#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an Overdreamer (Sometimes I Miss My Imaginary Boyfriends)

 

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And these are her stories ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

Up until my early twenties, I was scared to talk to most boys. Literally. Scared. Frightened. Afraid of. Red-faced. Shaky. Stammery. Unwitty. Like – I’d rather talk to a hungry T-Rex or Charles Manson than a halfway decent-looking boy my age. And the cute ones? Oh dear god.

I know this is a common problem for kids and teenagers. Everyone gets a little nervous around the opposite sex. But for me, it was beyond that. I didn’t date until I was 21 because I was … let’s call it “below grade level” …  at communicating with boys. 

Every time a guy would talk to me, some part of my brain would turn off. One time, in 10^th grade chemistry class, I my crush-of-the-year, Richard stood next to my desk and said “what’s up?” I couldn’t think of anything to say back, so I just stammered and stared. He never asked me “what’s up?” again.

Another time, I found myself repeating a very unfunny joke, very loudly about ten times to my girlfriend (who kept not getting the bad joke), just hoping that my church crush would overhear. And when I say “found myself,” I really do mean that. It’s like the common sense side of Megan went to sleep, and when she woke up, she was yelling a bad joke in the middle of youth group.

Okay, self-deprecating part over. I promise this whole post isn’t about what a loser shy girl I was in high school and most of college.

It’s actually more about what being an overdreamer and a shy girl did to my perception of boys and dating.  Just because I didn’t date any of the boys in my high school doesn’t mean I didn’t like any of them. In fact, I really liked some of them. And since we weren’t having real conversations, most of my early interactions with boys occurred in my imagination.

Many girls still do this. We see a hot guy and wonder what he’d be like on a date or what he’d be like in bed. We start dating a guy and think “what if we were married?” – even if we’re years away from marriage. (I mean, if you’ve been dating a dude for four months, and the thought of one day walking down an aisle with him at the end of it is enough to send you into vomiting spasms of horror, you may want to reconsider the seriousness of the relationship.)

But the one thing we all learn pretty quickly is that the imaginary conversations are nothing like the real ones. Most girls learn this around age 15. I had to wait until age 21. So, at 24, I’m sometimes still getting used to it.

Imaginary boys never leave conversations ambiguous. They always know just what to say, and how come their hair always looks amazing too? You know another thing about imaginary boys? They always agree with me! They’re always on the same page! Amazing, they are. Was I hoping for a surprise trip? Imaginary boy was planning one!  

Sometimes I think that spending so many years speculating about dating led me to having ridiculously high expectations for non-imaginary boys. By the time I actually started dating, I was a romantic to the core. Sweet gestures, lovely words, special songs – they were my kryptonite. I actually ended up dating a guy who was perfectly wrong for me just because his charm was almost at imaginary boy level (lesson learned – in real life, always be a bit wary of the charmers).

In my next posts, I’ll explain how my imagination has dominated each of my three major romantic relationships. From the first love I could never leave (even after he broke up with me on Valentine’s Day) to the current long-distance boyfriend that I still have an imaginary version of (healthy? too much? you can judge).

In the meantime, I say to my (maybe not-so) imaginary audience – Happy Friday!

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an overdreamer (Stop Being Too Nice!)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And these are her stories ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

So there’s this new girl at work. She’s an executive assistant. We’re a startup, so we’ve never really had an executive assistant before. In the days of yore, the COO ordered the groceries, one of the customer reps got lunch, no one remembered to call the trash company, and Megan went to the post office to mail out t-shirts and prices and all sorts of other social media tchotchkes. 

But now there’s a new girl at work. 

And when, on Wednesday, I decided it was high time to mail out some more t-shirts, word came from the CEO that I should ask the new executive assistant to do this task for me. 

And I’m like F***. 

I hate ordering people around. I know, it’s all a good management quality, and it’s important to delegate, but like – here’s this new girl, and she’s been sitting across from me for two days, and she’s in pencil skirts and junk (like an executive assistant would be), filing her nails! Meanwhile, I’m over at my desk in jeans and messy hair, slumped over my computer and tripping over extension cords. 

What a bitch I would feel like!

“Excuse me, um (insert name of new girl here). Yeah, so, I have about sixteen packages to mail out. And I used to do this, but now that you’re here, I have more important things to do. So I’m going to need you to take care of that. Like today. Yeahhhhhh.”

And that’s when I realized. When I was sitting at my desk with my CEO’s orders to delegate and all I could think about was how horribly bossy I would sound, I realized, oh my god – I’m TOO NICE!!!

Calling yourself “too nice” almost sounds like calling yourself “too pretty” or “too smart,” but I promise that this is not a secret compliment to me. The thing about people that are too nice, is that really, we’re mostly just too nice on the outside. I told you about the THE CRAZY. I get ridiculously impatient sometimes. I call people bad names in my head. And trust me, I can get angry. 

People who are “too nice” (and I’m starting to think there are quite a few of us) are actually often just afraid to exert our power. We don’t want to ruffle feathers or stir up the pot, or whatever ridiculous phrase I think up next. Instead, we talk the non-confrontational route, the way of least friction; we don’t like to tell people what to do, and we say “sorry” waaaayy too much. 

My overdreamer mini-goal for this week? STOP BEING TOO NICE! It’s going to be a weird balance. I mean, I definitely don’t want to swing too far the other way and turn into a rude, bossy bitch. There’s always a line. I guess this one is about knowing when you need to put your big girl boots on and exert some of your power. 

In some ways, it’s actually nicer to not be too nice. I mean, if everyone’s afraid to give the new executive assistant things to do, then she’ll be out of a job. I guess being “too nice” is a one-sided kind of kindness. 

I won’t selfishly be a too-nice person anymore! 

My big girl boots are hot pink, by the way, and they fit very snugly. 

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an overdreamer (The Overdreamer’s Guide to Creating a New Blog)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And these are her stories ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

Whelp, I did it. In the past week, I uploaded WordPress, messed around with fonts, created some sort of icon and an about page and started posting. I’d like to reserve at least one minute to thank you (yes you! reader person!) as well as Jen for providing me an outlet to connect me with you. Announcing a goal to hundreds of strangers on a big blog is definitely a way to get yourself to keep the commitment. I couldn’t come back this week with nothing!

So I did it!

And, as usual, taking a few risks led me to some strange, strange situations. Here are a few lessons I learned this week:

Lesson 1 - Not everyone gets sarcasm. Oops.
So my first post was a rant about girls who take way too many pictures at bars. You know the type. It’s like – are they even having fun? I can’t even walk around them to go to the bathroom because I’d always be walking in front of a picture! The thing is, I’m just as guilty of that habit as the next girl. Something about a couple of beers and a fun, random event (like the one day in SF when EVERYONE dresses up like Santa) makes you want to document as much as possible. It’s like – is this really my life? Everyone in this bar is dressed like Santa! This is awesome!

So along with my diatribe about the ridiculous narcissism of my peers, I included about five photos I’d taken of myself and my friends at the bar. I even drew giant arrows on the pictures, pointing to myself. HOW MUCH MORE OBVIOUS CAN SARCASM GET?

Apparently, it still wasn’t obvious enough. I’m pretty sure a few of my new readers now think I’m a bit of a ranting bitch. Though, considering the past couple of paragraphs, that may actually be true. How ironic.

Lesson 2 – Watch What You Say About the Opposite Sex, Because They’ll All Come Out of the Woodwork
My second post was about my first crush. I was going to talk about how marketing ruins Christmas or the SOPA act or something, but it was a Tuesday, and I just didn’t have the energy. So I went for the easy story instead: I was eight years old. His name was Patrick. It never quite panned out between us (shocker, I know!)

At the beginning of that post, I promised my readers I would write about a guy I’d “liked” every time I got writer’s block. Within hours of my posting, two of my flings from last summer reappeared via Facebook (one on chat and one on my wall, actually asking “when are you going to write about me?”)

So let’s just clarify this distinction right here and now: there is a difference between a crush and a random hookup. One lasts at least a few days, in my case it’s more like months or years. The other lasts a few hours at best. I will not be giving vivid descriptions of all of my summer hookups to my readers. Sorry S.E.

Lesson 3 - Blogging daily is effing exhausting.
This isn’t a complaint or a woe-is-me lesson. It’s more of an epiphany. I’ve always respected my favorite bloggers for their writing and their energy and their ideas, but after a few days of putting myself to work after I get home from work work, it’s like “jeez, I think my brain is actually running out of juice.” (Sidenote – does anyone know where I can purchase more brainjuice? I think they ran out at my Safeway.)

Committing yourself to a blog means some major restrictions on your social life, or your exercise life (I’m getting a pooch – I just KNOW it), and most definitely on your TV-watching life (okay, that’s probably a good thing).

Seriously, I’m sitting here, writing this post on a Thursday night, on the train on the way to a ballet, and part of me just wants to go home and sleep for about five years.

Just a PART.

The rest of me is completely stoked about my new blog, the encouragement I got from readers of this blog, and the crazy adventures I’ll have to put myself through to keep the good stories coming.

Next up? I’m visiting the boy in LA. (This weekend, as in TOMORROW! Yea!). There are two Christmas parties, meaning that I get to meet about 489 of his friends that I’ve never met before. I will probably get too drunk and/or spill wine on myself and/or realize there’s a giant hole in the butt of my khakis and/or eat the garnish, not realizing it’s garnish and/or awkwardly forget everyone’s name and/or trip over the Christmas tree.

But at least when I introduce myself, I’ll get to say “Oh I do social media, and I’m a writer.”

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an OverDreamer (Most of what I’m trying to achieve isn't what I actually want [PT-1])

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And these are her stories ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

In my very first TNTML post, I talked about all of the ridiculous goals I set up for myself and lamented the fact that I’m so torn between all of them that I seem to accomplish … just about nothing.

It’s an issue I’ve had … well probably forever, but especially since moving to San Francisco in October of 2010. I have no idea why it’s taken me a whole year to finally figure out why none of my goals have been fully realized:

It’s like a mediocre just-for-the-sex relationship - I just wasn’t that into them.

I mean, sure, photography seems fun, and improv would help my public speaking skills, but it’s pretty hard to justify spending all of my limited time and very limited money on hobbies that just … sound good.

I’ve spent so much time thinking of all the goals that I want to achieve, that I haven’t put as much thought into the big picture in life. I mean – what is it that I actually want to achieve?? Am I going to be a social media marketer in San Francisco forever? Is that what I’m really going for?

NO!

I’ve been musing on these thoughts for a while now, but it wasn’t until yesterday, on an airplane, after waaaaay too much coffee (they just keep bringing it out!) that I realized – I’m on the path to a career that isn’t me. That isn’t mine. That isn’t what I want.

Screw stupid after-hours hobbies – I’ve got to go get my life on track!

I’ve got to buckle down, think it out, and establish a plan to get me to the life I think I’m meant to have: as a dolphin whisperer.

I want to be a dolphin whisperer.

Okay, sorry – I couldn’t resist. After all that build-up and all. I just wanted to see your reaction. What I actually want to be is something a bit more … cliché for someone in my situation. You could probably guess it already.  You can even tweet me your guesses if you want (@mahannay).

Either way, I’ll reveal my big life goal next week. And hopefully by then I’ll have a more solidified plan for getting myself there (the water’s still a bit murky – must keep swimming!).

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an OverDreamer (The Crazy)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And here is her story ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

I’d like to spend this post writing about a subject that often goes hand-in-hand with being an overdreamer. In some ways, she’s the other side of the coin. The negative to the neurosis, if you will.

We’re going to call her: THE CRAZY.

Because she is batshit crazy.

Let’s say ‘boy’ and I have a Skype date at 10pm. I’m on at 10. 10:06pm, he texts to say he’s still eating dinner, and he’ll call soon. At 10:26, he’s still not around. Logical Megan says ‘it’s okay – he got tied up. Whatevs.’ But then there’s THE CRAZY. And THE CRAZY – she’s mad.

(Why do I have Skype dates instead of real dates with ‘boy’ to begin with? That’s a post for another day. Just go with it.)

THE CRAZY does not like standing on the left side of the escalator behind other people standing on the left side of the escalator because everyone knows that you’re supposed to walk on the left side of the escalator and stand on the right (this goes for airport walkways as well).

THE CRAZY gets really weirded out when she forgets earrings. I’m really not sure what’s up with this. It’s like no earrings = naked or something. It’s odd.

THE CRAZY always kind of wonders if the taxi driver isn’t purposely taking the wrong way around (this one in particular is bad – I normally pride myself in my ability to trust people).

THE CRAZY does not like if she thinks someone is upset with her; she doesn’t like following the directions on the back of the box; she doesn’t like waiting to order drinks at crowded bars (ASIDE – do you ever wonder if bartenders get tired of being stared at for hours straight by patrons who can’t wait for more drinks?); she doesn’t take well to not being ‘in the know’ – at work, with friends, etc.

When you meet Megan, THE CRAZY is usually nowhere to been seen. But she’s always just a little bit there, just waiting for life to be a little less than perfect.

Someone once told me that no one can make you irritated or upset or stressed. You can only make yourself feel those things. I think it was my dad who told me that actually. Definitely sounds like something he would say.

That’s the real battle. THE CRAZY is no one else’s fault – she’s mine to own. I can succumb to it – go all HULK on someone’s ass or write a really nasty journal entry that I really hope, despite all odds, the perpetrator will somehow find and read later. Or…I can just… let. It. Go.

To combat THE CRAZY, I need to embrace the imperfections life brings. I can do some of those breathing exercises. Look at the bigger picture. The one in which I remember that the bartender is tired and overworked and stressed and probably just spilled beer on his pants, and he’s been up since 6am and he has a huge blister on his left foot.

I can remember to love people.

I’m not going to hate ‘boy’ forever (though I may need to logically explain to him that some of us have to keep 11pm bedtimes). And remember that being ‘in the know’ isn’t always the greatest – especially when what you know is bad news bears.

I hear it’s better for the heart rate this way. And probably relationships, too. Sorry CRAZY, I’m going to have to phase you out.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter