimes results in sex.”
~Barbara Cartland

"I blame my mother for my poor sex life. All she told me was, 'the man goes on top and the woman underneath'. For three years my husband and I slept on bunk beds."
~Joan Rivers

"I haven't had sex in eight months. To be honest, I now prefer to go bowling."
~Lil' Kim

"Love is a matter of Chemistry, but sex is a matter of Physics."
~Unknown

Crazy Has Left The Building

Dear everyone who now thinks I'm crazy,

Update: I'm not. We all have our moments, do we not? And anyway I have to keep things interesting. Constantly whining about being a virgin doesn't make for that great a read...or does it? Last week's observations were intensified by a mixture of hormones and the gigantic magnifying glass I hold over myself when I write these things. It's a joy being a woman. I'm not diminishing the legitimate weirdness of these strange paranoid dreams, but I have to take everything with a grain of salt. Especially things that come out of my own mouth...and mind. In retrospect I think I can officially attribute this paranoid dream nonsense to stress, and I can do this because the ol' acid reflux has returned as well. I live too much in my head and these physical/subconcious symptoms are just the real, though odd results.

I marvel at what life would be like if I could live by my heart instead of my head. I can only imagine it would be more painful, but also more joyful...broken-healed hearts are what make life worth living or so I've heard, and yet, still can't let myself get there. I want to believe it's not just me, that there are other contributing factors to my somewhat self-imposed singularity, such as location, profession, er...mentality of the demographic of which I seem to be a part, but I know it all starts at home.


Is it ridiculous that I still kind of believe that now that I've finally gotten my professional life in order my personal life will eventually follow? It feels naïve. But then again, most of the things I believe are based in a naïveté of some sort. And of course there's still the overwhelming fear that I should just accept is the brick wall 8 feet thick that prevents me from moving forward. It's just so hard to pinpoint a fear comprised of so many different elements that seem to be unfounded. Or perhaps it really is just simply the fear of sex. Why can't I just grown up? How did I become so gadam stunted?

Next Stop, Crazyville!

I think I may actually be on the road to um...the bin. I want so badly to get a handle on this whole paranoid half-conscious dreaming thing I do, so the past couple times it has happened I have tried to force myself into some kind of rationality.

What I've come up with is this: still feels like people are able to read my mind, and also this other thing that I haven't mentioned before. There are these strange, non-tangible things/ideas that I am supposed to do/expected to do for work but feel really awkward doing. I can't even put my finger on what it is but it makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. A weird shameful feeling lingers...maybe more due to having my mind read than what weird things I'm supposed to be doing. I don't know. But...I have figured out that this paranoid dream nonsense only happens when I lay on my right side facing the right hand corner of the ceiling of my bedroom. It's where I originally starting seeing the listening device in the air when I was apparently dream hallucinating. Thank God that has stopped.

I seriously think I am going crazy. I know they say if you know you're going crazy you really aren't, but there's a first time for everything.

I mean, after reading this don't you wonder just a little bit about my sanity?

I could attribute it to stress because God knows what other things it has done to my body, but I'm just not totally convinced.

Maybe there are just one too many radio waves screaming through my walls and somehow messing with my brain. All I know is, if I start to make sense of the noise and it turns into voices telling me to do stuff, don't say I didn't warn you.

One Day Can Determine The Rest...I guess

It is not my birthday today but I was reading through The Birthday Book and found this:

"Perhaps the greatest problem for [these] people is coming to understand themselves, being able to straighten out their complex, difficult personalities. Usually it is seething emotions which keep them from viewing themselves in a more objective light. Many born on this day use their work as an escape from what seems an excessive self-involvement."

(Though I suppose posting this contradicts trying to escape self-involvement...)

"...Because of their desire for independence, and because they tend to limit themselves to a few choice friends, [these people] risk condeming themselves to a lonely life. Yet being alone is not necessarily a lonely experience for those born in this period."

(Not all the time, but every one in a while I am a lonely loner...)

S.W.A. ...?

You know that feeling you get when you realize you've forgotten something but can't remember what it is...and then you do but are hit with another realization that you haven't forgotten what you thought you did but for whatever reason still feel like you have?

This has been happening to me almost every day, and what it is I feel like I've forgotten is to kiss someone goodbye. How weird is that? Even knowing that I haven't forgotten this doesn't make the feeling go away. I'm starting to wonder about my sanity. Well actually, I started that a long time ago, but you get the gist. It's a renewed wonder.

The half-conscious paranoid dreams have been in and out lately too. It is disconcerting in a waking state to think about what someone would think of you if they knew your thoughts. When the line between reality and dreams is blurred it becomes terrifying. At least, for me. Which is weird because it's not like I'm thinking horrible things (all the time anyway) it's more the invasion of privacy that gets me. As much as I hate to admit it, I actually like the fact that you can't ever know what goes on in someone else's head. Or perhaps it's more that no one can ever know what goes on in mine that I like.

One of the first things that Jean said that ever angered me was, "I know you like the back of my hand." First of all, if that was true she would not have said it. Why make me angry when I was happy to be her doormat? Second of all, she couldn't possibly know I would learn to self-preserve and cut her off a few years later because the back of her hand would never change.

I suppose this speaks to my um, ability to let people in. Which, by the by, I have done many times, just on my terms, slowly and to a certain degree. It's not that I'm hiding things about myself, with the exception of the whole sex thing, because most of my close friends know a great deal about me...I think it's more about how far into my heart I let people. In Queen Vee terms, how much I miss them when they're gone?

Maybe I've been letting more in without knowing it which is why I feel like I've been forgetting to kiss them goodbye. No that's not it. What could possibly be the cause for this odd, odd feeling?

Welcome To My Second Dollhouse

At some point this year I will turn 30. This fact doesn't upset me at all. In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to it. Since I was a teenager I've always thought I'd look, feel and be at my best in my thirties. I suppose there is something to be said for mind over matter, but I can also attest that I didn't make my twenties painful by purposely being over-stimulated, under-sexed, wet-noodillish and perpetually exhausted. I used to think it was a second coming of age until I realized mixing pop culture and psychology was just a trendy way to justify my behavior. Well, that and I now know I haven't quite finished growing up yet, nor will I in the foreseeable future.

Every couple of days I find myself wondering about my place with an almost overwhelming awe. What am I doing? Do I really have this job? These friends? This life? Am I supposed to be doing something else? How did I get here?

I received an Alumni magazine from my high school the other day and read about this kid I once knew. For the past couple of years he's been working in Africa, helping people with HIV. For the past couple of years I've been working in the entertainment industry bitching about a boss who's been holding me down. Um...inadequate is the only word that comes to mind when comparing my place with his in the larger scheme of things. I know it's futile to do such a thing, because no matter how good you are there's always someone better as well as someone worse, but in the space around my life that's what happens. I compare, feel bad for a while, and then it passes. It passes because I've accepted the fact that I could never handle going to Africa and helping people with HIV. That's not to say that something profound couldn't happen to me and change that, but at the moment it's one of my truths.

I think my career choice (and therefore my place?) is one of the very few things I've been able to reconcile with the direction of my life, or at least my desire to be a contributing member of society. I spent a lot of time worrying about who I was helping and if my existence was worth anything if I wasn't. I even went so far as to quit the industry cold to figure out if I was doing the right thing. Or at least, the right thing for me which eventually I realized was the point I was missing. Right for me is an entirely different ball game than the right thing. Because honestly, what's the right thing? Too many (mostly religious) people confuse the right thing with a good/kind thing. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, (sorry) it's just not everyone can be a doctor. At least, I can't. And I'm ok with that.

I'll always wonder about my actual, grain of sand place in the world, because I still often feel like the proverbial (is that the right word?) square peg, but that's what makes it worth living isn't it? Everyone (sans the big bores) loves a mystery. What could be coming next?

For me it's the big three oh. Does it bother me that I'm still a virgin? Well...yes, but only because it means I haven't connected with anyone on a level where I can give myself over completely. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will, because even in my friendships there are things I hold back, but I still hope. Maybe this year is the year. I've been so lucky to explore all that I have in my life so far, it's time to face the boys...um, the men. A man.

Update On Jane Mag's Legal Pimping Debacle

Sarah is still publicly dating.

I am not.

We are both still virgins.

Do you see?

The Progressive Downfall of Professional Socialization

Or What Happens When Co-workes Go Out For Drinks Armed With A Corporate Card

1st round
Bitch session about how much everyone hates their lazy bosses

2nd round
Gossip about said bosses and how pathetic their lives must be to be so miserable at work

Half way through 2nd round
Gossip about said bosses and how pathetic their sex lives must be to be so miserable at work

3rd round
Gossip about who (non-present co-workers) is sleeping and who has slept with who

4rth round
Revelations about their own sex lives

5th round and beyond
No one really remembers but it was probably about sex

I don't go out for drinks that often so my co-workers seem to love it when I do. The whole being allergic to alcohol amazes them and they love to see me test my limits. Only when after I've had a little and I let them feel my heartbeat do they believe me I think. At least, that's when the 'omg are you ok?' sets in. One of the reasons I don't often go out is because it kind of sucks to watch everyone else get drunk while I only get to have one, immediately followed by a pounding headache and nausea if I don't chase it with two glasses of water.

Another reason, if not obvious already, is the inevitable conversation consumer. Sex, sex, sex. Is that all anyone ever thinks about? Oh right...even I do. I just can't contribute without feeling like a total ass because I totally don't know what I'm talking about. It's weird though, I've come to realize that while my not dishing about my sex life gives me a bit of mystery, the assumptions made are never that I'm a virgin. It's usually that I either just don't like to talk about my straight encounters or I'm a closeted lesbian. Never that I just don't have any experience to talk about, which is a good thing I think. I can only imagine their reactions: first the amazement (once I've convinced them I actually am a virgin) and then the set ups with the perfect guy(s). Or worse, the 'I don't know anyone who you could go out with because everyone I know is a whore'.

I was totally tempted to lie last night, and was preparing myself to spew it if the floor was given to me with the expectation of an answer, but my pauses and subject changes were subtle enough to avoid the spotlight. Plus it will probably keep them guessing should they actually remember it later. I was only up to one and a half by the time they hit five...The more I hang out with them though the more I know they're going to try to 'out' me or at least get me to spill about something sexual.

I told them I 'dated' Dennis though, which may tide them over for a while. Though I'm sure it'll come back to haunt me...again only if they remember I said it. I guess that's the good thing about the involvement of alcohol. What happens in lala land, stays in lala land. So what if it's only because they've lost too many memory brain cells?

What If You Have No History?

Years ago I left home for college with the intention of trying many new things, most of which I would never think of doing while living home. Of course my status as a goody two shoes kind of prevented me from actually following through with them, the exception being the non-law breaking, health-risking ones. Like giving blood.

Being questioned by a nurse wasn't something I expected, as living the life of a sheltered little girl it didn't occur to me to think that people's blood might not be all that healthy to give. I mean, if someone wanted to give blood they must be clean right? It's not like there were drug addicts around trying to earn a cookie by offering their already paltry blood reserve.

Once the questions started though I knew what would be coming. At 17 I didn't think much of my virginal state so I smiled and answered no to every expected question...except one: "Are you pregnant?" I kind of snort laughed and said, "not unless I'm the next Virgin Mary." She didn't crack a smile. I thought it was funny. I've come to discover it's a line used by many of us virgins when we'd like to end the endless sexual history questions with a bit of self-deprecating humor. However it would seem that only the ones saying it actually think it's funny. When did we become the only ones with a sense of humor?

Two years ago I forced myself to finally make an appointment to go to the Gynecologist for the first time. Ever. I blame that irresponsibility on my parents' need to believe I was a good girl and never making me go in my teens. That being the truth aside, I still yell at my mother for it because since I've always been sexually inactive I couldn't scare myself enough into going. She scared me out of sex but not into preventative medicine. No lectures on how I'm putting my health in jeopardy necessary. It's hard enough for me to make an appointment to get my hair cut let alone make one to see the doctor. I hate the phone, I despise making appointments and I loathe having strangers touch me, even if it is in my best interest.
Vaginal Speculum, 1e/2e AD
I chose an older male doctor because I figured he had years of experience and would be desensitized to the sight of a naked woman. I never said I was logical thinker. At any rate, it made me a tad more comfortable. Just a tad. His office was small and lived in, his desk was littered with papers and plastic models of a uterus and drug paraphernalia. I did not tell him it was my first GYN exam ever, but when we got to the sexual history questions I could not lie. When I told him I was not sexually active and had never been, he paused. You may not think that's much, but when you get an OBGYN doctor to pause it's because he's surprised. In that moment I could have sworn his eyebrows raised just slightly. He closed the folder and asked me to tell the nurses up front that they should prepare the white speculum for me.

Now, because I was nervous as hell and not thinking straight, I missed the fact that it was totally inappropriate for him to ask me to do that (as well as the connection between sexual non-history and speculum request). I find it ha-larious in retrospect that I was just dumb enough to do it. And when I did, I wasn't even discreet because I didn't know what the hell the white speculum was. I marched right into the nurses station and said, "the doc said I need the white speculum!" All three of them looked up. I might as well have shouted, "hey girls, prep the virgin prod, this one's gonna be tight!"

Thank God I didn't find out that the white speculum was any different from the regular ones until he was actually examining me and explaining that it was smaller so it wouldn't hurt. I would have been mortified if I hadn't been so nervous. I think the nurse who was in the room with me felt bad because she could tell I was going through this whole, "omg I'm still a virgin and now the whole office knows it" episode. Either that or she was wondering if I was a closeted lesbian.

And so on a completely different note, the upside to this virgin business, as I know my fellow virgins will agree, is that worries about pregnancy, stds and other health risking factors due to sexual activity is not something that plagues us. In fact, sometimes it even saves us time when the doctors are trying to rule out reasons for the illnesses we do get.

Because you know as soon as I start having sex I'm going to be doing online searches for herpes and chlamydia.

Ready Point

Well...it finally happened. After all this time, waiting and wondering when the day would come, torturing myself with alternating thoughts of confidence and doubt...I finally got what I've been waiting for...a promotion!

What...did you think I meant sex? No, I didn't think so. You're too smart for that.

But for once the optomist in me gets to tell the cynic to take a flying leap. It's wonderful. Ok yes I can still complain about the fact that this company/these people has(ve) treated me with disrespect (for 3 out of the 4 years I've been employed by the greedy corporate regime), but the fact of the matter is I still earned this position based on my creative talent and my talent alone. I didn't kiss anyone's ass or constantly bother the higher ups with chatter about how great I am or with small talk for which I have no tolerance. I let my work speak for me and it feels fabulous to finally be recognized.

I know that in itself sounds pompous but I don't care. I'm proud for not giving up on myself as I have been prone to do in the past. And it's just the cherry on top that I overcame actually being held down by a boss. (Granted I use the term 'overcame' loosely as my boss became my ex-boss before I got promoted but whatever. I'm still taking credit. Side note: it's even more delicious because the VP is now aware that I was being held down.) God it's like a bad 80s movie about rising to the top...which is funny because I'm no where near the top. I've reached the place I want to be and for now...I feel a giant sense of relief. My whole life has been about what was next, what I needed to be working toward, who was keeping me from it. After I make the transition I'm actually wondering what I'll have to worry about. It's almost frightening.

My ambition is not great, I have no desire to be president or have people working for me. I just want to do what I do best and maybe get a pat on the back once in a while. This isn't to say I won't be moving on to bigger things eventually, but I've actually reached a career goal and if you couldn't tell I'm just a little awed by it.

As it turns out, the ex-boss has allegedly changed her tune about me as well. While never directly or outwardly negative towards me, her behind the scenes is coming to light. I have no contact with her anymore, but she came back to write up our reviews for the year and according to another co-worker on her level, she wrote me a rave review. My co-worker insisted that my ex-boss has turned a new leaf. I'm not so quick to imagine that's the case, my bruised ambition tends to believe she can't exactly not give me a rave review and come out looking like she doesn't have something against me.

But anyway after I let the news settle in, as well as controlled my urge to tell everyone I've ever met because it's not totally official yet, a thought passed through my mind:

Now I can start looking for a man.

Seriously. I heard it echo through my brain and then I actually laughed out loud. What an absurd thing to think. And yet I thought it. And if I'm actually honest with myself, I'd admit I meant it. Seriously.

So despite my amusement at my own roller coaster of emotions, could it be that maybe I have possibly, actually reached a potential ready point? Finally? Would it be so obvious as all that? Should I take it as a kind of sign that a few weeks ago I even wrote a song about reaching that ready point?

Do I dare dream?

Tatay's Broken Mold

When I was about four years old my mother told me I cried and cried when I found out I couldn't marry my father. Little did either of us know what a foreshadowing it would turn out to be.

I'm sure there are thousands of studies about who people tend to marry and why, but I think it's logical to say that if one grows up in a relatively happy household, they will seek partnership with someone who resembles one or both of their parents in some way. As I'm sure I've blogged (read: whined) before, it's probably obvious that I am looking for many of my father's qualities in a man. The problem with this is I don't think they make them like my father in this country. That is probably the weirdest thing I've ever said but it's true. That's not to say they don't exist, but they are awfully hard to come by. Most American men aren't taught to be sensitive or gentle. We can all accept that generalization as true, no?

But it's more than that. There is an innocence about my father that at 68 he still possesses, and it amazes me. I have yet to meet a man who even comes close to having this vulnerability about them. Of course he has his shortcomings and traditional beliefs that can be narrow minded at times, but we all do. It's what makes us who we are. I do think the human mind is capable of opening up to just about anything, especially the acceptance of our fellow human beings, but only if the burden of self-importance is overcome. For now, everything in moderation, right?

Before your educated yet perverted minds get to it (no doubt there already) I do not suffer an Elektra complex. I respect and love my father, but I don't want my mother dead nor do I actually want my father. Incest isn't really my scene. But I do wonder if in this day and age men like him exist in my generation.

This war has darkened everything. Fear is a major factor in our every day lives, at least that's what the media/war lords want us to accept for ratings/votes, and it doesn't lend a hand in allowing people their innocence. How can you believe the good in other people or in the purity of life when you feel threatened by strangers as well as those who are supposed to be your protectors? Maybe I'm fooling myself in thinking other people feel the same way, but show me a man my age who doesn't hide his fear with machismo and I'll show you our wedding picture.

But I can't really have that little faith. I'm probably just looking in the wrong places. After all, I am in NYC, the self proclaimed capitol of the world, which leads me to my next theory. Maybe I should move abroad for a while (something that has been in the back of my mind since I graduated college) both to experience a different way of life and a different...shall we say, breed? of men. (Not that I have ANY experience, proof or validation to make this gigantic sweeping judgment, I am well aware. But what do you expect from an almost 30 year old virgin with bright eyes and a suitcase of unfounded fears of men/sex/relationships?) Of course, unless I move to an African desert or a jungle in Thailand I fear the working for a living will cage me in the same type of life I live now. Which is not to say is bad, it's just...not different.

And let's not forget the spark, shall we?

Have I mentioned one of the things I have in common with my father, oddly enough, is my occasional naiveté?

Conversations With Mom

QV: can you believe im almost 30?
Mom: not really. youre still a kid to me
QV: i'm still a kid to ME. you got yourself a peter pan in me
Mom: right hahahahaha
QV: every single astrology both western and chinese say independent, loner, etc etc
Mom: cant have kids that way
QV: your fault. shoulda had me in 76 in april or something
Mom: oh well, no grandkids for me
QV: oh stop it. maybe if you said nice things about boys everyone once in a while....
Mom: i like D how about that
QV: ha! little late for that. why didnt you encourage me in highschool?
Mom: i did. you said one of your friends liked him and you would not get in the way blah blah blah. always a goody two shoes

Apparently I was born a goody two shoes. My mother had 12 marriage proposals and had broken 12 hearts by the time she met and married my father (at 20).

8 Seconds

I went out with some family friends yesterday who I haven't seen in a long while. As I was late, they had all gone around filling each other in on their lives by the time I arrived. I was expected to spill the moment I sat down. My favorite question was first.

"So are you seeing anyone?"

"Ummm, no."

Long, pregnant pause during which all eyes were on me. Can we say AWKWARD? I couldn't figure out what to say next and apparently no one else could either. Granted it was probably only about 8 seconds, but 8 seconds of complete silence during any conversation let alone that one is kind of weird.

I know I'm making too much of it, but it was just odd that it happened when it did (ie, after the first question asked) rather than ten minutes into the conversation when a lull would be normal. Like that was the only thing they were really interested in knowing about me.

HAhhahaha! So ridiculous.

I need to come up with a follow up response...keep the conversation moving. Perhaps, "and I've never had sex," would work?

"To Do Or Not To Do"

"Or Online Dating And Why I'm Still Not Sure How I Feel About It. Aside From Scared. Because It Still Involves Human Interaction At Some Point."

Tap tap tap tap...I don't know. I'm not even sure how to begin. Ultimately I know whatever I say will make me look foolish, but pretty much every entry in this blog does that so I guess I shouldn't be worried about this one.

Here's the thing...if I'm outrageously picky in the real world, imagine what I'd be like in cyber space? A couple of my friends are proponents of online dating and have encouraged me in the past to sign up. One said at the very least it'll help my ego. I've scanned a few of them but the whole thing just makes me nervous. You know the whole distrust issue I harbor? It flares up a little when dealing with anonymous online spaces where the potential for people to lie outweighs their self-control, or at the very least misrepresent themselves based on what they'd like to be rather than what they are. (I know I know, everyone does this sometimes. I realize not everyone is out to take advantage of other people...but some of them are. Sometimes I think maybe I'm just nervous I'm one of the ones who, despite all my suspicions, is still naive enough in some ways to be taken.)

But theoretically speaking, let's say I'm able to get past that and find someone's entry that I believe is honest and straightforward. We start emailing, I get to like him (as he presents himself in writing- because I know that if say, someone like Fred :) met me in person he'd be surprised at how different I am...or rather, how much easier it is to read me, than listen to me stutter through my nervousness), we decide to meet, I feel zero chemistry and have to either give him the 'let's just be friends' or stop communication altogether. (Putting the horse before the cart much? Obviously the reverse is possible too, but I'd rather just assume not so I can hide behind it. How's that for honest?) It would just make me feel worse than if I had met him through a friend and didn't do the emailing because we would have already gotten to know each other. God writing that out loud makes me realize how utterly ridiculous it is...and yet, can't rid myself of it.

Or perhaps I'm making excuses because I want things to happen naturally. And yet, can't make myself do anything to get that ball rolling either.

How can you stand someone who won't help herself out?

Why are you still reading this?

Maybe one of these days I'll grow a set and at least sign up, see what happens. At the very least it'll give me something else to talk about (along with a potential ego boost?) Why is it that I can take risks with my life, but I can't take any in it?

Jump off a cliff? Done it. Swim in dangerous waters? Done it. Step in front of a speeding bus? Done it. Quit my career track? Done it. Go out on a date? eeeeeeeeee! Scary!

I'm Done

Ok that is it. That is IT. I've had it. I'm done with my subconscious. I'm done with my consciousness. I am so over myself it's not even funny. When do I get to look back and laugh already?

Here's the latest offering from the depths of my horribly unfunny mind:

First of all, I'm in this strange house where every room is dedicated to some kind of sex play. Um...I don't even know how that's possible considering the breadth of my exposure.

Second of all, I'm half naked in one of these rooms with a guy (who I of course don't know and of course can't remember his face) who is also half naked.

Good start to a dream if one is to be had, no?

So we're making out, great, great, great...suddenly he rolls over and turns on the TV. Are you ready for this? It's wrestling. Incredibly this doesn't deter me. I throw myself across him and say, "You know, this isn't really turning me on."

He says, "Yeah, me either," and continues to watch.

Again, incredibly, I still try apparently thinking the direct approach has a chance in hell of working.

"I really want to have sex with you."

He sighs. He actually sighs and says, "Oh ok" like I'm putting him out.

He gets up to turn out the light and I wake up. Unfulfilled. Again.

Seriously? Someone just put me out of my misery.

Queen Vee Fugue (Reprise)

"Won't you help me rise up,
Touch my face and watch me try to breathe again
Would you let me do this,
Burn down the final wall
Overcome me, baby...
All I'm asking is to be alive
For once"
-Vienna Teng

This song almost brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. I wonder if she felt the same self-inflicted loneliness I feel sometimes...the way I interpret it to be from these lyrics anyway. Granted no two people can feel the exact same kind of pain, or any emotion really, but I guess it's that exact relativity that keeps us connected. We just need to know there are others out there experiencing something similar. At least I do. Perhaps in some odd, irrational way it makes me feel less alone.

I kept a journal of sorts in college which I occasionally still wrote in until I started this blog. I was not very disciplined and wrote in it only when I was feeling overwhelmed, usually with negative emotions. In re-reading some if it, I can't believe how poorly I thought of myself and also how quickly I forgot those moments that seem to have helped shaped my psyche. Remembering how I acted then you would never have thought I was such an anguished young adult...anyone who has known me since then remembers me as happy go lucky, with the exception of the handful of close friends I opened up to at one point or another. I suppose I showed more of my dark side the older I got, but even then most people would still remember me as having a smile on my face. At any rate I have definitely grown since filling those pages with self-hatred and pity, but one theme seems to have remained to this day...my insecurities about relationships, sex and men. Surprise.

If you'll permit me the pretension of actually quoting my 21 year old self:

"...I know that I am aching to love someone and scared to death I won't let myself. I know what others tell me. I'm inclined to ignore or at least disbelieve. I waver too much. I have no loyalty to myself..."

(That first thought could have been said by me yesterday. [With the addendum of not letting anyone love me either.] In fact, I've probably written it in this blog 30 times.) Before everything went down with Jean, that last statement summed up my existence perfectly. Little did I know when I wrote those words how long I had and would let that dormant loyalty lie. I learned the concept of self-preservation after I finally forgave myself for letting her destroy me.

I was always so hard on myself both in terms of school work, which later turned into finding a way to start a career and personally, in terms of how I related to my friends, my family, the opposite sex and lastly my own expectations of myself. I'm starting to think that because I couldn't seem to live up to what I expected I should be, I was just constantly disappointed in the failure I thought I was becoming. (I loathe to admit this also may still be a weakness, it's just that my expections of myself have changed into something less concrete and so harder to potentially achieve.) And what I expected I should be was no doubt informed by my peers, my elders and the bloodiest last but not least mainstream. It seems like such a cop out to say that, but honestly, where else would I have gotten the idea that above all else I should be on my way to being happily married or at least experiencing a sexually satisfying relationship by the time I graduated college? (Aside from my mother who oddly enough expected it [the marriage that is] of me despite feeding me the exact opposite ideas throughout my formative years...) Every pop culture outlet hinted at it at the very least.

What's a girl to do when every magazine aimed at her demographic is filled with sex quizes and tips on how to please your man?

She turns to other more fulfilling magazines when she's finally informed enough to seek them out. Wish I had met some of the strong, independent female friends I have now sooner. The experience of joining the real world would have been so much more pleasant than the one I had: trying to find nourishment in a poisonous female friendship and then figuring out how to extinguish it while maintaining my sense of self. God it's all so dramatic I should have won an Oscar.

What was my point?

Oh right, that after all the growing and changing I've done in my life, this one issue remains stuck to the roof of my mouth, and no amount of brushing, flossing, or gargling can shake it loose. Why is that? (Aside from the obvious, Queen Vee you have issues, this is now public, albeit anonymous, information.)

Is it that people in general aren't willing to try to get to know people who have walls built around them? I can understand that. It takes a lot of energy and why should you bother if that person never lets them down?

Or is it really simply that I just haven't met anyone I'm willing to let them down for?

Perhaps I need someone to overcome me so I don't have the chance to even think about it. There's got to be a way in...I can't be guarded all the time.

Can I?

P.S. That said, I totally need to have sex with someone before I literally drive myself crazy. For whatever reason I cannot stop thinking about it lately. Maybe I've been watching too much tv...gadam pop culture.

A New Year Of Old Assumptions

A lot of people think I'm a lesbian...sooner or later. I can only guess why, maybe the way I dress or the music I listen to, but I think it more or less ends up being the fact that I never talk about men. Or more precisely, about men I date/see/sleep with. The only time this bothers me is when I get all feminist and think why does the absence of men have to determine my sexuality? Why isn't my sexuality determined by the fact that I don't talk about women?

I was working with someone yesterday I only see occasionally, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a lesbian. Either that or he's just one of those guys that says things without thinking them through and then realizes too late...oh yeah, that would be all of them. Anyway, so I told him that I was excited because I may have the chance to meet this actress I like, who happens to have a large lesbian following. First he asked if she was a lesbian. I said I didn't know and then he made a comment about maybe my company was sending me to meet her to set us up. It was such a weird, off-handed thing to say and I was completely taken off guard. So as per usual I just didn't say anything. Heh. Not that I should have anyway being as a) none of his business and b) um...it's a place of business and we're at work...

At the beginning of every year I think to myself, ok this is the year you're going to stop being an ass and you're going to meet someone. This year is no different. I forced myself to attend a New Years party where I'd only know a few people, so that I could meet new people...and possibly scan for guys I might like. I was proud of myself for talking to strangers (for longer than a 2 second hello) but didn't meet anyone I took a liking to, except of course the one tall guy with dark hair and a accent (see #36) who was married. Damn.

I'm just not quite sure to do with myself anymore. Actually, I probably never was.