Ladies … don't ever fall in love with a free bird. It's not going to work out. He's not going to wine and dine you. He's not going to want to take time out of his schedule to get to know you. You won't be gushing about him to your girlfriends. Instead, you'll be venting and asking a whole bunch of "what the hell is his problem?"
Actually, as much as it may suck to hear this, it's not really his problem. (Unless he's jerked you around for months pretending to be serious … then he's just an asshole.) It usually goes as follows. You fall for this dreamy guy … the one that's just your type. At first he likes the attention, but as soon as you want something more, he'll go all "I'm not good in relationships" on you. You can huff and puff all you want, but he's probably being honest.
For some reason these men want to be unattached. They feel like they have to in order to accomplish something. Maybe they're selfish … or maybe they're just trying to save great women from getting their hopes crushed.
I've been there with these types of guys. They're not jerks, they just know what they want. And, to put it bluntly, it's not a woman. That doesn't mean you are any less than amazing … and he knows that. Trust. It's been said before, and I'll say it again, "Never give your all to someone who doesn't want it."
Now, if you prefer the Rock n' Roll version, Lynyrd Skynyrd said it best, even though it took about nine minutes to get it out (granted, an amazing guitar solo takes up some time). The lyrics read, "Cause I'm as free as a bird now … and this bird you cannot change."
But, here's the key. You must know the difference between the free birds and the ones who wouldn't mind being caged up with you once in a while.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Products that Help a Woman Survive the Heat … and Look Beautiful Doing It.
One of the reasons I loathe summer weather is what it does to my hair. When you have naturally curly/wavy hair, the humidity can make your hair so big that people in Texas can see it. After many trips to Ricky's NYC, I found a couple of genius products.
2. Hair products that lock out humidity.
Year-round, I swear by my cheap, drugstore color-care shampoo, but my summer conditioner is the Keratin line from Rusk. This Keratin stuff is amazing. It's a little bit more pricey than drugstore options (it sells for around $17), but it's definitely worth it. It locks out humidity and leaves my hair manageable and easier to style. Because it's sodium free, it helps maintain the smooth and straight memory of your hair. This is key when it's 5 million degrees … who wants to be using a hot straightener in this weather?
Check it out: Rusk Deepshine Keratin Smoothing Conditioner
In addition to the conditioner, I also picked up an oil treatment by Rusk. This product, Rusk Sensories Wellness Heal Repair Drops with Organic Argan Oil, penetrates your hair and leaves it silky smooth. After one use, my hair wasn't course and frizzy like it usually is in the humidity. Plus, it's completely organic … for all you people who swear by everything organic. Oh, and it's color-safe … and sells for around $6.00. It may be a little bottle (1 fl. oz), but it goes a long way.
Find it here: Rusk Sensories Wellness Repair Organic Argan Oil
Basically, Rusk has saved my hair this summer. And, when something saves my hair, it pretty much saves my life.
2. Hair products that lock out humidity.
Check it out: Rusk Deepshine Keratin Smoothing Conditioner
In addition to the conditioner, I also picked up an oil treatment by Rusk. This product, Rusk Sensories Wellness Heal Repair Drops with Organic Argan Oil, penetrates your hair and leaves it silky smooth. After one use, my hair wasn't course and frizzy like it usually is in the humidity. Plus, it's completely organic … for all you people who swear by everything organic. Oh, and it's color-safe … and sells for around $6.00. It may be a little bottle (1 fl. oz), but it goes a long way.
Basically, Rusk has saved my hair this summer. And, when something saves my hair, it pretty much saves my life.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Products that Help a Woman Survive the Heat … and Look Beautiful Doing It.
It's hot. And it's only going to get worse over the next few days. So, I'm going to start filling you in on some products that will keep you looking fabulous … even while your clothes are sticking to your body and you're thanking the man upstairs for your window AC (or praying for one).
1. A Great Primer
As a woman, I know that you can walk into any Sephora store and find at least 20 different types of primer. Even with all those choices, I prefer to walk into a pharmacy and pick up L'Oreal's Studio Secret Magic Perfecting Base. It sells for around $12.99, and it is magical. As soon as you put it on your face, the texture improves and your pores begin to shrink. On the weekends, when I'm lazy, this is all I wear on my face (it's that good).
But, when I do get all dolled up, this is perfect under make up. Through sweaty subway rides, sticky bars, dancing, and any other physical activity, your make up stays put. After eight, even ten hours, my foundation doesn't drip off with my sweat. With a heat index of 110 degrees, anything that keeps your make up on through the work day (or the fun night) is worth a try.
Get it here (or read about it before heading to the pharm): http://www.ulta.com/ulta/browse/productDetail.jsp?productId=xlsImpprod1980035
As a woman, I know that you can walk into any Sephora store and find at least 20 different types of primer. Even with all those choices, I prefer to walk into a pharmacy and pick up L'Oreal's Studio Secret Magic Perfecting Base. It sells for around $12.99, and it is magical. As soon as you put it on your face, the texture improves and your pores begin to shrink. On the weekends, when I'm lazy, this is all I wear on my face (it's that good).
But, when I do get all dolled up, this is perfect under make up. Through sweaty subway rides, sticky bars, dancing, and any other physical activity, your make up stays put. After eight, even ten hours, my foundation doesn't drip off with my sweat. With a heat index of 110 degrees, anything that keeps your make up on through the work day (or the fun night) is worth a try.
Get it here (or read about it before heading to the pharm): http://www.ulta.com/ulta/browse/productDetail.jsp?productId=xlsImpprod1980035
Monday, July 18, 2011
Putting the Shoes Back On
When I was five years old I started tap dancing. When I was six, I started competing and won a first place trophy. I danced to Barry Manilow. My costume was full of gold sequins and a dramatic gold headpiece that I still have. The next decade was full of more shiny costumes, cans of hairspray, hooker make up, late night practicing, some tears and many, many smiles.
That was my childhood. I've never been to Disney or on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. The dance competitions were vacations. What would have been the vacation fund, went to private lessons, costumes and new shoes. (Here's where I mention my amazing parents. My Mom sewed costumes. My Dad drove me to all my lessons and sat in the waiting room with all the "dance moms." I was such a lucky child.)
When I was 16, I started teaching a beginner tap class for young children. I loved it. I bonded with those children, and I think I was more excited than they were when they final got the shuffle down. Then, just as classes were starting up for the fall of my second year, my dad passed away unexpectedly. After going through the roughest and most terrifying time of my life, I went back to teaching a month later. Maybe I wasn't ready, but it just wasn't the same. My heart wasn't in it, and I decided to move on.
It's now been a decade since I put on my tap shoes. I knew they would still fit. When my mom came to visit a few weeks ago I asked her to bring my black tap shoes with her (I also have a pair of tan shoes, but c'mon … we all know how much I love wearing black). She remembered, of course, and this past weekend I put them on. I didn't try them on at home first. I just packed them into a bag, headed to a studio, signed into a class, and finally … put on my shoes. I felt 16 again. I fell in love again. I was going to tap again.
With all my years of experience, I figured an Advanced Beginner course would be a breeze. I forgot that this is New York City. Everything is harder than it is anywhere else. This class was a challenge. Even though my self-esteem was taking a dive, I was keeping up with the class (for the most part). There were even a few steps where my technique was just as good as ever. I liked those moments. The moments where I threw my hands in the air, not so much. I'll get there … I know I will. The hardest part was putting on the shoes and walking into a class.
When it was over, I called my mom to tell her about the ups and downs of my first class in a decade. Her encouraging words helped, as did my ability to laugh at myself. All in all, I'm sure I wasn't that bad. One student even told me I did really well for not dancing in a decade. But, I'm just extra hard on myself. I figure if I take a couple classes a week, I should get comfortable in my shoes again in no time.
All I know is I was the sixth student to walk into the scratched up, wooden-floored room. The number six has always been good to me. And that goes all the way back to my first competition. That has to be a good sign.
I only wish I could have called my Dad to tell him. He would have told me to listen to "Daybreak" and let it all come back to me.
That was my childhood. I've never been to Disney or on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. The dance competitions were vacations. What would have been the vacation fund, went to private lessons, costumes and new shoes. (Here's where I mention my amazing parents. My Mom sewed costumes. My Dad drove me to all my lessons and sat in the waiting room with all the "dance moms." I was such a lucky child.)
When I was 16, I started teaching a beginner tap class for young children. I loved it. I bonded with those children, and I think I was more excited than they were when they final got the shuffle down. Then, just as classes were starting up for the fall of my second year, my dad passed away unexpectedly. After going through the roughest and most terrifying time of my life, I went back to teaching a month later. Maybe I wasn't ready, but it just wasn't the same. My heart wasn't in it, and I decided to move on.
It's now been a decade since I put on my tap shoes. I knew they would still fit. When my mom came to visit a few weeks ago I asked her to bring my black tap shoes with her (I also have a pair of tan shoes, but c'mon … we all know how much I love wearing black). She remembered, of course, and this past weekend I put them on. I didn't try them on at home first. I just packed them into a bag, headed to a studio, signed into a class, and finally … put on my shoes. I felt 16 again. I fell in love again. I was going to tap again.
With all my years of experience, I figured an Advanced Beginner course would be a breeze. I forgot that this is New York City. Everything is harder than it is anywhere else. This class was a challenge. Even though my self-esteem was taking a dive, I was keeping up with the class (for the most part). There were even a few steps where my technique was just as good as ever. I liked those moments. The moments where I threw my hands in the air, not so much. I'll get there … I know I will. The hardest part was putting on the shoes and walking into a class.
When it was over, I called my mom to tell her about the ups and downs of my first class in a decade. Her encouraging words helped, as did my ability to laugh at myself. All in all, I'm sure I wasn't that bad. One student even told me I did really well for not dancing in a decade. But, I'm just extra hard on myself. I figure if I take a couple classes a week, I should get comfortable in my shoes again in no time.
All I know is I was the sixth student to walk into the scratched up, wooden-floored room. The number six has always been good to me. And that goes all the way back to my first competition. That has to be a good sign.
I only wish I could have called my Dad to tell him. He would have told me to listen to "Daybreak" and let it all come back to me.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Part 2: How to Dress for a Formal Event When You're Used to Wearing Leather and Denim … and Other Useful Information
So what, I like dive bars. I like the people, the insanely disgusting bathrooms and the way my bartenders pour my whiskey. But sometimes you're summoned to an event that's either fancy in its entirety, or at the very least, at a fancy place.
It happened to me last week. It was a friend's birthday, so we were going to a fancy restaurant outside of the city. I was excited … maybe I'd meet someone nice and fall magically in love. Then I found out all the really rich people, the ones who insist on wearing Prada pajamas underneath their $2,200 cashmere robe, go to this place. I was still optimistic about the night and my only concern was … what am I going to wear?
In my world, you can never go wrong with black. I wear it all the time. It makes me happy. So, I decided to wear a simple black dress, a black cowboy-esque blazer and wedges. As I walked into this restaurant, a couple of older women gave me the stare down. In my head I told myself they couldn't possibly have recognized my $10 H&M dress, so what if my shoes were $30, my blazer was from a Goodwill store in Wisconsin and my necklace once belonged in my mom's jewlery box when she was 17.
After dinner, I went into the bathroom and I realized how different I felt from the other women around me. It was a good different. While I rummaged through my purse to find a buck or two to give to the bathroom attendant, I found myself proud to be who I am.
See, it takes a certain type of person to shop around at vintage and second-hand stores. Having your own taste, and not caring about the rest of the world, is a requirement. This is because no catalog, "dress like a celebrity" website or stylist is going to point you to a certain item. I like having style that's actually about style, and not just about a high price tag. Sometimes I even make parts of my outfits. It's the greatest feeling in the world. You know that no one has the exact same thing you're wearing. It's unique, and totally worth any hot glue gun burns you may have on your fingers.
After my bathroom breakthrough, I joined my friend at the bar. When I asked for a shot of whiskey, the bartenders looked at me as if no one has ever ordered a shot in the place. Then I saw that people around me, even men, were puzzled. After taking my shot with no problem, I asked for a beer. I told them they could just leave it in the bottle, but they insisted on pouring it into one of those fancy frosted glasses. That was the point when I realized none of the men in the bar were going to be approaching me. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of my $10 dress. I don't think they understood a woman who would come to a swanky place and drink Jack Daniels and Budweiser.
Within five minutes of observing and sipping my beer from my fancy glass, I realized that most of the women were around my age. Then I realized most of the men were at least 25 to 30 years their senior. My friend told me many young women come to a place like this to find an older rich man. Before you hate on the women, he also said the men come here to find a younger woman to share their $3.4 million home with. I did notice three guys around my age. Unfortunately, they just talked about how cool they were and how big their muscles were. When I couldn't take any more and wanted to pluck my eyes out, I excused myself to get another beer. I moved so fast to the bar that I felt like a college kid having a "first bar" experience.
When this night came to an end, here's the knowledge I left with:
It happened to me last week. It was a friend's birthday, so we were going to a fancy restaurant outside of the city. I was excited … maybe I'd meet someone nice and fall magically in love. Then I found out all the really rich people, the ones who insist on wearing Prada pajamas underneath their $2,200 cashmere robe, go to this place. I was still optimistic about the night and my only concern was … what am I going to wear?
In my world, you can never go wrong with black. I wear it all the time. It makes me happy. So, I decided to wear a simple black dress, a black cowboy-esque blazer and wedges. As I walked into this restaurant, a couple of older women gave me the stare down. In my head I told myself they couldn't possibly have recognized my $10 H&M dress, so what if my shoes were $30, my blazer was from a Goodwill store in Wisconsin and my necklace once belonged in my mom's jewlery box when she was 17.
After dinner, I went into the bathroom and I realized how different I felt from the other women around me. It was a good different. While I rummaged through my purse to find a buck or two to give to the bathroom attendant, I found myself proud to be who I am.
See, it takes a certain type of person to shop around at vintage and second-hand stores. Having your own taste, and not caring about the rest of the world, is a requirement. This is because no catalog, "dress like a celebrity" website or stylist is going to point you to a certain item. I like having style that's actually about style, and not just about a high price tag. Sometimes I even make parts of my outfits. It's the greatest feeling in the world. You know that no one has the exact same thing you're wearing. It's unique, and totally worth any hot glue gun burns you may have on your fingers.
After my bathroom breakthrough, I joined my friend at the bar. When I asked for a shot of whiskey, the bartenders looked at me as if no one has ever ordered a shot in the place. Then I saw that people around me, even men, were puzzled. After taking my shot with no problem, I asked for a beer. I told them they could just leave it in the bottle, but they insisted on pouring it into one of those fancy frosted glasses. That was the point when I realized none of the men in the bar were going to be approaching me. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of my $10 dress. I don't think they understood a woman who would come to a swanky place and drink Jack Daniels and Budweiser.
Within five minutes of observing and sipping my beer from my fancy glass, I realized that most of the women were around my age. Then I realized most of the men were at least 25 to 30 years their senior. My friend told me many young women come to a place like this to find an older rich man. Before you hate on the women, he also said the men come here to find a younger woman to share their $3.4 million home with. I did notice three guys around my age. Unfortunately, they just talked about how cool they were and how big their muscles were. When I couldn't take any more and wanted to pluck my eyes out, I excused myself to get another beer. I moved so fast to the bar that I felt like a college kid having a "first bar" experience.
When this night came to an end, here's the knowledge I left with:
- Wear whatever the hell you want. Whenever you want. Wherever you want.
- It doesn't matter how much money your outfit costs. It matters how you look and how you feel in it.
- Nothing looks better than confidence. Men love it. Women are intimidated by it.
- A rich man who just wants to take care of a woman and have her shop all day, will never be the man for me.
- I'd rather date a man who is more concerned with the size of his shit than the size of his wallet.
- Give me a dive bar, beers in bottles and men wearing leather and tight jeans any day. Actually, just give me someone who can take a shot with me, and appreciate me for downing one.
- I want dates to the Salvation Army store, with someone creative and passionate about life.
- Women … be thankful that you have a job and are supporting yourself. You shouldn't need a man, you should want one.
- Don't go to places that aren't you, or be someone you aren't. If someone does fall for you, they won't be falling for the real you. Trust me, it'll come out someday.
- Forget about Prada pajamas. Just wear nothing. It will lead to better results.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Part 1: Every Woman Has The Exact Love Life She Wants
Lately, I've been told by some people that I just don't know what I'm doing. When it comes to relationships, that is. But, in all reality, I actually have a lot more figured out than people give me credit for.
There was a movie that came out a few years ago … The Wedding Date. Debra Messing stars in this movie and her character doesn't have a date for her younger sister's wedding. So, she hires someone to be her date. Of course, this man, played by Dermot Mulroney (Google him, he's gorg), ends up falling in love with her. And, thank the baby J, she falls in love with him too. Oh, rom coms. I promise I am going somewhere with this.
Before these two fall in love, Debra's character is bitching about her single life. Dermot's character says, in a newspaper article about himself that Debra is reading, "Every woman has the exact love life she wants." I have come to realize how incredibly correct that statement is. Shout out to the writers!
Think about it. Most of the strong, smart and independent women in the world got there because that's exactly what they wanted. If it was your goal to be married by age 25, I bet you accomplished it. Or maybe you wanted a rich, older man to put you in his $4 million house and dress you in Prada.
The dude from The Wedding Date was on to something. Your love life is the way it is for a reason … You! I've always enjoyed being independent, meeting people, spending time with them, but making sure nothing gets to serious … because that's what I've always wanted. At some point, I may want more. But I didn't move to NYC to find a man and become a housewife. I could have done that in Wisconsin … by age 25.
If you want something more, something less or just something … go after it. Think about what's not working and think about what could work. Maybe it won't, but you won't know until you try. And while you're trying, you might learn something great about yourself … and about the people around you.
To be continued …
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