Confessions of a Drunken Ex-Lova

I wish I had a jaw dropping story about my first hurricane experience to entertain you with, but it was actually fairly quiet compared to many other areas on the east coast. I ended up going into Brooklyn and staying with the family - more for boredom precaution than safety. There were no issues with flooding whatsoever, we had power throughout, and a total of zero trees came crashing into the windows and on top of our cars. How mundane. Three bottles of wine later, and 'Irene' went back to being a tragic name saved for crazy aunts and sketchy neighbors. The most eventful it got was a drunk dial from my ex-boyfriend at three in the morning. And that's hardly the thrill I was looking for.

I hate drunk dials from old lovas. I'll admit, I fall guilty to making one or six of them back in the day when I had my first gin and tonic, but the thrill of it all has worn off after my old 23 years. There is no reward left in hearing a slurred "I miss you", "I made a mistake", or, in this case, "When are you moving back home so we can finally get married". Uh...what?

Now. We know I like to make light of things, which is why I can find the good in this. Yes, I'm flattered...I may be single, but I'm getting drunk marriage pre-proposals over the phone. And though it took four years, I now have a right to say the "I told you so" that I promised him I'd be able to someday after he left me brokenhearted in my basement a week before my high school graduation. But that 'I told you so' is never as sweet as we hope it to be, and this drunk dial wasn't quite as entertaining as I wish it was. Because though we were young, and it was a long time ago, and this boy probably had an obscene amount of Grey Goose before making the call, there were once real feelings there...wounds that have taken a long time to heal, leaving me guarded and wary of experiencing the same hurt that he put me through again.
My biggest fear in love is not that I can't find it, but that I won't find it with the right person. Having myself convinced that there was just one specific person meant for me left me feeling completely paranoid with all of my major life decisions. I worried if I made the "wrong" choice, I would only be keeping myself from the person I'm suppose to be with (A.K.A the "wrong choice" of living in New York). And that is why this phone call pissed me the fuck off. Because though we were young, and it's been four years, and there is almost always Grey Goose involved, this is not the first time we've had this conversation. And after those four years, I have yet to find someone that makes my heart skip a beat like this boy did.

His drunk dial came conveniently soon after the bar conversation I promised I'd share with you - the one concerning relationships, and the one that's made me look at all of this in the right perspective. I shared my 'only one specific person' fear with a 40-something year old married man who raised some valid points, completely shifting my mindset on the entire situation. As males usually do - he brought in logic to something I had fantasized in my head. He reminded me that life is all about choices, and who you end up with isn't necessarily because of fate or destiny, but rather because of the decisions you make that you believe are the best for yourself. I shouldn't have 'the love of my life' in the back of my head every time I make a major decision for myself. I need to do what's best for me, and by doing that, my love will come along.
So initially, yes, this phone call upset me, because it brought back that old fear of wondering if staying in New York and still being single isn't just a coincidence. It made me fantasize about the relationship I could have if I ever moved back to the Midwest. But then I remembered the wise, buzzed words of the man at the bar, and I hit myself with a dose of reality. This boy broke my heart. He absolutely humiliated me. And now, after four years and him finally realizing how fucking awesome I am, I'm entertaining the idea of what it would be like for me to throw away everything I have here and for us to make it work - all in fear of him being 'the one' and me being too stubborn to admit it? Reallllly, Leah. I don't want to be with this boy. I just want what I used to have with him...and there is no move big enough to bring that back.  
So, thank you for the flattery, ex-boyfriend. I'm happy you finally realized I am good enough for you. You're about four years too late though, I'm over a thousand miles away, and it's going to take a lot more than a drunk dial to convince me something is good enough to leave what I've made for myself here. That is one decision I am sure of.

Morning News According to Me

There are a few scenarios in which I really don't appreciate living alone. Knowing a hurricane is coming in a very short while is one of them. It's not that I'm nervous...I'm just a little confused. What exactly does one do during a hurricane? Should I be stocking my fridge? Loading up on arts and crafts to entertain me for an unpredictable amount of hours? Or should I be nervous? Hurricanes fall under the staggering category of 'things not found in the Iowa', and this Midwestern girl isn't quite sure what to do. Just to be on the safe side, the coffee, nail polish, trashy magazine, and wine selections will be fully stocked. I'm assuming my yoga class will be canceled, and this makes me annoyed with the whole hurricane business before it even begins.

Speaking of weather - apparently many people in New York felt the after effects of an earthquake in Virginia earlier this week. I was not one of them, and I have earthquake envy. I did feel one while I was in Greece, so the envious feelings aren't as strong as they may have been, but it sounds like I missed out on some thrills - unless New Yorkers are being their dramatic selves when it comes to caution with nature, which is a definite possibility. Try driving here in a snow storm, and plan on the other drivers being more of a risk than the weather itself.

In other news, Derek Jeter is allegedly single again - reading this over my morning coffee made the cup(s) that much more fulfilling. I quit one of my two bar jobs, hoping to clear some space in the schedule for that little thing we like to call school. I have developed a mild addiction to hummus, I'm attempting a vegetarian diet again (more on this later), and falling asleep to Jim Brickman seems to be the cure to any jet lag hangover. Along with a questionable dosage of Nyquil. Only four short blocks away, my new Starbucks has a fabulous seating area with comfy couches, along with a lesbian barista that appreciates the ta-tas and controls my drink order ($), promoting it to be my new study space for the year. I may finally attempt to go jean shopping today, which has not gotten any easier since the sixth grade, and obviously you'll hear about my traumatic experiences shortly after. Another thing you'll hear about - the incredibly enlightening conversation I had about relationships with a complete stranger while I was bartending. As illegitimate as it sounds, he may have said exactly what I needed to hear to finally make me feel at peace with being single.

Enough with my news caps, I need to prepare for this hurricane the only way I know how to. My stops today include the mall, the liquor store, Starbucks, and the gym. After that, I'll be ready for any mother nature predicament that New York will come up with next.

My Mr. Wrongs of Greece

While “Why Mr. Right Can't Find You” has been read cover to cover, I have unfortunately also learned lessons in dating through experience during my time in Greece. There's never a dull moment in my love life - which is interesting, because there never seems to be a successful moment either. I can't even take a short European vacation without being bothered by boys' bullshit. From the past, short two weeks here, my freshly experienced advice to anyone dating outside of their own country:

Just because he claims to speak English, doesn't mean he actually can.

I don't know if they think it will impress me, or maybe it's their form of a pick-up line, but I have had countless encounters with faux-English speakers. We get through the greeting, he can usually tell me his name, and once in a while I get an age, hometown, or career, but beyond that, the conversation goes downhill pretty quickly. According to the multilingual standards of the guys I've met here, I am a native English speaker, completely fluent in Spanish, know quite a bit of Greek, and my one word knowledge of Dutch translates to speaking “some” of the language. Unless he has proven his understanding of the language and can keep up past “where are you from”, don't get too excited when a guy claims to speak your language. The conversation will be pretty succinct, and you'll be back at square one, almost missing your American, English speaking douche lords.

Just because he's from a different country does not mean he will actually call when he says he will.

I'd been catching his eye all day, because he happened to be sitting next to my potential gorgeous Greek soulmate. But alas, it always needs to be the friend that is interested, and he was the one who approached me. He actually spoke plausible English, so we were able to carry a conversation. He seemed very interested, and asked for a way to contact me. I gave him a number where he could reach me, and he obviously never called. Sound familiar? Just because he's not American, doesn't mean he'll call.

They're not motorcycles, they're mopeds, and once you turn 16, you shouldn't date anyone who drives one.

I'm not really even sure how to present this dating experience except to tell you I was re-telling the story to my sister on the phone last night, and we were both having trouble catching our breath because we were laughing so hard. Conversation came easy with this guy in particular, and I eventually accepted a ride offer on his “motorcycle”. After walking to Guam and back in my stilettos, we finally approached a black replica of my 7^th grade boyfriends' moped, sans florescent orange flag. I know they are more popular to ride in Europe, and acceptable even after turning driving age, but I realized quite quickly that driving through the country side on the back of a moped, my five inch heels awkwardly clinging to the sides and hoop earrings getting tangled in my hair, is much more glamorous in the movies. Things got creepy fast when he took me to a discrete location on a dirt rode, tried to impress me with a mediocre view of the moon, and directly requested "kiss me" in an accent that went from romantic to repulsive in .2 seconds. After my request to be brought back, and his annoying remarks of "you don't like me" in the now-tarnished accent, I got my wish, and we hoped back on that sexy ride. Just to make the experience that much better, the moped proved its' worth, needing some pushing in order to make it up the country hillside. In my stilettos. I stopped trying not to laugh, made a mental note to blog about it, and concluded that mopeds need to be left to the juvenile.

Clearly European men have not influenced the success rate of my dating life, but I can't say I'm bothered. If anything, I'm thankful. They've done the unthinkable - made me actually appreciate my American counterparts. The next time at home I'm let down by a guy who doesn't call, I won't be disappointed - I'll just be grateful he drove a car and it all unfolded in English.

Douche Lords Come from Near and Far

Ohh boys. You try and claim that you're really not that bad, you don't play games, and it's us girls that are the confusing ones, but then one of you goes and pulls a stunt like this. And you wonder why your gender holds the reputation that it does.
Let me indulge you in the latest tragedy of my pathetic love life.

We're going back a short two days ago to my work shift. There is a ridiculously gorgeous guy at my table - brown eyes, reddish/brown hair, just beautiful. We start talking, and I soon find out he's from Minnesota, of all places. I mildly freak out inside, because guys from the Midwest just seem to be a little less douchey than the ones here (it is true my Midwestern girls - you can find much, much worse), and after we bond over the fact that nothing beats a Christmas in Minnesota and people from home are simply a lot nicer, he asks if I want to meet up with him and some friends in the city the next day, and numbers are exchanged. The only catch - Mr. Minnesota was doing a summer internship on Long Island, and is going back to the Midwest in a week. He mentioned looking for jobs out here once he graduated, but this was basically going to be a no strings attached, one time get together with someone that actually knew where the others' home state was on the map.

Now. Just because I am legitimately going to want feedback, this needs to be detailed: our texting conversation that night, and the next day, verbatim.

Mr. Minnesota: Miss Iowa! How's work going without us?
Me: A lot less fun, what are you guys up to tonight?
Mr. Minnestoa: Just hanging out at our course, it's boring here so we're probably going to bed soon. But I'll keep you updated on tomorrow - it would be cool to see you one last time before I went back home
Me: Yeah, definitely. It sucks you're leaving so soon, but let me know what your plans are for tomorrow
Mr. Minnesota: (By the way, I do know his real name) Will do
(Next day)
Me: Hey, so I'm moving into my new apartment today and I need to pack for my vacation on Monday so I don't think I'm going to have time to go into the city, I'm sorry! But I still want to hang out before you leave, do you work tomorrow?
Mr. Minnesota: Oh, alright. Bummer. (Maybe I should avoid guys that use the word 'bummer'?) When do you work next?
Me: Well I'm actually leaving for Greece on Monday for three weeks, so I have this weekend off
Mr. Minnesota: Oh damn! No, I don't have tomorrow off
Me: What time do you usually get off?
Mr. Minnesota: Probably around 3 or 4
Me: Want to do something after?
Mr. Minnesota: Yeah we could, that would be fun. I'll let you know when I get off tomorrow.
Me: Perfect, sounds good.

And tomorrow? As in today? No call, no text, not even a lame, made up excuse for why he couldn't meet up. Do I not even deserve some sort of courtesy lie anymore? I'm not angry or upset, hell - I'm not even surprised. I'm just confused - yet another douche lord, or am I doing something wrong? Did I sound too desperate? Should I have sounded more desperate? I didn't get in touch with him at all today to see what the hell was up...mistake? It was about the shortest lived love interest I've had to date, with hardly any time for me to fuck things up. Does anyone have the answer for what went on here? I need some honest, male opinion. And just to further support my confusion, the ta-tas were looking ridiculously fabulous when I met him.
What the hell, Mr. Minnesota?
Long Island has enough of a tool population the way it is, they're migrating from the Midwest now, too?

We'll get into my views on relationships and statuses later. I'm too cynical for that chat right now, but for the time being...advice, anyone?
Do any of you ladies have stories similar to Mr. Minnesota? And guys...can you shed any light on the situation? Be brutally honest - I can handle it.

Blogging My Balance

 Welcome! I've been contemplating the idea behind this blog for a while now, and decided it was time to stop fussing over the details and let it materialize. I'm currently studying English at a university on Long Island, and writing has always been a passion of mine. I've lived in New York for almost two years, and can safely say moving here was the best decision I have ever made for myself. There's nothing quite like packing up your car and driving halfway across the country by yourself to initiate responsibility and personal growth.

While my writing will always be personal, I don't necessarily plan for my blog posts to revolve directly around my life. Instead, I want to share my advice and experiences of starting life on my own in New York, hoping you may learn from my mistakes or find relation to situations I find myself in. I go to school, hold down two part time jobs at local sports bars, and love to go out when I can. I strive to live a healthy lifestyle, which does not always coincide with a college lifestyle. Trying to balance all of these aspects of my life is often overwhelming, but I would not have it any other way.

As I reveal more of myself in my posts, I hope you are able to see a little bit of yourself in them as well. I'll give my advice on how to cut back financially, share my best money-saving shopping tips, and explain how I get myself back on track health-wise after a rough night out. And I'll most likely throw in a good bar story every now and then.

So check in and entertain yourself as I dread the first of the month rent payment, squeeze in workouts between bar hopping, fight for the last of my size on the clearance rack, and deal with all that falls in between.