Compromising

I recently celebrated my  ½ birthday and I’m now closing in on 26.  Birthday’s used to be a joyous occasion, I got cake and attention, I couldn’t ask for more (except for the birthday gifts I did ask for).  With every passing birthday I learn to let go of things I thought I wanted and hoped to accomplish and come to terms with my increasing mediocrity.  Getting older means forgetting who you thought you’d be and becoming who you are.  For me, a large part of this process revolves around the idea of who I am and what I want out of relationships.  Specifically, what I want in romantic relationships.  In my youth I wanted it all and truly believed I was both capable and deserving of having it (if you are thinking about how I recently posted that I was in fact in the process of having it all, be advised this is a slightly different all).  At 22 I assumed that any man I would involve myself with (whether it be make out with or fall in love with – the latter has yet to happen) would be Disney Prince good looking, Bill Gates rich, Luke Perry bad boy/sexy, Barack Obama smart/ presidential,  Colin Firth British and generally perfect.  At 25.5 I’m letting go of some of these perhaps unrealistic expectations in favor of dating a real live boy and not dying alone surrounded by old take out boxes and pizza crusts (I kid, I would never leave the crust).  In recent years I’ve discarded former “deal breakers” and instead started consider men exhibiting characteristics that I previously abhorred/judged/criticized. I have for you here a list of compromises I'm beginining to realize are necessary if I ever hope to find someone willing to date me in the fashion in which I hope to be accustomed.

• Hair.  Hair, namely hair on one’s head, used to be pretty important to me.  I have really great hair (humble I know) and used to expect that my partner would too.  I imagined taking turns brushing each other’s lustrous hair and then basking in our shared beauty.  Now that I am 25 and essentially knocking on 30’s door, I have to realize that the pool of single men is aging and likely balding.  I don’t know that I would be willing to date someone rocking a combover (not that I’m hating on the combover, my father has had one for the last thirty years and he is still totally dashing, it’s just not my style), but I’m definitely open to meeting and greeting men with male pattern baldness.  
• Body fat.  As a girl I am sadly familiar with the calorie content of pretty much any food that is mildly tasty or desirable.  I am well acquainted with more than one weight watchers points system and no stranger to fad diets.  Basically it is a girls job to be crazy about food and want to be skinny.  Boys not so much.  And as age and an increasingly sedentary lifestyle set in there is the potential for weight gain.   I’m okay with this.  In fact I secretly kind of like it.  If you are fat then I can be too!
• Political beliefs.  I am pretty liberal.  Okay I’m ridiculously liberal, essentially a socialist.  Back in my youth I lived by a set of ideals that I would not abandon for even the most dreamy Abercrombie and Fitch model.  Now, as an older, more worldly, wiser 25 year old, I realize I don’t know everything and shouldn’t judge others based on their voting record.  I don’t think I’ll ever vote Republican but I’m willing to consider dating someone who does…if he’s really good looking and willing to buy me shit with the money he saves by not paying taxes that would have otherwise gone to essential services for those in need (okay I’m still convinced I’m right about the importance of supporting those on the lowest rungs of society but as someone who is just now rejoining the working world, I believe I qualify as a lower rung of society, but I also like expensive things and would like a man to buy said expensive things for me.)
• Lisps and other speech impediments.  I used to really value the sound of the letter S.  Not so much anymore.  Being single is worse than being thingle.
• Height.  This is a biggie for me and I’m still in the process of coming to terms with the fact that I may have to date down – I mean literally look down at my dates.  I’m 5’9” and height has thus far been a sticking point when it comes to men.  I refuse to date or even talk to men shorter than me, I really don’t need any more short friends.  But as the pool of available men gets smaller both numerically and vertically, so must my bias against anyone below 6’.  I’m not saying I’m going to date a little person, I’m just saying I might wear flats forever and date a boy that’s 5’11”.
• Peglegs.  Honestly, this is a compromise I’m more than happy to make.  I’ve always thought pirates were oddly alluring so I’m more than happy to part with my previous two leg minimum. *(Note from Meather: I’ve been there. Done that. Not so bad.  Really, Mephanie, this is barely even a compromise.) 
• Friends.  I used to really want to date someone with an active social life.  I have friends I really love and would hope that my partner does too.  As I approach 26 I realize that this is negotiable.  Having a partner with no friends could mean that they have more time available to focus on me.  *(Again, note from Meather: There is nothing wrong with wanting to date someone that is utterly obsessed with you.)

*  Meather inspired today's theme of compromising when she said, "Honestly I would compromise ANYTHING if he was really rich."  Thus her notes on when and where to compromise really are important to this post.

Having it ALLLL

So blogging has not been my priority over the last year and a half.  Watching TV and slowly eating myself to death has.  But that’s starting to change.  Why I posted just last month!  And now, after only 4 weeks I’m posting again.  I’m slowly getting back into the swing of this (and by this I mean writing down and publishing, albeit on a blog, my every self-involved, self-indulgent thought).  Today is an exciting day for me.  I got a job.  If you read my previous post (which you really should have), you would know that for the past give or take 7 months I have been painfully unemployed.  Unemployed to the point that there is a noticeable depression in the couch where I sat every day watching 90210, first at 10 am and then again at 4 pm (same episode, no shame).  So unemployed that I had actually looked into getting my taxi driver’s license (it’s harder than you’d think).  After 7 long months of bitching to friends and family and feeling downright sorry for my unemployed ass, I finally got a job, hooray!  While I’m sure I’ll start to hate my new working life for a whole slew of reasons I haven’t even considered yet, right now I’m ecstatic.  I have yet to start said job, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the verge of having it all.  ALL.

Right now you are probably asking yourself what all I’m going to have.  I’m not entirely sure yet but I have a feeling employment is the first of many good things to come.  My gut tells me that pretty soon I’ll find myself in an awesome relationship with a devastatingly handsome doctor that travels all over the world performing life saving surgeries on small, orphaned and probably disfigured children.  He will be dashing and probably a little bit dangerous but will still find the time to plan romantic outings and surprise me with gifts of both material and sentimental value.  (Side note – I’m still a feminist despite the fact that my definition of having it all involves the attention of a man with a limitless credit card.  It’s not my fault if someone wants to dote on me and buy me shit.  This is new age feminism that allows for hypocrisy, get with it).  With my job and boyfriend in tow I’ll be well on my way to having it all.  Next I think my hair will begin to get thicker and probably blonder and longer too.  Lustrous hair that looks perfectly windblown, even indoors, is the signature of having it all so I’m expecting that any day now.   I can’t be sure what amazing thing will come my way next but  I’ll probably start hanging out with George Clooney, going to Hollywood parties and helping kids with Malaria alongside Angelina Jolie (who I hate but will befriend for the sake of the Malaria infected children).    Oh yeah, it’s also rather expected that I’ll develop some non-life threatening thyroid disorder that speeds my metabolism up to the point of burning  10,000 calories a day, necessitating the constant consumption of fatty calorie rich food like cake and pizza.  I can’t be sure about the specifics but this all seems pretty likely and imminent.

Up to this point I have not had it all.  I've probably had about 1/3, maybe ¼ (it’s been a rough couple  months) of it all.  I have generally resented this.  I saw those around me, those that had it all, and I was jealous. Those impossibly thin, impossibly trendy, impossibly rich, impossibly altruistic, impossibly smart, funny, (the list goes on) people that exude happiness and good fortune were the bane of my less than all existence.  Those people made me want to vomit and then eat a lot of pizza (sadly this order was not reversed).  Obviously this was all motivated by jealousy and now that I am on the verge of becoming a part of this previously repugnant class I cannot wait to exude happiness and good fortune and the impression that I am better than everyone else around me.  Having it all is really going to be great.  I should have it any minute now.