Wednesday, December 31, 2008

A happy new year


I have a confession to make.

I said it first.

Exactly one year ago today, I uttered those three little words...

"I love you."

On the brink of the new year, my new man was leaving for a week. And with all my pouting, you would think he was going off to war rather than off to Florida with his family.

I could barely eat my dinner as I felt the words welling up in my throat. I understood that saying it could change everything. I realized that if he didn't feel the same way, I could be left embarrassed and ringing in the new year differently than anticipated.

But I also realized that more importantly than hearing those three little words, I wanted to say them.

I wanted him to know, regardless of his feelings for me.

----------------------------------------------------------

"I love you." I said.

Immediately hiding my face in the crook of his neck, I was at once relived that I'd had the courage and afraid of his response.

But unlike past experiences, when he reciprocated the change in us was profound and wanted.

Because while those three little words can alter your relationship forever...

Sometimes they are the big change you've always been waiting for.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Warning labels


Chrissie's last post really took me down a pothole-ridden memory lane.

I was warned about a guy once.

We had gone out a couple times and when I mentioned it to a friend of mine, she looked down at the table, then up at me and said, "He's a jerk."

"Really? ... He's been nothing but sweet ...," I say, a bit dubious. This one had really pursued me, and honestly, the quickest way to my cold vain heart is through my ego.

Apparently she had gone out with him a couple times the year before and he was something of a panty chaser. (An admirable pursuit if you ask me. Some panties put up a sporting fight.)
Anyway, she was really awesome. They had never been anything serious, so that wasn't an issue. She just told me to be careful.

Bah.

So warning pushed to the back of my mind, I continued seeing him ... because at that point, I really didn't see how any guy could be a bigger jerk than me. I like to put tacks on a guy's driver seat to see him jump and smack his head on the roof. You learn a lot from a guy by seeing how he reacts to a little pain.

One night I was out at a bar and ran into my new beau. We were each there with friends, so there was a sweet hello then back to mingling. He found me later on and asked for a lift home ... bam-chicka-wam-bam.

We go back to his place, and do the whole kissy stuff. He started getting more aggressive, clearly wanting to have sex.
I hadn't slept with him yet, and wasn't really sure I wanted to. I'm no prude, I like to chase after a nice pair of boxers from time to time ... or briefs if I'm feeling frisky, but since "The Warning," I didn't want to jump in bed with the kid right away.

So I tell him that. And what does he say?

Wait for it.

"But I love you."

WHAT? REALLY? ARE YOU F***ING KIDDING ME?
I ask him "Um, does that actually ever work?"
He says "Uh, sometimes."

I let out an incredulous laughter fueled mostly by disgust. I picked up what clothing had made it's way to his floor, got dressed and walked out.

Later that week I found out the night I went home with this jock strap he had been on a date at that bar with another girl. Sweet.

Although, I kind felt bad for him. He started the night with 2 prospects for getting laid, and in the end, he only got laughed at.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Hell hath no fury


Like a woman with an internet connection.

I’ve often said that social networking sites bring people together on a “superficial” level, but prevent real-life relationships from prospering.

That was until I found this web site:

Don't Date Him Girl.

It is an online world for women to “exchange information” and to make friends with one another based on how many jerks they know.

A place for women to bad mouth their exes in an open forum, including adding pictures and real-life stories about how they were scorned.

Like this post... (which includes a picture)

Josh C*#p is not practicing safe sex. Besides the FOUR girlfriends, we also know of FIVE other women who slept with him over the summer and were apparently just flings and he wasn't using protection with them. We're sure there are even more women that he's slept with, but at this point, the numbers are so crazy that we would prefer not to find out about anymore (it makes us sick to our stomaches). Watch out for all of his signs (his phone is ALWAYS on silent. he always takes his phone when he leaves the room (to call one of the many girls) and when a woman calls he will tell you it's one of the girls on the team or his mom..

After reading a few entries I have to figure out if these men the victims here?

Having their faces and these unflattering stories posted online can't be great for their dating lives and I can't help but consider that every relationship is made up of (at least;) 2 people. 2 sets of problems. 2 stories.

And so I wonder...

Do both sides need to be heard before women everywhere are warned? Or should a gal just appreciate the extra information in the real-world of dating?

Friday, December 26, 2008

Christmas Eve blues


So, we just had the holidays, and Christmas is a pretty big deal for my family. Every Xmas Eve the Millers congregate at my aunt and uncle's for a traditional ham dinner. It's always a great time. There were 8 of us cousins growing up, all within 7 years of each other. We were pretty much raised as siblings ... with all the love, laughter and bickering that you would expect. Now that we're older, Christmas is one of the few times we're all together again.

It's a day I really look forward to, but this year, there were a few things that really made me sad. And they all revolve around the fact that we're no longer kids ... just adults with grown up responsibilities.

Alyson, who I was always closest to (we're only 2 months apart in age) had to leave for work before I could get there from my job. That means she missed the BIG PHOTO.

Every year we do a cousins picture ... but over the last 10 years, there is usually at least one missing, where as the ones of us as kids are complete. You can watch everyone grow up just by flipping through them. All the feathered hair from the 80's ... sideways pony tails, the boys growing (or trying to grow) patchy mustaches and beards.
Real good blackmail material.

When my cousin Jeff joined the Marines he was the first to be absent, so we propped a teddy bear in uniform in his place. (The bear made us all do push-ups after ... that made me really miss Jeff.)

Four cousins are married now, two with kids, one has a baby on the way. Their spouses are all fantastic, and the kids are great too ... but it's so weird seeing my cousins as parents. These are the ragamuffins I'd run around and break stuff with. Now they're the adults ... telling little versions of themselves to behave. Jeff, who was arguably the biggest trouble maker of us all, had to take is little girl aside and explain to her why it isn't nice to kick cousin Steve between the legs. Watching his serious "Daddy" face and hearing his stern "Daddy" voice was enough to make me burst out in hysterical laughter.
Oh boy ... I'll have some stories for his daughter one day.

Maybe a lot of women would look at them all happily married with adorable rug rats and have that twinge of jealousy ... but that isn't what I was feeling at all.
More like woefully nostalgic. I had this moment where I just missed being a kid ... missed all the fun we had together. We never wanted to go home – so much so that one of the parents would have to run outside and pretend to see Santa on a rooftop just so we'd leave willingly.
Is there something wrong with me? A 28 year old woman that resents having to be a grownup? Is it so bad that I just want to be a little girl in trouble for kicking a boy cousin in the balls?

Or maybe along with inspiring suicide and weight gain, the Holidays just have a way of making us miss believing in Santa ... resent the reality of adulthood.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The lens of love


It's funny how things from the past that once mattered so much simply don't anymore when you find someone worth spending the present with.

Arguments with old lovers seem trivial if at all memorable and the passion you once had can't be recalled on the clearest of days.

Because who you were then, is not who you are now.

Instead of looking at another through a kaleidoscope of transformations and disappointments, your lens is clear.

You see now for all its worth.

The past is only a forgotten memory of changing colors and shapes once reflected on broken glass through a tube too narrow for passage.

And while the array of colors and mirrors mimicked your own self doubt, they also promised an end full of luminance and light.

An end only seen...
through the lens of love.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Check mate


I never knew that while my father taught me how to play chess, he was also teaching me the reality of courtship and eventual love.

Where most players are seeking a checkmate, my games often ended with two kings dancing around the chess board. Instead of an official end, the game's denouement was a handshake, a white flag, a stale mate.

It wasn't until many years later that I realize I often played the game of love with equal measure.

I would rush into the challenge, knocking over pawns and losing key players in my pursuit of the king. I would give away my secrets too soon, make the same mistakes time and time again, and eventually find myself with two kings on the board, but no queen between them.

The most powerful player of all, was lost early.
My queen.

She was often taken on the first exchange, lost to a mere pawn or a stealthy knight.

Yet eventually the time came when I realized the previous blunders that led to perpetual check, but never a mate.

I began to move about the board cautiously, playing my strongest players beautifully, protecting both king and his female counterpart until the very end.

And as my queen made her way across the final board to capture the king... I realized there were only two players left, but they fit together perfectly.

No longer a stale mate.
A check mate instead.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Single slumming


Chrissie wrote about how people tend to gain weight when in a relationship, but what about the chronic laziness that plagues a lot of singles?

Shaving.
Whether we're talking about a man's face or a woman's legs ... or some women's faces and men's legs (The Odd Couple does not judge) ... this is generally not taken care of as regularly when you don't have some one rubbing up against you. I swear, some guys walk around looking like they'd been held captive in the woods by a demented clown.
And women. Man. I've seen a complete ecosystem form on a girl's leg. She actually got it declared a national park. Pretty hot.
I won't even talk about a chick's pits. Personally, I never let that get out of control. Damn hippies and Europeans.

Eating like a scavenger. If you cook for someone, you might actually have food in your fridge. If not - it's a life of take-out, doggie bags, and nothing but beer and condiments at home. A single person's sense of smell is far more advance than a taken one's. They constantly have to sniff the milk and two-day old pizza to see if it's gone bad.

Living like a pig. No one wants to be the "pig pen" in a relationship. If your man/woman is heading over, you pick up the crap on the floor, make the bed, do the dishes .... hide whatever might start a fight ...
But a single piggie? Why should they care?

Underoos. Come on ... we all do the undies check if we know someone's gonna see them. And girls feel just a little sexier when their set matches. There's nothing like walking around in a garter belt and push-up bra knowing your guy is gonna uncover them later.
But what if you're just hugging a pillow at night? Isn't a guy more likely to pull on faded tightie whities complete with old skid marks? Yum!
And girls with their grannie panties and stretched-out "over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders?" OOOOOO baby.

I'll stop there. I'm getting a little turned on. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Uncomfortable


We all know the idea of "comfort food."

Warm, cheesy, fattening meals that make the winter days seem to melt away and can get us through the tough spots in life.

But what happens when being comfortable in a relationship means confronting an unexpected weight gain???

I've always had two weights, the single me weight and the in a happy relationship me weight.

Obviously, single me is skinnier. She lives off of Ramen Noodles, quick appetizers instead of full meals, and if there's cake, a bite or two will do.

In a relationship me eats 3 meals a day. She cooks for two and portions out plates equally, in spite of the fact her man is twice her size. She wants to celebrate her "love" with frequent desserts, champagne at brunch, and lots of dinners out.

But in spite of the fact that weight gain seems "common" for most people once they find someone, it doesn't always mean it's welcomed.

Much like the "after wedding haircut" I wonder how men feel when they fall in love with one body, and it slowly morphs into something new. Something bigger. Something different.

5, 10, even 20 lbs on my man would go unnoticed for me. I'd look into his eyes and realize he's the same man I fell in love with, and I may even use his gain as an excuse to have seconds with my own meal.

But if men are considered to be more visual people, are they more easily put off by a physical change in their partners?

And if so, is there a right way to tell your significant other their love of comfort food is making you uncomfortable?

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Branding


Most people have a bit of a possessive streak, and at the same time like the feeling
of belonging to someone. Whether that manifests with a ring on your left hand, or scratch marks on your back, people find a way to "lay claim" to the one they desire.

Personally, I'm not a huge fan of the old junior high favorite ... the hickey. I once, for an entire week, had to wear a scarf or turtle neck to cover what some ass thought would be funny. I might have found it somewhat humorous ... but it happened during the summer.

People get kinda crazy over their partners ... Angelina Jolie wore Billy Bob Thornton's blood around her neck. That's a wee bit creepy (why not just keep a finger or ear?) Then again, is it so far off from just wanting to posses something of your lover?
In one relationship I would take a shirt or sweater of his with me whenever we'd be apart for a while. I would cuddle with a silly garment just to not forget what he smelled like. It's nice to have a token, anything of theirs, so you keep a piece of them with you. Is that creepy ... or sweet? Or both?

Pet names are another way of laying claim. You are renaming someone - giving them a label that they only answer to when you say it. Using these in front of others is a subconscious way of saying "this person is mine," and can be even more effective than a branding iron on the forehead. (Some names are really ridiculous. They just make me angry. Might have to talk about that in another post.)

Some might get a tattoo of their mate's name across their chest.

Some religiously update their Facebook profile, and tag their sweetheart's name to their status ... Just so there's no question that they are seeing someone, and who that someone is.

I'm a bit more subtle, preferring to simply blush and smile when I spy a little bite mark on my shoulder, or have a sore arm all day because I couldn't bear to move it from under his peacefully sleeping face the night before.
And I sure don't mind tousled hair and a swollen bottom lip after some serious smooching. But anything permanent, or scarring ... I think that would put me off.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Pledge of allegiance


I've been thinking a lot about loyalty lately and how it relates to our relationships, romantic or otherwise.

When we make lists of what we "expect" from friends or lovers they usually revolve around hopes for "companionship and kindness."

But almost always we utter one truly important word...

Loyalty.

It goes without saying that people expect their boyfriends/girlfriends/husbands/wives to be loyal and because of this cheating seems to be one of the most common "deal breakers" among couples.

But what do we make of friends who fall shy of the loyalty standard?

For them, the line between what is acceptable and what isn't doesn't seem so black and white.


Looking back, I think it's easier to hope for loyalty in a friendship than to actually find it. Maintaining a friendship seems to be a group effort, with many opinions and feelings to consider. Those of each other, but also those of others you meet along the way...

If your friend is betrayed by someone, are you supposed to hate that person along with them?
If your friend is hurt... do you always take their side?

We spend our lives making lists of our expectations for our lovers, but rarely do we hold our friends to the same standards.

And while the people in our experiences will sometimes disappoint us, unlike our family, we choose our friends.

We invite them into our lives because we desire their companionship, their kindness.

But while that may curb our loneliness from time to time...

Does it mean we're entitled to their loyalty?

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

No more Muddy Cup?


The sign on the door reads "closed" and it is most likely for good. One of my favorite hang outs, the Muddy Cup in Poughkeepsie has inexplicably shut its doors, and in doing so, removed the one really nice bar-alternative nightspot in Poughkeepsie.

This is sad.

Poughkeepsie is a town where no one brags about their night life. You've got a couple nice pubs, a wide selection of dives and a growing number of wannabe meat markets. Muddy Cup offered variety shows, open mics, swing dance nights, art receptions, free WiFi and coffee and tea concoctions that promised to keep you warm all winter long.

It was great stopping by a coffee shop after work to unwind. I'd whip out my travel watercolor set and enjoy good conversation with friends and compelling strangers alike.

But no more. If anyone has suggestions for a new haunt for the bar weary, I'd love to hear them.

Monday, December 8, 2008

The ostracized 'taken'


Why do friends lose touch? Why does it seem to happen so drastically when one becomes married or engaged? Do taken people just smell worse than single ones?

I received an e-mail from a dear friend I haven't spoken to for a while that left me feeling somewhat puzzled. Part of it read "Don't forget about me just because I am engaged, that doesn't change friendship."

Wow, that stopped me. I haven't at all forgotten about him. Over time, we've just lost touch ... and now I wonder why. It certainly isn't because he's engaged. When I heard, I was so happy for him, and in meeting his intended, I found her to be fantastic.

I had a similar conversation a week ago when I met an old friend for drinks the night before Thanksgiving. I have barely talked to her since she got married.

Now, both these friends live in NYC, but that never kept us for catching up from time to time before.

Maybe singles and marries are like cotton candy and ranch dressing. You just can't mix them. Maybe both sides feel an element of jealously, and it is emotionally easier to lose touch than be confronted by it.

But what if your friend is coupled with a mate that you could see as a great new addition to your circle, like I do with both these friends? Shouldn't that motivate me to make the effort?
Am I lazy? Do I hate married people?

Isn't the whole point of that gold band they wear to ward off single-folk? I think you actually have to keep three feet away from them. Just one touch will shrivel up a single woman's boobs, or a single man's pee pee. I've seen it happen. It's terrible.

Then again, maybe my friends just had less and less time for old pals as they settled into their domestic bliss ... and as time went by, were in a sense replaced by new faces in my own life.

That sounds cruel ... "replaced" ... as if they aren't special and important to me. But sometimes thoughts are cheap, and I certainly haven't put myself out there to maintain contact. Maybe it's time to change that.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Driver's Ed


"You can't take the car out of the parking lot until you pay for it."

Yes, a woman actually said that.

The very same woman that Sten referred to in her post about the "Couple who didn't kiss before marriage."

I find it ironic that a person who has such "values" can reduce herself to a car and then exclaim to the world that her man needs to pay for her love, affection, and well... her saliva before she'll "leave the garage," so to speak.

I think their "courtship" sounds like a game in control and manipulation.

"I won't do the laundry until you clean the kitchen," is one thing, but saying, "I won't kiss you until you buy me a big ol' diamond!" is quite another.

It's one thing to hold out on sex...
But on plain ol' affection?

Isn't that part of a good relationship?

And so I wonder...

If they were never alone, never kissed, and obviously played games...

How likely is it that now that he's driven the car around the block, he isn't going to want to trade her in for something better?

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Waiting for marriage


I've heard of waiting til you're married to have sex ... but who would wait to even get a kiss?

A loyal reader sent along a FASCINATING article about a couple who had their first ever smooch at the altar.

Afterwards the bride referred to their lip-locking as "magical." No poo, sweetheart. Any ass at this point is going to seem fantastic ... you poor poor repressed puritanical girl, you.
I hope her guy practiced on melons at least.

I don't even think waiting to have sex is a good idea. Not everyone is compatible. We all have different needs. Some people are very vanilla and others require a three-ring circus to get off.
I know a guy that can't perform without mumbling "I think I can I think I can" over and over again. Imagine finding THAT out on your wedding night.

...Speaking of wedding nights ... what if you never have one? I'd rather die a slutty old maid than an engaged virgin. No contest.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Always


Many people believe that old saying "once a cheat, always a cheat."

But I have to wonder whether or not cheating ways can be the result of specific circumstances unique to a particular partnership.

Isn't it possible that he/she cheated because his/her partner just wasn't "the one?"

And better yet, can't people make mistakes and then learn from them?

Friday, November 28, 2008

How can you tell if you're dating a cheat?


A reader sent Chrissie and I a link to a Cosmo story about how to tell if you're dating a cheat.
The title alone "Dating 101: Will Your Guy Cheat on You?" is enough to make me throw up in my mouth.
The list is unfair. It will only breed paranoia in women... a gender typically fraught with insecurity as it is. Not to mention, according to this list, I'D be a cheat ... and I have never strayed once in the 13 years I've been on the market.

Here it goes (If the answer is yes, they're probably gonna cheat) ...

Dating Factor: His Background
Cheat Predictor #1
  • Was he spoiled as a kid?
  • Do his parents tend to baby him and help him out of financial jams?
  • Has he ever bragged about cheating on an exam or paying someone to write a paper for him in college?

  • (#1 I have led a spoiled life where most things come easily. Whatever doesn't come easily, I use violence or money to get it.
    #2 My parents don't exactly baby me, but they do help out with the bookies.
    #3 I even paid a Russian chick to go to my classes ... forget just writing the papers.)

    Dating Factor: His Career
    Cheat Predictor #2
  • Does he work mostly with women?
  • Is he always logging in late hours, whether it be at the office, at dinner with clients or on business trips?
  • Does he make a lot of money?

  • (#1 I'm a woman that mostly works with men.
    #2 I work AT LEAST til 9 pm every night.
    #3 I make so much money I need a shoe horn to close my wallet. )


    Dating Factor: His Schmooze MO
    Cheat Predictor #3
  • Can he talk his way out of anything (parking tickets, rolling into work late)?
  • Does he make an effort to charm everyone -- your coworkers, your older sister, a saleswoman?
  • When you go to parties, does he insist on making the rounds?


    (#1 Yup. I could talk a nun out of her habit, baby.
    #2 Well ... I don't need to "make an effort" ... just comes natural. Ask the naked nun on my lap.
    #3 At a party I definitely scope out the scene before settling on a spot. You say hi to everyone ... find the booze, locate the bathroom and then camp out with the cool kids. That's what you do at a party. )


    Dating Factor: His Friends
    Cheat Predictor #4
  • Does he usually hang out with a crew of mostly single guys?
  • Do his friends encourage him to join them in just-for-men activities?
  • Do his pals have problems staying in relationships?


  • (#1 Most of my friends are single guys.
    #2 They make me do just-for-men activities (what does that even mean?)
    #3 All of my single friends OBVIOUSLY have trouble staying in a relationship. That's why they're single)



    So, am I wrong? Do you think these are good indicators? What would be?




  • Tuesday, November 25, 2008

    Nice never wins


    So I was on the subway in New York heading to catch a train back to Po'town. I get off the N and walk over to catch the 4.
    The gate's over the entrance.
    I look for another.
    Locked up. I just stand there for a second ... truly truly confused. How can they lock up the whole green line? How the hell was I supposed to get uptown? You know, up here in the sticks if they block off a street you at least get a detour sign.

    The best part is that others walk up, see that it's closed, and just keep walking like it's no biggie.
    What?? How is that OK?

    Fine. There are other connections, right? But really ... I'll be goddamned if I have to ask for help. I am a self-respecting stubborn bastard who was desperately trying NOT to look like a tourist.

    I knew the Red line goes up to Times Square and there's a shuttle to Grand Central ... or I could get back on the N and switch to the 4 at Union Square. So I do a twirly dance between the two. I figure the N is better, but I was JUST ON the N.
    I felt so silly going back. Like "Hi, just kidding! Can I get back on?"
    I swallow my silly thoughts and jog to the platform. I'd killed enough time standing like a retarded person.

    So I make it to the 4 ... just in time ... and shoot up to 42nd Street with 2 minutes to spare. I jump off the subway car, bound up the stairs ... racing through the terminal knocking over man, woman, child and animal alike. Especially the animals.

    I approach the train just in time ... I'm only steps away when a guy walks in front of me and drops a ticket in his wake. I stare down at his ticket ... look up at my train ... glance to my right as he walks quickly away.

    Crap.

    A bold, all too familiar voice on my shoulder sneers, "Screw 'em, man's a dope, get on your train. That'll teach him to drop things. Stupid dropper man."

    Then the meek ... somewhat dusty voice on my right whines, "Stenny .... Stennnnnnyyyy. Just pick up the ticket. You'll still make the train. Take a minute to do the right thing for once."

    Crap crap. Crap.

    I scoop up the ticket and make a mad dash for that dopey-dropping disappearing figure. And I mean mad dash. I looked like a crazy person. Which is probably a step down from the retarded Sten at the subway earlier.

    "EXCUSE ME! WAIT!" I yell at dopey man. He turns around, confused ... I shove the ticket at him. Dopey looks at it, smiles and in a cute British accent that was completely wasted on me says "Oh wow, thank you luv!"
    I give him my best annoyed New Yorker stare, turn around and run away. Stupid tourists.

    Back to the train platform I go ... train is still there ... sweet ... wait .... am I running slower or is it moving???

    Crap. The damn thing pulls away just as I get there. Stupid subway. Stupid tourists. Stupid dusty voice.

    I walk away to find a cup of coffee and a corner to throw up in.

    Moral of this story? If you plan on doing something nice, bring an ice pack and a book with you ... cause all you're gonna get in return is an hour wait and a swift kick in the ass.

    Monday, November 24, 2008

    Rules of Distraction


    There are certain moments in a relationship, where you feel so comfortable with your significant other that you think you're allowed to tell them EVERYTHING.

    And while I'll never advocate out and out lying to your loved one, there are some things you should keep to yourself and instead distract your partner with more virtuous topics: like puppies and kittens.

    So if HE/SHE asks _________________, then answer with this _________________.


    QUESTION: How many sexual partners have you had?
    ANSWER: "Only one that matters!" Followed by kissing, lots and lots of kissing.

    QUESTION: Do you think kissing is cheating?
    ANSWER: "Of course!" Never, ever, ever say "What kind of kissing are you talking about?"

    QUESTION: How do you know that guy?
    ANSWER: "We had class together a few years ago." Never, ever say, "I hooked up with him once."

    QUESTION: Have you ever had a one night stand?
    ANSWER: "Ewww! Gross! Why would you ask me that!?! Have YOU?" He'll be too wrapped up in creating an appropriate answer that he'll forget you DIDN'T have one of your own.





    Your turn.

    What questions have you avoided by using the rules of distraction?

    Friday, November 21, 2008

    Offensive compliments


    Why is it that some women get SOOOO offended when a man compliments her butt or boobs? Are those not attributes to be admired – just like eyes or hair or biceps?

    It seems to me that women often dress to accentuate these parts, so why get so pissy when someone notices?
    And, unless you're wearing a low-cut skull, a guy just isn't going to see your brain first.

    If a man walks up to a chick at a bar and says she has a nice smile, she's probably gonna be flattered. He must be so sensitive to notice such a sweet thing, right?

    Probably not sweetheart. He's eying your mouth and thinking about what he'd like to do with it.

    So take the honest appreciation of your assets as it's meant to be ... a compliment, not an insult.

    Wednesday, November 19, 2008

    Fan mail

    We'd like to share some recent fan mail (without, of course, disclosing the person's name/e-mail, cause that would be rude.):

    To: oddcoup@gmail.com
    "I think you do not have a brain between all of you. This guy is an a**hole with a big furry hat, There is no way any woman would go out with him not even go to bed with him. Just look at him! He makes me sick just to think about it. Why would I or anyone considering a life after this want him? He is a star seeking wannabe! All he wants is to be on TV. He has no proof of who he is or what he can bring to the table.If he can not even put his own name on it, he is most ashamed of himself!

    What Losers You Are."



    Well, Miss #1 Odd Couple Fan,

    We're assuming you were speaking of "Mystery" of PUA fame... and yes, he does wear a big furry hat. You should be aware that women who are most appalled by him tend to be the first to fall for his antics.

    As for Chrissie and I not having a brain between us ... I posted below a diagram to shed some light on that ...
    .... Well, it seems you are correct. Not a brain between us. But we do have plenty of love and scotch ... and that sounds like a good time to me.
    As for the last statement about us being losers — any harsh criticisms like that have to be addressed to "Reverend Sten," and be warned, there is a special place for people who attack members of the clergy.

    Single Serving


    In my single days I was often accompanied by my wing-woman. A gal whose lust for life, love, and the pursuit of vanilla vodka matched my own.

    But while we were similar in a lot of ways, we definitely had our differences and were therefore worthy of individual attention.

    And yet, I can't begin to tell you how many times I felt as if WE were being hit on by ONE man, who wasn't particularly interested in ONE of us, but who simply wanted A GIRL for his own.

    It didn't matter which of us declined or accepted his offer...
    This type of guy was out to find "women" in general, not me and not her exclusively.

    And when we were approached as some unified object whose only purpose was to provide that guy with affection, we declined.

    Because while some men seem to think EVERYTHING in this world is super sized...

    When dating it's still best to ask for a single serving if you hope to satisfy your craving.

    Tuesday, November 18, 2008

    It's all in the wing men


    If you're out on the prowl, choose your companions wisely. Even Chuckles, who's legendary mack is off its legendary hook, has to agree.

    Who you are out with can impact your behavior. Some one who is very outgoing may make you take a step back (if you're an insecure wuss), or it could make you step up and keep up (if you have a competitive streak). Friends who are obnoxious or sleezy might make you seem less attractive just by association. (I know. "Life is so unfair," and "why are we judged by our friends." Get a tissue and get over it.)

    MacGyver unfortunately has learned the hard way that certain friends can be mack blockers. He was recently galavanting around town with some one who's creepiness exceeded Mac's own magnetism, making it difficult to be a hit with the ladies. When out with a wing man, you kinda become a package deal. If one is intolerable, the chick might not stick around for the sake of the other. Too many cute butts in tight pants and too little time.

    Beyond the wing man, there are perils with being out with a group. According to MacGyver, the ideal scenario for a guy is to be out with two female friends. Can't just be one ... then you look like a couple. With two, he'll look like a hottie who's sensitive and approachable. awwww.

    This doesn't work so well for chicks. If a babe is out with a bunch of guy friends, one would think she's screwing at least one of them, and even if they don't, it's too intimidating to break her away from that army of testosterone. Not with 300 Spartans would they attempt it.
    Most of my closest friends are guys. When I am out with them I NEVER get hit on. Chuckles said it's because I'm butt ugly ... however, everyone knows how grateful Quasimodos are, so I don't see why that would be a deterrent.

    Anyway, here are some booty hunting companions to stay away from:

    - Pedophiles
    - Close talkers
    - Nose pickers
    - Poor hygiene practicers
    - People who start EVERY sentence with "I"
    - Booty pinchers/smackers
    - Some one who's dated EVERY guy/girl in a 30 mile radius of where you live
    - Girls that end every sentence as if it's a question (personal pet peeve)
    - 10 people of the opposite sex
    - Only 1 person of the opposite sex
    - Talking mimes (another personal pet peeve)

    Let me know if I've missed any...

    Monday, November 17, 2008

    The return of the eye patch!


    So MacGyver and I are up til the weeeee hours playing Rock Band. We're on the REALLY hard songs, if you blink for a second you miss about 50 notes. So I didn't blink.
    My right eye starts feeling kinda watery and agitated. MacGyver looks at me an says "your eye is really bloodshot." In a way that makes me feel like the damn thing must be falling out of my skull.

    I clean my contact lens, put in a couple eye drops and go to bed.
    I wake up in the morning and it hurts. It's very red, tender, swollen and a bit crusty ... like it's been baking in an oven over night. What I'm saying is I looked hot.

    No biggie, I put in a couple more drops and with a lens in my left eye, holding a hand over my right, I'm tearing through my place desperately looking for my specs. And looking and looking and looking.

    Nothing. Fantastic.

    I break out the trusty old eye patch, put it over my poor right eye and with a quick "AAARRRRR" to my reflection in the mirror, I set out for the eye doctor place in the mall.

    Walking in, I get immediately accosted by one of those kiosk people trying to sell lotions and crap.

    Kiosk man: "Hello miss, do you have natural nails?"
    Me: "Hey buddy, what I have is an eyeball dripping ooze under this patch, you're cream isn't gonna cut it."

    He awkwardly backs away and mumbles something like "Feel better."
    Thanks. Note to self, eye patch works to ward off solicitors. Awesome.

    I get to the eye place, walk up to one of the optometrists and say "Hi, this isn't as bad as it looks, but I need to walk out of here with glasses." To my happy surprise, they say no problem, but I have to get an exam first.

    Now, I know I did something wrong, and am probably in for a lecture. I constantly sleep with my contacts in and don't change pairs nearly often enough ... so I decide to be funny in hopes that the doc might not give the full riot act.

    Doc: Your eye's pretty red there.
    Me: Yeah, only my right side inhales.
    Doc: (Silence)
    Me: You know ... my left side is the Bill Clinton half ... was kinda a joke... (voice trails off)

    Doc: Right. Do you have and burning, discomfort, blurriness....?
    Me (with a smile): Well, I'm only wearing one lens, so everything is a bit blurry right now.
    Doc (perfectly serious): Don't worry, I think that's normal.
    Me (under my breath): Yeah, no sh*t.

    Doc: Well Miss Miller, I see here that you were in for this same problem in 2004.
    Me: Hey! Four years since I've made the same mistake? That's pretty good for me. I still touch the burner on my stove to see how hot it is.
    Doc: (Unamused)

    ... this guy's humor was closed up tighter than my apartment when I'm locked out at night. Not even a twinge of the lips. But I was not deterred.

    Doc: Do you sleep with them in?
    Me: Yeah ... I like waking up and seeing clearly. Makes me think I'm cured.
    Doc: You're going to damage your eyes that way.
    Me: That sounds serious.

    Pause...

    Doc: How long do you keep the same pair of lenses in?
    Me: Uhh about two months...
    Doc: You should be changing them every two weeks.
    Me: Well, I've been trying to work on my problem with commitment.
    Doc: I don't think that works with contact lenses.

    Obviously this guy wasn't amused by me in the slightest. So I sit through the rest of the exam reading all the little letters like a good girl. Anytime I couldn't see the bottom line, I felt like I was letting him down. Eye exams are meant to make you feel bad about yourself. You go in there knowing you can't see perfectly, and we pay these doctors to tell us just how inadequate we are.

    I made a mental note to eat more carrots.

    When it's done he says my prescription hasn't changed much. (Which means I haven't destroyed my vision like he warned.)
    I walk over and try to pick out new frames. Which is a bit overwhelming as the walls are covered with roughly a billion options. Not to mention, I can't see anything ... as I had to take out the left lens for the eye exam. I settle on a pair and seek the advice of a disinterested sales associate. I ask if they're better than the eye patch. She gives a half-hearted smile. Apparently there is no laughing at the optometrist.

    They could probably all use a visit to the proctologist.

    I was thinking of suggesting this when I got the bill.

    Friday, November 14, 2008

    A oldie, but a goodie

    An EX and I used to share a place and bills. He was responsible for paying the phone bill while I was responsible for paying the electric, cable, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, keeping a smile on my face, and driving everywhere...

    After coming home late, he accosted me at the front door, ***Verizon*** Letterhead in hand and asked, "WHO were you calling in YONKERS?"

    ME: "What are you talking about?"

    HIM: "There's an hour long phone call from here to Yonkers, and it seems like it happened late at night..."

    And so I inspected the phone bill myself... carefully calculating the date and time, relating it to my life and plans and simply said.

    "Wasn't that the night you decided to call your OLD GIRLFRIEND to 'catch up' ???"

    Apparently, where he thought I was having a mobile love affair, he was caught red-handed having an over-long conversation with a girl who was long-over him.







    Have you ever accused your SO of something, only to find you're the one at fault?



    ***confirmed: service provider was VERIZON. see comments for details***

    Thursday, November 13, 2008

    Asking for it


    So I was out with Sunshine and MacGyver ... eating like kings at the Palace , and somehow the conversation turns to:

    If a girl is dressed like a slut, does that make it OK to grab/smack her butt, grope her ... etc.?

    If the person is not a close friend or lover, I would consider it inappropriate. Unless she's wearing ridiculous booty-shorts that say "bite me", or a tight tee that reads "squeeze me." Then her clothes might be "asking for it."

    Now, I am neither a prude, nor a feminist. (I rue the day women were expected to join the workforce). However, it just isn't polite to grab at people you don't know. It's assault. That's illegal. This blog officially does not condone anything illegal.

    We do encourage reading the newspaper though...

    Anyway. I'm a pig. When I'm out, I CONSTANTLY resist the urge to grab at a cute butt wearing tight pants. I don't pull on piercings that twinkle at me teasingly and hardly ever bite strangers' perfectly formed biceps. When I do fall to temptation I AT LEAST have the decency to pretend I know them ...

    If people are out and about scantily clad, I take that as they would like to be noticed ... they don't mind you looking, they're kinda encouraging that. But for the love of America's Puritanical roots, keep your hands to yourself.

    Wednesday, November 12, 2008

    Great Expectations


    My first relationship began when I was 16 years old and lasted for three years.

    There was nothing inherently wrong with “us,” or our interactions. He treated me well, I cared for him deeply, and we spent a lot of time together.

    But after a few years, when the “spark” was gone, I began to feel as if something very important was missing.

    I figured, if he was THE ONE than that spark was supposed to last forever.

    And again, my second relationship began with fireworks and passion. I was convinced that “this” was it because of what I felt… in the beginning.

    But as years passed, the passion dwindled and again we found ourselves playing house but lacking a real “home.” We were going through the motions of a relationship without the spark I’d always fantasized about. Happily ever after had turned into “somewhat happy, most of the time.”

    And so, round two ended with a test at “casual dating,” lots of almost-boyfriends who never amounted to much, but who eventually taught me more than the real relationships had.

    Because lust without love is a lot more discouraging than love without lust.

    The realization didn’t make me want my exes back, but it made me want to try harder the next time. To not only keep the spark as long as possible, but to appreciate what lies in its wake.

    Comfort, security, and real never-waning love.

    Tuesday, November 11, 2008

    Sten's Top 10 Wish List


    Chrissie's post got me to thinking about what a guy could do or say that would really peak my interest. While neggin' would certainly start a conversation, being a nasty little boy won't hold my attention for long.

    So, in honor of the holidays just around the corner, I give you "Sten's Top 10 Wish List of Things That Would Attract Her to a Man."

    1. Yankee Fan. This is just good taste and upbringing.

    2. Win an argument. If he can debate me to silence (because he's stumped me, not just pissed me off) then he must be incredibly brilliant ... or lucky ... in any case I would want several opportunities to reclaim my pride.

    3. Fear of Jupiter. As a child I would lay awake at night pondering the vastness of Jupiter. So many times the size of Earth with unimaginable storms raging for hundreds of years. There is no "ground" just toxic winds that would whip you around for eternity until you plummet into a molten mercury core. Terrifying. If a guy could understand and maybe humor this somewhat irrational fear ... I'd be smitten.

    4. Good winker. Not cheesy. A good, sexy, well-timed winker. It's just hot... like he knows something I don't. And I should take the time to find out what it is.

    5. Ability to turn of the light without leaving the bed.
    It's getting cold at night, so if we're already in bed, and the light's still on ... I'd be pretty impressed if he could take care of that without leaving me to shiver. Getting coffee without getting up in the morning would be super too.

    6. Distrust of Canada. I think we've all seen South Park and their honest portrayal of those beady-eyed flappy-jawed neighbors to our north. Those lures of draft-dodgers. I was once in a little town up there where the streets were lined with tulips and the pedestrians on the sidewalks all smiled and said "hello" as I walked by. Nice cover-up maple lovers. I'm on to you. Hopefully the object of my affection will be too.

    7. Intimate serenader.
    Some girls like sweet nothings whispered in their ear ... I'm a sucker for a soft crooning in mine. I don't even care what the song is. "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," can be sexy if sung sweetly against your temple.

    8. Playful to the point of silly. I want to laugh and smile and not feel self-conscious if I say or do something stupid. This requires that he says and does ridiculous things at times as well. I will definitely taunt him for it, but in reality, I'd find it so endearing.

    9. No bull crap.
    I like a man who's upfront and honest. No games, no playing it cool. If I like him, I want to know that he feels the same. If I need a decoder ring to figure him out I'll get bored pretty quick. Those were dumb CrackerJack prizes.

    10. Loves bears. Bears are my favorite animal. Not Teddy Bears. Real bears. They are adorable ... oooo look at the cute little bear! Bam! It's eating you alive. Fantastic. I love it. If a guy tells me he love dogs best, I'm walking away. If a man can show me a bear holding a shark ... well, that would be a dream come true.

    Monday, November 10, 2008

    Neggin'


    The art of "negging" has been brought to the attention of thousands of socially inept males around the world, through the oh-so-insulting show The Pick Up Artist.

    According to the Urban Dictionary,

    Negging: It's a way to pick up girls. How it works is you use remarks to tap into female insecurity; Shake their confidence.
    Example of Negging a girl would be:
    "You are nearly as tall as me. I like tall girls (LIFT). Are those heels 4 or 5 inches (DROP)?"

    Yet as I watched The Pick Up Artist's latest minions attempt to hit on bikini models last night, I realized that instructing a clueless, socially inept, nervous, anxiety ridden young male to "neg" a woman is like giving a crazy man a pistol and asking him to "just scare people with it."

    Chances are, the crazy guy is going to actually shoot someone just as the pick up artist protege is going to seriously insult an unknowing female.

    So while the men were told to flirtatiously neg the females in attendance, instead they entered the club armed with insults, awkward smiles, and what I refer to as "bar stalking" (starring, loosely following, and just being creepy overall).

    One guy actually said, "Wow! That's the ORANGE-EST TAN I'VE EVER SEEN!"

    Another opened with the flirtatious line, "So, are you the one who tripped in the fashion show?" Except, that line would be cute and fun if she WASN'T ACTUALLY THE ONE WHO TRIPPED.

    I wonder where these guys came from, their clueless nature is sometimes painful to watch, and their game is so obvious, only the drunkest of girls would fall for their advances.

    Is it really necessary to "tap into a woman's insecurities" to get her number?

    And better yet, should a man who goes by the name of "Mystery" really be allowed to instruct already creepy men to be even creepier?

    Because he's armed them with costumes, emotional games and a man-made "urban" dictionary full only of masculine myths.


    Friday, November 7, 2008

    Ms. Sensitivity


    It has been pointed out quite a bit of late that I am not very sensitive. When someone says "Sten, you really are disturbing ... or how about a little compassion..." You know what I think to myself?

    "Pussy."

    I'm sorry, it only makes me think that the person drawing this conclusion is OVERSENSITIVE, LAME, and TIGHT-A$$ED.

    I try to make this as clear to them as possible... but unfortunately, they always think I'm joking.

    A lot of my recent critics were set off by this year's Halloween costume. I was Jackie Kennedy the moment JFK was shot ... complete with blood splatter across my face. Do I think this is "appropriate?" No. That's why I did it.

    Halloween should be about breaking out and being ridiculous. Maybe I'm just another middle child searching for attention, but I think this holiday is about playing dress up and getting reactions from the people around you. My only regret is that I didn't have a headless JFK prop to drag around behind me.

    And I do have boundries. I didn't dress up as the Twin Towers with two little planes sticking out of my body, did I?? Maybe in another 20 years ...

    Clearly our society acknowledges that there is a shelf life for tragedy. They cast Ben Afleck in a Pearl Harbor movie. You don't think the Arizona's sailors were rolling in their watery grave? Come on now.

    I laugh in the face of horror and I get off on making people uncomfortable. So until the FCC puts a warning sticker on my silver tongue, either stay shivering on top of your self-righteous ivory pedestal or hop on down here and have a laugh.

    At your expense of course.

    Thursday, November 6, 2008

    The lastest "dumbest thing I've ever done."


    To anyone I've ever told that I am an intelligent woman ... I apologize for lying.
    To those hopeful ladies who read my book on "Making the Most of Your Pea Brain"... your reimbursement check is in the mail.
    Because I am an idiot.

    I awoke early this morning in the back seat of my car. And no, there was no cabana boy keeping me warm.
    Around 4 a.m. I decided to take out the garbage Who knows why. Then, for some reason no psychoanalyst will ever be able to uncover, I locked the door behind me.

    "OK, no prob," I think as I reach for my pocket where surely a key would be ... Oh right ... I wasn't wearing PANTS. I was standing out in the middle of the night in a tank top and my underwear and a bathrobe. Classic walking out in the middle of the night attire. Nice.

    Then it started to drizzle.

    I GLARED inside at my two taunting cats who sat, doing nothing with their smug little kitty smiles. What did they care? I fed the hairy bastards before I walked out.

    Refusing to panic I made attempt #1 to get back in: Brute Force.
    Twisting the resistant knob, I repeatedly throw my shoulder into the door. This led to a bruised shoulder and an even more bruised ego.

    Letting out a string of mumbled curses I set out for attempt #2 Burglar Mode.
    Robe sashaying around my numbing legs, I stalked around to each window ... removing screens and pulling in vain at each locked unbudging piece of glass. I even tried to pull the damn things off their tracks. All for naught. Either I would make the worst possible robber, or I've been living in Fort Knox. Don't bother theivey people ... there's no way in those panes of security.

    "OK apartment, I'm not done yet," I say to myself in a still confident whisper ... on to attempt #3 What Would MacGyver Do?
    I pick up a plastic cup and tear it to create a makeshift credit card to try to shimmy through the lock. All I really succeeded in doing was shimmying through my skin. I toss it to the ground in disgust.
    On to the trunk of my car ... I eye the golf clubs SERIOUSLY considering breaking a window. Then I see a paint scraper and bring it over to the door, again trying to force the lock.

    "My place is a friggn' fortress." I mumble over and over as I again contemplate the golf clubs. I'm wet and miserable, and want nothing more than to go to bed. A real prize pathetic moment.

    With a menacing look to those mocking furballs who had been watching my failed attempts to get inside, I crawl defeated into the backseat of my car. Looking up at the roof, I feel acceptance washing over me, and just before I close my eyes and try to sleep ... a drop of water falls past my face. Because even before I moronically locked myself out, I had left my sunroof partially open ... on a night I knew it was going to rain.

    Fantastic.

    Morning comes and I get a hold of my dad. Not the first person I would want to come find me in the back seat of my car ... in my underwear. I pull the robe close and try not to make eye contact.

    "So, you really just locked yourself out? Really? What were you doing?"

    "I was cracked out and decided to sell my body in the woods. Can you just let me in and never mention this again? Thanks. Super."

    I kicked both of my cats in their guts before heading ... finally ... to my bed. As sleep set in, I vowed to make a dozen spare keys.

    Wednesday, November 5, 2008

    Cutting the cake


    There are some who have dated for just a few months and gotten engaged and then those that wait years and still haven't received a proposal.

    And while every relationship is different, and the gestation period for the BIG QUESTION differs depending on the couple, I wonder if there is such a thing as "too soon" or perhaps "too long to wait."

    In a world where men can date, cohabitate and not marry, some argue that they are not encouraged to marry. After all, they're getting all the perks without the "punishment." They have their cake and get to eat it too.

    And so, their ladies wait and wait, making excuses, pretending they're not that eager to marry, when they've already chosen their wedding colors, gown, and venue.

    1, 2, 3... 6, 8, 10 years later their relationships are still ring-less and I can't help but wonder why.

    Are their men still looking for the one? Afraid to settle down with the wrong choice of woman? Should the women express their concern and set an appropriate time line?

    Or is it only a matter of time before their both having their wedding cake, and eating it too?

    Tuesday, November 4, 2008

    What's in a name?

    "Hi I'm Chrissie, I work for the paper."

    "Well, I'll need to see proof!"

    "Proof that I'm Chrissie, or that I work for the paper?"

    "That you work for the paper, anyone could come in here and say they were shooting video for the PoJo, why should I believe you?"


    Cast aside the fact I often look like a high school kid attempting to operate a tripod.
    Forget about my short stature and my approachable face.
    Pretend for a second, that I'm your 30/40/50-something peer, rather than a fresh-faced college graduate who doesn't have the audacity to challenge you.

    And simply believe me because...

    You could write "Chamomile Tea" on your name tag if you REALLY want to. You could "say" you're Pamela, Angie, or Trent, even though your name is Henry.

    Our names are one-single-aspect of who we are, they don't define us, they simply associate a word with our face, our mannerisms, our personality.

    A name may give us an immediate identity, but it alone doesn't prove a thing.

    So when you question the authenticity of the name I've given you, when you decide you want to see "proof" of who I am and what I do...

    Look down at your own name tag and ask yourself if that black scribble with the sharpie marker is all that important to your identity.

    You know. Your true. Untrustworthy self.

    After all, I believed YOU when you told me who you were, even before I read it.

    Monday, November 3, 2008

    About You


    It amazes me how many people still use Myspace/Facebook as a means of "meeting someone."

    They sit at their computers on a Saturday night, beer in one hand, lotion in the other and "browse" through their local singles.

    When they find someone worth "pursuing" they send them the usual "Hi, how's it going? I think you're cute," message and eagerly await a response.

    But unless the person they've messaged is 14 going on 21, they don't usually receive a reply... at all.

    Because nothing is creepier than a stranger spending their free time reading about your favorite movies, music, and looking at your "vacation with grandma pictures!"

    Thus, Myspace is a place for friends, not a place for "first dates."

    Sure, the internet is able to connect people from ALL OVER THE WORLD through such communities...

    But it simultaneously isolates some people from the real world around them.

    The real coffee shop up the street where they could meet a flesh and blood person to chat with.
    The real bar across town where local singles congregate and celebrate all things "weekend related," where they could hear a person's laugh, smell their perfume, and offer them a drink.

    These meeting places allow for a natural progression in conversation. They allow for physical awareness and flirtation. They allow people to make first impressions based on looks, chemistry, and compatibility.

    So turn off the computer. Get dressed and put yourself in a real situation where you could meet someone great.

    Because there are certain things you'll never find in a person's "about me," section.

    Friday, October 31, 2008

    Halloween envy


    You know ... Halloween is the one time of year that I REALLY want to just borrow someone's kids. Not so much because seeing the little tykes run around in their cute little costumes brings on uncontrollable maternal instincts (Though, if I have kids I'd be so excited to get them believing in the Boogeyman then hide under their beds at night and grab at their limbs while they sleep. That will teach 'em to question Mama Sten)

    But, no, I want to adopt-for-a-day so I get in on their sweet stash.

    For some reason I will never comprehend, our society looks down on a grown woman going trick-or-treating ... even if she's wearing her "sexy" pilot costume. Am I not human too? If my blood sugar is low, do I not want candy? And it is such a wonderful way to get to know your neighbors. As in, how stingy they are.

    Or generous - I remember when I was a kid there was a house that gave out dollar bills. That would be my first stop now .... and 10th and 11th.... That was a treat that kept on treating.

    Thursday, October 30, 2008

    Re-Evaluation


    It's funny how time can change your appearance as well as your perspective.

    That guy that seemed so funny, smart, and sexy years ago suddenly looks a bit crazy, self-absorbed, and obsessive. His "quirkiness" has transcended into "creepiness."

    Perhaps he's really changed for the worse. Maybe the breakup ruined him and now he's a different person than the one you fell in love with.

    Or maybe, he was always that guy.
    That guy who didn't deserve you.
    That guy
    you made excuses for.
    That guy
    who broke your heart.

    No matter how far into the past we're exploring...
    Our evaluations are always subjective to where we are in the present.

    And so, as now feels better and better, then looks less and less appealing.

    But I wonder...

    If we begin to second guess our previous decisions, then where did all the good from that past relationship go?

    Because it sometimes seems as though the more we value ourselves...
    The more we re-evaluate the past.

    Wednesday, October 29, 2008

    Halloween is bringing "sexy" back


    Let's talk about Halloween costumes.

    I think there is something sad about just buying a packaged costume. Don't you love Halloween? Don't you want to indulge in a childhood fantasy ... or just feel transformed for a night with a concept you put some thought and effort into?

    A few of us went to Columbia Costumes over the weekend to get ready for Halloween. (If you are ever bored, take a trip up there and just play for a little while. I highly recommend it.) Anyway, there is a big wall FILLED with "sexy costumes."
    Come on now.
    One was a "sexy pilot" with a stretch mini dress vaguely resembling Eskimo garb and a pair of goggles. You know what I think embodies a "sexy pilot?" Someone who can land a plane without killing all the passengers.
    That's hot.
    Call me crazy, but I prefer credentials to nice legs. That goes for vice presidents too ... but I digress.

    What REALLY bothers me about the wall of carnal costumes is that they were all for women ... meaning they were all for men's visual stimulation. What about a little eye candy for the ladies? Don't we deserve to gape at scantily clad "cops" and "pirates." Isn't that our right as sexually repressed Americans? Be fair "Mr. Halloween costume designer." Have a heart.

    Now, lack of bare-chested men aside, the worst part of the afternoon is when I asked a sales associate if he had anything that would work with a Jackie Kennedy costume. His reply was ..... "I don't know who that GUY is."
    What? Did he really say that? Yes. Yes he did.
    I tried to clarify .... "Wife of John F. Kennedy."
    He maintained his confused expression.
    "Sugar, he was a president. She was a first lady."
    He pointed to a "sexy first lady" concoction that was blatantly ripping off Jackie.

    So sad.

    Tuesday, October 28, 2008

    Crabby


    Every once in awhile I get the single girl itch.

    (And no, I'm not talking about the one you can catch from a not-so-clean boy).

    I'm talking about the slow, burning itch that means you need to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. You need to dance like no one is watching. You need to paint your nails while watching Nip/Tuck. You need to drink copious amounts of stoli-vanilla and diet coke and spend the good part of Saturday morning/afternoon looking for your car... like you used to.

    Like I used to. Before.

    Before him.

    Before us.





    Monday, October 27, 2008

    Spontaneity is the spice of life


    Overall life has been good to me. I love my job, adore my friends and haven't lived paycheck to paycheck in a long time ... but all that isn't enough. I crave adventure ... and have just booked a flight for the latest.

    Saturday we were all out for dinner and then coffee ... unofficially for Sunshine's birthday (but don't tell her that, she was against making the celebration of her existence a big deal.) Before dinner, Chuckles announced he saw a cheap deal on flights to Belize. It peaked some interest, but overall was disregarded. Chuckles is a man of many schemes, so it is difficult to take them all seriously.

    But he mentions it again when we went out for coffee. That's when the magic happened ... all of a sudden I think, "what the hell ... let's go." The excitement was infectious. Eight of us right then and there booked the tickets on the cafe's computer. The idea just took off like a prom dress at an after party. Done and done.

    "Why Belize?" Some have asked. Because the flight is RIDICULOUSLY cheap, but more importantly because it's an opportunity to see an exotic part of the world with our closest friends. It is something fun to look forward to for the next few months.

    And it's there. It exists, and I haven't seen it yet. I promised myself years ago I'd leave the country at least once a year. So far, I've only been to three of the continents, and never Central America. The world is huge, and full of amazing things that just blow my "suburban princess" mind ... and I want to see as much of it as possible before I die. (Which according to my mother will most likely be in Belize.)

    Friday, October 24, 2008

    Sacrifice your senses


    Let's say some party pooper pixie told you you had to give up one of your five senses, but you could choose ... what would you pick?

    I think sight is non-negotiable. I'm an artist, I'd like to see what I'm doing. I love watching movies and baseball games and peeking in mens locker rooms. I'm not giving any of that up.
    Hearing is pretty important too. You've got music, a lover's whisper in your ear, "Boston Sucks" chants in Yankee Stadium ... I'd hold on to that too.
    Touch. Yeah ... I like that one. Reasons why are available on the unrated Odd Couple site.

    So that leaves taste and smell. There have been times I could do without both. People are stinky and food can be nauseating. But then I think of the smell of fresh cut grass, or a nice aftershave, or a campfire, or the ocean .... hmmmm.

    Taste can be wonderful ... like the smokiness of a good scotch. But whenever I have a cold I can't taste anything anyway and I've never lost sleep over it.

    There you have it party pooper pixie - I'd give up taste.

    Thursday, October 23, 2008

    Trials of dating part 4: Exes getting married


    Ah yes ... one of the side effects of being 28 and having been in the dating circus for 12 years is seeing a few of your exes get married. In my case ... roughly half. And I'm a girl that has more old flames than fingers. (Though not all of them were as impressive.)

    Let me say here: This is not a jealous blog. I am in no way ready for that kind of commitment, and more over, never had the desire to make said commitment to any of these men. We all parted well, and I wish them every happiness.

    It's their wives I would like a word with.

    You owe me. Big time.

    Do you think they came out of boy scouts with their current charm and consideration in the bedroom? Hell, no. I bet they even told you some of MY jokes when trying to get your number in the first place.

    But you know what they don't do anymore?

    – Now "Bozo Boy" doesn't call for booty at an un-Godly hour, forgetting to unlock the door before falling back asleep ... leaving you groggy and freezing in the winter air, knocking on the door.

    – "Late Boy" won't show up over and hour late without calling.

    – "Bratty Boy" no longer throws a hysterical fit when his HiDef cable gets pixelated, including, of course, refraining from chucking the remote hard against the wall.

    – "Weepy Boy" grew a spine and won't cry every time you're mad at him.

    – "Water Boy" doesn't fill your mouth with saliva every time you kiss.

    – And finally, "Weeney Boy" probably didn't lend you a shirt with a naked (spread eagle) picture of him ironed on .... the FIRST night you stayed over.

    That's right. They were all enrolled in the Sten School of Turning Boys into Men. You can go ahead and send along a note of gratitude now – the card need only say "thank you," because once I see your new last name I'll know exactly how I helped you out.

    Wednesday, October 22, 2008

    Room for regret


    ME: "I like him! He's cute!"
    HER: "Yeah! He's like Mr. Big... sorta!"

    Numerous cocktails later. A trip to the ladies room alone. I returned to find HER kissing Mr. Big.

    Ugh.

    She "liked" him for a few days... maybe weeks. And then moved on which I took as my cue: To move in.

    I fancied myself quite the stealthy-single-gal. Secret text messages. Secret rendezvous. Secret company in our shared apartment.

    I waited for the right time to tell her. And waited. I waited too long, because the way she found out was with her own two eyes. My stealth was no match for her sleuth.

    And I knew exactly how she was feeling. I'd been there. I'd broken a man's heart only to have it mended by my friend too-soon after. I knew the rules. Exes. Are. Off. Limits.

    ME: "I'm sorry! Ugh! This feels so gross!!! Forgive me?!"

    HER: "Sure, he's just a guy. You're my best friend.

    And just like that I realized there are no real rules for dating your friend's ex... only regrets.

    But not the kind you might think.

    It's not the secrets or even the consummate "betrayal."

    It's the fact it sometimes takes too long to forgive your friend.
    For being lonely. For sharing your taste. For being human.

    And after being on both sides of the dating debacle...

    For that
    , I'm sorry.

    Tuesday, October 21, 2008

    Sharing means caring


    Is it ever OK to date your friend's ex ... or your ex's friends?

    Is it ever not OK?

    People are not belongings (except perhaps my cabana boy, Eugenio, who slaves away diligently in his tie-dye Speedo with the hope of obtaining a green card.)

    Still, your friends' feelings should be be taken into account.

    I've experienced both sides here, and really don't know the answer anymore. Years ago, my ex, who was the love of my life (that I desperately wanted back), began seeing a friend of mine. I was fine when we broke up, it seemed right at the time ... but having to see him with some one else was absolute torture.
    The friend who was seeing him, came to tell me about it in person. She wanted to let me know from her before I found out through someone else (which is honorable). Though this was harder to swallow than throwing-up in your mouth during a hungover conference call, I appreciated the courage it took to approach me, and the concern that showed for our friendship.

    But that experience left me thinking I would never put someone through that kind of pain. Friends' exes were off limits. I would even argue this point fervently with my friends, up to this very year. D., Chuckles, Sunshine and myself were in a heated debate on this very topic, and not a week later I found myself hopelessly smitten with a guy that had once been involved with another close friend. The irony of life never ceases to amaze me.

    All I could do was be upfront and honest with everyone. I shared my concerns with the guy, and laid it all out there with the girl. And, even though I felt more awkward than that time I told a snotty midget not to get short with me ... I came out of it with a strengthened friendship and something pretty on my arm for a couple weeks.

    You can't help who you fall for. You don't want to hurt anyone, but you also don't want to miss out on something special. I still don't know the answer, but I truly feel that, even though it's corny, you have to treat people with the respect and honesty you would want in return ... then take a step back and watch how it all plays out.

    Monday, October 20, 2008

    First kisses


    I don't think there is anything more terrifying than that split second before a first kiss.

    Do you grab the back of his head and pull him to you?
    Do you back away a bit and make 'em come get it?
    ... or are you like me and just stand there trying not to fall down?

    I usually think of myself as a confident and fearless woman. I used to hustle Albanian drug dealers at pool when I lived in Italy. I was escorted at gun point off the pyramids in Egypt. Almost nothing fazes me ... Yet I just stood there willing my unreliable knees not to buckle.

    Why do I get so rattled at the close proximity of a man? How is a heated debate so much more enticing than enthusiastically agreeing with someone? It amazes me how "chemistry" – a word rooted in science can be so random and unpredictable.

    But then, we kiss and the nervousness passes. The brain quiets, the body takes over and for a few fabulous moments I stop thinking and start just feeling.

    We shyly say good night, and after crawling into bed, I can still feel his hand in my hair and smell him on my skin.

    Falling asleep, I chuckle over that first awkward kiss ... with not a care for what might happen next. Which is rare for me ... always worried about consequences and being in control. But, I guess when you finally decide just to live in the moment, tomorrow becomes too far away to matter.