Tag: humor

7 Unforgivable Transgressions

MissM3 Comments

It goes without saying that a majority of the actions committed by other people irk me at best. I could write one hell of a lengthy post on everything that bothers me about other people. But on this fine Saturday, i’d like to focus on a select handful or two of unforgivable behaviors that will result in either an act of violence or verbal abuse from me. 

1. People who say, or have ever said, “make me a sammitch” 

Yes, folks. We’re talking about sexism. I’m sure it comes to no surprise to you that this made the top of my list, but all of these Kitchen Jokes have got to go. It’s 2014 for heaven’s sake. The whole “women belong in the kitchen” thing stopped being funny before kitchens were even a thing. And why is there no male equivalent for Kitchen Jokes? You don’t hear me telling my dude friends, “why don’t you go open some jars or something?” Why? BECAUSE IT’S NOT FUNNY. Not only are people who vocalize these “jokes” assholes, they’re admitted, ignorant, bigamistic assholes, and deserve a hammer to the esophagus. 

2. Grammar/Spelling “Mistakes”

I don’t believe in ‘typos.’ That’s called laziness. Freak, everything has spellcheck these days, along with grammar check if you’re on Microsoft Word. If you’re not sure how to spell a word, you probably can’t use it correctly, either, so stick to the smaller ones you’re familiar with okay? And stop contaminating my news feed with posts “lyke dis kayyy boyz & gurls?” 

3. Condescension

If you want to stir me up into a tornado of pissed-off fury, call me “sweetie” or “hun.” I can tolerate it if you’re from the South and you call everybody “hun,” but only if you have a legitimate accent as well as proof of residency. It’s no secret that I appear to be 16 years old at best (with a full face of makeup, of course. Bare-faced, I could MAYBE pass for 14) but trust me, I will harshly correct you in an unapologetic, interrupting manner if you dare talk down to me. That’s an insult to my intelligence and I won’t have it. I will. not. have. it. 

4. Telling me to turn my music down 

No. 

5. Cheapskates 

By this, I mean people who don’t tip appropriately. A wise man (or woman, I’m not really sure what the gender of this wise being is)  once said, “If you can’t afford to tip, you can’t afford to go out.” I concur. Perhaps it’s just because I spent some time waiting tables at this little diner in my hometown that I have noticed this instance of injustice. Let me just say, there is nothing more disheartening and disappointing than waiting on an indecisive, picky, ungrateful table of 6 to find nothing but three singles on their table after they’d trashed the entire booth and left. 

6. Diet Talk

Unless I specifically ask you about your nutritional regime, I don’t want to hear a word about your latest diet fad. Not a word, you hear me? And have you noticed these type of conversations only occur on Sunday evenings over triple chocolate brownies? Shhh, dear. Here, have another brownie. Do you want ice cream on top? 

7.  Truth-dancer-arounders

In the words of John Mayer, Say What You Need To Say. Wanna break up? TELL ME. Mad at me? LET ME KNOW. Disagree with me? PROVE ME WRONG. When it comes to situations as these, less is more. And by less, I mean less words. Just spit it out, and i’ll deal. Whatever you’re about to tell me is gonna piss me off anyway, probably, and i’d prefer you just cut to the chase so I can be pissed and move on already.

I’m sure I could come up with way more than 7 sins, but 7’s a good number, plus it’s Saturday and I have ish to do for school so I’ll restrain myself.  

If y’all could abstain from committing these misdeeds immediately, that would be peachy. 

M. 

Ingress

MissM2 Comments

I absolutely DESPISE when people say, “don’t let it get to ya, champ!” after someone else tells you something hurtful or offensive. Trust me, sir, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not “let it get to me.” But there’s this cute little thing called emotions, and when people are insensitive, it makes me hypersensitive. 

I have noticed recently that it is mostly when a select few males give their oh-so-entitled and completely unwarranted opinions that I get the most upset.  

“I liked your hair better blonde.” 

“Are you gonna eat that whole thing? You’ll get fat!” 

“You should start running, or go to the gym!” 

“You’re skin is pasty.” 

Not to generalize, but I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I verbalized my verdict on a man’s appearance without him asking for my opinion.  

But for some odd reason, many men I’ve encountered in my life seem to feel that their opinion is always welcome because I am always in pursuit of their approval. 

As a girl in this world, I have plenty of societal pressure for acceptance without added remarks on a personal level, thank you. I already know that I’ll never be beautiful until I look like Kate Hudson or J-Lo (which is literally impossible unless you ironed and stretched me out like Play-Doh, removed each of my zillion upon zillions of freckles, gave me a spray tan and cheek bones, breast implants, hair extensions, and lipo.) 

But aside from being a girl, I am also a human. A flawed one. I’m short. I have zero muscle definition. My skin is comparable to an albino’s. Seven times out of ten, my hair is a frizzy mess. I don’t have an airbrushed complexion, or eyes as big as the moon. 

Y’know what I do have, though? A brain. And a personality. 

So how about instead of pointing out and re-pointing out all of my visual shortcomings why don’t you try commenting on my personality? 

Instead of, “you look good in that blouse,” why don’t you try, “you are so funny, you crack me up!”

I, for one, would MUCH rather be complimented on my personality, thoughts, accomplishments, and creative humor than my hair, legs, or outfit choice.  

To be frank, I don’t care if you like what you see. Because I like it. 

In the words of my idol, Tina Fey, “do your thing, and don’t care if they like it.” 

This is my new motto, folks. 

M. 

Practical Jokesters

MissM3 Comments

I have developed a theory over the past month and a half of my debut in the adultish-professional world.

The Illusionistic Theory of Selective Adulthoodism: there is no such thing as a transition from child to grown-up. Rather, with age and experience, one simply becomes more and more capable of discerning when situations demand a stiff, boring bloke. The rest of the time, they are free to continue being the REAL them.

I will now describe my visual observations in a highly scientific and intelligent manner.

At work the other day, after assisting a customer like the diligent little worker bee that I am, I turned around to find that my cell phone had been completely saran-wrapped and placed on the counter behind me, and my adultish-aged coworker leaning against the counter with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Naturally, after freeing my 4S from its plastic captivity, I threw the remains, along with a note that formally declared war, at his noggin.

That same day, another coworker decided to mess with MY computer. Apparently, with the proper strokes of a keyboard, you are able to flip the display on the screen completely upside-down. And apparently, putting tape on the bottom of one’s mouse interferes with its functionality.

This is what I get for being the sole female in a workplace full of non-females.

Naturally, I must seek revenge from these quipsters. This is war. I am the alpha.

I now extend to you, dear reader, an invitation to provide me with pranks of equal value to inflict upon the enemies.

Please leave your suggestions in the comments box below. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Over and out.

M.

Talking In Movie Theaters And Other Common Indecencies

MissM4 Comments

I am really, really trying to force myself to enjoy being around other people in public settings. I’m the type of girl who will go anywhere and do anything by herself. Shopping, hiking, bowling, walks, going to Cold Stone or any other eatery, you name it! And, of course, movie watching. (Although, I can’t help but feel bad when I see other people doing these things alone.) People make it really hard for me to enjoy their company when they engage in an abundance of behavioral indecencies. 

Take yesterday, for example. I finally went with a buddy of mine to see a late showing of Spider Man 2 (Bravo to Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone, by the way. Flawless.) It was an exceptionally slow night at the movie theater, even for a Monday. There were no more than 7 people seated in the entire auditorium.

Seated a row in front of us and slightly to our right hand side, were two fellow film spectators, all loaded up with extra large drinks and a bucket full of buttery, probably diabetes-inducing, popcorn. My greatest pet peeve in the world is being able to hear other people eat popcorn. It is the most repugnant of sounds a human is capable of making. And I would not hesitate to shank a sucker who chomped that stuff in my ear.

So, as a public safety to the moviegoers around me, I always isolate myself in the very last row of seats, and out of earshot of concession consumers.

The seven of us were all comfortably seated and deeply immersed into the plot. Well, I take that back. 5 out of 7 of us were deeply immersed in the plot. The other two were the hoggish, popcorn-chomping chums sitting diagonally from me. I kid you not, every 12 seconds, one of them would turn to the other and LEGITIMATELY YELL OVER THE FILM’S AUDIO.

The first time they decided to rudely intervene with my movie experience, I turned my head and gave them the glare of death. Unfortunately, in a dim theater, people can’t see your glare of death signifying them to cease their reprehensable behavior. The second time, I was on the brink of snapping. I did NOT pay 9 dollars of my hard-earned cash to have my viewing of Spider Man 2 ravaged by two inconsiderate jerk faces. 

They continued their chatter throughout the movie, and it took every ounce of willpower in my little body to not march over there and give them a piece of my mind. I resisted. Why? Because I WOULDN’T WANT TO DISTRACT FROM ANYONE ELSE’S ENJOYMENT OF THE MOVIE. Because I am a considerate, well-behaved lady. 

Another thing that I cannot, and will not tolerate, is the chewing of one’s lollipops. The other day, I was in the waiting room at the doctor’s office with my mommy because no almost-19-year-old should be expected to endure a meeting with her physician on her own. 

There was a man and his son seated behind us. The son stood up, went to the front desk, and grabbed a handful of dumdums to share with his father. They both unwrapped their suckers and simultaneously began to chomp their lollipops right off the stick. The sonacy of their crunching of hard candy resonated throughout the entire doctor’s office. I was gripping the sides of my chair until my knuckles turned white. It took all I had in me to not freak out in anger and annoyance. 

As a re-cap, just don’t eat loud foods in front of other people. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I think that my tolernace of other peoples’ presence would significantly improve if they would just be more considerate of the sounds they make when they consume things. Loud chewers stir a sense of hatred and rage in me. 

Actually, beyond that, let’s all just be considerate and sensitive to how our behavior might affect those around us. That way I will be less inclined to punch total strangers in the larynx. If we all did this, the world would be a happier, and much less violent place. 

Vote Maddie for president. 

M. 

Grievances On Usage Of Mobile Devices In Social Settings

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This rant comes with a side of hypocracy, which I am taking full accountability for. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am just as addicted to my cell phone as the next self-aborbed pre-adult. Seven times out of eight, you’ll probably catch me with my nose in my phone and my thumbs dancing over the screen. However, just like line dancing, there is a time and a place for cell phone usage. 

The purpose of a mobile device is to serve as a medium for communication between two or more distant people. But due to this strikingly boring process that I won’t go in depth about called “convergence culture,” our phones do much more than send and receive phone calls, as their original functions were meant to be. 

This amplifies our time spent on the cell phone itself. Now we can send a tweet, play scrabble and fruit ninja, and browse the “humor” section on Pinterest, all from the same device. What can’t these things do? 

All of these additions and improvements and apps are great and wonderful, but as I said earlier, there is a time and a place to immerse yourself in the technological world of the iPhone or Android. And that time and place is alone, or in your bed at 11:30 at night when you can’t sleep, or when you’ve spotted a cat stuck in a tree and need to contact the fire department. 

However, that time and place is NOT when you are in attendance at a social event. Social events include, but are not limited to, dinners, parties, get-togethers, dates, the movies, lunch with friends, or even breakfast with friends. 

Exhibit A: The other day, I invited friends over to hang out at my place of residence. I kid you not, at least half of our four-man group was on his/her phone at any given time. Personally, when I am in a situation like this, I prefer to interact verbally with the people I am surrounded with. Unfortunately, not everyone shares the same desire. 

We put a movie in (Warrior, in case you were wondering. Y’know, the one about the Physics teacher who turns out to be a bad-A cage fighter), but I seemed to be the only one watching. The other three in my company were all deeply engaged in games, texting, snapchats, or whatever else. One of these fellows even had his arm around me, but both hands, and 100% of his attention span, firmly fixed on his cell phone. 

If you’re with other people, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to put your phone in your pocket and, oh, I dunno, start a conversation the old-fashioned way. At least for an hour or so. 

I have no problem with the occasional check-in on your phone for updates, texts, or whatever. But do you really have to play games and ignore the real-life people around you? Why can’t we all just be fully present where we are every once in a while? 

Like I said at the beginning of this post, I am not spotless or guilt-free in regards to cell-phone use in a social setting. But I also don’t let my attention span become completely consumed by a virtual game when I am with other people. 

It seems as though everyone these days, myself included, have had their social skills damaged by the use of a device that’s supposed to make us even more social. And that’s pretty sad. 

In an awkward situation, rather than strike up a conversation and actually get to know the person we’re with, we yank out the phone and act like we have someone else to be texting, rather than converse with another human. I know you’ve done it, and I most certainly know that I have too. 

Here’s to face-to-face interaction!

M. 

 

Car-Gazing

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I am a girl of many hobbies. My list of hobbies is topped off by items such as, but not limited to, sweatpants-wearing, carbohydrate-consuming, and, of course, people-watching.

My homosapien-observing abilities seem to amplify when I am behind the wheel of my adorably typical, silver Toyota Camry. If I am going to be frank (and I’m going to), I probably shouldn’t ever be occupying the driver’s seat in the first place. Let’s just say my driving record isn’t exactly spotless and leave it at that. Okay?

Anyway, I don’t know what it is about driving, but it becomes exceedingly easy to become distracted while commuting alone in your vehicle. Naturally, I always have my Panic! At The Disco CD’s blaring through my speakers to help me stay alert while on the road. My little car has a surprisingly strong base if you crank the volume loud enough.

Yes, I’m that girl. The one with all of her windows down, one foot on the dash, left arm hanging out the window in a thug-like manner, while the entire car rattles in sync with the beat of This Is Gospel. And, of course, belting not only the lyrics, but the guitar, drums, bass, and back-up vocals simultaneously. What can I say? I’m a one-man show.

While veering in and out of traffic on the highway on the way to viva la university or wherever else I’m going (Probably the library, or some place that sells edible substances), my eyes tend to wander off the road and into the windows of other peoples’ cars. Is that creepy?

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive their cars. For example, by observing me through the windshield, you can correctly infer that I am a delightfully happy, glamorous, musically-inclined beauty.

Have you ever been at a stoplight and looked over to the car next to you and caught someone in the midst of a car-cry? It’s best to sympathetically look away and pretend you never saw them and make sure that as soon as that freakin’ light turns green, you get yourself out of that situation.

The best kind of people to catch eye-contact with on the road are the wavers. The ones who are happy campers just like yourself, probably lip-syncing some totally rad track (woah, sorry bout the 90’s lingo), and give you the “nod of fellowship” or the “wave of brotherhood.” (Or sisterhood, I am in no mood to get technical.) We should all collectively drive like this.

Then there’s the texters. I feel like a substitute teacher catching an ignorant teenager grinning at his crotch while he thumbs some stupid message to his homeboys in another class when I see someone texting and driving. Except for the fact that I can’t send the culprit to the principal’s office for immediate disciplinary action like the sub can.

Don’t text and drive, people. Just don’t do it.

Where was I?

Other types of drivers… Oh! The eaters. They’re my favorite. I once witnessed a woman down 3/4ths of an entire cheeseburger in one bite while stopped at an intersection. She must be a human-chipmunk hybrid of sorts. And a hungry one at that. No judgement, just pure admiration.

Stay weird while driving, my friends.

M.

Reasons Why I want To Be Tina Fey

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Image

Recently, I stumbled upon Bossypants, a gem of a book written by the delightfully comical Tina Fey. It was one of those books that you read cover-to-cover in one night, regardless of the fact that you have two finals to take in the morning and haven’t done a lick of studying. If you haven’t read it yet, you really need to figure out what time-waster needs to be eliminated from your life and get reading. 

It’s quite possibly the best piece of feminist literature since The Declaration of Sentiments.  

Now, without further ado, here are the reasons why I want to be Tina Fey. 

1. Her flawless Sense of Humor: A trait we both have in common. Seriously, though, I’m pretty sure the general public can come to a consensus that Tina Fey is a master of comedy. From playing Sarah Palin on SNL to Kate from Baby Mama, she  can get a sincere laugh out of just about anybody. Not only in a professional, scripted setting, but in her everyday life as well. Her entire book is her narration of real events from both her normal and professional life. 

2. She Acknowledges Her Shortcomings: Throughout her book, Tina Fey distinctly illustrates her flaws. She is fully conscious of her limitations. Fey narrates significant events from her life starting from childhood, and throughout the pages, she anecdotes times that she admittedly screwed up. 

3. She Embraces Her Flaws: Fey mentions multiple times how weird her feet are. Personally, i’ve never seen them, but apparently she was given some deformed feet. But you know what? Not once does she wish she had normal feet. She even says she wouldn’t trade hers for the most beautiful feet there ever were. She talks about her “gut” and how she’s a pasty-dough ball. What she doesn’t do is wish for a perfect, model body. She knows that she is human. 

4. She’s Part-German: This implies that she’s also part-fiery and harsh. If you read back to my bio, you’ll find that I, too, am part-German. Deutschland ist das beste! 

5. She Can Laugh At Herself: One chapter is entirely dedicated to her responding to her own hatemail. Rather than retaliate by getting offensive and defensive, Fey goes along with her anti-fans’ insulting words and even (sarcastically) admits to their claims. And THAT is how class and wit is done. 

6. She Has A Daughter And Her Dream Job: At one point in her book, she talks about how there was a time when she was trying to get Oprah onto her show 30 Rock, plan a Peter Pan birthday party for her daughter, and write for SNL all at the same time. All three events were equally important to her, and she even finished planning details of her daughter’s party in between shoots at 30 Rock and SNL. 

7. She Has Fantastic Legs: Need I say more? 

8. She Knows How To Identify Sexism In The Workplace: Rather than play the victim, Fey brings to her readers’ attention the gender stereotypes in the world of comedic actors and writers. She knows that there are ignorant people out there who claim that women can’t be funny the way men can, and should stick to playing the role of the ditzy cheerleader or supportive housewife. But she doesn’t let that stop her from continuing her work the way she wants to do it. She doesn’t care if you like it. 

In short, Tina Fey is my idol. 

Now go forth and read Bossypants, my dear readers. 

M. 

 

The Eloquent Salesman

MissM3 Comments

Hate is a strong word, but I really really really don’t like the kiosk guys at the mall. 

As if the infinite, bombarding advertisements in the store windows weren’t enough, we now need walking, talking, breathing advertisements to shove more products down our throats and suck the dough right out of our wallets. 

Kiosk guys are the most incessant, vexatious breed of salespeople. And just as the best of arguers, I am prepared to abet my argument with viable evidence. 

Kiosk guys choose their targets in a very scrupulous manner. Even when you think you’ve escaped their gaze, they’re watching. Waiting. Constantly pursuing their next dupe. 

But, ladies and gentlemen, I am no dupe. 

Exhibit A: 

There I was, artlessly roaming the mall. Consciously desisting eye contact with the enemy. Gazing longingly through store windows at items that I could only afford in my dreams, subconsciously anticipating the possibility of a sales-pitch confrontation. 

And boy, did I get a sales-pitch confrontation. 

A man leaning against a kiosk, selling some kind of fancy hand cream had spotted me. He watched me from behind his spectacles  as I wandered nearer and nearer to his booth. As soon as the opportunity arose, the hawker snatched my dainty wrist and pumped a coin-sized dot of lotion onto my hand and began massaging it into my skin. 

I gave him a befuddled look and attempted to pull my hand back to my side but he resisted. The man didn’t speak English well, but his sales pitch went something along the lines of how his product would enhance and rejuvenate my fair, dry, and cracking skin. I decided i’d humor him, and inquired the price of his miracle cream. The man wanted 29.99 for a 3-month supply of his lotion. Outrageous. 

Do people actually pay that much for lotion? I buy the Equate brand from Walmart that costs me about six bucks and it gets the job done just fine. Plus I only run out of it biannually. 

Continuing with my anecdote, I allowed the kiosk guy to finish verbalizing his rehearsed spiel of reasons why I needed his product. (Mostly because he was rubbing my hands the entire time. Which beyond creepy and made me a captive audience.) I nodded and thanked him for the free handful of lotion, and continued, rather irritatedly, on my way. 

This whole encounter took up roughly five minutes of my valuable time. (Kidding, it’s not really that valuable, and I had nothing better to do.) And the kiosk guy clearly overstepped his boundaries by physically forcing me to listen to his live infomercial. If I remember correctly, I hadn’t shown an ounce of interest in purchasing hand cream that day. 

This aggressive method of selling not only makes me want to visit malls less, it makes me totally resistant to purchasing anything from a kiosk ever in my entire life. 

My words of retail shopping wisdom: Keep your limbs in tight and your eyes on the floor. 

Mr. No-Good-For-Me

MissM7 Comments

Scenario: Boy finds girl on Facebook. Boy initiates small talk with girl via online messaging. Boy showers girl in compliments regarding her beauty and flawless sense of humor. Boy offers girl number and suggests that girl texts him. She does. Boy and girl continue flirtatious conversations over text message for a day or two before boy decides to ask girl on date.

Girl accepts boy’s offer. Boy picks girl up, does all the right things, makes all the right moves, and sweeps her off her feet. On this first date, boy kisses girl. A lot.

Boy and girl continue to “get to know one another” through virtually every medium, besides face-to-face interaction. Boy “likes” all of girl’s photos on social networking sites, continually complimenting her on her “foxiness” and playing the part of a gentleman with an infatuation for a lady. Leading her to believe that he has a liking for her. Girl decides that she likes boy, too, and begins to feel genuine fondness toward him. Gradually, the texts from boy decrease and the depth of their conversations shallow to virtually nothing. Weeks pass by before boy decides he’d like to see girl again. She agrees, and they meet up for ice cream. Boy kisses girl again. A lot.

But the interest that boy had in girl is no longer there. It takes some time, but girl finally realizes that again, she has been used and objectified. She realizes that the only motivation boy has in getting to know girl is so that boy can kiss her. Girl is hurt.

Okay, that’s not a scenario. It’s a real-life situation.”Girl” is me. And let me tell you, I am sick and tired of this scenario. I don’t know if this is a personal issue, but all of my latest suitors tend to think that it’s okay to kiss me on the first date. That it’s okay to string me along just long enough for me to think that there’s something there, and then back up until they feel like an M.O. session.

Admittedly, I am a phenomenal kisser. It really is no wonder why boys gravitate to my lips. (Joking, everybody.) But what boy is doing to girl is WRONG and unjustifiable.

Let’s start with the root of the problem: the kiss. And the lack of meaning behind it. I don’t know about you, dear reader, and I may be old-fashioned, but to me, a kiss signifies mutual feelings of affection toward each other. Notice I used the word “affection,” not “attraction.”

Unfortunately, far too often, the kiss is no longer a signifier for anything more than lust. But it still seems to hold its power to reinforce feelings of affection for the kissee to the kisser.

That was a lot of mumbo-jumbo. What i’m trying to get at here, is don’t kiss me until you are confident that you like me for who I am as a person rather than a pretty little thing to lay your eyes on, and are ready to show me that those feelings are there.

So here I am, confused, hurt, and frustrated, at myself, mostly. I am never one to initiate a kiss. But i’m not exactly one to stop one, either. But if he and I are not on the same page as to what  the kiss even means, then I am left to hope that our feelings are the same, and discover later that it was nothing more than a shallow action.

I guess that’s just one method of figuring out if a guy is going to be good for me or not. And now I know why my mom always insisted that I wait until the third date to kiss a boy. You were right, mom. I am now committing the three-date rule to a policy.

Good news is, I now know that boy is no good for me, and will no longer be giving him the authority to be not good for me. Lesson learned.

In summary, people suck. Watch out for the selfish and shallow. Trust only those who have proven worthy. It’s an every-man-for-himself type of world. And keep your walls high.

I apologize for my excessively cynical attitude. But I feel much better now.(:

Over and out.

M.

 

The Harm In Formality

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First dates are so formal. If you think about it, you spend three or four hours engaging in some sort of structured activity with another person, nervously and anxiously trying to impress the dude and try to get to know him at the same time.

My question is, how are you supposed to get to know someone when they are putting on a front just like you are in order to impress you? I know i’m guilty of spending an extra half hour making sure my hair has more bounce and shine than usual and that my eye makeup is just slightly darker in attempt to make my eyes that much more alluring, and sucking on breath mints until he arrives.

Then he comes to the door, wearing a just-more-than-casual button-up shirt that he may or may not have ironed beforehand, and wouldn’t be caught dead in on a typical day. You exchange a stiff “hello” and follow him to his car, where, if he is a “gentleman”, he will open the passenger door and wait for you to self-consciously climb inside before jogging around the automobile to climb in through the driver’s side.

I don’t care how much of a “gentleman” your date is, there is no way that he regularly opens the car door for his passengers. It’s just not natural.

As the time passes, slowly at first, but progressively faster, you anxiously and cautiously engage in a conversation in which all you can think about is the kind of person you’re coming across as and anticipating possible conversation-starters just in case, heaven forbid, the current topic of conversation dies out and you both end up sitting across the table in an awkward stupor of speechlessness, and how you only get one first impression and oh gosh now it’s raining and he’s going to see your hair transform into an untamed, frizzy mess and nobody is into an untamed frizzy mess.

Again, I thought the point of dating was to get to know someone and see if they make the cut for a second date, and eventually, a relationship. But it’s really hard to do that when you’re putting on a faker-than-fake persona that you THINK he will like. Let’s be honest, people. You can only hide your crazy for so long.

So there you are, sitting across the table with someone that you can now call an acquaintance, and the conversation is beginning to flow a little more freely. The tension is gradually being lifted and you feel yourself relax. That is, until it’s time to order, but luckily you’ve premeditated appropriate food options in order to avoid getting food on your attire, face, or worse, in between your teeth. And also, it can’t be a hamburger or else he’ll think you’re a total fatty.

Then there’s the matter of how much you should eat. You can’t possibly finish the entire dish in front of a GUY, even though you skipped out on lunch today and can feel your tummy eating itself it’s that hungry. And you better not eat more than he does. And you better not eat too fast, but you can’t take too long and make him wait for you, either.

What’s the big deal? If a guy is gonna treat me to a 12-dollar dinner at my favorite restaurant, you better believe I’m gonna enjoy it. ALL of it.

The date comes to a close, and let’s say hypothetically he does like this fake-o person you improvised, based on your assumptions of what he likes, and you get a second date with this suitor. How long are you going to play the part of the well-mannered, exceedingly polite, normal girl that you were on your first date? And by the way, he’s doing the same thing. Where does the formality stop, and a couple decides to be themselves instead?

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good, well-planned, structured date. But I HATE the pressure that comes with it. All it is is two people putting on a show for one another while out for a night of public entertainment. Maybe I’m the only one with this problem. I just find it immensely difficult to be myself on a date when there is a mutual expectation to behave as a proper, formal person who is just talkative enough to make herself interesting, but doesn’t give too much away, and is instantly intrigued with everything that comes out of her date’s mouth.

I guess everyone’s different, and some people just need some time to break out of their little shells when they’re around new people. But I just wish there weren’t so much pressure to impress people. On dates. In everyday life. Like I said, you can only hide your crazy for so long, and after spending X amount of time with the same person, they’re bound to meet the REAL you. And the faster you can be the REAL you around someone, the faster you can weed out the ones who aren’t going to stick around when they meet you in your entirety.

Can I get an amen?

M.