Let’s Do This.

After many years of giving advice, I decided to start my own blog primarily dedicated to the one thing I’m good at giving, but somewhat skewed at maintaining; Relationships. Most of my advice comes from family, friends and mainly observation.  What is posted in these tid-bit’s comes from the uncut, uncensored, and honest experience of yours truly. If you don’t like it, I suggest you stop reading now. Not because I’m afraid of offending anyone, but mainly because I have no intentions in sharing my opinion with those so shut of to receiving advice.

For those of you that know me, and moreover those of you that don’t, I would describe as spunky, outgoing, and definitely not one to settle down in the near future (as much as I’ve tried, I just don’t know how to commit without feeling everything and nothing all at once).

 After some time of being single (more recently choice, rather than desire), I find myself being the ‘go-to’ person for advice. The reason I’ve allowed myself to open up to those in need, is because I’ve personally allowed myself to experience every kind of hot, cold, and luke-warm relationship. Whether it was long-term, short-term, healthy or not, I can truthfully say it’s all been part of a growing experience to discover who I am, and the kind of person I want to be with (or not be with) in the end.

So for those of you that are up for this ride, buckle up, because as many of us know, love isn’t always smooth-sailing, there’s storms, sharks, and man-eaters out there. You’ll have rain, clouds, and gray skies. And although you may not always have the perfect catch, at least you’ll be ready to face it with the finest bait possible. Yourself.

Dating Schmating

I’ve been meaning to post for some time now, but I couldn’t quite find the appropriate time or moment in which I could best captivate my thoughts, and place them into logical format on paper. I guess I’ve been feeling somewhat detached, or perhaps still attached to certain feelings, friendships, and relationships that I can’t possibly predict a likely outcome for.

Although I can excuse my recent absence in the blogging realm with work and school, I can’t help but feel slightly dismayed by the lack of interest and common ground I’ve had in the dating field. I suppose it was my overexposed years in the bar scene, or perhaps a more refined interest in men, but I simply have not been able to commit 100% to anything, or anyone.

If you had asked me 5 years prior what I would be doing 5 years later, I would have rather obviously imagined a marriage to the man I love, with 2 beautiful dogs (much cheaper and than kids), and a vacation home somewhere in the Hamptons. As my Jewish mother ever so consciously reminds me, I am nowhere near my desired destination- and she- nor I, are getting any younger. With nothing to promise her other than my word, I’ve gradually considered rearranging my goals and moving to Canada (What is it about mothers that make us feel as though we’re to blame in the dysfunctional world of dating?).

However, as much as I’d like to displace the blame on the mundane things, I can’t help but consider the inconsistencies infidelities of present day relationships. People today are much more volatile and complacent in their comfort zones. The pressure of long-term goals has slowly faded, and the glitz and glamour of the aesthetic world has taken a front seat. We’ve prioritized temporary needs as a basic standard of survival, and our commitment and loyalties to others have slowly shifted. The variation and welcoming weekend distractions have become acceptable means of short-term resolutions, with little hope and vision to settling down.

Naturally, with the decline and shelf life of relationships on the rise- the criteria for a stable one seems much too far-fetched. People have simply given up on forever, because tonight seems much more promising. Happiness is now delivered through material likes, and real conversations have simply dissolved into the world of texting. Talk of D-list celebrities and night-time “Situations” leave little to no common ground for real world issues. People are more likely to acknowledge the extended Kardashian family, but fail to correctly identify the past four US Presidents. (Remind me again why I’m still paying for school loans?)

I’m not sure if generation glitch, or simply a passing trend. But the obvious shift in our learning curve has left slim to none pickings in the long-term needs of a lasting and meaningful relationship. As much as I try to paint this picture to my mother, I simply cannot make her see the cracks in the wall.

I will say this. I haven’t given up faith just yet. +

Round Trip

Well, first of all, I’d like to say welcome back. For those of you that know me, and moreover those of you that only know me through 14 of our closest mutual facebook friends, allow me to re-introduce myself. No, my name is not HOV (H-to-the-O-V) but rather Anastasia, or simply Asia for short. I enjoy long walks on the beach, adorable puppies, and of course, an occasional blog or so.

It has been well over a month since this site has seen any action and I would certainly consider this my longest public dry spell. Given that I am a woman of my word, I promised myself (as well as a few eager readers) that I will come back with some juice, excitement, and an occasional chuckle for the everyday soul.

 A few months prior, I had made travel arrangements and accommodations to venture to the holiest place on earth, Israel. As I began rummaging through old files and photos on my laptop, I was slightly puzzled as to why I never shared these memorable experiences and life moments in print. “Seems like forever ago” I thought to myself, as propped my body against the edge of the pillow and hit ‘play’ to preview the slideshow.

The trip itself was immaculately organized and strategically planned for months in advance (organized trips have never been my calling, but I suppose international travels call for a more structured regime). I was traveling with a surplus of 40+ other young, primarily Jewish individuals, with little to no knowledge of the language and just enough hand sanitizer to last me a 12 hour plane ride.

If you had casually asked me 6 weeks prior on my arranged return date, I would have simply shrugged my shoulders, raised both brows, and gazed at you with these sympathetic brown eyes giving no signs or ever returning to the red, white, and blue United States of America. Truth be told, I had no intention on coming home until I thoroughly found myself, the messiah, or perhaps a small Jewish child to care for, thus establishing some type of Israeli citizenship.

Like I said, if you had asked me six weeks prior, I would have rationalized this behavior as perfectly normal, and seemingly feasible. What I had not planned in the weeks leading up to this long overdue sabbatical was to find myself 6,000 miles away, craving the attention of my then fling, comfort of old friends, and coziness of our 1500 square foot apartment I call home.

After 10 days of living out of the contents of one suitcase, enduring twin beds, and fueling up on fried falafel, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t ready to come home. While abroad, I had gradually managed to become less interested in meeting new people, and more focused on reconnecting with the old ones. Although I had the world at my feet, and exotic men at my fingertips, I couldn’t shake the notion that I was indeed, still a foreigner in this new land.

Without consciously knowing it, I had never been more homesick in my life (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, I was only gone for 10 days). For me, the opportunity to leave seemed more desirable than the option of staying, and at first, the idea of returning home was less of a priority, and more of a possibility. At the time, I had no romantic commitments, my friends remained immersed in their post-college lifestyles, and personally I had no interest in re-entering into the doors and entrances of industry and corporate America. For me packing up my bags wasn’t just an option, but rather an escape from the real world I so sleepily walked into.

I guess that’s the thing about leaving. We plan our entire lives to be somewhere else; until we spend enough time there to realize we can’t wait to get back. I yearned for adventure and change, but I secretly craved stability and routine. I smiled with strangers, shared stories with friends, and snapped enough pictures to put any Prom or Graduation albums to shame.  I taught myself to pack light, and go far. But no matter how convincingly packed and prepared I appeared to be before I left, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had forgotten something important back at home.

Ironic isn’t it? The lengths we go to leave, and the extremes we go to come back.

Bad Habits

We all have bad habits. Some  appear with trends (blowouts) while others  are slightly harder to drop (social smoking). Whether we know people that do this, or are guilty of it ourselves, it’s time to put these bad habits to rest, or at least make an attempt to drop em’ like its hot (or maybe cold turkey).

Peace-Kissy-Face-Butt-Out-Annoying Drunk Girl “Hipster” Dude Pose: OK.  Where do I begin here. Oh maybe in 1967 when throwing up the peace sign was actually symbolic for peace, not entire Facebook default albums. Don’t get me wrong here people. I use to throw up the index and middle finger up while puckering my lips /boobs pose out back in the day when fake ID’s and underage drinking was the only way to go. Few years back, I thought this shit was cool, and I thought I looked for damn sure I looked even cooler doing it. Present day, people are still pulling the SAME ishh as if this hasn’t been done a million times before them, and a million times by them. Guys, next time you throw up the ‘dueces’ in your “BALLLLLLINN” album, don’t forget to use the rest of your fingers to represent your age,  level of originality, and how many times  you’ve gone spray tanning that week.

 Although I’m well aware of my wanna-be hipster days , the whole throwing up the dueces/ peace sign at parties, clubs, or in front of your momma’s house needs to stopped, and stopped immediately. You are not Chris Brown,  Kanye West, or anyone reppin’ the Young Money family  (in fact, I doubt you were  even on the guest list)  The only reason anyone should be throwing up the dueces is if they’re a) establishing peace in politically corrupt and incapacitated countries b) attending Woodstock or c) walking out the door. Seriously people, we get it. Give those fingers a rest.

Sarcasm: I’ve mentioned before, but personally, I find sarcasm to be the lowest form of humor. Ok, I know what you’re all thinking, “What a hypocrite” because indeed, I have poked fun at the mass pretenses of modern day society, but that’s precisely my point. When I find comedy in the idiosyncrasies of present day society, I don’t single or belittle individual flaws or personal situations (without them genuinely laughing along). There are people who in fact, can tease and poke fun in an comical, uplifting fashion and I give kudos to those who can make us laugh. There are however, others that could use a lesson or two in their material and well, delivery process. I find if you need to foolishly put down someone in order to appear humorous amongst your peers, co-workers, or social drinking buddies, then you should probably rethink your comic material and furthermore, existence as a human being (totally kidding of course). If used, or rather misused by the wrong people, sarcasm can quickly turn an otherwise social interaction into a personal attack. Often times, I find people use sarcasm as a means to express their feelings in a negative manner, which in turn can lead to passive aggressive behavior (exhibit B “Your cool, if you weren’t such a  douchebag all the time).

What does tickle my fancy on many occasions  is a group of friends who can genuinely and whole-heartedly laugh along with each other’s  bad jokes, peculiar fashion taste, and the rare and humiliating (yet comically relieving) one-hit-wonder moments. Remember people, there’s a fine line between funny, and dickhead.

Facebook Chat: Facebook, as we know it, has  single-handedly and simultaneously  created a social media movement as well as global networking phenomenon encouraging users to manage and maintain informal, social and professional relationships via web based networks. As Facebook evolved, so did its features, which unexpectedly threw its users for a surprise on many occasions. Mini Feeds, status updates, and Farmville notifications were amongst the few features that had users slightly angry, yet pleased to find that certainly, there was no better way to waste personal, or company time on.

Another groundbreaking  feature Facebook introduced not so long ago was Facebook Chat, which in truth, replicated  a knock off version of AIM or present day, GMAIL accounts. What I suppose Facebook Chat had initially  pioneered itself on was indeed  for friends, real friends. Tangible relationships held by two consenting individuals that indeed were once stored in your AIM BuddyList, iPhone or Blackberry contact list. However, what Facebook Chat was NOT intended for was the dozens of creepers who use this feature as a personal dating prelude to a conversation piece I have no interest in maintaining. “heyy ma|  wuts good shorty | and my personal favorite | you look like a good time | dialogues  serve as a mammoth distraction to my otherwise peaceful and jolly-seeking stalking time.

Although  I am well aware of the privacy features in disabling such nonsense,  I find myself mindfully pondering the idea of  having the alternative option of indeed using the feature for its original purpose (as mentioned earlier).  If in fact  I was actually interested in picking up, or meeting strangers online, I can assure you I would so in a more exciting, alternative manner which indeed require one to be 18 years or older to enter the chat room.

So I hope I made myself clear here. Facebook Chat is for people , moreover friends or social aquaintances, that share a certain history together. Facebook Chat by no means serves as a dating service or a plug to “get-to-know” someone.  If you want to gain friends, I suggest you get off from behind your computer, and go network, the old fashioned way.

So there it is. Nothing personal, just real. And if you can’t take the heat, I suggest you take a hike then (totally sarcastic of course)

Just Like Honey.

 

When it comes to providing relationship advice, I’d consider myself a qualified candidate. I pride myself in my diligent listening skills as well as the ability to temporarily rationalize the circumstance in a not-so-obvious way of thinking. Frequently providing some comic relief and the comfort of one…or ten martini’s for the occasional broken heart.

When I take a deeper look into my own romantic and physical relationships, it is then when I begin to question my own guidance and morals and wonder how it is that I’m able to provide such practical and functional advice when in reality, my own personal home front is at times, divinely disorganized and completely chaotic.

In my previous posts, I mentioned my fear of failure. As with any other ineffective phobia in life, I find myself applying this fruitless emotion into personal relationships, and look for reasons to leave, rather than love. However, despite the initial sting of loving the wrong people (which is actually what makes us buzz about all the right ones). I become suddenly allergic to the idea of committing to the hive.

For the past two years, I’ve spent most of my social and personal time fluttering in and out of relationships. Like a bumblebee, I buzzed around the social scene, pollinating with the finest honey, and leaving the sting to all those I weeded out. What I didn’t realize then, that I’m well aware of now, is how ultimately frustrating and tender the sting can be for both the target, and the stinger (Even long after the initial reaction settled in)

See, what science and evolution has taught us, is that bee’s don’t sting with the intention to hurt someone, but rather with the intent to protect themselves. Often times, when we get too close to the hive, and make ourselves at home in this unfamiliar territory, it is then we gain a self-awareness of how unknown and slightly risky this colonization can really become.

I suppose this has been my dilemma all along. Do I keep up with the social nature of the honeybee and chance it with the brightest, sweetest nectar within the ecosystem? Or do I keep the Queen Bee protected in her own beehive for other worker bee’s to colonize with? Is it that I’m personally afraid of being stung? Or is it that I’m afraid of stinging, and eventually hurting the wrong people? Ultimately,  when is it time to reward ourselves with the labors of our fruits, and when is it time to protect ourselves from the natural disasters that lay ahead?

Maybe it is time to spread my wings, and just take flight. There’s so much sweetness in the world.

The Perfect Man

 (j. depp. yum)

After years of entertaining the ideas of relationships and settling for admirable acquaintances, I’ve gradually collected and composed a series of qualities I’d consider above average, if not superior in the dating department. After some “extensive research” and a comparable amount of time spent discussing the male specie with my girlfriends, I’ve gathered a list of something I’d consider to the perfect man. And it goes a little something like this…

He’s got to be smart. Not just smart, but intelligent. He has to be able to carry a conversation in a room full of know-it-all’s without turning into one. He should have a set goal, or purpose in life. Whether it’s teaching inner city school kids the value of an education, or running numbers on Wall-street, it should be his dream, not mine.  

He has to be truthful, honest, and sincere. Truthful about his past, honest about his present, and sincere about his feelings. He has to be strong. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. He’s got to understand I can be tough, demanding, and a total bitch at times, but despite our differences in opinions, he’s got to acknowledge a woman’s worth is more important than her words. And in time, I’ll come right back to being my caring, considerate, and compassionate self.

 He’s got to be a fan, not in terms of sports, but one of culture, arts, entertainment, and travel. He should be athletic, but leave the games on the field and accept the fact that I will never play his. He should accept me for who I am, not what I can do for him, or make of him. He’s should be patient with me, and kind to all, for we never know who’s fighting a tougher battle.

He must love animals- especially dogs, without acting like one when he’s out with his friends. His friends must be good people. I can still hear my mother’s voice reminding me, “you are the company you keep”. Moreover, he should accept and embrace all my friends (including the male ones). He must be well mannered, and well maintained (without spending too much time or money in the maintenance department). He must be financially independent within budget. His overdraft fees should never be of my concern when arranging dinner plans.
He needs to have a sense of humor, and great smile.  That quote always comes to mind “If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything”. See what happens when you get me laughing.  He must insist on turning up the heat to tropical climate temperatures before getting in bed, because he knows how cold my little fingers and toes get. He should be a gentleman, not because he’s trying to impress me, but because it’s the right thing to do. After all, chivalry is not dead fellas, but our relationship will be if there’s no effort made.

 He’s got to be a passionate lover. Not just in the bedroom, but in the kitchen, living room, and hallway. He’s got to know when to speak up, man up, and take out the trash without me reminding him to do so. He’s got to be loyal, loving, and devoted to our cause. People assume loyalty and love are indifferent in terms of relationships. I’ve always believed in loyalty before love. Loyalty remaining a constant, while love is somewhat unpredictable; subconsciously shifting phases and adjusting to various other molds.

He’s got to be a believer and dreamer. Not just a believer in his dreams, but in a higher power, regardless of organized religion. He’s got to keep up with me, and more importantly, keep it real with me. I’ve never learned anything from a man that continually agreed with everyone. He must be my protector, without being overbearing. Aside from being my knight in shining armor, he must let me cast my own light and never let me linger in his shadows. His personality should be greater than his ego, and his ego should never come in the way of his character.
He must stand by me in good times, and in bad, and believe in me when I forget how to stand on my own. He must be a romantic at heart, and compromiser at will. He’s got to be good with his hands and kind with his words because in truth, there are times when I undeniably come undone, and occasionally fall apart. He’s got to know when to hold me, when to let go, when to walk away, and when to stay. And in the morning, I just hope he knows how to make a respectable stack of blueberry pancakes.  ;)

Truth be Told…

For those of you that know me, and more importantly for those of you that don’t and are just tuning in, I’ve maintained a fairly consistent and comparatively positive approach to handling relationships and situations presented to us in our everyday lives. I’d consider myself an optimist and rarely view the glass as half empty (unless of course I’m serving drinks and in that case, I would be the first to encourage a second round). There’s no birthday I wouldn’t celebrate and no party I wouldn’t start (including those pants off parties which usually require a fair amount of full and empty wine glasses).
As of lately however, it seems that every glass I touch seems to not only be half empty, but slightly chipped and damaged as well. This past month of “soul” searching and Christmas shopping has left me feeling rather parched making the need for a possible refill harder to come across than a holiday sale in mid-July.
As much as I’d love to post something comical and jolly for the upcoming season, I feel myself stumped and hindered by more than ‘writers block’, but actual real life circumstance. Truth be told, I haven’t sat down and collected my thoughts since well… my last visit to New York, and lately, it seems that everything around me has quite literally reached ground zero.
Recently, I spent my 25th birthday holding my mothers hand as we were both ironically reminded that my 1st and 25th “birth day” were exclusively celebrated at the hospital, rendering different circumstances yet yielding the same outcome; my mother in a hospital bed. (I lightheartedly offered we skip this tradition for every milestone, although they did offer free dinner and drinks, minus the booze)
A few weeks prior, I received a devastating phone call from the guy I was then dating claiming he had totaled my car after a night of heavy bar hopping and excessive drinking. Not 48 hours after I had kissed him goodbye and handed him my keys had he managed to total a mid sized SUV vehicle causing damage to another car, but also fleeing the scene leaving my mother responsible for all associated costs and liabilities. To this day, I’m not sure why I trusted this scavenger with access to my car, but let’s just say I wanted to believe that underneath all his dirt, there was still a wild flower to be grown.
Aside from the “accident”, you would think one would be grateful for escaping a DUI and criminal charges and financially agree to aid in settling the difference (within reason) of identically the same car, but according to the story “It’s not his fault we couldn’t purchase an auctioned car for cheaper” (Given there’s no warranties and no way to test drive any of the vehicles at these lots).
To be fair, the deductible was paid that following week after I returned from my “relaxing” vacation with overdrawn funds from his bank account. In an attempt to sympathize for his reckless behavior (who doesn’t excessively drink and get behind the wheel of a loved one’s vehicle while living at home and not owning a car of his own) I tried to set up a payment plan which would also turn out to be a flop (Regardless of how kind my mother was in response to the situation).
And thus, as they say, everything in life happens for a reason. We like to think that when good happens, we deserve it to happen, but when the bad comes knocking on our door, we wonder who invited that company in the first place. When my mom fell extremely ill, I was angry. Angry at the people who wronged me, and angry at myself for not seeing it sooner. After numerous visits to hospitals and doctors, we’re coming to understand the root of her diagnosis and seek alternative solutions to this problem.
That day, I was blessed with an abundance of love and support from friends and family. Erika, Rachel, and Mina, you girls are my rocks (or diamonds if you will) and although it seems like I’ve been a few clowns short of a circus these days, I would never have made it through this show without you girls.
As for my taste it guys, well, I’m working on that too. I’ve learned to listen to myself and trust my gut instincts. If something is telling you to avoid certain relationships, do it. Don’t wait for that final phone call asking permission for your car to be released from the junkyard.
As of now, I’m moving on with it. There’s no use dwelling in what “could-have-been” or “should-have-been”. If that’s how he wants to live his life, I can’t punish him for it. I can only forgive. The rest, is up to k a r m a.

An Empire State of Mind

When it comes to love, I’d consider myself a fanatic. I love with passion, desire, and most importantly, unconditional commitment and devotion to the person, place, or object I am currently in adoration with.  However, when it comes to maintaining this effortless notion of everlasting being and igniting passion, I find myself carelessly blowing out the flame, in search of something other than the melted hot wax and candlestick underneath its blaze.

What I have come to find in this quest for unyielding eternity, is perhaps that maybe my ultimate challenge lies not within another individual, but rather a state of being. And in this case, quite literally.

After a recent trip to the city that never sleeps, I found myself delighted and awakened by the madness and chaos that faithfully penetrates the streets of New York City.  At any given hour, during any given Sunday, amongst any nationally declared holiday, the city never stops living. There are beginners, and dreamers, and a whole lot of believers. There’s opportunity, and distraction, and sinful, fatal attraction. Aside from its physical, New York’s got its spiritual, comical, and philosophical. It’s dirty, furious, and demanding, but something about it, I can actually withstand it ( And to come to think of it, I haven’t felt this much infatuation and admiration since well, Mario Lopez came back for ABDC)

Don’t get me wrong all you hard core Bostonians, I’ve maintained much love and appreciation for winning championships and the ever-so – clean and lady-like streets of Boston. I was raised in a small town and turned to this city for guidance and direction. But after a few years of paying its dues, this once untamed and liberal city of nightlife and glamour turned out to be just another off-campus-after-hours-post-nightclub-party-scene. I quickly became bored and distracted by the lack of excitement and change I so naively pursued in the first place. After 3 years of admiring, appreciating, and continuously arguing over parking tickets, I became all too comfortable, and well… bored.  

What I have learned after countless last calls and after-hour parties, is that perhaps not all long-term, live-in relationships are meant to last. Sometimes, we’re compelled into love by chance, or circumstances, or that feeling of utter acceptance by another individual. Sometimes we settle, endure, and finally accept the things around us for what they are, rather than what we want them to be. We become so comfortable and dependent on that basic love, that we somehow fool ourselves into thinking we are happy, and content with the world around us. We refuse to take chances, and break out of that comfort zone because somehow the unknown, is considered way out of our reach. We consider having love, as being in love, which can hinder our movement forward, into other unknown territories, and in this case, states.

So here’s my advice. Take chances, make mistakes, and always trust your instincts. Don’t be afraid to explore. We may not have always have direction, but if we somehow manage to remember where home is, we’ll never be lost.

(love ya’ ma.)

FALLing in Love

With the changing of the seasons, comes the changing of the wardrobe. And with the changing of the wardrobe, comes the gradual layering of sleeves, scarves, and cute button down coats to match.  As my best friend Rachel, and fashion guru puts it, this is her most favorite time of the year. Not because of the warm pumpkin latte’s or Monday Night Football gatherings, but because Fall collections offer a tremendous variety of welcoming colors, animal-printed patterns, and warm wooly coats for any special, or non-special occasion.

For the most part, I’d have to agree with her excitement in the coming of the season. It’s a time for cozy flannel, thigh high boots, and that luxurious cashmere sweater you justified purchasing after what’s-his-face broke up with you. After an assortment of Glamour magazines and warranted weekend shopping trips, I’d have to say my latest fashion forecast goes beyond the must-have fall trends, into a more personal wardrobe malfunction.

As if it were the latest runway fashion, I find myself carelessly wearing my heart on my sleeve, rather than safely tucked inside the pocket of my ever-so slimming blazer. Figuratively speaking, I suppose I’m not the only becoming affected by this trend, seeing as though summer flings have come and gone, and the idea of snuggling up on a loveseat, is much more appealing than standing around in the cold.

For many of us relationship nomads, this seems like the trendiest season to pop in a movie, turn up the heat, and quite literally, knock boots (te-he-he). Growing up, I suppose it was my high school sweetheart, or previous college romances, that made the transition into autumn, a suitable season to fall into love.  And now more than ever, I find myself wanting to turn over a new leaf, and jump head first into the biggest, brightest pile I find.

PDA- A Public Dis-Service

**(This is a re-post from March folks. If you’ve been following, I apoligize for the repetition. I accidently deleted it from my account)

With the promise of warm weather, sunny skies, and the idea of summer lovin’ right around the corner, comes spring fever to its fullest. For the majority of mammals, this is the time to come out of hibernation, shed a few layers, and moreover, mate like crazy.

Although we share many similar characteristics to our primitive ancestors, (mammary glands, fur, and mate selection), there is one thing we don’t, and shouldn’t share with onlookers,… and that is an inappropriate, and unacceptable amount of PDA.

Unlike our primitive ancestors, were the wild is not only their home, but also breeding ground, I can guarantee that ours does not reside within the walls of a public bathroom, Movie Theater, or any other decent restaurant.

Don’t get me wrong folks. I love affection. I love touching, feeling, kissing, smooching, baby talking, cuddling on the couch, floor, bed, lazyboy…etc. (You get the point). I’m also the first to steal a kiss, reach for your hand, and exchange a few googly-eyed glances over dinner, and drinks of course. 

For the most part, I’m all for this type of lovy-dovy romance. To the couples that can successfully and tastefully display their affection toward each other without going overboard, Kudos. (You guys and girls know who you are, because your mutual friends actually enjoy being in a room with the both of you at the same time)

However, to couples that feel the need to exchange MUCH more than a smooch or glance while I’m serving you a drink (yes I do work in a bar, go figure), is unacceptable. Not only is it uncomfortable and awkward for me and others around you to approach the bar, it’s also gross and disturbing that I just overheard your lady friend remind you she’s not wearing underwear underneath her skirt. (Ladies, gross. You can still be a freak for your man, without exposing your lady bits wherever you go) I get it. You guys are hot and heavy for each other, but please, get a room, and preferably not this one. (Keep your DNA in your pants, thanks)

Remember, when it comes to publicly loving the one your with, keep it simple and sweet. There’s a fine line between sophisticated, and skanky behavior.

Behind the Scenes

I’ve always believed I would know the exact moment I’d meet my soul mate. I envisioned it clearly. I would be at a crowded cocktail party, located on the 22nd  floor of a remarkably unflawed apartment building. The view would be breathtaking: a panoramic view of the city; white and yellow lights contrasting brightly against the star-filled midnight sky. There would be wine and champagne of course, and an unlimited supply of those tiny little French hor’dourves that no one really knows the name of, but insist on trying anyway. I would be on my second champagne glass, eyes slightly squinted from those tiny booze infused carbonated bubbles which do a wonderful job of intensifying the effect of an otherwise humorless joke. He would be across the room, carrying a conversation, scotch in hand, listening, or pseudo-listening (you know that thing guys do when we interrupt their fantasy football league to inform them about a friends baby shower next week). We’d make eye contact, smile, and I would playfully look away. My soul mate would then excuse himself from his otherwise flat conversation of sports and stocks, and make his way over to interrupt my seemingly casual conversation of preferred red wines and dream vacation homes. Offhandedly, he would crack witty joke, and eventually insist I join him on the balcony for some fresh air. As I follow his lead, we would find ourselves lost in each others eyes, the presence of the latter each weighing on us like a thousand stacked bricks, laying the foundation to our flawless, unplanned future. Like two un-caged doves, we would thus find ourselves deeper in love with each other from that moment on. 
…And thus, I am what most people like to call, a dreamer. I envision things the way I want them to happen; not the way they actually happen in real life. Maybe it was one too many Dawson’s Creek episodes, or my current True Blood addiction, but the idea of finding your soul mate in a crowded room infused with cheap wine and otherwise perfectly structured males didn’t seem too unattainable, or in this case, too far-fetched..
What I have come to learn, after the many years of being in and out of relationships, dating, faux-dating, soul-searching, sharing sheets, and other personal belongings, is that real life never seems to fit into a full season of 2 DVDs. The characters in these scenes capture an ideal structure of a man and his quest for true love in ways we lust for in real life. I suppose that’s why we obsess over the vampires and ware wolves on-screen, and feel dismayed when our real significant others seem to act more like annoying sidekicks, rather than untamed heroes. 
I guess I’ve spent too much time waiting for this perfect moment. In my somewhat delusional and naïve mind, I thought if I had the right setting, lighting, and dress, I could find that undeniable and everlasting true love. What I ended up finding, however, from an unprecedented amount of cuts, takes, and re-runs, that maybe my Mr. Right, isn’t meant to act on cue. Maybe I’ve spent too much time rehearsing lines, marking entrances, and fussing over hair and makeup, that I failed to notice the real people behind the scenes. 
So here’s my final thought. Maybe life isn’t always an HBO hit, maybe I can’t TiVo every moment, cue every tear, or forgive all my co-stars. Maybe I have to stop every so often, and remind myself that my life isn’t a set. Maybe, it’s those faded tans, frizzy hair days, and smeared makeup mornings that make falling in love less of a TV show, and more of an actual life experience. Maybe it’s time to get this show off the set, and on the road.