Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Eat. Pray. Eat Some More. Love.

There are two scenes in Eat Pray Love that I am completely in errr... love with? The first scene includes Julia Roberts and her new blond friend that she has met in Italy dining out for lunch, enjoying what appears to be some of the most amazing pizza ever. Julia's friend only eats one piece and looks on as Julia's character devours every bite. She asks what's wrong and explains that she's gained a ton of weight in the last few weeks and can't fit her jeans. Julia responds with a ground breaking response:


This is probably my most favorite scene in the entire movie. Now some of my friends might say, "Yes, Kate. So why are you wrapped up in weight?". I've been doing a full body cleanse Monday. I'm doing pretty well and adjusting slowly. I've eliminated alcohol, red meat, processed sugars, and carbs. Sound s like a lot but my lunch today was packed with a turkey burger, an arugula salad and homemade dressing (yes! I made homemade dressing. What?!). 

Over the holidays (and in my last 7 or so months of being fully single again) I've turned to food for celebrations and for social outings with friends. When I ate a box of Nerds for breakfast last week, I knew it was time to make some change. 

Years ago I found myself in a relationship where all we did was eat. I weighed in at a whopping 218 lbs. Yes, it's true... and to my good friend in Miami please continue to hide (or burn) those photos from that trip when we were all big and round. At that weight I was not healthy. The weight on my body made it hard for me to run and I just didn't take good care of myself. 

Now, 40 lbs lighter I'm still not satisfied but I'm feeling a lot better than I did before. 
Moving into the new year and my 30th birthday (big what?!?) I'll choose to enjoy food more, not become obese (again), and I'll not equate my food with how many calories I've burned the previous day.

I will not torture myself for eating a piece of bread or having a glass of wine. But I'll stop myself before I eat the entire loaf of bread and the full bottle of wine.

Let this be a lesson that while a guy will never walk out on us when they're exposed to our "muffin top"we should not walk out on ourselves.

S.G.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

I'm a nice person.

It's been a little over a month since I returned from my volunteer trip in Africa and it feels like years. I received an email from a friend I made on the trip asking me, "Wo ho te sen?" which means "How are you?" in Twi which is the native language in Ghana. My heart ached for the two and half weeks that I spent teaching some very rambunctious 3rd graders and carrying bricks to build a new school. I winced when I thought of the days where we carried bowls of water on our heads from the well and drops of water would fall down my face. I secretly think I had major stomach issues from a couple of those drops falling in my mouth. I digress.

Returning back to the U.S. and ramping up rather quickly for Thanksgiving and Christmas I found myself out and about in the city with this intense need to consume. "I have to buy things," I kept telling myself. And so I found myself at the grocery store, TARGET, the mall, trying to find things that I needed and getting rid of things that I don't.

The holidays bring out the best (and worst) in many of us. I found myself at the grocery store buying cream cheese for a raspberry cheesecake (it was in fact delicious by the way) and I graciously thanked the woman behind the counter and wished her a happy holiday. I smiled, walked back to my car, hopped in and drove home.

I remember when I wasn't so happy. When a trip to buy cheesecake felt like the end of the world.
Now things are quite different.
I'm filled with love and faith.
I gave a homeless person $20 on my way to my Dad's house on Christmas day.
I believe in the good in people again.


Experiences from my younger days molded me into the person that I am.
Bad experiences hardened me from opening up and taking risks.
Every day that I move away from those experiences, is a new day to take a risk.
A new day to share love.
The farther we move ourselves from those people, that behavior, whatever those "bad" things may be, the more we move back over to good.

It's been a good amount of time since I've been in a bad thing.
The days and months away have me finding myself and getting back to the true person I am.

I am hopeful and giving.
I am selfless and loving.
I believe in the good in people.
I am a nice person.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

I (Am)Sterdam

Single girls goes on vacation. A delay at Ohare forced me to miss my connection in JFK which would ultimately get me to Africa.

The Delta gate person was incredibly friendly and accommodating. I didn't really have a choice because they had already taken my bag from me. She was kind enough to reserve me a sleeper seat on another flight that would could connect to Africa. Then I was informed I'd be flying to Amsterdam first.

I spent 8 hours waiting at Ohare for my flight to depart. Another 6 hours en route to Amsterdam and I now have a 7 hour layover here. With the recent "suspicious package" discovery I'm going to play it safe and stay in the airport.

It's 2 a.m. Chicago time and I'm wishing there was a bed nearby. I'll do my best to stay up as long as possible and make it through to Ghana. A not so pleasant reaction to malaria medication had me close to tossing my cookies on the plane. The next flight should be less nauseating!

No dating stories wrapped up in the post, folks. Although I suppose I haven't done any alone international travel in two years, since my trip to Japan. I'm traveling alone again as a true single girl. I'm totally wingin' my travels and single girl has no problems making a little stop off in good ol' Amsterdam.

Here's to long layovers and people watching. Sometimes we're delayed in life, sometimes we're re-routed. But more often than not, we make it there.

Safe travels.

SG

Monday, October 11, 2010

On Any Given Sunday

On any given Sunday you can find me waking up around 8 a.m., making a pot of coffee, and eating greek yogurt and an egg (inspired by my sister). And on a Sunday afternoon I'm wandering the aisles of the South Loop TARGET looking for inexpensive ways to give my entire apartment a face lift.

This Sunday was different.

Sunday morning I rose with the sun, walked Bernard, and came back indoors to layer black running pants, and a green tank top. I strapped on an elastic belt lined with Gu and a race bib and clipped on my pink ipod. Ready to run.

This Sunday I ran the Chicago Marathon. It wasn't my first time, my third in fact. But this year felt completely different from previous years.

I ran for miles. I ran for hours (five and a half to be exact) and by the time I hit mile 25 I was depleted. I was on the verge of tears and I just wanted someone to hug me and tell me not to cry.

Mile 25.5 came around and the Cranberries, "Dream" came on my ipod. You're probably flashing back to Dawson's Creek. Stay with me.

Take a moment to find the song in your head or on your ipod if you have it.

Picture yourself running through the city of Chicago. Over 28 neighborhoods.
Tired.
Hopeless.
Hot.

Sun blazing.
Miles blurred.
You reach for hands who give you food, water.
Ice chips across your face and arms.
You're struggling to get to the other side.

And then just shy of mile 26 you see a familiar face.
Someone who is struggling just as much as you.
You help them.
They help you.
And you cross the finish line.
Fighting the tears.
Enjoying the moment because it comes so infrequently.

You cross the finish line proud and hopeful.
Strong.
Solid.

In life, we may not all decide to strap on a pair of New Balance and hit the pavement for 5+ hours.
But we all run marathons.
We all face obstacles that challenge how grounded we are.
They look us in the eye and ask us if we're strong enough.

The thing is, deep down you are.
You were always strong enough to get through it.
You always will be.

26.2 or whatever your marathon may be.

-SG

Saturday, September 25, 2010

It's About Time

Sadly, I've had a week's worth of topics to write about (I'm keeping a running tab on a post-it note in my messenger bag) and I'm just now getting a chance to get it all out there. Why just the other day I found myself writing my next post in my head, editing my verbal story telling and thinking, "I should just get in front of a computer already and type this out." My brain doesn't actually save those drafts.

Last Saturday's evening run turned out to be a late night jog with raccoons along the lakefront. Apparently they too are working on their fitness- that, and eating garbage. But really, don't they both go hand-in-hand?

Prior to my run last Saturday, I took Bernard out for a long walk. On our usual route we passed by the Glessner museum which in the summer doubles as an after-party venue for South Loopers who say "I do". Last year during a single summer, Bernard and I walked past, poked our heads in and saw drunk white people dancing to Thriller. Bernard promptly peed on the side of the building. We're such a great match.

Last Saturday however, I saw something different. An open park behind the Glessner house gives way to a beautiful garden filled with lilac and freshly mowed grass. The people who manage the park don't allow dogs so it's perfectly manicured and you never run the risk of walking into something stinky.

The side entrance to the garden is across from our normal dog walk route and normally the gate would be closed. But not Saturday. As I approached the corner to take Bernard back in, I saw two people standing, their backs towards me. Just standing. Waiting for something.

I examined their clothing. The slightly older woman wearing a beautiful suit with gold and cream. Perfect for a cool end of summer afternoon. The younger woman to her right in a gorgeous gown. Dressed from head to toe in layers of beautiful fabric and holding a bouquet of roses tied with a perfect white ribbon.

They were waiting, out of sight for the music to begin. Mom and bride would make a grand entrance into the park and she would be married moments later.  I wondered what they must be thinking. A faint trumpet played in the back. I couldn't even see anyone in the park waiting but I knew just a few feet ahead the people who care most about them (and vice versa) were waiting to witness such a beautiful event.

I never saw their faces. But shortly after stopping and staring.. the traditional wedding song came on, Mom and daughter looked at each other and walked in to the park and disappeared.

Okay, okay, stop crying. It was moving, yes I agree. But it was so positive. So happy.
With that moment ending, a new moment began. Different stages in our lives. Different moments of waiting.

I went out and ran 18 miles that night. On the way home, I was able to run back south to the fireworks from Navy Pier and an encore performance at the Shedd Aquarium.  Those fireworks were for me. To say, these are your moments. These are your celebrations.

-S.G.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Switch-Up Saturday

This weekend I'm living on the edge. Instead of doing my 18 mile run at 6 a.m. this morning I'm throwing caution to the wind. Get this, I'm doing it tonight at 6 p.m. so I'll actually finish right at bed time. I told you it was crazy. I'll give you a minute to recover from that news.

Let's just say my social life these days is pretty awesome. Lots of time spent with my friends, evenings out, dancing at concerts (think a gentle mosh pit), and getting back on my bike. I'm organized to a point that would put Martha Stewart to shame. Meh, Martha. You've got nothin' on me. I make this organized life thing look easy.

Why even right now, I'm gracefully sipping on a caramel apple spice from the north side Starbucks while Bernard visits the local groomer to get his mohawk lined up and ready for the weekend. He's such a ladies man.

Life is good.

The summer is over and fall is here. I'm loving every minute of it and feeling great.

As a single girl, we have to make our own fun. We have to stay on our toes. Why just last night I biked the lakefront path in the dark. I was a little freaked out when I stopped for water but aside from that, I made it home in one piece. I owned the lakefront last night.

Today, I own the little table at Starbucks, typing on my computer, totally pulling off the role of the coffee computer girl.

Happy Saturday.

-sg.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Fantastic Fall

Hello old friend.

Its been a while since we talked / typed last. You may be thinking that since July 27th, the last time I wrote, Ive been busy with a summer love affair that was hot and steamy. Wrong. My summer was spent running, cooking, and watching the first season of Dexter. I'm totally addicted.

After a two month hiatus I'm back blog readers. This summer I did not meet the love of my life, nor did I travel the world (I'm actually saving that for next month). Instead, I spent some time rediscovering myself. My love for curling up on the couch and watching movies all night. How can you beat that?

Fall is here. A chill is in the air and the beaches are closed.  I have to say I'm relieved. A summer of recovery now breaks into a fall of fun and happiness. A clean slate ready to be filled with apple picking (Who's in?), carving pumpkins and trick-or-treating.

Fall is here and life is good.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Don't want no short man

Before your mind throws itself in the gutter and swims through impure thoughts of sex and size, first know that this entry is not at related to how "well endowed" a man may be but instead how he stacks up to me. Let me clarify.

If you're over 5'8, you know it's incredibly hard to find a guy (just any old guy will do) that is over 5'10. I'm on the cusp of six feet so finding a man who doesn't look up at me when I throw on a heel is close to impossible.

In the world of dating, finding a guy who makes me feel like a woman (meaning I can't cradle you in my arms like a baby - because that would be really awkward) can be a big challenge.

Take for example the odds. Most men probably fall around the 5'8 - 5'10 range. If they're under 5'8 they're likely dating a woman who is a lot shorter, perhaps an inch or two taller so they can still feel a bit bigger. The 5'9 and 5'10 guy is sort of a gray area.

At my most recent physical with my doctor, the nurse informed me that I was in fact 5'9 and not 5'10. Perhaps mother nature or some bigger power was shrinking me merely to open up my dating options. Thank you mother nature! Aside from instantly increasing my BMI by losing an inch, I was elated to learn that I could now put 5'9 or taller on my list of requirements for my next boyfriend.

I dated a guy who liked taller women. He was about the same height as me and when I put on heels for a Saturday night on the town, I had a good 1-2 inches over him. On skinny days I felt sexy. On bloated days I felt, well just big.

I suppose we look to men who are sized appropriately for us. A toothpick guy who stood 7 feet tall would be kind of circus sideshow-like, but more importantly would not be a good fit for me.

On the flipside, perhaps the man of my dreams stands 5'8, is stocky with glasses and is waiting to run into me at the local DSW. Look for me near the size 10s.

I have to believe that size doesn't really matter.

A good guy is in fact a good guy.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Tea for errr.... One?

Being single has its drawbacks. For example, happy hour at the local pub is just too challenging. A buy one get one free on pints can easily get very messy when every time I order one, a lovely bar tender brings me another. What to do, what to do...

In all seriousness, the power of one is sometimes lacking. Now don't get all bent out of shape. As a single woman, I am powerful. I'm strong (half ironman this Sunday!) and confident, and at my worst I'm honest, open, and humble.

But as a single girl trying to purchase furniture? I am hopeless - and incredibly clumsy.

I've had my eye on a gorgeous, dark, tall dresser from World Market. If this dresser was a date, he'd be taking me out for a night on the town. I know, it's just furniture. Single girl makes her own fun.

So I've been eyeing this dresser but it was a bit pricey. I've been checking Craigslist every day to see if someone is selling a used version of it but alas, nothing. So Monday, I went on to the website to see if by chance it had gone on sale. Score! Dresser is $199 instead of $299. I call the store, speak to a nice lady who reserves it for me, and plan to pick it up after work. If only dating were that easy. Pick up the phone, put on hold, pick it up after work. Single girl is feisty today.

I go to pick up the dresser after work and this large (kinda cute) World Market stock boy comes out with this HUGE box on a rolling thing-a-ma-jig and says, "Where do you want this?". Oh dear.

I pull my car around to the elevators, he (not-so-easily) puts the dresser in my trunk, almost buckling underneath it and I ride off with the tail end of my car closer to the street. Low rider!

I arrive home and realize there's no way I can get this thing from my car, through the parking lot, and into my place. I retreat to the apartment, crack open a beer and watch TV. The next day I think, well why not take one piece at a time upstairs. With a purchase like this, odds are I'll have all of the parts in my apartment by middle of next week.

It's day #4 and I'm about 60% there. It's gone well - barring me dropping one of the boxes in the parking lot after a run this morning. I hope I still have my receipt.

So what's the lesson of this super long furniture story? Shop at IKEA and buy light, compact furniture?

No, ask for help.

And if no one is around or there's no wheelie thingy to throw your new purchase on, don't be embarrassed that you can't do it alone. Even if we can't tackle a big project, a goal, a dream, a problem in one fell swoop, we can still take pride in taking our time, moving one piece at a time until finally we pull everything together and have something perfectly beautiful.

-S.G.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

That's so wrong

The other night Bernard and I were out enjoying the summer evening. The air was warm, the streets quiet, and our usual trip around the block with my iPod pumping was going swimmingly. Walking down the street, passing parked cars, I could see a small animal (a bunny? I've seen an influx of bunnies over the last few weeks. Their cuteness is distracting to say the least) attached to a leash.

What could it be? As I got closer, I could see a very cute (and teeny tiny) Yorkie attached to a leash. The leash was stuck in a closed door of a parked car. Nice car, something high-end with dark windows. Could someone have forgotten their dog during the evening rush? Perhaps a busy grocery trip left this person forgetting to bring their dog in for the night.

As I approached the car (and the Yorkie got more and more excited that I might unleash him from the door) I saw something in the car. Beneath the tinted windows there.... two people totally going at it. Where was I? I could've sworn I was still in the nice neighborhood of the South Loop but here were two people totally getting down in a parked car, with their dog strapped to the outside (courteous for the dog, I guess).

Somewhere between parking and getting ready to walk Foofie (this is what I named the dog), they decided to throw extreme caution to the wind, get completely naked and have a street side romp fest in my neighborhood. Blech.

I quickly moved away from Foofie, screamed. "Oh my!" in a tone that only my Mom could make and ran off with Bernard near my side. We walked quickly around the corner in shock (a little bit of horror) and total embarrassment.

The point of this story? Well, lets see the obvious first. Please don't have sex in your car in my neighborhood with your dog hanging out of the door. Second, have a little respect. In my craziest of days in college (Miami no less) I found myself in situations that if my parents knew, probably would be a bit embarrassing. But the whole South Loop to see your business? It's more than I'm interested in.

And if for some reason the mood strikes you and you can't say no to a quick ride in the car (pun intended), at least have a little respect for Foofie.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Formula for (Or Against) Online Dating

When it comes to online dating, I've gone both ways. Some days I feel like its one of a few options to meet people. I bike to work every day, go out for cocktails with girlfriends, and hardly ever cross paths with someone who I would consider entering into a relationship with. I pull out my worn Citibank debit card and slowly enter the numbers, expiration, and security code - hoping that a small deposit will bring back true love. Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking.

Other days I believe what will come my way, will in fact happen a little more organically. That one day I'll be strolling down the street and I'll bump into some ridiculous smart, funny, and handsome guy who will sweep me off my size 10 feet and we'll live happily ever after. Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking.

This weekend in between some pretty hard core Lance Armstrong style bike riding, I went online to do some reading when I stumbled across an article titled, "Why You Should Never Pay for Online Dating".  Now keep in mind its written by a free online dating site, but the article completely blew my mind.

The writer attempts to take the slightly public success metrics for big, expensive sites like Match.com and eHarmony.com and figures out the likelihood that you (or I for that matter) will meet someone on one of these sites and marry them.

The article discusses the idea of "dead profiles" on these dating sites as a way to lure in people and the stats on how many people sign up for one month (2 months, 6, a year, etc) and actually return. What's the turn over rate on these sites?

The statement that stopped me dead in my tracks was the following. Based on the math - and this math is damn good:

"It turns out you are 12.4 times more likely to get married this year if you don't subscribe to Match.com".

Did you read that? That means by canceling my membership a few weeks ago, not only did I save myself a whopping $36 per month which I can use towards some sort of fun vacation (Single Girl has something in the works!)  but I also increased my odds of meeting the man of the dreams.

Perhaps last week's mailing of Exclusively Weddings was in fact a "heads up" that something good this way comes.

For those of you who are toying with the idea of online dating or are on there and are just not feeling like you're getting out of it what you're putting in (financial and time), read this article (link below). Read it thoroughly and read it good my friends.

And if you don't believe the math, break out that dusty old single girl calculator and do the math.

Read more here: http://bit.ly/b08ffj

-S.G.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Maybe it's a sign

This morning (after a great 5 mile run through downtown Chicago) I stopped at my mailbox. Realizing I hadn't checked my mail in 3-4 days and that I probably have bills to pay I opened up box 223 to find a large magazine at the very top of my mail.

There in plain view was the latest edition of "Exclusively Weddings". Their tag line? You want it perfect - we make it simple.

I quickly surveyed my current magazine subscriptions and recent purchases. Okay Women's Health, Glamour, Health Magazine. Nope, no sign of a wedding there. Recent online purchases : Converse shoes from TARGET, wall decals from Blik, a couple of 5k sign-ups. Yep, none of those really scream, "sell my info to a wedding catalogue, I'm ready to tie the knot!"

I feel as if this could mean one of two things:

1. I'm going to meet some amazing guy really soon, get engaged, married, and live happily after, or;
2. Someone got me mixed up with another single girl in the city and the post office is incompetent.

I'd like to think its #2. In college, I never received a birthday check my Dad mailed to my dorm room and yet it got cashed. Sneaky USPS!

In all seriousness, this reeks of irony. I'm at my most single self and here I am, confronted by a 99 page catalogue that sells "Future Mrs. So & So" everything from rhinestone pins to the ever-so-classy Britney Spears-inspired, velour jogging suit.

I turned away from the catalogue, opened up my laptop and started to type.

Irony at its best - or just a mailing label fluke.

Either way, I suppose I should be relieved that I didn't receive "Modern Senior Living Magazine".

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Please, don't call me Carrie


Years ago, four women came together to create a HBO series that would change the way women look at relationships, sex, and shoes. I was a huge fan. I still am. I’ve seen the first SATC movie and own all of the seasons on DVD, but most recently I’ve felt like there’s something I need to clear up.

I am not Carrie.

The writing of Candace Bushnell and the characters she creates are phenomenal. She breathes life into four very different women with her words, witty antics, and some pretty amazing fashion choices. (see picture on left)

I don’t own Jimmy Choo.

I’m flattered that the women of Chicago (and some of the men even) think my style is something that could even compare to the lovely New York ladies who run the streets of Manhattan. It’s not that I can’t or don't want to have that, I just refuse to pay $800 for a pair of shoes and a grand for a wallet. I’m notorious for finding the perfect cute shirt and jeans at a reasonable price and some of my best “pieces” have come directly from the super saver rack at well-known department stores.

I don’t live drama.

At one point in my life I had a Big, you could say. But he wasn’t tall, rich or educated – and he only lingered around because I couldn’t get him to go away. I’m a drama-free girl, which sometimes means hearing the absolute truth. A friend or boyfriend with a thick skin (or an open ear) is a must have.

I tell it like it is.

Aside from the moments when I’m whimsical and carefree, I am completely honest about the experiences I have. I don’t disclose personally identifiable information but I do share what’s real for me, the things that I see – and hope that those experiences help others, and shape me in the process.

So to the friends who say, “Oh my god, you’re like Carrie Bradshaw!” after reading my blog please remember that on these (e-)pages, I am sharing my world; hilarious, sad, sometimes mildly entertaining.

And when the entries end, and no one subscribes anymore, I’m still just a Single Girl trying to figure it all out.



Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Operation Beans: Uncommon Ground, Wrigleyville


If someone asked you to describe yourself as a caffeinated beverage, what would you be? A red eye? A large drip with room? What size? Would you have extra shots of some delicious syrup?

I’d be a double short Americano. Not only does it sound incredibly cool when you order it but it comes in a small package and packs a serious punch. My 5’10 height aside, I’m a small package, but the contents of this container are hot.

Sunday I headed north to the lovely neighborhood of Wrigleyville and camped out on the Uncommon Ground patio. When I last wrote, I mentioned that I would list my 10 coffee shops and visit each one, sit by the door, and smile at (almost) everyone who walks in.

This visit was successful. Let’s just say while I didn’t spend much time people watching, I did spend 2.5 hours talking with a very nice person. We discussed the gorgeous weather we’ve been having (minus the twister that went through downtown Chicago last Friday) and held a very casual, comfortable conversation outdoors – I had mint tea with lemon (single girl battles a cold this week) and this person had iced tea.

At the end of the evening I looked down at my waterproof puma messenger bag (looks cute but doesn’t hold squat) and realized I hadn’t even cracked my laptop open. Nor had I really smiled at anyone – except across the table.

A successful evening? I would say for my first attempt, this was a good set-up for more of what’s to come. I’m optimistic and open. And if at the end of my visits to 10 coffee shops, all I walk away with is a great conversation, well single girl say that’s just fine.

This Sunday, single girl heads north to live it up in Lakeview, Intelligentsia on Broadway.

Order up.

-S.G. 

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Hurry Up & Wait

My horoscope today says, “You are easily charmed by anyone who behaves in a flirtatious manner toward you now”. Oh, great. You might as well just call me desperate. Stupid zodiac.

This sounds like a recommendation to not do any dating right now. Which works out perfectly because no one is asking me out anyway. Awesome.

Close to two months single (again) and I don’t really have the desire to meet anyone new. Don’t get me wrong, I tried but it just didn’t feel right. I think I just need more time. Or perhaps I should be putting that energy into something else like training (30 days and counting til the big race!) or spending time with my friends. Chicago summers are phenomenal, and with today’s weather being mid 80s and sunny, I feel like it’s a calling to get out there and just enjoy myself.

The pressure of meeting someone can feel like the weight of the world – especially when your friends and family (who are really wonderful people) are always asking you about your dating life. Deep down they want to see you happy but it creates this weird pressure of wanting something, even needing something that you don’t really want – or need.

How long after a break-up before you should “get back out there” and try to meet someone new? There are rules – I googled them. There are different schools of though, of course. Some believe you should start dating the next day. Wow, that’s fast! Others think that as soon as your ex starts dating so should you. Hmmm, okay. And finally, those that have used a mathematical formula for dating; Take the amount of time you spent with a person divide in half and that’s the amount of time you need to “get over it”.

I have to object to this one. So that means my long-term relationship of 6 years would’ve required that I take 3 whole years not dating. What! That’s just wrong dating mathematicians. So wrong.

I say wait until you’re ready. Perhaps, occasionally dip your toe in the dating pool and see how the water feels.
Ice cold? Jump out immediately, go for a run, have coffee with a friend.
Tepid? Test it out, cautiously. Use those cute little floaties if you have to! Comfortably hot? Dive in – just don’t get burned.

-S. G.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Reject Me Not

How's this for rejection?

Yesterday I went to give blood. I sat down next to the nurse, answered a series of strange questions, (apparently if you've lived in the UK for more than 5 years you can't donate) and spelled my last name 3 times until she finally typed it correctly in her computer.

At the end of the questionnaire I was given a disapproving face by the nurse as she said, "Sorry, we can't accept your blood. You're rejected". What? Not only have I been striking out in the world of dating these days but now even my platelets aren't good enough.

At the beginning of the year I spent a week and a half in Central American with a great love. Apparently we spent some of those great times in a malaria-infected area which perhaps could've been a sign that we were headed to Splittsville (population: me).

 To add insult to injury, the nurse would not let me leave the donation center until I gave her all of the areas that we stayed which meant I had to look through all of my emails including hotel confirmations and notes about how wonderful the trip was - in order to find that I stayed in a malaria-infected area and could not donate blood until February 2011. February 14th to be exact. C'mon!

After reliving my trip in 2 minutes I was given a rejection letter (no, seriously. It says you're rejected) and a sticker that said, "I make a difference". I begrudgingly stuck it to my shirt, kicked a proverbial can, and walked back to the office.

Returning to my desk, I thought 1) damn those mosquitoes! and 2) sometimes you just don't get what you want. I wanted to make a difference yesterday but I couldn't. I tried unsuccessfully.

On a related note, I've stumbled across what could be the most inspirational video ever - yes, ever!
If you find yourself rejected by a single boy, having a tough day - or (god forbid) the Red Cross is "just not that into you" as a donor, take a moment to enjoy this video: http://www.someecards.com/card/3628

Monday, June 14, 2010

Coffee Shop Experiment

This weekend I felt truly single.  Friday night I ordered in and watched "Pretty Woman" on TBS. Saturday morning I had some retail therapy at Old Orchard mall (I'm crying while looking at the receipts right now - I spent $38 on lip gloss. Please don't judge).

Sunday morning I drove out to the suburbs and did a 50 mile bike ride around the lovely community of Barrington. Last night I got caught in the rain during a dog walk and went to bed around 9:30 p.m.

Single girl life is a bit on the slow side these days. With triathlon training (six days a week), a semi decent social life, and a dog, I find myself incredibly busy but often times bored. This week I have plans 6 days out of 7. I'm not super excited about any of them though. Well maybe my next long bike ride or a long swim at the gym.

I was reading online this weekend (while consuming some very delicious carry-out from Coast) about ways to meet people in the city. There was a top ten list of some sort that walked you through the "best of the best" as a sort of how-to guide to finding someone new.

#1 was actually intriguing; Spending time at a coffee shop.

Apparently the aroma of ground beans and scones elicits a certain romance in the air conducive to meeting someone on a Saturday or Sunday morning. In my case, Friday or Saturday night.

I thought of all of the great coffee shops in Chicago. Now granted, I love a grande non fat chai from Starbucks but (no offense buckers) I mean real coffee shops. Coffee houses that have slightly worn sofas with funky music playing in the background. Where the majority of people inside have plastic framed glasses and converse. Where everyone's a Mac and a double short of something booming with caffeine.

So today I'll start my experiment: Operation Beans.

Create a solid list of stand-up coffee shops in Chicago proper and pick one day per week to spend at least an hour with beverage, perhaps a book, and just watch.

The article I read said, "sit by the door and smile at every person that walks in the door". I subscribe to the smile policy but every person that walks in? The Baristas will likely ask me to leave because people will think I'm creepy. I'll use my judgement on choice of facial expression day of.

Day: Sunday (only day free)
Coffee shop: Uncommon Ground (Wrigleyville location)
Time: Evening

Between now and Sunday, I'll be compiling the rest of my list. Please send along any suggestions you may have and if you see a tall single girl on Sunday evening with plastic frame glasses, stop by and buy me an espresso.

-S.G.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Freedom to do, well whatever...

I've been trying this new thing where I smile at everyone I make eye contact with. Walking down the street there are opportunities left and right to meet new people (friends, more than friends, whatever).


I see someone, I make eye contact and smile. Usually they smile back. At the very least, it makes their day to know people are still pleasant in this city. People still care. Maybe this whole smiling thing will turn into something bigger. Maybe I'll smile at the right person and something great will come out of it. It only takes one.


Single in the city (loving the weather) is such an interesting experience. Talking to a friend the other day, I explained how when you're single you have absolute freedom to do anything you want. 
Let me say that again; absolute freedom to do anything you want.


If I want to sit at home and watch TV all Saturday afternoon while it's gorgeous outside and sunny, I can do that. If I want to spend my evening watching movies, eating popcorn and drinking champagne I can (side note: I did this a few years ago and it was awesome. Made for an interesting morning the next day, but fun nonetheless).


The freedom you have as a single person is something we should cherish. A few weeks ago I hated it. It felt uncomfortable and empty. Now I sort of get why people like it so much.


On the flip side, being in a relationship, coupled up with someone you love (and who loves you in return) is also an amazing feeling. You can always count on this person to be there and that makes you happy and full of joy. Let me say that again; you can always count on this person and that makes you happy.


Coupled life is really wonderful. Having experienced a great love, I know that when you're with someone who complements you and cares about you, you feel like you're floating. You are sleeping on clouds under the most beautiful sun, shaded by warmth. You feel, well - great.


Do you think that we're meant to experience both of these at various times of our life? Sometimes being coupled is just what we need while other times eating cookie dough and watching Bridezillas does the trick. I have to believe that they're both equally important. To know your self alone, as you are, nothing more, no one beside you. But also to know your self together, with someone, and all that they bring, right beside you. Just a thought.


Right now I have the freedom.
Tomorrow? Perhaps the next smile will tell.

Monday, June 7, 2010

My Little Secret

Some of my readers know me.
Some of them don't.
Some people might put two and two together and know who Single Girl really is.

That being said, I can't share a secret that I am dying to tell all of you.

We all have secrets. Whether they're personal secrets about ourselves - or secrets a friend has shared.
Secrets are like gifts. We give them to others who we trust. We take them, gracefully.

Like a bud, a secret can grow into something much bigger than it really is.
In relationships, our secrets can feel like mammoth-sized moments where we have to have a straight-forward, open, and honest conversation with our partner.

Secrets that aren't major can sometimes seem huge to others.
Those that are minor can break a relationship down.

Do we share all of our secrets with our partner? Brutal honesty if you will.
Or do we censor our secret? Knowing it won't hurt them - or at the very least, thinking it wont.

The idea of sharing our secrets seems risky.
The idea of getting our secrets off our chest seems healthy.
I have to believe that holding every single secret in, not talking about it, not communicating, has to be harmful. Hazardous to our health even.

Post Secret is one an amazing blogs. It encourages readers to send in their own secrets on post cards, anonymously.

Some are funnier than others:



Others are a little on the heavier side:



Do you know that 11,000 people joined a Facebook page to discourage this person from jumping off the bridge? They wrote notes, emails, and videos address to the person that shared this secret.
One person will print out all of them and tape them up on the bridge to discourage this person from leaving this world.

Single Girl believes in anonymity but I also believe in the support that we receive from other people can truly help us.

I'll be sharing my secret with Post Secret.

You? Send your secret somewhere.

But please, just send it.

Friday, June 4, 2010

On Online Dating...

Great quote from my good friend in South Florida:

"I mean, the conventional way of meeting people has worked for a lifetime. I don't think we should have to pay to find dates".



Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Culinary Catastrophe

Single girl doesn't cook.

Wait, I should clarify.

In an effort to impress a boyfriend and his friends, six months ago I cooked the most amazing pie. It was a pear, cherry, cinnamon streusel pie and it was like a carb version of baby Jesus. The crust was flaky and light, angelic even. It was handmade with love and the most fattening of European butters. The cherries and pears were tender yet firm. And the streusel? Oh, the streusel. Rolled oats snuggled with melted butter and crumbles of brown sugar, then mixed by hand to create the most lovely crunchy goodness.

(Close mouth. Wipe drool. Keep writing.)

The pie was perfect. Friends were impressed. Boyfriend enjoyed. Perfect.

Months later I tried to create another perfect pie for Thanksgiving and failed miserably. The crust was chewy and tough. The filling was undercooked and I was embarrassed to serve it to my family who thinks French Silk pie from Baker's Square is the best thing out there.

(No judgement French Silk lovers. I think it's pretty delicious too...)

Single again, I find myself trying to figure out what to eat for dinner.  Last week I dined on Chef Boyardee (directly from can), honey mustard pretzel pieces, and gummy bears. Yes, it's sad. I'm embarrassed to event put it "out there".

I took a cooking class a year ago with a friend. It was supposed to be targeted towards those who were intimidated by cooking. We made truffle fries, Chilean sea bass, and chocolate souffle. Really?

The down side (or at least one of them) of being single, is this immediate sense of responsibility to take care of yourself, cook, clean, have a social life, stay fit - and do it all with ease and grace. It's challenging to say the least and just when I have most everything down, something slips through the cracks.

I find myself in a pickle (pun intended!).  I get home from work and the daunting task of creating a meal that tastes good overwhelms me. Last night I went to the grocery store and bought 5 chicken breasts, boil-in-a-bag brown rice, and tomatoes. I'll eat this every night for the next 5 nights. Boring, I know. Technically though, I will have made it all by myself.

On top of this (sort of) new responsibility, many men look for a woman who cooks. Is it horrible to say I'll probably never be that kind of Single Girl?

Perhaps if you know a guy who enjoys cooking and can deal with my quirks he'll be okay with me cracking open a can of Progresso once a week and maybe (just maybe) trying to bake a pie.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

The Run-In


We all know breaking up is hard to do. We know that what’s even harder, is running into that person after the relationship is over.

A week or so after a break-up the thought of a run-in gives me heart palpitations, perspiration, and a feeling in my stomach that feels like its eating itself. Perhaps that will be the next weight loss craze?

Months later (a couple of weeks if I’m lucky) I’ve recovered with just a little bit of sadness and instead of feeling crushed, I feel more powerful with a side of sadness.

The difference between running into an ex one week after the break-up compared to one month can be huge. One week and you probably have a bottle of vodka in your pocket and a roll of cookie dough stuck to your face. One month and you’ve likely been hitting the gym. Your biceps are cut, your skin is flawless, and you’re (hopefully) sporting a super sexy jeans and t-shirt (maybe even a side of new man? You go girl).

Picture this:

You were dumped one month ago but you’re getting by. You’re walking down the street and WHAM! You see your ex coming towards you. You’re 90% sure that he hasn’t see you yet but what do you do?

There’s a large bush two feet away that you could dive into but it could make for a painful afternoon. You can cross the street? You could look in your purse for some random object at the very bottom. Or you could walk right up to him and say, “Hello”.

What’s the protocol for the first run-in after a break-up? Do you think that your reaction should be based on how things ended?

I’ve always tried to be graceful. Aside from shedding a few tears post break-up, I’ve always tried to take the high road so I can actually show my face months later when I find myself on a city boulevard with ex boyfriend and nowhere to run.

Last summer I ran into my ex of 6 years and was completely cordial. One might argue I should’ve kicked him in the shins and ran off. I opted for a simple, “Hello. Good to see you” and “take care”.

A couple of crucial rules of thumb for your next run-in from Cosmo:

When you’re the dumpee: Cosmo says, “If you bump into the guy who emotionally gutted you” (great use of words Cosmo), “put on a brave face… no telling or crying”. So smart and advice we can all use!

When you’re the dumper: Can you say, awkward? If you were jerky when you did the ambush dumping, don’t expect a warm welcome during your run-in. Be prepared for a cold shoulder – a big one.

When you’re still kinda tempted: If deep down you were hoping this would happen (meaning you plan your outfits everyday based on the chance you’ll bump into him) try to get back in touch with reality. Make a list of the reasons you were not meant to be. And of course, compliment yourself on picking a stellar outfit.

And if none of these options seem like real options, then I say take that nosedive into that bush and wait a good 10-15 minutes until he’s gone.

No judgment.

-Single girl




Friday, May 28, 2010

Talk nerdy to me


Do you know who Clark Warren is? I'll give you a minute. Go ahead. Google it even. 

Yes, he is the founder of eHarmony.com and also the creator of the infamous eHarmony questionnaire that tries to match couples based on similar interests, values, and all that hubbub.

Here's a fun fact; Did you know that on average, 236 eHarmony members marry every day which accounts for 2% of U.S. marriages? I tried to find the divorce rate of those members but was sadly, unsuccessful.

The purpose of the introduction to Mr. Warren is a recent piece of information that he shared about compatibility. Chew on this:

"A couple needs to be within one standard deviation of each other in intelligence" (that's 10 points in either direction for all you non-brainiacs out there).

That explains why my ex-boyfriend of 6 years didn't last. Well that, and his unique ability to lead a double life for 5 1/2 of those years. But I digress...

So how do we define intelligence? 

Psychology today says that "reading a road map upside-down and generating synonyms for the word "brilliant" are two very different skills but each is a measurable indicator of general intelligence".

On my most recent road trip with a great love, we struggled to navigate the streets of Central America in an economy grade 4WD and me, a (sort of) bilingual city girl. Did our inability to "gire a la izquierda en la tienda" lead to the demise of our relationship only months later? Or were we just two directionally challenged lost gringos?

I discovered the other day that exercise is the only thing that builds brain cells. But once we build them, is it a case of “if you don't use it, you lose it”? Or can I simply run 26.2 and be the next Albert(a) Einstein (think less mustache, more make-up, and a slightly sexier lab coat).

If this is in fact true, that compatibility lives within one standard deviation of intelligence, then I say all future prospects must submit to me an IQ test and scores.

I declare that our compatibility is found in simpler things like our core values, an outlook on life, our ability to love and perhaps most importantly, our willingness to communicate… everything.

Perhaps my true loves intelligence is within two standard deviations of mine (gasp!) and we’ll never experience joy because Dr. Warren says we’re just not a fit. For shame!

The more peculiar thing is that I tried eHarmony for a month or so. I met a very nice person who turned out to be looking for very different things and our standard deviation becomes exponentially larger than I had ever imagined.

I have to believe that my future love is not dependent on meeting the guy that can read maps

And if I’m wrong about all of this? Then your ability to know if a train leaves from station A headed to station B with 100 gallons of gasoline will arrive before dinner time is imperative to the success of our courtship, our engagement, and ultimately our love.

And if you’re interested in testing my theory, please rearrange the following letters to make a word and choose the category in which it fits: RAPETEKA

a. city
b. fruit
c. bird
d. vegetable

(It took me 17 seconds.)

- Single Girl



Thursday, May 20, 2010

Compatibility: Art or Science?


This morning while eating my Cheerios with skim milk and coffee (coffee does not actually go in the cereal), I stumbled across a really interesting article about compatibility. 

I stopped at this part of the article:

"From family researchers to matchmakers, each has watched countless couples draw together and pull apart. And each suggested the same thing: We're looking at love all wrong. Compatibility does not hinge on some personal inventory of traits. Compatibility isn't something you have. It's something you make. It's a process, one that you negotiate as you go along. Again and again. It's a disposition, an attitude, a willingness to work."

This last part hit me - and hard. Compatibility is a disposition, an attitude, a willingness to work. Our compatibility levels go beyond our interests ("You love Thai food? I love Thai food, too!") and expand into our willingness to work through the issues that get in the way ("You don't believe in marriage? Wait, I do."). 

You've met your match is something we often times see as a sign of conflict, disagreement, a bump in the road. But meeting your match can in fact be very positive because you're forced to not only evaluate and communicate with the person in front of you but you're also forced to turn the mirror around and look at yourself. What is it that I do that makes it so challenging to be in this relationship? How can I address the issue I have with X? And more importantly, how can I communicate this need to my partner?

More from the article on chemistry: 

"...While we're redefining compatibility, let's banish its more combustible cousin, "chemistry," that black box of a term too often invoked to denote the magic ingredient of a good relationship. Chemistry is an alluring concept, but much too frequently people use it to absolve themselves of the need to consciously examine their approach to one another. As if the muse of love will alight on their shoulder and sprinkle fairy dust on them, and then they will suddenly open their eyes and behold The Perfect Mate—without prying open their own heart, embracing an unwavering willingness to see the other in a positive light or doing the hard work of exploring, knowing and respecting another human being."

This part of the article was spot on for me. Chemistry is so often used as an excuse for why something didn't work out ("We just didn't have chemistry any more"). Typically these feelings come on after the initial dating stage has passed and the infatuation of your new mate fades. The chemistry you shared with someone is still there, it's the real world things that now start rushing in that can put chemistry on the back burner and force you to reexamine the connection with your partner.

This idea that fairy dust can be sprinkled and we'll be magically in love forever with tons of chemistry and never a tiff or quarrel is just not realistic. I'm not being negative, I'm just being a realist.

To find love, you have to give love. 

To get past bumps in the road, you have to be willing to try and drive over them, tear them down, even if you have to dig them out.

The tipping point is our willingness to actually do it, to work on it, and to try and perfect it.

In my opinion this is in fact an art.

(Read the full article from Psychology Today / About.com/dating here.)


Wednesday, May 19, 2010

"If I could do anything, I would..."

Sometimes, something can move you to a place you haven't been in a long, long time.
A first kiss can send us reeling. A powerful story puts everything in perspective.

Yesterday I had the chance to participate in a unique opportunity.

My company sent me to a K-12 school in Highlands, North Carolina to tell a 16 year old girl that she had been selected as a top 40 finalist for a contest she entered. She was picked out of 33,000 kids across the country who sent in their own drawings.

Next week she'll fly to New York with her Dad to find out if she won. A college scholarship, a computer lab for her school, and a celebrity in her town.

Bringing her up on the stage yesterday and listening to her share her inspiration for her artwork was incredible. She wants to branch out, beyond her small town, and discover everything the world has to offer. She wants to experience things, learn as much as possible, and go where ever the road of life takes her.

At the heart of her journey, she knows that her community, her school, family, and heart will always be in Highlands. She knows that her journey so far has shaped her for what's to come.

And she's only 16.

This girl is wise beyond her years.

Single girl learned yesterday to take a minute once in a while and let the experiences around us shape us. Open ourselves up to others and learn that a lot is happening outside of our own personal world.

After yesterday, my biggest problems seem like minor hiccups.

Be inspired by those around you.

Stop and listen to others stories.

Be inspired.

(And maybe - just maybe - you'll get your fifteen seconds of fame.)

Thanks Highlands, NC for the inspiration!

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Single Girl Fall Down, Go Boom.

A week or so ago I went to the Cubs game on a Saturday afternoon. En route to the ballpark I was feeling incredibly optimistic. The wind blowing in my hair / helmet (or helmet hair really), a beautiful sunny day in Wrigleyville, and the sounds of the beer vendors offering refreshing Old Style. Warm days in Chicago are unbeatable.


Roughly one block away from the park a car stuck in traffic decided to abandon their ride and walk one block to the park while the driver parked the car. They opened their door on me. No, I wasn't doored.


I was a quick thinking single girl, and I swerved to avoid the mishap. What I did not know was that (in true Cubs traffic fashion) there was another car a foot in front which I not-so-gracefully plowed into the back of. Rubber met bumper and I was thrown over the handlebars, head first into a rear windshield, followed by a graceful roll onto the ground. 


Damages were minor, with the exception of a slashed leg and slightly bruised jaw (nothing a little concealer can't cover up). But the feeling I had lingered for days after.


The passenger blamed me ("There's no bike lane here lady!") and the woman whose car I dove into cleaned me up with Neosporin, band-aids, and a bottle of water. "Can you tell I'm a mom?" she said. "Amen for you," I said and hobbled off to the game.


The point of this story is 1) watch out for d-bags who open their doors in the middle of traffic in Wrigleyville, and 2) be prepared that in life we can get doored at any moment (or thrown off our smooth ride head first into a suburban woman's car).


In all seriousness...


The ride I've been on recently has been amazing. It has taught me things about myself, things about others, that I can feel a certain way and not be completely jaded by my past experiences. My most recent ride has been inspiring and has renewed my faith in the good in people. 


My ride ended abruptly.


It was a shock at first. I couldn't believe what had happened. I was stunned.
And then I realized what had happened, and I was crushed.


I'm still recovering and mending my wounds. Still a faded mark but almost fully healed.


Would I have avoided my ride knowing that it may not end perfectly? Should I have opted to stay home and feel safe, protected, and sheltered from the world. 


Absolutely not.


I was strong. I opened myself up to the possibilities of an amazing experience...
And I found one.


Single girl pulls herself up. Wipes the dirt and gravel off of her bike.
She gets back on, straightens her helmet (for protection) and rides off. 


I don't know what I'll ride onto next.
But I know I'll keep going.














Friday, May 7, 2010

Sourpuss

When I get into a running groove, my tongue sticks out of the corner of my mouth. The strange stares along the running path remind me to: 1) open mouth; 2) push tongue back in; 3) continue cardio; 4) repeat if necessary.

When I get really focused on a project I look very angry. It's not uncommon for a stranger walking down the street to tell me "Smile!". I'm knocked out of focus (and slightly annoyed because now I'm distracted) and I give them an innocent smirk that says, "thanks person I've never met before.  Oh, and BTW mind your business".

Does your mood affect your attractiveness?

When I'm sad I look tired. A sleep-deprived single girl requires a good spackling of under eye concealer and an even better blow out.

When I am feeling positive and happy, the energy is undeniable. My danish knees (I'm not danish but my knees look like pastry rolls) are thin and athletic. My split ends run for the hills, and my teeth shine like pearls.

My size 10 frame becomes that of a super model and I am flawless.

How do we control the visual impact of our emotions? When we are sad should we hold back tears so no one knows we're struggling? When we're angry should we throw things and yell?

I think it's unhealthy to lock these feelings away. To hide from the world what we're really going through can build up and cause emotional explosions. Holding things in not only creates internal turmoil but when you do finally explode (or implode, no judgement if that's how you roll), there is an aftershock, there are casualties, and there is damage that can never be undone.

But will you see me throwing myself down on the floor in self-pity?

Never.

Disclaimer: I said you won't see me. It could happen. But trust me when I say, you won't see it.

So go ahead.

Cry/Yell/Scream/Laugh/Shout it out.

We'll look the other way and be here when you're done.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Seasons Change



When I was in 7th grade I sported some of the most bizarre hair styles you could ever imagine. Single girl rocked brat braids (google it), corn rows, high pony tails and spiral curls.

In high school I worked at the GAP and my style changed from around-the-way-girl, to standard khakis and royal blue dress shirts. My idea of dressing up was a denim skirt and a polo. It was casual and simple. 

College days came around and I went through a crazy identity crisis. I showed up to the dorm in a tie-dyed hemp dress, and wrapped up freshman year in club clothes and heels.

The point of telling you about these changes? First, be careful who has a camera. Don’t pose proudly wearing a North Carolina Tarheels jersey and your hair matted to your forehead. Second, much like fashion, things in your life will change.

What was your favorite shoe in your early 20s? How did you define “dressing up” in your teenage years?

My love for the boot cut jean changed with my hips and a once comfortable stiletto, now accumulates dust in the back of my closet.

During any given fashion craze, I thought that my choice of apparel would be a life long commitment. At the age of 60 I’d still be rockin’ out in hemp clothes, smoking pot, and listening to Lauryn Hill.

I was wrong.

Things change. And our wants, and more importantly our needs change too. If you asked me six months ago if I’d spend the rest of my life wearing jeans and a cute shirt, I’d say yes.

But jeans and a cute shirt don’t always fit the frame. On occasion, our “go to” staple does not go to us.

We are left feeling confused. 

We are lost in a sea of clothing – searching for something that fits and not really understanding why that same outfit that fit so well is no longer a perfect match.

I’m not here to tell you what to wear, how to style your hair, or what color suits you.

Just know that from every phase in our (fashion) life, we are learning. 

We are loving. 

We are discovering who we are and what we deserve.

We are often times lost.

Sometimes we are found.

But always know that we are wonderful.