Tag Archives: Beauty

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The Look of Attraction

It is quite simple to catch a man’s attention. In fact, I’d like to think I have almost nailed it to a science.

My friends in college always picked me as the ringleader who would entice the group of eligible (or not) bachelors to our group so we’d get free drinks or mostly meaningful chit-chat to make us feel like we shaved our legs for something that night. Maybe it’s because I’m confident or brazen, but I’ve never been afraid of walking up to strangers. Honestly, as a journalist – it’s a big part of my job description. If you can’t ring a source or someone you’d like to interview, then what are you going to do, sit at your desk all day long?

Really – the act of gaining a man’s intrigue is an easy task that so many make incredibly difficult. Regardless of what you’re wearing, if you have a brand new zit on your chin, who you’re with, or where you are – it comes down to body language. Or, as I was taught: The Look. I can never reveal where I learned this trick, but I can almost guarantee it will get you and your ladies a round of drinks within twenty minutes, about 80 percent of the time. Sure, that’s a low B, but how many A+ men do we really meet anyways?

You do not have to be at the bar or a place where alcohol is served, but it usually ups your success rate a bit – I’m not a huge drinker myself, but a warm wine haze almost always make you feel sexy and a little bolder. Say you’re sitting at a table during happy hour with your gals and you see someone you’re attracted to. Leaving insecurities and caution in the wind where they belong, you lock eyes with this person and then cut your glance back towards your friends. Regardless if you’re engaged in the conversation or not, you smile, widen your eyes, and join in. Continue to do this for say, five minutes. And then, with a drink in your hand, you meet his eyes again, smile, and toast the air with your beverage of choice. Then you completely ignore him. That’s it. Done. In about five to ten minutes, you’ll be greeted with his friends, offered a round,  and then the flirting begins.

Now – for a long time, I used The Look everywhere. As much as I was addicted to love, I was also addicted to The Look. Amazed by how easily it worked, how simple it was to do, and how men reacted to it almost exactly how I hoped each time – I wanted to continuously put it to the test.

But when I woke up and decided putting all of my focus and attention on luring in a man was no longer how I wanted to live my life, I realized some things had to change. The first time I hit the bar since starting the journey, I found myself questioning why I was so impressed with The Look in the first place. Was it having the power? Was it being able to save money? Was it that a stranger’s eyes on me made me feel sexier than when they weren’t? Was there really anything wrong with doing The Look constantly?

No – nothing at all. That is, except for the twenty percent of the time when it didn’t work out as well as I anticipated. And when that happened, my opinion of myself exited the bar almost as quickly as I moved tables to escape from the guy who didn’t return my interest. Who didn’t feel the need to approach me or my ladies from across a darkened, crowded hot spot in midtown, even with my tightest jeans, highest heels, and attempting my most seductive glance.

Or maybe in a nutshell, when following the laws (and the look) of attraction, landed me far away from the mystery man I wanted to meet, and consumed in the self-defeating thoughts of “what’s wrong with me?”

The Look  is usually successful because it plays with the basic fundamentals of attraction: first you see them, then you give them a hint of intrigue, ignore them to let them know you’re happy and fun (who wants to date someone who’s miserable, right?), and just when they think you’ve lost your taste for them, you give them a subtle hint, that no, you are still thirsty. Thus, they are encouraged to grow a pair and come see if they can pair up with you, for the hour, for the evening, or for maybe more.

But sometimes, as I’ve realized, there are other factors involved. Sure, no one likes to be turned down or rejected in any sense – where it be in love, their career, or at the bank. But for a long time, I took it personally when a man didn’t find himself drooling over me or hoping to fill up my cup. Now I see it as just another experience, another lesson, or really, just as some fun. Who knows what’s going on in the mind of someone – maybe he’s taken, maybe he’s just met someone with possibility, maybe his  heart is broken, maybe he’s gay, maybe he’s dealing with love addiction, or maybe I’m not his style of lady. Regardless, it doesn’t make me ugly, uninteresting, or no deserving of a good flirt at a trendy bar – it’s just how the levels of love and attraction work.

I’ve placed no rules on myself for this path to self-love, so I haven’t refrained from The Look, nor have my friends stopped begging me to do it when we all go out. The only difference is…I don’t take it as seriously. Or really, I don’t take myself as seriously. And somehow, when you stop placing pressure on yourself, on the success of your glance, or on the man himself – somehow, the odds of The Look working… go up.

Because instead of acting like you’re fully engaged and enjoying your friend’s company – you actually are. Instead of acting like you don’t care if the man comes or if he doesn’t, you actually don’t. And instead of toasting the air to entice him to come over, you’re saying cheers to yourself and to the laws of attraction, that somehow, never seem to lose their intrigue.

PS: Confessions of a Love Addict is considering a Q&A Sunday where Lindsay answers questions from your own stories about the journey of self-love (and the men along the way). If you’re interested, send her an email.

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Beauty, Blessings & Bird Poop

This weekend, I was in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad mood.

When I left the office on Friday, I went out for a drink with a man, who was so incredibly boring he doesn’t even deserve a Mr. title on this blog. As he selfishly discussed himself and his only question to anything I told him was “Oh, well, will I be on the blog? I could be Mr. Dreamy,” -I thought of the many ways I could have a dramatic exit, shouting out words that for the time being, I’m censoring.

After letting him know I was busy, for, oh I don’t know, forever – I caught the train uptown, listened to angry-rock band music, and avoided eye contact with any other straphangers. By the time I made it to the grocery store, picked up a miniature pint of ice cream and two rom coms, I was beyond frustrated and annoyed – I was flat out sad.

Cuddled up in my bed, watching a flick I already know the plot and ending to, I wondered what was wrong with me. Here I was, on a Friday night after a so-called “date” – protecting myself from the cold and perhaps, from the stress that can sometimes come with going out for the night. I looked outside, across the way into the windows of buildings beside me, and decided I needed to make a genuine effort to be hopeful and put-together the next day, as spending one night of the weekend in bed was acceptable, but not two.

Needless to say, I didn’t put forth too much of a fight and even cancelled plans on my friend J – further making me feel miserable for being unreliable. But for whatever reason, the only thing in the entire world, in this big beautiful city, I had a desire to do was to curl myself up in bed again, far away from anyone and anything.

Realizing I was home and alone on a night I should be mingling, flirting, or at least giggling with my friends – I took out a fancy bottle of wine I received as a gift from my publisher’s wife, and decided to uncork it. I had intended on saving it for a celebration when the next monumental change happened in my life, but where there’s a thirst for Merlot, the only medicine to hit the spot is Merlot.

By glass number three, I had almost forgotten I was doing a 12-step program. I started examining myself in the mirror, pulling and tugging on what I thought was ugly, sucking it in, trying on jeans I already knew didn’t fit, and sighing, when low-and-behold, they didn’t zip up. I attempted to clean my apartment, while condemning myself for only doing laundry once a month and barely cleaning my dishes more than once a week. I then decided to get ahead on my freelancing and blog posts, but ended up lingering and nit-picking at my sentences, before concluding I just wasn’t as good of a writer as the day before. And then, the temptation of Facebook became too much to resist, along with that fourth glass of wine, and against my better judgment and lessons I’ve learned over the last five months – I stalked every ex-boyfriend I’m still linked to. After seeing one-kissy face too many, I started dreaming of all the things I’ve ever wanted and then worrying that I’ll never have them. That I’ll never reach my goals, that I’ll never work for the magazine I want to work for, that I’ll never have a nice apartment, that I’ll never own $700 shoes, that I’ll never (yep, here it is) fall in love again. As I thought of everything I desired, I settled on the fact that what I really needed right then and there was….a man.

A tall, muscular, loving and funny guy. One with a great story. One who amidst every other woman who walked the world, he wanted to stand side-by-side with me. And as I hid under the covers, pedicure socks on and all, I closed my eyes and imagined what it would feel like for him to wrap his arms around me, whisper “Baby, I’ll keep you warm,” and fall asleep with the stubble on his chin and the stickiness of his breath tickling the back of my neck.

This of course, got me to thinking of the last man who slept in my bed and I started wondering what was wrong with me that I didn’t accept Mr. Possibility’s offer for an all-expenses paid, week-long trip to stay with him while he’s overseas. I mean, the weather there is 70 and above, the beaches are warm, he’s staying in a multi-million dollar hotel that’s fancier than anything I could afford. Plus, I’d get to see him every single night, eat more shrimp than I can fathom, and did I mention the suite had one of those Jacuzzi tubs? Before drifting to sleep, I slightly came out of my negative Nancy mentality and remembered another gal’s possibilities had been on those sheets, and though it would have been wonderful – I’d rather have my dignity.

By the time Monday rolled around and I was stuck in the office, unlike most of Manhattan, I still couldn’t shake my unhappiness. With our next issue going to press on Friday and interviews, and deadlines between now and then, I had more than enough to focus on – but yet, my mind was scattered. I kept concentrating on all of my shortcomings and wondered if I was doing enough. Are there more ways I can promote the blog? Can I help people in areas I’m not touching on? Are my blogs getting worse? Is this where I should be in my career right now? Am I saving enough money? Should my run time be better? Is that a new zit on the side of my cheek, I mean, really?

When the clock struck one and I needed to hop the train to meet a mentor for lunch, I walked slow (which is unlike me) and everyone who crossed my path was victim to my notorious death stare that I can never seem to hide, even when I try (not that I was, though). As I listened to her give me advice, support, and praises, I kept telling her how nervous I was and how I didn’t know what to do. After nodding her head along, watching my glass (and attitude) continue to turn half-empty, she simply said: “You know, you’re on this journey to self-love and you believe in it – so why don’t you believe in yourself, as much as you believe in the process?” She had a point, but I still couldn’t shake my mood.

And then, as we were saying our goodbyes outside, I felt something fall from above and hit my pink peacoat, the side of my head, and my ear muffs. I look to figure out what it is and stick my leather gloves right into a nice, warm, splatter of bird poop. When she reassures me it isn’t that bad, I defiantly cut my eyes at the bird, who looks down, with his little happy bird face and twerps. Before I can figure out how to reach him and ring his neck, I hurry back into the café to clean myself off, in a huff.

As I’m wiping my hair, rinsing my gloves, thinking of dry cleaners in my neighborhood, and watching my eyes well up with tears I think, “Well, it’s appropriate isn’t it, Linds? You’ve been shitting on yourself all weekend, so of course, a bird is going to follow in your footsteps.”

And with that, I smile, shake my head, gather myself together, put on my current musical obsession, and head back to the train. Because sometimes, you just have to laugh at your ridiculousness, forgive yourself for having an off couple-of-days, and keep in mind that the point of a journey isn’t the destination, but the steps along the way. That even when you don’t feel lovely or like things are going in the right direction, there is always beauty and blessings to be found around each corner, if we remember to look for them.

There also happens to be bird poop, as well. But from what I hear, it’s a sign of good luck. Right?

PS: If you’re a fan of Confessions of a Love Addict, please take this survey for a chance to win beauty goodies!

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The Here-And-Now

I’ve only been a self-proclaimed love addict for just-shy of two months now. But as I said at the beginning, I’ve been battling with these constant thoughts and fears of “being single forever” and “not being good enough” and “men just don’t fall in love with me” for a very long time. Basically, my entire adult (ehh…and teen?) life.

I can think back to times in college (and even post-grad in some deeply-obsessive moments) when I would literally force myself not to look at my phone for allotted amounts of time. Because somehow, if I didn’t actually glance at my cell phone for say, 10 minutes, the Mr of the Week would text me back in a more timely fashion (instead of hours later or if at all). And then once he would text, I would make sure to double the amount of time it took him to respond…so I would seem aloof and unavailable. Because men want that, right?

Even if in reality, I was nervously twitching on my couch, eating chocolate pudding, and distracting myself painting my fingernails, and analyzing any possible hidden meaning between the two lines in his latest text. And if it I so desired, forwarding the text to my dearest (and supportive) friends to see if they deciphered something I didn’t.

Now, since this recovery journey started, I haven’t exactly met someone I could actually see myself with (other than Mr. Unavailable, but we all know how that story goes) – so I haven’t tested my reaction to texting conversations. However, a few changes in my habits and perceptions have noticeably changed:

Literally Busy (Not Faking It)

If I was to meet a new Mr and I did happen to swoon over him – I’m not quite sure where I would fit him into my life. And really, those longing romantic notions that I have always had, have tapered away a bit…maybe because I haven’t had the time to nourish them. In between working 40 plus hours a week at the business magazine, managing big dream-promoter, ChickSpeak, writing this blog, running daily, and attempting to have a social life –I find myself thinking sometimes: Now, why was I so obsessed with a boyfriend?

There’s no way I could fit a serious, committed relationship into this schedule – and really, I’m getting to a point where I’m almost (dare I say it?) happy to be single! I still have days when I want to cuddle or sneak a kiss or be paid a compliment – but I really feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. And for once, I’m okay with it.

Being More at Peace

I’ve never been one to think in the here-and-the-now, probably due to what I call “hyper-ambition” – but recently, I’ve noticed a shift in my thought processes. I tend to look at things with more of a practical perspective instead of an emotional one.

For example, last week I was in fact expecting a text message from Mr. Unavailable, and even though he’s not someone I want to date, he was taking longer than usual, and a little voice inside my head pleaded: “But what if you never hear from him again, then what? That would be the most awful thing on the entire planet. What would you do?” In the past, when these pestering worries would come up, I’d play into them and sincerely freak myself out. But this time, I thought, “Well, I’d be fine. I’ll still go to work tomorrow and get to have that fun girl’s night out next week. Oh, and I have that event to look forward to.” I’m learning to throw away the negativity and the obsession and turn it into optimism and reality. And in return, I’m getting out of my head and feeling more at peace with my life and myself.

Freeing from Frustrations

Of all of the things chasing a dream by myself has taught me, the most important one has been to enjoy my own company. While I never feel alone in the city (because it keeps me company just by being so alive and inviting), there are many evenings and days that I spend alone. And honestly, some of those moments are my favorite. Exploring the town is fun with a pal, but you notice more when you’re just with yourself. And instead of wishin’ and hopin’ that my hand was being held by a man, I’ve grown to enjoy it being held by a Macy’s bag or a hot apple cider, instead.

However, not putting pressure on myself to “meet someone” or “flirt with a dude” or “go out for the sake of romantic possibility” has allowed me to just…relax. I’m not afraid to spend an evening just dancing and not have one single dude buy me a drink. I’m learning not to look at a guy in some bar in some area on some (or every) night, lusting at the thought that he could be my Mr. Right. Currently, the best nights I have are spent laughing away, cherishing my youth, and if a man happens to walk in and shake up evening –then be it.

If not, I’m still ridiculously thankful to be right here, right now, just me…and the me I’m becoming. My, oh my, what’s next?

 

 

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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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Trail Blazing

It’s easy, it’s natural, and it’s captivatingly simple to me. It comes without any trouble, without any worries, and without any fears or complications. It gives as much as it takes and it can make me feel better in an instant. It is part of what defines me and what makes me get up each and every single morning.

Writing.

Regardless if it’s an article, this blog, freelancing, or Tumbling – I know I was put on this planet to be a writer. Yes, of course, everyone in New York is a writer of sorts, but I truly believe I was given the gift of being a word craftswoman and that it’ll take me wherever I want to go. And I also know I have the ability to write as I do so I can help others with their struggles, their thoughts, and their daily lives.

Recently, I met with an editor at a magazine who is in charge of a networking group I’m part of. We met to discuss my career, taking a leadership role in the group, and advice about moving forward. Not only did she compliment me and tell me she knew I’d go far and that my ambition was admirable – but hearing about her accomplishments and witnessing her career…gave me a surge of energy.

While I’ve always had confidence in my career and in the steps I’m taking to be successful, having someone else validate you gives you that extra kick ya need. And that feeling – that kick, the ecstatic feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes your heart swell…is incomparable.

As I left her office and got on the elevator, it took every ounce of maturity in me to not jump up and down the hallway. And when I was on the streets, I practically was skipping and my smile was as wide as the Grand Central Terminal I was entering.

That feeling when you know you’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do, in the place you want to do it, at the time you’re supposed to do it…wow. When I see my byline in print or online, when I get a check for freelancing, when I get fan mail from this blog, the joy that intensifies in my soul is more powerful than any feeling a man has ever given me.

That happiness, that beautiful, irreplaceable confidence in myself, my career, and my ability to achieve makes me realize how important writing really is to me. No matter who I meet or who I marry or who I fall in love with – they will never be able to give me this energy or this joy.

Because that joy, that perfectly-aligned with your soul feeling – comes from a place they’ll never reach. And I wouldn’t want them to. This happiness, this immense pleasure is just for me and for the hard work I put into being who I know I’m meant to be, and helping those I know I need to serve.

I feel like I’m at the brink of something incredible. I’m learning to love myself, be confidently single, and I’m advancing myself to the next level I want to be at in my career. Something is brewing in the atmosphere and something even more amazing is brewing inside of me.

I sincerely feel like I’m on fire and wherever I go next will light up all around me, illuminating a path for others to follow. This passionate flame that burns so intensely inside of me cannot and will not be extinguished because it’s been there forever – without faltering when anyone comes in and out of my line of fire.

Watch out, world – I’m blazing a new trail, and I’m taking this spark with me to the next adventure. And…I’m doing it all by myself.