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Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Nonline dating: Who needs spell check and grammar check when you can just sound stupid instead?

I don't know how many times I need to say it, guys.  Proofread!  I know we all make little mistakes even when we proofread.  Even I have been known to make a mistake or two.  (Shocking, I know.)  But, I am not talking about a few little mistakes, guys.  I am talking about not even knowing how to spell your job title!  Google it!  You're already on the computer, open up a new tab and type the word into Google.  If you have spelled the word wrong, Google will kindly ask you, "Did you mean..." and offer you the correct word.  There's also a website called that will provide a similar service.  It will even provide you with a definition of the word, in case you've mistaken it's meaning.  Like in the case of this one gentleman who emailed me:

Dear (user name): When you said “I’m a romantic and on the first date we should split the tab 50/50” I think instead of “romantic” you meant to say “cheap bastard.”  I’m gonna guess you’re not getting a lot of returned emails.

You see?  That guy clearly needed the help of both Google and  He clearly doesn't know the correct meaning of romantic and he thinks cheap bastard is spelled r-o-m-a-n-t-i-c.

These next three guys need to learn how to use spell check, or consider getting jobs they can spell:

Dear (user name): There is an H in the word 'mecanic'.

Dear (user name): What is munufacturing?  Is it anything like manufacturing?

Dear (user name): You’re a euntrapenure?  Here’s an idea – learn how to spell entrepreneur.

Okay, guys, let me walk you through it.  First, open a word document.  Type the body of your online dating profile.  Click on Tools, then click on Spelling and Grammar.  Once it has finished cleaning up your mess, copy and paste your work to your online dating page.  Or you might get an email like this:

Dear (user name): I’m sorry, but I edited your profile.  “no where” is actually one word.  So is “some one.”  Please omit the second "with" in “with whom you get along with.”  Finally in “nothing to flashy” the “to” should be a “too.”  If you’re going to be poor and boring at least use proper grammar.

Guys, your online dating page is like a resume.  It is our first impression of you.  It is the only representation of who you are besides your picture.  And let's face it, having a good looking picture doesn't matter if you're stupid.  Do you think you would get a job if you sounded like an idiot during the interview?  No, you wouldn't.  And you won't get the girl, either.  Is that what you want?  To be a moron with no job and no girl?  Think about it.  And you're welcome.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Chapter 10, or Everything's falling apart! (Part 4)

Previously on Chapter 10:

My plumbing sucks, my couch sucks, my TVs are broken and I can't use the internet!  And you think you've got problems!  (Just read Chapter 10 parts 1, 2, and 3 first, please?)

One night I couldn’t get my garage door to close.  The Ex always said to just put some WD-40 on it and it would be fine, so I tried that.  Nope.  It was pretty late and I wasn’t going to be able to call anyone till the next day so I had to manually close it, like a peasant, and go to bed.  The next morning I went on Yahoo! Yellowpages and searched for garage door repair.  I called the first number and the guy said it would cost about $75 to fix.  What the crap?  I immediately emailed The Ex to let him know of something else he was going to have to pay for.  He replied that it just needed some WD-40.  Hah!  I already tried that, sucka!  Look who’s wrong!  Maybe I got a little more excited about that than necessary, but it was such a good feeling to be able to spit back at him that his fix didn’t work.  Not literally spit, it was email.
            I called the next number and the guy asked what kind of garage door it was.  I went down to the garage and started reading him names and numbers.  He asked if the light on one of the sensors was red.  It was, in fact, red.  He said that meant that the two sensors weren’t lined up and I just needed to bend it until it turned green.  I did that and it worked.  I was so excited that I said, “Oh my gosh, it worked!  I love you!”  I was tempted to make The Ex pay me for it anyway, but that would’ve been bad Karma.

            How do both reverse lights go out at once?  I took my car to Pep Boys to get the answer.  The bulbs weren’t out and the fuses weren’t blown, so they said it must be an electrical problem.  And they don’t do electrical.  Excellent.  Once again, I was at a loss as to what to do.  It was getting to be an annoyingly familiar place.  Then I remembered that The Ex had taken our old Honda to some auto shop when it needed engine work.  If they fixed engines they must also do electrical stuff.  I’m such a genius.   I even remembered what street they were on!
            So, I called them and the guy said I should bring it in first thing in the morning so that he could get to it right away.  It took him two days to figure out what was wrong but he only charged me for one hour of work.  I believe I’ll be taking my business there again.
            During these months of crap breaking and constant needed repairs and crying and self pity and feeling useless and helpless and pathetic, I sent this email to my friend:
So.  I have been doing grown up stuff all day.  And let me tell you something.  This grown up stuff BLOWS!  Being a grown up is totally for the birds.  I don't like it and I would like to return it, please.  Do I need a receipt for that?
And being the amazing star of a friend that she is, she responded with this:
Someone wise once told me that the purpose of life is to fulfill obligations.  It is when we fulfill our obligations and not just do what "feels good" in the moment that we impress ourselves.  The only way to find self-fulfillment and be happy with who we are, is to impress ourselves each and every day by doing something impressive.  There is nothing impressive with doing the easy and fun stuff, it is the commitments, the obligations, the responsibilities in life that test our character and bring us true joy and satisfaction.
 So... well done, Jen.  It blows, life blows-- but you are doing it, you are conquering it when some would run away.  You are doing it, when some would wait for someone else to do it for them.  That's impressive.
So now, whenever I get discouraged with all the crappy grown up stuff that life throws at me, I think of that email.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Chapter 10, or Everything's falling apart! (Part 3)

Previously on Chapter 10...

Something about plumbing and how am I supposed to relax and do nothing if I can't recline!  (If that doesn't make sense, you need to read Chapter 10, parts 1 and 2.)

I had three TV’s.  They were all old.  By old I mean not flat screen.   One day my 55” crapped out and my 27” just kind of died.  I went to Best Buy and bought two new TV’s.  Unfortunately, since I didn’t have a truck anymore, they didn’t fit in my car and I couldn’t bring them home that day.  I had to wait almost a week for them to be delivered!  It was painful.  When my TV’s arrived I got right down to business.  I had bought a 37” to replace the 27” and I started with that one.  I followed the instructions for putting on the stand and it was surprisingly easy.  Then I had to hook the TV up to my DVR box.  I totally did it all by myself, and it, too, was surprisingly easy.  Then I followed the instructions for making the TV receive all the channels I pay for.  (It would’ve been nice if I could’ve just plugged it into the DVR box and it figured it out all by itself but whatever, I guess I can push a few buttons and do it myself.I had never hooked up a TV before so I was extremely proud of myself.  I even programmed my remote to work the TV, DVR and DVD player.  Damn I’m good. 
I thought the 52” was going to be more work but, no, it was just heavier (when it comes to TVs size matters, so I was very sad to downsize from the 55”.  However, I had done a lot of penis upgrading in the last couple months so I suppose it all evened out).  I heaved it up on the coffee table, because I’m totally buff, and went through the same process as the other TV.  And then I enjoyed some super awesome HDTV.  There was a certain amount of extra pride and joy in this process because I made all the decisions myself.  I chose to buy new TVs instead of trying to have the old ones fixed.  I chose which TVs I wanted to buy.  I didn’t have to compromise with The Ex’s lame choices (and they would’ve been lame).  And while at times I wanted to cry because I had to do it all by myself; in the end I just wanted to celebrate my accomplishment.

  My Internet was down.  Whenever my Internet went down before, The Ex would fix it somehow.  I didn’t know how he did it, so naturally I started to freak out.  How was I going to check my email?  I took a few breaths, and remembered that the thing that gave us Internet (I didn’t even know what that thing was called) was downstairs connected to a computer that we hooked up to the TV so we could illegally download movies (and when I say “we”, I mean “him”.  I don’t even know how to do that, arrest him).  And that reminded me that I had a wireless adapter on my computer.  So I checked my wireless adapter and it was bent.  Hmm.  I didn’t think it was supposed to be bent. 
This is how I reacted:  WHAT DO I DO NOW!!  HOW DO I GET INTERNET??  WHO DO I CALL TO FIX THIS??  Tears.  Dramatic helplessness.  I decided to call Best Buy and they said I probably just needed a new wireless adapter.  Well, that seems really simple.  I wonder why I freaked out and cried?  I went to Staples and got a new adapter (sorry Best Buy, but I did buy my TVs from you), brought it home and stuck it in the computer.  Yay, Internet!  When it was all done it seemed like it was no big deal, but seriously during the process I felt like the walls were crashing in on me.  Thank goodness the walls didn’t crash in on me, who would I call to fix that? 
I was mad at The Ex again for leaving and making me have to take care of things.  I was mad at myself for not knowing how to take care of things.  And then, yet again, I was extremely proud of myself for having figured it out and fixed it.  I was starting to feel like I really could take care of myself.  And that’s not something I ever thought I would have to realize.

To be continued...

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Chapter 10, or Everything's falling apart! (Part 2)

Previously on Chapter 10...

Pipes and plumbing and plumbers, oh my!  Just read Chapter 10 (part 1) first, alright?

Next was the couch.  Are you ready to take this journey with me?  Our couch, now my couch, has three sections.  The two outer sections recline.  One day, when I went to recline, I heard a strange sound.  Kind of like a snap and a boing.  The result of the sound was that the recliner was broken.  Of course, my first thought was, The Ex could’ve fixed this.  But he’s not here, so I have to fix this.  Sonofabitch.  (Actually, that was my second thought.  My first thought was, “But I’ve lost 18 pounds!”)
            I found the warranty card and called the 1-800 number on the back (because that’s what totally capable geniuses do).  The woman I spoke to said that the warranty for the parts was still good but the labor warranty was expired.  She also said that she needed a model and serial number to be sure it was, in fact, one of their pieces of furniture.  She said that there should be a tag under a cushion or on the back somewhere that had the numbers. 
            The cushions on my couch can’t be removed so there was no looking under them.  There was nothing sticking out the back or sides.  I checked under the footrest and, again, found nothing.  Now what do I do?  I guess I could cry for a while.  I guess I could ignore it for a while.  After a little of each, it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the footrest on the side that The Ex used to sit (so maybe I’m only a mildly capable genius).  Sure enough, in black and white, just the numbers I needed.  I called the lady and left her a message with the model and serial numbers.
            When she called back, she asked what part was broken.  How should I know?
I said, “Well, I know a cable snapped or broke, basically it’s not connected to whatever part it connects to that makes it recline.” 
She said, “But what part needs to be replaced?  Is it the handle or a spring or something?” 
Is she serious?  So I said, “I don’t know what part needs to be replaced because I’m not a couch maker.  I don’t want to just guess what part is needed.  It would be best if you could send someone out here to look at it who would know what part needs to be replaced.” 
She said that someone would be calling me to make an appointment to come out and look at it and to remember that my warranty only covers the part, not the labor.
            A guy called within a couple days and was able to come over in another couple days.  He figured out what part needed to be replaced and told me that because of the holidays (by this time it was almost Christmas) it would take a couple weeks for them to receive the parts and then a couple days for me to receive it after that.  I had the part and found someone to attach it by January. 
            So, three months and $65 later, my couch was as good as new.  That’s right.  It took me three months to get it fixed.  Maybe I’m a little slow because I take cry breaks and I don’t know what I’m doing; but I got it done, all by myself, and I was as proud as a new mother.

To be continued... 

Friday, August 12, 2011

The deadly truth about breakups

A friend of mine recently brought to my attention an article that really spoke to me.  I am immediately jealous of the writer, Kathy Benjamin, for being smart, witty and talented all at the same time.  I am clumsy, lazy and spastic all at the same time.  However, I think it requires a bit of talent, wit and smarts to survive with those, basically, I'm equally as awesome as my new friend, Kathy.  (Does she have to know that I exist to be my friend?)

I'm not sure what the rules are on plagiarism (nor did I know how to spell plagiarism, thank you spell check) so I would like to note that the following titles and quoted information I comment on are from Kathy Benjamin's article "6 Scientific Reasons Breakups Suck Worse Than You Think" on

#6, You Might Be Ruining Your Friends' Lives Too
"When a couple breaks up or divorces, their immediate friends and family are 75 percent more likely to break up as well."

I suppose that's where the saying 'misery loves company' comes from.  The Ex left me a year after my sister and her husband split up.  How kind of him to make us both statistics.  When my marriage broke up, everyone around me remained sickeningly in love.  Assholes.

#5, You Go Into Withdrawal
"When shown a picture of someone you are in love with, the centers of your brain responsible for motivation and reward (the same that are stimulated by other addictive substances like drugs and alcohol) become more active."

Apparently, being in love gives you the same kind of high that you get from drugs, cigarettes and alcohol.  Furthermore, getting over a breakup has the same side effects and withdrawal symptoms as quitting those nasty habits.  So, theoretically, one could go so far as to say that moving on and finding someone new after a break up is equivalent to falling off the wagon.  Looks like I'm ready for my 900 day chip.  Congratulations to me.

#4, You Get Poorer or Lonelier...For YEARS
"After a breakup, a woman's financial situation becomes much worse than when she was in a relationship...Men tend to get lonelier than women after a breakup, and are statistically more likely to turn to drugs and alcohol."

In other words, women no longer get to spend their husband's statistically higher paycheck and men turn into whiny little bitches crying into their appletinis. 

The part about women was not true for me.  After my break up, I got quite a bit richer, actually.  In money (thank you, alimony) but, also, in sadness (thank you, lying, cheating, coward).  A classic example of taking the good with the bad, I suppose. 

The part about men was not true for The Ex.  Maybe that statistic doesn't apply to cliches who leave their wife for the tramp at work.  I have definitely seen it apply to men who have been left, though.  They all have the same sissy lala sob story: some girl broke his heart and she was the only one, the perfect one and he'll never be the same, and blah, blah, blah.  Yeah, maybe that's acceptable in a Nicholas Sparks novel, but in real life?  WHERE ARE ALL THE MEN?!

 #3, You Go A Little Crazy
"...after a relationship ends people tend to go through a serious identity crisis...and are more likely to make rash decisions or changes that might not be good for them."

Not me!  I didn't completely lose my sense of self and struggle with who I was and what I liked and what I wanted.  I didn't make any rash decisions, either.  Not at all!  Unless, well, does engaging in semi-dangerous sexcapades with random strangers and minor acquaintances as a means of boosting my self esteem, even though it never really worked, count as rash and not good for me?  I feel like it's a matter of opinion.

#2, You Can Actually Die of a Broken Heart
"All because your body thinks that breaking up with Chad from the Apple Store requires the same physical exertion as running from a goddamned tiger."

Make a note: if it feels like your heart is being squeezed between a vice and a contestant from The Biggest Loser is sitting on your chest, you're either being dumped or having a heart attack.  When it happened to me I was being dumped, but evidently, our bodies react the same way to being dumped as they do to having a heart attack.  So, I could have died of a broken heart.  And I can't help but wonder, if one does die of a broken heart, does one's ex get arrested for murder?

#1, It Can Give You Freaking Cancer
"On top of the normal sniffles that can result from a suppressed immune system, scientists think that depression can cause and/or exacerbate cancer, arthritis and osteoporosis."

Sing it with me!  The being dumped bone's connected to the depression bone, the depression bone's connected to the weak immune system bone, the weak immune system bone's connected to the disease bone...

Again, it makes me wonder, if one gets cancer from a broken heart, does one's ex have to pay one's medical bills?

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Chapter 10, or Everything's falling apart! (Part 1)

  As June through September [2008] were the months when my life fell apart, October and November became the months when my stuff fell apart.  A pipe busted, a cable in my recliner sofa snapped, two of my TVs died, my wireless adapter broke, my garage door stuck, and both of the reverse lights in my car went out.  Fixing this stuff may not seem such a large task to the average Joe, but for me it was tear worthy every time.  You see; The Ex fixed everything.  He was like a husband/handyman combo extraordinaire…the dick.  But there was no Ex to fix anything this time.  It was all up to me and I hated that.  I hated it because it was a reminder that he was gone.  I hated it because it was a reminder that I didn’t know how to do anything.  And what did I do when faced with these reminders?  I cried.  Every time.  And then I buckled down and took care of what I call “grown up stuff”.
            The pipe that busted was part of the plumbing for the shower in the downstairs bathroom.  I first noticed a problem when I found rusty water in the bathtub.  I didn’t want there to be anything wrong, so, of course, I ignored it.  Then I noticed the water spot on the ceiling and I couldn’t avoid the problem any longer.  I had no idea what to do because I didn’t know what was wrong or what was leaking or where it was coming from.  So, reluctantly, I called The Ex.  He reminded me that we had that problem about two years ago and to call a plumber.  Wonderful.  I reminded him that since we were technically still married and it was technically still our house, he was paying for it. 
            I went on Yahoo! Yellowpages and found someone that could come out that day.  He looked vaguely familiar.  He went in the garage where there is access to the plumbing for the downstairs bathroom.  He noticed the handiwork from the last repair job and said, “I think I’ve been here before.  I think I fixed this last time.”  That explained why he looked familiar. But then I thought, shit, he obviously didn’t do a good job last time, so do I really want him working on it again?  Well, it turned out that the last time the cold water pipe busted, this time it was the hot water pipe.  (Or something.  I don’t know, he could’ve said anything, it’s not like I could’ve argued with him.  I don’t speak plumber.)  So at least it wasn’t his last fix breaking down again.  But the hot water pipe’s location was harder to access, and he had to cut out a piece of the ceiling in the bathroom to get to it.  I haven’t had that patched up yet.  It’s on my grown-up-stuff to do list.*

To be continued...

*Footnote:  It may have taken me two years, but I had that piece of ceiling patched up.  What?  I have a very long grown-up-stuff to do list.  I figure the longer it takes to finish it, the longer it'll take to be a real live grown up.  It's called logic.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Chapter 9, or Someone get me in the shower

            It was towards the end of September [2008] that I had my big breakdown.  I mean, I had pretty much been sad every day since June.  Sometimes I would go a couple days without crying and then cry for a couple days straight.  I tried to maintain some kind of control over my grief.  It took every effort I had and finally, I guess it all just came to a head.  I felt sick.  I felt hollow.  I felt paralyzed.  I felt like I was rotting from the inside out.  I was living in our house that was now just my house.  There were reminders everywhere.  Changing the look of it was successful.  Erasing the memories in my head, not so much.
            Grocery shopping made me cry.  I couldn’t remember how to shop or what I liked.  The thought of eating made me want to vomit.  I would wait until I was completely out of food and then rush through the grocery store before I burst into tears.  Maybe my next book should be called Divorced? Relearn how to shop and cook for 1.  Or maybe I can develop an opposite of Costco for singles.  I could call it SoloCo and sell everything in packs of one.  Would you like A pork chop?  How about A chicken breast?  Perhaps A banana?  But, I digress.
            The new TV season was starting.  Every funny moment made me look to the other side of the couch – where The Ex was supposed to be sitting – to see his reaction.  I desperately wanted to ask him if he’d seen that new episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and laugh about it with him.  I wanted to sit with him on our couch that was now just my couch and make fun of the people on Wheel of Fortune.  But I couldn’t, so I just cried each time Vanna turned a letter.  Actually, each time she touched a letter.  She doesn’t even turn letters anymore.  Tough job.
            So I was feeling particularly miserable, I could barely get myself out of bed, I couldn’t stop crying, I hadn’t showered in three days, and I had an appointment with my chiropractor the next day.  I needed to call in the troops.  I sent a text to my sister and all my friends saying something like:  I’m in a bad place, I need help, can someone come over and get me in the shower?
            Tiramisu called first and a split second later Suzanne called.  I could barely even talk to Tiramisu because I was crying so hard.  She is one of the sweetest people I know, so she completely shocked me when she harshly said, “Jen, you need to calm down!  No one is going to be able to come over right away so you need to calm down!”  My tears almost turned from those of the broken hearted to those of a punished child but I was afraid she’d yell at me again if I kept crying, so I held it in as much as I could and whimpered, “okay”.  She said she could come over after she put her kids to bed.
            When I called Suzanne back she said she could come over in a half hour.  The rest of my friends would soon follow.  Suzanne brought chocolate and wine and movies.  She poured us some wine and then put me in the shower.  While I was in the shower, she scooped my kitty litter, took out my trash, and washed my dishes.  After my shower we sat outside and drank more wine while we waited for the rest of my friends to come over.
I don’t remember the conversations we had that night.  I don’t remember how many bottles of wine we went through (is ahelluvalot a number?).  I do remember that when I needed help, I got help.  I remember that not one, but six people came to my side.  I remember feeling very lucky to have such good friends.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Someday my handsome neighbor will come

I found out yesterday that I was approved to rent my first apartment.  I have mixed feelings about living in an apartment.  Because I have never lived in one, I don't know what to expect.  However, I have an idea of what to expect based on movies.

According to all good and bad romantic comedies, I will have a very handsome single neighbor that I will have no interest in dating because he's a total player.  We'll just be friends.  Then one night we will get drunk at his apartment and have sex.  I will sneak out in the morning with a headache and little dignity.  For me, the night was a big mistake and I try to avoid him as much as possible.  For him, it was the night he realized he was in love with me.  He'll make several attempts to capture my affection and will finally win me over with a huge, cheesy, romantic gesture and we'll kiss by a large decorative fountain.

While I like to believe that dreams can come true and my movie romance is just around the corner waiting for me, I have another idea of what to expect from apartment living based on how my life typically works.

My neighbors will be married (some will have loud, annoying kids).  They will not speak to me (the sad, single, cat lady) for fear of catching my divorce germs.  I will try to be positive.  The apartment has a gym, perhaps there will be handsome single men there.  I will dress in one of my three gym outfits and pretend I'm going to work out.  (Walking by should be sufficient.  It's the intent that counts, right?)  I will see a handsome man...but he is accompanied by his supermodel girlfriend.  Screw the gym, I can get a better workout at the pool, anyway.  First I'll get a little tan and then I'll do some swimming.  I fall asleep on the lounge chair, dreaming about the handsome single man that doesn't exist at my apartment complex and wake up with a sunburn.

I will continue to hope for the dreamy neighbor whose eyes sparkle like a cartoon character when he smiles at me...and when they sparkle, there's a ding sound, music starts to play in my head and my pupils shape into hearts.

But I will continue to expect that my neighbor will be a stinky, toothless, beer bellied, grease ball with a comb-over.

Maybe somewhere between Perfect Fairy Tale and Absolute Hopelessness is what I should be aiming for, but where's the fun in that?

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Nonline dating: Why do I bother? Oh yeah, for the stories.

I took a break from the online dating scene for about six or seven months.  I disappointed many fans in the process, but I needed some time away from the freaks and weirdos.  When I moved back to Northern California towards the end of 2010, I thought, "Hmm, I wonder what the East Bay has to offer," and took my profile pages out of hibernation.  I have since discovered that the East Bay has about as much to offer as a street vendor with an empty cart.

I updated my pictures and changed my age range to 32-37.  The first email I received was from a 41 year old truck driveresque looking man who said, "So are you sticking with your guns on 37?  Don't do it Rambo!"  Yeah, that's what I like.  Being called Rambo.  It's like he could see into my soul.  It's a wonder I didn't respond.  The rest of 2010's nonline experience was just as bad...if not worse.

Dear (username), Thanks, I like my smail, too.  I'm assuming you meant "smile".

(Guys, seriously, please come up with something more original than "Hi, nice smile."  I'm starting to think I could be a smile model.  Do smile models exist?  Do they have to be skinny?)

Dear (username), If you're 35, I'm 11.  Also, I'm pretty sure "wanna talk" is a question, not a statement.  I could be wrong.

(This guy was clearly in his fifties.  Guys, see my post about lying on your online dating profile.)

Dear hardhothandsome, Get your married ass off a dating website.  You are disgusting.  I hope your wife finds out and chops your balls off.

(I chose not to omit this lying, cheating bastard's username.  Partly because he is a sick asshole who deserves to get caught, and partly because his username is pathetic.  His profile picture was of his naked upper body and his face blurred out.  Coward.  His profile said he was looking for "other relationship".  Vomitous.)

Dear (username), Thank you for saying that you adore your mom like nothing else so I know not to respond to your email.  I mean, you can love your mom.  Just don't loooove your mom.

(Cut the cord, guys.  Cut.  The.  Cord.)

Dear (username), Number 1: your username seems kinda girly.  Number 2: this 20th century you speak of is actually the 21st century.  I'd quit bragging about my intelligence if I were you.

(I don't want to completely reveal his username, but it had the words "pelagic" and "maiden" in it.  I don't know what pelagic means, but it sounds pretty feminine.  I need a manly man.  That way, in comparison, I'll seem super ladyish and delicate.  Instead of the clumsy, stumbling excuse for a woman I am now.  Don't be jealous.)