La Belle et Le Dumb Ass

I’m so over, I need a new word for over.

I’ve decided to add, amongst other things, another mantra to my ever-expanding set of dating standards; one of my very close friends, lets call her “Mackenzie” came up with our first and very useful manta of “Wow me or else I haven’t much use for you” has proven very effective in my not-so-effective search for a good date. However I realize that manta number one, although broad and umbrella-like, does not expand to those men in my life who have managed to wow me but at the same time have left me hanging. I'm talking about those men who play these games of red-light ~ green-light with me until… well until I’m just about ready to turn around leave the playing field altogether. Maybe those in science, or those who have read and remembered Angels & Demons by Dan Brown will know exactly what I am talking about, but for those of you who do not, I introduce Carrie’s 2nd dating mantra for the Manolo-lite: “Substantiate or Suffocate”.

Substantiate or Suffocate, Publish or Perish, or more specifically in this situation, Prove it or Lose it. Like with any good research and in the end good dating involves a little bit of research in the field about a person(s) you are interested in, either you prove your theory or get out of the lab. This theory I speak of could be one of two things: either we are good together or we are not. Don’t get me wrong here; we could be good together as friends, but not on the dating scene. Either way once you’ve managed to extract the information you need to draw your conclusions, publish or share your thoughts and either move in or move on. The absolute worst thing you can do to a potential lover is keep them on the line by dragging out your “experiment” for any reason whatsoever. I don’t care if you are curious to see how intimate you can become without actually becoming intimate, or if you can get that guy or girl in bed without having to call them your boy/girl friend, or even call them at all. There are plenty of guys and girls out there who are looking for that, but for those of us who are legitimately looking for someone to love and be loved by, leave us the hell alone.

I mean, it is one thing to keep your distance at the beginning of a relationship, when at first you are unsure of the other persons motive, but that stage usually lasts oh … 3, 4 months? I mean, if you are sleeping with them or suggesting sleeping together then already you are way beyond the point of understandable distance. If you know what you want, or what you don’t want, then say something. Substantiate your need and share it with those implicated, otherwise you’ll end up suffocating not only yourself but the person you’ve involved in this twisted little game.

But the game can be hard to quit, especially when it is orchestrated by someone you want. Even intelligent women can fall into this trap of ambiguity, believing that something, no matter what it is, is better than nothing. Sure it sucks to be alone and life really is much better with someone you have “something” with, but when that “something” begins to stifle your confidence, your style, and your life? I find it hard to believe that something that is supposed to be an incredible experience can in the end leave you in a bind. Is this "something" really better than nothing? I guess I am about to find out.

I stopped talking to Paris. Well, not really, but we no longer speak the way we used to. I am very good at speaking from a soap box from behind my computer screen, spilling my idyllic opinions, but really my words don’t count for half as much as my actions. It is one thing for me to type out my beliefs, especially one as important as this, but it is another to act on it. So I’ve stopped speaking to Paris… and trust me, it is so hard.

It is not as simple as me not liking him anymore. Oh no. He is still the coolest of cats, the hippest of men in my life, and the embodiment of unrequited awareness to the point that if I continue down this path of ambivalence with him I think I actually might choke on the words that go unsaid. I may stumble over my words when I am tired, overworked and underplayed, but I can no longer allow something as natural as my emotions trip me up and distract me from my existence.

It seems to me, and I may be wrong that the modern man either wishes to dominate the person he is with or be dominated by them. I know plenty of girls, myself included, that inadvertently found themselves in a dominating relationship. These changes occur slowly, almost unnoticeable until it is too late. Some, like me, fight back while others allow it to eventually take over. If these women are happy this way then so be it; happiness is subjective. However, being dominated 100% of the time is simply not my bag, baby. Nor is being the dominant one in a relationship. I do not wish to control my significant other, what’s the point? I can hardly control myself, especially now that surprise sidewalk sales are popping up along these crowded streets. Nor do I find it empowering or liberating to be in command of all the aspects of a relationship, oh no. That is way too much work for anyone to take on, let alone a modern Manolo-lite such as myself. I have enough trouble being in command of my laundry.

However, and there is always a however, I can’t help but wish that there was a slightly more mature way of dealing with a toxic researcher. I understand completely that my not speaking to Paris is completely immature and juvenile, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? The hardest part is… well, Paris knows me too well and sensed that something was up or “off” about me the second the phrase “Substantiate or Suffocate” rang in my head. He knows that something is up and has even asked me about it… but I know that if I even hint at beginning a conversation it will not end the way I want it to. I know how that looks, like I want to control the situation and him instead of having it the other way around. Trust me, this is not the case. I simply want control back over myself, and that cannot be too much to ask. Except… I think he is on to me. He (after initiating a conversation and failing to get what was “up” with me out of me) no longer says good-bye or anything civil… he didn’t even end the conversation, he just let it fade away.

Why is it that when I finally catch on to the games people play and using this knowledge to impede its proceeding, does another game begin? It is so easy to say, and in a sense it is true, that this entire thing is his fault, but in the end, it’s still my problem. I’m sure he cares about me… but that’s not enough. I’m still suffocating and what I need right now he can’t give me: a breath of fresh air.

You've Got Male!

Zen and the Art of Internet Dating

As odd as this may sound, maybe not so much anymore, I have found and received (and had delivered right to my door!) a lot of great things from the internet. For example, I take pride in saying to whoever compliments me on my favourite red dress that yes, "I got it from the internet"! More recently, my straightening iron from a power seller in the States and a box of green tea from Mighty Leaf in Canada have helped to reduce the gong show that is my (current) morning routine. So if Ive been so lucky in finding material and food goods from the internet with little to no problems, I can't help but be curious: why not try finding a man on the internet, or at the very least a date?

I know what you are thinking: "Carrie, that's SKETCH CENTRAL. Why don't you go out and meet people the normal way?" To this I reply: Thanks Einstein, but I already knew it was sketch central, but so are bars. And clubs. And shopping malls. And the gym. And anywhere else I've met these so called "normal" people. It is an overly-simplistic view that psychopaths ONLY congregate on the internet, leaving those of us who surf only to check our emails, check our status on the almighty Ebay, or Google the latest eliminated pair on "So You Think You Can Dance?" in consistant danger as supposed to being out there with the so called "normal" people out in the physical world. Hmmm... last time I checked you have a better chance of running into a sketch-bag at Bulldog than in my apartment through a computer screen, but who knows? I might be wrong.

Not to discount completely what you say. There is of course the risk of meeting a psychopath online, thank you "Dateline", as the greatest advantage to online dating is being able to hide behind a screen, but I've met my fair share of psycho-men in real life and let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot easier to shut your computer down, or remove your semi-anonymous listing from the site than changing your locks, moving out of your apartment and informing the police. So as I sit here sipping my internet tea, I ask the question: what is the good, the bad, and the oh em gee of internet dating?

I read an article once about how the semi-prevalence of ADD in todays society is in fact, caused by todays society. The fact that we as students, as workers, as friends, and as lovers are being asked, no, demanded, to multi-task and do as many things as possible all at once; like typing this out while working and on the phone sipping my non-fat-double-foam mocha latte. So if the amount of tasks we have to complete in a day have doubled, maybe even tripled, yet the number of hours in a day have clearly not, where and how is the modern girl supposed to squeeze in time to hunt for or be sought after by a man?

Enter the match-makers: you know, the well meaning friend, co-worker or even boss (don't laugh: it HAS happened) who know the so-called "perfect guy" for you and when it turns out that they are, in fact, NOT the perfect guy for you the situation just gets messy. Don't get me wrong here; match-makers are great. Their job or hobby is a lot harder than you think, and dating in general is a hit-or-miss situation. However the best person really to play matchmaker with your heart is you. As well as your girlfriends, or guy friends may know you, in the end you and only you know exactly what you want, who you are looking for, and what you are looking for.

Which brings me to my point: I've heard of a few internet dating sites, mostly from watching late late night television prevalent during an insomniacs morning. I agree that the majority of internet dating sites are sketch: the Ashley Madison;s and sites like that which encourage "exploration" while in a monogamous relationship are not the kinds I am speaking about. That is something I hope I never have to experience in any way, shape or form. No, I am talking about those local sites that are always advertised on the radio or in your email that really nobody pays attention to.... or do they?

I couldn't help but remember my first run-in with internet dating: I was 17 and in Toronto visiting my cousin, who at the time was just about to turn 18. She had met this guy, apparently really nice, on Lavalife and spent the evening before we were to meet on the phone with him. Seriously, I went to bed and she was on the phone, and I woke up and you guess it, she was still on the phone with him. I was going as a sort of escort, which was good on her, however not 2 minutes before he walked over to us she turned and said to me "Oh by the way we are 19 and you go to university." I stood there flabbergasted at this outrageous lie, as I was clearly in high school, grade 12, with no idea what it was like to be in university, and the same went for her. If my cousin, someone genuinely removed from some types of reality can fool a person she met on the internet... what chance do regular people have?

I was listening to the Team 1200 one morning, or evening, I don't remember, when I heard the advert for one local dating site named after the infamous cherub, or Saint really, who makes February the reason for or bane of ones existance depending on if you are in a relationship or not. Figuring that I had tried the usual bar scene and got sick of it even before I could legally drink, and my lifestyle being what it is (read: not condusive to meeting said-normal people) I thought "hey, what the hell? Let's give it a shot". So about 10 minutes later as I sat in my sweatpants and scrunchie, I created my very first internet dating profile. I didn't expect to get a lot of hits, especially since my profile has but a silhouette instead of a photograph, but you know what they say: nothing ventured, nothing gained. I figured the last date was so greviously awkward I really had nothing to lose, except maybe 10 minutes of my time. So I filled out the little boxes with descriptions of who I am and what I am looking for, clicked "saved" and off I was. This site claimed to be able to "match" you with men who, according to your profile and his, would be suitable for each other. Me being skeptical said "yeah uh-huh ok let me take a look for myself thank you very much..". So I did.

And herein lies the rub. The problem with internet dating is that to me... when I was searching through this sites datase, it kind of felt and still feels like I am picking from an inventory of single men within 50 miles of my area code. It was like a "Google" search for a soulmate. Not to sound judgemental or anything, but it felt... well, awkard. You open up someones profile, headed by the usual one-liners, punch lines or song lyrics, take a look at what they say about themselves, and maybe even a picture of 2, and you go from there. I found myself being really, how do you say, picky, when choosing the people I'd actually click on/with... and about after half an hour I just got sick of it.

As modern as we are in the 21st century, and as fabulous as it is to search for a significant other while in your panties without it being awkward, it really isn't as fun as searching in real life. Real time glances, eye contact and flirtatious moves cannot be replaced or replicated onto a server, no matter how good the site you sign up for is. Not to mention doing all of this while looking drop-dead gorgeous.

By the way, the date that my cousin ended up dragging me along to was hilarious. They had spent the night speaking to each other so much that when they finally met face to face, they had nothing to say. So, thanks said-internet-dating site, but no thanks... I'm sure you must have tonnes of matches out there for me just like you did for my cousin... now if only I could remember to check my inbox... I guess I'm too busy living life in real-time to find a soulmate online.

Pulling the Trigger

If you had what you wanted in your sight would you pull the trigger, or would you hesitate?

To that question I would like to think, as most of you would as well, that if I had what I have wanted for a while, whether it be an object, an idea, or a person, I would not hesitate to act in order to get what I wanted. Granted, getting a person is different as you have a whole other set of feelings and emotions, not to mention baggage to deal with, but you get my drift. It seems so mind-blowingly obvious that yes, of course I would act! Why wouldn't I? However I know a lot of people, myself included, that have stalled in the face of obvious victory... To which I wonder this: why do we fail to act when what we want is within our reach?

This notion seems black and white: act and you shall receive, yet really when all things are equal, getting what we want is a shade of grey. Why do we hesitate, and we all have, knowing that in a moment our "prey", be it a crush, a purse, or a promotion, can slip away? I know the story, I've heard the cliches: your co-worker next to you, or your fellow student, did not get that promotion/9.0 GPA by sitting on her ass. *Insert famous person here* did not get *whatever made them famous* without action on his/her part. And I didn't get that last pair of mint green pointy toed sling back BCBGs for 40$ by waiting for them to literally come to me. So why the hesitation on some things? Why do we stop and think about items we want the most, only to see someone else grab the prize?

A Manolo-lite, or anyone really, cannot wait around forever. Not for a job, not for that Nine West shoe in your size at a sale, and most certainly not for a significant other you would describe as a "catch". You cannot describe someone or something as a "catch" unless you have caught them. And that involves pulling the trigger.

It's one thing to know what you want to do, or who you want to be with. That's great, I mean, you're almost there. But almost doesn't count. The fact that you are acting, that you are actually doing something is commendable. I know a lot of people who are either stuck in or cemented to a state of mediocrity who refuse to act unless their life depended on it. But herein lies the rub: your life DOES depend on it. Who else is going to live out your life? Granted your actions however small they are get you moving, but not everything or everyone will meet you half way. And any previous actions mean nothing if you cannot seal the deal; the problem with hesitation is that opportunities do not wait, and neither do I.

Hunting for what you want, working towards it, whatever, requires patience, perseverance, and passion. I'm not talking about an instant gratification, but a slow burning desire for something or someone that you've had in your vision. Maybe it's that degree you're studying for, or for that promotion at work you're applying to, or that special someone you've flirted with for months but can't seem to cross that threshold of friendship into intimacy. You figure, "well nothing is going to happen anyway" so you do nothing... Therefore nothing happens because you're not pulling the trigger... You're not even giving yourself a chance to.

I understand that pulling the trigger is easier said than done; that it is embarrassing, nerve-wracking, and sometimes just plain crazy. However, and there is always a however, the victory at the end when you finally get your hands on what you want, is insurmountable. The pleasure is indescribable. I know this because I have experienced both: the pleasure of achieving my goals, and the pain of knowing what I could have had, what I could have done, or who I could have done, had I simply pulled the trigger. And let me tell you, the latter hurts a hell of a lot more than any action I have taken to achieve my goals.

So ladies (and gents), if there is something in your life that you really want, and I mean really want, go ahead and pull the trigger (figuratively, of course). Apply for that job or that program. Buy those ridiculous cheap shoes. Ask that girl/guy out. And even if it's not meant to be, it's a lot easier to move on knowing the truth rather than living on misguided thoughts of maybe's and whatifs.

The Best Date I've Ever Been On...

because sometimes, all you need is yourself... and a big bag of popcorn.

I find it fitting that I wrote this on the back of my ill-fated Do/Don't List: a small tally I keep of the guys I see that I would either Do or Don't when I find myself solo and totally bored. I've been thinking about a lot of things I do that apparently most people perceive as "fiercely independent", the List being one of them. However, the first thing that popped into my mind as I was walking today would be the dates that I go on ... with myself. More specifically, the movies that I have seen, in theatres mind you, by myself.

A lot of my friends whom I have discussed this with, agreeing that while it is completely within my character to do so, would at the same time be mortified beyond belief if they ever had to go to a movie, or found themselves at a movie, all by their lonesome. "How pathetic", like being stood up, convinced that if they were in the very same situation the whole world, or at least the people around them at the moment, would stop and stare, point and laugh at the poor dateless-friendless wonder, sitting alone and lost in a dark and dreary theatre, wolfing down an extra-large extra buttery bag of popcorn...

But guess what. What others might believe to be pathetic, I perceive and believe to be the greatest assertation of independence. To my friends who have teased my flying solo in public with "I'm not pathetic's" I answer ... well, I'm not insecure.

The way I see it is simple: I'm a very spontaneous individual who likes to do what she wants to do. I live by myself; therefore I am accustomed to and enjoy the pleasure of my own company. I no longer have a roommate who I can get to tag along on my misadventures, but that doesn't mean my misadventures are no longer lived out. What is the difference between going out alone and sitting at home alone? Granted one is cheaper and requires less movement, but really, in the end you're still solo... In my case, I choose not to hide from the world, but to embrace it, even if it's only me. Just because I don't have anyone with me wherever I go doesn't make me a loner, an introvert, or a loser. On the contrary; I have a lot of friends, some times too many friends that I have problems managing them all in between my already hectic lifestyle. So I do have people that I care about and who care about me, they simply are not consistently around me and I am ok with that.

Especially when I am watching a movie. Seriously, I am not even talking to you for 2 hours, maybe even 3, let alone looking at or paying attention to you for that matter. And really, I don't care how good of a friend you are, if you knew me and my movies you probably wouldn't want to join me for my 3rd viewing of "The Da Vinci Code" in theatres, or my 4 pilgrimages to "Batman Begins" when it was still playing at the cinema, and I understand that. Nobody in their right mind would want to see a movie 3 or 4 times with me in a theatre, but that doesn't mean I still won't go. Just because someone else isn't there with me doesn't mean I will sit at home and be stagnant. I simply do not need constant company to validate my existence, or more accurately, feed my addictions to my particular favourite movies I like to re-watch and re-learn from.

I feel that going to a movie by yourself in public is a sign of courage. You are openly saying to the world "hey; I'm alone, and I'm cool." Why should the fact that I am single prevent me from going on a movie date? Or going anywhere in public, especially areas where happy couples congregate? It is 2006; as an independent, Manolo-lite female, I have the right and duty to live my life to the fullest, whether I am attached or not. So really ladies, screw sex: movies by yourself, by myself, is probably the most liberating act I've ever done and will continue to do for myself, by myself. You should give it a try; and you single men too. Go on a date with yourself. Take yourself to a movie. Make it whatever movie you would like to see, whether you've seen it a million times, plot lines be damned, sit your fabulous-ass down with popcorn, candy and a drink for dinner, and enjoy the pleasure of your own company doing exactly what you would like to do. Except while you're on this date there will be one obvious difference - you will be free; free of worrying if someone else will/won't like the movie, if you're eating too much or too little, if what you're eating will actually go in your mouth and not down your shirt... I can go on and on. The point is; I go to movies by myself, and I enjoy every minute of it.

Ambivalence

One thing that I have noticed about Paris, and all other men I subsequently have a train wreck of a non-relationship with, is that they are all really ambivalent. For those of us who are unfamiliar with that term (I was until Monday evening), ambivalent is characterized by a mixture of opposite feelings or attitudes; or uncertain or unable to decide about what course to follow. I say this because of certain … actions, as I have come to accept that words are simply a vibration riding on a mixture of carbon dioxide and nitrogen; that have pulled me in one direction or the other and of course, have left me totally confused. Why is it that some men or at least the men I attract/am attracted to thrive on presenting me with mixed signals? Is this all some part of a big twisted power pulling game? Because let me tell you, starting a relationship with some sort of competition only leads to failure, you know why? In any kind of competition, there is usually someone who loses, who is defeated. Seriously guys, games are for children, and unless you are in to that, (which if you are then stay the hell away from me), hear this: if you are looking for an adult relationship, or a relationship with adult perks, then quit the mind games. You’re making me wonder if guys at any age know whether or not they are coming or going.

I once thought, and I guess for the most part still do think, that dating is all about finding a person you mesh with; someone who as completely them self you click with. You get along with, you compliment. I get that some guys are looking for a challenge, and that some of them are looking for an easy lay. Fine, whatever. So, if the majority of guys know what they want, whatever it is they want, then why bother with the mind games? Why the cluster-fuck of push-and-pull statements and actions that make us believe one thing one day and another the next, or even worse, only act part-way on one belief and part-way on another.

I know what you are thinking: “He’s just not that into me”. Oh, if it were that simple; I’d be a lot happier if Paris and all the other men had said to me “yes, I am just not that into you”, or more realistically just said “yes/yeah/grunt” to my exit strategy I present. Paris didn’t, even when promised that nothing would change and I was true to my word. I would also be happy if not for the fact that every time I manage to convince myself that Paris is “just not that into me”, he does something that makes me believe, and everyone else who hears what he does, that he is clearly and painfully in to me. I don’t care what Greg says, when a conversation includes topics more appropriate for the bedroom and not the boardroom, as I was at work when this happened and I was lead to believe that so was he, chances are the guy likes me.

However, and there is always a however, lately Paris has cooled off; we still speak, but not as frequently and not as freely, well at least not today. I could come up with excuse after excuse as to why this is happening; oh he’s probably busy; oh he’s taking his time in responding; oh he’s stepped out of his office; oh he’s away from his phone… but I know that in the end they’re all bullshit. So are all the other excuses I’ve made for the men in my life who are too good to be true and too ambivalent to be a real contender.

Now it would be unfair of me to simply blame those ambivalent, ambiguous men I clearly adore and adhere to. I would be lying if I didn’t say that as a twenty-something girl, I have been and usually am of two minds. There are some days where the loneliness is palpable, and if I have to do one more stupid errand by myself I think I will explode; and yet there are other days where I am reminded how great it is to be single and how much I hated being chained to my boyfriend, and how much I value my independence and free will. My ambivalence gets to me and subsequently to all the men I am currently quasi-seeing. Sometimes I want them to call me and take me out, but there have been other times when I simply forget to return their phone calls. I am not confused on purpose; trust me, I hate being confused. And I hate mind games too… which is why I can honestly say that I haven’t lead on any of the men I’ve had dates with, or at least I don’t think I have.

I guess ambivalence is a two way street; clearly I am projecting the fact that I am ambivalent when it comes to relationships, is that why I seem to attract men who are ambivalent as well? Like attracts like, so I guess the key to finding someone who knows what they want is to know what you want.

Knowlege is Bliss: Ignorance is Bothersome

Numbers were designed to explain; but how the hell do you explain this?

I admit; I am a shopaholic. I love shopping, I love the thrill of the hunt, especially when I find or am presented with a bargin. I’ve decided among other things that with my single status going on 9 months I’ve replaced sex with working out, shopping and various forms of education. I had been looking for a way to combine these distractions to ease an already hectic schedule of being single and fabulous (!) and luckily for me all three of my diversions appeared at the once place where I go to relax: the gym. Today’s generation of Manolo-females and us Manolo-lites are of two mindsets. We are either exercise-addicted health fiends or lazy couch-bums who gorge on all the fast food/junk food we can get our hands on. I subscribe to the fitness-trend, with a sprinkle or two of the pleasures of fast food, and as such I was at my gym yesterday, a gym that I have been a fiercely loyal client for the past 5-going-on-6 years of my life, despite the bad-rap it has gotten with its rude employees and money-hungry managers. Angelica and I were walking up the stairs after our exercises, one of the front-desk agents stopped us and asked if we would like 3 tans for 10$. What began as a seemly harmless gesture ended up being a semi-battle of wills which as a consumer I don’t think I should ever be involved in.

I said no, stating that I do not tan and also tanning is dangerous, especially in beds and besides, I’m already a good colour to start the summer season. The front-desk-agent, let’s call her “Ana”, proceeded to give both Angelica and I the sales pitch of how tanning is actually safe, how it’s the UVC rays that cause cancer from the sun but are not present in tanning beds, how you establish a base by tanning therefore reducing your risk of burning in the summer etc etc etc; all to the dismay of myself, a student of life sciences and more importantly an educated and informed consumer. I retorted with facts straight from a doctor that tanning is actually dangerous, any kind of tanning, as it causes mutations in your DNA leading to melanoma, or in other terms skin cancer. Here is where things get funny; Ana, sensing Angelica’s pull towards my point of view, decided to break out the “well we all have cancer card” to sell those 3 tans and help the gym make their quota of tans. Now, I am not a business-savvy person, and I could not sell any product if my life or my Manolo’s depended on it, but could someone please tell me what the hell kind of sales pitch is that? “We all have cancer”… I was so in shock I couldn’t even articulate myself to this kind of ignorance. I hate to break this to everyone, but we all don’t have cancer. Our healthy cells at this very moment are ensuring that we do not have cancer by either fixing the mutations that are occurring during DNA transcription, or failing that isolating and destroying the cells with the mutations that they cannot salvage. So why would I want to put that glorious mechanism through more work unnecessarily, especially after helping it out by exercising for 2 hours? And even if I do have or get cancer, I wouldn’t want to waste my immune cells in destroying a form of cancer I can easily avoid, like skin cancer. I’m of the opinion that you don’t “get” skin cancer, per say. You give yourself skin cancer by not protecting your skin either outside or inside. And to have Ana trying to convince me to PAY to give myself skin cancer? Does anyone else see the ludicrousness of this concept?

Apparently not, as the people this gym decides to employ certainly think otherwise or at least they are trained to think otherwise. I think the most aggravating part of that conversation was the fact that we were the only clients she stopped to give the special “discount” too. Was it because we were girls? Or was it because our generation is addicted to that pseudo-glow we get after spending 20 minutes in a tanning bed? Skin cancer is on the rise, especially in the 18-35 brackets of consumers with disposable income. It is a testament to our instant gratification mindset; instant tan, instant weight-loss, instant “health”? Yes you look better with a tan, but only on the outside. The damage that can be done where it counts, at a molecular level, is irreversible and dangerous and plain old stupid. I find it ironic that the gym I belong to, a home-grown success that claims to put health and wellness as a top priority for all its clients, pushes a product that is known to cause cancer and to use the excuse that well we all have it, might as well look fabulous while we can. Why don’t you just sell me cigarettes while you are at it? At least those puppies calm me down after listing to this projectile ignorance.

Now I try to make it a point not to down-talk anything I haven’t tried, with the exception of foods that everyone knows is just plain nasty, like eyeballs (don’t laugh; I’m sure they are a delicacy somewhere). I have been tanning in a bed before to see if a) I would really burn less with a base, b) I look and feel healthier and happier, and c) just to see what the big deal is. Let me tell you, I still burned when I went overseas despite the base I presumably established and SPF 50 I slathered every day, I looked tan but not happy, in fact I looked just as tired as I did before, and the tan faded within days so in order to keep up the façade I had to return multiple times, and c) … there is no big deal.. You get naked, slather cream on your body, put goggles on and lie there for 10 minutes. The lotion smells lovely but that’s about it.

An interesting thing I had noticed after going tanning for a few weeks was after a while I would feel better after I tanned, kind of like an instant pick-me-up, almost addictive, so I can understand all those tanorexics out there who simply cannot stop going to their local tanning salon. I have a friend like that, Daisy, who tans frequently and for long periods of time. She feels better afterwards and the glow is quite nice, but up close her skin looks aged despite the fact that she is younger than I am. I can only imagine that in a few years of continuous multiple tanning sessions, Daisy’s going to look 35 before she is 25, which is a shame because she is a pretty girl who got caught in the tanning-frenzy that is my generation.

Knowing all of this I eventually had to turn away once another front-desk-agent started to give Angelica the same “information” that “Ana” had just finished speaking about. Seriously, just because 2 people who work at a gym tells you something is safe doesn’t make it so, especially when a doctor, a dermatologist who also happens to be a friend of mine insists that it is not. Really, I don’t care where you work, with the exception of a hospital and I am calling you doctor or nurse, because in the end a gym and any other corporation’s main concern is with the bottom dollar. They had a quota to fill, and we fit the profile of who could do just that for the company for that month.

But in the end Angelica and I walked our pasty-pale asses home without the 3 tans for 10$, because although the inner shopahoic tells me that is a good deal I’d much rather have that 10$ and a few extra years on my life than a fake-and-bake tan, helping to display for everyone to see my gullibility and the pleasure I receive from destroying my own body. Except I couldn’t help but wonder if this is how my generation is perceived, as mindless spend-thrifts looking for the next instant fix to all our problems, whether it be darker skin or quicker weight loss. The Manolo-female has paved the way for younger versions of themselves to follow this trend; I certainly hope any Manolo-lite who is reading this now will join me in avoiding this lemming-trap and spending our hard earned money on something worthwhile… like shoes.

My Exquisite Pain

Since when did an oxy-moron like this make so much sense?

I have decided that I am one of those people that like pain. No, enjoys pain; THIRIVES on pain, because seriously, any sane person who does not enjoy pain would not torture herself the way I do. Let me explain. As I have said before; communication is key, a powerful key that can either make or break a relationship. In most cases communication is a great thing, except when it is used to the advantage of one person over the other. I mean, there is one thing with using or withholding communication to keep me interested in you; it is another thing completely to use it to keep me hanging. Paris does this to me, although I don’t think he means to, and if he does then my god… how I hate it and love it.

We’ve always been on the boarder line of friendship-and more, and in the half hour we had together he managed to send me a barrage of mixed signals, ones that say “we’re just friends” to “I want to be more”… a casual “we wouldn’t be a good pair” is counteracted with a literal pick-me-up-hug, face in my neck and hair, and a pause with each other, distanced but close… I don’t know. He says one thing and does another… and I don’t know what to believe.

The problem is this: I didn’t do anything about it and I still don’t do anything about it. It’s not that I am not woman enough to tell a guy how I feel; I already did. And I got burned… well, not burned, but I didn’t get the answer I was hoping for or better yet expecting based on the signals we were sending each other since… well since we met each other. Once I’m rejected, with guys or with anyone in general, it doesn’t matter if it was done as nicely as possible and with good and valid reasons. The fact remains that I am twice as shy when it comes to exposing myself again in such a vulnerable fashion, especially for someone as independent as I am.

Half of the time we are fabulous friends; we get along swimmingly, have great casual conversations, and overall friendly fun. The other half… let’s just say I do NOT talk with any other guy like that unless I was interested in more; learning more, being more, getting more… you catch my drift. The topics are deeper, the conversations longer, thoughts provoked, ideas exchanged… not to mention the fact that he’d do me good, just based on how well he can stimulate my mind.

I hadn’t seen him in a long time and according to a platonic guy friend of mine, there isn’t a guy in the world who would meet anyone for half a hour unless they liked me. Fair enough; I know he likes me. Liking someone is crucial for any relationship above a casual acquaintance. But the touching, hugging, hair-playing, pausing, overall closeness mixed into the friend-only bits of conversation? I don’t know.

And not knowing is driving me insane.

Paris has it easy; he KNOWS how I feel; I was woman enough to put it out there, and yet here I am, at the mercy of a man, wondering how the hell he feels about me, about this, about us… and it is literally making me mad. Bloody hell!

I think… I think, he is giving me enough to keep me close, to keep me wanting, to keep me interested in him. But he is not about to give me exactly what I want, and would prefer to keep me on the line until… until what? Guy friends and girl friends tell me Paris likes me; so what is the hold up?

Greg Behrendt of “He’s Just Not That Into You” fame, wrote that if a guy was truly interested but couldn’t do a relationship for actual reasons, that he would let you know immediately instead of keeping you hanging. Paris let me know immediately when we had the conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness that his issue was his alone; and that if that issue was not present then there would be no problem. SO is that what Greg is talking about? And if so, then why continue the mind games when clearly he knows what I want from him?

Or does he?

It’s not like I have been sitting around waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass. I was semi-seeing The Medic a few months after our conversation-of-ultimate-awkwardness occurred, and I even have another date with an Officer McDreamy. I just wish I could stop thinking about Paris when I’m trying to move away. Maybe he’s like me in the sense that we don’t want what we can’t or won’t have in front of our faces, but that doesn’t me that we don’t want them within eyesight. So then why is it that neither of us can truly hang on to the other but at the same time can’t truly let go?

To Want or Be Wanted...

whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...

They say that hope is sweeter than possession. Obviously whoever said that must either enjoy the sensation of pain or they have never really possessed anything worth holding on to. Now I don't know about you, but if I had the choice of either hoping for a pair of Jimmy Choos or possessing a pair of Jimmy Choos well... do I even have to answer that? So why is it when it comes to love, do I and many other women out there keep falling for the men we simply cannot have? And I'm not talking about celebrities here; I'm talking about real people; tangible, palpable people that you interact with on a daily, weekly or monthly basis. Oh sure, you say you're just friends but really... one of you or sometimes even both of you feel that extra little bit. And it's funny how that extra little bit can make things a whole lot more... complicated, that is.

Being on both sides of this predicament is a challenge, but not to up-play la douleur exquise, it's a hell of a lot harder being the want-er rather than the wanted. I know this because I've been both and while being the wanted is a great ego boost, it's not without its moments of awkward and feeling like an unintentional tease which is without a doubt the worst kind of tease there is. Either way, knowing that you are wanted is a power-trip as supposed to being the want-er where every moment spent talking to that person, being in that persons presence, feeling those feelings that you just can't help in the ends up making you feel pretty powerless. Right now I'm in the unique situation that I've found myself being both the want-er and the wanted. And I'll tell you right now; it sucks.

One of my ex's, let's call him "Vegas", has decided recently that he made a mistake when he broke things off... 2 years ago. He's come up with excuse after excuse about ending our relationship, and although I must admit I was heartbroken, it is also in the past. I picked up and moved on... apparently Vegas didn't get that memo. I stay in touch with him for old times sake, but I can't see myself with him again. I love him, but that kind of love is behind me and I have nowhere to go but forward. Vegas... well, despite attending a top-rated post-secondary institute in a challenging yet very rewarding program, cannot look to the future without being reminded of his past. Now, this is all very sad, but I am of the belief that both of us should not be made to suffer for his decision. The phone calls, the concerned looked, the drinks and conversations are all well and nice, but nothing is going to happen. In this case I am not the one that got away; I am the one he let go, therefore only he should live with that.

I don't mean to be an agace. I returned emails and phone calls out of politeness but more so curiosity. I have to admit it is always vindicating when an ex comes crawling back professing their stupidity and regret, but after a while the "I told you so" high fades and reality begins to sink in: that while this person may have toyed and crushed your emotions, that doesn't give you the right to toy with theirs. Unless they deserve it, but most of the time they don't. So how do you stop being wanted? You don't, that is not in your control. As it turns out, it's the want-er who has the power in this relationship.

Not to say that being the want-er is easier. Absolutely not. It is an exquisite pain, seemingly by choice to the outside viewer but really, internally, if I could stop wanting and re-gain my emotional posture, believe me I would, and sometimes I do. Sometimes everything is just fine and your relationship is neutral in a sense that it is so good it's bad. But then that person goes and does something that pulls at your heartstrings, or stirs up the feelings that just won't stay suppressed that I and many other of my girlfriends find ourselves tripping head over feet and landing smack on our ass.

There is this guy who is currently ma douleur exquise... let's call him "Paris", and has been for a long time. Our relationship didn't start that way; in fact it never does, but as hard as I tried I simply could not resist. It started out with the little things. A look here, a joke there... There was always something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on, and once circumstances changed it grew to a conversation here, a similarity there... and then it got even deeper. I've known Paris for a while now, and I don't know what it is about him, but he can literally see right through me. Unless I am actually clear as glass, to which then I reply "oh" but... he can. And it's scary; normally I have to be poked and prodded and BEGGED to talk and give information and whatnot to people I don't really know but with him... I literally have to hold my tongue and not talk to him on the phone because I feel as if I could talk to him forever... and I haven't felt like this about someone in a really long time.

But just like Paris, France; he's not exactly here and I am not exactly there. The worst thing is he straight up told me that if things were different then... well things would be different. The problem is, this happened a while ago. Like a WHILE ago, and I had thought I had moved on.

I mean, it was awkward as hell at first, but I refused to let it affect what was going on, despite everything. I guess it would have helped if he had been an asshole instead of being... himself. But eventually, or so I had believed, I got over it. Hell, I even started seeing other people and yet here I am, trying to run away from someone I'd much rather be as close to as possible and in every possible way.

It's funny how certain people can rope you back in just as you're about to escape. Now I'm not saying that I'd prefer being trapped, oh hell no. It's just... in this case I can't be let go, even when I want to. I know for a fact that he isn't the one; I need someone more my style and someone who will fit into my life rather than become it, or worse even make me change my life to become theirs; but I feel he is one. And I, as I'm sure almost everyone else, don't like knowing that something I want is something I can't have.. let alone having it in front of my face. My rational mind keeps telling me that it is for the best but seriously... it sucks.

So to answer the question, is it better to want or be wanted? No... they both suck.

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.

Domestication: Friend or Foe?

Is it better to be an undomestic diva or a domestic door-mat?

I've been discussing this disturbing trend with one of my new co-workers, a 20 something full-time office chick/part time student whom I've be-friended. We're both on the look-out for new wing-girls, you know, the girl friends who are always up for a night out dancing, boy-hunting and just plain fun. Not to say that our current girlfriends aren't fun anymore: quite the contrary, when we DO see them they are a blast. But herein lies the rub; we hardly ever see them anymore and when we do, they seem to have permanently attached themselves to their boyfriends hips.

On one hand, who can blame them? Being attached to someone's hip has its obvious benefits. As one of my girlfriends often says in her quest for a significant other, "Coupled people do not go out clubbing; they stay in and fuck." And when they do emerge from the bedroom, they are so immersed with each other they may have well just stayed in there. Other perks included in domesticdom are semi-permanent dinner dates, movie dates, someone to stay in with when the weather gets bad, and someone to accompany you on all those boring mudane tasks us single and fabulous (!) girls must do alone. So, from the outside looking in, domestication doesn't sound so awful.

However, and there is always a however, freedom-loving Manolo lites, including yours truly, can and have fallen into the domesticdom-trap. Anyone who has been in a relatively serious long-term monogamous relationship can attest to this: after a while you start to act, think and believe as an entirely different person, and from the inside looking out, things can get a bit foggy.

Last summer I found myself in a semi-serious relationship with a guy, lets call him "Phillipe", and sure as hell I found myself domesticated. I would sleep at this guys place almost every night, even though my apartment was on the street where I worked and his was across a bridge and often required 2 buses to get where I was going, not to mention losing the 45 extra minutes of beauty sleep I so thoroughly enjoy. And if that wasn't enough, after spending the night and morning with him he would meet me for lunch when clearly I should have been socializing with my girl friends, or at the very least a co-worker whom I've now developed full blown crush-affair with... hey, a girl's gotta have her priorities! And even after spending the morning with him, having lunch with him and talking to him on the phone, "Philippe' still managed to convince me to either spend the night as his aparment again or crash at mine, although his preference was obviously his place, despite the geographic proximity of our work-places to my apartment. If my behaviour was any indication, my girl friends must have been driven crazy! "Philippe" had managed to go from being my summer boyfriend to being my summer. Only now do I realize just how much I missed out on after falling into what I call the domestic-trap.

Looking back on this as I enter my summer in singledom, I can see the ups and downs of domestication. Sure, domesticdom has its perks, but myself and anyone else who has been in a long-term monogamous relationship has to be careful not to become a "domestic doormat", women (and men) who freely give up their individual lives to become one with another. As a freedom-loving Manolo-lite, I thought myself immune to such trickery, but "Philippe" and countless other men I know have successfully tamed some of the wildest women I know, including myself. I am talking about girls who under normal circumstances would hit on bars and boys for drinks and dances who now drop similar plans for a movie night pour deux... in other words, sans moi. The worst part is, I often find myself losing touch with these 'domestic doormats' in hopes to salvage what little social life I have left.

Not to say that their social lives are completely void, oh no. Their calendars are always free for 'couples nights', implying that if I want to see them I'd best get myself a boyfriend or at least someone I am casually dating to tag along for the ride... I guess I am simply not a fan of needing a boyfriend to hang out with my girlfriends.

Now, I know it is not fair or correct to couple all taken-girls into that one awful category. On the contrary; I know some pretty fabulous halves, women I like to call "domestic darlings". These girls are in monogamous relationships and spend quality time with their boyfriends/lovers/significant others. However, they have also mastered the art of having a life outside of their relationship.

Some of my girl friends, the very lucky ones, have boyfriends/lovers/significant others who encourage these girls to keep their social lives and their girlfriends, and when they join us for a night out they are never overbearing or controlling; in fact they are quite fun. One particular girl friend, lets call her "Angelica" and her fiance, let's call him "Joe" have perfected the art of having a lover AND having a life. I would even go as far as to say, it is the type of domestication a Manolo-lite like me wouldn't mind having. But as I said, this summer I've found myself a happy resident of singledom, meaning I'm a bit cynical... I'm hopefully enough to keep looking for a relationship like that, but I'm smart enough to realize that "Angelica" and "Joe" are the exception to the rule.

So what's a single (and fabulous!) gal to do when she's stuck between the singledom haven and domesticdom wonderland? I am not about to give up the freedom and spontaneity of singledom for the pleasures and stability of domestication... I just hate the fact that so many of us have to chose between one or the other.

Brains versus Beauty...

Since when did we have to choose?

I have been asking myself lately, among other things, if there really are women in this world whos sole purpose is to make us feel bad about ourselves? The only answer I have been able to come up with is "maybe", but recently I have been encountering women whos sole purpose in life is making me question mine.

As far as I am concerned, a defining characteristic of the modern Manolo-female is her intelligence. In fact, these days you are more likely to encounter a female on a university campus than a male and soon enough, most of us will be working for a modern Manolo-female instead of a male. On the outside she appears to have it all: an intelligent mind to match her sexy body and she remains what us twenty-something Manolo-lites are striving to be not only for ourselves but for men as well. I was under the impression that smart was sexy; but why then, given the choice of a smart, sexy Manolo-lite, do some men still prefer the pretty little airhead immortalized by the likes of Pamela Anderson and Jessica Simpson? It seems to me that although the modern man professes the desire for a competent, ambitious and driven woman, he continues to prefer the company of a scatterbrained, yet gorgeous female. I can't help but wonder why, when given the choice between sexy and smart and just sexy... why do men still go for just sexy?

I have a friend, let's call her "Daisy", who embodies the definition of the "Just Sexy" female. She is tall, skinny, blonde, beautiful, and has the habit of saying the most mindblowingly odd things you could possibly imagine. Although carefree and charismatic, her knowledge of current events, street smarts, common sense and educational topic of choice is not her forte. And yet, for one reason or another that I have yet to figure out, she manages to have four men, four really great men gravel at her feet and answer her every beck and call. So why is that?

According to askmen.com, modern men should raise their personal standards and expectations in their search for the perfect girlfriend. She should be smart, sexy, sweet, ambitious, self-reliant, independent and mature; the kind of woman you would find at a library, museam or cultural event but who is not adverse to the odd sporting event and a pitcher or two of beer. However, despite the aformentioned qualities deemed necessary in a female, these so called modern men still flock towards the young, fun and intellectually numb women they find at the bars, the clubs, the malls or wherever else they congregate in mass numbers. So why is that we, as Manolo-lites are told to be smart, sexy, sweet, ambitious, self-reliant, independent and mature when the hot, fun, scatterbrained girls are attracting and getting all the guys?

Now I am not saying that my friend is stupid. On the contrary, she is actually quite clever. She has everything a Manolo-lite wants without all of that hard work. And although this situation is quite frustrating, fear not my lovely Manolo-lites: there is a gold lining to this charade. The way I see it is, whatever man, modern or not, who would lower his expectations in a woman for the moment is doing just that: for the moment, which leaves us with the men who appreciate brains in a partner just as much as beauty. As annoying as it is to watch every available guy at the bar gravitate towards your pretty clueless girl friend, true Manolo-lites shouldn't waste our time with men who can't handle our minds as well as they can handle our bodies, nor should we settle for one or the other. The "Just Sexy" female gets them easily, but nothing worth having comes easy.

So, on behalf of all Manolo-lites, I would like to thank all the "Just Sexy" females. Next time you and your girl friends are out on the town and your "Just Sexy" friend is getting the most attention, remember this: think of her as your Darwinian card: by attracting and being naturally selected by the low-riding men who are looking for either a trophy or a good time but not necessarily a long time, allow the good, intellectually superior females to find the good, intellectually superior males who require a higher form of stimulation than a pretty face, a nice rack and a gullible yet trusting mind. They just make our search simpler by weeding out the population of men better suited to a "Just Sexy" female versus men better suited to a Manolo-lite. So yes, maybe there are women out there whos sole purpose in life is to make us question ourselves... but only for the moment.

No love...actually.

When the love ends but the relationship unfortunately doesn't...

When it comes to relationships, a bit of give and take and the all-mighty compromise is necessary for its survival. Some relationships are meant to be and others start out great but eventually fizzle out and end for one reason or another. We've all heard of lingering emotions after an official breakup, but who has heard of a lingering relationship?

I was once in a relationship for approx 1 and a half months. It was long distance with someone whom we'll call "Ben". I had met "Ben" through a mutual friend. He seemed decent enough but as things changed I found myself unable to balance school, work, social and personal time with him being 200 clicks away. The latter half of month 2 was spent trying to break things off as I figured breaking this off early would spare us both the time, money and heartache that comes with a long distance relationship. Unfortunately for me "Ben" just didn't get it. When I finally managed to break things off "Ben" still didn't get it. Then came the calls and the emails. I reiterated my stance that no, we are not going to get back together despite his insistance that in 2 weeks I would come crawling back.

Well, 2 weeks passed and not only did I not come crawling back, I started seeing someone that I really liked. Of course "Ben" learned of this and you guessed it! He still didn't get it. Then came the note taped secretly to the back of a favourite cd he had kept hostage followed by a visit to my brother asking for a second chance with me.

At this point I had had enough. A 2 month relationship was being elongated against my will for over 7 months after the fact. If I said "no" the first time, what makes you think that I will say "yes" the millionth time? When a former significant other, be it a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or wife, for no matter how long you have been together tells you "I don't want to be with you" or "This is not going to work" it does NOT and I repeat does NOT mean "Try harder". It does not mean keep calling or emailing trying to convince your ex otherwise. That is not called love. That is called manipulation.

Now, this is something that everyone I know, including myself, is guilty of. We've all called or emailed an ex once or twice asking them for a second chance, but usually, normally, when the calls are not answered, the emails are sent back and the belongings are returned, you give up. You move on. You realize that no matter what you do or say this person is not going to change their mind. When you think about it, if you have to manipulate, trick or force someone to love you and to stay with you... then maybe its not right. Nobody likes having their free will messed with, especially concerning something so important as an intimate relationship. "Ben" refused to believe or listen to anyone but himself when it came to our dead relationship. Instead of accepting the facts, which were might I add right in front of his face, he chose to argue his way through and push his opinion upon myself, my friends and my family.

Now, maybe we all didn't learn the same things in kindergarden, but throwing a hissy fit will not get you what you want. If you even have to throw a hissy fit instead of maturely accepting your former significant others wishes, with time of course, then the question remains: is this ending a result of non-compatability or non-compliance? Is he or she not giving you what you need or what you want? Instead of trying to force someone into agreeing with what you feel is right, if you have to force someone to comply with what you feel is best then you know what? The relationship is already over. If one person is making all of the decisions without respect or consideration for the others feelings or opinions then you're not even in a relationship. No sense in trying to convince someone into remaining in something that is actually nothing.

The Nice Guy...

Is there really hidden treasure buried underneath the guys you call "friends"?

I recently caught myself saying those words that every twenty-something girl says to her friends when faced with a surprisingly common problem. It is something I am sure every woman in her life has said to her friends, her family, or even her boyfriend to describe a "nice guy" in her life. Those words are "we're just friends". The problem is I found myself rejecting a great guy, a co-worker actually, simply because we are, in my opinion "just friends". Unfortunately I found out that I was wrong.

Twenty-something girls, at least us "Manolo lights", seem to be doing this all backwards. We are attracting the "nice guys", the guys who call you when they say they will, who talk to your face on a date instead of your chest, who buy you coffee or lunch without expecting a glorious make-out session afterwards that he can brag about to his buddies or anyone who will listen. They are cute, kind and oh so available. The kind of guys who will go shopping with you without complaining, who don't care if you answer the door in sweats, who see you for who you are and love you regardless. And in return, we label them as our "friends" and run to them when the assholes we actually date show their true colours. But for some reason we don't want them. They are the kind of guys we love to hang out with, but we don't hang out with them because we love them. No... We hang out with them because "we're just friends".Why do we do that? Why don't we date the nice guys?

The rationales I've heard over the years are as follows: "... Don't want to ruin our friendship" ... "It would be too weird..." "He is like a brother to me..." and so forth. It's as if twenty something girls and guys would rather have their hearts broken by the toxic players than date a "nice guy" or a "nice girl", yet claim to want exactly what the "nice guys/girls" are. Why are we looking for that special someone who is right in front of our faces? Why are we unwilling to take a chance on a "nice guy"?

They say that "nice guys finish last" and you know what, they do. "Nice guys" don't take as many chances with women, be they "Manolo-females" or "Manolo lights" as the toxic players and even when they do they're labeled as our "friends". They finish last because they put themselves last and in turn, we put them last too. As much as we want a "nice guy"... we don't. Or at least that is the message we are sending our "nice guys"; that if you want us, stop being nice. Then there really would be no nice guys left. But they don't stop. Real "nice guys" remain "nice guys", even when faced with rejection. Maybe one day, they think, we'll realize that although our "nice guy" is good as a friend, he's even better as a lover. That he may not be what we are looking for at the moment, but if given a chance he just might be?

My co-worker is the classic "nice guy". He has a successful career, his own place and fantastic ambitions. He is funny, kind and really sweet. I'd be hard pressed to describe him without calling him a "nice guy" because that is exactly what he is. However, I just can't get myself to like him as anything more than as a friend. Why, when faced with a perfectly wonderful guy whom my girl friends would date in a second, I can't because he has that "just friends" label and I end up doing nothing. I know that this particular "nice guy" would treat me like a princess, I just can't get over that "nice guy" hump.

Maybe "nice guys" are destined to always finish last. I wonder if I'll ever be able to say that my "nice guy" finished last because he makes sure I finish first.

My place or ... your parents?

When I said I'd go home with you, I didn't mean literally.

At first I thought this was a blip, something so out of the ordinary that it managed to stick out in my mind. I had heard about one or two examples before but each individual had a perfectly good reason for being in this situation. Except I kept hearing more and more examples coming out of the woodwork, prompting me to stop and take notice. Another interesting thing I have noticed about the new breed of twenty-something men, that is they are more than happy to move and live at home after university.

Now I am not one to judge, but doesn't that seem a little off? I can understand a quick lay-over, a stop in between university and real life, but when the lay-over becomes an extended vacation what does the twenty-something female do? It's one thing to have male-friends who are living at home after university, but it's another thing to date a guy who is living at home after university.

I had been seeing this 24 year old with a masters degree from an accredited university in Canada. He had recently moved back home because he felt that getting an apartment before getting a job was counterproductive, and I agreed. At first I didn't think it would affect me as much, but after a few months it started to when it was quite apparent that he was not interested in moving out. Granted I do have to admit living at home has its obvious benefits, but so does living on your own. I mean, it is one thing when you are 17 and dating, when it's ok to bring your date or your girlfriend/boyfriend back to your parents house when they aren't home or if they are home if you are feeling risky to sneak around and make out. But it's another thing when you're 24. As a 21 year old girl, it didn't feel right. So why does it feel right to a 24 year old guy?

I was recently speaking to a realtor who mentioned to me that more and more young, single twenty-something girls are buying their own place, sometimes with the help of their parents and sometimes as 'just me'. She has her degree, like the modern man, except she seems more interested in pursing her independent adult life by continuing to live on her own. It's as if the twenty-something girl is taking on the role formerly dominated by guys post-university; buying a house, a car, neither of which are or were her parents. Twenty-something guys, however, are taking on the role formerly dominated by girls post-university; being at home and relying on his parents before leaving when he is ready... Or when he is kicked out.

I think the problem lies with the fact that what men are looking for and what women are looking for has changed. The twenty-something female is looking for a partner, an equal. She isn't waiting for a man to enter her life for it to begin, so someone who is willing to fit into her already-established life. The twenty-something man, so it seems, is looking for his mother or at least someone kind of like his mother which explains why he is so content, even happy with moving back home at 23, 24, 25... And leaving... Well, when will he leave?

Modern Dating: Progression or Regression?

Modern Dating: Progression or Regression?

For a twenty-something girl, modern dating can be tricky. The rules have changed, the roles have shifted, and expectations have been altered to a point of absolute confusion. Where once the definition of dating was clear and precise now it is .. Well it's just shades of grey. The shift came along with the evolution of what some writers call the "Manolo Blahnik female". These women are sexy, sexual, powerful and confusing as hell to men and women alike. To women, she is what we're expected to be, our goal even: ambitious, self-reliant, independent, sexually confident and free and most importantly, aggressive with our careers, with our futures and with our men. She is the hunter instead of the hunted; the chase instead of the catch. Trust me, you see these women everywhere. She's the one at the bar in the stiletto heels, the lowcut shirt, the equally low riding jeans checking you out from across the room. If you're lucky she'll introduce herself, buy you a drink, take you home and maybe give you her number. To men... she is the answer to their prayers. She does all the work, puts in all the effort, and only expects him to play along and enjoy the ride.

But what about those of us who aren't "Manolo females"?

I was recently dating this one guy, we'll call him "Ken", and the most effort I got out of him were phone calls that eventually degenerated to sporadic text messages and a personal visit but only in private. I had finally convinced him to ask me for a proper date, however sometime during the week "Ken" fell sick but didn't find it necessary to inform me of this. I ended up inviting him for drinks at a local martini bar that was maybe eight blocks away from my apartment, but even that was too much to ask of the modern male. It's not that "Ken" as a modern male is scared so much as "Ken" and all other modern males are used to getting what they want and when they don't they put up a wall instead of putting up a bit of effort.

Now I am not saying that the "Manolo female" would not have been upset had she found herself in this situation. It does beg the question, by becoming the "Manolo female", did modern women give up the right to be treated like a lady? Have we gained so much power in the business and social world that we no longer expect a little common courtesy from the opposite sex?

The "Manolo female" is perpetually on top... in education, in fitness, in career, in sex... The "Manolo female" is doing all the work now and she doesn't even realize it. They are chasing men, paying their own way, and it seems as if modern men are simply laying back and enjoying the ride. And who can blame them? We have allowed men to relax and forget that the amount of effort, not the amount in his bank account, is what's appreciated. When everything is coming to the modern man, why would he feel the need to put in effort where none is required to get what he wants? So when faced with a situation with a woman who requires a bit of effort, the modern man doesn't know what to do. Scratch that. The modern man knows what to do; he simply feels that he doesn't have to because soon enough he'll meet another "Manolo female" who will put in all the effort for him and give him what he wants without him ever having to lift a finger. What women want has changed over the years along with the methods of getting what we want. But not men. Men still want what they've wanted before, and the "Manolo female" has made it easier on him.

So what about the rest of us? The so called "Manolo-lights" who, although independent, empowered, confident and sexy, are looking for men who will treat us like a lady? When I can't even get a modern man to drive the extra eight blocks to meet me for a drink I have to ask myself, has dating as we knew it gone the way of the dodo?