Girls' Night

This weekend I went on my first official girls' night. It was a night full of cliches, and rather disappointing.

One of my oldest friends (known her since middle school) was in town visiting family, and we wanted to get together. She wanted to go to the city up north to party - 'cause everything's better after a forty-five minute drive on the interstate, apparently. Since I'm working on saying "yes" to new experiences, I agreed. I picked up my friend, then we picked up her sister-in-law, who's a total sweetheart, then we went north. Once in the other town, we went to the house of my friend's sorority sister and met up with a friend of sorority girl's, a tall, lovely gal.

So, here's the breakdown:
Me, my friend, the sis-in-law, sorority girl, and tall gal. Me and my friend were the old spinsters of the group, everyone else was 22 or 21. Herein lies one of the problems. My friend has been getting her undergrad. degree for seven years. This has created a kind of prolonged adolescence as she keeps hanging out with new undergrads - she gets older, but most of her friends are 19/20 year olds. Thus, she's all about partying, thus she's been at college for seven years and still hasn't graduated. I love her to death, but seriously, it's sad. But, I digress, back to Saturday night...

Going to sorority girl's house first was the most retarded plan of the night. We all sat on her couch for an hour while she took a shower, changed her outfit three times, and fussed over her hair. Then tall gal showed up, they did shots of Patron, and we went downtown. We took the Patron with us and they did more shots in the parked car. The sis-in-law was not amused. We were both in the back seat and she looked over at me, "I thought we were going out. I can sit in a car at home."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm too old for this shit."

Finally, we made it to a bar that sorority girl & tall gal scoffed at for being too empty. The bar had a DJ and a small crowd - it was about right for me, but didn't have enough men for the girls. Granted, they still managed to find plenty to dry hump, I mean, dance with.

That's also were we met drunk guy who was a friend of friend of my friend - i.e. two degrees removed from knowing us. He was also very, very drunk. He wanted to dance with the girls. My friend wanted to dance, and she's the type who tries to be nice, so she danced with him. After he tried to dive in for a kiss, which was after the fourth time he tried to grab her ass, even she had had enough and told him to leave her alone. But, as with all cliched annoying drunk guys, he kept circling around our table, diving in from time to time to grab one of the gals. Dude came about a hair short of getting kicked in the balls by the sis-in-law and only left her alone when she showed him her wedding ring.

Eventually, we left the bar I liked and went to one so crowded that we couldn't move. The sorority girl and tall gal were much more pleased with this bar, but I've got to say that standing around, smooshed in a crowd is pretty damn boring. That was a pretty typical note for me that night, boredom. I've never been one who's all that interested in "partying," and Saturday night reminded me why.

It was good to spend time with my friend. I got some interesting people-watching in, and I liked meeting the sis-in-law. However, the sorority gal was totally inane, and her whole objective of going out with friends just so she can ignore the people she went with in favor of paying attention to people she just met is not something I really understand. (I mean intellectually, I get it, but I just don't GET it.)

Well, the new experience has been tried. Next time, I go ahead and skip the party and find a nice, mellow bar with good conversation and maybe some live music. Yup, that's much more my speed.

Should He Be Worried?

Ah, Facebook, you are often entertaining, and sometimes disturbing, and today I'm more that second one.

My brother's girlfriend is freaking me out a bit. My brother's back in town for a while to do a part of his pilot training, and lemme tell you, the GF is way excited about this. So excited, she kept putting up statuses that went like this, "I get to see him in three hours" then, "I get to see him in two hours!" and so on. Yeesh, girlie, chill out.

But, the topper today, was when her status popped up as the following:
GF WANTS BABIES!!!!! hahaha

Uh, yeah, about that...

I've got to say, I'm a bit concerned.

Opening Night

I went to the opening of the little photo show tonight, and I wore a dress to it. It's a historic event, lemme tell ya, as the last time I wore a dress was about three years ago when I was a bridesmaid in a wedding and I wore the dress only as long as the ceremony lasted - by the time I was at the reception, I was back in pants.

Pre-show, I met up with my friend Deb to take photos for the website for a group we belong to. We hit the riverwalk and I have proof of my dress-wearing. Here's the "oil painting" version, which makes my eyes look like I'm possessed by a demon, a la Supernatural. But there you have it people, me in a dress.


The show reception was about what I expected, not a huge crowd and most of the people attending were members of the photo club. I liked being able to look at all the photos and say, "Oh, that's Don's photo. I know Don." That bit was cool.

The Girl With Skills

I found a cool post and wanted to pass it on, The Female Equivalent of the Nice Guy: The Girl With Skills. It's interesting and I certainly identify with a lot of his description of The Girl With Skills. Tom-boy? Check. Poker-faced? Check.

Thanks to certain things when I was growing up, like hanging out with the neighbor boy and having to hold my own with his friends while playing war, I developed the habit of out-guying the guys. This was a big part of my experience as a young lass and teen. Interacting with boys was all about being tougher than them, because that was the habit I'd developed. Habits are hard to shake.

These days I'm much more aware of this, and much more aware that it's a bad thing. So, I'm better. When that comment of, "Oh yeah, I bet I could beat you at X" comes to my lips, I recognize it for what it is - self-defense - and quash it. I don't have to prove my butch-ness any more.

These days, when I like a guy, I work really hard to actually show it. I still suck at doing this, but I do rather better now than my previous strategy which was built upon either:
1. Ignoring him
2. Being somehow competitive with him

Because, when we get right down to it, whether we're talking nice guy or girl with skills, there are real reasons these folks struggle with dating.

• Nice Guys tend to be too nice. They're so accommodating that the gal might as well not be dating him 'cause he's got little to add to the relationship - it's all, "I'll do whatever you want to do," which gets old fast.

• Girls With Skills tend to be too demanding. They've driven themselves to work so hard because they feel like anything less makes them less. Thus, the standards they set for a guy tend to be extreme because they expect the guy to either match or exceed her in what she's achieved, and those achievements are specific. So, the wonderful guy who's X instead of Y - like, an artist instead of a lawyer, never has a chance because her scale of "worthy" versus "not" is very specific.
  

I recognize parts of myself in this gal, but I'm glad to say I never matched her exactly. These days, I appreciate the need to resemble her even less. It's not about "settling" or lacking standards, but instead it's about recognizing which standards are important (he's respectful of you) and which are arbitrary (he earns X amount of money).

I've got a list of things I'm looking for in a guy, the Charlie List, and I've thought very hard about what should go on it. Even so, some of them are still negotiable, but overall I feel pretty good that they're necessary, i.e. I just can't be with a guy who lacks confidence. He doesn't have to be confident about everything, I'm sure not, but a guy who's got generally low self esteem doesn't work for me, and I make no apologies about it.

Bikini Friday

Today, for a few hours, I am wearing a bikini. It is, in part, to work on my tan. Being tan is not something I've really thought about in my pasty-white past, but all this dog walking has got my arms all golden and I want at least get my legs to sort of match.

It is also, in part, an exercise in self confidence. I was thinking of the show How to Look Good Naked and decided today would be a good time to practice "flaunting it," even if I'm only flaunting it in my back yard :)

Flying Blind

Amanda, my source for advice on all things girly, is on a trip until the 27th. She'll be overseas and out of touch, leaving me to navigate Army Guy on my own. I feel very abandoned.

The Problem With the New Guy at Work

The work study that Amanda and I split is going to be taken over by the new guy for summer (Amanda's moving, and I'll be done with my thesis, so neither of us will be able to continue doing the work study). He's come in the office a couple times for a bit of training, and Amanda's been having a bit of a hard time with him. It's not for any reason you're probably thinking, rather it's because New Guy is very, very much like me: quiet. He's not super outgoing, though he's plenty personable, and it's hard on Amanda. Amanda's perspective on socialization is strongly focused on conversation - people talk to you because they like you, and if they don't talk, they don't like you.

Recently, Amanda told me that for the first month or so that we worked together, she thought I disliked her.

Amanda: I would come in the office and talk and talk and you'd just nod. Then when I stopped, you'd say, "And this is what we need to do today." It was awful.

For me, I just thought she wanted someone to listen. So, I listened. I was being nice. But, she wanted me to talk too. I know this now, but didn't realize it then, so while I was trying to be nice, she thought I hated her. Funny ol' world, isn't it?

Enter New Guy.
Amanda: I don't think he likes me at all. *sigh*
Me: That's not true. He's just a quiet dude. Just think of him as the male version of me.
Amanda: But I want him to be like you are with me now. Not like you were when we first met.

Of course, me and New Guy get along just fine. I understand if he's not all that chatty. This irritates Amanda to no end.

The Going-Away Party

I mentioned in a previous post that Amanda is moving. Her husband moved out to the new place first, and some of his coworkers had a going away party for him. Amanda was excited for me to come because her husband works with some young single guys. So, I was ordered to come with my hair done, eyelashes curled, and in something cute.

I arrived at the party, being held in a bar, and met a few of the young single guys, including one who was quite attractive, but ultimately boring. It was an interesting night. Educational as well.

On account of the being dolled up, I got some attention. Once I moved to another table to talk to other people, Attractive Dude kept glancing over at me, which was flattering. Another guy, who was nice enough, but a hardcore stoner (which is on my short list of deal-breakers), was also keen.

Amanda: I've never seen Stoner move in on a girl that fast. Wow.

It was good for the ego, getting eyeballed. But, I'm looking for a guy I can actually talk to, not just one who likes boobs, (in the grand scheme of man-catching, they're my best physical asset). So, despite my and Amanda's best attempts at getting me chummy with a young single guy, nothing really happened. The young single crowd was primarily interested in booze, and they soon left the bar so they could do some barhopping, while I stayed at the actual party and had two drinks the whole night because I just don't share that fascination with alcohol.

No, I didn't end up hitting it off with the single guys. Instead, I spent a great deal of time having fun conversations with two of the older married guys in attendance, and got along best with the married guy who's twenty years older than me. The married guys were funny, smarter, and more interesting than the singles - which really stand to reason, since married guys are generally more confident and have a different set of priorities on account of them being, well, married.

But, now I know what kind of guy I need. I need to find a single guy who's in his mid-to-late twenties, but thinks like he's in his mid-forties and already married. Because, time and again, not only in this situation, but plenty of others, those are the guys I get along best with.

Amanda Abandonment and Other News

Between working on my thesis, teaching three classes, and other various adventures, updating this blog has gotten away from me.

To catch up:

Sad news on the Amanda front - her husband was relocated for his job and she's moving to another state in June. I'm not happy about her ditching me, but it's certainly not as if I have a lot of say in the matter. She's having adventures of her own right now because she is madly dashing to complete her thesis, her husband is already in the new place and, to save money, she's moved in with her parents. She is, to say the least, very stressed these days.

On the girly front - I've got a hair dryer now (courtesy of Amanda weeding through her things to get ready to move) and bought a set of velcro curlers. I do my hair these days. Amanda is very proud. I also wear eyeshadow almost every day. Despite not being a fan of makeup, I find I like eyeshadow. I think it's because of the same reason I like my jewelry - it's all about adding a bit of color, and color is fun.

And, lastly, on the romantic front - I'm keeping a secret from Amanda on this one, because she'd be horrified if she knew. Frustrated with the situation with The Guy (i.e. sometimes getting signals he's interested, sometimes getting signals he's not, and not knowing for sure which way it really went), I went the direct route. I asked him outright if he'd be interested in a date. He said, "Thanks, but no thanks." So, now I know and I'm glad I did it 'cause now I don't have that horrible uncertainty. Granted, rejection is never fun, but the closure was worth it.

With The Guy ruled out, I gave in to impulse and joined a dating site. I tried a free one about a year ago, with no useful results (a couple of e-mails with a funny, but ultimately reclusive, guy and a lunch with The Vegetarian, who ended up not being interested in me). This go 'round, I opted for a pay site with the thought in mind that it's slightly less public since there's the $ involved, and slightly more serious, for the same reason. I have a couple of sets of friends who had success with electronic romance, but so far, it's not going so swimmingly for me. But, I'll save details for their own post.

Thus, the highlights of my hiatus. All in all, the spinster plan is looking more and more appealing.

"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?

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.

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.

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.

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.