Here's something I really have trouble understanding. Why are men perpetually unable to sweep a woman off her feet? The other day, the Titan -- my "ex" (and I use that term loosely) -- was telling me that he thought he'd treated me well when we were dating. His proof? That he was always calling, I always knew where he was, he wasn't out playing around, and he opened doors for me. I don't want to completely discredit him, those are all fantastic things. In fact, given my past history of ex's, they were awesome (see: the Ninja. Boyfriend circa 2002. Completely unable to place a phone call). But, neither of these things qualify as sweeping me off my feet. Frankly, I was surprised at his surprise. I'd always assumed that he didn't make efforts to wow me, because he was so used to women chasing him. (Point of reference, he spent his teens and twenties as a basketball star. Those guys? Women chase them; they don't have to put forth much effort). And friends, before you say it, I KNOW he could have been just saying that -- but in the context of the conversation, there was no need for him to lie. And, although he was a blockhead when we were dating, he wasn't one to out and out lie. He was more of an omission kind of guy. In other words, whatever he said, he was pretty straight about it.
That said, he cannot be the only guy that (allegedly) doesn't know how to sweep a woman off her feet. So, I have taken it upon myself to help the men out. So boys, listen up! This is very simple: in order to sweep a woman off her feet, and make her fall all over herself for you, you need to do one simple thing. Ready? Here we go: do things to show her you're thinking of her. Allow me to give a few examples.
When you're walking past a farmer's market, buy one of the $5 flower bouquets, and give it to her. LISTEN when she's talking. She's bound to mention something she likes. Remember what that like is -- write it down if you have to! Then, do something with that information. If she mentions a restaurant she's always wanted to try, take her. If she is constantly complaining about tired or sore feet (because she makes a habit of wearing badass stilettos), give her foot rubs...without expecting one in return! If she seems stressed at work, give her a nice neck massage, or her favorite bottle of wine, or a tasty cupcake. Does she hate HATE HATE doing dishes and cleaning the floor? Pull on those rubber gloves, baby. Nothing is sexier than a man who knows how to work a scrub brush. (But don't do it half-assed. Then she'll just have to go behind you and redo it. Which will only serve to tick her off. And that? Is the opposite of wooing). When it's girls' night out? Drive her to the club!! Notice how not all of these involve spending money. Yes, some of them do. But it's rarely about the amount of money you're spending. It's about the thought and the effort you put in. It's showing her that you thought about her -- and then subsequently did something about it. See how not difficult this is?
Now, if you find any of this too hard, or the girl you're with isn't worth that effort...well, maybe she's not the girl for you. But seriously, no guy really has an excuse not to be any woman's Prince Charming. Let's start putting as much effort into wooing your girlfriend as you do picking your brackets for March Madness, shall we?
Dang. To bad I'm not a lesbian. I'd really be a pimp. I'd have chicks doing all kinds of ish for me. One cleaning, one cooking, and one to run my errands. ;)
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
That's sexual harassment, and I DON'T have to take it!
So, I'm walking down State Street, minding my own business, contemplating spending money I don't have on things I don't need -- especially after purchasing 2 rather awesome purple chairs with a gangster 15% discount that I got after talking to a woman who turned out to be a Delta and...ahem. I digress....
Anyway. I'm walking along and I know that it's that time of year where the boys are out and ready to get some action (of the female variety). Let me pause here by saying that I am not, (in this case), trying to be arrogant. I'm not saying that I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread. Especially today when I'm wearing a bra so heavily padded that I resemble one of those girls that appears as though she may fall flat on her face due to the sheer top heaviness of her figure. Unhappily, my butt is sticking out in such a way that it looks like I'm overcompensating; in hopes that I'll create some sort of gravity balance by twisting my body into the shape of a duck. My point is, that I don't think I look extra dextra hot today. Instead, the boys are just, well, horny.
I've lived here long enough to know the drill. They speak, you speak back without making eye contact and keep it moving. This strategy works well on marketers, those Save the Children people with clipboards, and skeezy guys that are raising their odds of success by hitting on as many women as possible. Today, it worked on the first guy that said hello. The second guy, however, not so much.
I didn't get a good look at the second guy (remember the rule for avoiding eye contact), but out of the corner of my eye I could see CarHart colored cargo pants that were 4 sizes too big, a black t-shirt, and a cap. But, what I heard was this "Hey L'il Mama. -- pause for reaction --". When I didn't respond because I was fairly certain he was the kind of dummy that wouldn't go away, I heard this:
"Hey L'il Mama. Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama...." This entire time, I'm walking rather briskly, in attempts to shake this guy. Sadly, being 5'2" makes it rather easy to match my pace. So, he finally decides to go all in: "Hey L'il Mama...can I get a hug?" With his arms held out, and more or less blocking my path on one side. To borrow a basketball term -- I was boxed in. Sadly for him, I've dated a lot of basketball players in my day. I stepped left, faded right, and spun my way out of his intended embrace. (Honestly, that may not have been the best idea for me. It would have been the most action I've gotten in over a month!) Anyway...
REALLY!?!? REALLY?!!?! I mean, did he think I was all of a sudden going to change my mind? What chapter is this in the playa's handbook?
So, what we've learned is, no more going over to State Street without an escort. I may have to get back together with my ex just so he can meet me at the CVS, escort me to wherever I need to go, and then drop me back off at the CVS. Geez!!!
Anyway. I'm walking along and I know that it's that time of year where the boys are out and ready to get some action (of the female variety). Let me pause here by saying that I am not, (in this case), trying to be arrogant. I'm not saying that I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread. Especially today when I'm wearing a bra so heavily padded that I resemble one of those girls that appears as though she may fall flat on her face due to the sheer top heaviness of her figure. Unhappily, my butt is sticking out in such a way that it looks like I'm overcompensating; in hopes that I'll create some sort of gravity balance by twisting my body into the shape of a duck. My point is, that I don't think I look extra dextra hot today. Instead, the boys are just, well, horny.
I've lived here long enough to know the drill. They speak, you speak back without making eye contact and keep it moving. This strategy works well on marketers, those Save the Children people with clipboards, and skeezy guys that are raising their odds of success by hitting on as many women as possible. Today, it worked on the first guy that said hello. The second guy, however, not so much.
I didn't get a good look at the second guy (remember the rule for avoiding eye contact), but out of the corner of my eye I could see CarHart colored cargo pants that were 4 sizes too big, a black t-shirt, and a cap. But, what I heard was this "Hey L'il Mama. -- pause for reaction --". When I didn't respond because I was fairly certain he was the kind of dummy that wouldn't go away, I heard this:
"Hey L'il Mama. Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama.Hey L'il Mama...." This entire time, I'm walking rather briskly, in attempts to shake this guy. Sadly, being 5'2" makes it rather easy to match my pace. So, he finally decides to go all in: "Hey L'il Mama...can I get a hug?" With his arms held out, and more or less blocking my path on one side. To borrow a basketball term -- I was boxed in. Sadly for him, I've dated a lot of basketball players in my day. I stepped left, faded right, and spun my way out of his intended embrace. (Honestly, that may not have been the best idea for me. It would have been the most action I've gotten in over a month!) Anyway...
REALLY!?!? REALLY?!!?! I mean, did he think I was all of a sudden going to change my mind? What chapter is this in the playa's handbook?
So, what we've learned is, no more going over to State Street without an escort. I may have to get back together with my ex just so he can meet me at the CVS, escort me to wherever I need to go, and then drop me back off at the CVS. Geez!!!
Success is...
I don't know what I weigh right now. But, for the very first time, in recent memory, I actually like my body. I look in the mirror, and I am stunned at what I see. I don't necessarily have a flat stomach. And my thighs are a permanent fixture, apparently. (Literally, in 9 months they have remained the same size, despite any changes I've made elsewhere). My feet are still a mess. And today, my hair was straw. But, when I look in the mirror, my first thought is: damn girl -- you are fiiiiiine!!
I've always wondered what it was like to feel sexy and hot. Sure, there are times when I've dressed well and I know I look good. But being able to dress for your body type to use the tricks and illusions of fashion to create the figure you want isn't quite the same as having the figure you want. Now that I've got it, it's worth all the work to keep it. I can finally relate to the Titan's meatheadedness. Despite turning his body into that of a Greek statue, he keeps going to the gym 8 days a week; just for maintenance.
The truth is, you aren't ever really done. I'll spare you the "it's a lifestyle change" sentiment. Frankly, I think we all know I'm too shallow for that. It's constantly chasing that high from loving what you look like. Friends, it's not that there's no such thing as too skinny (because there definitely is...particularly if you are a woman of color). What it really is, is holding on and being able to repeat that moment when you walk by a mirror and you are stunned every single day. It's a great feeling. I encourage you to give it a shot!
So, how do you come to love your body? You are asking the wrong gal. I spent all of my high school years hating everything but my fingernails. Ditto for undergrad. I spent the better part of my teens and twenties confounding my boyfriends about what body part I hated that week, what diet I was on, and my worrisome experiments with Xenadrine, skipping meals, two-a-days at the gym and counting calories. You know what we learned? That's not healthy. By law school, I discovered the joys of ordering in, and all bets were off! Hello pizza! Hello chicken tenders and fries! Turns out...also not healthy. Goodbye size 3 and 5 jeans. Hello misses sizes...wait...what?
Thus began my very first trip to Weight Watchers. I went despite my fear, and despite my concern that the ladies of BBW club would push me out of the meeting, chasing me with pitchforks at my audacity to arrive at a mere 134#. But hear me out! First, I am only 5'2". Second, I had no idea what a balanced meal was. Double W could teach me! And third, I just have a really really low threshold, because my self-image was so screwed up. So no, I didn't have 50 lbs to lose -- but did that make my 10% any less hard earned than yours?! Yes? Ok then. Bite me. I still paid my $13.95 and the meeting leader didn't discriminate. So, with the assistance of Double W, I got myself down to high school weight. But back up. Remember when I said I spent most of high school loathing my self-image?
Fast forward a few years. (5, to be exact). I have a crisis or two of epic proportions, and found myself in nearly the same place. For five months, I tried it on my own. But sometimes, you need to know when to ask for help. I went back to what works, aka Double W. For the next 4 months, I hit it full force -- I was on a Mission, and I was NOT going to fail. Turning 30 was traumatic enough. The least I could do was mitigate that inevitable horror by looking my best. After Vegas, it was time to fly on my own. I spent the next few weeks testing the waters, keeping my membership as a backup plan; but making meal and workout choices without my crutch there.
Today, I don't know where I am in terms of the actual number on the scale. And, back in the late 90s, they weren't subjecting teenage girls to calipers and other torture devices to measure body fat. (Thank the Lord for small favors). But I'll tell you one thing, I carried my new (and kick ass) bar stool up 3 flights of stairs all by myself...76 lbs and in a big ol' box. That? Is triumph. It was the next day that I caught myself in the mirror. So maybe, that's truly the key. I was never chasing skinny -- I was chasing strong. Watch out world...I'm strong and unstoppable! (heh. 5'2" and lifting 76 lbs. Just call me Mrs. The Rock).
I've always wondered what it was like to feel sexy and hot. Sure, there are times when I've dressed well and I know I look good. But being able to dress for your body type to use the tricks and illusions of fashion to create the figure you want isn't quite the same as having the figure you want. Now that I've got it, it's worth all the work to keep it. I can finally relate to the Titan's meatheadedness. Despite turning his body into that of a Greek statue, he keeps going to the gym 8 days a week; just for maintenance.
The truth is, you aren't ever really done. I'll spare you the "it's a lifestyle change" sentiment. Frankly, I think we all know I'm too shallow for that. It's constantly chasing that high from loving what you look like. Friends, it's not that there's no such thing as too skinny (because there definitely is...particularly if you are a woman of color). What it really is, is holding on and being able to repeat that moment when you walk by a mirror and you are stunned every single day. It's a great feeling. I encourage you to give it a shot!
So, how do you come to love your body? You are asking the wrong gal. I spent all of my high school years hating everything but my fingernails. Ditto for undergrad. I spent the better part of my teens and twenties confounding my boyfriends about what body part I hated that week, what diet I was on, and my worrisome experiments with Xenadrine, skipping meals, two-a-days at the gym and counting calories. You know what we learned? That's not healthy. By law school, I discovered the joys of ordering in, and all bets were off! Hello pizza! Hello chicken tenders and fries! Turns out...also not healthy. Goodbye size 3 and 5 jeans. Hello misses sizes...wait...what?
Thus began my very first trip to Weight Watchers. I went despite my fear, and despite my concern that the ladies of BBW club would push me out of the meeting, chasing me with pitchforks at my audacity to arrive at a mere 134#. But hear me out! First, I am only 5'2". Second, I had no idea what a balanced meal was. Double W could teach me! And third, I just have a really really low threshold, because my self-image was so screwed up. So no, I didn't have 50 lbs to lose -- but did that make my 10% any less hard earned than yours?! Yes? Ok then. Bite me. I still paid my $13.95 and the meeting leader didn't discriminate. So, with the assistance of Double W, I got myself down to high school weight. But back up. Remember when I said I spent most of high school loathing my self-image?
Fast forward a few years. (5, to be exact). I have a crisis or two of epic proportions, and found myself in nearly the same place. For five months, I tried it on my own. But sometimes, you need to know when to ask for help. I went back to what works, aka Double W. For the next 4 months, I hit it full force -- I was on a Mission, and I was NOT going to fail. Turning 30 was traumatic enough. The least I could do was mitigate that inevitable horror by looking my best. After Vegas, it was time to fly on my own. I spent the next few weeks testing the waters, keeping my membership as a backup plan; but making meal and workout choices without my crutch there.
Today, I don't know where I am in terms of the actual number on the scale. And, back in the late 90s, they weren't subjecting teenage girls to calipers and other torture devices to measure body fat. (Thank the Lord for small favors). But I'll tell you one thing, I carried my new (and kick ass) bar stool up 3 flights of stairs all by myself...76 lbs and in a big ol' box. That? Is triumph. It was the next day that I caught myself in the mirror. So maybe, that's truly the key. I was never chasing skinny -- I was chasing strong. Watch out world...I'm strong and unstoppable! (heh. 5'2" and lifting 76 lbs. Just call me Mrs. The Rock).
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