Browsing through the endlessly diverse gauntlet of humans bearing their soul and persona for your consumption.

He has real pretty eyes, she has a great smile, welp thats a mighty fine torso shot, fuckable for sho, not looking for a hookup? WTF are you doing here? Is that person even real? Ew, he is holding a dead deer in his pic and those guys all have fish they murdered. That one likes their truck more than the earth. Military or cop not for me. She seems cool but she has seven kids. That one doesn’t like cats. He’s seems ok but somehow lives 200 miles away. That’s just a blank screen. Lots of couples looking for unicorns (usually a female that will fuck both you and your partner), then the jerks who say they are lesbians when they are actually straight cis men, and then BOOM out of the blue someone you know in REAL life. HMM…

Imagine a friend or acquaintance coming up. You have always found this person attractive but never spoke up. Maybe you just never really got to know them.

They look super hot in these photos, fuck it, swipe right. Ok, whats the harm? Let’s see what happens, they probably swiped left anyways, oh well, here goes nothing, drumroll… IT’S A MATCH!

Holy fuck! Wait, does this mean they are DOWN? Or is it just like yo bro, what up I KNOW YOU! Like are you trying to fuck though? This is a hookup app and we are on here for the same thing right?

It’s super awkward the next time you see them. Do you bring up the match? Do you say anything? How does one put these kind of feelers out?

It’s so hard to do this face to face (like people have done for fucking centuries, hope you can hear the ironic tone there). What did people do before dating apps determined compatibility?

So you match with your super duper sexy friend on Tinder… but what now? They like you back, how do you know if they are DTF or JK lol?

It’s downright scary to approach people sometimes. Hiding behind the little itty bitty screen seems like a cop out, like it is just too scary to be rejected in person.

Swiping away on the hottest hook up app seems so second nature, it is so easy just to place judgement on those we don’t know (or want to know better) based on several photos and a tag line. It is dangerous and sad to merely say I like you or I don’t based on only looks alone, hot or not.

I really think its sad that we have come to this. People sitting next to each other in bars swiping when they should be interacting with other humans in the same room.

My friend matched with a bartender he knew, she was his friend, they always laughed a lot, but until faced with the absolute yes or no of this app he had not pondered the idea of sleeping with her. After all, a lot of people in the service industry use Tinder to bring people into their bars.

“I bet she swiped right for everyone,” he thought. She’s cute, really funny, yea, that’s something I like! So he super liked her at 4am drunk.

The next time they hung out it was obvious that the feelers were being put out on her end. He may not have been entirely serious about the super like, but is still down to fuck if she is. It came down to an awkward moment at the end of the night, she stuck around until closing time and they were the only two left.

The ball is in his court now. Now you have to go deeper than just bullshit ice breakers. You are already past this. It’s now or never, take the plunge and see if she bites.

He did not pursue, figuring that if she liked him for realzies she would have moved in. He must have not liked her that much to not ever really notice it or say it out loud, right?

An impossible filter that I wish was on Tinder is the EX’s and EX’s of your besties. It’s a real bummer to come across someone who is hot and interesting and then realize that your best friend had a bad breakup or hookup story with them. Then you come to the EX’s of your current squeezes and that builds a whole new level of crazy.

Also relatives, that just creeps me out. I would never want to come across one of my cousins on a dating app.

The moment we have all been waiting for, the other day I came across one of my crushes on Tinder. I have always liked her lots, but never felt like I was her “type” (whatever the fuck that means).

She’s hot and talented, we have an incredible friend chemistry, it’s so easy to talk to her, but I never ever imagined she would like me back. I was afraid so I swiped left. Days later she told me that she swiped right.

FUCK! I done screwed up. I told her that I didn’t even see her pop up. I lied. In that moment I should have confessed it all, but I didn’t and now I feel like the moment has passed. Now I will never know if she actually likes me or not, woe is me!

Actually, no, cut the shit, if you like someone tell them IN PERSON. My roomie saw one of my other long term from a distance crushes on Tinder and I literally swiped for two hours straight to find him to no avail. I hope I didn’t go too fast and accidentally missed him!

I won’t pay for this app, not even to go back and swipe the correct way for my future soulmate. What if I go through all of that and we don’t match after all?

Tinder keeps coming up in my regular conversations. I am new to polyamory, so this is one of my new outlets for exploration, although I have not met a single person from it, mostly just small talk.

I got called out for not messaging a friend/acquaintance I matched with. He clearly wants it. This doesn’t mean I am required to go on a date with this person. It just means that I thought they had a cute photo. I was going so fast that I didn’t even know it was him.

I put all this faith in a swipe from someone I like and then I don’t think too hard when swiping myself. There are reasons why I never pursued this dude to begin with, so why now?

Knowing that a person likes you should not be the only reason to go for it. You must like them back and be honest, I am really good at making things awkward and really afraid of rejection.

But how will you know if you don’t just throw it out there? Why are we all so goddamn afraid of rejection? If someone doesn’t like you like that then just accept it and move on. You don’t need them to find worth and love yourself.

I must learn to be my own primary partner. There will always be someone else to date! I swear.

It’s a little more weighted in this case. If you have an established friendship and then are faced with the “Wait, if they want it, do I want it?” moment then you really have to put your cards on the table before you make an irrational move.

I have had a few friendships where I thought that I was unrequited with my feeling shift for years, too scared of losing the friendship over one awkward confession. It would have been awesome to read their mind, and know that even for the moment of the swipe I was an option.

The moral is don’t be scared to tell someone you love them. Life is too short.

If you rely solely on a silly dating app for your happiness you will not be a very happy person. True love, passion, and continuous joy are sparked by real life moments: catching eyes, brushing knees, petting the same cat, volunteering at the same shelter, reading books at the same coffee shop, or just a chance encounter on the street can bring you to your soulmate of the moment.

Keep your eyes open. You never know when they might come up!

* Featured image by Denis Bocquet via Flickr via Creative Commons

“Nobody is superior, nobody is inferior, but nobody is equal either. People are simply unique, incomparable. You are you, I am I.” -Osho

I constantly have this deep seeded problem of not thinking I am in someone’s “league” or I am not their “type”. I can’t compare myself to people’s ex girlfriends or current obvious infatuations. But… she was thinner than me, bigger boobs, more covered in tattoos, shorter, less like a giant, perfect skin, more of this, less of that.

As a defense mechanism I don’t often allow myself fall for people because I know that I don’t have a “chance” and that’s so stupid. Especially if it’s someone I have known for a long time. I see their history, the people they often gravitate towards, they are nothing like me because they are unlike anyone but who they are. A lot of times people are attracted to those who share similar qualities as their selves.

I think to myself, why would she want me when her ex was so perfect? Well, she must have not been THAT perfect or they would still be together, right? You never know what kind of evil lurks inside someone who may be aesthetically good to look at.

I know that I am more than what I look like. How people are intimidated but I am timid. I am scared to open up my heart but not to take off my clothes. I will do more on the stage than I will in the bedroom due to insecurities of the flesh. I feel so awkward. I need to remind myself that everyone feels that way. Everyone is insecure, feels like they have something to cover up.

It’s also shitty for me to compare people to my exes, who are a varied group of humans. In theory I am attracted to tall men and a certain kind of woman. That is such bullshit, I’m calling myself out on it. How can I compare a man to a woman to someone who is trans or non-binary?

I would lie to say that someone’s looks do not play a part in it, but it is not everything. I love talent, people who are not afraid to let whatever their weirdness is out.

Everyone is so unique and special. I have to take the too shortness and too tallness, the too fatness and the not smart enoughness, the not right for me, not right now thoughts inside my brain and flush them down the toilet like a dead goldfish. These thoughts and insecurities are so foul and bad for the environment that they are like a toxic shock tampon clogging up the pipes.

That goldfish should have never been in a tiny bowl. It is not fair to trap beauty in a stagnant little space, on display, tap, tap, tapping on the glass. So beautiful yet so alone, knows nothing else.

“Would you rather be alone or with someone who makes you feel lonely?” – NYC Tinder Clown

Being by yourself is not lonely. I have felt alone in the arms of a lover because I cannot let go of my wall. I have felt alone in the arms of a lover because they built a wall so tall and strong that my love could not scale it. I have felt alone in the arms of a lover because there is no lover at all, never was, and I am swimming in the mote. I will not feel alone if I love the troll in the mote that is my home. I am a mud woman in search of her troll. Let’s writhe in our palace of filth!

My friend reminded me that people often overlook the things you think are a big deal. The hot cook where she works bent down and she was checking out his ass, his shirt came up in the back revealing a red patch of psoriasis, she noticed it but it did not make him any less appealing to her.

It’s like during a show when you think you fucked up a big move or moment, then everyone cheers anyways. They had no idea what your expectations of that performance were. You are the only one who knows anything was wrong.

All of the things you think are wrong about yourself are not a big deal to anybody else. Never compare yourself to what society wants you to look like. Even those perfect models are not happy in their skin.

 

Why do people seek out clones of themselves to date? Like it could only make sense if we “match”. I have been on dating sites nearly as long as I have been dating, what the fuck does that say?

As soon as the almighty internet came into place people started using it to have sex and find sexy things to look at. I wish to exist in a time without all of that, where people just meet and hang out and discover their attraction in person. It’s always so exciting and unexpected when you find yourself crushing on someone.

There is no guess in online dating. If the person is being honest, they have already told you their life story and ambitions and been put through a computer program with you to determine compatibility.

I have had my OK cupid profile for like eight years or something like that. My photos were all old, it hadn’t been updated, it still said “omnivore” and I am vegan. That is a big life change that the computer did not know about me.

It is interesting to see the things that haven’t changed. I still don’t want kids. I still have cats and like dogs. I am not still “bi-sexual” though, because I now realize that I never was, I am pansexual because I do not believe in the gender binary. Gender is fluid. Pansexual was not an option when I first set up the account and now it is. That’s an improvement, but still another sign of inaccuracy.

I still just take that experience as a realization that people are ever evolving. An online profile may have sort of represented that person in the moment that they made it, but things change. Minds change every moment. You have to chose to live in the now and realize when you have made a mistake.

No matter how sexy someone is, no matter how “great” their ass is, shit still comes out of it. Humans are all gross and weird, we all have pasts, we all have done things that we are ashamed of, we have all hurt and been hurt by others.

To compare my struggle to someone else’s doesn’t make sense, so why do I do it with my body? I am always so self conscious of my skin. I have psoriasis over most of my body. But its not really ruining my life, is it?

I still get paid to take my clothes off, I just don’t get down to bare skin. I keep my scaly legs and ass covered in fishnets. I get scared thinking that I will end up in bed with someone then in the morning they will see what the fishnets and ambient lighting have been hiding this whole time.

It’s true that you can’t compare humans, but the loves of my life currently are about 10 pounds and covered in fur. Cats > Humans. Nobody will love and cuddle me like my kitty babies. I need to just enjoy that, relish in the small things that are actually huge.

There is a blizzard of emotions within me. I am clouded by my own awareness. Not everything is about sex, but isn’t it natural to want sex? We all want to feel loved and desirable.

I am not an expert on anything, especially dating. I am experienced in heartbreak and general confusion. I have been broken up with, cheated on, made to feel less than I should.

I have felt alone in the arms of my “lover” because I knew they were waiting around for something better. Better is not thinner or less covered in scales, better is me loving myself more and realizing that all humans are flawed and perfect in their own right.

So it finally happens, I meet someone who is brilliant and beautiful, funny, sweet, and holy shit INTERESTED IN ME. We talk all night, maybe even share an innocent kiss, and exchange numbers. I am excited for the first time in months.

Then BOOM, I do a teenie bit of Facebook stalking through our one mutual friend just to find out that they have a girlfriend. Dude, we live in a place and time where it seems that everyone is polyamorous. There is no need to lie to me or be unfaithful to your partner.

You have to be honest, and if you are poly but your partner is not, that throws a big curve ball into the situation. Perhaps rethink your monogamous relationship before bringing someone else into your shit. I have never cheated on someone I was dating.

My friend has gone through the same situation time and time again. After just ending a relationship where her mate came out as having a pregnant girlfriend at home, you would think her luck would get better. The next person she sleeps with is a good friend, who happens to be in an unhappy relationship that he won’t end. She then meets a handsome man at work, he flirts hard, they exchange info because he expressed interest in her show later that night.

Pretty quickly in he says that he has a girlfriend, he is “disappointed that he has a girlfriend,” waaaait, what? HE is disappointed? Then dump her and live your life! Don’t ever be with someone you are disappointed to be with, it’s not fair to her or you. My friend backed off on the conversation only to be textually bombarded by this same guy drunk a few days later begging her to come fuck him.

NO! Not allowed to do that. How dirty and second rate do you think she feels now? Gross bro, just stop.

I have another friend who knowingly had an affair with a married man. Now she feels like that’s the only people she attracts. It is definitely not her goal, she wants love like anyone else. Like they smell the mistress vibe on her or something. There is something about that, wanting to be with someone with no strings, knowing that they will never want more from you but the secret triste that is keeping them hard.

Often the mistress will get the best parts of their lover, they get the fantasy, the sex without the problems. They will also never get the support or companionship of a real relationship, but if that’s what you are looking for, it might be an ideal situation for you.

I remember hooking up with a guy I met on the internet a few years ago. We went on a few dates, he was so great, a poet, a musician, and a fun human. I called him “Big Jon” so you know the sex was amazing.

He must have written 100 poems about how beautiful I was in the short time we were together, I was smitten. He admitted to driving the wrong way on one way streets to get to my house sooner, he carried my bags and held the door for me. A total gentleman, until one night the truth came out.

After a session he said “I don’t want to smell like woman.” What? We just had sex, what to you expect to smell like? Flowers?

I asked him why and he said he didn’t want his wife to know about us. It must have been the whiskey and weed that made him so honest that night. It was the last time I ever saw him, I am NOBODY’S secret side bitch.

I actually did run into him in a dollar store maybe two months later. He had his son in the cart and a small, beautiful, tattooed woman with him putting stuff in the cart that I assume was his wife. They looked like a happy, functioning family.

I saw the panic in his eyes but just kept on walking without even acknowledging his existence. I am no home wrecker.

It’s a shock that people actually lie on online dating profiles, right? You know the guy who says he is 6’1 and single is probably 5’8 and married. There is no need to lie on these things, people are looking for all kinds of hook ups.

There are  websites dedicated to cheaters. Cheat with other cheaters! That’s a killer concept.

About a month ago I was at my favorite local watering hole when I saw man I had never seen before. He was beautiful, we danced, we chatted. He was a children’s book author!

I was in heaven, he touched my butt and kissed me and I thought, wow, finally an artist! Then all of a sudden he just said he couldn’t do this, no explanation.

I remembered the name of one of his books and googled him when I got home. He is married. Of course him and his wife write books together about their kids. Makes sense.

I do not accept being hidden in the shadows. You love me fully and out loud or you can’t have me at all. I am open to being with a polyamorous partner but have not successfully done so. I want to think that I can be open and communicate my needs, but it is not simple.

I know myself, I am passionate, I am all or nothing. I really want to be in love. I want to take care of someone, I want a human to love me, I want to be their serenity, I want to travel the world with someone who is proud to be with me.

Being single, I do have an active sexual lifestyle. I know I can get laid every day of the week if I really wanted to, but I don’t because I have respect for myself. I know that some people just want to get off and run.

Being single and beautiful makes me a target for assholes who put their wedding rings in their pocket on a Saturday night.

Married folks might be bored and I am certainly exciting. These people are looking for validation, they are looking for excitement, something that can often times be lost in long term relationships.

My availability is NOT an invitation. Just because I am single and looking does not mean I am looking for you, asshole. There is no burly football player boyfriend looming over me saying hands off buck, just lil ol me and my shining smile alone in the world.

I have learned to just hold out for what I want and never accept less. I will not compromise my morals for my libido. I will never knowingly take part in breaking up a relationship or marginalizing my own needs.

Maybe I should stop looking for love at bars? Or just come to terms with the fact that it seems most people over 30 are taken. Sadly, there is no way to safeguard yourself from these advances. Assholes happen, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!

We all deserve nothing but the best even though we must swim through a stream of shit to get there.

These days, many women walk around playing with their phones or other devices like they’re people with lives and interests and hobbies and friends. Often they’re wearing headphones, presumably listening to Lilith Fair playlists on Spotify or podcasts about diva cups.

This means they’re not interested in being talked to by men they don’t know, and you should leave them alone.

Or does it?

Some of these women might be in serious relationships or be lesbians or maybe they’re just not looking for anything right now. Some of them could be giant bees disguised as humans and to anger them might put you in danger of being swarmed by the entire hive. In any of these cases, particularly the latter, it’s probably best to just give them a wide berth and go on your merry way.

But a lot of women wearing headphones on the bus or at the mall or while out for a jog are just waiting for you to stop them and talk to them. Why? Because the headphones they’re wearing are actually cursed relics, and they’re completely bound and under a power other than their own. They’d welcome a confident, easy-going man coming along and motioning for them to remove their headphones so that he may talk to them. And banish the malevolent spirit inhabiting those headphones back to the nightmarish hellscape from whence it came.

What To Do To Get Her Attention

  1. Stand in front of her (with 1 to 1.5 metres between you). Any less than this and you risk the demon presence’s aural tendrils latching to your eyes and the tip of your penis and draining the life force from within you, leaving you a dried-out husk and it more powerful than ever before.
  2. Hold whichever blessed vestige you intend to use to quell her curse in a confident, easy-going manner.
  3. If she hasn’t already raised her unnatural gaze toward you, simply flourish the Sword of Magisterial Truth before the dead galaxies which were once her eyes, until they meet yours. Begin to chant your litany. She most likely won’t be able to hear you, but it’s just a way of showing her that you’re trying to wrestle her everlasting soul from the malediction which has plagued her lo these many years.
  4. Once you do have her attention, by proxy of the unholy horror whose grip she is ensorcelled by, continue your sacred invocation with renewed fervor. The profane demigod who is controlling her will undoubtedly assault you with a barrage of visions of your family being tortured and dismembered in ways so unimaginable and horrific that your overwhelming instinct will be to fall prostrate in supplication and surrender for eternity to the void. But do not let your confident, easy-going manner waver, this is just how many women play hard to get and test a man’s persistence.
  5. Once the terrible spirit begins to physically manifest itself, the battle is almost won. It is now time to use against it the sacrosanct items you have brought to dispel it from our dimension forever. Be mindful that some malicious deities’ corporeal forms must be pierced by a divine implement, while others can only be defeated by having their own magic turned back against them. If the latter is the case, make sure you have with you an enchanted mirror or crystal. Also, don’t forget to keep things flirty.

For example, in a shopping mall or behind a corrupted church where dark rites are frequently performed:

You: [Smile confident and easy-goingly] HEAR ME, GROTESQUE HELLSPAWN! I HAVE COME TO SMITE YOUR COUNTENENCE FROM THIS HALLOWED PLANE! BY WHAT RUBRIC DO YOU COMMAND YOUR CATASTROPHE?

Woman: Jessica.

You: [Add in some playful banter to get a spark going between you] COOL TO MEET YOU, JESSICA. I DON’T NORMALLY EXORCISE GIRLS WITH HEADPHONES, BUT YOURS ARE FIERY PILLARS THREATENING TO CAUSE THE FIRMAMENT TO CRASH DOWN UPON US ALL AND BEGET OUR RUIN.

Woman: [Possibly sputtering an incomprehensible guttural language, spewing thick noxious fumes] Hi.

If it’s clear that she’s interested in battling with you for the very future of humankind, sit and chat with her for a bit before getting her phone number and rending the fabric of existence to exile her malignant spectral puppeteer.

Common Mistakes That Guys Make When Approaching Women Wearing Cursed Headphones

  1. Not knowing what kind of curse they’re up against

One of the biggest mistakes guys make when approaching a woman wearing cursed headphones is not having done his research. Knowing the difference between an ancient Sumerian curse and an ancient Phoenician one can mean the difference between saving your town or having all the liquid in your body burst through your flesh in every direction at once. This isn’t amateur hour, so if you don’t want every child born on earth for the next two hundred years to be stunted goat-goblins, read your grimoires, guys. It’s all in there.

  1. Not being confident and easy-going

You should have a confident, easy-going manner.

  1. Taking “No” for an answer

Whether it’s winning a vicious confrontation with an all-consuming eidolon or winning the heart of a beautiful young woman, the key is always persistence. If she won’t take those headphones off, keep trying. Women are attracted to unwavering, borderline-threatening determination in men, and demons fear it. So don’t allow “no” to even be part of your vocabulary. Unless, of course, you’re uttering the phrase “erok aanul no fadeem kruul” as part of your cantrip to excommunicate a powerful apparition back to N’eleth Tul, in which case obviously the ritual won’t work without it.

With all these tips, you should be well on your way to seeking out and talking to women wearing cursed headphones and breaking the curses forced upon them. Of course, not every woman wearing headphones is wearing cursed headphones, but the only way to find out for sure is to get out there, be confident and easy-going, talk to them, and see what happens when you throw the mystical astral powder into their eyes that you obtained from that high-ranking necromancer!

Photo by cinnamon_girl via Flickr

Ed’s Note: In case you don’t know and think Johnny Scott has lost it, this article is a parody of a really terrible post on another site. We don’t want to give them direct traffic, but Google “How to Talk to a Woman Who is Wearing Headphones” and you’ll find it. Also, yes, Johnny Scott did in fact lose it a few years ago, but apparently has found it again. When we find out exactly what “it” is, we’ll let you know.

“Where Have All The Good Straight Men Gone?” ask many would-be subservient wifeys hopelessly scrolling through Tinder guys holding fish and deer carcasses posing on their 4 wheelers with TRUMP signs in the background.

They might be lurking around, holding doors, and throwing overcoats over puddles.

cage dancersLookin’ for a sweet innocent girl to put in a cage, change her name, make his claim, put on the apron and take off your shoes, silly little ditzy dame, you don’t have a mind to blow, spread those perfectly shaved legs, slow, lips, hips, the bump after the hump, it grows, like college tuition and your aging body dips in value. Again to be marginalized. A slave to society, the bondage of she, shhh just deny it, hide it, nobody cares about her anyways. Misguided feminists, and nontraditional warriors. Trapped indefinitely.

Maybe “traditional” stereotypical basic straight men don’t like me because I just don’t like that outdated notion of a straight man. I prefer people who know about their fluidity and are not rigid in the ways of how a man or woman should be, based on some shitty gender normative handbook handed out at birth to the illiterate new born masses.

I’ve had it up to here (points to the sky). Everyone should just admit they are queer. Never a straight line, there are always curves in the road, sensual, wonderful twists of reality and revolution. Being rigid in gender standards divides us, its perfectly fine to be a man, or a woman, or whatever in between there is. Nobody needs to be a wife beating manly man, bros disturb me – anyone who watches ultimate fighting and subscribes to Hustler and wears nothing but camo to hide his deep seeded insecurity.

Whenever I meet a cute guy who is fun, interesting, and seems genuinely interested in what I am saying, I instantly assume he is gay. I often check their bumpers for rainbows or look at who they are looking for on Facebook like a stalker (just to be sure), only to be a little disappointed. I have been falling in love with gay men my whole life. One of my first crushes is now a drag queen. He was a real jerk and called me out for having a crush on him. Drag Queens are my ideal women. Everything! Extreme hyperbole of a woman. The most femalest conclusion of taboo societal definitions. I love it all, with sequins on top.gay bestie and ronald

Ultra flamboyant gay men are my favorite creatures – my friends in college called me the Premier Fag Hag of Buffalo. I have always been entranced by feminine males (and masculine females). they can walk better in heels than I ever could imagine. I read a quote from someone on the internet saying that Prince and David Bowie basically reinvented manliness – they showed the world that there are different ways to be men, and that was ground breaking.

I should throw in the towel chancing boys completely and just go after adorable Asian women who roll joints really well, or curly haired artists with art dirt under their fingernails, dancers, poets, musicians, singers of drunk karaoke, activists, vegans, full of more kindness and smiles than anything, no aggression, no hate, only softness, tender sweet lush moments of confusion.

But god dammit I want to get it on to the angelic roar of Slayer’s “Raining Blood,” blasting on high at 4 am too.

And all the girls I think are cool are totally straight.

drag king walterI know that I am a weirdo, parts male and female, the ratios change based on my outfit and mood. You must have respect for yourself as well. If you hold your head high, no man can tear you down. This violent anti-woman power struggle we exist in is not right. We need to take back our piece of the pie. I do not want to hold anyone’s hand.

Let’s just say I have lost faith in most straight identifying males. Zero faith. None. “Men care more about what is going into my mouth than what is coming out of it,” my roomie said about her love life. A slew of one night stands who sleep with you and never call you back, or even worse, they just don’t bother to take your number to begin with. One foot out the door as soon as the condom is off. Texting some other girl while “talking” to you. Sex and romance is something that is taken for granted and not respected.

OK so maybe saying I have ZERO faith is a little much. Obviously there are exceptions to every generalized statement, good straight men do exist somewhere, I know girls who have found them. My best friend found her prince charming on Tinder and they are about to get happily married. It’s a success in a world of other people’s/my own epic love fails.

I see them, the good men, in their natural habitats, volunteering, riding bikes, reading books, eating vegetables, saving the world. They do exist, but I haven’t found the right one, just a lot of asshats posing as perfection. Apparently my confidence is intimidating. Perhaps its my fault for also holding them on such high pedestals. Who could live up to my ideal awesomeness? I think someone will defy that ideal and even surpass the awesome factor, blow my mind wide open.

The magic 8-ball says not tonight. I am just going to have to ride out this storm.

When you are in love with someone it is all consuming. Your life meshes with theirs and nothing else matters. You live to make them smile. But, all good things come to an end. Most crushes end up being, well, crushed.

Moving on after being shot down or dumped can be one of the most difficult things you will ever have to do in your life. I am not the type to stay friends with my ex-lovers, but I know many people who make it work. It takes some time and distance before a new chapter of friendship can be opened. You will survive and endure! It gets better with time.

It is even harder when the unrequited love is with someone you consider to be your friend. Then it’s really difficult to get past. Losing this person as a friend would be unbearable – just not an option. But you gotta give it space to breathe. Don’t smother the fire; feed it with air and possibilities.

Anything is possible. I am one of those people that if told “Don’t make this weird” will immediately make things weird. I can’t help it. When I am into someone, it takes hold of me. I can’t think of anyone else, it’s fucked up and beautiful. My love is passionate – you really need to earn it.

The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. I’m not saying become a raging slut, but take steps to becoming more approachable and open to new experiences and lovers. Keep going, keep doing you, go to new places, talk to new people, and everything will fall into place. Don’t go into things with a defeated attitude. Just go out there and have a good time. Do not obsess about meeting “the one” or trying to replace that someone either, let it happen naturally.

I have recently made a conscious effort to get over someone. Once I decided that I needed to stop trying to beat a dead horse and move on, the results were instant. It was like the universe knew I was emotionally available. The last couple weeks have been some of the best and most exciting moments of my life.

Is this the real life is this just a fantasy? All of the sexiest blonde perfect girls and the hottest guys are hitting on ME?! Are they on drugs? Yes. I am intoxicating. I am worth their effort.

Be confident and you will have everyone hitting on you, see even this guy gets the ladies. Photo by Brandon Perdomo
Be confident and you will have everyone hitting on you, see even this guy gets the ladies. Photo by Brandon Perdomo

It’s time to go any way the wind will blow. You may think that life is over since you lost that person. Life has actually just begun. Relish in this freedom. Face the truth, look it in the eye! You are a force to be reckoned with. Get addicted to loving yourself. In order to get over the past, you need to take an emotional dump and find something new and completely different to excite you. I guarantee that someone will walk into your life who will make you forget you were ever obsessed with the wrong match.

Now that you’ve let go and aren’t blinded by love, you can live life for you! I know it’s not easy to get over something so quickly – I’m not even saying fuck those feelings completely. Just realize that the timing is off. Let them go, perhaps your person will realize what they’ve lost once they see how happy and incredible your life is now. The satisfaction of turning someone who once denied you down is like no other high! To watch them grovel at your feet and beg for the love they once spit on is totally satisfying and will happen if you just stay strong.

You can’t be mad if they don’t come back either and you definitely can’t expect it. People are allowed to not love you too. You can’t tell your heart whom to love or how to feel – you know this though. Their lack of affection for you is as valid as your love for them. It’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Open up to new experiences and do things you are scared of. I did and It’s like the universe knew I finally let it go, I took it out back and shot it like Old Yeller.

It’s intimidating to talk to someone new as it is, but nearly impossible to talk to someone and their twenty snarling friends.

My advice is to start being independent and going to events by yourself or with a really awesome wingman. If you travel with a pack of besties you will scare away potential suitors. It’s intimidating to talk to someone new as it is, but nearly impossible to talk to someone and their twenty snarling friends. Don’t blend into your friends, you are more than that. Sparkle!

Don’t appear occupied either, that means put the fucking phone down. Nobody wants someone who is sitting in a corner texting away with a glowing face, that’s just sad. Eye contact is the sexiest thing.

You have to look good! Feel confident, get your hair done, buy a new outfit, smile! You don’t have to flaunt all your goods, be provocative and classy. A little tease goes a long way. Once you are looking and feeling cute the world will respond. Accept compliments and believe them, be empowered by them.

Body language is super important. Keep your head up and your posture good, don’t slump or hide. Be proud and powerful. Shoulders back, don’t cross your arms and look intimidating. It’s all about how you carry yourself.

Don’t judge someone based on their appearance. You’ll never know how awesome they are if you don’t give them a chance.

Treat others how you want to be treated. Your newfound confidence will bring the good with the bad. Don’t judge someone based on their appearance. You’ll never know how awesome they are if you don’t give them a chance. It’s ok to turn someone down too. Be respectful with their emotions and let them down with the kindness we all deserve. Remember when the show was on the other foot.

Not all places create the right scenario for new conversations. If you want someone to approach you, pick a place that’s perfect. Coffee shops, go to bars over loud clubs, volunteering, or even book or record stores offer limitless opportunities for someone new to start a conversation with you. Always be positive and have fun, people will want to join in. Ask that hot guy about the record that he is holding. Chances are he’s passionate about it. Lean in slightly to make the conversation more intimate. You will be irresistible.

I love being the lone wolf. I thrive on being thrust into slightly uncomfortable moments. Getting hit on is not a game of chance. You also just can’t sit around waiting, you have to put yourself out there and be more approachable. I have never regretted the things I’ve done that scared me at first. It’s amazing how easy it is just to smile at someone or compliment them. Boom, you are suddenly engaged in an interesting conversation and not alone.

It’s incredible how good you will feel once you put yourself out there and stop obsessing over finding the perfect relationship. One you stop looking it finds you. Being happy with yourself and doing new and fantastic things is the only way to live

She didn’t fart, her intestines just blew you a kiss, just a little whisper in her panties for your pleasure. Must have been those California barking spiders.

It’s a medically proven fact that girls don’t fart. It just doesn’t happen. Little floral scented puffs of glitter arise where noxious gas would have been. We don’t even have assholes actually. No need, since girls don’t shit either.

It is impossible for even the slightest of bad odors to excrete from a lovely delicate female body. Girls don’t have smelly feet, they don’t sweat, and they don’t even get bad breath after eating onions or stinky cheese.

Well, I guess I’m not a girl then. I have a queefing bloody vagina and an ass that makes music and melted chocolate. I usually smell like a footgina, it’s a cross between rotten pussy and that pair of Teva sandals you have worn all summer long.

I belch, impressively loud, quite resonant, and often reminding the world of my poor dietary choices: cheap beer and all the greasiest and most wonderful foods in abundance. My halitosis is only second to the smell that my funky armpits secrete. It’s amazing that I’m still single with the amount of important pheromones I am putting out there.

What did the maxi pad say to the fart? You are the wind beneath my wings. Oh I fart, often and openly. Why would anyone hold that lovely ass perfume in? Those farts that you can taste and burn your eyes, almost to the point you can feel pink eye setting in. Shooting pains and intestinal distress are not worth being “sexy.”

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Some other fart terms are turd tremors, tushy ticklers, cutting the cheese, colon bowlin’, cheek squeak, air biscuit, crop dust, tear arse, corn hole clap, exercising the meat nozzle, thunder from down under, heinie hiccup, grundle rumble, sphincter siren, trouser trumpet, ass flapper, or a boom boom booty bomb. I call it free speech.

I once ended an awkward meeting with my boss by letting out the most noxious after lunch violent yet silent but deadly in my closed tiny office. I am also notorious for passing gas on stage during some of my burlesque performances.

One time recently I ate some delicious beer cheese soup about 15 minutes before my set, bad choice. But nobody knew that there were fireworks in my underoos because I kept my cool and played it off. The trick is to let her rip during the loud parts of the song and then use a decorative fan to blow away the smell. If you don’t have a prop just whip them there boobies around, nobody is paying attention to the fart smell when there are titties a wiggling.

I think it adds to the visceral nature of my act. Breaking wind and breaking boundaries, crushing the ideas of what a woman should be.

A girl who is openly odorous in front of a potential mate can be saying she is comfortable enough to Dutch oven you because she is in love and upping the intimacy, or maybe it’s just a sign that you are hardcore friend-zoned and she gives no fucks what you think. Free form flatulence can also be a sign that a girl feels threatened. Girls are a lot like skunks, when nervous our anal glands release that recognizable deadly smell.

learning to fartI fart purely because I don’t care. You may think I’m gross, but I’m just human, doing humanly things without regret or shame. Passing gas is as natural as a cough or a yawn. So don’t blame it on the dog or that fat guy with his crack hanging out that just walked by, own it.

Not proud of this but I have even shit my pants in public before. Shamefully throwing out your underwear in the K-mart bathroom because that taco went right through you. I gambled and lost. Shit happens, literally. And you move on. It’s all part of being alive. Constipation kills. Thankfully this was a one time incident and I’m not at the point where I need to wear Depends on the daily.

I was once hooking up with a guy and we were sleeping next to each other. I was the big spoon as usual, his ass nestled into my thigh. All of a sudden there were fireworks beneath the sheets.

After farting himself awake he jolted out of the bed and ran to the bathroom like lightening. I lifted the sheet to assess the damage and found a little brown puddingesque surprise on my leg, “you might want to bring back a wet cloth” and all I heard was sobbing. He was so embarrassed that he started crying uncontrollably.

I was more turned off by that than the fact there was a distinct slick of dookie on my leg. Everybody poops bro, it’s not ideal to let one out on your lover, but it’s not worth freaking out over either. Needless to say it didn’t work out between us.

I am in love with my body and all of the weird stuff that it does. I recommend letting out a big fart on your next first date, liven things up a bit and see his response to your anal acoustics. It’s a great ice breaker!

Flatter him with flatulence and freedom. A real man will want to bask in your cloud of loveliness. The real smell of a girl with no inhibitions or sense of false perfection. Unforgiving realness is beyond sexy. I guarantee success. I am human, hear me roar!

As of late, a series of unrelated events have brought me to think about second chances. To give, or not to give?

Clearly, you don’t go looking for happiness in the same place you lost it. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results (Albert Einstein). I mean, fool me once…

I want to be the bigger person. I want to believe in the good of others. But simply put, there are people for whom I would never ever (cue Taylor Swift) consider giving another chance to. My stalker sociopathic ex is a prime example of this. The one labelled as “The Asshole” in my phone and possibly a future topic of this column.

It’s a shame to say, but the core of certain someones will never truly change, let alone improve. And soon as you accept this reality, hesitation is easy to chuck and not looking back is just as easily done than said. Sayo-fucking-nara.

However, life ain’t a one-size-fits-all deal and the same principles don’t always apply to every situation. Relationships are, within themselves, an amalgamation of nuances in contexts and histories. As such, there are glitches in the matrix of Never Agains. Some people can indeed change for the better.

I, for one, was a handful back in my youth. I could’ve turned into another statistic. But I pulled my shit together, with time and accrued wisdom (and a couple of prayers from a concerned father). Today, I can look at myself in the mirror and honestly say, “Hell yeah, I’d totally be friends with me.”

Acknowledging our own self-betterment means we can’t ignore the possibility of it occurring for others as well. There are some instances in which you shouldn’t write off someone’s integrity permanently. We need to weight all the variables; give credit where credit is due. But how do we differentiate the exceptions to the rule amongst a bag of bad apples?

As everything else in life, little is truly black and white. It usually requires several trials and errors before having a sure-fire answer. Which is why some people come back knocking, and others are willing to open the door to them again.

We can also find ourselves in states of perpetually holding the door ajar. We like to keep our options open, regardless of whether we need them to be. Let’s admit it: we’re greedy assholes sometimes.

Second chances. You can say yes, maybe to banish the what ifs. Or you can say no, as the responsible choice or maybe as to diffuse the responsibility in case round two fucks up.

So how do you handle a blast from the past with a second (chance) agenda? Same you would an old pair of socks.

We all end up with that ONE pair of socks that never stays together, amirite? Always one missing. And what do you do? You keep the loyal one aside until the other one shows up, of course. Stick it in some dark corner of your underwear drawer. It’ll turn up eventually, probably in the next load of laundry.

And you forget about it for a while until, one day, you finally stumble upon that missing other half. The pair can be reunited at last! But wait. Now you can’t seem to locate the other one, the OG that stayed behind. Ye faithful is no longer where you thought you last left it.

Two lovers that constantly have bad timing; always ending up at the right place, just never at the same time.

After consolidating the factors behind the relationship that wasn’t meant to be the first time around, is a second chance truly viable? It’s certainly possible to let go of negativity and gravitate toward a more positive dynamic, but you can’t un-know every single intertwining thought and reservation you’ve ended up establishing about the never-before-succeeded relationship.

Unlike dirty garments, you can’t wash people clean of their shortcomings at the push of a button. It takes times, words, and the actions that back up these words, to prove that things have indeed changed (and for the better).

And after washing those socks, will they feel just as good as you last remember slipping them on? Fabric softener can only do so much. Maybe you’ll find you’ve outgrown them.

I would imagine that chemistry between two people changes on some level. Physically, emotionally, or a bit of both. Even if chemistry is present, how are you certain it’s built on true desire and not simply on familiarity?

Nobody fixes the holes in their socks anyways. Easier to just toss em’ and go to Simons to buy new ones. It’s the age-old Tupperware conundrum: we measure the benefits of tossing over the cost of replacement.

At the end of the day, should someone deserve a second chance, it should be within the context where he or she takes initiative in coming forth to make things right, and not where you have to run after them offering the option of a do-over. You don’t need to give them a map; they should already know where to go.

That said, if you’re in a situation where we’re talking about 3rd, 4th or 5th chances… Bro, I can’t help you there. But you need to start helping yourself a little better.

A girl with faded blue hair (and about an inch of dirty blonde roots [mental note: that’s a great name for an autobiography “Dirty Blonde Roots: The Diary of a Burlesque Dancer”]), sits naked on her bed, smoking a bong. Three purring cats are asleep at her feet. Hot tears pouring down her calm face as a red vinyl special edition Billie Holiday record plays, “Someday we’ll meet and you’ll dry all my tears, then whisper sweet things in my ear.” Every word is the pain of every woman – no, every human. We all have felt unrequited love. It is defined as one sided and not reciprocated love.

“FUCK UNREQUITED LOVE!”

This was the first line in a very powerful poem of that name by the incredible poet Ben Brindise. Here’s a video recording of it:

A good cry is like a good poop, dumping out that negativity and darkness, the unnecessary evil, those extra and unusable bits of life. The tears fell from my ducts, picking up bits of makeup as they traveled down the curves of my face and breasts. Flushing out the eyes and making everything feel so much cleaner. I have never even smoked a cigarette, and I feel like it would hit the spot after this kind of catharsis.

I always try to smile (though my heart is breaking – great song). I was once dumped for being too happy. He said “I feel like I’m dating a cartoon character, it’s unnatural to be as happy as you are!” Say whaaaaat?! That’s a fucking flaw?! My smile is my power, but so are my tears. The balance between those two things is everything.

I’m single but not alone. I’m not going to rant about every sonogram and wedding announcement, because honestly I’m not mad. Yay for mutual love, and people who are in love with love and their lives – it’s beautiful. I’m not jealous, it’s not the life I chose to lead at the moment, but it’s not a bad way to be. Valentine’s Day is approaching so all of the commercials are geared toward lovers – don’t buy in and don’t let it bring you down bro. It’s going to be ok! And if you cry don’t think you are weak, take it in stride and know that everything is how it is supposed to be. Who knows what today will bring?!

Featured image made by Amanda Jedraszczak.

Over a recent convo with my friend, and as if experiencing some sort of outer body experience, I heard myself say: “Nah man, I just don’t feel insecure compared to other women anymore. I’m not being narcissistic or self-centered – I’ve just come to a point where I know I’m the shit. And if someone doesn’t feel that way about me, that’s fine. I haven’t lost anything… Why bother with someone who’d prefer I was someone else? It’s just a waste of my time to give my energy to a person who doesn’t think I’m the bee’s knees – or who don’t treat me that way, for that matter.”

After twenty-four years… Finally. Fucking. Nailed it.

And it’s no secret how.

I have to rewind a bit, to gain some perspective into the source of this newly discovered pool of self-confidence. In the past few months (after traumatizing breakup number umpteen, eugh) I just haven’t had the time or the emotional space to let anyone new into my life – not even for a fling.

I’ve been busy looking for a job with a viable salary, which could also allow me to fulfill creative potential, looking for an apartment, starting side projects and, after one hell of a hectic year, simply taking a deep breath and coming back to me. Start laughing again, Christ.

And, as it turns out, for first time ever, I have no man drama. And I only realized this because I’ve been listening to my friend’s romantic/unromantic drama and now I have question marks appear on my forehead. Totally removed. For the first time in my LIFE, I haven’t been looking for anyone, bothered by a dysfunctional relationship, or pining over confusing signals. And this is coming from the woman who always has at least one prospect in sight, or her radar on, ready to pick up a signal. Maybe it’s a side effect of recovering from an overdose, or maybe that last hammer finally nailed it in.

I’m not thinking about sex. The sex I’m not having, or the sex I wish I was having. I’m not thinking about getting close to someone, or wishing they would see and get to know me. Come to think of it, it might have something to do with spending the past year falling asleep in the arms of someone who revealed themselves to be a total stranger to me in the end.

And I’m not giving up, nor am I choosing to become skeptical, I think I actually just lost my man boner. And I have no idea where it went. Heck, I found myself flirting with a woman at New Year’s, just to take a break from bloody testosterone.

I know my knight in shining armor is out there, and he’ll come trotting along eventually, but in the meantime, I think I’ve just given up the drama. No more Miss Nice Girl. Sure, men say women are dramatic, and sure, we are, but that’s only because they’re so good at making us feel fucking crazy.

Being turned-off men also incidentally propelled me into a state of complete lack of insecurity and complete self-confidence – well, not in life, or for everything – but at least concerning who I am. I’m not looking to please anyone anymore. Just myself. I’m not currently trying to prove my worth through a man’s approval. Just proving it through my own. My integrity. I mean, I know I’m a good person, always have been, always will be. And after giving the best of me (and what I had) and having it slapped back in my face for the millionth-time, I’ve also come to the very liberating conclusion that… it’s not me. I’m not the problem. It’s not that I’m not nice enough, understanding enough, tolerant enough, forgiving enough, it’s bloody them! Assholes just all wear nice guy disguises.

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I don’t mean to sound cynical, but I’ve spent my life giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, looking to see the good in others instead of the bad, and my conclusion after living the experiences is that there are, in fact, few truly good, honest and whole people alive today. I mean, I knew there were assholes our there. But I just happened to know how to pick the good ones. That is, until they turned out not to be so great. Right?

I’d usually have thoughts like: No no, it’s just him, he’s troubled by his childhood… our relationship is different. I’m different than all the other women he’s been with. He sees me. I’m special. If I had a penny for every time I’ve thought I could be the one who made the real difference. I’d have a lot of useless currency.

So it took some time to realize just how fucked up people actually are. And here’s my idea: can we develop a CHEATER/LIAR/MANIPULATOR FaceBook button, so ex’s can leave their cliff notes? If this shit could be detected in plain sight, we might all save each other the heartache.

I know not everyone else is to blame. I was so eager to please and to be loved that I’d just let men treat me in ways that kept me in a state of perpetual misery. I’d always be hanging on to just enough love or communication to get me by. To keep up the illusion that if someone said “I love you” it meant the same thing as when I said it to them. But just enough isn’t enough, people.

Apparently, the key to getting over insecurity about who you are is to stop looking for someone to love you, to value you, to make you feel special. Hell, if you don’t feel special on your own, you’re always going to compare yourself to others. It’s going to be a hell of a long life if you can only stand to see your reflection in the eyes of another.

And see, our common sickness, or ironically, our common insecurities, keep us perpetually on the prowl. Most of the time, if we’re not in a relationship, we’re looking for one. Or if we’re not having sex, we’re looking for sex. And in some cases, even if we’re in a relationship and having sex, we’re still looking for sex or a relationship elsewhere. No wonder we’re all so fucked up and emotionally drained by fifty. Hell, by twenty-five!

Now, the perspective of going home to paint with a glass of wine is far more appealing than the idea of a date. Is that sad? I don’t know. Isn’t it sad to keep dating someone who treats you sort-of-nicely?

So, in this new mind-set, which, so far, has proven to be quite restful, empowering, liberating, and time saving, it apparently boils down to this: If you don’t like who I am, as I am, without the games and bullshit, (waves arms like flight attendant) there are exits here, here, here and here. I am an opinionated, real, honest, stubborn, loyal, no-nonsense kind of woman. You don’t like it? Well I don’t like you either. Show up to my party and you don’t like the music? Want to make some sort of passive aggressive comment about it? There’s the door. Right there. Ta-tah! You think I’d look sexier if I wore red nail polish instead of multi-colored sparkles? Well, maybe I’d prefer to dye your hair red in your sleep, or put Nair in your shampoo.

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Now, on another tangent, have I missed a chapter or has cheating suddenly become a socially accepted trend or something? Last week, my good friend found out (or had it confirmed) that her ex was seeing someone else while they were still together (I will gladly go dump a pile of poo at his doorstep. Still debating on whether it should be human or dog feces though…) and I also recently heard a guy say: “My girlfriend’s in Toronto, time to cheat!” when he stepped into a bar. I almost spat out my Guinness. And that shit is pricey.

Need a punch in the face, much? Or am I the one that seems too intense? And if so, what does that say about where we’re all at on that topic? I mean, I know that not everyone is programmed for monogamy – but your relationship rules are the one’s you’ve established together. The binding unsigned contract of your fucking integrity as a person. And usually “cheat” means: you’d done a bad bad thing. Then again, if you still think it’s cool to be bad then maybe you should put your James Dean poster away.

It’s pretty easy not to cheat, yo. You just don’t put your dick in a vagina that does not belong to your girlfriend. Or lend your vagina to a penis that is not your boyfriend’s. (*no discrimination to the LGBT community, please interpret as personal to your sexual preferences.) Or accidentally lock lips with person who is not your significant other. Or send secret messages to someone else. Oh and “I was drunk”? Tsk tsk. No one buys that as a legit excuse anymore.

Now, since women are apparently confusing and complicated, a guy friend recently asked me this: So, what is it that women want, exactly?

Ok, so tall, dark and handsome… blablabla. Not but seriously, we’ll cut the “have things in common” speech because – duh. Let’s talk realistically:

Given that I can’t speak for my entire gender, I told him what I want. Based on years of trial and error, both in and outside the bedroom. And obviously, will be put back into application when the emotional Viagra kicks in…

First, if you’re cheap, I lose my boner. There is no such thing as being a gentleman for the first couple dates and then going half-zies. If you’re going to be cheap, at least be upfront about it. Now, I don’t need to be taken out for fancy dinners all the time, or to be surprised with diamond bracelets (although flowers are nice). A 3AM St-Viateur bagel pit stop after a pint of beer is fine by me, especially if I like your smile. But if you’re expecting me to split the bill, you can forget the za-za-zoo.

Besides, if a guy is cheap with money, he usually isn’t that generous in bed.

Second, I now want to be someone’s National Anthem. If someone doesn’t think I’m the shit, or treat me like I’m the shit, instead of treating me like shit, it’s no longer my problem, because I don’t need to spend another minute entertaining the illusion that I’m happy with them. It’s about time we start being a little more unapologetic about who we choose to spend our time with and energy on.

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Also, it’s one thing to look for Mr. or Mrs. Right, but what about first making damn sure someone isn’t Mr. or Mrs. Wrong? Before we get into a whole courtship dance, why don’t we save ourselves some time and be upfront about how we’re both mad to see if we might just end up driving eachother crazy down the line. No little secrets, no “showing me the best of who you are” and letting me find out about the rest over time… Show me the best of your worst. Ok, I’ll go first: I’m not a morning person. I can’t stand it when people slurp hot beverages from a mug, or when they insist on playing “Guess what.” I’m generally pretty intense and will also test/challenge strangers if I suspect they’re playing peacock with me. I like for things to go back to their designated spot. I have a TERRIBLE memory. People who constantly complain about things over which they have no control (aka the weather) boggle my mind. I don’t do yelling. I’m a little OCD about making sure my gas stove is at off. Ok, a lot OCD about that. I can be bossy. But that’s because I’m pretty much always right. I don’t like to be teased in a “seems-innocent-but-is-actually-passive-aggressive” way. I won’t sugar coat it. I don’t watch or read the news (I know, I know, I’m a terrible person). And if you push my head down because you think that will make me go down, your face might just hurt from the giant slap coming your way. So if you’re cool with that, we’re set for life. Now, what are your oddities?

What else? Oh. If you’re not interested in a commitment? Ok, buh-bye! Also, I’m done playing nurse-mommy. Go find a younger less experienced model to trample on. If you want to be with a grown up, get your shit together, learn to wash your dishes and toilet, and learn how to listen. Don’t bunny hump; make love and mean it. And if you’re not that into me, tell me. Or better yet, don’t waste my time and yours. Go, please. You’re not doing anyone any favors by keeping up an act.

We all have enough shit to deal with in this life, without having someone we’re putting our faith in lie to our face.

Now ladies. We seem to have forgotten something fundamental: we get to choose. Not men. It’s the lioness that gets her pick of the crop. Women can walk into a bar and decide; hey, yeah, I want you, and usually, we’ll get it. So Own Your Shit. Up the standards. Expect more from yourself and others. Don’t settle or let the guy think he’s doing you a favor by sleeping with you. And guys, if there is a woman that you want; you better enjoy playing by her rules. I think the smart men have figured this one out.

So, maybe I’ll be single forever, or until someone who fits the ever-growing list comes along. And yes, I’m picky. But he’s gonna be a damn good son of a bitch. And I can’t wait to meet him. But I guess life will be saving the best for last. What can I say. I’m tired of cheap-ass grown-ass men, or tight-ass rich ass womanizers, dirty little secrets, addictions and emotional morons.

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And ladies, when you see a gentleman, for God’s sake, don’t chop off their balls. If someone is trying to be chivalrous with you, stop throwing feminism in their face. It’s OK to let a guy hold the door for you. It’s OK to let him be kind and courteous. And considerate. And nice. It’s NOT OK for a man to put his hand up your skirt without asking. Or to treat you as an inferior species. But can we stop emasculating them, please? It’s made them all confused. I know it’s cute, but then we collectively complain about how there are no more decent guys.

Here are some personal suggestions: Stop dating 8 people at once, to weigh out your options. Maybe, stop multitasking until someone who you actually give a shit about comes along – or better yet, someone who actually gives a shit about you. And if all you want or need at the moment is sex, be upfront about it. There is nothing wrong with one-night-stands, but don’t be all like “Oh baby, we’ve been seeing each other… in bed… for like four weeks, and I want your babies, etc… but I can’t commit to anyone right now, I’m just not in that place.” – On behalf of all that is sane and good in the world, put your junk back in your trunk, learn to control your sex drive and stop toying with other human beings.

If you want a woman, start acting like a man. If you want a man, start acting like a woman. And if you’re gay, I can’t help you. But throw integrity into the equation and we should all eventually come out all right.

Hold out for someone who deserves you, and if you don’t feel worthy, then work on becoming the person you want to attract into your life. And if you don’t think you’d be worth their time, then maybe start by learning to make yourself worth your own.

Visuals by Jacquie Boyd, Creative Commons.

Some could say I’m impatient. I prefer phrasing it as not taking time for granted. That’s probably why I’m in marketing.

The reality is that life can get overhauled in a matter of minutes. I’ve learned this the hard way. Since then, I’ve developed an internal sense of urgency. It’s not as much about impulse as it is about seizing the moment. And how many minutes are there in a moment, you know?

I say: if you want two desserts, have two desserts. If you love someone, say it right away. If you miss them, tell them (I don’t care how long it’s been since you’ve spoken). Just do it. We should indulge in the moments that are meaningful to us, and indulge others in them as well. Life is short, folks. Even if it’s the longest thing you’ll ever fucking do.

In the past, I would evaluate my relationships based on their long-term appeal. A lot of people do. If you can envision the finish line, the marathon is worth running, correct?

We hear it all the time: Find Mr. Right. The guy who’s going to look good in a tux, who wants the same number of kids, who checks everything off your list.

I mean, it’s not entirely wrong to think this way. Don’t invest your time if you’re aware of it being a dead-end from the start. “I don’t like cats.” Check please!

It’s nice and all to look for Mr. Right. Thing is, the guy doesn’t exist.

We get so caught up drawing out what we want our futures to look like, and that’s too much pressure. Life moves pretty fast and it can pass you by. We’re so preoccupied with what’s to come later that we miss out on our now… on our Mr. Right Now, to be precise.

No. Mr. Right Now is not a cliché of questionable one night stands.
Mr. Right Now is the guy who accepts you as you stand today, not the tomorrow that hasn’t come yet.

Potential exists in almost everyone, with enough time and effort invested. It’s called emotional conditioning. We can all learn to care for someone, eventually. But being in love shouldn’t be an eventuality. It should feel extraordinary from the get-go. Sparks. No instructions needed.

I ask myself: Who is the future me?

I used to see myself loving a 9 to 5 job.
Two kids and a Cocker Spaniel.
Groceries on Sundays.
Married to an accountant.

Then, I saw myself jetting around the world.
Adopting my offspring.
Cutting my hair short.
Opening up a bakery as a retirement plan.

We’re constantly growing and evolving as people. And yet we expect to find a partner to fit a mold we haven’t even carved out? A bit unrealistic, isn’t it?

So let’s stop looking for Mr. Right. Let’s stop over-thinking things and skipping steps.

You have to have confidence in the person you are today and find someone who will appreciate you the same way. Look for the one who you can be yourself with, with all your flaws and figuring-outs. Look for the person who makes sense now, however little sense it can seem for the coming months or years. Just find a person you’re excited to share the current news of your life with. Or inside jokes. And zero judgments.

All in all, don’t just look for that “one” right. Look for Mr. All-Kinds-Of-Rights.

I know it feels reassuring to know exactly where you’ll land. But I’m kind of into discovering the journey as it unfolds now. Sure, you can’t confirm the end results this way, but I’m positive that you don’t look back on something you feel you did exactly the way you meant to do it and have regrets.

Whoever you decide to invest in, there’s always going to be a risk when gambling your time. But I think: what better odds to play than on Mr. Right Now? There’s no magic formula for a happy future, but there’s certainly no happy long-term without a happy short-term in the first place.

In light of the New Year, I started to think about the appeal of a blank slate, of starting over. Having something new and fresh to look forward to. You count down from ten, and reset the clock. Maybe even throw in a little confetti. No headaches. Wave bye-bye to last year – it’s so 2014 anyway.

Saying goodbye to expired relationships, however… Not so blissfully clean-cut. Nope. Those are more like the streaks of shit left behind, which you can never seem to wipe off completely. “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” was basically a documentary.

My dad always told me, “Jules, men are like jobs. You don’t leave one until you find another.” (FYI: badass parenting wisdom). But – I must admit – coming from a thrice-married man, this might not have been the soundest of advice. Still, it’s a concept we appropriate to a lot of other scenarios, every day, sans qualms.

Think about it.

If you need to upgrade your car, you don’t just sell your rusty clunker without finding a replacement first. It wouldn’t be practical, right?

And we always have to have a plan B. Restaurants, college alternatives, backup Saturday night plans (in case your TiVo pulls some diva sass on your ass, and you need to put on something else than sweatpants).

It’s a defense mechanism thing. We like to expect the unexpected. Surprises aren’t always good surprises – unless they’re jumping out of a cake.

What’s messed up, though, is how you’re perceived if things don’t workout, and your emotional balance dares to falter for a second. Society holds you accountable for not being better equipped at facing the unpredicted ‘what ifs’ that have smacked you in the face. Because putting all your eggs in one basket is a ludicrous thing. Tsk tsk.

Optimism is dead. No wonder we live in a world of prenups and trust issues.

HEART JULES

And as a result, we’ve perfected the art of coping mechanisms when it comes to love and other hot messes, which is why you don’t ever really get over someone until you find someone new.

Now, now, hakuna your tatas everyone, because this isn’t meant to argue with how we need to be happy by ourselves before sharing our life with another, or similar self-empowerment hoopla of sorts. Because I agree with this notion, 100%.

What I’m talking about here is not in regards to the actual letting go, but in regards to points of reference your donzo relationship still provides in the aftermath.

You see, mourning a relationship (or an idea of a relationship) is a two-part deal: letting go of the entity that you (thought) was so important, and adjusting to your reality 2.0. It’s pretty much a face fuck-full of emotions. And I mean this literally because, believe me, nobody cries pretty.

Thing is, no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many arts and crafts classes you sign up to, or how many holes you burn through your credit card with shopping sprees every second Sunday…

Repeat after me:
You never get over someone until you find someone new.

Last date? That jerk.
Last fancy dinner? Ugh, right.
Last person you swapped spit with? You guessed it.

No matter how amazeballs your life is, or how comfortable you are with being a dinner-for-one, your last special someone will remain your last reference for all romantic contexts. Until you find a new replacement piece. Fact.

And there’s no shame in that. It’s perfectly normal.

What I’m trying to say is: we can’t judge anyone on the time it takes for him or her to move on. And we need to cut ourselves some slack too, for that matter. Sometimes, one just needs to jump right into a get-laid-parade to break the ice for themselves and their newfound singlehood. Other times, it takes a little longer to experience butterflies again, even if just dick butterflies for a night.

All in all, take your time. Everyone is entitled to his or her own process.

Unless you’re hitting expert-level “sad single,” where your cat is eating your Michelina’s sad-ghetti leftovers by the side of your bed. In which case: get up, shower off and go kiss a stranger. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.

Ever send a text message you regret? It has been crafted, a well written expression of love and lust that will be sure to win their heart or at least grant you some quality time with their naughty bits. All typed. Ok here it goes, press send. DELIVERED. No taking it back now. Oh hell, what will he think, why hasn’t he looked at it yet, it’s been two whole seconds! READ Ahhh! It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. Then I wait and wait some more, no response. Life is over. 🙁

First there were newspaper personals, then on to chat rooms (ASL?). fast forward to Hot or Not, Friendster, Plenty of Fish, and the infamous Myspace. Now Tinder, Grinder, OKCupid, Facecrack, Craigslist, text messaging and social media in general have changed the way people look for sex and romance in this modern (technology obsessed) world.

Imagine having to walk into a bar and actually being forced to strike up a conversation with an attractive human?! Holy shit! You mean I don’t get to know what his quirky hobbies, food allergies, and favorite ironic tv shows are beforehand? Can you really ever “know” someone without seeing their “profile” first? Sketchy.

It’s so easy to browse for a mate with the swipe of a finger and a tracking system that lets you know how close they are to you! Only 20 feet away, now 10, only 6, and fast approaching. He is much shorter than it says, I wonder what else he lied about? Oh well, YOLO. Wow, stalking, I mean dating, has never been so convenient. Do you like scary movies?

There is a glow: illuminated face, eyes glazed and dilated, mouth slightly ajar, a small puddle of drool forms, and a muscular thumb ferociously taps away. Everywhere you look, from the darkened movie theatre to the family dinner table, there are people of all ages with their faces in their beloved phones.

6369804665_0466cb6870_o
Photo credit: Phil Campbell, Flickr CC

Just think, most of these people are typing the filthiest things, sexting, and trying to get some action. These things are too dirty to even mention here. At any given moment there are probably millions of #selfie boob shots and even double that in dick pics being sent through the digital waves all around us.

What happened to “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” I actually have a back log of all the unsolicited dick pics sent my way. Some big, some not as big, curved to the left or right, hard as a rock, slightly chubby, cut, uncut, veiny, lots of pubes, or diligently manscaped.

My usual response is to send a big bulging ween right back to them. I recycle the ridiculous cock shots sent by others and claim them as my own flopping member. I hope these bros have learned a lesson. What did you expect me to send a lovey shot of my snatch instead? Not saying my bearded clam isn’t absolutely gorgeous, she’s just modest and looks kind of fat in pics.

It’s not ok to whip your dick out in public, what makes you think its cool to send it to my inbox? People hide behind technology. They feel a sense of confidence and sassiness that is unmatched. When you send a message, you can edit it and say just the right thing. There is no chance of being instantly rejected, slapped, or arrested for indecent exposure like in “real” life.

Call me old fashioned but there is no substitute for falling in love in person. That moment when you meet someone for the first time and just stop breathing. Your heartbeat changes. You lock eyes and melt into a puddle of dreams, hopes, and lust. All you can say is jibberish or nothing at all.

Love transforms us into babbling idiots, and that’s how it is supposed to be! The journey then begins, you get to ask him about the things he does, the places he has been, and explore the things that make him, well, him. It’s beautiful. It takes time.

Sometimes we get shot down, and it hurts, but you have to keep getting up and living life. Love comes around when you aren’t looking for it. You never know, the man reading Nietzsche at the coffee shop, the person baring their soul on stage, or the woman pumping gas next to you might be the one you have been looking for all along.

Life is too short to hide behind technology. Don’t get me wrong, I use and abuse it too, I have sent texts that I am not proud of and gone on dates that are even more unmentionable. I have even written a misconnection or two.

I’m sure there will be those who argue with me on this, that small percentage of folks who have met their soulmate on Christian Mingle and have lived happily ever after. But in general things that are fast are not good. Instead of emerging yourself in the digital sex trade please set down your phone, power down the tablet, close the laptop, brush your hair, put on a clean shirt, and get out there! You look great today btw.

Say hi to the next attractive person you see. (Hint: the hottest ones are generally the most insecure because they are so hot that nobody actually speaks to them). Keep your head up and always remember that you are a unique, totally interesting, confident, and incredible human. You are not afraid to have real face to face interaction and live life to the fullest. Go get ’em, tiger! I believe in you.

Phil Campbell, Flicker CC

Ah, Tinder. The latest buzz-making matchmaking app and my last obsession. Cause yeah, no more mooching off my friends to play… I created my own account! Hey man, no shame; everybody with a smartphone is drinking that Kool-Aid.

One great thing about Tinder is the fact that it’s semi-anonymous. No last names and few pictures paint an illusion of privacy to unashamedly pursue your online quest for booty. But it feels legit enough, requiring you to sign up with a valid Facebook profile, that finding yourself trapped in some psycho’s car trunk is not as high on the list of fears if meeting up. The person you are viewing is (almost always) real, and the information (first name and age) is probably accurate.

Unless you’re my sister who created Sloth McSlow to satisfy her Tinderiosity:

sloth mcslow
This guy is awesome.

Either you go on Tinder, or you play Tinder. How people talk about the app is a good indication of how seriously they take its hook-up potential. Sorry to crush your dreams bros, but many ladies are solely on there for an ego boost. There are just as many thundercunts as there are douchebags in this world.

But in regards to those who are really on Tinder to ignite some sparks, the app is no different than any other virtual dating playground. You’ll get all sorts of users ranging from seeking DTFs, real connections, right down to friendly acquaintances. I’ve even swiped through a few couples looking to add a little extra somethin’ somethin’ to the bedroom.

What’s crazy is how addictive it is. Like fo’ real. You will literally spend hours nope-ing the hell out of rando after rando. And for what? Honestly it’s like maintenance stroking your hard-on until the good porn finishes loading; you keep swiping with tired determination until you fall upon an actual “maybe” – or better yet – until you find an absolute YES (the unicorn of Tinder). That or your battery dies.

As a girl, and for simplicity’s sake, there are two types of men: Jerks and Nice Guys. Jerks are players who want to score with your pretty face but not pay for breakfast. Nice Guys always put on a condom and sometimes wear sweaters.

But hold the fuck up. With Tinder, jerk-o-meters get fuzzy. Because even if you think you found a Nice Guy, the dude’s gotta be superficial on some level, right? Tinder matches are founded on aesthetic compatibility after all. It’s a real Catch 22.

So what about superficial assumptions? My swiping system goes as such:

If you’re wearing sunglasses, I assume you have a lazy eye.
Swipe left.
Ed Hardy t-shirt wearers and swagfags alike.
Swipe left.

If you take a selfie while driving? That’s dangerous road conduct and terrible camera angle.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing in a mirror, you probably have short arms.
Swipe left.

If you quote James Dean, it’s just too cliche.
Swipe left.
If you have a tribal tattoo, you’re either 450 or have Chlamydia (don’t know which is worst).
Swipe left.
If you’re smoking a cigar, you have a small penis.
Swipe left.
If you’re shown traveling by backpack, you can’t afford a hotel and you’re probably broke.
Swipe left.
If you’re wearing a fedora, you’re the taint that girls try to bleach off their assholes.
Swipe left.
If you’re doing the Zoolander eyebrow thing, the equivalent of the male “duck face”.
Swipe left.
If you’re posing next to GSP, you look underwhelming by comparison no matter what.
Swipe left.
If you have kids, awwwwww…
Swipe left.

So basically, all guys. Swipe left. I’m window shopping 90% of the time.

Noobs take time to view your account. They appreciate the funny picture where you’re wearing that 3 Amigos sombrero. They give you points for writing a quirky bio. They feel morally obliged to answer your message if you matched.

Pros (you get your badge after, like, 3 days) need less than 0.75 seconds to process your picture. Your face becomes a blur along with every other stranger’s. Swipe, swipe, swi- Awe shit! I just swiped left a ‘maybe’!  Oh well, you continue compulsively worsening your tinderitis.

You have to wonder… Would you have really picked out your boyfriends or girlfriends if you had come across them on Tinder? Most likely not.

It’s such a commentary on today’s gen. Entitled, expecting immediate results, and ADD-level commitment. Tinder is the epitome of today’s Grass Is Always Greener society. It’s kind of sad, actually.

The app is fun and it definitely delivers what it promises. But after a couple of weeks, and a few numbers exchanged, and ONE super friendly meet… I decided Tinder wasn’t for me. I started to over-think it, see the bigger picture, and it cheapened the experience of making a connection with someone. So I quit that bitch. Bye Felicia.

And then I got a cat, my new obsession. Now I can never die alone!

I think I’m doing a really good job embracing the single life, don’t you?

Featured photo credit: Denis Bocquet, Flickr CC.

‘Tis the seasons of breakups, everyone! Holidays are approaching, and the pressure’s on. It’s now or never, folks.

Hey – it’s never fun to be the bearer of bad news. Preparing to give the pink slip to your girlfriend or boyfriend can be a stressful thing. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

Still, too often I hear of less than tactful breakups. And man, I’ve been there.

So far, my biggest heartbreak happened with a come-to-life Seth Cohen; preppy, great taste in music, and an inherent neuroticism not even Modest Mouse could sooth. We dated for less than a year, but it was serious enough. Or so I thought, until I got slapped in the face by the bitch that is unrequited love.

No doubt, being dumped sucks, no matter how it’s done. But a sprinkle of common fucking decency when parting ways is better for all parties involved. And I’m here to help.

If you want to avoid being known as an epic douche canoe for the rest of your life, here are 6 rules to follow:


Rule #1: Timing is everything.

There’s never good timing to break someone’s heart. There is, however, such a thing as ‘least worst’ timing.

Don’t put off the inevitable, but (in some cases) a day or two can make a difference for your partner. You’re about to take a massive shit on their hearts, so not letting it ricochet onto other aspects of their lives is the least you can do.

My neurotic Seth decided to do the deed right after picking me up from the library where I was studying for my exams. Sure, I got over it a few months later, but it’s a different story for my GPA. Guy could’ve waited 12 hours for my finals to be over.

Rule #2: Forget about your feelings.

One thing I observed, as I was being broken up with, was the oblivious selfishness that came from ‘the explanation.’ I got the full A to Z, a whole spiel of How, When, What, Whys. Dude kept going on and on and oh my god just shoot me now. I was dragged through the mud of his never ending justifications because he was unconsciously seeking my O.K.

Look, no one likes to feel like the bad guy. But we can’t always be the hero of every scenario. And it’s not your ex’s job to sooth your ‘I’m sowwies’.

Rule #3: Don’t trust anything they say.

If the wound is still fresh, anything from your ex’s mouth that seems remotely mature is not to be trusted. That person is a wounded animal; they’re in survival mode, for fuck’s sake! Lying, bargaining and denial are cards that will be played.

“I’m fine if we sleep together one last time!” is an obvious one.

Basically, anything that completes the sentence: “You and I can [enter any kind of continued interaction] because I’m being an adult about this” is a trap.

Yes, they will get over your lame-ass, but for now you can flatter yourself enough to know that today is not that day, so respect that (even if they can’t).

Rule #4: Don’t try to make them feel better.

Cringe-worthy breakup moments always ensue when you don’t follow this rule. If you just made someone cry, you are not the best fit to make that person feel better.

“I’m still very attracted to you.”
Read: I don’t want to marry you, but I’d still fuck you.

From the guy I thought I’d have babies with. Yo, thanks a lot.

I wanted to punch him in the throat. Maybe it would’ve helped dislodge the foot in his mouth.

Anyways, you get my drift. No matter how good it sounds in your head – don’t.

Rule #5: Don’t say you’ll stay in touch.

“Don’t worry, we’re still friends!” How the ever-loving fuck does anyone think that ever works?

Maybe you’ll be friends one day. But right now, we both know you won’t maintain the kind of consistent contact that accompanies friendship after your breakup. So don’t make empty promises. Follow-through is important; don’t do a sloppy job on both breaking up AND being friends.  It’ll just lend to more confusion in the short run.

“Don’t half-ass two things; Whole-ass one thing” – Ron Swanson

Rule #6: Acknowledge the relationship

The worst thing about someone breaking up with you is when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that’s how little they’re thinking of you. (Before Sunrise. Great movie, go see it)

It’s important to at least acknowledge your shared past, especially if it was a happy one. I think it’s showing respect, if not to your ex, then to yourself. After all, you did learn a thing or two with them.

*Author’s note: I’ll give credits to Seth for at least doing this.


At the end of the day, every breakup story is unique, so feel free to add your own twist to it.

I just think that you’re already getting your way in the relationship by ending it, so giving your S.O. a dignified notice is a nice courtesy. Try to go about it gracefully.

Today, my train-wreck of a breakup is water under the bridge. Everybody has moved on. But in hindsight, it’s the way the breakup was handled, not the breakup itself, that left a bitter taste in my mouth. So Seth and I don’t stay in touch. Guess terrible last impressions can really tarnish great first ones.

Eh. Then again, I don’t know if I could’ve expected anything better coming from a 29 year old whose parents still buy his toilet paper.

Featured photo credit: woodleywonderworks , Flickr CC.

In last week’s article, I spoke about what motivates long distance romances. Since we’ve already covered the whys of the subject, I wanted to talk about the hows. Today, I’ve outlined a few key concepts to help you handle this clusterfuck of an emotional yo-yo that is long distance dating, if you ever find yourself wrapped up in one like I did.

Because, yes, at times you’ll be pulling out your hair. No relationship is ever easy, but shit, with the right person? Abso-fucking-lutely worth it.


Tip # 1: Make it temporary

Plan the end of your long distance from the get-go. Even if months or years down the road, getting over the hurdles is totally possible as long as there’s an end to all that crap. Things to look forwards to, right? You want a return on investment somewhere down line.

In the beginning of my LDR with Mr. W.A. (previously introduced), long-term end goals were part of the equation. Eventually living together, for example, was part of it. Not having that, flying back and forth would’ve felt redundant. You’ve got to clock-in before your time (or patience) runs out. If the distance isn’t temporary, what’s the point?

Tip # 2: Prioritize small things 

Would you stand up your girlfriend or boyfriend at a restaurant? Of course not, you’re not an asshat. Well, in LDRs, planned Skype conversations are real dates and should be treated as such. Might seem trivial to give such importance to little things, but bottom-line is it’s all about connecting. Emails, texts, Face-time, phone calls. Ever heard of FTD? Get on that shit! Small things, big impact. So don’t forget about them. Trust me, nothing will make your partner brain hemorrhage through their nose like the frustration of being left hanging or the worry that they’re taken for granted. That’s valid for ANY relationship, you just need to be extra vigilant in LDRs.

I rode the shorter end of that stick with Mr. W.A., and it sucked harder than a whore in a vacuum to feel forgotten. Small lapses can devastate long-distance relationships, but small thoughtful gestures have just as much exponential impact to improve them. So please, do sweat the small stuff.

Tip # 3: Quality over quantity

Quality words. Those emails? Make them colourful. Express the FEELS. Take out your thesaurus and use adjectives. Increase the value of your connecting moments by highlighting the sentiments behind them. It’ll take the same amount of time and have longer lasting impact on your honey, trust me. Bang for your buck, people.

Quality actions. Those visits?  Make them count! Sometimes shit happens and bad timing falls on “that” weekend. Well, tighten your big kid Pull-Ups and suck it up. Push yourself to be present and at your best on the rare occasions you have together. You can’t just “make up for it next weekend” if you act like a moody little bitch because, hello, in LDRs “next weekend” comes next month. Prioritize the Now. Or you might have to pay for it. For a long ass while. Because of your disgruntled better half.

[Pro-tip: If that happens: FTD. Stat.]


So there you go. Super simple stuff to nurture your LDR. Based on a personal and completely biased opinion.

Hey, at least I’m honest.

Disclosure: my long-distance relationship with W.A. didn’t really work out, unfortunately. I don’t necessarily blame the long distance so much as the lack of synchronicity with our priorities. Timing? Anyways, sometimes you got the right ingredients, the right chemistry, but the formula you have to work with is just off.

So, I had to call it. I had to take ol’ Bessie out in the back barn and shoot her between the eyes. Bang.

Calling it with W.A. gave me the big sads (Kleenex and Ben & Jerry’s jumped in profit margins that week) but time is never wasted when learning about yourself and what you need from others. Or you know, whatever cheese-tastic inspirational quote that floats your boat.

I haven’t ruled out long distance romance entirely. I’ll just have a more elaborate checklist to consult from before considering committing again. But that’s like for any new relationship, isn’t it?

Featured photo by Lara Binamé.