Cool Things About Being Single

So I've recently come to the realization that for five years now, people around me have been getting married. Ever since I returned from my mission in June of 2003, between numerous friends, a business partner, a roommate, a brother, most of my missionary companions and just about all other acquaintances thinkable there has been somebody in my sphere of influence who has been constantly engaged. Most recently my roommate and his girlfriend, Sean and Mary (they are mentioned in "The Seemingly Brainless on Valentine's Day") were married.

Returned LDS missionaries have a tendency of being married earlier in life than the rest of the world. One missionary companion has three kids and I trained him. From a cultural standpoint, I am constantly barraged with questions of when I am going to get on the marriage bus by people at church, extended family and friends. I know that they all want me to be happy and that's why they ask, so I don't mind too much when they ask. There are a lot of guys in my situation who dwell on the fact that they feel left behind the rest of the group.

I'm a pretty optimistic person. Sure, I'm a little sarcastic at times (see all previous posts) and for the most part, I would describe my sense of humor as somewhat self-deprecating, but I really am a glass half full kind of guy. Listed below are the reasons I love being single.

1) Freedom. I know it sounds callous to some, but being single means that I have the freedom to do whatever whenever. Being married means you've got to get at least one other person to buy in. For example, I recently moved due to the fact that Sean got married and Mary moved in. It didn't take me a week to realize that I had moved into a house that really isn't my style. I'm moving again on Saturday. Try doing that as a married adult. As another example, every once in a while, I get the urge to take off on a road trip somewhere. I pack my car with whatever and go. Sometimes I bring friends along and because they are single as well, the only thing anybody ever considers is whether or not they want to go.

2) Church. LDS singles wards have their drawbacks for sure. All these drawbacks can be summed up by the underlying principle that a singles ward creates the social pressure of going to church to hookup. I have a policy against dating girls in my ward, so that pretty much eliminates all the downsides of a singles ward and that leaves the positives. For instance, every ward in the church has activities outside of Sunday services that involve food, but only in a singles ward does the food part happen twice a month guaranteed. Munch and mingle, break the fast, linger longer and flirt and dessert are all names by which this activity is called, but all the names point to food. That just doesn't work in a family ward. Another huge benefit of a singles ward is that it is quiet in church. Before church and after church, it's as noisy if not noisier than a family ward, but during church, the reverent atmosphere in meetings really helps to maximize what I learn in church. Don't get me wrong. I love kids. My nephew and my niece rank in my top ten favorite people on Earth and they're pretty near the top at that. I even like kids to whom I'm not related. And though I would like nothing more than to be a dad myself, not having any kids around in church is like nothing else. Lastly on the subject of church, I will say that the lessons in Priesthood and Sunday School include much more class participation than I've experienced in a family ward. Since most young single adults are students, it seems that the members of the class are much more prone to be involved in the lesson because it comes naturally. Every time I visit my parents family ward, I feel so bad for that poor sap who is teaching upwards of 30-50 adults with at most five people contributing.

3) Appearance. Most people would think that being single means that you have to maintain your image and marriage is the time to let it all go. For the most part this is true, but once married, your spouse has certain expectations. My brothers and I all decided to grow moustaches once. It's stupid and strange and sophomoric, but it's also something brothers do. It didn't work out so great for my sister-in-law. The contest was over before any of our lip push brooms had the chance to flourish when he shaved at the request of his wife. Contrast that experience with a bunch of single guys in a similar contest and bam, it's like a Tom Seleck wannabe convention. While on hair indiscretions, I have to mention that in the last two years, I've shaved my head twice. This was something I did as a little kid when I didn't care too much about other people's perceptions of me. Junior high and high school brought an end to that sort of hairstyle, but as an adult, I don't necessarily need to be validated by others' opinions of me, so shaving the head is something I can do again. Shaving the head is one thing, but the events that preceded the head shaving included shaving male pattern baldness into my head, while keeping the moustache the first time around and a green mowhawk the second time. I'd like to see if any married LDS guy could get his wife to buy in to that sort of hairstyle.

So there you have it. Freedom, church and appearance are all great aspects of being single. Of course this whole post is just here to reassure anybody who reads the next post that I'm not some whinny little baby who is bitter about my continuing single status. Stay tuned for my list of grievances against the single life.

Dress Codes

The wheels of my longboard whir along the asphalt with the occasional tinkling of the loose bolt holding my board together. As I approach the building, I slam my cupped hand holding my employee badge into the post with the badge reader. This serves both to help slow me down and to gain access to the building. This is a daily process and humorous to those who see it for the first time because it always seems that I’m going to barrel right through the glass window that is feet away from the post. But I never have, and today is no different. As for my board, that’s a different story. Up until today, my board has never so much as tapped the glass. My fingers come up empty as I grasp for my board. It continues and is stopped by a thud against the glass. To my exhilaration, the glass doesn’t even chip and I have avoided any possible negative consequences of a broken window.

“You’re fired,” jokes the security guard.
I take his ribbing in stride partly because we’re friends and partly because I’m running predictably late. As I reach the top of the stairs, my eyes scan the second floor for any associate directors, supervisors or the head honcho who has recently gone out of his way to make small talk with me. Seeing nobody in my direct path, I make a move for my desk careful to not let my feet make that enjoying smack against the leather of my flip flops.

This would blow my cover you see because I’m not supposed to be wearing flip flops. I hurry down the rows of neatly lined cubicles with my heels covered by the bottom of my pants. This unorthodox fashion statement is a silencer for the familiar flip flop patter. My desk is right next to the aisle on the way to the restrooms so in order to disguise my dress code violation, I promptly take my seat and neatly tuck my feet away under my desk.

Throughout the day I will need to discuss certain matters with my supervisor, Ben, but when he’s not around, I find the next available supervisor. Most of the time, the next available supervisor is a woman. It is in these circumstances that I find myself faced with a most interesting dichotomy. I approach the female supervisor careful to position myself far enough away from her desk so that the computer blocks my view of the cleavage spilling out of her top but close enough that I meet her eye to eye. This strategic positioning has the secondary benefit of keeping my feet from her view. By walking back to my desk, I’m exposing my indiscretion in footwear choice and I know that she may take me to task for my dress code violation.

Ben returns from his break and my previous encounter prompts an open discussion of the dress code.
“Flip flops aren’t nearly as bad as some of the other dress code violations that go on around here,” I say. I’m careful to be fairly vague about it at first to see if the reaction is that of agreement or a challenge to come up with a specific example. The response is fairly neutral and that’s why I like Ben. Unlike most of management, he doesn’t necessarily see the point in mediating these insignificant issues. Other supervisors would jump at the opportunity to “resolve the concern” by applying a company model that is systematic and almost never genuine. I mention a conversation I had with another supervisor once that went something like this:
“I don’t see why I can’t wear a nice leather flip flop. Women wear flip flops with a raised heel and pass it off as a dress shoe and nobody cares.”
“Well it’s because flip flops aren’t safe.”
“They’re safer than a two inch heel. I can ride a skateboard in flip flops. I’d like to see a woman who can do that in heels.”
“Well they’re unsanitary.”
“How so?”
“You don’t wear socks with them.”
“Do you wear socks with a heel?”
“Well they’re not professional.”
“That’s totally subjective because it’s based in opinion. I disagree, but I can respect your opinion.”

Now there is a difference between subjective statements and objective statements when it comes to determining what is professional. Subjective statements are based in perception whereas objective statements about professionalism have substance behind them. The substance behind extreme cleavage in the workplace is contained in the phrase “hostile work environment.” I borrow this phrase from the landmark Supreme Court case which has given us the most current legal definition of sexual harassment, Vinson v. Meritor Savings Bank. Although many guys don’t consider showing skin a major contribution to a hostile work environment, I would argue that it is using two basic premises to support my argument.

The first is that professionally dressed women can be intimidated by their peers who seem to attract more attention due to real or perceived quid pro quo preferential treatment from male coworkers in positions of authority. To demonstrate the second way in which the cleavage factor creates a hostile work environment, I cite an episode of the popular American sitcom Seinfield. In one particular episode, George Costanza is caught checking out the cleavage of his boss’s daughter when she bends over to pick something off the floor. The boss’s daughter is significantly younger than George and naturally he is labeled as a pervert. In his defense, George makes the claim that he did nothing out of the ordinary. He draws the comparison of men looking at cleavage to looking at the sun during a solar eclipse. Even though you know you’re not supposed to look directly at the source, it’s almost inevitable that it’s going to happen.

Married men, single men who aren’t trying to get a peek, single men who are trying to get a peek and even gay men (probably) look at the blatant display of boob when it’s just out there for everybody to see. This creates a hostile work environment for the married men trying to stay faithful to their wives in both thought and action. It creates a hostile work environment for honorable men who are trying to keep their thoughts focused on the task at hand and off the objectifying of women in today’s society. For those men who don’t fit into the honorable category, married or single, they would be more likely to be the cause of the hostile work environment. This is certainly encouraged by seeing cleavage around every corner.

A hostile work environment is the cause of every major sexual harassment suit in the country. But I can’t wear flip flops because the opinions of some are that flip flops are unprofessional.

This double standard of the dress code is what prompted my initial question directed toward Ben. To further clarify what violations I notice on a regular basis, I continue, “I see women here all the time that walk around with half their boobs popping out, but since they are wearing a dress, nobody talks to them about it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
So I’ll continue to go to work wearing my flip flops all the while fearing some 30-40 something divorcee will come up to me with her boobs hanging halfway out of her shirt and tell me that I’m dressed inappropriately.

The Seemingly Brainless on Valentine's Day

"So what are you planning on doing for Valentine's Day?" I ask as I enter the house after work.


"She has to work all night that night so I'm off the hook." my roommate replies.


I go to the fridge as more a matter of habit than anything. I become hyper aware of the void in my stomach as I have only eaten a couple of bags of chips between work and school. It's ten at night and I've got to get something to eat. The void in the fridge matches the void in my stomach as is prone to happen all too often. Sometimes the motivation to go grocery shopping just isn't there on Saturday after I've completed a long week of work and school. I grab my half eaten pint of Ben and Jerry's and put it in the microwave for five seconds just to let it soften a little. It's not the most filling thing, but Cherry Garcia hitting the confines of my empty stomach has never felt so good. I glance around at the canary walls and plop down into the blue recliner to finish my ice cream.



"If she does get out of work early, she'll probably just come over and we'll end up making out," he adds.


If not for this statement, I would have thought he was doomed to suffer an excruciatingly awesome breakup come February the 14th. It is this statement that reminds me of the depth their relationship has displayed on the public scene. And what a public scene it has been. Public displays of affection, or PDA are one thing. The time I saw my boss holding hands and kissing her husband on the cheek at Some Burros was PDA. What I get to come home to on an almost nightly basis is beyond PDA.

It's three days later now and the big day for most men has come. I'm always hesitant to continue or make an attempt at establishing a relationship throughout the holidays because the expectations are too high. Of all the holiday expectations, Valentine's Day is the worst. Men are expected to invest an inordinate amount of time, effort, thought and money in spoiling a woman. Most of the time the hopes for the fruits of their efforts lies in getting lucky that night and that's no guarantee. What's worse is that these poor suckers aren't even in full control in ensuring that things go according to plan. Valentine's Day can be ruined by bad service at a restaurant, inclement weather, other guys trying to make things happen for themselves, or a bad case of the farts and/or sharts.

I read stories of mishaps containing all of the mentioned circumstances in the Boston Globe online. Work is slow on Valentine's Day so I sit at my desk and read online newspapers from other major market cities. Journalistic writing on the West coast just doesn't have the same quality as does East coast writing. Readers weigh in using the online form and describe their worst and best Valentine's Day experience.

I have one earbud unobtrusively hidden in my ear so that co-workers and managers don't notice and I listen to random albums on my iPod. I don't take it as a matter of coincidence that Flogging Molly somehow gets back to back albums played in the queue. The words of Dave King's subdued voice on "The Worst Day Since Yesterday" aptly describes the plight of some of the men calling me about their cell phone bills as their significant others nag in the background. "Well I know I miss more than hit, with a face that was launched to sink, and I seldom feel the bright relief. It's been the worst day since yesterday. If there's one thing I have said is that the dreams I once had now lay in bed. As the four winds blow my wits through the door, it's been the worst day since yesterday. " As much as this represents some sentiment on the most special day, Flogging Molly, in screaming angst, delivers again describing the situation of many others who feel slighted by unrequited love. "Then the ball dropped while everything fell by the way. As your tear drops were falling I forgot to say that I have always loved you."

Drivers pack the freeway and it's ten o'clock at night on a Thursday. Traffic is usually nowhere near this awful. As I pass other cars driving 60 mph where the limit is 65 and the standard is 75, I glance into their windows pelted with rain and confirm my suspicion. It seems that all these slow drivers are guys with a female passenger riding shotgun. These are the same guys who feel it necessary to battle via drag race to beat me to the merge on the onramp. Only tonight there is no over exaggerated show of testosterone. That needs to be saved for later. Logic would dictate that these dudes would be racing home in the hopes that end results are achieved according to plan. Apparently some have taken the more patient approach and are driving very carefully and slowly. They are on the home stretch and driving too fast might derail their plans for the remaining two hours of Valentine's Day.

As I arrive home, the roommate's girlfriend's car is parked in the street. On the counter is a gift bag containing a few items I don't care to notice and a frisbee. The card on the outside reads, "From Amber." The two of them are nowhere to be found but my roommate's truck is out front so I know they haven't gone anywhere. They must be in his room. I sit down at the computer to do my homework only to be bothered by an occasional bump against the wall coming from the other room. The lights are off as I type and listen to random tracks on iTunes. I turn the volume up so that everybody in the house can hear.

Despite my obvious hint at what is left to everybody as only guessing at impropriety going on in the other room (my roommates and I are all Mormons and believe in celibacy before marriage), the love birds seem to be unabashed as they walk out at quarter to midnight. The girlfriend has a curfew and it takes 15 minutes for her to get home.

Earlier that day I had an exchange with my other roommate's girlfriend, Mary. I like Mary. She's probably the nicest person who comes over on a regular basis. She came early in the morning to decorate Sean's room with candy and those awesome sugar cookies she makes with a hint of cream cheese in the frosting. Before she left, I mentioned the awkwardness of PDA and pointed out that quite a bit of it goes on during Valentine's Day. Although I tried to refrain from mentioning anybody in particular, and I was pretty sure she understood who specifically I meant, I decided not to leave any room for doubt and mentioned specifics. She laughed somewhat taken aback that I would come right out and say it and followed with, "I hope we're not like that. Are we like that?"

Of course Sean and Mary aren't like that. Otherwise, they would be the subject of this story. So I am left to wonder at the contrasting couples as I drift along through life alone knowing that this lonely status has the potential to change. And I evaluate how I would like my own potential relationships to be in the future. Sean and Mary have a strong basis of friendship that is the foundation, and this in sharp contrast to the other relationship which I can observe is mostly physical.

This post originally began just before Valentine's Day and it is now early March. Two weekends ago, several days after the big day, I asked my roommate where his girlfriend was. He replied that she was on a date with another guy then followed up with his disdain at this fact stating that he wished they were "exclusive". My thoughts are, if you have to ask or question the fact, you probably aren't and if you bring a girl home three or more nights out of the week and end up making out and that's not exclusive, what is?

Personal Space

So anybody reading this knows already that I'm a pretty passive aggressive person, and this note/blogging thing seems to be a good outlet for people like me to lay out gripes with just about anything. Today, I would like to discuss personal space; more specifically, mine. I understand the need to invade this space at some times. Giving somebody a congratulatory hug, spooning, talking to a hot girl at a party where the music is really loud, and tackling an opponent in football are all situations where it is appropriate to invade the personal space of another. Standing behind me in line at the grocery store is not.

This subject needs to be addressed because as I stood in line to check out at the grocery store recently, I was nearly assaulted by the woman standing behind me. If it wasn't 110 degrees outside, I would have sworn she was trying to huddle up with me to stave off hypothermia. Now if she had just inadvertently stood uncomfortably close by accident and didn't notice, I wouldn't have minded so much. But every time I inched away from her, she made up for the difference as if she half expected a passerby to notice the six inches of space between her body and mine and mistake it for an opening in the line. I even made the attempt to stand away from the check out station a few feet while making a face that obvioulsly said "I am uncomfortable and you are the reason why." I was careful to keep my foot in front of her so that she wouldn't mistake my body language screaming "Yo back the truck up beeyotch" for my leaving the line with my items still on the conveyor belt. Even when I reached the card reader to swipe my debit card, there she was, so close I could smell the sour cream and onion chips she had for lunch.

Now maybe I'm being too harsh. Perhaps she was raised by a pack of wolves and just never learned that whole aspect of American culture. Maybe she is seriously affected with a case of autophobia (look it up). Or perhaps she has lost her sight in one eye suffers from a complete lack of depth perception. So for those of you to whom these conditions may apply, here is a good rule of thumb when standing in line i.e. the security line at the airport, waiting to checkout, entrance to a sporting event or concert etc.: put your hand out and touch the person standing in front of you, measure the distance from your wrist to your shoulder, and that is the closest acceptable distance to stand behind someone. It may be awkward explaining why you "accidentally" brushed up against this stranger, but it will be a heck of a lot less awkward for them. Who knows, maybe this stranger turns out to be a long lost friend? Then it would be acceptable to stand close, but only if the music over the speaker at Albertson's is blaring the muzak so loud that you can't hear your own conversation.

On Blogs in General

In the age of the information super highway, everybody with a pulse is empowered to reach a limitless audience. That said, there are a few problems with blogs in general. There are actually probably more than a few, but for this first posts purpose, I'll include three problems that prevent blogs from attaining their purpose, that is to convince and educate others on a given position, which problems are as follows: blogs are relatively inaccessible to the majority of the internet community, those who seek out a blog by a specific person are relatively few and probably have the same ideology as the writer, and those who reach the blog are less likely to care about what is said given the circumstance that the blogger is your average person and not specifically schooled on finite rhetoric.

First of all, if you are reading this, there's a good chance that I sent you some sort of invitation to read my blog. Anybody who has not received an invitation from me specifically is either wasting time at work or has an unnatural fascination with reading about strangers. In this way, I am reaching next to nobody outside my sphere of influence. Now perhaps if one of those people in my sphere of influence is decided on something I have written, then I suppose that the Venn diagram effect is a possibility. By this statement I mean that if three people are convinced by what I write and are successful in convincing others within their sphere of influence, then they tell three friends, then they tell three friends, and so on etc, then my blog will be a success. However, as I will later point out, this circumstance is highly unlikely and borders on the verge of altogether impossible. Therefore, what I write here remains largely unknown to the world because most of the world has no idea who I am or where to find out what I think about things.

My second point is that most of the people with whom I associate are very much like me. For example, I am a white male age 25 and I've never lived outside of the Western U.S. I am a college student but I don't party because I am a very devout member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The people with whom I surround myself maintain similar moral standards. They have very similar ideas on most social issues because of the generally accepted Judeao Christian ethic standard that has been firmly established in America. Finally, of all the people I know, there are at most 20 who would be interested in what I write on a regular basis. Of those 20, eight of them are family members. The rest are close friends and have ideologies that are more aligned with mine on a nearly microscopic scale. Because this is the case, does what I write really change any thought process? The answer is a clear no.

Finally there is the subject of apathy. Unless my audience is extremely moved upon by a call to action, they will step away from their computers and say, "that's nice," but give no more thought to what they have read. I would need to posess the combined rhetorical skills of Oprah and Franklin D. Roosevelt in order to get people to buy in to what I say. On that note, does Oprah really have any rhetorical skills anymore? I don't think so. I think her show is a success because she gives away free stuff like cars. Anyway, my point is that without said skills, I would be completely ineffective in convincing others to take action.

So what does all this mean? What is my point? Why have you, the reader, continued to read what I'm saying? The answer to all of these questions is "I'm not sure." But the one thing that I can promise is that this is the last blog I post that is serious in nature. From here on out, everything I write will be observational and hopefully enjoyable to read. I hope you come back and visit often for a laugh or two.

Regards