Tag Archives: personal

Long-Distance Relationships: Are They Really That Far-Fetched?

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Recently, I started a brand spanking new chapter in my life. Just last month, I packed as much of my life as I possibly could into one big duffle bag and moved to California. I landed a dream internship, made a bunch of incredible new friends, and have been taking advantage of all the West Coast has to offer. Before starting my new awesome life, I had to make a tough decision. Never in a million years did I think it would be a TOUGH decision for me, and never in a million years did I think I would make the decision that I did. It’s something I had always considered a common sense  “DON’T DO” in life. I decided to go for a LONG-DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP.

Before now, I always thought long-distance relationships were just idiotic since they’re obviously unrealistic. I thought that daily 2 hour phone calls, texts with lovey-dovey emoticons and “<3”, as well as Skype dates don’t really cut it. What is a relationship if there are thousands of miles separating you and your significant other? How is it considered a relationship if there are no physical relations? Why do couples decide to do it with the false hope that they’ll be the 1 out of 3 long-distance relationships that work out? I mean a “successful long-distance relationship” sounds like an oxymoron. I always told myself I would never get involved in a far-away romance- no matter what. I believed I was smarter than that… Little did I know: it’s not about smarts, but rather the strength of two people and the determined love they have for one another.

I’ve noticed that the timing in my life has been hilariously terrible, as if the universe is either trying to punish me or test me in some way. Just when I think I’m starting to see things a little more clearly and find my way, someone comes and turns off the lights, and I’m lost in the dark once again. Oh, the unexpected- life’s fun little frustrating surprises. I’ve learned to embrace these surprises with a sense of humor, but most importantly, to try to understand why they occur and what significant meaning they may hold. Everything happens for a reason, whether we like it or not.  Like the fact that I had to meet my boyfriend a year ago, fall in love with him, and was forced to leave him behind to start my next chapter in life in the real world.

If I didn’t love the guy it would be a different story. But the fact of the matter is that I do love him. What’s crazier than a being in a long-distance relationship? Well, breaking up with the one you love and ending something so special when there’s absolutely nothing wrong. Yes, about 2500 miles stand between us, but somehow it felt like it couldn’t break us. Our relationship is strong and it has especially toughened over the past year. Then suddenly I found myself saying the five words I’ve heard several of my friends say in the past, and doubted every time: “We will make it work.”

Here’s the thing about my long-distance relationship: it’s most likely temporary, since my boyfriend plans on moving out to me after Christmas (maybe). It seems that ever since I’ve been in one, I’ve met others in the same boat as I. I’ve watched many of them crash and burn, which was honestly discouraging; However, I watched a surprising number remain strong and thrive.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I believe it’s the not knowing that makes long-distance relationships work. It seems the majority are not meant to be a permanent deal. Even if it takes some length of time to reunite, the fact is that the two will reunite eventually.  Yes, for many people, long-distance relationships just don’t work, and maybe it’s because it’s just not meant to be. Ya’ll know how I feel about fate… I trust the shit out of it.

So I guess it’s not a matter of how many mountains, states, oceans, seas, or time that stand between you and your partner; it’s a matter of strength, trust, honesty, and commitment on both ends of the relationship. Most importantly, if you love each other enough to WANT to make it work then I believe you CAN make it work.

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The Big Bang

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In high school, girls want one thing: a boyfriend. He doesn’t have to be sensitive, smart, or even have any common interests. I’m not saying that goes for every girl; some are lucky and find their soul mate early in life. We’ve all heard stories of people marrying their high school sweethearts. Bitches. Well, I’m wasn’t one of those lucky girls, but I was that girl who wanted a boyfriend just for the hell of having a boyfriend. Throughout most of high school I managed to have a few flings, yet nothing really “Facebook official.” And then during the summer before my senior year of high school I met my first legitimate boyfriend.

My friend Bella and I were invited to some guy’s graduation party at a fitness club. We had only met the kid at Starbucks a day before, yet we decided to attend since there wasn’t anything better to do in a small quiet town when your 17-years-old. Plus, we considered the fact that maybe this kid had some cute friends.

The fitness club smelt like sweaty feet and chlorine, and I was trying to understand why someone would want to have any kind of celebration at a place filled with tan meatheads and frustrated obese people. Bella and I found the party on basketball courts. Turns out, the ratio of girls to guys was the two of us: ten other dudes… none were our type per say. The thing was, we had two hours to kill until Bella’s mom came to pick us up, so we decided to hang by the pool rather than participating in a hardcore game of dodge ball.

While we dipped our feet in pool, I could feel this cute blonde lifeguard eyeing me from his tall chair. Eventually, he grew some balls and came over to us.

“I bet you wouldn’t jump in that pool with all your clothes on right now,” he said.

“Umm, you bet right,” I replied, thinking this kid had no game.

“I would rescue you,” he said. Okay, this kid really had no game.

“Even if I did, what makes you think I would need you to rescue me? I happen to be a very good swimmer, my friend.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. What an effing tool.

“Well, it’s not happening tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay how about instead of jumping in the pool, you give me your number.”

“I just want you to know that this has to be the strangest pick-up line I have ever heard. But fine, I’ll give you my number.”

To be honest, I’m not quite sure why I gave him my number, but I did. And I didn’t really think I would see this kid again, but I did. A week later, he called me and asked me if I wanted to get some lunch and watch a movie at his house. Weirdly enough, something inside of me said to go for it. He picked me up from my house and looked like he was dressed to impress. I got into his pimped-out Honda civic (A.K.A. a rice-burner), and immediately thought: this isn’t going to work out. But then we got to talking… I can’t really explain it, but we had some kind of chemistry going on. Also, it turned out that the kid was a sweetheart and was sort of a gentleman, giving me all the compliments I wanted to hear at 17-years-old.

A week or two later, we became an official couple, and by official I mean “Facebook Official.” Everyday he would come over to my house after work. After some small- talk, we would have an intense make-out session and relieve our raging adolescent hormones. Then maybe after two months of dating, we fell “in love.” He spoiled me with flowers, tacky pajamas, stickers, drug store candies, and stuffed animals. As a naïve teenage girl, I thought this guy was truly a keeper.

On the Fourth of July, he took me out on his friend’s boat. While sitting on the roof of the small yacht, we kissed under the fireworks lighting up the sky. I felt like Julia Roberts in a corny romantic comedy, and my First was like Richard Gere, with blonde hair and a little acne. For the rest of the summer, we enjoyed young romantic love… then senior year came around the bend, and our relationship took a turn for the worst.

For some reason or another, we fought like bipolar animals. Saying this guy was a very jealous boyfriend is putting it lightly. He needed to know where I was at all times and was constantly checking my text messages to see if I was texting other guys, and if he did find one, he would go ballistic. In a way, it was kind of nice having a guy care about me that much; yet, the obsessive behavior got real old, real fucking fast.

As much as we fought we did have our tender moments as well. That October, he took me out for a romantic night in New York City for our pathetic two-month anniversary.  He knew I was into ethnic foods and decided to take me to an Indian Restaurant. When we got the menu, I could see his eyes bulge out of his head a little bit. I realized there was nothing on the menu under $40. So he decided to skip out on the meal while I shamelessly indulged. Afterwards, we took a midnight stroll through Central Park, holding hands and smooching the night away.

Then when we got back home, it happened. It wasn’t planned, which is the way I wanted it to happen. We were cuddling in my bed after a precious night in Manhattan. Then it happened. Yes, Houston we have lift off! According to the theory, the earth started with the Big Bang, and I guess my womanhood started with a big bang, too. The only thing was, my Big Bang wasn’t this exciting cosmic explosion. Honestly, I always fantasized that my first time would be like that steamy, passionate, and romantic sex scene with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in “Titanic.” But no, my first time was definitely not steamy or romantic; it was sweaty and awkward. I was just laying there like I was playing the “light as a feather, stiff as a board” game that I used play at slumber parties in 4th grade. Regardless, I was excited that it had finally happened, and I wanted to tell it to the world: Briana Blum is no longer a virgin (thank God I didn’t)!

Towards the end of the year, things were not going well with my First. We fought every second of the day, and his possessiveness became rather unbearable. Everyday I would discover something else about him that annoyed the crap out of me. For instance, his laugh… Oh Mother of Pearl, his laugh sounded like a hyena on crack. And then there was his sense of humor; he was white as day, however he couldn’t get enough of Black comedy movies. This is something I could not quite grasp since Black comedy usually involves jokes that only Black people can relate to. Another big irritation-he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the batch. Conversations were rarely intellectual and more on a 3rd grade comprehension level. Although, the list goes on and on, and probably deserves its own book, I knew I couldn’t ditch him just yet; After all, prom was just around the corner and I needed a date.

For prom, the plan was to take pictures at my house, take a party bus to this tacky restaurant, and then have the bus take us to Seaside, which is on the Jersey Shore. Seaside, or otherwise known as “Sleazeside,” is the place that all kids in the tri-state area go to after prom. Basically, we spend the weekend in the kind of cheap motel that you need to bring your own sheets and cleaning supplies to. Seriously, the rooms are somewhat of a biohazard, and you’re chances of getting Hepatitis A, B, and C are likely if you don’t come prepared with antiseptics.

So, prom was literally a week away and my First and I were on the brink of ending it; however I threatened that if he backed out on me beforehand, I would have to kill him. Seriously though. Every night until then, we broke up and then got back together. Communicating with this kid was worse than Chinese torture and all I wanted to do was to get this shit over with so that I could dump him.

Finally the big day had arrived. I put on my shocking blue dress, which tastefully showed off my perfectly perky young breasts (this was when my tatas were in their prime and had not yet been defeated by gravity). I got my hair professionally done, spent hours on my makeup, and I thought I looked like a fucking movie star. Since my prom date and I hated each other, it made taking pictures really fun. Actually, if you look at our pictures you can blatantly see the tension and fire of hate in our eyes.

We all hopped on the party bus and my friend whipped out a water bottle of vodka, to which we treated like holy water. For most of the ride there, I hogged the bottle, carefully consuming enough sips to make prom fun. We arrived and the place looked like your typical tacky venue for a bar mitzvah or something. My date, of course, decided to be a real jerk and tried to ruin the special event every chance he got. He refused to take that stupid professional picture couples take at prom, and for the whole 4 hours he danced with all the dateless girls there. He wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. So I sat at the table watching all my friends bump and grind, having the time of their life.

After the longest and most miserable prom in the history of proms, we hopped on the bus and we were finally on our way to Sleazeside. My date took his own car because he said he didn’t want to stay with me the whole weekend (I thought that was the smartest decision the dumbass had ever made). My friends and I partied on that bus like there was no tomorrow, sipping cheap vodka we stole from our parent’s liquor cabinets.

We also took various provocative pictures- the same pictures that got me grounded for two weeks after my mother joined Facebook and saw her only daughter posing in some vulgar and offensive positions. I was mortified and angry about the clear violation of my Facebook privacy, thus I created the group “Teens Against Parents Joining Facebook.”

My date and I shared a motel room with my best friend, Megan, and her boyfriend who, might I add, were head-over-heels for one another. Meanwhile, my date and I had a death wish for one another. Despite the tension and strong hostility, my First and I agreed we would still have the traditional prom night sex/breakup sex, even though we would be breaking up at the end of the weekend.

Before I disclose the next detail of the story, I would like to explain where Megan and I were at mentally during this chapter of our young lives. My best friend and I had talked about the day we would lose our “V-Card” since we were young little girls. We both lost it that year (months apart), and suddenly we acted as though we were inducted into some kind of secret society of sex. It was an everyday topic and we would spend hours discussing it. No detail-no matter how personal-was spared. We shared it all. We were like two sport-fanatic men that always talk about sports; except, we were two sex-fanatic girls that always talked about sex… and instead of going to football games, we went to Victoria’s Secret to shop for lingerie and lacey thongs.

That’s exactly what we did a couple of months before prom. We went to our girl Victoria’s and bought matching lingerie for that special night we would be sharing in the same lousy motel room. We weren’t all going to have an orgy or anything, but we thought it would be super sexy to walk out together in matching sex costumes like a couple of Rockettes or something. The two of us even considered choreographing a sexy dance to do before the main event, but then realized that maybe a dance performance would be a tad bit over-the-top.

Right before the “big entrance,” Megan and I pinky-promised to keep our eyes glued on our own sexual situation. We swore to never sneak a peak at what the other was doing in the next bed over. We also vowed to stay under the blankets at all times, keeping the “big show” under wraps.  After thoroughly going over our agreement, we stepped out of the bathroom and watched our dates’ eyes widen like ravenous animals.

Looking back, I guess privacy wasn’t a top concern when it came to horny teens having sex. We were young and sex was still this exciting and profound novelty… Basically our mindset was: fuck doors and walls- if we’re sharing a room together on prom night, doing it under the blankets is good enough privacy for us.

The next day, my First and I got in a huge fight about something stupid. I saw it as an opportunity to end the ridiculousness and sent him home. As I watched his stupid loud obnoxious car drive away, I could hear a gospel church choir singing Hallelujah in my head. It was a defining moment in my life-a moment I’ll never forget. I was about to embark on a revolutionary chapter in my life. I was single, no longer a virgin, and ready to freaking mingle.

For the rest of that weekend I met boys left and right, no strings attached. That’s when I knew that if being single was this fun in Sleazeside, and then it was going to be one hell of a party in college.

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The Ten SINGLE GIRL Commandments

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It has been 5 months since her breakup, and I realized my friend had overcome the worst of her broken heart; she was finally ready for my “The Beauty of Being a Single Woman” lecture. Now even though I’m currently in a relationship, I’ve had enough experience to have a Ph.D. in Single Girl Living- if there were such thing. For Pete’s sake, I wrote a whole book about my ridiculous single life. So, I sat my friend down to unveil the beautiful truth about being a single woman in today’s world.

The Myth: single women are lonely and unattractive or just whores who can’t settle down.

This is completely and utterly FALSE! I cannot understand where these polar stigmas came from, but whoever created this nonsense should be bitch slapped… multiple times.

Single Women, it is so easy to buy into that bullshit stereotype, but please, please, please DON’T let it define you. You can and you must define yourself, which is the first and most essential step in single girl living. I believe it’s a good idea to create your own set of rules and standards so you don’t conform to the stupid stigma or feel completely lost in this new and unfamiliar world.

I would like to share something I decided to create for myself when I first joined the single world…

The 10 Single Girl Commandments

  1. Thou shalt not go out and solely hunt for boyfriend material; thou shall be open to unattached flings and uncomplicated romances.
  2. Thou shalt not opt to stay in for the night alone, wearing sweats, devouring a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, watching mushy Meg Ryan Chick Flicks, and sulking about an ex-boyfriend, when given the opportunity to have a fun and exciting girls’ night out.
  3. Thou shall be permitted to an occasional one-night-stand, so long as she is cautious, safe and smart, and doesn’t make a habit of it.
  4. Thou shalt not confuse an occasional one-night-stand/no-strings-attached fling with a faithful/serious relationship; Thou shalt not let these casual romances cause drama, heartache, and especially heartbreak.
  5. Thou shall use this time in your life wisely, and focus on gaining self-confidence, improving self-esteem, and taking full advantage of the independence and glorious freedom as a single woman.
  6. Thou shalt not hook up with a guy who is in a relationship- even if he tells you he’s single, but your gut and guy-lie-detector tells you different.
  7. Thou shalt not lower your standards of guys just because you’re not looking for boyfriend material or anything serious.
  8. Thou shalt not go home with a guy without the approval of a trusted girlfriend after a night of margheritas, vodka cranberries, or other heavy drinking; if tequila was consumed during the night, getting a second/third opinion would not be a bad idea.
  9. Thou shalt not abandon new opportunities to try new things and meet new people, nor hesitate to take on daring and exciting challenges; thou shall flirt with the hottest guy at the bar (even if you think he’s out of your league)!

10. Thou shalt not be completely opposed to the idea of ending their single girl lifestyle for a special guy, one with potential for something more serious and beneficial than a one-night ordeal; thou shall trust fate and be compliant with how and when it unfolds.

I may, or may not have, sinned a few times, but for the most part, I stuck with it. In such a free and unstructured time in your life, it’s easy to lose sight of yourself and who you are and self-values. I believe it helps to make a list of do’s and don’ts for your self to prevent it all from getting out of control. I probably added 20 or more commandments to the list as I progressed through this era of my life. The additional commandments are just proof of lessons learned and lessons I wouldn’t want to learn again.

So, despite what you may have heard about being a single woman, I can tell you it’s really not all that bad! Even if you’ve never really been single before and you don’t think you know how to be single, you do; actually, you will be surprised at how fast and easy it is to adapt to this lifestyle. Even though I’m happily in relationship, I still consider my single girl era the best time of my life; it was also the most important and empowering time of my life. Yes, I met a lot of douchebags, but fortunately these idiots were just guys I met- not ex-boyfriends or heartbreakers-just idiots. However, I am grateful for these idiots because they did make me wiser; I was able to see what I wanted and didn’t want in a guy when it came time for me to retire from the single life.

During my single girl era, I was also able to learn a lot about myself, focus on my needs, and I had the freedom to experience many new things that I couldn’t or wouldn’t do if I was in a relationship. I was able to reinvent myself and be who I wanted to be. Eventually, I acquired more self-confidence than ever before. I learned that I could be happy being a strong independent woman and my own; I didn’t have to rely on a guy for happiness or self-validation. It was my single-girl experiences that truly improved me and prepared me for a serious relationship.

So to my single friends: do not be ashamed nor fear the label of a single woman… Instead, embrace it, take full advantage of it; wear that label loud and proud till it’s totally worn the fuck out.

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Hope for the Heartbroken

A good friend of mine recently had her heart broken by her first real love. When she came over the other night, the girl I saw didn’t seem like the same strong and vivacious girl I know her to be. She told me about how her boyfriend cheated on her, and since she loved the guy, she tried to end things maturely and somehow on good terms. We all thought she was dealing with the breakup incredibly well, but then again, she happens to be a pretty damn good actress. Finally, she admitted to me that she’s completely broken and devastated inside. Then, my friend asked me the most critical question that many people, including myself, have asked in desperation after their hearts have been shattered into a million pieces by the one they loved:

When does it get better?

God, I wish there was an easy answer to what seems like a simple question…  But unfortunately there’s not…

Not long ago, I, too, was completely broken and utterly hopeless when my first real love ended it with me. I had never felt such pain before; it was as if I was slowly dying inside, my heart wilting away. Heartbreak is one of the most painful experiences we will endure in life. Really, there’s no way around it- it effing sucks.

The Good News: our hearts are capable of eventually healing from such a harsh trauma.

The Bad News: the healing doesn’t happen overnight; it’s a process and sometimes it takes longer for some people than for others to mend the break.

The first stage of a broken heart is probably the worst of the worst of the worst in this shitty process. It feels as if you are buried alive and trapped in a small, cold coffin. The darkness is suffocating and definitely frightening. You feel totally hopeless. It seems there is no way out unless the same person who buried you alive in the first place, rescues you. In many cases, I believe it’s wiser to stay in that coffin and eventually find a way out on your own, like Houdini. In terms of overcoming the challenge of a broken heart, I firmly believe we are all capable of being amazing escape artists, maybe even more amazing than the great Houdini. Yes, at first we are weak, disheartened, and scared shitless, but in time, we build the strength to free ourselves from the darkness, and can truly live while we’re alive.

When I had my first heartbreak, someone told me the first thing I had to do was delete his number from my phone and throw away any pictures, notes, gifts, or anything that reminded me of my old love/new ex. It didn’t take long for me to learn that you can burn all the pictures and sentimental items from the relationship that you want; however, the damn universe always finds a way to remind you of the one you loved and lost, making it impossible to delete them from your lives. After I thought I had gotten rid of everything that reminded me of my ex, I remember I was driving in my car and suddenly the song that  my ex and I decided was our song, came on the radio.  When I changed to a different radio station, the same song that played when my ex and I had first kiss came on. In addition, it seemed like every time I watched a movie or TV show, the main character always had the same name as my ex. Soon everything reminded me of my ex and it haunted me everywhere I went. I couldn’t escape him and I didn’t think my wounded heart would ever heal. But, I did heal (Thank God).

The first big step was facing reality and understanding why things had to end. I slowly began to realize that the relationship was over, but my life wasn’t. I realized I was going to be okay and my ex was going to be okay, and that we were better off on our own than together. Eventually, I let go of the hope that maybe someday we would work it all out and get back together. I realized if it happens- it happens, but that’s up to fate. I needed to go on and live my life, rather than waiting for something that may never happen. Throughout this process, I had my good days and I had my fucking terrible days. There were days I was so tempted to call him up, hear his voice, and to see how he was doing. And then there were days he didn’t cross my mind as much as usual, or days I felt angry and so badly wanted to hate him.

Then one beautiful day, I woke up and noticed I missed him less… my heart ached less. Suddenly I was growing more okay with the fact that we were over and probably done for good. After that day, I started having more good days than bad. It took me a good year to really get out of the dark place, or Houdini my way out.  Soon, I started dating again and that’s when I felt like I was done with the hard part and was really on the road to recovery. And then finally, I found love again. It’s important to know that you don’t have to undergo the painful process alone; surround yourself with supportive friends and family during this painful process.  My friends and family definitely played an essential role in the healing process.

After I shared my own experience with my friend, she told me that the pain is really unbearable. She said that at this point, she was willing to forgive her cheating boyfriend and forget the pain he caused her.  That’s the thing, many girls are too willing to forgive and forget. For the most part, I believe this is the type of situation where you’re better off being broken hearted than breaking your dignity. For many of these brokenhearted people, it is easy to remember all the reasons why they love their ex, and it’s just as easy to forget how this is the same person that shattered their heart and caused them so much pain. Yes, it seems easier to forgive and forget. Giving a second chance might be worth it in some cases, but not all. Sometimes enduring the pain of a broken heart is better than giving a second chance to the person who is more than capable of breaking you again and again.

Being heartbroken can make you feel totally lost and empty, and it can even convince you to believe that you’ll never be happy, nor will you ever find love again. But to my heartbroken friends, don’t lose hope, for these symptoms of a broken heart are rather deceiving. I firmly believe that there is love after love that is lost. There is light at the end of the heartbreak tunnel. Yes, you may feel that your faith in love has undergone a natural disaster, collapsing to the unknown depths of your soul. But fear not, what breaks us also makes us stronger than before.

So, when does it get better? Well, in terms of overcoming a broken heart- there’s no telling exactly when it will happen, but the fact is, it will happen.

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I’M REALLY PISSED AT YOU… JUST GIVE ME A SECOND TO FIND A REASON WHY- bitching without a cause

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Over the weekend, I had a revelation while I was with my boyfriend. It’s something I’ve done before in this relationship and in past relationships. It’s something that many women, and some men, are guilty of in relationships… And most of the time, we rather not admit to it. Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m talking about Bitching Without a Cause/Bitch Without a Cause (BWC); instigating unnecessary drama in your relationship by starting a fight for no good reason. You may be thinking: what the hell kind of ridiculous nonsense is this girl talking about?  I hate drama and I would never start a fight for no reason with my boyfriend/girlfriend, or anyone for that matter.

Well, when I came to this revelation, I was pretty effing shocked myself. I thought I was the kind of person that tries to avoid drama as much as possible. I hate confrontation and I consider myself a very easygoing and tolerant person. That’s not to say I can’t be intentionally bitchy… because I definitely can; however, it’s usually for an extremely good reason… It takes a lot to really piss me off. This proves that you don’t have to be a bitchy person to be at fault of BWC.

Before I continue, it’s important to note that there is a fine line between BWC (irrationally pulling the bitch-card OCCASIONALLY) and just being a plain ole bitch (bitching senselessly ALL THE TIME). If you’re bitching all the time- well, that’s a whole other issue.

From my own experience, I went through four phases of BWC.

It all started when I went to visit my boyfriend in New England for the weekend. It’s important to mention that we just had our one-year anniversary a couple months ago, and everything is going really great; it seems like we’re in the Golden Age of our relationship.

Anyways, on our way to dinner, he was kind of quiet and playing on his phone. I could see he was tired after a long day of work and wasn’t feeling real chatty per say. Usually I would just let him be and give him peace, as an understanding girlfriend would. But for some reason I didn’t leave him be, even though I understood the legitimate reason to why he was the he was.

(1) Dropping the Bombinstigating the pointless drama with the first bitchy comment.

“Babe, I came all the way to visit and spend the weekend with, and you’re on your phone all quiet like I’m not even here. It’s just really rude,” I said.

A part of me knew I was being ridiculous and that bitching him out over something so trivial was obviously wrong and stupid. But I didn’t stop… for some reason I kept going. I didn’t just blow the situation out of proportion- I atomic-bombed it.

“I’m just really tired, babe. I’m not really in a talkative mood.”

(2) The Guilt-Tripmaking the good guy look like the asshole in the situation.

“Well, I’m tired, too, but I still came all the way to see you… We only have a couple of days together before I go away for two weeks. I’ve missed you this past week… All I’ve wanted to do is be with you. Listen, if you’re that tired, I’ll just go home to New York-… It’s okay, really,” I said.

“No I don’t want you to go. I told you, I’m just tired. I’m just not talkative at this very moment in time. I’ll feel better and I’ll have more energy once I get some food in me. Why are making such a big deal? You know that I’m happy you’re here, Babe. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week,” he said.

(3) The Wake-up– that moment you realize you’re not making any effing sense- you’re just being a complete bitch.

“I just- I don’t know… I thought you’d be more excited to see me, I guess. I know you’re tired… I- I don’t know,” I said.

(4) The Apology- taking responsibility/ finding a lame excuse for BWC.

“I’m sorry babe. I guess I have a lot on my mind right now. I’m tired, too. Let’s just have a good weekend,” I said

This wasn’t my worst case of BWC. I’ll admit that I’ve gone overboard. Once, I tried using every wrongdoing of my boyfriend in my arguments (Bitch Ammo), to the point where I completely forgot why I was fighting him in the first place.

So, why do we Bitch Without a Cause? Why do anti-drama queens suddenly act like they have a Black Belt in bitching? I think there are various reasons for BWC, and I still need to give it a lot more thought before I develop my overall theory.

Here is what I have been able to understand about my own BWC experience, which I think might be a very common cause of this behavior:

Like many of you, I’ve been in some pretty crappy relationships and had some traumatizing dating experiences in my day. Undoubtedly, the shitty past has given me numerous insecurities when it comes to being in a relationship. Maybe it’s me being cautious, a way to protect my already beaten-up heart; Regardless, it’s insecurity.  Since my boyfriend and I have reached such an amazing point in our relationship, the cautious/insecure part of me sees it as too good to be true- or maybe that it’s just all untrue. Anyways, I believe I let my own insecurities get the best of me, and used a fight to test my boyfriend and his love for me. Maybe I’m subconsciously trying to hurt him before he hurts me, or to prove my strength and equal power in the relationship. I’m still exploring this concept and don’t want to draw any conclusions just yet.

Sure we’re only human; we all have a little bitchy in us. We might BWC out of curiosity. We might do it to get it out of our system. We might even BWC just because we’re bored in the relationship and feel a need to stir things up a bit. Some guys actually like to see the bitchy side of their girlfriends once in a long while; they like the challenge. But for those who BWC like me, we might need to find a healthier alternative when it comes to dealing with those insecurities rather than using our boyfriends as the “punching bag.”


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Are you Batman or Robin in the Relationship?

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He was smart, witty, charming, ridiculously friendly, wildly funny, and a genuine human being. He was everyone’s best buddy. He was the guy everyone wanted at their party because he was always the life of the party. This guy never had a socially awkward moment in his life because he always knew the perfect thing to say to avoid them. He had the best jokes, the best stories, and even had his own hilarious terminology. Not to mention, he was the greatest conversationalist that ever lived. He would talk to anyone that listened, including random strangers- and they loved every minute of him. He was also deep and wise and incredibly inspiring when he wanted to be. Everyone and their mother loved this guy. Oh, and a few years ago, this guy just so happened to be my boyfriend.

My description above is exactly why I fell hard and fast for this guy. The minute I met him, I wanted him to put a ring on my finger. Honestly, I thought I hit the jackpot.

Here’s the thing: I happen to be a very outgoing person myself. I love being the center of attention in a social scene, the leading star in the show. But, in this relationship, my boyfriend was Batman and I was his sidekick Robin.

For the sake of protecting his identity, let’s call my ex Bruce Wayne, which is Batman’s real name… In case you’re wondering, I grew up with a older brother who was a huge comic book nerd. I’ll admit I happen to know way too much about superheroes.

Many girls believe that meeting the boyfriend’s parents is a big deal because we want to make the best impression and get their approval. Yet, I think meeting the boyfriend’s friends is an even bigger deal since many guys value their bro’s approval- sometimes more than their parent’s approval. Also, you hang out with the bros more than the parents, so good relations between the boyfriend’s friends and the girlfriend are super duper important.

This is why I was beyond thrilled when I got Bruce’s friends’ approval. But then again, it seemed like they would approve of me regardless just because of the fact I was dating their favorite friend. It was like they all came to this agreement: Any girl Bruce loves, we love too. Nonetheless, I loved that everyone loved Bruce. I loved being the girlfriend of such an awesome dude.

One summer night, we went to his friend’s house for beers and a bonfire. It was one of many parties we had gone to while dating, and it always went down the same way every time. Basically, as soon as we got to the party, we were surrounded by all of Bruce’s friends/ loyal and crazed fans, anxiously awaiting Bruce to say something funny and entertain for the night.  At the party, it felt like we were being introduced as: “Here’s Bruce and his sidekick Bree.” That night it really hit me… I was the Robin in our relationship, and Bruce was none other than the honorable and kick-ass Batman.

I sat there that night, and saw that all eyes were always on Bruce, and Bruce didn’t hate the spotlight- not one bit. In fact, he basked in it like a huge attention-whore. It’s not that I felt jealous or anything, but I definitely felt invisible, unimportant. I also noticed that Bruce was so busy entertaining and being the awesome guy at the party that he forgot all about me. Suddenly, I was just another person in the audience.

After the party, I loved how he asked: “Babe, how come you were so quiet all night?”

“Maybe it’s because I couldn’t get an effing word in with you talking up a storm and entertaining your loving fans,” is what I wanted to say.

“I don’t know. I talked to Joe’s girlfriend a lot,” is what I really said/lied.

“Well my friends love you, babe. Danny was even saying how awesome you are tonight,” he said.

“That’s bullshit, you’re friends don’t love me. They love you. You’re Batman, everyone loves Batman. I’m not awesome- I’m Robin. And no one cares for the awkward small sidekick in ridiculous tights,” is what I wanted to say.

“Aw they’re all great. That’s sweet of Danny,” is what I really said.

I didn’t let the whole Batman and Robin issue get to me too much. After all, what was I going to say-“Babe stop being Batman and hogging the spotlight all the time”? I loved the guy and I was really his number one fan… so I decided to just let it go.

But then, we hung out with my group of friends (my fan club) and once again he became the star- the star of MY show.

I was going to confront him about it, but then I realized how ridiculously silly I was being. He wasn’t intentionally trying to steal my spotlight or belittle me in front of my friends. It’s not his fault that he’s an outgoing, funny, and charming guy. It’s not his fault that he was truly a cool dude.

Eventually, I embraced being the “dynamic duo;” however, I no longer saw myself as the sidekick Robin, but rather as the other Batman. We were a great a couple and learned how to share the spotlight. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out with Bruce for many different reasons, which I will share later in the future.

Anyways, I learned that when you’re a couple, there doesn’t always have to be the superhero and his/her sidekick. It is possible to have two awesome leading superheroes in a relationship, and together form an incredibly kick-ass and unstoppable force.

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I Didn’t Know Romeo was Russian

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It was a boring winter night during my senior year of college, and my roommates and I decided to go to the local bar and look for some man action. It happened to be “Sangria Sunday” (my favorite).

While I was waiting for the bartender to refill my second pitcher of Sangria, these three guys sat down next to me. The one closest to me was wearing sunglasses… By the way, it was 10:00 pm, inside of a dark bar, and obviously there was no sunshine in sight. This guy kept pushing his shades down, smiling like a pervert, and looked me up and down. He was just staring at me and I’ve never been a fan of guys who blatantly creep.  When I reached the point of being unbearably creeped-out, I finally turned to him

“Can I help you?” I asked in the bitchiest tone I’ve ever had.

“You are vedy bootiful,” he said. He sounded foreign and suddenly the sunglasses at night made sense.

“Thanks… you have an accent, where are you from?”

“Russia.” Score.

“Oh nice, what brings you to New England?”

“Fishing. I’m starting new life here.”

“Nice, well, I’m Briana, by the way.” He grabbed my hand with both of his and kissed it.

I love foreigners, they’re such corny romantics, but it’s absolutely adorable.

“Briana, I am _____. What are you doing tonight? I’m here with my friends. They are American except for one on end. He Irish.”

The Russian was definitely not a bad looker; he had a pretty face with a strong jaw line, he was tall, and pretty muscular. Most of all, his accent turned me on. His friends, on the other hand, were not what most would consider to be “sexy” per say. Yet, I knew if my friends were drunk enough, they would totally be up to hanging out with them… maybe even suck face with one of them.

“I’m here with my friends, maybe we could all hang out after the bar later.”

“Yes, we would like it a lot, to do that,” he said.

We exchanged numbers and I didn’t think the Russian would call, but he did exactly 15 minutes after the bar closed. My roommates and I had some friends over to continue our drunken fun, and when the Russian and his flock walked in, the room went completely silent.

“Ehlow ehvarray buddy, my name is ______ and these are friends of mine”

Once the Russian accent was revealed, everyone welcomed them with open arms. Apparently drunk and stoned college kids get really excited when they meet people with foreign accents…for them it’s thrilling- like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs or something.

Later, the Russian invited me back to his place to hang out with him and some friends… and I accepted. My non-American buddies and I stayed up late, drinking vodka (of course), and talking about our different cultures. The last thing I remember from that night was saying goodnight to the Irish guy, and plopping onto the couch with the Russian.

I woke up the next morning, in my underwear, with the Russian spooning with me. Uh oh. I sprung up from the couch in a panic to find some kind of clothing I could cover up with. The Russian calmly handed me my surprisingly neatly folded clothes. He then grabbed a blanket, held it up in front of me like a curtain and looked away like a true gentleman.  I was confused, embarrassed, and hung-over, but I must say, I was quite charmed by the Russian’s good manners.

The Russian sat in the backseat holding me, while his awkward Pauly D-esque roommate drove me home. “Pauly D” was quiet the whole ride back, but as soon as I was about to get out of the car, he managed to blurt out, “So, what was it like to sleep with a Russian? It sounded like you had a REALLY good time.”

The inappropriate comment made me turn red in the face, and although the Russian was genuinely a really great guy, I still felt like pretty dirty about the whole thing. The Russian ignored the comment and walked me to my front door. Yes, this guy escorted me on my “walk of shame.” What a gentleman! He kissed me passionately on the lips and then gently on the forehead. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like a typical morning after a one-night-stand. Maybe this wasn’t a one-night-stand after all?

For the next month, the Russian and I kept in touch via texting. I always got excited when I received a text from him. Here are some actual texts (word-for-word) from him, and you’ll see what I mean:

Hi, beauty, where are you tonight? Today was my Russian friend birthday, I just get back to my house, need only you for perfect weekend.

Honey, I crashed my Mercedes and my Russians gone to their houses. I have day off for next few days. All what I need its only you.

 

Hi, Briana, I’m good, was last couple weeks in Boston, cant meet you, but want to see such desirable woman. . How about you? What are you doing? Me and my Russians friends right now in Boston Russian bathhouse. I want to take you with me next time. You will like Boston, a lot of vodka.

 

Briana, Happy Birthday! Wish you the best, the world is yours! You very beautiful. I very want to be there, just can’t- have work tomorrow. Kiss you baby, sorry.

 

Sweetheart, you always perfect. Happy Valentine baby!

I’m not sure if it was his terrible grammar, misuse of English terms, the unbelievably corny expressions, or the fact that he wanted to take me out on a date to a Russian bathhouse- there was something weirdly adorable and attractive about this guy. He was obviously different from any American guy I’ve ever been involved with… and after some pretty traumatic dating experiences with American guys, I didn’t hate the idea of a Russian romance. In fact, he was a breath of fresh air.

It was one of those Friday nights I decided to take it easy. I had planned on doing laundry, wearing my ugly comfortable pajamas, and catching up on my TiVo-recorded Gossip Girl episodes, while indulging in some Ben and Jerry’s Fish Food, and working on the latest People magazine crossword puzzle. I realized I was running low on the ice cream and decided to run over to the nearest 24-hour convenience store to stock up. Since I wasn’t planning on communicating with the world that night, I left my phone in my car, while I ran into the store. When I returned, I had 10 missed calls and 5 voicemails from my roommates and the Russian. That’s when I knew obviously something shitty had happened.

Voicemail from my roommate: BREE! I don’t know where you are, but your Russian is outside blasting European techno and calling your name. I’m trying to sleep and I’m about to kill this motherfucker. GET. HOME. NOW!

 

Voicemail from the Russian: Briana, my sweet, vedy sweet American friend. In you neighborhood and need to see you right way. Call me. I miss you my sweet.

 

Voicemail from my other Roommate: Bree, seriously? The Russian is here for the second time. Please get home and take care of this. We all needed a good night sleep tonight and the Russian is ruining everything. Bye.

Immediately I called the Russian, completely mortified of what had just gone down.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“BRIANA! My beauty! Where you be? I just went to your house and you not home?”

“Yes, I know. I’ll be home soon. But please, just knock on the door and try to be quiet.”

“You got it babe.”

Shortly after I got home, the Russian tiptoed into my house. He was wearing tight white jeans, a white Harvard t-shirt, and once again, he was wearing sunglasses at night. We went up to my room and start snuggling. He kept stroking my hair and was trying to whisper sweet nothings into my ear in English… except it sounded like Russian mumbo jumbo.

“Breehanna.”

“Yes?”

“You are not like all American girl I meet.”

“Oh yeah? How so, Russian?”

“You are very smart and different. I like you a lot. You are my favorite of American girl.”

“I like you, too, Russian. Thank you. And you’re my favorite Russian.”

He smiled and held me tighter in his big strong arms.

Every girl dreams of a guy pulling the “Romeo.” You know what I’m talking about! When a guy spontaneously throws pebbles gently at your window, and you would either walk out onto your balcony or just simply open your window, as your Romeo professes his love for you. I’m pretty sure this is a fantasy we’ve all shared at one time or another, and almost never happens. Believe it or not, there was one guy who attempted the “Romeo;” except my Romeo wasn’t Italian, but he was Russian, and instead of professing his love, he blasted Russian techno, woke up the neighborhood, drunkenly screaming my name in his heavy Russian accent… Meanwhile Juliet wasn’t even home.

The Russian and I kept in touch. Time and again, we would meet up and have fun together (wink wink). I liked the Russian, but then again I didn’t think he would be any more than just a friendly hook-up. Yeah, it turns out, I was pretty wrong about that… You will see what I mean… later on.

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