A Tinder Moment

I did it.
I succumbed to the peer pressure and opened a tinder account.

I'm sure you are asking,

Why??????

Good question.
And though this may seem hypocritical considering my earlier post, the truth is I was curious. Having never used any online dating tools, I wanted to give it a shot.
And I must say, I was met with great success, achieving countless "matches" and developing a strange addiction to the app. There is a guilty delight in knowing that numerous attractive men also find you attractive.
And so my tinder adventure began.

After the first couple "matches," I was hooked. I began tindering all the time. As soon as I woke up in the morning, I would fire up the tinder app and start browsing. I would tinder before work. I would, discreetly, tinder at work. Out to lunch with friends? Tinder under the table. Time for bed? What's one more hour of tindering going to hurt? I was completely consumed.
And I was matching left and right!

(OMG I am soooooo popular!!!)

And then the messages started to trickle into my inbox. Sometimes a simple greeting and other times a clever line or reference to my profile. Charming, intelligent men hoping to strike up a conversation and find some kind of connection with....

ME  

 This was followed by dinner invites, salacious requests, drink dates, vulgar offers, creative date ideas...
 I was swimming in possibilities. My ego was growing by the second.
I developed a strict screening process before accepting any date offers. I must have an intelligent (this includes spelling and correct grammar usage), non-sexual conversation via tinder messaging or text before I would even consider meeting in person. 

And so the dating began.
I was going on multiple dates per week. And continuing to add more matches to my list. And continuing to chat with all the men who messaged me. It became a game. An extremely exhausting and exhilarating game.
Every bit of my time was occupied with some form of tinder.
Until I met Mr. Tinder. The game changer.

And now...

To leave you hanging, Forever Girls.
Keep checking back with me. I will be filling you in on every single one of the juicy details and tinder excursions in a new blog series starting later this week!

Love always,

The Forever Girl

Scars

"Hey, where are you? I thought you were going to be here 45 minutes ago..."

"I'm lying in my bed right now. I'm not going to be able to come," his voice is soft, apologetic.

"You're not coming?" I can't stop the frustration and irritation from poisoning my tone.

"No, I'm sorry. I was almost there but started to not feel well."

"Oh," I say, doubt and mistrust glaringly apparent. "Why didn't you call sooner?"

"I was on the train... you know there's no service. I called as soon as I got home."

The silence over the line is poignant and tense, his confusion and concern collide with my suspicion and anger.
Questions swirl like a tornado through my brain, wreaking havoc and leaving a disaster. I've heard these words before from people I care about. The excuses. Slight untruths to escape a situation.

"Look...I'm going to be direct here," the words are coming so quickly from my lips. I hear the insult and hurt oozing from the dark parts of my heart that harbor past secrets. "If you didn't want to come today, if you didn't want to meet my friends, or didn't want to hangout with me today, just say so. You don't have to make up excuses with me. I expect complete honesty."

A moment of shocked silence then, "Whoa...calm down. It's not that at all. This isn't an excuse. I really wanted to come today. And I almost did, but I really don't feel well. I ate something bad and need to be home. If you'd like to come over and observe me in the fetal position on my bed, you may. If that would make you feel better."

I'm an ass.

"We can talk about this later," I say, sullenly.

When Later comes, I've had more time to dwell on the situation, to re-examine my words and actions. I'm still desperately clinging to some shred of anger, to some hope that I am in the right, that he messed up and this is his fault and that I have a right to feel hurt and upset. That I am not crazy...

But I am.

"Hey..." he says, tentatively, on the phone. "So earlier...that was pretty intense. Are you okay?"

No. Yes. No. I'm crazy.

"Yes, I'm okay," deep breaths here. I swallow my pride, my hurt, the bitterness. "I owe you an apology for earlier. I swear I'm not crazy. I just overreacted and it's because of some past situations. I'm sorry."

And I am sorry.
Escaping the past is, unfortunately, impossible. We cannot change what has already happened. And what has already happened becomes a part of who we are, how we react to situations, how we see the world around us. We carry the past into the present, allowing it to shape and alter the future.
But what if our past isn't good? What if terrible things occurred? What if we were hurt, lied to, cheated on, abused, neglected, forgotten?
Does that become our present?
Does that become our future?
If we can't escape the past, does that mean we are doomed to repeat it?

I spent years crying for the girl I once was, the innocent and naive girl who had never experienced a broken heart, who didn't know pain, anguish, and heart ache. I spent years trying to forget. Trying to forgive. Trying to move forward.
And until this day, I thought I had succeeded.

But the scars are still present. Battle wounds marking the passage of time, each jagged edge reminding me of a hurtful word or a broken promise. A permanent reminder that I am not the same person. I am different. Changed. 

I ask myself, has he given me any reason to doubt him? I've been hurt in the past, and each time there were warning signs, has he shown any of those signs?

No, no he hasn't.

I have a scar on my leg. It's white and smooth, a circular shape. I was running through the woods when I was 10 years old. Barefoot, unkempt hair, wild and free. I was laughing, playing a game with friends. It was summer time and the air was hot and I was a happy care-free child. I tripped. I stubbed my toe on a tree stump and landed on another stump, causing a large chunk of my leg to be gauged away. It was deep and probably needed stitches. It bled profusely and it stung like hell. 

Something bad happened in the woods that day. I was hurt. I bled. Something was taken away from me and in its place was an open wound.
Over a long period of time, the wound healed. New skin grew over the hole in my leg. And as a reminder of what had happened, a smooth, white scar was left.

When I think back on that day, I remember the girl running through the woods. I remember the wind in her hair, the speed, the blood pumping in her heart and flowing through her legs. I remember the warmth of the sun. I don't think about falling.

After that day, I was more cautious. My eyes were open and I was acutely aware of my surroundings. I paid more attention.
Did I stop running through the woods that summer? No. I slapped a band-aid on my leg and went back outside.

Scars themselves are not painful. They do not hurt or ache. They are new skin meant to remind us that we are changed. We are smarter, wiser, savvier. Scars are not meant to hold us back or make us ugly. They are beautiful reminders that we are new, healed, and better than ever.

Keep running, Forever Girls.

-Naomi

Clueless

I have a confession to make.

(Deep breaths here)

This may come as a shock to you. It did to me. But it has recently come to my attention, that when it comes to dating in your 20s,

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING

Yes, you read that correctly. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I never meant to mislead anyone! I thought I had this whole dating thing down. After all, I have been doing it for quite some time now.
When I started this blog, I had all these grand illusions of writing about extravagant dates, of regaling you with stories of eager suitors, of becoming the Taylor Swift of the blogosphere. I dreamed of millions of followers, of fan mail, of loyal readers begging me for advice, desperately needing my insight and wisdom.
 

I was asked by a happily-couplified coworker the other day,

"So how does one meet people these days? How do you find someone to date now that you're not in college? Doesn't it get harder?"

He has no idea.
And, well...obviously I don't either. Suddenly, my mind was spiraling. How do I meet people?? When did I become this old and alone???

Meeting people, however, doesn't seem to be my problem. Meeting the right people (person- just one would be fine with me...) is my problem.
There are a lot of interesting options for meeting new people in this day and age, including the plethora of online dating sites, match.com, eharmony, okcupid, farmersonly (seriously...they have one for everybody). And, more recently, tinder and grindr.

My first encounter with these new dating tools was the other day when I was casually approached by a man who, rather flirtatiously, informed me that he was on tinder.

"Oooo...." I replied. "Good for you? I think..."

I quickly rushed to ask a friend what in the world "tinder" is.
An online dating app.
He was hitting on you.

Damn. Totally messed that one up.

Personally, I prefer a more natural approach to meeting new people.

You know, you see an attractive guy on the subway so your hand "accidentally" slips off the handrail and you get jostled into him.
"Oops, so sorry! Hi, my name is Naomi...buy me coffee..."
Boom. New boyfriend.

Call me old-fashioned or outdated, but I have never really been a fan of online dating. Maybe I've watched too many episodes of Catfish, but it has always seemed a bit sketchy to me (good for you, though, if you've had a successful experience with them...no judgement here).
I just like the face-to-face interaction of knowing that I am speaking to a real, live human being.

So what do we do now? Us clueless, single, 20-somethings....

We stick together.
We live.
We get out there and we smile a lot.
We compliment each other.
We try new things like kayaking, disc golf, pottery classes...
We love ourselves.
We help each other.
We adopt a cat (or a dog...I'm not trying to turn you into the crazy cat lady just yet).
We throw out our old ideas of what our "type" is. 
We stop gossiping and causing unnecessary drama.

Does this help you? It may not be a step-by-step, this-is-how-you-find-your-man approach (if that's what you are looking for try the self-help section of Barnes N Nobles), but these are my new guidelines for myself for all aspects of my life.
These are not tried and true. I am a work in progress. Maybe we can work on ourselves together?
After all, we are Forever Girls. And we Forever Girls always stick together.

Becoming the Fairytale Pt 2

As I mentioned in my first post, I grew up in the South where the mentality is...

"If you are not married and expecting your first kid by the age of 21, there must be something wrong with you."

Pretty harsh, right?
But marrying young and starting a family is not only normal in the South, it is expected.
When my youngest sister graduated high school a few years ago, she received a stack of wedding invitations along with the graduation invites. She and her best friend were amongst the few high school graduates who had not fallen prey to this conventional mindset.
If their friends weren't already knocked up prior to their wedding day, then they were pregnant soon after the big day and living just a few doors down from where they had lived all their lives. 
Now don't get me wrong. I love the South and its emphasis on family and tradition and hospitality. But I believe those values have become synonymous with marrying way too young and denying yourself other ambitions and goals.

Marriage and children do not equal happiness.

And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Also, this is coming from someone who desires both, so don't think that I'm bashing anyone.
The sad reality is, most of the girls who buy into this mentality are settling. They think that marriage and a family will bring them the happiness that they are lacking. They believe that giving themselves to the first guy who says "I love you" means that they will have their fairytale ending. Everything will just fall into place and they will be loved and cherished by this immature 18-year-old boy forever (sounds rational...).
Instead they end up missing out on an education, working multiple minimum wage jobs to support their young family, and blindly trying to grow into the adult role that they threw themselves into prematurely.
Yet, the few girls who opt out of this mindset, who decide to further their education, who wait until they meet the right person before making the plunge into marriage, who decide to mature a little themselves before becoming parents, who have ambitions and dreams that they are actively pursuing...these are the girls who are told there is something wrong with them???

mind=blown

So who is right? Who is doing things the correct way? Or is there a correct way to do things?
Like I said before, marriage and family does not mean happiness. But the same is true for getting an education. Just because you go to college and wait a while longer does not mean you are guaranteed a happy ending either.
I cannot stress enough that happiness is not found in someone else. Happiness is a conscious decision that comes after you learn to love and accept yourself, flaws and all.
I think we, as a society, have been fooled into believing that meeting "the one" and riding off into the sunset on a white horse (a.k.a. getting married) is the ultimate goal. That this is the fairytale and the way to be happy and fulfilled.
But in reality, we are the fairytale. To have a happy ending, there must be a love story between you and yourself first.
Marianne Williamson said it best when she wrote,

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Who are you not to be all of the above? Be the fairytale, Forever Girls.

Remember, you are amazing,

The Forever Girl

Becoming the Fairytale pt. 1

When I was very young, I made a plan. A plan that was largely influenced by growing up in the South and by my obsession with Cinderella. Like most little girls, I dreamed of one day meeting "the one," my Prince Charming, having an enormous wedding, and settling down into our own cozy little happily-ever-after. All of this after graduating college with a master's degree, of course. In fact, I figured, I would most likely meet this lucky fellow while in school. Obviously, it would be love at first sight and we would spend our time having intellectual discussions over coffee, browsing used bookstores, and touring the country with our guitars in our VW bus (naturally, we would be rock stars, too).
Life would be peaches and cream. Sunshine and rainbows. Unicorns and...you get the picture.
But, as you've probably already learned, life rarely goes how we envision it. And it certainly never ends up like in the movies (especially not like the Disney princess movies).
A bachelor's degree and the worst relationship of my life later, I found myself back in my hometown, living with my parents again, and taking a minimum wage job at a home improvement store. It was during this time that I celebrated my 25th birthday and was accosted with this statement by a heartless bitch- I mean a good intentioned- coworker,

"You're how old now?? 25? You know, when I was your age, I was married and expecting my third child. You don't even have a man right now, do you?"

No, no I don't. Nor any prospects. And I sell paint and nails for a living. You're right...I think I'll go adopt five dozen cats now...
I wish that I could tell you that after that day my life magically got better and that I met "the one" and finally started my future. I also wish that I could tell you that I punched her in her stupid face. But none of that would be true.
The reality is that I continued to work there for another year and then went on to other low-paying, shit-slinging kinds of jobs, that I continued to seek out and date more scum of the earth, that I continued to spiral further into a deep despair, and that I worried constantly that my life, my future, would never begin. Also during this time, I adopted a cat.
The only thing standing in the way of my future as a cranky old hermit was a dozen or more friends and relatives.
Despite my ill fortune in the love department, I am extremely fortunate to have an abundance of close girlfriends and family members who aren't afraid of my meltdowns and mellow-dramatics. 
It was through their wisdom, fearlessness, and sheer stubbornness that I gleaned a new perspective on my life and future.
This is what I learned:

1. Life has already begun. If you're waiting around for "Mr. Right" so that you can "start" your life, then you're actually wasting your life. All that time and energy that you spend dreaming of your wedding, planning what you want to accomplish together when you finally meet him, is all time you could be spending actually accomplishing something. On your own.
2. If you aren't happy being alone, then you won't be happy with him. And you definitely won't make him happy either. Why would anyone worth having want to be with you if you can't even make yourself happy? Get a hobby. Do something you enjoy. Have goals and ambitions and dreams (other than your Cinderella fairytale). Be adventurous. Find what makes you happy.
3. Surround yourself with positive people. Unless you truly desire to be a crazy old maid cat lady, fill your life with good friends who aren't afraid to call you out when you're being dumb and encourage you when you think your life is over and no one will ever love you because you're a psychotic OCD freak with a cat named Bo Diddly and a secret guilty pleasure of watching marathons of Gossip Girl...
4. Forgive yourself for the mistakes you've made in the past and move forward. We've all been there. We've all done things we regretted (even those stuffy do-gooders whose motto in life is "Live with no regrets") It's inevitable. Nobody is perfect. So cut yourself some slack, pick yourself up, learn your lesson, and move on to something better.
5. Don't ever let anyone convince you that you are anything less than awesome. You deserve to be happy, respected, loved, adored, and told that you are incredible every single day. Because you are.
After all, you are a forever girl. And it doesn't get much better than that.

Best,

The Forever Girl

Lady and the tramp

"Don't chew with your mouth open, Naomi. Eat like a lady."

"Naomi, stop slouching. Stand up straight like a lady."

"Naomi! Don't say that word! It's not very ladylike."

"It's a toot, Naomi. Ladies don't fart."


"Lady" has always been the precedent by which we were to live. Growing up, she was the standard. Elusive and impossible. Destroyer of all my fun.
I always wondered who she was and why the hell I had to be like her.
She was a constant threat to my comfort and amusement.

Sitting at the dinner table, one leg propped up in my chair and forking in mouthfuls of food while hiding behind my knee and looking like "some sort of caveman" according to my dad, was so much more appealing to me than sitting straight as a board with a napkin in my lap, taking in the tiniest of bites.
As I got older, I was also informed that ladies wore bras, shaved their legs, waxed their eyebrows, and put on makeup.
I fought it.
The image of a lady that I had conjured in my brain over time was that of this stuffy, mid-century woman in a tight corset which constricted her breathing, her hair elaborately pinned in an enormous fluffy pile precariously perched on top of her head. If she so much as blinked too fast, it would topple. She is sitting, still and quietly, in a dimly lit room as someone reads to her from an intimidatingly large, leather-bound text book that no one truly comprehends. She is the picture of discomfort, boredom, and confinement.
In my mind, being a lady meant never doing the things I wanted to do. It meant never having fun, never saying what I was really thinking. It meant an entire lifetime of never measuring up and never experiencing life to its fullest.

When I was in college, I met a girl who never shaved her legs. She didn't wear makeup. She didn't allow men to hold the door open for her.
"I got it," she'd say. "I'm quite capable of opening the door myself."
My college was a work-study school. All students worked a part-time job at the school, which was its own self-sufficient city within itself, in order to pay their tuition costs. I met this girl, Anastasia, one summer when we were both assigned to the landscaping crew.
What I remember most about Anastasia is all the unnecessary work she was always creating for herself in order to prove a point.
She would heft large, heavy hoses and haul them further than needed, groaning under their strain and complaining of pulled muscles. She would continue to work in the midst of torrential downpours and warnings of severe lightning. She tried to get on the mow crew even though they only allowed males to push mow the grassy hills surrounding the school.
She was always the dirtiest amongst us.

She called herself a feminist.

She would scoff at the rest of us girls who continued to shave our legs, fix our hair in the morning, and allow the boys to pull our hoses for us.

And I thought to myself, maybe I don't want to be a feminist, after all. It apparently means creating more work for myself and being dirty and sore all the time.
So I was caught in the middle. I wanted neither to be a lady nor a feminist.

Now enter the adult world, the dating world.
My views began to sharpen and take shape as I stepped into this new and frightening realm and I realized two important things.
First, being a lady is not the equivalent of living a dull, confining life. A lady is a poised and refined woman who is treated with respect because of her intelligence, aptitude, and strength of character. As a matter of fact, she is the opposite of boring. She is educated, experienced, and polished.
Second, being a feminist does not mean being dirty, crude, or above asking for help. The definition of a feminist is someone advocating political, economic, and social equality for women. Sometimes people, such as Anastasia, take this definition to the extreme and this causes them to look stupid and unhygienic and to create more work than is necessary.

So I am both. I am all about some equality for women, but at the same time I don't think that the fact that I shave my legs, wax my eyebrows, wear makeup, and ask for help (turns out Mom was completely in the right for making me do those things- my junior high pictures are horrifying) make me any less of a feminist. I believe that we should have just as many opportunities as guys and that we should be able to accept those opportunities while wearing lipstick (guys groom and primp themselves just like we girls do).
I also don't think allowing a guy to hold the door open for me makes me any less of a feminist. In fact, I think it is a beautiful display of respect, humbleness, and power. The guy is humbling himself by acknowledging and respecting your power and position as a woman. I see nothing un-feminist about that picture.
To me, being a feminist and a lady have become one in the same. It means pursuing academic goals, it means living a healthy lifestyle, it means taking care of myself physically, mentally, and spiritually. It means knowing what I want and going for it. It means knowing when to speak and when to listen. It means respecting others. It means standing up for myself. It means using my words effectively, thinking through decisions, being precise. It means trying new things, seeking adventure. But mostly it means having respect for myself and allowing that to define me and how I'm viewed and treated by other people.

The Goodbye

This is more than just a farewell to you, the person I loved unconditionally for two years, my best friend who I trusted whole-heartedly; but this is a goodbye to guys like you. I'm done. I don't want or need your kind in my life. I'm better than that. I deserve better and I expect better and I demand better.
I gave you everything. My time, my money, my friendship, my encouragement, my support, my entire heart. I was an open book. Honest about everything. Faithful, caring, understanding. Your biggest fan.
When you needed a listening ear, I was there. When you were bored, I made myself available. When you were happy, we celebrated. When you were sad, I split a six pack with you and kept you company. When you were angry, I listened to you vent. When you were discouraged, it was me who kept you moving forward.
In return, you lied to me. About everything.
You only asked me to hangout when you needed something. Out of cigarettes? No money? No food? You knew who to call.
Bored on a Saturday night because all your "cool" friends already had plans? Good thing you had a back up.
You always knew the right thing to say to keep me convinced that you actually cared. You always did or said just enough to make me believe that my friendship meant more to you than just that girl you called when you had nothing better to do or no one else to help you out.
I was always your back up. Second choice. Your bitch. Nothing more than some dumb girl who you kept on the back burner "just in case."
After all, I loved you, so obviously I would do anything for you. Best friends, right? That's what best friends do.
Except you wouldn't do anything for me, would you?
Let me tell you what you are, really.
You are a piece of shit who will never amount to anything and who doesn't deserve to have ever even met me, much less dated me or called me a best friend.
You act like you are so cool and mature, but you aren't. You are a scared little boy who can't even take care of yourself, much less anyone else.
It's not "living on your own" and supporting yourself when your mommy and daddy have to bail you out every month with rent money and you have to mooch off your friends to eat because you over drew your bank account for the millionth time, blowing your entire paycheck within a couple days of receiving it on worthless shit and booze.
You cycle through all your friends because you bum off of them until they get sick of it and stop answering your calls and texts for awhile. You'll blame their unresponsiveness on them being shady, of course. Naturally, it's not something you did. Eventually, they'll start hanging out with you again until they remember why they stopped in the first place.

"Oh yeah...this guy never has money for anything. He's always drinking our beer, eating our food, bumming a cigarette off us..."

But you always have a ready excuse, don't you?
"I'm in between jobs right now..."
"I'm trying to focus on school..."
"I don't have a car..."

And they all seem like valid excuses till you look a little closer at your life.
You lost your job because you failed a drug test, they won't hire you back because you're lazy and always showed up late, you lost your other job because you called out too much,  you don't have a car because you don't have the balls to stand up to your mother and demand that she give you the car insurance money for your car. And you aren't studying that hard if you're skipping class because you partied too hard the night before. Not to mention the fact that the school you go to is designed so that any idiot with the capability of spelling their own name can pass with no effort.
You will always be dependent on someone else. You live with your mommy now and you will one day move from her house (probably after she passes away and you don't have a choice) into some poor girl's home, where she will work endlessly to try to make ends meet to support you both.
And you will skip from job to job, making only minimum wage. You 'll spend your money on beer, cigarettes, and video games.
You'll continue to cycle through your old friends until they get sick of your same lame excuses, like me, and stop responding completely.
You will continue to go out and party until you are the oldest one there and they ask you to stop coming.
You'll drop out of college because it's "too hard" and you "just don't think college is for you."
You'll develop a beer gut and your dandruff will get out of control because your girlfriend is too busy trying to support you both to do something about it. And lord knows you won't take care of it. You can't take care of anything yourself.
You are who you always feared you would become- your lying, cheating, deadbeat father. You will continue his bitter life, working dead end jobs till the day you both die, drinking and smoking a ton of weed to try to drown out the thoughts of what could have been if you had done things differently.
But, of course, you won't see any of this. You're too blinded by your own self-centeredness and your all-consuming fear of life to see the sorry piece of shit that you are and will continue to be. Your fear keeps you from living. You barely even survive.
You are a cowardly son of a bitch who didn't even have the guts to tell me everything you had done. You couldn't even admit to my face that you had been lying to me all along. For two years.
But you don't owe me anything, right?
Wrong.
You owe me everything.
And one day, when I'm old and gray, after I've lived a full and happy life, overflowing with love, laughter, and true friendship, maybe I'll look back and remember you  as a little glitch. A bump in the road. A mistake that I made a long time ago. Maybe I'll remember you.
But you. You will remember me for the rest of your miserable life. You will remember me as the best thing that you ever had. The one you were too young and stupid to hold onto. I am the one who got away. I am out of your league. I am unattainable. I am a forever girl.