Dear Matthew ... you suck!

You know in those American highschool movies there’s that dorky, chubby girl who is the school loser and she has a zit ridden face and bad hair and she wears glasses and dresses badly and she is in love with the school jock – usually the quarterback.
And because she’s in love with him she buys him gifts and does his algebra homework.
And he in return makes fun of her and laughs at her with his friends.
Finally when she wakes up and realises what an ass he is and what a fool she has been her little heart is crushed to pieces.

That’s how I feel right now.  I am that girl.  And I am ashamed and embarrassed and totally amazed that at 30 something I can still feel like a foolish 11 year old.

Which leads into the story of Matthew, the first boy I ever liked.

Matthew was the typical cute athletic guy but with a shy side.  He also seemed like a nice boy from what I remember.

I was a bit of a tomboy growing up and I used to hang out with one of his friends who lived on my street.  We had a vacant block of land across the road and me and all the boys (there were no other girls on my street) used to ride our BMX bikes around the block.  We built jumps and would tear around the track all weekend.

I also used to take dance classes and for a while his older sister was in one of my classes.
One day, stupidly, I told her I liked her brother.
And she told him.
And he told his friends.
And they laughed at me.
And I was devastated.
But I pretended to be tough. Like the tap dancing, BMX riding tomboy I was.

You see I was not the popular girl.
I was not the pretty girl.
I was kind of quiet.
And I was a little bit funny.
And chubby.
Let’s just say I really liked the library.
Does that explain it all?

So there I was around 11 years old.  Feeling like an idiot.  And I remember thinking I don’t want to feel this way again.  I don’t like feeling vulnerable and hurt.  I don’t want people to make fun of me or to laugh at me (unless of course I am the one intending to make them laugh).  And I think that’s the moment I decided that love wasn’t for me.

I started building up a barrier and stopped finding boys and subsequently men attractive.  Because if I didn’t find them attractive or was attracted to them then they didn’t have an opportunity to reject me because I was never letting myself get in the position to be rejected.
Smart hey?!

As a girl I never remember pretending to be married or having babies.  I played shop, or Avon lady, or megastar and I would sing into my deodorant bottle in front of the mirror.
And now I’m older the other girls aren’t pretending to be married or having babies, they actually are.  And I’m still pretending that I’m a megastar. 
They seem to have dreams of having babies and long married lives with gorgeous husbands and living near their parents, and I dream of traveling the globe and changing the way people think.  Of making a documentary so amazing that it gets huge accolades at Sundance Film Festival.

But I know that I focus on the travel and the documentary because they are things that I can make happen.
I can’t make someone fall in love with me.

For me, opening myself up for rejection is probably the hardest thing I’ve had to learn to do.
We all have fears and hang ups, I’m no different to anyone else.
I’ve had horrible things happen to me and people, and at times men, have been quite hurtful to me.
But I felt like I’d gotten to that stage in my life where I thought that I had some really awesome things to offer someone.

So, how come I feel like I did when I was 11 years old being laughed at by Matthew and his friends?
How can a man who I thought was actually really cool be mean to me?
And why on one hand did he say he liked me and wanted me and then on the other hand didn’t show that he wanted me or cared about me.

And I’m not writing this for all you girls to jump up and tell me that I’m gorgeous and I deserve someone better and that there’s an amazing guy out there for me.
That’s not what this is about.
That’s not what I want right now.
That’s NOT going to make me feel better.

This guy, with all his faults and his hang-ups about women, was actually really lovely.  Underneath his bullshit there was depth and intelligence.  And I’m sad that I didn’t get to know him more, if only to find out that he truly is an asshole (like my friend says he is) and be done with him completely.

Instead of feeling like I do now … which is a mixture of the 11 year old and the dorky high school girl.

The only thing I am 100% certain on right now is that my future has a lot of singing into my deodorant bottle.  Hell, I may even bust out my tap shoes.

Love Slut

I am a love slut.

And by that I mean I love to tell people I love them.

I don’t think people say it enough.

I say it a lot at work.

Which is weird, I know.

But I’m hoping it’s just one of the many reasons why people like me.  

And put up with my quirkiness.

I also hug a lot.

And touch bottoms.

And rub stomachs.

All weird, work inappropriate and at times a little awkward.

I’m not telling people I love them so that they’ll say it back to me.  I just hope that it makes them feel cared for.

And when I run across the office to hug someone I don’t expect them to do the same to me.

But it takes two people to hug!

And they may try and resist it at the start but at the end they’re totally into the hug.

I even tell men I work with that I love them.

And it’s not me being gross or sexual, it’s me appreciating that some of the men I work with are also very awesome.

In fact I love one man so much that I want to get a t-shirt made up with “I love (and then his name)”.

This week I have been telling one of the women I work with that I love her a lot.  Because I do.  She is quirky and odd and sweet and a hell of a hard worker.

She’s not so much a hugger like me but she will sneak up to me and start massaging my shoulders to get all the tension out.  Or she’ll call me ‘lovely’.  That’s her way of showing love.

Everybody has their own way of showing love.

When I was at the pub watching the Superbowl on Sunday my friends husband (who had organised the event) said to me, “Shannan I can’t believe you came to watch when you know nothing about American football”.  He said, “When I sent the email out you responded so quickly with a yes”.  “Why did you respond so quickly?”.

And I just smiled and said “Because I love you”.

He had a grin a mile wide!

I called my Dad on the way home tonight.  We haven’t spoken for a couple of weeks.

I always tell him that I love him before I hang up.

Sometimes when I tell him he makes a joke of it and says “everybody loves your Dad”.  And I just roll my eyes.

But normally I just tell him and know that he won’t say it back, but that’s ok because I know that he really does love me.

But tonight ... Tonight he told me he loved me too.

And it really does feel great.

So I’ll continue being a love slut.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Love you!

Friday gossip, bum smacks & football

I shared gossip today.

Normally I really do try and stay out of gossip.  Ok even as I’m typing that I know that’s not true, I’m human and a girl so I really do love hearing the inside scoop.

What I’ve realised over the years is that people love to tell me things.  They really love to confide in me.

When I was young my Mom used to be the person I told all my friends secret details to.  But as she’s not here any more and I’m older I don’t always need someone to tell but I admit that my Dad hears more and more of the details about my friends lives than he ever has before.  I always know I’ve got Dad intrigued in a good story when just after I’ve shared the juicy part of the story with him I pause and I wait for him to say “Is that right?”.  He always says it and I know when he’s going to say it and I love it!  Perhaps that’s a little sick of me.

Dad is not so good at sharing gossip with me though.  He forgets most of the things that people tell him and his hearing is not so good so often people tell him things and he can’t hear them anyway.  He did call me the other day and I got excited but it was only to ask me where the stapler was.  Yes, he called me from Australia to ask if I knew where his stapler was.  The sad thing was one of my suggestions was correct.

I’m also bad at asking questions when others wouldn’t.  I LOVE to know details about people.  And not to just know but because I’m honestly intrigued about peoples lives and their stories.

My ex-boss was fantastic.  I would have hilarious conversations with him.  He would always tell me a little bit too much of the confidential work details, just enough for me to try and read between the lines and figure out what might be happening.

One day I sat with him and peppered him with questions about his past, what happened in his relationships, what went wrong.  And he answered it all.  And at the end of it he said “Shannan, if it sounds suss, it’s suss”.  That coming from a man who is on his 3rd marriage ... I trust what he says.

The girls I worked with were surprised that he would share some of his personal information with me.  But I loved that about him.  Unfortunately he left where I work and I don’t get to see him every day.  I miss seeing him, I miss his pink shirts and I miss his funny Dad jokes and his advice of not to become an ex-wife (no problem there!).

But I once went out on a date with a guy who told me that you can’t just ask a guy questions, that they hate that.  Well how the hell are you meant to find out anything about each other?  “It’s meant to flow” he said ... So I just let the beer flow and the alcohol did the talking.  I guess it went well.

It’s been a good day today.  Obviously being Friday is a good start, then the gossip helped.  I blew a kiss to a co-worker to help him feel better (which I’m certain has helped him) and I patted two girls on the bottom.  Ahhh, I haven’t explained my obsession with the bum smack.  I don’t know when it started, actually I do.  It started at a job I worked in 2003 and has continued on and off over the years.  I really am quite fond of a bit of a bum smack, just for encouragement and to be a bit sassy.  The girls at work seem to really appreciate it - either that or they’re all lodging formal sexual harassment cases with the HR department.  But I always say if you’re going to go out you might as well go out with a bang (or a bum smack).

I’m heading to the mountains for a day trip tomorrow, I’m hoping to test out my new camera and hopefully get some pics of snow and gorgeousness.  I’m also going to try snowshoeing for the first time (snowshoeing = tennis rackets on feet) and then there’s the Super Bowl on Sunday.

I know absolutely NOTHING about American football but when I received the invitation and the event was being held at a pub, well that was enough for me to RSVP a big fat YES.  Perhaps I’ll learn something about gridiron (is that the word?) but I highly doubt it.  Anyway, I have chosen the team to barrack for.  It’s between Baltimore and San Francisco.  I’m going with SF for 2 reasons.  1, I have been to SF and not to Baltimore and 2, I live on the West Coast and SF is on the west coast.  They’re 2 very well educated decisions for a winner.  Much like picking the Melbourne Cup winner by the colour of their silks.