Tag!

I got tagged by She Is Anyway

Here are the Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up

I am basically only doing step 3 because I am not sure how many people actually read my blog and it might be less than 6, for all that I know. Ha!

So, 6 random things...

1. I got my tongue pierced the day I turned 18 because I was just itching to declare my "independence" from my parents, and I was sheltered enough to not know the sexual connotations that came with a pierced tongue. What can I say... I was a pretty naive 18-year old! I still have that piercing and, to this day, my tongue is still the only part of my body that has a jewelry piece puncturing it.

2. I've decided that I'm going to really try and make an effort and... go to Las Vegas once a year from now on. They say that you have to experience Vegas at least once in your lifetime. For me, once is not enough. Twice wasn't enough either. I am willing to keep returning until I go broke or get old. Old people partying in Vegas never look cool or hip. Never.

3. When I was a freshman in college, I had developed a crush on a guy in my evening calculus class. I found his email online and sent him an message declaring my undying love for him. (Well, I just said that I am a girl from his calc class and I thought he was really hot) The dude replied with an email, saying that he was really flattered that I liked him but he was not the person that I thought he was because he was not taking any night classes. However, the next day I saw him in calculus... and he gave me one of those subtle, knowing looks. Ouch. I got rejected. How mortifying.

4. I have a cat (well, now he lives with my parents but I still consider him mine) and I named him Mr. Poop. When he was a tinsy little kitten, he had no interest in going to poop in a litter box, so he would just do his business wherever he please. What was even funnier is that he would, somehow, manage to get the poop all over his paws in the process, so I would always find brown pawprints in various corners of my parents' house. Thusly, I came up with his very appropriate name.

5.When I was 16, my then twenty year old boyfriend decided that it would be a great idea to get me drunk on our second date so he bought us two 40oz bottles of malt liquor and we sat around watching TV and drinking at his parents house. The sadness of it all is that I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. I hope to believe I am not that cheap of a date any more.

6. I buy Dwell magazine instead of Cosmopolitans and Vogues at the airports so I can look like a refined intellectual. Though I am absolutely obsessed with all things architecture, sometimes I do feel the need to leisurely read one of the lighter magazines. Being an architecture grad student, you can't help but feel a little overloaded by the architectual world once in a while. However, at an airport, I am not a grad student, I am a young, busy, incredibly successful architect, dressed to the teeth in latest fashion, sipping on a steaming vanilla latte from Starbucks, and reading Dwell, because I simply have to stay on top of the latest trends in building design.

Yay, this was fun!

Edit: and I'm tagging Narcissiste to do this, per her request :)

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The Two Month Curse

There is a scene in some movie that I now don't remember the name of, where this prying, social-skills-lacking, intrusive, neurotic (yet lovable) post office worker is having an intense conversation with his work partner, played by Claire Danes, I believe. He says something to her along the lines of, "What gives you the right to be so self-righteous! Look at yourself - none of your relationships ever lasted for more than two months. You just pick up and leave every time!"

I mean, basically he was implying that she might have been somewhat shut-in and, perhaps, promiscuous in her personal life and that denied her the right to pass judgment on him. The part that struck a chord and made that movie conversation particularly relevant to me is that the man never explicitly accused Claire Danes of sleeping with those men; all he said was that her relationships never lasted long - but the promiscuity implication was undeniably there, in his gestures, in his eyes.

That kind of bothered me because lately, well.. for the past two years, I haven't really dated anyone for more than two months. Right around that two month mark, one of the two things inevitably happens - either I lose interest in a guy, or he loses interest in me.

The thing is, though, out of those six two-month relationships over the two year period, I'd only slept with two guys. That's one guy per year. That is not promiscuous, at least, not according to my standards. But I can see how, to an outsider or simply someone who doesn't know me so well, those six brief relationships, intermixed with a bunch of others that consisted of a a few dates here and there, could have been implicitly equivalent to the amount of people I had slept with in the past two years. That would roughly make it 10-12 men in two years.

I mean, who knows what people may think of a 24-year old woman who's been essentially single for the past two years but who's dated around a lot during this same period of time. But, really, I don't feel any guilt towards having a long list of short relationships. They didn't work out - end of story. What I am slightly concerned about is the kind of image I am imposing on myself.

Which brings me to my next point - The Neighbor and I have called it quits. Yup, at the two month mark exactly, we came to a mutual conclusion that it is no longer viable for us to continue this, increasingly passionless, relationship.

I'm sort of glad that it's over, and I'm definitely glad that I didn't sleep with him. At least we both had the decency to conclude our relationship with a conversation.

"We can still be friends. If you need someone to go to that football game in November, just let me know - I can get cheap tickets. And you should come to my birthday party this weekend, if you don't have any other plans. I'll call you and let you know the details about it later on in the week," he said as he was leaving my apartment.

He, indeed, sent me a text message a few days later with a formal birthday invitation, but he never called. And I never went to that party. I watched that movie with the post office worker and Claire Danes, instead, which in my opinion, was a far better way to spend my free time.

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