Hello again, blogosphere! I’ve been on an unplanned hiatus since September due to an overwhelming amount of work. During my break, I did design work on a webseries, two films, and an infomercial.! I stayed really busy and got to work with old friends, as well as meet a ton of new people. And yes, some of those people are eligible bachelors 😉
Some people wonder why I’m not more depressed about my single status, especially around this overly-commercialized/nauseatingly sentimental holiday known as Valentines Day. Trust me, I do have my occasional wallow-in-self-pity cry fests, especially during hormone insanity week, but for the most part, I am secure with my singleness because I have a life! Yesterday, for my exciting Valentines Day, I started my latest job at a design studio and then watched The Daily Show while working out. And it was great! Would I have liked to have gone on a romantic date with a nice guy? Of course! But since that wasn’t an option, I did the next best thing and stayed busy doing what I love.
I was also encouraged this past weekend when my pastor mentioned that singleness can be a blessing from God because there are things that you can do and ways that you can serve Him when you’re single that you can’t once you’re married. When I was younger, I used to freak out whenever anyone talked about “God’s gift of singleness” because it was terrifying to me that I could be cursed with such a horrible “gift” and there would be nothing I could do about it. It was especially scary for me because so many people were convinced that no man could ever be attracted to me (due to my disfiguring medical condition), and warned me of this eternal loneliness, thinking that they were “protecting” me from wanting something I could never have. Fortunately, I’ve learned that 1) my nay-sayers were idiots, and 2) singleness is not a curse, nor is it always permanent.
I’ll probably address discovery #1 in a future rage-filled post (yay!), but let’s talk about #2. We shouldn’t think of the “gifts” of singleness or coupledness (is that a word?) as permanent labels. Sure, there are some people who are single for their entire lives, but most people will experience both before they die. If God’s put a desire in our hearts to get married someday, there’s a good chance that we will one day say “I do.” That doesn’t mean He’ll drop a significant other out of the sky right now though. If we’re still single, it’s probably because He’s got things for us to do before a relationship takes over our lives. For example, we can have crazy work schedules and pursue our careers with reckless abandon. We can freely socialize/flirt/do whatever with other single people without worrying about upsetting jealous or suspicious partners. We can spontaneously go places and do random things without anyone’s permission. Being single is not some terrible curse of loneliness, it’s a blessing of independence while you wait for the blessing of companionship. Jesus was single at a time when people found their whole identity in marriage and family. People surely thought he was crazy because it was a radical concept that someone could find their identity outside of that. However, this is something that our current culture has been accepting and we should too!
So, long story short, there are many reasons to enjoy our singleness while we have it, and one of them is the freedom to be busy and productive with our passions. I still hope that one day I will meet the right guy, but until then, I have plenty to keep me busy and thankful for my independence!
I hope everyone had a wonderful Valentine’s Day yesterday! 🙂
I love the story of how my parents met because it says so much about them as people. It also explains a lot about why their children are all academic nerds.
My parents met in college. My mom was an undergrad violin performance major and my dad was getting his masters in electrical engineering. My mom’s roommate had decided to throw a party at their apartment. My mom, who was not much of a party person, decided to spend the night doing physics homework in her bedroom instead. Physics was not a required class for her major, but she was taking it because she, “thought it sounded fun.” That is my mom for you. My dad, who was also not a party person, had been pressured to come to the party with one of his friends.
At some point during the night, my mom got to a problem she couldn’t figure out. Desperate for answers and unwilling to turn in an incomplete homework assignment, she tracked down the engineering grad student and asked for help with her homework. They went to her bedroom and worked on this physics problem for hours, while a party raged just outside the door.
My dad, brilliant as he was, couldn’t figure out how to solve the problem before the party ended, so they said goodbye and my dad went home with his friend.
The next day, he worked on the physics problem all day and finally solved it so he could call her with the answer and ask her out.
They have now been married for 26 years.
I hope and pray I could have a love story even a fraction as cute as theirs!
“If you want to feel sexy, wear sexy underwear!” It’s one of those fun, sexy, and kinda-naughty-but-not-enough-to-be-shameful pieces of advice that gets passed around in female circles. I’ve had conversations with friends on this subject, I’ve read about it in Cosmo and equally-classy women’s magazines, and I’m pretty sure Oprah has said something to this effect.
Up until I got to college, my underwear came exclusively in economically thrifty packages from Target. They are awesome for several reasons:
- Sooo cheap!!! $5 for a week’s supply of 7? Um, yes please!
- Soft and cottony… mmm
- Fun and colorful! Yay!
Then I spent my freshman year of college living in a co-ed dorm. I know that there is controversy about allowing young men and women to live so physically close together, but for a girl who was raised to fear boys, living with 22 of them all at once was a very educational experience. I’ll probably write more on that experience later, but back to underwear: we talked about underwear a lot. Actually, we talked about sex a lot, but underwear was a frequent tangent.
It was through these deep conversations with my floor mates that I learned that the clear winners in women’s underwear were these things called thongs. The term “thong” was not foreign to me because I grew up wearing thongs all the time. Of course, by “thongs,” I mean what the rest of the world calls, “flip flops” (my parents still talk about how much they love wearing thongs in the summertime. It’s embarrassing.). I had no idea what an underwear thong was until middle school, when I had a conversation with my friend who was talking about sexy underwear, while I was talking about summer footwear. Thanks to that horribly awkward experience, I at least knew what my college floor mates where talking about, though I had yet to wear one.
Intrigued, and feeling behind-the-times, underwear-wise, I decided that maybe I should try one of these things for myself. I went to my old trusted friend, Target, and bought a pair (probably for under $5! Go me!). I saved it for a special day when I knew I would be seeing this guy I had a huge crush on at the time, to see if Oprah was right.
At first, it wasn’t that bad, it was just different. I felt kind of sexy just knowing that I was wearing something scandalous under my jeans. But as the day went on and I realized that the string in my butt wasn’t going anywhere, it got increasingly annoying and uncomfortable. By the end of the day, it was all I could think about! Instead of feeling sexy, my mind was plagued with thoughts of my own discomfort, worry over whether or not this boy I loved could see this discomfort, and how I wished I had just gone commando instead. I was not confident, funny, smart, interesting, smiling, or any of the other qualities that I would normally associate with being sexy. I was just fervently annoyed at a stupid piece of string.
Since then, I have occasionally tried wearing them again, in hopes that I could get used to it and just feel sexy, dangit! I even somehow ended up with a few more pairs, but I always come to the same conclusion: it’s not worth it! They are currently stuffed in the back of my underwear drawer, along with all my ugly old worn out underwear that is reserved strictly for days when I run out of clean laundry. Maybe one day the thongs will come back out, but for now, I’m just going to wear what makes me happy and comfortable. I don’t care what Cosmo or Oprah says; being happy and comfortable makes me feel infinitely sexier than being distracted by a relentless wedgie.
Have you ever had one of those days where you just feel so gross and awful that you can barely function? I had one of those days this week. I felt and looked like death and had no intention of interacting with anyone that night. I hadn’t been able to sleep well in days, I had sweated off all my makeup earlier in the day and was too tired to reapply, and my allergies were killing me and making my eyes a bloodshot drippy mess. To top it all off, I had spent most of the day taking headshots of one of my best friends, who is a model, which had only served to remind me that I was not (and never would be) hot enough to be a model. So I felt hideously gross, super depressed, and physically sick. I was a wreck. I never would have left my apartment, except that I ran out of food and I wasn’t sure when I’d have another chance to go to the grocery store. So I mustered up what little energy I had left and made the trek to gather sustenance.
My goal was to get in and out as quickly as possible without talking to anyone, and I almost succeeded. Almost. I pushed my cart into the elevator, but was in such a daze that I took it up instead of down to the parking garage. My food and I rode up to the balcony of the shopping plaza as I cursed my stupidity. Then the doors opened, and in walked this cute guy. He paused to let me out and I awkwardly explained that I wasn’t getting out.
Now, everyone knows that the normal protocol for riding elevators is to ignore everyone else and stare at the wall or phone, as if deep in thought. I guess this guy doesn’t ride many elevators though, because he kept talking to me. He was very friendly and had a nice smile, which he couldn’t seem to turn off. About halfway down, I finally realized that he was hitting on me!
You have to understand that I rarely get hit on outside of Home Depot and Walmart parking lots. On the rare occasions that guys do take notice of me, it’s usually with that creepy “heyyy” kind of flirting. But this guy was different; he was nice, and he treated me like a human. I was in shock, this doesn’t even happen on days I look relatively good. This guy was special. When we got to my floor, he said, “You know, you’re pretty cute.” He must have some serious vision problems, but I was genuinely touched.
Unfortunately, this story has a very sad and anti-climactic ending, thanks to my sleep-deprived, allergy-ridden brain’s inability to function that night. I never ever give my number out to strange men because I’m always terrified that they could be serial killers, even seemingly nice ones. So when the guy asked if I had a boyfriend, I stupidly replied, “kind of.” What does that mean??? Funny you should ask me that, because he did too. I didn’t know the answer. The conversation came to an awkward end as I pushed my little cart out of the elevator and mentally kicked myself for not being a more eloquent liar.
I realized very quickly that he probably thought I was rejecting him because I didn’t think he was attractive or thought he was creepy or something. I felt horrible! I desperately wished that I could go back in time and explain that my brain wasn’t working very well, and that I thought he was cute too, and that I so appreciated his kind words, and that he made my crappy night a whole lot better.
So if by some far off chance you are reading this, sweet-guy-I-probably-should-have-married, thank you for making my night. I’m sorry for accidentally rejecting you. Here’s to hoping we meet in another elevator someday!
My parents really wanted their daughters to succeed in life, so therefore, they wanted to make sure we stayed away from boys until we got into good colleges. Their method? FEAR. And it was incredibly effective. So effective, in fact, that my sisters and I are all still single! Of course, my parents’ hope for future grandchildren decreases by the day, but that’s a small price to pay for protecting their princesses from the world’s douchebags. Continue reading to learn their parenting techniques…
1) Isolate your girls from any and all male peers. My parents successfully had 0 sons and 3 daughters, and they raised us in an all-girl neighborhood. Our neighborhood had over a dozen girls of all ages and races, but impressively no boys. There must have been something in the water. The only boys who were ever present were two guys who occasionally visited their grandmother, who lived across the street. They vegetated inside playing video games all day while we played outside. They didn’t care about us, so we didn’t care about them. Since we had such little interaction with boys, my parents had total control when it came to forming our opinions about boys. That absolutely must be your goal – total control. This leads to step 2:
2) Explain that S-E-X is the grossest thing ever. I still remember when my mom told me about sex. I think I was around seven or eight, and we went into my parent’s little walk-in closet (which was the scariest place in our house, so it was fitting). She explained that sex was when a man put his penis into a woman’s vagina and then a baby comes out 9 months later. I think there was an accompanying book with drawings of naked people or something, because I didn’t understand how the man could get that big dangly thing up there. When I asked my mom about this issue, she explained that when a man gets turned on, like by looking at a woman’s boobs, his thing magically gets really hard and it rises so he can put it in. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard! Fortunately, my mom added, only married people had sex, and they only had to do it when they wanted to have a baby. Oh thank God, there was a way out! I didn’t need to get married or have babies! I never wanted to participate in (or even talk about) sex ever again.
3) Emphasize that boys think about sex 24/7! SEX! SEX! SEX! Yes, sex, that gross nasty thing we just talked about in step #3. This will convince your daughters that boys are the absolute epitome of grossness. EWWW!!!!!
4) Openly frown upon girls who like boys. My dad hated the Disney Channel show, Lizzie McGuire, because Lizzie constantly wanted a boyfriend, instead of focusing on her schoolwork. He would point this out repeatedly to us until we finally realized that Lizzie was a little slut. We went back to doing our homework like good girls because we weren’t needy like Lizzie and didn’t want stupid boyfriends holding us back. Whenever we did get infected with crushes on boys, we kept those shameful secrets to ourselves.
5) Condemn all forms of PDA. When your daughter gets older, biology and hormones will start to take over, so she might start to forget some of these things you taught her and start talking to boys. You have to accept that she will be talking to boys, as its difficult to function in society without verbally interacting with males, but you mustn’t let this progress to touching. Remind her of point #3 and that allowing boys to touch her could potentially launch that nasty rising process. This will immediately remind her of the nausea experienced in your walk in closet years earlier and discourage all forms of inappropriate physical contact, such as hand-holding, hugs, and even taps on the shoulder. She’ll avoid coming into contact with male skin as if it were infected with a fatal fungus.
So that’s it! It’s pretty simple. In no time, your daughters will be the academically overachieving single man-hating women you’ve always wanted!