Has a friend ever made a comment about your life that was so dead-on that you were shocked you never came to the realization yourself? That happened to me this morning. Christine and I were having our morning phone conversation (aka me venting to her) and she turned around and came out with a statement that left me speechless (something that’s very hard to do).
“Every guy you date has some problem with you…and they have absolutely no issue with telling you what it is. And I can’t freaking stand it.”
Okay, so here’s where I am going to try and explain exactly why my birthday is more important than yours. I know it must seem crazy to hear at first, but it is in fact true, so bear with me. I am in no way saying that my significance on this earth is greater than any one of yours (well, maybe just…just kidding), but the day I celebrate my birthday each year, July 8th, is. And here’s why…
I count down to my birthday the way children count down to Christmas. On January 8th, I wish myself a Happy Half-Birthday, and proceed to tell everyone that I am 6 months away from my birthday. I then spend the next 6 months looking forward to the attention, gifts, dinners, and partying – all on my behalf. I know that’s hard for some of you to grasp, because I’m usually not the self-centered, attention-hog type For six years I worked as an Arts & Crafts and Theater teacher and used to make the children make me a crown and a sash in Arts & Crafts and sing Happy Birthday to me in Theater class. Since I am no longer teaching, my mom makes sure to buy me a little pink and rhinestone crown for the occasion.
A few days before my birthday a few years ago, I explained to my boyfriend-at-the-time, David, just why this day is the most special day of the year, along with why I should have nothing but happiness and helpfulness and good thoughts sent my way, not the fighting that was going on with my friends over which club we went to that weekend. I proceeded to justify my response by describing how other people we know (my family and friends) feel on their birthdays.
I wrote “guys” in the title, but the truth is there are girls who do it to their boyfriends, also. Most of my blog posts are rants about bad dates, assholes, or going on bad dates with assholes. Sometimes I whine about being single. Every once in a while (hint hint, now) I’ll have a Hallmark card moment and write something uplifting. So prepare to be freaking uplifted, or at least pretend so I feel like I did my good deed for the day.
I recently dated someone that made me feel really bad about myself. And when I say really bad…I mean like severe-depression-bad. He called me an extremely mean name and showed me little to no affection. Did he have his own personal reasons for doing it? Yes. And those reasons convinced me that the deterioration of our relationship was my fault and I deserved his horrible treatment.
My cousin Diana and I wanted to have an extra pool day in Las Vegas, so we decided to catch an earlier flight than the rest of the members of bachelorette party we were going for. While we were there, however, the other girls got delayed TWELVE HOURS at JKF, leaving Diana and I to fend for ourselves.
First we sat by Trump’s pool and ate melon wrapped in proscuitto and drank mohitos and daquiris. Then we got dressed and headed over to The Venetian, where we took a gondola ride and had dinner. While at dinner, they dimmed the restaurant lights and a small symphony began playing (violins, a harp, the works).
Okay, first of all I am completely singing the Beach Boy song California Girls right now. Secondly, in regards to this photo, ladies, you’re welcome.
Okay, so this post is about the super-hot, blonde-hair, blue-eyed, tattooed, musician I met from Cali while I was in Vegas.
He laid next to me in a lounge chair at the pool, and I asked him if he knew anything at all about Vegas, because my cousin Diana and I were all alone and waiting for the other 10 members of our bachelorette party, who were stranded at the airport in our very own version of Home Alone Part 2.
We all have those annoying friends that could just never ever take our side no matter what story we tell them about what guy or girl. All they do is make us not want to tell them any more stories. Since it’s obnoxious as hell no one wants to be that friend. But is it ever an absolute necessity?
My friend Paul has been hung up on the same girl for months. She only talks to him when she’s lonely and knows exactly what to say to get back into his head (although all she really has to say is “Hey”). Continue reading →
The other day my friend Alessia took the idiot — I mean guy — she’s dating out for his 30th birthday. While at the dinner that she paid for, she handed him his birthday gift: a pair of Yankee/Mets tickets. He looked mildly pleased with her one hundred forty dollar gift and said “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I just can’t believe I’m going to the game with a Met fan,” she teased.
I usually get attacked or criticized for being my usual confident self. But, the thing is, I’m not really sure why everyone has such a problem with confidence. When I meet someone who is happy with how they look or who they are, I take an instant liking to them.
Some of my readers left comments inquiring whether or not I get angry when negativity and anger is aimed at me. The answer to that question is “no.” My mother always told me that when someone is trying to pick a fight with me, I should walk the other way.
In this case, I simply click the other way. Because there are always going to be people who dislike you and there are always going to be people who don’t necessarily dislike you, but they have such self-loathing that they project their hatred onto you because…you’re there.
This, my friends and frenemies, should never hinder your confidence. Lady Gaga bans ice from her concerts because she’s afraid crazed people will throw it at her. Does she stop her career? No! She gets crazier! I relate to her oh so much, fans Continue reading →
When I was sixteen, my high school sweetheart broke my heart. We only dated for a few months, but I was distraught when I broke up with him for being incredibly neglectful and friend-centered, as many seventeen-year-old boys will be (No, ladies, Edward was not really 17, he was actually 106, remember?).
Anyway, I’ll never forget calling my best friend Kerry and sobbing over the loss. I had turned on the radio to cheer myself up (a post-breakup mistake I never made again) and what was playing? I’ll Never Break Your Heart by The Backstreet Boys — his favorite band. Yes, I am aware that it is incredibly effeminate for a guy to love The Backstreet Boys and, no, the fact that he spent more time with his guy best friend than me didn’t escape me when we broke up, but anyway…the point was just how sad and ironic the song was at the time.
“I wanted to marry him. I need him back,” I cried for days on end. My godmother gave me this advice: “Jen, I hear you; I really do. But do me a favor – one favor. Go out with just one other boy before you get back together with this one. See how it goes. Then, if you still want to, get back with him. Okay?” I agreed, but really just wanted him. He was my first real boyfriend, my first kiss, and the first boy to ever pay any real attention to me, truly boosting my self-esteem. Now, not only did I feel the loneliness I had before meeting him, but it was ten times more heartbreaking bexause I knew what it felt like to “love” someone, be “loved,” and lose it all (Isn’t puppy love grand?) Continue reading →
This weekend Brad took me to The Melting Pot for dinner. Naturally, I was beside myself with excitement. While we were there, I asked him if it’d be okay if I substituted the beer (yuck) they pour into the cheese fondue (::ahhh::) for a vegetable broth, because that’s what I had done last time I ate there.
He said that was cool with him, just as the waiter came over and said, “So, I see you’ve been here before. Well, one of you,” and smled at me. Continue reading →
A few years ago, after I broke up with my boyfriend, Austin, I met a guy who was, in all respects, the perfect rebound. Let’s call him Jack. Jack was older and had a job and spoke to me so eloquently. He complimented me and paid attention to me and wanted to hear about my day. He was sweet and kind and held my hand and kissed me. He made me forget that I was supposed to be sad.
I obsessed over Jack for a solid month, gushing about him to anyone who would listen. I couldn’t believe that he had liked me just as much as I liked him (well maybe not just as much, seeing as how I was planning our wedding and naming our children, haha).
How many times do you hear “Dime Piece,” “She’s a Ten,” “She’s a Dime,” etcetera, in songs these days? Hell, I hear it from my friends all the time. For whatever reason, many people seem to enjoy the word “ten” over the words “perfect” or “beautiful.” I, personally, don’t refer to people as “tens.” I do, however, use all the other numbers quite often.
My friends and I rate people all of the time. Of course, our ratings often differ based upon our own individual tastes. “What do you think of that guy?” my friend Christine will ask me. “Egh, he’s like a 6,” I’ll say, looking him up and down. “No! Really?! I’d give him an 8 for sure!” And the same thing usually happens when the situation is reversed.
My guy friends are no different. My friend Luke will say, “Damn, that girl’s body is a solid 10. Her face? Like a 5…but who cares, man? Look at that body.”
My girls and guys are a little different in that aspect. I think girls take more time examining a guy’s face, teeth, hair, height, and style, before rating him. Most guys (especially those you are just looking at the menu because they’re on a diet…aka have a girlfriend) look at girls’ boobs and asses before their eyes make their way up to the girl’s face. Continue reading →
Usually, it’s girls who have the reputation for getting too attached too soon (hence the original quote from the movie Wedding Crashers). But sometimes it’s not the girls at all.
I can think of five relationships off the top of my head where the girl is clearly in control and the guy is not only more accommodating, but is flat-out too attached to ever let go.
While in Italy, my cousin and I met two very nice English girls named Jamie and Marie. They were staying in the same Bed & Breakfast as us.
One night, the four of us went out to dinner. To our delight, our waiter was stunningly beautiful. During the course of the night, he got more and more flirtatious with Marie. At one point, he said something to her in Italian and they both laughed, along with the girl sitting behind our table.