HIHEELZ

Kiss and...Deny?

Ideal night: my best girlfriends and me, drinking a bottle (or two) of Riesling, and dishing all the latest gossip. You know, who is seeing who, who got a sloppy kiss goodbye after her first date, and who tried to do what in what position. Sure, I guess you can call that "kissing and telling." But when the nitty-gritty deets are kept within my circle BFFs, it seems totally okay. And a lot a bit of fun.

And while I've never been in the guys' locker room, or invited to boys' MNF, I always just assumed they did the same thing as we did. Probably with a lot less giggling, beer instead of wine, and some high-fives and vulgar vocab. But the same idea--dishing to their friends who got with who and where they did it and for how long it lasted. I'll be honest, that idea kind of freaked me out. I always secretly wondered how many times my name came up, or my friends' names, and if it was in a good or bad way.

I very recently realized this is not totally true. And I wasn't (and still am not) sure how to feel about it.

I went out on a Friday night in NYC to watch some baseball with a big group of friends and mutual friends. We all took over a back table at a bar and ordered wings and a few drinks. I ended up rekindling with a guy I had met months ago (we'll call him Jack*,) and we were hitting it off better this time around than last.

After the game, we all parted our separate ways. Jack and I went with part of the group to a second bar. He was being quite flirty might I add--opening doors for me, touching my leg, buying me drinks. And I'm not going to lie, I was all about it. But once I looked at my watch, I realize I had to leave in the next few minutes if I wanted to make that last train home. He was very quick to be gentleman-like, offering to get me a cab and take me back to Grand Central. 

When the cab dropped me off, he paid for it and got out with me. There proceeded a pretty long but PG kiss good-bye, telling me to get home okay, and that was that.

...Cut to the next morning, I woke up and called my friend who had been there, and told her the play-by-play with Jake after she left.

"That's funny, when Dylan asked Jake what happened with you guys, Jake told him that nothing went down," she told me.

Oh, that's interesting. That's not what I thought!

Tell me: should I be flattered, or offended? I can't decide if Jack was saving me from locker-room like male gossip, or totally denying our Grand Central make-out.

Fool Me Once, Shame On You

Alex*, my boyfriend of eight-ish months, and I broke up last February. But after he 'realized his mistake' four days later, he came back to me asking for another chance. I was not even hesitant about taking him back. Sure, he broke up with me out of nowhere and made me cry (a lot.) But after all, he did come back. He knew what it was like to be without me, and obviously hated it. And hey, everyone deserves a second chance, right?

So Alex and I had our total chick-flick reunion. Hugs and kisses and jumping into arms. There may have even been fireworks behind us, I'm not sure.

I went home to my room mates and told them the great news. They weren't as convinced as I was. 

"I don't know, Brooke. He flaked out of nowhere. Who's to say he won't do it again in the future? Do you really think he completely 'changed' as a person in four days?" one roomie said.

"Give him a chance if that will make you happy, but just remember, a leopard never changes his spots," the other reminded me.

 

...Cut to two months later, Alex ends things with me. Again. But there was no crying on my end this time--I was angry. I had given him another chance, and he threw it out the window, again? I couldn't make any more excuses for him. He already knew life without me because we had been here before. And he picked being single.

You know that saying, 'fool me once, shame on  you--fool me twice, shame on me?" Well, yeah, exactly. Done and done. Book closed.

 

A week or so later, Alex asked for me back...AGAIN. (Yes I'm serious!)

Can you say, not a chance?

Believe it or not, I was just as confident in that decision as I was about taking him back the first time. I realized that this was no longer about me. It was about him not knowing what he wanted in his life. And every girl deserves to be with a guy who knows he wants to be with her.

 

- BLS

*names have been changed. :)

 

Just Do You.

My boyfriend Alex* and I broke up over the phone. (Don't you just love technology?) I remember trying to fall asleep that night, but all I could think was, "Wow, tomorrow is going to be awful." I even considered calling out of work and taking a personal day with my DVR. After dating him for almost a year, I totally forgot what it was like to be single. And I'll admit, I wasn't sure how to handle it.

The next morning, I woke up to my alarm at 7:40, as usual. I could already see that it was super-sunny out. Was Mother Nature playing a sick joke? This was supposed to be my day of misery!

But...why wasn't I that miserable?

I made a pot of coffee and decided I was absolutely not calling out of work. Instead, I was going to wear the cutest outfit in my closet and just tackle my day head on.

I noticed that for the first time in months, the first thing I did wasn't look at my BlackBerry. I used to wake up, (sometimes with my phone already in my hand) hoping I already had a BBM from Alex. I wasn't a crazy girlfriend--in my defense, I'm just sayin', the boy could be more than a little flaky with keeping me in the loop. 

More often than not, I'd wake up disappointed. I'd check my phone incessantly between makeup and hair ironing as I got ready for work. I just wanted that red light to blink with a message. And sometimes it wouldn't. Which led to an afternoon of wondering when it would, or if he was sick of me, or what was wrong, or how I was going to get through a boring eight hour day at the office. It was stressful! It was kind of like Alex and his actions decided if I was going to have a good day or not. Actually--that's exactly what it was like.

Not today, I thought. It was the first day in a while that was going to be all about me. What would I do? The possibilities were endless! I'd go to work and leave my phone in my bag. Then maybe I'd go home and go running around. It was gorgeous out--why drive to the gym? I no longer had to hope my workout schedules collided with Alex's. Which meant I didn't have to worry about whether he'd invite me over after or not.

This also meant more single girls' nights! All of my roommates were single. They loved to go out in sparkly tops and tight jeans, and just dance, have a drink and party together. I was totally getting in on that the next weekend!

I'd also been dying to get a massage. And to work on my novel. And to go on a wine tour. And to plan a trip to somewhere I've never been. Maybe DC? Arizona? North Dakota? My brain was running a mile a minute.

Wow, being single wasn't bad after all--I had totally forgot! In fact, it was kind of nice. Sure, breaking up with my boyfriend was really upsetting. But the sun still rose the next day, and brought me a brand new day to do whatever I wanted with it. I was no longer tied down or dependent on someone else for my happiness.

Being single, I realized, is the chance to just do you.

 

-BLS

 

*names have been changed :)

Grey Area

When I was a sophomore in college, a year before Ed* and I started dating, I recall having a bad case of two things: insomnia and 'smittenness', if you will. I stayed up all night, every night, talking to Ed on Instant Messenger (back when it was still cool.) We chatted for hours about everything--we'd quote Family Guy, reminisce about high school basketball games, shared music. He told me he always thought I was cute in high school and it's a shame we never dated. I told him likewise. We sent each other kissy-and-winky-face emoticons like they were going out of style. Seriously, anything that we could think of to keep the convo going 'till 5 am, we'd type it up in the IM box and send it. 

Then when we weren't online, I was constantly thinking about him. At all times, I wanted to be seated at my computer reading the sweet somethings he'd type me in his navy blue italicized font. We were totally into each other. Why was I in school in upstate New York and why was he in New Jersey? Why couldn't we be together and have a real relationship that didn't just exist online? Other than being 4 hours away, we decided we were perfect for each other. Distance was the problem.

Well, that, and the fact that he already had a girlfriend. 

It's not like he was lying to me about her, though. He actually mentioned her quite frequently in our conversations. "Ugh, Marie* is such a pain in my ass. She's so controlling. She flipped out at me because I was studying in the library with other girls. How crazy can someone be? I wish I had a girlfriend who was a chill and amazing as you are."

But they had been dating for almost three years--it's not like he would have actually cheated on her with me physically. And if he asked me to, I would have said no anyway. I'm not a homewrecker and I never have been. We were just flirting. Totally harmless.

Every once in a while though, I would think to myself--what if Ed's girlfriend found out about how much we talk? (And about what we talked about.) What if she walked into his dorm room and saw the conversations he had with me? If I were her, I would be FURIOUS at both the other girl and my boyfriend. Then I'd break up with him for being...for being what? 

Unfaithful?

Tell Me: (I swear I won't be offended!) What do you consider cheating? Was the 'grey area' where I was hovering, emotionally cheating, or totally harmless?

- BLS

*names have been changed. :)

Writing Him Off

 

A few posts ago, I wrote about my ex Ed.* You know, the one who I cheered for at high school basketball games, dated once we got to college, fell really hard for, only to be dumped by him in a Skype conversation five time zones away?

 

He was that guy, as pitiful as it sounds, I was certain I’d never get over. Even though we only dated for a few months, we acted like we had been together for years. He’d say we were perfect for each other. He named our two future children. He’d say things like, “Oh man, when we’re married, I’m totally going to re-arrange the furniture on you while you’re at work. I know how much you hate change—you’ll flip!”

 

I vividly remember hanging up after our infamous Skype conversation. I thought my life, as I had planned it, was over. I was too numb to cry. I couldn’t sleep for days. My mind ran a million miles a minute—What did I do wrong? What should I have done differently? If I hadn’t studied away in England for four months, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

 

We all know the cliché, “time heals.” I would say that “time helps” is much less misleading. Ed and I ended things in March. I was still hoping for him to change his mind in April. In May, while I still constantly thought about him, I didn’t burst into tears over it. By July, I was finally starting to think about other guys. And came September, I thought I was totally over it.

 

Ironically enough, it wasn’t a guy who made me realize I wasn’t totally healed yet. It was a poem.

 

That March, a year after Ed and I broke up, my poetry teacher gave a writing prompt in class. “Focus on one emotion,” she said. That night, I found myself at my desk, pounding out my first poem about Ed. I knew he’d become my poetry muse at some point, once the emotions were less raw. Love and heartbreak are the perfect fodder. So I guessed the time had come—I wrote about the sadness I felt post-break up.

 

I read my poem aloud in class the next day. “Wow Brooke, that’s a really rich poem,” my teacher said. “The hint of anger in your words is really powerful.” The class agreed.

 

Everything came together at that moment. This entire time, I thought I had just been sad about my and Ed’s break up. But writing that poem uncovered an emotion I didn’t even realize I’d been feeling. I was angry. Angry that when Ed broke my heart, he took power away from me. Angry that he let me think everything was my fault. Angry that he named our kids and rearranged our future living room, and then changed his mind week later. Angry that I had no say in any of it.

 

Until now. Realizing I was angry—and letting myself be—was cathartic. My words gave me my power back. I could let myself heal for real this time.

 

- BLS

 

*name has been changed. :)

 

Falling Head Over Heels

Before a date, sometimes I’ll try on two or three (or four) outfits. But no matter where I’m going, or who I’m meeting, there’s one part of my getup that always stays constant. A pair of high heels.

Heels make me feel sexy. Men see heels and think, “wow, this girl shoved her feet in something that looks like a medieval torture device, so she must be at least somewhat interested.” But most importantly, heels make me feel like myself. I guess you could say, heels have never let me down.

...Okay, except for maybe this one time.

 

I vividly remember my date from a few years ago with John*. John was my boyfriend of six months at the time. I’ll admit, I wasn’t worried about impressing him anymore. But any excuse to dress up in a cute outfit and a pair of heels, of course I jumped at it. It was the middle of the summer, and I recall exactly what I was wearing—a dark green racer back dress, with a pair of my favorite espadrilles. They were by Tommy Hilfiger. Brown cloth with a keyhole at the toe, a raffia wedge, and they laced up my calves. The one downfall of this sassy pair—the laces tended to fall down or come undone when I walked. But I didn’t care, they made my legs look a mile long. Hello, priorities!

So John and I were having dinner at our fave Japanese restaurant, Mt. Fuji. John actually didn’t like Japanese food, but Mt. Fuji had these authentic, bamboo sliding doors that closed off individual booths. We always requested to sit in one of those. It made for a quasi-romantic ambiance because you felt like you were eating in your own little room.

Dinner itself was pretty standard. I ordered my normal brown rice California roll and a green salad. We ate and chatted, and then like a gentleman, John footed the bill. (I offered to pay my half, though! I always do.)

 

“Shall we get going?” John asked.  I nodded and he slid the bamboo door open on his side. Once he got out, I slid the door open on my side. Stepping out of a Mt. Fuji table felt like stepping out of a public shower. You just felt exposed. People at the normal tables looked up from their meals and stared as you slid the door and stepped over the track. And mind you, it was a pretty big step.

 

I took the step with my right foot, which was followed by a strong pull at my left.

 

Oh no. I immediately thought. My espadrille lace had come untied under the table, and got caught in the track of the door!

 

But by the time I had processed this info, I was already face first on the restaurant floor. As I had gone flying, I bumped a nearby table. My shoe was ripped off my foot. The contents of my purse, askew. Oh, and of course, everyone was staring.

 

John asked if I was okay, but I was too busy collecting my lip-gloss, tampons, car keys and dignity off the floor. When I stood up, I glimpsed at the table I had bumped. The woman seated there looked less than impressed, as she mopped up the martini I had clearly made her spill. Too mortified to say anything more than “ohmigodsorry!,” I hobbled out of the restaurant Cinderella style—wearing only one shoe.

 

The first half of the ride home with John was silent. When I finally cracked a smile, John took that as an okay to unleash his stifled laughter. We were both in hysterics.

 

“Oh my God, did you see that woman? She looked so pissed! Her drink was everywhere!”

 

“Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you this in there,” John attempted composure. “But that woman—is my boss.”

 

True. Story.

 

So, I’m sure you’re all wondering: Did my little fashion faux-pas have me, the high heel queen, switching to flats from then on? You know, just to be safe?

 

Please. Not a chance.

- BLS

*name has been changed. :)

 
 

A Boyfriend is a Lesson Learned

I take pride in the fact that I’m not that girl who needs a boyfriend. I’ve seen my friends fall head over heels for guys. Everything starts out just peachy with Mister Perfect. Then it ends in tears, “what ifs?” and “why won’t he answer my BBMs?”

And hey, I’ve been there too. I’ve had a few boyfriends and saw a few other guys steadily. And unfortunately, most of them didn’t end well.

 

With that, here’s the big question I used to ask myself: Why even bother to begin a relationship if it’s just going to end? Might as well save yourself the post-break up pain and empty pints of Ben & Jerry’s, right?

 

Believe it or not, I disagree.

 

We’ll call the first guy Pete*. He was my first boyfriend at age fifteen. We were a happy, adorable couple at first, until he started bossing me around. He told me not to talk to my guy friends, not to wear heels and not to curl my hair. He gave me a beeper so we’d always be in contact! (No, I’m not joking.)

 

Then one day he threatened me: he didn’t want me as his prom date unless I would sleep with him. I may have been too young for a driver’s license, but I was smart enough to tell him to go find another prom date. And girlfriend.

 

Next came Ed*. I was a cheerleader for his basketball team in high school and we had a few mutual friends, but we didn’t date until college. Everything happened really fast. We grabbed dinner one Thursday and immediately became inseparable.

 

My friends warned me about him, though. He dated another girl all throughout high school and constantly made fun of her behind her back. Then he dumped her out of nowhere and broke her heart. Whatever, I thought. She was really annoying and not even cute. Ed and I are perfect together. It’s different with me.

 

A month after Ed and I made it official, I left to study abroad in England. We stayed together and he even came to visit me. All my new friends thought he was gorgeous and charming, saying they thought we’d been dating for years. Then one night, Ed called me on Skype from five time zones away and broke up with me. Just like that. I cried to a mutual friend about it who point blank told me I was better off. Turns out, Ed had told him he was done with me, even before he came to visit.

 

Alex was my most recent BF and like no guy I’d ever met. He was a licensed skydiver, rode a motorcycle, and could build anything with his bare hands. Even though we had very different backgrounds, we had a blast together. Overtime, though, he began slowly excluding me from his life. He’d ignore me for days and plan trips without me. I felt shut out and lonely. We ended it with him saying sorry, because he himself didn’t even know why he was doing what he was.

 

…Some track record, huh? You’d think I’d want to completely give up on men all together and become an Old Maid at 23. (Okay, sometimes I still want to do that.) But overall, I choose to look at my past relationships, good and bad, as learning experiences:

 

What Pete taught me: A guy’s jealousy and insecurity are his own demons, but they can also drag you down if you let them. A relationship can’t thrive without trust and equality.

 

What Ed taught me: Ever seen the YouTube video “You Can’t Text Message Break-Up?” Well apparently, you can Skype it.

 

Just kidding. But if you’ve heard that saying, “a leopard doesn’t change his spots”—it’s completely true.

 

What Alex taught me: It’s okay to be selfish in your 20s. In fact, sometimes it’s necessary. You need to be 100% happy with who you are before you can share yourself with someone else.  But for the love of God, don’t take me along for your self-discovery ride! If you would rather go skydiving than to my birthday party, then go. But I might not be there when you get back.

 

Trust me, embracing these lessons took a lot of time and distance. First I had had the heartbreak and sadness, but eventually that dwindled. The revelations came later, and those I can carry with me forever.

 

None of these guys are really in my life anymore. Due to mutual friends, Alex pops up in the periphery one in a while. As for Pete and Andy? They could be in Zimbabwe right now and I would have no idea. This is all completely fine with me.

Sometimes I wonder what I would I say if I ever bumped into one these guys at a bar in New York City. After my heart stopped palpitating, I guess I’d say thank you.

 

- BLS

*names have been changed. :)