Tall Tale

"I know I'm tiny compared to you guys, but..."

I am 6'0" in heels.  Depending on the shoe and that day's attitude toward posture, I'm sometimes scraping the +6'1" range.  So why men under 5'5 have the incessant need to hit on me is a mystery I have yet to solve. I am certainly not excessively tall, but I have been around enough above average women in my lifetime to know that this phenomenon is a very common.  I hate to be the one to break this news to the world, but few girls I know are interested in lowering her lips or her standards for someone in a different atmospheric layer.

In case you were skeptical of the math.  67" + 6" = 73" otherwise known as 6'1"

Sadly, short guys need to start being realistic.  Even when you remove the stilettos from under my feet, I am still in a position to see straight over that (likely) balding head of yours.  And since I wear some sort of elevated heel at least 75% of the time, my actual height barely matters.  Really there is nothing wrong with a less-than-average height guy; they have just as much to offer the world as the rest of of us, but unless they plan on pulling a Louis XIV and investing in some platform loafers, I have very little interest in the genetic disproportion.

Hobbits of the world, before you go throw yourself off a building--because, of course, you can't reach high enough to hang yourself--remember that this is one person's opinion. On a recent coaching stint, I had a conversation with a 6'3" player of mine who claims she has no interest in dating someone taller than her. Therefore, it is possible to find a tall girl who doesn't mind shrinking down to smooch, but be warned, this type is rare.  Before you go risk making a fool of yourself with some amazon woman, analyze the situation.  Let me describe a scenario: you're out at a bar and are scanning the crowd when you see a beautiful blonde head sticking out over the rest.  Where is she looking when she's not engaged in conversation?  If she is squinting across the room above the rest of the crowd, DO NOT APPROACH.  If she's searching the faces of people in your general region, then, since most girls suck at and do not participate in wing-womaning, she is probably prowling for herself and you can assume she is fair game.  It can really be that simple.  I have friends who deliberately never tilt their gaze lower than 90° to ensure they don't accidentally make eye contact with guys they're not interested in.  No joke.

Short guys, I know this sucks.  I feel for you.  Am I being a bitch? Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't empathize.   I know what it's like to be rejected for no other reason than height.  I was all-state in high school, yet division I volleyball teams aren't interested in the 5'7 hitter no matter how high white girl can jump.  Even though it might not be fair, and even though I will have an underlying complex about it my whole life, I deal with it.  So is it fair that tall guys don't have to work as hard to get action?  Is it fair that employers are more inclined to hire a tall person over a short person?  It isn't fair, but guess what, you have to deal with it.

Rule of thumb: most women desire a guy at least 4" taller.  Keep that in mind.  

Oh Long Johnson

Oh Long Johnson

I am a cat person.  I have been one since the second grade, unlike the many girls who have, in recent years, latched onto the confusing popularity of catladydom. When you grow up with one of those purring fur-balls, who on occasion is your only companion, you tend to feel compassion toward the whole species. However, many of the people I know who obsess over the feline population have an unhealthy attachment to these cats.  Yes, my Ebony's photo is my permanent wallpaper, but she has also been in my life for 17 years (not joking..she might be the cat from Hocus Pocus).  For the rest of you who can't claim such an enduring relationship, where does the fascination come from?  Sadly, I think most people like the idea of cats more than the actual animals.

As we all know, at least for the time being, it's hip to be hip.  We all want to carry our groceries in graphic tote bags, tuck our flannel into our high-waisted shorts, and throw back a few PBRs on our friends fire escape.  Few people, however, can pull off the sardonic air that most hipsters maintain with ease, so they resort to the superficial imitation of this subculture. If you think about it, cats are self-sufficient, seemingly contemplative, completely dismissive of nonsense, and don't give a fuck what people think. Sound familiar? If it doesn't, think about any bearded, Dave Eggers reading, bike riding person you know and see if the qualities align. A hipster's love for these creatures stems from the familiarity of a cat's disposition.  So while hipsters have justification for liking cats as much as they do,  a majority of the remaining "cat-lovers" just want to be perceived as one of these apathetic dirtballs.

While I am all for adopting and loving cats, I fear that this modern obsession is a trend.  Remember when going green was cool?  Everyone rushed out to by their environmentally friendly cleaning products and recycled shirts, used them for a few months, then gave up because sorting their trash was too much of a pain.  Understandably, cats are living things and cannot be so easily ignored, but when the hipster phase is over will people still care about these cuddly pets? Personally, I hope the kitties are here to stay .

Lastly, and on a slightly different note, if you think you are a catlady you are wrong.  You won't die alone; you will get married and probably not even own pets. So shut the fuck up and stop posting so many pictures of your ONE cat.  However if you, like me, have been told my friends and family that you will die alone, keep on posting, because these are the lasting memories you're going to fill your photo albums with some day.

Jones out.

Resting bitch face.

Men: Am I doing it right?

Men: Am I doing it right?

I am old fashioned.  If you've ever seen me after a half dozen shots of Jameson you may disagree, so allow me to explain.  First, Slop Jones and Steph Jones, although bound by the same lanky body, are two different states of existence and this post is about the latter.  Second, I have been described as a strong woman, and strong women, as mandated by society, come carrying a whole load of predetermined characteristics  Self-aware. Determined. Proud. Honest. And then of course bitchy. Ball-busting. And bat shit crazy. Naturally, you would think that if these things were true of me that I would have no problem setting my sights and then taking what I want.  However, I am far more defenseless than that, and it is on these grounds I mean to claim myself as old-fashioned.  So when it comes to men I have little desire to be the she-wolf constantly stalking her prey, I would much prefer to be sniffed out by someone else, but lately that doesn't seem to be an option.

Let me rewind to several months ago. I reached my twenty-third birthday and realized that in the five years I had been going to bars not once had a complete stranger offered to buy me a drink.  If you'll remember I described myself as self-aware, so this revelation really wasn't startling.  Yet for a thin, smart, moderately attractive girl I am pretty far down the shitter when it comes to men.   After a brief stint on a dating website (another blog for another time), I turned to my older brother for insight on meeting men.

"hot guy at the gym. what's my move?"
"ask him if you're doing the exercise correctly"
"he's on a treadmill. 'excuse me, does this walk look right to you?'"

no thanks.

The next time I saw him I had enough balls to say hello, but having his headphones in, he walked right by.  Now for those of you that are screaming "get a clue!" at your computer, "he's not interested," you're probably correct.  Or he took a look at me, thought I was seventeen, and wasn't in the mood to get suspicious looks for engaging with a minor.  Regardless, what I'm attempting to illustrate is that of two (supposedly) interested parties, I was the one putting myself out there.  I am not afraid of rejection, if I were I wouldn't get out of the bed in the morning since even my dog refuses kisses anymore.  What I am afraid of is that the men of my generation are too lazy to put in the effort required for meeting people and maintaining relationships. Now this, I realize, is a  mass generalization, but how many "couples" out there are are based entirely on convenience?

I grew up in a household with parents who preached hard work, so although I don't want to be the girl shoving my business cards into guys' hands whilst attempting to flirt, I will continue to put forth an effort, since, frankly, I don't want my cats to eat me after I die.  I don't know who or what is to blame for the lack of work ethic in this world today, but the cloud of entitlement that hovers around 20-somethings is so thick that I don't see many other options when it comes to the pursuit of male interests.  While the laziness that I am describing here is manifested in so many different ways I could write a book, for the sake of today's blog I'm just going to stick with its relevance to my ability to get laid.  That being said, I am nostalgic for a time when hard work in one's life and profession also rubbed off onto romantic endeavors.  I am not sitting here asking for some white knight to sweep in and cook me dinner, hold doors open for me, or impress my family.  I'm not asking anything for myself.  In fact, if you are a guy reading this, DO NOT take it as an invitation to flood my inbox with creepy emoticons; if I were interested in you, you'd already know.  My intention is to simply call attention to the root of the problem. So ladies, stop letting men get away with such lethargic behavior.  And gentlemen, get off your fucking ass, grow a pair, and start taking a more active role in meeting women.  At the very least, just nod your head at the creepy girl smiling at you from the elliptical...

001: Reasons I drink

001: Reasons I drink

I am an architect.  At least, I am going to school to become one.  After studying architecture for five years and practicing drafting for eight, is it not likely, at some point, I learned to use a ruler?  But I am getting ahead of myself.  

Like most of us, my job, unfortunately, requires me to collaborate with other professionals in order to achieve the end product.  However, more often than not I am greeted with the utmost condescension from these individuals.   Shamefully, I can understand where this is coming from.  I look young so I must not know better.  I'm pretty so I must be confused.  Appearance can be a powerful thing, but one could imagine that  a telephone line would act as a buffer between this sort of judgement.  After speaking over the phone with a contractor about our project, he kindly informed me that my drawings were not scaled correctly.  Knowing full well that my drawings were to scale I politely replied that he must be mistaken.

  "Sweetie, I don't know what size you think these drawings are, but your counter is coming out at four feet." 

 (This was, in fact, the correct dimension.) 

I wasn't so offended by the term of endearment as I was by the demand for a new set of drawings and the sudden click that signaled the end of the conversation.  I sat fuming for a while, not knowing how to proceed before the senile old man called me back shortly to apologize.  I was not tickled, but I quickly came to realize that his assumption of my incompetence was not entirely unwarranted.  How often do we come in contact with people who are incapable of performing even the simplest tasks? The waitress that takes the wrong order. The cable service that can't fix your connection.  The uninformed.  The inadequate.  The impotent.  We are surrounded by an entire population of people that suck at what they do. Worse, there isn't even any need or desire to improve because we simply accept the service that is offered to us. 

Ineptitude. 

Reason I drink. 

To blog or shut the fuck up...

To blog or shut the fuck up...

I am a morning person.  This may surprise you given my generally negative disposition, but there are few things in this world I enjoy more than those few hours spent in silence sipping coffee and reading the news before the rest of the world wakes up and shits on my day.  That being said, I am going to take the opportunity to use these fleeting moments to project a more optimistic and insightful version of myself to see if my mother's notion of "something to love" emerges.  For anyone who does not know what to expect, I anticipate my posts to reside somewhere between Carrie Bradshaw, Chelsea Handler, and an ill-tempered jock on steroids. Here we go... I guess.

Shout out to my little pup who inspired me to put my thoughts out there. http://megdogglyfe.blogspot.com/