Category Archives: Step 4

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Frankly, I Do Give a Damn

When I start liking a guy – I change.

No matter how confident I am in my career, with my life, with how I look – when I start feeling those little butterflies or sense possibility, I alter myself somewhat. And I hate it.

Now, I’m not Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride who doesn’t know how she likes her eggs, but because I fear losing a guy’s interest or his attention, I almost always become this needy, overly obsessed and ridiculous girl while I’m “dating” or “talking” to someone. In no shape, form, or fashion am I out-of-my-character unless I’m with a dude I’m intrigued by. Instead of keeping up my fierce, go-getter nature, I almost always crumble into someone who is readily available, kind and inviting, and overly easy to get along with.

In my true form (or normal state), I question. I always want to figure out the next adventure. I’m a planner but like random decisions too. I’m bold and brilliant and I am pretty fearless of doing most anything. My friends always select me as the gal who goes up to the group of guys at the bar, and my co-workers deem me the one to be the “bitchy” receptionist when we need it. I am a naturally kind and thoughtful person, but I also stand up for myself and what I believe. I wouldn’t call myself brave because taking risks just comes easy to me. I have this sense that everything will work out and I’ll be fine, so I tend to just go for it.

This mentality holds true in every section of my life except with men. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or act the wrong way or be too disagreeable because if they see this vivacious, argumentative, daring, inquisitive, real me – they may be turned off, intimidated, or just not like it. And then they’d leave.

But why does that matter?

If they don’t like who I am at my core and how I am when I’m emotionally naked – are they even worth my time? I mean, Marilyn Monroe in all of her infinite beauty, says if a man can’t handle you at your worse, then he doesn’t deserve you at your best. But what if they can’t handle you at your best? When you’re the happiest and most in-tune with who you are? Is dating a journalist, a woman, a powerhouse, like me (and all of you) really that difficult? I mean, c’mon!

I’m so tired of morphing into a person I’m not to try and keep a man’s attention. While I don’t think age has much to do with it –I’m sincerely at a point where I’m falling in love with myself, with my life, with my city, and no man has the right to come and stomp all over that so he can remain satisfied. I have wants, needs, desires, and qualities that are just as important as any guy’s, and I don’t want to surrender them anymore. I would much rather be alone and happily single then to be with someone who doesn’t appreciate, adore, and love me for who I am – no questions asked.

In honor of proclaiming my over-the-top and completely ridiculous personality that I will now keep the same, regardless of what man walks into my life, I’ve made a list of some of the things that are important to me. These are things that I normally apologize for or don’t mention because I don’t want to be difficult to get along with. But now, I don’t care anymore.

-If you say you’re going to call, then call. If you say you’re going to text, then text. If you say you’re going to be somewhere, be there. I’m not your mother or personal assistant. Stay true to your word and don’t make me remind you.

-I like wearing high heels. Wait, I love wearing high heels. If this means you have to walk slower, that’s just how it is. I’m a girly-girl and I make no excuses for it.

-I wear makeup. When you kiss me or hug me, it may get on you. I don’t think that’s a bad trade for getting to touch my body or my lips. If you do, move on.

-If I say I don’t care where we go for dinner, I don’t. Make a decision.

-Drinks are not a date to me. Drinks are hanging out. If you want to ask me on a date, be more creative.

-I will compliment you and try and help you work through your problems. I will not support a whiny, depressed funk for very long. Learn how to take care of yourself.

-I may not agree with your viewpoints, but have them. No, it’s not okay for you to be okay with everything. The best of life comes from passion.

-I don’t want to hear that you don’t like your job or your career. You’re a grown-up and have the ability to change it. Life is too short to go to a place you hate every single day.

-I’d prefer not to know your ex-girlfriend’s name. If you feel the need to bring her up or reference to her, then maybe you should give her a call.

-I don’t mind watching sports and drinking beer with you sometimes. That doesn’t mean I want to do it every single Monday night.

-The hard work I put into my figure has nothing to do with you. Running is for me, so stop telling me to run for you.

-I’m a journalist. This means I like questions and I like answers. If you feel interrogated, maybe you should have a stronger back bone.

-I expect you to remember things that are important to me because I’ll always do the same for you. If I say something is special to me, please don’t disregard it.

-I need at least 24-hours notice before hanging out with you most of the time. Sometimes, I’m okay with spontaneity but my days are packed, and if I’ve deemed you someone I want to hang out with, please be reliable.

-Yes, my last name is Tigar. You don’t need to growl at me or sing “Eye of the Tiger” to me. It’s okay.

-Most of the time, I’m very happy, optimistic, bubbly, and full of energy. If you’re not like this, or if you don’t like this type of personality, then ta-ta.

-I’m not incredibly tidy, but I will try to be if I’m in your space. If you scold me for it more than once, I’m done.

-I need girl time and me time. And I don’t need to see you every single second of every single day, but I need to know you’re there.

-If you need an instructional manual to my body, I think we should see other people. Yes, every union is different, but if you can’t kiss at this age, I’m not interested.

-I was raised as a lady and I expect you to treat me that way. Open doors. Mind your P’s & Q’s. I will do the same.

-No, it’s not okay that you cancel plans an hour before we’re supposed to have them. That’s rude.

-Shower.

I promise I’m really a sweet, generous person, but I also need to embrace and enforce my values. I realize that everyone puts their best face first when they are starting to see someone, but being up front about who you are and what you need – is so important. Because if someone can’t put up with me or fall for me when I’m being myself, they aren’t the person that I’m meant for.

So here is to being me, the beautiful mess and everything. Frankly, when it comes to what I want and who I am, I do give a damn.

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The Never-To-Be Love: Mr. Rebound

Solo cups piled as tall as the ceiling, guys with baggy jeans, polo shirts, and drunken grins. Sheets that haven’t been washed in weeks (possibly months), every rap song there ever was playing loudly, and girls gladly flaunting their goods to help their dude (or the guy they met that night) win a game of beer pong.

Remember college?

I can’t say I was ever the biggest fan of the college party scene, but I tried to be. Even though I knew the guys were way immature, almost-alcholics, and many forgot about a little thing called ‘class’ – I attempted (and succeeded) to date several of them. But the one to introduce me to the university dating world was much more of a class act than your average frat boy: Mr. Rebound.

We met the summer before my freshman year via MySpace (no judging) when I went looking for people who went to Appalachian State because I would be attending in the fall. He was very sweet, always flattering me, and he had this certain appeal to him that my 17-year-old self found absolutely irresistible: he was a college guy.

This meant he wasn’t like the young and ridiculous boys who paraded my high school, no he was in college. That meant he was sophisticated and educated and working towards a goal. And he wanted to talk to me? A little incoming freshman? How could I not swoon?

And swoon is just what I did. Within the first three days of college, I found myself pinned up against a wall and a hard place as Mr. Rebound tried to kiss me and I refrained for 24-hours – just long enough to break up with Mr. Faithful and set up a movie date with my ‘college man.’

When I went over for this so-called date to let Mr. Rebound know I was newly single, I thought he would jump at the opportunity to call me his girlfriend. I mean he had been texting constantly, always made himself available, and never forgot to invite me and my roommate to parties he knew of. I mean, he even took me out to dinner at Murphy’s – a place he called a “nice” restaurant to eat at. (My 21-year-old self later found out how wrong that statement was).  But instead of swooning for me, the itty-bitty freshman, and proclaiming the love I was sure he had for me – he just jumped my naive bones.

Needless to say, we ended up in a “hooking-up” (although I never went all the way) relationship, and eventually he stopped talking to me, as those sorts of things typically go. While at the time, I was unfamiliar with this type of union – where the boy was difficult to comprehend and unreliable – I learned a lot.

The first time I had my official walk of shame, where I sported sky-high heels with basketball shorts and a t-shirt from his apartment to my dorm, I knew something was wrong. My roommate (and now best friend) raised an eyebrow at my attire, which caused me to question what exactly I was doing.

Mr. Rebound didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want to love me. He didn’t want to take me on dates or court me. He didn’t care about getting to know me. He didn’t feel the need to be drawn to me or to fall head over his Dockers. No, Mr. Rebound wanted to have sex.

And I wasn’t down for that.

As a single woman, it’s so important to define your boundaries. To decide what you’re willing to put up with and what you’re not. To decide for yourself what is acceptable behavior and what is flat-out not cool by you. If you want to have a random hook-up for your own sake, then do it – but make sure you know what will make you happy before you dive right in. For me, I get too attached and I can’t do it. For others, it may work.

After an initial hiatus that allowed me to dis-attach myself from my romantic notions about him, Mr. Rebound and I eventually made up and over lunch before he graduated,we  made peace. We’re able to laugh about what we experienced and he always makes a point to check-in on me and I doubt he’ll ever stop calling me “babe.”

I wouldn’t say I ever loved the man, but he did open my eyes to the dating scene that defines being a college student. Sometimes it is never about the romance or the love or the fire or the passion or attraction. Sometimes, it’s about getting your jollies off.

For this girl, it will never just be about that. And honestly, for that I’m proud. Sure, I’ve had my random make-out, but I know whoever I give myself to one day, I can feel proud of the decisions I’ve made in the past. I’m still the type of girl who only can be a vixen in bed if I feel comfortable and know that the guy has a sincere interest in my well-being. Preferably, he would love me. But Mr. Rebound taught me what would be the start of my dating career in college –and one that I wasn’t ever very good at. Even now, Mr. Rebound always comments on my butt (or since I picked up running, he says, lack thereof) – and I find it as a compliment, rather than feel objectified by a guy who I once wanted to date. I’m glad I made an impression and I’m even happier that we never explored a relationship.

Because one day, in this magical world, I’ll find the man who I’m meant to be with who will cherish and respect me (and enjoy all of my sexual talents because I trust him). And until that day, I can depend on myself and my ability to make the best choice for me.

Thanks Mr. Rebound, for opening my eyes and shaping my morals. I’m sorry that I had the boys in my dorm wipe their sweaty armpits on your basketball shorts and t-shirt when I returned them. I’ll buy you a drink for that one.

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What Comes Before Love?

With city temperatures dropping, gloves and scarves coming out of hibernation, and iced coffee being exchanged for hot – I can’t help but think of change.

Fall is my favorite season because of the possibility it brings to the atmosphere, but winter brings this idea of transition. Wardrobe, food, transportation, and mentalities (winter blues, anyone?) makes a complete transformation between the sweltering days to the freezing ones. We’re literally forced to change.

At times, life is like that too. We reach a point where making a change is absolutely necessary: when the job sucks so bad we can’t stand to go to it, when that five pounds has turned into twenty, when drinking has become a must-have instead of a treat.

Recently, I interviewed a couple who own a maternity line for urban moms-to-be for the magazine. With an upcoming reality show debuting at the start of the year and a baby on the way – this duo was on fire. During the interview, it was evident how easily they worked together in and out of the business, and how passionate they were for the pregnant-new-parent industry (if you can call it that?).

Although I asked her a million questions that she gave great responses to – there was one thing she said that really stuck out in my head and caused me to jot down notes for this blog on the train back to my office. As we were discussing reaching her target market, she said: “It works really well that we’re creating a family right now as I’m growing this business. You really can’t even begin to understand what being pregnant is like unless you’re actually going through it, feeling what you’re body is going through, and freaking out.”

In my head, I thought, “That’s true. You also can’t grasp what being a single girl is like unless you are on.” And then, as I listened to her and watched her interact with me and with her husband, it occurred to me that she hasn’t always been this beautiful, successful, married, and glowing with-child woman. At one point, she was a single lady, just like me. It’s just that now, she’s in a different part of her life.

So does that mean being single is a stage? Is it a required transition? If first comes love, then comes marriage, then the baby in the baby carriage, what comes before love? Being single?

I’m not sure I like thinking of my life in stages, but in a way it makes sense. You can’t be a couple or a triple or foursome, if you’re not a single first –mathematically it doesn’t work. Right now I’m a 20-something gal climbing the ladder in her career and exploring the dating jungle that defines NYC. But in three years, I could be married? In ten, I could have a baby and a bump? How does life progress through these stages so quickly?

Are we ever not transitioning from one thing to another? And if we can’t completely depend on the stages in our lives that we hope to happen, will in fact progress, do we have faith? Instead, do we live in the here-and-now? Or do we do a combination of both?

If every stage is just a preparation for the next, are we ever really living in the segment of our lives we’re in? Or are we always anticipating the next step, the next decision, the next move? Once we’ve found that person, we rush to the alter. Once we’re at the alter, we rush to the nursery. Once we’re in the nursery, we rush to the playroom. Once we’re in the playroom, we’re looking at Harvard? Does it ever stop?

And do we lose what we’ve found in the steps before as we keep moving?

Being single gives us a mindset of independence, self–reliability, and confidence. I’m sure marriage gives you new perspectives and babies do even more – but I don’t think we should ever fully transition out of the single-lady values. Being “good on our own” isn’t something that should change when we move into the next step. I don’t think single is so much a stage as it is the foundation for the rest of our lives.

After all, it’s important to be able to depend on our own two feet before we play footsie with hubby or kiss the bottoms of our baby’s toes.

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Clarity in the Breakdown

There is always that moment when you go on a date with someone where you have that feeling in the pit of your stomach that something could come of him. There is something in the way he talks, the way he smiles, the way he presents himself, or the way you feel when you’re around him that makes you think he’s worth a chance.

And when you go out on that limb, throw some of your caution to the wind, and open up your heart – it’s really scary. Once you enter into a relationship, thus putting more of your heart on a line, you never think in the back of your head “this is going to fail” or “we’re not meant to be” or “it’s not going to work out”. No one enters into a relationship thinking it’ll one day end or there would be no point in falling in love in the first place.

Even so, when a relationship does wither and the once vivid love and admiration fades – I’m not sure there comes a point when you think “I really wish he’d meet someone else and think she’s the best thing ever!” If you do, then you’re a much stronger person than I am.

While I’m not to the point where I’m discussing my relationship with Mr. Idea, Wednesday was a huge turning point in my feelings towards him and in this journey. It was the day I figured out he was sincerely moving on. And just like that moment when you know there could be something, there is also that moment where you realize how over it really is.

It was a completely ridiculous, completely painful, completely awful breakdown.

When I fall apart, I don’t do it beautifully. I’m not one of those girls who looks lovely when she cries – nope I look like someone ran over my puppy and then over me about 20 times. My eyes and my face get red and puffy to the point where I can barely open them. I don’t let out little whimpers and hold it in, I flat-out sob. I don’t calm myself down or feel bad about freaking out, I literally let everything just come out.

I was not having such a great day at work and was being easily distracted by my cell phone, by Tumblr, by this blog, by Googling recipes, and anything else right in front of me. I also was getting very impatient waiting to hear from Mr. Unavailable who after experiencing a rough couple of days wasn’t in the best of moods. Being friends with a straight man without the romantic foundation is a new concept for me, and if you throw in the occasional benefit, it makes it a little complicated. So, as I was trying to write an article for our December issue, looking at my not-lighting-up cell phone, and generally geting annoyed, I decided to check Facebook.

And not only did I decide to play on Facebook, but I decided to go under “Privacy Settings” and unblock Mr. Idea. Now, we didn’t end on such bad terms that I have to block him because I dislike him, but that I knew I’d stalk him if I didn’t block myself from seeing his profile – it was more for my protection than anything else. But for some brilliant idea, after I was already upset, I thought looking at Mr. Idea’s profile would be a fantastic choice.

Wrong.

So I looked and I discovered he was in fact seeing someone else. My heart froze, my cheeks flushed, and I could feel the rush of tears heading towards my eyes, and with an hour left of work, I had to run to the bathroom and calm myself down. But not only did I “try” to breathe, I called him two times and texted him, telling him we really needed to talk. I then called my mom, who attempted to talk sense into me while hiding her contempt for Mr. Idea (she’s not his biggest fan). Yet, my heart still feeling like it was mid-run, I decided to text my closest friends, who promptly replied with the words the best of friends always say: “You deserve better!” “What do you need?” “Screw him!” “You’re better off, you know it!”

But to no avail, I was still freaking out. I distracted myself by throwing everything into an article and leaving right when the clock struck 6 p.m. to head to the gym. I tucked away my phone during my run and tried to focus on something, anything, else, but the lump in my throat just kept growing. By 9:30 p.m. when he called and calmly explained the situation, I was a total wreck. I hadn’t cried on the phone with him in a very long time, but I did this time. And after we got off the phone and I sullied another dozen tissues – I told myself to breathe (through my mouth because my nose was useless by this point), and to think.

When I broke up with Mr. Idea, I did it for a reason. There were differences I knew we’d never be able to compromise and that he wasn’t the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I knew that while he’s a wonderful person and I’m great too, together, we just didn’t create the type of relationship that goes the distance. I knew I had fallen so madly in love with the idea of him that I lost sight of who he really is – and that’s no way to build an everlasting love.

So what was I so upset about?

I have moved on and part of the inspiration for this blog comes from the destruction our relationship did to me. I’ve dated other men. I’ve kissed other men. I’ve flirted and flaunted with other men. I’ve felt those butterflies. And he’s “hanging out with, but not exclusively” with some girl I don’t know, and I’m upset? Isn’t that a double standard? I don’t want him, but I don’t want anyone else to have him – how is that fair?

It’s really not, but it happens. And it’s natural and I think it’s healthy. It also shows what impression he’s left on me and how much love we shared. In the midst of my breakdown, I found some clarity: we choose our happiness and our sadness.

Sometimes it’s going to hurt and sometimes it’s not going to be easy. The journey to self-love is not supposed to be without a few bumps in the road. Even though we broke up quite some time ago, I hadn’t thought about the fact that eventually, he’d find someone else. And if he falls in love with someone new, and Mr. Unavailable is in fact unavailable, that leaves me…alone.

And that fear, that notion, that worry, in the pit of my heart, is why this blog was created. Because it’s terrifying to stand out in the middle of the street, the center of the crowd, or just in the privacy of your own apartment…and be a single person. With him moving on, there is no safety net, no cushion, no back-up plan. Even though I was single the day before and the day after – with that realization, I knew I was 100 percent on my own.

The next morning, I woke up without feeling better and with swollen eyes. A part of me hurt and a bigger part of me was scared, but before I went to shower, I turned on the light and I looked at myself. I saw the imperfections and the dark circles. I saw the tiredness and the sadness behind my stare. And I said out loud, “Today, you choose to be happy. You choose to move on and to let go. Today, you choose yourself.”

And so, the rest of the day, when I felt the urge to look again (stupid 48-hour re-blocking rule, FB!), or to cry or to be upset – I told myself to be cheerful. To choose to let go and forgive and forget. To remind myself why I’m writing this blog and what it means to me. To remind myself why we broke up and why I knew someone better is out there for me. To remind myself that in time, all things pass, and that I’m making great strides and changes in my life and my perceptions. To remind myself that before this news, I was doing just fine single.

Sometimes, it takes a breakdown that knocks you to the ground, to realize you can truly stand. And if you choose to, put a smile on your pretty face, and keep walking.

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Ring Around the Rosy, Pocket Full of Bologna

I would be blatantly lying if I said I didn’t want to get married.

Like many women (and men, for that fact), I dream of the day when I get to express my love for Mr. Right in front of everyone who is near and dear to me. I think of my first apartment with my hubby and how together, we’ll dress it up into something worth living in, even if we don’t have a ton of money. And of course, like little girls who long for princes, I cut out a wedding dress picture out of an old Time magazine that I loved…and still have that clipping today.

I really don’t think it is wrong to want to be married or to find your partner or to desire that once-in-a-lifetime love. But what I find scary and a little bit intimidating…is how quickly that “time” in my life is coming up. Sure, I’m single (and learning to love it) – but more likely than not, I’ll probably be married before I’m 30.

In those times when I’m down on myself or feeling ugly or when its super cold and I really want to snuggle up to someone, I wonder “Why are all my friends in serious relationships, engaged, or married?” And then being obsessive and addicted to the internet, I stalk Facebook and scan through wedding picture after engagement picture after kissy-face picture, and become even more depressed.

But recently (even with progress, we have our off days), as I was figuring out how I was going to make it through and to the six weddings I’m invited to next year without feeling like a complete NYC cat lady, questions came bubbling up in my head like the champagne I anticipated drowning myself in:

Are you really ready to get married? Is that really what you want right now? And why is it that you think a marriage will make you feel better about yourself and happy?

Yes, I’m admittedly jealous of those who have found their partners – but I really do have such a privilege to be single in the city I adore, without having to worry about planning a wedding or asking someone else what they think before I make a decision. As I’ve said before, sometimes a date with freedom is better than any date a man could take me on.

So many people and especially my single girlfriends (like me) seem to believe that once you find that incredible person we all long for, that everything else just makes sense. Everything falls into place. Bad thoughts go away, worries subside, and blissful happiness follows wherever you go. This person, in their infinite wonderfulness completes your life.

Well, I’d like to think that I complete myself.

Sure, I want someone to make love to, share similar goals and interests with, and travel with, and I’m sure I’ll have it – but emotionally, shouldn’t I be enough? Does a ring around my finger, or my rosy, and thinking that “I do” solves all problems, give me a pocket full of bologna?

The whole idea of marriage and what it means and who is worthy of it or not has caused so much controversy. Yes, it’s a sacred and precious thing that too many people enter in lightly, but it’s not the end-all-be-all to our lives. There are so many things in this life that are important – our health, our happiness, our careers, our friendships, our adventures, our children, our relationship with ourselves, and while those things may involve a partner, the partner doesn’t make those things worth having or developing.

What does a ring have to do with it all really? Why is it so important? Why are some of my friends so obsessed with getting the ring and getting married, that it’s all they talk about? And why are we so worried about until-death-do-we-part so early in life?

Why do we automatically look on a man’s hand to see if he’s married when we find him attractive? Or when we see a pretty, tad bit older, womanwithout a ring, we wonder why? Is the ring around the finger really a symbol of completion? Or is it just the representation that you’ve found love, but the rest of you is still intact and prospering?

So, really all this worrying and searching and wondering if my “prince” will come along is wasteful.

Maybe everyone has already known this, but it’s something I’m finally realizing. My expectations for marriage, for this lustful union, have been way too unrealistic. Marriage isn’t a pain killer, but a nice upper and stabilizer for when the going gets tough or the good gets better. My wedding won’t start my happily after, but rather, just the first day in a new segment of my life. If I change my last name (which may be difficult for me to do because I love it so much), it doesn’t change who I am, where I’ve come from, or what I learned. Getting married doesn’t make me lose my identity of being an obsessive, worrying freak of nature who happens to be loving, fun, and kind, too – it just adds someone who gets to spend the rest of his life putting up with me (and vice versa).

One day I’ll put on the white dress and I’ll walk towards the man I want to share my life with, and I’m sure it’ll be nothing like I’ve dreamt or expected it to be. It’ll be most likely be even more than any imagination could conjure. But until I meet someone who comes close to fulfilling that part of my life – I’m not going to focus on it. I’m not going to worry or fear or wonder or place pressure. I’ll be happy for my friends and gladly celebrate their romance, without feeling the need to drink excessively (although, I probably will since it’s free!).

Because no matter how old I am, where I am in my life, or who is the person I marry – at the end of the day, I’m still me. I’m still full of flaws and beauty, hope and disappointments, inspiration and sadness. Just as love addiction isn’t going to be the largest part of me, marriage won’t be either. It just serves as an addition to my story and is no where near the final chapter.

I don’t want to get caught up in the ring-around-the-rosy, never ending cycle of wondering if he’s out there or if marriage is meant for me or if I need to be tamed. I don’t want to be part of the spinning web of doubt and envy, before someone tells me to drop all hands and settle down. I don’t want to dance in circles; I want to dance on tables.

I don’t want to be defined by marriage by a ring or by a bouquet of posies; I want to be defined by myself.