is it ok, cupid?

it happened somewhere between a catfish marathon and a bottle of wine that i decided to try online dating. with my closest friends on board, i consulted my usual source for information for this type of thing. she seemed to be on board with it, and if the man repeller is okay with online dating, then it must be okay, right?

so i chose a website and started the quest to find true internet love which begins with a username. surprisingly, this was the most difficult part of the entire process. how do you pick a username that does not give away any personal information but still allows you to show a bit of personality? actually, you can’t. so, i chose my first two initials and added numbers at random. get at me, boys.

the website offers multiple prompts for users to take advantage of while marketing themselves to potential suitors: “the first things people usually notice about me”, “favorite books, moves, shows, music, and food”, “the six things i could never do without”, “i spend a lot of time thinking about”, “on a typical friday night i am”, and “the most private thing i’m willing to admit”.

my most private thing is that i don’t have any cavities.

online dating is something i have heard about. divorcees do it. thirty-year-old single women do it. newly heartbroken people do it. busy people do it. but what was i doing it for? for laughs, a little, but also because, despite what i had anticipated, meeting people is extremely difficult in the city. making friends is difficult. it’s hard not to feel like an absolute creep when trying to meet anyone. truth is, i’ve given my phone number out to more girls hoping for a ladies night out than i have men hoping for a dinner date. but women don’t meet other women online for friendship, so there i was on a tuesday night: sifting through the finest single men ages 22-29 that chicago has to offer.

what i found is that, in general, despite my desired demographics (men age 22 – 29 within 5 miles of my zip code seeking women) any cupid could view my profile. i’ve received messages from ladies seeking ladies, non-single ladies and their partner (male or female) seeking ladies, and even a proposition from a much older man.

~

while this is another story in itself, i will say this: i thought sugar daddies were a kind of urban legend. something out of a law & order: svu episode. but, my friends, they are alive and kicking in the city of chicago, and they are actively seeking young female companionship. while this is not the type of relationship i am looking for at all, it has been the foundation for multiple jokes and stories within my friends and family for the last two weeks. it also really helped while making a christmas list this year, because it is only when you have the opportunity to be a sugar baby that you really think of all of the frivolous shit you don’t need but wish you had.

~

in almost two months on the website, i have been on a few dates with a few men, none of them really sticking as friends or more. to be fair though, none of the men i dated that i met in bars stuck either. so, i wonder… is this a millennial thing? a short attention span thing? a twenty-something thing?

i can order my groceries online and have them sent to my apartment within an hour. i can order dinner from the sushi place on the corner online and pick it up within twenty minutes (and use a coupon!!). i can order clothes online from asos or free people and see them in my mailbox in 7 – 10 business days. now, i can order myself a date with drinks on thursday night, a movie date for saturday, and a late dinner for monday after my run.

but is this what dating is? because i am so unfamiliar (even with) the concept. i am not so sure how wonderful it is. it makes me feel very uncomfortable. before i decided to start this little adventure, i was extremely confident and comfortable with myself. now? i’m not so sure.

at a bar, you can smile at a guy and he will do one of a few things: he will smile back, he will approach, he will make conversation, he will offer to buy you a drink, or he will run, terrified, back to his girlfriend. with any of these, you have an answer. he is either interested, or he’s just not that into you.

but online… you can rate a guy 4/5 stars (but never 5/5, because, who’s kidding? no one is that perfect) and never hear from him. you can wink at him, nudge him, send him a (virtual) flower (wtf is this about, btw?), or even a flirtatious message acknowledging a common interest, and you’ll never hear back from him. or you’ll get a notification that he has viewed your profile.

the playing fields seem level, right? at a bar, they see your face and body. online, they view six meticulously chosen pictures. in person, they can see smile and disposition along with any evident sense of humor or quirkiness. online, they can read an entire profile filled with anything you choose. in person, you get one minute to make a good first impression, but someone could analyze your dating profile for as long as they’d like.

it all feels very high maintenance to me. for something that was supposed to be a fun distraction, it feels a lot like work. but every time i go on a break with online dating, i end up going back to it. which means that there has to be some negative, psychological something going on, right? there is science out there somewhere that says “online dating is bad for you. stop doing it.” but we can’t. but i can’t.

i am stuck in this weird carrie – like situation of feeling like i need some male to distract me from what i want. maybe that is because i don’t know what i want besides someone to hold my hand through sloshy snow between the road and sidewalk. or to carry my groceries. or to let me bitch about how terrible or wonderful or funny something (or someone) was. but carrie never online dated. hell, carrie hardly had an email address or a cell phone. what would she think of tinder? okcupid? j date? would she feel the need to validate herself with her zoosk popularity score?

so for now, i’m not sure what i think about online dating. but that sugar daddy is starting to look a little better… (joking… kind of… but really, they exist).

without words

titling something like this is extremely difficult for me. mostly because i’m not sure how to write about a topic like this – a topic like feminism – without being “that girl”. but, if you are my friend on facebook, and i think most of you are, you already know that i have a tendency to be "that girl" because i post a lot of feminist articles. a lot of pro-being-a-lady articles. because i am a lady, and i also happen to love lots of ladies, and i think that everyone should respect ladies. i also think that everyone should respect everyone, but right now i'm specifically speaking on ladies.

a few recent events in my life sparked the desire to write about my identity as a feminist. the most recent of those being my lack of interest in the workings of electronics. last christmas, my parents bought me a tv i wasn’t really interested in and hooked it up to a blu ray player (with netflix) that i have since fallen in love with. my dad set the tv up. my dad also changes the oil in my car, fixes soles of my broken shoes, and holds me when i’m sad. and he’s never forced me to participate in activities like changing the oil in my car (i would check it every week instead and fill it when it needed) or setting up a tv and blu ray player because he knew i. was. not. interested. i am still uninterested. not because those are “boy things” or male roles – because i could care less about how a car works unless it’s not getting me where i need to be. i only care about the tv’s functionality when it’s not working.

so when my identity as a feminist was (teasingly) challenged by some friends because i asked a male to set up my blu ray player, i got a little peeved and a little defensive. because i had asked a girl for help first (but she turned me down), and because i could do it myself – but i didn't want to. …does that make me a bad feminist? does that make me a feminist at all?

i would not consider myself a radical feminist. i don’t hate men. i don’t see men as the demise to a society that is constantly putting down women. i also don’t consider myself to be a lesbian, which is what someone in one of my classes at community college asked me when i said i was a feminist. i shave my legs. i also shave my armpits when i can remember. i like to wear dresses. sometimes i wear a bra, but when i don’t it’s not because i’m making a statement… it’s because i hate bras. i will spend a ridiculous amount of money on something that i can wear that makes me feel good about myself. i wear makeup – sometimes a lot, sometimes not a lot. i do not consider my sense of fashion a political statement. i wear baggy, loose clothes because they are comfortable, not because i don't want people looking at my body. i wouldn’t say birkenstocks are my #1. being a vegetarian has nothing to do with my feminist agenda or my sexuality.

and i do read a lot of feminist literature. but i don’t think i could every marry someone who didn’t identify as a feminist. i also find it increasingly difficult to be friends with people who don’t identify as even a little feminist or support a feminist movement. especially when they are female. to be an anti-feminist female just seems crazy to me. i also understand that unless someone has been directly impacted by some type of gender inequality it is difficult for them to identify as a feminist. this saddens me, because i do not believe it should take rape or eating disorders or a difference in paycheck for someone to support equality.

~this is the thing i struggle the most with, because as a feminist i think "HOW CAN YOU NOT SUPPORT WOMEN AND WOMENS RIGHTS. AREN'T YOU A WOMAN?" but as a true feminist, i know that i have to support every woman in her choice to identify however she desires.~

what is even more crazy to me is when people say that they think feminism is irrelevant because they don’t see the problems. they fail to see the issues. this is when i stay silent in conversations because i know this person is much too involved in their own life to have compassion and understanding for others, despite my facts, statistics, and argument. to say that women’s rights issues don’t exist would be similar to saying that gay rights issues don’t exist or that black people are treated equally. it would be like saying that women, in all capacities, are treated equally to men.

which might be true if we lived in a world where we could tell the difference between quotes from rapists and quotes from men’s magazines.

or if society would stop telling us what is pretty is what is ugly.

or maybe if we stopped listening.

it might be true if we started really listening to the victims instead of blaming them because of what they were wearing, what they had been drinking, and their sexual patterns… or lack thereof.

do you think women would stop apologizing if they felt empowered and confident enough to say what they want? or don’t want?

maybe if we stop telling each other that we are the rules, and not the exceptions we will truly start to see the beauty within. YOU ARE THE EXCEPTION, YOU ARE!

maybe if we start seeing miley as a twenty-year-old girl instead of a slut and a bad influence.

maybe if superwoman makes it to the big screen… maybe.

i never thought i was a feminist until i took a history class at community college on gender and sexuality. in this class, from an amazing woman, i learned about all of the efforts from so many women that have given me the rights i have today. i feel responsible to spread the message of equality for all – regardless of gender or race or sexual preference… things that never had definitions until we decided they needed them.

so i am #sorrynotsorry if you don’t agree with me. and i am #sorrynotsorry if you think my articles are radical, irrelevant, or annoying. because as a woman, and as a “one-out-of-every-five” woman, i will not be quiet. namaste.

crying in a crowd of people

a little over a year ago, a coworker from 7602 introduced me to a lot of things. the best of those things being a tiny blonde singer named lucy rose. so about two months ago in august, while everyone at my going away party was chatting about chicago: why they’d been and when they were going back, this person mentioned that they were visiting in the beginning of october for a concert to see lucy. for $15, i was totally in.

i had listened to lucy on occasion. she has a few songs that i really like. they showed up on a few spotify playlists, but she isn’t the soundtrack to my life (enter beyoncé, the dixie chicks and fleetwood mac).

so when we showed up at schubas, a pretty intimate (but well known) venue/bar in lakeview early october, i was a little nervous. it’s not like i really knew the words to every song. we sat and got something to drink. it’s especially in little places like schubas that i like to people watch. you are close enough to hear everything people say, but far enough away that they probably don’t notice how intently you are paying attention to them. there, it seemed like everyone knew each other.

“oh, that’s her.” i looked around for lucy, but i wasn’t sure where she was until someone moved out of the way. she is very small and very blonde. my kind of girl. we didn’t see her again until she went on stage, probably two vodka cranberries later.

they played a lot of music i was unfamiliar with. nevertheless, she is great on stage and great in general. the thing i liked most about the concert was that she made mistakes. well, maybe that was not my favorite part. my favorite part was that she acknowledged these mistakes. they were there, we knew they were there, and she did not hide from them. i think that took courage. because isn’t “fake it until you make it” a thing? people say that, right? “if you mess up, just keep going… no one will know the difference.” i call bullshit. i like it when people say something and start over. give yourself the justice of your work being as great as the efforts you have put into it. and that is what she did.

the thing i liked second most was that she spoke directly to the audience. there was so much dialogue. as if beyoncé could ever do that. given the opportunity, would she? even though this is my second favorite thing about that night, i think it was also the beginning of my demise. because with chatting comes song requests, and with those song requests came “shiver” and “gamble”. i hadn’t heard them before because, as i said before, i didn’t really commit myself to listening to her music.

but there i was, listening to someone request “gamble”. lucy was a little hesitant. “it helped me get through my last breakup,” the girl in the audience said. oh shit. of course it did. i wanted to leave. being a part of a broken couple is something i am learning to deal with. it's hard, to say simply. i really wanted to leave. i had to pee anyway, but my feet were stuck; i had a little bit of a sleeping foot. so there i was, looking up at this small, blonde person; wishing i was in so many other places. but my gut was turning itself inside out, and i had that choking feeling in my throat. not the kind that you are actually choking, but the kind that feels like a snake is slowly constricting your throat. the air is there, it is ready to breathe, but you can’t get it. this is when i started feeling nervous because i knew i was going to lose it a little.

i listened, and i cried. not such big tears that my mascara was ruined, but those small tears that sneak out of the corner of your eye and camp out on the top of your cheek before falling to your chin. and then you have to decide: do i wait for it to fall, or do i wipe it off? i decided to let them sit there for a bit. they snuck their way out, and they deserved to breathe just as much as i did.

october is such a difficult month for me. it is my birthday month and (in my opinion) the death month of summer. as much as i truly love the month, i always find myself being the most emotional during october. and it's not because i'm sad to be older, or really that sad that summer is over. i think that october is just my month for feeling everything at once.

despite the tears, the night ended up being really enjoyable. it was a nice little light on what had been a difficult two weeks. which is kind of hard to put into text, because i think i am a pretty happy, positive person. and admitting sadness feels a bit like admitting failure, which terrifies me. but i think it’s okay; i’m learning to believe it is okay.

life lately according to my iphone

 via Lara Kechichian Photography

chances are if you follow me on instagram that you've already seen some of these. but other chances are that if you are my mother, you haven't! so here is my life lately according to some pictures from my phone. since i'm having a bit of trouble regulating a schedule for my blog, and i have posts marinating in my computer hard drive... i'm just waiting for the right moment. in the meantime, here are some pictures.

my first trip on the metra

it was about five months ago when my sister let me know she would be in the chicago suburbs during labor day weekend. a fifteen minute walk plus an hour ride on the train would get me about five minutes away from where she was staying.

i’ve never ridden a train before. okay, lie. i once rode a train in san francisco. i was ten, and my parents did all of the ticket buying and train mounting, ect. this time was all me.

my knowledge of the city is basically none. i know how to read and ride the trains and busses, so i’m good to get places… but once i leave the train or get off the bus, i am usually lost. my sense of direction is terrible. i become completely disoriented and have to collaborate with my phone to figure out where the lake is and whether i want to go towards it or away from it.

regardless, i easily took the train from my apartment for just one stop and had to walk about 4 blocks to the metra station. simple. until i walked two blocks passed (past?) w madison where the train station was supposed to be. okay, turn around. turns out w madison is only signed on one side of the street. i was not amused, but i was also early. no big deal. i decided to double check with a woman in scrubs (my mom wears scrubs sometimes… i bet this woman is like my mom) who was checking herself out in the reflection of a  building (i check out myself in the reflections of buildings… i bet this woman is like me).

“excuse me? do you know where ogilvie station is?” “what the hale do i look like? a damn map?” i gave her sad eyes, but she scoffed at me. she is not like my mother. she is nothing like me.

okay, i shook it off and kept walking. the same building that also served as a mirror had some signs inside. “METRA”. seemed legit. but i was looking for something with “ogilvie station” in script. something romantic. something railroad. oh, there it was. in tiny letters… next to the sign that says “no smoking within 25 feet of building entrance.” i took it anyways and blindly followed a man up an escalator towards more metra signs. i ended up following him towards multiple revolving doors only to realize there was a ticket booth! with a line… i had 15 minutes until my train left. plenty of time.

after waiting for about two minutes, three early-mid twenties men guys ran toward the ticket line. they were displeased with the line. i was displeased that two of them were wearing classic-style crocs. they asked if anyone had a train leaving after 8:35. mine left at 8:40, but no way would i let those croc-wearing dopes cut in front of me and the ten people behind me. apparently i was not alone, because no one even blinked at them. they got in line and continued to heckle people until a woman in front of me finally gave in. they reached to the ticket window and the woman behind it was hardly moved by their eagerness. they spit out some mumbo jumbo about being on a non-profit trip, ect, ect. he told her he loved her. i hate it when people use lines like that.

“i’ll love you forever if you get me a packet of truvia.”

“thank you for sharpening my pencil. i love you.”

saying things like that just depreciate the value of the word love… but more on that topic some other time.

long story short, the guys took their tickets and ran to the revolving door of their choice. we never had to see them again, and we all lived happily ever after. until i sat by what i decided must be the chi-town equivalent of a jersey shore guidette. aka, girls that go into the city for the night and take (what my sister called) the train (of shame) home to whatever suburb they crawled out of.

despite the girls, the rest of the trip was seemingly uneventful. i credit this to my iTunes library.

~

now for a little game i like to call: things heard on the metra 

“yeah, grandma and grandpa don’t really go to that mcdonald’s anymore… they are more going to the ______ one.” “oh, yeah, why?” “because it’s lots closer to where they go shopping and stuff. there’s lots of stores over there. like the kohl’s… and the jewel… and whatever.”

the girls sitting two seats behind me were giggling and projecting their conversation over the entire train. apparently girl #1 was texting a “douche bag” and girl #2 didn’t approve. girl #1 then discussed some recent sexcapades and sextcapades. they decided to go to walmart later that day.

there is a man in the seat across the aisle from me playing a game on his phone. from the rapid movements, i’m guessing candy crush or temple run.

a man behind the man playing games on his phone is resting his head on the seat in front of him (the back of game player’s seat). their heads are three inches from each other. neither seem to care.