If you're wondering why no girl wants a "Nice Guy"...

…it’s because they don’t exist.

.

.

.

.

I’m just going to wait for the guys to calm down.  I’m not saying that men can’t have sparkling personalities.  I’m not saying that none of you have relationship potential.

What I’m saying is….define “Nice.”

Go ahead.  You can’t just define “Nice” by repeating the word and having your audience understand exactly what “Nice” means to you.  That’s because “Nice” is subjective.

Repeat after me: "Nice" is subjective.

If I asked three different friends to define “Nice”, I would get three different answers.  What does “Nice” mean to you?  Caring? Thoughtful?

Dig deeper.  Does “nice” mean he wants to meet your family?  Does “nice” mean he pays for dates?

Because for me, I can pay for a date and still like you. Honest.  So that’s not my bar for “nice.”  To someone else, that might be a deal-breaker.

Nice is a cop-out.

Stop describing yourself as a “Nice Guy”.  What does that even mean?  Are you compassionate? Do you volunteer at an animal shelter on the weekends?  Are you charming?  Funny…no, hilarious? Are you emotionally available?  Are you ambitious?  Are you faithful?  Confident, sensitive, understanding?

If you describe yourself as “Nice”, I’m sorry, but I get nothing out of that.  You might think the world of yourself and someone else might too…but you might not fit MY definition of “Nice”.

So why don’t we avoid that altogether? Stop describing ourselves (that includes us, girls) as “Nice”.  We are so much more than a one-dimensional, vague, overused phrase.  We are multi-faceted creations that don’t fit the “Nice” mold.

I can be patient and compassionate one moment and moody and unpredictable the next and guess what? I’m not a bad person.  I’m just a real person.  I’m an awesome person.  No one is “Nice” 100% of the time.  No one can be, because “Nice” doesn’t exist in the same form to every person.

So the next time a relationship doesn’t work out, don’t start bleating out to the general public about your “niceness”, or about how you deserved better.  Get up, dust yourself off, try again. Stop describing yourself as “Nice” in an attempt to win someone over and instead…present yourself as a real person.

Stop using “Nice Guy” as a personality type. It’s not.  Pick up a goddamn thesaurus and figure out which adjectives you REALLY mean when you describe yourself as “Nice.”  Use those instead.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Disclaimer:  

I haven’t even touched upon the “friendzone” culture in reference to “Nice Guys”.  Don’t even get me started, but that was NOT the point of this post.  Point is, drop the entitlement, drop the word “Nice”, pick up a thesaurus and a personality.  Jenny OUT.

Thoughts in the Club

So you guys are so faithful!  I literally hadn't updated for two or three months and I had several dozen page views in under an hour for "Thoughts at the Gym"

You guys are either awesome or have no life but I'm not judging.
Mostly because I fall into the second category myself.

So you guys may or may not be the type of people to go out to bars and clubs but here's the deal: if you're female and you like to dance you will get hit on. If you're single this can be a good thing. Sometimes.  Maybe.  If the guy is attractive.  Which occurs when the planets align and you sacrifice a virgin under the full moon.

Nah I'm just kidding, it's not THAT uncommon, I'm just picky and I happen to like dancing alone. Guys can't keep up with me.  It's a problem.  I had a guy friend in college that had also been in band in high school and we would dance together while out because if I wanted to dance faster all I would have to say was SUBDIVIDE and the joke was understoood instantly. He could keep up with me and it was actually fun.  But I digress.

Anyway.  I've actually started to have a social life again after graduation.  Shock. Awe.
I know.
I go out in Hartford, and it's quite fun.  I love to dance.  I'm not much of a drinker, and since the last two times I've gone I've been driving I've actually been completely sober.  This primes me for people watching and for of course..."Thoughts in the Club."  Enjoy:

When guys look you up and down like that, is it necessary to look alllllll the way down? I mean, do you really care that much about my shoes? 

I think it's a rule that bar/club bathrooms never actually have enough stalls to actually function properly.  It's a thing.

And that girl is hugging the support beam.  Gotta tell N.

What is with the chanting? Guys never chanted in Worcester. HEY HEY HEY!

It smells like hot dogs. Goddamn hot dogs.

No. It's not happening. It won't happen. Stop trying to make it happen.

That dance.  It's like swan wings mixed with seizures.  Swan-Seizing, the dance craze.

This DJ is compensating for a very small body part. Two guesses and you've already used one.

*PEACE UP! A TOWN DOWN! YEAH YEAH YEAHHHHHHHHHH*

I feel like a sardine. In a bad way.  Time to break out the funky elbows.  This. is. MY. SPACE.

That girl is still on the support beam.  She's humping it.  Or grinding. Kinda, spinning? 

Boys. Just say no to fedoras.  Just. say. no.

Holy shit that's where all the sex appeal has gone.  He's absorbed it all for his evil plan to take over the world.  Side note: now Pinky and the Brain is in my head.  Pinky and the Brain brain brain brain...

*GAS PEDAL GAS PEDAL GAS PEDAL*

No touchy.

No touchy her either.  She's with me.

No don't give me that look.  You've had to be rejected before, you clearly have no game, move along. Try to smile and ask nicely next time, instead of grabbing things.

I don't KNOWWW THIS SONGGGG but everyone else doesss so I'll act pumped anyway!

I know you've been trying to get my attention for 5 minutes dude but it's not happening so move along.

Girl is still on support beam.  She's sort of twerking on it.  Gotta give her props for her commitment to the idea.

Hair in face. Hair in face. In mouth. Out of face. And where's my hair tie. Dammit.

*GET OUTTA YOUR MIND GET OUTTA YOUR MIND*

And I just pulled a muscle.  Shoulda stretched more.  Damn.

Did that girl just fall? And she'ssssss up! 

Hahah is the song speeding up? Watchhh this suckasssssssss you about to learn a thinggggggg.

Booty SHAKE!

And: head count.

Note to self: you cannot growl at people.  As much as they deserve it.

*NANANA COME ON. I LIKE IT, LIKE IT. S S S AND M M M. *

Heyyyy gorgeous dudee....and gorgeous dude's girlfriend goddamnit just stay home.

How am I already hungry?

That was my foot.  Ow.

Oh he's cute!.....From a distance.  That's a syndrome isn't it.  An actual thing.  

Wanna start feeling self conscious now? Just, randomly?

I want nachos.

You look like my not-ex.  So let's not-dance.

What is the DJ even doing?

You are EXTREMELY FRIGGEN' TALL DUDE.

Are the lights coming on? The lights are coming on.  Damn.

Thoughts at the Gym

So.

I haven't updated this thing in forever.  I'm well aware.  So this will be rusty.  Very stop and go. Probably hard to read and the flow will be off and my humor will not be top notch. Also I'm swearing in this one deal with it I'm not censoring myself I just don't care.

Deal with it.  You don't have to read.

So for those of you who actually perpetuate the idea of friendship with me after the big G .... graduation...you all know that I've become kind of a workout junkie.  Not in an extreme way.   Jillian Michaels isn't my BFF and I don't drink green smoothies with questionable ingredients from countries that I can't pronounce but I go fairly regularly.  I mean, my graduation present was a gym membership.  And I was very happy about that.  (Thanks Mom)

So I look like this now:

Woot Woot.

But that's not the point.

My workout playlist needs updating.  My damn ipod is old and won't run Spotify so I have a limited playlist and it's just not cutting it. 

So I'll be running and leg-lifting and sweating to my heart's-content and quite frankly I get distracted. 

And the internal commentary starts:

Ugh, Pitbull what IS that lyric? YA NASTY!

Creepy dude.  You had to pick that treadmill. That one.  There's like, 15.  All empty. But the one right next to me, yeah?  I'm gonna start walking now.  Take that.  

Don't sing.  Don't sing. Don't sing. You're singing.

...And I'm pretty sure that was my knee that just popped.  *Pop lock and dropp* OW FUCK.

And so on.

I mean, it doesn't stop.  

KE$HA is my spirit animal.  If spirit animals were made of glitter and whiskey. 

Why do they have mirrors in front of the treadmills? This would be more fun if I was a narcissist.

And you're not running any more.  Power walk.  Work. Fierce.  No not like that you look ridiculous remember the mirrors oh my god.

I have a headache.  Is it because of the ponytail? It's because of the ponytail. Ponytail is down and....BAYWATCH.  Look at this hair flowing in the win----no wait stop staring.  It's not that awesome.

Andddd I knocked my Ipod off the treadmill....there it goes. That was graceful.

I said that out loud. Awesome.

Slipknot what IS that lyric? YA NASTY!

Don't dance, don't dance.  DON'T DANCE.  You're dancing. Great. Go on.

I think I recognize her...from high school...soooo working out on the other side of the gym for the next half hour sounds good.

Did I shave both legs this morning?

Whatever I'm not meeting my soulmate at the gym anyway.

I TAKE THAT BACK YOU'RE MY SOULMATE HOLY SHIT.

...nevermind you only look good from behind.  It must suck going through life like that dude.

.

.

.

And I could do more weight today I'm a total boss. NO I CAN'T I'M A WIMP. More reps it is.

My abs are writing documents listing their many grievances to the queen.  The queen is a masochistic bitch that says DEAL WITH IT. 

I think that's a teacher from high school.  But it's during school hours. Wonder if he got fired.  Probably.

Creepy Dude Alert.

For the final time.  Stop Dancing for the love of god Jenny.

And it just goes on and on like that.  This running commentary.  It gets me through though.  I can run an 8-minute mile on a good day.  But just imagine,,. I make all the accompanying faces for these thoughts, because my face is an open book.  And I know this because of those damn mirrors.  And I laugh my way through my workout, and I think the damn gym population thinks I'm crazy.

They'd be right about that.

Stay tuned for thoughts at the Club. 

Holy Self-Confidence Batman!

Normally I get an idea, and I want to blog about it. It nags at the back of my mind and I can't let it go until I've typed it away.

For whatever reason, today I got the urge to blog...but no idea.

That was, until I realized I haven't blogged about some big changes in my life, according to my blog, it hasn't happened.

I'm referring of course, to the new me!  It's not just weight, it's personality.

...but the whole weight loss thing is pretty good too. 

Since January, I've lost around 30 lbs.  I look awesome.  I spent practically all day today in a bikini and the rest of my time in daisy-dukes and a tank top. And you know what? I rocked them.

If we're honest, I know what started me on my "new me" mission.  It was a breakup.  I refused to do the "breakup haircut" and instead decided to hit the gym.  

And wham-bam...HOT DAMN.

This was me, before:

Now mind you, this is a FLATTERING picture, courtesy of my cousin Rachael.

Holy Huge.  At least my truck is sexy.
Those jeans are size 13.

Alright, it wasn't terrible.  Or so I thought.  Turns out, I was kinda kidding myself.  And wearing baggy shirts and hiding the weight.

Now, for all the afters:

My tan lines are the only thing embarrassing in this picture.

I bought this dress without trying it on:
I purposely picked a size smaller than I thought I would be and...well you see.

Progress shot! This is late March.

My legs are literally my favorite part of my body.

Skinny little waist!

That dress? It's a size 6.
The dress I THOUGHT I was gonna wear was a size 14.

You guys get the idea.  But it's so much better than that.  I ran my first 8-minute mile the other day.  I couldn't run a mile in January...I would have to stop and walk.

I try new things.  I'm more comfortable meeting new people.  I smile more. I strut like it's my job.  I don't mind my picture taken because I'm damn proud of my work. 

When I go shopping I automatically grab size XL shirts.  Old habits die hard and all.  But you know, it feels so good to go and put that shirt back, and grab a medium, or maybe even a small.  

I went swimsuit shopping before vacation.  It was the first time in years that I didn't feel like bursting into tears.  In fact I kinda had a fit of giggles in the dressing room. If something didn't work on me, it wasn't ME anymore...it's just a damn weird bathing suit- whatever!

Hearing "have you lost weight?" doesn't bother me like it does some people.  I smile really big and answer "yes!".  I'm glad people notice.  I feel for the first time in years that I'm noticeable.  

I'm not shaming my old body.  I'm not even mad that I went through that period in my life.  Hell- It's not like I have six-pack abs now.  I have a small layer of resistant cushy-ness.  Whatever.  I don't care that it stays there as long as I know my body can do so much more now. I can run, dance, hike: longer, better, stronger.  

My whole lifestyle is different.  It's better.  I'm happier.

Some people might think that I'm too proud.  But let me ask you this:

What kind of society do we live in, where it's more acceptable to hate your body, than to love it?

That doesn't mean that you have to love your body as is.  You can change whatever you want about yourself because that's the thing: it's YOUR body. Gain weight, lose weight.  Pierce yourself. Cut your hair.  Leave it long.  Just understand that what you leave behind isn't toxic.  It's just a different part of your life, and you can be proud of changing, or staying the same.  It's your choice because it's YOUR body.

I guess in the end it just means you do what makes you happy: do what makes you love yourself.

The rest will follow.

Driving is the most expensive prescription for my obsessive anxiety.

I think gas prices might far exceed the cost of any pill that would help.

But you know, I feel like the pills might be far less effective.

My truck roars when you crank the key in the ignition.  I know it's cliche, but it does.  It's a '94, so I crank my window down manually... but it's worth it when the air is rushing past the windshield and into my lungs.

While I love driving in general, it's the most cathartic at night.  I can forget there is a world past the barrier of light my headlights create.

Maybe I just drive at night because that's when I'm the most anxious.  I try to sleep and I find that my mind won't stop reeling. I can't stop worrying and obsessing and my heart clenches tight in my chest until I'm forced out of bed.

I used to drive the back roads back and forth between my school's two campuses...
Now I drive a route that takes me to a place where there are no streetlights, no houses, and plenty of fog.  When the sky is clear, it's the starriest sky I've ever seen.  When it isn't, it's the blackest place and it's like no one can reach me.

Sounds peaceful right?

Well, not exactly.  If driving was too peaceful, too quiet: well, I'd be right back where I started.  I might as well have stayed in bed and let my thoughts burn me down.

So I give myself a musical lobotomy, courtesy of my "Clear My Head" playlist, which I'm sharing with everyone:

Eyeless- Slipknot

Sic- Slipknot

Duality- Slipknot

Shameful- Atreyu

Bleeding Mascara- Atreyu 

You Eclipsed by Me- Atreyu

Unholy Confessions- Avenged Sevenfold

Desecrate Through Reverence- Avenged Sevenfold

Second Heartbeat- Avenged Sevenfold

Almost Easy- Avenged Sevenfold

Scream- Avenged Sevenfold

I Won't See You Tonight (Part 2)- Avenged Sevenfold

Bat Country- Avenged Sevenfold

I'm a Fake- The Used

Take It Away-The Used

A Box Full of Sharp Objects- The Used

Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums- A Perfect Circle

4 Words (To Choke Upon)- Bullet For My Valentine

All These Things I Hate (Revolve Around Me)- Bullet For My Valentine

Tears Don't Fall (Part 2)- Bullet For My Valentine

Just Stop- Disturbed

Diefy- Disturbed

Stricken- Disturbed

Down With The Sickness- Disturbed

Ten Thousand Fists - Disturbed

I have been known to "sing" along to this playlist, and lose my voice for a couple of hours afterward.

If you don't like screaming, I don't recommend my music. I, however, do like it.  I like to let my music scream for me, when I can't. Or...when I just can't scream loud enough.

The lyrics just take my random, cluttered, persistent thoughts and order them into words, lines, stanzas, choruses:

"Far away, you keep on trying...
Holding me down, breaking away,
trying to distance my life.
Not one in the crowd, but one with the answer
the one that could change your mind

It's not true, I don't need you
Don't waste your time, and don't waste mine
I'm not your friend, won't soothe your soul
And in the end you're all dead to me...."

"Here's to lowering caskets of old friends, 

through choice and consequence we'll birth a new day 

with the death of an old and (Start over, start over)

here's to burying hatchets in those 

who you'd never call your friends

we'll birth a new day with the death of an old and (Start over, start over)"

"Did you take me for a fool
Or were you just too blind to see
That every effort made has failed
And there is no destroying me"

"Here comes the pain!
Enemy, show me what you wanna be.
I can handle anything, even if I can't handle you."

"I feel insane every single time I'm asked to compromise
‘Cause I'm afraid and stuck in my ways and that’s the way it stays
So how long did I expect love to outweigh ignorance?
By that look on your face I may have forced the scale to tip"

You get the idea.  I like my drama.  I like my screaming.  I love my truck.  I love empty road. I love speakers that shake the whole car and rattle the anxiety from my spine with every crescendo.

The road gives me something to focus on.  The music guides my breathing and lyrics replace thoughts.

After I get back from my drive I'm emotionally exhausted. I feel like I've let my thoughts and feelings get physically beaten from my body.  I feel comfortably numb...at least enough to sleep.

Some people might say I'm running from my problems.  I disagree.





I'm doing so much better than that.  I'm driving from them.  I hope my problems enjoy the acrid smell of burnt rubber and the sting of flying gravel as I leave them in the dust, because I won't stop anytime soon.