Bananas in Boston

Here I am...

2009-02-22T09:26:00.000-08:00

For more than three months I couldn’t find myself. I had lost my luster. It showed when I looked in the mirror and I felt it with every fiery four letter word that were becoming the most used words in my vocabulary. I felt a curtain of pessimism come over me killing my spirit and my strength. I couldn’t take little things, on my way home, cold that brushed against my cheek felt like it might be enough to knock me down. I was irritated with everything in moments, and so often irritated that I was sure my friends were going to give up on me.

I was being a bitch. I was being a winy brat. I was being a victim. I wasn’t being me.

I took solace in my survival mode tactics, taking things day by day, sinking into the monotony of my schedule, banana & coffee in the morning, work, gym at night, etc. etc. My friends didn’t leave me, in fact many came to me, and as far as I’m concerned kept me here.

Then, finally, last night while I was caught up in my repetitious evening activities during the week, I found myself on my couch. I found myself enjoying the couch, the atmosphere, the song on the radio, my complexion. Oh my, I was back. I washed my face and suddenly I was swept up into an whirl of recognition. I knew this girl, she smiled and laughed and was often bubbly. Goodness, I had missed her.

I recognized myself; who I was before I was broken. I’d been so constantly irritated with life, lacking hope beneath my eyes and sustenance behind my smile, I thought I’d never be able to identify the girl I’d been. Right now I’m sick, I have a cold I can’t kick and I can hardly recognize my voice! My voice boasts gruffly and I sound like a 40 year old with emphysema, like my voice is mixed with age, congestion and smoke. Its not a lovely sound when I speak and it’s hard to recall what my actual voice sounds like! However, just like colds from past seasons, I never notice the shift, from my gruffly horrific voice back to my normal speaking voice. I drink enough tea to have to pee every half an hour at work, add grapefruit to my morning banana and take some magic drug like airborne. Then woosh, I’m healthy and my real voice is back, sweeping in as if I never missed it.

Unlike my voice changes during the cold sickly winter months, I did miss me. I missed my optimism, my smile, and not having to fake me all the time. Just like my voice getting its true tone back, I think I’ve got my true luster back. I think I proved it to my friend last week, as I also got my groove back on the dance floor. I wonder if it was one in the same. Dancing makes me happy, I’m happy when I dance….turns out this girl is back to dancing. Now, I just have to kick this darn cold!

Choosing to Choose?

2009-02-06T20:17:00.000-08:00

I wonder if I’d learned anything. After all of the heart wrenching, all of the stomach fluttering and all of the tearful moments, what have I learned, about myself, about life? I knew a lot, about what I had wanted, how I wanted it. I knew how I could care and how I could love. What I never realized, never fully could grasp was the actual love. I would lecture to my friends, ‘you pick who is in your life, it is your choice who you love‘. I said it with such fervor. I felt people had a claim over their emotions like only someone that has never been in love can claim. It is as if I was talking about a coat check. I knew exactly which jacket was mine, and I was walking to the coat check with my ticket to claim it. I’ll take the stunning leather jacket in black.

I have no ticket to claim my perfect man. I have no ideal mate that I can pick in a line up, that I choose from the many profiles I‘ve read online. I’ve read all the profiles of all the perfect men, with the perfect jobs, ages and religions. I’ve read them, I’ve dated them, I’ve dumped them. They never made me smile until it hurt. They never made me laugh so hard I snorted, and then told me they loved the sound, because it meant we were happy.

Who I love is completely out of my control. Things I love and how they make the left side of my chest achingly simulate a sieve, can not be managed. You fall with out an understanding of where your mind and body is going. Until one day you wake up smiling, with the warm body next to you, and well shit…there it is; the love crept in the bed with you. You can’t mistake it and the grin that doesn’t leave your face makes it clear to everyone else. You‘re in love.

I’m not sure I ever acknowledged it, the loss of control. Even while I was going falling through it, I thought I had a choice. That I had a choice to choose. Choose when and how and most importantly who. I figured I’d pick. Learn about a person and know it wasn’t the ideal person for me. Then, before it got deeper, before I missed his warmth in the mornings and his breathing lulling me asleep at night, I’d just be able to walk away. Turns out I was wrong.

You can’t pick who you spark with. Its not up to you. If the spark is there, you can’t pull away from it, it is almost magnetic. From the second that feeling invades your life, the moment your heart rate jumps as you wait for him or anticipate his touch, you’ve lost it. You’ve lost your ability to pick the person, to choose when, to manage your emotion. Independent of his job function, religion, race, age, you will go when he calls, and you will fall.

So I’ve learned in love. Love has taught me to allow the emotions to take me, to give up that choice, and embrace it.

What the break up taught me, is that although you can't choose who you love, choices are involved to stay in love, to stay in the relationship. That once you are there, in the moment of love, in the fall of love, in the arms of love, choices are not only available to you, but I believe necessary to stay in love.
It’s in this moment, with in the throngs of your relationship, you have to look love in the face, lay your emotions out to organize and have your partner and your life on stage for evaluation. It is time for emotions to entwine with reality, lust to give way to life and for a holistic desire for that person, a desire for life with that person to be chosen.

You can not choose who you love. However, you must choose to stay in love, to be in a relationship. You actively choose, accepting the hard work and commitment, while giving some things up. You may give up a lot, you may comprise, but damn, this love, this PERSON is worth it. Sounds almost like a deciding to go on a diet, although, maybe a diet is easier… no one loves chocolate like they love a man...that I‘ve learned also. Not even chocolate compares to a good love.

Fast or Slow, I’ll Worry and Like it.

2008-12-22T18:20:00.000-08:00

Jason Mraz is a lovely fellow that sings jolly songs. This morning as I drove to work in dire need of a song to lift my spirits and my eyelids I switched the radio and heard him sing “don’t worry your life away’ and then ever so passionately “when I fall in love, I take my time”. It’s a lovely little song, with a very nice melody. But it is a bunch of bullarchy.

I have no control over my worries. As a person that chronically thinks and worries about things I can and can’t control, I believe that telling me not to worry my life away is almost a bit patronizing. Now, I know he doesn’t mean it like that, but worrying is who I am. It is how I move, motivate and frankly how I work. If I didn’t worry, I may have had a much lower GPA in college, not be as successful in my job, forget to buy bananas for the morning or even be a bad host, or an inconsiderate friend!

I worry about things such as my words, and if they affect people. I worry about issues that I have no control over, such as if I will ever find someone to love me and stay with me. I actually take issue with not worrying. If we didn’t worry, would we get anything done? Our society needs people to worry, if we didn’t would anyone care about the environment and saving it? How about the financial crisis we are in? Maybe if someone had worried about it earlier, our entire financial structure wouldn’t look like the ruins in Rome right now. Maybe Jason meant, don’t be anxious. I personally feel that is more legit, although much less melodic.

I think Mraz has some work to do; he should worry about his lyrics. He not only doesn’t worry, he feels he can take his time when he falls in love. Well mister, it may not make for a good song, but you have no control over love either. You can’t control what or when or how you worry OR fall in love. You can’t say, ‘I’m going to take my time falling in love’. That means you are anticipating it, and you can’t anticipate falling in love, because if you did you are already falling Mr. Mraz. I recall once while in a relationship telling a friend “oh my, I am totally falling for this guy.” Meanwhile, I was in love with him then, as the words were pouring out of my mouth. I was just too worried to admit it.

I’m not going to worry my life away, but I likely will fall in love too fast. In fact I’ve already done the latter and worried about it. I’m passionate; I can go on about my worry in tirades, arms flailing and swears flying. I fall in love quick, with puppies, men and even really soft sheets. My worry leads to movement, moving me to act. My love leads to emotions, good and bad. It is real. It is unbridled. It forms my life. So go write about that Jason, and come back with a song that isn’t a fluff piece.

Contortions that Evoke Emotions

2008-12-12T15:34:00.000-08:00

While breathing deeply and trying not to tip over as I balanced on one leg with an arm under my knee and back arched just so with my other arm in flight position, the yoga teacher said “Effort is the willingness to remain.”

I didn’t fall over; in fact the effort of the pose is still making my back ache. I was attempting to breathe deeply and find the peaceful rhythm that everyone else in the room seemed to vibe, however, I couldn’t keep my thoughts from flooding my brain like the waters did the earth in the bible. There was no stopping it, even Noah and his ark wouldn’t have saved me, he only took pairs, mates for, and I didn’t have my mate.

My mind was wound up with my prior mate. He wasn’t willing to remain. He wasn’t willing to put the effort in. As I pushed myself through body contortions that made me sweat and often slightly hurt, my breathing was gaining in ferocity. I could feel the pain of his lack of effort affecting me. I tried to push it out, I tried to breathe it out, but in the end all I could think was, he didn’t even try to work it out. The yoga meant to ease and sooth was bringing up things I was trying to push away.

I unwound myself from pose after pose. Crying silently, breathing so out of rhythm that a true yogi would have shaken their head and sent me away as a failure, I couldn’t find my peace. Or, maybe this was my pathway to peace? Maybe my peace right now is to deal with this, not push it away. Yoga stretches your body, opens your body. It seems like for me it also opens my mind, to whatever may be waiting to be stretched, any thoughts that are being kept closed. Be it the idea that I hate love at the moment, or the idea that I hate him and his lack of effort. I suppose what it also does is help me realize that I’ll continue to remain, and be strong, because I can handle the effort. I can handle the effort, and I choose to handle the effort, because I choose to remain. Now that I’ve realized that, maybe I can breathe like a normal yoga student.

Getting back to Bananas

2008-12-07T07:06:00.000-08:00

As the tears flowed, before I started bawling, I told him he’d changed my life. It’s true; I didn’t have a taste for bananas after he’d left. Luckily that didn’t last long, and six days later, I woke up again for the desire for my morning banana. However, nothing else has easily shifted back to normalcy.

I guess that’s what a relationship is though. You are moving from one person to a couple. Thinking of yourself with someone else laying next to you. It’s a trip, as you move from independent to in a relationship. A process, where one day you wake up and just see yourself with someone else. Depend on someone else. And like it.

When he left the tears were unstoppable as I was curled up in a ball, the emotions over him and loosing him turned into a physical pain. I thought the pain would resonate with in my body forever. Crying like I never had before, I repeated to my friends ‘I just don’t know what to do or how to do it’.

I had handed myself over to him. I was still me, I was still independent, but if I needed help, I had someone that was there, giving it. He loved me, we laughed, we smiled and we enjoyed.

Now it’s over, it has been weeks now. And I still don’t know what to do. However, I did stop crying; which, for a girl who has never cried over a man, or frankly over much, was a significant first step to picking up and moving on.

He changed my life; he changed how I want to live it. I am independent, I love being independent. But the love I gave him and what I got in return was more fulfilling than anything I’ve experienced. So he absolutely changed me, he made me want it. He made the desire so close and personal that it is hard to ignore.

I am so thrilled that I have my taste for food back. That my heart stopped beating in overdrive, the pain in my core has dissipated and the tears are all out. I am back to eating and wanting my daily banana, but certainly not back to where I was. I doubt I ever will be. And I’m beginning to believe that it is ok.

Oranges are harder to peel than Bananas...

2008-02-02T16:04:00.000-08:00

Starting new relations seems awfully similar to ripping open an orange. The peel gets under your nails. It never comes off in one swift attempt, and once you take off that top orange layer you are rudely aware of the nasty white covering that takes away from the orange goodness. So you peel the next layer, essentially redoing the entire process, excavating your way to finally reach the juicy orange from the filth that was in the way of your enjoyment.

To get to the sweet spot in a relationship, where it’s comfortable and fun, and dare I say tasty, is the same way. You have to dig your way through all the layers that we protect ourselves with, much more than just an orange peel and the white flesh. It’s more like, initial attitude, protective humor, and then just holding back, all this before a person is comfortable enough to show their inner orange. We dig, we excavate, we peel… because we know or have had relations that are so good, so satiating, that we want it again.

Isn’t it the satiating remembrance of that juicy refreshing orange taste that pushes us through the gross orangey residue under our nails and makes all that effort worth while?

The problem with this theory, I established, is that when I see myself with my friends, my confidants that know my every stream of consciousness, I think it was easy to get there. I think there was no excavating. No layers. It is easy now, it was easy then.

If I really delve into the beginning of those relations I become very much aware, it was just as gross. The hard work, the layer peeling madness and the residue was all present, its just been washed away since. It's just that where I’m at now, the comfort, the love… that makes me forget.

So it was worth it… it is worth it, I’ll get my nails filthy, and go as deep as I need to. Maybe I can buy one of those orange peelers? You think they have a emotional baggage peelers out there? Oh.. maybe its alcohol!

Delusional tactics

2007-10-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

Girls are delusional. It is a broad outlandish statement, but largely true and I include myself within that accusation. What I’ve discovered, unfortunately, is that once girls start their delusional tactics, they often become dumb. It is a regrettable reality, ending almost undoubtedly in a mess for all involved. Girls take a statement, a word, or even something as insignificant as a facial movement and rip it to shreds. We take it apart, dissect it, replay it in our minds over and over and over, until we dilute it and recreate it to fit into our own melodrama that we have dreamed up in the process. Meanwhile, the person communicating with us has no idea, and how could they? All of this is going on with in our own insane unconscious. To our defense, the majority of the time, I’d say we don’t even know it is going on, and we have no way to stop it. We weave our way into an emotional drama better than a day time soap opera, and then react while we are exploding with angst over what we think they meant by what they said or did or didn’t do. The consequences being the girl’s vivid and personal interpretation of how the person in question feels for them, judges them and wants them.

It’s truly a metamorphosis, and guys only misdemeanor is not recognizing it, not understanding that they either need to write down everything they say, choose every word with precision or live to suffer the consequences. OR, maybe they could circumvent the whole spiral into oblivion that happens. They could just I don’t know, leave no room for a girl’s mind to wander, tell a girl how they feel, be honest and upfront. Um yeah, looks like girls will be delusional and crazy for years to come.

What would you rather?

2007-08-14T18:58:00.001-07:00

Would you rather….

Go out with your friends in the city to drink at a bar or go to suburbia and hang out with your middle aged parents and their dog?

This question is a constant conundrum during my weekends. Although it isn’t as life changing as the ‘’would you rather uncontrollably pee every 30 minutes or have no arms’’ certainly the question affects my life more than I’d like to admit.

For some reason I find myself facing this question every weekend. I’m 25 and I should want to go out and get drunk, err I mean have a drink with my friends of the same age. The issue becomes, where, with whom, what out fit, spending outlandish money and all the jazz that goes along with it. I can spend time and energy making these decisions, spending my money and putting on enough mascara that my eyelashes protrude like whiskers, or I can go home, have my mother cook a meal that should be photographed, drink their wine and enjoy the company of two mature adults and a lovely dog as we discuss matters of the heart.

In general, once I get out, I have a good time, laugh until I cry, scout for men and enjoy some mighty tasty libations. So in theory I should always choose that option. However, the lure of a no money, stress free evening in flats or flip flops pulls me towards suburbia. But lets be real here, wearing flats has nothing to do with it. In fact, that claim is absurd. The statements are just masking the reality that an evening at home means an evening when I’m being taken care of, responsibility is someone else’s. I don’t have to make sure I have coffee for the morning; I don’t have to make sure the milk is good and keeping a stock of bananas is not on my mind. I wake up and it’s all there.

Of course, when I go out, I wake up and there are other things there, such as new friends, new memories, new men, and new numbers.

Would you rather is always so difficult.

Suiting up with Limes and Salt

2007-08-10T08:48:00.000-07:00

It was just yesterday that I was bitching and moaning over what an urban legend my love life has become. As I threw a lack of love tantrum my friend dutifully listened, agreed and commented during my infrequent pauses. There was no appeasing me, I was a frantic terror as my voice changed pitches and the aggravation culminated the way I haven’t for so long.

The assessment was that I clearly needed to get some, but the how and with whom has always been issue. Really the issue of course is me, and my lack of ability to enjoy a one night meaningless romp. The ranting and raving ends with a sigh and a feeling of exasperated hopelessness.

I move on with my week, feeling better after my verbal release. I go about my normal work week business, awaiting my Thirsty Thursday fun that has grown to be a weekly pleasure.

Thursday finds me sitting at a table with my group of girls. We look friendly, and get approached by a man asking who wants a shot of patron. I evidently did; as I look shockingly at the hand raised as though I’d never seen it and it doesn’t belong to my body. I get up and suit up with my lime and salt. Then down goes the Patron, smooth as water.

I go back to my friends and later that evening the shot provider comes over to shake my hand and tell me I really stepped it up. He had clearly had too many and lets me know that I can take him home that evening. It was slightly under his breath, his insinuation that my tequila shot taking skills lends me to being able to sleep with anyone in the bar, in particular, him.

I slink away from his tequila breath. The next morning I wake up, hung over and with the tequila man’s words in the back of my head. I had it on a platter, with a shot of tequila as a chaser, but I wasn’t in the least bit interested. In my bitching and moaning and tantrum ridden moments I howled for a quick fix. However, when the tequila is in my blood and the proposition is in the air, I shrug it off. It seems my subconscious may have an inkling that a quick fix is not for me. Thank goodness for a strong subconscious, I’d hate to have to share my morning banana with the tequila man.

Bananas in Beverly

2007-04-02T05:37:00.001-07:00

Leaving the city is always fun. Don’t get me wrong I love my cluster of buildings by the river, and my friends in sprinting distance. However, a trip away allows for free plentiful parking, bonding with old friends and free bananas at my parent’s house. Ooh ooh… and ludicrously cheap libations of any assortment.

So my friend and I went out to a fabulously bustling suburban bar/restaurant. We snagged a high top table for two, meant clearly for us as it opened just as we walked in and without delay ordered up a bottle of Malbec for $20, please note the price of that bottle. Wow suburbia wow.

So we drank and talked, caught up, got to the heart of the matter. Man I love her. It’s so easy, to just be, just chill, drink fabulous wine, and discuss the on goings of our worlds together. She knows me enough that when I say things she can fill in some blanks and reassure me, pointing out things that maybe I skipped over. She makes me think and leaves me smiling… or is that wine. No no, her.

Mid sentence sharing something of momentous importance, or at least I’m sure it seemed as though at the time, a three layer chocolate cake adorned with mounds of whip crème floated by us to the table in the corner. Turning to each other, my friend and I knew we must look at the desert menu. A few minutes later, I experienced bananas in Beverly, Wood grilled bananas. What does that mean? I don’t know, but the banana had lines from the grill, which I suspect was made from wood, and it was delectable really.

So, my Saturday night I got to hearts of matters, stepped away from the city, and into my comfort zone. Sitting across a table with a good friend, a friend that I’ve known for years, who doesn’t have any questions that she probably doesn’t already know the answers to, but asks because maybe she knows I need to explore it myself, who’s grown with me and helped me grow… she may have just trumped the wood grilled bananas and cheap fabulous wine.

Can you Stand in For Bananas in Boston?

2007-03-30T05:39:00.000-07:00

You read my blog, you live vicariously through my fun and foul dating jaunts. But how well do you actually know me and the intricacies of my life?

Let me know who I can trust to be my impostor in a dicey situation...take my quiz:
'Could you pretend to be my impostor?'

Mr. America

2007-03-27T17:46:00.001-07:00

He drives what most American’s drive, he is a mortgage lender, he lives in a suburb. He is Mr. America and he is safe. He's so sweet, smothering me with meaningless compliments, and assures me of his like for me. This is all even before we’ve had our first date.

So date one was last week. A bit over done for a first date. I did appreciate the all out evening, but a first date for me is a meet, greet, drink and skedaddle. It’s a ‘here we both are, together, close enough to touch, but awkwardly far away searching for the something, that spark, or good god even some kindling!’

On this first date there was no skedaddling. There were two bottles of wine, three courses, and a hang over. But no skedaddling. I learned about him, his humor, his job, his vices and for some a small drug problem he had early on in his life. Meanwhile, he learned the same about me, minus the drug problem and heavy on the work situation, as to stay away from emotional minefields.

Mr. America was great; he had a sense of humor, he was sweet, smart, even focused and clearly ready to settle down. Alas, no chemistry, not at all, not in the least. In the chapter of the date where I was a tad bit too tipsy, (yes this first date had chapters it was so long), Mr. America began to fill me in on his feelings regarding emotions, honesty being the best policy, don’t waste the other’s time, yadah yadah, cliché cliché…

So of course, the next time I spoke with him, I was honest and upfront with my lack of chemistry. It sucked, it always does. I wish I had avoided the entire situation, never spoken to Mr. America, never accepted a date, never laughed at his first corny joke and never ended up at a 4 hour long dinner where I spilled red wine and ruined my white shirt. (Did I mention that I’m a clumsy mess even on my first date? I am). Did I mention that this guy was great? He wasn’t pushy, he wasn’t obnoxious, and he wasn’t anything like the last guy that I was attracted too. So this guy I dated because he was had it all together and wanted the house with a white picket fence, the 2.3 children and the minivan. The other I dated knowing only that he had a chiseled chin and biceps. I need these two things to merge I think. I also need this man that I’m seemingly attracted to, mind and body, to accept that I’m a clumsy slob. I’m doomed…ahhaah

Entitlement

2007-03-12T07:03:00.000-07:00

He told me I was smart. It sounded less like a line in his thick French/Moroccan accent. Now this morning, I not only don’t feel smart, but I have a sinking feeling everything else he told me was a line.

It all started with an excitement over a man, something I haven’t felt for awhile. I thought he was good looking, I thought he was interesting, he sounded like he was intelligent.

So we go out on what could loosely be called a date. He thinks I’m attractive which he tells me. He also thinks he is entitled to me, but fails to mention this. Fails to say, “Hi there. Hello, I’ll buy you a drink, I’ll give you a kiss and your reciprocation is your consent and communicates your desire to have children with me.” He should have said this with in his greeting.

He should have stated this explicitly, just as I stated explicitly that I didn’t want him to come home with me that night.

The night started well. Even good, he was still cute; he was smart, unusual and had interesting perspectives on life. Then with in seconds after I informed him that his accommodations that evening would not be at my apartment, the evening twisted into a situation where I was being introduced to his drug dealers and was thinking, “how did a girl like me end up here.” By a girl like me, I meant a girl that an hour before he called was laying in bed, ready to give into my exhaustion, read a book and go to bed, just as I had many Fridays before.

But I was in that situation, and it only got worse from that moment. Ending with him manipulating his way into my apartment with stories of a women he loved that had died, a hatred for his own apartment, a racist roommate and only the desire to sleep on my couch, even going to lengths to designate a time to set my alarm to wake him up from his slumber on my couch in the morning. I swear I persisted with my assertive tone that I didn’t want him to stay over, but it got exhausting. It is beyond me how it happened, but he did end up in my apartment. It is actually beyond me how he even ended up in the cab with me near my apartment. His manipulation and guise of being a gentleman and wanting to make sure I got home ok now leaves me with a feelign of utter humiliation. He is no gentleman.

I couldn’t get him to leave. I really couldn’t. I had to open the door, just saying it five times wasn’t getting through to him. “You are making me uncomfortable, please leave” was the final statement that got it through to him.

From my window, I confirmed that he was walking away from my building. I was in a state of extraordinary stress, exhaustion and shock. Jacky, my friend and personal angel, picked up her phone when I called at 4am. I sat on my bed, and with disgust for my actions, stupidity for my trust in people, told Jacky the story. An hour later, she must have heard it 3 different times, with different details each time. If she hadn’t picked up I would have sat on my bed all night, evaluating the evening until the sun rose. Instead, I shared with her. It was like she was there hugging me, reassuring me that I was safe and that I needed to understand my shock was because this didn’t happen all the time. That I wasn’t stupid, but that he was manipulative.

Hanging up with her, I locked all my windows, my front door, my bedroom door and was able to tuck away the replay of the evening for a few hours of sleep.

The next morning was a different story. The replay was unstoppable. I didn’t feel smart. I felt stupid, and hung over. I felt a longing to wear baggy clothing and hide in closets and to never meet a new man, especially those that are foreign and pushy. These feelings combined with the morning sun and the memories of the night before to appoint a remarkable hatred of myself and every action I partook in the night before. I hated myself, I hated the drinks. I hated my low cut shirts. I hated everything that I felt gave this man the expectation that he was invited and welcomed into my bed and home.

I could start wearing only baggy clothing, never go out, and hide in a closet. That’s what I wanted to do the next morning; I still sort of want to do it now. Luckily, I didn’t, I went out, I took a walk. In the sunlight things looked safer. It was a beautiful day, thank god I didn’t miss the sun and sky because I was staring at the ceiling in my closet. One person, one night, and one situation isn’t going to stop me from living. I’m not stupid, although many of my actions were the night before. Now, after hours of talking over the evening's scenes with friends and clarity of the day, I have come to many conclusions.

I will not hide, I will live and learn. Now I also turn around when I’m walking at night, and check my apartment before I go to bed. That will only last for a week or so. The vulnerability I felt that night will fade and I will begin to feel safe again in my own skin and begin to understand that when I say no, it means no. He is not entitled to me ever, and I am entitled to say no whenever I want, no matter what I did, wore or said earlier that evening. He’s the stupid one for not understanding that two letter word.

Prague Paradigm

2007-03-05T18:42:00.000-08:00

A week away from the internet. A week that I drank more, I slept less, and enjoyed the foreign men galore. In one week, I gained back my sanity and explored my reality. I strolled, having no plans but to eat, drink and meet the locals. It was marvelous, walking the winding streets undaunted by daily demands. Parading aroundPrague looking cute everyday and sashaying around from pub to club at night. I found a new self, a relaxed self that tasted food and exercised my liver instead of my legs. My back relaxed, my muscles were at ease, and a smile was default on my face.

As I stepped into the airport head homeward, lugging my hefty suitcase, I felt my muscles tighten. It didn’t take but a minute for my reality to weigh upon my back causing the tension in my shoulders to surface and the knots to form in my back.

However, my friend Sarah says I can’t live on vacation. She has ensured me more than once that I must work for a living. She is telling me to snap out of it. But for as long as I was actually across the ocean, I was back here and in reality remorse. I lost my desire to work, American music didn’t make me shake or shimmy or even give me a bounce in my step. The Dixie Chix CD that I had left in my car irritated the crap out of me and my city was lacking in luster only what it made up in loathsome daily expenses such as dishwashing detergent.I’d rather be spending money on beer, or wine or food or museums.

It took me a week, but Sarah is right. I can’t live in Prague, or I could, but then I’d be buying dishwashing detergent in Prague. So I’m back. I’m finally there. I don’t dread work in the morning anymore and my mentality is set back in step with all the other sheep as we trudge onward to our cubicles. I will just have to find little things to take me back to my vacation mentality. I’ll just have to get massages to get rid of my knots. I’ll just have to drink like a champ on Friday and Saturday to keep my liver in shape. So fine, I’m back, but I’m back with a new drunken mentality that I hope keeps me hung over from Friday to Sunday evening. I have decided that maybe that is healthy. I'm in Boston with a Prague State of mind.

Complimentary Quandary

2007-02-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

The formation of some compliments are intriguing. Someone alerts you to the notion that they don't usually care for curly hair. Then of course, they assert you that your curly is special, or maybe that you are special...either way the hair fits, works and is approved.

I don't think a distinction like this is found with the non kinked version of my mane or anyone's straight mane.

Why not just keep it simple, forget about the frame of reference for the hair. A simple, "I love your curly hair" or a good ol “Your hot as hell and the hair helps" would both do.

Instead, men of all kinds start with relating your curls to those of their past, assuming that you are anything at all like anyone they have ever had or ever will have relations with.

News flash: I am unique, so is every curly hair on my head. They will never learn.

Of course never will I... they compare my hair to those of their past just as I begin to compare them to the men of the past. And so it goes....

Speedster

2007-02-06T07:46:00.000-08:00

I drive like a maniac. I am always on a mission; getting to wherever I'm going as efficiently (fast) as possible. So you'll find me in the left lane going 90 mph, if possible, until I hit the equivalent to a road block, another car. I drive up until I realize the bugger is slow as a dead horse and then pass them, speeding by, only waiting long enough to check out the interior of an impressive car, or if I am wedged in by other floundering obstructions.

Sounds familiar? Yeah, it's essentially how I deal with most situations; navigating through a mall, grocery shopping, getting to the bar amidst drunken hordes of people, and dating. Ahh dating, yes, I date like a maniac… I walk up, check them out and if they are impressive or my situation at the moment impedes me from moving, I spend some time checking out the interior. Unfortunately, most have this dull grey fabric instead of the plush heated leather seats that I'm looking for. I end up frustrated, after being disappointed that I was slowed down for nothing time and time again, and I hastily pass and speed on to the next one.

Maybe when I find the right man, suddenly I won't find a need for the left lane? Who am I kidding; I'll always find a need for weaving in and out of traffic… regardless of relationship status.

Unrecognizable Greetings

2007-02-04T14:57:00.000-08:00

I needed some wine and toilet paper. The girls were coming over and I needed to buy proper necessities. I step into the wine shop and it is bustling filled with boys buying beer to accompany them during the Super Bowl. I walk to the wine selection and pick out the taste for the evening. This man walks buy, he looks strangely familiar.

He turns up again in the checkout line a few people front of me, I had already shook off the familiar face, assuming I’d run into him at a bar. He apparently recognized me as well though, because he stepped out of line to get a better look. He caught my glance and promptly ricochet his eyes to the floor. Now I knew he wasn’t taking a second look because I was cute. I was a hung over, exhausted girl that hardly had make up on and hadn’t showered since she went to the gym. I had to know him. Then like a cork popping out of a champagne bottle, I placed him. He was a friend of a guy I was dating last summer. I had liked him quite a bit, quite possibly more than the guy I was dating. We had engaged in deep conversation every time we ended up together, and I recalled his humor with a smile.

It was clear he had no intention of saying hello. Yet also clear that he knew who I was, or at the very least he recognized me from somewhere. What is the reasoning for such ill-mannered lack of acknowledgement? People do this all the time. College was a cesspool of people using the excuse that they were too drunk to remember the night before to say hello to someone they met or for that matter, someone they had in their bed. Is it possible they are embarrassed that they don’t recall names? Is laziness a factor? Someone please tell me what could possibly be the reasoning behind this lack of action?

I simply don’t understand it. So, I said hello, I didn’t remember his name, but said "Hi, you are friends with blah blah? I met you this past summer.” His reply, “Oh, yes." and "Wow, you have a good memory” We then went on with pleasantries and said goodbye.

Not only did he not say hello, he essentially told me I was an ass for recalling his existence. Maybe I just don’t forget a face, or maybe he is too insecure to say hello? Thoughts, comments and answers to this loss of memory and/or lack of balls to say hello are appreciated.

Biggie Smalls

2007-02-02T10:48:00.000-08:00

Some have nick named me “Biggie Smalls.” This is because I have an outlandish perception of my biceps and the strength that ignites my feisty soul. I wear big rings that would leave marks on faces if I threw a punch. I wear big boots with pointy toes that I believe could break shins in half and certainly cause a man to fall on to his knees if aimed appropriately at their prized possessions.

I think I’m tough shit. In my drunken mind, as I precariously stumble home on my three inch heals, I button my jacket to the top to conceal skin and push forward to my apartment. I put my collar up and don the ‘don’t mess with this’’ face.

I think I’m huge, tough and scary. I think that, but the large men with actual large muscles that weigh in as twice of me, they think I’m a target.

So my punch may be weak and if someone ever did attack me I may fall over, due to my precariously high shoes. But what the attacker doesn’t know is that the cute charm on my keys or the cute charm on my neck is my weapon. Eat that scum face and fall over blind…because my cute charm is pepper spray.

Ladies, it’s cute, it’s small and maybe this “Biggie Small’’ and all of you should have it in our pockets as we walk home. This way we can use our rings only to suggest boys what they should buy us.

http://www.pepperface.com/store/products.html

Impatience Override

2007-01-30T18:03:00.001-08:00

Starting relationships is difficult. The evolution of relationships, friends and lovers, is tasking on your emotions, your mind and sometimes your body (happy fat).

The relationships I have solidified, those that bridge friends into the family category, appear to have seamlessly evolved from strange to confidant. I take for granted that I am at a place where saying anything, from “I love you” to “You are treating me poorly and I don’t appreciate it” can happen in the same conversation. I love them; I’m in love with them. It’s easy. Making plans is easy. For that matter talking, expressing and just being is all quite simple.

This ease, this reassurance in every step is our second nature at this point. I can’t imagine it any other way. When I am among these friends, my mind is serene… in a state of relaxation that I can only reach when I don’t worry. I don’t have to. At this point, if they are uncomfortable, if they have something on their mind, they share. Stream of consciousness is not expected, but certainly probable.

So starting new relations, starting off with some awkwardness of thought, or stepping on each other toes, second thinking your actions, all seem alien and almost unnecessary. Why go through this, shouldn’t it just flow, be natural and easy.

I forget, that these friends that have become my family, that share their stream of consciousness with me and know everything about my course of action, even when I don’t, is it wasn’t always straightforward. I met one of my closest friends a year before I had any idea that she would be so wonderful, even integral in my life. An entire year of being acquaintances, awkwardness of emotion and situation passed before we ever sank in and got comfy with our friendship.

What I must continually remind myself is that, these friends that know everything about me, that know as soon as I spill my guts and talk about my pain that I’ll turn around and apologize and feel guilty for doing it, these friends, these confidants, they weren’t always so close. It took time. G-d knows how I am so lucky to have them, because I am markedly impatient. Luckily, my fabulous friends have taught me more than I realize. Looking back on my previous relationships provides me all the patience I need.

Sinage

2007-01-26T05:49:00.001-08:00

On my way to work today, I'm driving along, thinking about life as the music I'm listening to is groping at my week’s events and my dealings with men. All I can do is think..oye this is so tiring... the whole dating finding love blah blah blah. Meanwhile John Mayer is singing about his broken heart and I'm thinking...dating, love, men they all stink.

I'm heading on to route 95 south, when I look up and see a filthy white truck... etched with in the dirt packed back door I see "Have Faith", revealing just how dirty the door is.

I smile and think... well hello sign... I suppose I should have faith...I should try my best to keep my eyes open for signs and my heart open for everything else.

Once, as I was freaking out, my brother’s wife, confidant and friend said "You have to have faith.” Of course, my sentiments at the time were, “faith blaith, I’m giving up on all of it.” But who knows, maybe I should have faith? Especially if the back of truck tells me to on at 7 in the morning.

The Math of Dating

2007-01-25T05:00:00.000-08:00

The King has called again, this time at 10:00 pm. Tuna Melt refers to this as a sketchy time to call, as it is ‘past polite calling hours’. Tuna Melt knows how to court a lady and make her feel special. The King called to say hi, instead of calling to beckon me, as he did in his last message. He is interested in howI have been since our date a month ago. What could have possibly triggered his memory of me now, the girl that three weeks ago he spent three hours with? Did he pass a curly haired girl on the street? I’d imagine that he made a conscious decision not to call, so why now twice in a week. Odd. The call time, as Tuna Melt points out is a bit strange. It is possible that this 22 year old (yes my second younger man) isn’t savvy in the proper dating faux pas. So, perhaps I should understand, as he is a rookie to the sport of dating. However, I would liken the practices of dating to casual consideration. If A=B and B=C then A=C Then I can conclude, he is not considerate. Please keep in mind… this is all bullshit. Dating is black and white. If I liked him, or lusted for him or thought he was perfect even on paper, A wouldn’t equal anything and I’d be going out with him again this weekend.

Everyone wants to live on an Island

2007-01-24T06:24:00.000-08:00

I’m considering a move. A move to an island that is. An island nicknamed after fruit. An island that Madonna claims is not for “little pussies who scream.” An island of many Jews, (many of those being my relatives) and bananas on every corner. New York City. Of course, I’m also considering buying a condo here in Boston. Bananas aren’t sold on corners, but comfort, support and a pup that jumps for joy when I enter the room is too close to avoid. In my hunt for the perfect place to have my banana in the morning, my mind is traveling to every possible scenario that this new found mortgage could infringe upon. I will not be able to pack up and move if I find a dream job, a dream man or for that matter just need a change.

So, before I am going to allow my self to walk through the quick sand that is a mortgage, which will inevitably sink me further into this city and keep me in sand and new payments up to my ears, lets just reevaluate and ensure that this is the right collection of tall buildings by a river for me to spend at least the next 3 to 5 years.

I have some thinking to do.

Now the questions; How do I evaluate a city? Friends and family? City and atmosphere? Do you stay someplace for job security at the age of 24? I’m comfortable here, comfort comes with time. Do you give in to comfort and security or at the young age of 24 with nothing to loose and no sand beneath you, do you take some chances and call a new place home? You can always come back, and moving, gaining that comfort somewhere else may make the world seem smaller? Another thing to consider… Is my city love wavering due to boredom that will pass just as winter gives way to leaves on trees? You know what, probably…but either way, maybe before nailing yourself to the ground you have to wander around a bit.

Winter Love

2007-01-22T18:49:00.000-08:00

I love this weather. I love the light snow; the flakes float around, each one so large that as it comes down you can maneuver yourself to have it land securely on nose. City lights are dimmed by the myriad of snow crystals and the familiar city clamor is dulled to tranquility. Even the streets become a carpet, loosing their ruff demeanor, the mess that the day left behind covered and forgotten as the street lights catches the snow’s sparkles

Super Accessory?

2007-01-22T18:47:00.000-08:00

So I dated this guy, approximately 2005, right after I broke up with another guy, you know THE guy, who turned out not to be THE guy. Right, so this new guy he was toast the second he came up and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Toast. He was great, smart, cute, and witty. We traded comments and stares and shared stories and blah blah blah. I left thinking, ok that was fun but the connection was second rate. Of course, at this point I could have been connected to an electric shock treatment machine and the “sparks” would have been dull. Second date he brought me a gift, dark chocolate. We had discussed our common desire for dark chocolate. So sweet; he was great but surprise, it didn’t work out. Now I see a picture of him, he’s wearing glasses. A good looking man in glasses is not fair.

For some reason…ok fine the reason was my freshman year in college I was in lust with a smart senior with glasses… sigh. This freshman lust has primed me for all men in glasses. Second looks are taken at any man walking by in glasses. Maybe it’s how it frames their face, accentuates their strong jaws? Some how these glasses, these frames that could keep even Superman’s identity from the world… some how turn ordinary men into super something’s; Supermen? Super lovers? Super smart? You’ve got me. All I know is once they put them on, I want them off. All of it off.

So what this means is I’m thinking of contacting Mr. ‘Now I have glasses and you’ve been broken up with Mr. blah blah for years’. I know this is a bad idea, but it’s not my fault, it’s those glasses.

Unknown

2007-01-22T16:04:00.000-08:00

I keep getting calls from "Unknown Number. " Who is this "Unknown"? I just missed their call again. I have a new addiction to old school Brandy music and it’s pumping over powered my phone’s ring. But, next time I catch it I'm going to pick it up and in a bitchy tone with a cocked eye brow, say "Stop harassing me Mr. Unknown." Meanwhile, my mind is burning to know who this Mr. "I can't show my number in the light of your blackberry" is. I am reeling through my memory, who wants to surprise talk to me? Who thinks I'd pick up with this "Unknown" label? hmm...
It is likely just a damn solicitation call. Damn them for causing me to think, "what if it was...". Stupid credit card or loan or solicitation for charity calls. Damn the unknown.

Saturday Night Pick Ups

2007-01-21T06:51:00.000-08:00

Sarah and I attempted to go “Man hunting tonight” However, “Man Hunting” turned into “Man Grazing” because Julie and I decided that ‘hunting’ had too much of a domineering Amazon feel. Grazing it was. Sarah and I were off looking hot to trot. Well fine, as hot as possible in our down parkas with our hoods up and hats on. We found a warm plot of grass and grazed away on our vodka and tonics. We met a few men. We also met a buffalo. He was the bar mascot and my favorite man of the evening. So, I didn’t pick any men up this Saturday night. I did, however, pick up a banana. No joke… I stopped at the store 24 on my way home and picked up one banana for the morning.

2007-01-20T06:32:00.000-08:00

Acting like a 40 year old women trapped in the body of a 24 year old, I decided to stay in last night. Running around all day and into the evening left me ready to finally settle in to the couch for a moment. I settled on a random movie, Yentl. The movie stars Barbra Streisand, who I secretly love and admire (awe inspiring voice, producer, director and my goodness what a character in some of her movies). Anyhow, the movie was an unexpectedly fantastic, emotional tear jerker (I didn't cry, but people that have active tear ducts may) that I could relate to on some level… no no I’m not trying to dress up like a man to study the Talmud, but maybe I am dressing up like a man to play in the man’s business world. It bites her in the heart when she realizes that she wants a man much more than she’d rather be one. However, even her desired man can not tame her. She wants more… more than what is offered to women in her time and goes off to find it. I loved it, I love her. As I said, a 40 year old in a 24 year old body loving Barbra and stories about people studying the Talmud... oye.

So, after the movie I let the pup out and check my phone and computer of course, over two hours on a couch is an achievement for me. I was so enthralled by the movie I missed two calls.

Two calls from two different men. One being Solomon, who is certainly not king of my heart and certainly does not have manners suitable for royalty. Solomon, asked me on a date. Solomon didn’t have the foresight to pick a place and had me scramble to find one. Solomon allowed me to split the price for a dinner I wasn’t hungry to eat after he asked for my company. In any case, after the date I was left in my usual terrible post date depression, upset another man didn’t spark anything and in fact kept saying things that turned me off; it was a first date, please don’t tell me you try to find good park benches during your work day to nap on. It was just one date though, so after one good drink with a friend and a few good looking men walking by I had forgotten the King and his park benches. I forgot he hadn’t called until a week later Tuna Melt asked about the King’s follow up. I was relieved he hadn’t called, no discussion of lack luster feelings and no avoiding another date. Not calling after the date was the best thing ABOUT the date.

That was over three weeks ago. He called tonight… three weeks later and said he’d love to see me. No thanks, I’d like more. Thank you Barbara.

Smitten

2007-01-19T10:24:00.000-08:00

My friend thinks she may be in love, and surely she is smitten. This girl, who I love and admire and know surely almost everything about has never even been in like with a man. Sure, she has dated, had fun and she is stunning so also had many men fawning for her attention. But today is the first day I have ever heard the smitten in her voice. She said, "Sharon, I didn't even think about the fact that I had contacts in. I just fell asleep and when I woke up my smitten overwhelmed any desire to take my dry contacts out." Her contacts are my banana. God Bless the smitten emotions that allow us to forget our daily bananas.

Bananas and Sports

2007-01-19T09:43:00.000-08:00

I have discovered that in order to live, breath and get ahead in the business world you must understand, live and breath sports. This enables conversations with men, men that matter.
So I am going to subscribe to sports illustrated and read it in the morning while I eat my banana and prepare for the day.

Thats Love

2007-01-19T05:36:00.000-08:00

I went to my parents last night. I walked in after a long day of work. I was attacked by the puppy, who kissed me and loved me. Then gave my mom a hug and a kiss. We began chatting about non-important matters of our day. She moved to the fruit basket and then said, "oh I got you bananas for the morning." She loves me. I smiled.

Tawdry Two Nights Stands & Witty Online Flirting

2007-01-18T19:35:00.000-08:00

I am bored, not with my daily banana, but with the lack of any daily men. So I ventured onto my dating service this evening. I replied to all the men that emailed me over the last few weeks. I'm witty and charming over email, it makes my real life flirting seem tawdry and lame, of course that's because I don't have google to find me synonyms at the click of a finger.
Minding my business, writing witty and charming emails, I get an IM from a man in Israel, but his profile says he is in California. Regardless, interesting conversation. He will be in Boston in February (10 to 12). He suggests a two night stand. I say, no I'm not a stander of any sort. We will see how this proceeds. Do you even entertain keeping a person company in a lonely city when sex is thrown into the first IM conversation? He must be missing the loving in Israel.

Bananas in Boston

2007-01-18T12:59:00.000-08:00

Bananas are a part of my morning routine. The yellow fruit accompanies my coffee or tea in the morning. Gets me moving and ready for life that day. It settles my stomach from the prior evenings' raucous or staves off the hunger from such a long period away from food. Those that know my quirks, love me and want me to keep coming back, prepare for my arrival with bananas. If I stay at a friends or relatives, bunches of bananas await me. Men who date me usually don’t have the pleasure of a full night stay unless we are close enough that a banana and cup o joe greet me when this morning dove wakes up. Serious Bananas business in Boston. Bananas in the morning, business during the day…

Bananas in Boston

Here I am...

Choosing to Choose?

Fast or Slow, I’ll Worry and Like it.

Contortions that Evoke Emotions

Getting back to Bananas

Oranges are harder to peel than Bananas...

Delusional tactics

What would you rather?

Suiting up with Limes and Salt

Bananas in Beverly

Can you Stand in For Bananas in Boston?

Mr. America

Entitlement

Prague Paradigm

Complimentary Quandary

Speedster

Unrecognizable Greetings

Biggie Smalls

Impatience Override

Sinage

The Math of Dating

Everyone wants to live on an Island

Winter Love

Super Accessory?

Unknown

Saturday Night Pick Ups

More

Smitten

Bananas and Sports

Thats Love

Tawdry Two Nights Stands & Witty Online Flirting

Bananas in Boston