If Bars could talk...

Meet Murphy.

A goofy Border Collie mix who is currently the love of my life. Sure Murphy has a few annoying traits such as his obsession with squeaky toys, barking at small children, and having to first, smell and second, pee on every tree, bush, blade of grass or morsel of sand. It's. Beyond. Annoying.


I had a venting session recently with a friend, "J" on one of the more frustrating walks--


I asked her to explain it to me. She's a smart girl..."What is it about some dogs that makes them so OCD on walks? I don't get it. What, in our human lives, could possibly compare to this!?"


J gave it a good long thought and finally said: "You know...I think it's like being in a bar, surrounded by a bunch of attractive, single guys who are all interested in you... And your friends want to leave."


I gasped. (Genius!) No wonder he gives me the stink eye every time I pull him away! I vowed then and there to be a little nicer on my end of the leash. Lookin' out for you kid. ;)


Bars are a funny place. I don't think sociologists give them enough credit. If they spent a little time in there, I bet they could pull out some serious analysis on male/female interaction.

After all...dating IS kind of a jungle.
It's like Animal Planet with your clothes on.

One bar in particular comes to mind, it's right around the corner from where I live. Actually, it's more of a "club" and it's the epitome of "the scene." Who's Who crowd, dress code, over priced
drinks, music so loud that you can feel Kanye pumping through your veins.

And the bathroom.

Their bathroom is hilarious. The sink area has two-way mirrors so as you look up from washing your hands, you see a dude there checking you out. It's a trip. (My personal favorite is waving to first-timers on the other side who haven't caught on. Priceless.)


Per the usual, the girl's line is ridiculously long, only to look over and see, what? TWO guys waiting on the other side? So unfair. So you bunker down and plan to set up camp for awhile...and it's prime time to people watch.


The front door bursts open and some shorty gets knocked in the head, ruining her perfect little bouffant. Girls are bustling in, holding hands, mowing people down and trying to team up in the stalls. The only thing slower than a girl going to the bathroom, is TWO girls sharing one stall.


And my favorite- the girl in front of me squawks "Ohhmygawd I would tooootally be a model but I'm only 5'7"! Her friends all nod in approval. Yes. If only you were 2 inches higher, you're modeling career would be through the roof. Our loss.


I look across only to see guys waiting in a single file line, exchanging small talk, texting on their phones, and trying to find a way to check us out without us noticing.


And I can't help but laugh! I'm always amazed to see the differences between men and women, especially in the bar setting. (* I understand that this is an over-generalization. Just go with it.)

Most men go to bars for the following reasons:
1. Hang out with their buddies
2. To get laid


Women however, have an array of reasons:
1. Hang out with their friends
2. Dance!
3. Get their 2 hours of dancing cardio in so they don't feel guilty for drinking
4. Rock a new outfit
5. See if their Ex is there
6. See what their Ex's new girlfriend is wearing
7. See if their Ex's new girlfriend's Ex is there
8. Get a new Facebook profile picture ("Check us in!!!")
9. Find a husband

Whew. Exhausted.

Back to the age old question...Are we crazy? Or is it obvious by now: Men make us crazy. Men are streamlined- to the point- get 'er done. While women are busy multi-tasking their emotions.

One of my favorites:

"Men are Waffles. Lines, boundaries, categories. Work goes into one square. Love in another. Women are Pancakes. All mixed into one big bowl. Family, love, work. It's all one big vat of batter."

When I meet God one day I'm going to ask him why he made us so inherently different. There must be a shortage of comedy clubs in Heaven because this material is a GOLD MINE!

Your Lawn or Mine?

Welcome! I'm officially a blah, blah, blogger because 1) Apparently, I feel that I have a lot to say, and that I've exhausted all other avenues of communication. And 2) When you're single you tend to have quite a bit of free time. Blogging is cheaper than traveling and less caloric than going out every night.

I have a lot (A LOT) of conversations with friends about the idea of being single: Is it natural? Is it a constant battle against a current of instinct (Mate. Nest. Pro-create). Is this simply an interim, or worse…punishment? Is the proverbial "grass" really that much greener on the other side, or is the lawn just better landscaped?

People who want in can't find the doorknob;
Those that want out can't find the fire escape.

At this point, I've accumulated a pretty big pile of opinions, gripes and ideologies.
I bet if the government wanted to tap into our thoughts they would be shocked (and bored) to find that the topic of relationships has the most "likes," hash-tags, re-posts and shares running rampant in the human psyche.

In one of the more recent venting sessions with a friend, we discussed the idea of women being considered "crazy." Got me thinking... Maybe we are. And maybe that whole ‘grass is greener’ thing has something to do with it.

Question: "Which came first? The grass or the grass seed? Reality vs. Expectations.”

It makes sense that they (men) think we (women) are crazy.
If you think about it...we grow UP crazy.
They MAKE us crazy.
We ARE crazy.

It all started when they taught us how to hold a baby doll as a toddler, and put the one who needs its' diaper changed underneath the Christmas tree. We dressed up like brides for Halloween and bought the stick-on nails that ended up coming off in our hair...but we didn't care because they were beautiful.

Nesting was fun. Pretend vacuuming was a game. Fixing fake, plastic meals in your tiny, plastic kitchen was just pure entertainment.

Little did we know they were planting tiny seeds of craziness. Then they put us in co-ed schools where we show up in pigtails and a dress only to get our hair pulled and our “Wednesday” undies exposed.

And the boys are mean! (And smell...) And they have cooties! (And smell...) Turns out they don't like us at all. So we learn to not like them either.

No boys allowed: Keep out. Hello craziness.

But KEN doesn't have cooties, Barbie would never allow him inside the Ferrari. And Prince Charming was nice to Cinderella. For crying out loud, even that grumpy dwarf was eventually nice to Snow White. (Granted, she did his laundry).

So why the disconnect? Why are the ones in front of us deemed “Pricks” and the ones we dream about, “Princes?”

And so the cycle begins. We plan it, synchronize it, dream it up and attempt to execute- only to find that we know absolutely, positively nothing about men, because, as it turns out, half the time we barely know ourselves.

Playing house in a plastic kitchen is missing one thing= a boy.

Dream wedding with the perfect dress is missing one thing= a man.

Turns out not much has changed.

***
A very wise friend said to me once: "Your 20s are for learning, while your 30s are for earning."
Learning: the act or process of acquiring knowledge or skill
Earning: to gain or get in return for one's labor or service

Or as I like to think of it “Acquiring the brains and skills to handle trials and tribulations in our 20's, will pay off as we sit and eat bon-bons in our 30's.”

Sounds like a pretty good patch of grass to me.