Suck it up, pansy.

A note from Holly:

Sometimes I miss highschool Holly. She had a lot of faults – some of them still make me cringe – but she had a…uuhhh…softer side? As in…she cried, a lot…and in addition to incessant weeping, she need a whole lot of consoling, comforting, nurturing, babying...

As I attempt to switch out of referring to myself in the third person, I’ll share an example of my former self. I remember, quite vividly, being dumped by…hhmmm… let’s call him David. David had gone away on a trip, bought me a stuffed animal, and then upon returning from said trip and placing said stuffed animal in my hands, he ended it. (Note: stuffed animals are not appropriate parting gifts.) Anyway, I cried about it on the drive home, I cried about it to Dad when I got home, I cried about it to every friend I called that night and then, on the way to school the next morning, I literally bought a bag of bon bons, drug it to each class with me, and. ate. the. entire. bag. (shoutout to highschool Holly’s metabolism). And while I don’t understand why people tolerated this behavior, I had a myriad of friends who not only tolerated it, but did exactly what I needed them to do: they told me I was too good for him, that I was pretty, that I would find someone better, that it was his loss…

I know we grow up. We change. Life makes us do it…and life has certainly changed me in this regard.

Don’t get me wrong, I still cry (I’m not a robot for crying out loud!), but the frequency and length of those tears has greatly decreased. 

I’d like to think that the change was internally driven – that I just woke up and decided that I don’t need constant affirmation from others that I am, in fact, still okay. However, that change was based on an external factor… we can probably just refer to him as ground zero.

I don’t want to talk about ground zero today, but I do want to talk about the interesting responses I receive from people when I start talking about my dating failures. (At this point, there have been multiple failed meetings, failed conversations, and over all failed connections). While a myriad of “excuses” are provided ranging from “he’s intimidated by you” to “I’m sure he has a really busy schedule”, the one that I just can’t seem to let go of is “I bet he found out about the blog.” This one sticks out because while most of the other excuses given are ultimately an indication of encouraging friendship, I can’t help but feel differently about the blog comment for the following reasons: 

1. If a man is scared of my blog, I don’t want him anywhere near my bed. Seriously. I’ve had an escape route mapped out in every place I’ve ever lived, practice dialing 911 with my eyes closed in case I ever needed to do it behind my back, and sleep with a hammer. If you can’t up my self-defense game, then Boston and I just don’t have any room for you. You can’t sit with us.

2. Let’s give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you are physically able and willing to not be afraid of a blog. Let’s say you fear reputational damage. I’m in PR. I get that. My counterargument then is if you value your reputation so much, I bet you wouldn’t do anything stupid enough/insulting enough for me to want to write out a list of your offenses…now would you? If you’re nice, I’m nice. This is one of those golden rule type of things…

3. To my darling friends/family who offer this excuse, WHY DO YOU WANT ME WITH THIS KID, ANYWAY?! I would hope that you’d want me with someone brave, someone who isn’t afraid of the pen – even if it is mightier than the sword. Don’t you want me with someone who trusts me not to publicly degrade him or embarrass him? How on earth would a relationship work if that wasn’t a mutual sentiment?

Friends/family, don’t get me wrong. I value your input, I love your support and I’m so incredibly grateful that you take time out of your lives to discuss this with me…but I don’t need the excuses. Maybe the boy didn’t finish our conversation because he took another look at my picture and decided my nose is big. It’s okay guys, I think my nose is big too. Maybe he didn’t want to meet me because he hates all the pictures I post of Boston. That’s okay, I’m sure he can find someone who isn’t in a committed relationship with their dog. Maybe he thinks I’m fat. That’s okay, I hope he finds someone skinnier. Maybe he really is intimidated by my blog. That’s okay, maybe he’ll find a girl who’s illiterate. ;)

In sum, it’s okay to just say “suck it up, pansy.” Tell him...tell me...I mean, it's what I would now say to highschool Holly…


A note from Heather:

I agree with Holly.
I mean, I agree that the "....a guy isn't going to want to be on your blog" comments are not welcome or warranted. Trust me, Holly and I are well aware that we're presenting ourselves as freak shows to any potential suitor that finds out about this blog. No need to remind me..noooo need. I know this blog could scare guys away, and I also know I need NO help scaring off guys. As I said before, I yam what I yam. And this yam doesn't give a.....................flip. Between Holly and I, I'd say we're pretty decent catches. If you combine our best qualities and ignore our worst qualities, we're totally a catch and a half. If what we bring to the table (including a transparent blog) frightens a guy, then adios, amigo. Catch ya on the flip side.

Anyway, I don't have any very juicy updates for anyone. I do have a lunch date planned in the next few days. I also have plans to finish an entire bag of chocolate chips, which I'm doing right now. Unfortunately, these two plans don't sound equally exciting to me at this point. I'm much more "team chocolate chips" than "team lunch date" right now.

I'm sad to report that my lunch date is NOT with this guy:

This conversation went on for an embarrassing amount of time. He eventually asked me why I wasn't out "getting wild" that night. Andddddd.......conversation ended there. #theonethatgotaway

Also, I got my first "age is nothing but a number" message from a guy MUCH, MUCH, MUCH older than I am. I was wondering when it would happen and well, it was just as weird as I thought it would be. After he favorited my photos, favorited my profile, sent a wink, and sent multiple messages in a one hour time span, I thought "No, age is a lot more than a number. In this case, age has a positive correlation with emotional instability, social ineptness, and the ability to give me the heeby-jeebies. See ya never."

Hugs and frogs,
Holly & Heather