La vie belle.

Hey you, I’ve been working like a dog these past couple of weeks. Work 9-5, then class until 8, and on the weekends I work at the restaurant, so I have no time to play. I’ll call you when I have a chance. Soft kisses. 

 

That’s a lie, I have plenty of time to play.

Play is as simple as smiling coquettishly at a gentleman who wears a nice suit, going to dinner with a handsome stranger, or reading a dirty novella in French on the metro. You can splurge on a brand new pair of Tory Burch leather boots, drink three Hairy Navels before bedtime, and then wake up, put on a fresh face, and head out the door.

What would all this be for if it weren’t for play? 

Yes, I work like a dog, but everyone in Manhattan works, so really that’s just an excuse.

I cannot decide if it’s because I’m strong or if it’s because I’m weak.

Which is more tenacious?

To be in control of your own life and hold your destiny by the reins,

or to fall into the arms of something greater than you can even begin to imagine…. 

Right now, I’m going to say the former.

I cannot handle anything that I cannot handle.

 

Le mec sur le train.

Settling down in Manhattan is like trying to jump onto a train that’s moving at 80 MPH.

You steady yourself, aim, and JUMP….

…Then BOOOM you fall headfirst back into the dirt. 

It sucks having to pick yourself up and try again. So far I’ve been on about eight job interviews — some went well, some went no where, some blew up in my face.

But the beauty about Manhattan is that trains don’t stop. They’re always coming around…so there’s always a chance to try again.

Dating here works like that too. Luckily, I’m fairly skilled at jumping on moving dating trains. I’m smart enough to avoid oncoming train wrecks. I’ve figured out which part of the tracks to stay on (Midtown, Village, FiDi if you like “suits”). Hell, I’ve graffitied my name on a car or two and kissed the conductor goodbye.

But sooner or later the train your riding disappears because all people in Manhattan work like hell… Schedules clash, texts go unanswered, people get busy. It sucks.

But lo and behold, another train. This one is coming from Washington Heights and headed down Broadway. I wonder where it will take me?….

Oh, by the way that last train that I was on is taking a detour to New Hampshire. It’ll be back around this weekend.

….Steady, Aim, JUMP

Finally an answer….

Since the very beginning of this blog I’ve grappled with the question of love…

Two years ago, my innocent mind advocated the golden rule – the idea that a woman mustn’t give herself to a man too soon if she wants to be taken seriously.

It was a lovely, totally unrealistic sentiment.

Months later in Paris I discovered the subtle, intimate allure of slipping into a love affair that has no rules, no name, no ending….The sort of romance that burns entirely on passion and is absent of figures of regularity.

“Perhaps this is the difference,” I explained to a friend once I’d returned, “Americans hold love to rules and equations, while the French are not afraid amble hopelessly into their love affairs.”

The gentleman smiled at me, “I think it’s a matter of age, quite honestly.”

Age? Oh, I hadn’t considered that…

More time passed until we find ourselves in the present day and quite frankly…

I really don’t give a damn anymore.

If a man is going to fall in love with you, he’s going to fall in love with you. If he’s not, he’s not. Hold the act of love to your own standard. Enjoy your life, make the most of every moment, invest in your well being, and always move forward.

That is my motto.

His terms. Her terms.

I’ve been told several times that women have all the power.

Each time I almost choke up my drink from laughing so hard.

“Really? You think that we have the power?” 

Men usually stare back at me blankly, unsure if I’m being sarcastic.

So I explain, “Do you know how many relationships I’ve been in that were on his terms?”

Sure, when it comes to sex with a respectful man it is usually does begin on my terms. But the golden rule philosophy that I advocated so fervently two years ago is long, longover. Who wants to wait three weeks, three months, (heck even three days) for something that is so mutually wonderful?

What does it mean to be on his terms? You see each other when he is available. You have an exclusive relationship if he wants to. You stay mainly at his place. Yes, he may be kind enough to take you out to dinner or buy your movie tickets, but it’s still on his terms.

You’re here because he wants you here, when he’s ready for you to go, you go.

It’s pathetic. I don’t blame it on culture, it’s purely my own damn fault. But I have no interest in manipulation, I enjoy intimacy, I give in too easily. My best friend knows how to catch ‘em and keep ‘em with her sharp tongue and quick temper. She uses sex as punishment and reward. She likes to play games.

And so, my young mind inquires how does a woman have a relationship on equal terms without playing stupid love games. Is it a matter of whom you choose? How you choose? Where you choose? Does it depend on where you are in your life?

I’m going to ponder this question, experiment a bit, and get back to you about it later. Surely, there is a smart answer. I’m so tired of feeling like I have no control because I took control of what I really wanted.

Le Bel Ami…

I have stopped processing when a man is beautiful…

Cognitively it no longer registers in my brain.

A month ago I met the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.  He stood there tall and confident, and with a self-assured gaze. His crisp, blue button down shirt that rolled that at the cuffs betrayed him as a foreigner to Los Angeles. Upon our meeting, his first words were to inform me that he’d studied economics at Harvard. I smiled and nodded, pretending not to be impressed.

It was a magical weekend. We spoke frankly about our lives and about the world. The liaison was as intellectual as it was romantic. I felt free to be my true self — or at least free to be the idealized version of who I’d like to be.

When the weekend was over, I found out the terrible truth…

He had a girlfriend.

“What is the point of meeting the PERFECT guy,” I later vented to my girlfriends, “A man who is tall, handsome, charming, attentive, well educated, and has a great job, but who is also a man who cheats?”

What is perfect anyway? Does it lie in those superficial qualities that we deem so important (beautiful, well off, ivy-league educated), or is it something internal that is more difficult to gauge?

Sometime has passed and I assure you that I am fully recovered with many other adventures to share, but the effect is that I can no longer register beautiful. It’s like I am color blind….I can see tall, I can see sexy, I can see charming and intelligent, but beautiful no longer registers. I just don’t see it. 

Not that it’s a bad thing! With dulled senses comes the ability to perceive hidden attributes invisible to the naked eye. I have begun to sense qualities like sincere and faithful — qualities that enrich my definition of perfect.

L’âge con.

Despite what some of you may say about age discriminatory dating,

I still think that boys in college are a waste of time and energy

But by no fault of their own! You see, boys in college don’t have time to dedicate to a girlfriend.

1. Their income is based on Christmas money from Grandma.
2. They live in a small, shabby apartment with 4 roommates (and they alternate the bed based on who’s getting laid…).
3. They have no class when it comes to dating. I was once horrified to be taken to a $4 sushi restaurant at a corner lot strip mall. And they will happily go Dutch the first date.
4. Hygiene is low priority. As long as nothing smells too bad, they’re good to go.
5. Hanging out with the “bros” always take precedence. Always. I swear, college boys have this intense homoerotic bond. They incessantly joke (and secretly fantasize) about being with each other sexually. Hopefully most will eventually grow out of it………
6. With a girl, college boys are desperate to baiser. It’s probably because he hasn’t gotten laid in over 2 months and foreplay makes him feel awkward.
7. They most likely aren’t even looking for a real relationship because “college doesn’t make sense with a steady girlfriend” (and I agree with that, it doesn’t)
8. They’re confused about who they are and their future. You don’t want to hear that bull****.

Of course, I’m not a typical college girl, so perhaps girls my age have different expectations….

What are college girls like anyway? Hmmm….

 

La vie sexuelle

Did you know….

While Men in the United States have on average 16 female sexual partners, French man have an average of 13. And while American women reported six partners, while French women averaged four.

Four partners? Seriously. Those French women have got to be lying!

 

 

La femme de sa vie.

There are some guys who just don’t date?

For years they stride through life without commitments, flippantly enjoying romantic affairs from beautiful woman to beautiful woman. Often these men are rich, attractive, or extremely charismatic. And they’re usually nice guys, just not that interested in being tied down in a steady relationship like the rest of us.

And then after years you hear through the grape vine that he’s with some chick.

I found out that an old bachelor friend of mine had finally settled down with a cute girl. She was indeed quite lovely — though somewhat naive and demure — an oddly suited choice for this classic bachelor quite frankly.

“Is it the right girl or just the right time in his life” I asked myself.

So, I asked my mom’s boyfriend (a former none serious relationship dude back in the day)…

“So usually it’s a bit of both,” he explained. “He’s tired of the game and just wants to settle down. Guys like that are usually very critical so he must think she’s nearly flawless. It’s not always a bad thing though, usually a girlfriend makes a man like that a better person.“

Rendre l’âme.

The ghost of a woman

noun

1. a woman who haunts the heart of a lovesick man. Now for whatever painful reason he is no longer with her and cannot move on: I spent the night with Jake, but all through his house there was the ghost of another woman.

Even if its been two years, she will continue to haunt his thoughts, his dreams, his home, his life. You will find out about her rather quickly. There are remnants of her image everywhere — giant paintings of nude figures, handwritten lyrics on old napkin scraps, random articles of clothing in empty drawers, facebook photos. She may or may not have been beautiful. She may have been a total bitch — it will not matter to him. He will call her an x girlfriend, but trust me that isn’t how he feels in his heart.

Just don’t expect very much from men haunted by the ghost of a woman, they’re useless.

Baisers des hommes dans le lit.

I’d like to take a moment to discuss a rule…

Kissing men in bed.

I used to think this was an innocent ordeal….

“I like you, there is a bed, no one is home, let’s just kiss each other.”

And in my opinion it should be this way. I DON’T SEE WHY NAUGHTY ENDEAVORS MUST ALWAYS LEAD TO SEX!

Sometimes things are left best in their simplicity. But some things aren’t that simple.

I mentioned the rule to a French friend of mine over coffee today and he quickly interrupted me:

“Agh! I would be extremely offended if a woman took me into her bedroom, kissed me, led me on, but then refused to have sex! THAT’S JUST PLAIN WRONG!”

Yes, yes, I know. Believe me, I learned this lesson the hard way.

If you don’t want make love to a grown man, don’t be cruel and fool around with him.

But I cannot help but wonder if this is the same rule for a boy.

Surely they are not as complicated.