Doll House

I'm knee-deep in a landfill of relics from former dalliances, examining my dating history like an archaeologist, trying to decode the evolution of my relationship addiction. Upon further inspection of these memories, I realize that I must have been playing romantic Mad Libs, focusing on the words I wanted to hear to create the story, but unfortunately, allowing the crucial information to go unnoticed.

What I heard:
My friends love you...You're so much nicer than my previous girlfriend...I miss you.

What was actually said:
My friends love you, which is ironic, since I really don't care for you that much...You're so much nicer than my previous girlfriend, she was one of those super hot women who could get away with being a bitch...I miss you, but if I keep shooting this rifle, I'm bound to hit some vital artery of yours.

The further I fall down this rabbit-hole of introspection, the more I close off to the idea of a relationship, and truly embrace my spinster potential. The problem is, my new found aversion towards intimacy is causing me to appear more attractive to men because as Spock says, "Having is not such a pleasing a thing as wanting...", and it's refreshing to be presented with a challenge, especially in New York where a guy can't swing a credit card without hitting a woman who is looking for a boyfriend or marriage. My cold demeanor and harsh disparagement towards some guys serves as foreplay, while the blunt verbalization that I do not want to date, make out with, or even inhabit the same planet as certain males, generates more of an aphrodisiac than the finest Canadian porn the internet can provide.

I am seeking out friendships right now, and instead of the "Would I Fuck Him" mental checklist women usually tick off when they first meet a guy, I hold a "Could this be my new BFF" contest in my head, complete with bonus points for understanding Lord of the Rings jargon or the recognition of Spaceballs quotes. Ever since I ceased to live outside of the fantasy land of university, it has become nearly impossible to form quality friendships. Therefore, I don't want a revolving door of amigos, coming and going within the span of months because of disparate goals.

So what if there were some compromise one could find in the tug of war between dating vs. friendship? How can the awkward relationship talk be avoided or the dreaded drunken make-out attempt curtailed?

Real Doll Stand-In, that's how.

According to Abyss Creations, the fine folks who manufacture these creatures, Real Dolls are 'the state-of-the-art for life-like human body simulation', so should the uncomfortable friend predicament occur, you can excuse yourself to the bedroom, set up your doll and let the magic happen on its own. You don't even have to stay in the room while the action is going on, which is sometimes similar to the way lovemaking goes anyway.

Afterwards, your friend will believe the two of you slept together, and because you don't act any differently towards him, he can feel relieved that you don't want to have a relationship. Plus, now that his coital curiosity has been satisfied, and the conquest has been had, he may actually continue to be an attentive friend.

Sure, a Real Doll is expensive, but with a hooker stand-in, you run the risk of the guy catching an STD, awkwardly finding an adam's apple, or the call-girl being really good in bed. These stand-ins also work as a test to see if a guy is in lust vs. like with you, should you want an actual relationship. And in keeping eco-friendly, a Real Doll can be reused again and again for each suitor that won't last in ardor with you past the first expulsion of sperm.

Real Doll Stand-ins, so you can still have a friend after your friend has you.

Jolly Green Giant

On days where I'm feeling particularly confident, I emanate my "flirtation glow". Similar to a taxicab availability sign, or an animated idea bulb a cartoon character displays over his head, this light signals my being open to friendly banter. These interactions occur mostly when I'm wearing something snazzy or my hair hasn't been overtaken by Jew-fro. I'll strut down the sidewalk to a theme song in my head like "Who's That Lady" by The Isley Brothers, chin up, meeting the eyes of the people I pass by.

An attractive guy may smile at me and strike up a conversation, and I'll respond with something witty. Since I have my little glow going, and look like a Keebler elf, I'll come off as darling and charming...my cheeks reddened and facial expression gradually building from smirk to full-monty grin.

Of course these coquettish exchanges never develop into anything serious. They serve no purpose other than an instant ego boost for both parties, ending with a wink or a sly smile.

Yesterday I wore my favorite blue dress, which garnered a lot of positive attention, and caused me to dare I say, feel slightly haughty. I was full of positive energy and five cups of coffee, and found myself lingering in conversation with some cute male customers, feeling self-assured and effervescent. I began to notice how people seemed dazzled by my new found confidence, maybe even intimidated, since a guy I normally flirt with couldn't even maintain eye-contact with me. I felt like a celebrity.

When break-time came around, I went to wash my hands in the bathroom sink. As I lathered up, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was immediately horrified.

There it was, in all its glory and splendor...a giant green snot stuck to the top of my nose.

This was no ordinary booger, or a small bat-in-the cave situation where someone needs to be looking up your nostril in order to see it. No, this mucus tumor was grotesque enough to play a villainous swamp monster in a Japanese horror film.

No wonder no one could make eye-contact with me, it looked like the Jolly Green Giant was fucking my nostril. And all the while I was strutting around the store as though it was a catwalk, yet it could have been a circus sideshow.

After a facial excavation, I returned to work, ego deflated like a punctured balloon.

Most days I hear how tired I look, or how I always have such a serious expression on my face and should smile more. How hard is it to say, "Hey Meredith, wipe your face!" Sheesh, people.

Head Hunt

About a year ago, I left the quixotic world of Advertising for the luxurious world of working in a non-profit thrift store. The biggest adjustment has been my paycheck missing about $30,000 of the amount it used to contain, but at least the stress-level has tapered off, and at the end of the day, the store's cause is beneficial, which is more than I can say for writing ads for Smooth Away Hair-Off Mittens.

Occasionally, I receive a reminder of the old days, when a headhunter or staffing agency will email me, pitching a potential job opening in the field. When I worked in Advertising, these staffing companies were the gateway into most jobs. Unfortunately, the type of people who work as recruiters tend to have chosen staffing as a fourth or fifth career path, having tried their hand at Advertising themselves and left, or perhaps they are still hoping for the TV/VCR Repair Degree they earned online to come in the mail.

Similar to used car salesmen, and the workers at electronics stores who try to sell you a five-year warranty with your purchase of two AA batteries, these staffing agents would attempt to place me in whatever job opening they had, regardless of whether I was qualified, interested, or even available for it.

To be fair, there are a lot of well-established headhunters who thrive off of being knowledgeable on positions and people in the industry. Unfortunately, the staffers I dealt with were the ones who work at the equivalent of a Cathouse in Las Vegas. Young, attractive girls sitting in a sea of cubicles, giggling into the phones. Scantily dressed women clacking around aimlessly in stilettos, red lipstick-rimmed coffee cup in one hand, generic job description dialogue script in the other. With the power of bluetooth, and the magic of Stacker 2, they would call me, squeaking in a chipper cheerleader tone, as they used words such as "multi-tasker", "dynamo", and other stock phrases that have become nonsense through endless repetition.

My goal became to weed out the useless ones who would waste my time and energy, before having to set foot in their office, by attempting to gauge what kind of jobs they had, if they did indeed have any. The phone conversations and email interactions usually left me frustrated, appalled, but mostly jobless.

Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I give you Exhibit A, compiled from original email exchanges (obviously names have been changed)...

Hi Meredith,

My name is Randi and I saw you posted your resume in response to job#98798 PROJECT MANAGER/AD AGENCY on Jobbie.com. I have many exciting positions in Advertising I would like to discuss with you. Please email me your current job status and availability ASAP and we can get started on finding you a job!

Have a super day!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
_____________________________________________________________

Hi Randi,

Thank you for your interest!
Currently I am working as a Freelance Project Manager, but I am looking for a full-time, permanent position in a Ad Agency. The Project Manager position I applied to on your website seems like a perfect fit for me. Could you tell me more about it?

I look forward to working with you!
-Meredith
____________________________________________________________
Hiya Meredith,

Could you please email me your resume in Word format or as a PDF?
We currently have many exciting positions available. When would you be available to come in and interview with me?

Have a great afternoon!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
___________________________________________________________
Hi Randi.

Attached, please find my resume in Word format. Is the Project Manager position still available? Do you currently have similar positions?

Thanks again!
Meredith
___________________________________________________________

Aloha Meredith,

We have many positions available in Finance. Why don’t you come in and meet me on Wednesday at 1:00pm?

Have a great weekend!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
_________________________________________________________
Randi,

Unfortunately I am not really looking to work in Finance, but I appreciate the offer. Would it be possible for you to tell me about the PROJECT MANAGER positions you have available at the moment?

Thanks,
Meredith
________________________________________________________

Shalom Meredith,

How does Tuesday at 3:00pm work for you? I forwarded your resume to a great company and they would love to have you come in and interview. I would just need to meet with you first.

Have a happy Monday!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People
____________________________________________________________
Randi,

Is this for the Project Manager position at the Ad Agency? What company is it?
Thanks,
Meredith
_____________________________________________________________

Salam Aleichem, Meredith!

This is an exciting opportunity in a creative and dynamic environment. The company is looking for a multi-tasking, hard-working, go-getter - a real dynamo! The hours are 8:30am - 8:00pm, and there is no paid overtime, but it is a really fast-paced, artistic environment.

I think this is the perfect job for you!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
_____________________________________________________________
Randi,

Great Randi, could you please tell me which ad agency this is for so I can do some background research on it?
Thanks,
Meredith
_____________________________________________________________
Hola Mereditha!

The company is not actually an ad agency per se, but there are so many perks to the company! The office is located in midtown, next to Port Authority, which makes commuting a snap. Not to mention the fast-paced atmosphere of a wheelchair factory!

So how about Thursday at 1:00pm, you can come in and fill out some paperwork, then we can send you straight down to the company for an interview.

Randi

Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
_____________________________________________________________

Did you say the job is at a wheelchair factory? -M
_____________________________________________________________

Jambo Meredith,

Yes, a fantastic one too! I shouldn’t be telling you all of this since it’s such a high-profile job, but you’re like a sister to me so here goes...the position is reception/office manager/executive assistant to the president of Wheel Locks and Casters. It’s a great foot-in-the door position at a prestigious wheelchair co!

So how about Thursday then?

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"
_____________________________________________________________

There's a place in hell for people like you, and it's called Beauregard Staffing.
_____________________________________________________________
Howdy Meredith,

I’m so glad you’ve decided to come in. Remember to bring proper ID for your forms!

Randi
Randi Leighton
Beauregard Staffing
"Where Excellence and People converge to form Excellent People"

I rest my case.

Quel Dommage

I had my first class at the Adult Education Center tonight.
Since the course is a basic 100-level class, I figured the students would be completely new to the language like myself, whose knowledge of French is comprised of "thank you" and "what a shame".

The instructor walked in and began to speak rapidly in French. I looked around the room, and to my dismay, all of the students seemed to understand what she was saying. They were laughing in unison at what I assume were jokes, while I sat there looking like the special needs kid whose Rainbow Bright mittens are pinned to her jacket year-round. I felt like I was watching an episode of Saturday Night Live, staring at the screen, hearing the laughter of the audience, but finding nothing funny about it.

While the teacher handed out some worksheets, she asked all eight students to go around the room, introduce ourselves, and talk a little bit about what brought us to the class.

A six-foot tall, gorgeous blonde answered first, "I model in Paris a few times a year so I could use French for that...oh and I have a French boyfriend." A peppy bald guy chimed in excitedly, "Me toooooo!".

The only other male in the class sat up in his chair, puffing his chest out proudly, and said, "Well as long as we're talking about significant others, I'm taking this class since my girlfriend went to school in France!"

I began to wonder if I had accidentally sat down in the wrong classroom. Maybe this was one of those romantic coupley courses that have ridiculous titles like "Pizza My Heart: Learn Italian!" or "A Wok To Remember: Chinese Love Lessons."

Two more students admitted to learning French for a boyfriend. I began to feel like the donut in the center of one big circle jerk for people with French-speaking significant others.

Finally, the brunette next to me shared her story, "Well, I work at a scientific research lab and the Director just came from France, so most of the staff speaks French." A wave of relief washed over me. I'm not the outcast for once, I thought to myself. I began to relax until she continued to speak..."And now that I'm dating the Director, it will come in handy to be fluent."

I sighed, feeling the impending doom of having to speak next. And what would I say, "I'm trying to spice up my love life and my right hand speaks English, but my crotch is a Francophile" or how about, "Two words, people, Celine Dion!"

Thankfully, before I could answer, the instructor called on me to read the first sentence on the worksheet aloud:

"Comment allez-vous?"

I stumbled through the sentence, massacring the pretty words as though my pronunciation was a giant pair of combat boots, stomping and squishing the letters until nothing was left but slime and guts. The teacher looked at me with the abject horror normally reserved for mass murderers or vegans.

Why couldn't this be like the movies where the instructor is some charming French gent who initially finds my buffoonish ways repellent, then grows to adore me through a sequence of whimsical events and soundtrack by Mew?

Fact is, the teacher is a woman who wears the sensible shoes of a janitor, and shares the same tone of voice and sexual predilection as Ellen DeGeneres. The class may be filled with beaus and better halves who are speaking the international language of love, but if they break up, French will be a bitter language to speak and to hear, and boy would that be painful.

I may not be fluent yet, but my right hand and I have a good thing going.

Break-Up Kits

My plan to start fresh is in effect. I registered for French class, purchased my textbooks, and even roped a co-worker into teaching me the basics of dance. First lesson - how to nod my head and move my feet rhythmically. Top teeth hanging over bottom lip a la White man's overbite, optional.

I feel as though I've just spent hours following a recipe, painstakingly adding each ingredient until finally the dish is ready to serve, but rather than digging in, all I can do is sit at the table and push the plate around with my fork.

Instead of excitement, I feel disheartened. I'm going through a withdrawal from the high I felt while being courted and pursued, and no matter how much glue I huff, I can't seem to catch the same kind of buzz.

After this recent love gaffe of mine, I keep wondering how the people I involve myself with are able to turn their feelings off so instantly, like the power button on a television remote. Brain switched from Feelings for Meredith ON to Feelings for Meredith OFF, in mere seconds.

Don't get me wrong, I've been sloppy with the emotions of others before, and now that I'm older and fear a rim job from karma, I try to be more responsible. Unfortunately, I've become one of those people who wears her heart on her sleeve so outwardly, that it may as well be diced and skewered with tiny toothpicks for people to sample in a mall food court. Mmmm, she's extra sensitive today, delicious!

So where is the happy medium if there is such a thing? What is the secret to disentangling oneself from a relationship with all the messy unrequited feelings and the arduous process of getting over them? How does one brush herself off so nice and tidy, feeling refreshed as if just having had a cat nap?

Maybe Hallmark should start manufacturing break-up kits, a pre-packaged tool set which helps you effortlessly snip someone out of your life.

Break Up Kits: Because it's the human thing to do.
For ages 12 and up
Contents include:

-A "You deserve better..." checklist, with reasons such as, "I know we just had sex, but I'm gay now" or "You should be with someone who sees all the good qualities you supposedly have, that I just listed, but don't want for some reason."
It's recyclable, so next time you're dumping someone, you don't have to scramble and come up with these reasons on the spot. Just make sure you've thoroughly wiped down the dry-erase "Her name here" section, because calling her by the wrong name would be downright rude.

-Pictures and messages from hot women posted on your Facebook or MySpace page to make it look like you've already moved on. Sure, you've dumped her, but just in case she ever thinks there may be a chance for reconciliation, she will see all the new prospective sexy ladies that are after you. And let's just admit it, it is a contest of who wound up better off. And baby, it's you.

-A penknife to help etch yet another notch in the ol' bedpost...You stud, you.

-A case of Jagermeister and a bendy straw. Sobriety can cause guilt and other negative feelings from the way you behaved to creep up and cause discomfort. Think of alcohol as a Snuggie for your conscience.

Also available "Sorry I Made You Pregnant Kit", each sold separately.

In reality, there is no quick-fix for me right now, and I'll have to wait for time to work it's slow, dragging magic, or at least hope for the fugue to kick in. In the meantime, I'll bide my time by watching Golden Girls reruns and listening to Blonde Redhead. If you'll excuse me, my half gallon of mint chip isn't going to finish itself.