Three random thoughts of the day

1. A friend told me tonight that I’m better at putting myself out there than she is. After I finished picking my mouth up off the ground, I laughed. After I finished laughing, I told her that it took me quite a while to get to this point. But the very thought that someone said that to me? Pretty groundbreaking. Must be on a good track with this whole resolution business.

2. I read an article today that stated the following. How inspiring for those of us who would actually like to get married one day:

Marriage has never been less popular. A recent Pew Research Center study found that a record-low 51% of people older than 18 in the U.S. were married in 2010, a precipitous drop from 72% in 1960. If the trend continues, married people will no longer be the majority in a few years. New marriages decreased by a sharp 5% last year, and there are fewer married people in all age groups. The biggest decline has been among 18-to-29-year-olds, from 60% a half-century ago to the current 20%, perhaps illustrating that the younger generation has little faith in getting hitched.

3. Last Thursday I gave a security guard in my building a Christmas card with my number in it and an invitation to hang out. He referenced the card as “sweet” and something that “lifted his spirits” when I saw him later in the day. He also mentioned hanging out but made no specific plans. I see him again tomorrow. What will happen? Tune in tomorrow.

Like sands through the hour glass, these are my thoughts of the day.

Size matters

As a girl of sizable, er, size, I will confidently tell you that size matters. And no, I’m not talking about my own size (for once). I’m talking about men. And no, I’m not talking about the size of their, er, spirit stick. I’m talking about their vertical size. Their height.

I am 5 feet, 8 inches tall. Not a giant. But since I have hips and thighs to spare, the entire mixture can certainly make me feel self-conscious about reaching giant status. And so size matters to me. I need a guy to be taller than me. But not because of physical specifications - because of the way it makes me feel.

Antiquated customs say that the man is the protector. He will shield you from harm in his manly way. Inherently, a woman is still looking for someone to protect her. Some look for it in age (daddy complex). Some look for it in wealth (money complex). And me? I look for it in height. I have a size complex.

I have enough problems with feeling feminine with my personal size complex. Add a shorty into the mix and all feelings of femininity are gone. Suddenly I’m the protector. If a mugger were to come attack us, I’d feel responsible for our well-being. After all, I’d most likely weigh more, and that means I’d pack a meaner punch.

But pair me with a man who is taller and I can at least PRETEND he weighs more than me. The world won’t look at us and wonder what the logistics are. He bends down to kiss me, maybe he can pick me up, badda bing badda boom it makes sense. And that’s why size matters. So I don’t have to worry about dwarfing the one who’s supposed to theoretically protect me.

Now hopefully I didn’t set women back a thousand years with that diatribe, but clearly it’s all stemming from a regression to talking about my own size and what it means in the world. If I were a smaller girl - and by height and bone structure alone, I’ll never be THAT much smaller - I wouldn’t have this great concern.

Take a look around you at the skinny women that are part of a couple. Now look at their male counterparts. Their sizes vary far greater than that of the girls. Skinny girls have their pick of the litter. Tall guys, short guys, fat guys, skinny guys. They make all of them work. If the guy is shorter, no big deal! He can still pick her up, throw her over his shoulder and run away from imminent danger. If the guy is fat, no one thinks she’s slumming - they assume he has a stellar personality. Unfortunately, even though it may be true, they wouldn’t think that way if the girl was bigger. And there would be endless comments if she were bigger both vertically and horizontally. Odd couple comments.

You could deny that to me until you’re blue in the face, but the only reason you’d have to is because it’s true.

But sometimes the rules of the universe suck. And there’s nothing you can do about it but identify the rule and try to work within it. So I recognize that size matters. On all accounts. And I’m trying to work it in any way I can.

Chasing butterflies

Alas, it’s been a while since I took to my blog. Mistake, I know, but it happened so we’ll all have to deal. As the year winds down, though, I join the trend of becoming reflective, and I can think of no better way to celebrate that.

In the few months since I’ve written, you may be wondering what has happened. Am I still single, white and clueless? Indubitably. We should even make it Clueless with a capital “C.” But it hasn’t been for a lack of trying. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I’ve put myself out there to a certain extent. It hasn’t been easy, and it hasn’t been long-lasting, but baby steps are supposed to be the first steps, right?

I drunkenly made out with someone on a dance floor in Montauk. I (sort of) dated someone I met at work for a month. I flirted with a waiter, gave him my number and successfully turned that into a date. The date itself wasn’t quite as successful. I flirt with a guy at work on a regular basis. More on all of these stories as I settle into blogging again (a New Year’s Resolution I fully intend to keep).

Here’s the thing: I haven’t met anyone that I’ve been really excited about. I haven’t met anyone that’s inspired me to blog or do much else. Sure, the guy I saw for a month had my attention, but I was never THAT into it - even if, admittedly, it wasn’t my idea to let it fizzle out.

But where is the excitement? Where is the passion? Where are the butterflies?

I sometimes worry that I’ve become too jaded. That I’m 24 going on 25 going on 46. Whenever I talk to an older confidante, they always tell me I’m too young to worry about such things. I’m sorry, but being four months away from 25 still feels old enough to worry. It would be one thing if I was turning 25 and I could put one serious relationship notch in my belt. Hell, one semi-serious relationship could be a win. But I don’t have that. What I have are a series of makeout sessions and a few dates. Woo hoo.

So the only choice I have is to press forward. New Year’s Resolution #1 is to write more - both blog and otherwise - but Resolution #2 is to really commit to putting myself out there. Going out with a few of my girlfriends with the purpose of meeting new people. Giving out my number if I have a fun conversation with someone. Online dating (gulp). I vow to do it all until I have a semblance of a relationship. Or at least something resembling butterflies.