In or Out

The in's and out's of love…the twinkling of eyes at the boy you're crushing on, all too shortly followed by the pangs of loneliness deep in your gut as you watch him dance with another girl. Suddenly the secret hopes you allowed yourself (but never told anyone, because that would make you obsessive and crazy) are destroyed, and you are right back where you started. Except perhaps a little further behind than before, because you are a little more jaded and a little less trusting.

My girlfriends and I are seemingly trapped in a cycle of falling in and out of one level or another of romantic involvement with boys. No matter what level of commitment is entailed, I'm continuously baffled by the lack of tact and arrogant audacity they give off. It makes me shudder to imagine their perception of us.

It seems that we have two choices: we can either become hardened and distant in our interactions with others, as a result of being hurt, in order to avoid those difficult emotions, or we can take the blows as they come. If being hardened is a way to combat the difficulties of relationships, ultimately we would have to be emotionally disconnected from every single person around us. Being social people who live in communities of all sorts, this theory means we would be required to alienate ourselves completely. Then the only person we would have to interact with would be ourselves. And who wants to deal with THAT?

The only solution, therefore, is to learn to cope with the pain and heartbreak that inevitably comes with any relationship. It is important, too, to always bear in mind that we are fallible humans, and that we hurt others with our selfishness just as we are hurt by theirs. Therefore, never be so arrogant as to claim never to have hurt someone in the way that they are hurting you. But God, does it ever suck sometimes.

Let it never be said of me that I became jaded and heartless. "If its between love and losing, and to never have known the feeling, I'd still side with love. And if I end up lonely, at least I will be there knowing I believe in love." ~Colbie Caillat

Used to Be

I used to be the girl you could torture with your hateful words.

Now I'm the girl who becomes more fabulous the more you attack me.

I used to be the girl you could use for a doormat. The girl you could do whatever you wanted to.

Now I'm the girl who flies free, and never takes bullshit to heart.

Your animosity is the wind under my wings. So watch while I fly higher and higher over you.

I used to be the girl that looked in the mirror and shuddered.

Now I look in the mirror and ask my reflection, "Damn, who is that sexy goddess?"

I used to be the girl who internalized everything that went wrong, and underwent a mental and emotional beating for it.

Now, I own what I do wrong. And nothing else.

I used to be the girl who needed someone else's assurance for self-esteem.

Now I live a life defined by contentment coupled with a constant hunger for betterment.

I am not run by the opinions of others. I make a positive difference in the world. I challenge others to become great people because I am a great person. I am changing the world, by love one person at a time.

I used to be the girl who wanted to die.

But now I open my eyes in the morning, and I am happy to be alive.

Fuck Buddies?

Its official. I am anti fuck-buddy. No matter how the idea of fuck buddies is presented to me, I can't force myself consider the practice acceptable.

Essentially, the fuck buddy system is a system of having a relationship with no commitments and no communication. You are free to use another person at your whim. And they, in turn, are able to use you.

I mean who doesn't like to entertain the idea of hot sex with no attachments? The problem is, it rarely remains just that.

Either the random fucking will become a relationship at some point, or one will become more attached than the other, or one will have suppressed feelings for the other to being with in the hope that the sex will deepen their relationship.

This, of course, is paradoxical, since someone who only wants to use you does not truly care about you.

Its completely paradoxical to think that fucking will work if both parties are unattached and have no connection. Sex is enjoyable. But sex, by nature, is intimate. Its designed to make you attached to the person you're doin' it with.

If its purely a matter of needing to get off regularly, ladies, buy a dildo, gentlemen, buy some good porn. Or whatever it is that gets you off. That way, you get yours and no one gets used or hurt.

Played the Fool

You have played me the fool, once again. Your touch set me on fire.

But who's trying to make it sound romantic? It was just a fancier version of being seduced and then used and left. Each time, its a different variety. But the bottom line is the same.

How very incomprehensible to my heart, that yours can be so cold.

What a fool was I, to lust and allow your kisses to make me stop resisting. And I let you in. Just like the rest. I wanted to believe you weren't one of the rest.

And it puts my stomach in knots, to remember what your finger tips felt like on every inch of my body. But I remember anyway. My eyes close involuntarily while I remember.

Even though its so powerful and present now, it won't be forever. Just because I let down my walls like a fool for you doesn't mean I will be the fool again.

Run around and break hearts in a lavish way. I will commend you for finding your way into my scarred, inured soul. But I will not let you stay there.

To Believe, or Not to Know

I want to believe there's such a thing as miracles. And fate. And destiny. And that you're all three of those things for me. I want to believe I'm not a fool to wait for you, forever if I have to. I want to believe you're my soul mate. I want to believe that someday (and I don't care when that someday is) you'll realize what I've realized and come for me, and sweep me off my feet.

I want to believe that it wouldn't be naive of me to fall into your arms and never leave them again, after all my waiting.

I want to know that all of the things I believe are true. That I have found something powerful and mysterious, evasive and breathtaking.

I just want to know that someday YOU'LL just know, like I know.

But then, maybe that's the difference between knowing and believing.

Should I Sleep With Him on the First Date?

Just something entertaining I wrote a few months ago. Does anyone else relate to the naive paranoia I express in this journal? :P

I don't want to come off as being easy.

Guys are horny. They need to have sex. I shouldn't worry about him running away if I don't put out. Chances are, if I leave him on my doorstep with a seductive but brief kiss, he'll be back for more.

Unless that makes him think I'm not interested. What if he thinks I'm a hyper-religious goody two shoes who is waiting until she's married to have sex?

Or what if he just goes somewhere else for sex? He's gorgeous, I'm sure he can get anyone he wants on her back.

No. Hush. You're gorgeous. He can't find anyone as pretty and attractive as you. But you never know. Men are horny. If it gets bad they'll probably fuck anything that's of age and willing.

But he's not like that. He's a good guy. He'd never do anything like that. Would he?

Perhaps I should send some seductive texts in preparation. But if I get attached to the idea of having sex with him, and his texts back express indifference or disinterest, I'll be tempted to push it. Which will probably make him more hesitant to sleep with me than he was before. I don't think I have the self-discipline to cut myself off if he's not interested.

Scratch the seductive texts. I want him to do the pursuing anyway.

But I'm the one who sent him multiple texts asking him to call me when he's in town. And he did call me, eventually. So that means he's interested too. Or does it just mean he's being nice and doesn't want me to find out he was here and didn't call?

I should text him and ask him if he wants to see me or if he's only being nice.

No! I don't want to sound obsessive and neurotic.

Screw chivalry. Don't they all say its dead anyway? Men never do the pursuing anymore. Women have to do the work to get what they want. There are no men who will pursue anymore. Or if there are, its been a while since I ran into one.

Do I even want a man who's not man enough to pursue me? I'll probably grow gray hair while I wait for a half-decent man to ask me out.

I think its safe to say, chivalry is already dead in this situation.

The Epitome of Dysfunction

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." ~Marilyn Monroe

I can be needy. Its the reason I call you 8 times in a row trying to get you to answer the phone.

I can be clingy and controlling. Its the reason I give dirty looks to the girls who saunter by you, and ask you what girl you're texting with.

But its only because I love you so much and I don't want to lose you. Whether you've given me a reason to worry or not, I will worry because its in my nature. I want you all to myself. I don't want to share you with anyone.

I can be emotional. Its the a reason I bitch at you, slam the door, and come back crying 5 minutes later. Maybe you think I'm bipolar. You swear to your friends that I'm definitely at least passive aggressive. But what you should know, is that I can't stand fighting with you, I get over things quickly, and then want everything to be all right again.

I can be neurotic. Its the reason I start inadvertently cleaning your apartment every time I come over. I'm not hinting that you're a slob when I do it. Its simply one of those things I do.

Running to another man when you hurt me bad enough doesn't make me a slut. It doesn't make me unfaithful either. It just means I got scared and panicked. You might say there's no excuse, but if you were a girl, you'd do it too. Just like your excuse for playing stupid or attacking me is what you do when I call you out and you have no defense.

Just because you've seen me broken doesn't mean I'm not still more powerful than you. I'm not domineering. I'm just better at my worst than you are at your best. I'm strong and the fact that my flaws are obvious to you doesn't deteriorate my strength at all.

But you have to put up with my clinginess, emotions, and neurosis to have me in the times when I'm wonderful. When I'm at my best, I call you before I leave work to see what you'd like for dinner. I remember to do all the things you love. I satiate all your manly needs: for sex, food, and video games. I look pretty when we go to hang out with your friends, so I make you look good. And I don't mind doing any of it. I love making you happy.

And when I'm a bitch, its not that my love is conditional. Its that when you're mistreating me you don't deserve those things. Its not even that I'm disinclined to do those things for you, or that I'm being selfish and lazy. When you're being childish, I treat you like a child. When you think I'm being immature, I'm actually functioning at a maturity level beyond what you can comprehend.

"Mutually Abusive" is a term I would use to describe a couple that looks like us. But really, its always more complicated than that. And if you ask me if I'm alright, it will just depend on my mood right then. I might tell you it doesn't bother me, because right then it doesn't. I might tell you I feel like dying, because right then its getting to me. Sometimes I don't want to tell you what's going on, because you're the person I always run to when something is wrong and right then YOU'RE the thing that's wrong. But usually, I wind up telling you anyway, because no one will understand what I mean like you will. And sometimes even you don't understand. But you always understand better than anyone else.

I guess we're just the epitome of dysfunction. In fact, there could probably be a cross-reference in the dictionary to us. But really, there's always more to the story than just a label someone could put on us.

My First Review

Given that I have had writer's block on my novel for the past week and a half, I decided to try my hand at something else. From the little I understand of reviews, they should be edgy and controversial. Luckily I've already got the upper hand with that since my opinion of this movie differs from pretty much everyone else's. :)

"Ew. The one with Miley Cyrus in it?" is invariably the response I receive when I recommend The Last Song, one of the latest Nicolas Sparks novels to be adapted into a chick flick.

Cliche, cheesy, sappy...yes, The Last Song is essentially and hour and a half of every corny dalliance known to man, or rather woman. A rebellious beauty is captivated by a talented, handsome local boy whose parents naturally don't approve. There is playful flirtation by the water's edge, a passionate fight ended with a heart-melting, long-lasting kiss, and an agonizing search for the perfect dress to wear to the perfect date.

88 out of 109 reviews on rottentomatoes.com say that The Last Song is melodramatic, ridiculous, and pathetic.

Who are you kidding? Don't deride the quintessential love story just because it hasn't happened to you yet. And don't dismiss it as being innately abhorrent because the up and coming underage sex symbol Miley stars in it.

Allow yourself to enjoy the excessive and inevitable parody and pathos of the eloquently titled Last Song and imagine the instances taking place in your own life. Why feign ridicule? No one but you is going to know you got teary-eyed while picturing yourself in the arms of your own knight in shining armor.

Be sure to smile at the boyish intuitions of Miley's little brother throughout the film.

And if you refuse to be titillated by scene after scene of stereotypical romance, at least sit through the first 3 minutes in order to view an extremely hot, extremely topless Liam Hemsworth. :)

The Male Population

"He may have hair upon his chest, but sister, so has Lassie." ~from Kiss Me, Kate

And in one sentence, this profound truth about men is summarized. A man can seem to be a total badass. Unfortunately, its usually the ones that seem the most badass that have the biggest pussies. If you like pussies, be a lesbian. They'll show you up in a crying fest, they'll make your emotions seem petty and your drama trivial in comparison to theirs.

All men are assholes. Even when they're not being assholes, they're being assholes. And the ones that seem like they're NOT assholes are just working really hard not to be. Don't be shocked when they lapse.

Women are perfectly justified in their rageful condemnation of the male population. Because every man can figure out what words to say to turn you into putty in his hands. Then he will fuck you and be on his merry way.

Are they really that smart, you wonder? Can a man really read me so well that he knows exactly how to flatter me and melt my heart? And am I that gullible? No, to all. They are rarely that smart. Its just a natural predisposition in their genetic makeup to know how to get sex. They're too stupid to figure us out.

"You sound like a fanatical feminist," you may say. Dismiss it as feminism. Any man worth his salt will openly admit that all men are assholes. And I will openly admit that the same projections can be made on women. Just exchange the word "asshole" for "bitch".

The girls who deny that men are assholes are simply in the grip of one. The girls who are smart enough find one that falls into the category of "working hard not to be assholes". THey tolerate the guy's lapses because he's worth sticking it out for, for the rest of the time when he's that better version of himself.

I reiterate. The same can be said of men who put up with monthly PMS, the tide, the waning moon, or whatever else it is that makes us women neurotic, obsessive, controlling, and needy. But, "if you can't handle me at my worst you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best", in the words of Marilyn Monroe.

And if you're like me, and you believe men are like parking spaces (all the good ones are taken and only the handicapped ones are left) then you will resign yourself to becoming an old maid, in a house with a picket fence full of rescued cats. You will tell your stories of passionate love making and broken hearts to the neighborhood children while feeding them milk and homemade chocolate chip cookies, because you're just that much of a paradox.

That Beautiful Disaster

Yet another piece about "that boy". Why is tragedy so inspiring?

"I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than settle for someone and spend the rest of my life pretending! I don't want to just be content with someone I'm just compatible with! I want to be blissfully happy with the person who has all of my heart! I chose to give it to him. And I don't want it back."

Some days I'm alright with being alone. And other days it just hurts.

I can't kill the hope that lives inside me. The hope that he will come for me. Even when it hurts the worst, the hope never diminishes. Sometimes having my hope makes me happy inside. Most of the time the hope feels bittersweet. I always know that almost a full lifetime of waiting for him, with only a moment together, would be worth it all.

Will this hope eat me away? Will it be that thing that keeps me alive while killing me at the same time?

I wonder often, especially when the pain subsides, if cutting myself off was the wise choice. Choices made in the heat of emotion are often less than perfectly rational. And I wonder if the pain of knowing nothing of him is worse than the pain of being in contact, and having what I love but cannot have dangled in front of me. My heart says it is better, calmer this way. And about these things, my heart has never been wrong.

I'm sorry that I'm not strong enough to let go. I'm only strong enough to hold on to this one thing with all my might, while everything else gains and then loses power. Its true what they say, only love is strong enough.

I wonder, what cruelty is it that revealed my soul mate to me but never allowed me to have him?

He is not perfect. Only perfect for me.