At Dawn

(Photo: Corbis)

… this is not what I do, it's the wrong time, for somebody new

I was thinking about The American after not seeing or talking to him for days. He was constantly on my mind – like a shadow on my conscience you know is there but can’t quite catch as it disappears from your view. The initial shock and awe was wearing off, the romantic ideas of being swept away and cared for falling back to the reality of my future and what plans I had made and ideals I want to live up to. But the way that he was in my thoughts wasn’t as I expected. There was no rhyme or reason for me to be thinking of him – I just was. And that got me to wonder, was this the famous ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other sensation that Ms. Bradshaw was talking about? But more importantly was the question, do I even want it?

When I take a step (or 5) back to contemplate this entire situation the attraction that I have to The American and the attraction that he has to me is completely irrational. I have no idea who he is, what he does, how he is, where he is going, what he wants or how he plans to get it. He met me a week ago and already has planned our entire future together and is ready and willing, and has even put into motion moving to my city. He claims that I am “the One” to me, to my friends, to anyone who would listen. And when I found that out – reality hit. The romantic ideal, the movie-script come to life feeling quickly fell into the familiar sense of fear that I have of men who, at the beginning, place you on a pedestal only to one day place you in a cage. When viewed through the lens of scientific rationalization – The American seems to be a man who would use my compassion against me and my need for love as a way to control me.

Perhaps I am being paranoid – but in this day and age of the dating/relationship game you have to be. The lines that defined a relationship that were once clearly drawn have been blurred or even erased by the actions of both men and women who were either in a relationship, in an affair, or hell in both. Apparently the term ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ may not always mean exclusivity… I mean, I had to spell out for my friends what ‘seeing – dating – relationship’ meant to clarify that I wasn’t a whore. Sure; I admit that I told The American that I wasn’t getting married. I’m not. But that doesn’t mean that I am fair game to any and all potential suitors that got it into their heads that this Manolo-lite is "the One". Now my interest in the opposite sex is for friendship and friendship alone; I shouldn’t have to stop being my polite, friendly and funny self to men just because there are some out there who cannot control their raging emotions, or those men out there who believe that if a pretty girl is nice to you it is actually an invitation to get in her yoga pants.


I have a boyfriend. I know I wrote about taken-attraction in a tongue-and-cheek fashion, but now with The American it went from being funny to being ridiculous. The American knows that I have someone in my life – someone special, someone I know, someone I (will again) trust, someone I care deeply for and who cares deeply and truly for me. As romantic and adventurous and exciting as it would be, at least in my mind, to run off with The American – my body says differently. It says ‘hell no!’. I don’t know about you, but I believe that your body is the most beautiful thing you will ever possess in your entire life, save for that awesome pair of Christian Louboutin shoes. I say this because I found my mind being tricked into this imaginary Hollywood-story while my body stayed steadfast in its ‘no way nuh-uh not while I’m warm and alive’ opinion. As the song goes, my hips don’t lie and I’m starting to feel nervous.

My instructor friend and her boyfriend gave The American the old "If you love/care for something let it go" speech, which got me thinking; if you never really had something, how can you let it go? Granted The American had me going for a while – that is, until I left to see Vegas on Sunday. I admit I thought of The American during my visit with Vegas – but when I compared the two side by side, Vegas won the battle hands down.

The only positive thing that I have realized throughout this entire ordeal with The American is that although Vegas and I had and will have our issues… Vegas is actually a decent guy. His level of jealousy and possessiveness has not crossed over to the dark side – He’s attentive without being overbearing, he’s interested without being obsessed, and he’s eager without being controlling… that is, unless I want him to be. I understand that I could have another man in minute but a guy like Vegas, a guy willing to admit over and over that he messed up and is walking the walk of action to prove he’s sorry… that kind of guy isn’t so irreplaceable. As charming and wonderful as The American has made himself out to be - he's actually taught me - or brought to my attention, inadvertantly - that Vegas is one of the good ones, which I guess means I am one of the lucky ones.

Even if I have men falling at my feet.

The Name Game

"I have given you my soul... leave me my name."

It's a big question - one that has followed women ever since the Sexual Revolution. I first heard it in grade 6 - my science teacher, Mrs. K, introduced herself to us as Mrs. because it was too much work and way too much of a hassle to fill out the paperwork before the ceremony. This question is - of course - "Will you take your husbands name once you're married?".

In my circle of friends this question was never brought up - maybe because (for my friends) we're all 22 and marriage is the furthest thing from our minds. Maybe because we're too busy asking pertinant questions, like which dress should I wear for which formal, or where did my other shoe go, or the ever popular necklace/no necklace problem we all run in to. But maybe because all of our mothers, mine, Mackenzies, Angelicas, Christies, Nicoles and countless others - are Mrs. Every boyfriend I've ever had - his mother is a Mrs. Grandmothers too. It seems as if Mrs.' are everywhere, an inescapable future if a girl chooses to get married.

Not to say that is a bad thing - my mother says her married name often and with pride. Vegas' mother responds lovingly to my 'hello Mrs. ___' as have every mother I've addressed who took her husbands name. But when I was discussing this with Vegas and with anyone who has asked me - I am of the opinion that I should never have to take my husband's name so much as to choose to take his name - and if called Mrs. by an unsuspecting person, be able to correct them with the salutation of "Ms." followed by my last name. Not maiden name, not fathers name. My name.

For as long as I've been out in public alone - not under the shadow of my brother or with my family - teachers, friends, colleagues and others have always called me "Ms." - jokingly and seriously. With the exception of French - the term "mademoiselle" for a young lady and '"madame" for a married woman - I have been and plan on forever being, Ms. And apparently that is a problem - at least, it has been for past boyfriends and lovers and their families.

I remember one time with Philippe - I was discussing with him the potential of getting a new hockey jersey with a player's name on the back. He said i "You know what would be really hot? If you got (his last name) on the back". To which I replied "No, why the hell would I do that?". "Why not?" He asked, insulted that I would dare to reject his name. "Well", I replied, "a) You don't play for the team, b) I'm not your wife and don't plan on being your wife and c) It's not my name. If I were to get my name on the back of MY jersey it would be MY name and no one elses". Clearly this started a fight, but really - when were we not fighting?

But most recently it has been with Vegas. When I mentioned the previous story and how I'd never take on someone elses name - at most I would hyphen but still sign legal documents Ms. - he too didn't understand this. Now my stance on the Ms. subject has not changed since we were dating back in high school. When I reminded him of this, he responded "Well, I thought you would have changed your mind."

Isn't that some men in a nutshell?

I get that in Vegas' family it is 'tradition' for the wife to take the husbands name. My mother did it - my grandmother did it- and I'm pretty sure my great-grandmother did it too. However, this is 2007: and I've never been good at following, or at least, I've managed to follow until I can lead. As much as I adore Vegas' family - I am not willing to forego my family of origin if Vegas' doesn't have to as well. Gone are the days when the wife was a piece of property to be exchanged between one man and another. Isn't it now "husband and wife" instead of "man and wife", implying maybe a hint of equality? So why the name game? Why is it when I chose to keep my own name after being able to chose if and whom I marry do I come out as the bad guy?

In a relationship I understand that I will eventually have to compromise. A lot. Kids, 'home', education, hell even religion - meaning I'd accept yours but never convert from mine. But my name stays. For me - my name is my identity. It is the one thing in this world that defines me and my accomplishments - my struggles, my past, my achievements, my potential. Why would I willingly give up my greatest sense of independence in exchange for the title of 'someone's'?

I retorted back to Vegas, to Philippe, to each man I've dated: "Take my name" - and boy oh boy were they insulted beyond belief. Laughter, pity-looks and dismissals galore. "Degrading, isn't it?", I replied, "that you'd take my name." So why am I supposed to be overjoyed at the potential of gaining a mans name when the shoe is on the other foot is it the most degrading concept ever heard by the ears of men?

There is one woman I know who is a Ms. It's Chris' mom. I called her Mrs. by mistake the first time I met her - she kindly but firmly corrected me as Ms. and I have never made that mistake again. She is easily one of this country's most powerful women - intelligent, successful, not to mention really hot for a mother twice over. She has a better body than I do! But what makes her so incredible is that she is everything: a wife and mother, a success in her career and her life, and she did it all as Ms and not Mrs. She is the epitamy of what I believe is the update to the saying - "Behind every great man is a great woman". Chris' mom is "Beside every great man is a great woman" - not his Mrs. but his Ms.

And I can definately live with something like that.

The Politics of Relationships

Does absence makes the heart grow fonder… or does it make the heart go wander?
This weekend is my formal – a graduation of some sort into the ‘adult’ phase of my life. I’ve known about this for 2 months know, and in turn so has Vegas. He planned on coming to the city on Thursday night, seeing me, and then meeting again on Saturday for the evening out. Great, I thought to myself, because Thursday day I work and then head to the gym until the late evening, and Friday I have class all day and work all night. So while this weekend I would love to see him as much as possible, 3 out of 4 days is pretty good and significantly enough for me.

Wednesday night we chat online and Vegas tells me that he is sick. How come, I ask, because on the weekend I went out he sounded fine, energetic, a little buzzed but overall well-enough to withstand his activities. Well, it’s because of the weekend straight of partying that he’s sick because the late nights have continued on as he scrambled to get his work done for looming deadlines and group meetings that start early and run late. So as a result, plus family obligations, our together time has fallen from 3 days to 1.

Fine, I said, just see me on Saturday, because I did not want him to get sick before then and be unable to accompany me. We proceeded to get into a disagreement (not argument) about the time issue, with me saying no to anything before Saturday in concern for his health and my previous obligations, and him say yes to see me on Thursday because he missed me. He was wondering why I was mad at him (I was not mad) for being sick, that he didn’t plan on it, and that he couldn’t control it. I was upset because I beg to differ.

I am of the opinion that every action has a reaction – and that every action has a consequence, and if you are not prepared to lose then you should not take the risk. Vegas partied a lot the first time around and it was a major issue in the ending of the relationship because it became priority #1 followed closely by school work and new friends, with me somewhere at the bottom for whenever it was convenient. When we got back together he had said that he was a changed man; and little actions like this tell me otherwise. He still readily and willingly gives into his friends to join in the party, which as a senior I can understand, but not attend the pity-party when the price is being paid in the form of sickness, insomnia, late assignments and all nighters.

Without trying to sound like a nag, some people, like Vegas and at one time myself, just don’t understand that they simply can not do everything, and even when they try 9 times out of 10 they’ll just end up doing nothing. During our conversation I was trying so hard not to say anything that could resemble a lecture from his mother, since he already has one. After Philippe I’ve obtained a very laissez-faire mentality when it comes to significant others; I believe that Vegas and any other man I decide to date is a grown man and can do and will do as he pleases; therefore he can also deal with the consequences of his actions. I too am a grown woman and can react as I please, which will be not speaking to him until the following Saturday when I make the trip to attend his formal, for which no doubt he will be well rested and anxious to attend.

I made a promise to myself and my girlfriends to act differently this time around, to not put up with neglect, to not beg for attention and come off as the demanding and high-maintenance girlfriend. If Vegas is sick or unable to completely attend my formal, and we all know how much fun an event can be when you significant other clearly makes it known that they do not wish to be there, then I have decided on a costume change and that I will go by myself. Last year I had a smashing good time by myself, in fact it was the best formal I ever attended – but I will still make the trip and spend the money to attend Vegas’ formal the following Saturday because that’s what Audrey Hepburn would freakin’ do.

I’ve found in my past relationships that there are guys out there who like to test the waters, to see how far the can push the limits, to see what the limits are. I mean, if they want to do something you can’t stop them, but at the same time they cannot be surprised when we react the way we do. I understand that being 2 hours away makes things difficult – and that our lives shouldn’t be spent pining for the other when there is the joie de vive out there waiting to be experienced. BUT at the same time, long distance requires a tad more planning and effort than having someone close by. Balance is the key to long-distance and in-town relationship success and it simply can’t all be on one side. I say this because I stay in, I work 2 jobs and I get my school work done so that when I do have a chance to see Vegas I am well, well rested, work free and money sufficient. If it won’t go both ways with Vegas or with anyone else then clearly I am wasting my time.

I get that men will try and test the limit. I get that they want to have fun; I mean, don’t we all? I get that they want to experience life, and sometimes it’s something they have to do with their buddies. But if it get’s out of hand and he doesn’t realize it, problems can and will arise. However, and there is always a however, until Vegas realizes on his own things won’t change.

So why is it when I bring this issue up, when I try to communicate that maybe he doesn’t have to attend every single party that arises, do I come off like a nagging, self serving bitchy girlfriend when all I want is a healthy rested boyfriend that I booked 2 months in advance for an important event? I guess it takes time for some to realize that when you're in a relationship you're no longer the only one who has to deal with the consequences of your actions.

It seems as if I have forgotten the politics of relationships – the negotiations, the debates, the communication issues, the diplomacy, the his-story/her-story/truth conundrum. The balancing act between the interests of yourself, your friends, your obligations and your significant other. The problem with relationship politics, as with politics in general, is that one side always seems to get screwed over in favour of another, one that may or may not deserve the extra attention, one that may or may not be the popular or correct choice. And just like in real politics, it is only a matter of time until the side that’s being screwed either becomes invisible, or leaves the table altogether.

Perhaps I am being rash, being too harsh with Vegas – but a promise to my girlfriends is a promise I do everything in my power to keep, especially when it’s a promise made with my best intentions and my well being at heart. And those kinds of promises insisted upon by your girlfriends is a promise one should never ever break.

The Fifth Wheel

Last weekend I was dragged out by Angelica, her fiance Joe, Christie and her soon to be ex boyfriend, let's call him Paul... 2 couples in love and a little drunk, all set for a cold but shenanigan filled night on the town. Oh, and me. So you can imagine just how excited I was as the no longer single but still fabulous third, well make that fifth wheel in a mele of drunk, loud, affectionate couples holding hands while I held on to my new Coach purse, walking down the street either in front of or behind the 2 happy couples.

No worries, I thought to myself, as I tried in vain to convince myself that as soon as we got to the bar things would magically get better, the awkwardness would subside to reveal glimpss of the good old times Angelica, Christie and I had before we went our separate ways. I mean, that's what the weekend was about, right? Angelica had made the trip and now that she was here she was planning on making good all the promises we made each other on an epic night out, Summer of Fun style. Not to say that she didn't; oh no. I saw her every day and enjoyed every minute I spent with her but man oh man, when we got to the bar, holy hell was it ever awkward for yours truly.

Apparently I didn't get the memo, but I guess the once dominant singles to couples ratio normally found at the bar has switched, and with the exception of other socially akward people, the majority of the crowd out last night was plus one. And boy did I ever feel like a zero. I mean, seriously: If I was a single girl again in this situation I think I would have lost my mind. Since when did coupled people collectively decide to take over the single scene, leaving the stragglers to either pair up out of desperation or boredom, or as I did for the majority of the night, stand around saying nothing and having nothing said to me save for the scraps of conversations the couples managed to throw my way.

Please imagine how much fun I was having.

But here's the thing; I'm no longer single, so even playing my usual game of 'how many numbers can I get in one night' was completely out of the question, which left me with the only option of standing around waiting until the couples got tired and hungry and wanted to leave. (Did I mention that everyone was crashing at my apartment and I had the only key? Yeah. Otherwise I would have gone home, slipped away unnoticed until the next morning at our greasy spoon breakfast place).

I had written before about my intense dislike of needing a boyfriend in order to hang out with my girlfriends during my single summer, but now that I've found myself in a relationship I thought I had fulfilled the requirements to avoid any and all couple-y awkward social events. I guess with Vegas not here we've put ourselves in this grey area of having a significant other without having a significant other - especially when we need or want them around. I ended up text-messaging with him until close to 3:00 in the morning, my pathetic attempt to experience the sensation of everything and anything falling away to the sound (or in my case, image) of your lovers voice.

On the one hand I completely understand where Angelica and Joe are coming from. They too are long-distant lovers who hardly get to see each other, let alone do the usual couple stuff together. And Christie and Paul? Well, let's just say their relationship is special. And yeah, when couples go out together it really is only a matter of time until they lose interest in any other person than the one they are going home with. And that's lovely...if you're a part of a couple.

But on the other hand, knowing that this will inevitably, eventually, and always happen - why invite or drag or nest at a single or separated friend out when clearly she's that one thing that's not like the others; one of these things that's not quite the same. Even in my familiar territory of single and fabulous I felt not quite the same - to be perfectly honest, I felt useless, like a vintage accessory that's just gone out of style. And considering that I just got a boyfriend, that's pretty lame. I can't help but wonder in the cold and sober morning if this is my new coupled future - reveling in the grey area of taken but single, flying solo while surrounded by pairs. Because seriously, that future sucks.

Declaration of Independence

Are all relationships, like people, created equal?

Yes my friends, it’s true. Your beloved Carrie has found herself in a relationship –her first in almost a year and a half. Suffice to say that I am a bit rusty in this area… I’m still getting used to and don’t think will ever get used to the concept of being someone’s girlfriend without the stigma that it’s had for me and many of my girlfriends over the past few years. Don’t get me wrong here; I’m not miserable in the fact that I have a boyfriend- it’s nice. It’s just that after being single and fabulous for so long, I can’t help but wonder how I and others adjust to the relationship world just as we were enjoying the single life?

I know a lot of people spend the majority of their single life searching for the one who will ‘rescue’ them from their supposed lonely and sad existence. I, on the other hand, never believed that. I believed in celebrating the single life for every minute of it – for we are lucky to have such freedom and endless possibilities in front of us. Not to mention the awful but so funny dates I went on, and might I add, after experiencing the good, the bad, and the as if of the dating game, it makes me appreciate more the good men who are out there. Especially when you have someone to call after a bad day, or someone to bring to a formal event, or someone to do nothing with is lovely, calming and stabilizing.

Except, of course, when you’re a twenty-something. Perhaps it’s just me and my weird understanding of relationships but sometimes, and irrationally I might add, serious long-term relationships begin to look like lace-covered forms of entrapment. Sometimes it signals the end of so much – many ideas that I know will never happen but the possibilities were often enough to keep me going. Maybe because I’ve been in relationships like that and maybe because I’ve seen my girlfriends fall into relationships like the ones I am describing - most recently one particular girlfriend, let’s call her Nicole. Don’t get me wrong here, she seems happy most of the time and when she’s happy I am happy – but we hardly ever get to see each other because she’s with him and even when we do get to see her, her man is never far away.

I was thinking about this on my way home from the gym – My inner city escape from school, work and people in general – how much I enjoy and value my ‘me’ time. I never understood how some of my friends who are in relationships can go from work to their significant other without a break in between to do the things that they need to do – alone. I mean, I enjoy the pleasure of Vegas’ company, but I also enjoy the pleasure of my own. As I had mentioned before I never had nor will I ever need another person to validate my existence, regardless as to whether or not I was in a relationship or not. I ended up asking myself if I could retain my sense of independence while being in a relatively committed relationship.


I decided to give Vegas another chance partly because I never stopped caring for him and partly because he was my most sane relationship. When he lived in the city our relationship was consuming… and yes, it got boring. Monogamy became monotony. We were too young for such a serious relationship that with age came every day responsibilities such as work, bills, kids and well-developed lives that prevent relationship-overkill. But this time around, with him 2 and later on 4 hours away from me with a job, separate friends and ‘adult’ responsibilities, maybe monogamy won’t become monotony. Maybe this is the perfect relationship.

Vegas Calling

So I know I alluded to this post a while back – and I apologize for my tardiness in sharing the story. School and work and life in general have been busy for this City-Socialite. You know how it is! Anyway back to my original point. I’m sure you’re wondering who this Vegas is; I’ve mentioned him a few times over the years but never really got down to the nitty-gritty, which I realize is totally unfair. So here we go.

Vegas and I met in high school. In a school of less than 400 ‘seniors’ (so 9th grade and up) we managed to have only one class together – but that was enough. For the majority of the year he didn’t stand out to me until one day he caught my eye, with what he was wearing no doubt: a white beater that revealed his deliciously toned arms and football physique and immediately I was stricken. The problem was he was so shy that he could barely look at me, let alone say a few words that would lead to a date. Luckily, being a woman, I schemed my way into the good graces of his friends to plant the seed of assurance that yes I liked him and yes I would agree to a coffee date. So coffee we did – and started a romance of three years that until the final goodbye was like a rollercoaster of dizzying highs and terrifying lows.


The re-kindling happened this summer: It started as an innocent phone call on his birthday, I mean, you can’t know and love someone for over 6 years and not call or email on a birthday. I didn’t mean it to be anything more than a ‘hey happy birthday big plans ok bye have fun!’ conversation, especially being in the middle of my man-a-month summer and semi-affair with Paris. I also told Vegas that we’d never be ‘friends’ seeing as how I neither sleep with nor agree to marry my friends, but I am a classy lady so a phone call was in order.

Emails and phone calls followed but I didn’t make a big deal out of it – curiosity is common with ex’s and whatnot - Until he asked me out for dinner. A part of me wanted to say no – He had asked for me back a few times already but I was having too much fun, ridiculous or otherwise, to deal with a former lover during the summer. But when September rolled around I thought ‘hey, free dinner AND I get to pick where!’, so after my yoga class on a bright and breezy Saturday morning, I called Vegas back and agreed to meet at an Italian restaurant in the heart of downtown.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have a good time. We spoke with ease and joked like old times, he looked good but I looked better. Except at the end of the night he confessed his ulterior motive, even though I could tell by the way he was looking at me. Again I said no and immediately lost my appetite for my caramel drenched pastry dessert. Truth of the matter was I loved him still, but I needed someone who lived in the same city as me, not 2 hours away and potentially 4 by the end of this school year. Deflated and defeated, he agreed to drive me home as the bill was settled and the last of my cosmo passed my lips.

On the drive home he was silent; not unusual for a man who just got rejected but was trying to put a brave and gentlemanly face on, but something told me that he had something to say but couldn’t – So I let my instinct decided for me as I told him to pull over somewhere so we could talk. As the night got darker and darker we spoke: not about us, but about everything: Life, school, goals, the future, parents, friends… And then it started to rain. As I started to wonder exactly what time it really was, Vegas reached over and started to tickle me to ease the air of the past heavy topics. I laughed and squirmed to try and get away, but somehow, with the rain pouring down on his silver car, his lips found mine.

A couple of hours later he drove me home. We agreed for him to stop by my apartment the next night before going back home so that we could ‘discuss’ what happened between us. Half of me regretted what I had just done – I mean, I didn’t sleep with him (come ON! In a car? I don’t think so) but - I suppose enough happened to warrant a talk. I immediately called Mackenzie to discuss my options and to form a battle plan to avoid any awkwardness when we’d see each other again.

But the other half of me… well, didn’t regret it. Why should I? It was consensual, it was familiar, and it was hot! But I know that as an adult, or at least of legal age, consequences come with my actions – and this time around my consequence was having to talk about what happened with Vegas. It was Mackenzie came up with the battle plan: don’t sleep with him and don’t get back together! And as I organized my closet out of frustration I decided that it was the best route of action. I mean, what was I thinking?? We weren’t going to get back together, and what was with all this need-for-a-label business? Couldn’t we just call a spade a spade, realize that it had been a long time for the both of us since we felt the others touch, we enjoyed it and now we can move on?

My thoughts echoed this decision as he entered my door and sat on my bed – both of us not knowing what to say or how to act, or even how to feel around each other. So that’s what we did; just sat there.

He left the next morning.

Under normal circumstances I am not one for believing in second chances, let alone an unknown number of second chances that I gave Vegas. However this wasn’t one of ‘those’ situations. My curiosity was overwhelming as this urban relationship myth brought up the universal question of all relationships, be they platonic, intimate or somewhere in between. The question is, of course, can people change?

I am about to find out.

The Green Eye'd Monster

Beware, my ladies (and gentlemen!), of jealousy...

I had a nightmare not too long ago about my ex, Pierre. In this dream Pierre had somehow found out, I'm guessing through a mutual friend of ours whom I bumped into during my Festivus shopping extravaganza, that I had gotten back together with Vegas after repeatedly denying Pierre any and all chances of ever getting within 10 feet of yours truly. Anyway, he had found out that Vegas and I were together, and in my dream he was literally chasing me down the street (reminiscent of an argument we once had over Vegas contacting me via email just to see how I was) yelling and screaming at me, saying stuff like "why are you back with HIM?? He broke your heart and I did NOTHING wrong!!" even though the majority of our relationship was emotionally abusive (read; it was like dating a needy, selfish, self-possessed chick who was always right but never satisfied. MEN, I respect you SO much for dealing with that after I experienced my Pierre debacle!).

I tried to run away down the street but he kept following me asking why I hadn't given him a second chance (which I did; BIG mistake!) and then when I continued to run away he decided to scream "YOU CHEATED ON ME!!!" because I had gotten back with Vegas... over a year after Pierre and I broke up? I don't know, it's a dream! Anyway I would sometimes manage to scream back "Leave me alone!!" which I had done in the past and this continues until someone who looked like a senior management personnel and his wife show up (random, I know!) and ask me if I am ok. By this point I am crying, saying "No I am not" but Pierre keeps screaming and calling me names. And then my alarm went off.

I spoke to Mackenzie about this and according to google the most common dreams one can have of an ex is either a)having sex with said ex or b) things like that, but never nightmares. That nightmare got me thinking of Pierre's and my other ex's irrational behaviour at times which I think I've managed to generally boil down to one reoccuring concept in the men I chose to date: Jealousy. I know that it's highly unlikely in the general population, but after the past four serious and semi-serious boyfriends, I can't help but wonder if all men are created equal in respects to their levels of jealousy?

Dont get me wrong here; I know plenty of super-jealous women who go to the extreme to keep their men all to themselves to the point where he is not allowed to have female friends, but being a non-irrational girl, I can only discuss this topic from the point of view that men are the more-jealous of the two, at least when he is in a relationship. With the exception of one boyfriend, let's call him 'Ward', all subsequent boyfriends or semi-serious men in my life have been at one time or another, or all the time, jealous. Now this jealous could extend well beyond the skeezy men you come across in the night-life of a twenty-something into areas of question; ie girls nights out, self-dates, school, me-time? Basically it was as if his jealous crossed over from 'protective male-instincts' to 'creepster chauvinistic-impulses', both of which are forms of jealousy but are tolerated in completely different ways.

To be fair, the first form of male jealousy, 'protective male-instincts', I can understand. I mean, I don't know how male minds work, and men do. So I guess it makes sense, like the daddy-hates-everyone-who-dates-his-daughter-because-he-knows-how-and-what-guys-think conundrum... and that I don't and will never mind; in fact, I like it. To me it tells me that a) he's protective of you, because we all know us girls look for our dad's in the men we date and eventually marry, and b) he knows you're hot shit, so he'd better treat you right and show interest in you and the men seeking your attention. No, it's the second form of male jealousy, 'creepster chauvinistic-impulses', that I can't and will never understand.

Preventing your girlfriend (or boyfriend for that matter) from having a life beyond you is NOT healthy. Nor is it SANE! I mean, really; that whole "one mind" mentality is bullshit. If you are so insecure that you cannot contemplate the fact that your significant other is a person with interests, friends, and a life to live outside of your sphere of influence, then maybe you ought to step back for a second and think of your true intentions of being in a relationship. Pierre was trying to fill a void using me and that is a dangerous game to play because in the end, despite how good of a person you are and all that you try to do, you're never going to be able to fill that emptiness for that person. A relationship should be symbiotic; equal in giving to and taking of the other with the realization that your significant other gives to all that are in her/his life, be it friends, future friends, family, co-workers, and classmates.

I get that men don't like to share their women sexually; women don't like to share their men sexually either! But when that no-sharing policy breeches into your activities of daily living, you gotta stop and think if this is the kind of relationship you want to be in; singular, all-encompassing, and more fit for a Stepford Wife/Husband than a modern Manolo-lite.

Communication: A Dying Art?

I have to tell you something; but first I gotta figure out how...

I've been thinking about communication a lot lately... or moreso the lack of communication that seems to be happening. I know that people say, and these are really smart people so I guess I should listen to them, that communication is the cornerstone of any successful relationship, be it intimate, friendship, or colleague-ship, .. communication is key; except there are so many different forms of communication; verbal, written, body, spoken and unspoken, and lets not forget the telepathic conversations you can have with your girlfriends. And yet, with all the technologies and advances of the modern world, we can still manage to screw it all up. I mean, think about it; if you can't come up with a word to use you can google it; you can delete anything that doesn't sound correct (as I just did), check, double check and re-check to be sure that you say exactly what you want to, when you want to, and how you want to. So why is it that both men and women still claim lack of communication as the #1 downfall in marriages and relationships? I used to wonder if it was as simple as the different communication styles that men and women have... women like to talk and men like to do (no pun intended). But as the roles and expectations of men and women are blurred with every passing day, so do in a sense our communication styles.

I've had the pleasure, or should I say dis-pleasure seeing how that relationship ended, of dating a guy who was really into the whole "metro" thing. Don't get me wrong here; there are plenty of aspects about that kind of lifestyle that were purely beneficial for someone like me who was used to dating manly-jocks; he always looked good, dressed well without my help or insistence, took care of himself and was into communication, he enjoyed talking on the phone, having deeper conversations.. holding hands, cuddling and romantic dinners he cooked himself. You know, the "sensitive guy" we women always seem to want. At times it was like I was dating a chick, except not, as no matter how metro a guy gets he is still deep down a man which has its obvious benefits, or should I say necessities for an intimate relationship. He was still the main bug-killer, the one who'd reach for the stuff I needed off a tall shelf, the guy who'd install your shower-heads and fix your broken doors but still retained that sensitivity despite all these masculine activities.

The downside, or maybe up-side if you look at it another way, of dating a guy who's very much like a chick, is that you get to see first hand all the annoying tendencies and forms of communication we women tend to have or are stereotyped with when dating someone you really like; all the necroses that guys complain about; the neediness, the possessiveness, the insane bouts of jealousy, the hissy fits and crying to manipulation central... really ladies; the way we communicate sometimes is so NOT cool! I know that we don't mean to do it, and even when we do mean to do it because there are girls who do, we don't honestly understand the ramifications of our actions until, as the saying goes, it happens to us and the stiletto is on the other foot.

I used to refer to this as the "needy-chick syndrome", now known as the "needy-chick/needy-guy syndrome", which is kind of like domestication except for the fact that often one person takes this lifestyle choice a bit too far to the point where one persons' choice becomes the others obligation. It starts with the little things; one phone call a day becomes 2, becomes 3, becomes 4... a weekly sleepover on weekends becomes a nightly trek to one persons' apartment, and when you want to sleep by yourself in your bed he wants to come with you. A weekly lunch date during your 40s hours becomes an every day thing, even when you had breakfast with this person and will undoubtly have dinner with him and then go to bed with him. Nights out with your girl friends are met with resentment or "I'll come with you’s!" or "Meet me later" or even worse, met with nothing but silence... This NC/NG syndrome is a form of communication that I personally cannot STAND. It is communicating to your partner without actually communicating: you're telling them as supposed to discussing with them that hey, I don't just want you, I NEED you. At every possible moment of every possible day... and that is soo annoying. It is probably the worst possible form of communication because this kind of behaviour isn't conducive to compromise, as people tend to get defensive or worse, deny their actions and well, communication gets the kibosh and eventually so does the relationship.

Now of course, not every relationship ends like this, or at least that's what people keep telling me. But I can't help but be cynical or even a bit hesitant when it comes to my style of communication, and how well it meshes with the men I decide to date. I obviously could not communicate to "Philippe" how much his behaviour disturbed me, so how in the world am I supposed to communicate to whoever else comes along something just as important? I think the problem was that there was absolutely no communication between us; there was communication at me, but not so much with me and as soon as that started the relationship stopped... so I dumped the douche bag.

I think that in the end at the heart of any relationship lies communication; voluntary or involuntary. Whether it be spoken or unspoken, normal or bordering on the insane, male-or-female influenced, communication still makes or breaks a relationship... despite how good the sex is.