I can only hope someday when I get married, my husband will want to keep his ring on all the time. Do most married men? I really hope so. Otherwise, don't you automatically become an official douchebag as soon as it's off your finger? Or are there certain situations where it would be justified?
Like, say, at a bar. Like if you're a guy and you're watching this girl talk to your married friend and you're both in town on business and looking to hook up while you're there. And once the girl finds out your friend is married and states her disapproval and subsequential rejection, you think it's your chance to swoop in. And she asks right off the bat, "are you married, too?" and you laugh and say no. And you end up having a great time with her, and, even though you leave on a plane the next day to go back home, you call her and leave her several voice messages about what a great time you had. And then your wife gives that girl a call a few weeks later threatening her and warning her not to talk to you again, and then makes her call your wife back to tell exactly what happened and then your wife divorces you. Like, that kind of situation?
Or, like, maybe in a different situation, say in another bar. Say you're a construction worker and are handsome and want to tell this girl how pretty you think she is all night and how badly you'd love to be with her, etc. etc. And then you spend some time together, and afterwards decide to tell her about your "roommates" which happen to be a "wife" and a "child." And then that girl tells you never to contact her again, and instead of listening to her you send her lots of creepy texts and leave voice messages and then finally sit outside her classroom at 10:00pm on a Tuesday night waiting for her to come out of class so you can not talk to her but just sit there and watch her and then text her to tell her you saw her. And then call her over and over one night begging her to let you give her something you bought for her birthday and promising never to talk to her again if she lets you give it to her. And later that night you pull up to her house at midnight and leave flowers and a card with "Lannie" written on the envelope at her doorstep. Like, in that kind of situation?
Ohhh but boys will be boys, right? All I know is my future "boy" will find himself in a very interesting situation with no ring and possibly a finger or two less if he thinks there are certain justified situations.
...If that doesn't get someone to propose I don't know what will.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My first kiss
Here's a fun one for the whole family. Actually, it isn't. This is for mature audiences only.
So as I may have mentioned, I was quite a boy for the first half of my life. I didn't act masculine, just dressed that way. But nonetheless, boys were not lining up at the door to kiss me in elementary nor middle school.
But the summer before my freshmen year of high school my life changed. I learned how to dress like a girl, took out the ponytail and actually wore my hair down, and lost a little bit of weight.
Enter my grandparent's hot nextdoor neighbor. Jesus Christmas was this guy cute. I loved going to visit G&G so I could spend a few good hours peering out the windows to see if he was in the backyard, laying out at the pool trying to hear him or see him over the fence, listening to him sing rap with his sister, etc. And then I found my in: he was a basketball player, and he had a hoop. So me and little brother Adam would use his hoop in the hopes that he would come out and play. Or, maybe Addy was genuinely interested in just playing, but whatevs.
And it worked. One day he came out to find us playing, me in my matching shiny tank and shorts workout outfit. He played with us, then as me and Adam decided to go inside, he called out to me and told me stay. Dear God in Heaven, now it was time to panic. So we played one on one, he showed me some new moves, then asked if I had a boyfriend. Then he asked how old I was...15 and he was 17. An older guy, I thought, that is so hot. Then came the big question: "Whenever you visit here, do you want to be going out?" Baahaha, "Okay" I said, and now I'm sweating and on the verge of throwing up from nerves. "Can I kiss you?" He asked. UM! Help! Okay, I said.
But instead of kissing me, he grabbed my hand and brought me somewhere in between his and my grandparent's house, leaned me against the fence and started kissing me. Ohhh my god, what am I doing. What do I do with my tongue. Do I pull away at all? Where do my hands go. Then when I couldn't figure out what I was doing, I asked with attitude: "Dont you know how to kiss without tongue?" Oh god, mistake. That was even weirder. So after pecking him awkardly a few several times, I abandoned that effort.
Then it got weird.
"Can you flash me real quick?" ...What? No. "Okay, tomorrow then" he'd say. His hands were trying to go everywhere, it was almost exhausting fighting it off. Then he turned me around and was kind of hugging me from the back, which embarrassed me. "Can you feel it?" he asked. "Feel what?" a naive, unsuspecting me asked. ...OH GOD. I figured it out, and whipped right back around. Then, finally, he asked if I would "watch him". When I said no, he again replied with, "Okay, tomorrow." So I said I had to go and he kissed me again and told me he'd see me tomorrow.
I went in the house, and something weird happened. I went from smiling and wantng to scream, to on the verge of crying, and back and forth. Then I went into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet thinking I was going to puke. What is wrong with me? I asked myself. I just KISSED somebody and he was CUTE. But I couldn't shake the nausea. So, I decided not to meet up wtih him the next day.
And then one year later, I read in the newspaper that he was convicted of several rape charges.
The end.
So as I may have mentioned, I was quite a boy for the first half of my life. I didn't act masculine, just dressed that way. But nonetheless, boys were not lining up at the door to kiss me in elementary nor middle school.
But the summer before my freshmen year of high school my life changed. I learned how to dress like a girl, took out the ponytail and actually wore my hair down, and lost a little bit of weight.
Enter my grandparent's hot nextdoor neighbor. Jesus Christmas was this guy cute. I loved going to visit G&G so I could spend a few good hours peering out the windows to see if he was in the backyard, laying out at the pool trying to hear him or see him over the fence, listening to him sing rap with his sister, etc. And then I found my in: he was a basketball player, and he had a hoop. So me and little brother Adam would use his hoop in the hopes that he would come out and play. Or, maybe Addy was genuinely interested in just playing, but whatevs.
And it worked. One day he came out to find us playing, me in my matching shiny tank and shorts workout outfit. He played with us, then as me and Adam decided to go inside, he called out to me and told me stay. Dear God in Heaven, now it was time to panic. So we played one on one, he showed me some new moves, then asked if I had a boyfriend. Then he asked how old I was...15 and he was 17. An older guy, I thought, that is so hot. Then came the big question: "Whenever you visit here, do you want to be going out?" Baahaha, "Okay" I said, and now I'm sweating and on the verge of throwing up from nerves. "Can I kiss you?" He asked. UM! Help! Okay, I said.
But instead of kissing me, he grabbed my hand and brought me somewhere in between his and my grandparent's house, leaned me against the fence and started kissing me. Ohhh my god, what am I doing. What do I do with my tongue. Do I pull away at all? Where do my hands go. Then when I couldn't figure out what I was doing, I asked with attitude: "Dont you know how to kiss without tongue?" Oh god, mistake. That was even weirder. So after pecking him awkardly a few several times, I abandoned that effort.
Then it got weird.
"Can you flash me real quick?" ...What? No. "Okay, tomorrow then" he'd say. His hands were trying to go everywhere, it was almost exhausting fighting it off. Then he turned me around and was kind of hugging me from the back, which embarrassed me. "Can you feel it?" he asked. "Feel what?" a naive, unsuspecting me asked. ...OH GOD. I figured it out, and whipped right back around. Then, finally, he asked if I would "watch him". When I said no, he again replied with, "Okay, tomorrow." So I said I had to go and he kissed me again and told me he'd see me tomorrow.
I went in the house, and something weird happened. I went from smiling and wantng to scream, to on the verge of crying, and back and forth. Then I went into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet thinking I was going to puke. What is wrong with me? I asked myself. I just KISSED somebody and he was CUTE. But I couldn't shake the nausea. So, I decided not to meet up wtih him the next day.
And then one year later, I read in the newspaper that he was convicted of several rape charges.
The end.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Rejected
When you're a female living in the dating world, there are usually three choices you're faced with pretty consistently. Say yes, say no, or ask the guy out yourself.
Since the latter choice is not really an option for some of us more passive girls, we're pretty much left with a yay or nay. ...But then there are those who don't know HOW to reject people, so they say yes to everyone. Allow myself to introduce myself.
My name is Lani, and I don't know how to properly reject someone.
For years, I relied on "I have a boyfriend". In highschool, I tried something new and went in the "I'm not interested in guys" direction. This was not only entertaining for both me and Courtney, it was effective as well. Until one of those boys enrolled at Stoughton High and years later I found out everyone thought Courtney and I were a legitimately gay couple.
But then there are the ridiculous situations where its almost insane for you not to flat out reject a person. My freshmen year, I did community service one day and helped out at a local gym where I was approached by a nearly 45 year old possibly-homeless man who asked me out. Whereas the obvious rejection line should have been: What in God's name is wrong with you? Mine was: I have a boyfriend.
But rejecting people for dates wasn't my only problem. It was rejecting kisses too. If someone leaned in, chances were they were going to be successful. How gross am I? There were also people who guilted me into kissing them by acting offended and making me feel mean. This happened on two separate occasions. So yes these guys were jerks, but that doesn't make me any less of an idiot. Recently, I've curtailed my kissing incidents by offering only a cheek. Butt cheek! Not really. That helped, except when you're sitting on the roof top of the Rattlesnake and some guy who's getting ready to leave tries to kiss you and you say, "No, just on the cheek" and he literally grabs your face with both hands and rams your lips into his.
Or how about just wanting to kiss someone and then never having to see them again? That's not the way it goes in guys' heads apparently. So even though I would have literally no intention of ever talking to a person again, I'd hand out my phone number. I have been unable to answer unknown numbers for 7 years now.
One of my biggest problems was dating someone and then not knowing how to end it. I'd just keep dating, and then eventually make up a ridiculous lie, like "I'm in love with your friend still", or I'd just stop responding to them completely. Terrible. So, I had decided to stop dating until I learned how to properly reject/break up with someone. Then I started dating my BACKYARD neighbor, which based on past experiences was a recipe for disaster. It luckily wasn't.
But that brings up my question: How do people prefer to be rejected? To their face? Explicitly? Or by eventually just figuring it out themselves after a series of unreturned texts and calls? I choose the latter, its less awkward for everyone and at least you can lie and tell yourself and others that you "stopped talking" to them, because in theory you did, right? Choice is overrated.
(Today: 144.6)
Since the latter choice is not really an option for some of us more passive girls, we're pretty much left with a yay or nay. ...But then there are those who don't know HOW to reject people, so they say yes to everyone. Allow myself to introduce myself.
My name is Lani, and I don't know how to properly reject someone.
For years, I relied on "I have a boyfriend". In highschool, I tried something new and went in the "I'm not interested in guys" direction. This was not only entertaining for both me and Courtney, it was effective as well. Until one of those boys enrolled at Stoughton High and years later I found out everyone thought Courtney and I were a legitimately gay couple.
But then there are the ridiculous situations where its almost insane for you not to flat out reject a person. My freshmen year, I did community service one day and helped out at a local gym where I was approached by a nearly 45 year old possibly-homeless man who asked me out. Whereas the obvious rejection line should have been: What in God's name is wrong with you? Mine was: I have a boyfriend.
But rejecting people for dates wasn't my only problem. It was rejecting kisses too. If someone leaned in, chances were they were going to be successful. How gross am I? There were also people who guilted me into kissing them by acting offended and making me feel mean. This happened on two separate occasions. So yes these guys were jerks, but that doesn't make me any less of an idiot. Recently, I've curtailed my kissing incidents by offering only a cheek. Butt cheek! Not really. That helped, except when you're sitting on the roof top of the Rattlesnake and some guy who's getting ready to leave tries to kiss you and you say, "No, just on the cheek" and he literally grabs your face with both hands and rams your lips into his.
Or how about just wanting to kiss someone and then never having to see them again? That's not the way it goes in guys' heads apparently. So even though I would have literally no intention of ever talking to a person again, I'd hand out my phone number. I have been unable to answer unknown numbers for 7 years now.
One of my biggest problems was dating someone and then not knowing how to end it. I'd just keep dating, and then eventually make up a ridiculous lie, like "I'm in love with your friend still", or I'd just stop responding to them completely. Terrible. So, I had decided to stop dating until I learned how to properly reject/break up with someone. Then I started dating my BACKYARD neighbor, which based on past experiences was a recipe for disaster. It luckily wasn't.
But that brings up my question: How do people prefer to be rejected? To their face? Explicitly? Or by eventually just figuring it out themselves after a series of unreturned texts and calls? I choose the latter, its less awkward for everyone and at least you can lie and tell yourself and others that you "stopped talking" to them, because in theory you did, right? Choice is overrated.
(Today: 144.6)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Elementary Fears: Gym
If you think I'm self conscious and neurotic now, the elementary school-me puts today-me to shame. I had worries, fears, and feelings of humiliation that stifled some of my childhood and felt, at times, paralyzing.
(This Blog is dedicated to Kim Gulko, a brave woman who also survived the humiliating experience of North School Gym class)
Besides the bus, another such issue was gym class. I'd like to start off by saying that even though I've always been about 10-20 lbs overweight, I was actually an athlete. But of course, that did not stop me from literally having nightmares about gym class. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me horror stories about her chubby self having to climb the ropes in gym. I grew up fearing the day I'd walk into the gymnasium and see the ropes hanging from the ceiling, because Lord knows I'd never be able to haul my chubby butt up one of them. Fortunately, to this day I've never been forced to climb a rope.
I was not so lucky when it came to other tests. Like, headstand day. Walking into the gym and seeing two mats on the floor made my stomach hurt. Yet every year we would have a full minute to do headstands for as long as we could. For me, it was always more a somersault marathon. Head down, legs up...and over. Start again. Head down, legs up, ...and over. This repeated for a full minute, with every one of your classmates sitting on a bench staring at you from 4 feet away. Cruelty!
Oh, we're doing the mile run next week? Good, I was hoping not to sleep til then anyway. The boys would run while the girls watched, then we would switch and the boys would watch us. That added the perfect flavor of humilation. And to make matters worse, we didn't run on a track. We were taken out to the old softball field which we had to circle around SEVEN times in order complete a full mile. This meant my sweaty, stupid ass would have to run past all of the cute boys I had crushes on SEVEN different times. You better believe I ran it in good time, I would've rather died than looked like the fat, slow runner in front of the boys. In fact, I would practice. I practiced running the mile for gym class. My parents knew that just thinking about the mile run made me completely lose my appetite (this happens rarely), so one year my dad showed up to gym class to "support" and videotape me from up closer to the school. Not sure why the camcorder was thrown into the mix, but I'll never forget the sick feeling I had when I saw him and how much I loved him for showing up.
Hey, I have an idea. Let's have all the kids, female and male, line up in a large open room and weigh ourselves together. Idiots.
Obstacle course weeks. This was great, because instead of having 30 seconds to panic after walking into the gym, my anxiety would last a full two weeks. Again, all the kids in class would line up on the bench while one person had to endure the entire obstacle course. Jumping over ropes, in between cones, crawling under a table. ...Have you ever tried to crawl, quickly? Try it right now. It's the single most unflattering type of movement. Or how about somersaulting down the wedge, which was always placed directly in front of the bench so everyone had a front row seat. I felt bad for myself, but I felt worse for the girls chubbier than me, because everyone couldn't help looking at your butt when you rolled over, and if you were lucky enough, you're shirt would lift up during the turn. Then, right before the very end when you were so close to being done, it was there. The Horse, just waiting for you, daring you to lose control and slowly sliiiide of its side. Somehow, I never slid off the horse's side, and I did really good on timing. Which just goes to show, once again, that I am slightly damaged and have major issues with myself and body.
I used to love playing pickle...I can't think of the word for it that isn't gross. Run down? Whatever. But one day, my biggest crush called out to me, waited for me to watch, and ran with his hands moving up and down his chest, ...imitating my big busted run apparently. Perfect, just what I needed to witness as a tall, chesty, awkard 11 year old who dressed like a boy to hide her body. That moment marked the end of my pickle-playing days.
Ironically, at my high school graduation I received the Gym Award.
(This Blog is dedicated to Kim Gulko, a brave woman who also survived the humiliating experience of North School Gym class)
Besides the bus, another such issue was gym class. I'd like to start off by saying that even though I've always been about 10-20 lbs overweight, I was actually an athlete. But of course, that did not stop me from literally having nightmares about gym class. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me horror stories about her chubby self having to climb the ropes in gym. I grew up fearing the day I'd walk into the gymnasium and see the ropes hanging from the ceiling, because Lord knows I'd never be able to haul my chubby butt up one of them. Fortunately, to this day I've never been forced to climb a rope.
I was not so lucky when it came to other tests. Like, headstand day. Walking into the gym and seeing two mats on the floor made my stomach hurt. Yet every year we would have a full minute to do headstands for as long as we could. For me, it was always more a somersault marathon. Head down, legs up...and over. Start again. Head down, legs up, ...and over. This repeated for a full minute, with every one of your classmates sitting on a bench staring at you from 4 feet away. Cruelty!
Oh, we're doing the mile run next week? Good, I was hoping not to sleep til then anyway. The boys would run while the girls watched, then we would switch and the boys would watch us. That added the perfect flavor of humilation. And to make matters worse, we didn't run on a track. We were taken out to the old softball field which we had to circle around SEVEN times in order complete a full mile. This meant my sweaty, stupid ass would have to run past all of the cute boys I had crushes on SEVEN different times. You better believe I ran it in good time, I would've rather died than looked like the fat, slow runner in front of the boys. In fact, I would practice. I practiced running the mile for gym class. My parents knew that just thinking about the mile run made me completely lose my appetite (this happens rarely), so one year my dad showed up to gym class to "support" and videotape me from up closer to the school. Not sure why the camcorder was thrown into the mix, but I'll never forget the sick feeling I had when I saw him and how much I loved him for showing up.
Hey, I have an idea. Let's have all the kids, female and male, line up in a large open room and weigh ourselves together. Idiots.
Obstacle course weeks. This was great, because instead of having 30 seconds to panic after walking into the gym, my anxiety would last a full two weeks. Again, all the kids in class would line up on the bench while one person had to endure the entire obstacle course. Jumping over ropes, in between cones, crawling under a table. ...Have you ever tried to crawl, quickly? Try it right now. It's the single most unflattering type of movement. Or how about somersaulting down the wedge, which was always placed directly in front of the bench so everyone had a front row seat. I felt bad for myself, but I felt worse for the girls chubbier than me, because everyone couldn't help looking at your butt when you rolled over, and if you were lucky enough, you're shirt would lift up during the turn. Then, right before the very end when you were so close to being done, it was there. The Horse, just waiting for you, daring you to lose control and slowly sliiiide of its side. Somehow, I never slid off the horse's side, and I did really good on timing. Which just goes to show, once again, that I am slightly damaged and have major issues with myself and body.
I used to love playing pickle...I can't think of the word for it that isn't gross. Run down? Whatever. But one day, my biggest crush called out to me, waited for me to watch, and ran with his hands moving up and down his chest, ...imitating my big busted run apparently. Perfect, just what I needed to witness as a tall, chesty, awkard 11 year old who dressed like a boy to hide her body. That moment marked the end of my pickle-playing days.
Ironically, at my high school graduation I received the Gym Award.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Week 3
So each week until I go to Mexico, I've agreed to post my weight for the entire universe to see. Any by "entire Universe" I mean the 50 people who pretend to care. My goal is to lose 15 pounds by the time I hop on the plane April 1st.
Starting weight: 151
Last week's weight: 147.5
This week's weight: 146.5
blah.
10.5 lbs to go, 8 weeks left...
Starting weight: 151
Last week's weight: 147.5
This week's weight: 146.5
blah.
10.5 lbs to go, 8 weeks left...
Monday, February 1, 2010
Elementary Fears: The Bus
If you think I'm self conscious and neurotic now, the elementary school-me puts today-me to shame. I had worries, fears, and feelings of humiliation that stifled some of my childhood and felt, at times, paralyzing.
The school bus was one such issue. I was a walker. I lived right down the street from school, therefore never had a bus to catch. But my walk home also happened to be the same route some of the busses took home...which meant the bus would pass me while I was walking. No big deal, right? WRONG. At the time, this seemed like literally the most humiliating experience EVER. I was probably the North Elementary School's fastest walker, since I had so much practice beating it the hell out of there so I could get home before the bus with all my peers passed by. I was so afraid everyone would see me, and make fun of me. For what? God only knows. I was friends with most of these people, so this fear was 100% made-up on my part. I used to force my little brother to walk on the outside of me so he could "block" me from the kids on the bus. Too bad I was 5'4 in 6th grade, so that never worked out the way I had hoped.
Then there were other times that I would plan to go to a friend's house after school. But God have mercy on my soul if it was a friend who took an "early bus." Those busses were always lined up outside before the bell rang, just ready to take off and make kids chase them down the street. My bag was packed, my shoes were tied tight, and my heart was racing. RIIING. Boom. As soon as the bell rang, I turned into a machine. I was off in a panic, barrelling through the corridors completely unaware of my surroundngs. I'm not even sure I remembered to breathe as I'd be racing to the door, scurrying around to find the right bus, then finally, only as an afterthought, finding the person who's house I was going over. I was literally willing to show up to that person's house without them, as long as it didn't mean me having to chase the bus. One day we took off and one of the kids didn't make it, so he ran the bus down. Never, I thought, never in my life will I ever chase a bus down. I've stayed true to that.
Here's another sad scenario. Field trip bus rides. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN IF I HAVE TO SIT WITH ______ AGAIN I'LL KILL MYSELF. But then again, sitting with an annoying friend was better than sitting by myself. Oh how I would panic about being the loser sitting alone. Unfortunately, I was never aggressive or fast enough to ask my "cool" friends to be my bus seat partner, and would naturally sit with [insert annoying friend's name here]. So embarrassing!
Or how about sitting on the bus in front of guys. I was so sure they would throw things at the back of my head that I actually started to feel things hit me. God, I feel so bad for my little self right now! How did I manage did get good grades with all of this insane shtuff constantly on my brain. All I know is, it's a good thing I no longer worry about:
-catching a bus
-getting stuck hanging out with a loser
-being embarrassed
Jk, I do.
The school bus was one such issue. I was a walker. I lived right down the street from school, therefore never had a bus to catch. But my walk home also happened to be the same route some of the busses took home...which meant the bus would pass me while I was walking. No big deal, right? WRONG. At the time, this seemed like literally the most humiliating experience EVER. I was probably the North Elementary School's fastest walker, since I had so much practice beating it the hell out of there so I could get home before the bus with all my peers passed by. I was so afraid everyone would see me, and make fun of me. For what? God only knows. I was friends with most of these people, so this fear was 100% made-up on my part. I used to force my little brother to walk on the outside of me so he could "block" me from the kids on the bus. Too bad I was 5'4 in 6th grade, so that never worked out the way I had hoped.
Then there were other times that I would plan to go to a friend's house after school. But God have mercy on my soul if it was a friend who took an "early bus." Those busses were always lined up outside before the bell rang, just ready to take off and make kids chase them down the street. My bag was packed, my shoes were tied tight, and my heart was racing. RIIING. Boom. As soon as the bell rang, I turned into a machine. I was off in a panic, barrelling through the corridors completely unaware of my surroundngs. I'm not even sure I remembered to breathe as I'd be racing to the door, scurrying around to find the right bus, then finally, only as an afterthought, finding the person who's house I was going over. I was literally willing to show up to that person's house without them, as long as it didn't mean me having to chase the bus. One day we took off and one of the kids didn't make it, so he ran the bus down. Never, I thought, never in my life will I ever chase a bus down. I've stayed true to that.
Here's another sad scenario. Field trip bus rides. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN IF I HAVE TO SIT WITH ______ AGAIN I'LL KILL MYSELF. But then again, sitting with an annoying friend was better than sitting by myself. Oh how I would panic about being the loser sitting alone. Unfortunately, I was never aggressive or fast enough to ask my "cool" friends to be my bus seat partner, and would naturally sit with [insert annoying friend's name here]. So embarrassing!
Or how about sitting on the bus in front of guys. I was so sure they would throw things at the back of my head that I actually started to feel things hit me. God, I feel so bad for my little self right now! How did I manage did get good grades with all of this insane shtuff constantly on my brain. All I know is, it's a good thing I no longer worry about:
-catching a bus
-getting stuck hanging out with a loser
-being embarrassed
Jk, I do.
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