Don't Worry About The Past: It's Not The Direction You're Heading
I’ve been having a bit of a rough time lately. Jobs, school, money, family, and a boy: these are the factors that take up most of the real estate in my brain. You know, the usual. Luckily 2014 has already been substantially better than 2013, even though a pretty painful bombshell has been recently dropped (if you know me, you know what it was. If you don’t, just assume it wasn’t fun). But despite all of the recent garbage I’ve had to wade through, I can feel myself growing stronger every day, and coming from me, that speaks volumes. I would also like to preface the rest of this article by saying that I have been absurdly privileged in my life, and I know that. However, no matter how great your life appears from the outside, we all have the right to be sad once in a while.
My first instinct when things aren’t going too well is usually to engage in some sort of self-destructive behaviour: vodka, smoking, obsessing over my food intake, and more vodka. Unfortunately, these are the byproducts of my stress and anxiety, and I’m working on that. I used to get myself to life’s bottom line and could sum it up in three words: life’s not fair.
We all have our problems. I feel disgustingly guilty when I complain about boy issues to a friend who has experienced true loss and tragedy. This friend is an enormous inspiration to me: she has gone through something that I would have crippled me had I been the one to experience it. Her words of wisdom are extremely positive, despite being overwhelmingly deserving of being negative. Just yesterday, through both of our wine induced tears, she said to me “everything happens for a reason.” I understand that everything is relative, but if she can say that, I have no reason not to.
I’ve learned something over the past little while: we all have the ability to get through anything. There is nothing a human being cannot move past. ‘One day at a time’ is a crucial life motto that we should all be adopting, myself especially.
To have someone you love removed from your life with zero control over the situation, it’s so easy to lie down and die. But when you have no choice but to move on, it’s really in your best interest to do so with a positive spin, because feeling shitty in a shitty situation with a shitty attitude isn’t a good look for anyone. Take comfort in the fact that there’s nowhere to go but up.
The world hasn’t stopped turning, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating. Proving to yourself that you are stronger than you thought is a high I would recommend to anyone.
I now have three new words that I consider to be life’s bottom line:
Life goes on.
I’ve been having a bit of a rough time lately. Jobs, school, money, family, and a boy: these are the factors that take up most of the real estate in my brain. You know, the usual. Luckily 2014 has already been substantially better than 2013, even though a pretty painful bombshell has been recently dropped (if you know me, you know what it was. If you don’t, just assume it wasn’t fun). But despite all of the recent garbage I’ve had to wade through, I can feel myself growing stronger every day, and coming from me, that speaks volumes. I would also like to preface the rest of this article by saying that I have been absurdly privileged in my life, and I know that. However, no matter how great your life appears from the outside, we all have the right to be sad once in a while.
My first instinct when things aren’t going too well is usually to engage in some sort of self-destructive behaviour: vodka, smoking, obsessing over my food intake, and more vodka. Unfortunately, these are the byproducts of my stress and anxiety, and I’m working on that. I used to get myself to life’s bottom line and could sum it up in three words: life’s not fair.
We all have our problems. I feel disgustingly guilty when I complain about boy issues to a friend who has experienced true loss and tragedy. This friend is an enormous inspiration to me: she has gone through something that I would have crippled me had I been the one to experience it. Her words of wisdom are extremely positive, despite being overwhelmingly deserving of being negative. Just yesterday, through both of our wine induced tears, she said to me “everything happens for a reason.” I understand that everything is relative, but if she can say that, I have no reason not to.
I’ve learned something over the past little while: we all have the ability to get through anything. There is nothing a human being cannot move past. ‘One day at a time’ is a crucial life motto that we should all be adopting, myself especially.
To have someone you love removed from your life with zero control over the situation, it’s so easy to lie down and die. But when you have no choice but to move on, it’s really in your best interest to do so with a positive spin, because feeling shitty in a shitty situation with a shitty attitude isn’t a good look for anyone. Take comfort in the fact that there’s nowhere to go but up.
The world hasn’t stopped turning, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating. Proving to yourself that you are stronger than you thought is a high I would recommend to anyone.
I now have three new words that I consider to be life’s bottom line:
Life goes on.
Why Girls Just Need To Be Nicer To Each Other
While home for the holidays, my friends and I all take advantage of the fact that we’re all in the same city, and make an effort to get together. This evening I’m going for dinner with my oldest girl friends, and I’m really looking forward to it. Apart from being excited to catch up with old friends, I’m really looking forward to the idea of having some girl time. After spending a majority of my holiday thus far playing video games and drinking beer with my dad and brother (don’t get me wrong: it’s one of my favourite things to do), I’m sincerely looking forward to having someone genuinely compliment my outfit and listen to me bitch about my love life.
I always cringe when I hear a girl claim they “have mostly guy friends” because they “just don’t like girls!”
…what?! How has this become okay? I would be very interested to know at what point it became not only acceptable, but desirable to be a girl who has no fellow vaginal comrades. Now, I will admit that I have definitely played the “I’m just one of the guys” card; but I am pleading (no – insisting) that we put it back in the deck!
Yes: for a long time I bragged about how I get along much better with guys, and that I “can’t stand girls”, but that is largely for two reasons: #1 it’s not that I don’t like girls, it’s that I don’t like people, and stemming from that is reason #2: I’m kind of a huge bitch. However, I also matured and left this attitude back in my early twenties, along with wearing glue-in extensions and funneling Malibu Rum: it’s just not good for your soul.
In my experience hanging out with guys, I learned a few things: guys don’t badmouth each other, and guys have the ability to treat girls like absolute shit and brag about it (and if you claim otherwise you’re delusional). Both of these points are relevant: if guys have managed to figure out there’s no sense being friends with someone you badmouth the shit out of on a regular basis why the hell haven’t we, and secondly, girls deal with enough shit from the opposite sex, so we don’t need to facilitate that by participating in the girl-hate.
Anyone who really knows me will probably read this and think: “Alex, you are the most anti-female person around! You took a feminist film class at university and made fun of it constantly!” To which I would respond, “…yes, that’s true.” However, if I can manage to see the error of my ways, anyone can.
Girls are incredible creatures: we’re smart, confident and beautiful (and even if we are none of those things, we make damn sure the world thinks we are anyway). We women have not only managed to contribute substantially to the medical, artistic and political realms of history, but we simultaneously perfected the perfect cat-eye eyeliner flick, and we did it in 6-inch heels, God dammit!
Yes, females as a collective have a tendency to make it exceptionally easy for everyone to make fun of us (if you don’t believe me, take a look at one of those Shit Girls Say videos. They’re bang on). But regardless, I think we have to start accepting one another despite all of our idiosyncrasies, complexities and downfalls. If another girl doesn’t have your back, who the hell does? There is no stronger sense of solidarity than syncing your cycles and shoveling chocolate and vodka into your face while bawling to A Walk To Remember.
Am I right?!
While home for the holidays, my friends and I all take advantage of the fact that we’re all in the same city, and make an effort to get together. This evening I’m going for dinner with my oldest girl friends, and I’m really looking forward to it. Apart from being excited to catch up with old friends, I’m really looking forward to the idea of having some girl time. After spending a majority of my holiday thus far playing video games and drinking beer with my dad and brother (don’t get me wrong: it’s one of my favourite things to do), I’m sincerely looking forward to having someone genuinely compliment my outfit and listen to me bitch about my love life.
I always cringe when I hear a girl claim they “have mostly guy friends” because they “just don’t like girls!”
…what?! How has this become okay? I would be very interested to know at what point it became not only acceptable, but desirable to be a girl who has no fellow vaginal comrades. Now, I will admit that I have definitely played the “I’m just one of the guys” card; but I am pleading (no – insisting) that we put it back in the deck!
Yes: for a long time I bragged about how I get along much better with guys, and that I “can’t stand girls”, but that is largely for two reasons: #1 it’s not that I don’t like girls, it’s that I don’t like people, and stemming from that is reason #2: I’m kind of a huge bitch. However, I also matured and left this attitude back in my early twenties, along with wearing glue-in extensions and funneling Malibu Rum: it’s just not good for your soul.
In my experience hanging out with guys, I learned a few things: guys don’t badmouth each other, and guys have the ability to treat girls like absolute shit and brag about it (and if you claim otherwise you’re delusional). Both of these points are relevant: if guys have managed to figure out there’s no sense being friends with someone you badmouth the shit out of on a regular basis why the hell haven’t we, and secondly, girls deal with enough shit from the opposite sex, so we don’t need to facilitate that by participating in the girl-hate.
Anyone who really knows me will probably read this and think: “Alex, you are the most anti-female person around! You took a feminist film class at university and made fun of it constantly!” To which I would respond, “…yes, that’s true.” However, if I can manage to see the error of my ways, anyone can.
Girls are incredible creatures: we’re smart, confident and beautiful (and even if we are none of those things, we make damn sure the world thinks we are anyway). We women have not only managed to contribute substantially to the medical, artistic and political realms of history, but we simultaneously perfected the perfect cat-eye eyeliner flick, and we did it in 6-inch heels, God dammit!
Yes, females as a collective have a tendency to make it exceptionally easy for everyone to make fun of us (if you don’t believe me, take a look at one of those Shit Girls Say videos. They’re bang on). But regardless, I think we have to start accepting one another despite all of our idiosyncrasies, complexities and downfalls. If another girl doesn’t have your back, who the hell does? There is no stronger sense of solidarity than syncing your cycles and shoveling chocolate and vodka into your face while bawling to A Walk To Remember.
Am I right?!
My Two Week Stint Dating a Celebrity
We all fantasize about dating famous people: they’re hot, rich, good-looking, have a lot of money, have pretty faces, their bodies are sculpted out of marble, they’re hot and they’re rich.
After briefly dating a moderately famous actor this past summer, I quickly discovered dating way way up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fun, but not all it’s cracked up to be.
Oh, and I’m not going to tell you who it was, because it would make me grossly uncomfortable.
I met him at a bar while he was living in Toronto shooting a TV show. He is ridiculously good-looking, so clearly I was going to go out with him, despite having met him in a bar, because normally I hate doing that. But hey, it’s made a fantastic story.
Just to preface the rest of the story, I 100% knew what the parameters of the situation were: he’s famous, primarily lives in LA, and is likely enjoying the fact that he can basically get any girl he wants. I was by no means expecting it to go past a first night out, let alone a second date-y type date. I was simply enjoying the ride.
We texted non-stop for about a week after we met, trying to set up a day to go out, but our schedules kept conflicting (I wanted to seem busy. Hint: I wasn’t). But he would also send cutesy texts like “Good morning, beautiful”, and would end basically every message with a smiley face (note: not a winking face, but a smiley face. Trust me, girls understand why that’s different).
Finally, at about 11 o’clock one Friday night, he invites me out to meet up with him and his friends at a bar. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten ready/shaved as fast as I did at that moment. I was also on the verge of throwing up from anxiety the entire time. About 5 minutes away from the bar, I texted him and told him I was almost there, and to meet me outside, to which he responded “My friend will be out to get you”. I showed up to a bar with a line up down the street, so I waited by the door anxiously chain smoking. I have to admit, I felt pretty cool.
His friend emerged and took me inside, and brought me over to his table. I’m pretty sure he literally turned around in slow motion, and a choir of angels may or may not have been singing while it happened. He greeted me with a kiss and said “Hey babe!”
I died.
The entire night there were countless girls coming up to him asking for pictures, and he graciously obliged every time. I was in awe of how sweet he was to the extremely irritating fans. It amazed me how quickly I grew tired of our conversation being interrupted, but I obviously felt pretty great about the situation at the same time. Whenever a girl would drunkenly come up to us, tits up to her chin in some skin tight dress and slur about how big of a fan she was, he would always engage, but kept his arm firmly around my waist the entire time. He had this amazing way of making me feel like I was the only girl there he was interested in getting attention from. Eventually we left this obnoxious bar and went somewhere a little less populated with idiots. Obviously, he paid for everything, and obviously I ended up completely hammered. He was clearly charmed by how hilarious and nonchalant I was; at one point one of his friends said “I like her!”, to which he replied “I do too.”
I died again.
At the end of the night, we obviously ended up back at his place (hey, I was dying to see what his apartment was like). It was ridiculously nice, but really empty and cold. No, I’m not deeply assessing his psyche – it was fucking freezing in there. There was also an actual garbage bag full of about $500 in change. I kid you not: I have laid eyes on a literal garbage bag full of money. We clearly ate in different cafeterias.
The sex was pretty standard, which was a relief, because I wasn’t interested in having any “I’m into this really weird shit because I’m a celebrity and no one has told me it’s weird” sex. The clearest, and most favourable memory was marvelling at his stellar body: I’ve never in my life been impressed by a man’s ass other than at that moment. But actually, it was ridiculous. I didn’t want to look directly at it, for fear of blinding myself. The next morning I had to get up early, so I left, and he was super texty the next couple of days, which I was pretty into. But I was also confused, since I assumed I would just never hear from him again.
He took me to a movie a few days later, and it was such an adorable, high school, holding hands in the theatre type date. He was super affectionate, and sweet and funny, and I was pretty into it. But again, it was odd, since I was assuming I was going to be a one (two?) night stand, and was completely okay with that. We stayed at his place again that night, but once we got back to his place it was a little different. He was ever so slightly less sweet than before (not not sweet, just less sweet), and as soon as he started mentioning that he would be leaving Toronto soon I immediately thought, “Okay, there it is!”. I left the next morning, kissed him goodbye, and that was that.
I figured I wouldn’t be seeing him again, and I was cool with it. We lived two completely different lives, and even in some hypothetical scenario where it worked out, neither of us should be expected to change our lives so drastically as to make it work. I also don’t know if I would be able to become okay with our picture being taken constantly, or our inevitable break up popping up in some magazine.
After recently telling this story to a new friend, she said this:
“He treated you like a princess, and was unbelievably sweet to you. If this was a story about some random guy you met, it would be a great story. But it also happens to be [his name].” After thinking about that for a minute, I realized that not only had I acquired a great story about a really hot/nice guy who took me on an adorable few dates, but I also acquired a great story about a really hot/nice/famous guy who took me on an adorable few dates. The whole thing was such a confidence boost.
I just don’t understand why he tried so hard. I would have slept with him regardless.
We all fantasize about dating famous people: they’re hot, rich, good-looking, have a lot of money, have pretty faces, their bodies are sculpted out of marble, they’re hot and they’re rich.
After briefly dating a moderately famous actor this past summer, I quickly discovered dating way way up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fun, but not all it’s cracked up to be.
Oh, and I’m not going to tell you who it was, because it would make me grossly uncomfortable.
I met him at a bar while he was living in Toronto shooting a TV show. He is ridiculously good-looking, so clearly I was going to go out with him, despite having met him in a bar, because normally I hate doing that. But hey, it’s made a fantastic story.
Just to preface the rest of the story, I 100% knew what the parameters of the situation were: he’s famous, primarily lives in LA, and is likely enjoying the fact that he can basically get any girl he wants. I was by no means expecting it to go past a first night out, let alone a second date-y type date. I was simply enjoying the ride.
We texted non-stop for about a week after we met, trying to set up a day to go out, but our schedules kept conflicting (I wanted to seem busy. Hint: I wasn’t). But he would also send cutesy texts like “Good morning, beautiful”, and would end basically every message with a smiley face (note: not a winking face, but a smiley face. Trust me, girls understand why that’s different).
Finally, at about 11 o’clock one Friday night, he invites me out to meet up with him and his friends at a bar. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten ready/shaved as fast as I did at that moment. I was also on the verge of throwing up from anxiety the entire time. About 5 minutes away from the bar, I texted him and told him I was almost there, and to meet me outside, to which he responded “My friend will be out to get you”. I showed up to a bar with a line up down the street, so I waited by the door anxiously chain smoking. I have to admit, I felt pretty cool.
His friend emerged and took me inside, and brought me over to his table. I’m pretty sure he literally turned around in slow motion, and a choir of angels may or may not have been singing while it happened. He greeted me with a kiss and said “Hey babe!”
I died.
The entire night there were countless girls coming up to him asking for pictures, and he graciously obliged every time. I was in awe of how sweet he was to the extremely irritating fans. It amazed me how quickly I grew tired of our conversation being interrupted, but I obviously felt pretty great about the situation at the same time. Whenever a girl would drunkenly come up to us, tits up to her chin in some skin tight dress and slur about how big of a fan she was, he would always engage, but kept his arm firmly around my waist the entire time. He had this amazing way of making me feel like I was the only girl there he was interested in getting attention from. Eventually we left this obnoxious bar and went somewhere a little less populated with idiots. Obviously, he paid for everything, and obviously I ended up completely hammered. He was clearly charmed by how hilarious and nonchalant I was; at one point one of his friends said “I like her!”, to which he replied “I do too.”
I died again.
At the end of the night, we obviously ended up back at his place (hey, I was dying to see what his apartment was like). It was ridiculously nice, but really empty and cold. No, I’m not deeply assessing his psyche – it was fucking freezing in there. There was also an actual garbage bag full of about $500 in change. I kid you not: I have laid eyes on a literal garbage bag full of money. We clearly ate in different cafeterias.
The sex was pretty standard, which was a relief, because I wasn’t interested in having any “I’m into this really weird shit because I’m a celebrity and no one has told me it’s weird” sex. The clearest, and most favourable memory was marvelling at his stellar body: I’ve never in my life been impressed by a man’s ass other than at that moment. But actually, it was ridiculous. I didn’t want to look directly at it, for fear of blinding myself. The next morning I had to get up early, so I left, and he was super texty the next couple of days, which I was pretty into. But I was also confused, since I assumed I would just never hear from him again.
He took me to a movie a few days later, and it was such an adorable, high school, holding hands in the theatre type date. He was super affectionate, and sweet and funny, and I was pretty into it. But again, it was odd, since I was assuming I was going to be a one (two?) night stand, and was completely okay with that. We stayed at his place again that night, but once we got back to his place it was a little different. He was ever so slightly less sweet than before (not not sweet, just less sweet), and as soon as he started mentioning that he would be leaving Toronto soon I immediately thought, “Okay, there it is!”. I left the next morning, kissed him goodbye, and that was that.
I figured I wouldn’t be seeing him again, and I was cool with it. We lived two completely different lives, and even in some hypothetical scenario where it worked out, neither of us should be expected to change our lives so drastically as to make it work. I also don’t know if I would be able to become okay with our picture being taken constantly, or our inevitable break up popping up in some magazine.
After recently telling this story to a new friend, she said this:
“He treated you like a princess, and was unbelievably sweet to you. If this was a story about some random guy you met, it would be a great story. But it also happens to be [his name].” After thinking about that for a minute, I realized that not only had I acquired a great story about a really hot/nice guy who took me on an adorable few dates, but I also acquired a great story about a really hot/nice/famous guy who took me on an adorable few dates. The whole thing was such a confidence boost.
I just don’t understand why he tried so hard. I would have slept with him regardless.
Versace Pre-Fall 2014
I am officially obsessed. It’s rare I see a collection where I adore every single piece, but this is some sort of witch craft. The studs and furs are the perfect amount of edge, contrasted with monochromatic outfits.
Stunning stunning stunning.
I am officially obsessed. It’s rare I see a collection where I adore every single piece, but this is some sort of witch craft. The studs and furs are the perfect amount of edge, contrasted with monochromatic outfits.
Stunning stunning stunning.
Read Receipts, The Accidental Double-Tap, and Other Technological Kisses Of Death
As if it wasn’t hard enough to date in the twenty-first century, we also need to date under the watchful eyes of the internet. There are a number of specific elements that make this process even more unsavory: you can’t hide anything you do without leaving some sort of mark in the shape of a little check mark, heart or thumbs up.
Read Receipts:
For those of you who aren’t sure what a read receipt is, it is that devastating check mark or time stamp that lets you know that yes, they did indeed not only receive your message, but they have read it. The various statuses of this message delivery system (sent, delivered, and read) can let you know precisely just how long you are being ignored. I’m not sure who would ever elect to leave their read receipts on, especially since on an iPhone you have the option of turning them off, but there are a number of apps and other means of messaging where read receipts are forced upon you whether you like it or not (Facebook being the number one example of this). Why is this a necessary function?! Why does someone, somewhere feel the need to impose this very stressful cardinal decision on us: to read, or not to read. However, I can’t decide which is more irritating: someone reading your message and not responding, or giving you the dreaded one-word answer. Maybe texting should be rendered illegal in all relationships, as it is clearly substantially detrimental to all of our psyches.
The Dreaded Accidental Double-Tap:
I myself do not have Instagram, but whenever I’m navigating someone else’s account on their phones, they instruct me to be careful not to double-tap any photos. When I first heard the phrase “the accidental double-tap” I assumed it was some sort of weird sex thing I didn’t want any part of. Once I realized what it in fact was, I immediately understood the severity of the situation. Similar to the process of accidentally “liking” something of yesteryear, the new tell tale sign of shameless lurking is unintentionally leaving a trail of “likes”, or “favourites”, which is basically an enormous sign that says “Yes, I was in fact looking at pictures of you from 2005”. One slip of the finger, and suddenly you’re arbitrarily also approving of the fact that this person “Just got home from the gym LOL” so as to make it seem like you are slightly less of a creep. Only slightly.
“In a Relationship With ___”:
This element of Facebook wasn’t designed with the intention of ruining lives, I’m sure. And for most couples, this is a subtle yet lovely way to show their 435 friends that they have something to do on a Saturday night. However, there are a few types of couples where the relationship status function is the equivalent to a gossipy aunt. One type of couple that this function is unhelpful to is the are-they-or-aren’t-they couple that everyone has on their list. These two break up and get back together every other week, and luckily you’re privy to this information because the most powerful way to demonstrate their love/hate for each other is to have, or not have, the other’s name on their page.
Another couple who are foiled by the benign nature of the relationship status is the technologically challenged/absent couple. These two start dating, yet one of them doesn’t go online enough to notice that they are set to single, leaving their partner with an awkwardly pending “In a Relationship” moniker, as opposed to the desired “In a Relationship With”. Not helpful.
The Three-Dot Bubble, and Other Typing Indicators:
Nothing is more exciting than texting the object of your desire, and instantly receiving an indication that this person is responding. Unless, of course, said indicator vanishes without the satisfaction of a response. Then you’re left thinking maybe one of our phones is malfunctioning! Maybe they’ve responded, but I haven’t received it, and now they thinkI’m ignoring them! Maybe they’re one of those sadistic sub-humans who write an entire text and forget to press send! Or maybe they accidentally hit a letter or two in the text box, and now I’m left feeling clinically insane. If I see that little three-dot bubble, I expect a text, dammit!
Basically, technology isn’t doing us any favours, despite our thoughts to the contrary. Technology is essentially just your tattletale little sister who decides to rat you out for reading your girlfriend’s message and not caring that she just ate 13 pieces of sushi, or for lurking your ex’s tagged photos until 3am after drinking 6 glasses of wine. I’d like to minimize the extent to which the people in my life are aware of my all-seeing all-knowing online presence, thank you very much!
As if it wasn’t hard enough to date in the twenty-first century, we also need to date under the watchful eyes of the internet. There are a number of specific elements that make this process even more unsavory: you can’t hide anything you do without leaving some sort of mark in the shape of a little check mark, heart or thumbs up.
Read Receipts:
For those of you who aren’t sure what a read receipt is, it is that devastating check mark or time stamp that lets you know that yes, they did indeed not only receive your message, but they have read it. The various statuses of this message delivery system (sent, delivered, and read) can let you know precisely just how long you are being ignored. I’m not sure who would ever elect to leave their read receipts on, especially since on an iPhone you have the option of turning them off, but there are a number of apps and other means of messaging where read receipts are forced upon you whether you like it or not (Facebook being the number one example of this). Why is this a necessary function?! Why does someone, somewhere feel the need to impose this very stressful cardinal decision on us: to read, or not to read. However, I can’t decide which is more irritating: someone reading your message and not responding, or giving you the dreaded one-word answer. Maybe texting should be rendered illegal in all relationships, as it is clearly substantially detrimental to all of our psyches.
The Dreaded Accidental Double-Tap:
I myself do not have Instagram, but whenever I’m navigating someone else’s account on their phones, they instruct me to be careful not to double-tap any photos. When I first heard the phrase “the accidental double-tap” I assumed it was some sort of weird sex thing I didn’t want any part of. Once I realized what it in fact was, I immediately understood the severity of the situation. Similar to the process of accidentally “liking” something of yesteryear, the new tell tale sign of shameless lurking is unintentionally leaving a trail of “likes”, or “favourites”, which is basically an enormous sign that says “Yes, I was in fact looking at pictures of you from 2005”. One slip of the finger, and suddenly you’re arbitrarily also approving of the fact that this person “Just got home from the gym LOL” so as to make it seem like you are slightly less of a creep. Only slightly.
“In a Relationship With ___”:
This element of Facebook wasn’t designed with the intention of ruining lives, I’m sure. And for most couples, this is a subtle yet lovely way to show their 435 friends that they have something to do on a Saturday night. However, there are a few types of couples where the relationship status function is the equivalent to a gossipy aunt. One type of couple that this function is unhelpful to is the are-they-or-aren’t-they couple that everyone has on their list. These two break up and get back together every other week, and luckily you’re privy to this information because the most powerful way to demonstrate their love/hate for each other is to have, or not have, the other’s name on their page.
Another couple who are foiled by the benign nature of the relationship status is the technologically challenged/absent couple. These two start dating, yet one of them doesn’t go online enough to notice that they are set to single, leaving their partner with an awkwardly pending “In a Relationship” moniker, as opposed to the desired “In a Relationship With”. Not helpful.
The Three-Dot Bubble, and Other Typing Indicators:
Nothing is more exciting than texting the object of your desire, and instantly receiving an indication that this person is responding. Unless, of course, said indicator vanishes without the satisfaction of a response. Then you’re left thinking maybe one of our phones is malfunctioning! Maybe they’ve responded, but I haven’t received it, and now they thinkI’m ignoring them! Maybe they’re one of those sadistic sub-humans who write an entire text and forget to press send! Or maybe they accidentally hit a letter or two in the text box, and now I’m left feeling clinically insane. If I see that little three-dot bubble, I expect a text, dammit!
Basically, technology isn’t doing us any favours, despite our thoughts to the contrary. Technology is essentially just your tattletale little sister who decides to rat you out for reading your girlfriend’s message and not caring that she just ate 13 pieces of sushi, or for lurking your ex’s tagged photos until 3am after drinking 6 glasses of wine. I’d like to minimize the extent to which the people in my life are aware of my all-seeing all-knowing online presence, thank you very much!
Jean Paul Gaultier Spring 2014 RTW
UMM CAN WE JUST FOR ONE MINUTE, JPG!!! Thank you. I adore this man. That last dress: I die.
UMM CAN WE JUST FOR ONE MINUTE, JPG!!! Thank you. I adore this man. That last dress: I die.
Why Dating In Your Twenties Is An Utter Nightmare
I wouldn’t wish being 24 on anyone: it’s an age wrought with complete confusion, desperation, irresponsibility, raging hormones and being completely broke. The only thing worse than being in your early to mid twenties is being in your early to mid twenties in the dating world.
We all have to jitter our way through our twenties eventually, and my only hope is to make it out fairly unscathed. That hasn’t quite been the case thus far, so as I approach turning 25 in a month and a half, I am praying the latter half of this decade is (slightly) less of a vodka-induced haze with a side of heartbreak.
Not only have I endured my own dating nightmares, I also have the pleasure of being the resident pseudo-psychiatrist amongst my group of friends, which allows me to experience by proxy the horrors I haven’t had the pleasure of weathering. Along the way I have managed to compile a small but valuable collection of knowledge about the complete chaos that is the dating world.
I will dispense this information now.
Cheating is entirely a reflection on the cheater, not you.
One of my best friends has had the misfortune of dating some complete slugs, a few of which have cheated on her. Every time this happens, she feels like complete shit about herself (naturally), and every time it happens I reassure her that this is in no way because she isn’t good enough. This particular friend is some sort of ethereal goddess: long flowing blonde hair, immaculate Mad Men-worthy curves, a university education and a well-paying job she loves. She literally has men stop her on the street to tell her she’s beautiful (and they aren’t always complete creeps, either!). While it’s obvious that these factors matter not to a cheater, it simply proves my point. He wasn’t cheating because you aren’t good enough: he’s cheating because he isn’t good enough.
No relationship is better than a bad relationship.
While it’s easier to stay in a comfortable, familiar situation, it is neverever worth it if you are unhappy. Most of my friends are getting to the stage where they are either shedding their first serious relationship, or getting married. I myself ended a five-year relationship last year that began when I was about 18, and it was the best decision I ever made (luckily he is still one of my best friends). Not only was I miserable every single day, but I stopped liking the person that I was when we were together. He treated me like a queen, but it was no longer fulfilling (for either of us), and we’ve both been extremely happy since it ended. There’s nothing worse than resenting the person you’re with simply because you were both too scared to face the alternative: being alone (gasp!).
Which brings me to my next point:
Being single doesn’t equal being alone.
Nothing frustrates me more than hearing fellow twenty-somethings say they fear being alone. Well, obviously everyone fears being alone, but those are two completely separate meanings of the word. The alternative to being in a relationship isn’t being imprisoned in a dark, non-descript room with no contact with the outside world: THAT is being alone. Not having a partner is not the same thing (duh!). You have plenty of friends and family who love you, and they can help you fill whatever void has been left from the elimination of a romantic partner, until you discover a new conquest. Frankly, I’m substantially more social and busy now that I’m single! When you’re dating someone, you tend to stay in together on Friday nights, alienating your group of friends. I never felt more isolated than I did when I was living with my boyfriend (and we lived in a 300 square foot bachelor apartment: trust me, I was never ever alone).
The grass is always greener.
Another of my very best friends got married this past year to her high school sweetheart, and they recently announced they are expecting. They have been together for seven years, and I’ve honestly rarely encountered couples that are as happy as these two (I love them!). I look at them occasionally and sigh as I recount my endless awkward and unpleasant dating ventures and wish I had what they had. But at the same time, I could have had what they have (remember that five year long relationship I was in?). When you’re single and looking, all you see are happy, cutesy, cuddly relationships. But when you’re spoken for, all you see are free-spirited sex gods and goddesses running through fields of flowers, having casual sex with lingerie models or David Beckham lookalikes (whatever you’re into). There will always be someone you envy, and there will always be something that forces you to question your relationship decisions. Look at what you have and remember why it makes you happy (and if you realize that it doesn’t, move on).
I’m pretty confident that I still have a lot to learn about love and relationships (and I’ve mostly come to that conclusion because when it comes to my own love life I am utterly clueless), but I am also confident that navigating my way through the remainder of my twenties won’t be nearly as rocky as the last four years. Or at least, I’m praying it’s not…for my own sanity’s sake.
I wouldn’t wish being 24 on anyone: it’s an age wrought with complete confusion, desperation, irresponsibility, raging hormones and being completely broke. The only thing worse than being in your early to mid twenties is being in your early to mid twenties in the dating world.
We all have to jitter our way through our twenties eventually, and my only hope is to make it out fairly unscathed. That hasn’t quite been the case thus far, so as I approach turning 25 in a month and a half, I am praying the latter half of this decade is (slightly) less of a vodka-induced haze with a side of heartbreak.
Not only have I endured my own dating nightmares, I also have the pleasure of being the resident pseudo-psychiatrist amongst my group of friends, which allows me to experience by proxy the horrors I haven’t had the pleasure of weathering. Along the way I have managed to compile a small but valuable collection of knowledge about the complete chaos that is the dating world.
I will dispense this information now.
Cheating is entirely a reflection on the cheater, not you.
One of my best friends has had the misfortune of dating some complete slugs, a few of which have cheated on her. Every time this happens, she feels like complete shit about herself (naturally), and every time it happens I reassure her that this is in no way because she isn’t good enough. This particular friend is some sort of ethereal goddess: long flowing blonde hair, immaculate Mad Men-worthy curves, a university education and a well-paying job she loves. She literally has men stop her on the street to tell her she’s beautiful (and they aren’t always complete creeps, either!). While it’s obvious that these factors matter not to a cheater, it simply proves my point. He wasn’t cheating because you aren’t good enough: he’s cheating because he isn’t good enough.
No relationship is better than a bad relationship.
While it’s easier to stay in a comfortable, familiar situation, it is neverever worth it if you are unhappy. Most of my friends are getting to the stage where they are either shedding their first serious relationship, or getting married. I myself ended a five-year relationship last year that began when I was about 18, and it was the best decision I ever made (luckily he is still one of my best friends). Not only was I miserable every single day, but I stopped liking the person that I was when we were together. He treated me like a queen, but it was no longer fulfilling (for either of us), and we’ve both been extremely happy since it ended. There’s nothing worse than resenting the person you’re with simply because you were both too scared to face the alternative: being alone (gasp!).
Which brings me to my next point:
Being single doesn’t equal being alone.
Nothing frustrates me more than hearing fellow twenty-somethings say they fear being alone. Well, obviously everyone fears being alone, but those are two completely separate meanings of the word. The alternative to being in a relationship isn’t being imprisoned in a dark, non-descript room with no contact with the outside world: THAT is being alone. Not having a partner is not the same thing (duh!). You have plenty of friends and family who love you, and they can help you fill whatever void has been left from the elimination of a romantic partner, until you discover a new conquest. Frankly, I’m substantially more social and busy now that I’m single! When you’re dating someone, you tend to stay in together on Friday nights, alienating your group of friends. I never felt more isolated than I did when I was living with my boyfriend (and we lived in a 300 square foot bachelor apartment: trust me, I was never ever alone).
The grass is always greener.
Another of my very best friends got married this past year to her high school sweetheart, and they recently announced they are expecting. They have been together for seven years, and I’ve honestly rarely encountered couples that are as happy as these two (I love them!). I look at them occasionally and sigh as I recount my endless awkward and unpleasant dating ventures and wish I had what they had. But at the same time, I could have had what they have (remember that five year long relationship I was in?). When you’re single and looking, all you see are happy, cutesy, cuddly relationships. But when you’re spoken for, all you see are free-spirited sex gods and goddesses running through fields of flowers, having casual sex with lingerie models or David Beckham lookalikes (whatever you’re into). There will always be someone you envy, and there will always be something that forces you to question your relationship decisions. Look at what you have and remember why it makes you happy (and if you realize that it doesn’t, move on).
I’m pretty confident that I still have a lot to learn about love and relationships (and I’ve mostly come to that conclusion because when it comes to my own love life I am utterly clueless), but I am also confident that navigating my way through the remainder of my twenties won’t be nearly as rocky as the last four years. Or at least, I’m praying it’s not…for my own sanity’s sake.
Rag & Bone pre-fall 2014
Super simple, black and white. Love the lace and mesh. I’m in.
Super simple, black and white. Love the lace and mesh. I’m in.
Marchesa Spring 2014 RTW
I am obsessed with the perfection that is Marchesa. So ultra feminine and delicate: literally granting the wishes of all of our 4 year old Fairy Princess selves. They can literally do no wrong.
I am obsessed with the perfection that is Marchesa. So ultra feminine and delicate: literally granting the wishes of all of our 4 year old Fairy Princess selves. They can literally do no wrong.
Elie Saab, S/S 2014
Absolutely obsessed with Elie Saab S/S 2014. Literally ethereal
Absolutely obsessed with Elie Saab S/S 2014. Literally ethereal