Some Day My Prince Will Come....

We are taught as little girls that love is easy. And perfect.

image courtesy of www.freewebs.com

In the movies we watched, the sweet, naive, gentle and gorgeous 16-year-old girl lives a quiet, pleasant life full of impromptu song and dance, no matter how unsavory her circumstances. Her flawless skin is ever so carefully painted, with the shadows going only in the flattering places. Her waist is tiny with no exercise, her eyes are clear certainly without enough sleep (given her life of servitude), and her feet are uncalloused, no matter how many hours are spent barefoot in the rocky castle yard or thorny forest.

image courtesy of www.platformfestival.com

The prince rides up, strong, handsome, full of character and goodness. He instantly falls in love with her, and she him. There may be a snag or two (never because of their compatibility, but because of an evil external influence), but in the end all ends with white silk, wedding bells and happiness trailing off into "ever after."

Girls in real life have pimples. We are not always good and kind and sweetly oblivious. And boys are not always full of character and effortless muscle, riding up on a big gorgeous horse and sweeping us away into a sudden life of perfect wedded bliss.

image courtesy of guardian.co.uk

Unlike the beautifully drawn characters in the movies we often still love, even as women, we evolve. Our lines are not scripted from beginning to end so that we never lose our tempers, or make mistakes, or learn.

Rather than being a flaw, what a gift this is!

There are countless works of literature where it is said that the angels in heaven are jealous of us - of our messy and beautiful and poignant and real lives.

In truth, how can it be a bad thing that hardly any of us fall in love only once, at 16?

If we are not scripted and easily summed up into a half page, how in the world can we expect to just automatically
a) know who is best for us, and
b) find that person on our first try?

Rubbish.

We should try love out, test it, glorify it, leave it when it is time to leave.

That is what the pink spoon theory is about.

Our mothers and grandmothers have paved the way for us to have this glorious freedom. In most areas, a woman no longer has to make herself into a man (more or less) to earn respect from men. We are coming at a time where you can be a woman, still feminine, and be just as successful as any man. No longer do we have to toss aside the womanly wiles that give us our unique strength and shoulder the common masculine qualities instead (not to mention the fact that they don't look good on us most of the time anyway).

Of course there are exceptions. Everyone should follow their heart.

But for many of us, this is our time.

We can finally approach dating, love, and life with a carefree nature - still being women, and discovering ourselves, our preferences, and our matches with as much freedom as men have always been able to.

The truth is, there are probably a few Prince Charmings out there.

And there's no reason in the world to settle for less. That's not saying, of course, that dallying for some amount of time with someone who makes you happy for whatever reason, although you know he's not the one you want to go into a 'merger' with, is wrong at all.

image courtesy of www.cartoonart.org

It's just fine!

Pink spoon to your heart's content!

And besides, after the wedding bells' ringing faded into the credits and the credits faded to a blank screen, we don't know what happened, do we?

Maybe things aren't as simple as they seem.

Of course not. They never are.

(cross posted at TPST)

Take Cover

Is it just me or are there way just too many women on the covers of magazines these days? I wish more women's magazines had really hot, smart and funny men on their covers (and inside). That would be great to see when I stand in the check-out line at the grocery store, knowing that inside, there are articles about wonderful, intelligent men making a difference too.

I mean, the world would be a much better place if fake breasts and heavily photo-shopped women weren't staring at us while we purchased our bag of Lime Tostitos.

Sometimes I find men's magazines way more entertaining than women's (but don't get me wrong, I loooove my Lucky, Women's Health, Allure and Nylon). When I go to men's homes I like to flip through their Men's Health and GQ not only for the eye candy but to get the perspective of what men are telling other men. If you haven't done that yet, I suggest you do. You'll learn a lot and get an eye full of well-kept gentlemen.

I've also found an added benefit to reading men's magazines, they help me find amazing gifts for men, whether it's a $400 Nixon watch, a safe to keep their most valuable possessions in, Armani cologne-- those samples are your best friend when choosing the perfect scent, or a really good wallet that's under $30. Yes, I like men's fashion almost as much as I love women's.

I'm so glad there are blogs out there where lots of (you) smart women are giving yourselves a voice while looking ridiculously fabulous. It's just unfortunate that most magazines are so advertisement-heavy and superficial. So kudos to you if you're writing about real life.

This is my rant for the day... thanks for reading and enjoy the cover photos of David Beckham, I know I did:


Get yours,

of Make Me Blush, Drive Me Wild

It is not a dream...

My heart is pounding. I can hardly breathe, "I have to make it to the next terminal. I just have to." With out my body's consent, I begin running once more. People are staring. I can hear laughter and see little children pointing. An incoherent voice echoes through out the airport, "Flight...leaving for...will be departing in...." I round the corner. To my relief, the plane has not left yet. He has not left. My eyes eagerly scan the area. Looking for some familiar feature amongst the crowd, I hear his voice. His deep gravelly voice. I turn around, and there he is. I begin to call out his name, but find I have no voice. My lips form the word, yet no sound accompanies it. He looks happy. No, he looks content. His hand firmly holding someone else's hand. I could not quite make out her features nor her voice. They are enthralled with one another. As they walk pass, he suddenly looks up. They stop. His eyes widen, as if he had forgotten something. Then as quickly as the notion came, it passed. Whatever it was, he had no use or care for it now. He hands the tickets to the stewardess and they disappear down the corridor.

Hallway Escort (repost)

Guess what y'all? Today I'm'a be lazy and double-post.
This is coming (hot off the presses) from The Pink Spoon Theory:

Late Fall 2004

I came out of the side hallway as Ethan was passing the door. I caught up with him and slipped my hand between his arm and body, lightly resting my fingers right below his elbow.

His arm curled up automatically and he laughed.

"What, you need an escort down the hallway?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

Ethan was one of my few male friends. He was safe because he had a serious long-term girlfriend who he was crazy about. (He may have also been safe because the first time I saw him I thought he was gay....)

He was polite and charming and had a lightbulb smile. One of those grins that has a cartoony twinkle at the end: you can't help but imagine a five-starred animated bling come from their left canine. (Kinda like this guy - no they don't really look alike at all, but he definitely has the lightbulb smile I'm trying to describe.)

Ethan was a few years older than me (okay, 9 is more than a few when you're 21 years old and he's 30) and refreshingly calm.

Not that everyone that age is calm - another coworker within a year or two of Ethan did ask me whether my boobs were real or not the first time I met him, which had been about a month before...as the rest of the table looked on with interest...let's move on.

Since I above all, wanted a life free of romance drama, I was only befriending those men who were not at all available. It was a perfect combination - I had the testosterone in my life that I was wanting through friendships, and none of the backlash of crushes and flirting and feelings and kisses and such that I wanted to avoid.

So Ethan escorted me down the hallway.

I didn't notice a few days later when he stopped mentioning his girlfriend.

One night at a friend's house watching some ridiculous movie and eating as much junk food as possible in order to balance out all of the exercising that we health and fitness teachers had done all week with our students, Ethan offered to give me a foot massage.

Who in the world would pass that up? Not I.

So he settled himself on the opposite end of the couch and promptly sent me into a coma.

It was a great foot massage, and he knew it was great. He told me later that it was a well-planned-out way to get closer.

An hour later, the movie had ended and he asked me to walk him out to his car.

After the 'friendly' hug lasted for three minutes, I walked inside in a daze.

"What the heck just happened?"

I asked my friend (who's living room we were in) what the heck was going on with him.

That's when I found out that he and the serious, deeply loved girlfriend had been broken up for three weeks.

Oh, great. That's just great.

In another week and a half he was giving me foot massages on his couch on the other side of town, drawing hearts on my arches.

Trouble.

Dirty little secrets...

For some inexplicable reason, I have always wanted to have sex on the beach. You read correctly, "sex on the beach". Yes, even with the sand. Yes, even if it is beyond cliche. Yes, even if a sea shell somehow finds it's way up my ass. I really do not why the idea of me and some guy rolling around in the wet sand, gets me off. It just does. Watching Chris Isaac's "Wicked Game" video may or may have not had something to do with my infatuation. If you do not know what video I am talking about, we can no longer be blog friends. I have come close {ha, come close...} to fulfilling my beach sex fantasy. It started raining, and we were a tad too drunk. Not the best circumstances in the world. It has to be perfect. I know it is dangerous to have pre-conceived ideas about how my sexcapade will go down, but I can not help it. I am, after all, a girl.

However if I happen to find myself on some deserted beach with a guy, who closely resembles the above hottness, then all the planning and dreaming will somehow disappear into the void. Not really hard to see why...

For the Love of Lip Gloss, SHUT UP!

We were fighting.

We were fighting and I was mad. Really mad.

I was the kind of mad that makes you emphasize the "T" at the end of the word with a curled lip -

"No, it wasn'T."

(he recoiled a bit in fear after that one)

What were we fighting about? Oh, I don't know. A salt shaker, then ab workouts, I believe.

Obviously not the point.

I could feel my eyes flashing and sparking as I spoke, and I didn't try to reign myself in.

"You don't say whatever. You don't say whatever to me."

We were sitting on the bed, he was staring at me and talking softly and I was staring at him, feeling the strings and bonds of my anger thrumming right underneath my skin, and all of the sudden, I got the unmistakable urge to laugh - I mean a nearly undeniable grin pulling at my cheeks and eyes, like when I crossed my eyes at Amy during 12th grade physics and we laughed so hard that I got sent out of the room. I tried to fight it and couldn't. In order to stop the tide of laughter sweeping up from my toes, I had to break eye contact and look down.

Of course the right thing to do would have been to just lose it and grab him around the neck and pull him down onto the bed with me, making him laugh too...

But those bonds under my skin held me back from doing that particular right thing.

In the end, it's true, "whatever" has now been taken out of the vocabulary of "us."

And I may have cried on his chest for just a moment and apologized for being so effed up...

But that would be admitting defeat, no?

Either way, I did it. And I'm glad.

Sometimes, when you lose, you win.

The Butterflies

These are THE butterflies.

Oh, I've been around, I know all the different kinds of butterflies. These are the ones that are so good I can't eat, can't stop thinking about you. These are the butterflies that leave me sitting on my bed wishing I could smell you, feel you, loose myself in you, missing you with an ache so strong I can feel it in every, single part of my body. The butterflies that don't just flutter, they whirl and tremble and quiver, and as my heart pounds, I think....yes. These are the butterflies that have always lead to something...something meaningful, and life changing. These are the you are more than just a one night thing kinda butterflies, baby.

He says things like "Just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking about what an amazing woman you are and how the thought of you warms my soul." I had a bad dream and he was there...He calls me cuppycake. We have plans made, things to do, everywhere I go I wish he was with me, and he consumes my every thought from sweet to scandalous. These are the butterflies where two end up becoming one.

These are also the butterflies that terrify me. The other kinds, sure they flutter, but I control them. Those butterflies are my bitches. The butterflies I have now...part of me wants to run but they will catch me, and I just want to run to you, anyway.

I don't fucking want these butterflies if they are slowly, painfully, one by one, going to drop from the sky and die. Maybe in 6 months, maybe in 3 years, whatever. I don't want them if they aren't going to fade into something better...something lasting, strong, healthy and safe. I want them to go away so bad sometimes.

But not as bad as I want you. Here. Now. Forever?

These are THE butterflies.

Shot for a Day: High-heel gal from The High-Heel Diaries.

We are so excited to be doing our first installment of "Shot for a Day". Each month we will interview a guest shot. This month is Philly's very own, High-heel gal from The High-Heel Diaries.

M.S.G: What made you decide to write a blog?

H.H.G: A good friend urged me to start a blog because my e-mails to him were often witty, bitter, and true all in one. He encouraged me to share my crazy stories, but at first, I was skeptical. Then He sent me a New York Times article of a woman who started blogging about relationships and eventually, became famous. That was that. I began my blog soon after, erased it after a month of writing, then missed it, brought it back, and decided to go "balls-out" with my stories, which has since proven to be the best idea I've ever had.

M.S.G: How do you find time to keep your blog so fresh and interesting, and work a full time job?

H.H.G: Believe it or not, interesting things are always happening to me or someone I know. Plus, I am able to look at situations in very clever ways in order to make it something I think my readers would enjoy. Also, my job oftentimes is the subject of some of my stories (the good, the bad, and the ugly).

M.S.G: What does an average Friday/Saturday night look for you?

H.H.G: Well, the average weekend has kind of changed for me, especially since Wing-gal moved. When I was single, we used to go out drinking/guy scanning until we closed bars down at 2 a.m. It was probably some of the best times I've ever had, but we all know that changes once you meet a guy. Now, while I still go out quite a bit, it's not a necessity since I already snagged myself a great man-catch. I've definitely become a little more low-key in the past few months, but in a way, it's refreshing. Searching for a guy to date every weekend got exhausting. And my liver is probably thankful too.

M.S.G: What are 3 top dating tips?

H.H.G: Oh, I have many dating tips, but if I had to narrow it to three they would be:

1. Wear heels.


2. Don't order a salad.


3. Kiss him if it feels right, even if you "don't kiss on the first date." You aren't getting any younger, so playing by the "rules" just seems silly.

M.S.G: Can you really walk on the messed up N.Y.C sidewalks in high heels?

H.H.G: I can (and have) walked on the sidewalks of N.Y.C in heels. It makes me feel sexy.

M.S.G: Is honesty really the best policy?

H.H.G: Honesty is key, especially in relationships. If you can't be honest, then what can you be? The only time it's okay to be dishonest is if it's the first of second date and that Mexican food you ate didn't uh, sit well. Then it's okay to lie and say you have to go check-in on your dog who's been having non-stop seizures for the past week.

M.S.G: What makes you feel sexy?

H.H.G: High heels and skinny jeans make me feel like a hot piece of ass.

M.S.G: Who do you think is more relationship savvy, men or women? why?

H.H.G: I think the older we get, both men and women are relationship savvy. The more relationship "drama" you've been through, the more you know yourself: your wants, likes/dislikes, etc. In turn, I think this make people better at knowing what they need in a relationship.

M.S.G: What turns you on? looks, intelligence, witty, sarcasm?

H.H.G: Good looks is the first thing that turns me on. I know looks aren't everything, but they account for a lot. After that, personality is key. A guy who is witty, sarcastic, clever, and who can keep up with my sly remarks is super sexy. I also go for guys who are charming, but not in a cheesy way. If he tells me I look beautiful, and he is sincere, well then I'm putty in his hand.

M.S.G: Top 3 Don'ts for men on the first date.

H.H.G:

1. Don't talk about yourself the entire time.


2. Don't wear too much cologne or anything that smells like something my dad would wear.


3. Brush your teeth before the date. Bad breath is not sexy.

M.S.G: Top 3 Don'ts for women on the first date.

H.H.G:

1. Don't wear a dress/tank top/skirt without having shaved your legs/under arms. Maintenance ladies!


2. Don't come unprepared: I always carry a few Pepto pills, just in case we eat something, that well, you know...


3. Don't drink a lot...unless he is.

M.S.G: What was your worst date experience?

H.H.G: I met this seemingly hot guy and we had good conversation. I was attracted to him and things were going well. Then he told me he had to the National Rock/Paper/Scissors convention. I thought he was joking and started laughing and making jokes about it. Turns out, he was dead serious. Freaker. I have never been able to think of rock/paper/scissors as a kiddie pastime since.

M.S.G: We at "Five lipsticks (on your collar)" know how awesome your blog is, but for those few readers who have never read your blog let them know what they can expect from The High-Heel Diaries.

H.H.G: My blog is about me, relationships, trying to find a man, and basically, my numerous rants and raves about my life experiences. All wrapped up in with some sarcasm, of course!

Take A Tip

from wise women, Em & Lo

A type to avoid going steady with is The Umfriend. The UF is someone who always introduces you as an acquaintance of nebulous status, as in, “This is my…um…friend.” Your companion may suddenly downgrade you from new girlfriend/boyfriend status to an umfriend when they unexpectedly bump into a recent ex who is either heartbroken-slash-psycho or someone your companion would like to get back together with (sorry, sucker).

To read about the other four types to avoid, go here.

Most people I know have been in this uncomfortable situation, myself included. There's nothing wrong with a "casual" relationship. But unfortunately, I see more casualties when confronted with the infamous 'umfriend' title. Although words like commitment and courtship make many cringe, there's a part of me that believes everyone is capable of it and deserves clarification when it comes to matters of the heart (or libido).

I guess it's all comes down to confidence and communication. All alliteration aside, I find that what was fun and casual soon becomes routine and expectations begin to surface. Unless you have a smarter solution, the second I feel like an insignificant other, I run.

Note: I'm not very fast... but I'm working on it.

I'm usually not one to solicit advice, but sometimes you'll read some thing that resonates...


Know your worth,

of Make Me Blush, Drive Me Wild

So Reality Shows Are Good For Something After All...

I walk into the room, nudging the door closed with my hip, then leaning against it and gazing at him as I immediately flip off the light.

He's reclined on the bed, twilight making horizontal stripes across his chest as he slowly puts his book down and looks up at my quizzically.

I silently move towards him, kicking off my shoes as I walk.

.....

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off your shoes..."
"...now I'm unbuckling your belt..."

....

"So this is what I get for watching The Bachelorette with you?"

...silence...

("no," I think. "This is for being the reason I feel smug while I'm watching it.")