Different Kinds of Relationships

Went to the bar with my brother tonight and had a few drinks. We chatted about his girlfriend of three months and feminism.

Brother: The thing I like about her is that she's a real feminist. Equal everything. None of this "I want equal pay, and equal say, but the guy better hold the door for me and pay for dinner."

I've met the girlfriend a couple of times and quite like her. I'm hoping they'll work out long term. Her genes and my brother's would make cute kids.

Not too long before we left, one of the bar regulars I know came in. He'd never seen my brother before and introduced him. Then I asked if his girls were pregnant. Still no dice. Since my brother didn't know the story, the regular promptly filled him in.

Regular: See, they're lesbians. I've known the one for forever and she asked me for my, you know... So, I went to Paris for a few weeks and the one night they went across the street while I... you know. They went to a bar just across the street and watched the window, 'cause once I was done, I flicked the lights so they knew. Then it was turkey baster time.

McLeod's Daughters

I'm in the midst of season two of the Aussie TV show. The impressive bit is how these gals live in the middle of nowhere, on a ranch run by women only, and still meet enough men to keep the romantic plots running.

I live in town and work on a university campus which is swarming with people, and before that, worked at a bar as well, and yet my life has impressively little romantic plot.

Is it wrong to be jealous of fictional characters? The one I'm most jealous of is Tess. Why? You ask. This is why:

Dog Loathing

My dog has a persistent and vehement loathing for The Guy. A few weeks after I got her, I had a get-together for Memorial Day at my house. He came, my dog barked at him a lot. She also barked lots at another male friend who came on his own, as well as the married men who looked at her and/or tried to pet her. This is when I began to suspect that my pre-owned dog may have been abused in her past.

Yesterday, I had another get-together. In the past few months, I had begun to think my dog had gotten over her man hatred. She's best buds with my dad and brother and has no problem with guys when we're at the dog park. A while back I let in a guy trying to sell me a security system, and she didn't pay any attention to him at all.

First guests: a married couple. Dog didn't like the guy, but only got bark-y when he tried to pet her, and as the night went on, not even then. Next came some gals and my family. Last came The Guy. He walked in the door, my dog's hackles went up and they were not friends. She seemed to like him a bit when he had a plate of food in front of him, but once the food was gone, so was her good will.

So, my dog still hates The Guy's guts. I feel kind of bad for him, because he does everything right with her, but she still can't stand him. Feels symbolic somehow.

My Brother's Entertainment

My brother's in town for Christmas break. When he came over the other day, he saw the envelope on my table marked "Professor The Girl."

Brother: Hey, look at that. [suggestive eye wiggle] Is it from a boy student?
Me: Uh, yeah, it is.
Brother: Oooh. Somebody's got a crush.
Me: That's what Amanda said.
Brother: Is he cute?
Me: Don't even go there. It's not like that. He's a student, he's too young, and he's a student.
Brother: Aw, my sister's the cute English teacher. That's adorable.

"Healthy" Womanhood

I was all geared up to write a post about how I wore eyeshadow and liner out in public on Saturday. I was proud of myself. I even got a compliment from a friend of mine about how it looked nice.

Then, I read Penny Red's latest post. Boy did I feel shallow.

Except...

Who's braver: the girl who's afraid of not wearing makeup or the one who's afraid of wearing it?

High School Chums

A gal I knew in high school just put this on her facebook status update: "-- is looking at wedding pics and wants to get married again- to [hubby] of course :)"

My first reaction? Flipping my computer the bird.

Luckily, I just heard from another high school chum - one who, like me, hasn't quite started on the dream job and dream husband plan yet. She's in town this weekend and we're meeting up tonight at the bar where I used to work.

Single gals unite!

Nine Shades of Shadow

I walked into the drugstore and immediately to my left found what I was looking for. I walked the full length of the wall slowly. From top to bottom there were more lipsticks, blushes, eye shadows, and mascaras than I could count.

I had to fight the urge to run as panic rushed through me. On the outside, I looked calm. On the inside I was screaming, "Amanda! Where are you?! Amanda!" I took a deep breath and reminded myself of Amanda's advice, "When you buy makeup you've got to either buy the really expensive stuff, or the really cheap stuff."

After a short, confused eternity, I settled on a set/case (whatever it's called) with nine colors and high-tailed it to the checkout.

It's impressive how intimidating that was.

The Epitome of Lazy

Saturday = First day of (the long-anticipated) Thanksgiving break. (i.e. a whole week without classes, office hours, students, or papers to grade)

What did I do on Saturday? Mostly, I sat in front of the computer, watching episodes of Mythbusters and Eureka all day in my flannel pajamas. Took a bath, shaved my legs, but didn't wash my hair and got right back into my flannel PJs as soon as I was out.

On one hand, having a full day of sloth is delightful. On the other, boring. About one day is all I can take. It's been productive on the jewelry front, though. Between Friday night and Saturday, I whipped up three new slightly labor-intensive necklaces. Now I just need to go out in public to show them off.

On the girly front, I did a hair experiment today. I twisted pieces of my hair around itself and bobby pinned it, so my whole head had little twisty knots on top. Didn't have time to dry it out all the way, but the two sections at the front got there. Right out of the twist: poodle effect. After I clipped it back and let it relax a bit, more texture than poodle. I'll have to try it again. If I can get it right, I'll do it one day when we get back from break and show Amanda.

The Double Standard Problem

I found a new blogger today: To Miss With Love One of her posts, titled Damn White People has particularly caught my eye. It's also made some people angry.

For my own two cents, I'm very much behind what she's saying. At the beginning of November, there was an initiative on my state's ballot to get rid of the Affirmative Action laws in the state. It didn't pass, and I'm sad for that. Sad, because by the very act of having such laws, we imply that folks of minority aren't qualified for job X, because of their genetics. I can appreciate the reasons Affirmative Action laws were created in the first place, but aren't we past them yet?

Part of the reason I was such a tomboy as a kid and teen was because the double standard of gender pissed me off. I had a guy friend who didn't get this. He'd treat me in a particular way because I was female. Things like censoring his language, holding the door open for me, etc. One time we were playing chess. He, the much better chess player, kept letting me win because it was the "gentlemanly" thing to do. Yeah, I wanted to win, but I wanted to beat him, not be let to win. I could have smacked him.

Double standards are inherently insulting, no matter what type of double standard they are. As someone standing on the "Old Whitey" side of the fence, I am a little concerned of how my comments will be perceived (arrogant? prejudiced?), but Snuffy's commentary hit home with me, because though she's talking about race, the same principle can be applied to gender. I don't want to be treated "special" just because I have boobs. It's insulting.

Once upon a time, my dad proposed to my mom, saying "No wife of mine will ever work a day in her life." My mom looked him right in the eye and said, "Then I'm not going to be your wife." As you can guess, they worked things out, but I never would have happened if my dad had held on to the double standard.

Subtlety: Attempt One

Subtlety is not my thing. I like things (especially in terms of relationships) to be clear. So, when in doubt, I tend to get blunt.

Back in the spring, when I was attempting the online dating thing, there was the one guy I actually met in person. We IMed, met in person, IMed some more, etc. After a while, I was unclear on whether we were doing a dating thing or a friend thing. So, the next time we were on IM, I asked him outright. He said it was a friend thing, and then I knew. Then I didn't have to worry about it any more.

When I tell Amanda this, during a conversation about The Guy, she gives me strange look.
Amanda: You like categories. You like things to be clearly defined.
Me: Absolutely.
Amanda: So, a guy is either one thing or another.
Me: That's the idea.
Amanda: Me, I'm not like that at all. When I was single I had lots of guy friends, and I slept with some of them sometimes. They were just friends I sometimes had sex with.
Me: That's the kind of thing that I wouldn't do well with.

In the context of my uncertaintly about the guy, the fact that it's more complicated than the online dating experiment, and in light of my whole girly experiment, I decided to try Amanda style tactics. This week is my break. I know for a fact that the guy has loads of free time this week. I'm going to be spending some time in the guy's area, so I ask him, "Hey, I'll be up your way, can you recommend any places for me to do some photography?"

The idea is that the guy will say something along the lines of, "Yeah such-&-such is a good spot, want company?"

Instead, the guy just said, "You might try X."

Strike one for subtlety.

Like This

This isn't the exact photo from the magazine, but the eye makeup here is similar to what Amanda thinks I need.

Racking Up Points

I did pretty well on girl points this week. On Wednesday I earned a few by wearing a new top. It's a darkish gray, jersey knit shirt that's a good style on me - kind of drapey so it highlights the boobage and hangs loose otherwise.

Amanda: You look so skinny today.

Then, on the day that I was running late and had no chance of drying my hair over the heater vent, I pulled it up in a clip.
Me: Look, I used bobby pins.
Amanda: Yay! No fly-aways.

To top it all off, yesterday I brought in the girlish magazine I'd picked up at the store, In Style. Amanda promptly borrowed it and flipped through, scoping out the photos & ads. On one page, there was a spread of different stylish makeup looks. She pointed to the Kiera Knightley photo (a smokey eyed look) and said, "That. That's what we need to do to you."

I looked. "That? For me?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. We're going to have to wax the hell out of your eyebrows first, though."

Now, I do a little bit of plucking to avoid the uni-brow look, but wax? I'm hoping the gold stars I earned this week will let me hold off on waxing, because that is one road I really, really don't want to go down.

The Guy

There's this guy. I've known him for a couple years and yeah, there's something to me mentioning him.

Part of this whole getting in touch with my feminine side adventure has to do with dating. I am bad at it because I lack confidence. Thus, instead of doing what normal gals do - i.e. flirting - I tend to play offense.

About a month ago, I lost a friendly bet and had to take the guy to dinner. After food, we went to the bar I used to work at to play darts and pool. My former coworkers, when I was at the bar and the guy was not, asked, "So, is this a date?"

"No," I said.

Kinda felt like one though. This made me uneasy. So, I did what I do. He offered to buy my first drink. I wouldn't let him. Later, he gave me a hard time, repeating something that I said, and I made the point that my voice was not that high. This lead to a discussion of who's more butch, me or him. I started the discussion.

On Saturday, I gave Amanda the highlights. She gave me a look of abject horror. "You didn't!"

Part of me is certain this guy has an interest in me. I know I have an interest in him, and most of me thinks I've done a really good job of botching it all.

A Word About Amanda

I'm aware that, in the context of this blog, Amanda might come across as a bit... superficial. Because of what this blog is, that's rather unavoidable, but unfortunate. She features prominently here because she is my girl guru, and she features prominently as such because our conversations about clothes are more relevant here than our conversations about politics. That's the nature of the beast.

I just want to bluntly say that while she's very savvy about personal presentation, there's more to her than that. She's smart, she's ambitious, she's very keen about inter-personal relationships, etc. So, while I may set her up as something of my polar opposite, know that part of that is poetic license. The bottom line is that I'm largely going for humor here, and extremes are funny.

So there you go. I wanted to make that part explicit. In any event, if I didn't like and respect her, there's no way I'd be entrusting myself to her for this project.

Mascara

As Amanda and I were having a general kind of conversation, we went from talking about my hair (pony tails do not impress Amanda) to makeup.
Amanda: Do you even wear makeup?
Me: Uh, no.
She looked at me closely for a moment.
Amanda: You need to get mascara.
Me: Mascara?
Amanda: Yep, that's what you need.

I told her she had to talk with someone she's been avoiding before I'd do it. Quid pro quo, right? She gave me a dirty look. She's very good at dirty looks, and I should know, I've been getting a lot of them lately.

Voice in My Head

It's happened. I've been spending enough time around Amanda and I've been spending enough time talking with her specifically about this project and all it entails, that she's become a voice in my head.

On Tuesday I didn't have anything I had to look especially nice for, so I dressed down a bit - black jeans, white socks, my non-fancy black shoes, striped long-sleeve Tshirt, and a pony tail. As I stood in front of the mirror pulling my hair back, I could hear Amanda in my head, tsking my choice. "Those jeans?" She said. "You're going to work in those jeans? They've got a bleach spot!" Hands across her chest, she shook her head.

On Wednesday I wore slacks.

Omission

I went over to my folks' house yesterday to hang out with my mom, brother and brother's new girlfriend. While we were all in the kitchen my mom glanced down at my bare feet.

Mom: Ew, why are your nails painted green?

I hesitated a moment. I could tell her that Amanda made me do it, but that would lead to a whole explanation of what I'm doing and why. There, in front of mom, my brother, and the girlfriend, I just didn't want to get into it.

Me: Because I painted them green, that's why.

My mom and I are on pretty good terms these days, but I just don't think she would understand what I'm doing and why. I can see it in my head, I would try to explain it, and she would say, "But, why?" She might think I was having some kind of crisis, or just outright losing my mind. I don't know, but I can't possibly imagine her just nodding and saying, "Huh, sounds interesting." No, she'd want details, an in-depth explanation. Justification.

No thanks, I'll pass.

Postponement

Amanda's broke, so girls night is getting rain-checked. Instead, she's going to come over and I'm going to see if she can appreciate the awesomeness that is Firefly. As soon as I described it as a western, she cringed and gave me a skeptical look. Then she asked if there could be brownies and agreed on those terms. Also, it seems we'll be doing my hair. Oh boy.

Hair Technology

Amanda: Your hair looks nice today. Did you use product?
Me: No, still don't have any product to use.
Amanda: It looks different.
Me: I have a big heater vent on the floor of my bathroom. I shook my hair out over the vent to dry it.
Amanda: Really?
Me: Really.

Reminds Me of Fireflies

I joined Facebook this week. Not one, but two, gals I knew in high school have wedding pictures up. Lovely wedding pictures.

"I have a wonderful fiancee who makes me extremely happy. We will be getting married on September 20th. Yay!!! :) J- and I recently bought a house and two wonderful little dachshund puppies. Life is busy right now but I love the direction it's going. I couldn't be happier:)"

Between Monday and Tuesday I was helped (by my critique group and thesis adviser) to realize that there's little chance I'll be able to get my thesis sorted out and defended this semester. I'm anxious to get my MA. I've been going to school for so long I feel like I'm treading water. Graduate school feels like it's a holding pattern for me. I need to get out of it, and now I probably will have to wait just a little longer for that to happen.

"I couldn't be happier."

*Sigh* I'm not feeling especially over-joyed this week. Rather, I'm feeling generally low. Overall, I'm in the same place this year as I was last. My high school peers have houses, spouses, and grown-up jobs. However, not much has changed in my life. It feels like a failure of sorts.

Every now and again, I get hit by a melancholy. Its roots come from the summer of 2002 when I spent three months on my own in Arkansas running a business. It didn't go so well - the business didn't work out, I was lonely, and in general it was unpleasant. My most vivid memory of the only times during that summer when I felt freed from all the bad I was swimming through is this:

On nights when it was especially bad, I would get in my car and drive. I only had one Chris Isaak album at the time, Heart Shaped World, which my aunt gave me as a present. For some reason, that album was perfect for these night drives. Something about the music was just fundamentally right for it. So, I'd roll down my windows, pop in Chris Isaak, and drive down the dark highways with my hand out the window and fireflies spattering across the windshield. In the dark, in motion, it was just me and the music. Ever since, Chris Isaak has had a certain significance for me.

Tonight I'm listening to him and thinking of fireflies.

I believe there's an answer waiting when the day is done.
I believe if you just keep searching you'll find someone.
I believe that you and I just lost our way.
And I believe in a beautiful day.
I still believe in a beautiful day.

But not for me, and not for you...

-Chris Isaak, "I Believe"

Feminine Gender: Part II

Penny Red's post about learned femininity and gender roles also got me thinking back to the purpose of this whole adventure.

Anthropologically speaking, we know that gender is culturally created and fairly arbitrary. Even though I'm a biological female, that doesn't mean I have to assume female gender roles. Especially in the current cultural setting where, unlike, say Puritan New England, the divisions between what is feminine and masculine are less concrete. If I were to continue to hold to my old patterns of gender identity, in the larger scheme of things it'd be fine. I don't really have anyone pointing their finger at me and demanding I wear a dress.

Yet, I've decided I need to explore the culturally feminine. I've talked with Amanda about it in terms of broadening my comfort zone. I'm already comfortable with my tom boy traits, but start talking makeup and I get uneasy. I shouldn't be. I clearly identify as female, and I don't put myself as anything but female on the Queer spectrum, so it's not a question of feeling like my identity and physical body are incongruent.

Rather, it's that my early experiences impressed me with the idea of equating feminine with weak and if you spend your afternoons playing with a group of boys, you can't be weak. I've had a history of being shy and self-conscious where the only thing about myself I could really be confident about (since I'd proven myself in elementary school) was my toughness. I could hang out with the guys, stare 'em down, and tell the dirty jokes. That's what I knew. That's what I held onto as a defense mechanism. Besides, my mom is something of a tom boy herself. She's tough, she's a hunter, and in the past decade I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen her wear lipstick. The "girly" influences on my early life were few and far between.

These days I'm less shy, more confident, older, wiser, and all that jazz. I no longer need masculinity as a shield, but I'm still not entirely confident in being a girl. When I'm tense, I go to a "manly" place, because I still see that as my strength. I'd call myself a feminist, but how feminist can I really be if I keep on this track of proving myself as one of the guys? I've already found my strength in the culturally masculine, now I need to find my strength in the culturally feminine as well.

It's about acknowledging (embracing?) all aspects of myself. I can't imagine myself ever going to the far end of the girly spectrum, but being confident enough in my girliness to occasionally put on some makeup surely wouldn't be a bad thing.

Feminine Gender

I've begun searching for blogs that have some bearing on this one. This raises the question of what has bearing. What, exactly am I trying to accomplish by writing this?

The first good blog I've found is Penny Red, and I just read an especially interesting post about this idea of Pantomime Dames. She makes good points about the nature of femininity.

One of the things I studied as an undergrad. w/an anthropology minor was this concept of cultural identities, including at the basic level of gender. Bottom line: sex is physical, gender is behavioral. Penny Red's big point is that there's talk about male-to-female transsexuals "immitating" femininity, which is a crock because they're only do the same things any biological female is doing - assuming learned behaviors associated with the female gender.

Which brings me back to this blog. I've spent most of my life being, to a greater or lesser extent, uncomfortable with my femininity. I've tended to associate feminine traits with weakness, masculine traits with strength. With the intense desire to be strong and independent, I've grabbed onto masculine behaviors and shunned all things "girly." In the past couple of years I've eased up on this a bit. Still, at times when I, for instance, wear a dress, I tend to feel uncomfortable and self-conscious, as if I'm just pretending.

This is why Penny Red's post struck me so. I realize that your average m-t-f transgendered or transsexual is probably more comfortable with feminine behaviors that I, a biological female, am. It's an interesting thought.

Girls Night

When I first made my proposition to Amanda to embark on this adventure, I phrased it in terms of a girls night out.
Me: I'll hand myself wholly over to you. You can decide what I wear, where we go, who we go with, the whole shot.
Amanda made a kind of "whee!" noise. Obviously, things have expanded beyond one night at this point, but the girls night is still part of the plan.

November 8th is the date. It'll be me, Amanda, one of our mutual friends, and around five or so of Amanda's friends who she thinks I'll like. Amanda is excited about the logistics, and I'm not sure exactly what the night will look like. In the past few days she seems to have settled in on the idea of a sparty (spa-party). We'll each pitch in about $30 and then have our choice of three spa treatments. I'm a fan of bath salts and lotions, so it's not that far of a leap for me to go in for a facial. Amanda's said things about pedicures - and while I can only wonder what the point of one would be for me, (who, save by accident, never shows off her feet, especially not in November), but I have promised to let her boss me around, haven't I?

The upshot of the sparty is I'm not a big drinker, dancer, or pick-upper of men, i.e. traditional girls night staples for this crowd, and the spa idea appeals to my indulgent side. On one hand, a sparty would be very girly, but it's still easing me in because it's not something totally out of character for me.

Baby steps. It's all about baby steps.

Breaking In the Curling Iron

This week Amanda told me I had to curl my hair.
Me: But, I don't have time for that in the morning.
Amanda: Come on. Don't make excuses.
I tried arguing more, but she fixed me with a stern look and I knew there was nothing I could do.

The part that surprised me was my resistance to the idea. Here we are, only a week into the experiment, and I'm already trying to dig my heels in?
Me: Fine, I'll do it.
Amanda: Good. Do it Wednesday.

I debated. I could always "forget" and skip it. But, like I reminded myself, this whole thing was my idea. It's hardly much of an adventure if I wuss out and start making excuses, is it? Which isn't to say that I liked the idea, just that I'd made the promise to myself that I'd see it through.

Wednesday morning I pulled myself out of bed early and got out the curling iron I've had for at least three years now without using it once. It still had the plastic covering on the prongs. I think the last time I curled my hair was when I went to prom in high school. I did the best I could, managing a little curl at the ends, but nothing more than that.

When I saw Amanda, she hardly noticed I'd done it at all. She quickly promised to show me how to do it right and to show me which products I needed to get the hold, etc. "It'll be great," she promised.

So, I'll admit, even though the curl was subtle, it did make me feel more feminine. I'm fairly vain about my hair, despite not investing a lot of effort in styling it, and Wednesday it looked nice. There was even a little voice in my head saying, "Look! It's pretty." Not quite pretty enough for me to attempt it again on Thursday or Friday, mind you, but it wasn't too bad.

A List To Start With

I like lists. They're neat and tidy and once you've written one down, you feel like you've accomplished something. I make them often. Something in the act itself makes things feel more ordered and safe. Thus, I figured it would be good to have a list. I'm grouping the list in terms of girly and non-girly.

Non-Girly:

• I'm big on stoicism.
• I'm not always a big talker.
• I like to present myself as coming from a position of power and control.
• I tend to be blunt/direct.
• I have a competitive streak.
• I don't spend a lot of time/money on specialized grooming products - i.e. I don't own a hair dryer, don't use my curling iron, don't have hair spray or make up, and I have never had a manicure or pedicure.
• I really like having my alone time.
• When I was engaged, I planned my wedding to be simple: do the license at the court house, then have a BBQ with friends and family.
• I break problems down into a plan of attack. I don't want to talk and talk about something, I'd rather just start doing something about it.
• I keep my nails short because it's practical that way.
• I'm one of the least squeamish people I know. My parents are hunters. I worked at an animal rehab. center for a number of years, which entailed lots of excrement clean up and taking animals apart.
• Except for very rare occasions, I'd much rather cram stuff into my pockets than carry a purse.

Girly:

• I make jewelry and rarely step out of the house without wearing a necklace that coordinates with my outfit.
• I'm a big fan of young mammals like puppies and kittens or babies.
• I love bath salts and lotions.
• I have lots of scented candles.
• I put time into shopping for clothes, trying on many things to make sure that what I buy looks good on me and fits.
• I sometimes speak to my dog in baby talk.
• In certain circumstances, I'm quite the gossip.

Two things are clear in this list: I find a lot more of my traits to be non-girly than to be girly, (which, admittedly, we already knew), and that I have certain prejudices about "girly" ness. But, well, there it is. A frame of reference.

F*ing Nail Polish

I painted my toes yesterday. Went with a minty green.

This morning, in my just-woke-up fog, I realized I didn't have matching socks. Thought, "No problem, sandals it is." I slid my feet into my sandals in the dark.

Then I got to work and happened to glance down. Minty green toenails on display for all to see. Damnit.

We Just Got Started, and Already I Have Homework

The last time I wore a dress was almost two years ago when two of my friends married each other and I was in the wedding party. By the time we hit the reception, I was back in pants and everyone was very entertained at my expense.
Other wedding attendees: Hey! Why aren't you in your dress?
Me: Oh, was I supposed to still be wearing it?

Now Amanda is telling me about these cute little black dresses she has in the back of her closet. They aren't her size any more. However, very apropo, they are mine. Amanda already has one picked out for me. When she told me, my face must've got a whole shade paler, because she was quick to add, "Okay, maybe the first time we go out I'll let you wear pants."

She also told me that if I was going to take this experiment seriously, I'd have to be less sarcastic when I talked about it. Then, to get me started, she said I ought to paint my nails. I showed her my fingernails, which I keep trimmed very short.
Amanda: Well, you could get acrylics.
Me: I can't do nails that long, they just bug me.
Amanda: Fine, we'll start you off slow. You need to paint your toenails.
Me: Now that I can manage.

Tomorrow will be toenail painting day. Come Monday when I got back to work, even though nobody will see it, I'll know. Amanda will be pleased.

The Beginning of the Adventure

The roots of this adventure go back about five years. There was one day at the job I had then when my boss asked me to do a presentation. I tried to get out of it by telling him that the thought of doing it made me nervous and that I was intimidated. He grinned and said, "Then, that's exactly why you should do it." I did it, and survived, and that day has stuck with me. In many things I've embraced this idea and charged right up to the things that scare me so I could stare them in the face. It doesn't always work out, but at least I'm not left with the "what if" question.

Within a year or so of that day, I became involved with a guy who I thought would be the one I married. After all, we even got engaged. Then, that fell apart and all of a sudden that secure feeling I'd had for the past couple of years, that I'd gotten this relationship thing figured out, was gone. I was single again and my confidence in attracting and hanging on to a guy was at an all time low.

Even after I got over the break-up, I still was intimidated by dating (which has always been the case). This past April I decided it was time to go at it and I signed up on a dating website. I was proactive. I initiated contact with a number of guys, most of whom promptly fell off the face of the earth, and met one who wasn't at all interested in me as anything other than a friend, and then I broke my cardinal waitressing rule by actually going out a few times with a guy from the bar, which also didn't work out.

The dating thing got me down. I know I'm smart, funny, talented, loyal, etc. I know I'm good girlfriend material. On the personality level, I'm confident about my appeal. I can objectively say that on the looks level I'm cute enough. The part where it falls apart is the part where I'm confident enough in my femininity to attract a guy not platonically, but romantically. There we fall into no-confidence land. Wiles, I have none.

Enter my new coworker and friend, Amanda. Her last job was for a women's magazine, which means she hails from the land of all things pink and girly. She is the yin to my yang. On Friday, I girded my loins, closed the door to the office we share, and told her that I would like some help getting in touch with my girly side. She got excited.

The Overview

The quick back story is that my family is composed of two men (dad and brother) and a mother who sees no point in makeup. Then, when I was little, my best friend was the neighbor boy. I played with him and his friends and, because I was the only girl playing soldier games, I felt the need to out-tough the boys. In short, I spent a few of those important developmental years getting in touch with my masculine side.

Throughout much of my life I've been more comfortable being one of the guys than one of the girls, and I admit that a lot of it was a defense mechanism. Once I was no longer playing soldier with the neighbor boy and his friends, I was negotiating high school. People were pairing up left and right, but I never really had the hang of the dating thing. I tried, twice, but the first boyfriend cheated on me and the second was using me as a test to know whether or not he was gay (he was). During this time my best friend was no longer a boy, but a girl who tended to use her sexuality as a weapon. In her own words, she was the pretty one, I was the smart one. So, I'm still not feeling especially feminine here.

When I was nineteen, I had my first serious relationship with a guy who wasn't in to girly-girls, and I spent a lot of time hanging around with his guy pals. We were together for a couple of years, got engaged, and then split up. When a guy can look you right in the eye and say, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me," and still walk out the door for good, it does not instill much confidence.

Also, I spent about three years being a cocktail waitress where my only real experience with my girly side was drunk guys staring at my boobs.

I have never been greatly confident in my feminine wiles. All together, my feminine experience has been based on being a tom boy, or being that thing with the boobs. That, my friends, is your overview.