Could he BE more jealous??

I dated this kid for a very long time. Two and a half years long. We’ll call him…. Derek. I could share so many stories about how selfish he was and how still I can’t believe the things he said and did, but there’s too many. Also, I have this brilliant gift where I forget very quickly really dumb things people do to me. As long as a person says they are sorry and tells me my hair looks good, I am cast into a brief trance where I will forget why I was upset in the first place. As this is the case, I don’t have many stories to share. However, I do remember some instances that I had I paid more attention to, I would have been able to avoid a very long, drawn out relationship that I got all I needed out of in the first two months.

He would get jealous. Over everything. This guy clearly had some emotional and confidence issues. If I spent any time with another boy he would completely freak out.

I remember once we travelled to Hungary for a volleyball tournament. (It’s actually about twenty times less legit than it sounds). Twenty students from our high school flew from Istanbul to Budapest. I got to travel with my boyfriend… also less cool than it sounds. We all checked into the hotel and I went put my bags in my hotel room. I was followed by my friend, Jim whom I knew my boyfriend hated (because of jealousy). We were sitting on opposite sides of the room, on different beds, talking about the anticipated competitive days ahead. That was when Derek walks in. Usually I wouldn’t think anything about someone walking in on me talking with a boy, but when you’re in the situation where you know you’re in a jealous relationship, you get very anxious and nervous for no real reason. I froze, knowing some wrath was going to come upon us. Derek promptly responded by yelling (luckily crappy memory of horrible situations kicks in here). I thought he was going to hit Jim and I both. To my relief he just left as quick as he came and slammed the door. I was left completely confused. I should have ran from the relationship, but I didn’t.

This was a brief encounter that was repeated over and over again in our relationship. Jealousy is a horrible emotion. Nothing good ever comes from jealousy. Fact. Because of his multiple insecurities and my desire to be friends with everyone, yes, even boys, our relationship had oh so many issues. After the relationship I had with him I was able to realize I never wanted to be in one like that again. I needed freedom. I needed freedom to be in the same room as another boy without being consumed with guilt and fear. Might I suggest to avoid a boy that expels symptoms of being a jealous person. No girl should ever have to be in the situation where she is scared to have friends. I’m glad I learned, but you better believe it was the hard way. 

I hated moving

My eyes were sagging and my body felt like it was breaking every step I took as I lugged myself off the aircraft.  I had been traveling 36 hours from my small town of Custer, WA, population 200, to Istanbul, Turkey; estimated population of 17 million. It was no secret I really didn’t want to be there.  Growing up in Custer, I was perfectly comfortable. I knew every street, every tree, every silo within a 15 mile radius. Life was easy.  When my father had professed to me in the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant that he had accepted a position for FOX Television in Istanbul, Turkey, I was taken aback to where my gut felt it had buried itself beneath my thighs.  My dream of having a normal teenage experience was coming to a drastic halt. No more football games, no prom, no prep rallies. No more understanding.

The day before my mom and I had left, I had outdone myself.  My weight training coach had no mercy and pushed me further than I thought possible.  The touch of a finger pierced in my muscles. With a ten hour time difference between the two cities, I was not counting on catching rest any time soon, but rather dreading my jet lag to come.

We lifted our 45 lb bags into the Navigator at 3:00 in the morning of February 13, 2007. Our breath fogged the windows of the car as we said our goodbyes to our home and the wilderness in which we lived. I didn’t realize that the crisp, fresh air of the northwest was the last refreshing breath I would take in months.

Secondhand smoke.  Likely to be the most common fragrance of the city.  Stepping into Ataturk Airport, I could sense that the Marlboro and Camel smoke streams has long since seeped into and stained the walls.  Frebreeze could in no way cover the smell.  It is said that smell is sense that brings back the most memories. I’m inclined to agree. That horrid smell that would more often than not give me an asthma attack has now become a direct link to that first day in Turkey.  The smell brings me to the insecurities of adolescence in an unknown world. The first day of my new life.

While scrunching my nose I looked around me and began to grasp exactly how lonely this venture would be.  I was the only girl with a lighter complexion, lighter hair, lighter eyes.  The only girl speaking English.  Going through customs caused for intense confusion.  The lack of organization in this country was clear immediately.  The idea of cues and waiting was merely just that: an idea. I felt lost and suffocated instantly as I watched person after person, race after race, whiz by me to their designated area: Turkish or Other.  I walked to the “Other” category where I saw a dark man with black eyes, one eyebrow, and a blue uniform sitting in a cubical, glancing at passports, pressing his stamp to the pad and pounding onto a page.  I approached the cubical and silently handed him my blue American passport.  Without glancing up, he quickly found the only visa, stamped it, and slid it towards me. He was my first interaction, and as impersonal as it was, I felt once again lost and lonely.

At baggage claim, my mom and I struggled with our bags and rolled them to the lobby of the terminal where we met my father.  He greeted us with hugs and kisses and directed us to our vehicle. We were shortly introduced to our driver, Harun, whom I learned very quickly didn’t speak a lick of English.  We awkwardly shook hands and he wordlessly relieved us of our bags and stuffed them into our small BMW wherever he could find room. With our bags stuffed in the trunk and carryon’s in the back seat I was left with a spot on my father’s lap. My muscles ached as I strained to find a comfortable position. Harun stepped on the gas and we were off to our hotel located an hour north. 

Culture shock filled my soul as we swerved in and out of transit, compact, and motorized vehicles.  He used the car horn more frequently than Americans use blinkers, warning traffic of our location. There were no white and yellow lines to indicate where law allows your car to be, but rather colorful suggestions on black concrete for our decoration or enjoyment. It was every man for himself as he impatiently sped to his various locations. What shocked me was the clear lack of rudeness or hostility, but rather the notion that this was how it had been for years.  Chaos was what they were used to.

We passed building after building.  Not many were finished, or looked as if they were in the process of being finished. They had been abandoned.  We passed people on the highway with netted bags desperately trying to sell water, tissues, phone chargers, anything to bring food on their tables- or more likely, alcohol and cigarettes. Every building was yellow or orange. Nothing was complete. Nothing confused me more.

Tears filled my eyes as I realized that this was to be my home indefinitely. Sitting on my father’s lap in that very enclosed space, I sobbed. And I sobbed.  I had hit a wall with my exhaustion and feeling as uncomfortable emotionally as I had been physically, I just could not hold it in. I now knew three people within thousands of miles, and one of them I would never be able to have a full conversation with. Nothing was familiar.  I knew it would be long before I saw a recognizable face or location.  I wanted my home.  I wanted the comfort of my friends.  I wanted my bed.  As I wetted my face I noticed my dad beneath me talking into his blackberry completely immersed in his business until my uncontrollable sobs were enough for him to rain check his phone call.  He attempted to calm my fears and insecurities, but I was having none of it.  It was almost as if I was content with my misery. I caught the eye of my driver and I could only imagine his bewilderment as this strange American teenager was having a breakdown only minutes after knowing her.

Through my emotional trauma, the car continued to swerve in and out of traffic as we came closer to our destination.  I noted the obvious shortcuts he took down alleyways and cobblestone one-way streets filled with handcarts, gypsies, and ragged windows with Turkish rugs hanging out to dry.  I stared through the windshield and noticed the foreign attire and the vacancy of women.  Men were everywhere. Men of every age, linking arms strolling with cigarettes in their mouths, possibly to work, but not likely. The occasional woman I did see tended to surprise me with either a colorful headscarf tied neatly around her hair, or a very metropolitan black get-up with each article of clothing never under the three figures.  I continued to cry as I watched the world taunt me of my loneliness. My eyes swelled through the fatigue and salt water. I felt ignorant and terrified. The comfort of my dad’s arms would no sooner calm me than a herd of elephants.

My father narrated as we drove, pointing out palaces, embassies, and Islam mosques. My ears were fuzzy as he spoke. I could only focus on myself, my selfish self.  The car sharply turned right and we drove down a cobblestone path to the hotel Radisson where we were to stay.

 Harun shifted the car to park, and no sooner men in black suits opened our doors and treated us as they would the first family. It would have been perfect if I had allowed myself to enjoy it.  I had never been anywhere as glamorous.  The cream colored walls, retro lighting and Mont Blanc boutique beckoned me to claim happiness. I refused it, convincing myself I wouldn’t be comfortable again until I had reached American soil.  I was staying in a suite by myself and was escorted by a smiley Turkish man to my room.  Even in my given state, I had to admit the room was gorgeous. The lighting was impeccable, the bathroom was luxurious. This however, was mostly overshadowed by my great distaste for the situation.  The man left me alone to my misery.  I dragged my legs to the window and lifted the satin pearl colored curtain. As light streamed in I starred at the sight.  The sun was shining, the sky was a clear blue. Ahead of me I looked in awe at the beautiful, intangible Bospherous separating the European world with the Asian.  This intersection of the Mediterranean and Black Sea contained colors I didn’t know existed. The blues and greens of the water contrasted with the lush hills behind holding white and orange colored homes, certainly millions of dollars in value. Through my tears I saw a world that I never imagined. Over my thoughts and the distance I heard a religious call to prayer.  The melodic arrangement filled my heart with peace.  The uniqueness of this sound gave me the curiosity and desire to know more.  This place I had only minutes ago despised, was now somewhere I couldn’t wait to learn more about. 

This is the near the view from the window. Pretty fantastic. 

At this moment I saw Istanbul for what it was.  I saw a place where history began, where Christianity was founded. The peace that I had been searching for for months was there because of religious song. A religion I didn’t and never would believe in. What I felt was the serenity of the idea of living in an area as beautiful as this.  In a part of the world where I could gain understanding of people and cultures drastically contrasting with my own.  I was blessed with the peace I never thought I would have in merely an instant.

To this day I look back on that moment and feel that confusing yet reassuring feeling that everything was going to be fine. More than fine. My time there was unlike anything I had ever experienced and was more rewarding than I had perceived during my stay. That day was a whirlwind of emotion and a time of contrasting feelings. In that brief moment of approximately thirty seconds, my views began to change and my soul was lifted.  I was at peace. 

I can’t imagine being less tactful

I wish I could forget the number of times I have said something I desperately wanted to take back right away. I am a number of things, but I am in way even slightly tactful.  Sometimes I am actually amazed at my lack of poise in situations. I could tell story upon story of my incapability to keep my mouth shut. I’ll tell of one time in particular. It was a situation I could absolutely not recover from.

I have a dear friend named Holly. She’s a great person. She would do anything for anyone and cares more about others than she has ever cared about herself. Holly also scares me… a little bit. Her emotions run on and off as quickly as a light switch. Saying the wrong thing could lead to a very intense chastising I’m never in the mood for and very often I am left mystified, confused and bewildered. At this point in time I had felt I had done rather well with Holly, and I hadn’t offended her in months. I was starting to feel more at ease with her and felt less as if I was walking on eggshells around her.

One Saturday I met up with Holly and her twin sister Alyssa at the mall to do a bit of shopping. I met them at Delia’s and arrived as Holly was in the changing room. I chatted with Alyssa as we waited for Holly to model her clothes. As she came out of the changing room, we did what girls always do and gave our opinions on the outfit. Thumbs up, thumbs down, yes, no’s.

Her shirt was a cute floral, not worth any more than ten dollars. Her pants however had that “destroyed” look about them. Except they weren’t so much destroyed as they were completely demolished. Holes were everywhere. She looked like she had encountered a small natural disaster on her way to the mall. Being one to never smother my honesty, openly acknowledged the hideousness of the pants.

“No. No. Absolutely not. Do not get the pants. Those look absolutely awful.” I did not beat around the bush. But that’s when I saw her face change… And I glanced at Alyssa to see her eyes widen. I realized at that moment what I had done.

“Those are the pants she wore here…” Alyssa said. Oh no.

Holly stormed back to the stall and slammed the door.

This was one of those situations that if I was watching, I could come up with a million ways to recover. In the moment however, my mind was blank. I’m starting to understand Chandler on FRIENDS when he tells the eight year old boy that he’s adopted before his parents had told him. I remember the first time I watched it, I was screaming at the TV. “SAY YOU WERE JOKING. SAY YOU WERE LYING.” He didn’t though. He couldn’t recover. And I never understood why… until this moment.

I would like to think I have learned to pay more attention to my surroundings. I have a ways to go however… I actually think this is something I was born with. 

I bombed a job interview

 I spent a good portion of my time Fall semester trying to find an internship. I did my best to apply anywhere and everywhere. I finally did what I was advised by so many which was to use my resources and do some networking. My father had worked very closely with a man I knew was in close relation with KSL, a news station in Salt Lake City.  I used this as an opportunity and was pleased to see that I would receive an interview.

I got a phone call from a receptionist where she asked if I could come to Salt Lake the next day for a personal interview. I consented. She continued to tell me the interviewing process. My mouth separated slightly and my eyes glazed over as I transfixed on the wall. Apparently it was protocol for KSL interviews to be first, a current events quiz, followed by a writing portion and then finally the actual interview. The process was expected to take approximately two hours. Two hours. 2. My mind clouded as I realized I knew almost nothing about what was going on in the world, United States, anywhere. I wasn’t all too concerned about the written portion, but I knew if I didn’t want to look like a complete moron I had to start studying, and start studying now. 

I spent the next 24 hours studying everything about what was going on in the world that day, week, last two weeks, the weeks to come. I felt like I knew mostly everything and availed every opportunity to brush up on my current events. I spoke with friends to nail the actual interview portion of the evening and felt fairly confident.

This is the shirt I decided to wear. Not so bad
right? Wish my mom came with me.

I asked my roommate and one of my best friends Kai to join me on my journey south as to help me stay calm and have some pleasant company. She helped me pick out my “smart” yet “I’m still me” interview outfit. I settled on a gold shirt, grey skirt, purple heels and red purse. It sounds like a mess of colors and silly when I write it, but I promise I looked smart and like Sarah. I felt confident and kept telling myself, “How bad could it really be?” HA. I was in for it.

After quite the journey and being vastly confused as to where the building was, I finally found where the interview was to take place. I sat and waited anxously for my interviewer to arrive. And she did.

The interviewer. Name: Keri. Occupation: Pyschotic. Hair color: Red. Sweet. When she called me back, she looked at my purse like I was an idiot. Sorry I have to put my keys somewhere and don’t own a briefcase full of random documents. However it starts out fine. I’m feeling confident.

This is when she tells me she’s going to quiz me on politics. Whakk. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT POLITICS. I don’t even know the basics. I don’t know what Secretary of State means. I don’t know what the Supreme Court means. Checks and balances have no meaning to me other than a pocket book and beams. I was in such trouble.

She proceeded to ask me question after question to do with the United States government. World leaders. U.S. political leaders. With exception to one or two times I just looked at her blankly. My eyes must have looked like tennis balls. I would then either mutter, “I dunno,” or muster some sort of uncomfortable laugh and then say, “I dunno,” or just exhale loudly and then just shake my head. Things were starting off great.

When things are going so horrible for me, my mind does this weird thing where it gives up before I do. This happens in every aspect. If I start eating a little junk food somewhere inside I say, “What’s the point,” and end up eating the equivalent of a small human being. Or when I’m getting a low grade in a class, I get to a point where I realize I cannot recover and I simply desist trying. Well… I had given up after a million “….I’m not sure”’s, and I could feel my temperature rising and my nervous habits seeping into the conversation.

I made the mistake of telling her my father worked in Afghanistan. When she asked me who Karzai was, I froze. Karzai. Why did I feel I had heard that name so many times?? I sat in disbelief that I knew absolutely nothing. I felt like dying was the only real solution to my situation. Instead of pulling a “Borne” and trying to kill myself with a pen, I resorted to my habit where I get extremely uncomfortable to peal my nails. At this point, my nails were bleeding. Actually bleeding. WHY AM I NOT JOKING.

Her reactions were the exact opposite of reassuring as she continued she snort, shake her head and raise her eyebrows. In addition to my ridiculous lack of knowledge, there was a very real personality conflict that could in no way be denied.

I had come to the realization there was no way I was going to be able to salvage this interview. There was no possible way. There was no way that every other intern they interviewed knew as little I did. Actually impossible. However, she proceeded to lead me to a different room where I was to do the writing portion of the interview.

She explained how the process was going to take place. I couldn’t tell you what I was supposed to do now. I couldn’t then. My mind raced as I realized I actually had no idea what was going on. It sounded like this:

“First you will approach the Gate of Salvation. At the gate you will be approached by Intreped the Unicorn who will then lead you to the Bridge of a Thousand Tears. At the Bridge you will be asked five questions, and you must answer each ending in a preposition. After you cross the bridge you will be directed to the Golden Cape where you will knock on the Blue Boulder six times…..” and so on.

I WAS SO CONFUSED.

I sat down and realized right there that the writing portion was going to take me at least an hour. But I wrote away. This is where things start to slightly change. At this point, I absolutely knew there was no way I was going to get this internship. No way. So I availed this as an opportunity to do one of my favorite things. And write. Even with the knowledge that me writing these stories would amount to nothing, I knew I was enjoying myself. At that moment I realized what I enjoyed more than almost anything was just that: writing. Time: not wasted.

After a solid hour I was directed to find my interviewer to tell her I was finished and then proceed to the actual interview portion of the…. “Experience” I’ll call it.

I found her sitting talking with one of her colleagues. I waited her to finish her conversation and then went to tell her I was finished. “Connie. Connie? Connie??” No response. “Connie?” I said a bit louder.

“You mean Keri?” she responded.

Yup. Yup. I meant Keri. How badly do I wish I was joking right now. I’m not. I just laughed and said, “I don’t know what to say.” She led me to the Exit.  I thanked her for her time and headed for my car. I immediately pulled out my phone and called my mom.

Okay. Now, this was such a horrifying experience. The only way it could have been worse was if I shot her. I am still in disbelief over how horrible it went. Can you believe I’m grateful it happened? I can. I found out that day my passion lied with writing. And let’s be honest. Ridiculous experiences make for funny stories. And what can you call this other than ridiculous. Oh Connie. Sorry I still call you Connie. 

I care more about how much I eat than I care about almost anything.

Having an eating disorder happens kind of sneakily. It happens fairly slow. Maybe a really thin friend says she’s fat. Maybe a guy friend in a joking way pinches your tummy. Maybe you watch too many TV shows with girls that weigh 100 lbs and are 5’10”. There are many factors that contribute to a girl taking the steps to where she becomes obsessed with her weight.

In my situation, it began with gaining my freshman fifteen. This was in effect to having Taco Bell twice a day for multiple semesters in a row and eating anything I wanted in between, kidding myself that playing volleyball for 15 minutes every two days would burn off the calories. I didn’t feel good about myself nor did I feel comfortable with how I looked. One day I decided this needed to change. I didn’t think much about what I was eating, but realized it was time to hit the treadmill.

And so it began. I would run a mile a day. The feeling was unlike one I had ever experienced because I had never put myself in a situation where I would gerbil run for any time at all.

After two weeks of running a mile, the time went up to a mile and a half. I felt pretty good that I had made a goal and stuck so faithfully to it.

The mile and half went to two miles. I would increase my speed every week as well, and I could feel myself becoming more reliant on my exercise everyday.

I became addicted to the endorphins and counted on my workout to relieve any stress I was experiencing. It didn’t seem to be a problem at all, and at first it was a healthy lifestyle decision that I knew was keeping me from going crazy and gaining weight during college.

Things started to progressively become more of an addiction. I would challenge myself to see how long I could go without eating that day. I would start to feel anxious until I had worked out. By the winter of age 20, my days revolved around my workout schedule rather than my running working around me. I was dedicated without a doubt, but it was slowly creeping into an obsession.

The Fall of that same year I started to comprehend that I was adapting a sort of lifestyle I had always claimed to despise. My sisters growing up struggled with eating and exercise disorders since they turned 15. I was six at the time and unaware of the complexities of such a disorder. Growing up I watched and observed their habits and never saw myself getting close to a situation where I would feel the same about my body. I had never understood what drove them to such great lengths to look a certain way. My understanding quickly grew, and my sympathy for them turned into full on empathy.

That Fall semester my habits seemed to further solidify themselves. I wouldn’t eat until about 5:00 PM. I would feel huge if I ate toast for breakfast or cereal for lunch. I would have a few Wheat Thins or green grapes and then hit the gym. I would then go on the elliptical or treadmill for 50 minutes. In the evening I would come home, my roommate would make muddie buddies, I would gorge until I felt physically ill and then go to bed. I could feel myself feeling anxious as I counted the calories in my mind. I would drift to sleep as my mind would be consumed of thoughts of running my calories off and of how I’ll eat “better” the next day—better meaning less. Much less.

I realized very slowing that my day was being controlled by what I would eat, what time I could workout and how long I would do so. My eating and workout habits took precedence over almost everything else. It seemed to control my life more than anything else.  Social activities would be put on the back burner. Sleep was instantly sacrificed. Homework would come after I finished running. I recalled how my sisters allowed this same problem dictate simple choices they made. They would only do things that worked according to their workout schedule. They wouldn’t be able to function until they had ran that day. I realized I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me, and I saw where this was going.

I’m glad I realized the problem I was beginning to have before it controlled my life as much as it could have.  It’s an issue most girls face at one time or another. It’s a struggle I seem to still have and will likely have for a very long time. Many girls feel they are fat simply due to the fact their thighs touch. I am such a girl.

The odds are any girl has felt they were too fat at some point. We’re all faced with insecurities and this is one many girls share. I personally try to remember what I find more important and try to understand that I don’t benefit from any negative thoughts having to do with my body or myself. Instead, I try to remember that everyday I have a body that I am blessed with. I am able to walk, I can run, I can function. This is a blessing in itself I don’t thank the Lord enough for. We can make choices in life. We can decide to embrace what we are given, or focus on what we think we are missing.

As I made an effort to continuously remind myself of these things, I started to change. My priorities shaped into what I knew was more important rather than what I the world thought. Making the conscience effort to be positive and happy was one of the best decisions I’ve made. As the mind can only think of one thing at once, I made the effort to truly drown my mind into thoughts that encouraged me rather than tore me down.  If you struggle with the same, make the choice now to love your body for what it is and embrace the physical elements we were all blessed with.

I’m dating someone more emotional than the average menstruating female.

Oops I did this like five times. It’s a trap really. Seemingly romantic Romeo’s come in a package with sensitive psycho’s. This is the pattern: At first he seems super romantic and charming. In my experience, he wants to be exclusive really fast. The boy will tell you he’s “never felt this way before” after a couple of weeks. He’ll tell you things he’s claimed he’s never told anyone else within a few dates. Maybe he’ll even cry. (That’s always fun and not at all awkward. Oh wait.) But that’s the thing. These “men” have the ability to make a girl feel special and “needed” because of their emotional state. It’s fine to be needed—in fact it feels rather nice. However, needy boys are like black holes. Pretty interesting on the outside, but will suck you in and destroy you within a short period of time.

I’ve had so many experiences with this, it’s hard to pick just one. I’ll just go with a few boys that gave me clear warning signs from the start that I ignored out of pity or boredom.

First off: Michael. Oh GOSH. A book could be written about this kid. I met him at the peek of my skewed decision making capabilities—right after high school. When I first met this guy we “made eyes” at some social function. The kid literally moved his glasses with his fingers to the bottom of his nose, looked me up and down and motioned me over to him with his pointer finger. Okay, warning number one. He was attractive though. Dark hair. Dressed like an Abercrombie model. Thin, but looked rather fit. I was attracted to him from the get-go. Dang. We had a short get to know you conversation and that was that.

Later I got reacquainted with him. Not well… at all. However I made it a conscientious goal to kiss him before I was to take off for college. Why? Couldn’t really tell you. Something about kissing someone I knew I would have no relationship or very possibly friendship made me laugh. So I did. It was fun.

Well, I didn’t get exactly what I was looking for. He ended up being an actually very interesting guy. He would say the sweetest things and we could talk very easily. However, the kid ended up blowing up my phone.  He wanted to commit after a few phone conversations and a brief but painful visit to me from him at the university I was attending. Two states away. I spent the weekend in my room throwing a stress ball against the wall pretending to do homework as a way to not spend time with him.  I’m afraid he did catch on somewhat.

My poor decision making skills didn’t end there. Each time I would visit home I would make a habit of kissing the guy. This would be followed by some numerous texts and phone calls often stating he misses me as well as something about me playing with his mind. He actually said the words, “You don’t respect me.” Well, DUH. There was zero part of me that respected him. I’m not sure if he was waiting for a defense or a, “Of course I respect you, Michael.” If he was, oops. I would then go to school and ignore nearly every text and dodge every phone call from him. After multiple repeats of this, it was time to let him be. Never again could I handle a whiney conversation with that boy.

Too bad he was followed by multiple other “men” that scarred my perception of the male world. Karl was likely the most fun. And by fun I mean repeatedly hitting my head against a grand piano. There are a number of things, not even looking back—I realized it while we were dating, that were absolutely not okay. He was an alpha male. Always had to take the lead. As girls, we subconsciously find this attractive, but it is key to pay attention to whether they are a natural born leader, or simply controlling. Oh and he shaved his legs. And arms. And chest. And I’m dying.

He too wanted commitment out of me at an uncomfortable speed. He too was attractive. He too said things that made me feel good about myself. He too cried when I ended things after two weeks. When a boy cries, instead of listening to my impulse to run away as fast as I can, I feel for him and have stupid thoughts like, “Oh, he must really care about me if he’s feeling this way.” Nope. In fact, if he’s crying as quickly as this, the odds are he’s only thinking of himself. Also, he’s a pansy.

Here we are... Decided to blurr the face out of courtesy.

The thing is, they don’t know you. People make up the term “connection” or “chemistry” when stating they fall for someone really hard, really fast. This in all actuality is code for attraction or lust. Therefore, they don’t know what your worst nightmare was growing up as a kid, but rather the way your booty moves when you walk.  Boys that cling on and spill their hearts within no time are in fact needy and the WORST.  Don’t confuse compassion and emotionality. They’re about as interchangeable as cell phones and high heels. One connects you to people and one is eventually extremely painful.  

There is an unfortunate correlation between emotional boys and everything bad. More often than not, they will also be controlling. And them being controlling will be in effect to them being super insecure.

Take Karl. One evening we had planned on going to get ice cream. We had made these “major plans” about two hours prior to the date. Minutes before (Yes, my mistake it was minutes before), I was told it was my roommate’s birthday and that the apartment was going to see a cheap movie with her. Being a normal human, I think, “Oh, Karl would be fine if I met up with him later, or if I just invited him to the movie instead of getting ice cream.” I cannot imagine being more wrong. He was not fine with it. Not only would he not come to the movie, (which was cheaper than stupid dairy) but he said he didn’t want to see me later because he was so upset. He said we could either go to get ice cream or not hang out at all.

Now, what I would like to say happened, was I told him to “Suck it,” and went to the movie with my roommates, had a sweet night, and got ice cream with some hotter, more manly guy. But… what actually happened was I went to the movie. Stayed for ten minutes. Was so upset, mad and anxious, I left the theater and went home to do homework.

My biggest mistake was allowing his controlling, emotional personality to manipulate me in wasting a potential really good evening. This could have all been avoided if I had listened to my natural instincts and paid attention to the classic warning signs. Romantic, sweet, sensitive, and rash commitment seeking. Peuuuke. Not only will these boys exhaust you, but they will also make you feel guilty for exhaling. Steer clear. Learn from me. 

I'm dating someone I hate

This actually happens way more than it should. For me, it was Kevin. First of all, his name was Kevin. The same name of that huge colorful bird off “Up”, and my friends and I couldn’t let it go. As a result, every time we saw him, or basically whenever he said anything, we would scream, “Kevin’s a girl!” (If you haven’t seen the film, this likely makes no sense to you. See it. It’s a great flick.) I met Kev on a blind date. During that spring semester a memo went around BYU-Idaho stating, “Sarah can’t find a date on her own, so please PLEASE set her up.” Or at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened because I nearly went into double digits with the number of blind dates I went on that semester. Some were fine, a couple sucked. This one was… interesting. I thought Kev was cute. Another blonde, but fairly attractive. His immediate red flags included a consistent flat-billed hat he insisted on wearing with thick-brimmed glasses. A drastic combo I to this day, do not understand.

The date started rather bizarre. I had a very strange overwhelming desire to make fun of this kid. And I did. He dished it right back, which I almost enjoyed. I would say something about his flat-billed hat, and he would comment on my height. (How original). We cooked dinner and sat around playing guitar. I could tell right away he was a one-trick pony and could only play one song, and it was mediocre. I ignored this because… well. I was desperate. And I had no other boys on the horizon. As he left he asked for my number and we hugged. I checked my Facebook minutes later and saw a friend request from one “Kevin” paired with an eager courtesy text. Wow.

One of the biggest mistakes overlooked in this situation was he was in my ward. I had to see him the next day.  And the next Sunday. And the Sunday after that. I went to church and there he was. He came up to me after the first block and I was strangely confused why we were talking. I muttered something about a bathroom and left in seconds. Something about this kid didn’t settle with me. And I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But I found out fairly quickly what that stemmed from. Multiple reasons.

Kevin’s scent did not agree with me. It was a mix of must, and strange body odor I can’t seem describe. Inhaling his indescribable musk caused my body to have some sort of reaction I can only express as a gag-reflex.  I made a habit of limiting my breath intake whenever I was around him. Reasonable compromise. He smells bad, I don’t inhale.

I’ve always thought emoticons were gay. I always have. But my intense disliking toward them was officially established after I received texts from Kevin. So many smiley faces. There is NO WAY anyone could ever be that happy. “Hey! :) What’s up? :):) I’m gay. :)” Wish there was exaggeration involved. Occasionally he would throw a winky face in there for good measure.

He wasn’t a nice kid. Every time I spoke I could see his mind thinking about what he could say next and how he could turn the conversation into something about himself. He was fairly rude and lacked manners. Not once did he open the door for me, pay for me, ask anything about myself or see how I was doing. I doubt he could tell you what I was studying in school, my opinions on anything, or what state I was from. I knew however that he was studying paramedics, had a life long dream of becoming a firefighter, loved the Lakers and was from LA. At least someone liked listening to him talk. Himself.

He did a number of things that would raise anyone’s eyebrows. During our continuing habitual hangouts, even if I hadn’t spoken to him all day, I would come home and find this boy laying (yes, laying) on my couch. Sometimes asleep, sometimes watching TV. I would come in, glance at him and go straight to my bedroom. I would then call or text a friend in utter confusion as to why this grown person found it a social norm to take a cat nap on my couch without asking, or saying anything first. Confused. I was SO confused. I’m not even making this up.

There’s more.

One day I was hanging out with two of my best friends at the park and invited him to come play with us. When he came, he was holding a rather large soft drink I assumed was for him, or possibly me. As he approached us, he stretched out his hand and extended the drink towards my friend Emma. We all looked at each other in confusion as he then explained he heard she had been broken up with and wanted to cheer her up. Now, this might sound sweet or considerate or whatever, but it wasn’t. It was strange. He had spoken to my friend a couple times and each time she was very clear that his personality bothered her. It didn’t make sense.

Despite his scent, consistent inviting himself over and hitting on my friend, I continued to spend time with him. I think it was a game to see how long he would stick around when I made so much fun of him. He was a trooper, I’ll give him that. I’m still confused why he stayed around as long as he did. Not as confused as I am why I did though.

I actually kissed him. I look back and think, “How did that happen?” Still can’t really explain it, but in a nutshell this is what took place: We were sitting on a couch watching “Alice in Wonderland” and were accompanied my best friend Christina.  We were snuggling and she was a couple feet over on the same couch. While Johnny Depp was speaking to the caterpillar, Christina started to dose off. That was when Kev thought it would be a great idea to start nuzzling my neck. I started to giggle because, uh, what else can you really do.  And then he wouldn’t stop. All I was thinking was how I could get him to quit it.  Being desperate to have his lips anywhere but on my neck, I kissed him. It was one of those kisses where I couldn’t wait to take a shower after. I wanted to pressure wash my mouth with Scope. It was creepy and weird. I’m no expert on kissing, but I knew it felt wrong. So I shut that down real quick and stared back at the TV. Being frazzled and regretting that desperate act excessively, I looked at my phone to check the time. It was 11:30. Curfew was 12:00, and spending another half hour with this kid sounded like a horrible idea. I then suggested I take him home right away. 

I dropped him off at his apartment and he kind of lingered in my vehicle. I looked at him straight in the eye and quickly said, “Night, Kev.” He leaned in and I turned my head. I guess I could have been nicer. Oops.

Sadly it didn’t end there. I would see him periodically. Mostly on my couch stinking up my living room and blowing up my TV bill. We wouldn’t talk a ton but when I did get desperate and my two best friends were hanging out with their boyfriends, I swallowed some pride (which I mostly had zero of after the “Alice” incident) and hung out with Kev. Looking back, spending the night with Hulu and a box of Oreos would have been a much better use of my time.  

It’s not like I sit here thinking I’m great and he is lame. In fact, I would be shocked if he enjoyed his time with me too. There is just no way that one of us could have been enjoying ourselves while the other hated everything as much as I did. I just consider myself lucky.  I wasted plenty of time I could have spent collecting stamps or eating Taco Bell, but I got experience out of it. I would never let myself get that desperate again. Bottom line: Don’t date someone you can’t stand to be around. If everything he says you disagree with, or smelling him makes you want to vomit, stop. Just stop. But if you are as dumb as me, laugh at it later.