Tag Archives: advice

The Key to a Healthy Relationship is More Relationships – 2 of 2

If you’re just tuning in and have trouble staying focused like most humans seem to when it comes to the written word, this means that you didn’t finish reading the title of this entry which ends with “2 of 2.”  So, to get the most out of this topic, which I think is important, please click here for the first part of this write-up so that you fully understand why the hell I’m discussing people currently in my life.  Or as I like to call it, “my village.”  I know that a lot of you won’t click… so I’m going to first encourage you again to do so, otherwise this may be confusing.  Then, because I know a lot of you still won’t, I will quickly summarize the point I am attempting to make.  In modern romance, we have grown to expect one person to satisfy all of our human desires, from security and dependability to adventure and spontaneity and that’s unrealistic.  Different people play different, yet integral roles in our lives, and we need all of them to keep us fulfilled and happy.

Every Sunday night I drink gin gimlets with Snow White.  Her and I have a lot in common, so when you parallel our personalities, it might make sense that we would get along.  We both have a unique perspective of the world that others may classify as odd or eccentric.  The unexpected part about our friendship is that she is barely twenty years old.  Twenty-year-olds can be entertaining for a second, but for the most part, they are not going to hold my interest every Sunday night because there is little chance that they can say something that I haven’t already thought about.  There are exceptions, and Snow White is one of them.  She’s further than an exception,  I would describe her more as an anomaly because she is not like talking to a girl.

Girls are great, and having a girly outlet is a need in my life.  Having a person in my life who I can have cerebral discussions with is also a desire I seek, but you don’t often find yourself in a cerebral conversation with chicks.  Snow White and I at times have challenging conversations that I’m finding inspiring.  She is one of the smartest people I know and she makes me want to learn more.  Somehow she makes things like the value of entropy sound like something I want to study.  Having inspiration in my life is definitely a role that I need present.  I’m used to being creatively inspired, but I’m really enjoying Snow White’s scholastic inspiration.  I’d like to think that in some way I do the same for her.  We have a kind of beautiful complementary friendship because she will teach me about acute pulmonary embolism, and then I’ll tell her stories, summarizing for her the poignance of Of Mice and Men or the genius ending to Lord of the Flies.  It’s a nice little routine and I love my Sunday night’s with Snow White.

I used to need my significant other to inspire and challenge me.  I still LOVE when boys I am with do that, but now I’ve recognized that maybe that doesn’t need to be what their principle role is in my life.  If I keep people like Snow White in my “village” and others who inspire me, then that desire will be fulfilled and I won’t feel unsatisfied by my boyfriend if he is not the one making me run to an encyclopedia or a canvas to everyday.

Then there is Lady Insanity.  Lady Insanity is a 50-year-old woman who matches her eyeliner color to her shirts, she is obsessed with mini bottles of hand sanitizer, she owns a tanning bed that is in the guest bedroom, her favorite drink is Bud Light Lime-A-Ritas, and she slaps me when I “take the lord’s name in vain.”  I don’t know how or why, but I seem to have recently ended a lot of my nights with this crazy woman.  We absolutely have some great times (bordering on sloppy), but we also have become strong friends.  We talk to each other about a lot, and we support and help each other.  It’s a very unexpected friendship.  Sometimes she satisfies my spontaneous desires because I’ll think it’s going to be a low-key night, but suddenly I’m with her, singing along to Snoop Dogg songs and then going to talk to psychics.  Then some nights she plays the role of a more maternal, voice of reason to my life.  We all need days when we get wasted by the pool and then think it’s a good idea to dance in public.  And we all need days to talk shit out and get insight and advice from someone who has been there.  Lady Insanity is one of the ones that meets both of those desires.

Kristy is my best friend and you would NEVER guess it.  She looks like she was in a sorority, she is loud and outrageous, she is the most high strung person I have ever met, she is obsessed with “nippies” which are nipple covers and she will happily tell you all about them and send you a link to the ordering page.  Essentially, Kristy was a Xanax girl.  We all know those.  The chicks in college who were into Xanax, they all have very similar characteristics am I right?  If I had to sum them up… borderline obnoxious but fun.  Kristy is like that on the surface, but then you get to know her and she is such a beautiful human being.  That girl has been there for me through every single life obstacle I have gone through post sophomore year of high school.  A lot of these obstacles, I probably couldn’t have fought through had it not been for her.  She has been my life support during times when I thought I would never recover.  Kristy is the only person in the world who knows EVERYTHING about me.

Luckily, I really like her fiancé and her other friends too.  So often there is about five or so of us who go out for drinks, and it is always such a good time.  My cheeks hurt from laughing.  I’ve come to notice that almost every time we are all sitting around a table drinking beer, Kristy’s asshole gets brought up.  I don’t know how or why, but it seems like at some point in the night, we all start talking about her butthole for some absurd reason.  The last time was her fiancé asking her if he has been in her ass the furthest.  “I don’t need names!” he said, “I just want to know that if anyone else has been in there, that I have been in the deepest.”  Such a ridiculous conversation, but I was dying.  I’ve been sitting at a bar with them before when they ordered a sex toy on their smartphones from amazon.  Obviously, Kristy plays the role of “best friend, trusted confidant” by which she meets my human desire for “dependability and permanence.”  All at the same time… I have so much fun with her and that girl can make me laugh.

These descriptions of people who make my world go ‘round, leads to me Logan.  Logan meets multiple desires, but I would never expect him to meet all, which is why even though he is a new addition in my life, I still need all of the people I’ve already discussed in order to maintain a healthy romantic relationship with him.  If I abandoned those relationships, or if he abandoned his, then we would seek ALL of those desires from each other and that is unrealistic and unfair and would ultimately lead to an inevitable demise and most likely resenting each other.  Basically, what happens to a lot of couples who devote their lives to one another and don’t nurture the other integral relationships in their INDIVIDUAL lives.

What is amazing about Logan, and one of the reasons why he impresses me more and more every single day, is that he is the only boy I have ever been with who seems to TRULY recognize that, and does not just pretend to.  He also impresses me because even after telling me that he shaves his fucking forearms because he thinks it makes the swollen muscles show up better after leaving the gym… I’m still obsessed with him.  That’s a feat.  He deserves at least a high five for that because normally I would be gone before that sentence was even complete.  We have grown accustom to a point system using high fives.  So when he tells me that he shits his pants once a decade (which is something that I could very easily write an entire entry about), he gets at least negative a million high fives.  But when he says “I was super into Xena Warrior Princess when I was younger … For real, I was all about that bitch,” as a way to prove that he is not sexist, it makes me laugh really hard and want to kiss him and he gets at least two high fives for that.

So world, meet Logan, the boy with the dodgy eyes.  The first time I saw him, I crossed my fingers that he would talk to me.  According to him, it was my smile that honed him in, but for me, it was his eyes.  He has this dangerous, kind of shady look about him that was really doing something for my boy crazy side.  Three months and about multiple boys later, and Logan is my rock.  I’ve always found that line to be incredibly lame, but if I said, “Logan is my tree trunk,” that would be weird.  I do think of him more like a solid tree trunk though, because I koala the shit out of him.  That’s what he calls it.  I latch on to his torso like a koala on a Eucalyptus tree and he just walks around with me like that with no struggle.  Or throws me onto the bed and manhandles me, which is my favorite.  I lay on him, and kind of climb all over him (especially when we are laying on the couch and I am making him watch Dawson’s Creek), and his body can take it all.  He is big with a ridiculously solid, strong core.

What this description is leading up to is that part of Logan’s role in my life, is like his stomach muscles.  I know that is a weird thing to say.  I’m definitely a weirdo, and Logan definitely is not.  He’s a self-proclaimed bro dude.  A lot of his interests are so douchey.  He likes football and fights and power lifting and he was a bouncer and listens to OG hardcore and has a fucking tattoo of Florida, among other douchey tattoos.  Every time I see the Florida tattoo, I say “Flo Grown!” and he rolls his eyes and says something like, “Okay, you bitch.”  And that makes me giggle and then he just sighs and lets his arms flop to the side until I’m done laughing and then I probably make fun of him for something else like, “remember the time you went to a vape convention?”  Then I REALLY start laughing and he sighs again, and then says, “are you done?” and I’m probably not, but he’ll grab my face in the middle of my laughter and kiss me and look me in the eye and say, “you are so fucking beautiful.”  I am so fucking lucky.

I have embraced his douche bag qualities because when you put them all together, Logan is gold.  He has embraced my weirdness and adapted to it.  When I explained to him that, “you are for me, like your stomach muscles.  I can punch it or koala it or put my weight on it, and it doesn’t falter.”  His response was back, “I pinky promise that I am always going to be like my stomach muscles for you.”  When he said that odd sentence, I knew that he had fully embraced my weirdness and was learning to speak my language.

A friend of mine, named Mark, said something to me a while ago that stuck.  He is much older than me… maybe in his late 60’s or early 70’s? so it felt like words of wisdom.  He told me that one should NOT marry their best friend, but instead marry for lust.  I’ve never been an advocate for marriage (to put it lightly), but I still heard what he was saying.  People often advise, “marry your best friend,” but even at a young age, I never felt that I agreed with that, though I couldn’t articulate why until now.  Mark is right.  There should be people in your life that already meet those “best friend” desires.  You shouldn’t need a best friend in a partner, you should WANT your partner.  Sex.  Lust.  Whoo!  Fun words!  Sex and lust are basic human desire and unless we want to start debating monogamy, is a desire that in our culture we tend to get from one person at a time.  So why not be with somebody who wholly satisfies your sexual desires?  The one thing that no one else can give you.

Obviously, other characteristics are important.  You can’t have lust and nothing else.  But I think we write off lust too quickly when considering partners because for absurd reasons, people associate lust with sin.  I don’t think that I should necessarily be giving relationship advice, but you’ve made it this far, so I might as well continue with my self-righteous solution.  I think that the person you decide to really try with, should be the person who you can’t wait to talk to about your day, and also the person who you can’t wait to grab their face and make-out with.  I think that Logan and I will be okay because on top of wanting to rip his clothes off AND talk to him about everything constantly, he meets my human desire for stability, acceptance, laughter and dependability.  Money doesn’t matter to me, but the older I get, the more I realize that stability does.  Logan is stable, and it’s hot.  Like I said, my tree trunk.  He also accepts me wholly.  We all need people like that in our lives.  Those who accept our past and flaws and nuances and show no desire to change any of it.  And Logan makes me laugh.  A lot.  Which is sexy.

So world, meet Logan.  I thought I had eradicated hope from my life, but I do hope that he is around for a while and that you all can get to know him.  And I still cross my fingers everyday that he will keep talking to me.

To truly bring this full circle, I’ve realized that none of these people would be in my routine and none of these human desires would be met if I was still touring a lot.  Road life was absolutely what I needed over the last few years, and I loved it.  I also truly believe that I am a better and wiser person because of my roadie life, but I think I’m ready to move on from that now.  I was using touring as a form of escapism and while it was a friggen blast at times, I currently don’t feel the need to escape and I have all of these people to thank for that.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , ,

The Difference of the Sexes

I have discussed this theory with quite a few people and they agree.  I believe the biggest difference between men and women is that men are good at making sound effects.  I’m so jealous of how boys can make such good explosion sounds with their mouth.  It seems like so much fun!

Years ago, I was hanging out with Lance, and he had a pencil and some other mundane object, and he randomly started making the noise the train track crossing alert bell things make, acting like the pencil was the post that comes down.  Then he used the other object as a train and started making a really really good train sound effect.  I looked at him and thought to myself, I would never do that.  That type of inclination does not even exist in my DNA.  To further that, I realized that I would never see ANY girl do that.  Even little girls!  That’s when I came up with my theory, that the main, innate difference between boys and girls, is that boys are good at sound effects, so they make them, and girls never do.

I have just made my second discovery in the subject of the differences of the sexes.  I hear females complaining all of the time about how their boyfriend or whoever, doesn’t talk to them.  I’ve realized, that they will, only if we shut the fuck up for a minute and let them.  They must process differently and don’t always have an immediate response in the way that most females do.

I am very interested in a lot of things, so I’m constantly blabbing about the environment or politics or music or how I think that movies should warn you at the beginning if they are going to be so sad that they will probably ruin the rest of your day.  (I just made the mistake of going to see Me, Earl and a Dying Girl on what was supposed to be a carefree Sunday afternoon).

Currently, the person who gets the most of my passionate rhetoric (the poor thing) is a boy we will call Vox.  He’s a lot like me though, and takes an interest in a lot of things, so it’s great.  We can go back and forth for hours, discussing our newest thoughts and discoveries and how we feel about gun control, smart phones and whose country has scarier possums his (Australia) or mine (America).

Another person who has to suffer through my random musings is Fat Face.  He’s usually a sport, and he will give his two cents and only rarely will shout, “Don’t care!”  But since I’ve known him, I have always found myself feeling a little bit bad because we seem to mostly discuss topics that I bring up.  He rarely seems to be the one initiating new topics of conversation.  Not too long ago however, we were in a relatively deep discussion and I was getting mildly frustrated because he wasn’t sharing much of an opinion, so I just stopped talking because I didn’t want to be an annoying asshole, hammering on about shit he did not seem to care about.  There was a silence, then he started talking.  He voluntarily began sharing.  I’ve continued this experiment with him (unbeknown to him) and have found that if I just shut up, he will eventually share and state his opinion, he just needs a minute and doesn’t always have an immediately comeback to everything in the obnoxious way that I seem to.

I am very passionate about art, and often go to museums and exhibitions.  I dragged the boy with the white hair with me to the latest one because he is passionate about art too, and needs to get out more because he works to much, which I regularly shout at him and he just says back, “Okay, girl.”  He really doesn’t talk much.  He probably says ten words for every 100 of mine, but we are both used to it.

I decided to try out my social experiment on him.  Instead of looking at a painting and immediately sharing my thoughts and then asking his, I decided to just shut the fuck up, and see if he would ever share first.  With him, that is kind of expecting a lot.  But he did.  It took a while, sometimes I would have to wait a whole sixty seconds (which is a long time to be staring at a painting with someone and have neither say anything), for him to express a thought out loud, but just like with Face Face, if I remained patient, he did eventually speak.

So there’s my advice to women, practice patience when you find yourself saying, “he doesn’t talk to me!”  But boys, realize that your silence sometimes comes off as uncaring. Oh, and I’ve also found that boys seem to always squeeze toothpaste out from the middle of the tube instead of the bottom.

Tagged , , , , , ,

Money Can Absolutely Buy Happiness

As hopelessly naive as this sounds, for a good portion of my life, I was a pseudo bohemian enthusiast who claimed that love is all you need.  I blame it on my obsession with the movie, Moulin Rouge. I was a teenager back then and unfortunately I have grown-up and have received a few bloody noses from Life.  Life can be such a jerk sometimes.  I believe that everyone needs to get their ass kicked once or twice, it’s humbling.  I got my ass kicked metaphorically speaking, and I think that counts.

I had a slight awakening today while contemplating if I was going to wait in the two hour line to get my car detailed or if I was going to put it off until tomorrow, which I’ve been saying everyday for the last month.  I smiled when I remembered the time, approximately four years ago, when I made a promise to myself.  It was 2011, I had somewhat recently graduated from college, and I was planning my move to Los Angeles.  The only major thing that was stopping me was my vehicle.  I had a piece of shit car that somehow managed to drive me back and forth between Tampa and Savannah (where I went to college) for years, but I knew that trying to take it cross-country, would only leave me stranded on the side of the road and susceptible to being found “dead in a ditch,” which is a phrase I grew up with my Mom saying.  “Call me when you get there so that I know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere, Caitlin!”

Being the rad Dad that he is, my father gave me his old car, and bought himself a new one.  Since I can remember, my Dad’s cars have always smelled like gasoline, grass and coffee.  When I was growing up, he owned a landscaping company, so it made sense.  Now, even though the landscape company is long gone, for some reason, his cars still always smell like gasoline, grass and coffee and has gasoline, grass and coffee in every crevice and on every possible surface of his car, plus just so much dirt.  In other words, the car is filthy.  It never really bothered me though, because I like how hands-on he is and that he actually uses his cars as the piece of machinery that they are, rather than the milk and honey of one’s existance. I don’t give a shit about what my car looks like, but I wasn’t too keen on not being able to wear a white t-shirt because it would get noticeably dirty simply by sitting down in my own vehicle.  So, I packed that Subaru up with a desk, my clothes, some lamps and my hopes and dreams and headed off to California, promising myself that when I received my first big paycheck, I would use part of it to get my car detailed.  I figured it would cost around $100.

That day never came.  I was constantly struggling; drowning in financial agony.  Two years later, for many reasons, surprisingly finances not being one of the main factors, I packed up that Subaru again, this time without a desk, minimal clothes, no lamps and only broken hopes and dreams (I had significantly down-sized literally and metaphorically), and drove it back across the damn country in the company of that familiar smell of gasoline, grass and coffee which were still ingrained in every crevice of the car that I never got detailed because the payday never came.

My life and attitude has significantly changed since then.  I’m a pretty firm believer in you make your own happiness, and if you’re not happy then make a change.  It took me a long time, because all of that is easier said than done, and I absolutely still have severe lows and that intense feeling of failure (that I think my entire generation is experiencing but that’s a topic for a later day) is constantly knocking on my attic door, but for the most part, I am in a better place mentally, and I believe a lot of that is because I am also in a slightly better place financially.

Just two years ago, I was in tears almost everyday, having panic attacks due to getting multiple phone calls a day from the banks, harrassing me about my late student loan payments.  I regularly had to wait until payday to go grocery shopping, and would live off of the instant oatmeal packets and cans of tuna fish that were in the back of the pantry.  Things like going to the doctor, seeing the dentist, paying for my electric bill and purchasing a pair of shoes that were required for work was a HUGE deal for me.  How can one be happy when you can’t even afford the necessities required to live a day-to-day life?

I was honestly living day-to-day for a while there.  Then it eventually progressed to week-to-week, and currently I would say that I live month to month.  I in no way “have money,” but at least I do not need to question if I am able to go to the damn grocery store.  I donate some money every month, depending on what’s going on in the world/my life.  For example, this month I donated $50 to the Nepal relief, last month I donated $10 to this workout/exercise/nutritional website that I regularly use that I think provides a good service and the month before that, I donated $20 to NPR.  I do what I can when I can and that makes me happy.  Before, when I was living day-to-day, donating a mere $15 was just not an option, and that made me sad.

I was sitting at the car wash/detail place, and realized that money really can buy happiness.  Being able to detail my car without it breaking my bank account now represents a sense of fulfillment to me, and I am happier because of it.  The $80 it takes definitely makes me wince, and it is a luxury that I would never spend the money on for myself, but I am trying to sell the car so the detailing fee is necessary, but it won’t effect wether or not I can pay my telephone invoice later this day. I still can’t afford to get my tattoo finished, and I can’t afford to buy a new used car (though I need one) or shop anywhere other than Ross Dress for Less, but at least I can afford to get my teeth cleaned when needed, fill my car with gasoline and go to a “Tyler the Creator” show when he is in town, without worrying about how I’m going to also pay my water bill.

I think that the phrase should go, “Being filthy rich can’t buy you happiness.”  Not that I know what it feels like to be filthy rich, but from the little wisdom I do have, I think I could agree with that statement.

Not to completely change the subject, but I think that this piece of advice is important, and it falls under the topic of money as well. Spend your money on experiences, not things! I’m going to turn that into a Caitlin Rule.

I have mostly lived this way, but I was never able to so gracefully articulate it. I am going to Australia this summer, and in fall I am going to Eastern Europe. Though I am doing both trips very frugally, I know, without a doubt, that I will be broke for at least the next two years due to this year. The Europe trip was planned first, and that was set in stone (it’s going to be with my sister and Fat Face and we are going to have the time of our lives), but before I decided on Australia with any type of certainty, I was discussing the monetary and potentially emotional set-back of the trip with my boss. I went into this whole soliloquy to which he responded by simply shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Do it. Spend your money on experiences rather than things.” Well said, sir. I now pass this wisdom onto all of you.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Adventures of Touring with a Rock Band – The Advisory Edition

It had been a while since I’d been to a punk rock show.  I was volunteering at a local music festival this past week, and things have changed since my day of attending these increasingly gimmicky performances.  A real punk rock band is hard to come by nowadays.  I’m sorry, but Pennywise’s 11,632nd show you just attended, does not constitute as punk rock.  Although, I do have a pretty punk rock story about Fletcher of Pennywise that I will digress into, since erratic anecdotal accounts of past events are kind of my style.

While on Warped Tour, that one terrible summer of 2010, Pennywise jumped onto the tour for only a few dates.  The members now being in their 40’s, with their scorched voices, calloused fingertips, a beautifully adapted circulatory system that permanently has more alcohol than red blood cells flowing through its’ veins, functional clothing and zero self consciousness made these screamo, auto-tune, I-carry-a-flask-with-me-because-I’m-hardcore, tight-shirt/studded belt/make-up wearing bands that are so self-conscious they can’t make eye contact with anyone who might be cooler than them, look like amateurs.

One of these bands… that starts with an A found Fletcher on their bus at 3:00am.  Apparently he had drunkenly stumbled on, and I have no doubt, he was very aware that it wasn’t his bus, but just didn’t give a fuck because he wanted a goddamn sandwich.  Yes, when “A” band discovered Fletcher, the Pennywise guitarist demanded a sandwich.  Instead of doing the punk rock thing, and making this dude a sandwich, offering him a beer and a bonding conversation, they tried kicking him off the bus.  When Fletcher wouldn’t comply, they punched him and called the Cops.  To make it worse, Warped has its own security that you can call in situations such as these… but they called the Police.  “A” went through the rest of the tour being known as the band who called the cops on Pennywise.  Pussies.

Back to my point, along with the slow, ugly descent of truly raw shows, show etiquette seems to also be a dying practice.  A few things I noticed at this festival that I would like to address for anyone who attends such performances:

1.  Boys, take care of the girls.  This used to be an unspoken rule, a silent pact amongst the male show-goers, but it seems to have lost its significance.  I’m putting an end to that right now.  It is punk rock to be courteous of fellow listeners, especially the girls.  I’m all about jumping and thrashing and moshing and whatever else your music fueled body is commanding you to do, but if you accidentally hit a girl or run into her or knock her down, you stop what your doing, you turn around and look her in the eye you probably just bruised, and sincerely say, “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”  When I was a teenager going to these shows, they could be hazardous, but I was never worried or intimidated because I knew the guys had my back.  If I fell over, immediately a dude was their to help me up and take a few seconds of his time to make sure I was okay, before going back to full music immersion.  As a male at a punk rock show, it is your duty to look out for the females.

2.  If you’re in the pit, do not stop and look for something you dropped.  While watching A Wilhelm Scream, in the middle of a song, in the middle of a pit, this poser stopped moshing, turned on his phone flashlight and began looking for his dropped hat.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I wanted Nuno to call him out from on stage, but he’s way too sweet for anything like that.  The worst part was, other moshers’ started helping him!  Fuck this kid’s hat!  We’ve got a show to watch!

3.  Don’t throw elbows in the pit.  It’s just not nice.

4.  Don’t spit.  It’s just not nice.

5.  Border patrol!  This is important and very appreciated when done properly.  If you find yourself on the edge of the pit, it is your automatic duty to keep the moshers from infiltrating the borders.  Think of yourself as those cops at protests who wear the plastic mask things and sport shields.  And just like sitting at the emergency exit seat of a plane, if you’re not up for the job, you need to move.  At this past festival, during The Draft, I kind of fell in love with this kid whose face I never saw, I only saw the back of his head.  Despite my being right next to the pit, my full attention was able to be on the band because this guy was an expert at border patrol.  I didn’t have to worry about getting smashed into and losing my footing at all because he kept throwing those kids back in before they could do any damage to the rest of us.  Thank you, stranger.

6.  If the pit has ceased, fill that space back in!  As someone who has seen an inactive, empty pit from stage, it looks pathetic.  When the moshers are done, don’t be scared, just walk in and fill that space back up.  The others will follow, I promise.

7a.  If you’re going to attempt crowd surfing, please only do it when there is a crowd, you dumb fuck.  If you get your 110lbs. friend to try to hoist you up, don’t expect anything else to happen after that if the crowd is only three rows deep.

7b.  If there is a crowd however, and you’re going to crowd surf from on stage, you better fucking JUMP off of the stage.  One of the more embarrassing things I’ve ever witnessed (ranking right up there with the junior high talent shows) was this guy during the Audacity show, who got on stage, and then instead of jumping off, he SLOWLY, ass first, leaned back into the crowd, as if he was testing the stability of an old wicker chair.  I shook my head in shame.

That’s all for now!  Contact me with any comments or questions.  Thanks for listening and enjoy the show!

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

I Dare You

Laying low at a bar.  What else is new.  I was reading Maxim at a high top in the shadowed area of the Chic-a-Boom Room, a cool spot located in Dunedin, Florida.  Two guys walked by, and a few seconds later, one of them comes back around.

“My friend told me to turn left for the bathroom, but I had to turn right to tell you how pretty you are.”

I literally laughed out loud.  I fucking love cheesy pick-up lines.  I think they’re so much fun.  My favorite…

(Picture a boy acting like he’s in a deep discussion with another friend, then turns to you…)  “Hey.  Do you know how much a Polar Bear weighs?”

“No.”

“Enough to break the ice.  (Offers out his hand)… “My name is Mikey.”

I fell for that one.  I thought it was hilarious and that boy got a genuine laugh.  Anyway!  Although I was one hundred percent flattered and entertained by the lame, “turn left/turn right” pick up line, I didn’t, at first, take him seriously as a human being at all.  Because of my curse, to my not so surprise, I discovered that he was the musician playing at the bar that night.  OF COURSE.  But that’s irrelevant.

Side note:  I understand that it’s incorrect to start a sentence with a conjunction, and I understand that I just did it twice, but sometimes it’s just necessary for effect.  Side note #2: I will admit that I just spent a solid two and a half minutes trying to decide if I should use “effect” or “affect” with that last sentence, but gave up and went with the most popular.

Back to the story.  Later, I was sitting at the bar, next to a fellow solo female bar patron.  She bought me a shot, which was incredibly sweet and “female bonding” of her.  Once I took my nose out of my magazine, and started being at least mildly social, I quickly realized that she was friends with the musician.  The one with the cheesy pick-up line.  Boy, do they have some history!  I loved their chemistry and weird relationship, which was put out on display for me as the night and conversation progressed between the three of us.  While I’d love to digress, and tell you about their doomed romance, instead, I’ll get to my point.

The point of this random musing is that this night, reminded me that EVERYONE, even the guy with the terrible pick-up line has something to offer if you just listen.  I believe his name was Jeremy?  Maybe?  So Jeremy, the guy who I originally didn’t take seriously as a human being, ended up saying something which I found to be relatively profound.  To paraphrase his drunken theory… he basically said that all it takes to save a relationship, or maintain a long-term relationship, is twenty minutes of undivided attention a day.  Whatever relationship in your life that is lacking, whether it’s a romantic relationship, a close friendship, a familial relationship… whatever.  Put aside twenty minutes of your day, to give that person all of yourself.  Leave your cell phone, your to-do list, the television remote and your insincerity, and listen.  Listen and talk with that person for a solid twenty minutes.  That’s all it takes, and it will take you far.

Jeremy seemed to relate this to a marriage.  He definitely is not married, but the way he was talking, I’m assuming that he was at one point.  Sadly, I think he made this “twenty-minute self-help” discovery too late.  I related this advice to my relationship with my Mother.  My Mom is a beautiful human, and if everyone had a little bit more of her in them, the world would be a better place.  I truly believe that.  However, she can be absolutely annoying at times, and for me, difficult to talk to and find common ground with.  But after contemplating Jeremy’s theory, I decided that if I simply take twenty minutes of my day, and put aside my differences with my mom and embrace her quirks, I think it could make a world of difference.  It could build our relationship, make it stronger and be overall beneficial for both of us.

So I dare all of you, to be still.  Be still, for only twenty minutes a day with the person in your life that you love, and care enough about to save a relationship with.    Advice from the drunken free-spirit musician at the bar.  To add to this….

Caitlin rule:  Give EVERYONE the time of day.  They may just surprise you.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Some of My Rules to Live By

  • Always carry a toolbox in your trunk.
  • Don’t sleep with someone you might not be talking to in a month.
  • Own a great stereo system.
  • Listen to full albums, not just songs.
  • Don’t boo.  Not even at the ref.
  • Meet your neighbors.
  • In disagreements, don’t dredge up the past.
  • Get over being a germaphobe.
  • Let your kids believe in magic.
  • Pretend to be brave, even when you’re not.
  • Spend your money on experiences, not things.
  • Buy the orange properties in Monopoly.
  • Eat mostly what comes from the ground.
  • Defend people you care about.  It’s the most powerful expression of love and respect.
  • Remember names when being introduced.
  • Go see live music and support your local music scene.
  • Never question someone’s tattoo.
  • Chew with your mouth shut.
  • Put 10% of every paycheck into your savings account.  Just do it.
  • Listen, instead of always waiting for your turn to speak.
  • Learn how to learn.
  • Keep secrets.
  • Take the stairs.  Elevators are for suckers.
  • Begin each day with a happy song.
  • Acknowledge the person you’re walking past on the street, even if it’s just with a head nod.
  • Don’t be a slave to your phone.  Learn cell phone etiquette.  The person in front of you should always be the first priority.
  • Give.
  • Never underestimate the sex appeal of jeans and a plain t-shirt.
  • Remember the people from your past, but forgive yourself, and each other for growing up.
  • Immerse yourself in art.
  • Never sign for certified mail.  Nine times out of ten it will get you in trouble.
  • Put your cart away at the grocery store.
  • Never use the word fagg_ _.  It’s the most offensive word in the English language and it was only funny in The Hangover.
  • Play in the rain.
  • Remember that you’re only as happy as you try to be.
  • Pay the toll for the car behind you.  Unless you’re in New Jersey where there’s a toll booth every fifteen feet and they’re $6 each.
  • Embrace your vices, it’s fun.  Just do it in a non self-destructive way.
  • Girls, don’t be afraid of getting your hair wet at the beach/pool.
  • Love wholly.  Having “your guard” up is lame.
  • Don’t judge what you don’t understand.
  • Never lie to your doctor.
  • Treat the garbage man the same way you would the Queen of England.
  • Don’t be afraid to do things alone.
  • Respect the person you’re kissing.  Put your hand on their chest and feel his/her heartbeat.
  • Listen to NPR.
  • A handshake beats an autograph.
  • Get out of your car and knock on the door instead of calling to tell someone that you’re there.
  • Don’t litter, you prick.
  • Refrain from annihilating the English language.
  • Remember that a healthy relationship is wanting the person you’re with, not needing them.
  • Return all things you’ve borrowed.
  • Always have at least one plant to take care of.
  • Brain sex is the best form of foreplay.
  • Stop buying stuff you don’t need.
  • Give people chances.
  • Give everyone the time of day.
  • Just be nice.
Tagged , , , , , , , ,