First Kiss(es)

All first kisses should involve matching nordic sweaters.

My first kiss moment occurred when I was but a lass of 15. Astyn B. was hosting an end-of-the-year party on her parent’s farm. (I don’t count the one inside the Kindergarten playhouse from Dylan or the time Tadd F. pinned me down in the gym in 3^rd grade.) For most of the night I had been flirting with Josh P. as adeptly as any newly minted sophomore can (I’m sure he remembers my suave moves a bit differently). He was one of the taller boys with brown eyes that I thought revealed a very deep teenage soul. He had such style about him in his polyester Adidas shirt, which had a melted spot where the bonfire spark landed. It was one of a collection. GQ model material right there.

I remember how the defeat washed over me when Astyn told me my parents had arrived to bring me home. All of the progress I made that night would come undone over an entire summer spent in separate towns with no hope of an accidental cafeteria run-in. In the next moment my disappointment vanished as Josh grabbed my arm, turned me around and planted a passionate, tight-lipped kiss on my surprised mouth. It was like kissing a Muppet, Burt or Kermit the Frog or one of the other ones without lips (so not Janice). It was…completely thrilling.

I felt like a woman. A tingly, twitterpated woman. I just knew every future kiss would be measured against this electrifying smack.

My relationship with Josh P. blossomed into absolutely nothing after months of “what does it all mean?” and remains a friendship to this day. Despite the anti-climactic conclusion, I remember it as one of my most idyllic first kisses.

In girl talks over the past week I’ve discovered that some girls have amazing luck when it comes to their various first kisses. One friend has had inaugural pucker moments during beach walks, moonlit nights and romantic Valentine’s dinners. Another during a Pam & Jim-esque iPod dance. Meanwhile the rest of us get sudden kiss attacks in the midst of watching a movie, booze-soaked smooches and juvenile, “I’m going to kiss you now” moments. No soft embraces as the snow falls around us or passionate moments in the rain after a declaration of love for this girl. It’s probably because I’m not selective enough about the mouths I allow near my face.  

Prior to this conversation, I just assumed over-the-top romantic beginnings didn’t happen outside of grating rom coms. But now my low expectations are shattered. The bar has been raised. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly in a position to be moving any sort of first-kiss bar since the boyfriend wouldn’t likely approve. Maybe I should cut him off from my lips for a week and make him do it all over again. This time as we’re decorating the Christmas tree, Nat King Cole will play in the background and I’ll fall off the ladder I’m using to place the star on top, right into his arms and he will kiss me ever so softly as we laugh in the twinkling lights. Yep. That’s how I want my spontaneous next first kiss to happen.

The Love Gene

After spending some time with my grandmother discussing dating and such, I’ve come to the completely unscientific and most likely false conclusion that romantical preferences are a hereditary curse. I also did a Bible study this past summer that suggested there might be some truth to this theory. Though the study was more about bearing the emotional burdens of our mothers and their mothers before them, naturally some of this translates into how we approach our relationships. It suggested that even though we may not have some life-altering traumatic experiences in our lifetime, the damage inflicted on the women in our blood lines before us may spill over into our lives without our knowledge or permission.

I began exploring this possibility when my father once expressed his devastation in my choice of men, because of the long-standing belief that women date the men who remind them of their fathers. And my shoddy taste in the stronger sex hasn’t done any justice to the reality of my near-perfect father. But there had to be something that led to my codependent tendencies, it couldn’t possibly be my fault, I needed something to blame—er I mean explain?

Although my mother apparently chose the “last good man on earth” (words of outside sources, not my own), her relationship with her father was nothing like the one she would have with her husband. I remember my grandfather as being an over-sized teddy bear of a man whose heart was bursting with love for his family. But I also remember him as a distant, crotchety man whose disdain for children was made apparent every time we were hit by the shrapnel of his short-fused temper. The latter man was the original before he learned to appreciate the warmth one could gain from inviting the love of family. I’m not sure what flipped the switch in him, but we were definitely blessed to experience the softer version of grandpa before too deep an impression had been made.

I sometimes wonder if my mother was not so lucky. She clearly loved her father and her heart breaks over and over again when she thinks about losing him in October of 2009. But she spent her entire childhood and most of her adult years with the man who didn’t have the patience for needy children and didn’t understand how to express the love he ultimately learned to engulf us with in later years.

On my father’s side my grandmother made a few missteps in love. Though she bonded herself to a man who adored his wife until the day cancer took over his once “hunky” frame, loving an alcoholic was a challenge. No matter how much he loved her back. His alcoholism never led to violence. Only distance. It was something he and his family struggled with until the year my little brother was born. And though my memory box of my grandfather only holds the moments when he nuzzled my grandma in the kitchen while she prepared Christmas dinner, there was undeniable damage done along the timeline that came before me.

If the butterfly effect holds authority over the love as it allegedly does every other corner of our existence, the family love stories told before my inception may be the source of some of the men I’ve fallen prey to. But I can’t continue fault my family history for what are ultimately poor decisions on my part. We all have baggage: some put upon us, some saddled on our own. Though I tend to be empathetic to the human condition I also have little patience for people who point the finger at unfortunate circumstances in hopes that it will excuse their bad behavior. It doesn’t. And I’m no exception. I’ve been in abusive relationships where I’ve chosen to stay. I’ve been with great guys who I’ve chosen to leave. And I’ve been a crappy insecure girlfriend because I chose to let past losers dictate how I feel. I’ve made poor choices in my life and been in ill-fated situations, but the responsibility for my future romantic adventures rests very much in my hands.

Confessions of a Mistress

Ok that title is unnecessarily dramatic. I’m sorry. I’m not really a mistress per se. But no one is going to read a post entitled: “Confessions of a Girl Who Maybe Flirted a Little Too Hard With Someone Who Was Unavailable.” Now that I got your attention by misleading you, let me explain my mistress-light circumstances.

A while back (foggy timeline so you know it’s juicy) I was hanging out with a former flame under the pretense of getting back some long-forgotten artifacts left behind when the relationship fizzled. Even years after we had ended our relationship, we always had the tension of lingering attraction between us. I can’t explain why this one plays the Hubbell to my Katie, but we easily fall into those roles when we are together. So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when an innocent invitation to imbibe a single beer led to more than it should have.

I knew I was in trouble when he passed up the spacious couch and opted to join me on the love seat (Ugh could there possibly be a more clichéd piece of furniture for these events to transpire on?), settling in close enough for the heat of his arm to transfer to mine. Normally I wouldn’t have given a second thought about giving in to the advances that would inevitably come to pass. However, the last I heard, he had a new girl now and common decency demanded that I refrain from making a cuckquean of this poor thing. So I chose to ignore the obvious and continue making useless small talk. Soon his arm was around my shoulders and then my waist. I began to wonder if maybe he had dropped his girl and failed to tell me.

I only discovered that this was not the case when he murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this,” close enough for his heavy Marlboro breath to offend nearly every one of my senses. When I heard those words confirming that he wasn’t mine to pursue I should have shut it down completely. But I didn’t. Instead we continued this dance of, “Should we? No, we shouldn’t,” over the course of the next hour. Each time taking one step closer to that line of regret and only half a step back. Part of my participation could be attributed to the aforementioned magnetic draw. The other part was due to a desire to be desired that had taken ahold of me earlier in the week.

By the time the spell was broken with the practicalities of late nights converging with early mornings, he felt he had succeeded in escaping the temptation a faithful man. I knew what he had done would have been considered cheating by any wronged girlfriend. He was pleased with his willpower and I was wracked with guilt.

I had made no move to stop him from breaking his trust with a girl I had never even met. There was a point when I began to do everything I could to convince him to do exactly that. As I said, I had never met this girl. What did I owe her? He began the whole affair, why should I take on the responsibility of keeping her man honest? That was his burden to bear. Not mine. Still, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I held no alliance to this unknown and therefore didn’t owe her the loyalty of her boyfriend, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had broken a code. Not just some arbitrary girl code but a human code that would demand we treat any other person on this planet, as we would hope someone would treat us in similar circumstances.

Sure, he instigated the waltz, and it was his relationship he willingly put at risk. But I kept imagining how heartbroken I would be if I knew some woman I had never met accepted an invitation to lead my boyfriend astray. Yes, the sanctity of his relationship lies within his realm of authority, but life isn’t always about who should hold the blame. Maybe sometimes it’s about stepping up beyond your accountability to protect someone you’ll never meet from a devastation that you can prevent by making a sacrifice you know you don’t necessarily have to make.

Hail to the V

(My title is meant to deceive you into thinking this post is more topical and trendy than it actually is.)

Yes I’m going to pay homage to the loverly women in my life again. It’s been a rough week (though today pretty much rocked my socks off) and in moments where I was “turning grim about the mouth and ready to knock people’s hats off and take to the sea” (Melville will just have to forgive me for that slaughtered paraphrase) my girls came to the rescue. This is a shout out to a different group of girls than the ones who inspired this post.   Though those continue to serve me quite well, a new job has come to mean some fantastic additions to my circle of estrogen (with a extra sprinkle of testosterone for good measure as well—I haven’t forgotten you Dennis).

When I was feeling that empty “I wish I had someone to hold me” desperation, they were there for a couple solid hugs and even a kiss (on the cheek you pervs!). Despite the fact that these women have always proven to be a solid bunch, I was pleasantly surprised at how readily they came to my rescue in true princess charming fashion. They even offered to beat up a bully or two if need be, just like a big strong male-type would do. And even more than helping me deal with the issue of the day, they restored my strength in being a confident, independent woman. They’ve served me more faithfully than any boy has. And they did so with no angle. Simply because it’s what people who love and care for you do.

We are an eclectic (and eccentric) bunch coming from all walks of life with opinions and beliefs that run the gamut. And yet we respect each other so much. Even when one or the other has overstepped a boundary or found herself feasting on the stale taste of her own foot, we’ve managed to stay open, honest and gracious when addressing the indiscretion. A bigger testament to the character of these women is their willingness to step up and own their feelings and actions.

Sure we have our pitfalls and tense moments what with being human and all. But these women all do their best to remain respectful of the bonds they’ve formed. They warn the others of forthcoming crankiness without using it as free-to-sass card. They not only refuse to make excuses for offending a friend, but they step up and apologize when it’s necessary. Most of the time this is before the wronged party even mentions the offense.

Maybe it’s due to the maturity level of the women involved (with the exception of me, I’m like the immature little sister they tolerate because I’ve somehow weaseled my way into their good graces), but I have never felt so comfortable around such an impressive group of women. Each talented and successful in her own right, they have always been willing to step up, offer advice and mentor without a hint of superiority.

Among the many blessings of this new job, I count these women among the best of them. So thanks for the support ladies (and gent). I hope all women (and men) are lucky enough to find such a solid source of laughter, accountability, strength and happy-hour company.

When Our Male “Must Haves” Become Our Personal “Must Bes”

Many moons ago, shortly after the inception of this blog, I wrote about the idea of becoming the men we want to marry. The idea was reintroduced to my musings in a Vogue excerpt by Anne Roiphe. She recently released “Art and Madness” in which she chronicles her destructive quest to love a man who embodied everything she loved about art and literature (and some of the things she hated). She longed to be a part of the fascinating world of authors and she thought the only way to gain access was by becoming the muse of a man. She would ultimately realize that by becoming the man she had hoped he was, she could be a part of this world on her own accord.

She points out that a muse (see: corporate wife, politician’s companion or what have you) can be fired. But a woman who generates her own genius or art can’t lose it at the whim of another individual. It seems we are continually progressing in the direction of embracing this idea. Women have recently come to represent half of the American workforce. There are a number of factors that contribute to this transformation including jobs being cut in traditionally male-saturated fields (i.e., construction, manufacturing), but one of the factors is undoubtedly more women going to work. More women supporting themselves. And more women aspiring to the positions they once hoped to marry in the form of doctors, attorneys, authors, etc.

What does this mean for the dynamic of marriage and relationships? Does the idea of becoming the person we want to marry mean we will never marry? There has always been that theory that men are afraid of powerful women, because they feel independent women have no need for them. But is that such an awful thing? Wouldn’t it mean more to be in a relationship with someone who wants you rather than needs what you are?

Aside from what it means for men, what does it mean for women? Does it raise our expectations because we’ve realized what we can become and now we want a man who can keep up with us rather than hoping to be able to keep up with him? Perhaps, marriages now become mutual admiration societies rather than spousal worship.

These ideas are far from new. They’ve been at issue since the dawn of women’s movements. But they are new to me as I continue to navigate my own way in the work place and dating realm. I am in a position now where I’m witnessing the evolution of women I’ve graduated with. I’m seeing where their lives are headed and how their ambitions affect their relationships.

It’s interesting that many of those who settled into lives with marriages and families are less likely to do something about careers they aren’t happy with. Those who push themselves into positions they love are more likely to have stale if not non-existent romantic lives. Based on stories of online dating from my male friend’s perspective, many of the women in their late 20s and early 30s on Match and other sites are in prestigious positions or well on their way to obtaining those positions.

I’m not saying either path is wrong. I consider that those women who are able to find happiness in their families and marriages, but struggle professionally probably don’t need outside validation in the form of a successful career. And those who are satisfied with their careers maybe relish their independence. But do we really have to choose one or the other? Because that doesn’t seem like equality either. Why shouldn’t we have both?

Maybe many women do. Maybe it’s something that comes later in life. Perhaps it just takes time to get to where we want to be in our lives and some of us focus on the personal aspect first and relationships after we’ve laid the groundwork for our career. And those who settle into marriages early build a basis for a strong relationship before turning attention their careers. And maybe men are actually making the same choices. 

It’s hard to tell at this point as many of my peers are just beginning their careers and/or their marriages. I will be very interested to see where our chosen paths take us as our roles in the workplace and relationships continue to evolve. It seems Ms. Roiphe went on to enjoy both a successful career as a writer and a happy marriage with Dr. Herman Roiphe so perhaps we can bring home the bacon and eat our sweetcakes too.

The Anti-Valentine's Day

I couldn’t let Valentine’s pass without writing a blog, it’s pretty much expected. However, this one isn’t going to be the quintessential, bitter Valentine’s Day-is-complete-crap blog. I actually enjoy the holiday. It has never been associated with that much romance for me though. With the exception of a couple years, boyfriend or no, I celebrated the day with friends. Don’t get me wrong I’ve had some boyfriends who have made the day special for me in a lot of ways, but my most memorable ones had nothing to do with the romantic love that has come to be expected of the day.

In elementary it meant stuffing Valentines into boxes decorated with cut-out hearts, paper doilies and pink and red glitter. When junior high rolled around, I anticipated getting dressed up and going to awkward dances and socializing with my friends on the bleachers of the gym turned dance hall. While I was in high school I spent the day watching sappy chick flicks and eating junk food at Lindsey Schmidt’s house.

In most recent years, I’ve turned the day into a celebration of my girlfriends. We pamper ourselves, have a nice dinner together and enjoy a few drinks and great conversation at various bars around town. I’ve really come to look forward to getting dressed up and spending the day with vibrant women who impact my life. I don’t even feel that we do it to combat bitterness or loneliness; it’s just a good reason for us to add a little occasion to spending time with each other.

I’ve never really felt that my singleness is thrown in my face on this day. In fact, I don’t think it is anything less than a blessing at this point in my life. I am facing some major life changes and some great opportunities that I wouldn’t be able to take advantage of if I were tied down. I also wouldn’t have the confidence to push myself to take on these new challenges if it weren’t for some of the amazing women I call my friends. For that reason, it seems completely natural to celebrate with them this year. So, to all the women (and some men too ;-)) in my life who encourage and stand by me, Happy Valentine’s Day!

Opposing Teams

Supposedly men and women both want the same thing – to find someone to complete their happily ever after. I don’t buy it.

Maybe I’ve become too jaded, but lately I feel like men and women are on opposite teams when it comes to relationships. I get the impression that women are fighting as hard as they can to catch a man while men are fighting as hard as they can to not get caught. As for me, I don’t want to chase a man who doesn’t want to be caught (I apologize for this ridiculously awful analogy).

Dating has become so exhausting because, not only do I have to do the chasing, but I have to decipher the games. And, more often than not, the guy who is being chased is not at all worth the time and energy it takes to pin him down. I know I’m not the only person going through this either.

I see girls plotting and planning in order to get a guy to fall for them and commit to a relationship. But why do this? Do we really think that we will end up in a happy relationship if we somehow manage to convince the guy that he should be in a relationship with us?

My strategy from now is going to entail focusing on myself and my happiness. It’s cliché and overused advice for a reason, because it’s solid. The hopeless romantic in me believes that somewhere out there, there is a guy who actually wants to have a lasting healthy relationship and he wants to have it with me. But I’m not going to go looking for him.

Don't Hate the Pawns, Hate the Player

Why is it that as women we so often view other women as enemies? This is especially true when we fall prey to the manipulative games men play when seducing multiple women at once. I have seen this game played so expertly that the guy will have the women he is sleeping with all together in one place and not only do they not realize that they are all being used by the same man, but they will instantly turn on each other.

If these women had poured their energy into putting the guy in his place they could have been empowered rather than victimized. Now I’m not suggesting that we go to this extreme to teach a lesson, but we need to realize that hating other women is not going to get us the relationship we deserve.

I feel like deep down we are all intelligent enough to recognize that most women are not a threat. The women I know are caring individuals who appreciate and want to lift up other women, not tear them down. Why then, when it comes to men, are we so quick to attack each other? Is a man who pits us against one another, either purposefully or unwittingly, really worth the trouble?

I’m sure there are some women out there who have no qualms about attempting to steal a man away from his significant other, but I’m not convinced that these women are in the majority. In my opinion, however, even those women should not pose a threat if the man you are with is truly worth your time.

For The Women in My Life

If anything good has come out of the ups and downs of my romantic road, it would be the friendships that have been strengthened during the pitfalls along this path. No matter where I am in my life I have some truly amazing friends who will always be there to pick me up, dust me off and tell me he never deserved me. I have both male and female friends who fulfill this role but for the purposes of this blog my focus is going to be on those of the female persuasion.

I think, as women, we concern ourselves too often with our romantic relationships and don’t take the time to realize how incredibly blessed we are. We dwell on what we don’t have in our love lives and neglect to realize that there are people who have proven time and again that they will love us unconditionally.

Our relationships with our women friends are very unique in that these people know who we truly are. We don’t lie to try to impress or play games with each other. We can stand in front of these individuals completely naked and vulnerable and not have to worry that we will be judged. These people have seen us fall apart over lesser men, elated over amazing men and have outlasted each and every one of them.

There was a time in my life when I ended a relationship with a friend because of things that happened with a former boyfriend of mine; the details are irrelevant at this point. As time passed I continued to miss this friend long after the memories of the ex faded. I decided to rekindle the friendship and I am happy that I did. Regardless of the men who enter and leave my life, the people who stick, the ones who really matter are the women I have surrounded myself with throughout it all.