Category Archives: dating

love and loss and rocks

Sometimes in life a person finds themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. And the only way to get around that rock is to blow it up with dynamite, or breakup with it. The rock, most likely, will not enjoy being blown up or dumped and thus will hold the clothes and books you left at its house hostage (including a Bukowski book that you really, really love and want back). The rock will also call you a bunch of names and drag your good name through the mud because its ego was wounded, and you, in return, will question your choice to put an end to things and cry yourself to sleep three nights in a row. You will also accidentally drink too much red wine and dance with a nice but very unattractive boy who’ll call you the next day, and then you will feel worse.
        After a much needed dinner and discussion about the whole incident with your best guy friend, you come to the realization that it was in your best interest to dump the rock. Even though you hurt it, the relationship between the two of you wasn’t really going anywhere. Your best guy friend told you to forgive the rock for its harsh criticisms of you, and you sighed deeply, looked down at your lap, and remembered a time when you had your heart broken and lashed out. And thus you allowed your thoughts to become gentle and forgave.
        There are moments in our lives when the timing is totally and completely and unforgivably off. You meet a person who could potentially be your Siamese soul-twin, and he’s ready to settle down and start a family and you, on the other hand, are planning on leaving the country in a year. You work a 9-5 office job and he works a 7pm-3am bartending job and you never, ever see each other. But you dig in your heels and you try. You try because you really like this guy and he has promised you the world and he cooks for you and tells you that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen and your heart mourns his absence.
        Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes two people can be so right for each other but outside factors play into the demise of their relationship. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just that life got in the way. Don’t feel guilty. There is no need for guilt. Just know that you tried, and that sometimes, it is better to have loved and lost than to wake up to that particular person for the rest of your life.


You don’t know a person until you’ve been snowed in with them for 36 hours

So, incase you live inside an atrium or were vacationing in Florida and didn’t know, Philly had this huuuuge blizzard that dumped 27 inches of snow all over the tri-state area and ruined my Saturday night plans. Pfft.

Instead of going to two super fun parties like I was suppose to, I was stuck inside with my boyfriend. Now, I know that sounds very romantic – oh, it snowed and you two are stranded inside your apartment and blah blah blah. YahhhhNO. I felt more like one of the members of the Donner party. There was no food in my apartment and we were trapped.

Everything was fine until about 2pm because we were asleep. Once we actually got up and had to deal with the fact that I had no food, alcohol, or cable, things got pretty dour. At first, we tried going back to sleep. Well, at least I did. Then, we tried having a deep, soulful conversation. This quickly changed into an argument about how we were going to get to the Acme that was 15 blocks away if there weren’t any cabs running. He suggested sucking it up and walking. I suggested eating the dog.

Two long, cold, frostbitten hours later, we were back in my kitchen with three bags stuffed with milk, bread, eggs, cheese, soup, chips, and water. After he made us dinner, he shoveled out my car while I napped. And then he headed to work (he’s a bartender).

It’s funny how bad weather brings out the best in people. You may fight and huff and puff in the beginning, but after the snow has settled and you see how quiet and peaceful a city can become, you really start thanking your lucky stars that you have somebody that will walk to the grocery-store with you.

You know he’s a winner if he’ll spend an hour helping you catch your pet rat

One of the less attractive features of my personality is my love for all things rodent. I love mice, rabbits, and especially rats. In college, I owned an albino male named Tar (‘rat’ spelled backwards). I’d let him run loose throughout my dorm room and he made a nest in my underwear drawer, which creeped my mother out to no end.

I recently came into possession of two little girl rats. I didn’t have an adequate cage to keep them in, so I ended up borrowing an old ferret cage from a friend, thinking the bars were close enough together to keep the rats contained. No such luck. Last Sunday, I was awoken at 3am by a furry body on top of my face. I immediately started squealing and flung whatever it was that had been on me across the room, not realizing it was one of my rats. 

Fast-forward to a couple days later. After tearing apart my whole apartment, floor to ceiling, I found that the rat had taken up residency inside of my antique sofa-bed. I tried getting her out by myself with the aid of a water-gun and broom handle, but I needed some help. Luckily, the guy I’ve been seeing recently was nice enough to come over and help.

Now, I don’t normally ask for favors this early on in a relationship, but I was desperate. I was tired of coming home from work and finding rat turds all over the floor. The stupid animal had also managed to tear my curtains off of the wall by climbing up them and toppled over two houseplants. 

So once the Object of My Affection (OMA) arrived, I was beyond relieved. We first turned the couch on its side. While he hit the top of it with the broom handle to scare the rat out, I waited underneath, towel in hand, ready to pounce. After about twenty minutes, we realized this technique wasn’t working. The rat was just running from one end of the sofa to the other, but wasn’t coming out. She was also crapping all over the place and the thought of 1,000 rat droppings inside of my sofa doesn’t sit well with me. Eventually, OMA got the bright idea to turn the sofa upside-down. After he did that, I immediately saw the rat hunched between a few of the springs and scooped her up. 

After the rat was safely in her cage, we went for a bike ride and got dinner.

All in all, it was a really fun evening and it made me glad to see that chivalry is not entirely  dead. I’m not asking anybody to slay dragons for me yet, but helping me catch a rat is a nice first step.

Note to self: When you’ve finally found someone good, don’t go looking for someone better.

The Boy Who Cried Sympathy

crying-boyI have noticed a new disturbing yet fascinating trend amongst twenty-something males lately. It involves them feigning mental illness or some other form of emotional/physical injury to gain sympathy from women and in turn, getting laid.

The “wounded puppy” approach to picking up women is a total 180 from the door holding, coat taking white knight stereotype that most women are used to. The wounded puppy game plays up to a woman’s maternal side, making her want to rescue, nurture, and coddle the male in question. Think lioness allowing a paraplegic monkey to nurse from her.

I have a younger male friend who is always playing the woe-is-me card. And sadly enough, it works. This baby-faced, Bambi-eyed guy won me over immediately after he said  he had been in a mental institution, was being beaten by his girlfriend, and drank himself to sleep nightly. Even though I hate children, all of my nurturing instincts kicked in. This guy, who three minutes earlier wasn’t that appealing to me, now shone with the brightness of  a million suns. He and all of his mental baggage were simply dreamy.  I had made it my mission to rescue him. I wanted to be his Florence Nightingale. 

Of course, it didn’t work out. I got tired of his constant irritability and drama and he stayed with his girlfriend (who, by the way, was eight years his senior and treated him more like a son than a boyfriend). But the experience did teach me to be aware of men like him, men who pretend to be wounded so women want to save them.

I am three bad dates away from owning 40 cats

25091156_4daf2ef10dDo you remember that saying “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?”  Well, what happens if you get fooled a third time? You’re a goddamn idiot.

There’s this particular boy that I was introduced to about five weeks ago. Let’s call him Adonis. The first time I met him I was immediately floored. He’s drop dead gorgeous and is well aware of the fact that he is God’s gift to women. Granted, he’s an idiot, but with a face and a body like that, it’s okay that his IQ is somewhere down around room temperature. 

Now, I am not looking for a relationship, but I do want somebody who I can start emotionally investing in. I thought Adonis would be the ideal candidate. He’s hot, he’s funny, he can cook, and we have a lot of mutual friends so I get to see him on a rather consistent basis. The one big downfall though is that it feels like I am dating a 12 year old. And he’s a bit of a flake.

We’ve been doing this bizarre little waltz for the past week or so now and I think my friends are getting tired of my pining. I’ll go out to the bar and Adonis will be there and for the first hour we’ll ignore each other completely. Instead, we’ll secretly pry the other’s friends for information. Does she like me? Is he seeing anybody else? What’s the deal? Then, he’ll make a weird gesture or remark and I’ll give him the ‘WTF’ look and from there, the evening is glorious. There will be promises made of him coming back to my apartment, witty banter, and a hand on my lower back. I’ll get my hope up and ask him to call me and he  says he will and he’ll say he’ll be over in an hour and then…

Nothing. Zip. Zero. Me, alone in my bathtub with a beer.

I hate when I do this to myself. I hate when I choose to listen to my heart instead of my gut and I wind up looking and feeling like an idiot. I hate when I repeatedly allow a guy to take advantage of me and fall for the same line again and again and again. I am better than this.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do single, successful women sit around staring at a phone that is never going to ring? Why do we hope and hope that this time he’ll call when he says he’s going to? Why do we even want him to call at all?

Hope is a nasty little thing. It’s the air inside that keeps me afloat despite myself. Sometimes I wish that I could just pop the red hope balloon inside of my heart and drag it around behind me and mope. 

Adonis won’t ever call me. We won’t end up having a love affair of epic proportions. I might see him again at the bar next weekend, and we may talk, and he may touch my cheek in that certain way, but he won’t call. And I won’t ask or expect him to.

It’s tough to have a crush

heartbrokenHave you ever heard the saying “the heart wants what the heart wants?” I think Woody Allen used that as an excuse after he married Soon-Yi Previn, but he’s right on target here. Once the heart makes up its mind, it’s very difficult to dissuade it. 

I recently met this guy who I’ve fallen fairly hard for and it’s bothering me because literally all I’ve been thinking about for the last three days is him. And I really, really really want my affections to be returned, but it’s looking more and more like this is not going to be the case. 

What are the things within us that steer us towards certain people? Are the people that attract us reflections of ourselves or do they possess a quality that we lack? 

I have always had two very different boyfriend prototypes. I like to refer to them as the puppy and the pirate. The pirate is usually a man’s man, somebody who likes to take charge, who steals you away to his deserted island, rips open your 18th century corset, and devours each and every part of you. He is animalistic, has commitment phobias, and the relationship usually doesn’t go anywhere. Other girls might refer to the pirate type as “douche bags.”

Puppies are on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from pirates. These guys are affectionate, a little naive, and totally authentic. They have no hidden agendas up their sleeves and will do anything in their power to please you. Think Ducky from Pretty in Pink

Now, every girl secretly wants to end up with Ducky in the end. But the puppy type can be a bore and we want to sow our wild oats, even if it means perpetual heartache for a few years.

What am I getting to with all of this? I think I really want a guy that possesses both puppy and pirate attributes. And I think I found what I’ve been looking for in this guy, but I’m afraid he’s not going to call me again. And I sometimes wish for asexuality, but that’s no fun at all.