Thursday, July 31, 2008


1. You can politely decline offers for dates from other men/women with a real honest answer, "I'm married," rather than your former response, "I need to feed my cat."

2. Your married friends will invite you over for dinner again, rather than making excuses like, "Well, we didn't want you to feel left out, since you're the only one without a date..."

3. You won't have to show up at your younger sister's wedding with a date of the same sex, you now have an escort to all functions indicating "plus one."

4. You can avoid the questions about your sexuality since your new spouse will indicate your preferred partner.

5. You can finally get those braces you've always needed with your spouse's new insurance plan!

6. You can spend the holidays at your own place, with your own miniature family rather than suffer through another holiday tour about town pleasing everyone else.

7. You will have even MORE mismatched dishes and cutlery and someone else to help you wash them.

8. No more "single serving" rip offs. You finally have someone to share your box of mac and cheese with.

9. Wearing a wedding band is a creep deterrent and so there is no need to carry around that mace anymore.

10. You will no longer fear arguments will end your relationship. Instead, you'll know that only death will conclude your next disagreement.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Son of A

Maybe you can't judge a book by its cover...
But you can judge a man by the way he treats his mother.

If he relies on her for his meals, his laundry, and a freshly made bed, he will expect the same from you. If he makes her cry because he's frustrated, expect tears in your future. And if he hasn't spoken to her in years, expect to one day fill her shoes.

But if these are all the bad signs when it comes to finding and loving a bad boy who can't respect his own mother... what are the GOOD signs we can look for?

1. He talks to her.
Maybe not everyday, or even every week, but a man who can hold intelligent, thoughtful conversations with his mother has respect for her and her opinions.

2. He helps her, and expects nothing in return.
He realizes that she used to feed him and take care of him, and he wants to return the favor as best he can by helping her when her car won't start or when she needs an extra hand.

3. He appreciates her.
After a thoughtful meal, he thanks her and offers to help clean up.

4. He respects her.
He's the anti-chauvinist. Derogatory words for women aren't a part of his vocabulary and he realizes that most women are someones mother, or sister, women worthy of understanding before being judged.

5. He knows she's his mother, and not his keeper.
While he appreciates her help and parenting, he can stand on his own two feet, being another adult in her world rather than a child-like man in need of more parenting.

Can a mother-son relationship tell you what's in store for your romantic future, or like books, must we discover what's on the inside before passing judgment?

Monday, July 28, 2008

We broke up


Cablevision and I said our goodbyes last night, after a few months of begging for them to cut my service. I pleaded countless times for them to let me go, but they always kept me strung along, promising extras and well... threatening me. "What if you're in trouble... and your cell phone is dead. If you cut your service, you won't have a phone at home to call for help."

But in spite of my fear of mashers, my 3-fer plan expired this month and I wasn't willing to shell out 150 bucks a month to watch old episodes of "Snapped" on the Oxygen channel.

Upon disconnect, my mind was immediately swirling with all the possible things I could buy with an extra 100 bucks a month. I could maybe get my hair done professionally again! A manicure and a pedicure! Or even... PAPER TOWELS when I go shopping!

Much like a drawn out real-life relationship break up, I had those immediate feelings of relief.

It was finally over, we, were over... but as quickly as the relief flooded me, sadness took its place.

No more late nights together, with wine or ice cream. No more giggles over trashy reality TV, no more movies on demand that no real man would want to watch with me...

For all the bad my cable plan had brought me, (bills, late fees, 10 lbs of weight gain) it had also been my un-boyfriend in times of single solitude where friends were busy and evenings ran late.

The realization that we were really over came full force last night when I ran home after work in my usual flurry, excited that I would be home and well, simply not at work.

Yet, honestly, it just wasn't the same minus cable.

But after a few minutes, I realized that while "sameness" was safe, it was not the only answer.

I threw in my favorite disc from Sex and the City and puttered around my apartment, actually getting things finished rather than vegging out. I packed for a trip, I cleaned, I READ, I didn't snack on a single thing, and I realized in spite of my occasional bouts of boredom and nostalgia...

Some break ups are for the best.

Thursday, July 24, 2008


You flip on the television and find another ad full of in-shape, natural looking 20 or 30-something women, often sharing a cup of coffee or a boisterous laugh over cocktails.

They're happy, they're healthy, and their purpose is to sell you birth control.

Two-thirds of the way into the commercial, you're hooked.

Yes! I want only one menstrual cycle a year!
Yes! I want less cramps and bloating!
Yes! I want to be in control of my reproductive self!

And then, a quiet voice over comes in and ruins the premenstrual party.

"Some women may experience..."

What follows is a list many women ignore and many men don't care to know.

That birth control can cause: weight gain, acne, nausea and vomiting, dizziness, headaches, depression, high blood pressure, loss of libido, blood clots, stroke, liver tumors, heart attacks, gallstones, jaundice, cervical cancer... and that's just to name a few.

As the phony-doctors voice drones on, the commercialized women continue to smile and laugh, happy that in spite of all the possible side effects, at least they aren't pregnant!

But I'd like to make my own commercial, one that puts the possible outcomes of using birth control or not using birth control up against one another...

Because in reality, what's a more disturbing image?
Women with babies... Or overweight women with acne, nausea, dizziness, headaches, depression, high blood pressure, no libido, blood clots, stroke, liver tumors...

Tuesday, July 22, 2008


I think I'm less inked than your average 20-something.

A quick glance at my closest friends reveals that many of them have at least one, if not many tattoos.

But an article I stumbled upon this morning reveals that many of these women might choose to one day remove their tattoos due to "social stigma."

Apparently it's acceptable for men to ink themselves like a bic pen, but women are expected to adorn themselves with less permanent enhancements, like makeup and jewelry.

They're asked to cover their tats at weddings, work functions, and family dinners.

I even saw my own sister struggle with 100-dollar-tattoo-covering-make-up for her wedding day, only to decide that it wasn't worth the fact that she might ruin her white dress with the putty and paint. Turns out, Dad would have to see the butterfly on her shoulder after all.

And so women are continually labeled as promiscuous or trans-gendered with painted biceps and the proverbial "tramp stamp," inked men remain only one thing... macho.

But if the paint is permanent for both sexes...
Shouldn't the pride be as well?

Monday, July 21, 2008

Ink Think

"Do I need to wear a long sleeve shirt to your parents house?" He asked.

"No, it's going to be 90 degrees... it will be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I answered, convinced that it really wasn't fine. That Dad would surely be put off by the half-sleeve tattoos my boyfriend has yet to show off while visiting.

We arrived after an hour drive in a flurry of birthday presents for my little sister, distracting Dad's first glances with tissue paper, pink gift bags, and overly theatrical hugs and kisses hello.

And then I waited.
I waited for the questions and the comments about the tattoos. But all seemed well and Dad said nothing.

At least until he got my boyfriend alone.

I'm not sure of their exchange, but my little sister filled me in, "Now Daddy is asking about his tattoos!" She exclaimed.

We had just gotten back from a local carnival, where all the young men ogled those very inked arms, asking how much they cost, where they were done, and exclaiming that they were "totally sick."

Yeah, I thought. They're great, but the only thing sick at that moment was my stomach.

But just as I was about to rush to his defense, and declare that tattoos (of skulls) aren't evidence of a bad boy, but of a former musician... Dad had only one question.

"You don't have any tattoos, do you?" He asked me, a look of actual fear in his face.

"No way Dad, never!" came my hurried reply.

"Good," he said. "I'd hate to see you get any. Although his are pretty sick..."

Friday, July 18, 2008

If Men Planned the Wedding...

1. The "open bar" would be replaced with a few kegs and plastic party cups. Not only does it save money, but it's much easier for him to do his "party dance" after a few "brewskies" and a keg stand.

2. The bride wouldn't be wearing white... and not because he doesn't think she's pure (he surely knows it)... She would instead be wearing black because her man wants her to look slim and sexy, not like a pristine piece of furniture.

3. The guests wouldn't throw rice or blow bubbles after the ceremony/reception. Instead they would be throwing dollar bills. (While the more traditionally items have their place, men would be more concerned with the cost of the day than doing what is expected of them).

4. The cake would be made into the shape of a woman's breast rather than a tiered piece of confection perfection. He'll surely be mourning the loss of his bachelorhood by this time in the party, and a little bit of ogling might make him feel like his old self.

5. The best man would be his buddy from college that knows "all about his sexual past" rather than the bride's brother, who must be included to ensure that the groomsmen are all of the same stature (for the sake of the pictures, of course).

6. The ceremony would be skipped in favor of a toast and the reception would last an extra hour.

7. Your parents. Would not. Be invited.

8. Instead of a firm handshake as the father of the bride 'gives her away,' the groom would be able to pat him on the back and say "Thanks buddy, I've been looking for someone to do my dishes for quite some time!"

9. The "under garments" for the wedding gown would consist of dental floss and pasties, rather than a full body spandex suit.

10. __________________________________________.

You tell me, how else might things be different if we left it to the men and put the Bridezillas in their place???

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

I'm a big kid, now

"Don't you think we're a little too old for that?" I asked my friend, after hearing another friend of ours detail a sexual adventure.

"Too old for what?" she asked.

Too old for giving way too much information regarding a sexual encounter.
Too old for sharing in their "passions" as we did after a adolescent game of spin the bottle.
Too old for explaining away life's most intimate moments.

But mid-argument we realized what we really needed to consider was...

What exactly does it mean to be an "adult?"

As someone who has supported herself financially for years, who lives alone, and has paid her own car insurance since she got her first 600 dollar Honda in 1998... I don't think "being an adult" is about financial freedom.

I came to realize, that for me, being an "adult" is about understanding that the world involves more than just you.

It means sharing information that others will enjoy rather than describing the latest version of "Chapter Me."
It means being a part of a conversation rather than an attention getter.
It means keeping those oh-so-intimate things to yourself because you respect the person you're with.

Perhaps that is too simple of an answer... but the definition of "Adult" eludes a lot of us as we near the big 3-0.

It's either a time we can't wait to reach or one we avoid at all costs.
It's either a word that means freedom or one that means an end of fun.

But if it's not about money or love or being more aware of our privacy...
Then what does "ADULT" mean for you?

Monday, July 14, 2008


"How old were you when you started shaving your legs?"

I pretended to think long and hard as if I couldn't remember the first time I attacked my adolescent livelihood with a 3 tier razor.

"Um, I think 13 or 14... maybe."

My little sister stared at me as if I was crazy for waiting so long.

She turns 12 on Saturday, and "everyone in her class" is already shaving their little legs.

And the truth of the matter is, when I was 11, I starting shaving mine too.

Not because the delicate, blond hairs were "gross" or because I thought I "needed" to.

I did it, because all the other girls were doing it.

I remember the first time I felt my own, freshly shaved legs. While they were smoother than they'd ever been... they looked even more pale and pasty than before I'd done it. The pre-teen chub was more alarming than before, and I wore pants on the hottest days so no one would see what I'd done to myself.

Not to mention, it was only a matter of hours before they were itchier and stubblier than they'd ever been before shaving them in the first place.

"Why do you want to shave them anyway?" I asked mini-me.

"Because they're gross! Look at them!" she exclaimed while brushing the perfectly acceptable blond hairs with her childlike fingers, nails unpainted and un-groomed.

"You think THAT'S gross!? I asked while grabbing her hand and making her feel my calf after two days sans razor.

"Ew!" She screamed, "That's awful!"

"Yes," I said. "It is."

Friday, July 11, 2008

You look so...


Similar to the term "fine" when I ask how I look in "these pants" (knowing they are too tight).

Adorable and sweet are not words I want to be.

I want to be beautiful.
I want to be ravishing.

I want to be stunning in the way only tall, lean women who don't wear make up can be.

I looked cute on my prom.
I looked cute on our first date.
And I looked cute in the pictures from every, single, event I've dressed up for.

But sometimes cute feels like "not quite beautiful."

When I'd rather just settle with pretty.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Top 10 Signs You're Not His ONLY Girlfriend

1. His phone remains on silent, always.

2. He usually leaves said phone in the car, where it's out of sight and out of your mind, but frequently needs to "run outside to get something."

3. He's always busy at dinner time, but can see you afterward daily for dessert.

4. You find another "Happy Valentine's Day" card just like the one you received sitting on the table unsigned as of yet, but his excuse for "accidentally grabbing two" seems like a stretch.

5. He insists on sleeping alone a few nights a week "to clear his head."

6. He wears really, really nice shirts that you didn't buy him.

7. His friends call him "The King."

8. He showers upon entering your apartment. Every. Single. Time.

9. His number one friend on MySpace is an alter-ego he's created for himself and your request for friendship is still pending.

10. _____________________________________.

(Fill in the blank: "You knew he/she was cheating when _________.")

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

The 7 Day Itch

All of the snuggling, fancy dinners, or long walks on the beach can't cure the itch of needing to see your girlfriends... and that itch usually is in need of a good scratch every, single, Friday night around 10 p.m.

Where I once started my evening at that time, showering, shaving, spritzing and wine drinking, I now usually begin my weekend wind-down as the clock strikes 10.

Instead of wearing my slimmest jeans and tiniest top, I'm wearing a huge sweatshirt and equally unflattering sweatpants. Instead of a meal of wings and spinach dip, I'm full on a four-course.

And while sometimes, it's nice.
Other times, the itch is relentless. Like one found in the very center of your back, the spot neither of your arms can reach. The spot that makes, everything uncomfortable, sitting, standing, sleeping, all of it.

And so I sit. And wiggle. Wishing it were gone. Asking for a back scratch, but still feeling dissatisfied.

Looking for relief, I check my cell for missed calls...

But I realize the only things missing, are my friends.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Love Lines Blurred

"Just because I'm looking at this relationship in a realistic way, doesn't mean I love him any less, ya know?"

"Yeah. Definitely. Well... Either that, or you're just jaded."

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

When the one that you want, doesn't want you

Hmm, I thought. This looks good. Haven't heard this one in a long time. Years in fact.

I slid the CD into the player and immediately remembered the track number of my old favorite, number 10.

As the tune started, I expected to be overcome by the familiar sounds, sure that the lyrics would come back to me with each verse, not knowing the words beforehand but knowing my body, on autopilot, would sing along without a glitch.

And it did.

But my emotions also seemed to be without deliberate effort, and I immediately realized why I hadn't listened to that CD in so long.

Because the lyrics fit well with the time my heart was completely broken, each verse an argument we'd never overcome, each line a better version of his "I'm not in love with you."

Yet, instead of turning it off. I turned it up. Attempting to numb myself to the old emotions. Sure they would dissipate and the ballad, would be for me, what it was for everyone else. A silly love song with a great intensity.

But I listened. I sang along. And I cried.

Realizing that although the time had passed and I had healed...

Our cadence could never erase the song's crescendo.