Monthly Archives: August 2011

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Dudes and Dogs

So my roommate got a kitten. She’s tiny with piercing blue eyes and her name isBowie.

When she started flirting with the idea, browsing Craigslist looking for eligible animals that were rescued or abandoned and now up for auction or for free – I admit I was a little jealous.

I’ve never quite been a cat-person, though I grew up with one who recently passed away. His name was Indiana Jones Tigar, named after one of my favorite series as a kid. We nicknamed him Indy, and he was adventurous and quick, always getting away from me with a smirk that spoke louder than his meow. And then of course, there’s M’s baby Milo, who as my “godson” is permanently embedded in my heart and I’ll admit, that when the earthquake shook New York, I wondered how he was alone in M’s apartment.

And now, there’s yet another kitten sashaying into my life and with her arrival, my heart sinks just a bit. While some women at my age, God bless ‘em, feel like they’re achin’ to have kids, I’m achin’ for a pet.

Specifically, one of those puppies with sad, sad eyes from the Humane Society commercials. Or maybe one that’s across the street from my friend K’s apartment in the WestVillage– the one that every time I walk past it on my way to her place, I fight the urge to ask just how much is that puppy in the window?

The time isn’t ticking on my ovaries anymore than it’s ticking on my ability to support a dog right now, but I have this overwhelming desire to own one. I want to come home after a glorious day at work, followed by drinks with my favorites, to a wagging-puppy-dog-tail that’s excited to see me and will lay by my feet at night. I want to have responsibility for something else, something to take care of, something to depend on me, something that’ll grow because of my loving nature and guidance.

Rationally though, I know I’m not in the right time of my life to adopt a dog. While I could support it financially, I couldn’t give it the time and attention it deserves and that it would crave. Walking a dog through Central Parkwhen it’s painted with an earthy palette while wearing my fleece peacoat seems beautiful and idealistic, but it’s quite unrealistic.

Animals, like relationships, aren’t as cute as we imagine and far more work than we’d like to realize. I’m fully aware of this truth, both with puppies and men (quite similar if you think about it…), and yet, I still want them both. I’m not sure which tail is cuter, frankly.

But sometimes, the right decisions and the hard decisions are one-in-the-same. Being an adult means sucking up what you want to decide what’s best. Ensuring your life and your happiness continue to excel means getting rid of those things, those people, or those ideas that hold you back. Even if one of them happens to be the image of a rescued, wet-nosed pup who adores you. Maybe even a man who adores you, too – though he’s not the best for you, as much as you’d like him to be.

Because when you take the plunge and commit to a puppy or to a guy, you’re promising to come home each night, just as you said you would. You pledge to be there to fill their bowl and build their ego, stroke their cute little heads when they need encouragement or to be soothed. To excitedly call their name, even if they’re not really doing anything you are getting excited about, and to play with them, regardless if you’re tired and have a headache or not.

Men and puppies require attention and time, both things that aren’t difficult to sacrifice when you have many other things that fulfill you. But the fever that comes with dudes and dogs is one that’s rather difficult to extinguish.

But I fight the puppy-fever by volunteering to help others with their pets. By giving Milo andBowiean extra pat on their tiny kitten heads, by complimenting dog owners on their adorable pets, by volunteering when I can at shelters. By bookmarking photos of dogs I’d like to have and stopping at every rescue center or puppy-for-sale store I see.

And man-fever? Well, I still have 26 days to figure out how to battle that high.

 

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Half-Hearted Love

I can’t believe I’m subjecting these heels to pavement, I thought as I crossed seventh avenue rushing to meet a stranger I met online. I also can’t believe I made a profile on Plenty of Fish – aren’t I too young for this? I wouldn’t respond to someone who called himself Play6969 in real life, why did I think I’d be intrigued when he messaged me “Watup gurrllll” in an anonymous inbox? 

Linds, what’s wrong with you?

Seeing the address a block away, I considered turning around and catching the uptown train. It wasn’t too late – I hadn’t actually seen the guy and I purposefully didn’t save his phone number, just in case he didn’t show, I wouldn’t be the whiny, pensive girl who reached out to see where he was, I’d just act like I didn’t care. Even if I did, I didn’t have a way to complain about it via BBM, and I’d be damned if I signed onto PlentyofBullS*** after being stood up.

Standing him up, though – that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. I could free myself from any troubles, from awkward first-date introductions, from telling him the basics about me that don’t really mean anything (I like red wine. I’m allergic to peanut butter. Yes, it is pronounced like the animal. Yes, I promise. Yes, it’s funny. Check please?), but I’m hungry. And he’s tall, right? Didn’t he say he was a doctor? If I had a Jewish mother, she’d tell me I’d be crazy not to go. I close my eyes and picture Fran Drescher”ma” on The Nanny, and enter the restaurant.

Mmmm, he’s stunning. Glad I wore the red heels, I complimented myself while praying for them to stop pinching my feet and for my skirt not to ride up. Maybe it’s a little too tight for the doctor type – or maybe he wants me to play nurse? Let’s see how engaging the conversation is. And he planned everything about this date, so let’s see how clever and creative he is – then maybe I’ll let him take my heart rate or maybe look at that thing, down there, that’s been….hurting? Yeah, something a little achy – like a lady part that’s pathetically lonely and bored of inaction.

He has a nice voice and he’s kind to wait staff, even talking like he’s old pals with the bartender, I analyzed while sipping on the drink he ordered. We would be hitting a few places around the Hell’s Kitchen, Times Square area – he had just moved here, after all. He wanted to see things he hadn’t before, try places he hadn’t tasted, perhaps wrangle wildlife he had yet to learn how to tame? I watched him carefully eat his food, taking incredibly small bites and demonstrate his near-perfect table manners. He even held his fork the European way, something I hadn’t seen a man do since my days of pageantry in the South. There the judges expect you to be a crystalized, real-life version of a Barbie Doll with humanitarian intentions, so they’ll give you a bit of class while eating overpriced Chicken Pot Pie at the table with ya.

The night continued in the fashion of most New York evenings – where anyone who didn’t live here would be amazed by the views, I had become in a short time, used to them, only experiencing those Louie Armstrong moments occasionally. And though we were walking around the tourist and rodent-ridden eight blocks of congestion and extremely bright lights, just as he wanted, Mr. Half just wasn’t that intrigued. The more he drank, the more reserved he became. By the last bar, it was so painful to consume our shared plate of french fries and specialty beers, that I finally had to pull the journalist out from hiding (she knows it’s not appropriate to interrogate on the first date, much better to listen), and ask him what happened. Where did my cheerful doctor who was going to inspect my body after a romantic night on the town go? Why was he so sullen that he matched the hideous gray walls in a sub-par bar charging $8 for a Bud Light?

He took another sip of Amstel, sat it down with vengeance, cut his eyes at the lines of liquor ahead of us, gave me a little grin, and asked me: “Is it possible to love with half of your heart? You’re a writer, right? You write about this stuff. Is it possible? Because as beautiful as you are, as much as I feel lucky to be here, as much as I’d like to take you home tonight, I only have half a heart left. The woman I thought was the love of my life took the rest.”

After nearly falling off my bar stool, I gathered myself and smiled at him, tears obviously welling up in my eyes. I took a deep breath, having recently ended my relationship with Mr. Idea, and answered as honestly as I could: “I have no idea, Mr. Half.”

It’s been over a year since that date, which happened to be our last (I never heard from him again) – but I remember taking a cab home that night, not because I was tipsy but because I was sad. For one of the first times, I didn’t make conversation with the cabby, but shut the window and cried as silently as I could, only pausing briefly to pay and head upstairs, to sob some more. My heart ached for Mr. Half, for myself, for all the people who put themselves out there, gave every bit of  a heart they have, only to end up with half of it at the end.

Relationships are funny that way – we all want to find that person. The person who is all that we wanted, with a few surprises we didn’t know we liked, but do. And in the middle of an ordinary day (as all days mostly are), we meet someone who makes us believe that it’s possible. Who is different and charming, but not someone who strays. Someone who wants to stay, who wants to give, who proclaims their love. Who feels warm in the winter and so easy to be around that summer days fade all the way into October. And though we swore that the last time would be the last time. That we would never invest so much of ourselves, of our hope, of our precious love into another person after being so broken before. That we would never have the ability to open up because we had become so hard that softness was a distant memory of what we used to be, not what we are now. That we would never subject ourselves to such scary vulnerability when history tells that it’ll just end up crumbling us into a cab speeding up the Westside Highway following a downright depressing date. That we would never be able to love with our whole heart because we merely had half of one left.

Even though we made all those promises to that box of wine (yes, box), to that half-gallon of Ben & Jerry while sobbing to The Notebook over our version of Noah that looks nothing like Ryan Gosling – we go against it all the second that butterfly lands in our tummy. From that first kiss or that first indication of “something is happening here.” I don’t know how to mend a broken, a half, or a whole heart, but meeting someone with potential certainly helps speed up the process.

So if I were to go back to that date, if I hadn’t met my own Mr. Possibility months later, if I had known then what I know now, I would tell Mr. Half to lean in and kiss me, madly. Because the only way to see if you can love with half of your heart…is to try.

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The Possibility of Unavailability

A while back on Labor Day of last year, I met a man.

I was returning home from a trip to North Carolina to visit my family at our lake house. I spent the weekend chatting with my mom over endless glasses of wine, getting appropriately sunburned, and pretending anything that’s grilled is void of calories. It was just how a weekend away from the city should be – full of laughter and remembering the good times, while trying to hide that happy anticipation to return to the home you made for yourself.

After a seamless flight, I caught a $15 bus back into the city, a relatively new thing for me. I was used to taking cabs and the subway, but decided to save some money and some headache. Foolishly of me, I put on some super-tall slingbacks and a summer dress belted at the waist with a rather floppy hat – not exactly bus riding attire.

With my red carry-on in hand, I boarded the bus and started to walk down the aisle, smiling at a cute man I wanted to sit in front of. And then, instead of gracefully lowering myself into the seat while maintaining eye contact – the bus driver stomped on the gas pedal and I went flying forward, dropping the suitcase and catching myself.

The cute guy’s friend asked if I was okay and I grudgingly replied that I was, before taking that seat with far less sass. The cute guy, who I now saw had pretty blue eyes, gave me a hard time and by the time we reached Grand Central, we both realized that we lived close, so we took the train together. We exchanged cards and I didn’t anticipate hearing from him, but the next day he emailed me.

It started off innocently enough. I originally thought he had a speech impediment, but it was just because I wasn’t used to hearing a true Northern accent on a daily basis. I didn’t accept his Facebook request right away, trying to decide if I wanted to pursue another bachelor or just stick with going to bars for fun conversations and empty promises. This guy, after all, made it pretty clear that he wasn’t looking for anything. He was just getting out of a relationship, was having a hard time getting over the girl and he needed space to grow.

To live. To find himself. To be single. Hmm, that sounds awfully familiar.

This was right around the time I started the blog, where I was tasked with the same challenges of learning to love myself, learning to fly solo before letting someone take the steering wheel at times when I allowed. It seemed like a platonic match made-in-heaven: two wounded souls, working through our issues with a person of the opposite sex, without any strings, without any sex, without any complications. It wasn’t supposed to be friends-with-benefits, it was just supposed to be friends. We were both after all, ultimately, unavailable.

And so he became Mr. Unavailable.

After helping him through a grand gesture that grandly bombed, our friendship just continued to grow closer. We’d go on non-dates where we’d wonder about town, talking and giving our best psychiatric advice, mending our own broken hearts while connecting them to one another. He’d talk about his lovely ex, reminding me of how I was so similar to her, making me quite angry at times, but eventually – he proved himself right. Being smart and lovely, she stumbled across the blog and guessed his identity. We met for drinks and now we’re quite close, with more than one very interesting thing in common.

But time passed and things changed. Mr. Unavailable and I became intimate. He started sleeping over. He introduced me to his family. He started calling me “baby.” We didn’t place a label, but we knew we were both starting to become less unavailable and more attached. We were developing this chemistry that translated easily into a relationship. I mean, we already knew everything about one another and our respective dating histories, doesn’t that make sense as the recipe for a perfect partnership?

Just as things were heating up and feelings were becoming more concrete, snow started to hit the ground, and his job sent him overseas for a while. It was then, that he gave me permission to create a new identity for him – one that would illustrate him beyond Mr. Unavailable. A character that would show that we were more than that, that what we were creating was full of hope, had promise – was a definite possibility.

And so, Mr. Possibility arrived on these pages and references to Mr. Unavailable mostly ceased. Why not just make it the same character and be honest throughout the blog? Well – a little bit of mystery never hurt anyone, and I didn’t want to give the wrong idea that a Mr. Unavailable could become a Mr. Possibility, until I was certain the possibility was possible.

I’m still not sure if I can attest to that fact – there are times when he is rather impossible and severely more unavailable than I would like. Having each other’s personal love resumes of disappointment, regret, and lost love has proved quite troubling for the relationship. Talking about the past and exes is also a difficult boundary to make, after it was such an open playing field for so long. It took us a while to actually call the relationship, a relationship, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to give up the single status (though I already had in every way except by saying it here or on Facebook), and I was still trying to trust him from things that happened before we were officially, official. I didn’t want the exclusively non-exclusive relationship anymore, but did I really believe that someone so damn unavailable would turn into a true possibility for love?

Six months later, I can really only promise one thing – every person you date has the possibility to become someone you will love. And every single soul you cross paths with, is unavailable in a way you may or may not ever know. We all have the possibility of being emotionally removed, turning away from our partners, never creating a relationship worth standing on, and crumbling to pieces before you can build anything. Each guy presents that opportunity, especially the ones who are unavailable to begin with – and outright about it, to boot.

But if someone seems like they deserve a chance, like there is undeniably a possibility for romance, then check how you feel. Make sure you are confident within yourself because they may not find stability on their own as you have. Make sure you want to support the weight of someone else as they go through a hard time, knowing you may not receive the attention and the love you deserve, in return. Make sure you are happy with your life and that you don’t need someone else to bring that joy to you.

To be with Mr. Unavailable, you have to make compromises. For him to become Mr. Possibility, you have to remember not to compromise yourself. We like to take care of Mr. Unavailable, but you shouldn’t date him unless he has truly transformed into a Mr. Possibility. And if you start to do that on the way to making the impossible, possible, you also have to know when it’s time to stop, turn around, declare how much you’d like to be beautifully open and available…but you can’t. At least not until messes are tidy and hearts are ready, you may just turn into Ms. Unavailable.

Maybe, anyway. There’s always, a possibility – right?

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We’re Such Little Adults

Chatting way over drinks at The Standard Beer Garden, my bubbly and sassy new friend A says: “We’re such adults now.” At the time, the rest of us laughed and shook our heads playfully at her with the “well, duh” look on our faces. The conversation and the beer continued, along with a block-or-two walk to catch the train.

On the way home, M and I stopped by Trader Joes – an inexpensive grocery story with mostly organic, healthy items – to shop for the week. We compared prices, came up with lunch and snack plans by thinking about which nights we’d be out and which ones we’d spend in. We chatted happily about our new jobs, both floating on Cloud 9 of success, finally landing just where we wanted to be. We continue to dream about an apartment together one day, maybe some place downtown, maybe a little more pricey, but one that’s definitely kitty-friendly for baby Milo. I’m hoping to adopt a puppy from the rescue center within a year – I’ve already named him, but I won’t share it here, just in case it jinxes it.

Because of M’s super-bus-riding skills, we caught the M7 heading uptown and people-watched while commenting on our tired feet and excitement for taking a much-needed good night’s rest. My stop is a few ahead of her’s, so I hopped off and called my mom to check in, then checked the mail, checked the fridge for expired things, checked my Gmail for the first time today, checked my bank account to see where I stood on budgeting, and checked to make sure I had everything ready for work tomorrow.

Slinging off my Jessica Simpson slingbacks, plopping down on my bed, finally, mentally going over my life checklist, I heard A’s voice ringing in my head: “We’re such adults now.” My, oh my was she right – my birthday’s approaching (guess how old, folks?), and though by any standard I’d be considered an adult, I’m just now starting to feel like one.

We are such little adults.

I’m refraining from unleashing my Southern roots by typing the lyrics to Martina McBride song, “This One’s for the Girls” where she describes 20-something females in tiny apartments, just trying to get by, living off of dreams and spaghetti-o’s. I may upgrade to higher-quality food these days, but I practically live off of dreams, that now, somehow have a bit of reality to them.

As much of a fantasy land New York always has been for me, it now is a place with commitments. It’s now the place I call home, where I pay my cable and electric bill, my rent, my student loans, where I save and where I spend, where I have a library card, where I have a gym membership. It’s where my boyfriend lives and where I’m developing some strong friendships I’m convinced will last my lifetime. It’s where I started and where I continue my career. It’s the location I picked just for me.

It’s the first thing I want to see in the morning and it’s really the place that made me into that little adult I am.

Into that woman who knows how much to set aside to save, have fun, and meet monthly monetary requirements. Into that woman who grew incredibly excited by the idea of a book club proposed by a friend. Into the woman who can map out the subway – mostly – without the help of Google (not the buses, though). Into the woman who pays taxes, votes, reads the newspaper, does the crossword, attempts to gym-it and now read a book a month, who checks the New York Times each morning and has more Google Alerts than probably necessary. Into the woman who wants so much more than where she came from, but values and loves that Southern state so deeply. Into the woman who can go from rockin’ heels and a dress to an all-cotton assemble in a minute and feel just as beautiful.

Into the woman who knows she’s a little adult now…and couldn’t be happier for that sweet responsibility.

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If in Doubt, You’re Amazing

Since my focus is certainly elsewhere today, I thought it would be a good time to share some of the kindness that’s come my way because of this blog. Feeling the year-mark quickly approaching, I know I’m not the only one who has spent the last 12 months working hard to love themselves. How can I be sure?

Because you’ve all told me.

I’m so glad and thankful that my long-lost friends and readers feel comfortable sharing their stories with me, along with their struggles and their successes. While this blog started out to be for me, it quickly turned into an outlet for so many women (and men!) around the world who battle feelings of self-worth and the constant yearn for life-altering love. Nah, we’re not technically love addicts, but we are all rather normal. It’s natural to want the things we do, but hopefully through this space and through working out your own troubles in your own way, you’ve been able to find that inner peace that I have.

I won’t list them all but here a few of the messages I’ve received that brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for the encouragement and I’m so proud of each of you. I hope long after this blog is over, you’ll remember how wonderful, special, and beautiful you are. And please, don’t ever let the relationship you have with yourself take low priority. Without loving yourself, you’ll never be loved or love in a way that’s healthy. It’s a life-long journey, a relationship you should always work to nurture and mature. But if you’re ever in doubt about how great you are, just remember there is someone out there who already thinks you are amazing. Thanks for making me feel that way this whole year!

” I’ve been keeping up with your blog, and I have to say that it really has been helping me out. I went through a very, very, hard breakup at the end of the summer and although I’m still struggling with some aspects of the relationship, I can see it was for the best. I finally feel FREE to do what I want to do. I have no ties, and for the first time, I can truly concentrate on what I am supposed to do with my life and figure out who I am and what my purpose is in this big old world. So really, I want to thank you – your blog came around at just the right time.”

“Today is my anniversary with myself. The past year has been one more rollercoaster ride. The day I moved to Anonymous Town my car broke down, I didn’t know anyone here, so I had to rely on myself and the kindness of strangers. I’ve had to find a job, twice. Successfully made it through a year of grad school. I’ve laughed, cried, and been through every emotion possible…BUT I did it!!! You started writing your blog about the same time I moved to Anonymous Town, and you truly were an inspiration to me. I was really struggling at first, and you helped motivate me to discover my city and find peace with myself. It’s been a year later and I couldn’t be happier. So in honor of my anniversary, I bought myself a massage (thank you Groupon) and a bottle of wine. I plan on celebrating my independence, hardships, successes, and the person I’ve become.”

” I know it’s been a while, but I really just wanted to let you know how much I LOVE your writing! I find myself constantly reading your blog & just wanted to drop a line to let you know how much of a blessing it is in my life!”

“I was going to check my own blog today when I stumbled across yours and was blown away. I couldn’t help but start to go back and read past blog posts because your insights and honesty is astounding. And I think there’s a reason I came across your blog today because I’ve been struggling to love myself recently and have discovered that my life is suffering in every way because of it. So, thank you. Thank you for putting it out there that it not only is OK to be single, but it can be great too. And that loving myself is where I can truly find happiness.”

“I really identified with your blog today. It came to me at a time which I think is rather appropriate: fresh college grad, newly single (that’s false, it’s been nine months), traveling the world and doing some quick n’ dirty soul searching. My dating story closely mirrors yours in the sense that I become someone else when I date…always unsure of myself…never wanting to offend…sickeningly sweet…that constant desire to be his (whoever HE is at that moment in time) something perfect. And the scary thing is this: I’m a really good pretender. I never know if I’m happy or not until the epic fail of a relationship, then I can look back at all the broken pieces and say, “Oh yeah, hey, I’ve been pretty miserable lately…huh…”One thing I’m certain of is my decision to be single right now! I think so anyway…”

“Thanks for sharing your story. It’s funny, I read the entry where you mention the “Language of Letting Go” and happened upon the site for its daily thought. It was EXACTLY what I needed to hear on the day I needed to hear it. I’m buying the book today and hope it will inspire me to love myself and stop stressing over men who weren’t THE ONE. So thank you…and I’m not quite sure where I land on the fate question, but sometimes you find what you need when you aren’t expecting it.”

“Lindsay! I just found your blog the day it was on the wordpress homepage, started reading and was immediately hooked! I subscribed so now I eagerly look forward to the candy-like email each day you post! You’re slowly saving my life, I think, for I too, am a single, self conscious, sometimes confused, frustrated, etc etc girl, wrestling with many of the same issues you seem to be conquering and giving me hope to face. So, from your newest biggest fan, I thank you for being courageous, and for choosing to share it with people like me who need it!”

“I recently went through like the 5th breakup of a very tumultuous relationship and your blog has inspired me to start writing out my feelings better and try to see the siilver lining of everything. ”

“I came across the site on the WordPress dashboard a few weeks ago and have been following along for awhile.  Just wanted to drop you a note to let you know I enjoy the site and admire what you’re doing, especially in terms of synchronizing a bunch of different media. Also, I do enjoy reading the blog from a guy’s perspective.  It’s always easy to get caught up in worrying about the way our side of the equation works without considering how the fairer gender sees them. ”

“I love your blog, I read it everyday. It is exactly what I needed at this point in my life! I am on the same boat as you… glad someone can write about it!”

“I wanted to let you know what I think. I came across your blog on, the holiest of holy, facebook and decided to venture through it. I think what you are doing for women is amazing because there are many out there who have the same addiction as you but refuse to realize what it is doing to their lives. I am not here to preach that every man is a good one because I am the biggest skeptic of men than any girl I have ever met. Reading through your blog it came to me that many men out there also suffer from this addiction. They can not come out and say it because that would make them feel like less of a man, in societies outlook. I believe you will help thousands with what you are doing but I also believe that you can help men as well.”

” Somehow you manage to portray the feelings of every single girl I know at the same time regardless of how different our outlooks on life and relationships are. I heard about your blog from a friend who thought it would help me get over a recent break-up and have since shared it’s wonder with several friends in different stages of life and love.  We all find comfort in your words and, like you, feel we aren’t alone in our journey to self-love when reading your posts. So, even though you don’t know me and probably never will; I wanted to say thanks for somehow finding a way to put my thoughts and emotions in print when I don’t even know what I’m feeling!”

“A few of my friends recently introduced me to your blog. It is so wonderful and I love the new posts each day.  Although I’m from the Midwest I hope of making it to the city one day soon as I have always dreamed of living there. Your posts are inspiring and insightful and pretty much what I think about most of your topics.”

PS: Have a question for me? Want to know anything about my life/advice from my adventures in dating? Before September 19, I’ll publish a post answering all of your questions. Email me, Tweet me, Tumble me, or Facebook me. Or you can comment below!