This morning, like most Mondays are, was a slow and agonizing waking-up process. My first alarm went off across the room at 6am (I’d changed it back and forth from 5 to 6 about three times Sunday evening before capitulating to my own laziness) so, as designed, I had to get completely out of bed to silence it. Unfortunately, getting up and out of bed did not stop me from getting right back into bed and falling immediately back into a deeply comfortable slumber. Alarm number two (better known as the cell phone tone from hell) activated at 6:40am and like a pro I silenced it with a swype of my index finger and then burrowed even deeper in my pile of pillows. For a minute I entertained the thought of being a responsible adult and getting out of bed so that I could get ready, feed myself and get to work on time but by the time those thoughts finished forming I was already lost to the world. At 7:10 (you know, 30 minutes before I really ought to be out the door) things started to get serious and I sort of rolled over and thought about how much I didn’t want to get up for another indulgent five minutes. Then, grunting angrily, I sort of flopped out of the covers and stumbled to the shower.
The most logical thing to do at this point would have been to speed through my shower and move on to the next step as quickly as possible. The thing is, the shower is seriously my favorite part of the day. I wouldn’t want to rush my scalp moisturizer (coughdandruffshampoocough) or hair clarifying conditioner. I do multi-task though! I use my Victoria Secret Angel body wash while the shampoo sits. Then, while my conditioner sits, that’s when I shave. So you see I do conserve some time! Anyway, after I luxuriated some more I finally convinced myself that I really could get out and join the waking world so I robed up and then threw on the outfit I’d just put together in my head.
It was now 7:30 and I knew breakfast was a lost cause, hence why I stocked up on Trader Joe’s greek yogurt, so I quickly weighed my beauty regimen options. I wasn’t going to have time to blow dry or curl my hair so I rolled back the sides and applied a de-frizzing serum before spraying it down with my trusty medium-hold. That would have to do. Crap. It was 7:38. I should be on the road in two minutes and I didn’t even have my shoes on. Luckily I’m a makeup pro (thanks to theatre and lots of practice) and I had my face primer, foundation, eye-lid primer, eye shadow, eye liner and mascara on by 7:41. Oh heck, I almost forgot blush! I jauntily swiped on a peachy shade, threw some yogurt and a TJ’s frozen meal for lunch in my bag, grabbed the work ipad, slipped on my shoes and rushed out the door by 7:48. Not bad!
Of course, that was when things started to go downhill. I don’t know what happened in between putting on my makeup and making it to the car, but by the time I was on the road (only ten minutes later than I ought to be=score!) I realized that something wasn’t quite right. It took me a moment of reflection, but halfway down Fair Oaks I realized I couldn’t see out of my left eye. I didn’t have time to stop and figure it out, so I spent the ten minute drive to work with my left eye closed and my right eye squinting in the bright sun. It was unfortunate. I don’t know how, but some unidentified compound had coated my left contact while I wasn’t paying attention. I parked the car, safely, and made one more horrific realization. I’d remembered to apply my blush…but I hadn’t remembered my deodorant.
Gracelessly switching topics:
Since Valentine’s Day is approaching (as the never-ending “last minute shopping for your sweetheart” coupon emails keep reminding me) I would like to update you all on my current reflections about romance (PS I totally love V-Day. Something about unabashed over-commercialization really gets me going).
In short: Confusion. That’s all. According to all of the books and movies and tv commercials I’ve seen growing up, not to mention the hardcore marketing during every single holiday ever (I mean I’ve totally seen couple’s retreats advertised on Groupon for President’s day, and nothing is less romantic to me than celebrating a bunch of old heads-of-state) eventually you just “fall” into relationships or love. Even the heroines of romcoms who claim they can’t find love use as their examples all of their failed relationships. You get a comical montage of the guy who liked to look at himself more than you (and to be fair who could blame him?) and the guy who was just using you to get with your friend and the guy who just wanted sex or the guy who just wanted you to pop out a million kids or the guy who still lived at home or the guy who was actually gay and on and on and on and on. Sure, our plucky heroine may not have found her ‘one’ (and that subject in and of itself warrants a whole post by itself) when we first meet, but she sure isn’t having any trouble finding guys. It’s her own fault if she can’t discern the good ones.
What I would like to explore is the idea of not-being-able-to-fall-into-ANY-relationship. Who’s gonna address that, huh? It’s always all about finding the right love, or finding ourselves before giving over to love, or learning to love instead of hooking up, or discovering we were always in love even if we didn’t know it or…BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. Who cares? In fact, more often than not, plots are wrapped up in love triangles or love quadrangles or love affairs so widespread but repressed that we just barely refrain from calling them orgies (I’m looking at you The CW). The hero/heroine is upset because they are beset by too much never-ending romance. I’m not judging. I get that it’s a real thing (I’ve witnessed it enough in real life just by watching friends). But that’s not my problem, so I’m bored of watching it on-screen.
Let’s get one thing straight–I’m not writing out of some bitter, sad, lonely place. Don’t even bother picturing me lolling about on the couch drinking a bottle of wine and eating a quarter pint of red velvet cake ice cream by myself. I reserve that for when I’m menstruating. In fact I’m pretty darn happy with my life and I like myself so much that I don’t mind mostly. I’m just academically curious and, as this is the time of year most covered in pink hearts and tissue paper flowers, I’d like to examine my hilarious history. How is it that, as a pretty well-adjusted/attractive 23 year old woman I’ve never been in a relationship let alone on an official date? Not even a sloppy kiss in the playground!
Most rom/coms have sessions where the girls lounge around in their panties and write pros/cons. I’m wearing pants, but I’ll make the list anyway:
Pros: I’m smart. I’m witty. I despise clingy girls and I’m really not possessive. I love science fiction and board games and I can watch tv marathons for days but not in a totally geeky way. I appreciate me time but I also enjoy social activities. I like hanging out with guys. I like to help others and spread knowledge. I define myself–I don’t define myself by others. I’m a real catch, right?
Cons: I can be painfully socially awkward. Not at parties/gatherings (I got over that halfway through college) I mean I can really work a crowd. But in everyday situations. Or situations that might look romantic if on a tv show. Or that involve touching. That sounded bad. I didn’t mean it to sound bad. What I meant is–I have been told on more than one occasion that I am the most awkward hugger. If I was in a romcom people would call that endearing. In real life, sadly, I think it’s just weird. Unless I’m a little liquid I have been known to unintentionally flinch when people pat me on the shoulder. This isn’t on purpose and I don’t really mind, I think I just spend so much time in my own world that it shocks me when people sort of travel over the border without warning, like they forgot to get their passports stamped or something. Regardless, again it freaks people out. I am not shy about sharing my opinions, and while I change them frequently based on new evidence I don’t say I think something just because someone else does. I don’t change myself for others. I don’t pretend to like things because I think it will endear me to someone. (Sidenote–I would view those last items as pros really, but I have heard that this freaks people out). I’m so scared of making things awkward that I can magnify the awkward about 1000 time by trying to not be awkward, and along the same lines I will probably never, ever make the first move because I’m too frightened of failure/changing things. I am supremely critical. This is not the same thing as judgy (although darkside Emilie can be judgmental), but while I see the beauty all around me I also see the flaws. Sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. I think it’s funny to make people think that I’m more full of myself than I really am so I play that up. I like dramatic irony. I embellish stories. Or, rather, I pick really good adjectives. Sincerely. I’m terrible at names and birthdays and anniversaries and gift buying. I’ve got a flirtatious side (let’s call it my charismatic side) but I’m not flirty. I don’t use lines or plays or moves and the idea of online dating grosses me out. I can easily become distracted and forget about people, and while I love talking to and hanging out with my friends I don’t usually mark the passage of time enough to actually miss people. I’m more of a “what’s happening now” kind of gal.
Ok, I’m not sure if I’m writing pros or cons or mehs or even really talking about romance right now. I guess I’ve just never really met someone else who has had this experience and I would like you all to discuss in the comments why you think I’ve never really been someone’s romantic object. (Remember folks, sexual object is not the same thing as romantic object, so all those dudes who like to leer at me do not count.)
Ready, Set, Go!
P.S. I promise this isn’t a needy call for complements or platitudes. I honestly, really am just giggling at my own bizarre date-less life in honor of the impending holiday. And yes I realize I bear 50% culpability since I don’t make moves. (Honestly I wouldn’t know what a move looked like in real life if it hit me in the face. And if I tried I probably would hit the poor guy in the face). I want to hear about the other 50%. Now, sound off!!!