Stay Away From Tools

So Long, Farewell

2011-08-01T15:09:00.000-05:00

There's a point in a relationship when you realize it's just not working out. You're not sure when or how but you know you're going to have to end things. And it's going to be tough.

Inevitably, you begin taking inventory of your things. Can you fit the contents of "your drawer" in a grocery bag or will you need to make a separate trip with a Uhaul? How much do I really need this straightening iron? Can I consider it a spoil of war when I drop the verbal bomb?

If we're sneaky, we begin migrating our things back over to our own home. A t-shirt here, a toothbrush there. Our physical existence in someone else's space changes and becomes smaller and smaller until we disappear.

It's our emotions that require a larger suitcase. The Swiss Army of carry-on bags if you will. It's like packing for a trip where you'll experience multiple climates. You stand in front of your bag, open, full of opportunity, empty zip pockets, nooks and crannies. You're puzzled. How can I go from shorts to pants - and then back to shorts again? Packing-challenged and faced with a deadline where you'll have to get on that plane. Deep down you know though, it's going to be tough to get everything you need inside, neatly without having trouble closing it.

Last week I quit my job.

My proverbial "employment suitcase" had been cracked open for some time. Over the last year I had been trying to figure out what to fill it with and it was a couple of months ago that I decided to open it all the way and start my travels. My friends who know me really well, know that there were a couple of days where I wanted to climb inside of my suitcase and curl up in a ball. I digress.

After an extended search and sometimes lackluster discovery process, I stumbled on an opportunity that would change my perception of myself, the people around me, and would force me to enter the next phase of my career. It's sort of like leaving the country for the first time. This blue book with a hideous picture on the inside gets stamped with life experiences. Your first stamp changes you and you'll never be the same.

I have four days left until I say goodbye to my old suitcase and set my sights on a different route. I've cleaned out my things, prepared as much as I can and my physical self has been tucked neatly in my bag. To be frank, I've been tucking neatly for close to a year - I just hadn't bought the ticket.

Friday, I'll travel both literally and figuratively. After my exit interview and returning my badge, I'll drive to Midway to catch a flight to Seattle and spend time with my sister and her family.

For some reason I feel like I need to document this, as a single girl entering the next phase of my life and my travels.

Any lessons here? I'm not quite sure yet. I have no clue what will happen after Friday afternoon and where I'll end up over the next month during my time off (oh yeah, I said it. One. Month. Off.) I have nothing planned but look forward to wherever my bags take me.

Bon voyage single friends.

S.G.

The Power of the First Date

2011-07-20T16:42:00.000-05:00

First dates kind of stink. Maybe not so much the actual date but the decisions leading up to it.
We've talked about picking out your outfit, where to go, what to order.

On a side note, I once made the mistake of eating an everything bagel before meeting a boyfriend for a Cubs game. Hours later I discovered my mouth looked like a NY deli on 9th Ave and a week later I was dumped.

After the wardrobe choice and all of the other details are decided, first dates force us to think long and hard about how we'll behave as the night unfolds. Stay with me...

On a first date (many moons ago), a young single woman decided to play it safe, calm, and overly conservative. She wore cropped pants, a t-shirt, and a scarf from India (a personal gift from a co-worker). "Guys like the earthy look" she said as she rubbed on some patchouli and twirled her hair around her finger to make a sloppy ringlet.

She had him pick her up (even though she really wanted to walk) and she ordered a glass of wine (even though she really wanted a beer) and she laughed at all of his jokes (even though he was incredibly boring and had really small, peculiar hands for a 6 foot tall guy).

She didn't talk much about herself (she was supposed to show interest in him ---- and his small hands), and when he asked her what she did for a living, she downplayed her success (men don't like a woman who is more successful than they are!) and she offered to pay for the drinks and insisted on leaving the tip.

On the ride home (he insisted on driving her home and she really wanted to run like hell away from him) he said he had fun. She indicated she had fun too (she was after all quite courteous) and he insisted on walking her to the front door where she parted with a kiss on the cheek.

That night, she washed her face and got ready for bed. She thought, "that was worth washing my hair right?" and looked down at her dog who turned his head to the side, walked over to her bed, and went to bed. Apparently this was a time where if you don't have anything nice to say....

Days passed and she rethought all of her moves, her behavior, her decisions.
Did she wear too much perfume?
Was the scarf too big?
Should she have worn her hair a different way?
Maybe she should've played the role of the strong and successful woman.
Maybe she should've ordered a cup of tea.

To make a long story even longer, she never heard from him.
She fought her inner confident woman and held off from emailing him until a week had passed.
Closing the loop and knowing her odds of running into random people in the city, she emailed and said she'd be open to meeting again (why? those hands!) and waited for his response.

"I'm still new to this dating scene so I'll respectfully decline."
I'm sorry what?
She was shocked.
She had spent 2-3 hours trying to be the person she thought she should be.
The person she thought he wanted.
And at the end of the night it didn't matter.

What's the lesson in this?
Who cares if you have an everything bagel stuck in your teeth?
Who cares if you're proud of your career accomplishments?
Who cares what cocktail you have?
How much you weigh?
What color your hair is?

You care.
So, care.

Single girls, lets be proud of who we are.
Let's stop apologizing for our behavior on first dates, in our careers, in our lives.
Let's be exactly as we are.
Every day.
All the time.
With everyone.

You care.
So, care.

You are amazing and if a guy, or a girl, or a co-worker doesn't see that?
Then maybe they have something in their eye.

-S.G.

Ex Boyfriends Are Like College

2011-07-18T16:31:00.001-05:00

I recently wrote about a dream I had where I wrote a letter to an ex boyfriend and shared my thoughts about how I missed him and wished him well. In a recent email exchange with a former colleague and now great friend, she asked me if I was dating anyone.

Does my relationship with the Citibank online chat service count? He was nice, we bonded. I even shared my social security number! In no time, he had accessed my financial records (kind of like my double life ex!). He gave me his direct phone number and said to call if I need anything. I had problems ordering checks the other day and left him a message. Five bucks says he won't call back.

My friend also mentioned that an ex boyfriend from back in the day had resurfaced on Facebook (shocker) and friended her. She was going to wait a bit before responding and explained that time changes people and things are never as you remember them. Which brings us to today's post my friends...

Ex boyfriends are like college; they always seem a lot more exciting and fun then they really were.

Every year I go back to Florida to visit my Mom and also my undergrad university. My years at college were rock solid. I was tan (Miami of all places), popular, and living comfortably. My dorm suite was well-decorated and my car was a dude magnet. Life was good!

Fast forward 10 years since graduation and things are so much more clear. I wasn't tan - I was sun burnt all of the time. In fact I remember one Saturday where I spent the day at the beach sans sunscreen and couldn't come within 5 feet of a toaster oven. Feel the burn people!

My popularity was limited to the freshmen class I oversaw during my year as a resident advisor. My weekends were spent policing the female dormitory identifying weird smells and late night dance party's to Sisco's "Thong Song".

And my dorm? My room, while without a roommate was cold and musty. The day I moved in, mold had grown in the corners due to a freshman who left the windows open all summer break and the parking lot was next to my bed. I spent three and a half years buying different comforters only to end up with a large TARGET bill and a storage unit full of linen.

There were good times in college. Nights out with my best girlfriend at Club Zen in South Beach. All you can drink ladies nights and unlimited food at the cafe. I had a love affair with Blue Long Island Iced Teas and sadly, we parted ways 6 months later.

Boyfriends often times feel the same. Just the other day I reminisced over a day of cooking I had done with an ex boyfriend. Working at the counter, chopping, and tasting. A couple of kisses in between. Lovely.

But when I really thought hard, I remembered being "given" my own counter so as not to invade his. I was not cutting things correctly (she slices! she dices!) and my ignorance of how to make apple butter made me feel inadequate. I spent an entire day making a pie that turned out perfect but I didn't even like the way it tasted.

Perhaps college, like my ex boyfriends were a little of both.
A little good.
A little bad.
Sometimes sweet.
Sometimes sour.

But at the end of those memories and years, we can look back fondly on our experiences.
We can relive the happy moments in sometimes lackluster times.
And as we smile at the thought of our trips and times spent,
we can be thankful we've graduated and moved on.

Dream a Little Dream

2011-07-16T15:22:00.000-05:00

Last night I dreamt that I sent a love letter to my ex-boyfriend. Now for a little perspective, my hair was neon purple and I drove a spaceship. Just sayin'...

In the dream I sent a hand written love letter to an ex boyfriend explaining that I had been thinking about him constantly and wondered how he was doing. The letter was about a page and I spent extra time making sure it was legible (have you seen my cursive?). I don't know if I ever sent the letter though. I woke up to the sound of Bernard having puppy dreams and running in place.

What was the point of this dream?

We're told that dreams are never what we think they are. Reaching out to an ex boyfriend has nothing to do with actually wanting to get back in touch with him. In fact, it probably has something to do with a bill I forgot to pay or an email I need to respond to.

Or does it...

When I dated my double life partner, I had dreams all the time about my teeth falling out. Hang in there and listen. Maybe you've had these too?

I'd walk around my dream feeling something lose in my mouth and would reach in to find a molar that had fallen out. In these dreams, I'd neatly place them in a Ziploc bag until I could find a dentist or someone with some sort of skill to help me.

Years later I remember watching an episode of the Sopranos where Tony's teeth keep falling out in his dreams. I searched online and found out that your teeth falling out is essentially an indicator of insecurity either in your physical appearance or a decision you've made / are making. I had no idea that this was related to my relationship, but in hindsight (it's always 20/20) I now know why I had that dream basically once a week. I knew that I had made a decision to stay in a situation where deep down I knew something was wrong. I didn't know the extent of what was wrong, but my teeth knew something was off.

What does it mean when we dream about reconnecting with an ex?
What does it mean when we actually do in real life?

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
Was that dream intended for me to think about that relationship?
Or do I just need to pay my mortgage?

Needless to say, I never wrote the letter that I had in my dream. In fact, the feelings that I had in that dream, while short lived and overwhelming, have already left.
I don't even remember why I wrote it...

And yet funny enough, I remember that awful purple hair.

Stand By Your Man

2011-06-27T18:08:00.000-05:00

It was Tammy Wynette who said:

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man.
You'll have bad times
And he'll have good times
Doin' things that you don't understand.
But if you love him you'll forgive him.
Even though he's hard to understand.
And if you love him oh, be proud of him.
Cause after all he's just a man.

Did Tammy know that today one woman would have to stand next to her man in a courtroom in downtown Chicago and be forced to listen to guilty verdicts (17 out of 20 charges to be exact).

Today's announcement of Rod's future has been somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Even text messages from my Mom indicated our shared joy in seeing justice served. As a politician, I'm not a fan (don't worry Single Girl keeps politics out of this - except in the bedroom of course). Guilty verdicts aside, does Patti stand by her man?

What has your man done where you've had to channel your inner Tammy and say, "after all he is just a man." Was it a in appropriate comment like yes that dress does make your butt look big? Or something more extreme like I'd like to sell the seat to the senate for some big buckaroos.

Regardless of the reason behind your Tammy moment, you may have found yourself at a cross roads making a decision that could affect your life, your children, your home. At what point do we toss our inner Tammy and instead focus on our level of tolerance?

I suppose there are no hard and fast rules to situations like these. Do we look at the specific charge or the fact that our relationship has been put to the test?

I vote for both.

When my lackluster boyfriend of 5 1/2 years announced he was seeing someone else for almost the entire time we dated (ahem.. excuse me, got caught), it was about the crime and the principal behind it. If he had been cheating for a month would the punishment have been any less?

What's the lesson here for our dear friend Patti?

In the next days, months, years, her relationship will continue to be tested in ways that none of us can possibly imagine. Her inner Tammy will be tested over and over again. Our lesson as women will be to help our fellow Tammy see the error in her ways, support her, and stand by her even if we don't understand.

Eat. Pray. Eat Some More. Love.

2010-12-29T11:45:00.000-06:00

There are two scenes in Eat Pray Love that I am completely in errr... love with? The first scene includes Julia Roberts and her new blond friend that she has met in Italy dining out for lunch, enjoying what appears to be some of the most amazing pizza ever. Julia's friend only eats one piece and looks on as Julia's character devours every bite. She asks what's wrong and explains that she's gained a ton of weight in the last few weeks and can't fit her jeans. Julia responds with a ground breaking response:

This is probably my most favorite scene in the entire movie. Now some of my friends might say, "Yes, Kate. So why are you wrapped up in weight?". I've been doing a full body cleanse Monday. I'm doing pretty well and adjusting slowly. I've eliminated alcohol, red meat, processed sugars, and carbs. Sound s like a lot but my lunch today was packed with a turkey burger, an arugula salad and homemade dressing (yes! I made homemade dressing. What?!).

Over the holidays (and in my last 7 or so months of being fully single again) I've turned to food for celebrations and for social outings with friends. When I ate a box of Nerds for breakfast last week, I knew it was time to make some change.

Years ago I found myself in a relationship where all we did was eat. I weighed in at a whopping 218 lbs. Yes, it's true... and to my good friend in Miami please continue to hide (or burn) those photos from that trip when we were all big and round. At that weight I was not healthy. The weight on my body made it hard for me to run and I just didn't take good care of myself.

Now, 40 lbs lighter I'm still not satisfied but I'm feeling a lot better than I did before.

Moving into the new year and my 30th birthday (big what?!?) I'll choose to enjoy food more, not become obese (again), and I'll not equate my food with how many calories I've burned the previous day.

I will not torture myself for eating a piece of bread or having a glass of wine. But I'll stop myself before I eat the entire loaf of bread and the full bottle of wine.

Let this be a lesson that while a guy will never walk out on us when they're exposed to our "muffin top"we should not walk out on ourselves.

S.G.

I'm a nice person.

2010-12-28T10:40:00.000-06:00

It's been a little over a month since I returned from my volunteer trip in Africa and it feels like years. I received an email from a friend I made on the trip asking me, "Wo ho te sen?" which means "How are you?" in Twi which is the native language in Ghana. My heart ached for the two and half weeks that I spent teaching some very rambunctious 3rd graders and carrying bricks to build a new school. I winced when I thought of the days where we carried bowls of water on our heads from the well and drops of water would fall down my face. I secretly think I had major stomach issues from a couple of those drops falling in my mouth. I digress.

Returning back to the U.S. and ramping up rather quickly for Thanksgiving and Christmas I found myself out and about in the city with this intense need to consume. "I have to buy things," I kept telling myself. And so I found myself at the grocery store, TARGET, the mall, trying to find things that I needed and getting rid of things that I don't.

The holidays bring out the best (and worst) in many of us. I found myself at the grocery store buying cream cheese for a raspberry cheesecake (it was in fact delicious by the way) and I graciously thanked the woman behind the counter and wished her a happy holiday. I smiled, walked back to my car, hopped in and drove home.

I remember when I wasn't so happy. When a trip to buy cheesecake felt like the end of the world.
Now things are quite different.
I'm filled with love and faith.
I gave a homeless person $20 on my way to my Dad's house on Christmas day.
I believe in the good in people again.

Experiences from my younger days molded me into the person that I am.
Bad experiences hardened me from opening up and taking risks.
Every day that I move away from those experiences, is a new day to take a risk.
A new day to share love.
The farther we move ourselves from those people, that behavior, whatever those "bad" things may be, the more we move back over to good.

It's been a good amount of time since I've been in a bad thing.
The days and months away have me finding myself and getting back to the true person I am.

I am hopeful and giving.
I am selfless and loving.
I believe in the good in people.
I am a nice person.

I (Am)Sterdam

2010-10-30T02:26:00.000-05:00

Single girls goes on vacation. A delay at Ohare forced me to miss my connection in JFK which would ultimately get me to Africa.

The Delta gate person was incredibly friendly and accommodating. I didn't really have a choice because they had already taken my bag from me. She was kind enough to reserve me a sleeper seat on another flight that would could connect to Africa. Then I was informed I'd be flying to Amsterdam first.

I spent 8 hours waiting at Ohare for my flight to depart. Another 6 hours en route to Amsterdam and I now have a 7 hour layover here. With the recent "suspicious package" discovery I'm going to play it safe and stay in the airport.

It's 2 a.m. Chicago time and I'm wishing there was a bed nearby. I'll do my best to stay up as long as possible and make it through to Ghana. A not so pleasant reaction to malaria medication had me close to tossing my cookies on the plane. The next flight should be less nauseating!

No dating stories wrapped up in the post, folks. Although I suppose I haven't done any alone international travel in two years, since my trip to Japan. I'm traveling alone again as a true single girl. I'm totally wingin' my travels and single girl has no problems making a little stop off in good ol' Amsterdam.

Here's to long layovers and people watching. Sometimes we're delayed in life, sometimes we're re-routed. But more often than not, we make it there.

Safe travels.

SG

On Any Given Sunday

2010-10-11T20:02:00.000-05:00

On any given Sunday you can find me waking up around 8 a.m., making a pot of coffee, and eating greek yogurt and an egg (inspired by my sister). And on a Sunday afternoon I'm wandering the aisles of the South Loop TARGET looking for inexpensive ways to give my entire apartment a face lift.

This Sunday was different.

Sunday morning I rose with the sun, walked Bernard, and came back indoors to layer black running pants, and a green tank top. I strapped on an elastic belt lined with Gu and a race bib and clipped on my pink ipod. Ready to run.

This Sunday I ran the Chicago Marathon. It wasn't my first time, my third in fact. But this year felt completely different from previous years.

I ran for miles. I ran for hours (five and a half to be exact) and by the time I hit mile 25 I was depleted. I was on the verge of tears and I just wanted someone to hug me and tell me not to cry.

Mile 25.5 came around and the Cranberries, "Dream" came on my ipod. You're probably flashing back to Dawson's Creek. Stay with me.

Take a moment to find the song in your head or on your ipod if you have it.

Picture yourself running through the city of Chicago. Over 28 neighborhoods.
Tired.
Hopeless.
Hot.

Sun blazing.
Miles blurred.
You reach for hands who give you food, water.
Ice chips across your face and arms.
You're struggling to get to the other side.

And then just shy of mile 26 you see a familiar face.
Someone who is struggling just as much as you.
You help them.
They help you.
And you cross the finish line.
Fighting the tears.
Enjoying the moment because it comes so infrequently.

You cross the finish line proud and hopeful.
Strong.
Solid.

In life, we may not all decide to strap on a pair of New Balance and hit the pavement for 5+ hours.
But we all run marathons.
We all face obstacles that challenge how grounded we are.
They look us in the eye and ask us if we're strong enough.

The thing is, deep down you are.
You were always strong enough to get through it.
You always will be.

26.2 or whatever your marathon may be.

-SG

It's About Time

2010-09-25T11:13:00.000-05:00

Sadly, I've had a week's worth of topics to write about (I'm keeping a running tab on a post-it note in my messenger bag) and I'm just now getting a chance to get it all out there. Why just the other day I found myself writing my next post in my head, editing my verbal story telling and thinking, "I should just get in front of a computer already and type this out." My brain doesn't actually save those drafts.

Last Saturday's evening run turned out to be a late night jog with raccoons along the lakefront. Apparently they too are working on their fitness- that, and eating garbage. But really, don't they both go hand-in-hand?

Prior to my run last Saturday, I took Bernard out for a long walk. On our usual route we passed by the Glessner museum which in the summer doubles as an after-party venue for South Loopers who say "I do". Last year during a single summer, Bernard and I walked past, poked our heads in and saw drunk white people dancing to Thriller. Bernard promptly peed on the side of the building. We're such a great match.

Last Saturday however, I saw something different. An open park behind the Glessner house gives way to a beautiful garden filled with lilac and freshly mowed grass. The people who manage the park don't allow dogs so it's perfectly manicured and you never run the risk of walking into something stinky.

The side entrance to the garden is across from our normal dog walk route and normally the gate would be closed. But not Saturday. As I approached the corner to take Bernard back in, I saw two people standing, their backs towards me. Just standing. Waiting for something.

I examined their clothing. The slightly older woman wearing a beautiful suit with gold and cream. Perfect for a cool end of summer afternoon. The younger woman to her right in a gorgeous gown. Dressed from head to toe in layers of beautiful fabric and holding a bouquet of roses tied with a perfect white ribbon.

They were waiting, out of sight for the music to begin. Mom and bride would make a grand entrance into the park and she would be married moments later. I wondered what they must be thinking. A faint trumpet played in the back. I couldn't even see anyone in the park waiting but I knew just a few feet ahead the people who care most about them (and vice versa) were waiting to witness such a beautiful event.

I never saw their faces. But shortly after stopping and staring.. the traditional wedding song came on, Mom and daughter looked at each other and walked in to the park and disappeared.

Okay, okay, stop crying. It was moving, yes I agree. But it was so positive. So happy.
With that moment ending, a new moment began. Different stages in our lives. Different moments of waiting.

I went out and ran 18 miles that night. On the way home, I was able to run back south to the fireworks from Navy Pier and an encore performance at the Shedd Aquarium. Those fireworks were for me. To say, these are your moments. These are your celebrations.

-S.G.

Switch-Up Saturday

2010-09-18T15:26:00.000-05:00

This weekend I'm living on the edge. Instead of doing my 18 mile run at 6 a.m. this morning I'm throwing caution to the wind. Get this, I'm doing it tonight at 6 p.m. so I'll actually finish right at bed time. I told you it was crazy. I'll give you a minute to recover from that news.

Let's just say my social life these days is pretty awesome. Lots of time spent with my friends, evenings out, dancing at concerts (think a gentle mosh pit), and getting back on my bike. I'm organized to a point that would put Martha Stewart to shame. Meh, Martha. You've got nothin' on me. I make this organized life thing look easy.

Why even right now, I'm gracefully sipping on a caramel apple spice from the north side Starbucks while Bernard visits the local groomer to get his mohawk lined up and ready for the weekend. He's such a ladies man.

Life is good.

The summer is over and fall is here. I'm loving every minute of it and feeling great.

As a single girl, we have to make our own fun. We have to stay on our toes. Why just last night I biked the lakefront path in the dark. I was a little freaked out when I stopped for water but aside from that, I made it home in one piece. I owned the lakefront last night.

Today, I own the little table at Starbucks, typing on my computer, totally pulling off the role of the coffee computer girl.

Happy Saturday.

-sg.

Fantastic Fall

2010-09-16T20:18:00.000-05:00

Hello old friend.

Its been a while since we talked / typed last. You may be thinking that since July 27th, the last time I wrote, Ive been busy with a summer love affair that was hot and steamy. Wrong. My summer was spent running, cooking, and watching the first season of Dexter. I'm totally addicted.

After a two month hiatus I'm back blog readers. This summer I did not meet the love of my life, nor did I travel the world (I'm actually saving that for next month). Instead, I spent some time rediscovering myself. My love for curling up on the couch and watching movies all night. How can you beat that?

Fall is here. A chill is in the air and the beaches are closed. I have to say I'm relieved. A summer of recovery now breaks into a fall of fun and happiness. A clean slate ready to be filled with apple picking (Who's in?), carving pumpkins and trick-or-treating.

Fall is here and life is good.

Don't want no short man

2010-07-27T13:42:00.000-05:00

Before your mind throws itself in the gutter and swims through impure thoughts of sex and size, first know that this entry is not at related to how "well endowed" a man may be but instead how he stacks up to me. Let me clarify.

If you're over 5'8, you know it's incredibly hard to find a guy (just any old guy will do) that is over 5'10. I'm on the cusp of six feet so finding a man who doesn't look up at me when I throw on a heel is close to impossible.

In the world of dating, finding a guy who makes me feel like a woman (meaning I can't cradle you in my arms like a baby - because that would be really awkward) can be a big challenge.

Take for example the odds. Most men probably fall around the 5'8 - 5'10 range. If they're under 5'8 they're likely dating a woman who is a lot shorter, perhaps an inch or two taller so they can still feel a bit bigger. The 5'9 and 5'10 guy is sort of a gray area.

At my most recent physical with my doctor, the nurse informed me that I was in fact 5'9 and not 5'10. Perhaps mother nature or some bigger power was shrinking me merely to open up my dating options. Thank you mother nature! Aside from instantly increasing my BMI by losing an inch, I was elated to learn that I could now put 5'9 or taller on my list of requirements for my next boyfriend.

I dated a guy who liked taller women. He was about the same height as me and when I put on heels for a Saturday night on the town, I had a good 1-2 inches over him. On skinny days I felt sexy. On bloated days I felt, well just big.

I suppose we look to men who are sized appropriately for us. A toothpick guy who stood 7 feet tall would be kind of circus sideshow-like, but more importantly would not be a good fit for me.

On the flipside, perhaps the man of my dreams stands 5'8, is stocky with glasses and is waiting to run into me at the local DSW. Look for me near the size 10s.

I have to believe that size doesn't really matter.

A good guy is in fact a good guy.

Tea for errr.... One?

2010-07-15T16:49:00.000-05:00

Being single has its drawbacks. For example, happy hour at the local pub is just too challenging. A buy one get one free on pints can easily get very messy when every time I order one, a lovely bar tender brings me another. What to do, what to do...

In all seriousness, the power of one is sometimes lacking. Now don't get all bent out of shape. As a single woman, I am powerful. I'm strong (half ironman this Sunday!) and confident, and at my worst I'm honest, open, and humble.

But as a single girl trying to purchase furniture? I am hopeless - and incredibly clumsy.

I've had my eye on a gorgeous, dark, tall dresser from World Market. If this dresser was a date, he'd be taking me out for a night on the town. I know, it's just furniture. Single girl makes her own fun.

So I've been eyeing this dresser but it was a bit pricey. I've been checking Craigslist every day to see if someone is selling a used version of it but alas, nothing. So Monday, I went on to the website to see if by chance it had gone on sale. Score! Dresser is $199 instead of $299. I call the store, speak to a nice lady who reserves it for me, and plan to pick it up after work. If only dating were that easy. Pick up the phone, put on hold, pick it up after work. Single girl is feisty today.

I go to pick up the dresser after work and this large (kinda cute) World Market stock boy comes out with this HUGE box on a rolling thing-a-ma-jig and says, "Where do you want this?". Oh dear.

I pull my car around to the elevators, he (not-so-easily) puts the dresser in my trunk, almost buckling underneath it and I ride off with the tail end of my car closer to the street. Low rider!

I arrive home and realize there's no way I can get this thing from my car, through the parking lot, and into my place. I retreat to the apartment, crack open a beer and watch TV. The next day I think, well why not take one piece at a time upstairs. With a purchase like this, odds are I'll have all of the parts in my apartment by middle of next week.

It's day #4 and I'm about 60% there. It's gone well - barring me dropping one of the boxes in the parking lot after a run this morning. I hope I still have my receipt.

So what's the lesson of this super long furniture story? Shop at IKEA and buy light, compact furniture?

No, ask for help.

And if no one is around or there's no wheelie thingy to throw your new purchase on, don't be embarrassed that you can't do it alone. Even if we can't tackle a big project, a goal, a dream, a problem in one fell swoop, we can still take pride in taking our time, moving one piece at a time until finally we pull everything together and have something perfectly beautiful.

-S.G.

That's so wrong

2010-07-13T08:51:00.000-05:00

The other night Bernard and I were out enjoying the summer evening. The air was warm, the streets quiet, and our usual trip around the block with my iPod pumping was going swimmingly. Walking down the street, passing parked cars, I could see a small animal (a bunny? I've seen an influx of bunnies over the last few weeks. Their cuteness is distracting to say the least) attached to a leash.

What could it be? As I got closer, I could see a very cute (and teeny tiny) Yorkie attached to a leash. The leash was stuck in a closed door of a parked car. Nice car, something high-end with dark windows. Could someone have forgotten their dog during the evening rush? Perhaps a busy grocery trip left this person forgetting to bring their dog in for the night.

As I approached the car (and the Yorkie got more and more excited that I might unleash him from the door) I saw something in the car. Beneath the tinted windows there.... two people totally going at it. Where was I? I could've sworn I was still in the nice neighborhood of the South Loop but here were two people totally getting down in a parked car, with their dog strapped to the outside (courteous for the dog, I guess).

Somewhere between parking and getting ready to walk Foofie (this is what I named the dog), they decided to throw extreme caution to the wind, get completely naked and have a street side romp fest in my neighborhood. Blech.

I quickly moved away from Foofie, screamed. "Oh my!" in a tone that only my Mom could make and ran off with Bernard near my side. We walked quickly around the corner in shock (a little bit of horror) and total embarrassment.

The point of this story? Well, lets see the obvious first. Please don't have sex in your car in my neighborhood with your dog hanging out of the door. Second, have a little respect. In my craziest of days in college (Miami no less) I found myself in situations that if my parents knew, probably would be a bit embarrassing. But the whole South Loop to see your business? It's more than I'm interested in.

And if for some reason the mood strikes you and you can't say no to a quick ride in the car (pun intended), at least have a little respect for Foofie.

The Formula for (Or Against) Online Dating

2010-07-06T13:19:00.000-05:00

When it comes to online dating, I've gone both ways. Some days I feel like its one of a few options to meet people. I bike to work every day, go out for cocktails with girlfriends, and hardly ever cross paths with someone who I would consider entering into a relationship with. I pull out my worn Citibank debit card and slowly enter the numbers, expiration, and security code - hoping that a small deposit will bring back true love. Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking.

Other days I believe what will come my way, will in fact happen a little more organically. That one day I'll be strolling down the street and I'll bump into some ridiculous smart, funny, and handsome guy who will sweep me off my size 10 feet and we'll live happily ever after. Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking.

This weekend in between some pretty hard core Lance Armstrong style bike riding, I went online to do some reading when I stumbled across an article titled, "Why You Should Never Pay for Online Dating". Now keep in mind its written by a free online dating site, but the article completely blew my mind.

The writer attempts to take the slightly public success metrics for big, expensive sites like Match.com and eHarmony.com and figures out the likelihood that you (or I for that matter) will meet someone on one of these sites and marry them.

The article discusses the idea of "dead profiles" on these dating sites as a way to lure in people and the stats on how many people sign up for one month (2 months, 6, a year, etc) and actually return. What's the turn over rate on these sites?

The statement that stopped me dead in my tracks was the following. Based on the math - and this math is damn good:

"It turns out you are 12.4 times more likely to get married this year if you don't subscribe to Match.com".

Did you read that? That means by canceling my membership a few weeks ago, not only did I save myself a whopping $36 per month which I can use towards some sort of fun vacation (Single Girl has something in the works!) but I also increased my odds of meeting the man of the dreams.

Perhaps last week's mailing of Exclusively Weddings was in fact a "heads up" that something good this way comes.

For those of you who are toying with the idea of online dating or are on there and are just not feeling like you're getting out of it what you're putting in (financial and time), read this article (link below). Read it thoroughly and read it good my friends.

And if you don't believe the math, break out that dusty old single girl calculator and do the math.

Read more here: http://bit.ly/b08ffj

-S.G.

Maybe it's a sign

2010-07-01T08:50:00.000-05:00

This morning (after a great 5 mile run through downtown Chicago) I stopped at my mailbox. Realizing I hadn't checked my mail in 3-4 days and that I probably have bills to pay I opened up box 223 to find a large magazine at the very top of my mail.

There in plain view was the latest edition of "Exclusively Weddings". Their tag line? You want it perfect - we make it simple.

I quickly surveyed my current magazine subscriptions and recent purchases. Okay Women's Health, Glamour, Health Magazine. Nope, no sign of a wedding there. Recent online purchases : Converse shoes from TARGET, wall decals from Blik, a couple of 5k sign-ups. Yep, none of those really scream, "sell my info to a wedding catalogue, I'm ready to tie the knot!"

I feel as if this could mean one of two things:

1. I'm going to meet some amazing guy really soon, get engaged, married, and live happily after, or;
2. Someone got me mixed up with another single girl in the city and the post office is incompetent.

I'd like to think its #2. In college, I never received a birthday check my Dad mailed to my dorm room and yet it got cashed. Sneaky USPS!

In all seriousness, this reeks of irony. I'm at my most single self and here I am, confronted by a 99 page catalogue that sells "Future Mrs. So & So" everything from rhinestone pins to the ever-so-classy Britney Spears-inspired, velour jogging suit.

I turned away from the catalogue, opened up my laptop and started to type.

Irony at its best - or just a mailing label fluke.

Either way, I suppose I should be relieved that I didn't receive "Modern Senior Living Magazine".

Please, don't call me Carrie

2010-06-24T21:29:00.000-05:00

Years ago, four women came together to create a HBO series that would change the way women look at relationships, sex, and shoes. I was a huge fan. I still am. I’ve seen the first SATC movie and own all of the seasons on DVD, but most recently I’ve felt like there’s something I need to clear up.

I am not Carrie.

The writing of Candace Bushnell and the characters she creates are phenomenal. She breathes life into four very different women with her words, witty antics, and some pretty amazing fashion choices. (see picture on left)

I don’t own Jimmy Choo.

I’m flattered that the women of Chicago (and some of the men even) think my style is something that could even compare to the lovely New York ladies who run the streets of Manhattan. It’s not that I can’t or don't want to have that, I just refuse to pay $800 for a pair of shoes and a grand for a wallet. I’m notorious for finding the perfect cute shirt and jeans at a reasonable price and some of my best “pieces” have come directly from the super saver rack at well-known department stores.

I don’t live drama.

At one point in my life I had a Big, you could say. But he wasn’t tall, rich or educated – and he only lingered around because I couldn’t get him to go away. I’m a drama-free girl, which sometimes means hearing the absolute truth. A friend or boyfriend with a thick skin (or an open ear) is a must have.

I tell it like it is.

Aside from the moments when I’m whimsical and carefree, I am completely honest about the experiences I have. I don’t disclose personally identifiable information but I do share what’s real for me, the things that I see – and hope that those experiences help others, and shape me in the process.

So to the friends who say, “Oh my god, you’re like Carrie Bradshaw!” after reading my blog please remember that on these (e-)pages, I am sharing my world; hilarious, sad, sometimes mildly entertaining.

And when the entries end, and no one subscribes anymore, I’m still just a Single Girl trying to figure it all out.

Operation Beans: Uncommon Ground, Wrigleyville

2010-06-23T13:15:00.000-05:00

If someone asked you to describe yourself as a caffeinated beverage, what would you be? A red eye? A large drip with room? What size? Would you have extra shots of some delicious syrup?

I’d be a double short Americano. Not only does it sound incredibly cool when you order it but it comes in a small package and packs a serious punch. My 5’10 height aside, I’m a small package, but the contents of this container are hot.

Sunday I headed north to the lovely neighborhood of Wrigleyville and camped out on the Uncommon Ground patio. When I last wrote, I mentioned that I would list my 10 coffee shops and visit each one, sit by the door, and smile at (almost) everyone who walks in.

This visit was successful. Let’s just say while I didn’t spend much time people watching, I did spend 2.5 hours talking with a very nice person. We discussed the gorgeous weather we’ve been having (minus the twister that went through downtown Chicago last Friday) and held a very casual, comfortable conversation outdoors – I had mint tea with lemon (single girl battles a cold this week) and this person had iced tea.

At the end of the evening I looked down at my waterproof puma messenger bag (looks cute but doesn’t hold squat) and realized I hadn’t even cracked my laptop open. Nor had I really smiled at anyone – except across the table.

A successful evening? I would say for my first attempt, this was a good set-up for more of what’s to come. I’m optimistic and open. And if at the end of my visits to 10 coffee shops, all I walk away with is a great conversation, well single girl say that’s just fine.

This Sunday, single girl heads north to live it up in Lakeview, Intelligentsia on Broadway.

Order up.

-S.G.

Hurry Up & Wait

2010-06-17T09:25:00.000-05:00

My horoscope today says, “You are easily charmed by anyone who behaves in a flirtatious manner toward you now”. Oh, great. You might as well just call me desperate. Stupid zodiac.

This sounds like a recommendation to not do any dating right now. Which works out perfectly because no one is asking me out anyway. Awesome.

Close to two months single (again) and I don’t really have the desire to meet anyone new. Don’t get me wrong, I tried but it just didn’t feel right. I think I just need more time. Or perhaps I should be putting that energy into something else like training (30 days and counting til the big race!) or spending time with my friends. Chicago summers are phenomenal, and with today’s weather being mid 80s and sunny, I feel like it’s a calling to get out there and just enjoy myself.

The pressure of meeting someone can feel like the weight of the world – especially when your friends and family (who are really wonderful people) are always asking you about your dating life. Deep down they want to see you happy but it creates this weird pressure of wanting something, even needing something that you don’t really want – or need.

How long after a break-up before you should “get back out there” and try to meet someone new? There are rules – I googled them. There are different schools of though, of course. Some believe you should start dating the next day. Wow, that’s fast! Others think that as soon as your ex starts dating so should you. Hmmm, okay. And finally, those that have used a mathematical formula for dating; Take the amount of time you spent with a person divide in half and that’s the amount of time you need to “get over it”.

I have to object to this one. So that means my long-term relationship of 6 years would’ve required that I take 3 whole years not dating. What! That’s just wrong dating mathematicians. So wrong.

I say wait until you’re ready. Perhaps, occasionally dip your toe in the dating pool and see how the water feels.
Ice cold? Jump out immediately, go for a run, have coffee with a friend.
Tepid? Test it out, cautiously. Use those cute little floaties if you have to! Comfortably hot? Dive in – just don’t get burned.

-S. G.

Reject Me Not

2010-06-15T10:40:00.000-05:00

How's this for rejection?

Yesterday I went to give blood. I sat down next to the nurse, answered a series of strange questions, (apparently if you've lived in the UK for more than 5 years you can't donate) and spelled my last name 3 times until she finally typed it correctly in her computer.

At the end of the questionnaire I was given a disapproving face by the nurse as she said, "Sorry, we can't accept your blood. You're rejected". What? Not only have I been striking out in the world of dating these days but now even my platelets aren't good enough.

At the beginning of the year I spent a week and a half in Central American with a great love. Apparently we spent some of those great times in a malaria-infected area which perhaps could've been a sign that we were headed to Splittsville (population: me).

To add insult to injury, the nurse would not let me leave the donation center until I gave her all of the areas that we stayed which meant I had to look through all of my emails including hotel confirmations and notes about how wonderful the trip was - in order to find that I stayed in a malaria-infected area and could not donate blood until February 2011. February 14th to be exact. C'mon!

After reliving my trip in 2 minutes I was given a rejection letter (no, seriously. It says you're rejected) and a sticker that said, "I make a difference". I begrudgingly stuck it to my shirt, kicked a proverbial can, and walked back to the office.

Returning to my desk, I thought 1) damn those mosquitoes! and 2) sometimes you just don't get what you want. I wanted to make a difference yesterday but I couldn't. I tried unsuccessfully.

On a related note, I've stumbled across what could be the most inspirational video ever - yes, ever!
If you find yourself rejected by a single boy, having a tough day - or (god forbid) the Red Cross is "just not that into you" as a donor, take a moment to enjoy this video: http://www.someecards.com/card/3628

Coffee Shop Experiment

2010-06-14T08:47:00.000-05:00

This weekend I felt truly single. Friday night I ordered in and watched "Pretty Woman" on TBS. Saturday morning I had some retail therapy at Old Orchard mall (I'm crying while looking at the receipts right now - I spent $38 on lip gloss. Please don't judge).

Sunday morning I drove out to the suburbs and did a 50 mile bike ride around the lovely community of Barrington. Last night I got caught in the rain during a dog walk and went to bed around 9:30 p.m.

Single girl life is a bit on the slow side these days. With triathlon training (six days a week), a semi decent social life, and a dog, I find myself incredibly busy but often times bored. This week I have plans 6 days out of 7. I'm not super excited about any of them though. Well maybe my next long bike ride or a long swim at the gym.

I was reading online this weekend (while consuming some very delicious carry-out from Coast) about ways to meet people in the city. There was a top ten list of some sort that walked you through the "best of the best" as a sort of how-to guide to finding someone new.

#1 was actually intriguing; Spending time at a coffee shop.

Apparently the aroma of ground beans and scones elicits a certain romance in the air conducive to meeting someone on a Saturday or Sunday morning. In my case, Friday or Saturday night.

I thought of all of the great coffee shops in Chicago. Now granted, I love a grande non fat chai from Starbucks but (no offense buckers) I mean real coffee shops. Coffee houses that have slightly worn sofas with funky music playing in the background. Where the majority of people inside have plastic framed glasses and converse. Where everyone's a Mac and a double short of something booming with caffeine.

So today I'll start my experiment: Operation Beans.

Create a solid list of stand-up coffee shops in Chicago proper and pick one day per week to spend at least an hour with beverage, perhaps a book, and just watch.

The article I read said, "sit by the door and smile at every person that walks in the door". I subscribe to the smile policy but every person that walks in? The Baristas will likely ask me to leave because people will think I'm creepy. I'll use my judgement on choice of facial expression day of.

Day: Sunday (only day free)
Coffee shop: Uncommon Ground (Wrigleyville location)
Time: Evening

Between now and Sunday, I'll be compiling the rest of my list. Please send along any suggestions you may have and if you see a tall single girl on Sunday evening with plastic frame glasses, stop by and buy me an espresso.

-S.G.

Freedom to do, well whatever...

2010-06-10T09:19:00.000-05:00

I've been trying this new thing where I smile at everyone I make eye contact with. Walking down the street there are opportunities left and right to meet new people (friends, more than friends, whatever).

I see someone, I make eye contact and smile. Usually they smile back. At the very least, it makes their day to know people are still pleasant in this city. People still care. Maybe this whole smiling thing will turn into something bigger. Maybe I'll smile at the right person and something great will come out of it. It only takes one.

Single in the city (loving the weather) is such an interesting experience. Talking to a friend the other day, I explained how when you're single you have absolute freedom to do anything you want.
Let me say that again; absolute freedom to do anything you want.

If I want to sit at home and watch TV all Saturday afternoon while it's gorgeous outside and sunny, I can do that. If I want to spend my evening watching movies, eating popcorn and drinking champagne I can (side note: I did this a few years ago and it was awesome. Made for an interesting morning the next day, but fun nonetheless).

The freedom you have as a single person is something we should cherish. A few weeks ago I hated it. It felt uncomfortable and empty. Now I sort of get why people like it so much.

On the flip side, being in a relationship, coupled up with someone you love (and who loves you in return) is also an amazing feeling. You can always count on this person to be there and that makes you happy and full of joy. Let me say that again; you can always count on this person and that makes you happy.

Coupled life is really wonderful. Having experienced a great love, I know that when you're with someone who complements you and cares about you, you feel like you're floating. You are sleeping on clouds under the most beautiful sun, shaded by warmth. You feel, well - great.

Do you think that we're meant to experience both of these at various times of our life? Sometimes being coupled is just what we need while other times eating cookie dough and watching Bridezillas does the trick. I have to believe that they're both equally important. To know your self alone, as you are, nothing more, no one beside you. But also to know your self together, with someone, and all that they bring, right beside you. Just a thought.

Right now I have the freedom.
Tomorrow? Perhaps the next smile will tell.

My Little Secret

2010-06-07T15:56:00.000-05:00

Some of my readers know me.
Some of them don't.
Some people might put two and two together and know who Single Girl really is.

That being said, I can't share a secret that I am dying to tell all of you.

We all have secrets. Whether they're personal secrets about ourselves - or secrets a friend has shared.
Secrets are like gifts. We give them to others who we trust. We take them, gracefully.

Like a bud, a secret can grow into something much bigger than it really is.
In relationships, our secrets can feel like mammoth-sized moments where we have to have a straight-forward, open, and honest conversation with our partner.

Secrets that aren't major can sometimes seem huge to others.
Those that are minor can break a relationship down.

Do we share all of our secrets with our partner? Brutal honesty if you will.
Or do we censor our secret? Knowing it won't hurt them - or at the very least, thinking it wont.

The idea of sharing our secrets seems risky.
The idea of getting our secrets off our chest seems healthy.
I have to believe that holding every single secret in, not talking about it, not communicating, has to be harmful. Hazardous to our health even.

Post Secret is one an amazing blogs. It encourages readers to send in their own secrets on post cards, anonymously.

Some are funnier than others:

Others are a little on the heavier side:

Do you know that 11,000 people joined a Facebook page to discourage this person from jumping off the bridge? They wrote notes, emails, and videos address to the person that shared this secret.
One person will print out all of them and tape them up on the bridge to discourage this person from leaving this world.

Single Girl believes in anonymity but I also believe in the support that we receive from other people can truly help us.

I'll be sharing my secret with Post Secret.

You? Send your secret somewhere.

But please, just send it.

On Online Dating...

2010-06-04T11:32:00.000-05:00

Great quote from my good friend in South Florida:

"I mean, the conventional way of meeting people has worked for a lifetime. I don't think we should have to pay to find dates".