Breaking up is hard to do

How do you tell someone who loves you that it's over?

I'm not entirely sure, either, but I think it's going to go something like this:

I love you, but you're not the one. Follow through...

No sleep, no love

So I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Not sure why. I don't think it's because I miss him. I know I want to, I want to miss him desperately, so badly that I can hardly think or breathe. Or sleep.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I haven't attached myself to this gross notion that I can love someone because I want to, and not because I actually do. I write it, that I love him, (and rather well, if I do say so m'self) because maybe if I put it down on paper it will be real. Maybe, if I tell myself I do, if I write beautiful love letters, I will eventually convince myself that I love him, and I will. And isn't that what I want? To be in love?

But I am a passionate woman, and while I don't expect my partner to be just like me, I do need a man who is passionate about me, too. I told JP that I would need him to call me regularly while he is in Budapest. He does it. That's nice. But I want more than a hello, I ate a meter of sausage today, and I love you before hanging up.

Those words feel empty to me.

When I stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning to call him as he gets his day started, I want him to sound pleased to hear from me, not exasperated. When I send him a sensual photograph (where the power lies in suggestion and not in exposure), I want him to be happily surprised and aroused, not disgusted or disappointed.

He asked me how on earth I was planning on sleeping when he got back into town. I was mildly giddy, as he had just received my photo. He is not gonna let me sleep bc he has missed doing the dirty with me!

Wrong. He chastised me for staying up so late when I know full well that he likes to get to bed early, so when he gets back, if I can't reset my sleeping schedule to complement his, it's going to be a problem.

I get it. There are a lot of wonderful things about him. He accepts me for who I am, and I've always feared that it might be impossible to find someone who would, and so I cling to this ridiculous, precarious trapeze of a relationship and try and try to convince myself that it is love and that all of the things I have never liked about him are tolerable and that if he says he loves me I should try to love him back.

It's that old hat again, in love with being in love. That's me.

I don't think I can keep up the masquerade for much longer. It seems I'm onto me. Follow through...

Alone time

I was in something of a melancholy funk last night. Not melancholy as in "the world hates me and I want to die," but melancholy as in pensive and serious. In the mood for poetry. As luck would have it, the Helen Vendler reader from my Poetry 101 class in college happened to be sitting on my bookshelf.

I read poetry for several hours, something I haven't done in years. It made me want to write. I wanted to write about hope and love and loneliness and need, but mostly about hope.

For the first time in a long time, I thoroughly enjoyed occupying my tiny, sad excuse of a bedroom, laying naked as the day I was born, pen in hand (and sometimes in mouth), and alone with my thoughts, no sound but the gentle buzz of a fan and my mind's echo. Follow through...

Incomplete

I realize it's 4:40 am on a Sunday morning for you and there is absolutely no reason for you to be awake. But I miss you.
I went out last night with Sara from work and my friend Mike from school. It was his roommate's birthday so we checked out a couple of really cool new places by my house. Arlo and Esme's was part coffeeshop, part club, and the drinks weren't super-overpriced ($6 drafts and $7 whiskey gingers). The music was fun and it was a good crowd, but it felt like something was missing. Then we went to Boucarou, an unexpectedly sexy club playing hiphop, girls in dresses, packed to the gills. I would have loved this place, but still, something was missing. I went home and called you because all night, I had been thinking only of you, and how much more fun I would be having if you were there with me. And as I trudged home alone, the three blocks seemed painfully long, and all I wanted was to be going home with you, lying in bed with you, telling you that I love you. Today, I woke up around noon, dragged myself out of bed at 2 to make mac and cheese, then went to see the Murakami exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum with Suki and Boki. They both say hi, by the way. It was a really cool exhibit, and I wish you had seen it. I think you would have actually liked it. It was a little crazy, even creepy, but cartoonish and quirky. And funny. We watched the Kanye West music video there, too. We had dinner in Koreatown and then went our separate ways: Suki to Michele's, Boki to some dental party, and me to my apt. There's another party at Happy Ending tonight and I seriously don't want to go. I just want to putz around and play Puzzle Fighter while snacking on pretzels. I have been fine without you until now, and I can't believe I have written a message this long on BB messenger... Sorry if I am turning into Ruth. But I started writing and couldn't stop and now my eyes are a little teary and I am getting that squeezing feeling in my chest that I get when my heart hurts. So... I just wanted to say that I miss you. My life is incomplete without you. I love you.


Sent to John just after 11 pm via Blackberry Messenger Follow through...

The perfect weekend

If I were a contestant on that dating show that Jenny McCarthy used to host on MTV, you remember that one, the one where the logo was Cupid smoking a cigar... what was it called again? Anyway, if I were one of the three contestants vying for the affections of the sexy single guy on that show (who was rarely all that sexy, but that's neither here nor there), and they asked me what my perfect weekend would be like, it'd be like the one that just passed.

JP's birthday weekend began with a day trip to the beach (even as sad a beach as Atlantic City's) with good friends, frolicking on the boardwalk, yelling at kamikaze seagulls, stuffing ourselves sideways with all-you-can-eat king crab legs, winning money on video blackjack, singing happy birthday to JP in front of everyone while waiting for the bus, shivering and cuddling our way through the impossibly cold bus ride, and finally making it home at 4 am. He said it was one of the best trips he's ever been on! Once the clock struck 4, which officially marked his birthday, I unveiled his birthday present: a gigantic variety of Asian snacks and goodies, and a bottle of soy sauce so big he would be able to pour it onto his rice with reckless abandon. He liked it, and expressed impressive enthusiasm for 4 in the morning.

On Sunday, JP and I strolled across the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time to see the telectroscope installed at the bottom. It was a gorgeous day made up of blue skies and sunshine and as we looked out at Manhattan from Brooklyn, I thought, "Wow." I could feel something swelling up in my chest. I think it was pride. For the first time since moving to the city, I was actually kind of proud to live here. We then wandered through the Afro-Caribbean street fair near Atlantic Avenue, stopping to look at art, read menus, and watch as men in grass dresses on stilts passed us by. We reached the Brooklyn Flea Market and ate Mexican style corn: grilled on the cob, smothered in mayo, rolled in crumbled queso, sprinkled with chili powder, and squirted with lime. Followed by pupusas and organic ice cream, blueberry pomegranate for me and a tangerine sorbet for him. We wrapped up our day in Brooklyn with a stop at Target, where we stocked up on stuff that is marginally more expensive in Manhattan. Hey. It adds up.

Monday (Memorial Day) morning, JP dragged me out of bed so we could make the 11:30 am showing of the new Indiana Jones movie. To compensate for failing to feed me beforehand, he bought me a gigantic soda and some candy. We made chicken caesar pizza at home while watching Men In Black, then thought better of wasting the weather and laid out in the sun at Battery Park for a while. Thanks to his fair complexion, we had to turn in after 40 minutes because he was pinking up, though I hadn't even gotten started. Still, I had no complaints when we watched National Treasure II. I love archaeological fiction!

It should be noted that there was ZERO alcohol consumption all weekend. And I still had an awesome time.

Of course, it wasn't always this way.

In the days of Singled Out (yes! the name of the show returned to me!), my perfect weekend would have included a beach, a sexy stranger, and many frozen drinks with little umbrellas sticking out of the glasses. Plural. Throw in a Crisco-covered watermelon, a darkened pina colada stand, and dancing on tabletops in a nightclub where the drinking age was supposedly 18, and we've got my high school graduation trip to Cancun. While this is still all good and well in my book, the heart flutterings in the quiet moments of this weekend trumped it all. Many times over. Follow through...

Love for sale

My love can, indeed, be bought.
JP picked it out because it looked like a Scrabble board. "Mon coeur pour toi toujours" = My heart for you always.

Since our talk last Monday, he has really tried to make me happy. He calls. We went out Friday night. On Saturday, we got brunch in the Village even though he felt sick and the smell of food made him nauseous. Then he got me this lovely necklace at a street fair. We didn't watch TV all weekend. He even accompanied Suki and me to see the Superheroes exhibit at the Met. And he hates museums.

It was a good weekend. Follow through...

Dear John

I thought of calling this letter "Why I Am Breaking Up With You," and then thought better of it. After all, I'm not entirely convinced that I want to. There are so many about us that just don't work together. I am a strong proponent of this whole "opposites attract" adage but I think Paula Abdul meant things like he's quiet, she's chatty; he's rugged, she's girly; he's bookish, she's artsy. I don't think it holds for us. None of the things I am about to write to you is reason enough to break up with you, in and of itself, but the series of things that do not mesh is certainly cause for some concern.

I am boho chic, minus the chic. You are what Abercrombie would be if he grew up and got a job.

I like animals. You do not. It wouldn't be such a problem if you didn't mind them, or if you simply didn't care for them but could tolerate them, but no. You don't want pets. Ever.

I am anything but fancy. You like things of a certain... quality. You're more of a hotel kind of guy while I get my kicks out of hostels and guesthouses. It's not that I mind hotels. It's just that sometimes, I wanna be less removed from the rest of the world. 

I am a social butterfly. You have no friends in the city. Except the ones you work with, and they don't really count since you don't hang out with them outside of work. It's awesome that you are willing to hang out with my friends, but I wish you had your own.

I embrace all cultures. You are very vocal in your distaste for the French and the Canadians. What have they ever done to you?

I am liberal. You are conservative. I believe that some people need a little help to get on even footing, whereas you're more every man for himself. Neither of us is politically passionate enough to matter most of the time, but sometimes, it makes me wonder. 

I do not make a six figure salary. You do. In fact, you make three times as much as I do. Is that why you complain 300 times more than I do even though we work the same number of hours? It's true, my job may not be as serious as yours, and mine might even be kind of fun, but did you ever think to offer me a shoulder rub after a long day before asking me to give you one?

I enjoy food. A lot. I can't even begin to understand how it is that you have not, not even once, walked out of a restaurant with me raving about the tastes and textures that have just danced across our tongues. As I chew in near-ecstasy, I see you picking at your food, eating it dutifully but without joy, and all of a sudden, my food doesn't taste as good. It breaks my heart.

I dream of traveling. I dream of sights and sounds and smells you just can't get here. With every paycheck I get, I dedicate a percentage of it to my next unforgettable destination. You don't really want to waste your money on travel. You'd rather spend it on something more tangible. Like another gigantic television.

I don't watch tv. You love it. Ironic, as I'm the one who works in television. I think it's awesome that you know so much about all of the shows and the entertainment business and all, but sometimes it makes me sad that we are on the couch a good 90% of the time we are together, not counting the time that we are sleeping. And even when we're not watching, you're talking about tv, talking about the characters as if they are people you know in real life.

I love music and the arts. You're not really into the arts, and while you like music, you prefer to listen at home. I'm cool with that. I even like your taste in music. But you know I love museums and concerts and the ballet and the opera and live music, and still, we sit at home in front of the tv. Can't we take a couple nights off from your couch, comfortable though it may be? You do have DVR, after all.

I don't expect a whole lot on holidays. My birthday was on a Monday and I was in France on business. I asked you if you had free long distance at work so you could call my hotel. You said no. And that was that. When I got back from France, you told me you hadn't gotten me anything and what did I want. I said, "Nothing," because I'm pretty sure that's the only thing I could have said without sounding like a whiny little brat. You double checked with me, saying, "You're sure you're not gonna be mad at me later and bring it up if I don't?" To which I replied, "Of course not." What? I'm going to demand that you take me out to dinner or do something nice? Or spend a few extra dollars on your phone bill to make an international phone call? I don't need jewelry or flowers or fancy dinners, but a heartfelt card or a trip to a museum might have been nice.

You don't need me. You keep me around as long as it's convenient for you. When you're tired after work, you don't want to see me because you're tired. When I'm tired after work, I want to collapse into your arms and let the worries of the day disappear. If I do come over when you're tired, you prefer that I don't stay the night because I don't help you relax.

I need to be loved. I have been craving it. That's why I got sucked into you so quickly, the very first day that I moved to the city. You drew me in with good food and nights out and telling me I was beautiful. Now it's McDonalds and Survivor and I shouldn't wear those brown lacy panties anymore because I don't look good walking around the house in them.

My heart hurts.

Follow through...

Where did all the romance go?

We were having an Undeclared marathon tonight after a long weekend of packing and moving and unpacking and cleaning. Granted, he just moved two floors down, so it wasn't a difficult move, but it was a well-deserved day of vegging out on the couch watching ten episodes of a tv show I didn't know existed until it came out on DVD. Steven puts together a romantic evening for Lizzie with candles and dancing and a massage... And as we're watching, JP jokingly asks me if the romance is still alive in our relationship. My first instinct is to say, well, he's not really a romantic guy. Then I think better of it and tell him there's still romance... maybe. I could love him. I might love him even now. I already told him I did, but that was partly because I felt pressured to say it and partly because I want to feel it and partly because I might. But I feel like I was drawn into this relationship based on false advertising. When we first started seeing each other, we went out on dates, I got dressed up, he sent me flowers for Valentine's Day... and now, he doesn't even call me on my birthday because I'm in France, and I can't remember the last time he asked me out on a date. I realize that we eat together a lot, but it is never something pre-planned or special anymore. This makes me a little sad. Follow through...

Just in case

You never know when you might need a shoulder to cry on. Perhaps tears of sadness, hopefully those of uncontrollable laughter. And then it is a strange bird, it is. Follow through...

The inexplicable urge to cry

I think I'm a pretty laid-back person. I would even go as far as to say that I am not only laid-back, I'm actually kind of cool. Most of the time, that is. But there is something about this city that makes me a little crazy. Since moving here, I have twice encountered a strange and foreign phenomenon: the inexplicable urge to cry.



I know what triggers it; and it's completely and totally irrational. I can actually look at the situation and I want to laugh at myself for being absolutely ridiculous, but my chest tightens up and panic wells and tears fill my eyes. It's happened two times, and both times, it started with JP joking around about getting with Suki.

I know full well that it's preposterous. Suki would never do such a thing to me. But then he'll take it just a little too far, and I begin to think that if this is the only thing he can seem to joke about, is there any seed of truth to it? Not because anything would ever happen, but given the choice between me or my smart and sassy best friend, I really think he would choose her if he thought he had a realistic shot.

There it goes again, that tight feeling in my chest. And I want to cry.

But the reason this urge to cry is one I deem inexplicable is because I really don't think I have feelings for him that are deep enough to warrant this kind of feeling. Or has it been so long since I've had a boyfriend that I've actually forgotten what it feels like to be jealous? I don't ever remember wanting to cry out of jealousy before.

Maybe it's because I'm PMS-ing. Maybe it's that, and the combination of work-related stress.

But I'm baffled because though I am 100% faithful, I have not written off other men in my life entirely. They know I am dating someone and that we are staying in touch only as friends. You know. Pretending we haven't seen each other naked. It's surprisingly easy to do with MF, but I guess that's because it's been so long that I don't remember and don't care to revisit. We've officially entered friend territory to the point of no return. H is going that route, as well. I had him over for dinner the other night and while I always enjoy hanging out with him, I'm actually 98% positive we are utterly incompatible beyond a casual friendship.

But C... I wonder what would happen if we ever did live in the same city. But I won't know for five years. And some lovely girl will probably rope him in long before I realize it's too late. Follow through...

Habanera from Carmen by Bizet

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
Et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle,
S'il lui convient de refuser.
Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière,
L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait:
Et c'est l'autre que je préfère,
Il n'a rien dit mais il me plaît.
L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!

L'amour est enfant de Bohème,
Il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
Et si je t'aime, si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!

L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre
Battit de l'aile et s'envola...
L'amour est loin, tu peux l'attendre;
Tu ne l'attends plus, il est là!
Tout autour de toi, vite, vite,
Il vient, s'en va, puis il revient...
Tu crois le tenir, il t'évite,
Tu crois l'éviter, il te tient.
L'amour! L'amour! L'amour! L'amour!

L'amour est enfant de Bohème,
Il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime:
Et si je t'aime, si je t'aime, prends garde à toi!

Follow through...

Cursed be the unknown

It was all so much easier when he was merely a fanciful crush, well beyond my reach. Having lived with the knowledge of his existence for so long, (that existence safely out of sight and almost out of mind,) and entirely lacking in reciprocation for many years, I had dismissed any possibility of becoming genuinely enamored of him, or he of me.

But years pass and people change.

One day, I grew breasts and learned that men are but mortal in the face of feminine wile. Or rather, in the face of the promise, empty or not, of glistening bodies and limbs intertwined. And when I met this man again after many moons, he was no exception.

And then I allowed myself to wonder if he might really be as amazing as I had allowed myself to imagine. He was everything that I thought I wanted: smart, witty, handsome, noble, passionate, creative, well-read... And mildly retarded when it came to interacting with the opposite sex in any capacity beyond that of a friend or brother. His egregious inability to communicate his feelings drove me to a multi-month boycott of his attentions, of which he took no notice, as he made no attempts to contact me. And that felt shitty, particularly post-coitum.

And so it was: we had reached a standstill. I was hurt and disappointed; he knew I was hurt and disappointed but didn't know how to respond and subsequently shut me out. The end.

Right?

Fast forward to now, when I've met a man who adores me in spite of me being me. We're just chugging along that well-worn path to--I don't even want to say where. But that's where we're trying to go. Sometimes I see fireworks and butterflies and beautiful laughing children who look a little like him and a little like me. Sometimes I feel as though my heart has been lassoed and the noose is tightening around it. My brow furrows, adding wrinkles to the list of things I worry about.

The man now, he is also smart and witty and handsome. But I worry, prematurely, that perhaps we will not survive the world around us. If it were just us, I think we would be okay. And then I find my thoughts wandering to the man before. There is a little part of me that is hesitant to move forward; it is that part that prevents me from committing myself wholly to the man now.

I am convinced that his perfection (aside from the hurt and the disappointment and the awkward manner with women) can only be a figment of my imagination.

Then why can't I just let go and adore completely the man who adores me so wholeheartedly now?

Follow through...

Birds of a feather

They say birds of a feather flock together, but I never totally bought into it. Yes, I understand that for the most part, it's easiest to get along with people who are more like you than not: you have things in common; you like doing the same things. But I always thought that when it came to something as grandiose and all-powerful as love, there would be no bounds. Romeo and Juliet style. Nothing could come between them. Not friends, nor foe, nor family. Actually, that's a shitty example because all of the above did come between them and resulted in a rather tragic and untimely death for them both. So scratch that.

But I mean, think of the wrong side of the tracks kid and the poor little rich girl schtick. Like in The Notebook. It don't matter where you're from or where you've been, only where you're going (together), right?

Then I took JP's family to a little restaurant I like in Chinatown because it has yummy soup dumplings. Cheap and delicious. My favorite type of place. They didn't really appreciate the soup dumplings and their broth-oozing goodness, and the most popular dish was the fried rice and the General Tso's. This is not to say that the fried rice and General Tso's were not good; I was just sad that they didn't react the way I did when I first discovered soup dumplings. I remember the Chinatown girls took us to try soup dumplings at Moon House and Mando and I nearly peed our pants because our tastebuds were so happy.

I should probably chalk that one up to the fact that not everyone finds as much joy in the simple act of eating as I do. But given the external cues, I feel like the lack of familiarity made it a less enjoyable experience for them. It was reminiscent of trying to eat French food with my mother in Paris. She ate dutifully but without pleasure, and then thanked her lucky stars that she had had the foresight to bring along cup noodles to France lest she starve as a result of their ridiculous culinary peculiarities.

I'm not being fair. JP's family actually did eat, and they weren't picking at the food, or anything. They're way better than my mom is. She was a little brat about it and made no pretense about liking the food.

But it just made me think--and yes, I realize this line of thought is way premature-- that we have very different families. Not because either one is more or less loving, or more or less open. I was just thinking about what a family holiday might look like. Thanksgiving at the H household involves kimchi and galbi (though I did make a pretty decent turkey spread this year, if I do say so myself), while Thanksgiving at the P's probably has all of the cranberry and cornbread trimmings. We like rice cakes, they like layer cakes. Not all that different, but not exactly the same. The biggest disconnect, I think, is that my parents like spending holidays with groups of their friends, and they like to drink whiskey and wine and sing karaoke and play poker. I don't really get that vibe from JP's family.

But this isn't even about his family, specifically, but more about a hypothetical love's non-Korean family. In Korean culture, they say you don't just marry your spouse; you marry his family. I'm not sure I completely buy into that because I think if you love a man enough, you can love his family. And JP's family is very high on the lovability scale. But the Korean part of me wants my parents to be able to hang out with his parents comfortably, without feeling frus...

As I write, I am beginning to realize what a non-issue this is. I have just wasted a lot of time on this post. In the case that I fall in love with a man from a different culture, as long as both of our families are fantastic (which I'm sure they will be), they'll do fine getting along for our sakes, and I'm sure they'll recognize good people when they meet them. They don't have to be best friends or spend all their holidays together. And my family isn't really into holidays, anyway. They're just into family.

I can't say this post was a total waste, though, because it helped me realize that if I love a man enough and he loves me back, we will make it work. And if that man is JP, well, at least his dad and my dad can talk audionerd stuff.

Follow through...

Nerve wracking

So when is it acceptable to meet the parents? Because I'm not sure I'm so good at this girlfriend thing. Tongue-tied, slightly sweaty, trying to be clever and charming without looking like as though I'm trying too hard... it was all very difficult.

I adore JP, but I adore him even more after seeing the way that he interacts with his family. They all seem very close. No wonder he wants to move back out to the Midwest. I wonder if we'll make it...

At times I look at him and think it might be nice to fall in love with him. And then there are times when I realize how different we are. I wonder what his parents thought of me. Not so much about my performance in the role of JP's girlfriend, but more in terms of someone who might be in his life for a while longer. I'm sure he wouldn't tell me the truth if they didn't think we'd last. And I suppose we wouldn't last very long if they didn't approve.

But Suk likes him, and that's a good thing bc Suki hasn't liked anyone I've dated since MF, and that was years ago. And she's a good judge of character.

Follow through...

Shut up, you stupid roof chickens

I'm not entirely sure what pigeons sound like when they mate, but I'm going to guess they coo perturbedly, and in spurts. I would open my window and throw something at them but I have no screen and I am terrified that one of those disease-ridden fowl might fly into my room for vengeance's sake. And that would suck.

Follow through...

Six Irish car bombs will make a man say crazy things

He: I love you.

She: I think you're drunk. Follow through...

Dipping the ketchup

I was having a chat with the roommate R last night and she laughed when I said the word "boyfriend," a word that has not crossed my lips in many moons.

R: So what stage are you in?
Me: I dunno. Boyfriend/ girlfriend, I guess?
R: No, what relationship stage?
Me: Huh?

R then introduced me to the "dipping the ketchup" phase and the "naming the kids" phase.

R once had a friend who stopped seeing a guy because he dipped his fries into her ketchup. She had asked him if he wanted any ketchup. He said no. She got her own ketchup. And then he dipped his fries into her ketchup, which grosses her out. As this was only the second date and she didn't like him enough to want to explain that it bothered her and risk seeming neurotic, she simply got more ketchup for herself and wrote him off.

After the non-invested "dipping the ketchup" phase comes another phase, unnamed by R and her friends, which I like to call "sumo." It's the phase where you know you kind of like the other person and you think the other person likes you but you're not sure so the two of you just kind of circle each other around the ring trying to anticipate what the other wants or is going to do. This phase can go on forever, and ends when the parties get tired of circling or when the parties advance to the milestone DTR (Define The Relationship) talk. This forces the relationship to end or move on to the Relationship stage. In some cases, "sumo" occurs for an extended period of time when one party likes the other but is unwilling to end "sumo" by pushing for the DTR because s/he is likely to get an unfavorable outcome, or the DTR outcome was unfavorable to one party and both parties agree to revert to "sumo" indefinitely.

As you begin the Relationship, you are initiated into the Apollo phase. Probing, learning, discovering things about each other, but cautiously. There is little trust and much trepidation and careful treading at this stage.

At some point after declaring exclusivity, a couple may enter what R calls the "naming the kids" stage. You don't know enough about your partner yet to be disgusted, annoyed, or appalled. Yet. For all you know, the sun shines out his/ her ass. Your mind fast forwards to wedding bells and vacation homes and baby names. If one half of the couple enters this stage too quickly while the other remains behind in Apollo mode, the results may be disastrous. The one who is left behind may get nervous and/ or freaked out and bolt like a horse without blinders. Leaving behind shattered wedding bells and named but never to be born children. This is the honeymoon stage on speed.

I don't feel like I can speak very authoritatively on any stage beyond "naming the kids" because I really haven't had much success. So far, my relationships have evolved to become more mature or devolved and fallen apart. Or both, not necessarily in that order. Follow through...

The Power of Two

This edition of My Life as a Themed E-mail is brought to you by the writers of Sex and the City and the power of the number two.

When you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn to be cautious. You could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always someone there to catch you. And in life, there's no safety net.

So at the beginning of January, I decided I could no longer remain a complete waste of space and made good on mom's bribe to move to NYC. (She offered to pay my rent for up to two months while I looked for work, which is why I didn't move back to LA.) I started looking for apartments and came up for TWO days to look at TWO apartments. The first one was a really nice three bedroom but I didn't like the location that much and the girls who lived there were nice enough, but I wasn't sold on it. I went to look at apartment number TWO on the lower east side and loved it, a kitschy little TWO bedroom on Norfolk at Houston with a girl R that I hit it off with. My room is teeny tiny but I don't care, it's cozy and cheap and I like the exposed brick wall in the kitchen/ living room/ dining room. Sold! Thanks to Suki, I gave her money for the credit check and got the ball rolling right away with the application. Suki told me I am a lucky bitch. It's true. I am. I constantly leap without checking for a safety net, but Suki is my safety net so I don't really have to worry about being responsible and stuff like that.

I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.

Which is just fine with me. In fact, I am more than happy to announce that I will be wearing whatever obnoxiously vibrant color I please to work, since I will start my new job working at a fashion media company this week! Last week I came up to interview with TWO companies, and I knew right away that this was the right job for me. It's my dream job, no joke. I am doing international sales and distribution of fashion television programming and stock footage, and my job will require that I travel to Cannes TWO times a year. I will not have to dress "business casual" and I will have a 15 minute commute to work, door to door. They refused me a signing bonus but they did agree to get me a new laptop. Let's hope I don't drop it in champagne like my first Blackberry.

There are 1.3 million single men in New York, 1.8 million single women, and of these more than 3 million people, about 12 think they're having enough sex.

I am not one of those 12, sadly. But that's ok. I will settle for a free meal or drinks on a fairly regular basis. The more frequent, the better! I have now been in NYC for TWO days and I have TWO dates lined up for this week. When I moved in on Saturday, my friend invited me out and I hit it off with his coworker J, who told me I'm beautiful and bought me a pink rose from the flower guy towards the end of the night. Awww, how sweet. I am having dinner with him on Monday night at Dennis Foy in Tribeca. I actually don't have much practice with this whole "dating" gig. Usually, I just drink too much and end up hooking up with a guy I just met, and that deal may or may not include breakfast. Or it is a friend-turned-more-than-friend. This will be one of TWO times in my life that a boy has offered to take me to dinner before trying to get in my pants and not vice versa.

Date number TWO is a blast from the past: H found out I moved to NYC and wants to grab drinks before I start work on Wednesday, so I am meeting up with him on Tuesday night. This should be interesting since he hasn't made any effort to talk to me since he booty called me in DC over Thanksgiving. None. Zilch.

If this is how easy it is to get a date in NY, I will not be as hungry as I feared. And I might become one of those 12 people.

Maybe mistakes are what make our fate... without them what would shape our lives? Maybe if we had never veered off course we wouldn't fall in love, have babies, or be who we are. After all, things change, so do cities, people come into your life and they go. But it's comforting to know that the ones you love are always in your heart... and if you're very lucky, a plane ride away.

I may be reckless and making mistakes left and right, but it keeps things interesting. I would say I veered off course when I went into commodities instead of sticking with media straight out of school, but it was a good experience. I didn't plan on going to grad school, but it was a great chance to travel and meet some amazing people. I guess I haven't really veered off course, though, since I don't really think I had a course to begin with.

Can't wait to see you guys when you visit NYC. It's only a plane ride (or car drive or bus ride) away. Follow through...