Tatiana Talks

How Women Set Themselves Up To Fail

Wow. I mean. Wow.
So, Theresa sent me a link on Facebook – I’m still debating posting it – of an article on how women set themselves up to fail.
First, I think it is a great show of maturity on my part that I’m not nearly as angry about this post as I would have been, say two years ago. From the beginning when he calls all women crazy (yes, those are the first three words of this post), to the part where he tells me, I (as a woman) have been brainwashed, to when he points out that we (women) all lose our looks after 26 (no brainwashing there, Preston), I didn’t scream or punch the back of the neck of the guy sitting in front of me on the subway, or use the eff word, or even throw my phone down in disgust.
Mostly I just laughed, because I feel terrible for this poor, simple, 20-something (my guess and hope as if he is in his 30s, then I feel scared for our future) idiot.

Actually, I think we should collectively feel terrible for the author of this post who was clearly recently dumped by his girlfriend for a Duke graduate who studied finance and psychology and likes doing things the author didn’t, which seems to be almost anything since the author likes “being lazy” and just “lying in bed all day doing nothing.”
Please note, just because he admits he likes being lazy and doing nothing does not mean he lacks ambition.
Because his now ex-girlfriend wanted to do more with her life, the author reasons “women are insecure” and “like to compete with their friends, and they would rather die than see their friends end up with a better guy than they have.”
So true. The only reason I’m single is because I'm waiting for all my friends to marry so I can find someone better and win (and not die). Unfortunately, all my friends are with such wonderful guys it may be impossible for me to find someone better. Really. My list of four is becoming less about looking for a 6’5” man with a laser rocket arm, and more about Peyton Manning being one of the few guys I can think of who would beat my friends husbands and boyfriends.
But wait, it gets better. You see, every relationship “gets stale” and this is why men cheat and women walk away. But women shouldn’t walk away when it gets stale (or, I guess, if their men cheat), because (my hand to god) “the devil you know is always better than the devil you don’t.”
Also, it seems, nice guys are the guys who are willing to do the minimum in return for decent sex and blow jobs (I couldn’t make this up) and the assholes are the guys in the suits with the fancy degrees taking you out to dinner. But  don’t be fooled, ladies, those guys in the suits with the hard to get reservations are only doing all of that to court you and will eventually dump you for a 22-year old. Leaving you sad. And miserable. And apparently suffering from a mid-life crisis at 30.
Oh, more bad news: you’re only going to live 60.

And I guess this is how women are setting themselves up to fail.

Oh, eff it, here’s the link. Enjoy – the pictures, not to mention the conclusion,  are worth the visit.

The Matter of Yummy

I realized early on in my single for life adventure that there was a flaw in my system.

The flaw, as some of you may have already guessed, is what to do about sex.

Now, for some, this isn’t a flaw at all. Unfortunately, for me (and maybe others of you out there) I don’t have an eff buddy (nor have I had much luck with them in the past) nor do I have a friend with special benefits (this, too, in the past has proven to be a special kind of disaster). And while I know, thanks to one of my guy friends, that getting a stranger to have sex with me is as easy as walking into a bar and just saying, “Yes.” I’ve never been super comfortable with one night stands. Yes, I have enjoyed my share, but the self inflicted guilt and shame I experienced the next morning (which has increased over the years) diminished any enjoyment I remember from the evening prior.

So, what does a girl like me do for a little something-something? This is the exact question that my dear friend Cricket and I were contemplating over a pitcher or tequila. Because the whole thing has be recently fantasizing about a relationship. A relationship I don’t want anywhere else but the bedroom.
Cricket is still on the fence about the whole single for life thing for herself, but she fully embraces it for me. She too, is just concerned about my lack of yummy, especially as it concerns my inability to carry on a conversation with Hot Attorney, but more on that later.

The first obvious solution was that I get involved with a professional baseball player.  And while I am still working this angle, I figured it would make sense to explore other options as well. Especially for those of you out there that don’t live in a city with a professional baseball team.

Another option that came to us after our third round was getting involved with a married man. Forgetting for a moment the moral objections one might have with this arrangement, for someone like me, this could work. However, I really try to keep my life as drama free as humanly possible and sleeping with another woman’s husband is just inviting crazy into my apartment.

Still, a married man wouldn’t likely develop feelings for me. The boundaries of our relationship would be very clear, dictated by the fact that he has a wife he shares his feelings with. I would just be someone he shared his bed with. And really, isn’t that what brings so many of these friends with benefits relationships crashing to a halt. Often, one of the partners confuses sex (or the hormonal release post orgasm) with love. For my part, I can control how I feel (and even when I can’t, I can get out before I get too hurt). But what about him? What happens if its his line that starts blurring? I like hurting people even less than I like drama in my living room (unless it is Law & Order).

Ideally, what I am looking for is someone I find attractive, but could never actually be attracted to. So he would have to be less than smart and/or less than funny and/or a Dallas Cowboys fan. He would also need to find me attractive without being attracted to me. Maybe there is an expiration date (he is only in Philadelphia for school or a work assignment) or perhaps he has a rule about falling in love with someone who worships Peyton Manning.

So Cricket suggested I try meditating before bed, focusing on exactly what I am looking for and then asking the universe to bring him to me. We then agreed this seems a lot like masturbation, so I decided I would also put this out in this universe and see if you guys could bring me a solution.

But know this, other spinsters, I am working on the problem. And when I find an answer that works for all of us, I will share it with you.

The Ladies Privilege

It came to my attention (and not because of the terrible Amy Adams’ movie) that Leap Day has historically been a day when it is perfectly acceptable for women to propose to men.

Now, setting aside the fact that I think it is always acceptable for women to propose to men and that I have no intention of getting married and thus have no intention of getting down on one knee to ask a man to be my groom, I do like the idea of proposing to someone today. So long as we all understand that by propose, I don’t mean marriage but merely making out with me until March.

Now, kiddies, back in my day, I wouldn’t have needed a special day on the calendar to approach a random guy and say, “You. Me. Lip-lock. Now.” Sadly, though, I don’t know where that girl went. I mean, I have some idea – she might have been run off by all those fools who kept telling her guys don’t like aggressive girls. But I digress. It is 2012. I am older and not much wiser and now require an occasion to get my groove on.

Ideally, I would propose to CK, but since the chances of randomly bumping into him are slim and none, and this doesn’t feel like the sort of thing one should plan, I crossed him off the list. This also eliminates Peyton, Ryan and Daniel from proposal contention. Leaving my two current crushes, Trainer Boyfriend (who is not really my boyfriend, aka Fake BF) and Hot Attorney.

Forgetting for a moment that he is so hot he melts my face off, when it comes to Hot Attorney, it actually shocks me a bit I haven’t already blurted out “Do you wanna make out?” I’m also shocked that I have refrained from doing anything else to make myself entirely too ridiculous to ever consider desirable. Maybe for this reason alone I won’t be throwing myself at Hot Attorney today. Or maybe it is because as horrific as rejection would be, I think it would be worse to actually have to come into the office tomorrow knowing what his mouth tastes like and not be able to do anything more about it.

This brings us to Fake Trainer Boyfriend. He is hot. I want to make out with him. I am going to the gym after work. This should be a no brainer. Except, that is exactly the problem. I’m not sure he has much of a brain. He starts talking and even when he is talking about something he should know about (like hamstrings, or quads, or the Brachialis muscle) he just doesn’t sound bright. And while much, much younger me wouldn’t have minded, current me struggles to get hot and bothered by someone who I worry might not be able to spell hot or bothered.

I think I’m beginning to understand why guys get so worked up about proposing. Thank god we women only have to deal with this once every four years.

But He's Single

There is a new battle cry coming from my camp of friends that don’t believe me when I say I am single for life.

It’s an interesting plan. Gone are the hypothetical situations where a super-hot guy in horn-rimmed glasses, with a great head of hair, a fantastic sense of humor, and Peyton Manning’s work ethic, walks up to me at a bar and declares I am the one he has been looking for and he can’t live another moment without me, he then drops down to one knee, opens a red leather box exposing a nearly flawless, 4-carat ,emerald cut diamond ring. They have been replaced with a simpler plea, “What about him?” pointing to the nearest guy who isn’t already talking to a woman.

I never said it was a good plan.

We were all out Friday night, and it got to that point in the evening where everyone had just enough alcohol in them to start trolling the bar for bedfellows. Or at least that is how it went in the good ol’ days. Now, I was the lone single ranger, and the only guy I would have even maybe considered making out with was gone, and I wasn’t even sure when he left which indicates to you just how interested I was in him.

Still, the Duchess, the leader of the declining rebel forces, wasn’t going to let dick o’clock pass without pointing out the several men within arm’s reach whom she thought I should be talking to. The conversations went a lot like this:

“Tati, what about that guy.”

Eye roll. “What guy?”

“That guy, there, in the blue fleece.”

Without looking. “He’s wearing a fleece.”

“He’s cute.”

I look over. “He’s short.”

“He’s not. He’s your height.”

“For the last time, that’s short.”

“He’s funny and has a good job.”

“He doesn’t live in the city.”

“He has a car.”

“Because he doesn’t live in the city.”

“But he’s single.”

Oh, well, then, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Let me just adjust my cleavage.

Now, if it sounds like I am being picky it’s because I am. It took a lot for me to get here – this happy place where I realized that I have a lot going on for myself. Those of you that have been reading this blog know there were some tortured moments as I tried to find happiness with someone. I realized along the way that even if I found the perfect guy referenced above, it would still require some compromise on my part to fit him into my life. So if I am going to have to give up even a part of my awesome, happy life, he is going to have to be worth it – that’s just basic economics; it’s called opportunity costs.

So, Number Five is going to have to have a lot going for him. Certainly more than just being single.

Number Five

I have been having a lot of conversations about choosing to be single for life. Mostly friends that either don’t believe me or want in. At some point, rather incredulously, people will say, “So, you are never going to get married.”

I’m not a super big fan of the word never. I find it almost always comes back to bite me. I am still ruing the day I told Bridie I would never tuck my jeans into boots.

So I came up with a list, the five guys I would be willing to leave the single life for. As follows, ranked in case two of them ask me to marry them at the exact same time:
1. Peyton Manning
2. Ryan Gosling
3. CK
4. Daniel Craig
5. TBD
I left spot number five open because during this journey I swallowed a lot of red pills of truth. One of these pills was that truth changes. Right now everything in my life is perfectly wonderful. I am happy and content (not the same thing) and looking forward to my next adventure and the one after that, and the one after that.

But I know that as I go on these adventures, and continue on with my life, things will change. I will change. And there may come a day that I can’t fathom right now, when I will meet someone that changes my truth. That makes risking all my happiness worthwhile.

Of course, it is just as possible that the five spot will never be filled and that is okay too. The thing is, I just don’t know and – as my mother would say – my crystal ball is at the shop getting fixed.