Thursday, January 31, 2008

Playing doctor

Yesterday, Sarah pointed out how our beloved Dr. Neave felt women chose mates based on their income and that all women were inherently gold-diggers who as he put it, "couldn't survive alone."

Yet while he may have been discrediting women' s motives in the dating and mating world, he didn't exactly make men seem all that glamorous either:

"A man's natural instinct may be to have sex with a different woman every day, but to safeguard his relationship (and secure his progeny), he has been forced into a pattern of monogamy. don't even realize what's happening. When couples meet at speed-dating evenings, typically a man will judge a woman on her looks and youth. His priorities are whether she's healthy, interested in sex and can give him children one day. He doesn't care how much she earns or her social status."

So while women want money, men want booty.

But, what's worse, to base your relationship on the hopes of dating a doctor?

Or to base it on playing doctor instead?

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Doctors are not my pot of gold!

"Women are preprogrammed to feel dependent on men. Even today women may be richer and enjoy all the trappings of success but, deep down in their psyche, they fear they can't survive alone."

Where's his proof?
Here: "In a recent study, two American researchers presented women with photographs of men.
— The first group, described as doctors, wore designer ties, smart shirts and sported Rolex watches.
— The second wore plain shirts and Swatch watches and were described as teachers.
— The third group wore Burger King uniforms.
Women repeatedly picked doctors as potential boyfriends - even though many of the men in the third category were actually more handsome.
Quite simply, to women a man's looks are less important than earning power and social standing."

Sooooooo what he's saying is women are gold diggers.

But what he really proved is that his brain is shaped like a cone.

Women picked doctors for these two key qualities.
1) intelligence
2) hardworking

case I: husband tells wife about a lifesaving procedure he performed on a patient
case II: boyfriend tells girlfriend about the new Angus burger he had for lunch at work.

It is quite that simple.

Now I have an experiment of my own. A collection of ladies opinions.

Dr. Neave is a ___________________ . You fill in the blank.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

A blind date

"I have the perfect man for you!"

My response was unexcited and concerned...

But I went anyway.

I struggled with an idea for what to wear, eventually deciding on the appropriate shirt and jeans that would hide my muffin top and prepare me for dinner and a movie.

Harmless enough, 5 hours tops and I'd be finished.
Maybe I'd even like the guy.

After all he was described as "tall and funny."

And I love tall and funny!!!

We arrived to pick him up at his place... and were greeted at the door by a monster.

"Chrissie, this is Jim."

I almost fainted.
I swore that our friendship was over before the date even began.
And I hated myself for caring how I looked when he obviously hadn't given his own appearance any thought at all.

What stood in the doorway was a giant creep.
6 feet 10 inches tall with a muffin top of his own.
It went well with his pepperoni complexion and fry-daddy hairline.

What it didn't go well with however, was me.

I wanted to cry... and not in that "I'm a prissy brat and he's not good enough for me," kind of way.
It was more of a "I'm scared and I want my father" kind of way.

But in the spirit of friendship and open-mindedness... I hid my repulsion and agreed on a quick game of pool (in his parent's basement) before dinner.

That was when Jim went from a "possibly hideous looking nice guy" to a "hideous looking soon-to-be-sex-offender."

He couldn't keep his huge hands off of me as we played the game and I decided I'd had enough, long before the 8 ball was sunk.

"I told you he was tall" she said.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but you forgot to mention that whole "like a monster" thing."

I was stuck.

I ordered a salad, picked at it in an overly theatrical way and decided that if I couldn't escape, I'd play the brat card.

Yes, Chrissie, make the monster hate you.

So I complained about my salad, insisted I pay for it myself, and went out to the car long before anyone else had to wait for the date's finale: A movie.

I bought my own soda and popcorn, I even paid for my own ticket.

And then he had enough nerve to ask for a sip of my root beer.

After he sucked the straw, I said, "You can have that now" and prayed for the next 90 minutes to end as quickly as possible.

I made it out alive and spent the ride home, crying to my friend about how insensitive she'd been.

Not only had she made me feel like a monster myself if HE was in my league, but she made me feel awful for being so judgmental.

Maybe he was a nice guy under that big, sloppy exterior.
Maybe I had been too harsh.
A few days later, I'd asked if her boyfriend had mentioned anything about the DOUBLE DATE and his only response was this.

"Jim said Chrissie was giving him mixed signals all night long. She was being mean, but then she was rubbing her leg against his during the movie."

The fact that his HUGE legs didn't FIT in the movie theater seats could have been the problem... but any "guilt" I'd momentarily suffered dissipated when the boyfriend finished his observation by saying...

"Yeah, he was disappointed too... he'd brought two condoms just in case."

Monday, January 28, 2008

no soup for you

i fretted over dinner arrangements the whole week before and when i arrived to the restaurant, it was beyond awkward.

after more than an hour of sending the waiter away, in anticipation of my late arrival, they handed me the menu and salivated over their cold, mostly-eaten apps.

the waiter approached me first, for no reason besides he's a big jerk.

nothing for me, i told him, then I waited for their gasps to stuck all the oxygen from the room. lucky for me, I was holding my breath.

in all fairness, i had waved the eat without me flag. but with little wind in my sails. And now i would suffer.

"You're not hungry?" one asked me, pressing my insecurity button with her eyes. i didn't know how to respond.

i wasn't hungry, no. i had eaten grilled cheese at home.

but why had I eaten before my friend's dinner party was the better question of the two, and one I wasn't prepared to answer.

then, to my relief, R. spoke up.

"We're going to share something. She had a long drive here, so of course, she ate something!"

HooooRaaaay! i was saved.

And while they shoveled their grub, i sat there motionless and beamed. For the one who I loved already so much. For the one who just made me love her all the more.

Friday, January 25, 2008

5 bucks, and late for work

All I wanted was a coffee (and a bagel, thick with cream cheese).

So I stopped, I waited, and I ordered my breakfast/lunch and then drove hastily to work.

Upon getting there and searching for my swipe card in my purse, I gently set my coffee on the roof of my car.

Curse the winter.
Curse the frost that hadn't had time to melt... but that instead had created a slippery slope for that medium-toasted-almond-cream-2-spenda coffee...

And with a whoosh.
32 ounces of delicious caffeine were on the ground (and all over my car).

I could have swore about.
I could have theatrically thrown the empty styrofoam cup about and cursed the day, the winter, early mornings and my job.
I could have made a big deal about a nasty situation.

But instead I picked up the empty cup, grabbed my lonely bagel and headed for my office.

Knowing that... while I didn't have coffee this morning.
I did have someone sweet and understanding to tell the story to.

And after years of keeping those little things in...
After stubbing my toes in lonely nights and not even crying out because I knew no one would hear me...

I don't have to stay quiet anymore.

So while it may just have been a cup of coffee...
This morning it was not only mixed with cream and a little sugar, but also with a realization sweet enough to satisfy my craving.

a musical antidote for a miserable day

I'm listening to radio espanol, compliments of iTunes. I couldn't be farther away from here.

I'm having breakfast at a hotel café in Puerrrto Rrrrico. plantains and la taza de Alto Grande.

It's just myself and the bartender. His brown hand polishes pint glasses with a newly bleached towel. He catches my eyes for a second that has been frozen.

I smiled shyly, then glaze back out onto the street, to daydream.

It's not an expensive cafe. I can just catch a glimpse of the spiraling waves and the surreal color of the water from my seat. That's all I need.

Cluttered on the mosaic table are brochures of endless possibilities. Night swimming in a sea of diamonds, maybe a salsa lessons with a stranger in a linen suit, or a stroll down a cobblestone street, a dip in an infinity-edged pool, a taxi ride downtown to the colorful market...

I leave my pesos on the table and call out "Gracias! Adios!" to the bartender.

I tingle when the warmth kisses the hairs on my arms, my neck, my face.

Que bonito dia!

oh how i love this memory and the music that brings me there.

where will your music take you today?

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

fighting for love

This is how I deal with quarrels, controversy, strife, run-ins, falling-outs...


I hang up.
OR I flea.

I suffer from ATMitits. Many withdraws!

This is how C. deals with me:

He persists.
He chases.
He redials.

He makes me feel cornered, suffocated and explosive.
Until I listen.
Because C.'s words are beautiful.

They are filled with love and compliments and promises.
They have the sincerity of a priest and the love of a guardian.

He says I always win.
But against his expressiveness, I am powerless.

His words pull me out of my dark hiding place.

They never dilute.

The best is I have no worries that maybe next time, he won't try so hard, or he'll give up all together.


Do you fight like C. or me?


We went searching for a "Couples Record Book" to bring us closer together, and what we found was an arsenal of questions bound to start a war.

Forget questions about your first date, first kiss, maybe even first "fight..."

These particular pages were littered with questions like:
-"How old is the youngest person you've slept with?"
-"Do you sometimes wish you'd had more time being single?"
-"If you could change one thing about your partner, what would it be and why?"

Maybe I'm simply not "open-minded" enough to have this sort of discussion with my significant other...

Or maybe I just know how to avoid tension, anger, and jealousy.

While this book hoped to promote discussion, all those questions seemed to do were promote discomfort, discontent, and dishonesty.

But is there ever a right time to stop sharing?
Or does skipping that chapter just prove you're not ready for the book of love?

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Dinner with my sister

She's married at 27.
And even I would argue that it's a match made in heaven.

While we discussed homeopathic remedies for PMS and mood swings over dinner recently, we also discussed the idea of children. The kind of parents we'd want to be and the kind of parents ours were.

She claimed that she may not be "ready now."
She confessed that she may not want children at all.

And while I argued that I am CERTAINLY not ready now... my "never" had turned quickly into "someday."

As we tangled ourselves further into the fantasy of that day...
Her "never" may have shifted slightly in its place when I asked:

"Wouldn't it be fun to have them around the same time? We could go through all the mess together and mine could have an Uncle Peanut! UNCLE PEANUT! Come on! We have to."

She smiled.
She considered.

Because maybe we wouldn't be the parents we had,
But instead the parents we needed.

Babies make me go BOOM!

My brother and his wife are pregnant.
I should be happy. I mean I am. I mean I should.
But there is a bump on my shoulder, that has sprouted a tail and a pitch fork, making me feel extremely agitated.

"Your brother is going to have another kid. You don't even have a husband. What is wrong with you?" it torments.

I plug my listening holes and hum "La, La, La" in my head. But the bump becomes more fierce.
"In 3 years, your brother fell in love, got married, had a son, celebrated his 1st birthday, and is pregnant again. And you. Ha! What have you done?"

I whip up my best cheery voice and call mom.

"Did you hear? I love all these babies," she said. The pitch fork jabs me in the eye as the bump devil taunts "Not you. She's not talking about you."

Babies babies every where. Babies babies pull my hair. Babies babies all around. Babies babies make me frown.

Poor C. I pointed the fork at him.

"I have good news," I said, with bitter sarcasm. "My brother is having another kid."

And then my tongue turned into a loaded cannon.

"Looks like my dream of having at least one kid grow up with his cousin is shattered!" The bomb whizzed through the air. "Do we have any wine? Because I'M NOT PREGNANT, and I feel like having the whole bottle."

I saw the gun smoke, but shame stopped me from blowing it out.

It was not a kill to be proud of. More like a suicide.

Monday, January 21, 2008

The blond blur

"You're just part of the blond blur that is my past."
-An Ex

Well this part of the blur has either confused him, or maybe his vision has finally cleared.

Because he is apparently finished with the blonds and fancies himself a brunette lover now.

But those things we had in common...
Those things that attracted him to all of us...
Where have they gone now?

I think an EX who too closely resembles you is a bad sign...
It points to a man who hasn't exactly finished what they started together.
It points to a man looking for a better version of "her" rather than a new woman for him.

But I think an EX who looks/acts/is NOTHING like you may be an even worse sign.

Because she's just evidence that he doesn't know what he wants after all.

Could he have been wrong all those years prior?
Could he have decided after you, that he had his own type all wrong?

Or could the blond blur that was his past just have his head spinning?

Where do your "preferences" go when you decide that your "type" changes and it's time to move on?

She's his type

My finger nails are never painted. And I don't spend my Saturdays shopping. I couldn't tell you what store I bought this sweater in. You probably wouldn't recognize the label on the tag. I almost never wear lipstick. And when I do, I don't reapply it whenever there is a mirror nearby.

My feet bottoms are always dirty in the summer. I like sleeping on the ground in a tent. Watching the sparks of a campfire travel to the tops of evergreens and become stars. Eating with my fingers.

I curse.
I complain.

I'm nothing like her.
His ex.

Then why me? I ask.

Because I'm everything she's not, he says.


Is it a good thing when his ex is the opposite of you?
Or better when you both fit his "type"?

Friday, January 18, 2008


People always have the same advice for a break up...

"Join a book club!"
"Get out of the house!"
"Eat a lot of chocolate!"

But I've found my own medicine for a swift recovery... and it wasn't necessarily Stoli Vanilla Vodka and Diet Coke (although that helped).

It was just letting myself feel it.

I stopped fighting back the tears, I stopped caring if my professors or co-workers saw me upset and I felt it.

I felt it outwardly by losing 15 pounds in a month.
I felt it internally each time I heard his name or looked at the apartment we'd shared that no longer had him it.

I couldn't "start a new hobby."
I couldn't "get out of the house."

So I just did what I knew best how to do, and I felt it.

3 years (and those 15lbs) later, I'm still not a knitter or a fabulous cook or talented photographer.

I'm just me.
Me minus him.

So if Sarah's sewing pillows and I'm marinading in my own misery... What do YOU do when you're all alone by choice, or by break up?

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Pencil me in

During my single life... my weekdays were spent alone and my weekends were spent waiting.

Waiting for one of my “taken” friends to pencil me into their busy schedules full of couples only parties and double dates.

And when they found a second...
When they discovered that next, next, Friday at 830 p.m. worked for them...

I was available.

So I put the date in my book with a Sharpie’s permanence, and again waited for the time where we'd invigorate our friendship.

A time to forget that they weren’t alone and I was, because at that moment we were together.

And then…
After years of being the “single friend,” the “fix-HER-up with him friend,” and the “out on the town friend,” I joined their club.

And while the phone doesn’t ring any less…
The planner remains empty.

No next next Fridays to get me through.
No “tomorrows” or “the third weekends” find their way into my date book.

Because while I once had a life that could mold itself around theirs…
Where I was once “available…”
Now, my time is taken too.

So I’ve thrown out the Sharpie and sharpened my pencils.

And again I wait...
for the day when friends will again come first…
for the day that erasure marks on my calendar will be for postponements rather than cancellations….

When the pencil’s fine point will promise a permanence uncharacteristic of itself.

The future of friendship

If I do this, does it mean the end?

If I don't go, could it be the last invite?

The blue liquid vanished. The 8 ball read "yes" and an ache shot through my heart.

I graduated college half a decade ago, but my college friends feel light years away.

It's partly my fault. I should have gone out to California more than once to visit. I should have dialed instead of e-mailed. I could have made more of an effort.

But something always comes up.

Plane tickets are expensive. Phone conservations can be awkward. Effort is exhausting.

And now, the final fault. A returned invitation checked no. A broken promise to be there.

Another year passed by, without them in my life.

I wonder, how long does it take for time to sweep away a friendship? Or is time not to blame?

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

A Fan

Anonymous said...
"Chrissie and Sarah:
Do you really think you've met enough people in your life to make that many assumptions about one person who wouldn't fit in at Mahoney's? I mean, what are you like 4 years out of college if that? Think campus life represented such a diverse cross section of life that you know everything about a person just by looking at them? I don't know, your comments sound rather shallow. I bet you date, at least one of you, someone who looks good in a white baseball cap and a flipped up polo. Well, guess what, almost everyone does and if that represents your taste in men then I find that fairly mediocre and you more than a little boring. You might benefit as a human being by quitting your thankless, underpaid, job and do something a little more adventurous with your life because you obviously haven't experienced enough or met enough people. There's a lot of wonderful people out there, which I don't doubt you could agree, and there not all trying to figure a way to get in your pants. That was college."

SO! This person made A LOT of ASSUMPTIONS about Sarah and I based on the fact that he/she thought it was WRONG that we made ASSUMPTIONS about people. (Keep in mind, this particular comment was on an entry about THE PICK UP ARTIST... so serious!)!!!

And although I know that this person is not worth my time, his/her myriad assumptions about me have gotten me riled up.

I've wondered if this blog makes me seem shallow and ordinary, I wonder if it makes me seem like a girl who's only out to have fun and doesn't really think about anything.

So this anonymous comment has me somewhat worried... because that is not the person I am.

I don't date the "popped collar polo guys."

My last boyfriend wore black jeans, had an afro, and thought anything "ordinary" was more or less repulsive.

I liked him because he was extraordinary, not the other.

And I like to think that he liked me, and dated me for 3 years, because I didn't fit into that perfect little world where mommy and daddy pay for everything and the little blonde girl gets everything handed to her.

This anonymous commentator also assumed that we lived in a perpetual "college" world... where men were jocks and we were hoes.

I never lived on campus.
I never dated a jock.
I never once went to a "kegger."

College to me was a juggling act between working full time, taking 19 credits, and graduating with a high GPA.

So it tickles me to think that someone can be SO WRONG because of a BLOG that is supposed to be about dating and ridiculousness.

It's not a blog about politics and women's rights and "news worthy" conversation.
It's a distraction... it's supposed to be FUN.

But I just hope that people don't start to think the same about me.

Because although I love to be distracted (and fun) I am more than that.

I'm me.

Don't equate me MISTER!

circumference around

Monday, January 14, 2008

To have lust is to have lost

The man who lusts after you thinks of you in the moment. And when the deed is done, you think of him with regret.

The man who loves you thinks of you always. And when the deed is done, you can't get him out of your head.

The man you lust after makes your body quiver. But the man who you love makes you smile at the clouds, notice the sunset, walk on the balls on your feet...

The man who lusts after you wants what he can't have. When you give it to him, he loses interest.

The man who loves you can't be without you.

Two people can easily have lust. Two people cannot easily have love.

Those who know what it is to love someone so completely and to have that love returned do not miss lust.

To have lust is to have lost.

Why I’ve fallen in love

with LUST.

While it may be difficult for me to fall in love with a man…
Falling in love with LUST has always been a little easier.

It may not be “forever.”
It may not be about finding “the one.”
And it may not ever be more than hot, sweaty sheets and tangled limbs…

But I think LUST is my one true soul-mate, for a few reasons.

1. LUST allows us to ignore the little things like the fact he has a fascination with GI JOE, because we’re too wrapped up in his own pectoral muscles to even notice.

2. LUST comes with little butterflies, while LOVE comes with other rumblings in your stomach... (like being aware of him passing gas due to indigestion).

3. LUST means forgetting your to-do list and staying in bed all day, while LOVE means getting groceries together and arguing about all the things he added to your shopping list.

From lust to love…
From obsession to possession…

It’s too bad we need to give up one to get the other... and that no matter how hard we try, the beginning of “love” means mourning the loss of “lust.”

What do YOU think, is it better to be in lust or love?

Friday, January 11, 2008

Signs he'll turn yOu UpSiDE DowN

1. He's not your type, if your type has never panned out well for you.
2. He's really into you, and naturally, really nervous in the beginning.
3. He wants to get to know you, not just your underwear collection.
4. His last girlfriend broke up with him for being too nice.
5. He wants his family and friends to love you.
6. He tells you what's really on his mind.
7. He isn't afraid to see you cry... or find out why.
8. You call him first when you need someone to talk to.
9. You can dissolve a day's stress just by being in his arms.
10. Finally, your best friend approves.

(How did you know HE was a good guy?)


(No matter how cute he is)

1. He can’t “stay long” because he’s “meeting someone else for a drink.” (And by someone else, I of course mean, another woman).

2. He can’t hold a job that doesn’t involve a scale, a friend named “Dude,” and an enormous amount of cash.

3. He spends countless hours “online” while you wait for him scantily clad in the bedroom.

4. He moves all the canned goods OUT of the pantry and moves himself and his laptop in there instead.

5. He put up a nasty ad on Craig's List about his EX GIRLFRIEND after they broke up. An ad that could have had potential effects on her future, career, and overall safety.

6. He has business cards he made himself, for the imaginary ‘business’ he owns and operates out of his father’s basement.

7. He told you he was 27, then 28, then 29, but he was actually 32.

8. He's 30 years old and happy with the twin bed he's had since middle school.

9. He tells you he’s “crazy” and that “you don’t need a guy like him.”
(This is the one time when you should trust him).

10. He’s friends with that guyyou know, the one whose personal resume looks like numbers 1-9. They are friends for a reason.

Read between the SIGNS

A not-so-quick look into the email archives brings me back, oh, 5 years or so... Back to a time when I wish I had already crafted the skill of "reading between the lines."


"i'm well aware of the risks of romance and i enjoy the hell outta your company. a little heartache down the line is a small price to pay for that feeling i get when i stare at you all creepy for too long. yeah... ur awesome.... (and who knows i could be the one to run amuck ..... just cuz im a cancer doesn't mean im not a guy... we wanna do everybody... eat that Twin!)"

risks of romance? heartache? price to pay?

I thought we were discussing ASTROLOGY but apparently I should have read between the lines to uncover the REAL SIGNS he was giving me.

Maybe if I had, then I could have avoided the emails that eventually came a few years later...

You know, the ones that included "I LOVE YOUS" and of course those links for information on "POLYAMOROUS LIFESTYLES."

Make me feel better about my poor judgment and share the SIGNS you ignored when you shouldn't have.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Tails of woe

A demon male has wrecked havoc on my life.
His name is Capo.

He sprayed his devil juice in my kitchen. Yesterday, when my alarm didn't go off. When I was almost fired for missing the most important meeting of my work-life. I spent more time cleaning up urine than I did getting ready.

He peed in my room. This morning. The squishy wet outline on my carpet made me furious. "You know better than this," I shrieked. So he bit me.

I noticed the blood in the car. Right next to the bite mark from Wednesday night when we played chase. When he weaved through the chair legs under the table, like an obstacle course, while I cursed. When I performed a Hulk Hogan move, squashing him to ground.

What I was trying to do was clip his nails. Each time the metal came near, he went into attach mode.

I wish an exorcism was an option. But removing this difficult pooch out my life would hurt worse than any difficult man that I have ever let go.

I will tame this beast.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Complimenting Chrissie

Receiving praise of any kind is sometimes hard to take.

But accepting compliments from new loves that mimic perfectly what past loves have divulged... is harder still.

For all those times that “You’re Perfect” turned into “You’re just not the one for me.”
For all those times that “You’re beautiful” turned into “I’m just not in love with you anymore.”

For all the times I waited for the other shoe to drop…

I was never disappointed.

Because the expectation for heartbreak was never in vain.


So if you must compliment me...
then compliment my new strengths.

Compliment my ability to forgive you for leaving me, before you’ve even left.
Compliment my lacking tears and my swift recovery.

Just don’t call me beautiful like he did.

Save that for our eulogy.

I fudged up flattery

Why didn't I just say thank you?

Instead, I answered her compliment: "I'm way fatter than I used to be."

Fatter?! Is that a word even?

She seemed disappointed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just mean I used to be a skinny mini, but now I'm uh... " (right now, the mind was saying DUMB? STUPID? FREAKISHLY ODD?) "uh... not," I finally finished.

"You're not fat," she answered.

DAMN! Now she thinks I'm insecure.

One compliment wasn't good enough. I had to counter with an insult and wait for the rebuttal?!

I badly wanted to take it back and say the second thing that popped into my head:

"Thanks. I feel great."

That was more of the truth.


Compliments are often insincere.
"You look great."
Compliments are recycled.
"You're beautiful."
Compliments are mundane.
"You're the best."

But compliments are still compliments, and I need to learn how to say thank you. Then leave it at that.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

New Yorkers have less sex but more kink

At least that's what this FORBES article says!

This AM, I surfed to see what the Web has to say about weather sparking up romances. My forewisdom was that this unseasonably warm week may heat up desires for spring flings prematurely.

But what I found out was that geography may have more to do with sex than the rise of mercury.

Denver, Seattle, Washington D.C., Salt Lake City, San Antonio and Cincinnati placed the highest on the list of America's most lustful cities based on a per-capita index of over-the-counter contraceptive purchases.

New York had average or below average indexes.

But New Yorkers made the top of another kind of list. They visited the Babeland Web site more than any other state's residents from Jan. to Nov last year.


Maybe there's a direct correlation between the two lists. Buying one, but not the other.. Ok. I'll stop there.

Do you think New York deserves to be on the lustful cities list? Is it a good place for romance? Or are you packing up and heading to the mile high city?

Monday, January 7, 2008

Aunt Bev

She's always been Aunt Bev, although there's nothing but love that bonds her to my family.

I think of her as my grandmother's sister and I never think of her ex-husband — my great uncle.

In this case, love IS thicker than blood.

It is a rare example. For most breakups mean giving HIM up as a whole.
— The restaurants he taught her to love.
— The bands he made her love to hate and eventually hate to love.
— The family he brought her into.
— The strangers that slowly became her companions.

Breakups mean sacrificing these things. They mean letting HIM go, so that she can GO ON.

Yet, sometimes there's a HER who is worth latching onto. Sometimes she becomes an auntie to a little girl or a best friend to an almost sister-in-law.

Some shouldn't turn into MRS. somebody else, but should be kept dear, as Aunt Bevs.


Do you have an "AUNT BEV" in your life? Or have you ever been an "AUNT BEV?"

The book of love

You've broken up.

The connection is gone, future plans have been cancelled, and lives have been completely changed.

But while it may be hard to let go of the person you shared so much time with…
Sometimes it’s harder still to let go of the people you met along the way, whether its the EX's family or life-long friends.

But after a break up, these relationships too… must end.

Because you can’t get to the next chapter of your love life if you keep re-reading its previous pages... never arriving at the end.

You know, the end... where you're happy.
Where he's disappeared.

And the epilogue is all that matters.

What do YOU think?
Can you still remain friends with friends of your EX or should they too be part of the break up?

Friday, January 4, 2008

Are you interested?

Dating is a GAME.
It’s just that some people get paid for it.

Whether it’s Tila Tequila or Bret Michaels or the bachelor or that cowboy guy… reality TV celebs (or has-beens) claim to all be looking for love.

And the contestants on their shows have a similar claim…

Yet I tend to wonder about everyone’s sincerity when they’re all running around scantily clad, watching their “love” go on other dates, and in some cases acting like complete animals.

But, maybe this is called "Reality Television" for a reason...
Because we all know that real world dating can also resemble a game.

From the 3 Day Rule to those 3 little words people play the games that have worked in the past and hope that it works for them by securing a future.

But I think the difference between those seeking love at the bookstore or even the bar or those trying to find it on MTV boils down to their intentions…

Those people pining over Tila or New York or Bret are intent on finding something... but love it is not.

It’s notoriety.

They don’t want “the one” they want their 15 minutes.

So I guess it’s no surprise that these romances don’t usually last and we’re beginning to see sequels to many of our favorite shows.

I say, let Tila take a second shot at "love," but make sure that tequila comes with an extra grain of salt…

Because her intentions and the intentions of her 32 suitors has about as much to do with love as that nasty worm in the bottom of her shot glass.

What do YOU think? Are these people drunk with love or have they had one too many shots of desperation?

Thursday, January 3, 2008

What I learned from dating TV shows

No. 4
A Shot At Love w. Tila Tequila
The way to win her heart is to give her grandma a lap dance.

No. 3
5th wheel
Sometimes the best choice is to go home alone.

No. 2
Make sure you hit the powder room before you hit the road for that date.

No. 1
The Love Connection
Even Chuck can't help the desperate cases.

Falling for a new MAN(ners)

“You have no social grace.”

He said it during an argument.
And while the catalyst for his anger escapes me now… that comment won’t budge from its spot in my memory.

It haunts me at moments when I least expect it…
It will creep up during conversations with people I’ve known for years or in social gatherings with complete strangers.

I've pondered the origin of this insult for years...

I don’t eat with my hands.
I cover my mouth when I sneeze.
I send thank you cards and shake the hands of people I meet.

But in spite of knowing all these things...
His comment is especially hard to forget when I watch my own refinement disappear...

And I fall in a crowded restaurant.

Blame the stilettos.
Blame the ice storm outside.
Blame the freshly buffed hardwood floors.

Or as he would have done... blame my lacking social grace.


But now the person there to pick me up had just one concern.

He wanted only to make sure I was okay.

Because for him, that fall wasn’t evidence of lacking social graces or an inadequate girlfriend...

It was only indicative of an imperfect environment.

He blamed everything except me and assured me it really was all right when he said...

“It was actually quite graceful for a fall.”

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

A sucker for happy endings

It was almost the perfect New Year's Eve... almost.

If you could erase the last 10 seconds of 2007. That's when this girl's love boat sank to its yearly low.

Water works replaced reveling.
I found my boat flooding fast and I, without a paddle.

What I did have was an oar, pronounced O — A — R.
This jam band performed on MSG Monday night. And C. wanted to watch it.

Halfway into his air guitar act (with the remote secured firmly in his hand as his microphone), I declared I had had enough.

"Change the channel or I'm going to bed," said this O.A.R. hater.

That's when a fight ensued.

C. didn't understand why I couldn't just let him watch his fav. band.
I didn't understand why I couldn't watch the drunkards in Times Squares.

He was an ignoramus.
I was selfish.

We sat arms crossed and pouting, as the partygoers counted 10,9, 8, 7....

"Happy Freaking New Year to Me," I said. Then my tear ducts turned into a watering can for every house plant in North America.

Sure, at that moment we had bottomed out. But one of the reasons why I love C. is his ability to change my mood so completely.

In the midst of my dehydration fit, he scooped me into his arms, whispered into my ear and sent me into 2008 with a life vest — a promise it would be the best year of my life.

Ooo0, I can't wait!

He’s gone.

Gone... on vacation.

And although you’ve spent YEARS alone, you’ve spent the last few months with him… and the next seven days without him seem more like an eternity.

But while sleeping with a pillow wearing his t-shirt isn't quite as good as the real thing...

There are definitely a few things you can enjoy while HE'S GONE.

1. You no longer have to rush home after work, shower (again) apply make up (again) and find something cute to wear (again). You can instead rush home from work and put on some disgusting combination of his sweatshirt and your leggings.

2. Shaving: you don’t have to do it. You don’t need to shave a single thing… because if he’s “the one,” you’ll be shaving everyday after his return, for eternity (or until the death of romance).

3. Enjoy your friends again, the ones that you threw to the wayside when he arrived… the ones that know that’s “okay” because they promise to do it when they find a guy too.

4. Clean your closets, refrigerator, and for the love of everything, WASH YOUR CURTAINS. It’s a lot easier to do these things when the alternative is “Or I could go take a nap” rather than “Well, I could hand wash the curtains, or let him take me out to dinner.”

5. Revel in the fact that it feels so damn good not to shave.

6. Enjoy the art of harmless flirtation. It's a lot easier to do without a man on your arm.

7. Get silly. If I've found one HUGE difference in my interactions with men VS women, it's that women aren't afraid to get silly. So grab your most light-hearted girlfriends, get on the dance floor and do the fishing pole while he's away, because most guys would rather sway in the dark corner, waiting for the time to go home.

8. Go on dates with other men who ask you.
(just kidding).

9. __________________

10. _________________

I've left #s 9 and 10 for you to comment... (and I need advice, my legs are beginning to look like Sasquatch's and my apartment has never been more organized).

What do YOU do when THE ONE is away???