Sterner here.

I’ve been Facebook-less for about 3 weeks and my life is exponentially better.  Because so many fucking people are confused about how it is I can live without Facebook and WHY I WOULD WANT TO, I’m going to detail my reasons right here, right now.

You can get a beer, if you want.

First, we’re going to go back. Way back to the fucking beginning of social networking on grand scales.  Social networking: I hate it.  I have NEVER wanted a social networking profile, in my life. Ever. What I have wanted and have had are blogs, though.  I had a LiveJournal (still do) which was my breeding ground for a lot of decent short stories and seething poetry and shit-it was my LiveJournal that I would refer people to when they would ask about my MySpace, because in my mind, if you want to get to know someone who writes, you should read their shit.  Pretty cut and dry.  So I would refer them to my LJ, which is a place I used strictly for writing-no socializing whatsoever.  I never ‘chatted’ with anyone, I never went on the endless threads LiveJournal is famous for-none of that.  Writing.  That was it. 

One fine day, my retarded friend decides to open a MySpace “on my behalf”. Oh, failure.  Completely.  Once the notion entered my mind that there was a profile with my previous name and picture on it, I succumbed to the pressure and “took the reins” of my own internet likeness, and promptly decided it was the bee’s knees.  OMG look I can like, color the background WHATEVER I WANT!!! Grey and mint green!  This is SO ME! I can add profile music so people can see how fucking avant garde and trendsetting I am! I can add millions of pictures of myself posing like an asshole so people can think I’m pretty! Yes! My dreams are coming true!

I had a MySpace blog, too.  And that was what really reeled me in, because my blog was fucking popular.  Not “15 views in one day” popular, but thousands.  I only had maybe 300 MySpace friends, but the views on my blog were insane.  It made me write more (albeit not better) and also convinced me all of the work I did on “representing myself” via my profile was worth it.

It wasn’t.

I had a Facebook early on, but never used it.  Back in “those days”, it was still for it’s intended demographic, which was mostly college kids. But slowly and surely, MySpace sold itself to the dogs, and people started thinking of Facebook differently.  We all know the story.  Most of us switched from MySpace to Facebook…and are still there.

Facebook is definitely a different animal than MySpace.  Less ads, no self-produced “webisodes”, and one massive difference: Facebook is about your friends.  It gives you a homepage where you can interact at multiple levels with your associates. Your “profile” is more about your activity history with your friends than anything else.  MySpace had similar applications, but at the end of the day, MySpace was about YOU.  Facebook is about the global community.

And THIS is why I hate it.

Facebook tells me too much shit.  It shows me too many things I don’t want to or need to see.  Sure, you can block people or look at Facebook in different browsers to see different shit, but at the end of the day, I don’t want to.  I don’t want to see my friend leaving a comment on her friend’s picture…because I don’t know her friend, and I don’t fucking care.  I don’t want to see some bitch I know silently stalking all of my friends to annoy me (you win-I’m fucking annoyed).  I don’t want to get messages from said friends asking me why that retard is so up on their nuts-because Facebook also tells me they’re still interacting with that person, and I then am forced to realize how sad and pathetic most of humanity is because they love saying one thing and doing another.  I don’t want someone I just “friended” friending all my other fucking friends because they’re desperate assholes.  I don’t need ALL my friends knowing ALL my other friends.  DID WE MEET ONCE?  WE ARE TOTALLY FUCKING FRIENDS! OMG! Except no, you’re not. Are there great things about Facebook?  Of course.  I love status messages.  I love group threads.  I love the ability to tag photos of dogs wearing birthday hats as my friends so we can LOL. But the things I dislike so numerously and strongly outweigh the things I do like, it is catastrophic.

When I had a Facebook, something would annoy me EVERY TIME I LOGGED ON.  And one annoyance was the minimum, there were usually more.  People making grandiose claims; promoters promoting; dudes hitting on me; whatever.  Without Facebook, I am calmer, because I’m being annoyed at least 5 times less every day. I’m seeing hundreds of less ads, hundreds of less people, hundreds of less lies, stupid people doing stupid things, hundreds of less conversations that have NOTHING to do with me, hundreds of less everything.  Facebook REALLY doesn’t help you connect with people.  It really doesn’t.  Everyone I need to talk to I talk to.  We do it ON THE PHONE or IN REAL LIFE or IN EMAIL.  Yes, Facebook is great for threads and pictures.  But so are other things which do not carry the annoyance.

The amount of people who have looked at me like I am nuts for living without an internet profile explaining “who I am” and “what I’m all about” are in deep, yessir. They have lost the ability to understand that while it IS incredibly useful to be able to look someone up and see what they’re into and what they look like at multiple angles, that doesn’t mean you ‘know someone’.  And besides, that shit is the kind of shit real conversations are made of.  That is what we used to do, remember?  Talk to each other and ask questions, with our voices.  In real life.  You didn’t use to be able to Google someone’s dumb ass to see whether they’ve read Camus and listen to Belle and Sebastian. You had to ask.  And asking is a lot more valid than simply reading what someone says they’re into.  Believe me.  Most people’s profiles don’t hold up to any questioning deeper than “so you like that, right?  Cool.”

I think Facebook is kind of sad.  The average person now uses it like a news source AND a social playground.  This is how guys hit on chicks now.  This is how brands advertise themselves.  “Like” me, they implore.  “Like” me.

Having a fanpage doesn’t make you a celebrity anymore than hitting a “like” button means I actually like you.  There is a page for every brand and every product out there…Tide detergent, anyone?  Like us on Facebook!  At what point are we going to start wanting blogs again?  Individual webpages?  Something more indicitive of personality than a series of things we’ve pushed a button to indicate approval of? Is it ever going to happen?

Until then, you can take your Facebook and fuck yourself with it.

In the last week, two people have friend requested me on Facebook.  The only thing that makes this situation unique is the fact they’re people who I have history with…and not the good kind.

I’ve been noticing a trend with social networking sites.  They act, for some people, as the proverbial “white flag”.  For instance, I have ‘issues’ with a select group of people I’m friends with on Facebook, meaning I do not consider them friends or friendly acquaintances.  Normally I would delete these fuckers, but I am lazy and, more importantly, still have a sliver of hope these assholes will come to their senses and we’ll all be friends again. That’s my version of the white flag: hey…we’re still internet friends.  Maybe one day we can be REAL FRENZ again.  Well, once you realize you’re a cockgargling cuntsmotherer and apologize for it.

I do not, however, actively look up or add people I’ve had serious issues with as my fucking ‘friends’ on FB, or anywhere else for that matter.

Case in point: friend request 1.  Seeing this dude’s name on my feed was akin to seeing a piece of trash you threw away four years ago pop back up on your porch.  I used to work with this guy, back at my old job.  He took quite a fancy to yours truly, and while he certainly wasn’t bad looking, he just wasn’t my type.  We went out to lunch a few times and dinner once…dinner is where it really became apparant he was a douche because all he did was roll his eyes at me and make snarky comments.  This is called “I really like this chick but I can tell she’s not into me, so I’ll follow the Rules of Bro and act like an asshole, because chicks can’t resist that shit.” Yeah, maybe when you’re in 9th grade, Jason Francisco. Anyhoo, after that night, I blew him off and he started writing me letters and shit, telling me my “heart was a closed door” and that he was going to “wait on the porch” until I opened it and invited him in.

HARDCORELOLZ

That shit didn’t work, either, and I kind of forgot about him until people at work started asking me, incredulously, what I saw in Jason.  Say wha? Oh yes, he had been and was telling people that even though he “had a girlfriend”, I just couldn’t get enough of his love (read: penis) and would come over and fuck him any chance I got.

FOR SURE

I laughed this off because rumors amuse me (after all, I’ve been dealing with them for so many years I typically find them almost flattering…really?  You think about me so much you have the time to make shit up about me?  How cute!) and also, this was work we’re talking about, not the playground.  He was talking to people who didn’t have any clout, so I didn’t feel like it needed to be addressed.  However, when it got to the point that it was being brought up EVERY DAY by MULTIPLE PEOPLE who told me explicity I NEEDED TO ADDRESS THE ISSUE, I finally decided to make Jason Francisco Eat a Bag of Dicks.

I sent him an email, at work, saying I was getting pretty tired of being asked multiple times a day if I was sleeping with him.  I said I didn’t have a problem letting this all go if he would only admit to me, in the email, that we were not and had never slept together and apologize. If he chose to disregard the issues I was addressing, I had no course of action except to talk to Human Resources…which I REALLY didn’t want to do. He, of course, refused and pretended like he had no idea what I was talking about.  I gave him one more chance which he refused and went to HR.

Unlike most Human Resource managers, Eve wasn’t a retarded weirdo and thought my story was hilarious and applauded me for having the balls to bring it up to Jason Francisco and give him a chance to rectify the issue before I went and tattled.  I mean, really: I’m the last broad who would tell on anyone about almost anything, let alone “rumors” about me fucking someone.  Long story short, I opted to have her speak to his manager and supervisor (as opposed to him alone…he asked for it) and he left his position shortly thereafter all of the drama and I haven’t heard from him since.

Until…FACEBOOK!

Friend request 2 is some guy who is an even bigger douche, if you can believe it.  That story is slightly less LOL inducing and involves a drug deal gone wrong, everyone blaming me, this guy getting mad I dated his best friend, then making my life a living hell for a year and a half.

The question is…why are these mongers trying to friend me on the world of the interwebs?!

Being someone’s Facebook or MySpace or LiveJournal or Tumblr or fucking whatever “friend” does not certainly make you their actual, In Real Life, friend.  We all know this.  I highly doubt these dudes are thinking this is their chance to reconnect with me or whatever.  They’re probably bored and are the types who treat Facebook like the old MySpace…as an account where you gather as many friends as humanly possible and then never talk to any of them.  But still…this kind of shit makes me wonder.  Why go out of your way to remind someone who doesn’t like you of your existance?

People.

*God I hope it’s not to get on my awesome blog

Parking enforcement

People who walk really slowly across crosswalks when there is obviously no physical reason for them to do so

People in Starbucks who wait until the last minute to stare at the menu endlessly

Creed, the band

Anyone who writes for Cosmo

Now that I’m 28, sometimes I like to look around my kingdom and survey the landscape proudly. Yeah, look at me. College degree.  Car.  Home that is not my parent’s. Big girl job. Then I remember I’ve got student debt, bad credit, and have to buy FUCKING GROCERIES again for the second time this week and work out.

Life as a ‘young adult’ is conflicting.

I was reminiscing this morning about seeing The Hulk at the Universal Citywalk many, many moons ago, with some rowdy ass people I used to call my close friends.  I remember how I wasn’t completely repulsed by Citywalk, and how I still thought IMAX was cool. (Okay. I still do.) I remember how sneaking water bottles filled with vodka and 7-Up in felt really risky and fun. I remember laughing in the theatre with my friends and not really giving a fuck about what anyone else around me thought, and knowing that after the movie ended we were going to do something stupid and it was going to be awesome.  It was a warm night and warm nights always lead to trouble.

Nowadays, the very notion of going to the Citywalk is so repugnant to me I wouldn’t even take the suggestion of going there seriously. And now, I am always conscious of the people around me as I never want to be considered rude or uncouth.  Both of these things are ‘upgrades’. I grew taste and respect for others. But still, I miss the sense of carelessness that went along with youth.

Despite these happy memories, though, being an adult trumps being a teenager.  I no longer worry endlessly about how pretty I am or if the clothes I’m wearing are “in” or how I’m going to get anywhere, because now I have a car!  Now I have my OWN sense of style and idea of beauty!  Now I’m a big girl!

I think the hallmark of growing up is the replacement of imaginary fears with real ones. 

As I get older, my sense of self continues to grow, and ironically, my sense of collectivism. I care more about other people now, and the planet, and ideals and philosophies. I cared about these things as a youth, but not in the right way.  Experience trumps any other school of learning.

I like to go home after work and have a drink, read a bit, unwind. I am content in stillness.

Funny: providing fun; causing amusement or laughter; amusing; comical

Rude: discourteous or impolite, especially in a deliberate way; without culture, learning or refinement; rough, harsh, uncouth

Thanks, Dictionary.com!

One thing I despise more than anything else in the world is rudeness. Mostly because it is uncalled for, at every time, at every level, and between any and all people. Rudeness makes me feel uncomfortable.  Especially when the rudeness is supposed to be ‘funny’.

I don’t think rudeness is funny.  The only time I think rudeness is funny is when it is directed at someone I dislike, in which case then it is amazing.  And really, that is what it comes down to: rudeness is meant to hurt someone’s feelings.  Why else would you be calling them a name or whatever rude ass thing is coming out of your mouth?

My own manfriend Mr. Sterner and, indeed, most males I know like to use rudeness as a way to joke around with people.  “I’m not TRYING to be rude, I’m trying to be funny!” Yeah, we know.  Except if you can’t think of another way to bond or joke around with people then to be rude, you’re a sad sack.  It is bullying taken to a slightly more ‘adult’ level, but it still makes you an asshole.

I have a friend who likes to call her other friends things like “dumbass”, “idiot”, “whore”, and the like. Every time some shit like that is said, all I want to do is say “watch your mouth”. Honestly-does she think other people like to be called names? Yes, we’re all friends.  We’re all having a fun time and we ‘know’ you’re joking, but I just don’t understand that kind of humor.  I find it to be the hallmark of people who don’t really understand how to like themselves, and therefore they can’t quite ‘click’ or identify with others.  It gives them a very subtle and indefinite sense of accomplishment to tear someone else down under the guise of a joke.

I will always cut off or distance myself from these kinds of people.

The average person must spend their day avoiding and brushing off the average asshole.  Think about all the rude, disinterested people you come into contact with every day: the asshat who cuts you off on the freeway.  The guy who jumps in front of you in line at the post office.  The rude cashier at the pharmacy.  The client who is unhappy and yells at you. The list goes on and on.  Most of us have learned to deal with and adjust to the moods of others, because the same way that laughter and happiness is infectious, so is unhappiness. So when it comes to dealing with people in my personal life, I truly despise having to deal with unpleasant people.  I know, you’re JOKING.  I know, you’re just trying to be FUNNY.  I know, the world is so SENSITIVE.  But really, are we? Am I ‘too sensitive’ to look at your completely rude and out of context jokes as insulting?

I don’t care if it is directed at me or not: when I see rudeness, it disgusts me.  Pandering to the lowest common denominator.  If you are so intent on speaking about someones flaws, at least pick someone in the news or someone NOT IN THE CONVERSATION.  I remember watching my friend’s boyfriend joke around with a group of us one day.  He wasn’t going CRAZY with the insults or anything, but he was certainly being rude.  Everyone was laughing, but there was a very palpable sense of discomfort in the room.  Don’t be that guy, people. 

Think about other people’s feelings. I promise you will be rewarded with better friends and more rewarding relationships.

*head in hands*

I wish I could express to you, dear readers, the amount of exasperation I have over the topic of ladylike behavior.  For some reason, much like sugary, overpriced cupcakes, being a “lady” as a topic of discussion is en vogue again. This topic is boring as fuck.

Ladylike behavior means absolutely nothing to me, mostly because it has outdated connontations.  Ladylike behavior is often summarized as doing things like saying please and thank-you; being conscious and empathetic to those around you; having a charitable spirit and being gracious.  Well, ladies and gents, these traits actually fall into a category called

SHIT EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING WORLD SHOULD DO.

My favorite part about the notion of acting like a lady is the fact almost everyone who talks about acting like a lady defies their own definition of the idea.  Every bitch I know who talks about “bein’ a lady” is loud, often rude, and typically unliked by other people.  Personally, I like a lot of people who are unliked by others, so this shit doesn’t really bother me.  However, when these loud-mouthed, rude broads start talking about how they are pinnacles of femininity and how “real ladies do this” and such, I must take a step backwards and say, again, as I have a million times beforehand:

THE MORE YOU TALK ABOUT SOMETHING, THE LESS YOU’RE ACTUALLY ABOUT IT.

I’m using a lot of capital letters here. Shit is deep.

Just like with money, sexual conquests, and being “cool”, typically the more you talk about having or being something, the less you are it.  Real ‘ladies’ don’t go around talking about their ladylike behavior, because they don’t have to.

Being a lady or gentleman is outdated.  I shouldn’t need to make a separate genre out of people who are kind, polite, and gracious, because our society SHOULD be filled with these kinds of people and therefore, it shouldn’t be anything special to exemplify these traits.  YES, I know that in reality people who embody such ideals ARE rare, but I refuse to pander to the lowest common denominator.  Therefore, from this moment on, I ask you all to tell anyone who talks about being a lady to eat a bag of dicks.

xo

Okay.  Everyone who is even remotely sociable has come across this type of fool.  It’s the “let’s hang out” asshole.

My best example is some dude I dislike’s girlfriend.  By association, I see this broad every now and again and EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME I SEE HER, she says “OMG, we MUST hang out! Have a girls night! Get together!” except: I don’t like her and this will never happen.

People who put on these shallow displays of imaginary friendship annoy me for several reasons.  First: don’t talk about shit you’re not going to do.  I never, and I mean NEVER say I want to hang out with someone I don’t.  Likewise, if SAY I’m going to hang out with someone and they’re into it, best believe some follow up work will be done.  And then-get this-we WILL ACTUALLY HANG OUT. Yes.  I know.  What a fucking concept! If you’ve already said we need to “spend some time together” several times and it hasn’t happened yet, you need to shut the fuck up and stop saying it.  This bleeds into…

The second reason for hating these assclowns.  Son, what makes you think I WANT to kick it with you?  I’m much too concerned with my social standing around others to rudely respond with “I’d rather not” to your ridiculous shoutings, but MY GOD do I want to.  Listen: don’t flatter yourself.  Do I look like I give two flying fucks if I ever see you again? Do I?  Is the pained expression on my face somehow indicative of me liking you?  No.  However, you yapping off at the mouth gives me a complex-now I have to worry you WILL harass me about doing something later together, and I’ll have to think of how to politely decline. This is akin to rejecting someones romantic advances.  Do you lie and say you’re busy?  Eh…this will make them try again if they’re fervent enough.  Do you flat out tell them you’re not interested? Jeez, that seems kind of mean; but it does save face and time in the long run. WHAT TO DO! Why must I give a shit?! This is called over-analyzing and I hate people who give me an excuse to indulge in it.

Luckily, this breed will rarely follow up on their yapping, which is both relieving and secondarily annoying.  How about you types do us all a favor and shut the fuck up?  If someone wants to hang out with you, they’ll let you know.  Quit hugging me at the end of parties and squealing in my ear.  You’re just making me queasy with all the J.Lo you’re wearing.

I’m very thankful for the easy access to information we have.

Without this access, we would never know who was lying to us, we would never know who was lying to everyone BUT us, and while I would ultimately be more trusting, I certainly would not be happier.

One thing I am constantly intrigued by is the level of duplicity found in social media.  While it is quite one thing to develop a persona behind a wall of anonymity, personas tied directly to one’s own name or personal moniker strike me as very odd.  While I blame this on my own naive “how can the comedian not always be funny?” attitude, my sense of confusion on the matter can really be tied to the question: who IS the real version of the person in question?

I like to think of myself as a “writer”.  Most people who take the time to cultivate a blog do, regardless of the quantity (and, admittedly, quality) of the writing showcased. Writers, by nature, are notoriously fickle and emotive creatures, subject to winds and bouts of histrionic fits, depression, and general angst.  You might call this “being alive” if you’re also an artist of some sort (or a writer yourself), but more practical people call this “being annoying”.  Because of this heightened sense of emotion, most writers subconsciously create vague personas for themselves that they play out time and time again in their writing.  Think of Anais Nin being the eternal lover, or Dan Brown (I can sense the collective eye rolling) being the nerdy Indiana Jones in story after story.  Writers of fiction (and even in non-fiction, with the very subtle levels of characterization lent to “real” people in the stories) typically imbue their stories with the same lead character(s) over and over again in a rather Freudian paradox of fulfillment.  Writers on the internet, however, are a slightly different breed.

I remember when I started my first blog (about 2 years ago), I sat around trying to think about my ‘angle’.  Who was I going to be?  Surely not just myself…that would be boring.  I ended up creating the premise for a sort of multi-writer platform for news, of sorts, where the team of 5 writers (of which I was one) chose a specific “persona” and wrote only with their persona’s slant on the issue at hand.  I was pretty goddamn excited about this idea at first, not only because I had assembled writers who were both talented AND reliable (almost always mutually exclusive), but because each of the personas we had chosen were intrinsically negative and knowing the era of snark we currently live in, I felt this idea would be infinitely successful.

Unfortunately, the bottomless pit of shit-talking and negativity I thought I had inside of myself turned out to have the depth of a shallow pool of LA rainwater on Cahuenga.  I didn’t like writing shitty things about people.  I didn’t feel comfortable making assumptions and judgments about people or things I knew very little about.  It just felt “off”.

I still have snark on this and my personal blog.  If I didn’t, the endlessly amusing (for me) “I Don’t Like Your Face” feature I write wouldn’t exist and neither would my occasional shit talking.  However, my written words are hardly about other people, and when they are, they’re usually some kind of collective or internal review. 

I debated on a persona when I started my personal Tumblr and initially adopted a side of myself which loves neon colors, cocaine, 80’s music and being a general bitch.  This worked out pretty well for me at first, until I started noticing that is who people thought I was in entirety.  I also found a side cache of female written blogs who reminded me of this Nicole I had cultivated and I found them all repugnant. 

I don’t read the same blogs I did a few years ago.  I’ve only had my personal Tumblr a smidgen over a year, but I no longer follow almost any of my previously followed and “favorite”-d Tumblrs.  This is because of a combination of being tired of people who talk only about the same shit over and over again and my lack of respect for people who write about shit that is inherently negative or pretentious all the goddamn time. 

Blogs, by nature, are kind of stupid for the most part.  Unless you blog about something “tangible”, like art or politics or sports or music or films or philanthropy or psychology or yougetmypoint, the chances are you’re simply talking about yourself and your ideas on people, places and things.  And while the most successful blogs are often full of snark, bullshit and insufferable personas, I personally prefer blogs about people who have learned to balance their shadow-y selves with their sunshine selves.  Sure, you’re sort of self absorbed, but aren’t we all?  I’d rather read an entry about someone’s personal experiences with their lover or roommate or teacher then some asshole’s imaginary persona.

Same thing goes with Facebook and other forms of social media.  I know a small handful of “entertainment” people who, from all outward appearances, are complete and utter douchebags.  Their blogs reek of pretension and their Facebooks and websites are full of fawning sycophants. Yet on a personal level, they seem to be very genuine people, full of empathy and sincere affection.  To these people I say: WHAT THE FUCK! Why the duplicity?  Why not match up all representations of yourself to the one that fits you best?  Is there some hidden meaning behind these fragmented selves I don’t understand or haven’t pondered? 

People forget that the internet exposes you in multiple ways.  I can’t tell you how many times someone has said they were soooOOOooooo busy (like, are we really still using “busy” in conversational English?) but how busy are you when you’re fucking around online endlessly? It reminds me of the time I told someone I was in the middle of something and I would call them back when I was free.  They sent me a text 10 minutes later asking me how “in the middle of something” I could be if I was still posting to my BLOG.  I admired the sauce to send me a text like that, but most of my blog posts are queued up, so I am rarely online when my entries “post”.  Still; anytime I have a shit ton of posts queued up I wonder if it will bite me in the ass in some way later.  So the flipside to this newly developed (last decade) lack of privacy is it has also reversed my pension to lie out of ease.  I know I can’t avoid someone with the old “busy” excuse if I’m posting fart videos on Facebook because they’ll call me on it.  Likewise, I can’t say one thing and do another the way I could when I wasn’t all over the internet.  Electronic ink works like a tracking bracelet in many ways that I think far too many people forget.

I don’t lie anymore, because I’ve seen too many liars.  I try to act only like who I really am, because I’ve seen too many people act like people they weren’t, and they became them.  I don’t care about things the same way I used to, because times have changed.  Now I care about an entirely new gamut of useless information.

-Sterner (originally posted here)

Sterner here.

I was just reminiscing on my own blog about Facebook relationships.  Quite honestly (you thought I was going to say “frankly”, didn’t you?! Ha HA I win again!!!), I am a firm believer in Facebook being the Kali of relationships, but the flip side is that quite a few relationships have BEGUN on Facebook.  This is one such tale.

My last ex-boyfriend and I were like oil and water.  We broke up ALL. THE. GODDAMN.  TIME.  And I’m talking every couple of DAYS, not once a month or any of that slightly more mature bullshit.  Oh no.  With that came the endlessly morphing Facebook relationship status, complete with comical heart icon and comment space.  “XXX and Nicole are single” then “XXX and Nicole are dating” then “XXX and Nicole are ‘it’s complicated’” and so on and so on.  Months of this, people. Months. 

So one day, I get a Facebook message from this random B-list record producer I had been internet friends with for a while saying he had been watching my hilarious relationship status changes for a while and he wanted to take me out to dinner while I was still “single”…would I be open to that?  Maybe, I thought.  I sent him a list of requirements to speak to me and he magically fulfilled them all, so I had him meet me at a party and it slowly went from there.

This guy was tall, good looking, and had a CAREER.  Not a job…a career.  It was interesting, considering my on again off again boyfriend who had brought myself and Record Producer together was a jobless aspiring actor/writer who was shorter than me and had a case of the chubbs.  But hot DAMN if RP didn’t have a fucking snotty attitude.  He had a philosophy degree and was raised in New York, which explained most of it…but I just didn’t know if I could handle it.  I got the feeling he wanted a woman who was like himself…rather subdued, calm, and well educated.  Honestly, though, he mostly made me feel immature and awkward.  I never felt as intelligent around him as I liked because he admittedly was SMARTER than me.  I never felt calm around him because his own demeanor made me feel ever MORE hyper.  I liked him, but had the sense he was looking for a wife in a very traditional sense and ladies and gentlemen, that is just not me.

The real cherry on the sundae was when I threw my 80’s prom birthday party, complete with a rented, beat-up limo and poufy dresses, and he got into an argument with my then-best-friend and called her something rude.  I don’t remember what it was, but I despise rudeness and decided he and I ought to just be friends.  Besides, I was still so madly in love with that short, broke, chubby dork of an ex-boyfriend of mine that I couldn’t justify leading someone in his 30’s on when I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, despite my brain telling me to JUMP ON THIS DUDE’S FUCKING BANDWAGON ASAP. 

I’ve never wanted the good looking dudes with money.  It’s the bane of my existence.

Anyway, we kept in touch on and off for a few weeks after my birthday (as the day AFTER the aforementioned birthday party I showed up to Chubb’s house reeking of alcohol and still wearing my hot pink birthday-prom dress professing my love to him to which the reply was an eloquently worded response meaning FUCK OFF, NICOLE*) and one night I told him to meet me outside of some club my ladyfriends and I were at.  It was the end of the night and I hate clubs, so I was anxious to see RP as I knew his snootiness would be a welcome change from the “yo whaddup” environment I was in at the time.  Unfortunately, my now-ex-best friend was smashed drunk, so I met him outside with her on my shoulder as she babbled adorably (albeit incoherantly).  After I left her in the care of her roomie’s car and they left for home, I walked back to where he was waiting for me and was greeted with a vile conversation where he told me my friend was a “little girl” and I liked being “relied upon too much” and I needed to find other ways to “get my ego stroked”.  Say what?  How is walking my drunk friend to her roommate’s car an indication she’s a little girl who I only keep around to satiate my ego? 

After that ridiculous shit, he started in on my ex-boyfriend, who he said he saw somewhere a week before, and how lame/fat/LOL-inducing he looked.  “Really, Nicole?  This is what you’re doing with yourself?”  The dude was acting like I was Naomi Campbell surrounding myself with rejects from Jersey Shore or some shit.  So I told him to reach down to the bottom of his ribcage and see if he could find his heart, because I certainly didn’t know where it was.  And then I walked away and told him to call a cab.

And you know what he says to me as I’m walking?

“LIFE IS NOT A REALITY TV SHOW, NICOLE!!!!!!!!!!!”

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GODDAMN that shit was great!  Life is not a reality TV show!  As if to say I was living my life in such a crazy, overdramatic manner than I was attemping to recreate a reality television program!

I don’t even watch TV!

Needless to say, I realized later that the old best friend WAS a soul sucking demon I kept around for stupid reasons and that, lo and behold, I WAS living and acting wayyyyy too fucking overdramatically for my own good.  And if I could do it all over again, would I have dated this guy and tried to get him to marry my ass so I could throw parties in the Hollywood Hills while he was off producing some record?  As a matter of fact, yes.  But no use lamenting.  At least now I’m with a tall, handsome guy who instead of producing records MAKES the music. He ain’t rich, but he’s also not a philosophy major, either.

Thank God.

*another story for another day

These are excellent questions, Rogier.

Not everyone you meet and date will instantly set off “fireworks” for you, mentally or physically.  Many of the best people I know were initially standoffish, or shy, or awkward, or any other combination of “undesirable” elements.  This leads into my theory that all people fit into two categories: they are either diamonds or like dirt.

People think “diamond” and instantly want to be one of those over dirt.  However, compositionally, diamonds and dirt are very similar.  My point is, diamonds are multi-faceted.  They have many faces but the same level of depth no matter which way they are turned.  Dirt has many sedimentary layers, and to reach any layer besides the topsoil, you must dig.  You have to do work.  Turning a diamond over in your hands doesn’t not take much effort because diamonds like to shine regardless of who is looking.  Dirt is often ignored and thought of as common, but can yield many discoveries and fossils, not to mention flowers if tilled properly.

With that said, you have also only been on ONE date with this ladyperson.  Maybe she wasn’t feeling well.  Maybe she was uncomfortable.  Maybe maybe maybe a million things.  Could she be an unhumorous tumor of a woman?  Sure.  But it didn’t seem that way at first, so maybe your first date was just the USUAL, meaning two people who don’t KNOW each other attempted to DO SO and it was a little WEIRD. 

This is called “real life”.

When I met Stefan, I thought he was an odd combination of pretentious, shy, adorable and weird, and I thought he looked like a handsome dork I could corrupt.  Very few of these assumptions have turned out to be true, and my brain didn’t explode when we finally went on our first “official” date nor did it the first time we fucked.  Truth be told, my plans for Stefan when we first met was to be as wild as I could be, fuck the shit out of him and make him snort a bunch of cocaine.  I thought he was a nerd who needed a crazy bitch for a few weeks.  Be “that girl”.  Thing is, the Stefan that was projected at the beginning of our relationship isn’t a goddamn thing like the “real” Stefan, and while it took me some time to adjust to, I like both so who cares.  My point is, people are rarely themselves during the “getting to know you” phase.  If often takes weeks if not months to really see what someone is like when you start courting. 

I rarely have “clicked” instantly with anyone I ended up falling in love with.  This is because, often enough, a click can be two things: a precursor to some sort of emotional anomaly (i.e. YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE) or your body’s reaction to a chemical cocktail it can’t control.  The first is amazing, but rare, and the latter is actually more of a warning sign than anything else. 

So, in closing, my advice is to give it a few more dates or at least one more.  Maybe take her somewhere you HAVE NOT taken 10,000 other broads, eh?  Perhaps she felt weird because the busgirl was making “don’t do it, girl, he’s a player” signs behind your head.  How about stop following any routine?  What fun is it to follow a roadmap when you don’t actually know where you’re going? 

And as a side note, I have a theory about things that start in the gutter ending there.  Which is to say, if you’re looking for a serious relationship, you’re going to have to prioritize.  This feels weird for me to say because I hate “rules”, especially sex related rules…but I have found that any affair I started while still fucking around with someone else ended in the gutter, because that is where it started.

Diamonds and dirt, my friends.

-Sterner