SS: Kismet PT 2

Sometimes I feel like the path is leading nowhere. I lift my head up to the sky and scream at Kismet, "this is not a road, it's not a path, I am standing in the middle of nowhere you dummy!" But Kismet doesn't listen, because truthfully who am I really in the grand scheme of things?

WTF is exactly what I am thinking as I stand in the middle of a crowded music venue that my friend talked me into going to after she listened to the horrible date story with mister greasy hair tight pants from the week before.

"You need to get out hun, and not just out with guys you need to just get out in the world. See things, meet different new people."

"I do meet new people," replied sarcastically. It's hard to take criticism on my crappy dates. Is it really my fault that the wide world of dating has brought me nothing but slimy turd mongers that don't understand the meaning of "gentleman."

"You meet ass monkeys, you need to go on a date with a real man. I know a few, I should totally set you up!"

Here is another thing Kismet likes to dangle in front of me. The option of meeting someone through someone, it always leaves the hope alive. You see opportunity strung on a precarious string before you and all you have to do is snag it! Ahhh too slow, try again!

I turn my head toward my friend and emphatically tell her no. She shakes her head in mock frustration but quickly focuses her attention back to the band rocking overly loud electric guitars on stage. I'm not completely sure why I feel so against blind date set ups over online dating, surely my friends can give me a way more honest run down of the person. They know them, they see them on a decently often basis. So what’s the big deal? Maybe it's that I don't want to run into them again if I don't actually hit it off, what if the random stranger is actually a total creep in a dating scenario? What if...what if....what if?

As much as I love how Kismet intervened in my life, I also totally completely hate it! With a massive passion. Once again I am forced to wait, wait for life to open that road that for the entirety of my life has been closed. I am forced to do this intricate dance step through the day to day, hopping, skipping, leaping. lunging, diving, walking, plummeting through this wild path life has apparently laid out for me. I don't think life intended to leave me stranded in the middle of an abandoned war field, but that's how I feel at the end of the show. My friend left me to go talk to the band but never returned. Just my luck. Being Irish does nothing to help my state of good fortune, I always seem to find the short stick.

“Are you lost?” A voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn around to see hazel eyes, bushy black hair, and a perfectly crooked smile. It was the guitarist from the band I just spent the last 90 minutes heavily ignoring, but up close he appeared different. Maybe it was because it was out of context. I wasn’t staring at him like a prop on stage belting out a heavy metal tune to impress the ladies. Standing in front of me he was just a curious guy, slightly short in stature but still taller than me in flats. I smiled back because it was almost impossible not to.

“I’m not lost, just waiting for a friend of mine who I’m pretty sure abandoned me.”

He snorts in laughter though not in a way to embarrass me about being ditched, it was more in a camaraderie way like he understood my sudden issue of annoyance. “Is your friend the black haired girl with blue bangs?” I nodded at his obvious smirk of bewilderment. “Well I’m pretty sure your friend…uh…,”

“Diamond.”

“Yeah, your friend Diamond was getting cuddly with Dean,” who was the lead singer. Diamond always had a way of sinking her talons into the lead singers. It amazed me that she was so efficient at getting in with the band, and more often than not she got in with more than one member, but still they loved having her around. She wasn’t needy and annoying like most of the typical band groupies, she was impossibly cool and fun to be around. The girl always had perfect bangs and make-up, it drove me absolutely bonkers in a total ‘I love how hot my friend is,’ sort of way. “I’m pretty sure if you join us at the party she will be there,” the guitarist finished up.

“Thanks, it’s just… I don’t really have a ride to get there. She drove us here.” It would make sense that by him inviting me to the party that he was also offering me a ride, but it just seemed rude to imply it for him. I didn’t even know his name. “I’m Grace by the way.” Lame. I wanted to jump back into the pile of brush and thorn bushes Kismet had led me to earlier in the evening, cute guitarist guy was starting to make me nervous in a giddy irritating way.

“Grace, I’m Mav. I uh…figured that your friend drove, so I wouldn’t mind if you came with me. I promise I’m not trying to pick up on you or anything, I just wouldn’t want to leave a pretty girl behind without a way home.” Great line. I couldn’t help but commend him on it, but I did so silently with a sly smile and a subtle but hopefully not too noticeable bashful glance from beneath my eyelashes. I most definitely wanted to go, but I also didn’t want to leap at him with a TAKE ME NOW attitude. A really attractive man actually just called me pretty, AND he invited me to the cool kids party. I needed to be cool, I need to act like it was no big deal, I really needed to stop staring at his amazing gorgeous smile. It’s funny how context changes absolutely everything, I definitely didn’t find him attractive standing up on stage, but now standing before me and calling me pretty I can’t help but half swoon. Stupid girl issues, no swooning, that is not allowed!

“Mav? That’s an interesting name. Is it a nic-name?” Small talk, it’s the best route to take when having no clue who you’re actually talking to. I know nothing about this guy but the fact that he is attractive, plays a guitar in a band called “Lucky Strike”, and that his name is Mav. Really, Mav? What kind of name is that? It’s the kind of name only a punk rock musician would have that’s what kind of name it is.

“It’s actually short for Maverick. My parents had a bit of a crush on Top Gun, and by parents I mean my mother. I think she is absolutely positive that I am Tom Cruise reincarnate, which now that I think about it that’s creepy.” He mock shuddered at his own comment before turning his twinkling eyes back on me. He had the dark sweep of hair, though it was far too unruly and curly to be considered Maverick-ish. His eyes were a sharp shade of honey yellow and green mixing them into a melting pot of sexy, but his height might be confused for Tom Cruise though I wasn’t one to know I had never actually met the guy. “I really hate saying Maverick because people get all macho man around me about it, so it was either Mav, rick or Donald.”

“Donald?!” I asked incredulously completely blowing my cool girl attitude. He steered me out of the dingy bar walked out toward the back of an almost empty parking lot.

“That’s my middle name. Needless to say, Mav was the best option.” Another pearly white smile. He teeth were going to blind me if I saw them one more time.

“So Grace Parker,” Mav said as he climbed into the driver side of his beat up 1972 Chevelle. The floor was covered in crumpled papers, empty cigarette packs and loose bottle caps. “What’s your story. I know nothing about you yet I am letting you into my precious vehicle and taking you to an epic party. I need details woman.”

Details; what exactly could I tell him that would make him smile in appreciation and interest? I wasn’t one of his typical girls I could guarantee that. We ran in very different crowds. If his tight black jeans  (though not overly tight to make a recent comparison. Trust me, my mind went there too.  Perfect tightness to non-tightness ratio on his pants.  Crap, Grace, stop staring at his pants!!) and low v-neck grungy band shirt weren’t enough of a clue, the huge plugs, eyebrow ring, sleeve of tattoos and perfectly distorted boots were. This perfectly smiling man named Mav was massively out of my league.

“Smoke?” He offered casually as he rolled down his driver side window snaking out of the parking lot at a rapid pace. Burnt rubber melted into the car’s interior atmosphere and I’m pretty sure the smile he wore was more because he loved the smell of his bad-assness. Burnt rubber equals I’m awesome in Mav’s world.

“Sure,” I replied easily. I would never consider myself a smoker, not socially considered one anyways. I never carried a pack with me, but I also never turned one down at a party. Maybe that made me a follower, I don’t know. I liked to consider myself a bit of a chameleon. I can fit into almost any situation, blending was a talent I grew very accustom to. The more I said yes, and went along with them on the outside the more I could keep the truth of me on the inside. I was a straight out geeky nerd, and no one would guess it from my outward appearance. I definitely didn’t belong in this hot guys car, or at least I didn’t feel like I did, but I acted as though smoking with him in a dingy black Chevelle was the most natural of occurrences in my life.

I wish I could tell you about a crazy wild party, and an even crazier adventure that I embarked on the minute I met Mister Mav, but to be honest it wasn’t what I was expecting. Not that it was bad, it just quickly became extremely uncomfortable. Once again, Kismet stepped in shifting around the occurrences of my life to line me up in the right direction. I walked into a packed house filled with cheap bear, heavy essence of weed, and more than enough cleavage and sights of G-strings to last me a lifetime. This wasn’t my scene, but I was stuck with Diamond until she was ready to leave.

Mav found her for me in the back of the house in a room with two other band members and some steady groupies that everyone seemed to know by name except for me. I was introduced, but there was no such thing as a hand shake. I received the cool head nod in offer of a silent hello to which I silently nodded back. I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head, but the names and looks to these people boggled my mind. I should have known better, I was hanging with a girl named Diamond. I still am not totally sure if that’s her real name no matter how many times she swears it is.

Within 30 minutes of being inside the house I needed air and without meaning to I lost my only two hang outs buddies amongst the crowd. I stumbled out into the front yard gasping at the fresh LA smogginess with massive appreciation. Something about cheap bear and heavy weed made my head spin unpleasantly and I just desperately needed to get out.

“Gets kinda stuffy in there, you reckon?” A voice drawled from the depth of shadows beyond the porch light. I saw a sharp nose, deep set eyes, and a chiseled jaw light up for a moment in the reddish haze of a cigarette before the face disappeared back into the shadows.

“Yeah,” I replied in sigh of relief at being able to breathe again.

“Names Logan,” the voice offered stepping away from the darkness.

“Grace,” I replied back, reminding myself to close my slack jaw as my eyes connected with his sharp grey ones.

And it was that easy finding the next stepping stone in my pathway. You sure are funny Kismet, mysterious ways you do work. I like to think of my little life puzzle piece match maker as Yoda, because in my mind it just makes so much sense. “Lead you along by strings I will.” The little devil.

SS: Kismet PT I

I believe in life there are specific moments that change the whirlwind course of your future. They knock you straight off your path and onto a new road. Once the dust clears you see the spot light of a new route, a new location, a new destination, but none of this could have been possible without your previous steps. This one moment can shift your whole universe, but only if you are willing to accept it. My entire life changed the minute I met him, and once I saw his face I knew there was no going back to the way things were.

I know what you are thinking, I can hear the high pitch drone of your question even as these words spill out of my brain, “But Grace, this sounds like the typical beginning to the most typical love story in everyone’s mind-numbing typical life.” To this I say no and not because my life is unusual and extravagant in any way but because there is only one moment like this. Even if I knew the correct steps to replicate the moment I met him, the exact second our eyes connected, I would never get it right. This isn’t a typical love story, because I promise you there is nothing like this.

Sitting in a crowded bar and listening to overly loud hipster folk music I stare across the small circular table at my date. His greasy blonde hair is slicked over to one side, his suit coat is commendable even if it’s a little short on the sleeves, his pants are abhorrent and should never be allowed to be worn outside of the house. From the neck up he is what most people would perceive as a stuck in the closest, never want to come out, hard core gamer nerd. He isn’t wearing the glasses to match this description, but the indentation lines on the bridge of his nose and his never ending squinting when it comes to ordering is a harsh give away. From the neck down to his waist I would say he has class and style. The coat may be a bit small, but it’s a classic vintage tweed coat. The heavy elbow patches fit in nicely with the light burnished brown tint, even the small blue flower sticking smartly in the front coat pocket completed the image of debonair. That’s where it stopped unfortunately. From the waist down he wore overly tight rusty colored jeans that clung to a man in a way that no pair of pants ever should. His skinny chicken legs made me fear for his sturdiness, one steady sweep of the legs and those bones would snap like a dried pine branch in the woods.

This man I shrewdly stare at is not the man that changes my life and I would hope you didn’t think mister rusty skinny jeans was. I did tell you that he changed my life, but I never said my life began with him. My eventful days started way before destiny decided to get up off her lazy ass and help me, though really the beginning would never be something I would ever complain about. Growing up I had a phenomenal family, many wonderful adventures, I was lucky as a kid, but you don’t need to hear about that. You probably want to hear more about him, but instead I need to first fill you in on the details leading up to that moment. I promise you the wait is worth it, at least that’s what I have been telling myself. The wait is worth it, though I disagree at the moment. The man across from me turns his attention away from the slinky blonde behind the bar to look back in my direction.

“Do you want another drink?” he yells over the squealing notes of the violin several feet behind me.

“Sure,” I reply casually. If I was going to enjoy myself I figured I should at least drink up as much as he was willing to buy.

The blonde man, or Zared as he called himself, slipped over to the bar engaging the cleavage enhanced bartender. I turned my thoughts toward other avenues. Unfortunately this happens a lot. I feel like most of my life is wild moments of rushing only to sit and wait for something to happen. I can’t tell you how much I hate this, how much I hate just waiting. So many outsiders have told me, “Just you wait Grace, the man of your dreams will come in and sweep you off your feet.” Those people are so full of bovine fecal material.

Zared comes back with an overly orange Old Fashion, too much simple syrup and not enough whiskey. It was free so I didn’t complain even though I knew for certain the bartender made his with a little more care and precision. Small annoyance to the overall picture.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked softly, almost too softly. I could have ignored him pretending I didn’t hear his simple sweet question, but I knew what he was really saying. ‘Do you want to get out of here, or am I wasting my time.’ He was most definitely wasting his time.

The date ended uneventfully. He tried to kiss me, but I turned my head and allowed him to graze my cheek in a slobbery mess of a kiss. “Um…thanks.” I said as sweetly as possible and then grabbed my keys and made a dash for it. Horrible right? Totally uneventful and boring. Nothing to look forward to, and nothing to get excited about, it was just another day. But then, like I told you everything changed. 

After a long string of uneventful nights, even worse mornings, a typical routine of work, play, sleep, and drunk, my life suddenly catapulted into over drive. The moment was so casual and normal that I almost missed it, but when I saw him I knew this wasn’t an average day. It was like a slow movie unraveling right before my eyes. 

The day was sunny and achingly beautiful, the weather couldn’t have been more pleasantly perfect, the wind whipped up around my ankles flipping the long dress I wore languidly back and forth across my legs, pure bliss. I was standing against the chain linked fence watching the little league game with mild interest when I saw him walking toward me. The sun glittered over his features making the soft chestnut of his hair shine like freshly polished cherry wood. Grassy green eyes smiled back at me and a solo dimple caught my attention as he walked straight up to me. I didn’t know him, didn’t know his name or who he was but his eyes told me differently, he knew me.

“I know that face, Grace Parker, isn’t it?”

They were simple words, easy words, a normal everyday sentence but from that moment on, my life changed in a way that I could never repeat even if I tried. You may try to prove me different, but I tell you this out of pure confidence. The sequence of events lining up to this one purely wonderful moment is completely wacky in the most ridiculous and unforeseen ways. I may not believe in the all-powerful almighty poking his nose into my life to guide me on a special journey, but I do believe there is a special path just begging us to stroll over. I believe it in the way I desperately want to believe in the idea of Santa Clause and the Easter bunny. It’s unforeseen magic is the beauty of it all. Maybe I didn’t cross paths with fate, maybe my version of kismet truly isn’t real, but as I stare into the grassy green eyes of my future partner in crime there is nothing else closer to the truth.

Moving Right Along!!!

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I just finished my second run through of edits on the Manny!! I'm almost done, I just want to get it out there. I want you all to be able to read it. I'm so close...it will be happening soon!! In light of my massive excitement I want to share a little tid bit with you. Here is the summary to the first installment of my soon to be trilogy :) Hope you enjoy!

The Praetorians:

Camille Scipio harbors a dangerous past, most of which she can’t remember. Suffering from acute amnesia, she wakes in a strange village filled with questions about her identity. She can run a mile in under three minutes, hunt like a true predator, and handle a sword like it's an extension of her body, but broken memories of her past threaten to reveal the monster she harbours inside.

After a strange beast attacks her refuge in Sierra Village, a rundown Colony of Aspera, Camille’s world implodes and she begins to piece together the truth of her identity. She is a Praetorian, a genetically engineered warrior created to protect the Nine Colonies of Aspera. Shock lets loose a mountain of fragmented memories and Camille struggles to maintain her sanity as Vesyon Vestra, a Praetorian protector, and Leo Shaehy, a fellow Praetorian, enlist her to help set in motion an uprising against High King LeMarc. On this wild journey to dismantle LeMarc’s domination over Aspera, Camille finds herself struggling with intense desire for Leo, a sharp witted friend from her past with an overwhelming sense of bravado. She remembers him in fragments but struggles with the uncontrollable emotions his presence creates.

Camille finds she is the most valuable weapon against LeMarc and seeks to end his reign of oppression but her frail certainties are obliterated when he let’s slip a devastating secret that threatens to unravel everything she trusts. Confronted with possibly losing her internal battle to the demons of her past, Camille must make a choice; loyalty to the people of Aspera or revenge on those who wronged her. One taste of power surging through her system is all it would take before Camille, knowing the consequences, succumbs to the crazed monster within.

SS: Post Apocalyptic Winter

I can peg down the exact night you ruined me, the exact minute you destroyed the value of my own self-worth. I can tell you the second your words finally sank into my mind and I allowed them to fester into molding disgust. It was a seeded tumor, so small and finite that at first I ignored it, allowed it to lie. But then I nurtured the words, watered it, kept it thriving in the soil of my mind. I allowed the seed to grow into a tumor flowering it’s poisonous berries day after day. I nipped at the lush fruit like a starving child, I coddled the flowering thorns even though they cut me straight to the bone, I allowed the vines to wrap around my neck cutting off my desire to breath. You stunted my growth in one single night, and I carried the weight because it was all I knew how to do. 

Everything up until that moment was the same, always easily the same. Weekend morning of laziness, we didn’t wake up until maybe noon. I yawn and ask, “what’s for breakfast,” but not because I hope you will actually cook breakfast with me, you never do.

“Wanna go down to the corner café?” I nod my head at your question like it was a new adventure even though it had happened almost every weekend since you moved into your own little dwelling. I would never complain about your place, I loved it the way I love a nice snug blanket on a chilly afternoon. Tightly comfortable, soothing enough, but still not enough cover.

Our days roll into one another, a stumbling storm unkempt and without ties. The blur of monotony picks up a steady hum and I forget why I am here, where I am supposed to belong. But I don’t walk away, I don’t turn around. No matter how lonely I feel, I crave the constant. The beat of your force keeps me hanging on tight because once I let go you won’t take me any further. I am here because you allow me to be, I stay because I have nowhere else to go.

The first time it was small though it shook me straight to the core. It wasn’t expected, and it came from around a corner hidden beneath the cover of harshness. Fast lights, quick songs, steady drinks and some stumbling steps. Suddenly you were screaming at me to leave you, go away and never come back. Excuses lashed at my skin like a 1920s tommy gun, BAP BAP BAP, ongoing until I couldn’t take the abuse any longer. I may have walked out but I didn’t let go, otherwise why else did you come find me?

The next morning was smiles, a soft stretching in my direction and those sharp blue eyes. “Hey there,” you whispered, and I smiled in the heat of your words encouraging a tradition that would shred me into pieces that no one would be able to mend. At first I was ok, I remained steady and buoyant, but slowly I started to drowned gripping onto the hand so tight that was slowly pulling me beneath the surface.

One night I drove you to the store because you needed “things”, but you seemed so distance so I reached for you and brought the back of your hand to my lips. You jerked back from me like I kissed your skin with hot coals. “Don’t do that!” You snapped at me, but I didn’t get it. I stared at you open mouthed and uncertain of what I did wrong, because it was me that was in error, me that made you snap, and me that made you get angry. I apologized like I always did when these little things happened, uncertain of why but also positive I was to blame.

A month before I left is when you brought down the axe, the infamous words that would haunt me for years to come. There were no surprises to me, maybe I should have seen it coming, maybe I should have expected the fight. By the tenth beer maybe again I was to blame, I didn’t stop you like I knew I should, and I didn’t hesitate when you yanked me off my stool and said it was time to leave. Maybe I should have known, but I didn’t, maybe I should have shoved you out of the car like I promised I would, but I didn’t. Maybe I should have listened to the voice screaming inside my head but tonight, I pushed it all away, and I snuffed out the only fight I had left.

Your words burned like salt in my eyes, ripped like a tidal wave down my cheeks but you didn’t stop. You continued the attack until we reached oblivion. I couldn’t come in, I couldn’t stay, you were pushing me so hard that I had no choice but to leave, but I didn’t. I didn’t fight you, there was no way I could, but I didn’t leave. I stayed there and watched as you threw my things out your front door. I waited until your lights blinked out and walked straight into your room. I curled up next to you and let your arm wrap around my middle, so familiar and so stern. “I’m didn’t mean it,” you say softly. Before I can answer, you are already asleep.

I walked away eventually visually unscathed and whole, but beneath this surface I was a rolling wreck of terror. Commitment became the enemy and loneliness became the drug I steadily tried to quit. There is a torrent of faces that flicker through my mind, a rolling number of names, but they didn’t care enough to dig beneath the surface and release the monster within. Bruises can be covered, but shattered glass is noticed right from the start. You broke me that day, shattered the core of my passion, and trampled the hope of my future. I can’t blame you for the destruction I have laid waste on my path to my present, but I do know you set off the spark. I won’t say I did nothing wrong, I have more faults than I can count, more mistakes than I would ever admit to, and more lies then I would ever try to explain away. Your destruction laid waste over my life for years and years, relentless in its wake, torrential in its path of destruction. You started this, but I will be the one to end it.

It wasn’t a perfect day, in fact it was grey and gloomy outside but the cool current kissed my skin in such a perfect way. There was something about the electricity in the air, something about the way I couldn’t seem to keep a smile from my lips, something about the way I was finally able to breath deep. You see something happened that I never expected, something happened in my life that I don’t think I ever thought could be a reality. There was ice around me, an impenetrable winter that kept me  closed off and hidden from view. I thought the loneliness would kill me, perhaps snuff me out of pity. The knife of you had dug so deep, the pain of you gripped on so hard. But on my gloomy afternoon looking up into the greyish blue sky I realized that all my bruises had finally healed. That’s when everything changed.

I can feel the warm rays of Summer and the heat has never felt this good.

The Double Standard

I’m sitting at a bar with a couple of my friends, and an attractive guy walks up to me and offers to buy me a drink. One of my guy friends leans over and whispers, “That is so not fair. What a double standard. I’m sitting here by myself and hot girls aren’t buying me any drinks.” I smiled at my friend, offered to buy him a drink to shut him up in a friendly way, and we go on with our evening. 

I chuckle a little bit when men mention the double standard to me because in a lot of respects I feel that women get the short end of the stick when it comes to the dating scene. Of course men are welcome to argue with me, I would even love to hear their side, but first you should hear my side.

As a single woman I am on the constant search for “the one” and no I’m not talking about Neo. The one is the guy that fills the slot of “man of our dreams” the fantasy fairy tale man that we were all force fed actually existed when we were little girls. Some man is supposed to come sweep us off our feet and all we have to do is flaunt our bodies, primp our goods, and pretend we are everything he wants us to be…right? HELL NO!! I am a single INDEPENDENT woman and if I am READY to find a man to share a life with me I have no problem looking for him myself. “But Jess, you should just live your life and be happy. The right man will find you.”

No, I’m sorry that is BS and you know it. Why do I have to wait for him to come find me, why can’t I go find him myself? Here is one that never made sense to me….If I sit and wait and act like I am a perfect woman, the woman of this man’s dreams, he will then want me. BUT…if I seek the same man out, he will see me as needy, I give him the power, therefore he won’t see me as his perfect woman. Ugh, how depressing and exhausting. I’ve read in books that men need to see us women as a challenge, but in order for it to be a challenge us women must sit around and wait for mister perfect to get off his lazy man ass and come find me….ME…his damn perfect woman sitting alongside a BAJILLION other women doing the exact SAME THING!!!! Doesn’t this infuriate anyone else??!!??!?!?! Well, not like I can change the biology of how men think, I just don’t agree with it…at all. (Maybe that’s why you are still single ::the tiny voice in the distance whispers rudely at me:: Shut up voice, no one asked you!)

Now, on my search for THE ONE, I have found there are SO SO SO many toads, and pigs, and alligators, and walruses, and snakes, and over aggressive lions, and weasels, and little fresh birdies….you have any idea how many damn dates I have to go on to find a DECENT man? A man, I mean it, not a boy, not a little kid dressed like a man, and not a man that says he’s a man and somewhat sorta acts like a man but does drugs like he is a teenage rebel without a cause. The answer to that question is WAY TO MANY! So…again I am sitting at that bar with my close group of friends and someone asks my guy friend, “So man how did that date go last week?” And his response, “Which one?” They laugh and joke, call him THE MAN and congratulate him on his macho show of manliness. He had three dates in one week, bravo sir, absolutely bravo.

The double standard…I had two dates that same week and the response I get, “Honey, you really should take more time for yourself. Stop caring so much about finding the right guy, you should just do things that make you happy and not worry about dating so much.” And this was all said in the same night! Why does my guy friend get the congrats when I get a pat on the back in a fashion of, “oh honey, you are trying too hard, you look so desperate.” How is that even fair? My friend is doing the same thing that I am, looking for someone to share adventures with, looking for a person that is like me, that I can discover new things with. Why is it that men go on a handful of dates and look like Joe Cool, whereas I go on two dates and I look like a desperate aging woman? I don’t date because I am desperate for a man, and I don’t date because I hate being single. I actually love being single, it’s complete freedom and totally exhilarating, but I dare you to find more than a handful of engaged couples you are even a little bit wanting to dive back into the dating scene. We all agree, it sucks, but we do it because we want to find our person. In a friend group of mostly couples, it would be nice to have my own cuddle buddy, and my own dinner and movie partner. The only people who don’t understand this are people who are in a long term relationships and forget (or don’t even know) what it’s like to be single for longer than a year.

This is where the people reading this will either think, “Preach it SISTER!!!” or the other side will think, “Man, all you do is complain complain complain. Such a feminist.” There is a line, and most people cross it, with me I see it in massive ranges of color not black and white. Just because I am a girl doesn’t mean there are specified rules of how to do this. I do things my own way, and yes maybe that is why I am still single, or maybe it’s because I live in LOS ANGELES surrounded by men who are only looking for the next best thing. Some great advice I got from a close friend of mine was, “it’s a numbers game. There are thousands out there that would give you more than the time of day. Go out there and find them yourself, guaranteed the right one will show you he is worth your time.” I think she is right. Now…off to hunt in the wild jungle of Los AnHELLes.

SS: The Black Cat

I feel that our lives are a Mobius strip of events, one leading into the next in an infinite road map of possibilities. One singular decision can make or break your future. I have always considered myself a cautious decision making person, I weigh the possibilities and examine the lengthy outcomes. Moving to LA changed that way of thinking though, I had to think quickly, on my feet; I had no choice but to decide. If you don’t say yes or no, the possibility of amazing will literally zoom past you without even a single glance back.

The sun streams through my window at a relentless tone, overly bright and evilly crude. I want to throw my pillow at the window like I would an annoying alarm clock, but that wouldn’t shut off the brightness. I would only succeed in losing my pillow. Not the best start to a horrible day. I made the decision yesterday to go on a date with a guy I wasn’t wholly interested in. It’s not like most would assume, I don’t go for the free dinners, and I don’t go because I am lonely. I go on these dates because I am looking for something, and I know for a fact that even if I don’t see it right away I might see it differently the second time around. Basically, if someone has the nerve to say hello to me and ask me on a date in a gentlemanly fashion I will say yes. (I don’t take too kindly to lines like: Hey baby, wanna get a drink over at my place? Then I will say no, no, and hell NO!!)

This particular guy asked me out last night via text message, he wasn’t too keen on talking over the phone. (There’s a clue if I have ever seen one; if he doesn’t like talking to you on the phone, you won’t really keep his interest all that long in person either) Typical to my dating life, I met this guy online. He seemed sweet in an awkward I am not wholly attractive but have a great personality sort of way. I am not keen on meeting people who are model attractive, I don’t really need to be around a man that sees himself as the canvas of art to gawk at, I don’t need to pay him compliments though that type of man always fishes for them. This guy, seemed different. He had a sharp wit, outgoing attitude, and at first I really didn’t care that physically he wasn’t my “type.” (Yes, I most definitely have a type, but no I don’t always follow it)

Work was typical, if anything it zoomed by and before I knew it I was on my way to a local-ish bar called the Black Cat. It is as hipster as it sounds, which tells you something about this mystery online date man, but to be honest it was also my kind of quiet but busy place to meet on a first date. I parked close enough to not make walking a big deal even though the two inch heels I wore dug into the back of my ankle ever so slightly. The things women deal with to look attractive on the first meet up. My hair was slightly curled (meaning I had to wake up a good 30 minutes early to achieve the carefully tousled locks) and my make-up was as perfect as it was going to get after a full 10 hour work day. I walked straight up to the door and felt my body slide into the intimacy of the bars lively surroundings. It was dark, but atmospheric, and I could smell the hint of orange and basil. They made great cocktails at this joint, I could tell already.

My eyes darted up and down the long bar as my date texted me that he would, “be sitting at the bar.” I walked casually past the patrons scoping out each single looking man and realized if the man I thought was my date, was indeed my date, he most definitely did not resemble his pictures. In the nicest way possible, he looked like he was wearing a sweater several sizes larger than what his pictures painted him to be. I am not a person that goes on looks alone however, I want to know the person for who they are. (Here is where you find another tiny WARNING sign. He lied about his appearance, and it wasn’t a tiny lie, it was at least a 60LBS lie. That doesn’t bode well for this person telling you the truth) I looked straight at the back of his head for about 15 seconds before I zoomed straight past him and headed for the restroom. I suddenly really needed to pee aka, think through my decision.

I texted him, “I’m here,” just in case the man at the bar wasn’t actually him and I mistook him for someone else. But no such luck, he responded with, “I am at the bar wearing a blue sweater.” I sighed resolutely, washed my hands with as much soap as possible counting down the seconds as slowly as I could, then I headed to the bar.

“Hello there,” I said easily. He turned and flashed me a brilliant smile. Perhaps he was a little over weight and not what I expected, but he had a kind face, really straight white teeth, and beautiful eyes. Surprisingly we had a huge amount in common and our conversation flowed easily for the next three hours. Usually I don’t stay on dates that long, but it was easy to accomplish. Our first date turned into two, then three, and before I knew it we were dating.

I need to reinforce the overview of this little story, that my decisions could lead me down a good road or a bad road, in a lot of aspects its completely up to me. I hesitated to go on this date, but then I started dating a really out going, fun, decently attractive (to me anyways) man….who also owned way too many sneakers in my mind, hated talking on the phone, didn’t like being around my friends, insisted that he drive everywhere even if he had had a little too much to drink, introduced me as his friend, never opened my door, always split the bill with me (even though he made way more than me), told me in private that he wanted me around all the time but professed in public that he would never settle down…..the list goes on. My problem at the time, I enjoyed the fun aspect of what he had to offer. I didn’t think of the consequences of my decisions because I was having too much fun.

Guys like him don’t want security, they want flimsy excitement, something easy to toss out with the weeks trash. I didn’t push hard to say I wanted more, but I slipped up and said one little sentence that completely ruined everything. He had invited me to spend a weekend with him and his friends in Palm Springs, and of course I was stoked! Me and him went up the night before and spent a night swimming in the Jacuzzi, listening to great music, making dinner and drinks. It was an experience I could get used to. The whole weekend was a blast, and for the most part it was one of the first times he brought me around his close friends, I felt ultimately privileged, but three hours before we left for home I made a terrible mistake. I invited him to my home town the following weekend.

“To San Diego, that sounds fun. Where would we be staying?” he asked as he packed up the last pair of sneakers he brought (to make a total of five sneakers for a three day trip….just saying).

“With my parents.” The three little words ruined absolutely everything, and I felt it the minute the words escaped my lips.

Fun and outgoing turned into dropped plans and massive lengths of silence. Two weeks after our fun trip in Palm Springs he told me via text, “I am just not looking for anything serious.”

I argued with myself over this situation for many months;

I made the mistakes, it was my fault

He made the mistakes, it was his fault!!

In truth, we both made mistakes and he didn’t want what I did, and I didn’t see the truth he was obviously telling me. Being single and dating teaches you many lessons, but I think the one I have learned the most is that my decisions ultimately change everything. I can make the choice, and I can choose to listen to the signs or I can ignore the signs and destroy my buoyancy of hope and excitement several weeks or months down the line. In truth, I started to really care for him and his short and brutal let down really got to me. I allowed him to have something that wasn’t his to own; my happiness. 

Now I know what you could say to this, “It wasn’t your fault that he was an ass hat.” “It wasn’t your fault that he treated you wrong.” “It wasn’t your fault that he wasn’t the guy for you, he’s a jerk!” But…to some degree it was my fault that I let him get that close. I think that is was dating is all about though, learning, understanding your strengths and weaknesses and learning how to say no, no matter how lonely or neglected you feel. He taught me a very valuable lesson that I carry with me strongly today. Don’t settle, don’t be afraid to do what you know you want, and don’t ever feel like you have to always say yes. It’s really hard being an independent woman looking for someone to share a life with, but it’s not impossible, and I won’t give up.

SS: Online Dating and Pepper Spray

 

My mother told me when I moved to LA that I needed to be careful in every situation. I took that to heart in a lot of ways, but it’s really difficult to be one hundred percent safe when jumping into the abyss of online dating. I try mainly to keep my perimeter safe; crowded meeting location, not too dark, keep the first date relatively short, always always keep pepper spray on hand, and wear pants.

 

I would never profess myself an expert, if I was, I probably wouldn’t still be dating. I would however qualify myself as an experienced “first dater” because I have been on so many random, horrible, awesome, ridiculous first dates that most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them. I am just a typical girl though struggling to live in the big bad city of Los Angeles. Never would I say I’m the typical LA girl though, I’m far from it. My name is Grace Parker, I have reddish brown hair that falls down just below my shoulders, bright green eyes that change colors depending on the weather, fair skin and a good amount of freckles, longish legs though a slightly short torso and a decently sizable upper torso. Yes, all of this I somewhat highlight in my profile, paints a great picture doesn’t it? What I don’t say…I am not the skinniest girl ever though I wouldn’t call myself fat. I would put myself somewhere in the middle, curvy though confident with what I have. I don’t have a “decent backside” but I never stop doing squats because I am told again and again that that is how you “work that booty”…whatever that means. You see my point is; online profiles don’t tell you everything.

 

Like right now, I am sitting at the bar top because it’s way too cold to stand outside. I don’t care what people from the Mid-West say to me, I know I am in Los Angeles, but I am from Southern California. Sixty degrees with a slight wind chill wearing skinny jeans and a flimsy top is considered cold to me.

 

Shaking my head in annoyance that I left my overly heavy peacoat in my car I try to shake off the chills of the slightly full bar. There aren’t a whole lot of people, but the bar itself is dark and crowded in the small space allotted. Not my usual digs either, though I would never turn down a dive bar I typically go for places that have more than three beers on the tap list, especially if those beers end in “Lite”.  A sharp throat clearing from behind me grates into my ear and I turn my head to find my date.

 

First impression, oh dear god what did I get into. Second impression, I swear he didn’t look that short on the profile.

 

“Hi,” I squeaked out. Yes, I squeak, and surprisingly it pulled a smile from mister short stuff.

 

“Hey there, you look beautiful tonight.” His eyes did the whole dart down my body and slowly slide back up thing forgetting to look me in the eyes again for several long seconds. He wasn’t bad looking at all, in fact he had a really cute way about his style. I would put it somewhere between punk, surfer, and college frat boy. “Can I get you a drink?” He asked after his eyes found their way back to my face.

 

“Sure, I’ll have an Old Fashioned.” Though I might need two to get through this one. His eyes were already doing that wide open saucer gaze meaning that in about five minutes I would have to figure out a way to distance myself from his groping hands. Actually it took less than three minutes.

 

After one old fashioned and a complimentary shot of Jameson by my over eager date and I was ready to leave. Not leave with him leave, just leave, run away and never see this guy again. In the span of 20 minutes (I still can’t believe I lasted that long!) he asked me to join him back at his place for a threesome, because coming back to be with him, a virtual stranger, wasn’t already extremely strange. He wondered where I was from because I was so exotically beautiful, which makes him (as my grandmother would put it) fecally impacted with bovine manure. I am from Southern California, I am Scottish/Irish/English/with a dash of Native American. I am not exotic, I am a white girl with freckles which I feel like is highly common in the wild outback of…Los Angeles. Exotic my arse! He told me that he would love love love to have a girlfriend as beautiful as me which he followed up with flickered of eye contact toward my shirt and a biting/licking of his lower lips. Gross.

 

“You are the most beautiful thing,” he said with a slight slur. The alcohol was definitely getting to him.

 

“I am not a thing, I am a person you know.” I replied snippily. I couldn’t help it. It was the hundredth time I pushed his hand off my upper thigh only to have him slip his hand down my lower back. I no longer cared about being nice, or being a sweet first date, I was getting angry. I was all for a little mild flirting, but I have boundaries, and mister hands on tactic had crossed over the line. “I really actually need to be going.”

 

“No, you can’t, you haven’t been here nearly long enough!”

 

“Funny, I feel like I have massively overstayed my welcome.”

 

He didn’t find that funny at all, the pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows that made him resemble a frustrated child showed proof of that. “You haven’t finished your drink, and if you leave before you do, you can pay for yours yourself.”

 

I sneered at him, and honestly if I was a dragon he would have been burnt toast after that comment. “You ordered these drinks, and your card is up at the register. Remove your hands from me, I am leaving.” I stood without caring what he said, or even what he did. I was in a bar full of people, there wasn’t much he could do to harm me, but just in case I pulled my pepper spray from my purse and held it tightly in my hand.

 

I started toward the door but didn’t get all that far before a hand yanked on my elbow from behind and I quickly found a sharp corner of the wall at my back, and a short yet surprisingly muscular body at my front. “Leaving without finishing your drink is rude sweetheart, leaving me without a kiss goodnight is just down right mean.” At this point, the panic started to taste like bile in my throat. This man child was beyond ridiculous, he was actually leaning in toward me for a kiss.

 

“You must be joking,” I replied, though failed to keep the blatant shock from my voice. He totally wasn’t kidding.

 

“Well if you aren’t going to kiss me,” he said as his hands pulled away from my body giving me a momentary moment of relief. That is until I saw where his hands were traveling. In the loud atmosphere of the bar I couldn’t actually hear it, but I knew that the zipper to his pants was being pulled down. I saw him reach into his overly tight man skinny jeans. “If you aren’t going to kiss me,” he reiterated as he pulled out his proportionately sized member to his smaller stature, “then you can at least touch him for me?”

 

I think I laughed, though maybe choked on air would be a better explanation of my reaction. Regardless, I smiled, looked him straight in the eyes and lifted up my cute little pink bottled pepper spray. “If you don’t move away from me, and put that little tuna can you have there away, I will happily spray your junk with my pepper spray.”

 

Shock, horror, and bewilderment crossed his overly tanned face before his hands flew up into the air leaving his pants splayed wide open and his little member flopping back and forth in equal amounts of surprised terror. “Whatever you say bitch, just don’t shoot me!”

 

Of course me standing up for myself makes me a bitch. Of course everything I did until that very moment was seen as an invitation. I didn’t care, because I hadn’t done anything to deserve what he was putting me through, and I wouldn’t take what he had to offer sitting down. I kept my finger on the trigger and backed away toward the door before I pushed I open and slipped out into the night. I felt exuberant and disgusted with the evening, horrified and amazed.

 

I walked back to my car (I would say a nice clipped power walk to be safe) with my keys in my hand, my pepper spray still gripped between my fingers and a smug smile on my face. No one would ever force me into anything I didn’t want to do, and if they did, I wouldn’t hesitate to spray their junk. Best line of the night…

 

 

 

 

Short Story: The Best Friend Rules

1)      Don’t get too close to a guy you see everyday

2)      Don’t become really good friends with him if you are already attracted

3)      Don’t let him give you hugs for random moments outside of saying hello and goodbye

4)      Don’t let him see you without makeup

5)      Don’t let him see you cry

6)      Don’t become best friends

7)      Don’t fall in love with your best friend

8)      I said don’t…..

 

 

I know these rules as well as I know the back of my hand, but just like the back of my hand there are moments of, “where the hell did that freckle come from!” No matter how well you know something, it doesn’t mean it won’t change.

 

It’s easy, I will get right to the point, I met him on a Thursday morning on the first day of class. It was my final semester in college and I was more than ready to be done with it. I have heard the age old saying, “college isn’t about learning, it’s about putting up with all the bullshit to see if you have enough guts to wade through the massive stinking piles surrounding you.” I was done wading, and ready to start living.

 

It was the first day of Applied Arts, a mess around class that basically allowed you to fool around for most of the semester. You had six weeks to build three separate master pieces, with any form of structure, any use of materials, you just made random shit for six weeks and then presented it at the end of the class at a gallery art show. It was my last class, and the only class I had all semester long, my days would be easy sailing from here on out.

 

I sat down in a chair toward the middle of the wide classroom, and watched as the expansive room filled up with well over 50 students. Most of them I knew, but like most private schools with off campus living, I wasn’t all that close to many people in my classes save a few. Perhaps I would be making more friends before the end of the class.

 

I shouldn’t have thought that, I should have just kept to myself and choose a seat right up front, but as fate would have it I didn’t. As fate would have it, he sat next to me. Taylor Garland. I’d seen his face several times before, but we had never shared a class. It didn’t stop him from sitting next to me and saying, “Hey Grace,” like he had known me for years. It didn’t stop him from making silly jokes throughout the first day of lecture like we were already best buds, and it didn’t stop him from asking for my number as a work buddy when the Professor said we would need a partner for our first project.

 

I won’t lie, the first three weeks went by uneventful enough. After the first day of being shocked by the up close view of his stunning copper brown hair, and seriously brilliant green eyes, I was able to keep my girly-ness in check. I didn’t swoon when he walked through the door, and my breath didn’t catch in my throat. For three whole weeks he was just a friend, a sweet natured, easy going buddy; then one day all of that changed.

 

It was a random day in the middle of the week and I was running late for class. I lived less than mile away from school but it was still a hefty jog if I was going to walk. I hated being late, and to be honest it had nothing to do with my teacher giving me the evil eye, it actually had everything to do with Taylor. Even though I hated to admit it, I loved every second I had with him, and it was slowly becoming a problem. I would rush to class and get there before he would casually saunter in, and at the end of class I would slow my pace and put everything away one little piece at a time. I wanted more minutes next to him, and as much as I was trying to deny my affection growing, I just blamed it on the fact that he was a good friend and I enjoyed his company. What dirty evil lies I feed myself, nasty dark bitter lies.

 

Not only was I running late, but I was also unable to get my car to start, and me being the idiot that I am decided it was a great idea to call Taylor. “Hey, I don’t think I am going to be able to make it to class today. You think you can handle taking notes for me?”

 

“No!” Was his first response. “I’m not even there yet, if you aren’t going I’m not going. Where are you, I’ll come get you.” I should have said no, I should have lied, I shouldn’t have told him exactly where I was because then he would know where I lived. I shouldn’t have told him that my car wouldn’t start forcing him to offer me a ride every day for the remainder of the class. Most importantly I shouldn’t have gone with him to the bar he took me to instead of being in class like we were supposed to be.

 

The first drink was ok, but the second one was uncalled for. The third one should never have happened and the fourth one I totally blamed on Taylor. We were giggling, and groping onto one another in our stumbling drunken state. We left his car at the bar and somehow managed to make it back to his apartment. We laughed and giggled the whole way down the hall to his room, and we stayed up all night playing stupid you tube videos and laughing at dumb music videos. We both agreed it was time to sleep at 5 in the morning, and we both equally crashed when our heads hit the pillow on his queen sized bed.

 

I woke with a slight headache, a rolling stomach, and a preconceived notion that I had mascara running down my face. “Hey, you have mascara running down your face raccoon,” he said without a pause when his eyes first split open.

 

“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically. “Your hair looks like Alphalpha and Einstein put together.”

 

“Wicked.” He said on a yawn. “Breakfast?” And that’s how our routine of sleepovers started. We never undressed around each other, we cuddled slightly but not obscenely, we just loved being around one another. There was slight sexual tension, but I only ever saw it on my side, I never really knew if he felt the same way. Maybe one morning I woke up to us spooning and I felt a little more of him than I should have, can’t say I regretted it, but I can say it made my cheeks flame bright red and I quickly scooted away so he didn’t know I noticed.

 

Two weeks before our class was over we were listening to a lecture on the practical use of wire in plaster molds. Maybe 15 minutes into the teachers introduction to new metal materials I felt Taylor’s hand moving up my calf the tops of my black zipper boots. He reached for the zipper and pulled it all the way down leaving my boot to flop open like a peeled banana. He didn’t fix the zipper he just left it wide open flashing me with a daring smile with the words, ‘wanna play?’ sparking from his grassy eyes. For the next 45 minutes I endured, ok maybe I thoroughly enjoyed, Taylors hand slowly sliding up my calf and then slowly zipping down my boot as his fingers trailed over my skin to the tops of my ankles before I reached down and zipped the boot back into place. Zip. Caress. Zip. Repeat. When class was over he reached over and gave me a hug. “Hey be right back, I have to head to the counselors office, but I’ll meet you out front in about 15 minutes ok?” I nodded, and that was when casual un –needed yet totally wanted hugs popped into our lifestyle.

 

Three nights after the boots charade I found myself doubled over in fit of pain begging any god that would listen to fix me. Which is ridiculous when you think about it really, there is no point begging for anyone to fix the problems of being a human, but it would be nice if someone listened. I didn’t get a god to help ease my pain though, I got Taylor. As the kidney stone worked its vicious tricks inside my body threatening to cleave me in two, Taylor walked into my room screaming at me to get off the pot. It was funny, but I couldn’t laugh, instead a stream of tears slipped through my lashes and I cried out like a woman giving birth to an elephant. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m seriously not. Those little spiky calcium bastards hurt like a bitch!

 

“Grace, babe, what’s wrong?” Taylor asked as he fell to the floor in my bathroom. He had pounded through the bathroom door like a battle ram almost like he thought someone was murdering me, but when he saw me cowering on the floor in a pile of messy sweat ridden clothes and massive tears streaming down my face his eyes flipped over to concern in an instant. He called me babe, was all I could focus on. Which seriously was ridiculous looking back at the situation. I was on the floor in a fit of pain, a kidney stone was stabbing my internal tubing like a blood crazed axe murder and the only thing on my mind was, he called me babe. Crazy, I was going crazy. “Tell me babe, what’s wrong?”

 

“Kidney stones,” I whisper on a wave of pain desperately trying to hold back the tears. Before I could stop myself though, I thought of Dane Cook, don’t ask me why because I will never understand why it popped in my head. We had only watched the stand up video one time that very first night we were together but before I could hold the reins on my idiotic rambling I looked him dead in the eyes with tears streaming and said, “I did my best.”

 

That was when I no longer saw him as just a school friend, he was a rock of strength for me. He was my go to friend to call in all situations. When I locked myself out of my apartment he climbed through the window. When I stubbed my toe walking to his car he lifted me up and carried me the rest of the way before running (and I mean quickly running) back to the school to grab me a band-aid. To answer any questions popping up in your head no we hadn’t kissed, we hadn’t cuddled naked, or do anything that involves the naked tango. We were just friends, really good, really close best friends.

 

When he stood in front of the class on the last day, I knew I was in trouble. I knew I was done for. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. They were so beautiful as he spoke, I wondered right then and there what they tasted like. I was desperate to know, but I knew I wasn’t allowed to have that knowledge. Best Friends don’t kiss each other, they don’t, and that’s because Best Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

 

All my rules, every single one of them snapped in two, I let all of them fall through my fingers because of this one beautiful man. I was stuck then, because I couldn’t look at him any other way. My eyes lingered longer. My hands itched to slide through his hair. I just wanted to be close to him, I wanted to hold onto him and have it be more than just friends.

 

On the evening of the Art Show I dressed my best to impress. Little black dress and strappy black heels, hair curled and make-up on, I was a much hotter version of my typical dressed down state. By the looks in his eyes when he picked me up, he thought the same. “Hey sexy lady, you need a ride?” He cooed at me from the street as he pulled up to the curb.

 

I giggled and tried not to let my imagination run wild with hunger over what he just said. I didn’t want to let my thoughts slip into more dangerous territory, but staring back at his crisp grey button down and black slacks, I knew I wasn’t going to win that fight. I was losing, quickly. The night was amazing, and like always we had our own secret fun between just the two of us while we were surrounded by people that we didn’t much care for.

 

I told myself no, I swear I screamed it when I looked up into his face as the lights dimmed and a short video popped up on the far wall running through a montage of school work unable to make it to the Art Show. His eyes locked on mine too, a small dare of, ‘let’s see who blinks first.’ But the perversion of our games usually headed down a more dramatic ending, and as the music grew louder, the space between us grew smaller. I felt his breath across my lips, and my eyes slipped close before I could stop them.

 

What happened next I didn’t plan because there is no way for me to plan things like this. You don’t just decide, a best friend is just that…a friend. But not Taylor, he was more than that to me, more than I could have expressed to him in single words or looks. I didn’t know how else to explain it to him, and instead of thinking through my actions I did what any completely insane love sick puppy girl would do. I slammed my lips against his causing him to jerk into sudden stillness with shock. It was only for a second, but the butterflies that swarmed in my stomach made it feel like hours.

 

“Um…,” he said immediately after I pulled back.

 

“Yeah,” I replied, my eyes still closed tight. But I didn’t stop there, why would I? There was no reason to be realistic and think that after a sharp biting kiss that me speaking was a good idea. I wasn’t in my right mind, I was losing my shit, but I did it anyways. Such an idiot. “I’m falling in love with you.”

 

Those words, they are death when unwarranted. They are cruel evil punishment when not expected, they are sharp grating knives when used without consent. He didn’t reply, he just stared at me, his glossy green eyes blinked several times but he didn’t speak. His hands reached out for my waist and he pulled me in for a soft hug. My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. “I think we should go home Grace.”

 

He gave me a hug, so that was sweet. He drove me to my apartment, but he didn’t stay over. He said he had work in the morning. I didn’t see him the following day because I had work that evening. One day led into two, which trickled into four. It was the longest amount of time we had been apart since we met. I felt like my body was literally dying from the inside. My heart felt like a withering stone flaking into useless ash inside the barren cave of my chest. I not only pushed him away, I kicked him out of my life with six simple words.

 

My heart only fluttered fifty thousand times when I saw his car parked outside my apartment the next afternoon. My steps only felt like 100 pounds of lead as I saw his shoulder leaning against my door like he was trying to force the wood open by his weight alone. I might have stopped breathing when he turned toward me his eyes wide and sad like he hadn’t meant to kill the joyful bouncy puppy like friendship we originally had before he suddenly disappeared. I tried to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

 

He took three steps toward me and stopped before his hands reached out and pulled me into the tightest hug I had ever experienced. I breathed him in because it felt like he was saying goodbye as much as he was saying sorry. I tried to remember the feeling of his warmth because it felt like I would never get to feel it again. I felt his face nudge closer to my ear as the heat of his breath slipped down my neck before he whispered the words that would change my life forever. “I love you too.”

 

 

 

 

Prologue: Potholes

Everyone has a story that needs to be told. Everyone carries the puzzle around that makes up the entity of their life, a growing mash of pieces shoved together to make you who you are. Some stories are typical, some are appalling and scary, but my story can only be explained as ironically normal and strange. I don’t life a weird life, and I would never consider it out of the ordinary, but the short stories I want to share with you will add up to where I am today. One at a time isn’t so bad, but as I look back and review each tale in sordid detail I am starting to realize, my life is not ordinary, quite honestly my life is extremely comical in the most depressing and lonely way.

 

Don’t worry though, I’m not sad, though I repeatedly reminded that perhaps I should be, I am in fact not. I don’t really have much to complain about; I have a decent job though it doesn’t pay fantastically, I have phenomenal friends that I hang out with regularly, I have a beautiful apartment and share it with an amazing roommate, I own the most adorably annoying and perfectly doggish Pug named The Dude, I have a wonderful family, awesome siblings, super supportive parents….in a nut shell I am truly amazing blessed. So where does the comedic tradgedy come in? Well two things actually.

 

1)      I have a completely abysmal dating history, like seriously completely atrocious.

2)      I have come to realize that I am the living female version of Good Luck Chuck (from that movie with Dane Cook and Jessica Alba, basically everyone who dates me finds the PERSON OF THEIR DREAMS right after we split)

 

I mean this honestly, I have stories upon stories of HORRIBLE dating experiences that I can no longer keep to myself. I have been told over and over again that I need to share them with people, not just for the comedic value, but also maybe to shed some light on the insanely ridiculous crap I have had to put up with. Maybe, if enough men read this, they will see the pain they cause, they will understand the wrongs of their actions and make a change. Maybe I can let them in on the “how to not mess up a first date,” “how to not comes across as a tool,” “how to not seem shy even if you totally are,” “how to KEEP YOU HANDS OFF OF ME UNTIL WE ARE ATLEAST 10 MINUTES INTO THE DAMN DATE!!!!!” Or, maybe they will gloss over these words and continue down the path of lonely rude man that treats women like a piece of meat.

 

I don’t use this blog as a yelling source, I am sorry if I SHOUTY CAP every now and then, but sometimes I feel like I really need to make a point. This is a very big point, I am a 27 year old single female living in Los Angeles, and I have yet (in the whole three years that I have been here) to find a genuine man that is what I like to call, “A good match.”

 

Here is where a lot of outsiders say things like:

-You don’t need a man to be happy

-Screw them stay single

-Wouldn’t you rather be single than be with the wrong person

-Why would you want a relationship, being single is so much fun!

-Marriage isn’t real, love isn’t real, get used to it

 

I think now is the time to share my stories, share my experiences and puzzle pieces with you. Maybe you will hear something in them that helps you see the truth….we are all looking, some of us just found the route of extremely bumpy messed up roads. I think I found the worst road possible, right now I’m stuck on a particularly nasty pothole.

 

I am woman, hear me roar!!

I normally try to reserve my blog for things related to my craft of work, but every once in a while (which seems more often lately) something really irks me and I feel I need to write about it. I chalk it up to saying, I am still writing, which in a sense is a “craft.”

 

The other day I was approached by a stranger who said, “You would be amazing to photograph, you have a beautiful face, very pretty legs, but I think you would have to trim down the middle if you wanted to make it a serious profession.” One, no I don’t want to make being a model a serious profession, I have no idea where that came from. And two, the nerve people have saying this to complete strangers. I in fact did not reply, mainly because it would have turned into me screaming at him about how rude it is to tell a woman she should try to be smaller, skinnier, more trim. Basically, if someone ever approaches me and says, “You’re chubby, you should hop on a treadmill,” I might actually punch them in the face. If I come back demanding respect I get the “she’s a feminist crazy girl” look, which honestly most women should have. We are women yes, we do demand respect, and I am one that will fight until I achieve it.

 

When did it become more attractive to look like a mini bean pole? When were curves and a full bodied woman seen as unattractive? I don’t think beauty is about a dress size I think it’s about the confidence you carry, the dazzle of your personality, however I have never had a guy come up to me and say, “wow, your brain is beautiful.” Women are looked at as a sexual object. We are objectified, shot down, pushed into the corset of societies ideals of what beautiful should be. We wake up and pile on the makeup and hair products, we squeeze into tight dresses and short skirts, snap into the super lift extra curvy bra and plaster on the sparkling smile because….why? To impress? To feel beautiful? We buy certain outfits that not only fit, but also slim, to hide unwanted extra belly fat or disguise the extra wide hips and larger thighs. This isn’t just annoying, it can be utterly depressing. And then you open a magazine and see all the size zero models with perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect outfits and massive amounts of Photoshop that ISN’T REAL!!

 

Women are taught at a young age, through ways of observation, that we are to be thin and dainty. We must refrain from speaking our minds and keep opinions to ourselves. If we choose to speak we must choose our words wisely. Women aren’t to be on top in the work place, we are to remain just beneath the status quo. You know what I say to that, I say SCREW IT! No, I will not take a back seat when I want to sit in the front. I will wear pants and tank tops and flats to work if I want to, I will wear a dress when it suits ME. I will speak honestly, and don’t think I won’t be forward you will hear what I am thinking. Yes I do want that last cookie, no I don’t want to stop eating bread, yes I know that sandwich has calories, and no I don’t want a non-fat extra lite soy calorie free latte. Give me the sugar, the fat, the everything I want because I want it. In a lovely poetry slam edition, a poet named Lily Myers stood and shared an impressive poem called “Shrinking Women.” http://hereandnowwbur.org  It’s worth a watch, and it explains the issues of what we have learned through our lives as a woman and how completely ridiculous it is that we continue to live this way.

 

Mean while, on the male’s side, I won’t lie you have your own fish to fry. But….you can actually eat the fried fish can’t you? You don’t worry about too much extra when you waltz into older age, men look esteemed and classic with grey hair, round glowing cheeks, a full belly and a scruff of beard. Women, you better color that hair. You better buy gobs of wrinkle contol, pore diminishing,  skin brightener, luminating cream, cover up, and when all else fails go under the knife to rip out the fat, tuck up the laughter lines and crow’s feet and why not lift the flat breasts while you’re at it so the world has something to look at when they are talking to you. Do you see the ridiculousness of this harsh difference? I'd you don't you are...ignoring it.

 

The problem with being a woman and dealing with this struggle to maintain appearances is that even when you go the lengths to be “perfect” from the eyes of the world today, it doesn’t always work. In the business world, it almost doesn’t matter what you look like, you are female and that is already one negative aspect against you. When thinking about publishing my novel I am thinking of using a suedo name so that I am not based on my name alone when people go to look at my work. How sad is that? I am afraid that I won’t be judged on my work, but solely on my sexual being. I am a woman, therefore my novel is filled with yucky women stuff, lovey dovey mush, and of course whiny unmanageable characters. NO YOU ARE WRONG! That doesn’t stop the publishing world from thinking it though. In a Huffington Post article I was amazed at the research done by VIDA stating the differences of publication stats of men and women.

 

“According to VIDA's study, the New Yorker published 459 pieces by men vs. 165 pieces by women in 2011. The New Republic published 198 articles by men vs. 50 articles by women. The New York Times Book Review reviewed 520 male authors vs. 273 female authors. It is not the first time someone has called the New York Times Book Review out on not paying enough attention to female novelists.”- Huffington Post

 

“The numbers show what many of us have suspected or known for a while: women are underrepresented on every level in these publications.

The stats are published online in the form of pie charts, and there’s something peculiarly poignant about seeing them broken down in this way: the small blue female slice, often scandalously slim, in a big red pie. The New York Review of Books last year published 79 women and 462 men; The Times Literary Supplement reviewed books by 330 women and 1036 men; The Paris Review interviewed one woman author and seven men. That’s a small slice.”- The Wheeler Center

 

I wish I could say, “I am going to change the worlds view on this!” I wish I could say that it were as easy as a spoken word, but it isn’t. Women look at themselves with a notion of needing to make themselves better to fit in. Look at Marilyn Monroe, she changed everything about herself just to take a place in the spotlight. She was a beautiful curvy woman, but the spot light highlights the flaws society deems unworthy of perfection. I can’t change what people think, but I can change how I live my own life. I am who I am, and I will be loved that way or not, but I won’t allow the NOTS to cinch me into the mold they prefer. I am a size 10, I have curves and I am proud of what my mama gave me. Take it or leave it, because I will never change my appearance or who I am for someone else’s gratification.

 

So I am going to go eat a healthy sandwich, because I want to, and follow it up with a big pint of ice cream…because YUM! You better hide delicious calories, I am coming to get you!!!