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By Katie Gard, April 10, 2013 6:00 am

Image by Jose Luis Pelaez Inc

A few years ago, on a rare, non-sweltering summer evening in the sandhills of North Carolina, my husband and I sat on our back deck with a couple of grilled steaks and a couple of micro brews, watching our dogs play in the yard and talking wistfully about our hopes and our dreams.

Actually….

I talked about my hopes and my dreams, while Justin sat contemplative and content. I was fishing for something.

My incessant babble was, most likely, a plea for commiseration. “I’d like us to take a year off and travel the world when you retire from the Air Force. I mean, you’ll only be 38, and that gives us enough time to save. We could go anywhere. See anything. And then one day it might be nice to just buy a ramshackle beach resort on the coast of Nicaragua. You know, get away from all of these pressures and learn about what’s really important in life. I could run the hospitality end of the business since — well — I actually like people, and you could… I don’t know… be in charge of breakfasts. It could be fun for a couple of years! We could learn SCUBA and hike volcanoes and adopt a pet monkey.

….

“Haven’t you always wanted a monkey?”

Justin gave me a smile and a slight laugh and gazed across our confined patch of earth, where the dogs wrestled in the dirt amongst the patchy grass and paw-carved holes.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to run a sustainable eco resort for rich people in Australia?” I asked, trying again. ”You know, back when I first started studying environmental policy and sustainability, and then I quit school and had all of that time to think — I was going to move to Australia because that was one of the few places with schools offering degrees in sustainability. Can you believe that? Now it’s a trend. Sustainability. I totally should’ve jumped at the head of that horse when I had the chance. By now, I’d be like the leading guru on self-sustaining eco resorts. With yoga. And we’d raise our own goats. Way Down Under. Or wherever. It felt like nowhere was too far away from home, you know? I finally realized my life was in my hands.

…

Continue reading 'Maybe There’s A Reason He’s Not Listening'»

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By Dennis Hong, July 27, 2012 6:00 am

Image by Asger Carlsen

Man, the world is full of angry people. And I’d say that, aside from the smattering of terrorists, bigots, outright lunatics, and one chartreuse superhero, about 95% of them inhabit the comments section of various websites.

I write about dating and relationships because I truly do want to help bridge the communication gap between men and women. Even though we are all humans, I believe that we think and behave very differently sometimes.

A guy may act a certain way because he’s thinking a certain way. But, a girl may look at the way the guy is acting and believe he’s thinking something entirely different. Same with the way girls think and act, and what guys think the girls are thinking.

I believe that if I share stories about how I’ve acted in my own dating life, then I can shed some light on how men think. And if that helps even one woman understand even one man better, then I’ve done my job.

What baffles me is when I share something personal about myself, and I get lectured for it. Here’s one instance. Here’s another. And here’s one by Musings’ resident douchebag. Check out how much flak he gets for describing his behavior.

Well, guess what? That’s how guys act. The stories I tell are real-life examples of guy behavior. It’s not always gonna be shiny armor and merit badges.

And here’s the thing: Unless you’re the one actually dating me (which all but one of you are not), or you think you may want to date me (which… oh, heeeey, baby. How you doin’?), you have absolutely zero incentive to tell me how I should lead my dating life. Any change in behavior on my part will have precisely zero effect on you.

In fact, the only reason you should have in lecturing me is to feed your own sense of self-righteousness. You may even believe it’s a, ahem, righteous cause.

Continue reading 'If You Can’t Change The World, Change Yourself'»

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By Miss Bonnified, September 12, 2011 6:00 am

Bonnie and Clyde

There’s a book out there entitled He’s Just Not That Into You. You’ve probably heard of it.

I once read that book from cover to cover because I needed something to make me laugh while giving me insight into why I let my last relationship die. I was hoping something in there would explain how a relationship that had started off so promising (in my head, at least) warped  into the living nightmare I was plunged into for almost two years.

Well, the book taught me nothing about that. But, I did pick up a few things that helped me recognize what is now going on with the love of my life.

You see, I didn’t get the early signals that Clyde was really into me. I was too busy being nervous about putting myself waaaay out there on that scary narrow plank known as New Relationship. Thanks to Previous Relationship, I now questioned everything I knew about men.

Clyde is very sure of what he wants, and he goes out to get it. But he’s not prone to talking about his feelings. I, on the other hand, thought that was the only way to communicate.

I also kept thinking our new relationship was going to end at any second, because it was anything but the stuff of Hollywood romance. Well, maybe romantic comedy. What happened was a whirlwind of the kind of activity that could scare any new guy away….

First, I had to move out of my apartment. That meant I had to pack. I suck at packing.

Second, I had to find a new apartment. That meant I was frantically searching for places during the day when I wasn’t working and was super tired by the end of the day when we got to talk on the phone.

Third, I had to shop for furniture. I’d never shopped for furniture. When I first moved back to Los Angeles, I just took random pieces that friends no longer wanted and Frankensteined my apartment together.

Continue reading 'How I Know He’s Just That Into Me'»

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By Dennis Hong, September 4, 2011 3:02 pm

Image by Diane Cook and Len Jenshel

In my dream, she’s my best friend, and I am hers. Whenever I get a piece of great news in my life, she’s the first person I want to tell. Whenever something stressful happens, she’s the first person I think of who can comfort me. I hope to be the same for her.

In my dream, she’s the first person I want to spend time with. And I never feel inclined to blow her off to hang out with someone else—not even a dying friend or family member. (But that’s because I’d probably want her there with me.)

In my dream, I love her, and I know without a doubt that she’s the one I want to be with. In return, she loves me back, and she knows without a doubt that I’m the one she wants to be with. Yet, we accept that life is unpredictable. So, while we may never be able to say with absolute certainty that we will always get along, or even that we will love each other perfectly and unconditionally forever, what matters is that we love each other today, we’ll love each other tomorrow, and we’re going to try our hardest to love each other for the rest of our lives.

Because true love is an ideal that we can only strive towards, not an achievable endpoint that grants us complacency once we’ve reached it.

In my dream, I can tell her anything I want, knowing that she’ll accept me for who I am and won’t judge me if I reveal myself to be less than perfect. In return, I will be open to anything she tells me, and my love for her won’t diminish if she reveals her own imperfections. We never need to hide anything from each other, and we’re comfortable sharing everything about ourselves, even the worst baggage that we carry.

Because, hey, I admit that I haven’t quite reached that pinnacle of human perfection. Then again, neither has she.

Continue reading 'My Not-Quite-So-World-Changing Dream'»

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By Katie Gard, April 25, 2011 6:00 am

Image by Robert S. Donovan via Flickr

Ladies, have you ever complained about the insensitive boyfriend who couldn’t pick up on the fact that you were having a bad day, even though you told him you were fine?

Gentlemen, have you ever been called a conceited ass for thinking a girl was going to sleep with you, when she came over with only platonic intentions in mind?

One of the (decidedly few) merits of being a married, 28-year-old waitress with a college degree is that it brings me in contact with people who would otherwise fall well outside my social sphere. From the “regulars”–the middle-aged men who sit on the same bar stool night after night and literally wither away lonely hours via Jim, Jack or Crown–to the slurring, unsteady newbie drinkers who haven’t yet learned their limits, this place is a veritable variety pack of personalities and life experience.

The bar employs an exceptionally popular young bartender I’ll call Jack. Picture a 23-year-old with the confidence and charm of a Wall Street banker, combined with the interest and curiosity of a world-traveling nomad. Plus, he’s adorable. If Kurt Cobain’s ghost had a love child with Justin Bieber, the irresistible little nymph would undoubtedly resemble Jack.

Although I find myself immune to his trademark charisma (probably because he’s wisely never pointed it in my direction), women of all ages are simply elated when they find themselves attached to Jack’s arm for an evening. Over the months, I’ve become desensitized to the false-smile introductions of the various women he escorts into the bar on his nights off, knowing the poor girl whose limp-noodle hand I was shaking would likely be sitting by her phone all day tomorrow, waiting for a text that would never leave Jack’s fingertips.

Surprisingly, a bedraggled Jack arrived unaccompanied one night, plopping himself down on one of the lonely-man bar stools and mumbling about a girl.

Finally, I thought. Someone actually got to him.

Continue reading 'Why Can’t Men Learn To Read Women’s Minds?'»

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By Rick Allan, April 18, 2011 6:00 am

Image by MoPo.ca

I met Ramona in Vegas.

We only spent a couple hours together the night we met. Yet, neither of us had ever connected so deeply with another human being in such a short period of time.

We didn’t even have an actual conversation until I called her a few weeks later. I was so nervous, I felt like I was back in middle school calling a crush for the first time. I invited her to come down to San Diego the next week.

All the giddy little school kids in the world had nothing on me the morning she arrived. She went in for the kiss, and I awkwardly hugged her. I stumbled over my words. I couldn’t even hold eye contact with her.

I finally managed to relax, and the rest of the day couldn’t have gone any better. I loved being with her, and yet, I was uncomfortable being myself around her. Her presence made me want to be more than just myself.

A week later, she came to see me while I was in Los Angeles, and we went out to a bar with some friends. I was suffering from a cough, and without so much as a hint from me, she got up and returned a few minutes later with drinks for us. Smiling, she said, “I asked the bartender to make you something for your throat.”

It was such a simple gesture, but it meant the world to me.

Later that week, I went to see her, and while we were lying in bed, those three little words almost slipped out.

Whoa. At this point, I was afraid I might be falling faster than she was, so I backed off. I decided I’d try to get her to chase me. Because back then, I still thought that if a woman were interested in me, she would pursue me, too, right? Continue reading 'If I Chase You, I May Fall For You'»

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By Dennis Hong, March 14, 2011 6:00 am

For months after Julie and I broke up, we chose to remain friends.

Yes, it was a mutual decision.

No, really.

Stop rolling your eyes.

This is not another rant about being stuck in the Friend Zone.

We still cared about each other, and we still enjoyed each other’s company. We just realized that, romantically, we weren’t all that compatible. We were like peanut butter and bacon: You love ‘em both. Just not together.

We continued to hang out fairly regularly, though. In fact, we joked that we were kind of/sort of still going on dates. Except that they didn’t end in anything physical….

Wait.

Okay, yes. They were exactly like many dates I’ve been on.

I was fine with that. We both knew that muddling the boundaries we’d established wouldn’t be a good idea. So, we continued our platonic dates, going out to dinner, chatting about what was going on at home and at work, slipping into deeper conversations about our lives… our hopes… our fears….

That’s when I had an epiphany.

I was totally getting screwed in this arrangement.

In recent years, scientists have discovered that the hormone oxytocin is responsible for feelings of attachment in women. Most notably, oxytocin is released when a woman orgasms. This explains why women have a more difficult time having casual sex. When they orgasm, their brains release oxytocin, which reinforces their emotional attachment to the man they’re with.

So, it’s not that women don’t want to have casual sex, or that they don’t like casual sex. It’s just that women often have a difficult time keeping it casual.

Continue reading 'We Weren’t Having Sex, But I Was Still Getting Screwed'»

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By Matthew Sanchelli, February 21, 2011 6:00 am

Serendipity

While doing some light shopping at Cabela’s the other night, I met a girl. She worked there. She was cute. She was witty. She was a red-head. Her name was Cassie.

I remember walking towards the register with a few items in hand and thinking, “Wow. She’s really cute. Perhaps I should ask her out.”

As she began to ring up the few items I had laid on the counter, I initiated conversation. She volleyed the verbal ball back to my side of the court. Following up with a humorous quip, she giggled and asked me a question. My response must have been intriguing because, as she finished bagging my items, she leaned forward to listen more intently.

Our conversation continued for what I imagine was perhaps five minutes (at least).

Things were going really well.

I’d be a fool not to ask if I could call her sometime before going on my way.

My gaze fixed on her eyes.

Her gaze fixed on mine.

As my palms became slightly damp from nervous sweat, I casually slipped them into the pockets of my jeans.

She smiled.

I took a breath and opened my mouth ready to speak the words…. Continue reading 'May The Forced Small Talk Be With You'»

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By Jasmine Curry, October 25, 2010 6:00 am

She's got a huge red flag. Why are you ignoring it?

I just went to a friend’s wedding. Instead of jumping for joy that someone else was joining the club, though, my husband and I found ourselves thinking, “oh, no. They have no idea what they are in for.”

I shouldn’t be such a pessimist. This particular couple is incredibly compatible. But, there have been a string of divorces in my circle recently, and I think it comes down to one issue:

Ignoring the red flags.

All three of the girls I know whose marriages are ending have said the same thing: “I always felt like I was having sex with my brother.”

Ouch! If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is. So, why did they all ignore the flag and get married, anyway?

Perhaps it’s the need for stability. For some reason, we as a society think that if we are married, life can begin (those who think that life ends when you get married notwithstanding). Most agree that getting married means we won’t be alone ever again. And I mean ever. Like, if we need just one moment to ourselves, we are probably not going to get it. Ever.

But, we think we need to be with someone. And so, we get married… even though we know that we really want children, while he has made it clear that having kids is off the table.

Perhaps we ignore the red flag because we are getting older and thinking, “well, we want the same things, have the same goals, and it’s high time I get married before my window of opportunity closes.” So, we rush to have the wedding and start having children… only to discover that our atheism doesn’t fit with his desire to raise our children in a church.

Or maybe some of us just aren’t any good at being single. So, we look the other way at what we think isn’t that important. We tell ourselves that relationships are all about compromise.

The problem is, the red flags don’t go away. And if we don’t stand for what is truly important to us (and perhaps we didn’t even know just how important it was at the time), we lose not only ourselves in the marriage, but potentially the marriage, itself. Continue reading 'The Curse Of The Red Flag'»

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By Rebecca Sullins, October 11, 2010 6:00 am

"You need to grow a pair!"

I’m a bad girl.

I don’t mean that I’m promiscuous, a partier, or a bitch. I mean I’m bad at being a girl. All my life, societal norms have told me that I’m not a good female specimen. And I’m generally okay with the fact that I play pool, own a snake, am an engineer, like sports, and didn’t own a purse until I was 23.

But recently, a much more glaring phenomenon was brought to my attention.

I was at the bar, playing a pool match, and made a quick trip to the bathroom. A friend of mine walked in behind me, with all the telltale signs of a girl who’s about to have a breakdown. I decided it would probably be better for me to stay and see her through.

Like any good friend, I asked her what was going on. And the floodgate opened.

“I’m not good at anything. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me.”

“’Splain, Lucy.”

“I just lost my eighth pool match in a row… I drink too much… My boyfriend doesn’t appreciate me….” I’ll spare you the rest.

I sat her on the sink, looked into her eyes, mustered as much compassion as I could, and I told her to get the hell over it. If she didn’t like her boyfriend taking her for granted, why was she still with him? If she was losing at pool, she should either quit or practice more. If she didn’t like the hangovers, she should put down the pint. I told her that there was absolutely nothing in her life that warranted the kind of self-pity normally reserved for terminally ill patients. And even then, I’ve known terminally ill patients who had a less dismal outlook on life than she did at that moment. Continue reading 'True Friends Stab You In The Front'»