Therapy For Friends

Administering therapy to your friends is a tricky thing. The mere fact that you regard the person as a friend refers you to the unwritten book of rules. Every sect has got their own set of guidelines that they follow, but some rules are just hard and fast, they translate into any society, no matter the language barrier or difference in tax bracket. We have a common ground, a foundation of sorts that we base morally sound friendships on. Maybe your wording is a bit different then mine, but it’s a needless to write down; mere common sense rules and I bet it goes a little something like this…

"The Giver, ‘he who gets his life’s blood sucked out’ must have an opinion when asked for one. He must also freely dispense his or her thoughts when requested, with no regard to its being contrary to what said friend wants to hear. The Taker, ‘he who bothers you with questions pertaining to the meaning of it all never to follow said advice’, is under no obligation to pay for or appreciate the given advice. ”

The ruling is pretty unfair if you are in the position of the Giver, but the rules however are binding. Personally, I have never seen the scenario played differently. But in my head I have imagined the Giver having the foresight to be an entrepreneur like Lucy from the Peanuts strip. The Giver could set up a stand and charge for their advice, making sure as hell to get more then five cents for it. Maybe, five cents a word could work if they could drag out their responses all while recording them on a tape player to keep accurate account and get every cent owed to them.

On second thought, that may not be the best way to handle these types of situations. I wouldn’t even be prone to this wild imagining if it weren’t for the fact that had I’d gone to school to be a shrink, I might actually be getting paid for my gems of advice. It almost made me faint when I calculated just how much I might have earned from my basket-case friends. Figuring in the amount of hours they’ve spent on my couch, the late night phone sessions, all the emergency happy hour drinking, the weekend road trips/ getaways to detox the best friend. Multiply all the hours striped from my youth that I’ll never get back, times the going rate in psychiatry these day’s, and I figure I’m owed seven thousand and five hundred dollars and eighty-seven cents for the past two months alone. Quite honestly, I’m rounding down.

To be fair, not everyone has that kind of money laying around earmarked for the express use of maintaining mental sanity – which is why most of us have friends in the first place. We can afford the booze that goes very nicely with the conversation about passed over promotions, cheating mates, etc. What we can’t afford however is the time it takes out of a busy schedule to actually see a professional, let alone pay a professional to humiliate us by telling us what we already now but don’t want to apply. But our friends, they already know we’re crazy and broke.

I’m beginning to visualize some sort of barter system. For every piece of wisdom I dole out they would have to fulfill one wish off of my payment list; the payment list consisting of a number of decent options that they can choose as alternatives to real currency. After a fair amount of advice had been doled at to said friend, my checklist of payment options would be mailed out to them. They would simply check off which option best suits their budget, mail the form back and I would collect when the opportunity presented itself.

For example…

( )One, guilt free ride to work.
( )One, candy of my choosing for our next movie outing.
*Candy must come from the concession stand; picking it up from the drug store on the way to the theatre is forbidden.

Now let’s just agree that some of our friends need more help than others. They require what might be viewed as a more than a monetary amount of tuning up in order to run smoothly. So if the therapy has been taking place on a ‘more than normal’ amount of time I’d be forced to up the anti. It's not gouging, but special circumstances call for special rates. Lets’ look at it from a worldly perspective; if you were on a cruise ship and had to see the Ship’s Doctor, he would have a separate rate for a weekday visit and a weekend visit. Heck, there’s a different rate for day and night hours. If that doctor has to step away from his dinner table or interrupt his weekend excursion in order to see you, get ready to pay double for that tummy ache you could have averted by staying away from the mid-afternoon surprise sushi hour on the Lido deck. I speak from experience.

So I’d mail out what I like to call the High Rollers card.
Select one of the following – and please, to avoid altercation, pay promptly. Thank you.

( )One (unused) ticket to a Yankees game.
*Home games only – away games only incur further cost for me. And lets face it, if you’re receiving this card I’ve paid enough already.
( )One $20 gift certificate.
*The certificate must not bare the following store names or include the combination or use of the following words: less, discount, why, land, world, bargain, or hut.

Once their form is filled out, returned and fulfilled, I could again spill out my never-ending jewels of wisdom till it was time to start the billing cycle again. Now if you do decide on this route, let me suggest you only run a tab for your very good friends as a gesture of good faith. Everyone else pays or you don’t play (i.e. send over your goons).

For years I have made wild speeches and keen observations in accordance to my friend’s problems. These pearls of wisdom were golden; they were “I have a Dream” quality! But alas, in one ear and out the other. Regardless of how many times they ask for it, you always hear “You're wrong, it’s not like that”, only days later to hear, “You were right. Why didn’t I listen to you?”
My personal favorite is “I can’t believe you let me do that!”

Why do they waste God Given talent? Had they been forced to go to some shrink who charged them a hundred bucks an hour, they’d be like monks waiting to hear wisdom fall from the lips of the Dalai Lama, the advice would be precious and they’d snort it like coke.

But why should they buy it when we’re giving it out for free? But I know another saying, we hear this phrase all the time. You get what you pay for.
Before I rock the system and institute my new barter system, I’ve been trying to alleviate the burden of my Giver duties by using what I’ve since tagged as the ‘Fortune cookie one liner’. It’s currently being used on a trial basis. You can try it, it’s very simple. For every problem you are asked for advice on stop and give your friend a look of genuine pondering. Wait a few minutes to give the illusion of deep thought – your body language should say “I am calculating and the pros and cons of this highly interesting conundrum.” Then in response use a generic, homogeneous statement: Ask and ye shall receive. Follow the urgings of your heart, not your mind. Be quick; lest the race be won be
someone else.

I figure these responses pretty much cover a wide spectrum of questions. You can’t really get into trouble with answers like these, because, they basically say nothing and everything all at once. Hopefully, you like I, will come off looking wise, throwing to the untrained ear what will seem like cool eastern philosophies. Most essentially it will allow you to retain the good stuff to impress the new friends you are bound to receive.

At least, that’s what my last fortune said.

The Sexy Saturday Video

It's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this, you should be having fun and creating havoc. But if you are stuck inside, watch the Sexy Saturday Video - it'll make you feel better.

Why?

Because even if you don't understand Spanish they still sound sexy as hell.
Because that's freaking Alejandro Sanz in the video!
Because the Reggaeton versions are always dirtier.
Because everyone knows she's hot - even I have to admit that if I met Shakira and thought about her sliding across the table simultaneously, I'd start to stutter...

Catch ya Monday ;)

Sappy Song Blog: Love Me Or Leave Me

Ok Dearies, this is a Song Blog. Press play and then read on.

A couple of nights ago during a movie that I waited two months to be available on my Netflix queue, I was barraged with text messages.

The texts came from a guy I dated over three years ago. I thought myself to be madly in love but it didn't work out, mainly because he kept running into and touching other women that he swore the universe was sending his way. After a years of being continously reshelved I dusted myself off so he could clearly see my expiration date for his crap had well past.

Because of the recent events I’ve been playing and replaying, Nina Simone’s, “Love me or Leave me,” as we both discover the intricacies of that crazy ball of love as it bounces from the lovelorn to the loveless.

Love has a bad way of timing. It’s never a choice decision who you give your heart to. One moment it's just having fun and the next someone’s stealing it away.
I want to ask of my heart, “Do I get to have an opinion, can I have a thought of my own?!”
My biggest gripe is that my ‘someone’s’ don’t seem to be working out.
I’ve come to the point where I’d like to return them.
I’ve still got the receipts - in some instances I never even opened them.
It may be hard to return the others... the bubble wrap was just too tempting.

Why do my products have so many defects? By saying ‘products’ I do mean guys. I hate to objectify but I’m into associations now, so bare with me. I mean come on - just like a product, we see you, we buy you, and then we apply you. Typically like so many others I have purchased before you never work and I can’t take you back because I already used you. So you wind up in my bathroom closet in the corner on the second shelf where all the others go to die.

Three years later on a lazy Saturday afternoon with nothing else to do I’ll decide to clean up a little and go into that closet systematically throwing out everything and wondering why I ever brought them all in the first place. So I can’t help but wonder, is it my love or do my guys have defects?


So Nina and I continue to break down our song of heartache in a way that only those all too familiar with that bastard love can understand…“Love me or leave me and let me be lonely/you won't believe me but I love you only/I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else”

Grandiose sounding, isn’t it? I imagine that Nina herself was hopelessly lovesick singing in some smoky, dim lighted club. In an elegant dress she moved about the stage, floating her woes out to the crowd on her gossamer wings of a voice - evoking emotional nods of the head, thoughtful tapping of fingers on the tables. She’d look like she meant every word of this song. She sang it for everyone suffering through these great catastrophes of the heart…“you might find the night time the right time for kissing/night time is my time for just reminiscing/regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else…”

But I’ve come up with a theory to Nina’s, and mine, and yours; in love we sometimes make stupid mistakes at the urging of our hearts, but we are hard pressed to regret them. Our hearts know that in order for it to be happy now - at this moment, it must hold tight to its sanity. It must believe that the love we received was well worth the pain it caused in the end.
How else would we keep getting people to sing tragic yet beautiful love lost songs that we drown ourselves in…“there'll be no one unless that someone is you/ I intended to be independently blue” .

When Nina sings I can feel myself drowning in the reminder of that feeling when there's misery inside your love, and I love knowing that somewhere someone else is listning to this and knows the same ache.

Now maybe Nina doesn’t do it for you; I’m just sharing my song - the one that makes me wail.
While I go on strutting down the streets of Philly looking for, Mister Right, I’m going to feel a little better knowing that even if the next one fails I’m going to keep trying until I do succeed. Because heck, even if he isn't reliable I'll always have Nina.

Potential Whatever

Potential Whatever (pō•tĕn•shăl hwŏt•ěv´er): a phrase used to describe an individual who won’t make the final cut.

The foretelling of a Potential Whatever comes from that gut feeling we sometimes get. It’s when we know that the relationship we’re in won’t make it through the calendar year. Basically, it’s when the person you’re dating has the potential to wind up in near imminent conversations in this manner:

Your friend: “So how’s insert Potential Whatever’s name here?”
You: “Who?”
Your friend: “You know, PW’s name goes here again.”
You: “Who?” (By now you are rolling your eyes.)

Everyone’s harbored a PW at one time or another. What makes us hold on to them for so long? Wrong as it may sound, they generally tend to have a good shelf life. These temporary products consume your time for the moment providing that quick fix when you need it. The problem with indulging in a Potential Whatever is the fact that they have to expire. The fun runs out, your patience runs out, you stop dreaming and reality steps in. You get to the point where nothing they say, do, or have is going to make them worthy in your eyes. Now the only potential they’ve got going on is the potential to make you sick.

Maybe you were the one who started the relationship and now you feel like being the one to end it would be unkind. Even so, staying in a relationship that you’ve come to realize has reached its expiration date makes you the user in the union. Yeah, I said user. Knowingly walking into or staying in a relationship with a PW based selfishness and a wanton attempt at trying to fulfill your own desires makes you the user. There are consequences in staying the course in this type of relationship. The trappings in this course of action occur when the PW catches on to their own sure demise and that’s when they become Masters of relationship manipulation.
When a PW catches wind of your knowledge of them possessing a ‘good thru’ date, to stay in the game they need to divert your attention elsewhere with Vegas-style illusions. The PW has no intention of bailing out on you so they’re not about to make it easy for you to send them to the place where products go to die. Their showy display of exploitation comes in varying types of poison. I’ll just list the deadliest concoctions:

The Skillfully Planned Unreturned Phone Call - You will try to end it an in environment that is safe for you - the less damage the better. No pieces to pick up-just a phone to hang up. But the PW is clever, they have more experience in ditching the blows. T here’s no way they’re going to let you catch them on the phone. Therein lies the bait; more than likely, no one has ever ignored you so expertly. This move is delivered to spur you on to frenzies of unparalleled proportions even if you’re hesitant to say it out loud. It’s the old way of making you want what you can’t have. Somehow you are coerced into believing their hype. Before you know it you’ll start thinking that perhaps you were about to make a horrible mistake by letting them get away.

The Catch Lines - “I really wanted you to get to know the real me.”
It’s a thought planted and left to linger, arousing and stimulating the brain into thinking that they are a viable option for future appearances. They become literal thieves of your mind and time-casually alluding to having personality, persona, dreams, and goals. Words pour out of their mouths slowly, drizzling like honey over your reasoning only serve to disguise their real agenda here – survival.

They’ll play on your sympathy claiming to need help and protection from the harsh world, pretending to be scalded, scarred, and trumped in the tragic burden that is their life - and you’ll fall for it if you're not careful. Trust me, it's not worth it, over time they slowly revert to what they were before. The gauze will fall from your eyes to reveal the same PW you were trying to rid yourself of in the beginning.

But don’t go back! This burden of being with the wrong person will wear on you, cause you to start canceling dates, lack the ability to communicate, notice nothing substantial about your life anymore, think that the phrase "it’s better to give than receive" only applies to you. If that happens you'll become the damaged goods and the PW will tire of you and start making eyes with other people in your presence, start introducing you as a friend, talk to you one minute and ignore you the next, make flirting without ever soulfully committing to someone a sport. You can take a breath now. You will wind up being dumped by the PW instead of the other way around.

If what I’ve said here sounds strangely familiar, then come on! Let them go. A person’s flaws should be ones that you finally don’t think you need a Band-Aid for, because if you’re trying to bandage them they’re sure to be your “Potential Whatever”.

Sexy Saturday Video

Cause it's Saturday and you shouldn't be here reading this.  You should be out having fun and creating havoc.

But if you are stuck inside then you deserve a little flirty fun, a little lusty loving.

So enjoy your Sexy Saturday Video.

Catch ya Monday ;)

The Third Wheel Manifesto

Couples, these musings you are about to read are the collective sighs we let out every time we are asked to be “The Third Wheel”. We as your friends realize that you don’t mean to deposit upon us the guilt and shame that comes along with this status, but, you must realize, you are different now. You used to be one of us, the single, grazing few who look up from the grass every now and then to gaze lazily across the plain, but you’ve been picked off - taken from the herd.

Being the Third Wheel makes us feel semi-pathetic, because if we’re available to go out with you that usually means we didn’t have better plans ourselves. Now, I suppose that when I start dating again someone will register the same complaints with me, but until then, I’m trashing this antiquated buddy system.

When I think of three, I think: odd number…disharmony… three’s a crowd.

People stare at us when we’re trailing behind you; pitying us like we’re some poor, humpbacked, misshapen creature from a horror movie. Forget trying to offer a rebuttal, because let me assure you that my sources are strong. In order to relay accurate and reliable statistics, I required that all “Wheels” have at least thirty hours or more out in the field before they could participate in this study. These poor souls and I only hope that you take heed to our research as well as our pleas.

What is agreed upon, according to most Wheels are the following: once you start dating, it’s as if your new personality arrived from a parallel universe. It’s bizarre; you seem to have lost brain cells. Apparently you all possess dictionaries that only supply pet names like ‘Boo Bear’, ‘Honey Love’, ‘Noodle’, ‘Cupcake’, ‘Pumpkin’ and ‘Love Muffin’. I mean, are those names or menu items? Are you dating them or eating them?

Ever notice that when you engage us in conversation using these names that we supply a look of confusion and proceed to ask you “whom are you referring to”? You follow-up by saying, “you know who I’m talking about, I’m talking about my boo.”

"Oh. Your boo."

Now listen up, because you NEED to know this. We WANT you to know this. First, yes, we do know whom you’re speaking about. But our rulebook on such matters clearly state… in order to preserve ones dignity a reply of no is required, yes, a firm, “no, I don’t know who you’re talking about”.

This allows us to retain some self-respect. This is not story time; you are not reading to children. Please, spare us and use their real names.

Second, sitting. There are major problems with the seating arrangements. We, as the minority, realize that there’s no solution, no better way to handle it, but it doesn’t mean we have to like it. We don’t want to be alone on the aisle two rows behind you; it’s lonely and obvious. Problem is, if we sit with you, you don’t really want us there and furthermore it’s not our idea of fun to watch you cuddle, swap spit and play with each other’s hair through a two hour movie. So, basically, it’s a case of screwed if you do, screwed if you don’t.

There have been complaints made by other “Wheels” that good movies are being ruined on account of insane, uncalled for acts of lovey-doveyness…and in public view nonetheless!

One Wheel said, “I was sitting there enjoying my popcorn, when BOOM! Out of nowhere the couple began taking turns sipping from the same straw repeating to one another, “…and one for you and one for me…” I became so physically ill I had to excuse myself and use the ladies room.” Couples, this behavior and utter lack of respect for your Wheel has to stop!

So low on the totem pole is the Wheel that it is now being compared to Chinese Water Torture; every outing like a slow drip.

Waiting in the car while you the two of you commence a thirty-minute goodnight.

Drip…

Having to watch you no longer realize how to walk independently, always holding hands, apparently, in order to stand up straight.

Drip…

Asking us to do our own thing for about an hour and then meet you back at the car after you invited us to hang out with you!

Drip…

Now for the record, there are exceptions. Some “Wheels” have reported pleasant times accompanying their friends. They said being treated as part of a group and not apart from it was entirely refreshing. I assure you this is not a common occurrence; they happen about as often as pink elephants are spotted.

Reality of the matter is, even though I state and claim these things, I’m a sucker when it comes to my friends and suckers get sucked in. So, until I learn my lesson or retain the will power to say no, chances are that’ll be me you see sitting behind two people gazing into each other’s eyes. I’ll be the one staring off into space wondering what I should have said to avoid all this. I’ll be thinking I should have handled this situation as one wise doctor might have:

“I do not like to be the wheel.
I do not think it’s a fair deal.
You have me sitting in the back.
It’s worse than being on the rack.
I would not like to meet you there.
And would I like to drive you where?
It’s like you’ve gone and lost your mind.
I’ll tell you this just one more time.
My brain is fried, I think no more.
I’m slowly gagging on the floor.
And if you ask me one more time,
I swear I’ll poke you in eye.”

Or something like that.
photo by John Fraissinet

Men and Toilets

Coupling had to be one of the funniest British shows EVER. It dealt with relationships and all the funny differences between men and women. So for all the guys who feel like breaking into occasional rants about your toilet freedoms - this is for you.

Interview With A Guy: Relationship Timing

So this week I had the extreme privilege of paying the PPA for parking violations. One is for an expired meter, and the other for staying thirty minutes over my 2hr space limit.

Apparently this week my timings been off – which got me to thinking about the timing in relationships. Must of us make up and operate by these ridiculous rules about who calls who first and who should make the first move. Personally I just like to follow the vibe, but I wanted to get a guy’s viewpoint on it. So I sat down with a guy to discuss, ‘Timing’. Enjoy.

The Politics Chick: I keep trying to understand the gist of Timing when it comes to relationships, particularly the guy’s take on it.

Dude: People make up these silly rules about when it's the right time to call someone after you find out that you like them. Like, when is it the right time to actually tell them that you like them or when is it the right time to go on a date? My rant is: who made these rules anyway? And why should we obey them?

Is this an ok topic? Is it practical? Or just plain dumb?

The Politics Chick: No, this is good stuff - keep going.

Dude: I mean, sometimes people miss out on things because their friends tell them that they shouldn't call right away or that they should wait for other person to call you first. But does it really matter who makes the first move or when it should be made? Sometimes relationships never get a chance because some people are just too afraid to break these rules and take a chance.

The Politics Chick: You got that right.

Dude: Sometimes people fall into misunderstandings. For example, "Well, (he) or (she) didn't call me, so that means that they don't like me." IDIOT! Hello?! You never really know for sure what's going on until you actually do something instead of speculating on conclusions that aren’t based on solid proof. I personally feel that these "timing rules" are for kids who like to play childish games. In the real world - love, relationships, and romance; these things are for adults. Well, for adults who act like adults.

The Politics Chick: Well said. Do you think that some are inclined to speak up first but sike themselves out before they get the chance?

Dude: Yes, out of fear of rejection. But you either take that chance or face the infamous consequences of "if-I-only-made-that-move-when-I-had-a-chance" bit. I know it's easier said than done.

The Politics Chick: Tell me about it... when the moment comes, it’s less than thrilling and never as well executed as you'd planned in your mind.

Dude: I personally let a lot of wonderful girls slip away for the simple fact that I was more concerned about how and when I should say something until I realized that I was wasting valuable time. Next thing I knew, someone else who wasn't afraid to speak up beat me to her. That's why these "timing rules" sometimes don't work out as planned. But then again, you always have that contrast....

The Politics Chick: So what are your thoughts on girls being the ones to speak up first? Forward or compelling?

Dude: Well that depends on the situation and the guy. I mean, if guy likes a girl and he knows that the girl likes him and she makes the first move...well...GREAT! Less work for him, but there has to be mutual interest that is noticeable on both ends. Some guys get intimidated when a girl comes on too strong. In my case, if a girl makes a first move and I already like her, I go for it. No questions asked. Some guys prefer to have that control over the matter; it just depends who you are.

The Politics Chick: Okay, well, talk about the "control", what’s having control over the matter?

Dude: Well, guys tend to like to be the ones who plan things out, make the decisions on how things are going to work, down to the very detailed pickup line to get the girl. It's a lot work in planning these things and we take pride in doing it. When things turn out just as we planned it . . . AHHH, VICTORY! As men, we've conquered, triumphed, scored or whatever you want to call it. When that happens, we feel more like a man because we did it…we took control of the matter. It's a man thing.

The Politics Chick: Unbelievable! Do you need some raw meat now?

Dude: I know it sounds stupid but that's nature. When a girl does it first it's intimidating because she took the role of planner and executor and all our hard work, all our ideas were for nothing. There's no excitement, no challenge, which sometimes leads to a complete turnoff for the guy-especially if he doesn't like her in the first place. I guess it goes back into ancient times...when men were always considered the hunters. Are you getting all this?

The Politics Chick: Oh I’m getting all this. Let me make sure I understand this; I wouldn’t want to misconstrue anything. In other words...if the girl really was being honest, and the guy liked her, but she came on first and he's put off by it, everyone loses out?

Dude: NO, that’s not always the case. Like I said, it depends on the guy. If the girl comes on too strong then...yeah, maybe the guy wouldn't like it. But if she's sneaky and clever (which girls are experts of), the guy is easy prey.

The Politics Chick: Ok, so now we’re sneaky. I’m sorry I must have been crazed thinking that guys have ulterior motives. Please tell me… what do you consider too strong?

Dude: Definitely too much touching too soon. I forget that I have to speak in general terms since most guys have sex as a primary goal and that would be a turn on. Like I say, everyone is different. I don't like it when I just meet a girl and she's already caressing my hand or putting her head in my lap when we're not at that ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ stage.

The Politics Chick: Ah. Well thanks; you've been tons of help.

Dude: I'm glad to assist. Hey wait, are you going to trash me like you did that other guy in your 'Wanted Ad' blog?

The Politics Chick: Me? No . . . never.

The Restaurant Files Present: Another “Food in Exchange For Sex” Metaphor

Location: Brooklyn Heights, NY

Scene of the Crime: La Traviata Restaurant

I was sitting at a cramped table in the back of my favorite restaurant with two good friends who, for the duration of this conversation, will be referred to as ‘Frankie’ and ‘Annette’ (of course they’re aliases). It was a Friday night after a long day of work.

Somewhere in between our second and third glasses of house wine, the hysterics broke out. Yes folks, it doesn’t take much for us (i.e. we are CHEAP dates). No, seriously, wine will do that -open Pandora’s Box. Every thought jumps out of your head and starts slapping you silly. Think not? Then come on down and watch; I guarantee you a show. We know we could get at least five bucks outta you, and that’s just about enough to cover another glass of wine.

Then came the moment of truth - the food arrived! Our lovely waitress sat before Frankie a plate filled with Porchetta on a bed of fettuccine, soaking in red sauce. Annette was served Calamari with linguine in a sweet tomato sauce, and for your stunning storyteller: Baked chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta doing backstrokes in the lemon-garlic sauce, little piles of pasta taking swim breaks on banks of ricotta cheese and chives.

First bite and I swear the pasta curled up and started massaging my back. The meal is so good that Frankie was later found leaning back in his chair, head against the wall, eyes closed . Annette was discovered moaning and repeating the words, “Why, why, why,”. While I am reminded of similar sensations; mid-summer in the kitchen cutting up ripe mango's, it’s fleshy pulp sliding through my fingers, the juice running down my arm - the stickiness.

Now, all I have to say is that when food starts doing this to you, it’s a warning sign. Get yourself a man, a woman, get something! Cause you’re just one step away from the vapors and they can knock you out.

See, I figure it this way: when food starts taking you places, giving you strange romantic-type notions, it’s because you’re missing a vital thing - companionship. If you've arrived at this place then you’ve probably noticed yourself become a slave to the #1 signs of loneliness: Ben and Jerry’s. You’re making one too many stops at the drug store and it ain’t for pantyhose; you are a willing participant in any “Buy three candy bars-get one free!” deal.

There is a void in your love life and you’re looking to fill it with Mister Right or Misses Right, or maybe just a Mr. or Ms. I’m-Comfortable-With.

You are vulnerable so please proceed with caution, because at times like this we are bound to make mistakes. Like, when you thought that last piece of cake at your cousin’s wedding would make you feel better. Puh-LEASE.

Good and healthy food - not unlike a good partner - can be filling. It can make you moan and leave you satisfied, but sometimes you can get a bad meal from an awfully good restaurant. It’s what I like to refer to as an “off night”. Give all restaurants leeway for this, but if they continually produce bad meals then you simply must eat someplace else. I think you know what I’m trying to convey. I know this is hard, when he or she…oops, I’m sorry we’re using metaphors here. What I meant to say was - I know this is hard - it’s your favorite place and you love that old jukebox that has those great song selections. But if the songs never change and the records start skipping, will you still keep feeding it quarters?

Be careful and don’t let your heart make all the decisions; use that noggin that God gave you. Having doubts? Don’t push them aside - investigate and weed the crazy ones out! Or else you’ll wind up like my friend.

There she was in the passenger seat of her date’s car, the destination supposedly a surprise. At a toll booth, her date throws the toll out of his window; it misses the basket, rolls under the car and when she goes into her purse to get another for him, he says, “Are you crazy? You think I’m gonna lose a perfectly good token? Just get out, lay down flat, reach under the car and get it for me, will ya?”

‘nuff said.

That type of insanity is just not worth a trip to Atlantic City, which is where they wound up, which is where she ditched him in Sam’s Salt Water Taffy Shack, hailed a cab and rushed home. That should never have happened. Not when a few simple questions would have saved her from humiliation and an expensive cab ride. Oh, and remember that these are not intended to provide rock-solid solutions to your dating disasters, but they are complied from friends who’ve had their fair share of loonies.

1. Do mental health problems/issues run in your family?

2. When I say the word, NO are you receiving mixed signals?

3. Do you have a jealous, prison bound or recently paroled ex?

4. What’s your favorite Vegetable? (Though I have never heard this being a way to determine mental unbalances, Frankie assures me that crazy people eat certain vegetables and that he’s known too many to be wrong. You can email me for a pocket sized laminated list for quick reference use at restaurants at thepoliticschick@gmail.com).

5. What’s your favorite color? (Yet another questionable theory, which makes me wonder if I should re-evaluate FRANKIE’S stability. Anyway, he says to beware, most unstable people know this one and will lie in a desperate attempt to protect themselves. “A foolproof way to be sure is to observe what color clothing they constantly wear,” he said. To this I said, “Well, won’t that take some time? You could be bound and gagged by then (and not in a good way).” He shrugged his shoulders. So now I’m guessing this one is not so foolproof.)

This list may not be a great help, but I feel better since I put the word out. In the meantime, if you’re looking for a good Ben & Jerry’s flavor try Chunky Monkey, and if you’re going to be by a drug store anytime soon could you pick me up a Twizzler, Snicker or a Kit-Kat combo?

Travel Edition of Politics Walking, Video Talking: The Irish Boys

Today is brought to you by the letter "S".

Actually my entire weekend (my kick-ass weekend that is) is bought to you by the letter "S".

As in "S is for shots".
Shots are dangerous.

Shots are the devil.

Shots make the Politics Chick chatty.

And ya know, shots and secrets don't mix.

One should always remember that loose lips sink ships.

So while I mainline this OJ/Coffee concoction and think about what I've done, you go ahead and watch this video clip.

This time I was in Dublin, waxing poetic on Irish guys.

Hit It To My Hot Spot

I have quirks (don’t we all)…on the first day of Spring I call up my close friends and sing a song to their voicemail announcing my new season happiness.

In the summer I create a flirty beat-filled, Let’s get it On Playlist on my Ipod. It’s great for spirited walks on hot summer days, or for a quick plug into the sound system at a party. But ultimately I think about getting it on with cute guys while I make it.

I feel comfortable enough to share an abbreviated version with you. Listen to it, make fun of it, steal it for your own Ipod – I don’t care. Just promise me that if it helps you get some you’ll say thank you to ‘moi’ in the comments.

My line up:

Yelle – Je Veux te Voir
It’s in French and it’s fun…need I say more.
Yeasayer - Sunrise
It’s still innocent now. I’m starting to get that great summer feeling. I’m stealing glances at you from across the room, pretending to listen to current conversation.
White Rabbits – Percussion Gun
I’m ready for my first glass of red wine, I’m feeling like the party is really getting started.
MGMT- Electric Feel
Chillin’ feeling the vibes in the room, finishing off that wine.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Heads Will Roll
Now I wanna dance. I’m turning the flirt up to high grabbing you by the neck of your t-shirt drawing you closer to me as we dance.
Anjulie – Boom
By the time the track gets to 00:55 oh it’s on…I’m the spider and you’re the fly.
Death Cab For Cutie – I Will Possess Your Heart
Longest intro ever…but imagine all the kissing and groping you can get in before a word is even uttered.

From The Male Perspective: The Wanted Ad

Ah, men …they say the sweetest things – sometimes. But most times they just say the most unbelievable, objectionable, mind-blowing things. I’m here to capture that moment with a new series I like to call ‘From the Male Perspective’. So meet this weeks’ guy who I asked to write a Wanted Ad for his idea of the perfect woman. This reads more like a guy who wants his own little Dr. Frankenstein lab where he can create the perfect woman to objectify and then loose interest as soon as one of her parts falls off. But I’m not here to judge and if nothing else, it’s funny…

WANTED: The perfect woman for me.

Has to be at least between 5' 4" and 5'11".
Can be anything from light-skinned to just below bronzed. I like dark women but not so black that they're BLUE. And depending on maturity, she can be as most as 10 years my junior and five years my senior.

As far as the body is concerned (and I AM concerned): Slightly voluptuous, but certainly not huge; long, smooth neck; nicely sized, firm breasts, shapely legs and an ass that makes other HUSBANDS look. Most guys are T&A. I'm a legs and ass man! And TIGHT!

I know I'm somewhat out of shape, but my girl is going to be tight all over; so tight, Spandex FALLS off of her. Skin so soft and taunt, when I tap my fingers on her inner thighs, it's like playing a snare drum. Oh my, my, my...
Her eyes, whatever shade they are, should penetrate not only deep into what she's looking at, but into herself as well.

My woman should also be smart, and a bit sassy. Without that last one, I'm afraid, I'd have to take Serena Williams over Halle Berry (not that it would be a bad thing, but I'd be robbing the cradle).

And above all, her HAIR, when we go out it has GOT to be TIGHT and DONE.
NO split ends, brittle strands, dry, cracking, moisturizer-lacking, conditioner-deprived, knockoff weave-wearing hairdos! And there you have it, the perfect woman for me.”

Flipping The Script

“Yo! What’s up with flipping the script?! Wasn’t everything ok, weren’t you enjoying what we had?” That is what I’ve said to nearly every guy friend I’ve had that wanted to take our friendship to the next level. After I looked at him like he was growing a second head, I’d voice my concerns about not wanting to lose a good friend if the relationship didn’t work out or not wanting to be in a committed relationship at this time in my life. More than likely I ended my speeches with some passé statement like, "In time you’ll see its better this way" or "Trust me, you don’t want me, you just THINK you do." Then I’d follow it up with a couple of lies: "Of course we can still hang out, BUD" or "No, why would I view you any differently now?”

Each time, something inside of me would be screaming bloody murder - my skin got too tight, my pores too small - their words were suffocating me. I conveniently lost their numbers, never hung out at the same spots we went to together so I wouldn’t accidentally run into them; basically I tried to forget we’d ever met.

It wasn’t that I suddenly stopped caring for them, but my mind couldn’t adjust to the change. A creature of habit does not like to be moved out of a cozy environment to one that doesn’t suit its needs. That may sound crass, but believe me, if they could have seen what little wheels were cranking in my head as they were telling me how they felt, they would have stopped mid-sentence and retracted what had been uttered before I began to suspect that it wasn’t a joke.


In my defense, I’ve never been much for confessions. Matter of fact, I hate any kind of confession that involves me having to deliver unsavory news. Nine times out of ten, chances are you don’t feel the same about the other person. I don’t want to hurt my friends but no matter what you say, if the person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you’re going to be wounded. Once I’ve known someone for years and we’ve established boundaries, telling me something that huge is tantamount to driving on the other side of the highway, jumping the median, and rushing into my lane head-on.

But now…now I’ve got a friend whom I’m not exactly feeling sisterly towards. My mirror is reflecting back a hypocrite, the worst kind, the kind who justifies their actions with barely plausible situations, borderline justifications and semi-sane answers to questions they’ve made up themselves in order to answer them with their own crazed sensibilities.

In my defense, if you’ve only known the person a short period of time and it seems like the relationship was never solidly set up for the rules of platonic play shouldn’t you have the right to flip the script while it’s still written in non-permanent ink?

This new situation I find myself in leaves me only one option. So this is my apology to all the guys who I abandoned ship on, just because you decided to follow your heart, just because you wanted to be honest with yourself and most of all with me. I over-thought things, perhaps, at times, over-reacted. Only now do I realize what strength must be mustered up to unload feelings of that magnitude. I will in the future put what you say in a safe place so that I can't analyze it, but instead, empathize with emotions that I have now come to realize should be validated and not victimized. Unfortunately - even though I understand now - it doesn’t mean I won’t get unglued…but I can try.

Travel Edition of Politics Walking--Video Talking: French Men Vs. American Men

While I recover from this weekend's debauchery (booze, boys, sun, seafood and the shameful, shameful viewing of a 'Jon&Kate plus 8' marathon) I'll leave for you with a new video clip.

I was in Paris a little while ago consuming large amounts of food & red wine (which I'd like to blame for the giggling you'll hear, but if you've watched past video's you know that's really just my nervous sex/love talk thang). I decided to whip out the video cam and interview some locals for the blog - things got really interesting, it'll take a while to share them all. But let's start off with this one; here I am by the Eiffel Tower talking to two French Women about their thoughts on American men (BTW, yes, she does say "they hit women").

The Average Guy

I am exhausted with the charming facades of men who look like they were cut out of underwear ads. I’m tired of swooning over the cultured appearances, the nice houses and careers of the previous men I’ve dated. While there is certainty nothing wrong with wanting a man with all those characteristics it’s come to my attention that this seems like a pre cursor for non committal, early mid life crisis, anal/flaky behavior, and an overall wishy- washy demeanor.

What I want instead is a man who is normal most of the time. A man who isn’t more concerned with his career than he is with me, who knows how to live a life rich with quality not quantity. More than anything I would for once, like to meet someone who doesn’t put out feelers without intentions of ever following through, or break my heart and then act like it was all some unfortunate misunderstanding.

In the beginning I perceived the problem to be about age – everyone knows women mature faster than men so I tried dating up. To my great disappointment I found that men are simply men no matter how many extra digits you try to round them up to. While patching up from yet another painful freefall to despair that I made this discovery, I find that the guys that lift my spirits, the ones there when you need them are not the majority in the dating game but instead the minority – so how is it that I’m just now catching on to that? Oh yeah, my pre conceived notions…those have been demonizing the men I used to label the ‘Average Guy’.

The description of an average guy depends entirely on a woman’s perception. I used to think the average guy lacked ‘flava’, that X factor I needed to keep it spicy. He must, I imagined, wear classic yet safe clothing choices ala, Gap or Abercrombie & Fitch. They love flip flops and man sandals, wrap around sunglasses and typically gather together at sports events or Jimmy Buffet/Dave Matthews concerts holding the never out of style ‘red’ plastic cup of beer. He doesn’t dance (at least not well), wears those God-awful hip sacks on vacation and only has sex missionary style.

Getting hit on by a so called 'average guy' would make me look at them in digust, thinking that he was looking at me imagining me in dress that looked like a table cloths, coming out of a suburban home handing him his briefcase as he kissed me goodbye and then I'd proceed to load our 2.5 kids into a minivan for soccer practice.

Yes I am this dramatic.

Now I’m hearing and witnessing women I know, dating or marrying the guy.
Most women say they overlooked him for so long but in the end they realize he was the one that always came through for them. My girlfriend remarked, "I’ve had guys care for me, but not on this level; in the beginning of our relationships I'd question the niceties, the compliments, the concessions minus the drama. I slowly began to understand that what I’d benefit from was a simple acceptance of these gestures within myself. I'm witnessing first hand the fullfillment in having what I’ve known I’ve deserved along but hadn't been getting out of my prior relationships. I simply want to enjoy him without making him pay for past dummies. Now reached the place where it’s ok if we don’t work out I’m just overjoyed that he's serious enough to think of us as having potential.”

Cute boys…you better step up the game, the tides are turning against you.

Breast = Power!

Everyday, seemingly normal women are walking around cloaking their superhuman powers. Right now as you read this a woman is receiving a overpriced designer token gift of affection and love has nothing to do with it. Love has no rationale here.
Oh sure, love may be a higher force in your world but I have discovered that breast have a power all unto themselves.

My mantra has been The Greater the Power, the more dangerous the abuse ever since mine were pimped out for free food by a good friend who for the sake of my kindness will remain nameless. But know this, Keri (oops), ‘sending your well-endowed friend into a fast food joint in order to get a few extra pieces of chicken carries a certain shame factor’, it’s a definite misuse of the power. Strangely, as small that victory was, I was left with a craving for larger battles to best. I blame her for starting me down this path of corruption.

Once you notice other people being beguiled by your breast there’s no ignoring the possibilities that they offer. Who could resist the temptation to spread their wings after trying out this new wonder? Suddenly you’re a comic book hero using them for justice, to right wrongs, solve crimes, or maybe you just enjoy employing them for evil deeds.

OK, even I have to laugh at that last line.

Honestly, they have never to my knowledge had the ability to solve crimes, but something tells me if Angela Lansbury had had a better rack it wouldn’t have taken an entire hour to make the villain confess.

Guys…don’t email me saying that it’s unfair that women can use a god-given creation to manipulate because we both know it’s just another golden opportunity for you to dream about being able to get closer to our breasts.

I’m sure women will write to me and complain about my condoning the use of breast to obtain some sort of upper ground voodoo like possession over men. You’ve probably never had the privilege of seeing this power made a sport worthy of Olympic medals. I have watched in amazement as women have procured tables at booked restaurants on a Saturday night by simply unbuttoning a few buttons.

It’s not as if I’m encouraging women to run out to high-priced, snobby stores that otherwise ignored them, press their boobs up to the window just to get some service! Honest.
Maybe to just …push them up a bit; heck, if you’ve got the goods, why not use them?
Come on…you know that even if you hid them underneath three sweaters their power would burn through the material. It’s as if they had hypnotic disc attached to them.

Kissinger said Power is the great aphrodisiac. True. But this is the part of the story where I blame the misuse of god given talents on those that give us the power. Whether it be men or women; the way I figure it, if you hadn’t turned them into such a big deal there’d be no power to harness.

Frustrated and fed-up I say, why not? I personally am sick of men having conversation with them instead of me. How many times have I had to use these lines: “I’m sure they can hear you, but I can’t.” “Um, if you hadn’t noticed, my eyes are up here.”

So why not let the breast work for me? Why should others get enjoyment out of them and not me? They have already been exploited, over used, over-worked, and highly underpaid by society itself. In this day and age, most women use what they can in order to make it in a man’s world. We have so little leverage that surely this one thing that God obviously wanted us to have should be put to good use. Let’s face it, soon time will pass and they will lose their perkiness. It’s a sign. It’s like that old saying about youth…get it while the getting’s good.

Well I guess I’ve sufficiently used my writing power for evil today. Here I stop, knowing I’ve reached too far, shot too high, flown too close to the sun. It’s all gone to my head as I was about to start blaming the makers of high-quality pushup bras.

So excuse me.
I think I’ll just cool off, go sit the girls, the twins, and the team on the bar and have a free beer.
Until next blog, please enjoy my favorite episode from that old show Designing Women - Mary Jo's new breast.

Politics Walking--Video Talking, Presents: Dating Do's & Don'ts

I don't like being couped up inside on beautiful days, so I decided when the sun comes a calling I'll grab my video camera and hit the streets in search of more sane advice than mine.

First up, three friends shopping around New York's South Street Seaport - though you'll only see two guys on the clip. The third was a bit shy and decided to just shout out his answers off camera.


BTW, when they laughed and pointed, saying "you wanna do those" they were talking about the sailors walking across the street - boys...

Interview With A Guy: What Type of Panty are You?

I was having drinks with a guy friend, we were discussing bad pick up lines when he told me he had on question he asks all the women he hits on. I immediately thought it to be one of the most ridiculous come ons I'd heard of yet– that is until his explanation started to sound plausible. It’s more of a question really, one he uses to find out what type of girl you are personality wise, from there he decides whether or not you’re going to be his one night stand, or his one true love. But you read on and see how accurate you think this testosterone fueled tea leave reading really is….


Guy: It’s my icebreaker question. If you had to pick a panty to describe yourself, which would it be? Each type of underwear represents a different type of woman. Your choices are: boxer, white cotton, thong, Victoria’s Secret, or granny panties.

Politic’s Chick: If she chooses boxers, what's she saying?

Guy: Your boxer chick is the more masculine, athletic type. Nine times out of ten, she may run a bit on the lesbian side but not really know that about herself yet.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, what about your white cotton panties?

Guy: White cotton are females that aren’t really worried about getting a man, probably because they’ve already got a man; they’re content.

Politic’s Chick: What happens if she says she is all of these panties? Every girl has a different panty for a different mood.

Guy: True, each chick has at least one of each, but each woman generally leans toward one particular type.

Politic’s Chick: So what your really asking is, ‘What type of panty do you wear more often?’.

Guy: Right.

Politic’s Chick: What if she's a thong kind of girl

Guy: Oh, she’s your looser girl. Nine times out of then, I have a good chance of getting with her on the first night. Thong girls are really into themselves, they feel sexy all the time.

Politic’s Chick: Do they carry condoms?

Guy: Again…nine times out of ten.

Politic’s Chick: Ok, on to the granny panty girls.

Guy: Granny panty girls, sad to say are your more lackadaisical, lazy, couldn’t care either way. This girl doesn't feel comfortable with her body.

Politic’s Chick: I hate to ask, but is she a certain weight?

Guy: Its’ not a weight thing. It could be that she’s lacking self confidence and that’s why she doesn’t have the sex appeal. If you don't feel it, we won't either.

Politic’s Chick: How does the Victoria’s Secret girl differ from the thong girl?

Guy: The thong girl thinks she is sexy and she wants you to know it, she oozes sex appeal when she steps into the room whereas the Victoria’s Secret girl feels sexy on the inside. Victoria’s secret is more content in her sexuality. One thing we notice is that older women walk around like they’ve been sexy all their lives, you can see her confidence in her sexuality because of the way she handles it, younger girls however are just realizing that their cute, their still feeling themselves out.

Politic’s Chick: But do they both wear the same panties?

Guy: No. The younger one will walk around in the thong because she just realized she is sexy and she thinks she’s bigger than the system. But your older woman goes to Victoria’s Secret to compliment the sexy she already possesses for herself, not for you.

Politic’s Chick: Any combination that doesn’t go together?

Guy: I know what combination doesn’t work for me.

Politic’s Chick: (laughter) and what’s that?

Guy: Granny panties/boxers. You can keep them!

Politic’s Chick: What type of panty do you think I am?

Guy: I’d have to say…hybrid white cotton panty.

Politic’s Chick: What’s a hybrid girl like?

Guy: They wear the nicer styles, they just jumped out of the Hanes her way, you’re trying to heat it up…but you are still the good girls at the core.

Politic’s Chick: (insert eye-rolling) Let’s have it on record – what type of panty do you prefer?

Guy: Actually I like an assortment, but I’ll take that Victoria’s chick any day!

The Restaurant Files Present: The Blame Game

The Location: Manhattan, NY
Scene of the Crime: Dallas BBQ
Assailant: Tristan, my best friend

Victim: Me

We’re at the bar when Tristan causally says, “…oh, by the way, I saw him.” Now, I know what this means. This isn’t just another “…oh, by the way…” moment; she meant to bring this up. That’s why she’s got me here surrounded by all this booze. She wants to talk about IT: her sort-of, kind-of relationship, with her almost, could-have-been boyfriend. I’ve just been hoodwinked; for the rest of the evening I have to play The Blame Game.

And for those of you who don’t know the rules, I’ll state them:
.

·The best friend (you) must agree with the said girlfriend in any conversation that involves placing blame for unfortunate accidents that have resulted in the ending of a relationship with the said boyfriend.

· Never insinuate that it is the girlfriend’s fault in any way shape or form, even if you know her account of the events to be untrue. If consoling words cannot be thought of, it is appropriate to nod your head in agreement or roll your eyes, it is never however acceptable to use the phrase “ok if you say so”-this can only cause confusion and mistrust.

· Any nasty remarks you aim at the aforementioned boyfriend can be recalled into later conversations by the girlfriend once they get back together.

Ok, so now you know how the game is played. However, if you are still at a lost on how this works, please refer to National Geographic’s documentary on the eating habits of the female praying mantis.

And now, to start with, let’s see how well you can pick up the principles of the game:

I’m going to give you a synopsis of our conversation as an example. Take notice of all my responses in quotation marks these will help guide you should your girlfriend pull a Blame Game on you. During the conversation I will refer to her male friend as ‘Bozo’. When mentioning the ex- in conversation, remember to coin an unfair-yet-humorous new name for them. This will ensure you ‘brownie points’, which are vital in this game.

The saga began when Bozo invited Tristan over to his apartment to have a couple of drinks with him and his friends. Bozo then mentioned something about having run out of vodka and that’s where Tristan saw her ‘in’, so she offered to pick some up on her way over.

Now, the ‘in’ is an opportunity for women or men to make like a hero and save the day. The goal is to gain that person as an acquaintance - to hang out, get tight, become one of his or her favorite amigos without the person realizing that this is but a ploy to achieve the ‘more than friends’ status. You have to go on the campaign trail and make like the politician pretending to love eating in the neighborhood restaurant. In fact, you love it so much that you’ve invited camera crews to film it. Not unlike the spectacle you’re willing to put on in front of his or her friends to win them over. Problem is, the ‘in’ is hard to swing and there are rarely second chances.

Ok, now that I’ve explained that, let’s put Bozo back in play…

Once Tristan got to the apartment, she made drinks, drank drinks, drank some more drinks, joked around with his friends, drank more drinks, got sick and threw up in his tub. Now, notice my immediate response to having heard of this tragic incident:

“Poor dear…no, of course it’s not your fault. Remember you didn’t have anything to eat all day. Bozo should have offered more at the party then chips and pretzels, because, maybe if he fed people right, accidents like this just wouldn’t happen. Cheap ass Bozo bastard.”

After the hurling incident, Bozo drove her home; that was nice enough. According to Tristan, she thought so, too. So, in the car, in front of her house, she revealed to Bozo that she had ‘feelings’ for him. She says that he seemed receptive to that bit of information, but two weeks later when she saw him at a social function, he ignored her all night.

Now, one could say that she was ignored because she’d blown her ‘in’ by boozing it up and hurling in front of God, country and his friends, but watch how I chastise him in an effort to stick to the rules:

“What a dirty thing for him to do, just DIRTY. A person should never be judged by an accidental sin. It’s like overlooking all Tom Hanks good movies and judging him solely on the basis of Joe Versus the Volcano. It’s simply not fair.”

I won’t bore you with the rest of the story (her drunken rambling), besides, I’m sure you get plenty of that with your own friends. The last thing she said before the eventual alcohol driven loss of common sense was, “I heard Bozo got MARRIED last week; hasn’t even known her for 6 months and he didn’t bother sending me an invite!” I sat there wondering if someone would save me by taking the fork off my plate and stabbing it through my right temple, but with a job still left to complete I manage these last few words: “I’m sure that he’s miserable and that she’s a troll.”

Oh well, now you know the object of the Game: To live through it.

The Un Married

I'm befuddled as to why some women feel the need to caress my back in that "oh, I'm so sorry for you lost" way when I say that I'm not married. Or why they follow that up with a sigh when I answer, "No, I don't have any children either".

Why the pitiful look? Am I supposed to be ashamed of this, or feel like a failure because I'm not attached to anyone?

I ran into a old friend from school the other day and as we were catching up I find out that she's been married for almost seven years, has four kids and a great hubby all packed away in a huge house in a tiny suburb in PA. She rattled on about how unfulfilling single life is and how part of being an adult was accepting these mature responsibilities. I got curious about what this life of hers looked like so I checked her out on Facebook and there they were, mountains of pics of her baby showers, her wedding, and family vacations. For a second I started to wonder 'what had I been doing since college'? And as my pity party was about to collapse in on me, another girlfriend called and we couldn't get in 5 minutes worth of conversation before she was hollering at her kids - they sounded like they were running around her apartment like banshees. Once she walked out of the kids room to hear better she started in on her husband, the bills, the lack of sleep, etc... Suddenly I started remember whats so good about my life and rationalization behind my choices.

I absolutely love doing things my way, when I want, and how I want. My money is mine, my time is mine and I'll be ready to give that up when I'm confident that I won't regret having done it.

For the future ladies reaching out to stroke my un married pain away - if you think that the new accessories are husbands, kids, family pets, and houses in the burbs that's ok. But my freedom is my shiny new bauble and anytime its starts getting dull and I bump into one of you and succumb to thinking for one second that I'm missing out on something I'm gonna hurry and shine it right back up.

*find the un wedding ring at http://www.fancyjewels.com/product.php?id=unweddingRing_rings