My Dirtiest Little Secret

I have a secret. And, I can't tell you his name. 

I am living, breathing, engaging in, (admittedly over analyzing) a "thing" that will never be a relationship and I can't even tell social media we hang out. 

We have a secret. 

No. He is not married. No. He does not have kids. No. I am NOT the other woman, nor would I ever be. That's just it, though. Why do we have a secret? He is a single, functioning, charming adult employed at a well paying job, with no one in his life but me... and Tinder.

What has this over-sexualized, over-publicized, commitment-phobic culture dragged me in to? I hardly recognize myself; except in moments of doubt when I find myself curled in a blubbering ball on my bed praying for mercy from this mess and my decision to stay in it. That is the me I know. The realist, the smart girl who knows when to run. But I never do. I quickly snap out of that when he sends me a snapchat. I realize that he probably sent it to 5 other women. But, any attention from him and I am a swooning, cooing, school girl ready to perpetuate our secret; just one more day. 

I have told myself its over almost a dozen times. I have told him its over twice. And where was I last Thursday? Hanging out talking movies and dirty jokes hoping he would somehow realize that I am the most amazing woman ever and suddenly want to be with me and only me. 

"I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time, thinks I'm the best person in the world, and wants to have sex with only me. " -Hannah, Girls

All of this is 100% my fault. I knew what it was going into it. I knew what it was from day 1. I knew the kind of guy he was from the day I met him. And somehow, in my stupid girl brain, I got it all twisted up thinking I could change him. Every woman stupidly thinks that at some point. 

In those moments of clarity when I said it was over, I tried to date and tried to meet other people. The worst part is, no matter who I would go out with or how many other people I met, I found myself calling him at the end of the night anyway. I don't want them. And as long as he is in my life and I keep stringing myself along, I will never be free to see other people because in my head, every snapchat, text, IM or any other form of communication from him that can be directed at me, is a glimmer of hope that he might actually be into me; because I'm that delirious. 

We used to just be friends. Every Thursday I would blow up his phone when I was out with my girlfriends and we would beg him to come out to karaoke and he would. That wasn't weird. Now, if I call him, it better not be more than once and I'd be lucky to see him when I'm out with my friends. If he is out with his friends, I can hug them to greet them, but a low five is pretty much all we do anymore. God forbid we show any intimacy in front of these people who actually know we "hang out." They might get the wrong idea; that we are in love or something. 

So, not only is our friendship a secret from all of social media, our intimate friendship is hushed in front of the people who know that we are a little more than friends. 

Just a little. 

I think my biggest problem is that he gets my sense of humor and he laughs and plays off of anything I say. I am a total sucker for anyone who thinks I'm funny and is funny right back. 

But, I digress. So, where has our generation gotten this secrecy from? 

Facebook, Twitter, Tinder, and countless other forms of communication have become an essential part of our lives. The socialization, the attention, the followers all of it presented as truth, naked and complete. But we have these little secrets until we are sure that they will work out. Then we can publicize as much as we want wherever we want. Until then, we have to pretend we don't know each other. 

We start out IMing and then you can text but God forbid you actually call each other. Only crazy people call someone else if they want to hang out- how desperate they must be. There are so many more stages to dating now! What ever happened to, "I like you. Do you like me enough to get pinned and make out in the backseat of my car overlooking the kissing cliff?" What happened to long talks on the phone and waiting for the other person to hang up first? 

Now it is the never ending battle of who could care less. 

I never care less.

He literally said to me, "Don't fall in love with me," the other day. As if love were the worst thing that could happen to someone. I always fall for the guy. No matter how hard I try not to. The truth is, love is the worst thing to happen to someone... if they're the only one in love.

I wish we could stop all this game playing and secrecy from the world and each other. I wish he could just admit that there are women he cares about more than me so I could move on or I could admit that there aren't any men that I care about more than him and he wouldn't run. But, that's not the way we do things 'round here anymore. 

Being a twentysomething and dating means secrets. It means playing games. It means pretending you don't care because caring, calling, falling, it all pushes people away. It means that I'll curl into a blubbering ball on my bed at least a dozen more times before I break and truly let myself let go of him. 

Hey, can I see you tonight?

-Sarah

Follow me on Twitter and Instagram @sarahfblack 

Always A Bridesmaid...

I would really like to open this with a quote about being a bridesmaid and being the best at it like Jane (Katherine Heigl) in 27 dresses; the organized, maid of honor, who is really a wedding planner as her hobby. She is perfectly dressed, beautiful, and could pull off a stunt like being in 3 weddings on the same day. But, if we are being entirely honest, I'm more like Megan (Melissa McCarthy) in Bridesmaids and I'm more likely to try to hit on the air marshall by proposing an unrest in the restroom together and then share a sandwich with him [Still not a slut. Don't worry. See my other post.] or Katie (Isla Fisher) in Bachelorette and someone will need to keep an eye on me all night to make sure I don't need my hair held back.

Let's just be honest for the sake of full exposure here, I'm not exactly stable at weddings. You give me a ladies' brunch with cocktails or a business dinner (er, well most of them) and I will be a perfect shining example of a classy woman. But there is something about seeing your best friends of 10, 15, 20 years (yeah, I have had friends for 20+ years) saying "I do," and tossing a bouquet that makes me go crazy.

Don't get me wrong at all. I LOVE being a bridesmaid and I am always genuinely happy for my friends and I am always happy to spend the day celebrating their love. I love the men they marry and I love sharing the whole experience with them, and I just love love.  But, I walk away from every dress fitting and shower and bachelorette party and I panic. Sometimes they turn into full-on panic attacks and other times it's just a "I need to call my only other single friend and have her talk me off the ledge" moment, but nevertheless, the panic is real.

I can't decide if it is more the fact that these girls, er women,- holy ballz, we are women now- are old enough to be getting married and it is so surreal that in this friendship of 10 years they have found the love of their life and are ready for the next phase to begin. OR if I'm just so selfish that every time another "big day" comes around, I think about mine and then I get overwhelmed with what that will be like... but I don't even know who I would marry... OMG I don't have a date... Shit, what if I don't get a +1... Everyone is expecting me to be single still... Do they have that little faith in me?... Do I have that much faith in myself?... I don't... Holy crap... I'll RSVP for just me.

It is definitely the latter.

The hard truth is that I haven't had a real date to a wedding that was straight and/or not my roommate since my relationship 2 years ago and that was just dumb-luck timing because that relationship didn't last long. Every wedding before and after that in my whole life has been fag hag or stag. I have never been the one to even really want to catch the bouquet because I can't subject the other women to the fate of me being the next one to get hitched. That may be never. Then, they'd all be screwed because of me. No thanks. I don't need that guilt.

So many people compare being single at a wedding to being a kid in a candy store; there are so many options and you can dance with whomever you please. You can flirt and just enjoy the romantic ambiance as you get to know the bride's third cousin twice removed named Ned.

It is really more like being a diabetic in a candy store and you're surrounded by love and happy couples and the singles table is you and a handful of 12 year olds who want dates to their bar mitzvahs and you look like the kind of woman a man could take to such a special occasion. Oy vey!

No woman wants to go to a wedding alone and noBODY wants to go home alone from a wedding. I do both frequently.

I suppose with the number of wedding's I'm in in the next two years, I could chalk it up to being in the wedding party and it would be awkward for my date to sit alone while I'm at the head table or some other excuse that makes sense until I'm 5 mimosas in and my lash glue wont stay because I'm tearing up because I'm stewing in my own selfish envy.

Don't worry ladies. I will NEVER ruin your wedding. I sincerely hope that my friends Courtnie, Katie, Ashley, Sarah, all of you know that I am beyond happy for you. I am so in love with being in your weddings and I could not be more touched that you have asked me. You are all marrying (or have married) amazing men and I want to be there more than anything. And, I promise I wont end up in sweat pants with my face in the toilet as I drunk dial some dude, nor will I take home any of the groomsmen. I SWEAR! I will be the classiest you have ever seen me.

All of my other friends who have invited me to their weddings, in the last year especially, Kelsie, Nicki and Steve, and countless others, thank you for inviting me. I love you all and I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else than with you on your big days.

I just panic when I realize I can't fill the +1 slot even with ample time.

Le sigh.

As always, thank you for reading. Ginormo thank you to my friends who have encouraged me to keep doing this. Even if it's just you guys reading, soooo worth it just to get it off my chest.

Peace, Love and Spanx,
Sarah

Follow me on Twitter and Instagram @sarahfblack

Reinventing the Wheel... Or Yourself, Whichever is Easier

"I'm always looking for something new: a new inspiration, a new philosophy, a new way to look at something, new talent."

-Madonna Ciccone

I know I promised something a little more serious. But it was depressing me, and I am still struggling with opening up. You would think that after my I'm A Barbie Girl post, I would be comfortable getting mentally naked in front of you all. It is still tough. So this week, I think it's time to talk positivity! 

Let's talk reinvention, people. We are in our twenties and we are trying desperately to figure out who we are and where we are going. Maybe we should step back and analyze what we are working with and make some decisions on what we want to change.

This week alone, I have utterly reinvented myself. In some ways I have gone back to my roots, in others, I have taken a dive into the unknown hoping for the best. I have taken up a new volunteer position. I have asked for a promotion at work. I have a regularly scheduled personal trainer. And, I have actually completed a load of laundry and put it away in the same day. You might not think that last one is very hard, but I'll be damned if I have done it yet since I have lived with in-house laundry (which, by the by, is the greatest luxury of them all next to a dishwasher). 

You may wonder why I made all of these changes at once, but I can tell you in the strictest confidence BECAUSE I CAN and  I knew I should. I was tired of sitting at home and sulking about how much boys suck. How about I fill my time with meaningful things that I love to do and be less self-pittying and selfish? I was always complaining that beings single sucked because I only had to worry about myself. Welp, now I can focus my energies on more productive and fulfilling things. 

Finding something to go back to your roots with will make your twenties seem less intimidating and more comfortable. We go through so many changes in these years that it is hard to remember who we used to be- in our Chuck Taylors, flare jeans, and studded belts. I may look a little ridiculous if I showed up in the office in anything other than heels and slacks, so I dug a little deeper and looked for a part of the old me that I could bring back. 

I was a scout for 13 years. Nerd. I know. But it really taught me the value of working hard in a community and what giving back what you can afford to give can be the most rewarding thing. I don't have a lot of money (hence asking for a promotion), but I do have some time to give. Even through college with working, internships, and graduation to focus on toward the end, I made time for volunteer work at a homeless shelter. It has always been important to me. 

I could hardly believe myself last week when I realized that I had been missing that part of my life for nearly two years since I moved to Iowa City. So, I located Shelter House Iowa City and called them up. I might be busy, but I have enough time to volunteer three hours a week. That is nothing in my schedule. I get to help in some of the most basic ways; organizing paperwork, connecting clients with caseworkers, helping clean laundry. 

This experience reminds me how much I actually have. What I think is not a lot of money still keeps a roof over my head, clothes in my closet, my dog fed, and a warm bed to sleep in. Things that I often take for granted when I look at my bills every month and wonder how much money I am going to have to go to Chicago or Milwaukee after I pay them. That's just it; I can pay them.  Helping other people get just that roof over their head makes me so much more thankful for the things I do have. I remember suddenly why I was so much happier when I was doing this stuff before.

Find that old thing you used to do, that old part of your personality and grab onto it again. It will make the transition a lot easier; even if it is just jamming out to Against Me! in the car once a week. But, after that, be sure you are progressing and moving forward with who you are now. 

I asked for a promotion at work. Not just a raise. A job title change, a salary change, a BIG fucking change. Admittedly, they asked to meet with me to discuss how things were going, but I seized the opportunity to lay out my requirements for staying. For months it has been increasingly harder to maintain certain luxuries and I will be honest, my parents have paid for all of my car repairs. THANKS MOM AND DAD! IT REALLY MEANS A LOT! (They'll get that. They totally read this). 

But, the reality is, I have a college degree and professional experience coming out of my ass. I want desperately to stay with my current company because I love the people, the culture, and frankly I love my job. How many people wake up and say that? But, without more compensation, those student loans will only get the interest paid every month, my credit card debt (a discussion in and of itself) will continue to look bleak, and I will have to keep asking mom and dad for more money every time my car doesn't start. Which was 20 times at least last winter. The future for the VW Bug does not look promising. 

My advice to anyone else out there who has been gunning and working their asses off like I have, is to go out there and ask for it. They will never give something to you if you don't ask. Besides, what can it hurt? Either they agree you're worth what you think you are, or they don't and just like in love, if they don't know your worth, move on because there is someone else out there who would be happy to have you. 

I get it, you're saying "Sarah, but look at the job market. And everyone requires experience." Look harder. I know. But I have landed jobs in this market 3 times now; When I was graduating college and landed a corporate proofreading job, when I left that job and became a waitress (actually a better job than the corporate one), and when I thought I might lose my mind if I had to waitress any longer and landed my currently sweet job. You might end up in my position where they low ball you a little at first but you take the opportunity for the experience and to get out of waitressing, but it will also present you with the opportunity to ask someone for a promotion. You'll be forced to make a daring leap into adulthood and make a stand for yourself. It will be scary, but worth it because even if you don't get the promotion, you had the balls to ask. 

P.S. I applied for a front desk position and demanded full time hours. My now amazingly close friend who hired me passed along my resume and got me the sales position that I am growing into a career. THANKS KATHI! BTW, Winey Women Wednesday soon? OMG PLZ? Yay! It's all about making connections, getting your name out there to potential employers, and then laying out what you need. Do it. You will find a good job. 

We never have to settle for jobs we hate. My dad kept telling me, when I hated my couple of jobs before, that it is just a reality and a part of life to hate your job. I couldn't accept that fate. I am sorry, Dad, I could never live in a world where I am unhappy for 1/3 of it (and sleeping for another 1/3 of it- that only left the last 1/3 to be happy and I wasn't because hating my job ruined my last 1/3 of each day). I think it is a great misconception of our generation. We have graduated into an economy that, like an abusive boyfriend, tells us we need it more than it needs us. False, it needs us a lot more. So go find your niche and get cracking on having a reason to ask for a promotion. 

Probably even more scary than asking for a promotion at work, I got a personal trainer. Seriously, if you are going to reinvent yourself, your twenties are the time to do it and do it completely. Make that life-changing decision to travel the world (which I still plan to do), take up an instrument and start a band (I took up the ukulele last year), or find your faith if you were ever unsure, or become a masochist like me and take up working out with a sadist and eating like a champion. Find something about yourself that you have wanted to change for a while and CHANGE IT. Empassion yourself to chase after who you want to be personally. I can't wait to meet skinny me. 

Hell, if you're like me this, you already chased after what you want to be professionally and socially, why not focus on yourself for a bit? I do not recommend doing all of these changes at once for everyone, but I am a professional self-spreader-thinner. :) 

And I finished that laundry and wrote this blog. Did I mention I did that all this week?... And it's only Tuesday? Whatever it is for you, go do it. We can survive our twenties, and we will DAMMIT! 

HOO HA! MOTIVATION! 

Thank you all again for reading this week. I was clearly busy planning my attack on my current life to up heave it and get out of the funk that I was clearly wading in when I wrote the last blog. I don't even have time to worry about boys now. See how I solved that one? 

As always, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Instagram @sarahfblack 

I love you. And thank you for going through this with me. <3

*EXPLICIT* Commitment, Monogamy, and Other Dirty Words My Parents Taught Me

"I just want someone who wants to hang out with me and thinks I'm the best person in the world and wants to have sex with only me." - Hannah, Girls

Let me preface this blog (I always preface my blogs, apparently) with the fact that I am getting drunk as I write it. This one has to be word vomit. I have spent 4 week and 7 drafts of a blog trying to articulate what is trapped up in my brain on the topic of relationships, love, sex, etc. So, if this gets a little more rambly than usual, sorry and God help us all.

I suppose today rather than spill all the good stuff about my bad dates, bad kisses, bad lines, and bad guys in general, I want to discuss my frustration with contemporary single culture. Known now as the "hook up" culture, men have finally gotten what they have always wanted: loose women with loose morals and loose vaginas. Okay, they probably don't want the last one, but frankly, if they are that kind of woman, the loose vaginas is a side-effect and a hazard of the job. What I am trying to say is; men have been trying for centuries to find a way to sneak around and get as much poon as possible without getting caught. They found what they thought was a loop hole and decided to stay single. Single men can trapse around with no moral obligation taking and bedding as many women as they see fit and going home to shower it off like it meant nothing. Women caught on. Somewhere in the lines of communication some feminist single woman said "I can do that too!" and she started behaving the way men have for centuries; sleeping around, different partners every night. Men, as dumb as they may seem, may have just pulled the most ingenious stunt of all evolution: They tricked us into thinking it was our idea to loosen our morals and vaginas and claim sexual independence and promiscuity in the name of feminism.

The only problem is, some of us aren't falling for it.

We slut bash because we don't see it as slut bashing-- er, we do, but not by the standard definition. We call them sluts and shame them because they have ruined the game for all of us. How are we expected to land and keep a man in a world where most men have booty on speed dial numbers 1-9 every night? How are we supposed to be respected when we refuse what's now expected? (I really should have been a rapper, these rhymes are sick).

The unfortunate thing is, I have now lost track of how many men have propositioned, asked, begged, and borderline aggressively pursued sex with me on a first date. Not to mention the handful and a half that have tried guilt tripping me. It's a damn good thing my parents raised me right and I don't give a flying fuck if you bought dinner; that doesn't entitle you to have your way at second, or third, or home base. Period. End of story.

Speaking of period: That seems to be the only deterrent for most men. "No, we have only known each other for a couple of hours." And, "Did you really just call me Sam?" are apparently not reasonable excuses for not sleeping with guys these days. I have resorted to claiming falsely that it is like the elevators from the Shining down there just so he will stop trying to get his hand down my pants in public. Yeah. There's no personal space anymore. Apparently what's mine is theirs even if they can't remember my name. I should really start throwing more punches.

My point is, there are so many women out there giving men exactly what they want and "all the good girls are home with broken hearts" oh, Tom Petty <3. All the sluts are out there sharing their HPV with everyone calling it "independence" and "liberation". These men of course, when they decide to go off the market have no idea they have HPV and give it to the good girl they fell in real honest-to-god love with. It's just a sad reality. 50% of all sexually active people will contract HPV. The statistics are terrifying for other STDs as well. But these children of the "hook up" culture also believe they are invincible and can't contract contractible diseases. I digress, again.

I am sick and tired of being guilt tripped and never going on second dates with guys because I can't see how women could treat their bodies like amusement parks. You have NO idea how many times I have heard men say the sentence, "It's just sex." These women brag bout the men they bed and wear it like a badge of honor when they leave with someone new. Isn't the point of feminist sexuality to claim your own body? Then claim it! Don't auction it off like some prized painting for pennies. It's just the Mona Lisa... 

I realize that what I just said has a double standard. It looks like I said that it was okay for men to be romping around and humping everything with a hole and a pulse because they have been doing that for centuries. The reality is that I don't think it's okay. And, I know that there are some genetics to blame for the carnal thrust lust that men experience. But, I also believe that we are evolved beings and we can sit back and rationalize ourselves out of murder-- the most passionate of crimes. So, I find it hard [no pun intended] to believe that a man cannot tell his dick it should stay in for the night.

This now also looks like I have made two sweeping generalizations, because I have. Obviously, I realize that not all women are sluts; because, I am not one. I realize that there are a good number of men who don't leave the house every morning wondering who they could give their itch to. The problem is that women are programmed to think monogamously. We are genetically hardwired to seek out one lone mate to impregnate us and protect us while we rear the children. Men are genetically hardwired to spread their seed. So, while it sounds like all fun and games to be out there dillying around like one of the guys, the sluts have created a trap for themselves and those of us who realize how important monogamy is.

The truth behind why men wont commit is in part because of monogamy. The other parts have a little to do with maturity, financial stability, and the dogma they eat up from their frat brothers who tell them if they commit they're pussy whipped and they'll have to get naked and chug two 40s before they run around the block (or some other homoerotic display of manliness).

The only men who aren't bothered by these things have found themselves in relationships and are off the market because there are more women out there looking for commitment (it is, after all, ingrained in our genes) that it takes significantly less effort for a man to find a mate if he is in fact looking. Let's be honest: We cook, we clean, we fuck- and we still ain't wifed up. (again with the sick rhymes. I am a lyrical poet). The odds are against us women who use the C word.

I realize my real beef is with the whole system. I don't care who started the battle of who could care less (because we know it's the men who care less), but I wish it were over. I really wish that chivalry weren't dead; that I could expect flowers on a first date that he paid for [for once] and a walk home where he stands on the street side. I wish I could meet a man looking for commitment and monogamy so we can get married and raise a well-mannered family together- though I'm sure any child of mine will speak sailor before he learns English. I hold out hope that a man like that still exists and is available for me to scoop up, but my faith is waning. Statistically speaking, there is a 1:1 ratio of men to women on this planet. my favorites are gay and have realized their everyone's favorite and the others who aren't in relationships don't want to be. Statistically speaking, I'm screwed; not in the good way.

FIN.

Thanks again for tuning in and reading up. I pinky swear the next post will NOT be a rant, but a true examination of this theory at work. I still have a lot of stories to tell :)

As always, feel free to follow me on Twitter and Instagram: @sarahfblack.

Sorry for all the profanity. It was necessary for the venting process.

Xox,
Sarah