You Look Like you Need a Spot

Normally, I tend to hate this time of year at the gym. Every year every single New Years Resoluter decides to make the resolution to hit the gym, eat well and lose weight. Which means a giant influx of gym-goers to my safe haven at NYSC. I was appalled the other night when I pulled up to the gym only to notice that some “creative” parking was going on in the lot. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes and trudged into the gym. Thankfully my gym is fairly large, so there were machines available.

So, as I’m working out, I notice that I’m still one of the very few brave females that wander over to the strength training equipment (specifically free weights). Women, why do you have this fear of walking over there? (Well…after this story I may heighten the fear, or alleviate it, depending on your personality.) I am no slouch in the gym ok. I’ve been lifting weights on a fairly consistent basis since I was in high school for sports. So, I know the basics and I know proper lifting technique, amount of weight, reps, rest time, etc. Couple that with my personality trait/flaw of hating it when people tell me the “correct” way to do something. (Correct is a state of mind don’t you think? I do.)

Ok, my story. I’m working out on a fairly standard arm curl machine, and I see this very good looking guy walking back and forth to the water fountain to get drinks between sets. So he passes by me a few times and as I’m listening to Beyonce’s “Diva”, I get a little air of confidence about myself and start giving my best sultry look in this guy’s direction every time he walks past. I will even shamelessly admit that I took my hair out of my ponytail and did my best hair flipping. Sad, but true. What can I say? He was hot. So I think I finally had him in my sights when I see him walk over to me. Inside, I get super excited thinking “Yes, I am sexy while working out and he’s gonna ask for my number! SCORE!” So said gentleman walks over and asks “Can I show you how to do that machine properly?”

WTF? Seriously? My face must have dropped, because my insides sure did deflate. Show me how to do it “correctly”?! Of all the things to ask, that’s what came to his mind? Damn. Even though my bitchy nature was raging and I wanted to say “Umm no” I let the nice guy show me the proper lifting technique. So, here I was completely embarrassed that some random guy at the gym decides to show me the best way to pump iron. I was completely mystified.
My guy reaction was to talk to one of my guy friends about this. So, I explained the entire story to them and after my rant, my friend just starts laughing at me. He said “Kassandra, he was trying to hit on you.” WTF again. That is how guys hit on girls at the gym? I’ll admit, I’m new to the whole picking up guys at my sweaty safe haven, but I do know it’s a primo place to meet guys. But still…I was confused. Why on earth would a guy attempt to pick up a girl simply by critiquing her? (That’s the way I saw it…a critique).

Then I began to dig a little deeper into this. Is this the male manifestation of being in power, in charge and inevitably their innate desire to “fix” things? I believe so. Men and women if you have been oblivious for your entire life do have separate languages, especially when it comes to flirting and romance. Women crave the sweet nothings, the compliments on beauty and grace (contrary to what you believe men, most of us really do not care to hear how bangin’ our ass looks in those jeans every time we go out). Men on the other hand love compliments and flirting about their strength, their power and their superiority to other men in their surrounding vicinity. And yes, my gym experience is a good analogy for this interaction. Because while I was seeking for a compliment on how I looked while I was working out by this hot gym guy saying “Hey you look so beautiful, let me take you out.”, he on the other hand wanted to show me his superiority and have me look at him with glowing, sparkling eyes and say “Oh thank you Gym Prince for demonstrating your superior weight lifting knowledge over mine and swooping me off my feet with your technique!” (And then I would swoon into a pile of dirty gym towels while he whisks me away to the steam room).

So, the dance of flirting with another person is knowing what a person wants to hear, rather than saying something so you receive the response back that you want. I think that made sense. Therefore, the next time you encounter someone you find attractive and you want to get to know them better, imagine what they would like to hear, and *gasp* tell them exactly that! Maybe they’ll get the hint to the game as well and play nice with responses back that you want to hear as well…and there’s your happy ending (both in the fairytale and extra special gift at the end of a massage sense). Wink.

Oh snap! That Was your Best Move?

Has anyone else noticed that dancing at the club has been less and less discrete about it's intent? And if you aren't familiar with the intent of dancing at the club...well, what rock have you been hiding under? For those club virgins, the intent is shhhhh....SEX! So normally they say you can tell how good the guy or girl is in my bed by the way they move on the floor. This is both true and untrue I have discovered. Some guys will seriously rock your world on the dance floor and make you beg for a back closet, but in bed...well leaves a lot to be desired. (So fellas who don't dance...have no fear of not being able to find a natural rhythm in the bedroom...the myth fails on this one.)

However...I'm beginning to think the originality of dancing on the floor has ceased to exist. For the most part of my life I've been surrounded by some pretty amazing dancers and I hope that I've learned from osmosis from a few of these people. I find that I do have fairly decent rhythm for a white girl, and my Jamaica friends claim they haven't seen a white girl with sicker moves than I, so I hold that as a fairly large compliment, though I know some of you are haters and would disagree. Either way, I feel ok holding my own on the dance floor.

As many people who know me there are two things that bother me more than anything at the club, 1) Side dancers. These are those dudes who are not quite sure what's really going on, so they come up to your side and for some odd reason start grinding up on your left or right thigh. Fellas...this is not attractive, nor is it very nice. 2) The only from behind dancer. If you are one of those guys that only creeps up to an unsuspecting girl and only dance up on her ass I'm going to think one of two things about you. One, you are ugly and don't want me to turn around and see your mug. Or two, you have no idea how to dance, so you want me to do all the work while you just rock back and forth. Neither option is worth my time or energy, except to embarrass you.

So the other night I got caught up in only from behind dancer. It was near closing time, my legs were hurting and I honestly was thankful just to have someone to lean into so the weight was no longer on my high heeled boots. Sorry random guy, that WAS your purpose. So we're dancing, I'm shaking my hips, not really feeling it, but more so playing along. All of sudden I feel this guy put his hands on either side of my hips and he starts thrusting. No joke. It was like awkward stand up doggy style, except I was standing straight up. At first this caught me by surprise and I thought it would just be passing phase for the chorus of the song. Nope. Two straight songs. Halfway through the first I was just amused so I wanted to see how long this champ was gonna go before he realized how worthless it was. Honestly, it was probably best that it was from behind because seriously my face must have been worth a thousand words. The boredom and annoyance was written ALL over my face. At least he was on beat though.

Seriously though, that's your best move? Which of your homeboys told you that golden move? Was everyone gathered at your house the other week and someone just came in and said "Yo, I discovered this new move at the dance floor where you seriously just bounce off a girl's ass all night! The chicks totally dig it!" I don't know, do guys talk about dance moves like that?

So...guys. If you really, and I mean really want to show a girl what you are capable of in the bedroom whether you can dance or not, don't thrust her until she walks away annoyed. The key...caress her. Put your hands on her hips, around her waist, up and down her arms, anywhere she gives you permission (don't get too nasty though...unless she says Miss Jackson if you're nasty!). This move seriously shows the lady you are into her. That you find her absolutely too irresistible that you can't even keep your hands off of her for two seconds. This will then convey to the woman your attentiveness...in the bedroom. Also, turn the girl around, have her face you. Stare into her eyes while you rove your hands around her and shake to the beat. Ahhhh you got her good now! And the next morning when you wake up groggy at her apartment smiling, send me a thank you note.

Did I lose my Swag?

The other evening over IM before I went out to New York with my favorite fellas, I mentioned that I felt like I was losing my edge. For some reason my swag just isn't what it used to be. (Maybe I've been eating too many cookies... ;) haha) Either way, the confidence at the club just isn't what it used to be. Normally, I would roll up into spots like I was the hottest white girl ready to rock every one's world with my rockin' hips and uncharacteristically rhythmic moves for a white girl from Ohio. I used to walk with this air of confidence and street meanness that to be honest I have no idea where it came from.

My ex once mentioned this mentality to me. He said the moment I crossed the tunnel into the city my whole demeanor shifts from cheerful Midwest transplant to street diva. I think that was something I picked up when I interned in Manhattan during college. As I relayed my internship experience to my sociology professors I told them I learned to write the words "Don't fuck with me" on my forehead when I walked around. To the point where I would be walking down the streets and guys would holler and say "Hey, smile beautiful!" Seriously I was being TOLD to smile.

So I feel like I began to own my Sasha Fierceness mentality, particularly when I would go out to the spot. I mastered the tousled hair look, and then suggestive glances while I sipped on my overpriced redbull and vodka. And then men would just flock, unless I had sicked my built in bodyguard team of guy friends for the cockblock.

Lately however I start to feel like the awkward white girl in the corner scoping the room in hopes for a semi-attractive looking guy to notice. I mean did my appearance change that much since the summer? Am I getting too old for the young bucks at the club? Or did I finally lose my cool?

Now I'm not claiming to be the hottest thing rolling into the club, nor am I claiming that every night is a winner in terms of finding guys. More often than not I get the roughest, grimiest, nastiest dudes rolling up to me, but at least the attention is forthcoming.

I know my confidence has sank the last few months due to the many personal outliers in my life. However, I'm beginning to think that the ugliness I was carrying on the inside throughout all of this turmoil has finally erupted and snuck to my exterior. Ouch. Maybe the battle wounds of months of unhappiness and personal stress and struggle finally caught up to me. As a person I tend to hide things and internalize a lot of things (surprise right?). So, I suppose this is my body's way of saying "Hey hold up. Fine. You want to damage our inside and make you an ugly person and you fail to see it? No worries. We'll project it until you actually realize what it's doing to you." Hello wake up call.

This is the first weekend I've had to reflect on some things mindlessly. Since the beginning of the year everything has been at full force, and my body finally took action and said "Uh huh, no more." (My body talks to me a lot apparently...) So, now I'm sick with a cold. Too hard, too fast obviously. In a way the sickness is a blessing, as is the snow outside which is forcing me to stay in the warmth of my apartment probably for the remainder of the weekend alone. I find it interesting and almost an evolutionary technique that human bodies have learned to slow us down when we're under great deals of stress by shutting down and impairing it from proceeding through things.

So, body I am listening. I hear you loud and clear now. My soul is tired, yet I promise to nourish you with good, natural food. I promise to exercise you at least 4-5 times a week to keep you sharp. I vow to rid the internal demons and cleanse the unhappiness through meditation and writing. And I vow to keep your mind acute and aware by providing nights of restful sleep and good books. But most importantly body, I promise not to be boring about all of this. I promise I nice mix of fun and dedicated healthiness. No longer will I either indulge until I collapse or discipline myself until my life is on auto-pilot. I promise to make plans to engage in the happiness that is lasting friendships and relationships, both with you and with others. This I solemnly swear. Hallelujah!! (That was my body rejoicing...)

Pardon me, is that Stetson you're Wearing?

Inspiration from this blog apparently happens anywhere. I was walking through Port Authority this morning after I had trotted off the bus and if anyone knows the good ol’ PA it’s not the best place to wander through. I believe it’s one of the remnants of pre-Guiliani New York cleanup in NYC. Seriously, it’s stuck in a time capsule of brown flooring and yellow rails from the 1970’s-80s. As I was walking along to my 9th avenue exit to walk to work, I’m strumming along to my Santogold CD on my ipod and I caught a whiff of something. (Normally whiffs of things in Port Authority consist of unpleasantries like homeless dudes or rotting food). However, this was a delectable smell of cologne. Ok, before you think I’m super creepy let me explain, because biology is on my side I promise!

Scientists around the world for eons have claimed that men and women are attracted to one another based on pheromones, or in other words your lovely scent. Obviously before the days of perfume and cologne this literally meant your natural scent. However, in my very fading knowledge of perfumeries, the purpose of the many perfumes is to enhance those pheromones. Therefore, as I’m walking I catch the smell of one of my favorite colognes ever! Lucky me! So now you’re probably wondering what the big deal of all of this is…

It’s simple. Men, wear cologne…PLEASE! The literally moment I inhaled that sweet, yet somewhat manly smell I was intoxicated, and I promise I’m not being overly dramatic. I was two seconds away from high-tailing it back around and walking up to said gentleman and asking him, “Sir, what are you wearing?” But, I figured it was before 9 A.M and I didn’t want to creep anyone out that early in the day before their morning coffee.

So many things in our lives are tied to the scents we associated with them. For instance, one of my co-workers said he cannot stand the smell of hot chocolate or chocolate milk because his parents forced fed some to him when he was 10 years old to take some medicine. I believe we all have scents along those lines that distinguishes aspects of our lives, particularly within relationships. Ladies, I’m sure you remember the exact cologne or scent that your man wore (when he did fancy up and wear cologne). If the breakup was unbearably excruciating I’m sure the feeling you get when you smell that isn’t the greatest right? Same for men. I’m sure you remember the shampoo smell that your woman showered with and it brings back good/bad/horrific memories to your psyche.

Of all our senses though, I think smell is the one that, pardon the pun, lingers the longest. It’s that one sense that I believe falls deep in our subconscious without us really recognizing exactly where our reactions to the scent come from. The question is though, can we ever really erase those scents from our psyches or are they always entrenched deep in the crevices of our minds to pop up at any given time?

WWGMD? (What Would George Michael Do?)

All right, so I have a confession. Word of warning, if you’d like to keep your image of me in your head that I am an amazing superwoman who is the epitome of awesomeness, then click that X up in the right hand corner right now. For those of you who are gluttons for punishment, or just get a kick out of me being opposite to my outstanding reputation, then proceed.

So, the other night I was laying in bed “thinking”. (Take from those quotes what you will…). Throughout my dating experience I’m always asked by friends, family, random strangers, etc. what type of man do you want. Whenever I hear this question I get a very weird reaction inside. Kind of like someone kicked me from behind and then proceeded to knee me in the side as I tried to get up. That’s kind of a violent reaction to a fairly simple question right? Well, after hashing out some reasonings, my only guess is that I get that queasy feeling in my belly upon hearing that question because my mind starts chanting “Oh you have NO idea what the hell you want.” And, as someone who has strung through too many dates and has been around way too many male friends and heard too many female friends complain about men, how do I NOT know the answer to that? After a few awkward moments of dawdling, stalling and uttering more umm’s and well’s, I give the very standard “Oh, he has to be smart, cute and funny.” How freakin’ original.

Throughout all of my eloquence, how did I come up with that garbage rolling off my tongue? And once again my head starts chanting “You have NO idea what you want.” So, like any good self-fulfilling prophecy, I started to believe it, and I started to own it. I even developed the very fancy way of sugar coating this into something deeper by saying, “Oh well, I hate saying a laundry list of qualities, I just go with my gut when I’m around someone”. BULLSHIT!

So as I laid “thinking” the other night I came to a realization of what I DO want. And…it obviously racked me a little bit. What I want? One word: Protector. A protector?! Are you kidding me? Of all of my preachings saying women, get your own, do your own thing, don’t let a man be the end all be all, and then this nonsense pops into my head? Oh take my feminist card now…if I ever had one that is.

But no, I’m sure it’s not that dramatic, but it still caught me by surprise. Literally the thought of coming home to a man who wraps me in his arms, looks me in the eyes and says “Baby, I will never, ever hurt you, and I will never let anyone else hurt you because I want to take care of you for the rest of my life” made me damn near burst into tears. YES! Why don’t men say that? Or better yet, why have men I met not say that? Do they exist? Please say yes.

Then I realized that is truly what makes someone vulnerable. All my life I have been taught to be self-sufficient. As an adult that unfortunately has translated into a bit of a character flaw in which I rarely if ever ask anyone for help. Being able to sit there and say to someone, “hey, I need you.” That’s vulnerability. Being vulnerable is not sharing your life story front to end, it’s not taking risks on something outrageous, nor is it crying pools of tears to someone. It is and always will be one person admitting to another that going it alone is tough, difficult and at times insurmountable. True vulnerability is trusting someone enough to lean on.

Call this my Ah Ha moment where I finally realized that maybe this was the missing piece. It was not me being picky, or not knowing what I wanted, or never meeting the correct man. All along it’s been me not willing to trust another person’s strength against my own. So in the philosophical words of George Michael, “Ya gotta have faith.”

Why Football Games Have Made me Bi-Polar

Warning to all, this may be an angry, disgruntled, or completely off-topic post simply because I'm fairly pissed right now. I of course being from the glorious state of Ohio watched my Buckeyes play tonight in the Fiesta Bowl, (aka The Buckeye Bowl for those who haven't noticed our appearances over the years). I swear I'm going to die of a heart attack during one of these seasons...I feel like I go through lifetimes of emotions in the span of two hours. Literally I went from the highest highs when Boom Herron ran for a touchdown with 2 minutes left and then sunk into tears when Colt McCoy threw a touchdown to Quan Cosby for the last minute score. So now I am up at midnight when I should be in bed, but I'm too angry to sleep.

Yes, I'll admit I'm the biggest sore loser out there right after a loss like this. I will bargain my way left and right out of why we lost, how we could've prevented it and even claim the all-being, loving God is just messing with me. (Yes I know that's low...God and I will have a heart to heart tonight to reconcile things I promise).

But in the aftermath of all of this I couldn't help but parlay some magical knowledge from these two gut wrenching moments of my brief history in 2009. Be prepared for me to drop some science on ya.

Everything is a competition to me. No joke. I'm not sure where this competitive streak or energy came from, because if you know my parents and even know my family you'd be like, "huh?" My mom, albeit somewhat crazy and over the top about many things is pretty calm about stuff. I hear the occasional curse word or see the red angry face when I've pissed her off, but I've never seen her be mad competitive. My dad, probably one of the most business savvy guys I know and competes on a daily basis with other companies is the coolest cucumber. I mean during football games I call him to rant simply for him to collectively calm me down with his logical reassurances. So, despite these two references of sane, balanced parents how did I end up with the recessive gene of the incredible Hulk when it comes to my competitive nature?

I think it began in childhood. (That's when we all get messed up right?) Those great formative years where things become as innate to us as Pavlov's dogs and their bells. I remember growing up receiving praise for beating out my classmates and getting higher grades, I won trophies when I beat the other girls at sports, and I even received recognition when I competitively beat people out for elected positions. It was like my sick little high. Forget drugs, forget alcohol, forget sex, my natural high was winning...and winning with an intent.

So you're probably wondering, ok so ummm how does this transcend to relationships, which is what this blogging business here is about right? Guiltily and sheepishly, I admit that I probably kind of sort of treat relationships like competitive games. Trust me this was all subconscious up until I just realized it in the heat of my scarlet and gray Ohio State tears. (So please don't hurt me if you were a pawn...) Anyways, I don't think it's as malicious as it sounds.

But think about it. So often I've told myself that, "oh I'm just picky", or "oh I can never find a man good enough". I really think the point is though that I just got bored once I had a guy in my grips...it just became un-fun after that. The high was gone. For instance, first dates there are always those initial highs when you meet someone for the first time that you're attracted to. There's the baiting back and forth, the flirting, the sexy glances, the conversation and then bam! You got him! That's when I'm like NEXT! That's so messed up isn't it? Ok I'm disgusted with myself now...super. Not at least I can go to bed depressed AND angry.

It's like that old saying where they say with guys that the girl is just playing hard to get and that guys like that and stuff. Well I must be the opposite because for some reason I start lusting after those guys that play hard to get with me. And oh lordy, if one slips out of my grasp just forget it, I'm practically obsessed with winning them back. Maybe this is why I keep slipping back to guys that treat me like dirt, because it's a competition to win them over and to give that final "A ha! Gotcha!"

So, lessons learned so far this year. 1) Don't go to open bars on New Year's Eve 2) Bad decisions aren't always bad decisions 3) Do not wait on a guy to catch up to you, love fearlessly 5) Don't make a guy your best friend, unless he's gay and 5) Marry a professional athlete because he will understand your crazy bi-polar sports issues. Amen sista, amen.

Losing "Boy" friends to Girlfriends

One thing that I am learning the older I get is the fact that it becomes harder to make friends as a single person. Think about it. When you're growing up and even in college it's like there's already a built in system for you to make friends. Wherever you go there's going to be people your age all conglomerated into one social setting, so it's bound to happen that you make friends. As adults, you somewhat have that in form of your job. But with jobs, there's no guarantee that you're going to find similar people to you, or people within your age group. Also, with work friends, unfortunately it happens that most of the crap you talk about is, well...work. And who wants that? However, the one thing I found very difficult is meeting new girl friends. Like I told my friend the other day it's not like you can just walk up to another female at the bar and go, "Hey wanna be BFF's?" Therefore, as an accidental force of social nature, most of my friends are males. Mainly because a lot of them are either failed attempts at dating and we just decided to be friends, or they are friends of guys that I have tried dating or have been set up with. Either way, my circle of friends is about 90% sausage.

Don't get me wrong, having guy friends is a pretty awesome thing. It's like having a built in security system. Going to bars is nice because they protect you from weirdos, they make sure you get home safe and they always ensure you have a good time. It's also nice having guys to talk to so you can get the other perspective on a lot of things in life. Unfortunately, like all things there are downsides. One of the biggest ones I've realized lately is that when you build friendships around something that may have started as something with a different intent, you are usually forced to bow out once these friends find girlfriends. Because once they get wind of you...well, it's over anyways.

Literally over the course of the past 2 months I have not lost one, not two, but THREE best guy friends because of this very fact. I'll admit it's depressing 1) because they were my best friend and 2) because I want a relationship too. For some reason I apparently have become the ubiquitous bachelorette that just is never, ever in relationships. I mean it's been over 2 years now and nada!

So maybe it is true that men and women can never truly be "friends" in the sense that there's always some sort of weird undertones that occur within and around those relationships. I mean I've been in those platonic friendships with guys before and for some reason, even once a rumor, or an inkling of a rumor starts that someone thinks one likes the other, things get weird.

Moral of the blog...any female readers out there that need a new BFF? Cause I'm down three, and apparently cannot rely on my bachelor male friends.