My boyfriend has joined Facebook!
Well, that needs a little rewording.
Mr Right Now (I just coined that, and I think it sums it all up nicely) isn't *technically* my boyfriend - he's someone I've been dating for a while after meeting on a month-long course and embarking on a very romantic whirlwind affair that neither of us wanted to end. But given the distance - he lives in an "undisclosed" country on the African continent! - and his generally cautious nature, we are taking things slowly and not jumping into a relationship. And so far it's working out brilliantly.
He's also not just joining Facebook. He's actually rejoining it after deactivating his account for a time.
So, Someone I'm dating has just rejoined Facebook!
Not a big deal, right?
WRONG.
Mr Right Now signed off Facebook for good (supposedly) during the longest spell without contact we've had so far - only about two weeks, but it seemed like an eternity. And then suddenly, in a heart-stopping moment, I found that he wasn't on my friends list anymore. Of course I panicked. I didn't know what it meant! To this day I still don't... when contact resumed, it never occurred to me to ask. Because in the end, it wasn't important.
But I got used to it. And for someone with slightly over-analytical tendencies, it proved to be a wonderful thing. I couldn't check his page to see if any other girl had posted on it - there were no photos for me to trawl through obsessively - and I wasn't tempted to leave cryptic messages to stake my claim upon his wall. What's more, the independence suited us well. It built up trust. It gave us necessary space. What I hear about his life, I hear directly from him, by email or by phone - and now I realise that I liked it that way.
I know Mr Right Now has a life when he isn't with me, but I don't want to find out about it from a mini-feed. It feels like voyeuristic prying, and it doesn't suit our relationship at all. Because of the way things are with us - him there, me here, contact intermittent but steady, and affections still as ardent as ever - having our own lives is really important. And I know my flaws - having privacy is equally crucial because the last thing something under so much strain from unavoidable difficulties needs is jealousy.
So, I've looked through his photo albums, and I've glanced over his wall. And then I left it well alone. This tentative (and not official!) relationship is something really special, and the way we're doing it just works: he has his life, and I have mine, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all I need to know.
The contingency plan:
1. I will not visit his profile page
2. I will not check his photos - I have my own pictures of him!
3. I will not have a Facebook relationship. I'd rather have what we have already - a real one.
Welcome back everyone. CinnamonPine xx
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Dating - the eternal minefield
I was in the library today when I bumped straight into a guy I recognised, but only because I've been trying to persuade dearest Vanille to date him ever since she first mentioned him with that tone reserved for men that she *might* date but never will. Because she doesn't date. Neither of us do, in all fairness, but the chance encounter with the sweet guy with the big eyebrows got me thinking about why. Or rather - why not?
I have never dated, at least not in the way I'd think of as "dating". I assumed that the problem was that in Britain people don't seem to date the way they do in movies - or are we a nation fooled by Sex and the City-style lunches and cocktails with men that don't actually happen in the real world? Surely it can't be that complicated - a date is a pre-arranged meeting where you do something together - coffee, a meal, cinema, going to a party together. The date must end as a duo. Surely a natural beginning. Or not. Without dating, I've had a string of relationships, which may sound odd - but take the last as a good example.
Mr Right Then was a first in that he came out of my close social circle, and we got together after a few late nights watching online episodes of that sitcom set in that city with that group of friends (I wasn't really paying attention) and a final drunken, very unromantic (but nevertheless lovely) episode in the Union bar. Socially we remained exactly the same after as we always had been - the only differences in fact, were that I had half the sleeping space and perhaps a bigger smile - but there was definitely no dating. The only thing we probably ever arranged to do was go to the supermarket. Definitely NOT a date.
I reasoned that maybe in Britain we put so little emphasis on dating that we just forget to do it at all. But it seems that so much emphasis is put on dating in America, people like our sweet friend VanillaOak feel too pressured to get it right. She may wish to defend herself on this point, but I'm certain that the number of people who have fallen under her plentiful charms is far greater than she even knows - because if someone doesn't fit the bill, she wouldn't consider even a casual drink.
So she doesn't date because if it's not perfect, it's just not right. I don't date because if it's right, that stage just gets skipped. Several times we have talked about how we should get ourselves out there, go out and talk to guys - date. Date!
But maybe we never will. We each have our own patterns. And succesful or not in the present I think we'll be giggling about them for years and years to come.
Love,
CinnamonPine
I have never dated, at least not in the way I'd think of as "dating". I assumed that the problem was that in Britain people don't seem to date the way they do in movies - or are we a nation fooled by Sex and the City-style lunches and cocktails with men that don't actually happen in the real world? Surely it can't be that complicated - a date is a pre-arranged meeting where you do something together - coffee, a meal, cinema, going to a party together. The date must end as a duo. Surely a natural beginning. Or not. Without dating, I've had a string of relationships, which may sound odd - but take the last as a good example.
Mr Right Then was a first in that he came out of my close social circle, and we got together after a few late nights watching online episodes of that sitcom set in that city with that group of friends (I wasn't really paying attention) and a final drunken, very unromantic (but nevertheless lovely) episode in the Union bar. Socially we remained exactly the same after as we always had been - the only differences in fact, were that I had half the sleeping space and perhaps a bigger smile - but there was definitely no dating. The only thing we probably ever arranged to do was go to the supermarket. Definitely NOT a date.
I reasoned that maybe in Britain we put so little emphasis on dating that we just forget to do it at all. But it seems that so much emphasis is put on dating in America, people like our sweet friend VanillaOak feel too pressured to get it right. She may wish to defend herself on this point, but I'm certain that the number of people who have fallen under her plentiful charms is far greater than she even knows - because if someone doesn't fit the bill, she wouldn't consider even a casual drink.
So she doesn't date because if it's not perfect, it's just not right. I don't date because if it's right, that stage just gets skipped. Several times we have talked about how we should get ourselves out there, go out and talk to guys - date. Date!
But maybe we never will. We each have our own patterns. And succesful or not in the present I think we'll be giggling about them for years and years to come.
Love,
CinnamonPine
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Let's dive right in - CinnamonPine
Something is weighing down heavily on both your esteemed bloggers, because we are in the same spot. We started University together, and now we're preparing to finish it together. I'm graduating in 4 months and 15 days. And I'm bricking it.
I'm sure this will come up several times over the next four and a half months, but right now it is manifesting itself in my daily routine in a very pressing and urgent manner - I'm putting together my CV.
The small, ugly dog is yours truly. The other thing (dog? bear? mutated sealion?) is impending unemployment and the uncertainty of the future. I know, it does seem kinda unbelievable that it could represent all those things! And yet!
I'm not actually currently applying for jobs. That's a whole other story. I'm applying for work placements over the summer - but the important thing isn't what it's for, though that is the exciting thing that's keeping me going. What's so horrifying and scary is the act of putting it all together. It says - here I am. I'm a product. Maybe not quite finished yet, but finished enough for you to consider me employable. And that's got to be pretty damn near done.
Curriculum vitae quite literally means Story of your life. Education and University fits into a paragraph, two if you make some flashy sort of results table, at which a prospective employer would surely just shout "tool!" as he flings it towards the bin. That's 17 years of my life!
Ok, so there's also the summer work experiences - at least another paragraph, one in my case. Why did I do the same thing two years running? Because I wanted to, and enjoyed it, or to deliberately make my CV look bare and short? Nothing seems clear...
Whatever do they want to hear in the additional skills section? What makes me most... me? It certainly ain't the IT skills and proficiency in statistical software (that's a lie - I can open the statistical software, stare at it, and cry), or the clean driving license. But they (they, the man, the establishment) don't want to hear about my double jointed fingers, or that I can make a really good curry with tinned fish. YUM.
There's no point in me saying I've ever been into sport - I feel certain they'd be able to tell that I bunked sports day in my senior year, the only black mark on an impeccable record. It's tempting to lie your way through the space where societies should go. I did sign up to the fly-fishing society... do they do background checks? Will interviewers jump up suddenly shouting "drop and give me a perfect cast, and a blood knot in your shoelace!"
In short, I'm tearing my hair out, staring at the two short pages that apparently sum up me and my whole life's achievements so far. Just when it was perfect and I was formatting the tri-columned referees list, with email addresses and numbers refusing to sit in their own columns (IT skills? How about personal vendetta that MS Office has against me coz I got it illegally?), my uncle emailed through with a bunch of suggestions. Back to the start. Couldn't someone else just tell me about me? Just make it sound good.
Love,
CinnamonPine
I'm sure this will come up several times over the next four and a half months, but right now it is manifesting itself in my daily routine in a very pressing and urgent manner - I'm putting together my CV.
The small, ugly dog is yours truly. The other thing (dog? bear? mutated sealion?) is impending unemployment and the uncertainty of the future. I know, it does seem kinda unbelievable that it could represent all those things! And yet!I'm not actually currently applying for jobs. That's a whole other story. I'm applying for work placements over the summer - but the important thing isn't what it's for, though that is the exciting thing that's keeping me going. What's so horrifying and scary is the act of putting it all together. It says - here I am. I'm a product. Maybe not quite finished yet, but finished enough for you to consider me employable. And that's got to be pretty damn near done.
Curriculum vitae quite literally means Story of your life. Education and University fits into a paragraph, two if you make some flashy sort of results table, at which a prospective employer would surely just shout "tool!" as he flings it towards the bin. That's 17 years of my life!
Ok, so there's also the summer work experiences - at least another paragraph, one in my case. Why did I do the same thing two years running? Because I wanted to, and enjoyed it, or to deliberately make my CV look bare and short? Nothing seems clear...
Whatever do they want to hear in the additional skills section? What makes me most... me? It certainly ain't the IT skills and proficiency in statistical software (that's a lie - I can open the statistical software, stare at it, and cry), or the clean driving license. But they (they, the man, the establishment) don't want to hear about my double jointed fingers, or that I can make a really good curry with tinned fish. YUM.
There's no point in me saying I've ever been into sport - I feel certain they'd be able to tell that I bunked sports day in my senior year, the only black mark on an impeccable record. It's tempting to lie your way through the space where societies should go. I did sign up to the fly-fishing society... do they do background checks? Will interviewers jump up suddenly shouting "drop and give me a perfect cast, and a blood knot in your shoelace!"
In short, I'm tearing my hair out, staring at the two short pages that apparently sum up me and my whole life's achievements so far. Just when it was perfect and I was formatting the tri-columned referees list, with email addresses and numbers refusing to sit in their own columns (IT skills? How about personal vendetta that MS Office has against me coz I got it illegally?), my uncle emailed through with a bunch of suggestions. Back to the start. Couldn't someone else just tell me about me? Just make it sound good.
Love,
CinnamonPine
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Welcome to our blog!
We are two friends, one from America, and one living in the UK. This is going to be a spot for us to share our views, different and the same, on topics both light-hearted and serious, frivolous and sometimes a little deeper. We hope you enjoy getting to know us both a little better.
VanillaOak, and CinnamonPine
VanillaOak, and CinnamonPine
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