Just Friends...?

One of the hardest things about dating someone is trying to get an idea of the web of their friendships. While you may meet the best friends if you make it through the preliminary rounds of courtship, and while you may be taken to places, parties, or events where you meet some of the outer circle, the "good for a fun time" friends, you'll never get to meet everyone, or neatly sort out all the knots of confusion into neat, tidy little bundles of friendship strings. What can be hardest yet is qualifying the relationship the guy you're seeing has with his girl friends-- as a woman, you always have to wonder...is there something else there? What is the best way to ask if there's something more going on between him and his female friend he seems to be very close with? IS there even an easy way to ask anyone this without sounding like a total freak of nature?

Recently, I've been driving myself borderline insane trying to figure out the answer to this question. While I may currently be in a relationship, and monogamous, and everything seems to be going well, that question that shouldn't be asked seems to keep rising its ugly green head and begging to be asked: You've been talking a lot about a certain person recently; is there something I should know about? I'm fragile from the answer to this question being answered incorrectly in the past, and I need more reassurance and feedback on it than the average, well-adjusted woman does because of it. I get that I may just be A Little Crazy about it. But at the heart of the matter lies an even deeper-seated question: Can men and women Just Be Friends?

My friend Robin doesn't think so. Robin and I spent 4 months studying abroad in Italy together, and hence got very close. Robin, coincidentally, has been the guy most despised by every man I've been in a relationship with since. When I got back from Italy, my current flame questioned me up and down about Robin, then snubbed him at a party later on when he showed up to say "hi" to me. Very early on in seeing each other, the guy I'm currently seeing asked for the 4-1-1 on Robin, himself. Poor, misinterpreted Robin is a believer in Ladder Theory, himself-- the theory taken from "When Harry Met Sally" that a man and a woman are incapable of being platonic friends without one desiring something more.

Maybe I should be appeased by the fact that the guy I'm currently seeing thinks that Ladder Theory is complete bullshit, and that he has many perfectly functional friendships with women that are purely platonic...from his side, at least, he admitted, one morning when we went downtown and I asked him about it as we waited for our breakfast sandwiches by the beverage coolers. Or maybe I shouldn't listen to that at all, as not five minutes later, a girl appeared, and they hugged, exchanged pleasantries as all around were introduced, and after she and her friends left, he turned to me, slightly pink, and said, "Well, that was kind of funny. She's had a crush on me for over two years, but I just don't find her attractive at all." Hmmmm. So, CAN a man and a woman just be friends, or is all my round-and-round, hamster-wheel worrying actually energy spent on something worthwhile to ponder?

I try to temper myself by reminding myself that I am an undeniable Guy's Girl-- I always have more platonic male friends than female-- and that at one time, one of my closest guy friends, if not my CLOSEST guy friend, admitted he found me attractive and tried taking me out for dinner before we both decided it was maybe a little too awkward. But nothing EVER happened, or ever even ALMOST happened, and he and my other guy friends would ask me to come over and just hang because, sometimes, guys just like to have a girl friend around. I get this. I know this. I am usually That Girl that my guys call to come over when they feel the need to have a double-X chromosome make up in the room to balance out all the testosterone. The Older Brother/Younger Sister/Best Friends relationship dynamics are now firmly in place. There's no question anymore about the fact that I'm just a chill girl. Nothing makes me happier than to have a beer in hand, sitting on someone's couch, watching a movie and shooting the shit in a sweater and jeans. But am I always perceived as such, especially when I'm dressed in heels and a sweater-dress, or am I always like that? No. And when I found myself dressing (relatively) up and re-applying my make-up one night after I invited my best guy friend out to eat dinner with me, I realized that if I am doing it, maybe I should cut other girls doing it a break, even if the thought of another woman whom I'm still ambiguous about her intentions out at lunch with the guy I'm seeing makes me a little queasy.

I've been benign about this thus far, but I've been relaxed about this in the past and it's come back to bite me in the ass, so I'd just like to be clear about what's going on. Maybe I need to know that I'm not the only one really sticking my pale neck out there, trying this thing on for real.

XOXO

Defining "Normal."

Recently, I'd been experiencing some friction with my roommate. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I had a sneaking suspicion part of it had to do with the fact that she recently entered a bona-fide, label-ready relationship with the guy she's been seeing for the past two months. Maybe it was the fact that he was so willing to commit to something so freaking early on, or maybe it was the fact that she could now bandy around the term "boyfriend" and not have to stick with qualifiers like "the guy I'm seeing" (which to me, calling someone your "boyfriend" seems abhorrent if not for the fact it's just so much easier than the latter), but suddenly, our relationships with guys seemed to be affecting our relationship with each other. Was I jealous? Were we "cheating" on each other? Why was her relationship suddenly making me question mine?

Granted, her relationship has its issues, too. I've found her moping in bed when her plans fell through, just like she's found me moping in bed when my plans with TGIS fell through, and there are things about my relationship that I wouldn't trade for things in hers like labels or meeting the parents for all the money, steak, and peep-toe pumps in the world. But it made me wonder, especially in a world where all we seem to do is want the things that we don't have: How much do other people's relationships affect our perceptions of our own?

While I adore her boyfriend, seeing him around was a painful reminder that things with TGIS were suddenly ambiguous. The last time I'd seen him, he'd brought up tentative plans for drinks and a late-night movie, and dinner the night after. I never ended up hearing back from him about that, even after I texted him to see what his plans for the evening were. A few days later, we had a conversation about space both literal and metaphorical in our relationship, and how with distance and different schedules (he works odd hours; I'm a full-time college student with a part-time job,) it's sometimes not conducive to seeing each other for a few days. He told me again, straight out, not to worry if he didn't get back to a message or text ASAP, and though we were communicating perfectly clearly about our expectations, things still felt a little stunted, without much reason.

If only it really WAS as easy as a guy saying "don't worry," and you could stop worrying. Instead, I started thinking back to previous relationships and how in the past I've watched a guy go through the same distancing maneuvers, only to completely distance himself from me and our previous relationship and suddenly become one of those people who never returns your calls and never texts you back, seeming to suddenly enter Witness Protection. And the more I saw my friends, random strangers on the street, and my professors with their S.Os, the more I started to realize it wasn't just a day or two not seeing each other-- it was now over a week, something that had never happened in our relationship before. While the perfectly sane side of me knew that in the overall scheme of things, not seeing each other for over a week is perfectly fine, perfectly normal, the neurotic, Nervous Nelly side of me kept reminding me that it wasn't normal for us to go this long without him asking to come see me-- we're more of a see-each-other-twice-a-week, at-least-text-every-day couple. I asked my friends to use their relationships as a sounding board to give me advice or a breath of fresh air and a better grip on sanity. But despite all the (different-- no two responses were the same, which was probably the most frustrating part of it all,) feedback I was getting, once I started comparing and contrasting my relationship, to itself, to my past, and to other people's, it opened up a whole new can of questions and wormy doubts. Was this really better, or was I just driving myself crazy? Or, crazier?

By Day 9, I was most definitely in the "crazier" camp. I stopped bringing TGIS up in social situations, because if his absence was his way of telling me we were through, I didn't want to lead on like I was still seeing someone. I was a doomsday cloud of oracle-like beliefs that he was now The Guy I'm No Longer Seeing. I resigned myself to picking up some of the slack in my Single Girl life again, started going to the gym again, spent 8 hours in bars one night with the girls meeting some of the oddest men I've ever had the distinctly unsure pleasure of meeting, went to dinner with my best guy friend who nearly made it worse by bringing TGIS up and telling me that he really liked him from when they met, and made a big (read: truly and magnificently pathetically large) dent in my Netflix instant queue. And then, the other morning, at 4 AM, I got a text from TGIS, responding to one I'd sent him nearly 8 hours previously, telling me that he'd be able to come up and see me again soon. And last night, the dearly departed ghost returned to my doorstep. Huhn.

It was a little awkward at first, and I felt tremendously relieved when he kissed me "hello" as usual and acknowledged the fact it had been over a week since the last time he'd seen me. "I worked two events this week," he told me, and I suddenly found myself looking at him like he had suddenly sprouted a third head (think about it...). To me, "I'm working" is a perfectly acceptable, concrete reason to be busy and absent, and if I had heard that instead of "my schedule doesn't allow it," 6 days ago, I would have been so much less of an emotional little mess. I'm a word person, obviously. To me, the difference between "working and needing time with the guys" and "my schedule" is the fact that a schedule can include things like seeing other women, assiduously ignoring me, and moving away and enlisting in the Israeli army. Isn't it funny how the specifics of communication, even when you're communicating well in the first place, can make all the difference in the world to a girl?

This morning, as he left with everything right in the world again, I realized that what really matters when it comes down to your relationship is keeping a fine balance between the "normals"-- what's normal for you, and what's normal for other relationships. We're constantly comparing our own to other people's, or other standards. But as my very wise father told me, "No two relationships are the same. They're different people, different situations." At what point should we just breathe, and let it be?

XOXO

...Oh, and part of my general bad attitude and issues with humanity? The fact I hadn't gotten laid in awhile. I completely forgot about that inconvenient little fact until I woke up this morning feeling like a Disney princess ready to burst into song and bake cookies for the world and had a fabulous conversation with my roommate and made plans to get margaritas out tonight. Ta-da! Maybe all it really takes to get back to normal...is to actually screw what everyone else thinks and re-define it, for yourself.

Freaks and Closet Geeks.

There are some things that are sacred to women: Chocolate. A pair of heels that fit perfectly and would never pinch, even if you walked 50 blocks in them. A perfectly made cocktail. Sleeping in on the weekends. Happy hour with your closest friends. How our mother will always be one of the first people we call with news. The four-letter words S-A-L-E and L-O-V-E. And closet space.

A few weekends ago, wading knee-deep in down from a comforter that's apparently determined to molt in time for spring, the guy I'm seeing took one look at the floor in the corner of the room he normally puts his clothing in, and winced at the gathering tumbleweeds of feathers residing there. "Do you have someplace I can put my stuff where it won't get down on it?" he asked, and I froze, like I was suddenly subject to the 10 degree weather outside. There was someplace he could put his things, but I really didn't want to think about it. How could I tell him that my closet is like my personal kingdom, where I am ruler of all labels and ruling regent of all spatial reasoning, keeping the tank tops separate from the dressy shirts from the cardigans, without sounding like a total freak of nature?

In the end, I ended up pushing aside the hangers and clothes on the hanging rack so that he could have easy access to put his bag and jacket on the shelf underneath, but my clothes looked so forlorn, pushed to the side like unloved stepchildren. I'd like to blame what happened later on the fact that I was overtaken with thinking about my black mesh dress pressed up against my woolly Italian sweaters and getting pulled on by their fibers, but actually, there's no excuse for what happened next.

Sometimes, we can all go a little bit crazy. As far as it may be from us, our past is still our past, and as much as we dislike to have it tarnish the golden views of our present or future, it sometimes does. I live in eternal fear of the One Reoccurring Theme of my dating history: That I am merely a placeholder until some thing or someone else better comes along...that while logic states I, an obsessive-compulsive, nymphomaniac, time-consuming, giving, impulse buyer of gifts, needer of needy men, should be more than enough for one man, but if there's one thing my history has taught me, it's that I am remarkably replaceable, and that I tend to be the entrée-- there's always an appetizer or dessert on the side.

But while I've served as the main course, it's important to note that there's a lot of things that I've never done before that I suddenly find being a "normal" part of my life: I've never had someone else's toothbrush and towel residing in my bathroom, other than a roommate's. I've never eaten out so often together or gone out as a couple. I've never slept as many consecutive nights with someone as I have been doing recently. Only one other man was ever even allowed into my house to stay overnight, and that was one time, so I understandably am not used to someone living with me nearly a third of the time. So you better believe I've never had reason, cause, or practice to give away a drawer or a shelf for a man to use as his own. The strangest part of all is, I actually really love all of it. (I seem to have come a Very Long Way since the girl who went through men in under one month like Brawny paper towels.) None of this actually feels strange until I take a mental step back, look at my current life, and assess the Big Picture. Which I did the other day, while simultaneously having a VERY spectacularly large fret about putting all my eggs in one basket and shirts on one shelf and worrying about the possibility of other women fucking my toothbrush-and-towel present reality over. And so I did something when the opportunity arose after he left that I'm not very proud of, at all, and took my last deep breath of sanity, and momentarily dove off the deep end. I freaked.

I knew it was wrong. I knew what I was doing was like stealing, or at very least, breaking and entering, even though the metaphorical doors were already unlocked for me and I didn't touch anything; didn't open any Pandora boxes. All I had to do was use the two eyes I was born with, but even that, I knew, was too much. I surfaced when I didn't find anything that I seemed to be looking for-- there were no illicit messages, no secret trysts set up, no whiffs of another woman's perfume or lip gloss smudges. There was nothing of cause for concern. In fact, what I did find made me feel even worse than what I imagined finding something that I was looking for would make me feel: Instead, there I was, my name staring myself right in my face, not erased or replaced-- the messages a sane women had written being saved by the man who was doing her right, as she let her inner freak flag fly postal. I felt worse about myself than I have in years. I vowed at that moment to lock the super-freak in me up in the closet and never let her out like that again.

As a silent mea culpa, I cleared away my tank top shelf and consolidated some of my hanging rack for his stuff in my closet --like he had asked for the other night-- at 3 in the morning in a "retribution-for-my-wrongs" fit, all while mentally begging for forgiveness, and finally letting him, and trust, into my life...for real. I figure, in my world, giving him a part of my precious clothing space says "I'm sorry; and I'm showing it by proving I love you more than I love my tank top collection" far more than anything else I could ever say or do.

XOXO

The 3-Month Hitch

During Glamour's yearly poll of thousands of men on issues regarding love and sex and relationships, one polled member commented on the fact that it takes the average man between 3 and 6 months to decide that he wants to commit to a serious relationship. Obviously, to people like my mother and like, all other women on the face of the Earth, this doesn't make much sense, because, after you've been seeing the same person for the last 3 months, you just assume you're in a serious, committed relationship, right? Wrong.

One of the most frequent questions I get asked when people are asking me for advice is, "How long should I wait before I ask him to be serious/committed/my boyfriend?" This question usually comes within rapid succession of starting to see someone on a regular basis, because if there's one thing we know about women, it's that in our thinking, the equation goes: "time together + sex = hormonal bonding = relationship on lockdown, now, please." Some girls believe that after a month, you know what you want out of a relationship, and that the two month marker is the time to have The Talk. You know what talk. You've wanted to have The Talk after the first month into a relationship, I promise you. It's when your friends are bothering you if he's officially your boyfriend yet. If you have keys to his place. If you’ve met his friends or family. If you’ve had The Talk yet. Even if you weren’t thinking about it previously, hearing so much feedback almost brainwashes you into thinking the same way; you want to nail that shit down and have everything in neatly labeled little boxes like "Monogamous" and "Committed" and "Boyfriend." You want to know he's not just killing time with you until something else or someone else comes along. You want to know EXACTLY what you're doing together. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about, because not even I—the utterly casual/take-things-one-small-step-at-a-time girl—am immune to it. The more I’m asked if someone is my boyfriend, the more I itch to make him my boyfriend, if for no other reason than to stop the henpecking and make a more honest woman out of myself. I hate society for this reason.

But the fundamental problem is that your beginning months together as a couple are like a trial period to the rest of your relationship. You're still learning things about each other, getting to know the quirks and nuances of co-existing with another person. Things come up in this time that make, break, or shape how you feel about each other— you may not be able to deal with his constant throat-clearing without needing to leave the room for a 5 minute breather, and he may have a big beef with the fact that you steal the covers at night. It's a time of discovery, enlightenment, and compromise— NOT a time of solid relationship status. Even Patti Stanger, the Millionaire Matchmaker, suggests a 90-day trial to commitment, after which time, it's time to shit (in this metaphor, "shit" meaning a really unflattering synonym for deciding to do it proper,) or get off the pot and cast yourself back into the dating pool to try again.

There are so many more "little talks" that need to happen before the Big One that let you discover if you even NEED to have it. There's the "Do we like each other enough to continue seeing each other?" talk, usually after the first few dates. Then there's the "Here are my deal breakers" unveiling, usually done with each other in installments labeled along the lines of Religion, Politics, Lifestyle, Family, and Friends. Next comes a period of reconciliation about things like who drives and who pays the tab at the bar or restaurant and what pet names are appropriate and which aren't. And then there's the precursor to The Talk— the "Are we monogamous?" discussion. These are all important steps to gradually work through, and I can promise you, it'll take longer than a month to get through them. And do you know what skipping them— the necessary groundwork to any functional, grown-ass relationship— or rushing through them makes you look like? A crazy, needy woman who always needs to be in a relationship. Not flattering. So do your homework, hun.

Three months is the perfect amount of time in which to decide if you want to turn seeing someone into a serious, committed relationship. In three months, you should be able to assess how compatible you are, if you have the same goals and objectives, if the way they take their coffee is going to infuriate you every morning for the rest of your time together, if the sex is still as exciting as it was in the beginning and looks like it still will continue being exciting and fulfilling, and where you see this relationship going. You can date, meet each other's friends, get in fights, make up, sleep together, sleep in the same bed together, develop a routine for how you spend your time together— are you a stay in or go out couple, or a little bit of both?—, discover what aspects of the other suit and complement your own personalities, and get to learn each other's pet-peeves and deal breakers. You even have time to go on trips together, learn how the other deals when one of you gets sick, and possibly even meet the family. If you feel like you can't wait three months before jumping into an official relationship, I'd ask you to please look up the differences in the dictionary definitions between "love" and "lust."

So, the next time you feel the itch to break out The Talk and after a month, control yourself, girl. Wait it out a bit. Maybe, if you give him the time he apparently needs to make the decision on his own, he’ll even bring it up to you, which is just about the most romantic (can we guess what the word of the week is sponsored by?) thing that I can ever imagine happening. This may be one of those times when the man is right, after all. Give both of you some time (preferably around 90 days), and it'll all work out the way it should be, organically.

XOXO

Red Light, Green Light, No Lights?

Like any smart person dating or living, I have certain non-negotiables when it comes to men: He must do what he says he will do (have follow-through). He must have initiative (put as much time and energy into planning, talking, and general effort). He must have manners (ack rite, be a gentleman, and know how to hold a fork correctly). He must have self-confidence (sexy). He must love watching football as much as I do and drink PBR (because if you can't agree on your teams or your brews, what in life can you agree on?!). This is like the Holy Grail. I get that every other female on the face of the Earth is looking for this dude; here's hoping I'm just more tenacious in finding him.

And I'm getting closer, what with all these relationship lifestyle changes. For possibly the first time in my life, a guy other than my father or a very platonic male friend is treating me like a princess-- but one in a glass tower, wearing a chastity belt. It's quite possible I'm just hornier and used to taking the bull by the horns (or other things,) and just jumping into bed with it. This would not be a shocking world revelation. As the past has shown, this isn't always the best decision and doesn't tend to lead to being treated like anything more special then a really great lay, which is why strides are being made to Do The Right Thing Here and Play The Game. But it does bring up some questions, other than "Are you even attracted to me? And if not, then why do you guys do all of this?"

But I am not a man. Obviously. And sometimes, when playing with new men, I feel extremely out of my comfort zone. There are things that I know what they mean coming from a woman, but coming from a man, I am completely lost in translation. And when I get lost, I get, well...masculine. Instead of the sweet, flirty, lovable girl I want to be around the men I'd consider letting through the Pearly Gates, my masculinity comes out to play at the wrong time to take charge! and Just Do It. (Obviously, that one's trademarked by Nike.) But despite the gender-bending overtures, I'm still no closer to getting any of this, and I AM attracted! What gives?!

So, today, male readers, you get to do ME a solid and help me decode dude behavior and figure this out. Listed below are some standard actions of men currently engaged in the early stages of getting to know a woman. Preceding them are icons-- a G for if women interpret this behavior as "all systems go!", a ? if we're completely baffled by if this is a good or bad sign, and a R if we take this to be a complete failure in the interest of ever getting it on. Your job is to correct me if I've got the wrong end of the stick on any of this. And ladies, you're not left out of the game, either-- What are some other completely baffling men dating behaviors? Let's sort this the hell out!

[G] If he talks to you every day-- either via in person if it's possible, phone, text, chat, etc.

[?] If he talks about other women who were flirting with him. On one hand, maybe he's trying to feel out how you feel about him by seeing if you're jealous. On the other hand, maybe he wants help in picking them up. I have no idea how to feel about this one.

[R] If he brings up his past relationships. Dudes-- Unless you are asked, point-blank, to discuss your exes or another girl you had a "thing" with, or unless something pertinent happened with them which goes to explain a point in your current relationship-- it is bad form to bring up another woman while talking to a woman. Especially in bed. Don't laugh. That's happened to me, more than once.

[G] If he asks you about your sex life. Then he's thinking about your sex life. (Caveat: Some men are dogs and just want to inappropriately ask you about your sex life with no reason, and no groundwork beforehand. Consider them like hand grenades-- volatile, and apt to destroy with reckless abandon.)

[G] If he tries to validate himself to you as someone awesome-- bragging about prowess, financial status, work, school, or sport accomplishments, etc.

[G] If he initiates contact more than 50% of the time, and makes the plans. What a keeper.

[G] If he tells you flat-out that he wants to do things for you. (I think it's acceptable to take people on their word.)

[?] If he tells you what's wrong with him-- i.e: doesn't consider dating a priority, has anger issues, has mommy issues, has had trouble in the past keeping it between you and him and in his pants, etc. We call this the Lemon Law: Most guys will tell you within two weeks what's wrong with them, or what challenges you're going to face in dealing with them. The good news is, he knows what his issues are, and he's telling them to you. The bad news is, he's normally not so up-front about it-- it'll be snuck into conversation, so you have to be on toes about looking for it and/or noticing it. So, is this enlightenment, or something to fall back on later when he can look at you and say, "I told you I have issues with commitment"?

[R] If he admittedly is not on good speaking terms with his ex, other women he's been involved with, or a majority of people who used to be friends. How he treats or treated them is a great preview into how he'll end up treating you.

And then, there's a flip-side to everything. To make it all even more confusing, here's what it means when a woman does the same exact things. Guys, what you're looking at right here is what we ladies know. This is what we have to work with. So if something you're doing is getting lost in translation and interpreted entirely differently...here's why:

[?] If she talks to you every day-- either via phone, text, chat, or smoke signals, it either means one of two things: She likes you, or she's dependent on you. When women like someone, we want to talk with them, a lot, especially if there's physical distance between them and the other person-- say they don't live in the same town, or have conflicting schedules that makes hanging out difficult. I'm actually weird-- when I've got a crush on someone, I do want to talk with them every day, but after the initial honeymoon phase has worn off, every other day or every two days is enough space for me. However, I get highly dependent on the men in my life-- stopping talking to exes is extremely difficult for me to realign them as a major player in my life to a bench-warmer.

[G] If she talks about other men who were flirting with her. She's trying to make you jealous and see how you really feel about her. All the way. We do this purposefully, all the time, and unless you're the most platonic of our male friends or male coworkers, we're trying to feel you out if you're going to get all caveman on us and grunt, "No! You my woman! I make you mine!" and carry us back to the cave over your shoulder like we're hoping you will.

[R] If she brings up her past relationships. We're either not over it, or we're using it as a warning tale to you about what NOT to do, so, listen close, either way. Same rule applies: Unless he asks, leave it in the past.

[G] If she asks you about your sex life. She wants your bod. She wants you to do things to her no man has ever done before. She thinks you're Superman. Her body is a movie, and your penis is the star. (Thank you, The Sweetest Thing.)

[G] If she tries to validate herself to you as someone awesome-- she wants to show you how much better your life could be if she was in it, cooking you breakfast, helping you update your job resume, and making your buddies jealous you have such a smokin' and awesome girlfriend. Oh, yeah-- we think about. We want to make your friends as jealous as you do. Fact.

[R] If she initiates contact more than 50% of the time, and makes the plans. She's secretly a man. Or, at the very least, a severe micro-manager. And is more into it than you obviously are. Recognize it, and let her down gently. (Ladies-- don't lie-- we're liberated and if we can vote, we can sure as hell call him first, but we also know what it means when shit's going bad when you're the one hunting him down to talk more than half the time.)

[G] If she tells you flat-out that she wants to do things for you. She's a keeper. She's there to help. She really digs you, and she's willing to prove it. And if those "things" are sexual in nature-- never let her go.

[G] If she tells you what's wrong with her. Unless she's bat-shit crazy, a woman with issues knows that she's got them. I know mine-- see the note above about how I get masculine when intimidated by big, manly men, among many others. Best be sure I explain myself when it happens. If we're telling you what we get crazy-pants about, it's a good indicator that we're working on those issues, and want to forewarn and forearm you before the shit hits the fan and you're wondering what you ever did to deserve the way we're treating you out of the blue.

[R] If she admittedly is not on good speaking terms with her ex, other men she's been involved with, or a majority of people who used to be friends. Unless all these men and those friends were bastards (which, can be true,) she's a stark-raving psychopath. RUN AWAY, YOU DON'T NEED THIS TROUBLE IN YOUR LIFE. Even some of the most horrible break-ups can result in civil behavior or continued friendships and acquaintances. My most dastardly ex is still someone I spend time with. Granted, some of it is catty, sarcastic time, but we can be at the same place at the same time, nonetheless.

So, are we on the mark? Way off-center? Completely missing the point? Did you learn something? Can you teach me something? We'll all never know unless you tell! That's what that comment box is for.

XOXO

Let's All Be Adults, Here

How many of you are in perfectly functioning relationships, where every need is met, you never question each other, you're both having exactly as much sex as you both want, he never snores, she never nags, and you're basically shitting rainbows and laughing maniacally while "Happy Together" plays everywhere you go?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't tell me if you really are so happy together 24/7/365 and shitting rainbows. But for the rest of us, how can we make what we have better? How can we be more satisfied and relaxed, and less needy and confused?

I have a theory that every. single. goddamn. relationship in the world is complicated and secretly dysfunctional in it's own way. And it's ok. Because we're all just human. And humans are messy, illogical beings. Guys, when was the last time your girl drove you crazy trying to nail you down to a specific event or response? Girls, when was the last time you got pissed at your S.O because he didn't do something you wanted him to? I do not call them "relationshits" or "_____-month adversary"s for no reason.

The next time something your fucking id-...sweetheart is doing something that's driving you crazy, press the mental "pause" button for a second to think. Take the time, before you react, to ask yourself: Am I upset at a need of mine that isn't being met, or am I just pumping myself up about something that I'm making out of nothing? A need (that has been established through prior clear, honest, adult conversation) that isn't being met is not ok to let slide by. Something that you would like but don't necessarily need, like a response back to a text that doesn't demand a response or conversation, isn't something to stew over or blow up about.

I had a night like that recently. I get demanding and unreasonable when I get scared-- it's one of my downfalls. In the past, I hit a 5 month mark and promptly morphed into a harpy. Why? Because I was scared. Would I actually put my very sufficient and wordy vocabulary to use and address this fact? Oh, hell no. Because that might mean actually admitting that I have fEeLiNgS and EMOtionz and I "wanted shit." Fuck that. So I mucked around instead and fucked it all up. Great, right? Exactly what I wanted to NOT happen, right?

Well, been there, bought that t-shirt, learned that lesson. So, this time, when it came down to it, I could step back far enough from the "situation" to realize it wasn't the fact I hadn't gotten a "thanks" back in reply that was making me tetchy and bitchy-- it was the fact that I had recently realized how much time I'd spent with that person (whom I know well enough at this point not to expect a response back to something like what I'd texted in the first place). It scared me, so I took all that emotion, and misplaced it somewhere else where I felt like I could deal with it better, by being a bitch about it with myself and overly-over-analyzing.

All in all, did it help anything? No. But what I was able to do was step back juuust enough to see what the real issue was, and make sure I didn't react offensively to it anywhere else but inside my own head. I did not need a text back in response of receiving it. I would have liked one, because that's what I consider good manners. But have I brought this fact up (in this case, that not getting acknowledgement from anyone drives me up the bloody wall,) before to discuss it? No. So I calmed my ass down, and went to a show downtown to distract myself. Distracting yourself in times like these when you're all keyed up over something asinine is a great trick. It's like time-out for adults. Go somewhere and do something without whoever is driving you nuts. Somewhere loud, with lots of other people, and things that will distract your attention from the snit-fit in your head. (Concerts, festivals, movies, and parties are all great places to go for this.) And viola, in 2 hours, you'll be all Zen again.

Remember: An issue that hasn't been addressed, out loud, in a respectful, adult conversation between the two of you, is not an issue you can get mad or defensive or confrontational about. It's not fair. It's like expecting your S.O to be able to read your mind and intuitively know what they should say or do. And I think we all know by now that men are not mind-readers. Sometimes it's a good thing. (I already say far too much about whatever's on my mind when I drink. We don't need the rest of what I'm not saying aired out, too.) And sometimes it's a bad thing. But I don't think it's going to be changing either way anytime soon.

XOXO

P.S-- A few good mantras if you think you're about to blow your life out of the water? "Slow your roll," "Are you completely sure you know what you're doing?" On a percentage scale to 100%, where are you? If you're at 85% or lower, it ain't worth it to bug out. And my personal favorite and most often used-- "Don't be so crazy-pants, little one!" I dare you to at least not crack a smile while you say "crazy-pants" to yourself. Or anyone else, for that matter. I'm grinning right now.

Assumption Eats Away At You Like Consumption.

I am an idiot.

Sometimes.

And assuming really does make an ass,

But mostly out of me.

I take it back.

Not all.

But most.

XOXO

Remember: Some Crazy Dude Turned Down Halle Berry.

This is what I like to remember when I'm feeling low:

Even Halle Berry has been rejected, broken up with, and cheated on.

Yes. Some obviously criminally insane man thought he could do better than THAT. This just goes to prove a few things:

A.) The grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side. Even if it's your side, her side, Halle's side, or some other woman who is decidedly NOT Halle Berry's side.

B.) You can bet your sweet ass that after her split with hunk-o'-hunk-o'-burnin'-love Gabriel Aubry, Halle wasn't exactly all sunshine and daises and didn't wake up the next morning looking and feeling like she does above. I mean, this is a Bond Babe we're talking about. He's lucky that he didn't get his Versace-clad ass kicked. I'm sure there was at least SOME screaming and throwing of things. (Hint: If you're not feeling particularly violent, but still want to make a grand gesture of sorts, kicking car tires is a good place to start. Generally, you can't do more harm to them. But it gets a point across. Especially if paired with some good sound-effects.)

And C.) I'll admit it-- some women are crazy. (Note: Most women are crazy, in some way or another. The trick to compatibility is finding someone whose craziness appeals to you so you can handle it without going Lizzie Bordon on their ass.) But if women are crazy, then some men are crazy AS FUCK.

Case in point: "Halle Berry's former husband Eric Benet claims he slept with other women during their union - to save their relationship.

The 34-year-old soul singer was so desperate to rescue his four-year-old marriage to the Oscar-winning actress, which ended in January ('05), he committed adultery as a means to rectify their troubles.

Benet, who was allegedly treated for sex addiction, says, "I'm powerless to stop people thinking bad of me.I'm not a sex addict. I was just in a desperate place in my marriage and I wanted to do anything possible to save it."

While he does deny philandering, Benet does concede having "physical contact that was extremely inappropriate and wrong in marriage". (This gem on the male psyche from ContactMusic.com.)

Now, doesn't that make you feel better? We won't even get into Jennifer Aniston getting left so that Mr. Pitt could be with a familiar skeletal brunette who has been known to kiss her brother, wear her lover's blood as a necklace, and single-handedly try to adopt all the world's orphaned children like designer bags or Pokemon. Gotta catch 'em all!

XOXO

The Secret Language of Men

You know what I really secretly and snarkily love? Shooting down your exes, when they deserve it. (Not exes that you're Still Trying To Be Friends With. Even I have 3 of those.) I just watched someone I know do it, and I more than giggled a little about it. I did it the other day when my first-semester-senior-year-of-high-school boyfriend commented on a photo of me on Facebook. It was a liiiiiiittle too close and personal of a comment for my liking from someone I haven't talked to in, oh, 3 years, and basically in the most misspelled way possible pointed out for the entire Facebook world to see (which, as we all know, is the only world that matters, am I right, or am I right?) that we'd Had Sex. And I DO NOT need all 560 of my Facebook friends knowing that I slept with a guy whose idea of spelling is "conplaned." So that comment got deleted faster than Pirate's Booty gets eaten.

(Going to ignore the fact "booty" and "eaten" are in close proximity to each other and MOVING ON!)

Anyway, this got me thinking about how guys treat women, and what their behavior can tell you. We all know by know that "I'll call you" means absolutely nothing that translates; that "I'll call you back," means "Maybe sometime when I eventually remember, but probably not,"; and that "I'm doing this for you" basically means "I'm doing this to keep having sex with you, until I no longer want to, and then I'm going to stop and promptly get convenient amnesia that I ever promised this to you." But what are the other little things that girls pick up on easier than a coon hound picks up the scent of dropped bacon?

- If you're not introducing us to your friends, we're usually clever enough to pick up on the fact that this means you're not serious about us. You introduce important people in your life to your friends, because you want their approval, and even sometimes, their jealousy. But if you introduced everyone you slept with to your closest friends, even they would start to think you're a slut. So you hold off for the people that it seems like you have the most interest, pride, and investment in, and then you introduce them. So if it's been over a month, and you haven't invited us out to a party to do a meet-and-greet, we know we're pretty much a place-holder and bed-warmer. Sucks, but we get it. (Some of the guys I've been with have never met a single one of my friends, so it also works both ways, dudes.)

- Along similar lines, if you never invite us to do anything with you in public, it pretty much means the same thing as above.

- The way a man talks about his exes will tell you a lot about how he'll talk about you. I was with a guy who referred to his longterm high school girlfriend as "The Vapid Bitch." There was also the "Crazy Bitch." This hasn't made me very hopeful about the fact I'm not now referred to as "The Psycho Bitch."

- I heard something interesting on the show Covert Affairs the other night-- Auggie, who's a blind information analyst, told Annie that he can tell if a woman is hot or not just by the way other men speak to her. I feel like there's some truth to this-- if a guy's friends like you, like spending time with you, or think you're attractive, it ups your appeal to that guy. Guys like to compete with each other, be it in sports, video games, drinking tolerance, or who can pull and bed more women. Just like in Marketing, we call this "Supply and Demand." If you're on good terms with other guys, the one you're with is going to know you're a hot commodity, and (hopefully), step his game up. So always be sweet to the friends.

- We know when you're "yes"ing us to death. Same as when you're answering a question without thinking or looking. If your texts are one or two word answers, we know you're not in the conversation. And like I've said, "I love you"s and "I miss you"s are not Band-Aids for everything else you've fucked up about, to be liberally applied to stop the emotional bleeding. They stop meaning so much when you bandy them around, and we stop listening or believing.

- Straight from the mouth of one of my exes to your ears, if a guy wants to impress you on a date, he'll tip well. So try to get a glance at that line of the receipt. Something about "working in food services; I know your pain," and "not wanting to look cheap."

- And going back to the beginning, a good ex is one who you can still keep in touch with and rely on to still have your back and best interests at heart because yes, at one time, you both cared about each other. A walk down Memory Lane with these guys isn't awful. In fact, it's a little like watching a Lifetime movie-- comforting, pastel, and a little nauseatingly sweet. A bad ex is the one who flies in like a bat out of hell from nowhere to drop unwanted "Haha! I know what cup size you are and the shape of your nipples!" bombs on your life in hopes of scaring off any current dudes. They probably didn't care much about you. Or just cared about your nipples.

What are some other things you picked up from your dating and dude-ing experiences?

XOXO

P.S-- And yes, yes, I did just use a Skeletor comic to demonstrate a point. Does anyone else remember Panthor with such fond childhood memories?

Being Yourself... Apologetically.

In every girl's life, there's that moment in their youth when they look back at their past, and suddenly see the huge, purple elephant standing in the middle of the room, and do a perfectly executed forehead smack/"Oh shit!"

I recently had mine in regards to my last relationship. Enough time and distance had finally passed to allow me to step back, look at it non-judgmentally, and try to sort out who did what to whom and where and when it went nose-dive-spiral wrong. It didn't take that long, because when I looked back, I saw something odd: It wasn't a relationship that had two distinct characters in it. It was a relationship that had three. And sometimes, more.

Maybe it doesn't come as a surprise, knowing that I'm the anti-dating, anti-commitment snarky love harpy that I am, but we started as TV-and-drinks night hook-up, nothing overly interesting. Yes, we clicked, yes, there was intelligent conversation and good humor and great sex, but I was not doodling hearts on my notebook the next day in class. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. What was interesting was when he texted me 5 days later around 1 in the morning, to check in because he "just hadn't heard from me" since that night. I was just trying to play it cool and keep things normal, but when we finally switched over to voice-on-voice action via the phone instead of thumb-on-thumb, it became clear that our objectives were not eye-to-eye. I told him I was leaving for Italy soon, and not looking to start something. He countered back with, "Technically, we've already had relations, so like it or not, we're already in a relationship."

"I'm fine as long as you don't actually say that to me," I told him, fighting down hyperventilation. (I think until this day he still didn't know that my body actually locked up when he said that "R" word and I could only breathe in shallow gasps for the next 5 minutes.)

"I didn't expect that to happen," he told me, and I swear to god I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, please. I knew it was going to happen. You don't think I go everywhere with an overnight bag, do you?" (Actually, that's a very smart idea, and do as I say, not as I do myself.)

"Ok, I had some idea when you came over that we would end up sleeping together, but I didn't expect anything other than that would happen. But what could go wrong in 2 months?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you don't know me."

Honestly, as in, 100% brutal, public honesty right here and now, I didn't expect anything to happen, either. Honestly, brutally, publicly, the only thinking I'd done about it, and about him, and about me previously was "You're hot. You're really, really hot, and I'm going to just keep having sex with you until you won't let me anymore, and then I'm going to point at you and say, 'Do you see that gorgeous man? Yeah, I tapped that,' and brush my shoulders off." That was my game plan. I wasn't initially serious. At all. I was just seriously horny. And was just thinking he was seriously hot. But he was also raising some good points, and I hadn't connected with anyone like that in...ummm...ever. So we decided to take things slow, until I went to Italy, or until we drove each other crazy, whichever came first. (Keep in mind, I'm a One-Month Girl, and Italy was 2 months away. I was hedging bets on it crashing and burning before then.) I was being honestly, brutally, totally myself. I wasn't playing games, and I wasn't going to sign on to something that I didn't see myself wanting to do. A lot of the time, women tweak aspects of themselves or their personalities to appeal more to men, but it was odd-- I hadn't done anything but be exactly myself with him. I had no ulterior motives. I wasn't trying to impress anyone-- in fact, I believe I tried warning him off. And strange thing-- he seemed to like that. He seemed to like me, the me that not even all my friends get to see.

So things progressed. I was spending at least a night a week at his place (he never even saw my place), meeting his friends, doing the not-dating thing. It was casual; it was comfortable; it was perfectly in my comfort-zone. One night, he called to see if I was doing anything more exciting than painting my nail and watching Sex and the City reruns. (Fact.) I wasn't, and he invited me to go with him to a friend's birthday party. I declined, saying that if it was just a party, I'd be up for it, but since it was this girl's birthday, I didn't want to show up as a stranger. It was like that, for awhile-- he'd say he was going to a show or concert, and I'd say I'd meet him after; he'd call and see if I wanted to spend the night and go to our morning class together, and I'd be already in bed and unwilling to get up and drive through the winter's chill just to get into his bed; he'd say he'd ditch bar night with the boys if I wanted to come over, and I'd decline saying that he needed boy time and I needed girl time (fact #2, and also, something very important to keep on your mind when you're under 21 dating someone over 21-- they need their bar time. And you can't go. So don't impede.)

I wasn't one of those girls who wanted to be included in everything, though I'd help break down a performance space and drive his buddies home if they needed a ride. I baked brownies to stay on his roommate's good sides, and tried to keep the late-night noise down. And then something odd happened-- I started to actually fall for him. It wasn't just about the sex anymore-- it was about his bookshelf. His vocabulary. The way if he tipped his head back and said "Oho!", you knew he was getting ready to contradict something you just said. The way he'd call, just to say hey, if he hadn't seen me that day. His eyelashes. The way we both regarded bantering as a form of foreplay. How he would personally say good-bye to my friends and check in to see what my plan was before we'd leave someplace. The fact that we functioned pretty well together and surprisingly had a lot in common. I started to actually say "yes" to those invitations. It wasn't all great-- we went through some shit that was rough and ultimately took its toll on us, but I started to think about not sabotaging it. Maybe, I don't know, but I've heard of this weird thing that normal, committed people do-- nurture it?

And then I went away. For 4 months. That's a long time. At first, we Skyped a few times a week, or, when I lost internet, we'd have trans-Atlantic calls. Some weeks, we talked constantly. Others, not so much. I was fine with it-- I was busy exploring a new place and leading a new life, and he was the first one to bite the bullet and say "I miss you," which went over really well with me, as I had tried to say it at the end of the conversation before, and literally had choked. But he got that. It was difficult, yes, but whatever it was, it was working ok for the situation, and ok for me.

After Spring Break, what had previously been a pretty steady stream of communication started to trickle down. It became harder to get a hold of him, which was hard and frustrating for me because it was also when I was having the most issues being abroad. I got public-ally felt-up and molested by a stranger. I got bronchitis, with no doctor, and no drugs. I was getting broke. I had to find someplace to live for the next year while across the ocean from America. I was planning my senior year and starting to think about grad schools. I was really homesick. And he just didn't feel "present" anymore. About this time was when I realized he was seeing other women, which explained a lot.

Italy proved to be my undoing. Not that I'd ever take the experience back for, literally, the world, but in the last few dozen days before coming back home and moving back to Burlington, I got more and more keyed up. The girl who previously wanted a very achievable, functional, next-to-nothing relationship now wanted everything. And wanted everything to go perfect. I wanted my fairytale ending-- a reward for all my hard work. I wanted to actually be able to say "relationship" without fainting. I found myself daydreaming about things like washing his dishes and grocery shopping. I started looking at music calendars for shows we both liked. I started calling back to the U.S, just to whine about how much I wanted to be gone, and be home. A lot. If I couldn't get through to him (which, by the point, was more un-often than not), I would call my closest guy friend, conveniently his best friend, and bitch. (I am so sorry.) In other words, I jumped the gun. Not just any gun. I jumped the Heckler & Koch G36. (And yes, go to that link and look at the photo so you can see just how far ahead of the horse I put the cart. That thing's a beast.)

I think I temporarily misplaced my identity with that of one of Mad Men's housewives.

I ended up becoming one of Those Girls-- one of the whiny, insecure ones who seeks constant validation from her partner because she's not secure enough in what she wants. And I ended up rendering myself wholly unattractive and pushing him away, before I even realized what I was doing. I effectively took that G36, and shot myself in the foot. Or, maybe the heart. (And this is now the part in which now that I've claimed my share, I also acknowledge that he was a particular dick for a bit, too. So it wasn't all him, but it wasn't all me, either.) I went from being someone who knew exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she was comfortable with, and exactly what was fair to ask or be expected, to someone whose thoughts on commitment and relationships flip-flopped every other day and was getting increasingly demanding while at the same time never being pleased with the results, even if they were exactly what I had asked for. I became (and I'll say it since I know you have,) a total, raging, whining, needy cunt-bitch. No, I wouldn't have wanted to be with me, either. In fact, I hated myself while I was doing that, but it was like a personal train wreck I just couldn't stop-- I'd built up enough momentum, it just had to run its course. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

And this is what I have to say about this whole affair-- my Cliff Notes, if you will:

- Know what you want out of a relationship, always. It may change, but at no point should you be waffling around about it. If you are, it means you either don't want it enough to still be in it, or you're too confused about something in yourself to be a productive member of it.

- Do not, do not, DO NOT become someone who picks petty fights over text, or calls or texts numerous times a day for unimportant reasons. Here's an example of when it's ok to call and/or text more than a few times in one 24-hour period: Medical emergencies. If pertinent, timely plans have become subject to change. If you've just won tickets to a Philadelphia Eagles game. Here's when it's not ok: When you just want to "hear his voice." Again. 2 hours after the last call. When it's to say that you still haven't found your sunglasses, and can he please check his car again? When you know he's at work, or with his family. When you are drunk.

- When things change, you've gotta put the Big Girls pants on and talk about them. Things like emotions. Goals. Where you see yourself in a month, or 5 months. Where you see him in that. If you don't see him in that. If you'd like to see him in that. Mind-reading (still) is a lost art.

- After the break-up, wait it out. You're gonna be sore, and tender, and touchy, and bitchy for awhile. For maybe, a long while. Wait until you sort yourself out to sort anything else out. Maybe that's why I'm in such a total "no nothing" zone right now. No relationships. Nothing even casual. I just want to be me, and figure out what that means again, and not have to worry about anyone else. (Though, 2 months later, even when you're creatively slurring their name paired with rhyming insults at 3 AM, you're still going to be worrying about them. Worrying if their life's on-track. Worrying if they're remembering to feed the cat. Worrying if they're getting a chance to bitch about their work/parental/friend issues with a caring ear like they need to. Worrying if they're just eating pizza every night and haven't seen anything green or leafy in weeks. Worrying if they're happy. Not fair, and it sucks, but true.)

- In some wise dude words, "It's between you and him." Remember that. Act accordingly. At one time, you liked each other. You still might, half of the time. So be nice to his friends. Be nice to his property. Don't talk shit about him. Have some manners, and bitch about it with your roommate later. (All this personal informational is strictly for educational purposes, from my side of things. Another "do as I say..." moment.)

- Space, like silence, is sometimes golden in a relationship. You need time alone or with your friends. He needs time alone of with his friends. Doing everything together, or expecting to do everything together, is not sexy. It's suffocating. I never appreciated sleeping alone more than the nights after I spent the one before with him.

- Goddamn, it's a phone, not a texting device. That is still your cell phone. Stop with the day-long texting, and actually take 45 minutes to talk. It is so important. Honestly, that's one of the things that won me over and made me go from "just another bro" to "I'm really feeling this Joe."

- If you see yourself becoming that Crazy Bitch, please, for the love of god, try to stop or have someone step in and perform an intervention/exorcism.

That's what I have for you in hindsight. The rest, you'll have to take and make up as it comes along on your own. But believe me-- heed me. If I could go back, fix it, make it right, and take it seriously, I would. Maybe not now, but when I'm ready. Don't fuck yourself over, too. You deserve a whole hell of a lot more than that. You're all smart, pretty, fabulous girls. So start acting like it, and not someone else.

XOXO

4 Times A Woman Is NOT Trying To Be A Crazy Bitch

"And it's not your fault, but mine; and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked things up this time, didn't I, my dear?" These may be the lyrics of Mumford and Sons' "Little Lion Man," but they aptly describe the feeling that women get when we realize we've made a social mis-step of some possibly Crazy Bitch proportions. And so, I give you, so we can be clearer about this in the future, the four times women are not trying to be a Crazy Bitch.

Situation 1.) When you give us disappointing news, the silence on the phone line is not a bad thing. We are not trying to make you feel any worse (...slightly). We're just trying to juggle our disappointment with the fact that we know you already feel bad and try to temper our instant bitchy and self-centered response with something that sounds more like, "Well, that's really a shame," instead of "This is all your fault!" Because we actually know what's fair and what's not, and when you've tried versus when you're actually not trying. If you're not trying, we're bound to be a little more insistent and lay on a little bit of a guilt-trip, but if you've done what you can, we're taking time out to not be a bitch about it. We really hate being a bitch to you. Really.

Situation 2.) It's only been 24 hours, and my name has popped up on your phone not twice, but 4 times. I know how this looks. This doesn't look good. In fact, I'm pretty sure that this qualifies for what is known in the vernacular as "blowin' a G's phone up." But hear me out. If you weren't quite so hard to get a hold of, and if I wasn't calling for some really, really pertinent and time-stamped information, we wouldn't be having this problem. I am not purposely trying to be annoying. I am not trying to hunt you down over Verizon's phone lines, though, it's starting to feel like it at this point, even to me. Women are warned off their entire life so being so persistent, as we're told it often comes across as "needy." But the deal is, I don't necessarily need you--although that would be nice-- I need the answers that you hold. Please accept this as an apology, and call back ASAP so I can stop looking like I'm about to boil a bunny at any moment and you can get back to being un-harassed by me and thinking, "Wow, she's actually a really cool girl. I haven't heard from her in awhile. Maybe I should call," and not "Oh god, it's this crazy bitch again-- she can't get enough of me. I'm turning my phone off NOW. Die, bitch, diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!"

Situation 3.) It's The Morning After, roughly somewhere between the hours of 8 and 10 AM. We are currently undressed, unwashed, just awake, and the remains of yesterday's make-up are smeared in 20 directions from center. From the instant our eyes open, we are aware of 4 things:
1.) You have other stuff to do today than entertain us.
2.) We were sleeping with our mouth open, which I'm sure was incredibly attractive and winning.

3.) You're probably wondering when we're going to leave so you can get on with said day.
4.) Saying goodbye is going to be awkward. There's always the Great Hug vs. Kiss debate.
We are also then aware of the next 4 following things:
1.) Certified, we will have no clue where either our bra or underwear have gotten to. (Always check under the bed!)
2.) We cannot stumbled onto the street looking like this. It's a small town, and there are children and possibly people who know us around.
3.) We're going to have to commandeer your bathroom for about 10 minutes to get presentable. We hope you don't mind or think we're taking a massive shit.
4.) It's rude to just fuck and run, so what's the most well-mannered way to execute this morning? Is this a "breakfast included" affair, or at least a lukewarm cup of coffee? We're not looking to stay for lunch, but a cigarette would be nice. A half an hour to an hour of waking up, lounging, fixing everything north of your neck and checking out the situation south of the border is in order, and some casual morning conversation is not completely out-of-line. We're aware. We're not staying forever. We know you would like us out at some reasonable point. And we'll be gone with nearly everything we came with in about an hour, as long as we can actually find the underwear that has been spirited away to the Twilight Zone.
(Side-note: If she know the roommates, she's gonna be in there a little bit longer. It's just rude otherwise.)

Situation 4.) When we tell you what we really want. Be man enough to ask rather than jumping to conclusions. Be man enough to listen. Be man enough to care. Because when you don't, that puts you in a situation in which you become a Massive Dick, and, in fact, totally null and voids us from being a Crazy Bitch when we call your ass on it. It's kind of like how a red-card throwing a player out of the game negates his personal foul.

There you have it. Realign that thinking.

XOXO

The Tough-Love Guide To Splitsville: What Do YOU Want?

This is pretty frank. If you're someone who gets upset easily, you may not want to read it. If you really don't want to know how women go through the after-shocks of "it's over", don't read this. If you wear perpetually rose-tinted glasses, and think true love prevails, this ain't for you.

But if you are going through a break-up, or feel lost, alone, scared, or like you need something to shake you out of it and at the same time make you feel less alone and unloved, read on, sister, or I guess to not be gender-biased-- friend. Hi. I'm not going to say "Let's hold each other while we sob," because that is so not my scene or how I do this, but I may be inclined to say, "If you need the occasional hug, I'm down for that, and in the meantime, let's curl up with a good book and chat and smoke."

So. You're now an Uno that used to be part of a Duo. Join the club. Take a seat. I'm gonna need your full attention. So stop thinking about it for a moment. I'm not going to sugar-coat any of this. I think it's about time we didn't take a "one size fits all" approach to what happens after it's over. If you really want to know how women get through this without going through boxes of Kleenex and repeatedly watching "The Notebook", this is where you want to be. I mean, that's all well and good if it's what gets you through, but not all of us operate like that. Some of us need to know what to expect if we want to get on with our lives, straight-up, no chaser.

Yes, You are Going to Lose Weight: You know how there's that very media-contrived popular image of that woman who's just had her heart broken drowning her sorrows in pint after pint of Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby? Well. I have never, ever met a woman who actually went on an eating binge and gained weight after a split. Instead, the norm I have found is that women actually lose weight. This is accomplished in one of two ways: "Do-Something" women usually throw themselves into their gym membership with renewed vigor and burn those pounds away to a leaner, more competitive self. "What-The-Fuck-Just-Happened?!" women usually get thrown right off their appetites and start to whittle away.

Let's break it down. Much to my chagrin, I recently found that when you feel comfortable with yourself and someone else, you eat. Why not, right? You know the term "comfort food"? Yeah. You're happy. You're not worried. You're probably feeling pretty secure. So you want to keep feeding that feeling, either physically or emotionally.

Well, after a split, shock sets in. It's going to happen, no matter how amicably it happens. At first, you may just forget to eat. Hey, it happens. Your mind is preoccupied elsewhere. If you're a smoker, like I am, you can easily mistake hunger for the need to smoke. Which further suppresses your appetite. Then, when you do get back around to that food thing, odd feelings may get dredged up that set you right off of eating. For me, it was disgust. Every time I sat down to eat, my mind would start wandering through what should have been closed and padlocked doors, and I would find myself so physically disgusted that I felt like I might vomit even before putting food in my mouth. I lost 6 pounds in 3 days. Not good. I don't really have 6 pounds to lose. Now, you can locate my hipbones for the first time since I hit puberty, and I'm honestly concerned that a pickpocket in Italy could just pick me up and carry me away instead of dealing with pockets.

Because I can't do this for myself, I'm going to do it for you: DO NOT THINK ABOUT IT. I don't mean the whole mess of affairs (ha), I just mean the things that happened that you couldn't have helped, one way or another. Really. Some things shouldn't be dwelt on. Don't give in to those thoughts that will never, or should never, be answered. You will never, and SHOULD never, know what it was like. You really, really don't want to know the details. So making them up isn't doing anyone any favors, least of all you, lady. And you are who matters right now.

I will say, however, that there is one up-side to losing post-disaster weight: compared to your emaciated African-child frame, your mammeries are going to look more massive than ever. It's the little wins.

Vices, Or "Why Is That Pack Empty Already?": You feel a little used and abused, so now you want to use and abuse something else, right? Alcohol. Cigarettes. Controlled substances. Give me the Stoli, and nobody gets hurt, right? Yeah. We've all been there. I'm not going to preach anything, because I am probably going to be sainted as the Patron Saint of Avoidance Through Substances. But just like the whole eating thing, one day, you're going to start to realize you're not drinking/smoking/toking/using as much as you were previously. That's when you know it is safe to start putting down the bottle/cigarette/bowl/rolled-up bill and step a little further away. And a little further away the next day. And sometime shortly, you will be able to enter civilized company again.

If you're finding this is not the case, and in fact, it's getting worse, do what any responsible user would do: have one "safe" person who knows about your problem and who you would feel comfortable having them snap you out of it, and GO TO THEM. Killing yourself is no way to get on with a better life. And plus, though you may feel hurt, there are so many other people who care about you. I bet you anything, that even if you are unlucky in love, you are incredibly blessed with amazing friends who would do nearly anything for you. I know I am. And most of the time, that unconditional love is even better than regular sex.
...Ok, so that may be a total lie, but, you know what I mean. It's more important.
......Or...ok, I just can't win this one.

Crazy-Bitch Behavior, And Why You Shouldn't Be Doing It: You may want to make a grand gesture. Usually, a pretty crazy grand gesture. But here's the problem: if you want to maintain any sense of decorum or civility with your ex S.O, you can't. No showing up on doorsteps. No beating other women up. No really pissed-off tirades or messages or letters or blog posts. Be a Big Girl. It's such a Catch-22, I know-- you really want to do something to let you blow off all that steam inside, but you'd be best off getting it out sometime when you're really not into the guy or outcome or friendship, anyway. This is what your friends are for. Swear them to secrecy, bug the fuck out, and be done with it. (Also, make them swear up, down, and sideways over your dead body or the closest bottle of their favorite beer not to send any angry letters of their own. Because having scary friends is no way to Win Friends And Influence People. Or ever have your friend and the person who recieved said Angry Letter in the same 20 foot radius ever again. Even though your friend's heart may be in exactly the right place. Make your judgement call.)

Re-Assess Your Situation-- Who Are You, and What Do You Want: Speaking of, by this point in your life, you shouldn't be with anyone who you feel like you're settling for or are apathetic about. You should be with someone who you can be totally, one-hundred-percent yourself around. You should be able to talk to them about whatever you want, and even crack horrendous jokes during foreplay without a second thought. You should not be compromising one iota for anyone else. You should not be afraid to say "this is what I like" and "this is what I don't like." You should know yourself pretty well by now, and if you don't, you should be figuring that out.

I know this sounds much easier said than done, but when you find it, you'll just know it, I promise you-- no games, no worries.

Personally, I am taking my semester abroad in Florence as a self-discovery field-trip. I can already tell you it's going to make me more independent, more confident, and more adept at expressing myself. Whatever else I learn while over there is going to be the surprise. But mostly, it's about getting away to find out who, exactly, I am. Not just who I am in the mirror, what music I listen to, what I like to eat, what I'm not a fan of doing, but what makes me come alive. What makes me scared, and how I can get over it. What I refuse to let go of. What I need to learn to admit to. And where I want to be, physically and theoretically.

What You SHOULD Be Doing: Full Disclosure: I am writing this to you in a massive Princeton hoodie, leggings, and slippers. I haven't showered yet. I haven't eaten yet. In fact, I woke up at 11 AM. Coping comes in all different guises. But what I can tell you is that right now, I am starting to get hungry for some toast. I'm planning on getting dressed to go into town and mail out some paperwork this afternoon. And I'm looking forward to a midnight Jacuzzi tonight.

It's little steps. Get out of bed. Get dressed. Go places. Keep yourself occupied. Take the time to be selfish and do what you like. Do what you want. Make no excuses. This time is about YOU. It's not about being nice or even charitable to whoever makes you feel less than stellar at the moment. The first step to surviving is to recognize what you need. Do so. Follow through. Don't rest until you get there.

A Note to Fellow Writers: I actually found this nugget in the most unlikely of places-- in one of my freshmen year textbooks from "Introduction to Professional Writing." Ariel Gore, author of "How To Become A Famous Writer Before You're Dead: Your Words in Print and Your Name in Lights," devotes a section of the first chapter to heartbreak. And no, I'm not shitting you, I found this is a required course book. This is what she says:

"When bad things happen to writers, there's always the silver glimmer of a good story. Damn, we think when we're facedown on the rain-wet pavement, nose broken and bleeding, coughing betrayal. This is gonna make a great story...Every time you expose yourself to annihilation, you come that much closer to grasping all that is indestructible in a soulful human being" (Gore, 31-32).

I bolded that last segment because I think that's the part you should focus on. Yeah, you may get a great story out of it, which, I have to admit, is the crutch that most writers and poets fall back on with biting black humor, or, like I do, get some cathartic writing out of it, but more than anything, the fact is that through the writing process after a big spill, you learn more about yourself, and what you really need. Seriously. Sit down with a notebook and some paper and start some stream-of-consciousness writing about what happened. You'll be amazed at what comes out of you: things you never said, things you did say, things you barely consciously remember, things you're writing down because you never want to forget, things you didn't know you had to say. And maybe, somewhere in that lovely chaotic mess (because I am a big fan of chaos), you may find exactly what it was you were looking for all along. Maybe it's an answer. Maybe it's a cold, hard fact. Maybe it's a new revelation about yourself. Maybe, it's where your soul really lies.

...So I took all day to write all that, and then thought...

That's kinda bullshit.

I mean, what is the most important thing right now? What is really resonating with me? It's not the fact I haven't eaten a square meal in a week. I couldn't care less. It's not the fact that I'm feeling a little like a schlub. I'm home; the cats are the only ones who can judge me, and they do that silently. And yeah, I'd really like to help other people out in the same spot I am right now, but that's not why I'm writing. It's the fact that I was rocked pretty hard. And how?

I find, usually, that the best thing that I can do when I'm stumped is to find someone else's creative content, in a similar vein to that I am working through, and watch, read, or experience it, completely open to interpretation. Sometimes, something jumps out. Sometimes, I get hit with a blinding flash of the obvious. And sometimes, I have to go through it a few times before I really get it. (Hello, "Dazed and Confused". Both the movie, and what it rendered me.) I've been watching the movie "The Women" a lot recently. Adapted from the 1936 play by Clare Boothe Luce, it features an all-star women cast (Meg Ryan, Annette Bening, Candice Bergin, Bette Midler,) directed by Diane English, and focuses around the relationships between friends, mothers, daughters, wives, mistresses, and how they all intermingle in life.

The first night I watched it, I was completely raw. It was not a great experience. It hit a little too close to home and basically reduced me to a lump of nerves and totally withdrawn thoughts on the couch. That was the first night I thought, "Am I allowed to be angry about this? Can I really put aside the idea that I am supposed to be A Big Person and Do The Rational And Accommodating Thing for a moment and just...feel this?" So I did. I opened myself right the fuck up and got righteously angry.

But anger doesn't get you very far. This is not to say that you shouldn't let yourself get angry. There are some things absolutely worth getting angry over. Let me be the first to say-- there is nothing quite like those first initial five minutes after you reach a realization or see something totally upsetting in which you fume and rage and stomp around and shriek like a banshee, but you get spent very, very easily. And sometime, when you're lying there, as low as the floorboards can get, you think, "Is this really worth it? Is it really worth this emotional strain? I mean, past is past. Done is done. Don't you think you should be...I don't know...doing something instead of just lying here and being vaguely pathetic?"

This is when you ask yourself the two things that reverberated with me in "The Women":

"I've spent my entire life trying to be everything to everyone, and somehow, someone is always disappointed."

"Don't give a shit about anybody. Be selfish. Because you have to ask yourself a question: What about ME? ...I mean, after all, who are you? What do you want?"

I can't answer that for myself right now. Maybe that's the problem. On one hand, I know I never want to go through a repeat of what happened, but on the other, it's giving me the questions that I'm grappling with every day to reach on consensus on: "How forgiving am I? How much does it really mean to me? Where will I bend? Where will I break? And what do I now feel? And if you can do that, I should be smart enough to let you walk away."

You have to know the answers to those questions before you throw your lot in with someone else.

You do not have to be Wonder Woman. I give you the permission to be as completely human, and therefore, as completely imperfect and flawed and selfish as you need to be in finding those answers for yourself. That's as imperfect and flawed and selfish as you need to be, not want to be.

I once heard a young woman described as "ferocious" by one of her ex-professors in regard to going after what she wanted. That's what I want to be: ferocious. I want to be someone to be reckoned with. I want to be someone that you would not even think about crossing. And I don't ever want to be in this situation of not knowing, ever again. That's what I want most: a firm stance on what I want.

XOXO

[Fabulous photo credit goes to Edahn at http://www.askedahn.com/. Check that site out for some right-on advice.]