“Don’t worry, the right one will come along.” 


It is peculiar that when you’re in a relationship there is no question as to why you are in one, unless you constantly complain out loud, and even then there is suitable defense for it. However, should you find yourself happily swimming in the single pool, your single lifestyle is questioned beginning with why and then ending on a “don’t worry, the right one will come along”, and often said by strangers, people of the unknown who have no clue who I am or why I am (entitled much?).

Wait! I wasn’t worried. At all! I was having fun swimming along the single pool much like Dory and enjoying the adventures that were bestowed upon my path….now I have to worry? I’m confused.

Yes, I would like a relationship at some point, but with a degree almost completed, a fashion internship that is just beginning and a renewed passion for outdoor activities and sport ( best I look good naked, me thinks), I can’t say it is my number one priority, nor can I say I was worried about it.

Thank you stranger, you have added a dimension to dating I wasn’t aware of, but I refuse to immerse myself in your world of worry and instead, like Dory, I shall just keep swimming thanks.

Sparks, fireworks and a sizzle 


I sparked! For real! Now, a spark with someone is that cosmic moment where the world falls into utter chaos around you but you’re standing still and it all makes sense (I have a slight flair for the dramatic, I admit). In this moment things are infinite, problems are obsolete and the heart begins to thaw from its icy cavern.

This was the case one evening when I went to my local watering hole after a long and tedious exam period. He was tall, handsome and charming…and, of course, I dismissed him the minute he said hi (must be some sort of a defense mechanism). However ,my friend would not stand for it and somehow got him to join our social circle. We spoke a bit, laughed and danced. Add a bit of whiskey and I was smitten. But, this was nothing compared to the kiss goodnight; that parting moment when you’re unsure whether you will ever get to see this person again, and so we kissed. And boy! Did we kiss!

That’s when the spark turned into a freaking firework display of such a grand magnitude Gatsby would be jealous (wow, I’m full of cliches today – I suppose there is a reason they are cliches). We parted, and the thought of him lingers…. Hmmm, I wonder if I will hear from sparky ever again?

On your marks, get sex, GO! 


There are those dates that finally make you believe in the betterment of humanity, as if all asshole reactions and dimensions cease to exist and, in that moment, a future with a man seems possible.
The words flow in cohesions, laughter is contagious and there is an enchantment in the interaction between two once strangers. A familiarity is developed and you’re excited for the untapped potential.

Days, turn into more days, and the conversation goes from flirtatious to ” what are you wearing?”, “send a pic ;)”, “ooh, you took a bath, hoping for a pic” , now I’m all for a bit of suggestion but sometimes I wish people could just get to know each other without them first. I’m no prude by any definition of the word, but within me, lies a traditional spirit that longs for an interactions beyond the physical realm.

This was the case of Mr. accountant. While accountants have a notorious reputation for lack of personality, this one had an abundance of it. It was fantastic, one drink turned into two and conversations were memorable. I kept him on a friendly level, and simply enjoyed his company. Then one evening, I’m assuming he was drunk, I get messages of a sexual tone. This would be alright I suppose, if we had been sexual, we had not. In a culture of hook-ups and a fuck and chuck mentality, I’m finding interactions to lose meaning and have found I treat every man the same. Once the sexual messages were sent I was no longer interested, little did he know if he had not I probably would have (if you know what I mean).

Sometimes I think, it’s easier to just have sex and stop trying to get to know these men especially if they’re looking for one thing (by the way, letting me know that’s all you want from me makes life way easier).

So on your marks, get sex, GO!

Ghost of relationship’s past

http://potd.pdnonline.com/2011/01/8043The dearly departed are often glorified after their deaths, where once he was a “drunk uncle” he becomes the “life of the party”, and where she was once “manipulating and lying” she becomes “creative, with a way with words.” Whether it is because we, as a human race, feel guilt, shame or our final respects, we do tend to make those who have passed away a shade brighter in their death.

This got me thinking; does the same phenomenon happen in the passing of a relationship? Do we glorify the memories of the relationship that once was in order to numb the pain of the events leading up to its annihilation?

Do we forget the ghosts of relationship’s past?

We insist on running back into the burning room of our hearts, our former relationships, and are adamant in searching through the ashes to revive something that no longer is. We fall asleep to dream of our dearly departed relationships only to awaken with the sting of a fresh heartbreak.

Is it an attempt to feel again, even if it’s an altered memory?

Personally, I think a part of it is that we glorify our former emotions and memories in order to remind ourselves that we did love, and sometimes loved intensely, and the part of us that allowed us to love another refuses to let go of the ability to do so in the future. Maybe, the holding onto our memories allows us to, somehow, let go of the heartbreak and remember things (or people) as they deserve to be remembered; in fairness and in love.

So, to the emotions I once felt:  promise I shall feel you again in all your glory when the time is right.

Desperado…or commitment phobia?

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There are men who just don’t get it, at all! And no matter how much you try explain they just will never.

I am not flimsy in my choices of relationships, in fact it takes a lot for me to even contemplate getting into one at all (in 99% of the cases I just don’t). Some call it commitment-phobia (because imagine a person who doesn’t have a phobia) but I call it not settling.

I don’t mean in the sense that I’m waiting for a man who completes a checklist from 1 to 19 but rather waiting for the butterflies (I know! Who would have thought I had a thing for cliches) : enter desperado (the nickname I gave this date)- the man who wanted more…

Why? Why is it when I clearly express that I am there for fun and a good time men demand attention, loyalty, and commitment … Did I mispronounce ; ” this is casual” ?

Every time we went out Desperado would try hold my hand, try introduce me as his girlfriend and then laugh and say he was joking. (With a wishful tone hoping I would accept that it simply wasn’t).

Silly how when you want a relationship you swim in a pool of playboy sharks and the minute you want a bit of fun and flings you’re playing a game of “it’s not you, it’s me”. Obviously, I no longer could go out with desperado, his need for me sent me running towards the hills and further… Is it a case of him not being the right one…or am I truly commitment phobic? *gasp*

The mystery of the pyramids…and the heart

http://www.hplyrikz.com/
http://www.hplyrikz.com/

When searching for a reason for most mysteries in life I often am disappointed with absence of an answer. I suppose that is the thing about mysteries: most will always remain in the black holes of time. However, from the mysteries of the Egyptian pyramids to those of the mind, none is more mysterious or unsolvable than the reasoning of the human emotion.

Love is a four letter word that has countless pieces written in its tribute. I think it is only fair that, in turn, I dedicate an entry to this almost unexplained sensation. The difficulty in writing this piece is not the lack of knowledge towards the subject but rather the lack of a decent idea on how to describe the emotion without a clichéd, cheesy description.

My love is a complicated one; it is filled with care, kindness and dependence but twisted on the outskirts with a hint of jealousy, a pinch of mistrust and a tiny dose of life’s betrayals. For me, to love is most difficult, but to love me, is even worse. With a somewhat warped and conflicted character I battle to balance the want for freedom with the need for a constant being. I’m attention-seeking yet distant, fun yet disconnected, but with all this I love. A constant tug of war between my hardness and softness, my want to enwrapped in the arms in another and my need for freedom, my insane fear of commitment and the fear of loneliness.

While reading over my description, one is almost drawn immediately to the sense of desperation while I try most hard to avoid it. You see, my love is real, my love is whole and my love is complicated. I cannot explain why.

That is where my mystery is given birth to and my curiosity for reason is aroused.

WOW! this is going to make dating easier...NOT
WOW! this is going to make dating easier…NOT

Is Christina Yang my spirit animal ?

There is a certain sentimentality that comes when one is with another human being. Except I’m not sure this feeling I am able to feel. Maybe the heartache of a relationship past is so severe that the heart/brain does not allow for any amount of attachment or maybe I’m simply not wired that way..

As I lie in the arms of my friend one night (side note: I have a habit of calling the men I’m involved with friends, although I kiss them…a lot. They are all well aware of the fact that I call them just friends, and that I give myself, and them, the complete freedom to see other people. How this functions? I don’t honestly know. But somehow it does)….anyway, as I lie in the Arms of my ‘friend’ one night I find myself completely emotionally unattached to him, while physically we have great chemistry I don’t find myself jealous at the conversation of another girl or on any level wishing that he were mine… I find this very odd.

Will I manage to care one day? Is it me? Or is it the case of just finding the right one? Or maybe I’m the Christina Yang of the world?

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(Ummm don’t cuddle me)

“No, sir, I do not have daddy issues.”

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(Ummm…maybe not)

Clubs and bars are the birth place and breeding grounds for pick up lines, lonely individuals awaiting a drink offer or men on the prowl (just as much as women I dare say). Where women have fantasies of meeting the one (secretly of course) and men have fantasies of their next erotic conquest (mostly ruined by the fact that too much whiskey makes for a most unattractive man).

I find myself at my local watering hole not very often, but when I do, oh boy! Am I duly entertained and am even more socially awkward than I care to admit…Let me explain:

It’s a Friday evening and I’ve decided that means a girl friend and me simply must go out dancing ( she is in a relationship and loves a night out with female companions whilst I love that she is not on aforementioned prowl and we can actually dance). I wore sky high heels (that puts me a great deal taller than most), black jeans and a backless floral top and approach the dance floor with extreme confidence. In my entanglement of whiskey, sweat and dancing I was approached by a significantly older man who offered me a drink, which I had to decline more out of the fact that I had just purchased a full glass of whiskey than of actual rejection, and told him he can enjoy his night furthermore ( a polite thank you and goodbye gesture on my behalf).

However, this did not deter the old sod (I’m speaking about a man in his healthy 60s where I remain firmly aged in the 20s category), he remained in place watching my friend and I dance for about 90 minutes, and as soon as my drink had reached the bottom had pounced like a lion in the Serengeti to the offer of another.

I simply couldn’t, I had decided that if I had said yes to this drink I may lead him on into thinking I’m interested, instead in a moment of alcohol induced panic I responded , “no thank you sir I don’t have daddy issues”. Needless to say the gentleman walked away and I self diagnosed myself with “foot-in-mouth disease” …. But hey what else was I meant to do?

The curse of the bad kiss

Is there anything worse than a bad kiss? Now I’m well aware that this topic is not new nor is it particularly unheard of, in fact I’m sure if I googled bad kissing an endless queue of blogs, articles and pictures are bound to come up. The list of bad kisses is endless; from the over-enthusiastic tongues resembling washing machines, to the lizard like movements of another and then the gaping hole where nothing happens but the lips do not stop moving ?! All of which confuse me to endless bounds, how is it that some men just do not know how?!?! But the worst kiss of all must be the one you wish would work. Let me elaborate;

There was a man who I was completely in lust with, his features resembled those of a Greek statue brought to life by perfection itself. His thoughts were so intriguing that I was almost was completely hypnotized by his every syllable and while I thought I stood no chance ( I do believe he is way out of my league) he asked me to come away with him and I did. Tension built between the two of us and thoughts of unsure nature soon took over. An hour into our trip and the kiss was done… But something was off; his kiss.
Oh how I willed Our kiss to be that of the most romantic films, of stories untold and passions unfolded…instead it was average, completely and irreversibly average…and I found myself unsure how to feel. Although he still intrigues me and I think of him often I have decided That for me is the worst kind of kiss; the wishful one, the one that was meant to be electric that passerbys would feel it just as intensely

And it just isn’t.

Make love

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(Image from : http://steinerkd.tumblr.com/post/60300005294)

Just a little something I found browsing my endless list of articles, quotes and passages, and thought maybe, if I loved it, I would share it and see if you do too.

“Make love
Like you have no
Secrets
Like you’ve
Never been
Left
Never been
Hurt
Like the world
Don’t owe you a
Single
Wretched
Thing.”
– Warson Shire