Honeymoon's Up

I'm ridiculously impatient. It's one of my worst character traits, and it always has been-- ask my mother. I was one of those kids who started digging my elbow into her side in the supermarket when I thought that the conversation she was having with the acquaintance she had bumped into in aisle 4 had gone on for long enough, and I was getting hungry. Maybe it's because I'm an only child-- I've always wanted the show to be about ME. I am my own circus. There's a fire under my ass, and I don't have time to wait in line for other people's side acts. At times, this makes dating and relationships-- with ANYONE-- extremely trying.

I try really hard to rein it in, I do. At first, in the honeymoon phase, it's so easy. I can be patient because at first, it always seems great and like it's the answer to all your prayers. I'm as chill as I can possibly be, because I'm out to prove that I am a chill girl who he wants to be spending his time with and on. In the starting phases of any relationship, the "Meet and Greet," if you will, he's excited about you, you're excited about him, neither of you want to leave the other alone. I live for this phase-- I love getting to know people and love spending night sitting up, talking...call it the journalist in me, but I love to know their dirt and what drives them and what they're passionate about. Responses are instantaneous. Someone wants to know what you're doing, all the time. They're asking to see you, making plans, taking charge. God, it's so exhilarating and hot, especially if your previous relationship's attitude on keeping in touch and making plans was decidedly not.

But if this sort of stamina could be kept up, we'd all be in grand romances. As I think we all notice when we look around, we're not. Suddenly, you realize it's been a week since he asked you what night you're free so he can see you. You sit in front of your computer or phone waiting for a answer to a question for 10 minutes, 20 minutes, and then give up and move on. And since you've already covered all the exciting shit about yourselves, conversations are a little more...mundane. After years of reading Cosmo and Glamour and women's magazines, we all know the little tricks to seem more endearing and make sure that you're still in the picture-- making sure to ask them questions about themselves and their day by bringing up specific details to prove that you listened and are interested, sending the cute little random "thinking of you!" messages, pulling your own weight by doing half of the communicating, surprising them with little things from bringing home that new action flick he's been dying to see to sending random sexts to make sure to keep things spiced up, yadda, yadda, yadda. We know we have to be nice. We know we have to be sweet, and entertaining, and patient. A week ago, maybe he was sweeping you off your feet, but this one, maybe he needs to lean on you a little bit. Or maybe you're both getting a little complacent, and there's not that fervent need to prove to the other that you're soooo into them every time you talk. But even when I know everything is copasetic, making me wait 20 minutes to get back to me about something I asked or abruptly leaving a conversation can really get me going and turn me all indignant. And that's when you realize, in a blinding flash of abject horror: Different guy, same shit.

Newness always works like a Band-Aid for a girl's down-and-out dating ego, but feels like a bitch when it wears off and your current Prince Charming is just as late in coming as your previous one was. Are we really ever any better off, or is the grass just always greener on the other side?

XOXO

Photo Cred: http://i289.photobucket.com/albums/ll233/AshKabu/comic%20art/Bored.jpg

The Things Women Never Say

I don't cry in public. I'm mortified when I cry in front of my friends. In fact, I flat-out believe that I should never cry; if I have to, I cry in the shower so it's like I never did in the first place. Getting me to admit fear or the fact that I feel something or want something is harder than getting me to submit to vaccinations administered through needles or local anesthesia. And I have not had either in the past 4 years. I think it's a woman thing: We're taught that there are some things that you should never say to a man-- never expose your flaws, never explain your fears, and certainly never ask for anything more. But I think that one of my favorite things about Carrie, and the trait that I admire most about her, is her ability to speak up and speak her mind when it comes to the men in her life. Be it the fact that she'll pick up the phone and dial without thinking (while I get the shakes just texting if I think that it won't be welcome,) or that she doesn't seem to care if a guy thinks that she talks too much or is too blunt, I think this is an excellent example of the fearlessness with which she approaches her relationships that we all could stand to emulate.

"Ok, I know I've lost a little of my power here, and I'm pretty that most women's magazines would say that what I just did was a very bad idea but...it's not your fault because I never say it."

But for the record, there are some things that you should never say. Such as, "Your back hair looks really weird," or "My ex used to have those boxers, too!" or quite possibly "From the way you look when you sleep at night, I can so tell our children are going to be really cute." Those would all be classic example of what NOT to ever say. But Carrie was right. Things like, "I hate your cigars," (if you're not smoke friendly, or, alternately, feel the extreme need to smoke as well when people you're close to light up, like I do,) "I hate that you look at other women," (I think we've all wanted to say this at one point or another,) "I hate that I don't have a key to your place, and you've never spent the night at my place," (if you've been in a committed, long-term relationship and it's gotten to the point that either the doorman or his roommates all expressly know to let you in, no questions asked, and will sit and talk with you until he gets there,) and "I still want something to change, a little bit, for me," can be really important to say. If you're not happy, something's gotta give, and it shouldn't have to be your standards of contentedness. Nor should it have to be your relationship.

I've asked friends going through difficult relationship times if they ever talk to their partner about their desires and fears and what they want out of said relationship, and I've gone through that same process of being guilty of not doing it, too. We women never say these things, because we like you so much that if it doesn't go over well, we don't want to lose you or the relationship totally, because as very wise yet very desperate people once said, something is better than nothing. But how much of "something" is better than us feeling like we're taken by our partners as a "nothing"?

Swallowing your pride and fear to say things like these can be difficult, but it has to be done. Just like how you can't get mad at someone for doing something if you've never spoken to them about it, you also can't expect things to change or get better or magically rectify themselves if you never bring the issue up. Don't point fingers; don't be obtuse about it-- just say "I feel (this) about (this), and I need/would like (this) from you if possible/if you're willing/if you feel the same way." Even if the situation can't be fixed, even if he won't give up his cigars and will never stop looking at other women or doesn't think you need a key to his place because of all the wonderful bonding you do with his roommates because you don't have one, the point is that you've gotten it off you chest and said your piece. And that will hopefully give you some peace.

And also for the record, I have never punched a guy I was seeing.

XOXO

Bad Romance

I'm not the most romantic girl in the world, but there are definitely some things that get me going. Conversely, there are some "classic" romantic moves that make me feel like I just gagged on about two feet of Spam. One ex of mine made me melt every time he called me "Babygirl," while another drove me away with his constant holding of my knee while he drove MY car. To this day, if you touch my knee while I'm in the passenger seat, you can watch my skin crawl. Moral of the story: I am, possibly, one of the most quirky people you may ever meet. (Which is why I think a large majority of the men I have relationships with go on to date extremely normal, sometimes borderline boring girls after me. I acknowledge that I can be exhausting.) But what works for one girl may not work for another. Same goes for men. Some like their facial hair being stroked, and some have such thick hair follicles that it hurts. Make educated moves. Though most of these are angled as romantic moves for men to make, there are certainly some that can swing both ways, so ladies, sit up and pay attention. I'm talkin' to YOU. If he's squirming (in an unpleasant way,) while you're trying to grab ass in public, it may be time to stop. There's romantic, and then there's creepy.

Romantic: Home-cooked meals.

Creepy: That thing where you leave a trail of rose petals that leads to somewhere. Maybe I'm just jaded in that I've seen too many thrillers and TV shows about abduction and murder that start that way. But if I came home to a trail like that, I'd pick up the closest long, blunt object and run out the door again, screaming.

Romantic: Playing an instrument and/or singing to someone.

Creepy: Staring intensely into their eyes while doing it.

Romantic: Getting an animal together. (If, you know, you're in a long-term, committed relationship together that involves at least significant cohabitation. Otherwise, get a fish.)

Creepy: Training it to recognize your significant other as "Daddy" or "Mommy." I had an ex who trained his beagle to run to me when he told him to "Go to Mommy!" I liked the dog more than the man.

Romantic: Cleaning. I hate cleaning. I consider it very sexy when a man cleans. And if you know what bleach, is-- WHELP, get ready for some lovin'.

Creepy: Cleaning in a French Maid outfit. If you're a man.

Romantic: Calling "just to check in."

Creepy: Calling "just to check in." 3 times a day.

Romantic: Holding hands.

Creepy: Pet-names so nauseating that they would make the Pillsbury Doughboy swear off ever eating sweets again. Stick to the classics: Babe, Baby, Baby Boy, Baby Girl, Honey, Hun, Sweetheart, Love, Cupcake, etc. No "Schnookie-wookie Lovie-kins." Jesus.

Romantic: Choosing "your" song. Together. No executive decisions, here.

Creepy: Giving jewelry before you hit 6 months together.

Romantic: Being a little public about your relationships. Not as in mad PDAs, but periodically standing or sitting next to each other, or doing some light petting: a hand on a lower back, arm, or shoulder, or leaning on each other.

Creepy: Having to be touching at ALL TIMES. Touching something. Anything. Even things not rated PG-13 in public.

Romantic: Showing up unexpectedly (or, I guess, expectedly,) with something small: a six-pack, a single specimen of their favorite flower (mine, coincidentally, happens to be hot pink Gerber daisies, if you were so wondering), a McDouble from McDonald's ($1! And no onions, thanks), or a movie, CD, or book. (This is also a good gesture to make with friends, too. Everyone likes feeling special and thought of.)

Creepy: Stalking. I shouldn't have to go into detail. If you're wondering about it, you're stalking. (But no, Facebook does not count.)

Romantic: Fact-- nibbling on some body parts, like earlobes, jaw lines, etc., feels good.
Creepy: Coming up from behind someone. And biting them. (You've been watching too much True Blood. I've been watching too much True Blood.)

Romantic: Doing things you both enjoy together, or inviting the other to something if you know they'd be interested. Cases in point: Hikes, concerts, trips to new restaurants, parties, game nights, TV events (read: football), local festivals or events.

Creepy: Leaving things around the apartment of someone you're not actually seeing, unless you're an extremely frequent house-guest.

Romantic: Surprising someone when they get home by being waiting there for them.
Creepy: Surprising someone when they get home by being waiting there for them.

It really depends on who it is doing the waiting.

And I'll amend this one from my past thoughts:

Romantic: Cuddling all night long in the winter. (Maybe that's just more self-serving for me, but yes, I do enjoy body heat.)

Creepy: Cuddling all night long. During the hottest days of summer. With no air conditioning.

XOXO

Editor's Note to Men: If you're wondering what the lady in your life considers "romantic," I have to level with you-- a lot of the time, she'll have already told you. Maybe not in so many words, but women drop hints like the Air Force drops bombs. (Equally devastating.) I know that while intuitive listening and remembering seemingly small and insignificant details may not be your thing, it'll really get you far. And if you'd enjoy getting laid "just because," I'd listen in a little more. (Yeah, that is how we reward. True story.) As for you guys, I know the majority of men I've been with come right out and say when they either dig or really don't dig something, so thanks for being easier and more up-front with that. I guess women just prefer to be "surprised" by these kinds of things.

NOT Waiting For It

Because I'm so flat-broke, instead of my monthly girl-fest Secret Single Behavior of buying the new issues of Glamour and Cosmopolitan and slowly spending an afternoon reading them somewhere quiet with a coffee and regaining my sanity, I've been trolling their online sites to read for free, instead. Not quiet as relaxing, as I've always preferred the tangible, but it does lend something new to the experience: reader's comments.

At the bottom of "16 Sneaky Acts of Seduction," on Glamour.com, an 18 year old reader said that she felt really behind still being a virgin when other "kids my age are already having babies & stuff. i do sometimes wonder how it would feel lk to be sexualy active," and asked the other readers if she should continue waiting to have sex until she finds the right guy, or if she should "just have fun or whatever?"

In my honest opinion, if you're not having fun in life, then you're doing something wrong. And I don't think she's missing out on "having babies & stuff" at the age of 18-- that's a huge fun-dampener. But the other reader's results to her questions were of a resounding "wait for it" lean. Not to diminish their reasons, which include:

"...Your first time is hardly ever good. It hurts and you might bleed a lot,"

"If you just have fun it has it's cons. You might get attached and he doesn't want a relationship. Or you think he's one person and find out he's another. He could just use you for sex. You could be lied to and find out he has an std,"

"I think sex is so much better when you have a connection with the person. Girls like to cuddle. Girls get more attached than guys, so if you get a guy who doesn't care about you, it will be emotionally stressful,"

Or, my personal favorite, the 25 year old virgin who is getting married to her fiancee who started dating her trying to win a bet with his friends about who would have sex first back in high school. He obviously lost that one, and I really cringe to think about waiting for and then marrying the sort of guy who made a BET about getting laid, because that just screams of a relationship that is built to last and come to fruition in a marriage.

But why does there never seem to be someone saying the opposite and telling these girls that not "waiting for it" doesn't mean you're a slut-bucket who's going straight to hell in a handbasket and will never find a man who respects them?

I'm now 21 and have slept with 5 men. I've had good sex, I've had bad sex, I've had weird sex, and I've had great sex. I'd had lots of sex, and I've had really long dry spells, too. Personally, I've never regretted any of it, even given the fact that the dude I lost my virginity to was probably the worst choice in the world. Like, I couldn't have picked any better (or worse?) if I had run "How Do You Not Fit The Qualifications?" interviews for the job. (This was also the guy I couldn't be bothered to muster up the energy to break up with, if it tells you anything about our entire un-apathetic union.) But I was 16, I was sick of it, and I just wanted to get it over with. I partially chose him because he was available, and he was older, which I assumed would mean he had more experience with sex than I did. "The first time" wasn't a huge deal to me. Yeah, it did hurt, but I really hate when women try to convince other women that you are going to bleed like Old Faithful and not be able to walk for a week. Coming from my point of view, another one of those "How Are You So Not Right For This?" qualifications that my first boyfriend met was that he was basically packing a third leg. Not so great the first time, but it got much better afterwards. And I could walk just fine, thanks.

So, to re-cap thus-far, for you vestigial virgins out there: Yes, it will be uncomfortable the first few times. There may be bleeding. There may be soreness. It may be really freaking awkward. NO first-time-having-sex you will EVER have with someone new will ever be spectacular-- you don't know how the other works, how your bodies mesh, or what makes each other tick.

Yes, you may get attached to Mr. Lying, Usurious, Herpes-Laden Committmaphobe. Unfortunately, our brains have some pretty fucked-up wiring when it comes to sex and emotions, and you can never really account for who you have a connection with. (Case in point, I've had some remarkable connections with flings, while dead connection lines with committed boyfriends.) But next time you meet a lying, usurious, herp-infested player, you get smarter, and (hopefully) pass him by for someone else. Yes, it's going to be emotionally stressful, but it's all part of life and learning. You learn, your taste and judgement in men gets better, are you're more likely to end up picking someone who actually is the right person for you than pinning all your hopes and hymen on someone you don't really know deeply or intimately right out of the gate. I've come a long way since my Couldn't-Be-Bothered first boyfriend. I've learned a lot about men, and myself, and it really has changed and shaped me. If I had stuck it out and waited for Mr. Right to fall into my lap, I'd be relationship- and emotionally-stunted when he finally came around, and probably fumble him right out of my life.

And, not all girls like to cuddle. Jesus, stop with this assumption, and please, give me some space at night.

Who knows if the guy you think is Mr. Right Wedding Bells right NOW is going to be Mr. Right Forever and Always LATER? Divorce rates in the U.S are over 50%, so the chances are halved that the man you lose you virginity to, IN MARRIAGE, could very possibly not be the man you die beside and are buried next to, a la "The Notebook." Romance really has no place in the relationship between sex and marriage. Please stop reading Nicholas Sparks and start reading "Dating, Mating, and Manhandling."

Maybe I could be so blase about it because I knew it wasn't the guy that I'd be marrying, and, in fact, maybe a large part of my decision was the fact I was (and still am) pretty sure I never did want to get married. Since then, not once, not ever have I regretted losing my virginity, either at all, or to a different man then the ones I've loved. Maybe I'm just a shameless new-age hussy, but the other thing that I can't wrap my head around is that waiting for marriage is basically like buying the car without seeing if it starts or runs first. Sex is IMPORTANT. You're never going to be happy in a relation where the sex is bad, especially if it's marriage. Frankly, the only thing that the sex I've had has convinced me of is the fact that whenever I sleep with someone new, I'm thankful for my previous experiences, as they've given me the tips, tricks, and sanity to deal with pretty much whatever is thrown my way.

So maybe that makes me a slut. If it does, well then, this slut is going to be ludicrously happy having good sex for the rest of her life, and if you get stuck in a sex-less marriage because you waited for "The One" and now you're unhappy and feel cheated and want to divorce him, send me a postcard and let me know how that's going for you, ok? Great. Thanks.

XOXO

Men By The Numbers

I know I just wrote a post on which I professed that people are not just "numbers", but it got me thinking about my numbers-- not just the number of partners I've had, but the more esoteric things about my relationships. How many of them do I still talk to? How many could I still recognize just by their voice? How much do they know about me? How much time did we spend together? What sort of time was it-- just time for sex, or are they people I spent afternoons or nights or meals or awkward moments with?

I got down to it and compiled some numbers. In an over-arching, long-term hope for things, I'd love to know other people's numbers like this, so we could all start compiling a database of what is normal, what's quirky, what's sweet, what's not, and what real relationships sex lives in the 21st century are really like, dispelling urban myths, and talking openly and honestly. How awesome would that be? And so, I give you...

Men By The Numbers:

Only 1 man knows how I brush my teeth.

Only 2 know where I'm ticklish. (If they remember.)

Only 5 men know how I share (or don't share) a bed. Only 3 of those men actually know what I look like when I'm asleep. Of those 3, only 1 has spent hours around me while I haven't been wearing glasses. And a fun fact: the average number of sexual partners for heterosexual men is 7; for heterosexual women, it's 4. I like being above average.

Only 1 ex and my closest guy friends know what my living space looks like. I tend to be overly mysterious and protective about it.

Only 1 man other than my father has ever cooked for me. Only 2 men I'd been seeing have ever paid for my food. Only 4 have offered. None know how I like my eggs. Only 1 knows how I take my coffee.

I've only had to supply the condom once. ...But I've had to make a point of it twice. 2 guys asked if I was on birth control. Good guys!

4 times I've bought men clothing only to have it crash and burn soon thereafter. Lesson? No more buying men clothing.

Number of times I've been in love: 3. Out of those times, 1 ended after a bloody and prolonged death, 1 will be eternal, and 1 fell out-of-love with pragmatism and change. Number of times I have said those three words out-loud: Never.

Number of times I've been proposed to: 2. Number of proposals I accepted: None.

Number of relationships I've had since I started dating at the age of 16: 9. Practice makes perfect.

Number of those 9 relationships that lasted over a month: 2. 1: Abysmal and too apathetic to end it sooner. The other: A hell of a learning experience. Number of relationships that lasted over 6 months: None.

Number of times a man has surprised me: Once.

Number of men who have up and died on me: 1.

Number of times I've been left: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. TOO MANY TO COUNT. Number of times I've been the dumper: 2. Most commonly heard excuse: "I think we need to take a break." "Breaks" never happen, FYI. "Breaks" never un-break. Breaks are The End.

Most commonly-cited reason for me ending things with a guy: "I know about her." Number of times I've been cheated on: 3. 1 actually admitted it to me-- thank you. Number of times I picked the other woman out of the crowd: All 3 times. It's an odd and sad gift. Number of men I've cheated on: 2.

Number of exes I've stayed in close contact with: 2.

Most common denominator among the men I've been with: Dark hair.

Favorite type of the opposite sex: Dark hair, dark skin, light eyes. Did you know? People with blue or green eyes are more biologically attracted to other blue or green eyed people because the chances of their offspring being born with brown eyes is a great indicator of either A.) A stray recessive gene, or B.) Unfaithfulness. It's natural pre-natal planning.

Most common letter of first name of men I've dated: A tie between Rs and As.

What I notice first in the opposite sex: Height. Hands. Arms. Eyes. Facial structure. Hairline. Smile.

Who made the first move: Always them. It's a girl's job to make sure that her interest is known. It's a man's job to act on it from there.

What I will remember automatically about every man I've been with until I die: The way they smell, and the sound of their voice. Other odd things I'll remember: Body language quirks, laughs, and bad habits.

Pet-peeves about men I've repeatedly ground my teeth about: Snoring. When asked "How are you," having them answer, but not ask how I am in return. Leaving without saying goodbye. Holding utensils like a barbarian. Breaking plans.

What I appreciate most in a guy: Intellect, and the ability to both dish it out and take it. Bickering is sexay.

I have never believed a man other than my father when told I'm beautiful. ...Though I am susceptible to compliments about my character.

Most commonly-dated ethnicity: Italian. Number of men I was with while in Italy: 0. Irony.

The Good: 4 men have inspired me to write. The Bad: 2 yielded pretty weak stuff. The Best: 2 gave me the roots of the best poetry I've ever written, and 1 gave me looooooots of blog fodder. So you have him to thank.

I've been with more men over 5'10" than under. I've been with 4 over 6 feet in height. I like 'em tall.

I also like them older, though I have been with 2 younger.

4 were musicians. 3 were party-happy. 6 were artistic. 1 was another writer. 1 was a lay-about. 3 had criminal records. At one time, my bio line could have read, "If you have blue eyes, a criminal record, and a weed problem, you'll love me!" 3 of them fit that exact description. Surprisingly, only 1 of those 3 makes my list of Top 2 Disappointments. The other member of that list just confounds me.

The longest I've ever been able to stay interested in 1 man: Over 6 months. Once. The shortest I stayed with 1 man: 2 weeks.

Of those men, I still think of 1 every. single. day.

And the person who may know me best: 1 of those men. What he still doesn't know: Volumes more.

XOXO