The Squirrel Whisperer

As you may or may not know, my sister, Kelsy, has a fear of squirrels. Now, you may be thinking to yourself, " How can one person be afraid of such a lovely creature?" The answer to that question would be me. I have to tell you that this story is 100% real and some of my old neighbours could vouch for this story....

I went through a certain phase in my life, much older than I am willing to admit actually, where I thought that maybe I was magical and could talk to animals. As I started exploring this new ability, my faithful and naive sister started looking for 'tests' to prove my legitimacy. I declared to all of the neighbourhood kids and had a big following to test this special talent. As they rallied together on the trampoline, my assistant, Kelsy found a baby grey squirrel that was clutching onto the tree nearby the trampoline. Perfect!! Squirrels aren't vicious or scary; I couldn't think of a better test subject. With all eyes glued to me, I took a long, thin stick and carefully approached the squirrel. Very carefully, I poked the squirrel on the tail. The baby squirrel stood its ground. SUCCESS!!!

Feeling more empowered, I poked it again as Kelsy and I approached it more closely. Again, the squirrel did not move. Kelsy turned around and exclaimed to our audience that I was, indeed, magical. The audience was on the edge of their seats, so to speak, and I slowly creeped closer to the squirrel. And once more, the squirrel did not budge. I handed my magic wand stick to my assistant and carefully reached out to touch the tail of the squirrel.

It was when I made physical contact with the animal that it actually reacted and my experiment went array. Very, very array. The squirrel freaked out and came lunging at my sister and all the kids started screaming and scrambled to the other end of the trampoline in absolute terror. Within a split second, the squirrel flew off the tree and ran up my sister's jean leg. It should be noted that this was the year where bell bottoms were back in style. An unfortunate time for fashion and very unfortunate for my dear sister. Kelsy was horrified. The squirrel climbed further and further, using it's claws to dig into Kelsy's leg for stability. Kelsy was screaming and flailing all about and trying to get it out of her jeans. In a moment of sheer clarity, I grabbed Kelsy's leg whilst she was squirming, screaming, and smacking the squirrel in her jeans with my magic wand stick. I took the top of her pant leg and started pushing the squirrel out. What seemed like forever for all three involved, the squirrel was pushed out of her leg, at which point Kelsy scrambled to her feet in miliseconds and climbed onto the trampoline while continuing to scream and cry. The squirrel, very confused, then ran off into the woods.

Kelsy's leg was mutilated really. She was bleeding everywhere, sobbing, and scratches were all down her right leg. I had someone run to get my mom a block away and tried to calm down my injured assistant/sister. I am pretty sure to this day, Kelsy has not fully forgiven me for this incident. Fortunately for me at the time, she still was in too much shock and horror to be completely irate with me.

My super mom, also a practising nurse came running down the street with her emergency kit. The kids scrambled off and my mom carried Kelsy home with me tagging behind. My mom was furious but she was equally mad at both of us. She didn't believe that I could fully be blamed for this idiotic episode. Kelsy was blubbering all over. Now, because my mom is a nurse, she has unintentionally made us into hypochondriacs. My mom rushed Kelsy down to the clinic because she was convinced that Kelsy contracted rabies. Kelsy was horrified and I was in denial. After being patched up, with injections and shots for possible terrifying animal encounters, Kelsy was pissed at me. Semi-rightfully so I suppose.

And what, pray-tell happened to the baby squirrel? Well we found out that squirrels, when they are on their deathbed, lose their minds which is what happened. The squirrel was diseased and died. The kids buried the squirrel and Kelsy and myself were forbidden to attend the ceremony.

Yes, I like to think that I talked to that squirrel. And now Kelsy has an irrational fear of squirrels and I feel like I have done my sisterly duty. Whenever I find any squirrel paraphernalia, she gets it as a gift for her birthday or Christmas. I bought her a very cute necklace while I was in London that had an imprint of a squirrel and she wears it frequently. So, the point of this story is to stay away from squirrels. And if you are near one, I hope you can smile at this heartfelt story as Kelsy does I'm sure. Never trust things with bushy tails because they're nuts!!! :)

Dating: The One Who Slept

So, after a couple of months after I returned from England last August and a brief and bad relationship abroad, I decided to throw myself into the dating world. I was single and in a new city, so with some liquid confidence, I searched online and started dating people through okcupid.com. What began as mild curiosity warped into a new obsession of accurately portraying myself through words. I didn't want to reveal too much online because I didn't want everything on the table and leave nothing to the imagination. After some creepy messages, various marriage proposals and flirtation that eventually lead to nothing, I began exchanging conversation with a few prospective dates. My first date was with an English professor and part-time writer that seemed pretty promising. The scary thing about online dating really is the profile picture. The blurry profile picture, the one from a distance, the one taken several years and several pounds ago is perhaps the greatest disappointment. And because I didn't know the city at all and still refuse to get a smart phone, it made it somewhat difficult to meet up with people at first.

Let's call date number one Bob. Bob decided to meet me at Strand bookstore which I thought was completely adorable and thoughtful as we were both excited about books. I stared at google maps and took notes on how to get there and back, not realising that he might not take me back to where we met. I arrived early and stood outside the bookstore, and holding in my breath to every man who looked at me on the street in front of the rare books window display. I thought, "please don't be old, wrinkly, unattractive." I was also concerned that I would be stood up and that scared the bajeezes out of me. Bob texted me about 8 minutes after 8pm (our scheduled time) that he was in the bookstore. I shook off my nerves and headed in. Bob was there and he was ginormously tall. I needed to practically shout at the sky in order to talk to him. Strand is rather small and hard to navigate through so as soon as I met Bob, he took off, shouting "follow me." I weaved through the narrow aisles and he was standing in front of the British history section. It was awkward. He wanted to show me that he knew I liked this history but I mean, the bookstore was not a good place to meet at because you can't talk and you can't drink. After realising that we needed a drink because we were both nervous, he took me further into East Village, and because his legs were so long, I was running after him street to street. He did not have any inkling of where he was going to take me. This was a negative point. I was new to the city, so I had no idea where we were and as we went street after street further away from my original station to get home, I was feeling a little anxious. He had a huge duffle bag with him and was completely bundled up from head to toe as it was early January and snowy in New York.

He finally took me to KGB bar, a famous Russian themed speak-easy but it wasn't open for another hour. We went to a wine bar around the corner and I let him order my wine. Of course he chooses the only wine on the menu I do not like, Merlot, and that was another point against him. It was a flexible point but still valid. We shot the shit back and forth and he told me that he was 33 and that he had a sublet in Brooklyn and that he was working on writing several plays involving aliens. That was weird. He then did the one thing that I really don't enjoy--what I call "puffing the chest"-- basically showing off and giving me facts like Dwight Shrute from the office. It's basically ego-stroking. The conversation was awkward and he told me that he wrote a "famous" article about Shakespeare which interested me.

Our glasses were diminished of icky merlot and we went back to KGB. Sorry people, but KGB is nice and interesting but I really was looking for something a bit less communist and more romantic. Blood red walls and an angry looking crowd was kind of weird. He got me a drink and finally took off his hat and said that he hadn't showered in several days--eew. Why would you say that to someone? Then he had another drink and I still don't know what happened after that. Bob's eyes were slightly glazed and he told me that he hadn't had much luck dating and that he was very lonely and just wanted a girlfriend to hold him at night. Again, kind of scared me a little in our first date. Desperation crossed my mind. When he asked me about my studies in London and I began telling him FINALLY about myself, his head tipped back in the booth and he passed out. I was mortified!! I put people to sleep?!! Talk about a blow to my self-esteem! I had no clue what to do next. Wait for him to wake up....leave him at the bar... I finished my drink and looked around. Everyone was staring at us. I got another drink on Bob's tab and finished that drink and was texting my friends to do the faux "emergency phone call". I had no idea where I was or how to get home, so I just sat there. Bob woke from his slumber and told me that he was hungry and that the alcohol might be getting to him. We left KGB and went over to Yaffa Cafe in the East Village and got him some food. He was too drunk to pay attention or to talk to me. After he finished his last bite, I stalked the server and paid. I wanted the date to be over immediately.

Bob walked me to my train station and I wasn't sure how to end a date. I had never dated before. Handshake? weird. Hug? weird. Kiss? Umm, eew. I tried to get rid of Bob by getting my train, but Bob was riding that same line. So I faked where I lived and decided to take the line going the opposite of Bob so that we wouldn't have to be on the same platform and then once the train would come I would go back to the correct one. The train came for Bob and I went in for a hug. He did, after all, buy my drinks...Bob was so tall though that I almost had to jump to put my arms around him. BOB thought the date went swimmingly and that he deserved a kiss from his new 'girlfriend' and bent down to kiss me as I was about to hug him. He had no idea that he took a 23 minute (yes I counted) siesta on our first date. We ended up doing this weird kiss hug dodging dance bit in front of the train and he wound up kissing my temple. It was tres bizzare.

After that date, I obviously never saw Bob again though it took him several methods of communicating silence on my end before he gave up. I was completely discouraged. My first real date was horrible. Is this online dating? I almost gave up on the idea altogether, but my friends encouraged me that not all dates could be this bad. I stayed online and became more selective. And I am glad I did because my second okcupid date was with Chris. I'll save that story for later though.

How to Establish a Low Impact Fitness Routine

During my years as a sedentary child living in a family of athletic over achievers, I’ve made my share of empty promises to get in shape. I bought videos, fitness equipment, and a pass to the gym, yet nothing is ever accomplished. So, in my desperate attempt at getting fit, I have developed a fitness program that works for me and can fit into my very demanding schedule.

            Before you do anything, you must apply the normal amount of makeup to your face; if you plan on leaving your house to go to the gym, this rule is especially important. Why would anyone talk to you when you have no make-up on? We live in a materialistic world, and everyone is judging you on anything and everything that you do. Makeup makes the girl, which is a motto I try to live by. Besides, lets face it girls, you are honestly not going to be working out hard enough to sweat, right? Not to mention how horrible you look without any makeup on. There is defiantly a fine line between natural beauty and Medusa beauty. So, make yourself worth looking at by accentuating those lovely peepers of yours, covering up your “imperfections”, and making your lips kissable.

            If you really care about the impression you need to make, you might want to consider practicing good hygiene before you go anywhere. Taking a shower and/or bath makes a great start to anyone’s day. It’s a nice thought knowing that you look good and smell great.

            Now that you look normal, the next step is to buy the right kind of wardrobe. It is imperative that you maintain your sexy image by buying the designer sports bra in every color and the running shorts that are just long enough to be considered shorts. There is absolutely no reason to buy fitness outfits simply because they are fitness outfits. You must always remember that if anything is on sale, it did not look good on the majority of customers. Do you really want to gamble the possibility that it will look good on you? I didn’t think so.

            After you have spent your entire savings on clothes you will probably only wear once, it is important to ask daddy for a pass to your local gym. It is defiantly worth your while to get involved in a gym. Where else are you going to show off how good you look, at home? That would be a waste of money. You should enjoy the YMCA and all it has to offer (i.e. cute guys).

            Once you start working out, whether on the elliptical trainers or the treadmills, you must keep in mind to watch your health. Never overdo it! In fact, once you start to feel any pain at all, stop. It is not worth it to be in pain for the next couple of days. Plus, you are not working out because you have to, it just so you can meet all of your potential boyfriends. You also do not want to break into a sweat either. Never trust your deodorant! That could be a very terrible disaster, if you start talking to a guy and you have sweat pouring down your face or if you are trapped in a cloud of stench. Make sure you work out long enough to have a conversation but not long enough for any hygiene malfunction to happen.

            If you are not into interacting with others, you could always buy exercising videos to help you tone your body and increase your flexibility, all in the convenience of your own home. These videos are extremely enjoyable to watch as you crack open a Coke and a bag of extra buttery popcorn. They are also inspirational, feel-good entertainment because you feel as if you could have done the exercises if you wanted to. It is a fun way to spend a Saturday evening and avoid all the sweat, pain, and agony that comes with working out.

            Alongside all of these rules I have developed, I have also established helpful guidelines to follow. First off, never go to the gym too often, it gives the impression that you care too much about your image. Secondly, make sure to eat right. Eating smaller portions of all your favorite foods is essential if you are committed to your routine. There is also the option of hardly eating because if the models can do it, so can you. Besides, what boneheaded macho man wouldn’t want a girl that he could fold in half and put in a suitcase?

            My fitness routine is very developed and easy to fit in the most demanding schedules, I recommend it for any single, high metabolized teenage girl. I know first- hand how it is to fit friends, work, school, extra curricular activities, and birthdays in your life, and still be criticized for not caring about your image. So if my fitness routine can fit in your busy life and you have run out of ideas to meet beautiful men, by all means model yours after mine and good luck.

Camping

I hate camping. Coming from a rural tiny town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where there are beautiful sights, plenty o' beaches, plenty o' trees and plenty o'wildlife, one would think that I am accustomed or that it runs through my blood to be adaptable to the wilderness. Au contraire mon ami. As Jim Gaffigan once said, "My family never took me camping. You know why? BECAUSE THEY LOVED ME!!!!"

As a child, I have always loved dresses and hated dirt. I am the girl who is so clean and tidy that I do not need to use napkins 98% of the time. It's your prerogative if you enjoy the great outdoors and sleeping in a tent, but I am just not cut out for it. I was a city girl raised in a small town.

Reasons I hate camping: 

1) I like electricity. Charging my phone or my ipod is always nice to keep me entertained when there is nothing else to do 

2) Camping is NOT a vacation to me, but rather a hellish affair that I want to end before I get to the site. Therefore, I have a difficult time accepting the idea that I must take vacation time at work where, if anything, I am the opposite of relaxed when I come back. 

3) I hate dirt. 

4) I can't look sexy or cute when I am sweaty, oily, sticky, stinky

 5) I hate tennis shoes. Practical? Yes. Comfortable? Yes. Jessica? NO. 

6) I hate mosquitos. I am allergic to them and I am a walking tractor beam for them. You may say, "Jessica just layer up and they won't eat you!" SO you want me to cover my entire body, including my face, in the summer when it's hot out so that they won't eat me? Wrong. They eat me through jeans, sweatshirts, layers of clothing. I develop huge welts no matter how much bug spray and/or padding I wear.

 7) I hate smelling or reeking of bonfire smoke all the time 

8) I like showers. Why every camp ground has nasty shower curtains that slap to your leg and make you develop some sort of rash that would puzzle physicians is beyond me. That has to be the grossest feeling in the world--that nasty shower curtain. And, the water is always freezing or burning lava hot at campsites. And you have to wear flip flops to shower--by the time you stepped out of the shower, you are almost dirtier than when you went in. This causes my hair to be oily and my face to break out in acne, which makes me even more upset. 

9) I like toilets that don't smell like someone smeared feces on the walls 20 years ago that the site people never bothered to clean. And there is always one toilet clogged or not working. NEVER ANY TOILET PAPER. Yes, we are in the wilderness, but if you are not going to bother replenishing the toilet paper, why the heck are we paying you to be there? And why are their always prehistoric bugs flying about carrying God knows what disease with them? And why is the sink, counter, and floor of the bathrooms covered in water? 

10) It's freezing at night and the ground hurts like hell to sleep on. Oh and because you have no electricity, good luck entertaining yourself or others once the sun goes down 

11) Tents. I hate them. In the morning, you are sopping wet and freezing or you are burning in the tent and can't breathe. Also, I always imagine some serial murderer or rapist stabbing through the tent and into my face. And if he doesn't find me, then the wild animals will. 

12) I hate camping food. I am starving and want to eat something other than marshmallows, and eggs or beans.

I never really camped until I was 20. I was a fool in love with a boy who loved camping and being outdoors. This, amongst other things, was part of our break-up four years later. Yes, my first love ended our relationship because of my lack of interest in camping. Our first camping excursion was with his entire family, and I was somewhat excited to meet them for the second time. To my credit, when someone tells you that they don't like camping, you should EASE them into the idea. Maybe overnight with a ton of amenities. You don't just go balls-to-the-wall and drop them into the most basic, rustic, primitive 3 day camping trip with a new girlfriend meeting the family. As soon as the family started unpacking the car and setting up the tents, I had a meltdown. No showers, no alcohol, just the great outdoors and my anxiety levels through the roof with people I was trying to impress? T'was not good.

The next time we went camping with his family, my doctor prescribed me xanax because I could not sleep outside and would have panic attacks. I was pretty stoned the entire trip which made my boyfriend mad. That was the only way for me to get through the trip.

Now I know that I can't do camping and that it could be a huge red flag in a relationship. No one tells you to agree on those kinds of things, but it is certainly important. My idea of camping involves 4 walls, a roof, and possibly room service and I am ONE HAPPY CAMPER!

Graceful Girl

I am a klutz (add backpack pic). I am sure it's hereditary, as I come from a long line of klutzy women on my mom's side of the family. I usually fall up or down stairs, trip on sidewalks, run into walls, fall off of things (especially shoes) so it should come as no surprise to those who know me that I have a big tumble once a year, and when I fall I"go big or go home".

  One time during my undergrad, I decided to brave the snow storm and walk from my apartment on campus to the library. It was the same semester I was taking my Shakespeare class and that book was AT LEAST 5 lbs. add in a heavy 2005 dell laptop, my wallet, and all of my other geeky books and my backpack transformed into a turtle shell. Because the snow storm was so bad, we had about 6 inches and so the track across campus involved balancing my heavy turtle shell back and walking across many unplowed parking lots. Well, there was a lot of guessing involved as to where the curb was that elevated the side of the sidewalk from the parking lot and I made a bad judgement call. I thought that I was stepping onto the sidewalk, but I really had placed my boot on the curb and lost my balance. The turtle shell pulled me backwards and with my arms failing and doing backwards windmills, I completely lost my balance and fell on my backpack. Dazed and confused, I tried to get up as quickly as possible so as to avoid the public humiliation, but do to my heavy backpack, it really was a turtle shell and there was no way of me getting up. I was then rolling around the parking lot, trying to get off my back but i was just failing my body all around with no success. And of course I couldn't have fallen in the middle of nowhere without observers to laugh at my klutziness. Two guys just came out from the gym and saw me struggling on the pavement and came over to help me. I thought that this fall would have been my worst by far...until once again a heavy backpack would be my demise. 

My next and worst fall to date was in London last August when my MA dissertation was due. I decided to pack my huge backpack with my new slick MacBook, all of my books, two red bulls, gummy bears, pens, and notebooks full of notes. I was so proud of my success in packing up my backpack that I took this picture of it prior to knowing that I would never forget the heaviness. It was a hot and unusually sunny day in London and so I wore my favorite cute flip flops and and my long dress. I got to the library perfectly fine and set up my workspace perfectly. However, as often happens to me, as soon as I got settled in the library, I couldn't concentrate. I write the majority of my papers in my bathroom because that is where I work best. Will write a post about my argument that the bathroom is the best place to write later. After about 10 minutes being completely uninspired, I decided that it would be best if I walked back home and write in the bathroom in my flat. So, I replaced my backpack and walked a half mile back to my off campus apartment down mile end in London. The borough of mile end is very Muslim and conservative with women wearing berkas, all in black with slits just for their eyes. I was just walking back when I stepped on my dress in my flip flop which sent me falling and because my backpack had my laptop an 10 lbs of books, it shot forward and rammed the back of my head, no amount of frantic windmills could have prevented my fall. The flip flop broke and I splattered all across the sidewalk. I am not exaggerating this story At all. The following events all happened within the millisecond that I fell. My red bulls shot from the side pockets of my backpack and went flying into the busy traffic, where like a grenade spun into the steer and exploded in front of two cars. Because it was so sudden, the cars veered and almost collided together. The five books that I was holding in my arms like a nerd and could not fit into my backpack because I just checked them out from the  library scattered all over the ground. And because I had been wearing a dress, when I fell hard, my breasts accidentally flew out of my dress without me noticing. I had popped out of my dress so when I splattered I didn't know which mess to take care of first. I started picking up my books and the nice muslim man walking towards me helped me up and pick them up until he gasped when he saw me exposed in front of the busy street. I thanked him and then followed his shocking gaze at my chest and quickly covered myself back up with my dress. I didn't think that I could be more mortfied but flashing the entire neighbourhood of mile end, projecting my red bulls into street traffic causing almost a huge accident, picking up my books with a huge headache from my laptop jamming into the back of my head, and preceding to drage my leg into the nearest store to investigate myself, was pretty much the lowest of the low for me. I miraculously did not break my new laptop, nor did I tear my dress at all. I did have to walk the rest of the way home with one shoe and a huge limp which was a walk of shame as I have never experienced before. I managed to get road rash on my breast, face, and knee, and now have a huge scar on my right knee that will forever remind me of this traumatic fall. All I can say is thank you to the nice man who despite his beliefs of women being covered up didn't say anything to me as I fell, flashed him, and kept myself exposed without knowing.

My latest fall is a few weeks ago in front of my boyfriend's entire company. I was invited to the after party of his company's conference tha t he puts on each year and I was worried from the start because of two things. First, I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his team that I had only met once.  I also was worried that the after party was only serving vodka that night because I am bad on that stuff. I know that vodka is the tasteless alcohol, but I happened to throw it up very violently and now get sick off of the stuff. However, I needed liquid confidence to talk to his employees and I wanted them to all be jealous of his "great catch". I had two vodka crannberry drinks and my sexy 4 inch heels were starting to hurt. When the party ended, we started to migrate to a br across the stret. You would think that I could walk across a street but I had never worn these heels and and I constantly forget how unflattering the sidewalks are here in NYC and in the middle of a sentence, I rolled my ankle and because of the intense height of my heels, no rolling exists. I fell. I fell hard. I fell in front of his entire company. My purse flew from my hands and I splattered across the sidewalk. I am still mortified. My knee was black, purple, green, blue, yellow, grey, red, for weeks. And because of the magnitude of my heels, I fell off of both of my heels and rolled my ankles, scraped up both ankles and badly damaged my already damaged right knee in front of everyone he works with. The worst part is that 1) I wasn't drunk and 2) I probably made them all think that my boyfriend is dating a cheap drunk who can't walk across a street. 

Thus 3 examples of my klutziness. I am glad that I am with someone who is not super embarraassed by a girl who can't walk in the capitol of fashion, I can trip and fall in flats. I am lucky to have him love me unconditionally. Will let you know about my next fall!

Want vs. Need

So, without getting myself into too much trouble, I wanted to express my upsetting decision that sent me over the edge to make a worse decision. Today started off well enough. I got out of work early, it's a holiday, payday, some checks came through that I really needed in order to not eat oranges for the next two weeks, it stopped raining for the first time in forever...everything seemed to be going well. I thought that I would celebrate my small victories by rewarding myself. Once I got home though, the damage was already done and I felt immensely stressed and so anxious that I was pacing my tiny room and on the verge of tears. So, instead of making the correct decision, I decided that I should make a worse one. I am sorry for the vagueness of this post, but I wanted to encourage others to think through their actions a bit more carefully so that you don't have to be forced or guilted into indulging yourself when you truly do deserve it. Do you want something or do you NEED something? The vagueness is partially that this could be applied to every avenue of your life from small things like purchases to dieting to not being strong enough to say no to someone or something or even to yourself. WANT vs. NEED. I hope you make good decisions today!

All the Clingy Girls: This one's for you

Relationships require work. I admit that while I have always tried to please someone else, it was often not enough to salvage a dead relationship. I have learned through heartbreak and through many different kinds of failed relationships that true love is when both people want to work on something together, and (most importantly) AT THE SAME TIME. There are many reasons why my past relationships have failed, but the one that really still bothers me is the one where we both tried for too long to make things work but were never in sync with our efforts. Girls give up too easily or do not spend enough time on making their man smile or want them in any and every way someone can be wanted. What the proverbial "we" think are the keys to success are either physical or emotional. Too many girls, females, women, women-like men, spend too much time on sentimental shit such as stuffed animals and cute poems/song lyrics that they send to their man. Stuffed animals that women buy for men (especially around holidays) is pretty much a sure fire way to kill any passion that you might have otherwise had. I always find this routine around Valentine's day completely disturbing. Do women honestly think that their man is going to fall deeper in love with them because she made them a build-a-bear with love? No, men hide that crap if they are real men. Also, women are too clingy which really irritates me. Not that I haven't been guilty of that before, but women should check themselves before they wreck their relationships. Would you like a man to text you all of the time or want to spend every waking minute with you when you weren't completely enamoured with them? No, we would call him a stalker, a creeper, or a desperate man. Women don't often consider this when they jump into a long-term relationship with someone. It's not healthy and will eventually ruin your relationship spending all of your time with them TOO SOON. My recommendation is a bit out there and a little brash, but to keep your man interested in you, you should do three things. And before I mention them, it should be noted that I was brought up in the princess/knight in shining armour mentality. I spent tons of years of my life watching sappy romantic comedies and dreaming of that perfect man for the rest of my life to come. I've been there. I have also devalued the idea of sex and being with someone with whom might complete you in every regard, and for that I will never get it back. This makes me sad.

My three things for women to do to avoid picking the wrong guy or for keeping the right guy:

1.) STOP BEING NEGATIVE. No one wants to be with someone who is always unhappy and bitching about everything in their life from their back problems to their work problems. I have suffered from depression and anxiety for years and have ruined a relationship partially because I was depressed in my job and that prevented me from enjoying any other aspect of my life, especially my relationship. I usually tell my partner everything, but I have now learned to control informing him of only the negative parts of my life.

2.) BE PASSIONATE ABOUT SOMETHING/KNOW YOURSELF. I was very unfortunate in not discovering myself and my own interests because I was insecure and shared all of the same interests as my boyfriend because it was easier and it made us have more things in common on the outside than we really did on the inside. If I can save you from the heartbreak of your first real love before you discover this or yourself, then I am happy. It might take your heart truly breaking for the first time though before you completely devote (out of necessity) time to figuring out a.)what you need out of someone b.) what doesn't work c.) what you're not going to settle for. I lump this together with passion because until you get to truly know yourself, you will have no idea what you are passionate about. I discovered after my gut-wrenching break-up that I loved running, I loved the complexity of wine,  I loved traveling around the world with or without someone, and I loved learning. Though I often think of this ex in conjunction with running him over with a truck (different story I will save for another post), I was more lost with him than without him. Find your passions, your interests, what you care about, especially those that are different than the one you are in a relationship. You will always have something to talk about and it is NEVER negative.

3.) STUDY. This is going to make some women uncomfortable, but the reason why men are more interested in "greener pastures" or eventually lose interest in you (AND NO COSMO MAG HAS EVER WRITTEN ABOUT THIS) is because of physicality. While you are trying to salvage your love life with your guy through trips and thoughtful gifts and sweet messages, men also (as well as you) need a physical reality that often dies during the "honeymoon phase" of a relationship. You both, separately, quickly discover what works for the other partner and stop trying to guess what they might like. There is a great quote in Sex and the City where Miranda states that her and Steve have stopped making love and it's now "more of a race to have an orgasm." This quote has never rung more true for women of all ages. We want passion and excitement (as do men) but we don't bother to spend any time researching on enhancing your relationship. Thus breeds the "New York Man" or the "bachelor" who is never quite certain when he's met his match and for how long. Meanwhile,  women are growing old together and buying a bunch of cats while reading Fifty Shades Of Grey in the bubble bath. I feel (again it's me) that men know more about sex and pleasing a women (or at least trying to) because they watch more sexually-explicit material than women. You don't need couple's therapy or to lose weight in order to keep his interests. You need to study as men study to discover what they are interested in and maybe it will open some doors for you or for your relationship? I can never be sure, but reading and watching sappy love movies is not what the guy is thinking about or really wants. And, yes, after the guy woos you, aren't you not looking for that really sexy time alone with that guy? You should be. Girls need to take charge of their sexuality and be open, willing, and trust themselves that they are, in fact, sexy no matter how uncomfortable they may feel. Maybe peruse the web a bit and never stop learning on the best ways, physical or otherwise, to please your man. AND the road works both ways. Ditch him if he isn't willing to become a pupil in one regard or another.

Let me know how it goes!!! xxJess

Partner?

Partner--a beautiful and ever-changing term to represent a union of two people. Remember when you were little, partner meant "friend" or "accomplice" (ie. partner in crime). Then we got a little older and "partner" became someone who you had to work on group work for a class in high school or college. Now as adults, "partner" was also more of a term for someone you did business stuff with. It also meant a homosexual relationship. Through this shift in meaning, I have adapted my idea of partner quite successfully. However, in the last several weeks, partner has been thrown around by primarily male heterosexuals but with varying degrees of relationships. I don't know if this is the newest trend sweeping New York or if I am behind on the idea of marriage. I love the trend of homosexual partners now being comfortable using the terms "wife" and "husband" regardless of our puritanical country and the bible-thumpers. But, what does partner actually mean now that these men of all ages in New York are tossing it around? Poor single girls in this city. We can no longer rely on wedding rings to avoid hitting on taken men because a lot of men are choosing not to wear rings. And because we assume that "partner" means that these men are not interested in women then we really have no basis to go on. A man in the subway the other day (a PhD student in his late-twenties) was talking to his friend and mentioned that he was going to visit his partner. The friend was confused and asked this man what "he" (the partner) was doing for work and the man got annoyed and said that SHE was studying in school. Okay, so in this sense partner was used as a girlfriend. CONFUSING. Then, a few days later, my boss with whom I am still getting to know said rather sheepishly that his "partner" might be calling him at the office and to put her through. EVEN MORE CONFUSING. I know that they have a child together, so I was maybe thinking that it is someone that you are living with and have a family with. However, later on, my boss threw out the word "wife," and I found out that they were married. Finally, I heard this term while at a business function and one of my co-workers used "partner" to mean his fiancée. Has the world gone topsey-turvey? Women are not using this term "partner". We, as women, are using the appropriate terminology to describe our relationship with someone: "guy I'm seeing," "boyfriend," "fiancé," "husband". So, who is wrong or right in this situation? Are women behind on the times? Is it a politically correct way to describe a relationship that I am unaware of (as a small town/ mid-western girl)? Is it a New York thing? I want to use the right term but when all of these terms are now grey, what is a girl supposed to do? And poor single men and women who are trying to hit on someone and have no idea what the term "partner" means as a level of commitment! Are they gay, straight, happily married or committed otherwise, are they embarrassed to admit that they are in some sort of relationship with someone? I can't help but think that if the man that I was with said to others that I was his partner, it would be the same as not wanting people to know about that person because they were somehow ashamed or embarrassed or thinking that they were going to end it soon. Let me know if you have any explanation on the matter.

Ooh, the very first post! Thanks in advance for reading and/or caring. I have been blogging on and off for a year or two, but am recently giving it another go. You see, as a person interested in history, genealogy, and a masters degree in archival studies, I find it difficult to write blogs for several reasons. One reason is that I get annoyed that everyone who starts a blog tends to call themselves a writer. The term "writer" gets thrown around and no longer holds as much weight as it once did. I mean, if Kim Kardashian can pen a book and suddenly include "author" as a descriptive word for her "career" then I struggle to have faith in humanity. Just because you have a blog doesn't make you a writer or an author. You are just practising and perfecting a very necessary skill. This is not your area of expertise. As much as you would like, you cannot and should not stick yourself in the same category as Shakespeare and Frost and Thoreau. I cannot and will not stand for this. So (as to not seem like a hypocrite) I have resisted blogging for this reason. I do not think myself as a writer. I will never earn that title. 


The second reason I have avoided blogging is because I worry about archiving writing for the future generations. I have been blessed with the opportunity to work with original letters and other documents from the 1500's. While I worked primarily on Henry VIII's manuscripts, I found my love of history through the other documents available to me in Europe. Because they preserved everything and have so much history, as we lack (as one of the "newer" countries in the world) the beauty of maintaining documents for future generations to study and develop a sense of our time. The British Library in London (where I wrote most of my dissertation) holds wills and letters from everyday people. These people, who struggled to leave a legacy, are known now because they documented their life. You don't know how much information you can gather or the personality that can develop or the general consensus you can establish all because one man or woman wrote down something that was preserved for hundreds of years. Even wills and grocery lists from everyday people are now being thoroughly examined for dissertations throughout the world. Because of this, I have been pretty adamant about writing with pen and paper. To be able to formulate personality traits all because of the weight of someone's pen against paper, the way they write certain letters of the alphabet, or the content of the manuscript all string together a personality and a legacy whether intentional or unintentional. I want to live like this. I want my children and my children's children or random students working on PhD's to study my writing and be able to bring my writing to life in a way that I never would have. That thought thrills me and keeps me writing. Blogging and the advent of technology has really prevented this from happening with our generation. I do not like that whatever I write online has no personal connections to myself. How could you validate that I am who I say I am and that I wrote what you think I wrote? No way to know, thanks to our tech-savey world we live in. 


The final point that I will make is that my resistance to blogging is due to my fear of having nothing to talk about. It completely contradicts my last argument, but I feel some sort of pressure to perform or to have an opinion about things that I might not have an opinion about. It's quite terrifying. One of my NYE resolutions was to come out of my shell a bit and by sticking my thoughts on Facebook and Twitter, it's helped me significantly reach out and test the waters of my existence in this blogging community. Maybe someone will print off my blogpost and give it to someone who will then write something great about things I didn't know that I was? That is my only hope...that you find anything--any small or mighty thing I write--significant in any context. Than I will continue. Thanks again for reading.