OMG - Sincerely

I don’t understand how texting snuck into the mainstream as a vehicle to communicate feelings. Texts should be used to convey:

1. Directions to the bar.
2. That I’m running 15 minutes late (again). OK, 30 minutes, tops; but that’s it.
3. That you are in hot water for finishing the mint cookies and cream ice cream yet AGAIN. As God as my witness, if you do it one more time, I will crazy-glue sprinkles to your forehead while you are sleeping.

Now, I see how a simple “How are you” text continues on and includes important updates. I’m all for efficiency. But if that simple question turns into a serious discussion or a disagreement erupts, I’m not taking the fight seriously and neither should you.

It’s a text; the modern day set of cans with a string in-between. The reliability of the message getting across has improved, but the chance for miscommunication is still high. Its easy, but you can’t hear my voice. I can’t see your eyebrow twitch the way it does when you are lying. You can’t see the tears form in the corner of my eyes the way they do when I say “I’m OK,” but pretending to be stronger than I feel.

What are we, in grade school? You wouldn’t take me seriously if I slipped you a folded piece of paper saying “Do you think I properly value the things that matter to you? Check one box: yes/ no/ maybe.” Why would we do the technology equivalent?

Worse than that, when I’m texting you, I could be cooking risotto and dancing to Christmas tunes in a pair of boxers and a tee shirt singing into the spoon. I’m not 100% focused on you, and chances are high that I will slip up and say something that pisses you off. I’m bound to say anything. Once I start texting, my competitive streak kicks in. I’m trying to be wittier in my next text than I was in my last. Or be just wittier than you. It’s a technology based “you just got served!” and I am going to win.

It is not a way to get heart-felt emotions.

So, if you want me to take you seriously, and our conversation seriously, you should talk to me; in-person. Preferably over a glass of wine. Where real feelings, emotions, facial expressions all play into communication the way they were intended to. If you say something that sounds important in a text, I will take note of it; as a marker for what I will expect us to discuss for real when we see each other again.

Anything I say that sounds profound or perhaps heart inspired by text, you should verify it next time we get together. I might have just been copying quotes from the episode of The West Wing I was really paying attention to at the time. The writers on that show have some really witty one-liners.

BCG - grab her attention

March Mayhem

So it’s public knowledge that I have a tiny, wee little bit of a competitive streak in me. It is also public knowledge that my face lights up like Christmas when I get to fill out my NCAA tournament bracket. Once I blow out my last birthday candle in January, I can’t wait for March Madness to begin.

This year, the ink was still wet on my final selection when my heart was pulled from my body and smashed on the ground at my feet. There was no smack talking in the lunch room. No snide comments in my facebook updates. Just anarchy and basketball mayhem. Nine seats were beating one seats and before you knew it, my bracket was nothing more than a legal size piece of scrap paper.

Boo.

I was at a bar, as one of the final four games played, and struck up a conversation with the gentleman sitting next to me. He offered me half of his meal, which I was totally confused by but tried to hide (why exactly Mr. Total Stranger would I eat half of your dinner?). He was watching the game on the big screen.

Making friendly conversation, I ask “So you didn’t have either of these teams on your bracket, now did you?”

“Hell no” was his emphatic reply.

Yeah, mine has been garbage for over a week now, which really sucks.”

I was partly making conversation and partly looking for comfort because I’m really pissed about it all. Anyone I see with a Kansas shirt on from now until the summer I’m gonna smack them upside the back of their head like a smart mouth five year old.

Then he said, “Well, if you really love the game, it doesn’t matter and you enjoy it for the sport of it all, regardless of who is playing. You appreciate the game and watch it the same no matter what.”

5 minutes later, he paid his check and left. The score was 7-9, 7 minutes into the first half.

Humph.

I guess “enjoying the sport of it all” just applies to me. After his lecture and attempt to make me feel like “less than a pure fan” he bounced.

But I have seen lots of guys paint their whole bodies in the color of their favorite teams. They love the game AND care who wins.

Besides, he clearly didn’t want to watch this bull, shit either.

Kansas, Georgetown, and Villanova: you are all on my list. Sleep with one eye open.

Strange man at the bar: You can kiss my ass. You’re just as pissed-off as I am. Stop fronting and stop trying to make me feel bad. This bracket season sucks and I’m going to pout about it until fantasy football starts.

Your BC Girl – clearly still mad at loosing $10 bucks in the office pool.

The Fear of Falling

I don’t ski.

Don’t get me wrong, I try to ski. I put on snow pants and my Nautica ski jacket. I rent skis and poles and go down a mountain with snow on it.

But what I’m doing on that mountain is really not the definition of skiing. What I’m doing is trying desperately not to fall. I am so afraid of falling that it occupies my every thought until I’m on level ground again. I can’t tell you if I enjoyed the run or if it was a good slope, because my goal is to say upright the whole time. If I can do that; it is a good day.

See, I fell on my first ski trip. It was the grandest fall in all of skiing falls. I took out this poor guy who didn’t see me coming and ended up pinned to the ground on my back like a turtle with my skis folded under me whimpering:

“Help me. Please help me…”

I was in such a precarious position; I couldn’t move. A kind Samaritan had to release me from my self imposed snow prison. He kept saying “How the hell did you get like this?” Which was really annoying. Like I had any clue how I ended up twisted like a pretzel on the side of a mountain!

When it was all said and done, I couldn’t walk for 2 months on my right knee I had injured it so badly.

I’ve seen a close correlation to my approach to skiing and the approach some people take to dating. They aren’t dating; they are trying not to get hurt. They aren’t open to the possibilities that love might have in store for them, they keep people at a safe arms length so that they can be in control of the situation and their own feelings. They slowly cause the end of any potential relationship because like me on that mountain since the fall, they are not enjoying the run, but trying to control how it ends. They want to be able to say “At least I didn’t make THAT mistake again.” And they can.

But without putting their hearts on the line and being open, the can also guarantee that there will be an end.

People tell me I have to stop being afraid of the fall and just go for it. If I fall, then I fall, but I will enjoy the activity much more if I’m not afraid. But saying that seems just as stupid as telling me to be purple one day. How do you stop fear? I’ve heard of people overcoming it, but it’s a process, not an on/off switch.

I secretly hate those people because I automatically think “Ah, so you have never done the snow turtle upside-down pretzel move. Because if you did, you would be afraid too.” It may not be fair to discount their hopes for me because they have not seen the same challenges. But this is not a Nike commercial. “Just do it” is not the battle cry I’m looking for.

I may not be able to erase my fear over night, but I keep getting up on those mountains. I try to look up for brief moments to notice a tree or some other part of the scenery. I realize it’s not earth shattering, but its progress. I even fell the last time I was out and it wasn’t that bad. I was able to get back up without the ski patrol.

The 2014 Winter Olympics may not be in my future, but another ski trip is. And a new ski jacket. Cause at some point, I’m not going to remember THAT fall, but some other silly thing that happens on the mountain. The turtle pretzel will be a distant memory. Last time I went out, one of my friends crashed in such a dramatic way, I can still see it in my head. He wasn’t hurt, but watching him fly by at a million miles an hour to a certain crash made me forget for that minute my own fear. And if you string together enough of those moments…who knows.

Whoosh!!! Your bcg girl

Travel Light

Love was so much easier when we were young. Boy meets girl, he pulls her ponytail, chases her around the playground; she likes him back. They hold hands in the hallway, eat lunch together, and pass notes when they should be learning algebra. The note gets folded into a cute triangle; that should count for something in geometry, right?

Things start to get very complicated after that. People get into relationships that don’t work with people that disappoint them and it hurts. Getting over the hurt is not easy. Some hold onto the hurt, package it up, and carry it into every new romantic experience.

Baggage.

Some people have a little bit of baggage; like that clear liquids bag you can carry onto the plane. But others have lots of it. Not cute matched Louie V luggage sets where everything has its own compartment and stays in place. Nope, folks walk around with overfilled plastic bags, ripped garbage bags, and rolling suitcases with busted wheels full of old hurts, the mistakes of others, and unrealized expectations. The bags piles up around them, falling onto the floor in the most inopportune times making it impossible get close to them without tripping over something.

Many walk around with the bags for so long; they don’t even realize anymore when stuff falls out of them.

There you are, having a quite dinner at a new trendy restaurant. You’re gazing into each others eyes, laughing, joking, and smiling. Your hands touch in the middle of the table, he looks at you and you think he will say something cute and flirty. You’re waiting in anticipation, and then the waiter comes by to see if you want chocolate lava cake or Italian cream pastry for desert.

You have been looking forward to the lave cake from the moment he recommended the restaurant and you looked up the menu online. But your date’s face gets tight, his expression gets cross, and he says no one is interested in desert and sends the waiter off.

BAM!

After the waiter leaves, one of the bags explodes on the table onto the floor and you spend an hour explaining how you personally have never sleep with your boyfriend’s best friend while he was on a business trip in Italy. So although you realize how hard that was, you don’t actually think it will be a problem for the two of you.

“Are you going to Italy any time soon?” You ask; wondering why this needs to be discussed in lue of chocolate lava cake.

“You’re missing the point. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again, I have to learn from my past.”

So there you are.

No lava cake for you. You’re sitting at the table, exhaustedly wondering how many other conversations like this you will need to have to prove you aren’t her. Conversations about mistakes you have never made and will never make, but obviously have and impact on your budding relationship.

Last week you spent hours talking about your views on pet custody. How IF you moved in together, and IF you decided to get a miniature Snouser together, and IF you broke up, would you let him see the dog for visits. That was a frustrating conversation, but there was no chocolate lava cake involved, so you grinned and created a supportive position to this hypothetic dilemma.

The problem is, although you aren’t perfect (OK, you’re really, really far from perfect) the two of you have not gotten to discuss your mistakes and shortcomings. You’re still defending yourself against someone else’s whacked out mistakes and you spend a lot of time explaining that you are not that person rather than showing who YOU truly are.

Its hard, this love thing. It can be beautiful, strong ,and lasting. But if you throw all of those bags on top of it while it’s just a sapling, it will be dead before it had a chance to grow.

Sadly, many waste emotions on people who think it’s OK to do outlandish things, and as a result are guarded against the real possibilities. Like our friend at the restaurant who just wanted to get to know this new exciting guy. Well, get to know him and try that chocolate lava cake.

Your BCG girl - unpacking

My Well Runneth Empty

I got a headlight fixed this Saturday and my usually very nice mechanic yelled at me because my car had NO oil in it. I kept looking at him like he was crazy (his English is not that great), so he stopped trying to explain and showed me. He pulled the dip stick out 3 times, and each time it came out clean and dry. I was shocked, where did it go? I figured it was dirty, but gone? I didn't know that was an option.

I love my car, (her name is Kanadi) but since I only use her to get back and forth 20 blocks to work and to happy hour on U Street, I sometimes forget the general care and feeding she requires. How dirty can the oil really get in the garage at my office? I was supposed to get it changed in October, but don’t I get a few months buffer since she’s a “kept” car? Those timeframes are for the “worker cars” that commute to far places, like Fairfax or Baltimore. My car is a social car; her oil should have some extra mileage to it.

OK, maybe not.

He asked me what I wanted to do about this oil situation, so I asked him to add some (leaving with it empty seemed like a bad idea) and I would get it changed on Monday. I had plans that night and it took him longer to change the broken light than I expected. I still needed to get dressed and didn’t want to be late.

He replied “That’s ok, just leave it as it is. We do broken engine here too. You can just bring it back then.”

Humph. Smart ass.

His English got real clear on that one.

It’s now Monday and as instructed, I am getting the oil changed. I'm sitting here secretly thinking that it should be half price - since it was empty and all to start. I know this isn’t an option on the price list, but technically, it’s not really a change but a fill. From my perspective, that is like half the work. I should at least get some free windshield washer fluid or something.


Your BCG grease monkey

A Lady Friend by Any Other Name

As relationships outside of marriage morph from occasional sex partner to live-in “others,” I’m memorized by the titles we use and what they really imply. So I thought I’d give a BCG definition to some of the more common ones.

=====CAUTION======
You have been called some of these things in the past by someone you dated. Once or twice could be just a slip, but if this is all he/she calls you… take note.

If that upsets you, your problem is with that person, not me. If you email me/post a comment with your particular story, and insist that you are different and my rules don’t apply to you, I’m going to be polite and say “Yes you are. Your situation is special and you mean more to him/her than that. He/she feels stronger for you and you are the exception that falls outside of these silly rules.”

Please know, I don’t really mean it. It’s just something I will say to be considerate of your feelings and make me seem like a nicer person. I’m not a jerk, and don’t want to make you feel bad. But I can’t change the facts or tell you what to do about them. So please direct your fussing to the proper person.


NAMES MEN GIVE WOMEN

Girlfriend/ Wifey
You have been in the mix for a while; maybe even years. You make dinner, do the laundry, help in a pinch, or just look great when you go out (relationship specifics may vary). He realizes in return he is supposed to be faithful, available, and supportive. He may not accomplish any or all of these 3, but understands that his failure will result in a “We need to talk” moment. He cares enough to sign-up for that, and introduces you to his boys.

Friend
You may or may not be someone he has dated. He values/respect you enough to want you in his life, even in a casual way. It includes women that he has slept with, or would like to sleep with, in addition to acquaintances and associates with no sexual connection. If there is a sexual connection, there is no exclusiveness, even if you think there is. He feels open to wander and explore any and all other options at his (in)discretion.

Lady Friend
He does not intend to see you much past this one time when he had to introduce you. He isn’t concerned if you will be friends long-term. He might not think your smart enough or pretty enough. What ever the situation, this is one step above “Woman I went out with once, sort of. But it was nothing.” Don’t take it personally, keep it moving and make sure he pays for dinner. It’s the least he can do.

Shorty
The song says it all “Even though I’m not your man your not my girl I’m a call you my Shor…..ty.” You are amazing in bed and quite the freak. You should teach a class. You get to go with him to the club, boy’s weekend in Vegas, and your phone consistently rings after 2am. Take a look now- can you see any calls from him in your log before midnight? You will never be the wife, or even the mistress, because then he would have to buy you stuff; and that just won’t happen. Know that he enjoys you, and is vocal about it. So vocal that you shouldn’t be surprised if his friends start to call to see if they can have a ride.


NAMES WOMEN GIVE TO MEN

Boyfriend
You are it. She is supportive, nurturing, and attentive. She loves and cherishes you. She makes that pic of the two of you together her face book profile picture and is sure that her status says she is off the market. She goes out of her way to do things for you; because when you’re happy, she’s happy. You might fight, but she always tries to make up. She makes sure that girl’s night out ends promptly at 9pm…before anyone can be confused about the fact that she has a man at home.

Friend
You may be one of the following: man she would like to date, man she dated before but isn’t interest in sleeping with again, the guy she lived next to in grammar school, the dude in her office that asks every day if she still has a boyfriend, the guy she slept with in Jamaica that weekend her man went to Rio with the fellas, the guy at the bakery who always saves her a cookie, the dude she met on spring break and always wondered if he would be good in bed, her high school sweetheart, the guy she was dating right before she met her current boyfriend, her group mate from college who always tutored her that she kissed once, the guy that she met at a networking event who spits when he talks, or the guy her friend has been trying to fix her up with for years (particularly every time her man messes up).

I hope that clears it all up for you.

The New Jersey Freeway

My frequent trips back and forth to Jersey have been the subject of intense speculation among my friends and family. I make the trips quickly (3 hours or less) and everyone knows I hate driving. So how does this Big City Girl do it? Well here is “The True Hollywood Story.”

I find a playmate.

Disclaimer – If you are traveling with me as a guest in my car, you are safe and sound as a passenger. I will mind the speed limit (you know, within a few miles plus or…well plus) but there are no fun and games. Hands on the wheel – ten and two.

Now by myself, on the New Jersey Turnpike - that is another story. I like to find someone who can entertain me during my adventure.

How does this happen? Well let me tell you –

This playmate usually finds me, rather than the other way around. It will be an un-suspecting person, speeding just a bit more than me, who gets too close to my rear bumper in the fast lane. I notice this, move over quickly to let them pass, then zip back to reciprocate this very rude, pushy driving.

Now if I were a guy, or a wildebeest, the person in question would find me to be either aggressive or very annoying. But I’m usually rapping along to Jay-z or Drake, dancing in my little blue car, and they tend to find it cute rather than obnoxious.

Then the real driving begins. Weaving, bobbing, driving along, we end up tracing a ribbon through the cars going 60-70 miles an hour like a retro Frogger game.

One such game is what got me home this fine Christmas. I found an appropriate playmate and we were zipping and dipping along the parkway accelerating and falling back, keeping in sight all the way.

Let’s pause, for a minute and define what makes an appropriate playmate for this activity.

1 -- This person must be male and in the car by himself. Girlfriends, wives, and mothers do not tend to like this game and male friends make faces and gestures in the passenger seat as if there are the ones doing the driving. Annoying.

2 -- This person should have tags from a place in the direction of my destination. New York and New Jersey are good going north, Maryland, Virginia, DC going south. Pennsylvania and Delaware folks tend not to want to play, and they get off at exits I don’t pay attention to. Playing with them could make me end up in…Pittsburgh. And who wants that?

3 -- This person (let’s just call him a guy) must be driving a little care like mine. He can not have a mini van or a hummer. A Honda, an Accord, and the diamond logo cars work well. They move quickly and can keep up.

So I found such a playmate on my most recent trip. Let’s call him Mr. Maryland crab license plates. He thought he was pushing me to the side of the fast lane, but when I followed him and then passed him, our little game was on.

We weaved and smiled and flirted for about 90 minutes, which was a great way to pass the time. That turnpike is no joke and boring as hell. I pulled in front of him a ways and about 10 minutes later he caught up.

I looked over and said “Oh there you are” and I guess he could read my lips because he laughed.

We hit some traffic, things slowed down, and he was behind me, out of sight, a few cars back. We got to the end of the turnpike, approached the toll, and then he did the unthinkable. He pulled out of the easy pass lane and moved into the cash only lane.

Cash only? Who gets onto the turnpike Christmas weekend without an easy pass? That cash only line stretched the length of Delaware. Are you kidding?

I zipped into the easy pass lane, not even stopping, now listening to Kanye. Like dancing with a guy at the club, when the song changes, you move on.

It was fun while it lasted.

BCG – Drivers wanted.