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.

Funemployment Inc.

I've recently come to the conclusion that employment is over rated.  As is having a general purpose in life and waking up before noon. I find that spending an entire day staring at the television and playing on the interweb is a totally thrilling and fulfilling way to spend ones life. Watching ten hours of Law and Order: SVU is far more worthwhile than employment in the public sector with the goal of helping people.  Helping people in real life sucks, watching Benson and Stabler help fictional victims of rape is far more meaningful.

Of course I didn't always feel this way.  When I first moved to New York without a job I was optimistic, excited, ebullient! I was a Master of human rights, a MASTER!  Why I could have any job I wanted with my meager experience and bullshit education.  The UN would probably roll out a red carpet littered with cash.  New York was the center of the universe and I was going to take a bite out of the big apple. 

After living for a year in London I had decided along with my best friend Mamie to move to NYC. Mamie, a fellow American, had lived in New York previously. Sometimes late at night Mamie would tell me tales of New York. She spoke of things which I did not dare believe; pizza parlors that never close, thin young men with pants so tight they were often mistaken for middle school girls and bars open until 4 a.m. that charged $12 for a mixed drink. Could it be, a land like this existed right across the pond?  I was tiring of London and was eager to return to the land of the free and the home of the brave. The access to universal health care was becoming tiresome, never having to pay for prescriptions just seemed against the American way. And while London was fun, it was fun in the way visiting your grandparents is fun. Things are kind of stuffy, the food is a little slimy and the teeth are made out of wood (or look like it).

So across the pond I went.  Mamie and I moved in with Mamie's friend Malex.  While Malex was employed, Mamie and I moved without any real job prospects.  We lived on hopes and dreams and five dollar foot longs.  We knew what we were up against. The economy had gone to shit.  Unemployment was through the roof and even the van down by the river was in foreclosure. Finding a job in the fall of 2009 was like finding clean sheets in the Jersey Shore house (get it, the Jersey Shore kids are literally a cess pool of venereal disease).  But naiveté will get you a long way.

In the beginning unemployment was fun!  Funemployment in fact. Our living room acted as HQ for Funemployment Inc.  We would sit on the couch all day, watch Bravo! and talk about all the cultural opportunities at our finger tips.  We would then order food and watch another episode of Bethenny Getting Married.  We were living the American dream and it was glorious.

Then Mamie started getting interviews.  Mamie is a smart girl and deserving of her success but I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish she could have stayed forever a partner at Funemployment Inc.  By mid October Mamie had abondoned me at Funemployment Inc to begin an exciting career in Human Resources.  I assumed I would soon follow in her footsteps and begin my own career in international human rights, though I was unclear what that career might look like.  I applied to jobs daily but to little avail.

At first I remained optimistic.  We were in a recession for sure but there were always jobs for those who desired to help others, or so I thought.  Months passed and I remained jobless.  I began to sleep later and shower less often.  People in my life began to question what I was doing.  Any job leads?  You still haven't found anything?  Have you considered moving to DC?  No, obviously not, and definitely never.

I realized I needed to get creative.  The professional world wouldn't have me, there had to be other options.  A little internet research turned up some promising options.  I could become a mail order bride!  The website said it was a way for lost women to find their way to riches and love.  God knows I'm no stranger to internet dating, being a mail order bride seemed like a natural progression.  Jdate was my gateway drug.  Unfortunately I soon realized that educated middle class Jewish girls from the suburbs were not exactly the prime market for mail order brides.  It seemed that the American men ordering brides were, for the most part, seeking submissive women from underdeveloped nations without the education and wherewithal to object to abuse and mistreatment.

My thoughts then turned to reality television.  I have long been a fan of reality television and believe myself to be entertaining and dysfunctional enough to carry a show.  I exhibit all the characteristics of a timeless reality television star, little shame, no impulse control, a propensity for black out drinking and delusional sense of self.  With that in mind I began scouring the casting boards for Bravo, MTV and VH1.  There had to be a show about unemployed twenty somethings who wanted to make something of their lives or lose 20 pounds or find love.  I mean thats the stuff Emmy's are made of, no?  Again I was shut down.  My only real options were to gain one hundred pounds in hopes of becoming America's next biggest loser or losing twenty pounds and my morals and trying to get on the next season of the Bachelor.  If only I was born a Kardashian.

As more time passed I realized that perhaps employment wasn't in the cards for me.  Perhaps I was meant to live in my parent's basement collecting stray cats and calling them my babies.  My intense allergy to cats could be overcome, as had my drive and determination to lead a productive life.

Sneak Peak! Mara's Book of Love: How to Con Your Way Into a Barely Functional Relationship

SNEAK PEAK! Enjoy this exclusive look inside the forthcoming New York Times Best Seller, Mara's Book of Love:  How to Con Your Way Into a Barely Functional Relationship.*

Forward:  Popular books on dating and relationships often lack significant contributions to an overly saturated market.  He's Just Not That Into You, Why Men Love Bitches, I Can't Believe I'm Buying This Book:  A Commonsense Guide for Internet Dating.  These popular titles promise to reveal the secrets of successful daters - those good looking, well adjusted men and women that do not rely on internet dating  to find someone willing to have sex with them.  The prototypical dating guide tells its readers that they are the same as the functional dater, that with a little push (provided by the self help guru profiting from consumer lonliness and desperation), they too can have loving relationships.

This is where most dating books fail.  They operate under the erroneous assumption that you are deserving and worthy of love.  That with a little polish and training, you too can navigate the waters of the opposite sex and find a suitable mate that will love you for who you are and not for who you pretend to be.  Mara's Book of Love assumes the opposite.  Mara's Book of Love knows you are damaged and needy, probably about ten pounds overweight and potentially permanently disfigured.  You probably are not the life of the party or able to effectively socialize without alcohol.  You need a book that speaks to your idiosyncrasies and obsessive tendencies.

Mara has tested all of her theories first hand and knows that strict implementation is the only avenue to successful relationships, otherwise you will are destined for a life of thankless solitude.

Mara's Book of Love:  How to Con Your Way Into a Barely Functional Relationship

Chapter 1:  Entitlements

Chapter 2:  Bullying and Withholding - Your Body as a Negotiation Tactic

Chapter 3:  Cheating Your Way Into Monogamy

Chapter 4:  How to Reroute Your Texts to Yourself So You Never Send Outgoing Messages - Unless They Contain the Word "Help"

Chapter 5:  Exploiting Dependency - Demands, Threats and Ultimatums

About the author:  Mara Rebecca Mockshin was born and raised in Canton, Ohio.  A midwestern girl at heart, Mara spent her childhood square dancing with her local Jewish youth group.  An Ohio State grad and current student at Harvard Law School, Mara enjoys quoting her LSAT prep book and eating hummus with her fingers.  An interest in travel has brought Mara all over the world, from Jerusalem to Bangkok, from Cleveland to Washington, D.C., Mara enjoys mingling with the locals and buying Fanta in plastic bags. 

*Chapter titles are the intellectual property of Mara Mockshin, all other written material has been outsourced to blogging, bored friends.  

I Was Gone For a Minute Now I'm Back Let Me Hit It

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was a girl who was self involved enough to believe that people would be entertained by her random musings on a totally self indulgent and superfluous blog. This girl, lets call her Mephanie, blogged about life, love and the pursuit of happiness (or the pursuit of entertaining herself at work). Mephanie's blog was an instant hit among blood relatives and childhood friends. Despite taking pleasure in writing her blog, Mephanie was forced to halt blogging activities when she moved to the magical land of London and became busy with school work and a social life. Alas the masses were left wanting more (or so Mephanie believed). Mephanie, being a woman of the people, decided that academia and friends should not be her priorities and certainly should not stop her from blogging. WIth this in mind, she packed up, moved to New York and settled in for a tenure of unemployment which would allow her to blog uninhibited by things like "school work", "actual work" or "day-time TV" (thank god for DVR).

English American Dictionary

Despite its British colonial heritage and shared wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, America and Great Britain have somewhat divergent ways. Many would assume that a move across the pond to United Kingdom would be seamless due to the obvious uniting factor, a love for George Michael. However pop icons can not be the glue that hold our great declining nations together, for there are deep fissures in our union.

The English language, what should be our common denominator, has failed me time and time again over the past six months as I attempt to assimilate to my adopted mother land. Having spent time in Spain and Israel, I knew that not speaking the native tongue can really inhibit an experience abroad and also make it extremely hard to make friends and purchase feminine products in more rural areas (for those of you who were present for the yesh po tamponim debacle, you'll know what I am referring to). Alas my move to London would signify the first time that I might actually get to know a place in its own language instead of through sloppy translations and repeated pleas of "bathroom?" to shopkeepers and waiters. English, the only language I speak, would prove to be my key that would unlock London and its ancient mysteries! Or so I thought.

To my great shock and surprise, it turns out that cultural differences and an ocean have separated many words from their meanings as I know them. Restroom, something that I use frequently due to the somewhat exorbitant amount of water I ingest on a daily basis, is not a word that gets much of a reaction over here in the Great Britain. Loo however, seems to mean something other than a man's name. This the preferred word for bathroom makes me think I'm being introduced to someone. When people aren't running to the loo, they are letting me know that they "need a wee." While this is understandable enough, it is not something that one would expect to hear in an office, at dinner, in class, wherever. Despite all their claims of subtlety the Brits feel the need to explain in full what the intend to do in the bathroom.

After you're back from the loo someone might offer you a biscuit. A biscuit, you might think, is warm and puffy and generally comes with fried chicken, some sort of breakfast sandwich, or a turkey meal. If you did think this, you'd be wrong. Instead a biscuit refers to sub par chocolate chip cookies. That's right, stop your mouth from watering. Also, don't bother asking for jello in the grocery store. Even describing it as "that wobbly stuff with Bill Cosby on the box" won't help. It's jelly, and jelly is preserves or jam...I'm still not sure. Then there is the spelling. The r's are misplaced, s's are everywhere z'd used to be, and u's keep sneaking in where you'd least expect them. Writing academic papers in British is hard, its like a second language.

In an attempt to bridge culture gaps I have taken to pulling from classic British films in order to appear more English. In one recent conversation with a native friend I said she was acting quite randy. While I meant to relay that she was being a bit feisty and quippy, I was quickly informed that randy did not mean feisty. Randy, it turns out, means horny and is not normally used in an exchange among girls in the midst of a larger social gathering. Imagine my discomfort when the conversation went quiet and everyone turned to me as if I was a bit crazy and wildly inappropriate. I guess using Austin Powers as a cultural yard stick wasn't the best of ideas.

Graduate Student Seeking Employment

Current master's student seeks employment upon graduation in fall. This is an exciting opportunity to hire a young mind fresh from the manipulation of liberal academic normative values. Potential candidates for employment should be quick learners willing to adapt lowered expectations regarding productivity. Only those offering four day work weeks with flexible hours need apply. Clerical work is not included in repertoire of skills and administrative activities are strictly prohibited. Only substantive tasks that genuinely engage and interest job seeker will be entertained and only in the mornings and early afternoon. The hour following lunch and the hour preceding departure will be spent socializing in office or on internet gossip sites. Full access to the internet is required and acceptance of a constant g-chat presence is preferred.

Special skills include an absolute inability to understand functions of basic technology, a tendency to have tourette's like outbursts of profanity when frustrated and remedial Spanish.

Now accepting applications, to apply please send gift basket and starting salary data.