Protected: Nothing’s gonna change my world

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I think I had an epiphany last night. The thing is… I don’t think engineers are right for me. Take Charlie, my favorite of the bunch, and compare him to Josh or Aaron (to name just a few non-engineer friends). The conversation flows so much more comfortably with either of those guys than it does with my favorite engineer. And of those guys–one I’ve not hung out with in over a year and one I’ve never met. Charlie, on the other hand, is someone I saw daily for two and a half months. I adore him… but I still feel I have to perform just a little. (This is true of all my engineers, to some extent. One of them once told me that my talkative nature was probably part of why engineers surround me… I make it easier on them.) Our conversations are sometimes more me than we.

That’s not a critique of Charlie. I’d be fortunate to be with such a guy. I just don’t think he (or probably any of that “type”) is so right for me after all.

Funny how it took seven months (and how many engineers?!) to figure that out.

[EDIT: After discussing this entry with Megan, I have to add… Charlie is not a typical engineer, he’s way more talkative. But he’s still not as obnoxious as a communication kid… it’s like you have to put a muzzle on us to shut us up. Though he’s more chatty, I still have the performing complex. Anyway. The point isn’t Charlie, the point is CJ does not need engineers.]

Loving is fine if you have plenty of time for walking on stilts at the edge of your mind

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

My friend Luke once said I have the weirdest interactions with men of any girl he knows. If that’s not because I attract drama, I must create it. I know I’m supposed to be a journalist, but I occasionally wonder if I should have pursued a more diva-fied occupation. (Or maybe I should just work at a women’s mag. Same thing, right?)

In any case, I suppose these dramatic tendencies account for the series of romance-oriented rants I’m about to unleash on you. There’s no other good reason! I’m not interested in anyone, there’s no boy drama in my life and I’m certainly not dating anyone.

But then, I guess that last reason is part of the force fueling this tirade. Somehow a conversation between my friend Patrick and I moved from movies to dating (a far less innocuous topic, particularly when my big mouth is involved!). He seemed a bit surprised when I mentioned I haven’t been on a proper date since 1999. (In fact, when I saw it typed across my screen, I was a bit taken back. That is an awfully long time.) I told him I have my reasons, not the least of which is an exorbitant level of picky-ness. He suggested that perhaps I should cool it a bit.

To some degree, I agree. I can be entirely too uptight for my own good. But there are some things worth these ridiculously high standards.

Which leads me—where else!—back to my favorite beef. What is the deal with Christian men?

I refuse to even consider dating anyone who doesn’t love Jesus more than he could dream of loving me. Though I don’t always alighn my actions with my faith (I sin too!), I do believe said faith should be the central driving force of my life. I want to be with someone who can both understand and encourage that. It is at least one point on which I refuse to compromise.

(Another such characteristic is a willingness to dance. But that’s just an aside. :))

Meanwhile, the vast majority of Christian men I have known are not willing to step up to the plate (at least, not for me, which is what matters when I’m raving about my lack of dating life :)). I’ve had plenty of friendships with otherwise amazing men who wasted my time with meaningless flirtation. I’ve been led on at least one time too many, and I’m left behind chanting “boys are overrated.”

Yeah. I’m not so much for a healthy mindset, I guess.

The thing I’ve realized is that I’m just as bad. I’m a wonderful tease. I employ the mind games so many claim to hate, even in most of my friendships. I should work at removing the plank from my own eye before bitching about the specks in the eyes of my brothers. (I would apologize for the profanity, but is it not appropriate here? Drop the niceties—bitching is what I’m doing.)

I know I should deal with the real issues—with the bitterness I struggle to release but then reclaim as my own. But y’know, I don’t feel like it. (And I know that’s not okay.) Sometimes I like wearing this “I don’t need a man” attitude like a badge, though it is more honestly something of a faulty shield. Sometimes I embrace the insanity I portray (and I realize I sound like nothing less than a crazy in these words). Sometimes I think I would rather give up and go for the not-quite-Jesus freaks—the only men who are actually willing to pursue this idiosyncratic woman I’ve exposed.

Then I realize, they still don’t boast the single most attractive quality I’ve found in a man—a heart willing to pursue Christ recklessly.

And when I allow anger and bitterness to control me… neither do I.

Like mother, like daughter

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

If you’ll forgive me for being one of those obnoxious pet owners who talks about her pet as though she’s a dear (human) friend… let me list for you the many traits Emma and I share.

  • We have ridiculous names that we expect to be called by. In my case, I expect my editors to use my full name whenever I’m published–not my first and last, not my first, middle initial and last, but the whole shebang. (A certain magazine that shall go unnamed recently mis-listed me in their masthead. I was slightly annoyed.) In my cat’s case… that’ll be Princess Emerald Louise , thankyouverymuch.
  • Speaking of–both Emma and I are quick to respond to “princess.” That’s one of the things I love about her. Some people like dogs because they’re at your beck and call, but I love Emma because she’s only around when it’s convenient for her. Sure, that means she sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night because she’s bored, or I roll over to find her in my bed in the morning–but I’m okay with that. It’s better than her following me around and getting in my business 24/7.
  • We both love sleeping under the Christmas tree. That was one of my favorite things to do as a child. I would crawl under the tree before bed, while its lights were still glowing, and gaze up at the ornaments above. Heck, I’d still do it if my grandmother wouldn’t make fun of me. (She would, and mercilessly. But I’m a 23 year old woman. I think she’d be justified.) But with today’s unveiling of the tree, Emma quickly relocated from my quarters to the quilted throw that’s serving as a tree skirt. Traitor.
  • We both have great fashion sense. Just look at her beautiful coat… and I’m getting something of a reputation myself, though I wouldn’t have it if you peered in my closet. 😉
  • If I picked up a product at the dermatologist, I’d be tempted to use it on my cat. Emma and I both have dry skin–though fortunately mine doesn’t leave flakes in my fur.
  • Likewise, princess kitten and I both have sensitive skin. I’m prone to break outs, and I suppose you could argue she is, as well. I had to buy new food and water bowls for her today because she’s apparently allergic to the plain plastic number she’s been using for years. (Who knew? But they give her blackheads.) I have to admit, though… the red ceramic dishes I bought instead are way cuter. Again–the princess complex rears its ugly head. 😉
  • The final, and perhaps most interesting, trait Emma and I have in common is this: we’re both skittish around men. Today, the nurse at the animal hospital sent in a female doctor because I warned her that Emma doesn’t like men. (She runs and hides virtually every time one walks in the house.) But like me, Emma can warm up to a man and trust him not to hurt her. I think I’ve done that with more guys than she–I’ve been talking to my “safe guys” quite a bit more lately, and I choose them exactly because they are safe. (Definition: a guy who knows where he stands with me and I know where I stand with him. I don’t have many of them, but I’ll talk off the ears of those I do know.)

    • So my ramblings about my cat may evidence my neuroses, but don’t worry… there’s more to come in the days that follow. I’m still working about some thoughts about men in my mind. (I say that as though it’s news. When am I not pondering these mysteries?)