6 Reasons They Might Be The One

6 Reasons They Might Be The One

You know what they say, when you know you know. For the more oblivious suitor in all of us, below is a list I’ve comprised of no-brainer reasons that might indicate he or she is the one.

1. It doesn’t matter that you fight, it’s how you fight. Drunk parking lot brawls followed by verbal altercations were the highlight of my high school relationships and about as productive as the four day lemonade cleanse. If you find yourself less defensive with a partner and more open to coming out of an argument smarter and not just ‘right’ then there’s a good chance you will both fight fair in the future. A constructive dispute turned into a valuable lesson is a real testament to your respect towards one another and ability to power through conflict resolution. If you guys are good at the bad, the good will be even better.


2. I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. Bucket lists are for celebrities and retiree’s. Or so everyone assumes. If they allow you to write one, and join you in your admiration for the seemingly impossible, there’s no stopping a duo with a true passion for adventure. Anybody who coddles your sense of thrill is worth far more than just a one and done. Keep this type of person around forever. Take chances with each other when you’re young so that you can tell those epic stories when you’re old.


3. Get luckier than a box of charms. Every time you look at them it’s like getting the high score at ski ball and having the ticket machine malfunction to the point of endless rolls of winnings, and then when you go to cash-in, the person at the redemption counter is your friend from middle school and he needs to get rid of the rest of the cotton candy in the back. That’s what standing in front of them on your shittiest day should feel like. It feels like the sugar rush after a girl scout cookie binge. Or like sliding into a brand new pair of jeans. If winning their love makes you feel incredibly grateful, don’t stop til you get enough.



4. Embrace irony at every cross road. Maybe you guys have the same infrequently viewed youtube video in your list of favorites. Or maybe you say the same thing at the same time. A lot. Jinx. You owe them a coke. Or maybe, you owe them your future. Once is coincidence, twice is strange but more than that is totally fate. When you find yourself wondering if there is a possibility that you two knew each other in a different lifetime, maybe it’s smart to think about spending this one together as well.


5. Love me, lights out. Physically and emotionally we all have good days and bad. Sometimes those days are pieces of good decades counted in bad years. Or better mornings with significantly horrible nights. The fact of the matter is that life is a series of peaks and lull’s and the person who stays steady in their interest through every bump and curve is the only face you need to see at the end of that roller coaster. If you can look at your partner with the same adoration when they’re sick as you do when they’re glowing, you may have found yourself a keeper. Truthfully, if your worst still brings me to my knees, sign me up immediately.


6. Do what it takes, not what’s convenient. If the person in front of you is committed they will find ways, not excuses. This is the defining moment for ‘the one’. Because I feel that ultimately we may meet a couple of ‘the one’s’ in our lifetime, I put a lot of emphasis on dedication to a relationship in order to pin point longevity. You’re either in it together, or not at all. When they choose you everyday, you choose everyday with them. A person who is meant to be in your life will never let your connection slip through their fingers, no matter the extenuating circumstances or daunting obstacles.



When the above is true of anybody’s existence, the universe has handed you what maybe you didn’t even know you needed. The one. Don’t waste anymore time trying to figure out why it’s happening, just embrace the signs and jump right in.


The Flaws in our Logic 

The Flaws in our Logic 

The world will never devote itself to making you happy. It owes us nothing, cause frankly it was totally here first. It’s selfish and it’s cumbersome. It’s overcrowded with people who’s thoughts are not yours. There are bad losers and there are better losers, but one thing we all know for certain, none of us are going to survive. Ashes in an urn, bones in the ground, our destiny is all the same. The key is to remain emphatically undiminished while we circumvent the chaos and remind ourselves that there is passion in the search. There is beauty in the disaster.  

What I know of myself is my second biggest fear in life, the power to ask. What I try to remember is that it’s  silly to be afraid of not getting what you want, because you already aren’t. By not asking. Burn every single bridge in the selfishness of reason, fuck it…you’re not going back that way anyway. 

I hated my job of 8 years, so I quit it. The state I was born in made me restless, so I ditched it. He often times forgot to show me that he loved me, so I left him. Nothing in life is concrete if it doesn’t make you risk your entire story for the sake of its existence. Nobody is stuck in the confines of their own losses. They are only trapped in the exhaustion of their own mind. Repeatedly reminding themselves that progress is just another stepping stone to eminent failure. Buried in their own insecurities, gasping for someone else’s air. 

This is when I ask you to ask.

More questions, for help, to be educated, to find answers. I love being presented with a problem and asking “well what did they say when you asked?” “Uh, I dunno. I didn’t”. Those are the people who deserve nothing. Because without even the smallest risk, all you are asking for is to lose all potential for reward. 

I hate saying it, but I like [no]. It’s definitive and its responsive. Obviously I prefer the word [yes], but either way I’m not in limbo with my thoughts having either. What you want and what you get are only powered by making the world around you aware of your desires. Ultimately the source of all knowledge is in continuously bending other people’s truths. Pushing the limitations of their words; of their love. By asking questions and challenging logic nobody is set in their path from beginning to end.

Everytime I’m brought to a place of frustration by argument I know in the end I’ll have exactly what I needed; understanding. That’s not with everybody though, only the select few who require the same amount of knowledge to properly function. Some people are happy with mediocre, with being naive to the world. I’m privy to my need for more than basic human understanding. I don’t want to know that my seeds didn’t grow, I want to know why they didn’t and what I need to help them do so in the future. 
Be brave in your acquisitions. Be humble in your requirements. But never forget to stop asking for what you want. Think you can have it, and you will. What would you ask for if you knew the answer would be yes? 


Butterfly Effect.

Butterfly Effect.

My dashboard clock on my four door sedan is unusually tiny. It wasn’t until recently that I realized how much I liked it hidden behind the steering wheel, away from life’s uncanny ability to send a paralyzing fear down my spine with just the change of a minute. Like toilet paper, or a breath, the moment you run out of something with no preparation is the moment your world seeks desperately for understanding. Time often makes a mockery of my calculated plans, for it see’s exactly what I want and reminds me often that destiny is not, and will never be under my control.

I bet she never really wanted a second dog. But, as life would have it, he’s there and he’s always hungry. His shelter name was Bruce Wayne, so in an essence to keep with the theme she named him “Batman”. Since his arrival he’s had a penchant for gnawing on her work shoes. Not the whole pair, just one…deeming them unwearable. So, she threw on a pair that was questionable to walk in, but at least aesthetically appealing until she could get to the mall. The barely worn pumps beneath her feet caught the gas as she rear ended a fellow traffic goer coming off of the freeway exit. Of course the tail end of the pile up was not the kind of pedestrian that takes your plate numbers and insurance and lets you off easy. He called the police and they showed up at the site of the accident. As the officer inspected the scene for damages, he finds her suspended license on record due to a series of poor decisions on her drive home from Mexico this past summer. Mandatory court appearance and nothing less. Five weeks later, she sluggishly opened the doors to the Starbucks across from the courtroom. After all, her girlfriend’s birthday was the night before and she was running on three hours of sleep. As she grabbed for a coffee stirrer, he reaches for the same straw and they touch for the first time, but as fate would have it, not the last. Thank you Batman.

Life is essentially just a string of trivial events that subsequently lead us to the end of our minutes. What most of us fail to absorb is every minute for what each is worth and how important they are to the final objective. If there was any reluctance in purchasing a shoe-hungry black lab days before the freeway accident, maybe she would have been wearing the proper shoes to brake. And what if her license was never suspended because she never went to Mexico because of weather? She wouldn’t be at the Starbucks across from the courtroom. And what if her best friends birthday wasn’t the night before? Maybe she wouldn’t have been tired enough to need a coffee. Which means,  she wouldn’t be grabbing for the same straw he was. And she may never have gotten the opportunity to know him.

You see, every single thing you do matters. If it’s said that the flutter of a butterfly’s tiny wing can essentially cause a typhoon half way across the globe, then every thought you have, every move you make, ultimately creates your destiny. Small, seemingly insignificant facts unlived are capable of changing the entire outcome of your story. And nobody stops to think that in knowing that, life is a thousand times easier to understand because there is literally no sense in trying to understand it. If you sneeze today, and wear blue tomorrow you may have just missed your chance at having a child. That’s life.

Our lives are defined by opportunity, even the one’s we miss. And I’ll be the first to admit, I miss a lot of them. I think about that when I find myself indifferent about timing. Despite infinite potential, he tells me he’s just passing through. That this state is just a stop and I’m just a quick connection in an over populated terminal. Even if the possibility has it’s limits of justification, I know what it’s like to lose a moment out of fear that any amount of time with him, wouldn’t be long enough. Like when I’m late for something and I’m staring at the clock, worried about the time, wasting my time on looking at the time as it literally slips away. Losing it all in my own anxiety. That’s what falling for him feels like.

Everything difficult seems impossible until it’s actually done. When you look back and you see the series of events that led you to knowing better; living better, you’ll realize that no action, be it great or small is useless. A mere second can change your life forever. Don’t ever doubt that. Time is our greatest enemy, but the miniscule minutes that count down pivotal moments are our most sought after gifts.


Leap Year

Leap Year

Don’t wait for me.

Trust me, I wont.

I woke up to an orange and pink sunrise. It reminded me of the drinks I used to order back home on the beach if I was looking to get black out drunk and sleep in my car. The colors of the Colorado sky took me from a nostalgic feeling of utter depression to a moment of complete clarity. I went to bed painfully and emotionally exhausted. More confused than ever before. But, as luck would have it, I woke up to try another day, another beautiful way.

It’s February 29th. Every four years we are granted with an extra day. How are you making use of these additional hours? Today is a day I wasn’t promised last year, and I almost utilized it’s existence this round to sulk. I can’t blame myself though, I’m pretty bummed that my life is becoming the definition of insanity. A repetition of the same scenarios that I can’t resolve so I essentially just absorb them and repeat the cycle, ultimately expecting different results each time. I know for a fact that when he says ‘it isn’t you’, that there’s no way it’s not. But, what if it isn’t me? Who’s gonna fix this?

I live in a city of quitters. Denver is where people go when life gets too hard. We are a melting pot of broken; a dumping ground for disconnect. I however, can’t get on board with the constant reminders that nobody is capable of anything remotely difficult. Like, following their dreams. Or living financially independent. Or my recent favorite, knowing what you want and not back pedaling when you find it. I’m not stupid. I know I can’t really fix anybody, but at this rate it feels like we all have our insecurities and I’ve just gotta swing for the fences when I get thrown a semi-decent ball.  That’s absurd right? Keep your standards high and your heels higher? Well, I’m tall. And tired. Just throw me something I won’t strike out on.

I used to think emotionally unavailable men was an Orange County thing, part of the reason I left. And then I blamed it on my generation. Now I don’t know who to pass the torch to anymore. Everyone I meet in life is so god damned misinformed on how to treat others, or how to treat themselves that I feel like I was basically born to babysit. So, listen up kids…this is how it’s gonna work:

You meet. You have similar interests. You find each other attractive. You treasure the ease of your togetherness. You steadily move in a direction that would benefit you both mutually. You choose monogamy. You bask in some happiness. You travel a lot. You make memories. You start a life together. You raise a family. You die complete. The end.

Note that there are no asterisks in the above situation. There’s no “we went to bed angry and woke up stuck”. Or, “but after the family was raised he cheated on me profusely because he hated the way I needed him to love me”. Or ” and then he stopped talking to me because he was too scared to feel”. Dating is not for the weak of heart, but it’s the only fucking tunnel to love we have. So, prior to giving up at every bump in the road, maybe hold on to the idea that the easiest things in life are usually the least fulfilling. By nature, nobody will ever fall in love at first sight. And if you did, good for you, but it’s probably because you had a baby and you were forced into some sort of bond that was theoretically impossible to break. Or maybe you’re in that one percentile of people who didn’t ever have to deal with the pain of heartbreak because they fell in love with their boyfriend from third grade and married him in college. If only we could all be so lucky.

Speaking of luck, I’m pretty lucky that I got an extra day this month. To rearrange my thoughts on paper before March came marching down the calendar. I’m also pretty lucky that most men’s response to me is “you’re amazing I’m just not ready” instead of “you’re kind of a bitch and you smell weird”. I think I’m a catch. I exude confidence and intelligence. I provide men with space, but also adoration. I’d like to think that my biggest challenge is being totally prepared unlike the rest of the population. But where do I go from here? Quit my job, roll a fatty and question all of my feelings? I’d so regretfully be willing to bet that might score me the relationship I’ve been looking for.

Shoo fly, don’t bother me.

Shoo fly, don’t bother me.

I’ll never understand revenge. I think about it. I’ve committed it. I’ve regretted it.

I’ve literally witnessed people sell their souls for a feel-good moment of karma, and you know who always wins? The asshole. Want to know why? Cause honey badgers don’t give a fuck. Like this. Tell me, what part of the brain is so incapable of forgiveness that it short circuits and violently unleashes a wrath of insanity upon unsuspecting patrons? Is it the synapse between needing to level the playing field and being socially inept?  Or is it at the base of the cerebral cortex where your insecurities run wild?

head explodes

I get it. Misery loves company. But, you know who loves company more? Happy people. Go do that. We’ve gotta stop stomping our immature feet with anger about situations we can’t control. Nobody in their right mind gives a shit about our sadness. The people we want to care are probably the same people who got us there. Your best bet is getting out of it with integrity intact and dodging any opportunities that might bring you back. Like, I dunno…finding yourself outside of their house, next to their car, with a carton of eggs, a packet of bologna and a face mask. (I’ve only been on the receiving end of a bologna paint peel once, and let me tell you, there’s no type of revenge quite like turning a brand new car into a twister mat). Anyways, don’t do that. None of that. Problem solved.


Comfort is arguably the true culprit. And it always brings us back to a place where we’re making the same mistakes but expecting different results; the true definition of insanity. I watch grown men and women fall back into routines that are literal set ups for retaliation. You know why? Because you can’t bring someone down, until you’ve brought them back up.  I can smell the premeditation as they strive for the upper hand. And when they fail, all they have left is revenge.

You can’t leave me, I have to leave you.

My heart hurts, I want yours to, too.

I have nothing, so you aren’t allowed to have anything.

It’s not always tit for tat in the game of love. You win some, you lose some. And at the end of the day, do what’s right and let the rest go peacefully. The biggest struggle this dating scene has ever presented me was coming to terms with unforeseen closure and not wanting to MURDER every person who selfishly didn’t give that to me. Those unanswered questions always brought me to a place of hatred, and where there was anger, there were words. When those words didn’t cut deep enough, there were actions. And so on. Revenge left me nowhere but at the crossroads of guilt and regret. When I didn’t get a response, not even a blink out of the administrator of my pain, I was farther behind on the journey to forgiveness than I’d ever thought possible. And he was light years ahead, dismissing of my mere existence. Had I chosen acceptance, I’d have chosen a much quicker road to satisfaction. But, as you all know acceptance is a tough pill to swallow. And frankly, I’m all out of water.

This Side of Rejection

This Side of Rejection

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

~ Maya Angelou

       Most of the shadows of my internal darkness are caused by blocking out my own sunshine. Its hard to admit it guys, but I have a dirty habit of settling. There he is, my future, waiting patiently in the fields of utter perfection, and I’m over here on the corner of “Just” and “Love me” finding ways to justify the negativity in my life. My track record of men I’ve spent longer than a week tolerating screams something is sadly missing. It’s come to the point where it’s almost impossible not to feel hopelessly devoted at the mere mention of long term interest. Genuine needs fall by the wayside in the beginning and I find myself forgetting what’s truly important in a partner. Until compatibility comes knocking and I’m standing at the door with more questions than answers.

News Flash: there is more to a relationship than just being in love. There’s security and there’s pride. There are similar interests and way more moments of happiness than those troubling instances of doubt. But sometimes, when he’s holding your hand and telling you how beautiful your unmade face is, the sensitivity overshadows all of the concerns, and you’re whisked away to a land of make-believe. And it’s in those moments folks, that futures go to die.

My two week love affair is obsolete.  Happy birthday to me, right? I have a request for a last minute present and it goes as follows:  I want his heart to heal quicker than it took me to break it. (Which was a two minute convo via text, cause I was admitably too exhausted from overthinking the break up to make the phone call) Mark my words, the pain of my own punishment is far worse than dealing with any outsider’s rejection. Mostly, because I know that good people deserve answers (despite wanting to hear them)and at the end of the day I was never one to leave a story untold. He’s not going to thank me for breaking his heart, but I hope sooner rather than later he realizes that painful losses are often times the most sought after lessons.

For a while I was happy to know that someone out there wanted to get to know me as much as I want to get to know them, even if I already knew it was for nothing. I guess you could say I gave it the “good ol’ college try”. It took me years to learn, but there are significant similarities that need to be aligned to foresee a stable future with someone, and I know my place in each of them so well that it’s absurd to most that I’m able to make decisions so quickly. Obvious incompatibilities are a dead give away in the game of love. And yet, we dance around them like children hoping to be swept away by instant gratification.  I’m rambling, again. I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want to defend my decision. Not for him, and especially not for myself. Because it’s my decision and there’s no explanation to how my soul chooses to find it’s mate. I am plain and simple on a journey directed by pure intentions with the same goal as every one around me, to love and to be loved in return.

Needless to say, this round was mine for the loss. I kind of set myself up for failure because I took his adoration for me and I used it to fuel the parts of him I wasn’t ready to accept. Plain and simple, he wasn’t a match. Not his fault, and not mine. If you had asked me a decade ago, I would have dated his face off, because hellllo…lust. At twenty two years-young I’d allow three months of euphoria to be followed up by eight months of irritation and a month of recovery. That’s a whole year wasted on ignoring life’s red flags. But, at the end of the day it still pains me to say goodbye to a person who would have done just about anything to make me happy. Something that honestly was never his job in the first place. You have to wonder if this will be the last time you’ll get an opportunity, if the grass is really any greener on the other side? If it’s not any greener,than I’m honestly still content knowing that I didn’t settle for doubt. I am committed to the desire to find someone to fit into a life I’ve created for myself and I won’t take any less as an option. If it takes me an entire lifetime to find what I’m looking for then I’ll see you on the other side, the other side of rejection.




Numbers don’t lie. Your age, your weight, the number of sexual partners you’ve encountered; concrete evidence of experience. Be it days, or dinners or the need for instant gratification, with every addition to the count how happy are you?

Abstinence. I thought it was that green liquor that made you hallucinate fairies. Turns out, our generation barely knows the definition because we live in fear of what it might say for our character. To most, there are two reasons why a person might not engage in sexual intercourse. The involuntary repercussions of either being unattractive…or a loser. I get it, people don’t always get it because they can’t always get it…but what if the people with the brains and the beauty held out for something a little more meaningful than a night under the sheets with someone they barely have anything in common with? What if  just a few more people with the actual option practiced restraint from indulging in promiscuity? Mind. Blown.

I met a gentleman who’s purity was not evident. He looked like the kind of guy who broke hearts and etched notches on his bed post often. But, after making him feel comfortable enough to admit to a stranger of his venture from social norms he confessed that sex was not on his agenda, not now…and frankly maybe not ever. After the initial shock of rejection (internalized that little mystery right quick) I realized this wasn’t something he decided within the first half hour of knowing me. It had nothing to do with me, nor would it ever.  It was a journey that most of us scared adults would never bring to fruition and he was living it everyday. I had a million questions. Why now? Why not ten years ago? When does it end? What makes for an exception? How bad do your balls hurt? He answered everything with an honest and open heart, reminding me that he, like most people, doesn’t need physical intimacy to develop a deep and everlasting connection.

*insert line about testing the car before you drive it off the lot* *insert eye roll* *insert vomit* *insert hanging self* Every time I think about holding off, about retracting the gift of my body for the pure ecstasy of a strangers validation I hear the men in my life reminding me that they would never put a ring on a finger that hasn’t felt the warmth of their irresponsible shaft. This personal decision is tough enough without the added concern that I won’t find a single man forgiving of my decision.  As if my ratio of eligible suitors wasn’t at an all time low, now I want to find someone who understands core values and doesn’t laugh in my face when I tell him I won’t blow him in the parking lot. Here we go.

Sex. I understand the want, but lately I’ve been questioning the need. It’s a fine line, the one between keeping someone with potential from fleeing and giving some asshat off the street a quick orgasm.  I think it’s time to start leaving people better than we find them and psychologically there’s nothing at the bottom of an empty one night stand besides guilt and regret. There in lies the power to wait. The power to give less, but essentially hand our generation so much more. You don’t have to be the one to say no, but somebody has to. If I don’t, then she won’t, and then he won’t see the need for it either. And then we all just fuck each other into some std ridden empty abyss of lost souls and angry lovers.

That’s why this year, I choose abstinence. Not due to religious affiliation. Or health concerns. Certainly not because it’s trendy, or helpful. I am a product of everything I internalize and self love is not felt in my moments of sexual desperation. I hate everything about the moment I wake up next to someone who hasn’t even asked me my last name. Sex is easy. Intercourse is fun. Diving into someone’s fears, dreams and aspirations before I get to that part is difficult and scary. But in the end it will only intensify my admiration for the person who was meant to have me for the rest of our lives. They say, do things in full or not at all, but I am conscious of the difficulty of the task at hand and am not afraid to do it partially.  Because I have freely chosen to take on what I think only statistically 3 percent of our world’s population is successful at, I’ll accept a low grade on this project just as long as I learn how to “fast” appropriately. #joinme

Sidepiece Situations

Sidepiece Situations

I gave him a ringtone that was loud and obnoxious because if he ever called it would be in the middle of the night and only in an emergency. After all, he was a father now. I hadn’t thought about him in weeks; our small talk was always smaller talk than I could entertain purposefully. But I shot him a text before bed requesting some much needed attention amidst my dating failures.  The ellipses floated there with no response. He wanted to, he just couldn’t. The routine was pretty predictable. If it was any consolation I always knew he would call once he was out of the state on business. When he was finally away from her, and her insanely life draining insecurities.

“Kiss me, k-k-kiss me, infect me with your love and fill me with your poison, hate me ha-ha-hate me wanna be you victim, ready for abduc-” blared from under my pillow. His contact photo always brought me back to a younger love.

Before the beard. Before the bullshit. Before the baby.

I sent it to voicemail. Just text me dude, it’s 3 am and I’m only one level of consciousness away from a coma. Declining him was easy, because my needs were met by the serenity of my pillow. Plus, I knew we’d chat in a better mindset, after the sun had risen. Or so I had thought. With my wishes far from being respected, Katy Perry’s encore of E.T. jolted me awake.

“It’s late, Chad. What’s up?”

“Listen you stupid bitch, stop contacting my boyfriend, he wants nothing to do with you, you fucking stalker. If you text him again I will call the police.”

“I’m sorry? *giggle* Who is this?”

It clicked. She sounded young. And ugly. Not that you can tell a persons physical appearance by their tone, but the way she breathed into the call sent me a visual of a putred exterior. I hung up. Mouth hanging open in shock. Did my ex’s current girlfriend just call me a stalker? Did this pubescent psychopath just accuse me of harassing her family? You send a couple of friendly texts and the wrath of Satan is spawned. Holy ball and chain, batman.

She called again. I picked up in anticipation for the ability to unleash.

“*expletives and mumbling about me ‘getting my own family’ quickly drowned by a whole bunch of tears and the suggestion for me to kill myself*”

That’s cute. I remember my first boyfriend.

I had to hang up again. I felt horrible laughing at her while she formulated mindless threats in a senseless rage. I wondered at what age a woman can be certain some twenty-something isn’t going to call her from [not-her-phone] to bitch about a whole slew of made up scenarios in her tiny fucked up head. The answer is: never. Side note, we aren’t even in the same state, and I wouldn’t sleep with your boyfriend again if he paid me in gold. So, why don’t you calm your tits, and take up your concerns with the person who lied to you and not a stranger in a call log? I’ve never even met you before, which means there’s zero chance in hell I’ve made any promises to you I haven’t kept.

It took everything in me to not find a way to peel the wool from her childish eyes. Let’s not forget who ruined his and I’s relationship just over a year ago. You, bitch. You pissed on a stick while I went ring shopping. Remember playing that little game of entrapment the second you found out our love was greater than yours?  If ever there was a more grandiose display of Karma, it was now. Your “family” has been and will always be just a sad little fairytale involving an unwanted baby and a father who spends most of his nights asking if I still love him. He will block me to appease you for now, but I’ll catch him in my email inbox in the next forty eight. Because when you bring nothing but drama to the table, don’t be surprised when everybody gets up and leaves.



This feeling. 

This feeling. 

Not everything lasts forever. 

Your favorite movie. The rain shower passing your thirsty lawn. Hitting your funny bone. Being out of breath. The moment somebody gets you

Sometimes people come into our lives to remind us that we as humans were meant for extremes. To be extremely satisfied, or absolutely devastated. Either way, the moment is ours for the feeling.  

Admit it. You like the way bad feels as long as it’s tickling the numbness of your every day life. Ask the heroin addicts. The sex feigns. The abused children. It may not be right, but wrong is attentive and prosperous. It gives life meaning because it urges us to be engulfed in an emotion. And when we know pain, we immediately understand pleasure. 

Love hard, or never at all. Nobody I know said that, so I can’t quote them, but I live by it like its some god damn art piece on my Pinterest wall. Some people are going to keep you on track and others will unsuspectingly throw you completely off course. But they arrived, and they were there, and they made you feel. How crazy would we be to not give it every ounce of our being in return? I cant seem to underestimate the power of giving love it’s full potential. No matter what round I’m in. 

There’s something to be said about tragedy, be it big or small. I don’t know that I’d know love if I hadn’t ever lost it. And I wouldn’t understand utter despair until I’d fallen hopelessly in an unconditional intimacy. 

I want to be inspired to expand. To be challenged to revisit any reasons I’m not able to do so over the course of my days here on earth. I want to go to terrible places. And find myself in moments where the rest of the world doesn’t have the strength to break in. I never want to lose the gift of feeling, let it drain me of my happiness and ache down to my core.  All of this with someone I connect with on the same level, someone who is as sure of the ups as we’ve found ourselves down. 

The irony is that I’ve had him. And I’ve lost it. And I’ve refound him again. And I can’t seem to escape what the universe thinks I deserve. It drives me wild with anticipation and carries me to new depths of passion. I let it have its way with me, because my darkest hours are filled with unforgettable enlightenment. In those brightly lit moments of self awareness I see him and I’ve fallen in love with the sight of his perfect fucking soul. 

But nothing lasts forever. Or so it seems. Not even him, in my wildest dreams. 

Delete. delete. DELETE.

Delete. delete. DELETE.

This will sound as bad as it feels.

Tonight I deleted all of my dating apps. 

I feel naked, and lost. For too long I’ve become emotionally dependent on the highs and the lows. The highs being so unbelievably high I could barely consider the possibility of accomplishing them through fate alone. And the lows, they were painful. I made them all translucent for the world to read.  Despite how empty my bank accounts were, how lonely my heart felt, I always had the guarantee of a wink, a match or a message to keep my ego fulfilled. 

I trusted these sites with my happiness; each of them running in the background of my insecurities since December of 2014. After a year of not being able to come to terms with answers as to why I couldn’t make a plethora of options become a single priority, I give up. 

The only thing keeping me from feeling absolutely helpless is knowing that I’ve grown into a woman who can do this on her own. (And also into a woman who can just as easily re-download them again) 

But I won’t. I give up on the unnatural availability to have any man I may never meet. I give up on the feeling I get when I mirror the possibility that you’re practicing the same inappropriate dating tactics as I. I give up on people forgetting that pictures are of people and people have feelings. I am giving up on fake and crossing my fingers for real

Real isn’t going to present itself to me in social media form. It won’t make me feel insecure, because our faces won’t be plastered for the world to know we’re “looking”. It won’t make me feel rushed, or unappreciated. I won’t be a number, or a profile, I’ll be a once in a lifetime silhouette to an unsuspecting gaze. 

Aside from a one handed push up, this will be the hardest thing I’ve tackled in 2015. Essentially, I’ve had men at my fingertips every god damn day for the entirety of the year. Going from 80 to 0 is like braking on ice…scary and full of  “oh shit what have I done’s”. Time to be at one with my loneliness and take to a good book instead of perusing for my next tear jerker. Emphasis on jerk. Since those are the only assholes who make profiles these days anyway. 

*I bet some of you are wondering how I will maintain a dating blog without any site references. The truth is I’ll probably revisit them in the new year. But this is a break I so desperately need going into 2016. Feel free to guest blog in my dating absence and prompt me with any non-dating related topics that are also part of life’s little lessons. 



You’re two hours deep into a Cheesecake Factory appetizer rendezvous when the booth gets silent with a pause. You’ve rearranged your straw wrapper into shreds of confetti. You’ve reached your allotted two drink maximum, but continue to discuss every fun drink name on the specialty menu. You’ve been to the bathroom twice. He’s certain you for sure have the stomach flu. That, or the sweat on your brow is just your body’s way of begging you to not bring up any of those topics that always get you in trouble.  Let’s be real, awkward silence’s are about as much fun as rape. I know, I know…that’s  quite the comparison, but the irony is in the acronym.





I’ve been on a few dates where I hit all of these straight out of the gate. Spoiler alert: it’s hard to split a check with a hot headed republican who’s busy pulling up photos of his 2014 Christian summer camp fling. I never like to say never, but never has not making this a never, ever helped me not hate the person in front of me. Even when they agree with my political rant, or religious affiliation, we always get to that one topic that makes me want to pull their genitals through a meat tenderizer.

I read the bible once. Solid read. But this isn’t a book club, and I’m not prepared to discuss the testament I prefer with someone who probably takes the whole thing a lot more seriously than me. I’m struggling to ‘love thy neighbor’ when my neighbor, Pastor Tinder wants to know what church our child will be baptized in before I’ve even found out his astrological sign. Side note: I put the whore in horoscopes. I care more about if you are a Scorpio than a Buddhist.  For myself, religion is a spiritual experience that I practice in private and not on your pedestal of judgment.


The only way to make the conversation more awkward than the silence it sits in is to bring up killing something. Avoiding extremes at all costs will keep things light which is exactly what a recent date didn’t do when he asked what I would do if  he accidentally got me pregnant. Way to back me into the pro-abortion corner with one swift push moron. First of all, who said I’m letting you get close enough to scramble these eggs? Secondly, everyone knows men have no say in anything involving our bodies so needing to know my view on this is basically like holding a gun to my faux-pregnant stomach and asking if you’re allowed to pull the trigger. Neither of our opinions on abortion are relevant for a first date.


My views of the world are confusing enough without having to defend them in a partisan political rant of epic proportions. Hearing an opposing perspective is enlightening when you know the person weighing in on the issues, but when a stranger rolls his or her eyes at the party you’ve chosen, well…go fuck yourself.  Hell hath no fury like a woman critiqued. I’ll inquire about your political convictions when I love you enough to tell you you’re wrong. Or maybe you’re totally right. But either way, lets not hold hands at the voting polls just yet. The only thing I’m holding is faith that our values will guide us to each other despite our political foundation.


Men, your last girlfriend is not a representation of your penis size. Whipping out the busty waitress you snapchatted for a month does not impress me. In fact avoiding your ex partner like the plague is something you might want to do not only in life, but in all first date discussions. I had a guy flat out tell me he cheated on his last girlfriend before my water even got a lemon. Cool, so much to look forward to! I get it, it’s tough to not want to establish some sort of “lesson learned” to a potential partner, but your mistakes are your mistakes to grow from, not re narrate like a bad romance novel. If you need to rehash unresolved emotions, seek therapy not Plenty of Fish.


Dating etiquette is subjective. I’ve tested a fart joke on a man in a tie before, and things went really well for the reminder of the evening. I’d say most topics are pretty safe if you just gauge your audience, but the reality of it is, some things you can’t unhear and just like that, all of your potential is snuffed to smoke. Harness your impulses and stick to things like travel, movies, and where you see yourself in five years. Spill your guts when you can trust them with life’s really big confessions.




Guest Blog: She Wants to see the Social D..

Guest Blog: She Wants to see the Social D..

By Billy Bautista

We now live in an age where communication is as instant as sexual gratification. Emojis alone are statistically responsible for half of the online hookups that transpire everyday. A combination of social media evolving into the robust intertwined network of both third cousins and the waitress you tongued from IHOP has put us all in a habit of relying on our smartphones to connect us to anything and anyone quickly. Be it answers to trivia, directions to a motel 6 in Fresno, or what kind of meat selection do I have within a five mile radius, Tinder? Swipe. 2015 means access. To information. To profiles. 

Welcome to Instagram. It’s your phone. Showing you hundreds of thousands of strangers that you might never meet. Or can you? Since this is an exposé write up of sorts, I don’t mind sharing data for the common good. I’ve dated a dozen or so women from Instagram..in 2015.. This month…
Therein lies the problem. Like anything fed without regard or limits, ease of access allows us to be spoiled. I consider myself a gentleman and raised accordingly. Growing up with both catholic and Spanish roots albeit in an Asian island means being infused with every flavor of expectation a man should have when it comes to traditional courting. And while I’m not out to trade a flock of sheep for a lady’s hand in marriage, I can at least say that my mother raised a nice boy and my father raised a good man. Integrate that with a visual output – a channel where your audience gets a constant view of your assets, your gentleman traits, and alluring photos of a fast paced life in far off places, Instagram suddenly becomes a version of eBay for the dating community where likes and comments become bids for tonight’s man of the hour. 
The same goes for women. In a visual world, our eyes speak our minds and translate our appetites. So is it obvious why hot girls on Instagram have a shit ton of followers?! There is no room for judgment though. Even your average television viewer is guilty of the same habits. We watch what we want. We eat what we want. We date who we want. We do what we want. We are the world’s bastion for selfless pursuits and excess everything. We are the pillars of lust and trendsetters in desire. We are sexy pizza eaters with flawless selfies…at the right angle. We are our car, our tragic hairstyles, our job, our entourage, or whatever aspect of our lives we choose to glorify on the internet. If your dating life can be googled with a single hashtag, maybe it’s time to retreat to the Midwest and just get back to girls that want you because you’re a good Cali dude. Ahem *self advice*

It’s a plethora of things. Excuses that is. For why my dating life can be considered both a seriously grand success and epic fail. My standards are somewhat flawed but I’m also super jaded. I know by the first date if I hate someone. The irony of that is you can’t really know love till you know hate (more on that later, young padawans). My profession allows for too much travel and being constantly surrounded by beautiful women. I’m lucky. But dating is hard. Like I said, it goes both ways. I never know who to trust. Who wants to date me and why. That’s just the frosting layer of my issues cake. Ladies have it harder I think. Kind of a cruel cycle if you ask me. Guys will go to what they’re attracted to. Most ladies usually meet creepers both on and offline as their creeper agendas are usually penis to vag related. It’s a sick game really. But this is who we are and what we’ve become. Like my status. Poke my face. Sext me. Facetime me naked. Wash, rinse, repeat. Might as well be good at it. Which reminds me, I totally DM’d this chick a selfie and an eggplant emoji. Looks like another night of #billyproblems #netflixandchill #datenight #TARYNDOWNMYBALLS

I Like The Sound You Make When You Shut Up.

I Like The Sound You Make When You Shut Up.

As luck would have it, I’ve found a way to dig my own grave at every corner of love. There are more holes in the ground than notches on my bed post, and I have nobody to blame but my mouth. I’m a self proclaimed, and often labeled “over-thinker”. If you’re anything like me you think, and you think and you think yourself into scenarios that are fictitious and absurd. Only once in a blue moon do you save yourself from a true monstrosity.  Keep your damn thoughts and questions to yourself, and maybe you won’t scare them ALL away, princess.

“Just sit there and look pretty”; offensive but necessary. The less you and I pry for information the easier it will be to go with said flow. I don’t need to know if you’re looking for a relationship before our dates over. Didn’t my mother ever teach me that actions speak louder than words? Well if my heart has anything to say about it, they don’t. Some men are so good at walking the walk these days that you’re in for a treat when he stops talking to you even after a million displays of affection. I’ve trial-and-error’d just about every thing possible to say after getting home from a first date and this is a list of the top four “open-mouth-insert-foot” moments:

“Are you looking for more than just a hook up?”-  Nice, make him insecure about his physical attraction to you. This wins you a trip to never-touching-you-againville. Nobody likes to feel like a slut, not even sluts. So by insinuating that their interest is only that of the sexual kind, implies that they’ve done something, well…wrong. Either way, you’re going to get an answer you don’t want. Because if he says no, you’re just going to ask him if he’s sure until he admits that it’s natural for him to want sex because he’s human…and if he says yes, you’re gonna think he’s a slime ball. Nobody wins this question round. Steer clear of this at all costs and look for signs instead.

“Do you like me?”- Pump the breaks. He doesn’t know if he likes you because he literally just met you. Most normal people like to experience the Jekel and the Hyde before they verbally assure anyone that they find you suitable as a partner. Never ask a man if he likes you, if he likes you he will show it…you will know it, and it’s going to bother him if you need that kind of grade school reassurance. If he doesn’t call, doesn’t ask you out again, doesn’t text you after the date, as the movie is titled…he’s just not that into you. And no, he doesn’t like you.

“When can I see you again?”- I used to think of this as romantic, and as time went on, I found it to be a bit overbearing. Life happens, and you need to let it so that whatever this generation’s need for immediate acceptance is, can be put to rest by unplanned moments. I wish I wasn’t so anxious about getting off of one date just to find out when the next one is, but these days if you don’t make a plan, he’s gonna make one with the next girl on his list. It’s sad, but we just have to remember that if we are good enough, they won’t want to look any further.

Are you the relationship type?- There is a strong chance that this makes you look like you ask everyone this question. Like you want to know if anybody, good or bad, wants to be your boyfriend. Relationship ‘types’ will shine through. Asking him if this is what he is looking for is almost like asking him if that’s what he wants right now. And that’s creepy. This question is better left for date five, if you can make it there.

It’s not adorable to be this deplorable. Any guy who get’s a text or phone call with these questions is automatically re-thinking his interest no matter how well the first date went. Ironically, you thinking too much has now made him think just a little bit more about a future together. Take my advice and just shut, shut, shut your mouth.

Drowning In Your Own Fear

Drowning In Your Own Fear

I write a blog about dating. Supposedly, I know exactly what I’m supposed to do and when to do it. Potential has a way of essentially staring me in the god damn face while I shit the bed. Figuratively, I’m not that disgusting. 

Why am I so overwhelmed by the idea that something might actually work? Am I exactly what these men are afraid of; a perpetual vicious cycle of ruins? Often I’m asked if I think discussing commitment troubles in an open forum is the very cause of my troubles all together. And every time I answer no…like I know there’s no way on God’s green earth that my openness is closing me off to people who can’t communicate the same way I do. That’s ridiculous, being too open? Don’t be silly. 

What I should say is, maybe. Maybe it is possible that this is all just a little too much. That blogging is just the safety net I’ve always wanted to be able to fall back on when nothing else seems to make sense. That for every awful, painful, ridiculous moment I’m appalled by, comes a story. Maybe failure is consistent with my need for more? Maybe needing more is why I’m turning up less? Maybe the more I blog, the less chances I’ll have? 

Last weekend I was left at the bar. (There’s a first time for everything right?) Initially I thought he was going to the bathroom, but he never returned. I should have guessed. I could feel myself pushing him away as he critiqued my hobbies as a blogger. Asking me question after question about my article’s intentions, like he would ever even be the star of one. Well, he got what he wanted, spotlight on mr-walk-away. Cameron the social studies teacher, who I found awkward and unattractive, walked out on our date because I’m not “private enough”. 

I get it. It’s not for everybody. But this guy had an irrational fear of public announcements about fights we might have as a non existent couple. Give me a break. He stood there with his Judge Judy eyes glaring directly into my dreams and aspirations without a hint of responsibility for himself. I think Cameron was the last to find out not everything is about Cameron. Ugh. Maybe, when all is said and done I’ll write a book about how good it feels to fall in love with one of you some day. Because, after all, I’m not a total monster. But thanks for letting your fear of striking out keep you from even playing the game. 

Side note: Totally ran into said guy who went to the bathroom and never returned at the next bar I stopped at that evening. He was chatting up what looked to be an old male trivia night pal while I went home with a way more attractive, attentive and personable man. Karma is a real bitch. A bigger one than I’ll ever be. Chalking this one up as a win. 

He Would Do Anything For Love, But He Won’t Do That

He Would Do Anything For Love, But He Won’t Do That

I wish I knew what it was that Meatloaf wouldn’t do. I think we all have our guesses. I feel like if he was anything like the men I know, he would do anything for love…except, oh you know, put a ring on it, move in together and start a family. Every month, as the lining of my uterus sheds from my body and my insides violently erupt into a warzone of hormones, I’m reminded yet again that I have not been given the gift of life. Or that I still don’t have a man who sees a future with me. Or that I’m basically running out of god damn time. It’s the proverbial period to a highly anticipated “sentence”. Pun fully intended.


In 28 years I’ve never had a pregnancy scare. (At least one that I didn’t drink myself out of unknowingly. Kidding, sort of)  I’m not statistically certain if that’s even something to feel accomplished about, but hey I feel like a winner. Sometimes I wonder if that means in the event that I do find a viable suitor to bake my beans, will I even be able to bare child? I guess I shouldn’t worry about that until I plow through step 1 of this process: meet a guy who wants to reproduce. Step 1A: meet a guy who will even talk about it.

In between taboo topics at the awkward table, I find three types of men emerge during the “Do you want kids?” conversation:

1.The Already-a-dad’s: These are the men who’s early twenties were just a string of mistakes that ended in two jobs. One to pay for child support and the other to pay for not paying for child support. They usually feel like it wouldn’t be fair to have their already ten year old and the child you want to conceive be so far apart in age. Got it. My future child being born into a financially and mentally stable home would be silly because you’re busy picking out which one of your daughter’s friends you can bang in less than a decade? You know, it wouldn’t be a horrible idea to try this whole kid thing within the confines of a healthy situation. He usually doesn’t want to hear it. Being thrown into fatherhood at an early age typically disinterests them no matter how good you look in a moomoo.

2. The Absolutely Not’s: Selfish Steve doesn’t want to give up his freedom for the sake of anyone carrying on his name. He could care less if he was the last male on earth, he’s not giving up his night’s out with the boys to change a dirty diaper, ever. I always smirk and shake my head at this type because at one point when you’re 80 and widowed, saddened by all of your fallen friends, you’re going to wish you sprayed your spunk all over the world. Who’s going to visit you in your nursing home? Who’s going to tell the story about that time you shot your pinky toe off with a semi automatic in your backyard on New Year’s? Kids are your legacy, and you’re too busy getting drunk at 30 to realize how important family may ever be in the future. This type is the kind I think just needs a few more years to brew. I’ve gotten to them too soon.

3.The Undecided: I let this guy slide from about 18-27 :serious face: I realize that as a man, by nature you can conceive every day for the rest of your life, but I’ve got less years than I do fingers to make this work before my options are depleted. So, “undecided” is not a drop down you’re gonna be able to choose in this menu buddy. When I ask you “do you want kids” I’m not looking to fertilize my eggs on the restaurant table. I just want to know if you fit in my fairytale or if I’m going to have to find eighteen other reasons you’d be worth not starting a family with. Spoiler alert: there aren’t any.

Babies are little assholes. I’d have to be clinically insane to want to invite anymore of that bullshit into my already chaotic life. But it’s what I want, and I refuse to be with someone who doesn’t at least think about the idea of being a parent alongside me. What good are we in ten years if not to at least give someone the gift of my vibrant personality and your dashing good looks? We’d be fools not to. We may not have the money, the patience, or the skills, but all we need is two people who agree to raise a tiny human into a productive member of society. Or at least the next Justin Bieber. Mama needs a comfortable nursing home.