November 28, 2011

plus one

The key to my mom’s heart?
A guest who brings a bottle of wine, smiles graciously and eats heartily, and makes her daughter happy.

The key to my dad’s heart?
Someone who indulges him with a round of billiards, gets to know him over drinks and cigarettes, and treats his only daughter well.

The key to my heart?
A boyfriend who doesn’t flinch when I ask him to attend a Thanksgiving dinner with 13 aunts, uncles, cousins, and a brother; someone who repeatedly tells me I look beautiful throughout the day; and a kind soul who laughs and drinks alongside my brother and cousins at the kiddie table (we still call it that even though we are all in our late 20s-early 30s).

When I asked him to attend, I didn’t think he’d say yes. I expected him to say it was too soon to meet the family but the question barely fazed him. Instantly, I turned into a ball of nerves.

What if my aunt gets sauced and starts talking inappropriately about matzo balls again? Or my crazy German mother starts dancing the hula in the kitchen? Or my uncle ribs him about being a vegan?

And so I did what came naturally on turkey day. I refilled my wine glass repeatedly, paced around nervously, and briefed my family anxiously. In the end, all that worry was all for naught. He made a wonderful impression on the family and, most importantly, he provided a calming presence on a day ordinarily reserved for stress and worry.

Today my readership increases by one more pair of eyes. And these eyes make me nervous, because this is a first in my blogging career. I have never had a boyfriend read my blog before but I finally felt ready to open up and share this with him. Introducing him to the family was a huge step, but in some ways this is even more daunting. Even still, I think it’s only fair that I show him something that clearly means so much to me. He has read my writing before and knew about my blog before we had even met (I asked his approval on the post smitten before I hit publish), but this is still nerve-wracking. It is because of his constant support, understanding, and patience that I finally feel ready.

Please join me in welcoming my sweet, loving boyfriend to my little corner of the blogosphere. (He will get a name; I just haven’t picked it out yet).

And I hope you all had a very happy Thanksgiving. XOXO

Posted at: 7:52 am by |Filed Under: dating | 33 Comments
November 20, 2011

The time I may have gone out with a serial killer

I feel guilty for a lot of things most people would probably not think twice about. Maybe I didn’t hold the door as long as I should have and then I curse myself for allowing NYC to rub off on me. In my rush to get to work, I have been known to brush past people who stand and stare a moment longer than I can handle and I spend a large portion of my morning feeling bad about my actions. Sometimes I get an email from someone looking to advertise on my blog but I can’t justify inclusion because I have a clear purpose for my corner of the web and I notice a conflict. And I feel guilty again.

Several months ago, I met up with an Irish guy from OKCupid and we drank coffee from a Starbucks in Union Square. I had reservations before the date. I wasn’t particularly in the mood to meet anyone at the time and there was something about his profile that raised a red flag. He only had few pictures up: one of him with a fake facial tattoo; the other showed him sporting a fake mustache. He was wordy and a bit pretentious, but his email seemed friendly enough and it was clear we had at least a few things in common, most noticeably our love of writing.

What the hell, I thought. It’s just a coffee date. And on a bright and sunny Autumn evening we sipped our hot beverages and discussed life and love and writing and books.

It was enjoyable but the spark just wasn’t there for me and so I spilled my hidden secret–one I always kept hidden from anyone I met online. I told him about my blog (though thankfully I had the sense not to reveal the URL). His eyes lit up and he told me about a book he had written about dating. He kindly asked if I would write up a review and I reluctantly told him I would check it out if he wanted to send me a copy.

Then I went to Paris, Bennington, and Newport and met someone who made my heart flutter.

I had forgotten about him until he text messaged me out of the blue and asked if I could still review his book. I sent him my work address and the book arrived a few days later.

I sat down one day a few weeks ago and my heart sank. It was the most misogynistic book I had ever read (published anonymously, mind you) about how he liked to hurt girls mentally, and once, physically. He described the thrill of stealing souls and compared himself to a serial killer who felt no remorse for the people he killed.

I read on and tried to convince myself this book was his way of apologizing to all those poor unsuspecting women whose hearts he had broken. Twenty pages in and the assaults continued. He described the night he made a girl cry and how he had a beer thrown at him. At the 50-page mark he detailed the ones who were bad in the sack. I made it to page 75 and the time he moved to the Midwest and developed a love affair with his right hand. I cringed when he discussed the short story he had written about how his left hand became jealous.

Then I put the book down and sent him a text message. I would not be reviewing the book for my blog.

I had enough and refused to feel guilty.

Fucking creep. And to think I almost indulged him in a second date.

Posted at: 8:51 pm by |Filed Under: dating | 29 Comments
November 18, 2011

the pursuit of happiness ends within

I would just like to extend a very warm thank-you to all for the swift kick in the rear I desperately needed after that last post. Your comments, text messages, emails, and phone calls really warmed my heart. I can’t tell you what it means to know so many of you are in my corner and I am slowly learning to let go and make peace with my past.

I’ve had some time to reflect in the past week and it dawned on me that feeling sorry for myself and feeling good about myself require the same amount of effort so why not focus on the latter instead? I know, I know. Easier said than done. This so-called-life is filled with all kinds of curves and dips, surprises and unusual circumstances. But I need to experience it, embrace it, and love it all over again.

I owe it to myself to be happy. I am deserving of great things. And I just want to feel good again, dammit.

So, how am I doing this exactly?

1) I splurged on a new haircut. If you are friends with me on Facebook, then you may have already seen this photo. And if you have been reading my blog long enough (or are friends with me IRL), you know I have the most unruly head of curls imaginable. But I wanted a change so I went a bit darker, had some split ends removed, and opted for the blowout. If you liked the curls, fret not-they have already returned in full force. Hmph.

2) I treated myself to some goodies from Vikki’s Secret. I also bought myself an adorable frog hat because I have a thing for warm winter wear. And yes-I realize the two couldn’t be further away from one another on the sexy spectrum, but sometimes you just need to celebrate your inner five-year-old and every now and then new bras and things are necessary.

3) Dance parties! And I’m not even talking about going to the clubs (though that’s always fun, too). I’m going to admit to something that may come back to haunt me later but I don’t care. Dancing to Rihanna in the privacy of my bedroom is extremely liberating and a good way to get the heart pumping. Yea. I do this.

4) I made plans. Lots of them. Dinner with a close friend in Jersey last night. Ladies night this evening. Brunch in the morning. I also have some tentative things lined up with friends I haven’t seen in ages who are in town for the holidays. I look forward to treating myself with the finest company imaginable.

5) And last but certainly not least, I met a wonderful guy who is doing much to restore my faith in men and, well, myself. For the first time in God knows how long, I am being courted and it’s a beautiful feeling. I love the way he looks at me when we lie side by side, how he chivalrously carries my things, and tells me he misses me just because. And the tulips he sent to my office this past week didn’t hurt either.

Finding someone I feel emotionally and intellectually connected with doesn’t happen every day (in my case it’s kind of like seeing Halley’s Comet twice in a lifetime), but when it does, it works wonders for the ol’ self esteem. The other day he dropped the “g” word and, though it freaked me out at first, I realized I should probably stop referring to him as “this really awesome guy I’ve kinda’ been seeing sorta’” (with that really annoying vocal inflection on the last note).

I have a boyfriend. It’ll take some time to get used to saying that but I’m warming up to the idea of letting him in. He makes me feel sexier than any haircut, lingerie, or Jagger dance moves ever could.

And that makes me feel happy again.

Posted at: 9:25 am by |Filed Under: dating | Eat Pray Love journey | letting go | 24 Comments
November 16, 2011

ghosts

“Opened up his little heart
Unlocked the lock that kept it dark
And read a written warning
Saying I’m still mourning
Over ghosts
Over ghosts
Over ghosts
Over ghosts that broke my heart before I met you.”
–Laura Marling, Ghosts

All relationships are doomed to fail, right? It’s what I’ve essentially convinced myself in my 32 years after two long-term boyfriends claimed my 20s and stole pieces of my heart. I have grown accustomed to inviting men into my life to satisfy various needs. There were the ones who indulged me when all I wanted was to cuddle and engage in a passionate makeout session; the guys who shared their histories, listened, and soothed; and the few who wrestled with me between the sheets when I needed to feel desired. For the most part, there were never any hurt feelings; the terms were always agreed upon from the beginning.

After a solid year of embracing my inner sex kitten and feeling free of all worries, I slipped. I shut down and convinced myself it just wouldn’t happen for me. Anxiety crept in and made me question my sanity. I escaped literally and figuratively whenever possible because I felt the city’s icy glare sizing me up and I began to dislike what I saw in the mirror. Concerned friends and family members began asking if I had lost weight, and each time, my confidence took a nosedive. I thought I felt low when I broke up with the ex, but this was a new fortress of solitude I had set up and I was terrified to let anyone in. And so, I retreated even further.

The girl who once took such pride in her Bikram body and carefree spirit was broken.

And then, as if from a scene in a movie, someone walked into my life at a time when I had completely given up. He says all the right things, picks me up when I’m down, and showers me with compliments. He has opened up to me and is allowing me all the time in the world to get my head sorted. He is hell-bent on making me realize my true worth and I seem hell-bent on sabotaging the closest I’ve come to having a relationship in two years. I can’t let go of all the hurt that haunts me and I’m scared of fucking up so I tell myself to just get it over with early on. Maybe if I end things in the beginning stages, I’ll eliminate the pain and heartache that surely awaits.

I’m so frustrated with myself because I don’t remember the last time I have felt so deliriously happy and nervous and excited and on the brink of vomiting every time I see someone.

Tell me to snap out of it. Tell me to stop fucking it up. Tell me to go with the flow and relax and enjoy.

Because I really like this one.

I’m just scared of the ghosts.

Posted at: 7:59 am by |Filed Under: dating | 23 Comments
November 10, 2011

smitten

About a month ago, I received a simple text message that read, “I have a guy for you. 32. Vegan. Intelligent. Cute.” At the time, I had all but removed myself from online dating and I stopped paying attention to NYC eye boning attempts. I was taking Patti Stanger’s advice and participating in a dating detox because I was tired of going out with one idiot after another. I was skeptical. Also this set-up was coming from a close friend and someone who understood what I had been through in my previous relationship on an entirely different level. This text message came from my ex’s sister.

I know. Awkward.

I reluctantly allowed her to give out my phone number and miraculously the 32-year-old intellectual vegan called when he said he would. We spent about an hour on the phone learning bits and pieces about each other’s lives and nervously asked the usual “getting-to-know-you’s” that always make me cringe. But he was easy to talk to, had a sexy phone voice, and we agreed to meet up on a Friday night in Hoboken at a steakhouse.

Yup. You read that correctly. A vegetarian and a vegan walk into a steakhouse. In my defense, it was the only place I could think of that didn’t attract an army of meathead frat boys looking to play beer pong and I was hoping it would provide a relatively low-key atmosphere for our first encounter.

Somehow he beat me to the restaurant and waited patiently outside. I took a moment to compose myself and checked him out from across the street. Tall and way cuter in person than in the photos he had emailed me. I crossed the street when the light changed, smiled hello, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Wow. Totally way cuter.

We made our way to the dining area upstairs and ordered a round of drinks. After two glasses of wine (I stuck to a two-drink maximum—Patti would be so proud!), the night was still young, the bar had filled in quickly, and the music was decidedly louder (and more fist-bumpier). I thought maybe I should invite him over for some tea (it was a cold night) and because I wasn’t quite ready to end our conversation.

We broke his first rule of dating. We kissed. Passionately. I had actually forgotten what it was like to be kissed without a Captain Roaminghands behind the wheel. He pulled my sweater down so I wouldn’t get cold and gently wrapped his arms around me. We cuddled on the couch for hours, my head against his chest, and talked. No funny business.

Some mornings I wake up to discover beautiful poetry from him in my inbox. When I told him I had been feeling a bit stressed out, he brought over some Ravi Shankar which I’ve been listening to on my morning commute. He has already fixed my computer, taken out my AC, and seems intent on erasing the memory of all the bad ones who existed before him.

We’ve gone out quite a few more times since (he teases me for keeping track). My eyes are blurry from late-night conversations about our families, the importance of meditation and yoga, our love of music, and life goals. My fingers are numb from text messages (and my friend made fun of me for sneaking them in during our trip to Newport). My face is frozen in a permagrin, the likes of which I haven’t sported since God knows when.

I like him. A lot.

We have agreed to take things slowly. In the meantime, I feel the feelings I forgot and welcome the gentle flutter of butterflies.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.

Posted at: 8:01 am by |Filed Under: dating | 33 Comments
November 8, 2011

American Heiress review and my time in Newport

It’s rare that I come across a book that really holds my attention cover to cover. I have been recommended so many by friends over the years and I hate to tell them when I don’t like the characters or don’t find the story as riveting as they did. Sometimes I start to plan my dinner in the middle of a chapter. I’m also guilty of daydreaming my way to the bottom of a page and then I have to read the same section over again (sometimes multiple times. Anyone else?).

That was not the case with The American Heiress.

This breakthrough novel by Daisy Goodwin focuses on Cora Cash, the daughter of aristocratic parents in twentieth century Newport, Rhode Island. Her merciless mother will do all it takes for her daughter to climb the social ladder but realizes quickly that a life in the States is limited and she wants the one thing that would set her daughter apart from the rest: a title. And so it is that she ships her proper, beautiful, and trained daughter to England in hopes that she will find the right suitor.

It is there that she meets Ivo, England’s most eligible bachelor, and becomes Duchess of Wareham. But as we all know: all that glitters is not gold. Cora finds her husband to be secretive and she begins to miss the life she left behind. In addition, she finds it is much harder to assimilate in English society than she had originally anticipated.

“Anyone suffering Downton Abbey withdrawal symptoms (who isn’t?) will find an instant tonic in Daisy Goodwin’s The American Heiress. The story of Cora Cash, an American heiress in the 1890s who bags an English duke, this is a deliciously evocative first novel that lingers in the mind.”–Allison Pearson, New York Times bestselling author of I Don’t Know How She Does It and I Think I Love You

I started writing this review over the summer when my copy was covered in sun block and sand but this will make a perfect book to curl under the covers with this winter. I don’t known why it’s taken me so long to finish this review (certainly not a reflection of the book itself), but since I visited Newport with a friend this past weekend, I thought the timing was perfect. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and found myself discussing it with quite a few people over the weekend (it was on sale in all the mansion shops). It’s most definitely a page-turner, filled with romance, scandal, and betrayal. I really enjoyed the author’s story-telling and found myself rooting for Cora throughout. I wanted her to lash out against her tyrant of a mother, to ditch her hubby, and to stick it to high society a bit.

Here are some pics from the weekend. Highlights included a stay at a haunted jailhouse (now a hotel), a haunted walking tour, and a tour of the Breakers.

Posted at: 8:04 am by |Filed Under: travel | 9 Comments
November 1, 2011

Someone pinch me–I’m syndicated at BlogHer!

To say that syndication has been a dream of mine since I was just a wee Charlotte is a huge understatement. Growing up, I was never a fan of the required history and science courses, but literature classes would make my heart skip a beat and I proudly scribbled in my journal whenever I could steal away from the many distractions around me. In college I discovered Sylvia Plath, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Virginia Woolf, and Kate Chopin. They instantly became my muses. I wanted to be like them, to write like them, and to see the world through their eyes. And so I traveled, had lovers, made mistakes, and learned outside the classroom all that I could. Slowly my writing began to take shape as I documented my fears, hopes, and frustrations, always keeping a positive outlook.

And then I experienced the biggest heartache I had ever known. I turned to blogging.

I’ve made some pretty amazing connections and formed many friendships with talented writers near and far via this blogging community and consider myself extremely lucky for the many doors that have opened up to me since I started.

But to be syndicated??

Well, that was always just a pipe dream.

And yet, it’s happening. Right here. So pinch me if you see me floating through the halls at work today, walking into walls, or dancing a jig (or my famous ho-down) at any point throughout the day. And please stop by and read my post What Not to Say to Your Single Friends. It would mean the world. You are my world.

Thank you all for helping to make my dreams come true. And thank you, BlogHer, for all that you do.

XOXO

Posted at: 1:33 pm by |Filed Under: dancin' fool | featured blogger | on writing/blogging | 22 Comments