Fake Dating 101

When I am in a relationship there is nothing I enjoy more than being home with my man.  My favorite moments are spent cuddled on the couch, watching entire seasons of television shows in one sitting.  I like to cook chicken nuggets and french fries - share spoonfuls of ice cream out of the Ben and Jerry's container.  I don't need to be wined and dined to feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world that has everything.  I feel sexiest in an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of boy-short underwear.  I like dozing off on the couch with someone just as much as I love being completely distracted from the television when hands and mouths start wandering all over.  I like getting up to grab him another beer, I like watching him watch me walk away with no pants on.  Even if I am in torn up shirt with my hair a mess - I know you still love it. 

I don't want to admit that going out or "dating" by societal standards matters to me.  But it has been brought to my attention that maybe the reason I have so little interest in it, is because it is so seldom something I get to do.  A close friend had asked me a few weeks ago if he could take me out on a date.  Not with hopes of redefining our platonic relationship, but strictly for the sake of showing me what a date could be, should be, and how it could leave me feeling.  

I got to put on a fancy dress.  I got to do my hair, and my makeup, and even though he is a friend who knows me incredibly well, and I've spent more time with than most people, I even found myself getting butterflies just minutes before his arrival.  He showed up in nice jeans, a suit-coat, with roses in hand.  He commented on my appearance and with a hand on the small of my back led me out on a real date.  We didn't need to go on a carriage ride through the city, or have a paintball fight set to Semisonic's FNT.  We went to dinner and a movie.  We ordered a bottle of wine.  I ate a burger.  He touched my arm when it was appropriate and laughed at my jokes.  It was nice.  I felt like the prettiest, most adored girl in the room.  And there were other people in the room to draw that contrast against.

HSF has been in my life for like, 103 years now.  Would you even believe that in all the time I have known him, all of the countless hours we have spent together, only once have we ever gone outside of my house.  ONE TIME.  And it was for ONE DRINK at the closest bar within driving distance.  Jason was no better - we went out once a week, every Thursday to the local bar-trivia he attended anyways.  And quite frankly the entire evening was spent with him resenting me for knowing answers to questions or wearing a low cut shirt in public.  These weren't dates, I didn't get to dress up for them or feel like they wanted to show me off, or even what the very essence of what dating should be, which is trying to win over the attention and desire of the woman you want to love you back.

I'm not under the impression that men are solely responsible for maintaining romance, or for putting in the effort.  Lord knows more than anything I love doing little things for the men in my life as a reminder that they matter more to me than anyone else.  I recently purchased a Christmas present for a special guy in my life, and I can honestly say the satisfaction and joy of getting him that gift over-shadows even the greatest feelings from the greatest dates. But just because a girl is content with, more than content with - elated with, spending their days with you on the couch doesn't mean we don't need that reminder that we are worth wooing and fighting for.  And I think girls need to be reminded of that whether you've been dating 2 weeks, or married for 50 years.

I'm so quick to jump to that point in the relationship spent makeup-less and in pajamas, that I let guys off the hook for having to "real" date me right out the gate.  Who am I to expect, months later, them to have some desire to take me out or want to make me feel those things that get lost in Mad Men marathons and grilled cheese sandwiches. I guess I just wish that being that girl that would rather be low-maintenance and remove the pressure of romantic "dating" would more likely be the one that deserves to feel insanely loved and sometimes in the way of a $20 dinner for 2 at Chilis.  And I'm having a hard time convincing myself that that's too much to ask. 

Merry Christmas, Here's To Many More

Well, it's that time of year again folks.  Time for turkey, Christmas lights, long nights with friends and family, and crippling seasonal depression that makes me want to padlock the door and hide until it's all over.  I wish I could pinpoint what it is exactly about these cold months that make me so uneasy and anxious, but I suppose it's just a combination of everything.  From the financial stress of coming up with the perfect presents for the people in my life that deserve nothing less, to sitting around a dinner table with family trying not to feel like that 16 year old girl who fears she's incredibly misunderstood, or worse, ignored.

It doesn't help that for the past two holiday seasons I have found myself wondering if it will be my last spending them with my father.  And it increases the pressure I put on myself to not be the sullen, black sheep that shows up to most family functions. But fear alone doesn't change the self-doubt I have that the person pounding red wine at Christmas year after year isn't the person my family would want or hope for me to be.  Or the fact that when my siblings show up with their significant others, their new families, I still sit alone.

Ah yes, another holiday season sans boyfriend.  Another Christmas without someone to hold my hand through my typical anxiety, to share a midnight kiss with on New Years, to hold me close watching "It's a Wonderful Life" on Christmas eve, to put on a slutty Ms. Claus outfit for, and to be my plus one at the company holiday party.  I could name just as many summer-time activities that suck without a significant other, but the weather seems to make the winter ones that much more lonely.

So I'll put up my tree alone another year - a tradition that is both comforting and incredibly sad. I will turn on Reliant K's "Let It Snow, Baby...Let It Reindeer", because it's a beautiful Christmas album that has made me feel less alone each December every year since I was 18.  And I will continue to spend another year ending fighting the urge to shut down and close off from the amazing people in my life that battle me and struggle constantly to stay close to me.  The kind, selfless family of people I hold near and dear to me through 3 other seasons, that I become incredibly fearful of showing a broken Katie Keller to through the months of November through February. Because for what ever reason, chemically or psychologically, these aren't my best months.  And I know that.  So I can, as always, either hold myself accountable to the self-awareness I possess, or make the same mistakes over and over until these blogs can simply be copied and pasted from year to year.

So, with that said, Happy Holidays everybody.  I'm trying.

We've All Got Issues.

I have used my facebook, twitter, and other social media networks to express my political beliefs in the past few months.  But rarely do I speak my own words.  I more often than not quote a comedian, or even more hilariously the republican candidate.  I feel like with the election being just around the corner, I would like to take a minute to explain why I believe the things that I do.  This isn't open to debate, as this is strictly me stating why I will be voting the way I will in November.  I don't expect people to agree with everything I say, nor do I want to be dragged into a argument with anyone because I posted a blog on a Thursday evening.  If you are one of those people that can't hear someone's opinions without writing a rebuttal in your head before the words even fully enter your brain, do us both a favor and stop reading right now.

Ah. Isn't that better? That guy is such an idiot. 

I will be casting my vote for my president of the United States of America; the charismatic, handsome, intelligent, and bad-ass Barack Obama.  There are a few core issues that make me stand behind my POTUS, and those are the issues I care enough about to pay attention to government at all.  I can't sit here and pretend I know who is more qualified to handle foreign policy or even explain back to you what the proposed tax cuts or increases are.  I'm sure I would care more about those things if I owned anything - like a business, a house, or even a car.  Or perhaps if I was an active member of the US military.  Since I don't qualify for any of the previously mentioned circumstances - this is what I do know:

Gay rights.  How is this still even an issue?  I have only been on this earth 25 years, and it didn't take me all that long to figure out the greatest thing one person can ever have, be, or want is simply love.  I want everyone to be in love and to love.  I want my worst enemy to be loved so fucking hard they die from love.  If two, consensual, independent-minded individuals are in the love with each other, I don't care at all what gender they are, they have every right to, and should, broadcast it from the mountaintops.  They should be able to stand in front of a judge, or a priest, their families and friends, and hold a marriage certificate like anyone else.  Because if two people take a vow to spend the rest of their lives together, and love each other so much as to want to do so, that shouldn't be denied to anybody, ever.  Period.  End of discussion.

Women's rights. I have a vagina.  Though it's been questioned by those who have witnessed my abilities in the kitchen, or when picking out matching clothes, I am a lady, with delicate lady parts.  Government has always been a man's game, and that's fine.  Quite frankly, I wouldn't ever want the job.  But there should also be an acknowledgement to the fact that if you don't have ladybits, you shouldn't be the one deciding the appropriate maintenance and care for ladybits.  (Unless of course you are a man that studied vaginas, and became a vagina doctor - in which case, good for you guy.  Vaginas are gross).  I don't make a million dollars a year, I don't have unlimited funds to ensure I can keep myself safe and protected throughout these very transfomative and honestly scary sexual developmental years of my life.  I want to know that those choices will be determined by me, and the government will be supportive towards my effort to keeping my body healthy and safe.  Let's also consider the fact that if I didn't have the right to make choices for my life, and my body - I would have a 5 year kid right now who would be living paycheck to paycheck right along with me.  Who knows where I would be, or the person I would have become if I didn't have the ability to choose the life I want and to make the hardest decision I believe a person ever could for myself.  Which leads me to my next point...

Obamacare. My father is technically unemployed.  He is also battling stage 4 renal cancer.  If ever in my entire life have I seen a need for the government to step in and provide healthcare to those in need, its right now.  My father has worked his entire life.  He has provided to a family of 6, raised 4 pretty intelligent individuals while working 40 plus hours a week and being home for dinner every night.  The man runs into some bad luck when the economy took a turn for the worst.  He lost the house he spent his entire adult life paying for.  He lost his job.  And after providing for his family, his community, and giving back to his government in the same way every hard working American does, Mitt Romney wants to turn his back on a plan that would give my family the resources to fight this thing, He isn't a lazy man.  He didn't decide to get cancer one day, and then sit back and collect money from your tax paying dollars to be well again.  But god dammit, if there is a way we can give back to people, regardless of circumstance, to give every American a fighting chance at healthy lives - why wouldn't we? 

These are the issues that matter to me.  This is why when I go into the voting booth in just a few weeks, I have no doubt in my mind that I am making the right decision for myself, and I do truly believe, this country.  These issues are the ones I will always fight for, in the horrible case that they remain issues to fight for.  I stood up every day of my school years, placed my hand over my heart, and recited the words "with liberty and justice FOR ALL".  I believe in this country.  I believe in the people that fight for good in this country.  And I hope if these issues matter to you too, that you read up on what these two very different men stand behind and let your voice be heard on November 6th.

Trust Me, I'm Lying

I have been filled with anxiety this week.  I could list off all contributing factors, but it would require multiple blogs and I fear that if I don't occasionally reference my sex/dating life that you fine people will all stop reading.  So I will bypass that overwhelming list and skip to something that has been weighing hard on me the past few days.  I am in a relationship now.  It's going well.  I am falling, in that wonderful way you do when you start getting to know someone and let them get to know you.  I fall asleep with strong, warms arms around me more often than not these days.  I get to kiss someone on the regular.  Which is one of my favorite perks of all.  There are meals together, cuddling, and hours spent watching movies and television on the couch.  I have someone to talk to, someone to play with, and someone to get irrationally mad at when I am having a bad day.  It is a relationship, and it is all the great things that come along with it. 

The problem is that my history with men, and self awareness, set off red flags left and right that make me feel like I am going to make a bad decision.  Or fall too hard.  Or run away.  I don't trust the decisions I make with men, because every one that I have made in the last 10 years has been wrong.  That's obviously an exaggeration.  I have been in love and have been loved. And to be able to say that, in and of itself, shows that I did something right along the way.  But the outcomes of these relationships, or the people that the men I have been involved with have turned out to be, were far from the best choices I can make for me.  And after learning these lessons through so many relationships, I feel I have a responsibility to not let history repeat itself.  The simple fact that I don't want to fail again has me questioning my heart harder than I am letting it fall in love.

I don't want to run screaming at the first signs of trouble.  But when things aren't great it's also my responsibility to evaluate whether or not it's bad in a way that's normal or bad in a way that will land me in the same place I have so many times before.  Part of me thinks it's great that I am being cautious.  That this shows growth that I am trying to determine the outcomes of choices I am making before and as I am making them.  And the other part of me is terrified that me being terrified of being brokenhearted again is going to prevent a relationship that is and can make me happy for a very long time.

I just want to trust myself.  I want to not worry about whether I am thinking too much or too little.  There are so many qualities about myself that I believe in, and know to be true and good.  But anything related to my romantic or sexual relationships are not any of them.  A present moment evaluation of the relationship is to say that it's good; that I am happy.  That although I've been stressed for the past few weeks for a variety of reasons, at the end of the day I am happy that he is sitting on the couch in the other room playing video games.  My heart would be broken if he were anywhere else right now.  I get to sit in my room, listen to Del Amitri, and write this blog hashing out feelings about dealing with my own feelings.

This is the same shit I would be doing if I were alone, only I am not.  I have someone here that cares about me enough to be here when I needed him to be, and is comfortable enough to leave me be when I need to write a blog about my insecurities in our relationship and about life.  So I am going to trust myself for now.  Or at least try really hard to.

The Woman I Love

I went to go see Jason Mraz tonight.  Which was incredible.  I saw him 9 years ago in Decatur, IL.  My brother Sean even managed to pull off a smoke break and photo-op with Jason himself.  He was an up and coming singer/songwriter that was playing college campus' and hoping to catch a fan base along the way.  Almost a decade later I walked into the First Midwest Bank Amphitheater in Tinley Park today to a crowd of 10,000 people waiting in anticipation to see that same pimply-faced 20something I shared a Marlboro mild with so long ago. 

For his musicianship alone, it is a privilege to watch him perform.  Considering the 9 other musicians he shared the stage with, including an incredibly hot female percussionist, the show - top to bottom - was perfection. Besides being an amazing show, Jason Mraz has always been incredibly quick and witty, and may have a bit of a political agenda (but as long as it's on par with my own opinions - I wholeheartedly endorse it).  In between songs, specifically before he sang a song called "The Woman I Love" he made a few passing comments about females.  He said that women were amazing, but the biggest mistake women always make is forgetting how amazing we are.  And how, even though it may entail bitching, nagging, or irrational meltdowns; when we forget who we are, it's up to men to "man up" and remind us of the incredible women in us that they love.

Someone like me, who has had terrible relationships with men piled on top of deep-seeded self esteem issues, am very much an offender of what Mr. Mraz speaks of.  I am a woman.  And not in an annoying, feminist way; but that's pretty fucking incredible. But I feel, like a lot of other girls in this world, when I say that that is belittled on a far too regular basis.  Such is life.  Black people will always have it bad.  As will gay people.  As will Indians.  As will Nascar fans.  People will always discount you based off petty things that are not only not within your control, but things that have little or nothing to do with the actual character of a person.  But I digress. 

I am willing to look past being a woman, and look more closely at this "awesome" person Jason Mraz seems to think may exist in me.  And I'm sure it doesn't hurt that I am in a relationship now, so I have had validation outside of Jason and me, and actually in the form of another human being that doesn't mind his name being attached to mine for all social intents and purposes.  I'm Katie Mother Fucking Keller.  I'm not 21 any more.  I don't spend every night out doing outrageous things with no endgame and/or regard for the people around me.  I'm a little boring.  I like watching stand up comedy, listening to music, and reading books.  But I'm still pretty fabulous.

I can make people laugh in their saddest moments.  I can compliment and notice that thing about you, that isn't that new or special, but you are dying for someone to acknowledge.  I can look you in the eye, and without being able to promise that everything will be okay, will be able to promise you that I will be there.  And that no matter how bad it gets I will be in your corner.  I can sing you song lyrics for days.  I can dance and sing terribly when drunk enough at karaoke bar, and it will make you feel good.  I can take my own sadness, and genuinely try to turn that into happiness for someone else.  Jason Mraz was right, I am pretty fucking awesome, and my biggest mistake is not remembering it.

Maybe having someone who is sharing so much of my time with me will be a good mirror into some of my better qualities.  A reminder of the reasons that people, a specific person, wants to share their moments with me more than anyone else.  I am far from perfect.  And I pick apart every last emotional flaw I have, in this blog specifically.   But in the spirit of the good vibes, and free love that J Mraz was preaching at his show tonight, I'm going to go on record in saying that 2 years of blogs, 10 years of relationships, and 25 years of waking up everyday - Katie Keller is, in fact, awesome.

2 or More's a Crowd.

I have always prided myself on being a very independent person.  I moved out of my parents house for the first time when I was 18 years old.  And though 6 months of that was spent in college - the other 7.5 years of my life since has been a rather gypsy-like tour of the western suburbs by myself and my cat, Charlie.  We lived in crappy apartments, beautiful apartments I couldn't afford, a house with a bunch of 21 year old boys, a boyfriend's basement, a house with a husband and wife and two beautiful daughters, another house with some very straight-edged female nursing students, and now, a small 2 bedroom house that I actually call home.  Of all of those places previously mentioned, I don't consider any really a home to me.  They were places I lived, but never home.

When I first moved into this house, it was definitely not a home.  I shared the house with a wonderful roommate, and our collective 2 cats, and though the circumstances were far improved from my previous living arrangements, I was not comfortable in my own skin, let alone the roof over my head.  I went through the motions and packed up my bags when it was time to leave here, ready and willing to move on to the next gray place I can survive in until something more stable happened.  But a series of stressful, yet retrospectively wonderful, events occurred in which I couldn't leave this house.  And though I was terrified of what and when my next move would be (physically and emotionally), I felt like I finally had a second to catch my breath.

I've been in this house for 2 years.  I've been alone in it for just over 1.  And I can honestly say of the person I have become and of the things I have accomplished in that amount of time, the thing I am most proud of is this house.  It is the place I can run away to every night and turn off the world.  Nothing makes me happier than having the ability to come home after work, pour a glass of wine, and shamelessly dance around my living room singing into a remote controller.  I can literally disappear for days and not have to talk to a single person or deal with a single problem.  I also have a place friends can get away to.  The ones that have parents, or roommates, or significant others - this is there place to hide.  And if I extend that feeling of relaxation and comfort I absolutely will, to everyone I can, every time. 

My social-sphere has shifted over the last year, vastly.  I have a new best friend and we spend a shit ton of time together.  And I wouldn't change it for the world.  The best moments of the last 7 months have been with her.  She spends a lot of time at my place, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Then there is the other best friend who has been the only person I have consistently spent time with for close to 5 years now.  And we are used to seeing each other a good amount of time during the week.  It's my unwinding time.  We can sit on the couch and watch tv the same way I would if I wasn't drinking and dancing.  We talk sometimes, laugh a lot, and I wouldn't give up not one minute of those moments we spend together during the week.  Throw in a spattering of social events with the other close friends here and there, and the countless hours lost with HSF, and my place to hide is no longer.

So I have been evaluating what the appropriate balance is.  When do I say stop and take back the place I could draw the blinds and pretend things weren't hard and stressful and avoid dealing with reality?  Reality is sleeping in the guest room, or on the couch, or most recently in bed next to me.  I don't want to sacrifice the relationships I have created, and the memories I have been able to have by making this house my home.  And on the other end of that I don't want to stop having a fail-safe mode in which this home is the only place I can give my head and heart a break from everything.

I don't want to hide anymore.  I do want to continue to feel independent, and that this house that I have worked so hard to make my home remains as such.  But I know a lot of my frustration and overall overwhelmed feeling comes from that fear of being with people, being with someone, and not having countless hours to blame myself, hate myself or choose to feel nothing.  Being with people isn't bad.  Having a circle of family and friends that love you and want to spent time with you is nothing to be complaining about.  But I do need to schedule in a bit more "me time" for the sake of my sanity and for the only cardio I'm really getting from all that dancing around the living room (maybe with Jason Mraz, in my head, just a little).  I'm just having a little trouble finding my footing in feeling independent and not having that mean alone.

The Town Bicycle

It's been about a million years since I have written a blog.  Probably because things have been in transition for me romantically - and I have felt like if I said anything about it in my blog I would jinx it.  Kind of like how I don't like to tell my mother I am dating someone until we've been together for like a year.  Because the second I say out loud "I am seeing someone and it is going really great" is the precise moment it all goes to hell.  I am having a sneaking suspicion that in the last 24 hours things have started to go to hell anyways, so I decided to say "fuck it - let's write a blog".

The problem that I have in this relationship, as well as any relationship ever, is that I have a colorful history with men.  That is the nicest way I can say it.  But for anyone who knows me, or has any idea of how many people I have been with and what my sexual past looks like - they are the same people that know me well enough to explain that it has never been about achieving a high-score.  Or that I just love sex so much that I need to have it all the time with lots and lots of people.  My sexual history is a product of my much larger issues with insecurities and self-esteem.  It's a tale as old as time.  At least for those of us who come from a history of abuse, specifically sexually.

After years and years of getting involved with the wrong men, be it for a night, or drawn out over months of being treated poorly - you start to convince yourself that that's all you are going to get.  That that's what you deserve. And maybe it's a 'what came first the chicken or the egg' scenario - but for as long as I can remember I haven't really thought highly enough of myself to change the types of relationships I was falling in and out of.  I was just so amazed that anyone wanted to be with me, whether it be for 7-10 minutes or longer, that I put my heart into these toxic relationships, and made justifications time and time again that these guys weren't terrible.  They were fine, I was broken, and if anything they should all get gold medals for taking me on in the first place.

So I start seeing this guy, that has been described by friends and family alike as "someone I wouldn't normally date".  I can't imagine they mean physically, since he is dark and has a beard and looks like he should be in a band.  I can only assume they are referring to his temperament, the way he speaks to me, and how attentive and kind he is to me. This is the guy that showed up for our first date with a dozen white roses.  He says "thank you" for things, and opens doors and genuinely cares about my feelings.  But this isn't the type of guy that turns his cheek to a girl with a past such as mine.  The only types of men able to look past that are the ones that DON'T care, the ones I have been dating.  I am starting to feel like it will be impossible for me to be in a healthy relationship with a good man, because I have damaged myself beyond a point that any self-respecting, kind, real gentleman would ever want to be with.

We have talked pretty openly about our pasts.  He has been with far fewer people than I have, sexually and romantically.  And the thing that I find to be the most amazing/terrifying/

heartbreaking is that it isn't the shear volume of people that upsets him.  I mean, sure, he doesn't love the idea that I have shared my body with that many men.  But all he could do was ask me why I have allowed people that didn't ever treat me well to stay in my life for so long, and even more embarrassingly why I sought them out and fought tooth and nail to keep them around.  And I have no real explanation for myself more than what I have just admitted to you all here.  I don't like me very much, so it's easy to grab on to anyone that gives me the slightest bit of attention, even if it is a negative kind.  And that mentality has been fucking me up in the head for years - it doesn't just resolve itself after a few great weeks with a great guy that actually gives a shit about me.

I guess what I am learning (add it to the list of things I discover I'll have to overcome each and every day for the rest of my life) is that I can't undo a single thing that I have done.  I can't go back and tell a 14 year old me that someone, someday will love me and care about me in a real way.  I wish I could.  I wish I could, not only to avoid the relationships of the past decade of my life, but just to remind that little girl that it is worth waiting for.  And that if I could have just given it a bit more time, more time to learn who I am, what I am good at, and why people like me - that maybe that would be the determining factor of who I let into my life physically and emotionally.  Versus being here now, with the kind of person I've always wanted to be with, feeling as though I'm 10 years too late in being the person he's always wanted to be with.

The Pajama Theory

Me and my best girlfriend have an ongoing joke about our ability to pick up men in our pajamas.  Maybe it's because men see you in pajamas and correlate that with you going to bed.  And it's some sort of sexual connotation for them.  Either way, it never ceases to amaze me.  And really has me questioning the countless hours I spend on hair/makeup/outfit selection when I have amazing luck in nothing more than gym shorts and an over-sized t-shirt.  Let me explain.

Last week I was sent to Nashville by my amazing music store to attend the bi-annual NAMM convention (National Association for Music Merchants).  I have never been to Nashville.  In fact, I have never been on a business trip.  So I was elated to find I would have my own room, and once the seminars were over, and the show room closed for the day, that we would be free to gallivant around the city.  Now, I am particularly lucky because I happen to love the company of my coworkers.  So most evenings were spent sharing stories of our pasts and hopeful futures over many glasses of red wine (and to my surprise cinnamon whiskey shots).  But I am younger than my coworkers, by a bit, so when they retired for the evening - I found myself in the hotel bar waiting for wine to be purchased for me by handsome business men.

I had great success on the first night.  Meeting a very nice young man from Alabama who was in town with his family business that crafted violins, cellos, basses, and ukuleles.  We talked over some drinks and did some kissing.  But I kept it PG.  I tucked myself into bed shortly thereafter and figured I would see what I could muster up on day two. 

Night two was equally as successful, though I spent most of the evening talking to a married man - still willing to buy me a couple - and who was incredibly interesting.  I felt satisfied with that exchange.  It doesn't always have to be a hot and heavy makeout session, I told myself.  And just as I was getting ready to leave, the nice boy from night one came down to the bar, very obviously looking for me.  I debated, for a very brief moment, continuing the evening with him.  But decided against it.  I told both of my captive male audience at that point that I needed to rest, and that I would see them both on the floor tomorrow at the show.

Look at you, Keller.  Way to not be too slutty on a business trip.  I got into my room, feeling proud, and changed into my pajamas.  I determined I should smoke just one last cigarette before bed, so I went down to the front entrance of the hotel to ensure I didn't run into either boys from earlier in the trip.  I was sitting on the ground, back against the wall with headphones on.  Let me reiterate for those who aren't following - I was in blue cotton gym shorts and an oversized Oswego High School baseball shirt.  I was clearly making no effort to socialize with my headphones on, and was actively avoiding eye contact with anyone outside the hotel at what was now 1am.  At that moment a very handsome man stepped out of the backseat of a town car, and headed towards the revolving door before catching my eye.  Dammit.

I shyly pulled one of the ear-buds out of my ear to hear a warm greeting sent in my direction.  Next thing I know, handsome business man is sitting down next to me, on the concrete ground, asking me about who I am, where I work, what I am doing in town.   Most the conversation was muted by my consuming thoughts of how my face must look without any makeout, and how apparent my cellulite is in these shorts.  Handsome business man was unfazed.  Next thing I know we are kissing.  Next thing I know we discover we are both on the 3rd floor.  Next thing I know I am slammed up against a wall in the elevator.  I was in my PAJAMAS FOR CHRIST SAKE.

Now, I can still carry my less-slutty head tall and proud, for I did not sleep with handsome business man.  We fooled around a bit, he was an excellent kisser.  And eventually I was more tired than I was turned on and escorted him to the door.  We exchanged business cards, and a kiss goodnight and with that I had no intention of ever seeing or hearing from him again.

But I've been home for a few days now, and I got curious.  So I pulled out his business card and punched his name into the ol' google search.  Imagine my surprise to find this guy all over the fucking internet.  He is the CEO of a company, that I shall not name, that manufactures guitars.  His company has won an obscene amount of grant money to move forward with their products, and he has been listed in many financing magazines for top young entrepreneurs.  He is just as handsome in picture as I remember him being in person.  Oh, and did I mention he was the CEO of this ridiculously profitable company?  I think I should have slept with him. Waited it out a few months, then made a phone call claiming I was pregnant and tried to get hush money.  That’s terrible.  I don’t mean that.  I kind of don’t mean that.  I really don’t mean that.

 

What’s the point of my story here?  Is it nothing more than wanting to brag some more about my sexual prowess and ability to pick up men all over this great country of ours?  Mainly.  But it is also just as fascinating to know that my luck with men is not limited to a little black dress, stilettos, and perfectly polished hair.  CEO spent most of the night complimenting my quick wit, beautiful eyes and kissing ability anyways.  So ladies, take a hint from Chelsea and I.  Wash off the makeup, throw on your sweats, and just be comfortable.  Men are going to come and get it anyways.

 

The Goodbye Girl

It would be unfair to say I have been actively dating the past few months. In fact, I have been foolishly holding onto the broken pieces of my most previous relationship versus making any real effort to move forward. In an attempt to try and pull myself out of this romantic-funk (see what I did there?) I started clicking around the ol' dating site a bit more seriously than usual. After browsing through dozens of lackluster profiles of moderately attractive men, I found one that shined through the others. This gentleman was dark and handsome, 25 years old, gainfully employed, and interested in the same variety of music and movies as myself. What the hell, I thought. Couldn't hurt to say hello.

So I sent over a message. Something random and brief about seeing Death Cab for Cutie a few months back, and then again flying over them on the ski-lift at Summerfest last week. I closed with my number, and encouraged him to hit me back to meet, quite possibly, the coolest redhead anyone could ever know. A few minutes later I received a picture message of Death Cab playing at Summerfest on that very night I was there. Impressive, sir. Well played. After a few exchanges we had decided to get together on Sunday for a few beers.

Imagine my relief when I opened the door last night to discover a very good looking, adult male, who was both taller than me and didn't smell like hamster cages. He even had facial hair, and dark-rimmed hipster glasses. I melt all over again just thinking about it. Conversation picked up immediately as we had tons to learn about each other. He even made his move for our first kiss very shortly into our meeting. Which was ballsy, but appreciated by me, as I move quickly with things myself as well. It was a pretty perfect first date that I floated through with ease and confidence. Sounds like a sure thing, right? At least for a few more dates? Wrong. Because he moves to Boston on Wednesday.

Now lets think back to a recent blog in which I mentioned the bearded fellow I met at trivia night, the one who I hit it off with and spent a lovely evening getting to know. That guy, also pretty perfect chemistry, did call me after our initial meeting. But only to inform me that he was moving to Texas a few short days later. What in the world is going on here? Is it impossible for me to meet someone qualified to date Katie Keller that will keep residence in Illinois longer than a week after meeting me? My girlfriend asked me after explaining this date to her, "are you just men's 'goodbye'?" It certainly is starting to feel that way. As though I am one last good time before anyone I could be interested in sets out to start another life far far away.

Bearded Ben had mentioned that he wanted to stay in touch. That he was only going down there to finish up school, and he would make frequent visits back home. Which means nothing to me. We only met once. It's not like I will lock myself inside waiting for his return. I decided not to kid anyone when Boston Boy left last night. He kissed me goodnight and told me to have a good trip to Nashville this week, I responded by telling him to have a good life. Because I will do nothing but break my own heart if I even entertain the notion this kid and I will ever even see each other again, let alone be romantically involved.

Welp, such is life. I have decided after a long day of contemplation that these situations are all signs of something good. Sure it's frustrating. And it makes it really hard not to pick up the phone and beg the ex for his attention again because he is here, at least for now, and I won't have to wonder whether my heart will be broken or left for Boston. Because with him a broken heart is a sure thing. What it does prove is that I am redirecting my radar. That I have sought out, though fleeting, two really great guys. Not the kind that I just see great potential in and hope to someday recreate into something worth dating. Both of these guys are well established, intelligent, and mature. They, in the short time I spent with them, were kind and attentive. And I will go on believing in my overly optimistic mind that had either one of them been staying in the greater Chicagoland area, that they would have been incredible romances. That we would have continued to get to know one another, fall deeply and passionately in love, and when they made the big moves to Boson or Texas that I would be in the passenger seat grateful for the opportunity to start a new life.

Goodbye Boston Luke. Goodbye Bearded Ben. I enjoyed your kisses and playful banter. I even more so enjoyed the reminder that men like you are out there. You were both just on your way out, and a part of me loves being your goodbye girl. One more sweet memory to hold onto from Illinois. I hope you find everything it is you boys are looking for, and thanks again for reminding me what it is I am.

Assholes and Idiots

My father uses the phrase "I'm surrounded..." on a regular basis.  He never even needed to finish the sentence in order for us to grasp the sentiment.  "I am surrounded by idiots."  And for most of my childhood (and let's be honest, adulthood) the man has legitimately been surrounded by idiots.  As I get older, and I am subjected to a whole world of characters, my heart goes out to the man.  He is, and as I am learning I am, surrounded by idiots. Not exclusively idiots, but also assholes.  Maybe that's why he never finished the sentence out loud.  Maybe he also felt he was surrounded by idiots as well as a variety of names he couldn't say in front of his small children.

I am not by any means claiming to be perfect, or immune to being both an idiot and asshole at times.  But I am finding in more recent interactions with people, more often than not they are idiots or assholes. I would now like to share some examples of these types of people I am referring to:

1. The "Out Of Touch With Reality" Guy.
This guy (or girl) believes that things will just magically appear if you will them to do so.  They believe they will sign a record contract, tour, and become a huge rockstar without applying much more effort than creating songs on a computer in their parent's basement and then just talking openly about their musical career.  Because if you post about it in your facebook status' - you are clearly well on your way to stardom.  Or maybe you think you can just up and quit your job because "money doesn't buy happiness" and you should "follow your heart and just do what makes you happy".  Well, you know what makes me happy? Being able to make rent, or keep my electricity on.  Or not having to be codependent on everyone else to live a happy and successful life.  I would never want to gain something that I wanted without merit.  I want to work and earn everything attached to my name.  And even if I fall short every time, I at least know I gave it my all. And if my hard-work and passion leads me nowhere but my ranch-style home in Aurora, and job at the music store indefinitely, I will be okay with that knowing that I didn't try to cheat the system or waste years of my life with my head in clouds waiting for that one opportunity for lighting to strike.  If you have lofty goals, you work your ass off for them.  But you also need to understand that life isn't always rainbow and sunshine.  So buck up, shut up, and work like the rest of us.  Ya dig?

2. The "My Life is The Worst Life Ever" Guy.
This guy thinks that his troubles and concerns are the worst troubles and concerns ever experienced by mankind in all of history.  Sure, I get down a lot.  I wish and pray that things could be different, or when circumstances didn't work the way I had planned.  But keep a little perspective people.  I promise you nothing that you or I are going through is anything new from the pain and worry of a GAZILLION others before us.  And most of them survived.  The ones that didn't probably got hit by a bus or something.  And you aren't lucky enough to have that happen to you, most likely.  So deal with your shit.  My dad is going to die of cancer.  The next 5 -50 men I date will probably hurt or reject me when I really want it to work out.  I will have to find rides to work for a while until I can afford a car.  But guess what? Everyone's dad's will die.  And everyone will get their heart stomped by a love interest at some point.  And everyone will have to swallow down pride from time to time to ask for help from other people.  None of these things will kill us.  So acting as though they will, or that there is no way out, is pointless and a waste of energy.

3. The Bad Guy Who Wants Nice Things.
This is the friend who is not a great friend.  In fact, he's kind of an asshole.  He is your friend only when it is convenient for him.  When that time comes along, he will be a fun guy - but will suck out of you as much as he can before disappearing until they need something again.   I have a really bad tendency of letting these types of people in over and over again, because I so desperately want to believe that maybe this time they will be a good friend deserving of good things.  But they won't be.  Because they're an asshole.  If you are a bad person, you don't deserve nice things.

4. The "This Won't Effect Anyone But Me" Guy.
People are so careless when they make decisions.  I am all about looking out for number one.  But at the end of the day, any thing you do or say has a consequence.  It will never start and end with you and your life only.  It's a small small world, and we are all so intertwined that your actions will impact those around you whether you like it or not.  Now, if you need to do something for your benefit, be it health, career, or overall well being, do it.  Always do it.  Just don't act surprised when it has a trickle down effect on others.  But especially with stupid decisions - other people will feel the weight of that in some way shape or form, be it concern or worry - or something more intrusive like having to pick up pieces to things they never broke in the first place.  Just think about the world around you before making rash decisions, like marriage and babies.

5. The "I'm Really Cool Because I Party" Guy.
Oh man.  This guys is the coolest.  He prides himself on the amount of PBRs he drank at the bar last night.  And his ability to acquire weed at the drop of a hat.  You did how much acid last night?  Oh man, you are just so cool.  I don't understand how anyone could be having more fun that you are - all the time.  I'm 25 years old.  I am not over my partying years, I like my vino - I like to get a little crazy.  But if someone asks me what the best thing I did today was, and it is in any way shape or form connected to drugs or alcohol, I officially live a pretty pathetic life.  These substances are used to alter your mind from your actual reality, which is great.  Like a mini-vacation.  But if these are the best parts of your life, it means your reality sucks, and you are just prolonging improving your reality by never being in it. 

Idiots, am I right?  I like to think these are phases for people - that they will grow out of them.  I fear for some though it maybe a permanent life choice.  In which case I will take on the wonderful advice of my dearest friend Robyn and free myself.  Free yourself from these people, these attitudes, these delusions.  I can only be responsible for what I am doing with my life.  And since that is in a constant need of fine-tuning and readjustment - I quite frankly don't have the time to de-idiotize or de-asshole these kinds of people.  The silver lining to being surrounded though, is it makes you cherish those that seem to make an effort and play on your level.  Those people, the ones who fight the good fight and work hard to be the best they can, even just 1 of them can negate a whole world of 1 - 5s.  So love them hard. And when worst comes to worst, just shake your head and say "I'm surrounded..."

Mad Game, Bro

I have expressed time and time again how much I don't care for dating.  But it would be fair to clarify that it is internet dating that I hate.  I hate having to determine a man's worth from a dating profile or a series of exchanged texts and emails.  I hate having to sit across a table from someone I don't know any further than a survey of questions answered about romantic preferences and "dating style".  This has really been the only way I have been meeting men over the past few years, as it seems harder and harder to meet men in an organic way anymore.  I don't spend a lot of times at bars, or clubs - I don't attend any group functions or classes.  I know the same 15 men I see at work each day (some of them are datable, though I don't think they believe the same to be true about me).  Any opportunity I seem to have with finding and dating men always feels more like a job interview than spending time with someone because you met them by chance, felt something, and wanted to pursue it further.

Me and my life brommate Chelsea headed out to trivia this past Thursday night.  I have heard lots of stories about bar trivia.  People seem to love it, and I tend to hate everything people love, so I have made it a point to avoid it for the past few years.  But, get a few margaritas in me, and I forget my petty objections to socially accepted activity and am game for just about anything.  As we approached the table of Chelsea's manfriends I noticed their team name was "Zack Morris and the Brick Phones".  "Okay", I thought to myself, "we will all get along just fine".

We weren't even at the table for more than 5 minutes when Chelsea announced that the guy sitting to her right, sporting one hell of a beard, would be my romantic interest for the evening.  She was basing this strictly on the fact that he had a beard.  Apparently I have a type - and it's 20 year old boys and bearded men.  Her statement was half fact and half taken as a challenge by me.  Bearded man would be mine, if for nothing more than a hot make-out session in a bar on a Thursday night. 

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that beardface and I had a ton in common.  He is also a drummer, has a long standing history with the local Chicago music scene, loves to write, and is currently getting a PhD in Philosophy.   (That last fact has nothing to do with my interests, I just wanted to brag about the fact that he is getting a PhD.  He also drives a Cadillac.  I digress.) After many shared laughs and a couple dozen cigarettes on the patio, he leaned in for the kiss.  OH BEARDFACE!  HAPPY DAYS!  Nothing excites me more than making out with dudes, except making out with dudes who have beards.

Chelsea was also running game on a young gent in the same circle of friends.  So as the bar was closing and we were paying our tabs, I decided it wasn't necessary to end the evening so soon and invited the bros over to the Katie-cave.  Lucky bastards, indeed.  The Cadillac was cozy, and the hand-holding and stop light kissing was butterfly inducing.  When us make-shift double-daters got back to the cave, a Bayside dance party ensued followed by a Kevin Smith viewing party that lasted approximately 10 minutes before we all got too handsy and had to depart to our separate bedrooms.  In retrospect, the only thing that I would have changed was Chelsea and I exchanging high-fives in passing.  Because at this point we had run game, seduced two suitors, and were closing the deal. 

I won't go into the specifics of either of our closed door activates, but it is fair to say we both handled ourselves like dudes.  We took what we wanted, no apologies, and went to bed.  Used and abused.  And it felt good.  For once to be the taker and not the giver.  To pick up a guy at a bar, to get what I wanted, and then tuck myself into bed cuddled up next to a beard and feeling very satisfied with myself.  It's not nearly as slutty as it sounds.  I didn't sleep with the guy.  Which I am happy about.  I have a tendency of jumping into bed way too soon, and then act shocked and surprised with men don't view me as "girlfriend material".  Why buy the cow, ya know?

Chelsea and I spent the following day glowing about making out with boys, and it was a lovely reminder that outside of OkCupid and suffering through first dates with strangers - there are still genuine connections that can be made by fate or luck, or just good timing.  Beardface has my number, and who knows if he will use it.  I like to think waking up in his arms versus having him leave a very passed out me in bed in the middle of the night is a good sign.  And if he doesn't, I'm not too worried.  I have rediscovered the fact that I run some mad game, bro.  Maybe it's time I disconnect from the internet dating world for a bit and just force myself to go out more.  I have a wingman with equal amounts of game to be run, so watch out single dudes in the greater Chicagoland area.  Me and my bro are on the prowl this summer, and if Beardface is any indication, you really don't stand a chance.

No One Seems To Be Forgetting

Maybe everything I write in here will be used against me.  Maybe I am just making the already daunting task of dating that much harder on myself because any man that wants to know me can simply type my name into a search engine and discover pretty much everything about me.  They will learn my interests and hobbies, my career, about my friends and family, and my relationship history.  Hell, it's become public knowledge, at no one's fault but my own, that I have a bizarre fetish for choking.  Oh well, it's already been published.  It's out there - and people can not unread it. 

So I went out with this guy the other day.  I don't know if it would qualify as a date, as much as just "grabbing beers".  I was nervous, like I get when I go out with men and I have to try to be all charming and witty and not talk about things like ex-boyfriends or being choked out.  We were having a really nice time.  Which I was a bit surprised by, I felt like in this particular pairing I was going to be too dominate (when am I not too dominate though?).  As the evening was coming to an end, and we were evaluating where a night of drinking and banter would leave us, his analysis of the situation caught me off guard.  And not exclusively because he wasn't trying to get his hand up my shirt.

Outside of a few other minor setbacks in our relationships to one another, he had said that it was evident that I am still hung up on my exboyfriend.  I don't even know if he can be called an exboyfriend, as much as that guy I wasted a large majority of the last year on.  Is there a title for that? Oh yes, I do believe its an HSF.  Regardless, this upset me.  Because I had been extra careful not to discuss HSF any more than prompted to while we were out.  So I couldn't quite figure out what he was basing this on.  Then it occurred to me that for as long as this guy has known me he has been exposed to my blogs, my facebook, my twitter - so absolutely would it be fair for him to think that.

So am I still hung up on my ex?  Well, it was less than 2 weeks ago that he was literally inside me.  So maybe, yeah, a little.  Not to mention it has become increasingly hard to get over him with having to see his stupid sandy blonde head every time I have to put a trombone on the delivery shelf.  So after this particular gentleman left for the evening, with not so much as a good night kiss, my anger and red wine got the best of me - and I expressed to HSF that he needed to find a new job.  I am not going to miss opportunities to connect with new people because my social media profiles read me like an open book, and sends giant red flags to the universe that this is still an issue in my life.  He needs to go, or I need to stop expressing every last emotion I carry with me on the internet.  One of those things is not going to happen.  And it doesn't involve making minimum wage whilst vacuuming clarinet cases.

But with the HSF bullshit aside, I am still going to have to come to terms with what men are able to deduct about Katie Keller from the internet.  Specifically this blog.  I mean, this poor guy who shared 3 beers and half of one shot with me on a Wednesday night probably didn't know he would inspire an entire blog entry.  But he did.  And that's the risk you run when you spend time with me romantically or otherwise.  Hell, a conversation with Curtis just last week provoked a currently unfinished blog entitled "Blow Job Queen".  I write my life.  I make no apologizes for that.  But now I'm finding that it is probably hurting me more than anyone else.  Except for the guy that smelled like hamsters.  I still think I hurt him more.

HSF On The JOB

I have written the beginning of about 6 different blogs all around my birthday last week.  I was covering a variety of topics - my dry spell from sex, turning 25, finding "the one" - I had a million things I wanted to say that I just couldn't seem to carryout to completion.  But now I sit here, with really only one thing on my mind to talk about.  And it's almost embarrassing that I am back in this place to talk about it at all.  But I know as my fingers are sliding across this keyboard that I will start and finish these thoughts, because they are pulsing through me stronger than my feelings on any of the previously mentioned topics.

Let's talk about HSF for a minute.  To give a brief synopsis of where things left off, we had played the "together but not really together" game since July of last year.  And as I have very openly discussed in this blog, was challenged by being in a relationship with a complete and total lack of definition.  I played it out through the winter and into spring.  By the time he had come home for spring break, I placed down an ultimatum: I was by no means asking him to put a ring on it, but if we were going to continue spending time together and sleeping together I needed to know we were exclusive to one another.  He nodded his head, compliantly, to which I quickly learned was to ensure he would continue to get laid over the holiday break.  I had had enough at this point, told him that I deserved better - that I wanted a real committed relationship, and we ended it.

For two people that couldn't seem to stay away from or keep their hands off of one another for months, we went in completely opposite directions and I prided myself on my ability to not look back.  To not stalk his various internet profiles.  I was legitimately ready and trying, actively, to get over this kid.  9 months was already too long to invest time with someone who at the end of the day was just not willing to give me what I want.

Alright, so now that we are caught up there, let me tell you about the completely retarded decision I made when it came back to surface that HSF had applied for a job at my work.  And when we were together, this sounded like the best plan ever.  Flash forward 2 months, we aren't speaking, and I am being asked whether or not I mind if HSF takes the position.   "Of course he can still take it" I said.  "It won't matter at all" believed no one.  He was going to be coming home from school anyways, and I knew that was going to suck.  How much worse could it possibly be having to work with him 5 days a week?  Exponentially worse - in case you were wondering.

So he's been home for 3 days, has worked 2 days, and we've already slept together again once.  Nice work, Keller.  Bang up job upholding the progress you have struggled to make in getting over this kid for the past 60 days.  Straight out the window it went, along with my self-respect and enjoyment of coming into work.  I am being mildly dramatic.  But I should have known better to not poke this barely sleeping emotional beast.  I of course still care about the kid, that was the only reason there was no real hesitation when I was asked if he could still take the job.  I want him to have the job.  I know its a good job, I like the people he will be working with, and it will help him make money over the summer.  But I can't do this again.  I know that our relationship has not changed, he as a person has not changed, and by him working here I am doing nothing but creating opportunities for him to trick me into thinking any of this is a good idea.

I'm a big girl, though.  And because I am self aware enough to recognize this as a slippery slope for myself, it is my responsibility and mine only to coexist at work with him, and leave our relationship there.  I guess what stings - all strong independent Katie aside - is that this kid crushed my heart.  I really, so genuinely, gave him my heart.  I would have done anything to make a relationship with him work.  I liked him enough to play by his rules for as long as I possibly could.  When he decided that he couldn't give me what I wanted, I was fucking devastated.  Now everyday when I punch in, I have to look at the face of the boy that broke my heart, and fight with everything in me to be the bigger person and allow him to have a summer job, drama free.  Knowing that it will never be that easy for me.

Chelsea said it beautifully, that when I decided it was okay to let him work here it was that part of me that was still hoping things could be different.  Watching that reality come crashing down is almost harder than when we walked away the first time.  So - it's time for distractions bro.  Lots and lots of distractions, in the way of long nights on the couch with Curtis, comedy shows with Matt, girls nights and Grays Anatomy with Erin.  And as many ridiculous weekend long adventures Chelsea and I can pencil in between our schedules.  I am 25 years old now, I'm not looking to waste any more time than has already been lost.

Half The Man I Hoped He'd Be

I feel confident in saying that I have gotten to a point in my life where I don't feel like I need to be in a relationship the way that I used to in years past.  I know that I will be just as happy being single as I would be with someone else right now, which has made dating post HSF a very different experience for me.  I am just looking to have fun.  And if one of these dudes ends up being outstanding company, well then they get to get laid on the regular and I get free meals until one of us gets bored.  Because even at 25, I know that I am not in the place in my life that I want to necessarily be when I finally settle down and tie the knot.

With that being said, I feel like it's fair to say that I am still a bit shallow when it comes to men.  And I would normally feel bad admitting that, but it's the reality of the situation that I want to be stupid attracted to the men I choose to be with.  I don't mean in that in a conventional way that he needs to resemble Colin Farrell or James Deen.  I mean that I need to want to tear his clothes off.  And that feeling of wanting to tear someone's clothes of is usually defined after a conversation or two.  In fact with HSF, I wasn't even that attracted to him right out the gate.  I remember vividly one night having a conversation with him, and it was like I had blinked and all of a sudden he looked exactly like Chase Crawford to me. 

With Charlie I wasn't attracted to him at all after our first two dates and I broke it off entirely.  Then we, for some reason, developed the habit of these hours long late night phone calls, and by the next time I had seen him a month later - it was like dating an entirely different person.  A person who I really wanted to tear the clothes off of.  So when I say what I am about to say, I want you to understand that I am not all that superficial.  That the personality, intelligence and sense of humor will always matter most of all.  Even though all girls say that, I actually mean it.  But there are some physical attributes that I am looking for in a man that I am not ready to give up on just yet.

I went out with this guy last week who has been campaigning to date me for about a month now.  We have exchanged an excessive amount of emails - and I felt comfortable enough to know in the very least it would be a nice conversation and free meal.  I didn't think there would be a romantic spark on my end, pretty much before I even agreed to go out with him.  I didn't get the nervous butterflies every time he texted, and I had put off going out with him for such a long time.  When Katie Keller wants to date someone she will stalk, attack and devour her pray.

So with my expectations low, I went into it looking for a nice time and perhaps a somewhat buzzed make out session.  I heard a knock on the door, and there stood a very little man.  He had the face of the guy from the dating site, it's just his face was about 2 feet lower from where I expected it to be.  I have dated some smaller guys in my day.  Andy and Jerod were both about my size, perhaps a touch taller.  But I have never, nor do I think I will ever, be attracted to someone who I have to bend over to kiss.  There were a few other instant turn-offs for me.  He smelled a lot like the bedding you put in a hamster cage, to which I have come to learn is the smell of cedar.  And often times people with cedar closets or dressers carry this odor, apparently.  Well, I'm sorry - but he smelled like a Petco.  The 3rd and final strike, as I saw it, was when we were en route to dinner, and he casually mentioned that I sound a lot like Marge Simpson.  Hey guys, I don't know what types of pickup lines you use on women, but that should never be one of them.

Sigh.

He was a genuinely sweet guy.  And the date was tolerable.  He did make a move in for what I consider to be one of the most awkward good night kisses in my 100 year dating history.  I think he was on his tip-toes.  So there it is. I can't date a dude who is shorter than me.  I need to know when I am laying in a man's arms that it physically makes sense for me to be the little spoon.  I need to feel secure and protected.  I need to be able to wear sky high heals, with my legs as one of my finer features, and these stems look their best in heals.  While were here, let's cover a few more bases, shall we?

-I won't date a guy with man boobs.
-I won't date a guy who is a terrible speller.
-I won't date a guy who has children from a previous relationship.
-I won't date a guy who wears jorts.
-I won't date a guy with a ponytail.
-I won't date a guy whose favorite hobby is karaoke.
-I won't date a guy who has braces.
-I won't date a guy who is missing any arms or legs.
-I won't date a guy who claims to be bi-sexual.
-I won't date a guy who has never been in a relationship before me.
-I won't date a guy who has bad breath.

Now, I should say the obvious "I won't date a guy without a job" or "I won't date a guy that lives with his parents" but let's be honest, I spend most of my time pining after comedians and musicians.  These are two qualifications I have had to learn to let go of.  Is it ideal? No.  But that's just the type of man I like.  (Which is debatable whether they can be called 'men' at all).

Am I shallow? Maybe.  Will I end up with someone that fits all my so-called qualifications for men? Probably not.  In fact, because I wrote this blog I will probably end up marrying a dwarf, who only has one arm.  But I will put my foot down when it comes to jorts.

Oh, Delicious Stupid Cookie

Although I don't always show my girly side, there are certain undeniable girl tendencies that have never faded with time.  I fantasize about my wedding.  I envision the perfect dress, the staged photos outside with my friends and family, and the drinking and dancing to my favorite songs with my best friends.  I imagine me and my future husband sneaking away from the reception to have a quickie in the bridal room.  I can picture the lingerie I'll be wearing under my dress.  And how we will look when the officiator announces us husband and wife and my man kisses his bride.  Weddings are fabulous.  It's a big party you get to have when you finally sucker someone into spending the rest of their life with you.  You get to eat and drink and be merry - and it's all about YOU!

Now - for someone who daydreams about weddings, I am the worst person when it actually comes to be in attendance for them.  I don't know if it's a combination of the pressure of having/being a plus one, the emotions attached to seeing someone else that happy in love, or just my social awkwardness.  But the few weddings I have been to in my day have ended in disaster.  I am sure you all remember the traumatizing night when I went to a wedding as a friend's date and got my period all over the seat in the reception hall.  At one of my best friend's weddings this last summer I got fall down drunk and proceeded to wish the bride a happy birthday numerous times throughout the evening (I think I had forgotten what we were celebrating).  That night I also managed to make out with 3 different people, steal about 200 Andes Mints from the bar, and lose a sweater.

I like the idea of weddings, scratch that, I like the idea of MY wedding.  In theory.  But when it comes to putting these romantic notions of weddings to practice, I tend to come up short every time.  So imagine my terror and worry when I was proposition to be a maid of honor in some upcoming nuptials.  Now, I am not going to get into the finer details of this particularly uncomfortable situation.  What I will say, is this isn't really the circumstances in which I expected to be a maid of honor.  Which just adds to my already high stress level concerning these types of events.  Before my role at weddings was to do nothing more than to raise my glass when appropriate, comment on the bride's dress, and leave with the same person I showed up with.  And I have successfully failed at every attempt in doing so.

But let's play ball, folks.  Let's put on the dress, perfect my pacing for the walk down the aisle, and pay extra close attention to the train of the bride's dress.  I will hold her flowers, tell her she looks beautiful at all the appropriate moments, wipe her tears from under her eyes so she doesn't ruin her makeup, and keep her hair pinned perfectly into place.  I will write a toast, quoting heartbreaking words of someone that has said something about love that I actually believe in.  And I will graciously kiss the check of her groom and thank him for allowing me to be apart of their ceremony. 

I know the rules.  I know what moments of weddings past I need to make an extra effort to avoid recreating, and that I need to be the best possible version of myself for the sake of the bride.  Let's just hope I don't look fat in the bride's maid dress.  That's the last thing my self esteem will need while trying to pretend like I am capable of being pulled together for this affair.  Because on this particular day, more than just a girl in a dress in a wedding party, I need to be a big sister.

Girls, Girls, Girls

I have always bragged openly about my group of guy friends.  The same guys that I made friends with in 7th grade, that I still call my best friends today. We have picked up a few other guys in our circle over the years - but I'm a guy's girl.  I like doing boy things.  I like playing drinking games, wrestling on the lawn, and sitting on the couch for hours of Call of Duty tournaments.  I guess having two older brothers would explain my preference to keeping the company of men.  I spent my earlier years desperately trying to be cool enough to hang out with my brothers and their friends, that by the time I reached high school I had become the girl that just fit better with boys as friends.

"I hate girls" has been the go to phrase for years as people would inquire why I don't keep the company of lady friends.  I don't hate all girls, just most.  I've always employed one female friend to keep at my side over the years.  And they have come and gone due to falling outs, moving away, all the typical circumstances that come in the way of friendships.  But I never really lost sleep over it because I didn't really think I needed to have a close girlfriend as long as I had my boys.

Over the past year I have found myself keeping the company of more female friends.  And I feel like I've been missing out on what having girl friends offer that is so dramatically different than the things I have always had in my relationships with males.  Girls aren't bad.  I have just always been so insecure that having another female close to me is a mirror to all the things I don't have, don't do well, or don't do right at all.  I guess I have just finally come to a point in my life where I am a little more self assured, or perhaps ready to learn from the females around me how to resolve the shortcomings that I do so clearly have.

I don't want to discount any of my previous female friends, because the ones I held close (and still do) helped me through a lot of growing.  And I would never dream of replacing my bros with an all female cast.  But I have been having sleepovers lately with Chelsea, ones were we can lie around bralass, watch hours of television, drink mimosas and talk about boys.  Just this past weekend I got to spend the night laughing and drinking wine with Erin and Beth.  When I go to bars and clubs now, and I am with women, I have an opportunity to meet people.  Unlike when I would frequent places with a group of boys.  Men just naturally assume I am sleeping with one or more of them.

I was talking to the Tetris Piece guy today  (welcome to your blog name, buddy) and he mentioned what a red flag it is when a girl doesn't have any girlfriends.  And I totally get it now.  All the times I spent thinking I didn't need consistent female interactions; I was the worst possible version on myself.  Being around dudes is great for my self esteem.  Whether they are treating me like a girl, in those times I am the only girl.  Or when they are treating me like one of the guys, I am cool enough to be with the guys.

Adam and I used to have full-fledged slapping contests.  I would, on a semi-regular basis, get slapped across the face at full force.  And I loved it.  I loved that it didn't phase him that I had lady parts, but rather I was Katie Keller, and I can take a hit to the face just like a bro.  Travis has body slammed me into hard surfaces more than most professional wrestlers experience throughout their careers. I wouldn't trade being one of the guys for anything in the world.  On the other hand, I haven't been able to talk to the guys about that dude I was with a few weeks ago that was an unnecessarily rough kisser (this coming from the girl that likes a good choking).  Or talk about missing HSF as much as I do, or the residual feelings from my misguided one night stand.  Or what it feels like to have love/hate relationship with a younger sister.  Or someone to call up terrified when your period is a few days late.

I'm glad I finally appreciate the company of girl friends, and I am even more happy that I have managed to find a group of them that are just as boyish as I am at times.  And never make me feel like less of a girl for having my more masculine tendencies.  So if you are one of those girls that "doesn't get along with other girls" try harder, I promise when you find the good ones you'll see not all girls are bad. And if anything, you'll like triple your wardrobe.

The War Between Remembering and Forgetting

Whenever I end a relationship with someone I really care about, I allow myself a decent amount of bounce back time.  Depending on the length and depth of the relationship, I try to make it a point to shake most of the residual feelings after a month or two.  Because I hate the idea that once that person is gone from my life, they are still getting a piece of me. 

With that being said, it's been over a month since my last contact with HSF.  We left each other in a very civil manner.  There weren't any hurtful exchanges.  It was a very mature correspondence in which we both came to terms with the fact that we are just looking for different things in life right now.  And that it wouldn't be fair to either one of us to continue in a relationship we weren't seeing eye to eye on.  I was actually impressed, despite how immature some of our arguments in the past had a tendency of becoming.  I read his final words of goodbye a few hundred times, and then prepared myself for a few weeks of tears, red wine, and meaningless sex with strangers.

A month later, I am happy to announce I only had meaningless sex with one stranger.  And even more impressively, I have refrained from any contact with HSF.  To the extreme in which I haven't the ONCE peaked at his facebook, twitter, tumblr, G+, etc.  When Charlie and I broke up, I almost broke my computer mouse from the shear frequency of hitting the refresh button.  I wanted to know who he was talking to, where he was going, when he was going there.  This time around I have literally put myself on a HSF blackout and have seen NOTHING concerning him since the last email he sent.  So you would think that getting over him would be faster than the previous man-friends I dangled on to feelings to for longer than I should have.

Here's the problem.  The only connection I still have to HSF is how much I miss him.  This feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to call him, or click through his tumblr, or send him a g-chat message.  It's not constant, it ebbs and flows.  It hits me the hardest when I see something funny on tv, or I read an interesting article about this upcoming election.  I think about how his music is coming along, and how his classes are going.  And I want to reach out so bad sometimes, but I know as a result of our last conversation that there isn't a point.  He isn't going to stop looking for what it is he wants, and I am not willing to settle for less than what I want.  So there is no point in missing him anymore, I understand that there just can not be a future there.

I do also understand though that once I stop missing him, once I turn off that part of my brain and heart that longs for all night conversations and late night sexting, that this is infinitely done. That the things I was looking forward to sharing with him this summer are no longer  feelings I can hold on to. No 100 hour long television marathons, no Aziz Ansari in the city. Those things aren't future memories. They finally die like our relationship did a month ago.

So I'm mentally preparing for an emotional purge, one that will hopefully be healthier than those past. And that at some point, sooner than later, I will stop letting him have that piece of me by finally forgetting to miss him.

Strings and Things

Whenever I go to a concert, I say the most obvious shit out loud and people just look at me like I am completely insane.  I say things like "how cool is it that those instruments are making those sounds?" or "that's actually his voice - all through this venue - he's singing it in real life - right now!"  I understand that this is what I concert is.  It's live music.  I've seen a bazillion of these God Damn things, and I am never short of amazed every time.

I went out on a limb and bought Death Cab for Cutie tickets for Chelsea's birthday shortly after we went to go see Jack's Mannequin together.  This was before the last 3 months of sleepovers, shenanigans and becoming incredibly close.  I thought, in the off chance that this girl and I actually got along, I would absolutely love to go see Death Cab. I have loved Ben Gibbard for years and have never had the opportunity.  I was a little confused to see that they were playing at the Chicago Theater versus a venue that is more conducive to a standing audience around the stage.  I discovered this was because this current tour was not just Death Cab, but Death Cab with the Magik Orchestra.  Interesting.  Death Cab is my go to sleepy time music (or with HSF it was sexy time music).  To imagine that sound backed by string instruments sounded like a pretty genius idea.

After a delicious meal, a ton of ciders, and 3 hours of people gawking - we made our way to the show and took our seats that, to be honest, weren't the greatest.  In that theater, though, you can see pretty much everything from anywhere.  We were just incredibly high up, which made my buzzed, in-tall-heels self a little concerned.  The second the lights were dimmed, and I heard the first bow slide across a violin I thought my heart was going to explode.  If you have never had the luxury of seeing an orchestra live - stop reading this blog immediately and go find one.  I work in a music store for goodness sake, and I am still blown away with string instruments.  It's carved wood - with tightly wound metal strings across the top - that are rubbed against by horse hair.  How is it even possible that that would make one of the most incredibly tragic, heartbreaking, stunning, beautiful sounds known to man?

If you are a Death Cab fan you know that Ben Gibbard has an incredible way of making a song rise and fall over 5 minutes that you don't always find in popular music.  It's more than an a, b, a, b, c, b format.  It sometimes starts in a whisper, climbs up over 3 or 4 versus, and then slips away from you in a few final moments before you are even ready to let it end.  Now take that formula, add his smooth vocals, and a shit ton of violins, violas, cellos, and basses...I watched a 40 year old man in front of me wipe tears from his eyes more times than I could count.  It was unreal.  To think that all of those things could come together and create a sound, one that would make a grown man cry. 

I also ate shit when I skipped a step on the way into the ladies room.  Which was pretty entertaining.  I have a blast when I am with Chelsea.  It's pretty incredible we randomly reconnected and now I have a partner to absorb live music with in the same intense way it affects me. The whole weekend was amazing, dancing and laughing and lounging.  Having it all lead up to one of the greatest live performances I have ever seen.  I do hope Ben Gibbard decides to release an album with the orchestra.  Some of his older songs were given new life with such a full incredible sound.  Especially tough hearing "Soul Meets Body" - seeing as though it was Andy and I's song.  It was heartbreaking in the most profoundly beautiful way possible. 

Anyways, it was incredible.  I would have no problem being poor for the rest of my life, if I could on occasion find myself at shows - to experience music in that way.  I hope my awe and wonder for music never depletes.  And I hope I'll always be so moved as to say stupid shit like "those people are making beautiful noises!"

My Life Is Better Than Yours

My life is so much better than yours.  It just is, and I'm sorry about that.  As I am getting older and reflecting on the things I have done, and get to do on a regular basis, the only conclusion I am left with is that my life is better than yours.  I think the thing that separates my life from the average just okay ones, is that I have a weird way of always getting what I want.  When I was 15 years old I fell in love with a band called Jupiter Sunrise.  A few months later I was on their tour bus listening to my favorite tracks played acoustically for me and my friend - who were the only two fans invited along for a drive around town.  In 8th grade, I decided I wanted to be class president.  I hadn't been in student council ever before, I didn't have more than 3 friends that would probably vote for me - but alas, I became student council president.

I would like to blame it on dumb luck.  That it is some how my ability to be in the right place at the right time (like being chosen for Bozo Buckets at the Bozo Show when I was 6).  But I don't want to sell myself short either.  I work hard to have accomplished the things I have.  When I set my sights on something, I will find a way to get it or die trying.  I fell for a teacher of mine when I was younger, and though in retrospect what transpired was fucked up, I made him fall for me back.  I got what I wanted despite all logic and reason telling me I couldn't have it.  I wanted to get with the keyboardist from this band once, so I joined their street team to win a contest to meet the band, and you guessed it - no more than a month later I had him (and the bassist for that matter).

I've danced in VIP cages at nightclubs, I have partied with rock stars and comedians alike.  I have para-sailed over the Atlantic ocean.  I got to live in a house with my 5 best friends and have parties so epic that there were flame throwers.  I got to say thank you to one of my favorite song writers of all time.  I've been to the Bahamas, walked the beaches of Key West and Cozumel.  I hooked up with a guy who worked at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Orlando - and he took me up to a tricked out executive suite just to makeout.    I had a cigarette with Jason Mraz.  Sherri Lewis signed my Lampchop puppet.  I once drank and ran around a wax museum in St. Louis at midnight because Stephanie and I met a guy who knew the owner. Of a wax museum of all things.

I guess the point of all this bragging is a reminder to myself that I have never been defined by a relationship.  Not a single one of those previously mentioned moments were a result of dating any particular person.  (In fact, a lot of them happened because I WASN'T dating anyone at the time).  I spend all this time trying to diagnose why I have had the relationships I have, and why I seem to be attracted to the wrong men.  Maybe I haven't figured out love.  But I have figured out how to have a great fucking time.  To make every moment count.  To jump at opportunity.  To pull myself off the couch when I am in my pajamas, and putting on a bra seems like the most daunting task in the world.  I live an pretty extraordinary life sometimes.

Just last Thursday I got to ride out to Crown Point Indiana with 2 very hilarious comedians to see a great show - drink red wine with friends - and smoke in a bar!  This whole upcoming weekend is top to bottom shenanigans with my best friends - and a Death Cab for Cutie concert and meeting Chad Michael Murray (if I have anything to say about it).  I just need to make it a point to focus on the experiences I get to have as an unattached 25 year old woman.  I mean, my whole family seems to be getting married off these days (more power to you, bros).  But I know for a fact there is a whole lot left of my life I want to live before I am tied down to one person for all eternity.  I want to makeout with strangers, and dress slutty and dance with sweaty dudes that call me baby and try to grab me inappropriately.  That's what life is about, am I right?

I will be a wife someday.  And a mother.  And I will keep a clean house, and host wine tasting parties for my married friends.  In the meantime, I am going to attempt to wear red lipstick and dance around like a fool to 90s music.  And be incredibly proud that I am Katie Mother Fucking Keller, who can party with the best of them.  Cheers.

What's Your Favorite Tetris Piece?

Before I get into the topic of today's blog I want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone that has been supporting this blog for the past year.  I've had an increasing amount of traffic the past few months especially, and it's because I have some wonderful friends that read my words and care enough to pass them on to their friends.  I have also received some very kind emails from readers who some how relate to my twisted world, and care enough to take the time to tell me.  Writing will always be my true passion; over marketing, over comedians and musicians, over casual sex and drinking.  Writing, at the end of the day, is the thing I wish to be defined by when I leave this world.  So thank you all for validating on a weekly basis that these words matter.  I digress.

I am starting to believe that all the bad men I have let into my life have successfully ruined me for the good ones.  I often joke that I am broken, but there is more truth to that statement than I generally care to admit to.  Over the past few months I have exchanged a few emails with a very nice guy who found me on the dating site I frequent.  I should mention I rarely take men from this dating site seriously, and have no problem admitting that I use it more for a self esteem booster on my darker more self-loathing days.  This guy spiked my interest when he countered my icebreaker question (If you were in a Zombie apocalypse and could defend yourself with only one item from a Home Depot - what would you use and why?) with his icebreaker question: What is your favorite Tetris piece?  What a great question!  My answer, for the record, is the "L" for it's ability to occupy a good amount of space when flipped horizontally, and is handy in a clutch when you need just one block to finish a line.

The problem here is that he is sweet, kind, available, and interested in me.  The 4 qualities that usually turn me off most in men.  Though I shouldn't blame my inability to follow through with these exchanges solely based on my self-esteem issues, or history of terrible relationships with terrible men.  I have been coming out of a relationship that lasted longer than it should have, and in dealing with that breakup have gone through my normal motions of attempting to distract myself through false affection from men that don't care about me.  Hey, at least I can call myself out on my poor decision making.

This guy has been persistent, to say the least.  I have received a few texts and phone calls each week for the past month.  And have chosen to respond to none of them.  He's awfully charming, always coming up with some clever way to say hi, or that he really wants to meet me.  And I adore receiving these messages, I do. But I don't want this guy.  I don't want him because I can have him.  He isn't going to make me question his feelings for me, and he isn't going to drag me along in a half-assed relationship for 8 months, or breakup with me on Easter.  He's probably a really nice, respectable male.  And I would love to say that is exactly what I am looking for, but I am hardwired to turn away from the right guys and find the next douche bag (who probably already has a girlfriend) and fawn over him instead.

Broken.

But here is the reality of this situation: even being aware of my inability to choose the right man, it doesn't make me magically attracted to the nice ones.  I would love to force myself out on a date with this suitor because he'd probably hold doors, pull out my chair, and hold my hand on the walk back to the car.  He would take me somewhere nice, make a reservation, and let me order the expensive wine.  I am sure all of these superficial things I have realized I want in relationship would be fulfilled.  But if he doesn't make my heart race, and my face flush, and my stomach turn in knots - it's not the relationship I want.

I finally manned up and expressed to him that he should probably not waste any more time trying to seduce me.  At least not for the time being, because I don't want him to feel ignored.  And who knows - maybe I will want to take him up on his offer sometime in the future when I am a bit more put together.  No use in burning bridges that are hardly even built.  In the interim I will just continue to bitch and moan about the guys I know will never treat me well, and hopefully one day my heart will catch up with my head and I'll be able to fall for the good ones as easily and as hard as I do the bad.

I'm not a complete lost cause.  When the relationship I previously mention ended this past time, it was because I drew a line in the sand and demanded what I know I deserve.  I know what I want - now I just have to retrain my brain to sort out the ones that will never give that to me.

Don't Have Sex With Your Friends

Don't have sex with your friends.  Listen, I'm serious.  Don't have sex with your friends.

I thought about this a lot last night.  Because I wanted to make sure there was no loop hole I was missing before making this blanket statement.  But there isn't.  It's clear as day to me now. Don't have sex with your friends.  After years of making this mistake over and over again, I have come to terms with the fact that no matter the scenario, it doesn't end well.  Let's break this down more closely:

The friend turned lover: This seems like a great idea after a wedding, or birthday, or breakup.  This is your buddy, your bro.  So what if you have had a bit too much to drink and find yourself doing the stumbly kiss walk over to the nearest bed, giggling all the way?  Your friendship is deeper and stronger than any one night stand could possibly tamper with.  Wrong.  This ends badly.  Whether one or both parties regrets it, or enjoys it too much, or expects it again, or wants to avoid it entirely.  Chances are you and your buddy aren't going to share the same emotional response to sleeping together.  And now you've gone from two people against the world together, to two people on two very different pages.  Don't have sex with your friends.

The lover turned friend:  You jump into bed with someone probably faster than you should have - and by the time your brain catches up with your body it occurs to you that there is no chance for a romantic relationship to develop from the mere act of love making.  But that's cool, bro - you guys can totes just be friends.  No.  No you can't.  As previously mentioned, chances are it won't be that cut and dry for both involved parties.  So when you are trying to grow a relationship with someone, post coital, you can never really be sure if the intentions are strictly platonic on both sides.  And even if the intentions are to just be good friends, that person can never not look at you like they haven't seen you naked.  Don't have sex with someone and call them your friend if they never were in the first place.

The friend with benefits: Well, this is probably the most offense of them all.  It is a hybrid between the two previously mentioned relationships.  It's the guy you should know not to try and force a friendship with after sex, and the guy that becomes your friend and you then have sex with again and again.  It's rinsing and repeating those first two relationships over and over until someone finally breaks.  Maybe it'll work out though?  Maybe we will have fun, until one of us meets someone else, or we fall in love with each other.  Or maybe you will get hurt and/or pregnant.  These are the two more viable options.  If someone wants to be in you, they should respect you enough to give you a full-fledged relationship.  Or you are just kidding yourselves.

"But not me, Katie.  That's not the way it has to be, me and my friend...blah blah blah." 

I will take a cue from my boy Greg Behrendt's book "He's Just Not That Into You" : sure, we've all heard the stories of these types of relationships working out.  Either turning into love, or a great long lasting friendship.  But that's the exception, not the rule.  We, my friends, are the rule.  Rarely the exception. So stop pretending that these relationships can be something that they are not. 

I am proud to say that the group of men in my life, the ones that count, that have seen me through my darkest and best days, are not nor ever will be my lovers.  And though I still believe there is a divine balance that must exist in any guy/girl relationship, I have the comfort of knowing that we have nothing but pure platonic love for one another.  And not a single drunken night past to challenge that.  And as you could imagine, the "friends" I have fallen into one of these 3 categories with aren't staples in my life anymore.  Which is a shame, because I think some of them could have had the potential to be a great fit in one way or another. (Get it? "Fit").

So folks, take it from me and my laundry list of bad experiences - don't have sex with your friends. Just don't.