An Open Letter To My Introverted People

Hi! I’m your extroverted friend Rianna. I hope you’re having a fulfilling day and that you had all green lights on your way to work today.

Anyways, here’s what I want to talk to you about. Space.

Not the Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Bill Nye space, I’m talking your personal space.

It’s something that everybody’s gonna need at one point or another. It’s completely normal to want some space to yourself. I know you don’t need to be around friends, family, boyfriends, girlfriends, and co-workers all the time. People are sometimes goddamn draining. It’s a completely reasonable thing to ask someone to give you. If you need space, ask for it, and the people who care about are going to try their hardest to give you the space you need.

Sometimes though, I find it difficult to ascertain how much space I need to give you and for how long. It’s something I’ve struggled with for years. I attract a lot of introverted people for reasons that I’m still not completely sure of. So I need to realize that my introvert friends (you) need a lot more “me” time than myself. I definitely understand the need for “me” time; I sometimes need a day or two to myself after extended amounts of time around new people. After that day or two, though, I’m okay to be around people again. And I realize that no two of you are exactly the same; you need wildly different time periods alone. Some of you only need a couple of days, others need a week, maybe even two.

I struggle with respecting your boundaries for (no) contact when you need alone time. I’m gonna be honest, I like to touch base with you to make sure you’re getting what you need and if you’re getting enough time to yourself. It’s a knee-jerk reaction for me to reach out just to touch base with you. It’s difficult for me to NOT occasionally send you something funny that reminds me of you, or something I think you’ll appreciate. In my head, I know you need time where you don’t feel like a slave to your phone or your social media (and if I’ve ever made you feel that way, I’m really, truly sorry, and I’m trying to work on not being so texty-texty; my thumbs are getting too swole anyway). I am also aware that my NOT sending those things to you during your alone time is appreciated, no matter how funny I find that Obama and Biden meme.

However, since I’m so used to communicating with most of my close friends via text and social media, I sometimes have a difficult time processing radio silence from pretty much anyone. Honestly, it’s embarrassing as fuck how often I misread a need for solitude as lack of interest in my friendship or straight-up dislike of me. I usually have to reach out to a friend of mine with a more objective perspective of my self-inflicted turmoil to tell me that I’m overreacting. And the thing is that it helps literally every time; if it doesn’t completely put me at ease, it at least alleviates my anxiety about our friendship to a point where I don’t feel the need to reach out to you to make sure they’re okay. It’s also the biggest tell that I’m an extrovert. I like to network and collaborate on issues as soon as they arise. You, however, like to internally process all that shit before you’re willing to share it with someone.

So bear with me. I’m trying to understand and respect your need for space. With a little patience, though, I’ll get it figured out, and I won’t be a huge, clingy, pain in the ass to you all the time.

Love from your extroverted friend,

Rianna

Eight Years of Face-crack and the Ceiling

As a self-proclaimed extrovert, I really love reaching out to people. I get the bulk of my energy from connecting with friends, sharing jokes, talking about current events (like the talking slug with the shitty toupee, get a load of that guy), and being around people. Since many of my friends don’t live in the same city as I do, I do a not insignificant amount of reaching out to people on social media. Usually this is a great way to connect with people, and I’m grateful for the people I can still keep in touch with through social media, even if I don’t speak to them every day. I can see all the great things my friends are up to, the strides they make as they evolve into professionals, homeowners, spouses, entrepreneurs, artists, whatever you can think of. It puts a genuine smile on my face that they’re doing fucking amazing things with their lives, and that I am someone they have chosen to share their proudest moments with. It’s like being a part of an exclusive club.

 

Sometimes, though, I’ll admit that I tend to grapple pretty fiercely with envy. I won’t deny it. Though I love to see people succeed, I tend to wonder why not me? Why don’t I have a house that I own? Why don’t I get to get married and settle down? What part of me is so awful that I don’t deserve to have those things in my life?

 

But then I put my goddamn whisky down for a second and reflect.

 

What do I post on social media? Well, only the really good things I want people to see, duh! I only have to look so far as my profile pictures to reaffirm that. I only post the most bomb-ass selfies where I look cute as fuck, I’m not gonna post the ugly-ass Snapchat pictures I send to people; those are reserved for the people who have seen me be genuinely ugly and still love me anyway. I’ll share a memory of a hilarious meme I found four years ago, not that self-indulgent, whiny Facebook status I made at the age of 17 about a guy not liking me back (spoiler alert: I wasted far more time than was necessary on Mr. Mediocre). Why share those when I can post self-indulgent, whiny blog posts at 24 under the guise of self-depreciating humour and self-actualization? It’s called being a twentysomething, dammit, and I’m doing it well!

 

I then wonder why would it be different for any of my peers? They’ll post pictures of their new home, not a picture of all the paperwork, moving pains, and sacrifices they had to make to be able to afford that down payment. Someone will post a picture of their toddler being adorable, probably not posting a picture about how said toddler, two hours later, threw their not-even-kind-of empty diaper across their room, getting shit literally EVERYWHERE! When I hear stories about poo getting on the ceiling, a small part of me is still mystified like “oh, holy shit, that can’t be real!” But I’ve seen the poop on the ceiling, guys.

 

Everybody chooses how they present themselves online, and, myself included, will put their best versions of themselves online. I’ll post the cute selfie, not the one that makes me look like I’ve got a wonky eye. I’m gonna post jokes about nihilism and pessimism while glossing over the fact that, yeah, maybe I’m sad about *insert insignificant thing I’ve turned into a huge issue here*. My chef friends are going to post photos of their finished creations, not that big-ass pile of dishes that now lie in the sink, or the hours of practice it took to perfect that souffle. My friends who hunt will post a picture of the buck they managed to shoot for the season, not document their entire time getting their hunting and firearms licenses.

 

The next time I peruse my Facebook feed, and start to feel a little blue about how someone is going to travel the world, I need to remember that everybody’s got their own metaphorical poop on the ceiling. Everyone.

 

Rianna

The Fallout

Every relationship you ever have is an investment you make. You invest your time, your emotion, money, thought, whatever. And when those relationships end or decay, it feels like losing an investment that you’ve sunk a shit ton of time and money into (like that infamous real estate bubble of 2008). It hurts. It feels like running until you  puke your face off coupled with drowning in the Swamp of Sadness.

 

It.

Fucking.

Sucks.

 

One thing that I have to say in favour of the end of a relationship is that, if done correctly, it provides a sense of certainty and closure that you can’t get anywhere else. You no longer have the uncertainty of whether or not this person still values you the way you deserve to be valued. You don’t have to fear the worst happening, because something that feels like the worst (it isn’t, I’m learning) has already happened. It’s something oddly freeing. You’re hurting, surviving, living through it.

 

And you’re gonna get through it. If people can get through the Great Depression, dictatorships that would make Stalin go “hey man, you may need to slow your roll, friend”, you can get through this.

 

My name’s Rianna, and Nexopia-Esque venting is how I handle turmoil.

The Purse

Usually when I find something on the ground, it’s pretty non-noteworthy in the fact that it’s usually litter of some kind. Some things that come to mind are used pregnancy tests, condom wrappers, cigarette butts, Nickleback CDs, stuff you should probably keep within the privacy of your own garbage can, but inexplicably wind up on the ground in Grande Prairie, Alberta. Sometimes I find change on the ground, and when I was 13, I found a five dollar bill on the ground, which was amazing at the time since I didn’t have a job yet (also I lived in Lloydminster at that time and it hasn’t happened since). Almost every thing that I’ve found on the ground (barring money, of course) I tend to walk past as it’s not a thing that I would want on my person, and they seem like a sad conclusion to a very small chapter in a person’s life and it seems weird to pick that shit up off the ground.

 

This traipse through a gas station parking lot was a little different.

 

I was walking through the parking lot as I usually do as it is a more visible and fast way to get to work from my bus stop. As I was walking through the parking lot, an SUV backed up and drove out of the parking lot, revealing a cute, albeit slightly dejected-looking purse. This is the kind of purse that a younger woman would buy when she’s either just bought her first name-brand purse or needed a basic purse that wasn’t so loud; a purse for every day use. It was a purse. It didn’t look particularly ratty, so I figured someone may have set it aside while grabbing something from their vehicle and forgot about it in their haste to get somewhere, since the bag wasn’t upturned in any way. I went and picked it up, where I gingerly held it with two fingers like somebody took a tequila shit into it and immediately rounded the corner and went into the gas station to drop the purse off.

 

I handed it over to the guy who was at the till at the time, and I say “I have no idea whose this is, I found it in the parking lot so I figured I’d drop it off here.” He started rummaging through the bag looking for a wallet or any kind of ID he could find in an attempt to gather some contact information so the purse could be returned to the rightful person. The purse was quite light, so I assumed that it was mostly empty, and I hadn’t even peeped in it to see if there was a wallet (or previously feared shit) in the purse. He gave a peculiar look into the purse and pulled out a couple of bullets. He looked as surprised as I felt and immediately called his (I’m assuming) boss over from the Slurpee machine to examine the bullets. His boss furrowed his brow, carefully looking over the bullets. From what I gathered one of the bullets was from a hunting rifle, and the much smaller bullet was for a BB gun.

 

“I swear Grande Prairie is the most white trash city ever.” I quipped, even though I clearly shouldn’t be making digs at this city since people carry fucking bullets with them.

 

“What should I do?” the cashier asked his boss.

 

“Well, if someone comes to claim it, just ask them why they’re carrying bullets.” he said simply.

 

At that point I left the store since I wasn’t needed at all.

 

Throughout my day I wondered why someone would be carrying bullets with them in their purse. My city is heavy on people who are enamored with country living and the accompanying lifestyle, which is to be expected within a city with several smaller communities around it. Was someone preemptively defending themselves from a city that is the current violent crime capital of Canada? Were they out hunting earlier and forgot about these bullets? Were they bullet collectors? Was it for a Fury Road cosplay of some kind?

 

I might never find out, and it makes me sadder than it should.

 

Rianna

5 Things I Learned When I Tried Online Dating

Reader’s Caution: I talk about dicks in this post. Take that as you will.

The scene: my living room floor towards the end of April 2014. I was hungover as shit with my then-roommate, complaining about how I couldn’t meet a man, and (my abysmal academic performance aside) my time at college was a total bust in terms of finding a summer fling or a boyfriend. I mean, I’d found a dude to spend the summer of 2013 with (and we all know how that went…terribly), so I was all distraught that I didn’t have the same luck this summer. She was in the process of setting up an account on a dating site and suggested that I do the same.

So fuck YES, I made an account. I went through several pictures of myself and found the absolute cutest ones I could find, and filled out the profile in the only way I know how to communicate via text: brutally honestly and with too many personal details. I wrote a small novel about how I like Guinness and chicken wings and hate country music. It was nothing overly exciting; I just mentioned my interests and how badly I wanted to move to Edmonton in the next year (spoilers: that didn’t happen). I activated my account and started checking out the local dudes in my area.

Little did I know that…

5)          What Someone Thinks is “Mysterious” Can (And Will) Come Across as Lazy

I can’t tell you how many profiles that I went through where all I got from the guy’s profile was “msg me to get to know me” or “quaddin muddin partys” (at the low-end of the spectrum). A not insignificant amount of gentlemen I communicated with often times had one sentence in regards to details about themselves: “Anything you want to know, ask.”

Several of these guys weren’t looking for anything too serious in terms of relationships, which is understandable. The people I talked to were in their early to mid-twenties, and were enjoying their freedom, not unlike myself. I have no issues with wanting to explore your options if you’re single. That’s what being a young adult is about (and I will use this to justify all of my actions from now until I’m at LEAST 27).

But that’s not what irked me about these profiles.

Awful spelling and grammar aside, this shows me (and several straight women who I’m assuming these guys were trying to attract) that these people are unwilling to put even the most minimal effort to gain or keep my interest. These guys don’t owe me a goddamn thing, but one would think that people on a dating site would put some effort into being at least semi-interesting. I don’t particularly enjoy “muddin” or “quaddin”, but I’m totally down with “partys”. Bring me a couple of six packs of Guinness and some chicken wings and I’ll be there! Hell, I’ll bring the beer and wings! But that can’t be ALL that define these guys as people. If it is, that person is not the person for me. However those short bullshit “About Me” sentence fragments that some people use in an effort to get women to reach out to them aren’t really doing the trick. If there’s absolutely nothing a person can say about themselves besides “msg me to get to know me”, how can I assume that there’s anything of interest to ask someone about? I need something to wonder about. I need something to build from in an effort to start a conversation. I want to talk to people, I don’t want to carry the conversation by myself.

I think the worst of the worst were the handful of guys who actually put in their profile “I’m not here to impress you.”

Um….

This is a dating site and these guys were looking for someone to spend time with (whether it be just for sex, or a summer fling, or a girlfriend). So yes, sir, you ARE here to impress me, and so far, your ham-fisted attempt at “edgy” is…interesting. The teen angst that emanates from that statement is enough to make me want to stay far, far away from you. However I have to give props to the guys using this line for giving me something to write about though. So in a sense, gentlemen, you have impressed me, even though it was for the purposes not intended.

4)          My Wordiness Scares People

I’ll be the first person to admit that whenever I write anything I’m passionate about (basically myself since I’m narcissistic as fuck), I tend to ramble, meander, and take up far more screen space than I should. My dating profile was no different; I used no less than 700 words to describe myself, my love of written word, and my disdain for 70% of “country” culture. Frankly the fact that I kept the word count at less than 1000 was pretty impressive to me.

This makes me a hit at parties in rural Alberta.

I’ll also admit that I used a short story’s worth of space to describe myself for two reasons:

• To be as completely honest about myself as I could, love of booze, trust issues, and city slicker ways and all. I don’t want to lie about myself since I’m already amazing.
• To weed out people who don’t like to read or think. I love these things, and I tend to dislike people who don’t at LEAST like a good book every now and then.

However my profile wasn’t as successful as I would have hoped in attracting bookish, argumentative people. Since I’m the type of person who loves to read profiles in an effort to get a general idea about whom I’m talking to, I genuinely thought that the guys were doing the same.

I can’t tell you how many guys messaged me just to see if I “would spend an evening with them; [I’d] be paid well”, or dudes who were literally just looking for someone to stick their dick into that night. That’s their prerogative; I was there to find a boyfriend, so nope. Nope. NOPE. Now I’m not exactly sure what it is about me that says “I’m a prostitute; leave your cash on the dresser and hit the door,” but propositions like that were NOT what I expected when I went on this dating site.

I’m obviously a lady of the night.

The  guys that read my profile (or at least skimmed it) fell into two distinct camps: the guys who insulted something about me when I let them know I wasn’t interested in them, and the guys who wanted to prove that I was lying. There was some dude from back east who insisted on just calling me “sexy” and spam messaging me, even after I told him to call me “Rianna” since that’s my name. For some reason he got really butthurt at this unreasonable request and actually messaged me a few days after that and he said “ur profile is to much.”

“It’s to weed out the stupid people.” I replied.

“Oh are you saying im stupid”

And I didn’t bother messaging him back after that, because as my mom (and every mom and mom-figure ever) will say, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” What do I say to that message? “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” It might be true, but it’s not something I’d be comfortable admitting. I got called a “stuck-up bitch” a lot during my time online dating; I don’t really need to act that way all the time.

Speaking of “proving that I’m lying”…

3)          Handle Some Dudes’ Egos Like You’d Handle Their Balls: Gently and Like They’ll Break

In online dating there were quite a few guys that I had messaged who didn’t find me interesting or attractive in any way whatsoever and never messaged me back or just told me that they weren’t interested. It was a bit of a pain to my ego, but that’s what happens. I can’t force someone to be interested in me, no matter how witty I am, or how fiercely I winged my eyeliner that day. I’m just not what a lot of guys are looking for (most guys look for classy women, which I am not).

I want you to guess how some of the guys I rejected wound up reacting.

Seriously. I want you to write down your thoughts in the comment section below.

Hint: there’s a pretty good idea of how at least a dozen guys handled my “no” in the previous entry.

Instead of saying “oh, that sucks” or “thank you for your honesty” or just leaving me the fuck alone, some guys got extra persistent in trying to get me to meet up with them, like “come on, it’ll be fun” or “ur missing out” or just calling me a bitch, because these dudes were creative. I got called a “stuck-up bitch” or I was informed that I “wasn’t that hot anyway” at least a dozen times. The first couple of times those comments stung, but it also reinforced the fact that I was making the right decision by not going for drinks with these dudes anyway.

There was an occasion where a guy called me stupid (in jest) since I didn’t find things he said particularly funny. This was directly after I failed the shit out of university-level chemistry and I already felt like a failure, so it was a joke that hit a little too close to home. When I told him that wasn’t funny, and it actually stung a little, he made a point to tell me how little a sense of humour I had, and how “the truth finally comes out, eh?” like I was lying about having a sense of humour. I dunno, maybe it’s wrong to let someone know what you’re not okay with joking around about. Or maybe it’s because he wasn’t that funny to begin with, and that I actually like smart humour, and that makes me a bad person. Does that make me a stuck-up bitch? It might. Does that prove that I have no sense of humour? Nope.

2)          Apparently I’m Weird For Not Wanting Dick Pics and Descriptions of Dicks From Random 30-Year-Olds on the Internet

I abused the shit out of the “block” button  for this exact reason.

Now, I can appreciate a penis as much as the next straight woman who enjoys sex. I’ve always been perfectly honest about being sexually active. And I’m straight, so that’s neat. That being said, a penis can only be truly appreciated if both parties are expecting it to be out and about and ready for action. Consent is sexy; this thought also extends to dick pics.

Apparently some dudes missed the memo.

Usually on Fridays or Saturdays, there would be a perfectly nice, normal, kinda drunk dude who would be messaging me looking for someone to “cuddle” with. And as I’m trying to exit the conversation and go to bed in the most polite ways I can think of, I’d get a dick pic. I wouldn’t get a warning, or even asked if I wanted to see his penis. I just get a message with a dick in it. Sometimes the dude would get extra romantic and put a winky face next to it 😉 That usually warranted a “what the fuck is wrong with you?” and hitting the “block” button so hard I cracked my iPhone screen in the process. Though sometimes before I could hit the block button, I would get the message “stuck-up bitch” or “you’re a prude, aren’t you?” sent to me. How dare I get freaked out and angry that someone would just whip their dick out?

If it wasn’t a picture of a dick, it was describing it to me. There were at least three guys who (mid-conversation about literally anything but sex) would just randomly interject “I’m so hard right now” or “my cock is so hard” for no goddamn reason.

Goddamit, that’s not how you get any person interested in sex with you! A euphemism for sex is “bumping uglies” for a reason. Genitals aren’t cute. I’m not gonna send a dude a picture of my downstairs mixup or my butthole in an effort to get laid. That’s….no. I’m pretty sure that’s considered sexual harassment. When you send an unsolicited dick pic to me, I automatically assume that you moonlight as a flasher in an overcoat in your spare time. I also assume that mothers don’t let their children talk to “the weird man with his business hanging out”. I just assume that you can’t function normally in society without the supervision of a competent adult within five feet of you at all times. I also assume that you’re tacky and I probably hate you.

1)          It’s Actually Good For Meeting People

This may come as a surprise to people who read this far, but I have actually talked to quite a few nice guys online.

Some people aren’t obsessed with the written word like I am, so their descriptions of themselves may leave something to be desired. If they seem like nice people, it’s definitely worth the effort to at least say “hi” to them. Some people have just gotten out of relationships, so they’re trying to put themselves out there in order to meet new people (as my former roommate had done). The guys I talked to who did just come out of relationships were really sweet and forthcoming with their situation, and I can appreciate that. The honesty caught me off-guard and I wasn’t quite ready for that level of honesty in the first few messages I exchanged with one guy. Another wasn’t quite over his ex-girlfriend, and I figured my irresponsible ass wasn’t going to be the best way for him to move on; I didn’t want to waste his time.

There was a guy whom I had talked to who wanted to meet me since I “didn’t seem bitchy”, and I told him that he “didn’t seem like a douchebag” so I agreed to meet up with him. He was actually really funny and sweet. However I felt like we were looking for different things and didn’t quite have the romantic chemistry that either of us was expecting. So we went our separate ways and saw different people and that was that. It was no big deal or anything, and I’m glad I met him.

I finally decided to get rid of my account when I began seeing the most amazing guy that I met through work. He’s smart as a whip and makes me happy in ways I didn’t even know were possible. He calls me on my bullshit and lets me know when I’m being unfair without making me feel like less of a person. We have inside jokes and he just gets me. I like him and my friends like him. Hell, even my mom likes him, and she hasn’t liked any of my boyfriends. We’ll be celebrating a year together in October.

If you’re just looking for a one-night stand but don’t like the idea of going to bars, online dating is for you. If you’re looking for an ego boost, online dating might be for you (provided you can handle the odd butthurt person). If you’re patient and persistent, online dating can work for you for its intended purpose. I would never go back on to it since your experience is gonna be largely influenced by the area you’re in, and I don’t particularly like where I live. Apparently where I live isn’t the place to look if you’re a picky, smart douchebag like me.

And hey, it’s only a dating website.

Rianna

Four Things I Love About My Twenties

A few days ago, my roommate and I were discussing the pros and cons of being adults. It wasn’t the fact that being an adult is hard; it’s the fact that we are, for all intents and purposes, adults without any money. That’s what sucks about being in our twenties. We don’t know who we are, what we want to do, where we’ll be going, or where we end up in life. Hell, this time last year, I was convinced that I was going to be a nurse. Now, I’m considering switching to an English degree, because that’s where my talents lie. I could even be homeless next year if I act like a big enough dumbass that I get myself thrown onto the street.

 

But for as much uncertainty that comes with navigating our twenties, there are tons of things that wind up making our twenties so freaking great. No, we do not have the freedom from responsibilities that our teens lent us, and we certainly don’t have the familial or financial stability that supposedly lies in our thirties (supposedly). But we’ve got our twenties. And this is why they are great:

 

4) We’re pretty!

Ahh, our twenties. It’s a time that’s (mostly) free from the acne that’s plagued each and every one of us at SOME POINT during our teens. And we’re (mostly) free from dry skin and occasional wrinkle that might show up late in our thirties. Sure, our hair my occasionally start to grey at this age, but we’re still young enough to dye our hair whatever colour we want to combat it.

 

Grey? Why not purple!? Why not fire engine red?! Why not GREEN?!

 

But I digress.

 

At my age, I don’t have to worry particularily hard about gaining a shitload more weight than I’ve put on in college (the freshman 15 is very, very real), because I still can change my habits and my routines with enough stubbornness and with enough dedication. And, if I so choose, I can take advantage of the gym at the college (probably not, I have a bunch of seasons of Futurama to binge watch).

 

And since I (so far) don’t have any children to take care of, I can spend any money that I have left over on pampering myself. If I want to get my hair done, I can go do that if I want to. And I don’t have to feel bad about it.*

 

*I must add here that if you do have children at my age, I salute you, because I still have the mentality of when I was 16. And don’t forget to pamper yourself sometimes too.

 

I’d also like to add that we can recover from a night of drinking a fair bit faster than mere mortals.

 

Courtesy of Instagram and Facebook

 The face of beauty and recovery right here!

 

3) Have time (and money), will travel!

 

One thing that I’ve always wanted to check out is Burning Man. At some point, my mom and I are going to go visit burning man and have a good ol’ time watching people high on drugs survive in the desert (also watch a huge stick man be on fire).

 

I also want to go to Ireland.

 

Aside from an egregious lack of money, I can go to Ireland whenever I want. All I’d have to do is book about a week or so off of work, and I’d be gone. I have the freedom to go on a wild trip for no readily apparent reason, and I wouldn’t have to worry about much of anything. Provided my bills are paid and all that, I’m good to go.

 

Wanna take a random weekend trip to Edmonton? You got it!

 

Wanna spend a week at mom’s? Go for it!

 

Wanna go to the bar with your friends for wings and beer? Have at ‘er!

 

The freedom to be able to do pretty much whatever I want is a little scary at first, because you can go wherever you want. You don’t need permission from anyone to do it. If you can make the arrangements, you can go wherever you want to. You can go anywhere with your friends, you can move anywhere your career (or itch for a change of scenery) will take you. Dammit, if you find the love of your life, feel free to move to their city. It’s your life and your space. Do what you will with it.

 

2) The glorious dating pool.

A lot like my second point, dating is another thing that baffles, fascinates, and terrifies me at the same time, espeically when I compare myself to my peers (protip to self: stop doing that).

 

People my age can get married.

 

People my age can be in committed relationships for years, and be considering getting married, and having kids, and having a house.

 

But there are also people my age who haven’t had a boyfriend or a girlfriend.

 

I’m delightfully in the middle of this spectrum. Yup, I’ve dated a fair bit, had one serious relationship (my criteria is that I dated the same person for the past consecutive year), and so on and so fourth. Granted, none of these have been successful, but I’ve learned a lot of lessons. I’ve begun to understand what I’ll want out of a man I’ll spend the rest of my life with. And I’ve learned what I’m never going to put up with ever again (friends with benefits, someone I can walk all over, stupidity).

 

One awesome thing about being in my twenties is that I’m a reasonably attractive twenty-something, and the dating pool is pretty open to me, so I can jump right the fuck in and meet whomever I want. I have the freedom to date guys that are wildly attractive, but whose personalities clash with mine like a battering ram. I can date really nice guys whom I’m not attracted to, but who will make me laugh. I can do this while knowing that one of these first dates will be my last “first date”. There’s going to be a guy whom I think is absolutely stunning, who can make me laugh and who gets my dark sense of pop-culture based humour. This guy’s gonna love playing Mario Kart with me on a Friday night just as much as he’ll love going out barhopping with me on Saturday night. And we’ll laugh at eachothers’ hungover asses Sunday morning and eat leftover pizza.

 

Hooray for optimism!

 

1) I can be whoever I want to work to be!

I’ll be honest with all 20 or so of you reading this. I lose the most sleep when I think about what I see myself doing in 10 years. I barely know who I am, therefore I don’t have much of an idea of what I’d like to do as a career.

 

From the age of 15 on, I’ve wanted to be a psychologist, journalist, fashion designer, nurse, medical lab tech, editor for a magazine, a journalist…I legitimately have no idea what I’m doing or what I want to do for the rest of my life. I’m a touch too analytical to do something strictly creative, but I tend to be a little too abstract to do something sciency.

 

So it honestly scares the shit out of me when I see people my age (and younger) halfway through a Bachelor’s degree in anything (or with a bookkeeping certificate, or really any kind of certification that you need to work on for an extended amount of time at all). They seem so put-together and self-assured.

 

I both admire and envy you all.

 

However, just because I haven’t found my calling doesn’t mean that I’m not going to. Just because I don’t have it yet doesn’t mean I won’t find my calling, oh, tomorrow, or next week, or next month, next year…I’ve got the time to figure it out. I’m just going to find it out a little bit later than someone else.

 

Even though being in your twenties is a hugely uncertain time (if you’re me), with a lot of firsts that are pretty much guaranteed to happen, you can enjoy the hell out of this decade. I had a financial planner once call them “the adult teen years”, where I’m allowed to be selfish and a little irresponsible at times. I now have the tools to fix my mistakes myself, and I can learn whatever I feel will be of use to me throughout my life. I can fall in love with anything and everything I meet and discover. It doesn’t matter.

 

My teens may have been the formative years, but my twenties are going to be where I learn a good chunk of what there is to know about life, love, and anything in between.

 

xoxo

Rianna

Three Things That Being Single on Valentine’s Day Has Taught Me

February 14th. Valentine’s Day.

I’ve been of two minds of the whole thing. Half of me was at peace with being single on Valentine’s Day since, oh, 2010 or so. It’s nice that I’m not freaking any dude out with some outlandish expectation of how he should materialistically show his love for me (mind you, I’d be content with eating Mucho Burrito and watching Django Unchained with him, anyways). On the other hand, I sometimes freaked out because, again, I wondered “what’s wrong with me? Why don’t I have someone to watch excessively violent Quentin Tarantino movies with today?”

But that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

Since I’ve spent far more Valentine’s Days by myself than with someone, I feel like I should have learned a little something about being by myself. And boy, have I ever!

1) Learn to be alone, and like it.

Back in 2010, I was up in arms about not having anybody to share Valentine’s Day with. It seemed like literally everybody else I knew had a boyfriend, and they were content being all romantic with one another (or maybe we were all drunk at my friend’s farm; my memory’s a little fuzzy). I really wanted someone to call my own, and I wanted somebody I could cuddle with and make out with and talk to without having any of my guard raised.

(I was 17 at the time, it was a little different back then)

Now, at the age of 21, I still have those desires, don’t get me wrong. However, I’ve also learned that “hey, one day when I do find someone to fall in love with, I’m gonna relish my alone time”. This is something I’ve learned along with having my job essentially be to “talk to customers all day, every day,” and to have my time to myself is one of the greatest blessings of my life right now.

Being alone has also given me the freedom to do whatever I want. If I want to go to a movie, I can go by myself and watch whatever movie I want (try it, it’s liberating). I don’t have to debate and compromise on seeing a movie. I don’t have to offer to split a bill at a restaurant I can’t afford. I can spend a lot more time with my friends, and I don’t feel the need to go see my (future) boyfriend halfway through the hang out because “I miss him” or anything like that. I have the freedom to do me, and I’m going to appreciate it while I have it.

Because, let’s face it. Ten years from now, when I’ve got a husband, career, and kids, I’m going to miss the times when I got to be alone with my own thoughts.

2) Gaining confidence through self-love and care

Back in 2010, again, I always wondered what was wrong with me that made it so I never had a Valentine? Was I too fat? Too flat-chested? Was I evil? Desperate (actually at this time, yup)? Clingy (also, yup)? In summary, I had a kind of skewed perception of myself.

Needless to say, I’m definitely pretty, smart, funny, and loving (and I’m modest, too). So there really isn’t any reason why I don’t have a boyfriend, or a Valentine. I’ve begun to define my worth as a person, and I have yet to find someone that can truly appreciate the fact that, yes, I’m awesome, and he’d better be pretty awesome to be with me for an extended amount of time.

(If you’re anyone that I’ve spent more than two months with, feel fucking special, because I generally don’t do that unless I really like you)

Being alone on Valentine’s Day for the first time in about 4 years has taught me that to wait for something that means a lot is going to be worth the wait. And hey, it’s one less day that I don’t have anyone to cuddle up with, so it’s all good!

And I got to spend time doing stuff that I really love.

I fried up some sirloin steak, watched Quentin Tarantino movies, painted my nails, and pigged out on junk food (it was a cheat day). And I have to say, after giving myself a bit of a break from the stress that is work and school, I’m feeling a hell of a lot better about myself.

3) I didn’t spend the day with someone I know isn’t right for me

This is the one that I feel is most important.

I didn’t go on a date with someone I know is wrong for me just for the sake of having a Valentine for one day out of the year. I’m not keeping someone on the hook as back-up in case some (non-existent) crush decides that he wants to call me up and do something. And I’m not wasting anyone’s time by pretending to like them. And I haven’t gotten back with an ex just to have someone around for Valentine’s Day, either. No point in trying to fix something that’s been broken for a long, long time. I’d be wasting my time and their time all in one fell swoop.

It’s not my style.

Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with casual dating, and there’s nothing wrong with not looking for a husband or wife. What I do know is that I’m not looking for someone to marry just yet. Dating would be just fine, but I’m gonna hold out for someone that’s not within my circle of friends (don’t date in the friend pool!), and that is interesting enough that I want to get to know them over Guinness and deep fried pickles.

So, by spending Valentine’s Day on my own, I’ve indirectly moved towards a Valentine’s Day that I can spend with someone as awesome as I am!

xoxo

Rianna

How To Not Suck At Being A Person

Throughout my time in the service and retail industries, I’ve been granted the privilege to interact and get to know several different kinds of people. Some of them are the nicest, most genuine people I can think of; these people take a genuine interest in my life and they share about their lives, and talking to them is the most natural thing in the world.

 

On the other end of the spectrum, however, I also got to know people that completely disregard other people; their feelings, wants, needs, and impulses rank above anything and everything else. Some people don’t seem to realize that my power is not omnipotent throughout the whole store and it’s policies (though some days I wish it was), and that I have very little say in what you see in the store.

 

Oh, a product’s been discontinued? I have no idea what I’m talking about, of course my store has it. She bought the same product here a year ago so it must be here!!!

 

The cooler’s broken, leaving your beer kinda warm? Clearly, that’s all my fault that I can’t fix it, never mind the fact that I have no training whatsoever in fixing any kind of cooler.

 

I didn’t do dishes one time? Oh, sorry, I thought you could haul your 300 pound ass off the couch for a half hour to do dishes for once in your life. Sorry I was busy working late for the fifth day in a row. Oops.

 

All of these things have happened. 

 

And I’ve had just about enough of this. So, without further ado, I’m going to make a very simple list of what someone can do so they aren’t regarded as a complete asshole for the rest of their lives.

 

1) Don’t just  shrug off something a friend is really excited and passionate about. Even if you have no interest in this project or topic your friend is, it’s a lot better to be a little bit curious about the project than to disinterestedly be playing Temple Run on your phone. I can’t tell you how happy I get when a friend asks me a question or two about my job; it shows that they care, and that they’re interested in what I’ve been up to.

 

For example, most of my friends are really into the Magic card game. I, personally, have no interest in playing whatsoever (and they’ve offered to cobble together a basic deck for me, too, which was hugely flattering). But it is rather entertaining to listen in when they’re all playing against each other. And I was curious about the different characteristics of different cards, so I went right ahead and asked about them, which led to a 15-ish minute conversation about the different classes and what they all did. It was pretty interesting. Too reminiscent of the Pokemon cards I used to play with as a kid, but interesting.

 

2) Be humble! No matter how smart, funny, hot, or brilliant you are, there will always be someone that’s smarter, funnier, hotter, and brilliant-er than you.

 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s okay to take pride in something done well, or to be proud of something that you have worked countless hours to master.

 

It’s not okay to talk about how “terrible” everyone else is at your talent in comparison, or that you’re “sooooo far ahead of everyone else”. If you’re a person who does this, know that you’re tacky and I hate you.

 

Speaking of which…

 

3) Pick your battles. Not everything needs to be up for debate, or argued about. You don’t need to waste a ton of energy raging over something tiny, like if someone puts the toilet paper roll on the roller the wrong way. Seriously, it would take as much effort to change it to your preferred orientation than to go hunt down your roommate and scream at them. At least wipe your butt first.

 

http://www.relativelyinteresting.com

Because at the end of the day, is this worth it?

 

For me, I find what works best for me is asking myself this:

 

“Will it be more effort to get angry about this or would it take more effort to just fix it?”

 

Usually sorts it out for me.

 

But if it’s something that’s genuinely something worth arguing about, by all means, bring it up! If you’re the only one cleaning up after your roommates, it’s totally okay to bring that up. You should remember though…

 

4) If something’s an issue, bring it up (respectfully). 

 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve let resentment about something that really wasn’t a big deal boil over into a huge yelling match with someone. Personally, it’s one of my worst traits and makes me a bit of a shit to live with. How can you know what’s wrong if I never say anything? And it’s certainly not fair to yell at someone for something that they didn’t know was an issue in the first place.

 

In most cases, bringing up the target in such a way that nobody’s on the defensive is the best way to start. It makes it easier to communicate what the problem has been, and how it’s been making you feel. 

 

Though in every case ever, don’t forget to bring a solution to the problem in with you.

 

5) Know when do joke, know when to keep your mouth shut.

 

In the years that I’ve been in retail, the most common joke I hear after an item doesn’t scan onto someone’s total (whether it be because the bar code was scratched to hell, my scanner had a freak-out…) is “well, I guess it’s free.”

 

And nothing makes me want to put someone’s head through a window so much as that little zinger.

 

It’s a joke as old as time itself, and anyone who has worked in any kind of sales environment has heard that joke at least a dozen times. Where I do understand that you’re trying to make a joke out of the situation, it’s as old and stale as the bread I found at the back of my pantry once. And it’s not that witty, it’s not that funny, so please stop.

 

Most of the time in the service industry, if you think you have a witty remark about something, you don’t. Just…don’t.

 

On the other hand, though, if it’s a legitimately thought-provoking, funny, insightful remark, I’d love to hear it! I’m running out of material!

 

xoxo

Rianna

Meanwhile in the Friend Zone…

Lately on Facebook, I’ve noticed tons of updates about the friend zone,. The always intelligent (and I use the term “intelligent” loosely) Facebook commentary on the topic has ranged from the self-pitying…

 

Curses!

 

…to the funny…

 

Spoiler: you can’t (according to this maze)

 

 

…to the accurate.

 

This is…fair?

 

It’s got me thinking. Why does the “friend zone” have such a stigma attached to it? Why is it soooooo bad to be “stuck” in? 

 

So, if you’re stuck in the friend zone, why is it so bad? In the times that I’ve been put into the friend zone, it’s mostly been because I had a crush on someone and the guy in question liked me, but I was too available and clingy, thus chasing him off in a romantic sense*. But apparently I’ve got some good qualities because the dude would usually wind up sticking around, if only for the fact I’d buy lunch all the time. However being “just friends” with a guy I like(d) usually isn’t enough for me. In all reality I should just back up and let him be for, oh, six months. 

*I am genuinely sorry for my behaviour in high school. Oops.

 

But I never do that.

 

I don’t stop keeping contact and maintaining a friendship with a guy because I figure, hey, I’d rather be friends with him. It’s a lot better than not being in contact with him at all. And then I carry some wildly impractical hope that he’d suddenly see how awesome, sexy, smart, funny, and beautiful I am, and come running to me, proclaiming I’m everything he’s been looking for! Also if fireworks or an orchestra could play during that time would be great.

 

My brain’s a picky bastard.

 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. I was considering skipping that part altogether, but for the sake of full disclosure, I put it here. You’re welcome.

 

But as I get older and wiser (?), I’m starting to realize that being friends with someone just because of some fantasy version of events that I want to happen is like a poison to my mind and to the friendship.

 

I wind up stressing over what is an imaginary scenario that will never, ever happen. It sits in a corner of my mind like a pair of jeans from high school that I no longer fit into that are under my bed right now. I should get rid of them for my sake, because they just remind me of something I just can’t work with (no matter how hard I try), and to let them go could free up some space and be a benefit to someone else.

 

But, like the jeans under my bed, those fantasies stay in my head. Whether it be because me and the guy had a “really good conversation and we really connected” or something to that effect, there those thoughts sit. Taking up valuable space that could be used to remember all the steps of cellular respiration or how to do taxes.

 

To hold the guy to these expectations also sours the friendship to a degree. I’m so distracted by who I want him to be to me, and what I want from him, I fail to realize that it isn’t fair to hold your friend to such high relationship-y expectations. I only wind up being disappointed, and the guy is not the one to blame. When I focus on how something has failed romantically, I don’t take the time to appreciate the fact that “hey, I’ve got an awesome friend here. Who else can I argue Pokemon with, and who better to get guy advice from?”. 

 

My biggest thing, however, is that when I do wind up getting friend zoned, I try so hard to maintain the friendship, no matter how awesome it is(n’t). I’ve wasted so much time trying to stay friends with dudes that have no interest in being a part of my life, that I didn’t even stop to think that I might be annoying him, or that (occasionally) the guy honestly just sucks. I get so focused on the guy’s good trait(s), that I ignore his not-so-good ones.

 

To me, that’s why being in the friend zone sucks.

 

If I do decide that being in the friend zone is so awful thatI want to escape, I have two options:

 

1) Show interest! Let the guy know that I’m interested, and so on. There are so many websites detailing how to make myself girlfriend material that it makes my head spin a little bit. 

2) Bail. Nobody said that I have to stay friends with the person who isn’t into me. Make peace with it and move on. Especially if just being friends with me is annoying or if it bothers me.

 

So at the end of the day, I should ask myself, “do I value this friendship enough to let go of any and all resentment of the fact that this guy is not my boyfriend, and can I handle the fact that he’ll date other people, as will I?” If the answer is “yes” to both of those, I will continue being in the friend zone, and I’m gonna enjoy it! If not, well…

 

 

There’s a place for you!

 

xoxo

Rianna

Passing Stats

I’ll let everybody in on a little secret. It’s not really a secret.

I’ve spent the majority of the past two years at college in Open Studies. I spent a semester attempting to do something with a Bachelor of Science. I did something. I failed it.

No.

I just learned that I really don’t want to take another chemistry course ever again. Ever. Not even for all the meth money in the world (but drugs are bad and you probably shouldn’t do them).

Calculate the probability that you will never do meth.

Case in point, I’ve managed to spend a lot of money finishing quite a few classes that I’ll probably never use. I’m eventually now hoping to be an editor or freelance writer of some kind. Probably might get into some branch of human resources that will let me edit other people’s resumes, considering I can (and will) do that for anyone who asks me to look over their resume.

One of these classes, which I’m currently working through, is Introductory Statistics. Yes, the class is mostly about how to make histograms and how to analyze data using Excel, which in itself is fairly simple. However the theory and the math behind statistics is mostly lost on me, aside from an “I pressed a button and numbers happened” understanding of the topics.

So in my confusion and utter disdain for math, I devised a plan on how I’m going to pass Intro Stats!!!

Passing Intro Stats in 9 Easy Steps (Part 1: Statistics in the Home)

1) Open your textbook

2) Read the first question

3) Panic

4) Cry

5) Ask a friend who was really good at stats how to do the question

6) Proofread the next essay they have to write in repayment

7) Finally finish question

8) Look at next question

9) Repeat steps 3-8 until your assignment is done or until your roommate tells you to stop pretending to do homework and come play a round of beer pong.

Most of your learning is done in class, so this strategy will not work quite so well. As a matter of fact, it draws attention to the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing, so it looks pretty silly to the people who know what they’re doing (unless they’re that person who is really good at the class who you asked for help). Then you’ve gotta throw away Part I of the plan.

But what are you supposed to do without a plan?

Have no fear! I devised another plan for how to make it seem like you know what you’re doing in class! Who knows? You might actually eventually come to know what you’re doing by following these steps!

Passing Intro Stats in 6(!) Easy Steps (Part II: Statistics in the Classroom)

1) Half-listen to the question while finding out what Disney Villain you would be on Facebook.

2) Write down a list on what you need to get for groceries later (a To-Do list on all the homework you’re not going to do also works)

3) Continue step 2 until the professor writes the question out on the board

4) Write all of the information on the board in your notebook. While doing this you should think of relevant pop-culture puns based on the context of the question (bonus points if it can be sexualized)

5) Write down ALL the information your professor writes on the board: equations, graphs, numbers, even the question if you missed it

6) Look like you’re really focused on the question

Bonus 7) Think about how badly you need to pee for after class

And that, my friends, is how you bullshit your way to a C grade.

Because remember! Cs get degrees!

xoxo

Rianna