Boy Meets Girl: A Character Study

I don't know where to begin. Oh, I know. Here. Seriously, you're going to need a recap. Because my life is one fantastic soap opera. And it's all my fault.

As I type this, I'm not sure how I feel about technology. About social networking. About the instant and all-too-easy access I have to strangers. Because when my interest in piqued, I may find them. And then find myself in some tangled web of awkwardness that has me breaking up with someone I don't even know.

We went for non-coffee coffee. (We met at a coffee place where we skipped the caffeinated options). Conversation came easy. Perhaps too easy. I caught myself thinking, "Wait a minute. There's no way I'm actually this charming." But maybe I was. I'm learning. An hour later, as I headed home, I knew that something was off. That even just a non-coffee coffee was inconsistent with who I am. And was an awkward nonnegotiable rejection waiting to happen.

It's fun stepping outside of the comfort zone, embarking on a little adventure that involves flattery and intrigue. But when I acknowledged that my initiative in the situation was out of character, a loud voice echoed in my swirly-whirly head, "It's called character for a reason."

When my heart is firmly in one place, ignoring it for a moment or two is pointless. Eventually it will rear its head. Yes, my heart has a head. Which is confusing, considering my heart and real head are often at odds....

So I chose to be the jerk rather than the liar.

I had nothing to offer. I had no business chatting up a much-older stranger I saw-but-didn't-meet in a bar. I had no intentions beyond a hello, and there I was, suddenly being pursued by someone who had every reason to expect otherwise.

So I apologized and let him go.

He was gracious, subtly hurt, cut me free, and we reverted to stranger status. A de-friending on Facebook was included. Which I find oddly amusing. I'm not sure why. I'll probably need therapy one day.

I will slowly learn my lessons the hard way, waiting for that miraculous two-way street where affection is reciprocated and awkwardness is at a minimum. Or at least forgiven. And where missteps and gaffes aren't significant enough to get in the way of the real adventure.

Ah, girls are confusing. To every guy I've ever known, I apologize for my contribution to the mixed signals and inconsistencies that my sex has thrown at you. For the sudden shyness, the over-thinking, the cynicism, the coyness....

I am tired of the game. I always lose.
Men, if you stop playing, so will I.

A Lesson in Vanity

Today, I had my eyebrows threaded. It sounded like something very trendy and hip and Yorkville-approved. I convinced myself that perfectly shaped brows would make my eyes pop and my hotness quotient increase exponentially. Sure, I've plucked them myself, but I wanted the magic that only comes from a pro.

I specified that I like bold brows. Thick but not unruly. I wanted a little sophistication above my eyes. She agreed. She even repeated every request, impressing me with her active listening.

And then she went to work, ripping tiny hairs out of my flesh.

Um.

I have uniformly and unnaturally skinny brows. It would have been easier to just shave them off and draw a pretty curved line in their place.

I am not designed for vanity.

I should go live in a hut in Africa. Away from mirrors.

Or get long bangs.

The Art of the Brain-Fart

I noticed this morning that an anti-shine product I dabbed onto my face, in its French translation, says "anti-brilliance." So I blame cosmetics on the following.

Apparently you should not blog on no sleep. Your brain starts to jumble facts and you end up misinforming the entire blogosphere, crediting the wrong writer with awesome work. So I apologize to Randall Wallace, whom I adore, for saying that William Monaghan wrote Braveheart. He didn't. If you can stomach my error, I waxed otherwise poetic about Mel Gibson's acting comeback over at MovieZen.

I suppose after 24.99 years of being perfect, I was bound to screw up at some point. And there it is.

At least I'm not the only professional blunderer out there. I've read some hilarious entries in the past. Some intentionally incorrect for the sake of attracting attention (controversy is a great way to build traffic and get commenters going), and some just babbling on without that filter I like to call "a brain." I won't point out any specific insanity, although naming The Love Guru as one of the top movies of the summer might be part of it. Seriously.

Brain-farting is not limited to cyberspace. This morning, for example, as I was eating breakfast in front of Canada AM, a political analyst said the most brilliant thing I've ever heard at 6:45 a.m.:

"Only 20% of women in the House of Commons are women."

And then she went on to complain about how women are mocked. Yes. I wonder why.

Later, at work, I noticed that someone from one of our international offices had confused Marilyn Manson with Charles Manson. So I suppose it's a worldwide phenomenon, this absence of smarts.

The problem with momentary intelligence lapses is that you have to live with your gaffes when you come to. It's probably easier on the psyche to be dumb all the time than to have to neurotically recover from humiliating errors that point to your humanness.

So I will amend, but I won't delete.

And yes, I know what a couple of you are thinking. This is coming from the girl who will never live down saying "for all intensive purposes." Thanks, guys.