Peppered Hearts

Today is my 20th birthday. I am no longer a teenager. I am a bona-fide adult. Jesus Christ.

Twenty is both a lot and a little. Twenty means I have to have my shit together. Twenty means that my parents no longer have a teenager in their family. Twenty means I’m almost twenty-one. Twenty means I’m in my twenties, which feels and sounds ridiculously old. I’m in my twenties. Oh my God. Ridiculous.

But twenty also means that I’m young. Twenty means I’m living in New York City, studying fashion, and have a fabulous view of the Empire State Building. Twenty means that I can look for internships, move to a different country, go dancing. Twenty means I have fantastic friends who help celebrate my birthday. Twenty means I get to have another birthday extravaganza with my friend Y. Twenty means we can go out to dinner and dance. Twenty means I’m old enough to live.

There’s a lot I’m grateful for. Too much to even begin listing. I have a wonderful family, a beautiful little niece, and marvelous friends. I live in the center of the universe, the city that never sleeps. I live in the city of cliches and exceptions to every rule. Even with the cold weather and the shortage of straight and non-asshole men (twenty feels too old to call them boys), I live a rather spectacular life in a stunning city.

I turned twenty listening to music from the 1990’s. The same songs I heard ten years ago, to be exact. The songs my brother played in the car when I got him to drive me places. The songs that we blasted on the way to Books-A-Million for his study sessions and my cup-of-hot-chocolate-and-a-book sessions. My brother stayed up late to wish me happy birthday last night. I think that’s one of my favorite things about turning old. My brother and I are nearly on the same page. We’re no longer just siblings. I’m not only his annoying little sister; I’m also his friend. That’s one of the beautiful things about becoming older.

Being a teenager was fun. I had my first heartbreaks, my first kisses, my first car. I did a lot of the traditional teenager things but there was no teenage rebellion. I was (and am) pretty much a goody-two-shoes. I spent most of my summers in Poland and got to even spend two months in Paris. I saw my cousin get married and danced at their reception. I held their baby, my wonderful little niece, the day she was born. I sang her the itsy-bitsy spider song (and often in public) just to get her to eat. I got to hear her laugh and see her smile when her daddy puts her on skype with me. Yeah, I’d say my teen years were pretty good.

But now it’s time for me to enter another decade. At the age of twenty, I’ve lived in two centuries and three decades. I was old enough to remember 9-11. I was in Times Square when the first African American President was elected. I even got to vote in that election. I saw Daniel Radcliffe naked and gave him a shirt with our numbers on it. I received my IB diploma. It was a good run.

I’m pretty sure my twenties will be even better.

Today I’m over here at Cheryl’s fabulous blog! My first guest post ever and I’m so excited!

I have never been on a date. No one has ever asked me out on one. Or at least not in so many terms. And I’m not quite sure why.

I’ve had a few boyfriends. I’ve met a few guys who didn’t end up being boyfriends but we hung out nonetheless. None of these boys ever asked me out on a date. We’ve gone to the movies. We’ve gone on walks. We’ve gone out to eat. We’ve just sat around and hung out in people’s rooms. But none of those have ever been called dates And so now I’m stuck here at nearly twenty wondering what the hell a date is and why haven’t I been asked out on one.

Obviously for it to count as a date both people must know that there’s interest in pursuing something more. I mean, you can’t just go around considering every male-female hang out a date unless you’re a certain creeper who goes to my school. He considers everything a date. Like having dinner together in the cafeteria by accident. Total date, by his standards. But not by mine and most non-insane people’s. Therefore, for it to be a date it must be mutual interest.

This is also where it gets a little hazy, at least to me. I’m absolute crap at being able to tell whether someone is interested in me. Especially in college, where most of the guys I know are gay and the ones that aren’t probably haven’t come out yet. The few straight ones that come along tend to throw me off. Add to that the fact that I really cannot tell if someone is just being nice or flirting, and I’m utterly hopeless. I tend to assume everyone’s just being friendly and they’re not interested in me, no matter how blatant it might sometimes appear. This is presumably how I’ve gotten myself into a situation where I don’t think I’ve ever gone out on a date before.

Another thing that confuses me as to the “date” aspect is the whole guy-paying thing. None of my boyfriends ever paid for me. Mostly because we were in high school and broke but that was never an issue for me. I don’t care if I pay. Sometimes I even prefer it. But when a guy goes out of his way to pay for your ticket, is that a sign that you’re on a date?

Or have we just stopped calling it a date altogether? Is hanging out now equivalent to going out on a date? Is hooking up the same as dating? Did I completely miss some memo explaining when guys stopped asking girls out on dates and we began hanging out? Because if so, I’d really like to see a copy of that.

I wish we could go back to fourth grade, where you passed a note saying “Do you like me? Check yes or no” because that would make my life much simpler. Can anyone clarify this whole dating nonsense for me? Because from where I’m standing, it’s a mess.

Source

I am the absolute queen of unspoken ultimatums. I will decide on something and you are so screwed if you have no clue it’s going on. And nine times out of ten you won’t have any idea because I haven’t bothered to tell you.

I don’t tell my ultimatums. Not because I’m lazy, which I am but not so lazy that I can’t tell a single person something, but because I change my mind too much. I don’t want to share my ultimatum because chances are I’ll change it. So it’s not even technically an ultimatum. It’s more like a suggestion that never really gets suggested. Whoops.

I give them most frequently to the various guys I meet. They just don’t know about them.

One is that you have one week to contact me after our initial meeting. Yeah, I know all about the three-day rule but I understand shit happens. If, however, said boy fails to text/call/carrier pigeon me, his number gets deleted. I don’t like temptations. If I have your number and I don’t plan on using it, goodbye sweetie pie.

But you know what else I’m really really good at? Making excuses for people. I mean I’m awesome at making up excuses for people as to why he (let’s be honest here and not even pretend we’re not talking about a guy) failed to contact me.

Here are some of the excuses I will think up for you, if you somehow don’t talk to me:

1. He does have a life. He could be off teaching poor kids how to read. Or sky-diving in Zimbabwe. Or swimming in Hawaii.
2. He’s sick. Like deathly ill. Can’t even move his hand to lift the phone up a little. And forget pressing buttons. That’d be much too strenuous for his sickly limbs. The boy’s dying and I’m bitching about his failure to text? Wow. Way to suck, me.
3. Work. Just because I have my winter break completely off doesn’t mean everyone does. He’s out there working his ass off and I’m sitting on mine and I expect him to take time out of his busy, busy day to say hi?
4. He lives in the middle of nowhere and has zero cell service. Maybe his family is secretly Amish and he’s protesting the way his family lives by going to school in NYC but when he’s home he can’t be as open about it. He has to climb out the third floor window, hop onto a tree branch, and shimmy down the barn’s walls to even get out of the house without his strict maternal grandmother knowing. We haven’t even gotten to the part about how he has to go past the cow pond and walk through four miles of thick snow to get to a place that has even a modicum of cellphone connectivity. And he has to go uphill. Both ways.
5. He has a wife, four kids, and a dog named Sophie. Sure, he’s only in his early early twenties but some people start young. He’s at home and his wife and kids are nagging and Jesus Christ, can someone please let the dog out? Dammit he works all day and he comes home to crying kids and he told you to take the damn dog out, Billy! There’s no food on the table and the youngest has a dirty diaper and the bills need to be paid and his wife thinks she’s pregnant with number five because he’s Amish after all and I’m assuming they don’t believe in birth control.
6. His cellphone doesn’t work. He got it wet while snorkeling off the coast of Jamaica and he can’t get a replacement phone because, hello, he’s in Jamaica and do you know how much it costs to get a package delivered to there? I don’t but I’m sure it’s like ridiculously expensive. And if he did try to get in touch he’d have to pay massive international fees because he’d be roaming like no other.

See? Don’t bother contacting me and I’ll have a bunch of excuses for you at the ready. All you’ve got to do is pick and choose. I’m going with the Amish theory right now. Because you know those Amish people get really spotty cellphone service.

I think I might have to put something up like this in my room when I get back to the city.

More found here.

Found here.

I am a grammar nazi. I am a stickler for proper spelling and usage. I’m also pretty sure I’m going to make a mistake somewhere while typing this that will just be like a “hahaha, you suck” moment but that’s okay because I’ve discovered this:

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Image from here.

I’m writing this a few days before New Year’s, from a hotel room in Florida. I probably shouldn’t be thinking of resolutions right now due to the fact that I have to wake up lovely and early tomorrow morning but as far as this post is concerned, today’s date is Jan. 1, 2010. Wow. 2010. Hello, new decade.

Here are my resolutions.

1. I will refer to 2010 as “Twenty Ten”. None of this “Two thousand and ten” nonsense. I’m sorry, I’m lazy. “Twenty Ten” it is then.
2. I will not obsess over trivial things that will change no matter what. I wouldn’t say I wear my heart on my sleeve, mostly because I don’t trust people very much. I’m petrified of seeming vulnerable, which is something that hinders me much of the time.Then I obsess over crap like why people haven’t texted me back. Hello, who gives a shit?
3. I will say what’s on my mind.
4. I will have adventures. I’ve been doing alright so far with this, in large part due to the messed up luck P and I share when we venture outside of our building.
5. I will remain happy.

There you have them, my resolutions. Leave a link to yours in the comments or post them and I’ll put them up too!

More found here.