Reckless

I just read a quote that really stuck with me, and with which I struggle:

 "Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with those who are reckless with yours."

I'm the epitome of a cheerleader for others, encouraging them, supporting them through the rough times, overlooking their faults and believing in them when no one else would. I guess I have this fantasy that after doing all that (especially when it comes to a guy), the favor will be returned, the person will forever be indebted to me, and their loyalty to me (like mine to them), will be immeasurable.

But, as it turns out, when you stick by people, hoping they'll be there for you, overlooking their faults and not noticing that they don't display any of the characteristics of a person who would even be CAPABLE of being grateful, you sometimes get burned and end up being threatened with court proceedings over a car which is in your name and for which you've been paying (true story). Sometimes, unfortunately, you find out that no one else believed in them because they didn't deserve that kind of support, of energy, of emotional and fiscal investment.

But what do you do when this happens? When you end up with a fractured spine and two broken legs after going out on a limb for a dirtbag, what do you do afterwards?

Do you close off your heart and never let anyone in again, regardless of whether they have all the same red flags as the person who hurt you? Maybe they're just the same sex and that's enough reason to write them off. I've read enough books, watched enough stories and seen enough "empty shell people" (phrase courtesy of "Under the Tuscan Sun") to know that imposing your own version of "locked-in syndrome" for your heart is probably not the best or healthiest way to live your life.

Do you brush it off, say "c'est la vie" and go dashing into the fray once more, figuring that that person was a fluke but the next will be better? That doesn't seem quite right either, as that implies that you haven't learned anything from that little mishap, that maybe love and men and unscrupulous people will ALWAYS turn you into their sucker. If you want to keep your money, dignity and sanity, I wouldn't suggest that route either.

Obviously then, the best solution is something in between. Some way of cutting off SOME people from getting close enough to hurt you, but not the GOOD people. Well, how do you know?

First off, after a train wreck situation like mine, I needed to revamp my allowances from the other person. I was DEFINITELY letting several of the men be "reckless" with my heart, all for the sake of getting to say I rooted for the underdog. But the underdog is a long shot and in the movies, they don't show the other 95% when the underdog finished dead last and bankrupts the team who backed him. And I should have cut them off then instead of hoping their story would turn around. But I didn't, and that's something I need to learn to do.

Secondly, I need to lengthen the screening process for the men I deal with. Maybe 1-3 dates ISN'T enough time to decide I want to pursue a serious relationship with them? Maybe that's not even enough time to decide whether I want to be PHYSICAL with them! Because, as much as people like to pretend, sex is just physical intimacy, and, if you're not ready to get intimate emotionally, you certainly shouldn't be willing to get intimate with your body. Luckily for me, I found that out without needing to test-drive half the men in NYC (although, the way my mother chastises my choices in men, you'd think I did), but the few experiences I've where physical intimacy occurred too soon were painful nonetheless.

Thirdly, I need to take a moment to learn from my mistakes. Following my last relationship, which bordered on apocalyptic for my heart, mind, body and soul (and I get angrier and angrier the more time I spend thinking about it), I tried a fling. Now, the reason I hadn't had a fling before that time was because I'm not a fling type of girl. I get emotionally attached. And that's what happened for me, but luckily the relationship wasn't long enough for the attachment to be too deep to get over, leaving clinging for dear life rather than ending it like I should have. For the first time, I could just walk away. And I also realized, for sure, what I already knew, which is that flings aren't for me. But if I get attached so quickly after physical intimacy, then shouldn't I be being careful about who I go down that road with? The answer is yes. And although it's hard to do, I plan on enjoying the company of several men, but getting physical with NONE of them. They need to know me, they need to LIKE me, they need to CHASE me, and I only need to declare a winner for the most worthy candidate, not the one with the most POTENTIAL, flowery words and attraction.

So, don't give your heart to just anyone, don't stay with someone who's reckless with your heart after you give it to them, and don't assume history will only repeat itself, but also don't assume it can't.

Everybody Plays the Fool...

So, last night I had a great date. My date was a musician I'd played with at a few gigs previously who was older, seemingly stable, successful, and had a car (which in NYC is a huge bonus). All those things taken into account, I was understandably excited when he asked me out on a date. I'd known he was somewhat interested in me from the first time we played together, but never acted on it because I was nervous and also because his vibes weren't overt enough for a person as shy as myself to act upon.

Anyway, he asked me out on a Monday or Tuesday for that Thursday and I was psyched. I was psyched, that is, until it was Wednesday after midnight and our plans still hadn't been firmed up. I thought about letting the whole thing drop, because if he wasn't excited enough to solidify his plans with me, then maybe he wasn't excited enough to go out with me period. But then I thought, hey, why not give him one pass and just ask if we're still on for tomorrow night? That doesn't qualify as chasing him and it's completely legitimate the day before we were supposed to have a date. He gets back to me after a short wait saying he's still down and he'll catch me after his gig. Still no real plans have been made, but we're confirmed to hang out, so I figure I might as well.

But, since the enthusiasm doesn't seem to be mutual for our date, I, of course, require a pep talk from my mom.

Me: "All the books say you're not supposed to remind a guy to think about you. If he doesn't do it on his own, he's just not that into you. Yeah, he could be really busy, but I don't feel like rationalizing his actions before I even go out with him."


Mom: "You're right and you shouldn't. But how about you think of it as just a get together with a friend. Come with low expectations, come with the intent of having a good time, and leave it at that rather than trying to analyze this from a romantic standpoint from the start."

She was right, of course, so after taking an hour to put together an outfit that was sexy but also didn't look like I was trying too hard (and deciding to skip the makeup), we met up to see a movie we'd agreed upon.

The movie was great. And the conversation was great. He leaned a little closer than necessary to talk to me, he played with my bangles, and he touched me "casually" several times as well, letting me know that, if I had any doubt before, this WAS a date and he WAS interested. Because he's a successful musician and a little bit of a sensation, we actually ran into friends of his before and after the movie, with whom we had funny conversations. And even though it was a Thursday night and It was already almost 2am, I said yes to coffee in Times Square. Well, technically, it was tea. But people don't say "going out for tea" yet.

We grab a seat in the many tables in the middle of Times Square and talk about everything and nothing. The conversation is great, it's a nice night out, and despite it being 3am, it was still relatively lively. By 3:45am, he asks what's the next stop, to which I reply I should probably get home.


Him: "What? You didn't tell me you had a full day of work tomorrow. I wouldn't've kept you out so late."


Me: "Believe me, if it was a problem, I would have said something. But I've been hanging out really late lately and tomorrow's Friday so I'm down. I should probably head home now though."

We joked about how "cool" I clearly was if I was so laid back about agreeing to have less than four hours of sleep and walked back to the car. On the way home, we talked and jokes and, again, the conversation was great. The vibe was definitely there. We got along like close friends and joked about how I'd been "too busy" to return his calls in the past (i.e. I was in a relationship with a jealous guy), almost all the way home.

But to get to my place, we had to pass his place, and since he'd already mentioned he'd like me to see it someday and since it was too late to matter if I lost a little more time getting the grand tour, and since we'd already realized it was like ten minutes from me, we stopped at his place.

This dude is living the life--a chic setup, music and art everywhere, no tv (very hip) and plenty of square footage. We listened to music and talked some more and I really felt like an adult. And finally, FINALLY, he got up the nerve to kiss me, etc.

After all that talking and listening to music, etc., it was already time for me to wake up for work! It had been a great night with great, unexpected chemistry and we'd talked about how he'd liked me from the beginning and how I'd inadvertently been polite but abrupt with me when he gave me a ride home that first time. It was a perfect night and he was a perfect gentleman and after a kiss goodbye and a "hit me up later today", I went in and got ready for my work day.

And then something strange happened.

I did hit him up (despite the fact that I really wanted HIM to hit ME up and be "the pursued" in the equation), and he hit me back. But ever since I mentioned having a great time and let me know when we could do it again, it was radio silence. Nothing. My mind went a little crazy and started coming up with scenarios and theories, rationalizations and excuses (the way all women are bound to do), but then I finally settled on "Everybody plays the fool", and maybe I'd just misread the situation.

Or did I? "Playing a fool" would imply that I specifically made a bad decision, perhaps even knowing it wasn't the best idea. But "Wedding Crashers" has one of my favorite lines: "We make the best decisions we can, based on the information at hand", and I believe that applies here. So maybe he did do the guy thing and act weird after a great night. Or maybe one of my many possible excuses was legit. Either way it's out of my hands and should be out of my head and this weekend looks to be a real scorcher. Maybe everybody DOES play the fool, but you should never be ashamed to play the fool. Live your life, and make the best decisions you can.

Party Like It's...2003.5

Ahh, so where was I? Yes, we're in the club and it's 2:30am and my friend has just been aggressively twirled around by a strange dude wearing shorts and sneakers in a Caribbean night club.

SIDENOTE: Is that really how they get down in the West Indies? All the West Indians I've EVER met in my whole life (and I only started to meet them when I moved to the Northeast, 'cause Austin only have Blacks, Whites and Mexicans) have cared more about fashion and their outer appearance than the average fashion designer, so what was that dude doing looking like he just got done playing a pickup game of basketball?

Anyway, when we finally got her down, needless to say she was a bit flustered and that got the Twilight Zone that was this club off to a fitting start. Next, she taps me on the shoulder and says discreetly, "Is that a genie behind you?" I turn around to see a man of ambiguous race wearing loose linen pants, a loose button down long-sleeved shirt and a brown vest, twirling around with great majesty and grace, doing his best impersonation of a male belly dancer. He actually looked more like Aladdin, but that didn't stop me from laughing with gusto and confusing the group of men sitting next to me.

 

SIDENOTE: I hate to say it this way, but what's going on with men today? You have a dark room, pumping music, hot men, scantily clad women and alcohol, and rather than make a move, you want to ride the wall as if you ENJOY spending $20, getting all dressed up and piling all your 50-11 boys into your 2004 Ford Focus just to watch OTHER people dance. Please tell me how this makes sense because I'm at a loss.

To the left of "Aladdin", we see another dude who's content to make his own party, dancing with the enthusiasm of someone dancing home alone, and grabbing every girl who makes the mistake of standing too close to him. A couple of time my friend and I let him take us for a spin, just because we got tired of waiting for the non-crazy men to approach.

Despite the lack of dancing, it was quite stifling, and just to add to the craziness that was that club, on the way to the bathroom for a touch up, I run into the best friend of my ex with whom I'm amidst legal proceedings. He sees me, says hi and goes on his way as if everything's peachy, but I, of course, am thrown off for a good ten minutes worrying if he's only PRETENDING that everything is cool when really he's waiting to shank me while hidden amongst the crowded club.

I keep one eye out the rest of the evening, but my friend and I stay anyway, because we want to get the most out of our $10. This was a bit unfortunate because I've been to better parties in the basements of dirty frat houses in college (hence the 2003 reference). They actually played R. Kelly's "Bump n' Grind", just to add to the nostalgia.

Closing time (4am) came just as we were ready to get the heck out of there and perhaps call it a night. My friend, however, had been getting texts from one of her many suitors asking if we wanted to come hang. At a 7:2 guy to girl ratio, meeting them at the club to hang wasn't possible, but over 85 carefully thought out texts, they conveyed that they wanted the two of us to meet the main guy and his friend to "listen to music" (aka FOOL AROUND) out in Canarsie. I know "listen to music" is code for several reasons:

• It always has been, from the beginning of time, just like "Do you wanna grab a cup of coffee?" does.
• It was 4am.
• Before I was invited to come along, my friend had to send my pic from her phone for their approval.

Anyway, I was down, because I was in the mood for an adventure and as it was already 4am, what was the harm in staying up even later?

While we were firming up the details, we went by the McD's in the Village to refuel and were accosted by two Dominican dudes who wanted us to go home with them instead. I'm not sure whether they were brothers or just good friends, but one of the guys basically sat down with us (although we were actually only PERCHING on the edge of the booth seats, as that particular McD's is covered with chlamydia) and proceeded to tell us how he was on the Subway diet and his boy had a body girls go crazy over ("No homo", he repeated, WAY more times than necessary). Then the other guy, while he was on the phone, proceeded to reach into my girlfriend's fries (without permission or shame) and just eat them, as if this was some sort of potluck and our fries were the contribution. Ummmm, NO!

So we left and finished finalizing out plans on a busy corner with a bunch of other people coming off their club highs. And yes, I do notice that I'm mentioning many things that were occurring while we were firming up our post-club plans, and that's because the dudes we were working with were taking FOREVER. In the meantime, we were acting a fool and some other guys (quite cute, in my opinion) started laughing at/with us about the whole situation and flirting. With a little prompting from my friend, I flirted back and we started talking to them while the other dudes got it together and came to pick us up (heck no we weren't going to take ANOTHER cab just to meet them to drive us to Brooklyn).

When the plans with the other dudes were finally firm, we asked the new dudes if they would walk us to meet them, just in case we decided we didn't want to go, and we could chill with them instead. They weren't doing anything, so they agreed and we chatted and laughed all the way to the corner to meet the other guys.

The other guys were waiting for us in the car but, because they'd taken so long to make the plans, we kept them waiting for a bit. By a bit I mean, like, THREE MINUTES after they said it was indeed them in the car. After only three minutes of lollygagging and no calls or texts from the dudes telling us to hurry up and get in the car, they simply sped off into the night without us.

Ain't that a bitch?! So now my friend is having an angry phone call with the dudes who were pissed they saw us talking to other dudes (even though they didn't even KNOW me and none of the dudes claimed my friend either) and I'm openly flirting with both of the new dudes who turned out to be brothers. Once they heard how pissed we were to lose a ride home, they mentioned they had actually had a car and could give us a ride.

Praise Jesus! Sure, it probably isn't the BEST idea to take rides from complete strangers at like 5am with no clue whether they're fit to drive or whether they may, in fact, drive us to an abandoned truck yard and murder us with NYC rats eating all the evidence...but we were already in "adventure" mode, so we said sure.

And actually they turned out to be really cool guys. They plays "classics" for us (including "Ice Ice, Baby" and "Hammer Time"), joked around the whole time, and they were Lakers fans. One of the brothers took our numbers and texted me after they dropped us off. I thought that'd be the beginning of a little back and forth, but it stopped around 6:30am and I haven't heard from him since. C'est la vie. It was still a lovely and quite memorable night.

Anyway, that's why it was impossible for me to blog: I was recovering. If you can believe it, we went out again on Monday, lol. I think these New New Yorkers are infecting me with their enthusiasm for the city. That's fine by me!

Party Like It's...2003

It's been a bit longer than normal since I posted and I thought an explanation was in order.

Well, as I mentioned, I'm trying to fill up all my "free" time with socializing and worthwhile endeavors lately, so it's not "free" for any BS to creep in. In keeping with that, I met up with my old crew from college for a long-postponed reunion in the city. It was just supposed to be a late lunch at four o'clock, shopping, a visit to a wine bar and then clubbing, but by 4:15pm, we already knew those plans were dust.

Of course, it's 4pm, it's past lunch but it's not quite dinner but with this ridiculous NYC heat and humidity sapping the life out of us, we were already hungry. Did we grab a quick slice? Did we hit Subway so we could eat and shop? Patronize the nearest Gray's Papaya? No. Instead, we went to a ridiculously overpriced restaurant in the Village, specializing in Asian-Brazilian (or "Braz-Asian", a term coined by my loctician) fusion. It was restaurant week in NYC, and we could have gotten a full course dinner for $30. Did we do that? NO!

Instead the hostess seated us at a booth where we were promptly distracted by hot Brazilian men in soccer shirts (and we spent a good fifteen minutes debating whether to switch tables to be closer to them), and real Carnival dancers sashaying through the restaurant every fifteen minutes. Needless to say, that made choosing from a menu a little tough, so, FOR NO REASON AT ALL, we decided to pretend we were ballers ("pretend" is the key word, as with all of us being no more than three years out of college, NONE of us are ACTUALLY ballers) and just order a bunch of things to be shared amongst the table. Reminder!: We had NO restaurant week coupons.

The waitress came and we each pointed at about menu items like we were choosing from the dollar menu, when they were really about $16 a pop, my girlfriends drank cocktails like they got free refills (NO, they did not), and when we were still hungry after a table full of tiny (but tasty) expensive food (including half a lobster), we ordered a table full of dessert. Basically, each time the waitress came by, we ordered something new, and we kept laughing amongst ourselves that there was NO reason for us to be doing this. But hey, it's NYC, and sometimes you just have to blow some cash.

When the check came, the party slowed down a bit: $193.47. Let me repeat that again: $193.47. For THREE people, for LUNCH. Oh yeah, we were pretending to be ballers, and next week, we'll be pretending to be BROKE. With tip, my girlfriends paid $90 (EACH), and I paid $60 (giving up alcohol may be the most cost-effective lifestyle choice I've ever made).

After that catastrophe (which we all stayed good-humored about and could, thankfully, actually afford), we decided to make ourselves feel better with a little retail therapy. 'Cause that makes sense: sad about spending too much money? Spend more money! We visited an adult shop that I've accidentally been to about four times (I keep thinking I'm going to a different store until I get inside) and joked about the ridiculous contraptions and costumes all over the walls (all of which looked slightly dirty, like this was a delayed shipment from 2002).

Next, my girlfriends felt like their buzz was wearing off and we ALL agreed it was time to see some beautiful Black men, so we went down to a Caribbean hot spot for drinks and a little nosh. We flirted with the bartender, we openly oggled the waiters and any man not with a date, they ordered several CARAFES of rum punch and wings, my friend dropped it like it was hot in a classy dress better suited to the Kentucky Derby, and added some more friends to our little "I Love NYC" party. The waiter actually commented that I was the sane one of the bunch, probably because I was the only one who hadn't been drinking since 4pm (it was 8pm now), and because the most sophisticated one of us was now dropping F-bombs like confetti.

Our new friends hadn't eaten, so while they stayed in theVillage, we went Uptown for cheap karaoke. The DJ there was hot, but not sending any play our way. There were clearly several other parties including a bunch a Latino folks (and no offense, karaoke sounds horrendous enough in English, but to add that I couldn't understand what they were saying and that each song was about EIGHT minutes long, I was about to blow my eardrums out on purpose), and a group of people that were clearly models, as they were almost killed by the air conditioning unit on the low ceiling of the stage and because they were way too tall and perfectly beautiful to be normal people. One of the friends from the Village finally joined us after he'd eaten and TWO HOURS LATER, we finally decided to head BACK to the Village to go clubbing.

We searched everywhere on the strip for a club with enough Black men for our tastes (and a new friend we'd who'd met us along the way had a few hookups along the way to avoid all the covers as we perused the club's racial makeup). Unfortunately, we came up empty, and settled for cheap shots at a hookah bar until we remembered the Caribbean spot we had drinks earlier is a club in the late night hours, so we went back.

When our friend who normally clubs for free and our grad student friend found out the cover was $10 (some strange man we THOUGHT worked for the club got us a discount from $20--he didn't actually work for the club and kept saying "I could sell ice to an Eskimo."), they passed and it was just me and one girlfriend left.

Immediately, we enjoyed that our people were thick in there--so thick the heat and humidity INSIDE was stifling. A man, out of nowhere (and wearing shorts and athletic shoes in a CLUB), picked up my friend and started twirling her around. It took three people (including our friend from outside the club who acted as our guardian angel the entire time in the club) to get her down.

The time was now 2:30am. We didn't get home until 6am. To be continued...

Binge & Purge

I mentioned in an earlier post that I was playing the "wait & see" game with a few dudes in whom I was interested. But after incessantly checking for messages and IMs and pokes and winks and texts and missed calls and what not, I realized that game wasn't very fun.

I also realized I wasn't still playing it with my current guys. I'd deleted a whole bunch of spam in my facebook inbox, but left a few things, as well. What I left were any emails from men in whom I'd been interested. Some of them were "Dear Jane" letters, some were cryptic notes clearly meant to do nothing but confuse, but most were apologies from the men with whom I'd been involved for acting unkind to me. For some reason, I felt the need to hold onto these, even if the men had long ago left my life.

And I woke up this morning and wondered why. Why was I keeping these tokens of their feelings for me? Why should I care how ANY guy feels about me, past or present. I'm single, no one is courting me, no one is actively pursuing me, no one is even overtly conveying interest in me. So why not let these things go?

And so I did. I deleted not only everything from these men in my life (some my skeletons in the closet, some my white whales), but everything I'd sent to them. It was a clean slate. And although I've lost thirty-something pounds, I already feel so much lighter after having hoarded all that negative energy for so long. It's gone. I'm not waiting for anything or anyone to happen to me. I'm making things happen myself (and with the divine's help).

And in that same vein, I experimented with simply smiling at attractive men I passed on the street on my way to the gym and I was pleasantly surprised by the many responses. I think I'll do this all the time. :)

In the Meantime...

Not only do I write in several blogs, I read quite a few. My current favorite is VerySmartBrothas.com, which recently posted an article regarding the many exceptions women make to their relationships standards (http://www.verysmartbrothas.com/the-exceptions/). That article, plus numerous conversations with friends and family (including an especially poignant one with my parents following the dissolution of a "casual" relationship), made this post inevitable.

Surely, women should hold onto their many romantic ideals and set standards that will facilitate them ending up with the men they'd really enjoy spending a lifetime with. It's also true that, if we're honest, most women can spot (and DO) a guy that won't work a mile away. We see the yellow, orange and red flags, notice all the "mixed signals" (by the way, I was informed by my father that there's no such thing as "mixed signals" because if a man really wants you, he's very clear), have read He's Just Not That Into You cover to cover and STILL, we make exceptions to all the rules we KNOW we should stick to, for the sake of being in a relationship.

And do you know why? Because all these articles and books and conversations focus on the problem: recognizing an about-nothing man and promptly extricating him from you life. What they DON'T tell you how to do is handle all that alone time you're bound to spend if you insist on keeping your standards intact. A commentator on the aforementioned VSB article said it best: "Alone is lonely." Ok, so we know who the WRONG guy is, and, thanks to countless magazines, romance novels and romantic comedies, we know what Mr. Right should look like. We know that when a guy is interested, he'll come on strong, he won't mince words, all signals will be go and the relationship will progress naturally with no training, no hints dropped about rings, and no ultimatums about whether we'll move in together necessary.

So, we have the tools for relationship success. But what if, say, YEARS pass, and no man actually approaches us that could even be called Mr. Maybe? What if perhaps you end up twenty-five years old, and realize ALL your relationships were fatally flawed, and that you've NEVER been properly courted and start feeling like no man even knows what COURTING is? Sure, you're staying strong and holding out and meanwhile your friends are having children, getting married, or at least in relationships. And you? You've gotten really good at knitting and have learned eight languages in all your spare time.

Look, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with alone time. We all need it and should NEVER give it up, even in a relationship. And sure, having time to learn languages, getting promoted at work, getting so good at your hobbies you can actually make MONEY off of them and going out with your friends are ALL great uses of your time. In no way should not having a relationship and/or kids make you feel like a failure. But if you DO want a relationship, and a long time is passing before a normal, decent guy is approaching you in a respectful manner to even begin dating, which might lead to a relationship, which MIGHT lead to marriage, which MAY or MAY NOT work, then what do you do IN THE MEANTIME, to keep from going slowly crazy?

This is not a rhetorical question. I really do welcome suggestions, and I'm sure a lot of other women do too...

Law of Attraction

I was on the subway on my way to a dentist appointment this morning (which, by the way, is actually TOMORROW), and there were several attractive men on the subway. They were tall, dark and handsome, dressed like they were on their way to a decent job, reading a BOOK, rather than just zoning out with headphones or a video game, and just generally appeared to have it together. Now, they may be the suavest homeless people to ever grace the A train, but my guess is that my assumptions weren't far from the truth for most of them.

Here's the problem: none of them were attracted to me. Not even a glance.

Granted, I was wearing dark jeans, sneakers and a shirt I got in college, so maybe they didn't think I was on their level. But hey, there's no dress code for my job and it was raining. Sue me.

Also, my outfit didn't exactly accentuate my curves. The jeans I wore were my favorite, and I've gotten compliments on my backside in them before, but the shirt was a bit loose (from before I lost the weight), so the small waist I've been working on remained a mystery to them.

And the sneakers? Well, I think they're cute and other WOMEN have asked where I got them (one of the few presents from my con-man ex), but I guess they're not the most feminine creation (even though they ARE women's sneakers) and, therefore, don't garner much attention from the opposite sex.

I get all that. Clearly I didn't bring my A game in the outfit department. But, if I'm honest (and why shouldn't I be with strangers on the internet), whether or not I bring my A game has NEVER mattered in the past. In the past, the guys that have been attracted to me have fallen into at least one of the following categories:

1.) Homeless guys.

 

2.) Creepy old guys.

3.) Regular old guys.

Particularly in church. I guess they've learned the error of their ways, seen the value of a good woman and they're FINALLY ready to settle down.

4.) Married guys.

5.) "Separated" guys.

I guess they figure there's just enough room for me to fit between them? I think not.

 

6.) Con men.

Now look, I know beggars can't be choosers and I should be glad ANYONE is attracted to me (because some people don't have the privilege), but COME ON! According to the Law of Attraction, we attract whatever we're thinking--our thoughts and the energy we send out into the universe manifests and comes back to us. Now take a look at those pictures again.

IS THAT REALLY THE ENERGY I'M SENDING OUT INTO THE UNIVERSE?!?!?!

Judging by the men who come at me on a regular basis, the answer must be yes. That's why I'm growing and changing. It's for me and my own personal growth and improvement, but it's also so that I can attract the right element in my life, and that's not really happening at the moment, whether I wear sneakers or stilettos. So, as I progress in my journey, I'll keep you posted on whether I EVER meet someone a little closer to the male version of myself. No, I don't want to date MYSELF, but a guy who doesn't fit into ANY of the above categories (let alone SEVERAL) would be a step up...

Thick to Thin

I'm feeling a bit melancholy today. My ex boyfriend (who was a legitimate con artist that I realize was doing more and more horrible things as each day post-breakup passes) is reaching out from "beyond the breakup" to mess with me the only way he can. I wish he'd just leave me alone or give up or something, but he won't. I've done my best to erase any memory of him (locks are changed, phones are deactivated and phone numbers blocked, all his belongings have been returned, I'm in a legal dispute for the return of the last of MY property and I even engaged in a little casual fling to get the physical remnants of him out of my body), but he does his best to stay current in my life. Needling me. If you're curious about that story, I'm not sure if I'll ever fully share what went down during that dark time. We'll see....

After a hard run and a hard sleep yesterday, I woke up especially receptive to all the "relationship truths" and "universal truths" that are out there, and I've been deep and introspective. If you're ever having a day like mine, I recommend a song made specifically for these occasions: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sR13ECD71xU

I also woke up, however, not really wanting to talk about all those "truths" and wanting to change the subject entirely. So I thought I'd discuss my major weight loss journey, and where I am today.

My first major weight loss happened when I was 15. When I was 14, after hanging out with friends who had the metabolisms of hummingbirds and eating socially with them, and when my self-esteem was my lowest and I was eating emotionally ALONE, I saw a stretch mark on my stomach. On my arms, sure. My legs, ok. But my stomach? In terms of addiction, that was my rock bottom. I could not, at 14, deal with stretch marks on my stomach. So, after a little urging from my mother (for which I initially hated her, as even though I didn't like myself, I wanted EVERYONE ELSE to love me as I was), I ended up at Camp Shane for six weeks of the summer following my freshman year in high school. Camp Shane was the basis for one of my favorite movies, "Heavyweights", and also the setting for MTV's True Life special, "I Went to Fat Camp".

I arrived at camp a miserable 240 pounds. 240 pounds at 15 is not good. I had reached a size 22 and I won't even mention my bra size, as my "assets" were so big they could've spoken for themselves. I acted in a musical for the first time, swam without a cover up for the first time, and got real attention from a boy for the first time while I was there. I also developed a new respect for skim milk and a love for diet drinks. Six weeks later, I'd lost 23 pounds. TWENTY-THREE POUNDS! I was ecstatic. I returned on a mission to not only lose more, but keep the weight off.

Upon my return, I joined a gym. I joined Curves, which is a smaller gym for women only. I still wasn't ready to work out around men, but I'd discovered a new side of myself that actually LOVED being active. Instead of the pit in the marching band (the group that stands at the front of the field and plays auxillary percussion like xylophone, tempani and chimes), I joined the color guard. A small group of my female marching band friends decided to join the wrestling team and I joined with them. I even did Curves' version of the Atkins diet. Before long, I'd come all the way down to 167 pounds (still my lowest post-adolescent weight) and I wore a size 12 at Old Navy. I was so happy to have said goodbye to stores like Lane Bryant, Fashion Bug and Avenue, although I'm glad places like that exist to offer fashionable clothes to plus-size women.

But then senior year post-prom happened. I was busy getting ready for college and finishing high school and marching season was over. A broken collar bone (and a stern talking-to from my parents) had ended my wrestling career. There were parties and banquets and ceremonies and not a lot of time to maintain the active lifestyle that'd gotten me to my smallest. So slowly but surely the weight started creeping back. Then I left for college with its all-you-can-eat buffet-style meals at EVERY meal, all-night butteries for late night study break feasts, ordering in with the roomies and being so busy adjusting to college that the weight had ballooned back to 200 by my annual checkup.

I was furious, to say the least. All that hard work and I wasn't maintaining my progress. Thankfully, sophomore year my new dorm room was right above the gym and a new iPod made the gym a pleasant experience. I worked out like crazy (although I didn't really change my diet much) and hovered around 185-190 for the remainder of my time in college. It wasn't real victory over my body, but it was better than letting myself go.

But then I moved to NYC after graduation. Once the NYU dorms (with access to their gym) I stayed in for my internship ended and it was time to be in the real world, I suppose I did let myself go. Working at a talent agency that meant waking up at 7:30am and getting home at 10:30pm didn't help things, and neither did being too broke to buy nutritious food. Honestly, unless government addresses the paradox that unhealthy food is cheaper, they will NEVER fully tackle America's obesity problem. Add to that that my depression and the constant stress of my job had me drinking all the time, and working at the agency involved a lot of high-society parties (with high-calorie food), and my weight went back to 215.

Enough was enough. I couldn't afford a gym membership, nor did I have time to work out if I could have. I got exercise DVDs but I got home too beat to do them and spent the weekend catching up on the sleep of which my job was depriving me. I drank, worked, ate, and slept and I didn't have time for myself or to explore the great city in which I lived. That is NOT why I moved to New York. I moved here for a new life of excitement, love, adventure, and to become the sophisticated, worldly, accomplished woman I'd always hoped to be.

So, after finding a better, higher-paying job that afforded me time to pursue my creative endeavors, a more stable work schedule, health insurance, vacation time, and a GYM MEMBERSHIP, I gave my two weeks' notice at the agency. I began working out every week day at the gym on my lunch breaks. I felt like a real New Yorker running to the gym on my lunch break with the rushing masses. But a crazy thing happened.

Nothing. After almost a year of what I THOUGHT was intense exercise, I'd lost maybe ten pounds. I felt better--more energetic, more cardiovascularly fit--but I wasn't SEEING the results I wanted. I rebelled and thought, "So what? I'm fit. Men will see how great a person I am, how talented I am, how accomplished I am, and they'll want to be with me regardless of the extra weight." First, let me say there ARE men like this. There are men who are attracted to larger women. BUT, as long as this is America, which glorifies a more slender body type, and as long as you're talking about MEN, who are very VISUAL creatures, then you will be SEVERELY limiting your pool of potential suitors by not addressing your physique. It sucks (no one knows how much this sucks more than I do), but it's the truth and it's not changing any time soon.

And I'd had it with fighting the truth. My rebellion was doing nothing but making me tired. It wasn't helping me find potential mates. The "it's what's on the inside that counts" movement wasn't gaining any more ground. I was banging my head against the wall. If I was honest, I was also LYING TO MYSELF. I cared about my "outside" just as much as the men I was upset with for doing the same thing. I wanted to be firm and fit and foxy. I wanted the physique I believed went with my idea of a "funky urban girl" (see previous posts for elaboration), and the worldly, sophisticated woman that men went crazy over.

So I went to a nutritionist. I relearned all the things I'd learned at fat camp, but how to apply those rules to the REAL WORLD. I worked out hard. When I hit a plateau, I worked out harder. When I hit another plateau, I changed my workout. When I hit another plateau I got stricter about my diet. I never stopped (and never will) until I reached my goal weight. And even then, it will be all about maintaining and not letting the weight creep back on. Just like an addict, no one could help me until I helped myself, and I was serious this time.

I'm happy to report my weight is hovering around 171-175, almost the smallest I've ever been. My current workout regimen involves running for 45min at least 5x a week. I'm looking good, I'm feeling good, and I'm buying a few too many new outfits to show off all my hard work. It's been a long hard road (and there's still more to go), but it's worth it. I'll definitely keep you posted as my progress continues.

Wait & See

Patience is a virtue I certainly don't possess. I wish I could say I was in transition from my impulsiveness to a new found patience, but, in all honesty, I don't feel any closer to achieving patience than when my friends used to have to pry my hands off the telephone so I wouldn't prank call my crushes, just to hear their voice. In fact, with it being so easy to communicate with people we desire, it's hard to know whether it really "counts" to say I've contacted a guy I like if I merely requested him as a friend on facebook or became a follower of his twitter thread. Ok, so I know these don't send the aloof and alluring vibe most women are hoping to achieve when dealing with a potential suitor, but dang, how am I supposed to virtually stalk my crushes if I don't have access to all their media portals? LOL.

I'm currently in the "wait and see" stage with several men to whom I've communicated my interest. First, the musician. If I'm honest, I'm really interested in this guy. He seems smart, he can play like nobody's business, he can write songs, and he can SING (MAJOR weakness for me). And, of course, he's attractive. I only tried to date one man I wasn't attracted to (I thought maybe it'd work because we were both Ivy Leaguers and that's what my parents are) and the sparks were so non-existent they couldn't have lit a barn full of gas-soaked kindle. It was just grueling and each date was like pulling teeth to even have a decent time. Anyway, the musician seems like he has potential, and it seems like we're both vibing each other, as he's been nothing but flirty with me since the moment we met.

Succumbing to a particularly strong impulse, I texted said musician, supposedly to see if he made it to some posh party in Hollywood, but actually to open the doors to some electronic communication. After all, he did get my number (and I got his) the first time we met, and we shouldn't have to wait until church (he plays in one of my church's bands) to speak. TWO DAYS LATER, he responds with an "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you. I was really busy. Blah blah blah." As I've mentioned, patience is not my strength, so being kept waiting is definitely a pet peeve of mine. As my passive-aggressive revenge, and to get back into an advantageous position in this ridiculous dating game we all play, I then waited FOUR DAYS to respond. I know, it's childish, and perhaps a step back in my quest for adulthood. But, on the other hand, isn't it a mature choice to actually play the game instead of constantly rebelling against a system that shows no signs of going anywhere any time soon? Therefore, that was actually quite mature of me. Yeah...sure.

Anyway, my text wasn't nearly as flirty as it would have been had he responded in a timely fashion and I merely asked about his next gig. MINUTES LATER (good, he's learning), he tells me he has a show THAT NIGHT. So how do I respond? Go to the show and it might look like I'm a little too hot to trot, immediately going to see him. Don't go to the show and I wouldn't see him for weeks, as he was about to leave the country for tour. Ultimately I decided to go, but I brought a guy friend and I looked FIERCE. Hey, it was a work holiday and I didn't have anything else to do so why not go and be casual about it?

The show was amazing. I mean, AMAZING. I had no idea. And I was falling in love with him with every new song he played. Not literally, of course, but a strong infatuation was definitely building, as I'm a HUGE sucker for music in general and musicians specifically.

Here's my hesitation with this dude.

1.) I wasn't the only female in the audience who began ovulating when he simultaneously played a complicated solo and sang. Do I really want to compete with the female hordes? Does this mean he's a ladies man? Will I end up just another butterfly trapped in his web, defenseless against his charms?

2.) After the concert, he did take a significant amount of time to talk to me. I almost didn't stop and say hi because I was intimidated by the many other women, but my friend encouraged me to throw my hat in the ring. And, surprisingly, it appeared he was giving me his full attention amidst the chaos. But he said something that threw my friend and I off. When he asked how long I'd been there and I said for the whole show, he said, "Wow, so you just dropped everything and came out, huh?" My friend and I agree that I played it off well, but getting somewhere 20min away NINETY minutes after a text is hardly "dropping everything". So, despite my best attempts, I DID come off as too hot to trot.

3.) Which explains why after he said he'd be on tour and I should hit him up sometime, I decided I would not do that at all. I texted him. I came to the show (apparently "dropping everything" to do so). I talked to him afterwards and mentioned having him work with me on my upcoming recordings. I think it's clear there's interest on my part and that I'm open to communication. Should he remember me amid the many women who approach him, I think he should hit ME up.

It's all part of my new approach with guys: Don't put any more work into men than what they put into you. Hey, sometimes you should put even LESS work into them than they do you. If you want to be courted like a lady by a gentleman, then you can't act like all the rest of the thirsty girls throwing themselves at men and accepting sub-par game just to say you got some attention from a sought-after guy. Remember: you're someone who should be sought after too. Act like it, and pretty soon men will realize too.

The second guy I'm "waiting and seeing" with is my work crush. I mentioned in my last post the scenario of our dance/chat at our friend's birthday party. Despite the fact that it ended rather awkwardly, I still threw up one last Hail Mary by sending him a facebook message thanking him for the dance and the fun time. He responded within the next hour that he did too and we should do it again sometime. But did he set a time or a date for our next meeting? Did he even ask for my number? Did he send another facebook message or facebook chat to keep the communication open the rest of the evening? No, he didn't. So "wait and see" is the name of the game with him as well.

And finally, it's a waiting game with my last fling. The plan was for it to be a fling with him. I met him at a friend's party and, even before the party, I knew I wanted to meet someone that night. Luckily I did and the feeling was mutual and we embarked on a very enjoyable, casual affair. But, there's a reason I hadn't had a fling before now, and it's because I'm a relationship type of girl. That being said, after six weeks of great conversations, great food and great times, I developed feelings for him which I thought were mutual. I was mistaken. I tried to be a big girl and say I'd be fine dialing down the feelings and continuing the affair upon his return from an overseas business trip as if I hadn't said anything. But after a trip to see my family, I realized that would be selling myself short. I'm a pretty awesome chick. I'm an even more awesome girlfriend to whoever has had the pleasure. It doesn't take six weeks to decide whether you like me enough to want to hold hands with me in public. It doesn't even take six weeks to determine whether you want to be exclusive with me. I'm who I am from the beginning until the end and whatever feeling you had about me in week one is the same feeling you'll have in week seventy-one.

So, that being said, when he waited an ENTIRE WEEK after leaving the country to contact me (I guess I'm not that memorable after all) via half-ass facebook note, I was equally half-ass in my reply, I kept my responses vague, and I didn't ask any questions so the note would be fairly close-ended. He hasn't contacted me since, but he did hit up my friend (not HIS friend, MY friend) via facebook chat--a fact I didn't appreciate but also didn't rise to the occasion to dignify with any action from me. I didn't explicitly tell him that I realized that casual thing wasn't my thing and that I no longer wanted to continue unless it was with a gentleman who approached me correctly and was willing to put as much into the relationship (in time, effort, thought and money) as I was, but it'll be clear soon enough, should he ask me or contact me again. We'll wait and see about that, as well.

So, yes, the dating game can be a waiting game, and I totally suck at waiting. But whenever I feel the need to cave and send an ill-advised text, I text a friend instead, call a family member, write a blog, or otherwise keep myself busy. I'm worth chasing, and all these epiphanies I've been having lately are steps in the right direction.

"I Would Like to Cook for You."

This is what the African (from a country I've never heard of and which I'll be Google-ing immediately) chef I met on the subway last night said to me even AFTER I told him about my boyfriend (completely imaginary) and my reluctance to get involved with any more men at the moment (completely true). He was so persistent and aggressive that he got off about like three stops early at about 4 o'clock in the morning to walk me home (don't worry, I didn't let him walk me ALL the way home) and even kissed me (on the cheek). In our almost ninety-minute train ride from Delancey street, he even whispered in my ear "I like you", at one point, to which I responded, "Yes, I can tell." And I could.

My point in mentioning this story is that I DO enjoy aggressive men. I have been known to go out to a club looking especially sexy (as I did last night), just to get a little male attention and then go home, ALONE, to continue my life following my little self-esteem boost. But sometimes, and I'm sure this happens to MANY women, I get a little too excited about the male attention I'm receiving. There was a time when perhaps I would've taken the African's advances more seriously and perhaps even given him my number because at least SOMEONE noticed me. But one of my many transitions is from shy to self-confidence, especially as it pertains to men. You've heard it before, you've attempted to internalize it before and you know it's true. But learning that you can't rely on the opposite sex (or the same sex, depending on your persuasion) define your happiness and self-worth is a lesson everyone needs to learn, sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, it's also one that simply won't be internalized unless you come to that conclusion yourself after crashing and burning a few times (for me, more than a few, as I'm an incredibly naive and optimistic romantic who's always trying to see the best in everyone).

My African chef wasn't the only attention I got last night. Last night's occasion was a work friend's 28th birthday, and therefore, another work friend who I've been crushing on for a while was there. First, it was just a rumor that he was there. I went a whole HOUR at the event after being told he was there before I saw him. This irritated me slightly, but as I had no plans that night but to dance and enjoy strutting my new body in what even I have to admit was a super hot dress (that's another one of my transitions--from overweight to fit. I've lost thirty-five pounds since December and it's transformed me from shy to self-confident about my body.), I just enjoyed acting a little bit like a go-go dancer on the club's elevated catwalk.

But then he arrived, and to my satisfaction, he came right over to me and we started talking and dancing. Not WITH each other right away. More like NEXT TO each other. We talked and "next to" finally became "with" and I thought the evening was turning out to be a success. After all, as I mentioned, I've had a significant crush on him since the first few months of working together but the timing always seemed off. First we worked too closely. Then he made a move after transferring but I was taken. Timing is everything and we didn't have it. I thought last night we'd finally achieved our perfect storm but two things alerted me to the fact that we hadn't.

First, at one point in the evening, he spent about twenty minutes texting someone who was clearly NOT AT the club. And who could you be texting at the time of night? Only a chick. And why would you be texting a chick who's not there when you're supposedly having a good time with a chick who IS there? Because something's going down. It could be drama, it could be your actual relationship that I never asked about, it could be anything. But it's never a good sign that something's about to develop, lol.

Second, he never asked for the digits. And I REALLY tried to set him up to ask. I mean, he asked me what I liked to do for fun, whether I was a big clubber--all the usual questions. And I responded with the most flirtatious answers possible. But not only did he NEVER ask for the digits (in the over-an-hour period of time we danced/talked), but he started to act distracted while I was talking to him. I'm generally pretty used to this as I can talk non-stop and not all guys can hang, but it's yet another strike AGAINST something developing between us, lol.

So, once that was starting to fizzle, a tourist visiting from Detroit took the aggressive approach and began grinding on me hardcore. As I mentioned, I enjoy aggressive men. And normally I would've been totally down with the grinding. But the first problem with that scenario was that, in an effort to show off my new, leaner body, I was wearing a dress too short to really grind in (at least in my opinion, because I'm not a "club hoochie") that rode up even further any time I tried to "get low" even a little. The second problem was that it was right in front of my work crush and I felt bad. He'd already seen me get stolen away from him by a dude at the last party we both attended, and I felt kinda bad letting it go down a second time, just because he wasn't as aggressive. I mean, he was a nice guy and one in which I might genuinely be interested, as opposed to these alpha-male-types that attack the nearest booty clad in tight polyester-spandex blends. Those alpha-males are fun for the evening, but they've got no long-term potential.

But my work crush didn't seem to mind one bit that I'd been stolen. And the tourist visiting from Detroit was PERSISTENT. Even after I thanked him for the dance and went back to talk to my work crush to show the interest was still there, he came back again several more times. I guess I can't blame him; it was his last night in the city and he was trying to make something happen.

So the vibe is gone with my work crush and I'm not trying to be the Detroit tourist's "Gal Saturday", so it's back to dancing with myself and enjoying the music. But who walks up but my work crush's friend. His friend was cute, I'm not gonna lie. And as we talked and danced, I really, REALLY enjoyed our vibe. But the big elephant in the room was that he wasn't available and I knew that about ten minutes after I first met him, when my work crush told me. Well, if his friend was supposed to be playing wing man, then he crashed and burned because he was coming on so strong I had to double-check he was definitely not available. Nope, he wasn't available. And it was really a shame too (at least for me, lol).

And it reminded of the last time someone stole me from my work crush. That guy was MARRIED...but separated. And because I'd just gotten out of something serious (and TERRIBLE) but the vibe between us was good, we decided to embark on a little casual thing. But you know what I realized? Just because everyone's casual, and everyone is hyping it up, doesn't mean I am. And I'm REALLY not. I acted like the chick I really am and developed feelings for the guy, which weren't returned, and then he left the country. Sure, we could probably pick things up when he returned if I pretended my feelings weren't there and maybe had a few flirtatious dialogues while he was away but what would be the point? I'm not that kind of girl. I'm a relationship type of girl. I don't want to share my guy, I don't want to be anything but his top romantic priority, and I don't want to have no one to call when something goes wrong in my life, even though there's a man there that's supposed to be available for those situations.

No, there's no upside to the casual for me and I realized that if I pretended my feelings weren't there just to continue the casual thing, I'd be denying who I was and what I wanted and, maybe for the first time, I realized I was no longer willing to do that for a guy. It was a superb epiphany. With it came the realization that I am willing to stay alone and have fun doing my own thing, despite the pressure to be in a relationship and on your way to settling down, if the only scenarios for being with a man are unappealing and require great compromise and denial on my part. No one is going to treat me how I want to be treated unless I demand it and stay away from situations (i.e. relationships/men) that don't provide what I want.

So, it would seem, that despite the great amount of male attention that I received last night, that I'm further along in my transition to independence and self-confidence than I realized when I left for the evening. I'm actually proud of myself. And in the meantime, while I wait for Mr. Right (rather than settling and getting caught up with Mr. Right Now), I'm learning Spanish and recording an album. Stay tuned...my life's just getting interesting!

In Medias Res

In media res. Translation? In the middle of things. It's a common literary device and, as a graduate from Yale with a B.A. in English and a veteran of four years of high school Latin, it's a phrase I'm rather fond of. It's also an accurate for where I am right now. I'm in the middle.

"In the middle of what?", you ask. Well, of a lot of things. Immediately following my graduation from college I officially moved from my hometown of Austin, TX to NYC, which is definitely a city in the middle of things. What other city can rightfully be called simply, "the City". Sure, it has many other things, but this is the most common around these parts, and it's appropriate.

But I'm also in the middle of a huge transition in my life. One from adolescent to adult. Popular culture likes to portray the leap into adulthood as more of a "before and after" event, as in, before 18 you're an adolescent, and after, you're an adult. But for most, if not ALL human beings in America, this change is a much lengthier transition.

For instance, a lot of people, myself included, have a four-year (at least) period between when we're 18 and when we can REALLY be considered an adult, known as college. Sure, you can say you're an adult throughout college and you are capable of drinking, choosing sexual partners and making a variety of relatively mature decisions without a permission slip from your parents. But is college really the real world? Mine certainly wasn't. It was a beautiful bubble where food, friends and parties were plentiful. If you ever went out into the REAL real world (via Metro North train to Grand Central), you had college to retreat to if it became too much.

But the REAL real world (i.e. life AFTER college) has no retreat. It's there ALL THE TIME. And you can hide under the covers and watch romantic comedies and cooking shows like a hermit in your apartment, but it's still happening all around you. And that's when the transition truly begins.

So, rather than be the only living person alive without a blog, I thought I'd invite the world to jump, into the middle of my transition from a Southern gal (though Austin is arguably not really a "Southern-style" town, but more like California) to a "funky urban girl" (something I always joked with my mother about wanting to become; someone who wore colored tights and felt comfortable crimping their hair and wearing mismatched eye shadow because it was the new trend). It's a long, long road and you're welcome to join me in medias res...