OMFG - The Chase: Expectation vs. Reality

Ever since Joseph Gordon-Levitt showed us his split-screen expectation versus reality vision in (the amazing, but also depressingly realistic) 500 Days of Summer, we collectively sighed. No, not over his adorably offbeat charm...but rather because we've all been there. The good old dating game! It never quite lives up to how we picture it, now does it?

Delusions of grandeur are exactly that...delusions. We romantics perhaps have it a bit worse than the rest, but I'd say, even in this jaded and opportunistic urban dating world, everyone is guilty of building things up in their pretty little heads. You want him to do this or lavish you with that, or do that thing that hot leading dude in that rom-com did for his leading lady. (Gosling/Tatum, I'm looking at you!) He, on the other hand, wants you to act this way or do that, or behave like that lady-in-the-streets but freak-in-the-bed chick he saw in that one movie. It's confusing and disappointing and pointless. The key? Adjusting your expectations.

Easier said than done, my fellow daters! The honeymoon period is called so precisely for a reason: the excitement, the courting, the chase...it's absolute heaven. There's nothing quite like the chase and a guy will likely pull out all the romantic, showy stops to get you from eye candy to bed candy...or sometimes girlfriend candy as well. I'm not saying men have to be utter showmen for the duration of the union, but guys...don't do anything you don't plan on up-keeping at least in some way while you're with her.

You can court the crap out of your girl at the beginning, but unless you genuinely can maintain that sort of behavior and, more so, think she deserves it (even after you're with her) then just don't. Seriously. Yes, we're talking financially (it's not like you're comping dinners to the company card here) but also affection-wise. It is more than irksome when a man starts off being intense and intimate and just fades from there. Cue the instant downer sound now. Either she'll resent you for thinking that you were at a level you weren't (or had stronger feelings for her than you do) or you'll resent her for having to execute actions you're just not interested in. Yes, we get it, the chase is the chase, but make it somewhat believable.

And to my girls who get swept away as easily as one, two, Louboutin -- throw in a little logic with those rose-tinted glasses! If he's whisking you away to St. Tropez, or wining and dining you to a ridiculous point within the first few weeks, it's not a good sign. Unless you want to be a little trophy or are a shameless gold digger (both totally plausible options in this city - and if that's your thing - by all means) then steer clear my friends, steer clear.

The trick to adjusting your expectations? Be happy with yourself as is. Anything on top of that will be a nice added perk! Anything that falls short, well, won't matter because you'll be fine one way or the other. Self-loathing makes for all-too-easy delusions of grandeur. Enjoy the chase, go along for the ride, but don't forget to self-tint those rose-colored glasses every now and then. x

Thank Goodness For Girl Friends - OMFG

Friends -- good friends -- and all the crazy shenanigans you get into with them, are what we'll all remember the most from our twenties. That time we partook in illicit behavior with that celebrity at 4 a.m. in Miami? Awesome. That time we all took this or that at the cottage and hilariously mused about life? Epic. That time we had to carry insert the one friend who always goes overboard out of that really fancy club and watched him/her vomit on the lawn then try and convince us to go back out partying? Less fun....but still a sick (literally) memory. While co-ed fun is always solid, there's something to be said for good times with your bros/girls. After all, Entourage and Sex and the City were both wildly popular for a reason.

As I creep into my late twenties, I've come to value my close girl friends more and more. Emphasis on the close. We're not talking fake club hugs and air kiss this and air kiss that while you vapidly discuss just where she got that divine sample sale clutch. No. We're talking real ass bitches who know you without the night time make-up. The ones you can sit around in sweats with and talk about every little uncertainty you have about life while they share theirs.

Now that we're all leading adult (ish) lives, there's been a transition from quantity to quality. Gone are the days when we all lived within a stone's throw of each other and had endless time to just hang out. Obsessive texting of boy crisis updates as they happen are a thing of the past. One of my closest girl friends and I haven't lived in the same city for years now and are still closer than ever. I've always maintained that distance and friendship have absolutely nothing to do with each other! (Thank you Skype, Viber, and especially Whatsapp -- because sometimes you just need to know that the grumpy cat photo you sent has been seen.)

A five minute talk with my bestie (and yes...no matter how old I get I will have a bestie and refer to her as my bestie) is all it takes to get me out of whatever ridiculous mood I might be in...and I'm proud to say I can do the same for several of my good girl friends as well. Like relationships, friendships only work when you both make each other better people. If she's happy for your successes (and never jealous), supports your at-times poor, irrational decisions (and is there for you during the aftermath), and you can still both get into as much trouble as you did when you were eighteen, then chances are you've found a close girl friend for life.

What has me feeling a sudden burst of love for my darling girls? Perhaps it's the holiday season that has me particularly maudlin. Or maybe, it's just an ongoing appreciation for all the forward-moving, mood-swinging, potty-mouthed, risk-taking, complicated and intelligent women in my life. Carrie once said it was about finding someone to run wild with you...she was of course, referring to her search for a spouse. I think Carrie got it partially right; it is all about finding someone to run wild with you -- not a spouse -- but rather a pack of good girl friends. I'll cheers my Cosmo to that. x

OMFG - Dating In Your Early vs. Late Twenties

The dating game...does it ever really get any easier? This twenty-something girl is going to go with a decisive no. But, with time and some (albeit wavering) maturity, it does get different. You've all seen the wildly popular Buzzfeed/EliteDaily/whatever "articles" (or GIF lists, rather) that describe the marked changes between when you're a flailing twenty year old navigating the scene and when you're a slightly-less-flailing twenty-five year old navigating the scene. So, beyond the GIF's, how do these differences add up in the real world? Let's see.

By the time you hit your mid to late twenties, you've either had your heart broken or broken someone else's. Often more than just once. This means that when you enter a relationship with someone new, you're carrying not just your black leather Pashli, but a little tote of good old fashioned baggage as well. It ain't pretty and it ain't useful but it's sure as hell there. Some people jump over baggage like hurdlers, never touching it except rare moments when they fall. Others carry it like a ball and chain to the ankle. Listen, you can pep talk the crap out of a person with baggage but at the end of the day, sometimes broken hearts take a long time to heal. The key is to finding an understanding of each other's levels of baggage; after all you want someone to help you lift that damn tote and maybe throw some of its clutter out along the way.

Baggage, schmagagge. It's all worth it for the inclusion of real dates as you get older. You know what I mean guys...real, non-shitty dates. Because both of you have real jobs now. With real paychecks. And real taste. And real savoir faire. Long gone are the days of "group dates" where you just kinda/sorta/maybe-ish invited that one dude/chick you liked along to hang with your friends and sheepishly looked at the them the whole time. Gone are the days where you haphazardly met up to just kick it around town and see what happened. Now it's all about (gasp!) solid plans and a willingness to spend more than, I don't know, fifty bucks on a first round of dating. Dinners, wine/art/wine/wine/culture/more wine, shows, galleries, concerts, and more. Flowers and otherwise if you're dating/are a smooth one. R.I.P. group date...may you never return!

The most obvious difference as we millenials get slightly less youthful (that's my sugar-coated way of saying older and jaded) is knowing what we want. In work, in lifestyle and most definitely in love. My friend Andrew and I came to the horrifying conclusion the other night over vodka-sodas and loud club bangers (I said older, not old!) that dating nowadays is indeed less a search for triumph in play and more a search for...well a partner in life. I know -- horrifying. Yet, relieving as well. Knowing you don't just want to fuck around with whatever hot piece of ass you can get, or casually date this person because OMG his tattoos and laissez-faire life are just soooo cool, make it easier for you to form real connections with people who are going to live, and not just vacation in your life. Obviously we're not talking about stage-five clinging to whoever comes our way, but knowing that a relationship is capable of meeting a certain level of seriousness is a must.

Actually, clinging is a quality left for the insecure selves of our early twenties. I find myself not necessarily apathetic when it comes to dating, but definitely much more intolerant to bullshit I would of put up with a few years ago. It's a lot less "Does he like me? Does he like me? What if he doesn't like me?" and a lot more "I like me. Fuck it." Bad relationship deja vu, signs of instability or otherwise get the shrug instead of a teary breakdown. The old quote might ring cliche but it also rings truer than true: if you're not their priority, don't make them yours. We're older. Wiser. Established. And on a trajectory to greatness. Tourists need not apply. x

OMFG - Do Nice Guys Actually Finish Last?

In the past little while I've read a plethora of articles online about how hard nice guys have it. Mostly opinion, some satire. (Think Vice, Elite Daily, that sort of thing.) They've all been interesting, slightly offensive, and mildly accurate, at best. They do, however, all come to one sad conclusion: in the dating game, nice guys finish dead last. My goodness, what is it about us silly, emotional, self-hating women that causes us to love assholes and make nice guys so utterly miserable? Aren't we just the worst?

Well no. I love how all these articles single-handedly blame women for the demise of the Nice Guy. We're just begging to be treated like shit, apparently, so men oblige as if they're doing us a favor. Here's the thing: women who are happily dating nice guys don't go on writing rampages about it. They also don't rant to all their friends about it. So in truth, the Nice Guy who is happily in a relationship gets a lot less press than the scorned one. And of course he gets a whole lot less press than the Asshole who walks away from his dealings with girls like men in skinny ties and sunglasses walk away from explosions in movies. When it comes to love, we talk about our problems, not our happiness. (No one would of gone to see The Notebook if they just went and got married after happily dating, now would they.)

In my twenty six years of dating, and in my twenty six years of girl friends sharing their stories of the perils of dating, I can truly say there is nothing wrong with nice guys. I welcome them. The problem with dating nice guys is how nice they are in comparison to you...it's the scale of relativity for niceness. Not kidding! For example, I was too nice for one ex (practically an angel in his eyes) and ultimately the devil in the eyes of my next ex. One just happened to be more apt to bad behavior and wavering morals while the other was black and white in his principles. Each saw me accordingly. (Model, promoter, party-loving, flighty, and ice cold when provoked...yet intensely close to my family, university educated, and overly caring and loyal. Confusing, I get it.) It's not that girls don't like nice guys...it's that girls don't like guys that are nicer than they are.

The whole damsel in distress ploy is a thing of the past. Unless a girl is seriously damaged, there's no need for any saving to be done. We're looking for an equally distressed dude to come along for the ride. I've always said, it's not about finding a partner in life, but a partner in crime. This doesn't mean a rag-tag looking, authority-defying, cad of a man, but simply some one who treats me well because he thinks I'm freaking awesome...and not because he's trying to be the Nice Guy.

Apparently I've been blind to a nice guy or two trying to garner my attention, as my girl friends have pointed out. The argument of nice being boring comes to mind, but really, it's just that sparks didn't fly! Nice or not nice, you need the zsa zsa zou to get any relationship going. So men, quit trying to be the Nice Guy and just be the Awesome Dude...i.e. yourself. We smart girls are bound to see what's real and what's fake sooner than you'd think.

So no, we don't want to be stood up, ignored, lied to or treated like shit in general. We like real men who can handle themselves and us as well without relying on stupid little archetypes. The Asshole might not finish last, and neither does the Nice Guy...but you know who does? The Whiny Nice Guy. x

OMFG...How Long Will Your Summer Fling Last?

As the sun beats hot and heavy during the day and the air is warm and inviting at night, we all can't help but get a little twitterpated with the season. (That's college talk for horny, in case you didn't know.) That wise little owl called it when he told Bambi, "Oh yes, nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime." Less clothes, more hooking up, to put it bluntly. And so, with copious flings to be flung here, there, and everywhere, just how does one know what will last and what won't? Allow me to help you, darling bloggees: the Ultimate Guide to How Long Your Summer Fling Will Last based on where and how you met...shall we?

Where?
At the club.

How long will it last?
One night - a few months
This one is not as obvious as you'd think. Sure, one night stands are the result of many a club night but there are lots of decent people who go out as well. (Yes, I'm a promoter and perhaps biased, but the truth is clubs aren't just for flashy drug-addled scene kids.) Granted that you both can go out together without getting into stupid drunk fights, a relationship can endure. However, let's face it, these whirlwind, drunk, dancey, showy bonds tend to fizzle after a few months when the infatuation is over. Usher can sing it, but it ain't the truth: there's no real love in this club.

Will there be fallout?
Oh god yes. Lots, and lots, and lots of never-ending fallout. Listen, if they picked you up at the club, they're going to do it again. And again. And again. And chances are you're going to have to see it grinding and getting nasty all up in your drunk face every time you go there. Clubs = stomping grounds. Either get a new one or find a way to get your ex out of there. (Slipping the bouncer a smile and a crisp fifty does the trick, but you didn't hear that from me..)

Where?
At a music festival.

How long will it last?
Two weeks.
Unless it was some sort of classical music festival, chances are you and your potential love were decidedly NOT sober upon meeting. Bonding intensely over music is a strong connection...and surely drugs and whatever else you ingested there made it seem stronger. A couple weeks worth of fun jaunts, skipping around together while wearing cut-offs and holding hands, and you've got yourself a cute little summer fling, but not much else.

Will there be fallout?
Nah. Just make sure your Bonnaroo ticket is in V.I.P. while they can mingle in the general admission area.. far away from you. 

Where?
Online.

How long will it last?
One date or forever.
Stigma or no stigma, I've heard more than a few success stories when it comes to meeting companions via online dating. Granted, I'm referring to online dating sites with tedious and in-depth profiles such as Lava Life or eHarmony as opposed to, say Tinder, which is essentially the online equivalent of scanning faces at a bar. But, I've also heard more than a few horror stories where expectation and reality of the person were worlds apart...so generally a summer fling via online dating goes one of two ways: 1) you venture out on one disastrous first date where you find out "entrepreneur" actually meant "lives in mom's basement and jots down ideas every once in a while" and never respond to them again or 2) you venture out on one highly compatible first date that leads to something solid. High risk, but high reward.

Will there be fallout?
Nope. The best part about online anything is the anonymity. You can disappear online as quickly as click, click, click. But, avoid their favorite restaurants and any other hot spots they listed in their profile...just to be safe.

Where?
Your phone book...in other words the Ex.

How long will it last?
Until the end of summer.
Here's the thing with exes -- if it didn't work out once, it probably isn't going to work again. Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well, I was definitely insane then when it came to a few of my exes. They haven't changed, and neither have you. But, there's always going to be that initial spark, i.e. the reason you got together in the first place. And with that spark, a lack of other options, the comfort of familiarity, and that optimistic ambiance that comes with this damn summer air...some times, you're bound to relapse. It'll be great for a bit but then crumble and crumble hard. Annoying habits, different goals, real jobs or just plain incompatibility cuts harsh without the summer blanket to cover it. If it's a mistake you have to make, so be it. But you know what they say; insane in the membrane, insane in the brain. (You're insane. Duh.)

Will there be fallout?
Hells to the yes. Be prepared for both of you to get all crazy possessive like when you initially broke up: as in social media stalking each other to see who's hooking up with who post-break-up and if these new people are in fact new or people who came between you before. Just thinking about the fallout is giving me a headache. Oy.

Where?
At T.I.F.F.

How long will it last?
One night...if that.
Is him/her famous? Did they say they had an "agreement" with his/her well-known significant other? Did his/her handler approach you and pick you up instead of him/her personally? Was he/she kind of an elusive asshole up until the hook-up? Are you super naive? Do you see where I'm going with this?

Will there be fallout?
Are you famous? No? Then no.

Where?
At work.

How long will it last?
One year - long term.
Ah, work. A somewhat sane and stable environment to meet people within! You'll know you can put up with them on a day to day basis (you work together after all), and you know you have similar lifestyles and goals (again..you work together.) Add a little chemistry and charm and you've got yourself one legit summer fling...and possibly more! Oh, should you work in the modeling, nightlife, fitness, events, concert, and/or the fashion industry....none of this applies to you. Good luck to us all. (#foreveralone)

Will there be fallout?
Obviously. The saying don't shit where you eat exists for a reason. As long as it doesn't end nastily, the fallout can be minimal. You're seeing each other in a professional and not leisure setting, so after what might be a few weeks/months of awkward interactions, getting back to strictly business is totally possible.

And there you have it lovelies, a guide to summer flinging! Regardless of where you meet them, all we can ever do in romance is find some one you like and roll the dice.  It's inevitable, it's fun and goodness, it's finally summer...so like the wise owl said, get a twitterpatin'. x

How to Hone Your Bitch-dar; Keeping Nasty Gals Away

Bitches be crazy. With men, sure. But with other women...well that's a whole other level. When Congreve penned his infamous line hell hath no fury like a woman scorned in the 1600's, he probably should of modified it to anticipate modern times: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned...by bitches. Now, I'm no hater of other girls by any means. Actually, it's precisely the fact that I'm a girl's girl which makes betrayal of female friendship so unleashing of said fury. So, how does a lovely and loyal girl such as yourself make sure you never feel the bitch betrayal? It's as simple as honing in on your bitch-dar, with these tips and tricks of the girl trade. Allow me to elaborate:

- Hateful on being grateful.

I'm a grateful person by nature; living a happy and fulfilled life is only perpetuated by remaining so, in my opinion. I don't take anything for granted, including friendship. (And travel. And music. And sushi. And dessert. Dessert. And more dessert. Let's just say I'm forever grateful for all desserts.) Get your bitch-dar red flags to half mast if you recognize a girl friend who just seems ungrateful...for everyone and everything in her life. I've seen this more so in models than any other demographic of friends, I assume because being beautiful often makes things come easier than they would for those who have to work for model-afforded perks. (Trips, designer clothes, comped dinner, etc.) This observation is not without exception though as a some of my most mind-blowingly gorgeous model friends also possess the most gratitude. Nonetheless, model or otherwise, if she's ungrateful for what you do for her, it's because she doesn't value it. And girls who value very little have the loyalty levels of zip to zilch. I think I can speak for all thanks-giving girls alike when I say no thanks.

- Lost, lonely, little girl.

I have a ton of girl acquaintances, a fair number of close girl friends, a handful of super close girl friends, and one best friend and one sister, both of whom I would trust with my life...or my last piece of cheesecake. We all stay in pretty much constant communication (maybe a little too much -- I know what my sister eats everyday for every meal and vice-versa...seriously) whether it be via perpetual texting, or in-person hangs. While this sounds excessive, most girls are the same way. While men can be lone wolves of (usually) cultivated mystery and aloofness, women tend to be sharers who bond by doing exactly that -- sharing. (One need only watch the Friends episode where Rachel encourages Ross to share with his guy friends the way she does with her gals to see the benefits.) If a girl says you're her only girl friend, or that she, and I quote "usually doesn't get along with other girls", well honey, it's for a damn reason. Girlfriend is going to screw you over...and soon. Such ostracized members of the female sex tend to thrive on 1) male attention and 2) competition. You'll get in her way and she'll cut you down, or she'll step on you on her way to whatever top spot she deems hers. Pass.

-  Too much, too fast....and not in a good way.

We live in an era of fast friends. You meet out through friends once or twice, you have one solid day time hang, and suddenly you're posting inside jokes on each others' Facebook walls, pre-gaming together before every club outing and proclaiming "OMG loooove you!" all the freaking time. I've been there, you've been there, we've all been there. I'd say one in every twenty of these friendships turn out to be the real thing while the rest...well let's just say easy come, easy go, especially when you're an easy (friendship) ho. Girls that tend to latch on and get all up in your life way too fast just strike me as...odd. There's no need for a friend to social climb over all normal boundaries to either date all your friends or befriend all your friends. It's creepy. It's weird. And there's probably a reason she's running away from her life and taking over yours. Obsessive relationships are for junior high kids and bad movies. (Hello, Swimfan.)

- (Don't) save our souls.

A wise man once told me "You can't save everybody Sheila." Sure, this was at an afterparty at 4 a.m. and that wise man was not sober, but the gist of his words was accurate. I have this habit of finding lost girls and wanting to save them through being there for them...endlessly. This has perhaps been the most acute lesson of my twenties when it comes to friendship: you can't help those who don't want to help themselves. I've been burned more than a few times by still giving myself to such friends who have hurt me simply because I know their lives are more messed than mine will ever be. But alas, some people are beyond my capabilities, or more accurately put, just don't wanna change. Self-loathing, torn families, tragic incidents and substance-fueled pasts don't have to mean dark presents or futures...but if a friend has no desire to change, then c'est la (or c'est their) vie. Not yours.

Finely honing your bitch-dar takes a little know how and a lot of experience. At the ripe old age of 26, I can say I've had a sufficient amount of both the former and the latter. There's no need to be cutthroat or cold about any of this -- but perhaps a little perspective will help with this guide: friendship is a privilege, not a right, and by now I know to bestow this privilege only on those who I see fit. Add positively to my life, or don't add to it at all. Happy honing, my darling readers! Scorned, schmorned...ain't nobody got time for that. x

The Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet

I'm a skinny bitch. Bitchy, when need be, but skinny, always. How's that now, you ask? Does a hard partying, model/promoter lifestyle not shine as a beacon for health and athleticism? Oh, but it does. Allow me to introduce you to the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet...no sneakers or Lululemon pants required.

- Drink copious amounts of vodka.

For a little Asian, I can down my vodka with the best of them. Nurture has taken over nature in this case and my promo-breeding has made it so that three times a week from the hours of 11p.m. to last man standing, vodka renders itself to water in my body. Okay, water that gets me wasted, but not nearly as much as it should. They key here is vodka and nothing but. It's all about shots. Cranberry juice is for high school girls and pansies. The only acceptable mix is sugar-free diet Redbull or a lime. I like my girly cocktails at dinners but they tend to be full of sugar and other crap. Like my Russian girlfriends wisely advise, it's all about the WODKA.

- Those extra 4.5 inches.

I'm talking about heels, of course. Waltzing around three or four (or five or six..) times a week for hours on end in sky-high heels gives your legs quite the workout. I practically live in heels and have to run all around clubs in them providing me with an arched-angle workout that you can't get at the gym. This supposed kitten heeled comeback in fashion this season can kiss my toned ass. The magic number is 4.5...inches that is! Tall enough to look amazing and work those calves but not high enough to borderline on hooker-esque. (Defend Loubs all you want girls, but those shiny, patent leather, platform 6-inchers belong on escorts and escorts only.) Guiseppe, Nicholas, Rupert and Alexander care not just about your fashion but your health too...obviously. Now strap on a pair and get moving.

- Shake it like a Polaroid picture.

Shake it, and shake it often. Dancing at a club usually entails bobbing around from side to side while having screaming conversations with your booth mates over the bass line. Heck, on most of my nights the dance floor isn't so much a dance floor as it is a single's mixer. I make a point of dancing my face off at least once a week. When the dance floor won't suffice, there's always in the booth or better yet on the tables. Fist pumping, booty shaking, legs rocking, and whatever else you can do, do it. It's fun. It's calorie burning. And it sure beats talking to all the duds who are trying to pick you up should you remain sedentary. Oh Andre 3000, you are so wise.

- Cooked food is for suckers.

 My favorite meal is steak tartare. I could eat that for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sushi is a close second. What can I say -- I like my animals raw. Fortunately, there are enough trendy sushi restaurants in this city to dine at so I don't have to resort to health/fresh/raw eateries to maintain my raw cravings and can still be social. Dinner at Blowfish before a night out? No problem. Drinks and bites at Ja Bistro on a Saturday? Sure thing. Keeping it (mostly) raw when dining out allows for a meal that doesn't necessarily have to be belt line busting. Also, as some one who has to (seriously, has to) have dessert at, oh, almost every meal, I rather save my calories for all things sweet. Baked isn't the same as cooked, right?! Whatever, cake is so worth it.

- Sleep it off.

When you like to party, you some times get home at 4a.m. When you like to party and it's your job, some times you come home after sunrise. What does this mean for your sleep schedule? Mostly that a good portion of it occurs during the day. On the weekends anyway. And what does this mean for staying a skinny minny? Well, simply put, if you're sleeping, you can't be eating. And when you sleep your way through most normal hours of meals, it means you're eating even less. There are quite a few days a week where dinner is the only meal I have. (And some times late night junk after a night out, but I mean....McDonald's after a particularly intense night is practically a right of passage in your twenties.) Healthy, it ain't, but when I'm hungover in bed, there is not a power on Earth that will make me functional enough to prepare a meal. Until the delivery service industry evolves to fit my promoter needs (ugh, hello, how hard is bedside delivery really), daytime starvation once or twice a week it is.

- Balancing cigarettes & tofu. 

As Gwyneth Paltrow stated in her recent Harper's Bazar interview, "it's all about finding that balance between cigarettes and tofu." (Some call her insufferable, I call her perfection.) I work three nights a week and go out on my own at least one other night. But, the rest of the time, I am pretty darn healthy. Veggies galore and lean fishes and meat. Does it make up for the irreversible damage I'm likely causing my liver and otherwise the rest of the time? Probably not. But I like my cigarettes just as much, if not a little more, than my tofu. Youth is fucking precious and I plan on procuring one that I can regale endless stories from when I'm older.

And there you have it...the Skinny Promo Model Bitch Diet. Ingest with your skinny tongue firmly placed in your skinny cheek. I'll see all you 4.5 inched, straight vodka guzzling skinny bitches on the dance floor. x

 

How To Get Out of the Dreaded Friend Zone

We've all been there. Girls, you're hanging out one on one with a guy friend you've known for a while...he's been super supportive and understanding the past few weeks while you've been going through whatever break-up/parent's divorce/exam period or stressful situation in general. And suddenly his reassuring hug is less hand on your back and more hand on your butt. Wait, what?! Not cool dude, not cool.

Of course, the situation can be reversed as well although I find this to be a lot less likely a scenario. Guys, you'll be at another (supposedly) platonic dinner with your best girl friend. It's at that new Mexican hipster resto that's all the rage and you rather go with some one you can actually pig out with as opposed to a date where you have to knife and fork your way through burritos. She's being witty, sarcastic and totally void of drama unlike all the girls you've had romantic dealings with when suddenly over her third glass of pinot gris, she unveils her undying love for you. Again...what?!

Ah, the friend zone; let us all take a moment of silence for our comrades who have been there. It's not pretty. Having feelings for some one who doesn't have feelings for you sucks. Having feelings for some one who cares about you just a little shy of romantically is torture. Guys, let me give you a little tough love: if she was into you, she'd be dating you already. Simple as that. And if she decides to date you later after knowing you this long, it's because she's exhausted her other options. Not exactly a position any self-respecting dude wants to be in. So, the question remains, how does one break free of the friend zone? Simple.

- Man (or woman) up.

Listen, you can stay in friend zone limbo forever and imagine all the "what if" scenarios you want but it's conducive to just about nothing. Life doesn't work like it does in romantic movies (and trust me when I say this displeases no one more than it does yours truly) so the best thing to do is sort. Sort that shit as soon as possible!

- Figure it out in person.

Social media has given us a million new options to read into romantic interactions...turns out we all think of our potential mates as passive aggressive morons who can only express themselves via their thumbs. Omg, if he liked my photo does that mean he likes me? K, so she shared my vid on Vine then retweeted my quote on life...she's totes into me, right?! I'm all for social media. Facebook (for work), Twitter (for fun) and Instagram for....oh wait, I deleted that because no matter how close we are I don't care what you eat for breakfast...but if you want to get real answers, for the love of cheesecake, do it in person. Ask your friend love (frove?) to coffee and bring it up then. Easy, simple and straightforward.

- Coffee, not dinner.

You don't want to pull a Miranda here. As in, booking an overly romantic restaurant, sweating buckets and adding extra pressure where it wasn't needed when she wanted to tell Steve how she felt. Keep it casual so the atmosphere remains light and airy even if the conversation doesn't. The last thing you want is a whisper fight; i.e. the kind of fight that has to occur should you plan a lovey-dovey situation in public. Okay sure, your frove could potentially say they have feelings for you as well but should that occur, I mean, go on a normal first date not a ten-year-anniversary-we-left-the-kids-at-home-and-it's-our-one-night-to-escape type deal.

- Do not, I repeat do not, do it by making a move on her while you watch movies at home.

 Like, is there some cardinal guy rule that states that specific scenario must lead to sex or you are a failure as a man? Seems like it. Almost all my girlfriends who have experienced friend zone situations have had the moves put on them while watching a movie with their guy friend at home. It's creepy. And ulterior motive-y. And just in bad taste. A friendship, much less a relationship, is likely not salvageable should that situation not go well. And, if it does...well high five dude, hiiiigh five. Although you might merely have a friend with benefits as opposed to a girlfriend. (That's another blog post in itself, my dears.)

So, darling froves and frove lovers, get out of the friend zone and back into reality. Maybe it works out and maybe it doesn't, but either way you'll feel better living outside of limbo. And really, the right girl, friends first or not, won't care if you scarf down those three burritos hands-only. Until next time dear bloggees...Xx

Online Dating - Yay or Nay?

While gorging on lobster spoons and too many desserts during lunch the other day (and really, all good conversation should occur in between bites of lobster spoons) my friends introduced me to an online way of meeting people I had never heard of. And by meeting, I mean potentially banging. After whipping out his iPhone and opening the app, my friend swiftly swiped his hand over the screen, each time revealing the Facebook profile picture of  a girl which he either yayed or nayed. What was this ridiculousness? An app called Tinder. Should some girl you yayed also yay you -- and voila, you now have the feigned online confidence to send her all the creepy winky emojis you'd like.

I was baffled that there was even the demand for an app like Tinder to exist. Is this what we've come to nowadays? Starting interactions based on (likely Photoshopped) Facebook selfies that turn into a series of well-calculated, overly-wrought interactions that lead to, what I can only imagine, are painfully awkward real life meetings? It appears so. Perhaps I'm one of the rare hopeless romantics left out there, but any, seriously any, real life meeting is more romantic and natural than some contrived shoving together of online personas. Seriously, ANY. Drunken club meets look like Ariel and Prince Eric in the canoe compared to this crap.

 Those browsing on something like Tinder probably aren't looking for lasting relationships...but what about those of us who are? Is there a way to meet a legit candidate online that doesn't make you want to lie about how you've met to people when they ask? Sure, the stigma of online dating is less than it was, say ten years ago, with young professionals leading insanely busy, no-nonsense lives -- but still, we can all admit it's not an ideal beginning. "And mommy met daddy by desperately searching through countless trolls and deciding he was the least hideous of the list. Ahh, romance."

I've signed up for eHarmony before. Once, while my then-boyfriend looked on as we laughed about what matches would pop up, and again just recently for the sake of this post. (Yes, I've already deleted the profile and no, I didn't respond to any interactions. Observation only, kids.) Their maudlin, everlasting-love themed commercials always do a number on my sappy self and if I was going to sign up for any dating site, I decided it would be this one. So, dear bloggees, what did my experience reveal? Basically what I thought going into it. It's creepy. It's weird. And it feels awfully unnatural. (Upon revealing that I had signed up for an account to my sister over brunch, she promptly looked horrified, told me to delete it, and said that I was 'prey' just waiting for online lurkers to hunt me down. This did not help.)

After filling out an extensive personality questionnaire which included sections on morals, looks, lifestyle, and more, I was shown my potential 'matches' who were specifically picked out for me. And I must say, the pickings were slim. Despite being 5"10, anti-sports and urban-minded, I kept receiving icebreakers from outdoorsy, sport-loving 5"6 men from small towns outside Toronto. Fail, eHarmony. Fa to the ail. Regardless of the not-so-plenty of fish in the online dating sea, I just couldn't get over the concept of it all. There's no mystery, No whimsy. And not a shred of wonder to any of it. Even if Channing Tatum had appeared in my matches, I could never bring myself to send an icebreaker over the freaking computer to a guy I was potentially interested in.

The whole experience merely reaffirmed what I already know: I'm a hopeless romantic living in a non-romantic world. Woe is me. But I'll take my chances in the real world of meeting people over the constructed world of meeting profiles any day. All the info I had listed on my profile is meant to be revealed over candid conversation, flirty arm touches, too many whiskey sours and, most importantly, over many, many lobster spoons -- not over clicks of a keyboard. Until next time darling bloggees, I'll see you in the flesh and blood. x
 

A Girl's Guide To Clubbing; Part 2

* Note: This is the second part to a previous post: An Every Girl's Guide To Clubbing 

All right, so you know how to breeze in, air kiss the bouncers on the cheek as you do, waltz on over to the promoter spot, air kiss the promoters on the cheek as you do, and claim prime territory dancing like the queen you are on the booth. What else is there? Oh, darlings, so much. So much more.

- Don't shit where you eat. 

If you take one thing away from this article, let it be this: do not, I repeat do NOT shit where you eat. Oh, how I wish I had some one tell me this when I started going out lots and subsequently started promoting. That club owner who's been giving you attention via free drinks and his arm wrapped around you? Not your soul mate. That handsome baller who comes every Friday night and has been lavishing you with bottles of Dom P as of late? Also not your soul mate. The cute one in that group of party dudes who are always there on Thursdays and hold down the corner booth? Nope. Not your soul mate. If you're the kind of girl who can have fun and not get attached, then by all means, dive in head first. But if you're like 99% of us girls out there (human and prone to getting hurt) you will regret anything you start up in the club romance department. It'll be whirlwind. Glamorous. Sexy. Then crash and burn faster than you can say pass the Goose. Leaving you where? That broken-hearted girl who has to see her ex-whatever at a club every week using all the same moves he used on you...on new girls. I've been there...several times. Heck, I'm there right now! Drunken hook ups are inevitable; but save anything that actually involves your heart for outside of loud beats, dark lights and endless shots. Seriously. My next boyfriend is NOT going to know what the price of a magnum is or the name of any after hours spot in this city.

- Dress as you would daytime. 

Spandex shorts. Lace-up corset tops. Bodysuits...with no bottoms. I've pretty much seen it all when it comes to atrocious club attire. Ladies, there's a simple rule when it comes to dressing like not a whore. Don't wear anything you wouldn't be caught dead in daytime. As in, if you wouldn't wear it walking down the street daytime, we all don't wanna see it shaking out and about after the sun goes down. Seriously, you say? Of course this doesn't include foot wear (My Kirkwoods are meant for glitzy nights out only) and make-up (smokey eyes daytime? Raccoon. Night time? Sexpot.) but otherwise, the rule stands. Obviously that full-sequined long sleeved Matthew Williams mini would look ridiculous if you strutted down Bloor on a warm summer day, but the point is it wouldn't look indecent. Fashionistas, we welcome with open arms. T and A...men welcome with open pants. Also, keeping with this rule ensures you won't have to spend hours untagging or deleting Instagram pictures in the near future when you realize that junk does not look flattering when exposed in the trunk.

- Straps are your best friend. 

I'm talking straps on heels, dresses, tanks, and purses. Straps are the savior of the drunk fashionista for obvious reasons. Perhaps you're a mild drinker who goes out to bop around to the beat a little and mingle here and there. Or perhaps you're a vodka-swilling party girl who gets rip-roaring wasted every night her Louboutins hit the pavement. Oh, save your blushed cheeks and pride, chances are you're the second. There there, most of us are...you're only twenty-something once after all. That being said, I have lost many a clutch on a drunken evening out since with no straps to stay on, I absentmindedly leave the damn thing who knows where. And an unattended designer purse lasts about two seconds when carelessly strewn aside at a crowded venue. Save yourself the tears the next day and invest in not just the Balenciaga clutch but the one with a removable strap as well. Straps on heels help with tipsy, teetering walks to and from the bathroom, and straps on dresses prevent peekaboo bra situations...or worse yet nip slips. Strap em down ladies, and feel better about knowing that you'll survive the night unscathed and purse in hand.

- Nothing good comes after 2 a.m.

Okay...that's not true. Everything good comes after 2 a.m....but only in terms of short term gratification. You know it won't end well, but the middle part is sure as hell going to be fun. That's my mentality after 2 a.m. and my non-sober reasoning is usually to just do it and deal with any disastrous conclusions the next morning. Well, after countless after parties, both good, bad, scandalous, more scandalous, and just plain evil, I can tell you that all shenanigans after 2 a.m. are pointless. I've become a lot more restrained than I used to be and it has been entirely to my benefit. Short term gratification is satisfying, but long term maturity is progress. Taking a moment to reason with your drunk self right before getting into that dude's car to go to some AP where you know like, one person, and getting into a cab home instead will make your sober self the next day pat you on the back. Sure, we all need a rager now and then and that trek home when the sun is already up, but don't make it a weekly thing. The vampire/zombie look only works in the movies.

- Stay calm & party on.

When I'm wasted and in a mood, there is no telling me what to do. My good friend Jasmine has likened me to an angry cat in a bag when I've been upset and wasted...there's no escaping my warpath should I be set on one. However, my recent debauchery when under the influence has led to possibly the most miserable two weeks of my life. So that being said, if you're depressed about something or the other, drowning your sorrows in diluted vodka crans and cheap interactions is probably not the best way to go. Depressed drinking ends in one of three ways 1) tears 2) regretful hookups 3) a combo of the two. Should you decide to chug your way to feigned happiness anyway, at least bring along a friend you trust to make sure you don't go bat shit ballistic in the worst way. Or in my case, angry cat in a bag crazy. Side note: in light of recent events, Jasmine now has permission to slap, and/or sedate me with force should I get ferocious feline on her while we're out...the EpiPen solution to drunk Kins. Necessary.

And there you have it lovelies, A Girl's (more in-depth) Guide To Clubbing! Keep in mind these are merely rules I've set for myself after an endless stream of ups and downs experienced by yours truly in my vast number of nights out. So have your strapless, emotionally unstable, true-love-in-this-club, out until 6 a.m. madness as much as you can handle...then create your own guidelines. Club Goddess I may not be, but I'm sure as hell the Queen of learning from my mistakes. Until next time ladies...I'll be seeing you all out and about. x

Universal Heartbreak, OMFG

Heartbreak....the universal equalizer. No matter how nice, how caring, how beautiful, or on the contrary, how scummy, ruthless and less than lovely one is, we have all been heartbroken by the time we're in our mid twenties. It's the one experience that brings us down to Earth, and one we can all relate to. I've heard two people who have entirely nothing in common...even a slight hatred for each other...bond over deep conversation of a messy break up. Once you've had that gut-wrenching, devastatingly empty feeling hit your stomach and work its way up to your heart, all you want to do is share the misery with others.

Why have I chosen to revive my darling little blog over such a dismal subject? Take a wild guess. Oh, that's right, I've just been equalized. Just a little over a year after already being equalized SO harshly that I thought I'd never experience an equalizing ever again. Turns out, I was wrong. I'm beginning to think I've a slight penchant for sadism when it comes to my love life. Every guy I've fallen for seems to agree.

All right, all right. I won't go all pity party on myself. This break up is actually (praise the heavens above) a lot less painful than my first was. Nothing quite gets you like first love...we're all a little wiser after that psychotic, spellbinding and utterly magical experience we go through with the first people we are mutually infatuated with. No, this time around I've been something of a schizophrenic headcase. It's a little wallowing in misery followed by overly feminist man-bashing followed by analytical "where did it all go wrong!?" bouts, and capped off finally with am I a good person?! Is he?! spazzes. (Yes, and to-be-decided are the answers to those, in case you were wondering.) This is all interspersed with social media creeping and torturing myself with touching memories we shared all but two weeks ago.

The silver lining on this cloud of gray is that I firmly believe everything happens for a reason. It has thus far in my life, and will continue to. Something, or some one, leaves your life so you can appreciate some one better soon on their way. We are one hundred percent of the time exactly where we are supposed to be in life at that very moment. Skeptics may write this off as comforting malarkey us down-in-the-dumps souls use to make ourselves feel better but to them I say talk to me in a year. I guarantee you I will be happier in all areas of my life than I am today. You live and you learn -- it's really that simple. All that matters is progress; otherwise you're just standing still.

So even though I'm hurt and bewildered (this one unraveled quicker than a loose thread on a cashmere sweater) I'm functional and logical...and wiser. The first two aspects far eluded my first break up. If something can so quickly go from good to horrible to worse, than it wasn't what I thought it was in the first place. Anyone who is nice to you while you're together but horrible to you the second you're done was never a nice person to start with. Let's hope the next fiasco is less of a fiasco and more of a keeper.

Wallowing and sad I still am, but there's nothing time, a few good nights out, and copious amounts of Nutella and whatever excuse of a food I use as my Nutella vessels, cannot cure. Do I feel worthless? Not at all. Valueless? Maybe for a second but that quickly passes. Mostly I just feel human -- susceptible to falling in love when least expecting it and the vulnerability and hurt being in love inevitably brings. The great universal equalizer strikes again. Been there? Of course you have. Haven't we all.
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