You Need Everyones Eyes Just To Feel Seen

I have been going out with the most awful guys lately. I mean it - really just terrible, not good people. Not that I'm the poster child of sainthood, but honestly - these guys seem to have no direction their moral compass.

I meet this guy in the dog park, right? Where I meet most of my new friends these days. So we're talking and it turns out he has a good job, that he likes. It's always refreshing to me to meet someone who doesn't complain about their job. So he meets all the obvious criteria - semi-well dressed, relatively normal, has a job, likes dogs (more importantly, likes my dog), physically fit, semi-intelligent, and actually very funny (but not funnier than me). So he asks for my number and I go ahead and give it to him.

He texted me immediately... Like, while he was still in sight (and i have bad vision) telling me that it was nice to meet me, blah blah blah. So already I've kicked into my panic committal world where I feel suffocated. I gotta get back in therapy. Anyway, I didn't respond because do you know how hard it is to walk a dog and text at the same time? It's impossible.

So I get home, and I already have two additional text messages from this guy. One is about Nina and one is about (and I kid you not) his counter tops. Like somehow in the last 14 minutes our union became so strong that I care about the quality of his future counter tops.

So, against my better judgment, I agree to meet this guy for a drink. 6:30pm on a Thursday... I thought it had the potential to be fun and if not, I had plenty of time to salvage the rest of the night.

So I show up fifteen minutes late because it takes me 25 minutes to say bye to Nina every single time I try and leave the house. And the dude is wasted drunk. Like he's been sitting there for three hours just waiting for my arrival... sending out text messages about counter tops and commitment to all his other potential dates. So I sit down, and before he says anything even remotely resembling a greeting, he says "How many dates is it going to take for me to fuck you?".

It's the first time in my life I can remember being completely speechless. My brain was screaming "a zillion" but instead I said this "___________". Couldn't even formulate one word. I picked up my purse and left.

If my life ever gets this sad, someone please- remove my phone and the bottle of alcohol from my hands and lock me in my room until I snap out of it.

The Real World

I was so excited to get out of college and into the real world. And don't get me wrong, I definitely love it a lot, certainly a lot more than I loved college. But it's different.

First of all, the weeks really fly by. I feel like I fall asleep Monday night and wake up to Friday morning. And worst of all, when I look back on the week - I can't actually place what I ate, when - what I wore, when - and who I saw, when. It's actually kind of freaking me out... Could I possibly have early onset Alzheimers? I'm going to Google it...

The other thing that I'm noticing, and saddened by is that people (and now me) take their lives a lot more seriously. Suddenly I do things like cut coupons, and contemplate which dishwasher detergent will be more effective. I spent TEN MINUTES trying to decide which facewash to buy. TEN MINUTES. Last week, I bought a 15 pound bag of dog food for Nina because I stood in Target and calculated that it was less dollars per pound than the smaller bag. WTF. Now, I cook for myself and know when trash night is. I have a check book. Actually I have seven checkbooks and one of those leather checkbook holders that I haven't seen since my Mom used it in 1993. When people call me, I call them back... I almost bought one of those cell phone things you can attach onto the waist of your pants (close call there). I put all of my shirts that show any amount of cleavage into a drawer, and I haven't opened it since I moved in. I own candles. And picture frames. It's like the carefree me, has morphed into some freakishly responsible human being I've never met before.


...I hang out with married couples...

My job is so rewarding, and the kids are absolutely amazing. But I need to snap out of this pattern before it gets the best of me. I mean, honestly- I do the dishes. Like, right when I'm done using them. I wonder if TLC has come out with a show for people like me yet?...

The Friendship Equation

Throughout my four semi-adult years of college, I've gotten to know a LOT of different people - partially because college is a petri dish for new relationships, and partially because I find myself talking to strangers a lot more than the average person. Some people, mostly my friends themselves find this to be very strange, and at times it has been. I've definitely met some real weird people through these encounters but I've also met some amazing people just by saying 'God Bless You' to someone in the library or dancing with people I don't know to Don't Stop Believin' at 1:54 a.m.

I read this book once about the importance of networking - not even in a professional manner just personally. It talked about the unbelievable benefits of knowing a lot of people and it has stuck with me ever since.

I try and meet one new person a day, but it doesn't always happen that way. I fall short of that some days and it becomes highly condensed at other times, like on the weekends, maybe meeting 6 or 7 new people in a three day span. For the sake of round numbers and this equation, we're going to call it one person a day. Think about it..

After 1 year, I will have met and could tell you at least 1 thing about 365 new people. With the natural ebb and flow of relationships, people lose touch, girlfriends and boyfriends break up, neighbors move away - so lets call it an even 300 new people a year.

After 5 years 1500 people who would have never known who Sara Watts is, now know my name and probably that I want to be a teacher, love mermaids, and think my little brother is the shit and even if half of those people forget who I am - I have gained 750 new acquaintances in 5 years. That's huge. HUGE.

Someone out of those 750 people knows a job that is hiring, has a friend who needs a roommate, is giving away a puppy to a good home, gets a 40% discount on North Faces, is an awesome running partner, is having a BBQ this weekend, makes a mean baked Mac & Cheese, or has an excess of rolls of Lifesavers they're giving away. And in exchange for whatever obscure specialty I have to offer, I am more than happy to get to know that little slice of their life.

So, if I've ever approached you in the SAC, sent you a vague message on facebook about the death of your goldfish (rip gwenevere) , asked you to work on a homework assignment, invited you to have lunch, or given you rolls of toilet paper because my dad works for Kleenex, and you questioned my intentions, don't.

Who can afford to not take advantage of friendships on the road to success??

The Mexican Standoff

No matter what anyone else tells you, know that the mexican standoff is the single most important part of a new relationship. Right now you're probably picturing two western dressed gentlemen walking slowly away from each other, in opposite directions, hand on their pistols, ready to turn and shoot on the count of three.

Unless you really want to hook the Dog the Bounty Hunter look-alike you met at the bar last night, I don't suggest ACTUALLY using a gun to win your mexican standoff. In fact, the key to winning a mexican standoff is to actually.....do.....nothing.

For most people, it's harder than it seems... (take advantage of this)

SO - what is a mexican stand off?

Picture this: It's Friday night, you're out at a bar or sitting in a coffee shop or reading a book in Rittenhouse. For all I care you could be walking your dog or reading greeting cards or buying hotdogs. It doesn't matter where you are, it just matters that you're somewhere where there's other people. And when you glance up from your fifth beer, chai latte, steamy novel, hallmark greeting, or package of wieners someone catches your eye.

Naturally, we as human beings feel the overwhelming urge to talk to them (for the 'what if' factor). Now, not everyone will - eliminating about half of the human population from being eligible to participate in a mexican standoff at any given moment. But lets say you do...and they seem interested. You will probably joke back and forth with them long enough to determine basic common interests, each others first names (if you're smart), to ensure they're bearable enough to hang out with again, and to exchange numbers. And then you go your separate ways.

This is the moment the mexican standoff begins.

The mexican standoff ends when someone breaks the silence for the first time.

Hopeless romantics, cover your eyes and stop reading here. Hit the back button, click X. The reality of EVERY relationship, but especially romantic ones is that whoever cares less, holds more power. Whether you want to admit it or not - relationships are a game.

And the outcome of the mexican standoff is the first gauntlet in what, could potentially, turn out to be a marathon of battles.

How to win a mexican standoff:

At all costs, don't, for any reason, even when drunk (especially when drunk) contact that person until they contact you. AGAIN, don't do it. Ever. For any reason. EVER.

Why?

If a person wants to talk to you or see you again, they'll make it happen. If they don't, fuck them, call me and we'll go out for drinks.

Trust me, I don't know a lot about a lot - but I am the queen of the mexican standoff. Losing one could be detrimental to your health and my credibility.

Pity Parties

Why do pity parties simultaneously feel amazing and awful? My time at Temple, in Philadelphia, possibly even in America is numbered and yet, I find myself spending whole days just wishing I was home alone, in my bed, with a mandarin chicken salad, my remote control, watching online Netflix.

You know that feeling, when you text someone and you don't get a response? You check your phone 475 times in an 8 minute period and 890 times over the next hour. After an hour, you start feeding justifications to your brain, "maybe they're sleeping, or in class, or working". Ten minutes later you remember that time your friend called and your phone never registered the missed call and assume that's logically what happened. Half an hour later, it occurs to you that maybe the message didn't send and you begin compulsively checking your sent messages to ensure that the text did, in fact travel through cyberspace to the correct recipient. Once you realize it did, you conclude that their cell phone is probably broken - or they dropped it in the toilet or left it at their moms house.

I'm just as guilty of these psychotic compulsions as anyone else - and although I haven't read any actual studies on this topic - I'm pretty sure the sound of a cell phone vibrate shoots endorphins directly into our brains and makes us feel like we're riding a unicorn through a gumdrop forest or hanging off the rim of a basketball hoop. And then every now and then, we don't get that response - or worse, the response we want and so....

the pity party commences.

Luckily - there's always George Michael to pick a person up from the depths of a pity party binge - and it is him that I dedicate my very first blog too (in addition to my mom, Justin Beiber, the woman who makes the smoothies at Einstein, Adam Whitlatch, and Biz Markie - all people who have crashed a pity party of mine at one point in time or another. Thank you!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu3VTngm1F0