The Modern Romance

aka The Only Way Men Talk to Me

I'm not really sure if/how this will benefit anyone; it's just happened too many times for me to ignore it's a trend.

So I'm going to address it. Obscurely and vaguely via the interweb.

Huzzah.


As I said, I have experienced this phenomena on several occasions, the most recent lending me to believe that either this is what courtship is now, the boys in my area all think the same, or I give a general vibe that I should be approached in this specific manner.

What manner is this, you ask?

Let me give you the outline for The Modern Romance aka The Only Way Men Talk to Me:

Step One: Meet me in person.

Here it is discovered better than any other time that my awkwardness is charming to a tolerable degree. Something about me must be deemed pleasant before moving on to

Step Two: Friending me on Facebook.

Facebook is Facebook. That's what it's there for, is matching my face with the "book" upon which it is splayed. There are varying ways to attempt this, and for the sake of making this post a little more exciting, I will give you an example of which conditions the friending has, to my experience, taken place under.

1. Dude found me that very night.
2. Dude commented on a shared event, I "liked" his comment to enable his finding me, which worked.
3. Dude found me after I added a friend of his.
4. Dude waited the three day decorum time slot then added me.

Granted, aside from one of the four, I'm not necessarily 100% as to how I was located, though these options are safe because, well, none of them knew my last name.

Bonus fun fact: in The Modern Romance aka The Only Way Men Talk to Me, your profile picture of you and Jason Mraz (who to any non-Mrazfan looks like just another guy) does not threaten them into avoiding you under the belief you already have a relationship.

Which is a little depressing to consider that people don't think I stand a chance with Jason Mraz. 15 years isn't that big a deal.

It's more my religious beliefs and his veganism that are problematic.


Step Three: Private message me.

There is different decorum for this as well, which, surprise surprise, I'm going to elaborate on; based on my experience: (please note the following steps are interpreted as coming from the man's mind)

1. Give it some breathing room, we're just talking, it's cool.
2. Have my number.
3. Cascade dumpsters full of compliments upon her glorious visage.
4. Ask generic question. See if she has plans.

Step Four: Give me your number.

Inadvertently, the next logical step is to extend our budding relationship beyond the confines of Facebook; mainly make it so upon contacting each other we are immediately notified as to when the other has responded, rather than being lenient on when we or the other check Facebook.

1. We have built a foundation. Here's my number. (At this point I assume foundation will continue to be established via text.)
2. Have my number. (The ball is now in my court entirely. Well played.)
3. Is it too soon to text? You're a glorious person with an amazing laugh. (I'm kind of choking on the compliments, but they make me feel nice.)
4. Wait almost a day to respond to her last message, whether intended or not. Just cut to the chase and give her your number. (I...I don't know how to start this conversation. Do I respond to your inbox message or just text you? Or both?)

Step Five: Ask me out.

The timing of the asking is varied, anywhere from about a week later to that very night in about ten minutes time.

And, naturally, this step ends in a variety of ways; maybe we hit it off really well but I'm just not interested romantically. Maybe I had a gut feeling to steer clear of a relationship with you, regardless how nice and cool you are. Maybe we went out a couple times and you stopped talking to me. Maybe I still haven't texted you so you haven't asked me out yet.

Step Six: Repeat.

Because yes, guys are interested in me, and I'm interested back. But either I change my mind or they change their mind and in the end we all end up single.

And that, my friends, is The Modern Romance.

Wherever I'm Going I'm Already Home

I once read Jason Mraz's blog, before he took all his posts offline, and found something that really stood out to me. It was at a moment in my life where I couldn't comprehend why people were consistently being false about who they were. I am of the opinion and practice that if you generally do not care for someone, don't play to their face as though you're their best friend. Merely limit the exposure you have to them. It has worked relatively well for me, but I couldn't grasp why everyone else just pranced about falsely adoring people they later grumbled about in private.

But for a statement that meant so much to me, I don't remember it. Off the top of my head. Luckily it hit me with such impact and internal, personal meaning, that I placed it on my facebook, where it thankfully has remained.

"Being fake about anything creates a block inside of you. Life can't work for you if you don't show up as you. ...Your thoughts, speech, beliefs, actions and attitudes create the picture of your life. Draw it well."

But it wasn't until about a month ago when I was going through the very girlish anxiety of what to wear and how to have my hair when I meet this man that it occurred to me not to go to extremes to guarantee I'll look good. I need to do what I would do any day; to be myself. This seemed so suddenly important and integrated in me that it took quite some time to realize I was paraphrasing that unforgettable statement that I could never quite memorize.

And as I searched it out and found it again, I realized this has been swirling in paraphrase in my mind for years now; congealing in the drain of my brain, leaving a sort of residue determined to stay for all time. The motto of my life, the way I regulate my days. A source of comfort. It was beautiful to me that I hadn't elected for this to be what carried me along, that it wasn't my teen-aged obsession forcing me to make meaning out of a well-worded thought an idol of mine happened to post online. I tried this last year with the Happy Now Year, which was a very good philosophy, but I never really lived up to it. Despite my fan-driven desire to live by this law, I kept living in maybe's, my tongue tied on someday and my heart draped on the past. But it isn't the fact that I am led to think of Jason Mraz when I think of my personal motto that inspires me; it's the message behind it. This statement has accumulated purposefully in my mind because it rings true to me specifically and entirely, not just my glutinous fandom. It means something because it means something. I can think about it and feel better, inspired, invigorated, ready. Innumerable times this week I have muttered or thought to myself "Life can't work for you if you don't show up as you."

It's not just about presenting myself to Jason Mraz with my hair straight and around my face, my CityStreet jeans gripping the contours of my legs, eggplant eyeliner around my blue eyes, and a Mraz t-shirt as if it's just another day in my life, not the greatest day. It's about being all of that with my attitude and personality every day I breathe. It's about boxing up the doubt and concern that I'm wrong and setting it up in flame. It's about taking the power and confidence I'm moved by when living in theatre and bringing that into practice when I'm living in the moment.

And a large part of my hindrance at "show[ing] up as [me]" is that I'm tied so rigidly to the person I was when that statement first graced my eyes. The admirable thing about Jason Mraz is that he hasn't let success be an excuse for being found drunk and high on street corners by the Po-Po. Life has worked for him because he has, and daily continues to, show up as him. He doesn't sing Wordplay in concert anymore because he's not that same cocky attention seeking guy (his words, not mine), he doesn't smoke anymore because it's derogatory to his health and career. In fine, he's changed. I'd like to think I have grown along with him, maybe not in the same direction, but I've been close enough that I don't dispute who he is now compared to the young kid who first set out for music. And even if I did have my qualms with his slightly gaunt face or almost homeless hair, what right do I have to question him? Whatever he's become is what is right for him. Whatever he does with his life works. Because he keeps showing up as him.

I didn't think this post would come back to Virginia, but it has. Whoever I am is so hidden by the clutter I'm sure Virginia would clear away that I'm unable to fully get life to work for me. I'm struggling and failing because I can't show up as me; whoever I am is concealed in an unreachable place. I'm still so tethered to this part of me that worries and daydreams and lives in the past or the future. But my core wants to live now. My soul wants to show up as me. I want life to work.

So I'm going to break my animism this summer; I am going to tear myself from all the things I don't need that keep tying me down because I may need them or miss them someday.

My thoughts, speech, beliefs, actions and attitudes create the picture of my life.

I can't take up the pen until I've purged enough clutter to see what those thoughts, speech, beliefs, actions and attitudes are.

Life can't work for me unless I show up as me. And I can't be me until I find me.

It takes no time to fall in love, but...

I'll never forget the moment he started meaning something to me: the moment we met. The moment I realized his cute, matured face was the most perfect of its kind. The moment he spoke, the moment he smiled, the confidence with which he held himself. The way I wasn't bothered that he wasn't miraculously toned. His tight pants. His charisma. His eyes.

I could feel how easily we could be something -or more than something. I knew if he would realize it and act, that nothing would keep us from breaking the bonds of solitude and becoming one together. I loved him, coffee cup aside. If ever a girl had such an immediate, over-whelming, all encompassing crush, it surely was secondary to the emotion brewing in me. Surely none loved more than I him.

I will never forget the comfort he instilled with mere eye contact; I'll never forget how his presence infused confidence in myself and allowed me to be true to who I am.

I'll never forget that he loved Jason Mraz, or the way he smiled when I told a room full of harsh eyes that Mraz is my favorite. I'll never forget that he studied at the same performance school as Mraz did for a year. I'll never forget that finally, someone so perfect had such a connection to my heart.

I'll never forget the way the word blazed as I scrolled down his page. Interested in:

Men.