The Routine.

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clockAfter saying goodbye to Portland, I was free from any type of routine. I was excited about the unknown possibility of what was going to happen next in my life. I no longer had to wake up to an irksome alarm clock, nor did I have to do laundry on Sundays. I didn’t have to go to the grocery store on Mondays and I definitely didn’t need to go to bed at 10:30.

That mundane, weekly routine was no longer. Poof! Gone! 

In fact, my life was going to be the exact opposite of a routine.

Fast forward two and a half months: I drove across the States with two cats for the second time (and with a boyfriend, for the first time) back to Florida where I spent many weeks by the pool. After leaving Florida, I spent a few days with the city I first fell in love with, New York City, before taking the longest plane ride I’ve ever been on (15 hours) to Bangkok, Thailand.

I often romanticize the idea about traveling around the world refusing to settle into some type of monotony. After all, who wants to be in a routine? Who wants to know what their life is going to be like in the next week? I presume most people, actually.

Yet after a while traveling like a gypsy gets tiresome and often unrealistic. You suddenly realize your funds are getting low. You realize that you want your own bed to come home to. You miss your cats greeting you every morning. The idea of cooking dinner instead of eating out sounds more appealing. You’ve seen enough temples (“They’re all the same!” you say to yourself). Eventually, you want the routine again.

After six weeks of seeing Thailand, I really was ready for the routine again. I was ready to have a laundry day and a grocery store to call my own.

We are slowly making our Korean apartment feel more like home. The pillows no longer feel like strange ones that you’d find at a hotel. The kitchen staples are being added to the cupboard. We have a new 32-inch television (and PS3) which greets us every evening after work. The only things that seem to be missing are my cats. (Although, it sounds like my mom is enjoying their company.)

The routine is complacent, which unsurprisingly is why most people often get stuck into it. There’s something comforting about knowing that Monday night is when we watch Game of Thrones, while Fridays is when we go to the grocery store.

Soon enough, though, I know I am going to be itching to get out of the routine again. And I will.

That’s the difference between me and most people.

It’s lunch time.

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In the States, I was somewhat decent* at using chopsticks because, well, I frequently visited sushi restaurants. [*somewhat decent=I could successfully pick up sushi and put into mouth.]

In South Korea, I have the chopsticks skill level of a five year old. Did you know they make training chopsticks for kids? Yeah, me neither. But I guess one doesn’t come out of the womb knowing how to use them. Silly, Jamie.

Although my chopsticks skills have slightly improved over the past month, I am still quite insecure eating in front of the kids. It’s no surprise that I’m even more insecure when eating in front of my Korean co-workers. Am I even holding these correctly?! Is leaving my spoon in the soup frowned upon? Can I use my hands to eat grapes? At least in front of kids, it might be acceptable to pick up certain foods with my hands. (After all, they are just learning too!) Everything seems to be eaten either with a spoon or chopsticks (except pizza, maybe?) When we celebrated one of the student’s birthday, chicken wings were served. I couldn’t wait to eat them until I looked around and realized everyone was using chopsticks. How the hell am I going to manage this?! Eating noodles is difficult enough! But chicken wings?!?!!!!?  I somehow managed to eat five.

On Monday through Friday at 12:05 p.m., I eat lunch with my students. Ages ranging between five and six years old. I sit at their size table in their size chairs.

photo 2

My lunch, which is provided by the school, consists of five different things. The three things which can be found on every lunch tray: rice, soup, and some sort of kimchi. Kimchi is the national dish after all. I suppose it’s the french fries of America. (Granted, I don’t eat french fries with every meal.) Kimchi, by the way, is some fermented type of vegetable.

I enjoy eating. No, like, really enjoy it. Naturally, eating lunch at school is my favorite part of the day because it is one of the very few instances where I get to eat Korean food. Normally dinner at home is the typical pasta and burritos (we don’t have an oven) while the restaurants we dine at are geared toward the waygooks (foreigners) where we get to eat not-so-tasty-overpriced burgers. At lunch time, however, I get to try all different sorts of things. There are many instances where I haven’t the slightest idea what I am eating. Huh. This looks like a tentacle. Om, nom. But isn’t this all part of the adventure? Yes.

A typical Korean school lunch.

A typical Korean school lunch: rice, soup, and kimchi.

After eating lunch, an unusual thing occurs–everyone brushes their teeth. I read many things about Korea before moving here: kimchi, couples having matching outfits, the weather and so on. But not once did I ever read about Koreans fascination with brushing their teeth after every meal.

Jamie Teacher, why you no (motions brushing teeth)?
Errm, uh, I forgot my toothbrush! Silly Jamie Teacher.

I knew I couldn’t have the excuse of forgetting my toothbrush every day. Nor did I not want to get weird looks if I didn’t brush my teeth after lunch. The next day I brought my own toothbrush and toothpaste.

I now brush my teeth after lunch time, just like everyone else.

One Month.

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travel

How sad it is to think that there are places in this world that I will never see. Places I haven’t even heard of. The world is just too big of a place, and I hardly have the time (nor funds) to see it all.What a terrible thought!

However, I am making sure I see as many places as possible.

Which is why I am nearly 7,000 miles away from my home country. I have now been in South Korea for a month teaching English to children. Before this I was traveling around Thailand for two months. And way before that I made my journey across the States from Florida to Oregon. The latter was such a big, but important, step for me because I needed to do it. I have slowly moved further and further away each time. And I think it is only getting easier and easier to not miss what I left behind*.

(*Besides my cats. I miss them dearly.)

One month in Korea and I already know it is going to be quite the adventure:

Being a foreigner, I stand out and get stared at. (But I imagine if I saw an alien walking around Florida I, too, would stare.) Finding a restaurant with an English menu is an adventure. (Unfortunately, I am learning that the more English that is spoken, the worse the food tastes.) Going to the grocery store can be annoying. (Where the hell is the damn syrup?!) Figuring out how the transportation system works is exciting. Not being able to read or speak the native language is frustrating at times, but being able to get out of small talk with strangers is wonderful. (Except for the occasional people who stop you on the street to practice their English.)

These are just a handful of things I have learned in this one month. And just think, I still have eleven more to go.

What Portland has taught me.

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On December 1, I will be leaving this wonderful city that has taught me numerous things. I’m not leaving because I am homesick, and miss the heck out of Florida. Oh, no. Rather, I’m finally ready to add some stamps to my passport. (Canada just wouldn’t give me any, despite the handful of trips I took up there.)

I can’t believe it has already (and only) been a year and a half since I have been here. Over a year ago, I left Florida behind in my rear-view mirror and drove the 3,000 miles west across the country, which included 12 states in six days stopping in five cities. I went through all four time zones, all the while had two cats accompanying me on the journey. On May 27, 2011 I had safely arrived in Portland, Oregon.

Since my move, Portland has taught me a few things. There are also some other things that have just greatly improved (not necessarily because of Portland or maybe so) since: dicing an onion, parallel parking, and dressing properly when it gets cold. But here it is, my list of things I have learned while living in the Pacific Northwest.

  • Portland has taught me how to properly recycle and compost.
    Floridians don’t recycle, and they surely don’t compost. But in Portland, people will judge you by your recycling habits. The city picks up garbage up every two weeks. Two weeks! Whereas recycling and composting is every week. This is not the norm for a Florida girl who would normally throw everything away without questioning if one can recycle it or not. Yet, if one can compost everything from coffee grounds to paper towels, there is no use in needing garbage collected every single week. All Portlanders, no matter how small, are so conscious about what he or she can and cannot recycle.
  • Portland has taught me how to appreciate the sun.
    I’m a Floridian. Naturally, I grew up with the sun, and to move to a place where the sun is supposedly only out for three months can be quite daunting. (I say supposedly because it’s bullshit, I tell you! I saw sun during all of the months I have been here. I think it’s Portlanders way of trying to deter people from moving here. After all, this city is full of hipsters. They knew the city was way cool before Portlandia.) Anyway, on to the sun. It’s true though, there are a lot of overcast days but the sun will briefly come out. (The weatherman calls them “sun breaks.”) And when it comes out, everyone is out and about, soaking it all in. Living in Florida for 22 years, I grew sick of that damn sun. I was melting each time I went outside, even walking the 27 steps to get the mail. But since the move, I have grown to appreciate the sun. When it’s out, I can usually be found outside too. Along with the rest of the city.
  • Portland has taught me to feel content driving at 30 miles per hour.
    While in Florida, I developed this terrible behavior while driving called Road Rage. Normally, I am a nice person who avoids any type of confrontation. However, when the roads are filled with old, stupid, and out-of-town people flooding the roads something ticks inside of that nice person, and that person has no problem giving someone the finger. The worst drivers in the US can be found in the Sunshine State. They make up their own driving rules. Sure, go ahead and make a u-turn at a red arrow.  They yell at the pedestrians walking in a crosswalk saying they don’t have the right away. (Even though the little white man is on.) They drive into bodies of water because they’re 100 years old. Fortunately what’s been coined the Portland Polite, has cured me of my Road Rage, for now. I finally feel content driving 30 mph on the main road, while going 55 on the Interstate makes me feel like I’m speeding. Maybe it’s the laid-back vibe. Maybe it’s because Portlanders are so polite. Or maybe because the roles have changed and I am the out-of-town person on the road that everyone is internally yelling at.
  • Portland has taught me I’d rather be a pedestrian.
    Speaking of driving, I hate driving in this city. You have bicyclists, a light rail, and pedestrians you have to be aware of. Plus, there are an abundant amount of one-way roads. Whenever going to a new place, I can guarantee that I will get lost even with Susan, my GPS. The day I finally went to the grocery store sans Susan was a good day. I really wanted to live in a city where a car was not needed as much. Granted, I still use my car a fairly good amount but if it’s possible to walk to the destination, I walk. Portland has definitely allowed me to do this. If one ever finds themselves walking in Florida, one will get strange looks from the drivers. Why is she walking? She must be poor. Scoff! (I also don’t recommend walking in the Tampa Bay area as it ranks the number 2 city for most pedestrians killed.)
  • Portland has reinforced the notion that I belong on the west coast.
    And I ain’t never moving back to the South.

Where’s my next adventure leading me to? It involves having a passport and a 14-hour plane ride. I’m headed to the Far East, where I will be teaching English.

Scary? Yes. Terrified? Tremendously. Excited? Duh. But, man! I am sure going to miss this city so terribly much. Yes, even its constant gloom. Yes, even its weak drizzle Portlanders call rain.

But most importantly–its food, its beer, and its beauty.

When will he call you?

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Ladies, we wait and wait for that phone call, don’t we? Of course, we don’t want men to know that, but men, we are.

The Setting: We either just got home from a spectacular first date, or we have just been dumped by our boyfriend of two years. We are waiting for the voice on the other end of the call to either tell us– “Wow! You’re amazing. I would love to see you again.” Or “I miss you. I was an idiot to ever think I could do better than you.”

But what our irrational-love-infused mind cannot comprehend is that a watched pot never boils (and trust me, I make a lot of pasta!) And it’s the reasoning behind why we do wait. It’s why when we type into Google, “When will he…” call is the third guess Google has for us (propose is first, followed by ask me out). It’s why we go to the bookstore to find the self-help books. It’s why we watch all six seasons of Sex and the City after a breakup. But the answer isn’t in the aforementioned places. It’s right here, on my blog.

So, when will he call you?

Never.

Ouch! Harsh? Perhaps. Truthful? For sure. If it has been over a month and no word from that person, start looking elsewhere. But don’t drown in your sea of sorrow, reader. You’re awesome! Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t see that.

When you’re with a new love and/or have moved on to bigger and better.

Exes always seem to come back at the wrong time (for them). It’s usually the right time for you. You know, when you’ve moved across the country, got more attractive, and have dated at least three men since him. Humor him though! It’s a wonderful ego stroke.

When your phone dies or is turned off.

Going off the grid on purpose is a freeing experience. I visited Vancouver, British Columbia about a month ago, and turned my phone off (namely because I was roaming…) And for those two days, I didn’t care about the possibility of someone not being able to reach me. But have you ever had your phone die unexpectedly when you’re not within distance to a charger? Oh, god! What a terrible feeling. When I got back into the States after my short adventure, someone called me and left a voice-mail.

The moral of the story: leave the country for a few days. He’ll call. Sans passport? Turn phone off.

When you change your phone number.

You decide to do a reckless thing after your breakup. You’re in Stage 3 of I have a Broken Heart, now what?: ANGER. You think, “Oh yeah? He doesn’t want me in his life anymore?! FINE! I’m going to go change my number. Now he will never be able to contact me.” And you do go change it. He inevitably will call because that’s how Life works. And remorse starts to set in. But really, why would you want to get back together with someone who pretty much deemed you unlovable?

If anything, you still have facebook to get in contact with one another.

Calm down, it has only been four hours.

You’re too eager. Let him miss you a bit, yeah? Good.

Not on Valentine’s Day.

He won’t even know it is Valentine’s Day. February 14 is just another day in the year. (As it should be…)

He won’t. He’ll text you.

Along with the rest of my generation, I loathe talking on the phone. We prefer text. I break out in sweat at the thought of having to call someone to set up a hair appointment. What do you mean I can’t do this online?!

So when you hear your phone ringing for some odd reason, don’t get your hopes up! It’s just an automated voice trying to sell you an alarm system.

When he wants to.

Yep. If he genuinely is interested in you, reader, he will call you. It’s hard to wrap one’s head around that but he will. Why? Because you’re awesome and he knows it.

Or you could discard all of these answers and call text him yourself.

*Jamie snapped this shot in Portland, OR.

I’m late, per usual.

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There are two things about me that have never changed, nor probably ever will: I’ve always been late, and I’ve always enjoyed a bit of dilly-dallying. It has taken me this long to come to the conclusion that the two are correlated with one another.

I have absolutely no sense of time (or direction). I like to blame this entirely on my mom. When we hear, “Want to meet at 2pm?” We’ll probably be there fifteen minutes later. As other kid’s parents were on time (or even early) greeting their children at the pick-up line at school, I was the last child to be picked up at school. Naturally I’d think the worst–I knew she loved my brother more and has completely forgotten about me! Crying usually ensued.

Along with being late, I enjoy wasting time. It apparently started young in life, too. My mom would always tell me, “We don’t have time for you to dilly-dally. We need to go!” What does dilly-dally mean, I’d ask.

I set my alarm for at least least two hours before work. But the problem is? I’m still late. Reasoning? I love wasting time. The idea of not having to rush is lovely. I slowly savor each of my mornings by drinking two cups of coffee, checking out facebook newsfeed, and laughing at cat pictures. You know, anything that does not involve getting ready for the day. I’ll continuously give myself five more minutes before having to get in the shower. Oh, wait! A few more minutes! I have to finish watching this Cat and Flute video. Ooooh, Cat Bowling under related videos? Click.

Shit! I have to leave for work in 20 minutes and still haven’t made my lunch! The rushing proceeds.

However, work has just implemented a punch-in system on the computer. (Like most jobs.) Before, it was the reliable honor system: write your hours on a printed calendar template from Microsoft Word. When doing it this way, it was okay to sneak in five to eight minutes late. That’s no longer the case. Not since February 1. Now, my directors will see that I am perpetually late. Although we are given a three-minute grace period, I know I will abuse it. I will come so close to hitting that three minute mark I will be speeding my way there, all the while bitching at the laid-back drivers and bicyclists of Portland. If only I left five minutes early I’d say to myself aloud. If only.

Work is also generously giving us three strikes, and after that? We’re out! Well not fired, but supposedly will be written up. (Nice baseball metaphor though, huh?)

It has been ten days since work started the punch-in system, and I have been on time everyday since. (At least with the help of the three-minute grace period.) And you know what I’ve learned? Being on time (or even early) falls under the category The Greatest Feeling in the Whole Entire World. Some other things would include: sleeping in on a Sunday (with a nice-looking man beside you), coming home to a fridge stocked with beer, and leaving the state you began to loathe for the state you fell in love with.

Even though work is forcing me to be on time, I hope the man in my life (a stickler for being on time) doesn’t actually believe I’m going to give up my dilly-dally habit.

*GettyImages.

In Perspective: Unrequited Love

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I once liked a boy, who didn’t like me.
A boy even liked me once, but I didn’t like him.

Unrequited love–My marital status throughout most of middle and high school. (Later on in life, I got a bit more lucky.)

Life is rough when you’re a boyfriendless, fourteen-year-old girl suffering from a crazy little thing called unrequited love. (Oh wait, those aren’t the lyrics.) But come on, everyone would have to agree that unrequited love sucks at any age! It fits oh, so, snugly under the category The Worst Feeling in the Whole Entire World. Some other things would include: waking up five minutes before you have to be at work while rushing out the door (sans shower and coffee), experiencing food poisoning on vacation, and having dreams nightmares where one is pregnant (But, man, what a relief waking up!).

Like most teenage girls, my life was defined by the opposite sex. (We can thank Disney for that one.) Did I have a boyfriend? Did anyone like me? Did I even like anyone? I remembering “liking” multiple boys just to increase my chances of getting a boyfriend. It didn’t work, of course. I also remember “liking” boys just to make my life more interesting because what woman doesn’t love to over-analyze when a man says “fine” and “sure.” Does he, like, really mean that? Something is totally wrong.

While most of my friends were out catching boyfriends, I was sulking in my room wondering, “Why not me?” My online and handwritten journals were filled with the unrequited-love blues. After all, it can be quite detrimental to a person’s ego, especially a shy, insecure girl going through puberty. Imagine that you have finally found the courage (it was hiding behind procrastination and motivation, by the way) to go up to that someone, who you’ve only watched from afar, and proclaim your feelings to only receive absolutely nothing in return.

But then again, should we be surprised by the outcome? We aren’t in the movies. Our crushes wouldn’t just confess that they, too, have been watching us from afar all along. This could be the cause of unrequited love! The cause being we are lusting after people who are simply out of our league. When we are younger, our parents tell us we can be anything we want to be when we grow up. In our simple minds we figured we could have anyone we wanted as well, regardless of how attractive they were. We are setting ourselves up to be unloved in return.

Alas, I must touch on both sides of the spectrum. (As I have been found on both sides before.) Surely we have all had our fair share of people who we weren’t interested in, but who clearly were interested in us.

I had a really good friend during my freshman year of high school. The said friend was a boy and he liked me, a lot. (He actually confessed his love for me.) Although flattered, I had no interest in him. I told him that he was my good friend and that’s all I could ever see him as. Ouch, Jamie! On the other hand, I knew exactly how he felt because at the same time I was pining for the popular tall, dark, and handsome boy in the junior class, who had no idea of my existence. Oh, high school.

Fortunately by the time I entered my senior year of high school, I had finally experienced requited love. (I could finally relate to those damn love songs!) So, what’s the secret? Time. I was no longer that awkward 14-year-old girl going through puberty. I’ve continued to grow as a person since then. I got smarter, hotter, and funnier all the while attracting better quality men each and every time. Soon enough, you’re bound to meet the perfect person for you. So don’t worry, pubescent person reading my blog, you’ll get rid of the unrequited-love bug soon enough. Just give it time.

Or maybe lower your standards?

*Getty Images

The underrated (and overrated) places to meet that someone.

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Let’s face it, life isn’t about making the most money. It’s not about having the most friends, either. It’s about finding one person who will love you enough to put up with your shit (and if you’re lucky, someone who is attractive, funny, and intelligent). But the problem is that it’s a difficult and even daunting task to find someone who is not only attractive, funny, and intelligent but who will also find your flaws endearing.

When we are lazy frustrated with love and relationships we don’t bother going to search for someone. We stay single, and write empowering facebook statuses that include: “I don’t need a man. I can pay my own bills.” (37 likes from other single ladies ensue.)

But when we do find the motivation to go and search for that someone we don’t know where to even begin. Well, readers, don’t fear! This is where I come in.

I’ve come up with some underrated (and overrated) places to meet that someone. People everywhere are looking in all the wrong places. They’re relying too heavily on Yahoo! Answers and self-help books which are just leading them to meet some lame people, who will eventually break up with them.

The underrated places.

  • In traffic.
    • While living in Florida, my daily commute coming home from work was 45 minutes. That is 225 minutes. That is three hours and 45 minutes spent driving. That is the equivalent of watching a movie and two episodes of Dexter. That is the equivalent of getting a haircut and pedicure. (I have long, thick hair. Ahem.) What I am trying to say is that we waste a lot of time in traffic. After all, time is precious. This time spent in a car could essentially be time spent trying to meet that someone. Ah ha! Well, why not put the two together? There have been plenty of times when I was sitting in traffic and singing my heart out to Bob Seger’s Night Moves when I would look to my left to see a quite nice-looking man smirking at me. Horrified, I had no where to run and hide. I couldn’t simply push the accelerator and go, I had to simply stay put. Now if I were confident I would have rolled my window down and asked for his number, but I’m not so he got away. Next time you’re sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, take a peek at the drivers around you. He or she could just be that someone.
  • On public transit.
    • For the people fortunate enough who don’t have to sit in traffic, public transit is the next best option. Again, we spend a lot of time (and money) commuting to work. The next time you get on to the subway, why not find the one seat directly across from that Keanu Reeves look-alike? You meet some interesting people on public transit. I once received a flower from a man who told me I had beautiful teeth on the MAX in Portland. Granted, he was drinking Rolling Rock from a can at 10:30 in the morning but perhaps if I wasn’t so judgmental (Come on, beer in a can?!?!), he could have been that someone.
  • Through a blog. (Preferably your own.)
    • Online dating is becoming more socially acceptable. Slowly, but surely. I’ve already confessed to my readers that I’ve met men on the internet. It’s simply easier for me. But at the same time, online dating is tricky. The key to meeting that someone isn’t to sign up for Match.com or any of those dating sites. Wait, what? When doing it that way, you’re intentionally putting yourself out there making it really difficult. (It’s the equivalent of hoping you meet someone at a bar. See below.) When you’re writing hilarious, witty posts on your very own blog (ahem), it sometimes attracts people. It even attracts that someone. (Trust me. I know.) Not only will you acquire your biggest blog fan, you will have landed yourself a man. Not a writer? Well, you better become one quickly or have some hope that my other underrated places work out for you.
  • In a bookstore.
    • The reason being (and really the only)? It’s the perfect setting. If my life were a movie, and I was about to meet that someone (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, naturally) it better take place in a bookstore. There I’d be: moseying through the aisles, when suddenly I’d see him with his nose buried in a book, he’d look up to see my gaping face, we’d briefly make eye-contact before I’d coyly look away. As you can see, I have some pretty lame fantasies. But, reader, seriously go to a bookstore, there’s bound to be an intellectual,  charming, and attractive person in there for you.
  • Going anywhere in public without showering.
    • It’s true. You’re bound to meet that someone when you’re least expecting it. Enough said.

The overrated places.

  • In a bar or club.
    • This is the most overrated place people believe they could potentially meet that someone. Who even came up with this idea? Has this person even been to a bar? Don’t they know it’s loud? One cannot make any type of conversation in a dark room that has DJ Quivering Machine blasting the latest tracks. Yes, when alcohol is involved confidence usually comes out but the next morning so does regret. Meeting at a bar is so overrated that people are flocking to bars with high hopes of finding Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Surely if everyone is going to the same place, I can only imagine the difficulty of trying to get his or her attention when everyone is fighting for one thing: that someone. Good luck with that.
  • Through a friend of a friend.. of a friend.
    • ZzzZzzzZ.
  • Work
    • I’m bias toward anyone meeting at the workplace. Mostly because I’m annoyed that my ex-boyfriends dumped me for their now girlfriends or wives through work. Besides, if you do meet someone at work and god forbid the two of you break-up, how awkward. Poor Jennifer Carpenter and Michael C. Hall must know! Their characters play siblings on Dexter, get married in real-life, later divorce, and now *spoiler alert* Deb (Carpenter) is having… feelings for her brother? Cruel writers, I tell you!
  • School
    • High-school sweethearts? Pfffft! How unoriginal of you two. I like to think that they got stuck in a comfortable routine and can’t get out. They figured, “Hey, let’s just stay together.” I get it, though. It’s rough out there! (Why else would I be writing this post?) I mean why bother breaking up if you already met the person who will put up with your shit? The two just met earlier than most of us will meet our someone. (It’s still overrated…)
  • On a dating reality television show.
    • The next time you’re watching The Bachelor and Chris Harrison asks, “Do you know of someone who is looking for true love? Apply or nominate someone now by going to ABC.com” Do not raise your hand, and scream at the television, “I do! I do!” Yes, you will get whisked away in a helicopter every now and then. Yes, you will go on fabulous dates in exotic locations. But no, you won’t find true love. Look I’m not being harsh. I am forewarning anyone contemplating going on a dating show. I’ve see too many women crying at the camera because Ben, a man they’ve known for two weeks, didn’t give them a rose. If only they read this post. If only.

I hope this helps any of my desperate single readers looking for love.

*Getty Images.

In Perspective: Close-talkers

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Have you ever met a close-talker? If you’re wondering a what, it sounds exactly as it reads, my dear reader.

Close-talkers do not solely occupy one region of the world either. In fact, a close-talker can be found anywhere in the world. I’ve come across some in Florida to even a couple in Oregon. Although one may believe close-talkers travel in packs, they are somewhat of an individual, even among their family.

Yet, how can you be sure it’s a close-talker and not someone who is about to give you CPR? Well, this is why it’s imperative that a person knows how to identify a close-talker, especially when at first glance (and from afar) because he or she will appear to look like a normal-distant talker.

How to identify a close-talker.

  • He or she will be completely unaware of your personal space. They don’t realize that people have a boundary. Most of us have an imaginary bubble around ourselves, shielding us from the outer world. The size of our bubble depends on a few things: our weight, height, sex, and cultural background. (It also doubles in size when you’re a couple in love.)
  • Within minutes of speaking to a close-talker, you feel your bubble pop. Uneasiness will most likely ensue. Bubble will rebuild itself in three to five days. Again, it depends on the size.
  • After your bubble has been popped by said close-talker, he or she will continue to talk while inching closer, and closer, and closer to your face.
  • Seinfeld has given a visual example.

How do you act if you encounter a close-talker?

  • Don’t run. Whatever you do, do not run. It will just confuse the close-talker. Or worse–he or she will follow you to continue telling their story.
  • Lean your head, subtly, in the opposite direction of the speaker.
  • Although you’re likely thinking, “Why is his nose touching mine while talking?” Pretend your listening to them by smiling and nodding.
  • If close-talker has just came back from eating a garlic pizza and having a cigarette break, sometimes a step (or two) back is needed. Fortunately for you it’s likely they won’t even notice. They’re too engaged with what they’re saying.

So, why do they do this?

  • No one knows (not even scientists!), but some like to speculate it’s because they lack a bubble.

*Getty Images

The 10ish types of couples I hate*.

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I’m a singleish woman in my early twenties. Inevitably, couples sort of annoy me. And not because I’m bitter either. But because when people are in love they do irksome things, which can be oblivious to the twosome, but something singletons are completely aware of. Don’t get me wrong–I get it as it’s truly a wonderful feeling.

Nonetheless, in no particular order I present to you–the different types of couples in which I hate*. I simply had to visit facebook for 17 minutes to come up with the following tenish. (However, it took threeish weeks to write.) So, yes, you and your significant other may or may not have been a bit of inspiration to my post.

[*Writer's note: Hate may be a bit strong of a word.]

1. The couple who share a facebook page.
Firstly, why? I understand that you are together, but we must remember Relationship Rule #3: Do not lose your identity. How do I mean? Well, you are your own individual person. I am sure there has been a point in everyone’s (or just mine) relationship where someone loses their identity. If you share a facebook account with your partner, you are no longer you. You do remember who that is, right? YOU! That extremely awesome person you were before he or she came around. You had hobbies (not his). You had friends (not his). And you even had aspirations (not putting yours aside for him.. ahem). Perhaps it’s about convenience? Naaaaaah. Perhaps they think it’s a cute way of being The Perfect Couple? (Like, the statuses would no longer be written in first person, rather first person plural. Awww.)  Naaaaaah. The cynic in me believe it’s about insecurity. The two simply need to keep tabs on one another. Wahn, wahn, waaaaahn.

2. The couple who have the same default facebook picture. (Assuming I’m friends with both members of the party.)
Why, oh, why can’t you each have a different default photo? I’m not saying you should not have a picture with the two of you together. That is completely fine. The thing that is not completely fine is having the same exact photo. The reason it annoys me? It makes it harder for me to determine who is who without having to look at the name above. Selfish of me? Probably. (I’m singleish after all.)

2.5 The couple (more than likely girlfriend) whose default album is filled with 49 different pictures of the two of them kissing. Whether it’s in a car, at the beach, or in bed. She thought at that very moment their lips touched, a camera needed to be involved. Inevitably, she would post it to the world to see making it photo number 50 in her album. Imagine how heartbreaking it will be once the two break up! She will have to delete them all and take a photo of just… herself. Sniff.

3. The couple who always break up, but then seem to get back together again.
Make up your minds! You know you’re not right for one another, so listen to my solution–stop trying and move on.

4. The couple that you can’t believe they’re still together.
I was fairly certain I gave the two of you sixth months, at the max. But each time I go lurk on visit your facebook page, I feel this pang in my heart that clearly means, “Still? The two of you caused a year of unhappiness for me. Why hasn’t karma come to bite you in the ass yet?” I then quickly remember my life is going exceptionally well without you in it.

5. The couple who stay together because of a baby.
For some reason, people think a baby will make a relationship stronger. At least the type of relationship where the two clearly don’t belong with one another. (See below.) I learned in my college education that if a couple gets married because of a baby, the more likelihood of divorce. Just sayin’

6. The couple who aren’t right for one another.
 No blurb necessary.

7. The couple who are just too damn happy.
Stop it! Right now! A person can spot this couple quite easily. The two of them enjoy writing statuses about one another: bragging how great he is, boasting how beautiful she is. I’m on to the two of them. It makes me suspicious because no two people can be that happy with each other. As someone who is very near and dear to me would say: Where is the grit?! I concur.

8. The high school couple.
They’re the dramatic duo. The couple who believe their romance is a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Or perhaps Bella and Edward would be more suitable. They are a mix of couple 2, 2.5, 3, 4, 6 and 9. As I used to say, high school and romance don’t belong together. Just like this couple.

9. The overtly PDA couple
Perhaps I’m just a bit of a prude. But when seeing a couple passionately making out at a bar, I can’t help but stare. Come on! We don’t need to see that. There are other acceptable public displays of affection a couple could do: holding hands, playing footsie, or grabbing his or her butt. Stick with any of the three, please.

9.5 The same-side-seater couple
Dammit. I used to be apart of this couple! The couple who insists on sitting next to their partner while dining out. Years ago I read in a women’s magazine that it’s often more romantic to sit next to someone while eating. And I did that. On our fourth date, I asked if I could sit next to him and he obliged. Since that moment, we would sit next to one another for the next year or so while dining out. I was able to squeeze his hand, touch his leg, and easily steal a fry or two. When we would eventually break up, I started working in a restaurant as a hostess and I developed an abhorrence for certain types of people. One of them being couples who would come in on a busy Saturday night when the wait would exceed an hour, and refuse to sit in a booth suited for only two because they needed to sit next to one another. On a more recent date, I asked him would he mind if I sat next to him in which he replied, “No, you don’t like those types of people.” Touché. It was easier to play footsie across from him, anyway.

10. The couple who are waiting until marriage.
I just don’t get it. Being romantically physical with a person is an important part of a relationship. Just like communication, trust, and good looks. Don’t get me wrong–sex DOES complicate things. But how often would one buy a car without testing it out?  Why not test how their significant other runs… in bed? Because of one silly thing: religion. Because the Bible “tells them so.” Doh! I don’t know the statistics of how long marriages last when saving themselves. Maybe it’s higher than most.

Eh, probably not.