Sporty = Spicey

It has finally happened; my efforts to avoid watching, reading or hearing about anything sports related have been thwarted ... or at least discouraged. According to my brother, who loves sports and beer and all things manly, I must know at least a little about "man" sports (a.k.a blood sports). This is the key, he insists, to landing a decent guy. According to my brother, men dig chicks who know about sports. If this is true, maybe that is why I only attract engineers and guys who love math (plus the occasional drunkard). This new information places me in quite a predicament. There are so many things I would rather do than learn about sports, like curl my hair, or watch Oprah ... or dance like a maniac to 90's music in my bedroom (did I just say that out loud?).

Keeping up to date on the latest sports headlines is sounding more and more like a chore. I don't think I am desperate enough to pursue this option yet. After all, there are plenty of handsome, funny, athletic and cultured guys who aren't that interested in sports ... right? Can't I just wave the occasional pom-pom and be done with it? Rah Rah! Shish Boomba! Gooooooo [insert hot guy's favourite team here]!

A Worldly Woman

After years of feeling shackled by the constraints of an intense religion and a marriage I was not ready for, I'm relishing my freedom. The best way to describe my current state of mind is that I want to take a huge, cheek-bursting bite out of life. Most of all, I want to see the world. I want to see the usual places like France, Spain, Italy, Australia, New Zealand, etc. But I also want to see the darker side: Rwanda, Columbia, Afghanistan (not just yet, since I value my life). For some mysterious reason, I feel the need to connect with the suffering of the world's oppressed. Perhaps seeing the haunting faces of countless genocide victims at the Kigali Memorial Center will force me to realize my own insignificance. I hope so. Sorry if this sounds morbid, I'm just trying to articulate my desire to see the world for what it really is - beautiful, dark, dangerous, exciting, and ever-changing. I consider this time and this age (23 and counting) the spring-board for the rest of my life.

Glass Women

I have known a fair amount of glass women. They are the women whose frail physical appearance mirrors a deeper emotional fragility. They have soft-spoken voices and delicate gestures. Sometimes they are pretty, sometimes not.

I've been trying to figure out what is so appealing about these women. Is it the fact that they could shatter into a million pieces at any moment and being there to pick up the pieces makes one feel heroic? Could it be that the obviousness of their insecurities makes others feel more comfortable with their own misgivings? I don't know. But I must say that at times I admire such women, or at the least I am intrigued by them.

I'm sure by my tone you can infer that I am not a willowy, tenuous woman. I am sturdy physically and I like to think that I am emotionally resilient. I am sensitive, I swear, but I rarely let my emotions spill into public view. I hold them tightly to me and if they make me feel weak or helpless I try to get rid of them. I purge my emotions by writing them down ( no surprise there) or going for a run. Does this make me less appealing or less feminine? If I did shatter into a million pieces would Prince Charming rush to rescue me?

Figments of Cyberspace

I was recently weeding out my email contact list for the first time in several years. I was shocked at how many quasi-friends (if one could even call them that) I have accumulated. Close friend or mere aquiantance, so many of the names struck an emotional chord. I found myself reluctant to press the delete button even though I knew I would never contact these people again. Whatever happened to ziggpop66 or diamondpoet or perfectloves? They represent a part of my life that must stay in the past, but somehow I can't erase them from my list ... or my memory.

Most of these people are on my Facebook so I can creep through their albums and post them a message any time I wish. But somehow, seeing their names (or cheesy email names) on my personal contact list reminds me that I once had real contact with these people. They're not just a figment of cyberspace. For the most part, I don't want to see their vacation pictures from last summer or their new baby photos; I want to see them as they were when I knew them - the totality of their existence summarized by still images packaged neatly in my memory and visited rarely. If I delete their names, how will I remember to think of them?

Brains or Boobs?

I've been pondering the idea of identity lately. So many of us are labelled early in life: "smart girl", "pretty girl", ""shy girl". I must admit that I have been considered all of these. I don't know that this is such a good thing. For the most part, being so narrowly defined can be likened to an actor being typecast; It is has a limiting effect. What if I had simply accepted being "the pretty one" in my pre-teens? Would I now be a shallow, brainless Betty? I suppose what I'm getting at is that I am a multifaceted human being with the capability of dawning many distinct traits. I cannot be summarized by a single word or phrase.

I have heard that researchers found a correlation between breast size and academic performance. Supposedly, more bountifully-boobed ladies tend to have lower grades. If there is any merit to these findings, I would argue that these women too readily allowed themselves to be defined by their physical appearance.

I for one refuse to settle for just one identity. I can be glamorous and/or a tomboy and/or have a wild side and/or be the girl next door. I can be all these things (unfortunately, I will probably never be bountifully-boobed). Why should I limit myself?

I'll Never Be Blond

I'm not a blond. I'll never be a blond. I don't want to be a blond ... but, I can't help but wonder - would my dating life have been hotter if I was a fair-haired vixen? Upon deep analysis of my past relationships and crushes I have discovered that nearly all the guys I have really liked ended up with cute, bubbly blonds. I can do bubbly; in fact, lately I have been quite bubbly, but I can also be quite serious. I'm one of those driven, I am woman hear me roar, Oprah loving, brainy sorts of women ... but, I can do bubbly, really I can.

Don't get me wrong, boys like me. I can get a descent guy. It's just that typically I attract smart, mathematically oriented, Engineer-type guys. Of course there is nothing wrong with this kind of guy; they're usually reliable, considerate ... predictable (snore). The problem is serious + serious = BORING! I have so often been attracted to the fun good-looking jock with a soft side. Unfortunately for me, the jocks that I have encountered are not attracted to the Lois Lanes of this world, they want blond cheerleader types. Which brings me to my first point - I'm not a blond. I will never be a blond. Is there any hope for me?

What I've Learned Since the Divorce

1. Life can be magical and romantic without a man.
2. Living in the moment means doing the things that bring you the most fulfillment as often as possible.
3. Men are wonderful, I like men, but sometimes I wish they were more like women (is it really that hard to pick your underwear off the floor or clean the bathroom without being asked).
4. Women are wonderful, I love women and I am so proud to be one.
5. Most often we are the ones who put limitations on ourselves. Silly isn't it?
6. The law of attraction is real, if you can visualize it and believe it you can have it (within reason) and gratitude is sure to multiply your blessings.
7. I'm sexy and I'm not afraid of that.
8. It's okay to let loose and have fun, we have more to offer the world when we are happy.
9. Friends - the kind that have seen you at your worst, best, and everything in between and still love you - are infinitely precious.
10. Stick it to the Man. I wanna live my own authentic life!

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