That's a rather egotistical title, isn't it?
But it's really how I feel. (For a grammar addict, I start a significant number of sentences in conjunctions and end a huge number in prepositions. I comfort myself in the knowledge that those fall under style, not grammar.)
I occasionally ponder my relationship status, and wonder why I'm single. My answer lately has been that I don't jive with Vegas guys. You might ask if I'm being geographically biased, but I'm not. I act the same, regardless of location. And yet, in every place except Vegas, I get hit on almost everyday. Cashiers love me. Random people I pass are enchanted. I tried to blame it on myself, say that I was awkward or mean or went to a woman's college, but those arguments really don't hold up when you compare my experiences anywhere except Vegas to those in Vegas.
I doubt that I suddenly get less attractive or my personality diminishes just because of locale. I suspect, rather, that Las Vegas tends to have the kind of men that don't like me, and that I don't like.
Okay, I'm a Republican. I don't ride a bike, for many reasons I will happily tell you if you ask, I don't gamble, smoke, or do drugs. I do drink, sometimes quite a bit. I've grown into my limbs, which out-sized me five years ago. I don't belong to any given clique. I sometimes dork out, but it tends to be when I'm drunk or I know it'll be appreciated, and I've been told that I'm so cute and happy when I do it that no one has the heart to tell me he has no idea what I'm talking about. I love fashion, but I'm not a fashionista. I switch between professional, teenager, preppy, business casual, hipster, name your style, depending on my mood on any given day. I'm very self-aware. I'm smart. I'm probably smarter than most people I know, but I don't care that much, as long as the people in my life can keep up or don't care. I read less than I like. We probably have common heroes, but not necessarily for the same reasons. It's a sad state events when you're trying to justify yourself to hipsters, because they're the closest you can get in your city to your ideal. But you make do with what you have.
I'm not sure why Vegas guys seem so reluctant to get to know me. They don't even know the myriad of reasons to hate me, and I promise you there are many. Maybe I don't pass some artificial test I'm unaware of. Are fake breasts necessary for attention here?
It seems only older men hit on me. And I don't mean 27. I mean 35+. I have friends who are dating guys in that range, and I'm happy for them, but it's not what I want. And the ones who are in my preferred age range tend to be not attractive to me, either physically or mentally.
Guys, just introduce yourselves to me. I don't bite, unless you're my sister. I'm good at politely declining, allowing you to believe the fault is mine. I can make excuses like you can't believe. But you won't approach me. And I don't try, because I know the pattern in this city. I can make the five guys in a party full of girls fall for me, but not a single Las Vegas guy.
I know there are good guys in Vegas. This is a generalization. I know that I'll find someone as soon as I move, but what's wrong with wanting someone here?
Why can't you hate me after meeting me?
Or learn that I'm okay with us not agreeing on things?
Or maybe you even like my views. But you'll never know until you try.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
New Blog
This is probably around my fifth attempt at blogging. Some have been read more than other. I've advertised them probably proportional to the audience drawn. I've decided to make this one non-anonymous. Most people reading this are acquainted with me. I've just decided that this is the medium I want to portray my life in for now. With the exception of my livejournal from when I was 16, which consisted of the thoughts of a bored 16-year-old on summer vacation, I like most of them. Some of them I even admire, and marvel that those thoughts and words came from me.
The title of the blog, Stalled, is how I perceive my life right now. I know where I want to get, and how to get there, but I'm not quite ready for it. So, I'm entering a period I expect will last between two and five years while I relax and prepare, often simultaneously, for a legal and/or political career.
At this point, I've spent about a month doing absolutely nothing. It was necessary. I spent the last year and a half of my college career stressed and teetering somewhere between "not happy" and "miserable." Upon reflection, I should have gone abroad or take a semester or a year off. Hindsight is 20/20, as cliches like reminding us. I needed that time to catch up on sleep, and not have to do anything. In the past couple of weeks, I've been starting to look for things to do. I started looking at dance classes, something I loved in elementary school and rediscovered my love of in college, and right after I'd back from a studio I thought was perfect for me in terms of content and location, I learned that someone I'd known and had talked to a lot about dance had been shot by her fiance. It really affected me, something I'll discuss in a paragraph or two, and made me avoid dance because it was such a reminder of her. However, I think I've gotten to the point that I'm ready to call the dance studio. I also started looking at jobs casually, browsing Craigslist everyday, and joining Monster.com. I've learned that I'm surprisingly employable. I guess I'm still kind of in the mindset of me two years ago, a student without a resume. It's amazing how much a Bachelor's degree and work experience make a difference. I've got an audition for a job I really want, both because of what it is, and the opportunities it both offers and leaves open. So, in at least some ways, my life is starting to get back on track.
I love both the movie and novel Fight Club. Part of what I love so much about it is that I can disagree with it so much, and still be enthralled with it. It was part of the author's intention. At any rate, the particular part I'm trying to talk about is when the main character goes to the support groups. When surrounded by death, he sees himself as the center of the universe. Everyone wants to be healthy. But in the past few weeks, two people I've known have died. One, as mentioned earlier, was murdered. I'd worked with her over the summer, and liked her a lot. She'd been two years sober, and I've known few people who wanted to live as much as she did. She wanted to be a teacher, even though she'd already gotten a master's in an unrelated field. The other died while studying abroad, and language and time barriers have prevented me from knowing exactly what happened to him. He's someone I DID NOT hook up with. I use the capitals for emphasis, in that I had the opportunity, but chose not to. I'm glad I didn't, because it may have devastated me. Instead, the combination of the two, perhaps aided by my fairly recent Dead Like Me marathon, made me dream about death. Nightmares of friends killing themselves. Dreams where I knew I would die soon, and had to assess what I wanted to do before death spirited me away, and upon waking, knew that they were personal matters that if I were to live would cause more awkwardness than pleasure, and knew that they would never occur. It made me feel like the center of death, like those who knew me were at risk, irrational as it may seem.
I'm not sure if I had more to say or not for this general introduction, but I'll leave it here, and do another entry if I remember something important.
The title of the blog, Stalled, is how I perceive my life right now. I know where I want to get, and how to get there, but I'm not quite ready for it. So, I'm entering a period I expect will last between two and five years while I relax and prepare, often simultaneously, for a legal and/or political career.
At this point, I've spent about a month doing absolutely nothing. It was necessary. I spent the last year and a half of my college career stressed and teetering somewhere between "not happy" and "miserable." Upon reflection, I should have gone abroad or take a semester or a year off. Hindsight is 20/20, as cliches like reminding us. I needed that time to catch up on sleep, and not have to do anything. In the past couple of weeks, I've been starting to look for things to do. I started looking at dance classes, something I loved in elementary school and rediscovered my love of in college, and right after I'd back from a studio I thought was perfect for me in terms of content and location, I learned that someone I'd known and had talked to a lot about dance had been shot by her fiance. It really affected me, something I'll discuss in a paragraph or two, and made me avoid dance because it was such a reminder of her. However, I think I've gotten to the point that I'm ready to call the dance studio. I also started looking at jobs casually, browsing Craigslist everyday, and joining Monster.com. I've learned that I'm surprisingly employable. I guess I'm still kind of in the mindset of me two years ago, a student without a resume. It's amazing how much a Bachelor's degree and work experience make a difference. I've got an audition for a job I really want, both because of what it is, and the opportunities it both offers and leaves open. So, in at least some ways, my life is starting to get back on track.
I love both the movie and novel Fight Club. Part of what I love so much about it is that I can disagree with it so much, and still be enthralled with it. It was part of the author's intention. At any rate, the particular part I'm trying to talk about is when the main character goes to the support groups. When surrounded by death, he sees himself as the center of the universe. Everyone wants to be healthy. But in the past few weeks, two people I've known have died. One, as mentioned earlier, was murdered. I'd worked with her over the summer, and liked her a lot. She'd been two years sober, and I've known few people who wanted to live as much as she did. She wanted to be a teacher, even though she'd already gotten a master's in an unrelated field. The other died while studying abroad, and language and time barriers have prevented me from knowing exactly what happened to him. He's someone I DID NOT hook up with. I use the capitals for emphasis, in that I had the opportunity, but chose not to. I'm glad I didn't, because it may have devastated me. Instead, the combination of the two, perhaps aided by my fairly recent Dead Like Me marathon, made me dream about death. Nightmares of friends killing themselves. Dreams where I knew I would die soon, and had to assess what I wanted to do before death spirited me away, and upon waking, knew that they were personal matters that if I were to live would cause more awkwardness than pleasure, and knew that they would never occur. It made me feel like the center of death, like those who knew me were at risk, irrational as it may seem.
I'm not sure if I had more to say or not for this general introduction, but I'll leave it here, and do another entry if I remember something important.
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