Dating With A Poker Face

“I won’t tell you that I love you/Kiss or hug you/Cuz I’m bluffin”

Lady Gaga is brilliant. There. I said it. It’s out there and there is no going back. Sure, I’m a fan of her music, and I think her style is crazy sick (in the fiercest way possible) but there is something else I’ve come to adore about her. Her persona is so blunt, unapologetic, and out there, and yet, she is shrouded in mystery. We have clues to the depths of her through her music, her videos and even the bizarre outfits she wears; yet we continue to wonder, “What is REALLY going on with her?” I believe that there is something to this as we put ourselves out there in the dating world time and time again. Shouldn’t we have layers to ourselves that protect a portion of who we really are? Shouldn’t select people get to see this EVENTUALLY? How can we be upfront and honest without letting our guard down?

Here’s the thing: I would love nothing more than to go around with platinum blonde hair, designer sunglasses, wearing a corset made of a disco ball and hot pants over fishnet stockings while carrying an umbrella. (It is moments likes these I wish I were a drag queen.) I think this would intrigue people yet keep them away from me. While I’m on this trip down daydream lane, I think I would also have a posse of male models playing music while I do fierce choreography down the streets of Chicago. Ahhhh a girl can dream. Luckily in real life I do indeed strut down the street. Anyhow, the point is that without all these theatrics, a “normal” girl must find other devices to protect her from all that is hurtful. We must deploy other defenses.

“The story of us, it always starts the same/with a boy and a girl and a (huh) and a game”

Yup. Hate the game and not the playas. We all have to play this goddamn game. It’s stupid, it’s lame and it just feels so counter-productive at some point when trying to find “that one special person.” (I just puked a little.) I’m sure you are all shocked to know that I am a blunt person and this translates very much into my dating life. And I have come to the conclusion that this scares guys. In fact, I’ve been told this. By several people. I guess this is my attempt to get rid of the game to some extent and to level the playing field, to look the guy in the eye and state my intentions and impressions. What is wrong with that? Apparently quite a bit, since it doesn’t work. At first, I think this brutal honesty protects Little Miss Ava. It separates the strong from the weak and who will put up with me. But somewhere along the line, if some dude sticks it out, this honesty turns against me and I find myself opening up more and more of myself.

And here is where I ask, WWLGD? How does one stay honest without giving all of themselves away? I feel at this point I should stress that in no way do I want to be aloof or a pretentious bitch. I hate that shit. I merely am searching for a more successful way of self-preservation.

“I wanna Just Dance but he took me home instead/Uh Oh- there was a monster in my bed/We French kissed on a subway train/He tore my clothes right now/He ate my heart and then he ate my brain"

This is the worst part. Letting this guy, who will turn into a monster of some kind, into your heart and your head. It happens. All the fucking time. Not just to me, but to my friends (see Rules to Dating My Friends.) And this just simply can’t happen anymore. For I no longer see the point of putting myself out there with nothing in return. I would rather have walls built high, shrouded in masks and costumes. Oh, and my career. And thus leads me to the last reason why I love La Gaga: her passion and drive to her career and her art.

“Je veux ton amour/Et je veux ton revanche/Je veux ton amour/I don't wanna be friends”

Sometimes it is just best to move on with life and make career and passions the focal point, once again. It’s fairly obvious that Lady Gaga is a sexual creature. Amen sister. But it would appear that she isn’t one for relationships. Her career and being Gaga is center stage. Who’s to say she doesn’t feel lonely at the top, but screw it. I think right about now I would rather conquer the world than be constantly tied down by going from one failed attempt at a relationship to another.

“And I know that it’s complicated/But I’m a loser in love/So baby raise a glass to mend/All the broken heart/Of all my wrecked up friends/ I’ll never talk again/Oh boy you’ve left me speechless/You’ve left me speechless so speechless”

Ambien Haze

In the midst of an Ambien haze, as I toss and turn, between mostly awake and not enough asleep, I have an epiphany: "I'm not girlfriend material!" Holy crap. Is it as simple as that? Have I become so fiercely single and free that not only do I freak MYSELF out about potential relationships, but I also freak out the other party? Could it indeed be a matter of "it's not them, it's me?"

Ok, I'm no shrink so I don't know exactly how I'm going to make sense of this or what the appropriate pscyhobabble is, but here is what I've come to realize since the chillly weather has set in.

Sometimes the fiercely single girl, in reality, wants some comfort and piece of mind in curling up next to a reliable guy at the end of a gray day or a wretched week. Sometimes it's better to stay in than go out. Sometimes it's nice to know someone is thinking of you as much as you are thinking of them. Sometimes the thrill is simply in learning a history of a person during chats until 4:00am. And then somewhere down the line creating a history of inside jokes and stories between the two of you. Sometimes the single girl tosses and turns in her Ambien haze thinking, "yeah. That's what I want. That's what I need. Where is it?"

She drifts to sleep putting sweet, content dreams in her head.

But the morning comes, as it always does, and so does reality. She gets ready to face the day, alone. She realizes that, perhpas, she may have been romanticizing this dream relationship scenario. "How could two people even make all that happen?" she wonders as she waits for the train while a cold wind bites her face.

Then waiting in line for vice number one, coffee, she thinks that maybe she's selfish. "That kind of MUTUAL arrangement takes, what's that word again? Oh. COMPROMISE."

As her mind drifts from her work, she angrily returns to her original thinking. "It's not ME! It's THEM. Them. What could possibly be wrong with me? I'm sure I have a lot to offer. Yeah! Assholes."

Then on her bus ride home, to her shelter from the storm, she sees a couple. The girl leans in and the guy quietly kisses her on the top of her hairline. The single girl melts a SINGLE drop. "Yeah. That." She wistfully thinks. "As simple as that."

Maybe the truth is, psychobabble aside, it's been a long-ass time since I've felt that way about anyones, so fully and completely as to totally overhaul my anti-relationship self without knowing that I've done so. Perhaps I've become jaded. And not necessarily by being burned buy guys, but by simply enjoying pure freedom in singlehood. I honestly think I should now be put in the "relationship challenged" category. I would have no idea where to being. It's like riding a bike, right? But more like jumping off of a cliff, no? Crap. Either way, it's terrifying, I suspect. But listen, i think the fact that I am now ENTERTAINING the idea of the R-word (that's "relationship" for those of you not paying attention) is a big deal. Maybe I'm not as un-girlfriendly as my sleep aide would have me believe. Go Me.

Trying to sleep well,

Ava

An Open Letter: To the Guys Who Want to Date My Friends

From: The desk of Ava.

To: The dudes who wish to date my friends. There is a right and a wrong way to go about this. So pay attention. There will be a quiz, you shady motherfuckers.

1. We haven’t met, but I know ALL.ABOUT.YOU.

It’s a fact. You know this. I know this. It’s science. When a girl meets a guy she’s into and temporarily swept away by in those hazy first days of lust, she gushes to her friends. I do not have the data to confirm whether guys do this. Me thinks not. All of the sweet, precious and minuscule moments you two share are then recounted to me, with open ears and heart. “He sounds great!” “Like, he really gets you.” “That was sweet of him!” “He must be thinking about you all the time.” And so on. We’re already sizing you up, my friend. Things are looking promising. In the words of Ru Paul, or my family and friends when I myself begin dating someone, “Don’t fuck it up.”

2. Don’t say to her, “I’m not going anywhere.”

This one should perhaps be more of a side-note because its placement isn’t necessarily in the correct chronological order here, but it deserves mentioning. The two of you may have begun discussion on what you are looking for in a relationship, where this relationship is going and blah blah more use of the R-word. But let me tell you something, when it gets to my little ears that you have told my dear friend, “I’m not going anywhere,” my response is either, “I’ll never meet this nice young man” or, “this will only end in tears.” Unless you are The One, you probably will never get to numbers four through seven on this little list. But if you fail and number three, you’re screwed and therefore, spice these words to you’re liking because you’ll be eating them. Hard.

3. When we do meet, kiss my ass.

Not to sound conceited or full of myself, but if you’ve been hanging around mi amiga numero uno, you’ve probably heard a fair share about yours truly. Finally, the conditions are ripe for us to meet. It’s a momentous occasion. All parties are nervous. I mean, at least you should be. We’re introduced. So far, so good. In an ideal meeting, we have an opportunity to chit-chat and get to know each other. Even more ideal, alcohol is involved to loosen things up a bit. I might be able to get in a few little questions such as, “what are your intentions?” or, “So-and-so is really great, isn’t she?” Yes, these are questions that a family member, like a father, would typically ask. But for us single gals, we are a family and must take care of each other. Because if we don’t, who will? But I digress. This is about you, meeting ME.

Our first introduction has gone smoothly, and chances are, we will be seeing quite a bit of each other in future social situations. At this time, it would be VERY WISE TO CONTINUE TO ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION WITH ME. Wait, for you to ACKNOWLEDGE MY PRESENCE. Failing to do these simple standards of social conduct will put you on my bad side. And yes, it is as bad as it sounds.

4. If you hurt her, you’re hurting me.

So, you managed to kamikaze your way through number three. Congratulations, you will probably continue to do more harm than good from here on out. Let’s buckle in for the ride. I’m sure you will continue to find ways to “fuck it up.” And brother, when you start fucking with my friend, all bets are off. As I have mentioned, you are already on my bad side. Each time you

a) Bail on my friend

b) Manipulate her in any way

c) Have her complaining about the latest fuck-up of yours using

1. Gchat

2. Text

3. Phone

4. Dinner conversation

I AM GOING TO HATE YOU EVEN MORE AND TELL HER TO END IT WITH YOU.

5. It’s too late to kiss my ass, dumbass.

If you are still around at this point, like a case of herpes that just won’t go away, congratulations, you’ve really found a way to stick around and continue to mess with my friend’s life. And since you’re still around, you have now figured out that I’m a Big Deal and should be sucked up to. Well, buster, tough shit. I can see through your intentions and find them dishonorable. Go away.

6. We probably shouldn’t co-exist.

I might be cordial and jovial to your face but nothing would give me more pleasure than to deliver a swift kick to your balls, express, from me to you. Just know that. I’m playing nice.

7. Break it off and MOVE.THE.FUCK.ON. And let her do the same so she can find someone better.

For the sake of the sanity for everyone involved, please. There. I asked nicely.

It’s been a real slice,

Ava

PS: Damn it feels good to be back.

abandonment issues

Hey Biscuits,

It's been an interesting couple of months in this gal's life. But I'm here and ready to write again. There's a lot on my mind and I'm ready to rock.

With the love of a thousand Pumpkin Spice Lattes-

Ava

Hopeless Cause: Party of One

Question: Why do 83% of ladies who are just about my age have diamond rings in platinum settings on THAT finger?

Answer: Duh, Ava. That's what most people your age DO in their mid-20s, is probably your response.

Well...bite me. And you MIGHT be right. Maybe. Probably. Yeah. Right?

I realize it's "spring" (which I say with much trepidation because I feel like I haven't seen real sun, because tanning beds don't count, in almost a week) and people get engaged around this time of year...right? Does that explain why the rings are so shiny? I don't know these things. OBVIOUSLY.

I don't want to say that I'm panicking but I have been thinking a lot about my lack of relationship status which inevitably leads me to the question, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!" Why can't I just let myself fall into a relationship? What am I holding onto with this whole single gal thing? Well, to be truthful, I love my life. I am very fulfilled with work, friends, projects, alone time, etc. I just don't see how I would fit someone into what I've got going on because at some point, you do have to let some of these freedoms go in order to be in a true partnership with someone else. And THAT I'm not ready to do. 

Am I selfish? Yes.

Am I asking a lot of questions right now? Yes. Just trying to figure all of this out.

I've been subtly aware of these thoughts for some time, but it wasn't until a recent visit from my parents that the self-doubt began to swirl in my mind with more vigor. After a lovely walk, my parents and I sat down outside of Bobtail Ice Cream taking in the passers-by and gearing up for our ice cream purchases. Across the street from us was a VERY attractive dude walking his adorably large chocolate lab. I mean, you could tell this guy was hot from a distance. Now, it should be noted that we were in a neighborhood which Galatea and I consider a gray area in terms of sexual orientation of attractive guys. We're only a few blocks away from Lincoln Park (known for young hot straight yuppies) and Lakeview/Boystown (known for young hot gays). You just can NEVER TELL on Broadway.

So, my mom spots the Hottie With Dog (HWD) and was like, "how about HIM, Ava?" 

I reply, "Ma. He kinda looks gay. I dunno. Maybe he's not. Damn. He's hot."

Dad: "You should talk to him. Find out."

Me: "DAD! I dunnoooooooooooo. Ugh."

Mom: "He's cute! AND he has a dog! Come on!"

Dad: "Yeah, Ave. Oh, here he comes."

Me: Slightly panicked and in AWE of this dude's hotness, trying not to drool, like his dog, I reach out and his doggie comes over for a pet. Such a sweet doggie. 

HWD: "He likes you!"

Me: (Swooning inside). Yeah! Look at him! Awwwww. What's his name?"

There is now a flurry of conversation about the dog, with my parents occasionally chiming in, but the HWD really seems to be chatting us up. Very friendly. To me, a classic gay trait. BUT, a classic FLIRT trait. I'm lost. And, I can't REALLY get my game on with my parents sitting next

 to me on a bench. I mean, come on. 

And so, HWD walks away to enjoy the rest of his day, with his dog, without me. Le sigh. I usher my family into Bobtail so I can eat my feelings. It tastes like chocolate swirled with slight disappointment, sprinkled with longing.  

My dad, always ready with a one-liner that is hilarious but really fucks with your head states, "I guess I'm just going to DIE alone without grandkids!" Awesome. 

And then it hits me. My parents are really freaked out that I'm not in a relationship. I make no sense to them in this regard. They support me in all the things I do, even if they don't understand it, but this is probably difficult for them to grasp. When my mom was my age, she had been married for 3 years and had one year old. I don't this is what my parents expected of me at this point but I bet they would like to see I'm on my way to a relationship of some kind.

Of course this is something I'm GOING to want. But I don't think I'll be able to settle for anything until I feel that pull in my gut, that all consuming giddyness and blindness that makes you feel like you're 15. And that's the best I can do.

Thanks for listening-

lady ava

the DVR: A Tribute

This topic has been on my mind and in my heart for about a month or so and I must express my appreciation and wonder for the magical device, the DVR, for it has changed m'life.

Back in the old days. Prehistoric, ancient times of yore, I would find a show, enjoy it, watch it and make it my beeswax to be on the couch at that given time each week for my show. Either that or trust that I would catch a repeat airing. Dicey.

And then the DVR came into my life (otherwise known as calling Comcast and being like, "I want that DVR thing, in my house, attached to my TV. Kthanks.") And now, my life will never be the same.

*CAUTIONARY NOTE: Do not record daily programs like, "The Soup" or, "Chelsea Lately." You will not be able to catch up with them all and your DVR will be 84% full in two days. Record shows like that when you know a special guest will be on.

Also, treat your DVR like men. Discard them (shows) you find yourself not watching  and delete after viewing a program. Clear that shit up for the next one...show. Oh you know.

My DVR has provided me with:

1) FAST FORWARD THROUGH COMMERCIALS WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

2) Bret Michels and his Skanks of Love. But you already knew that, right?

3) Tough Love on VH1. Goddamnit I love that show.

4) The Housewives of New York City. (The OC Housewives, I would like to note, make me want to conduct a lobotomy on myself. I CANNOT EVEN WAIT for the Housewives of New Jersey. Holy Fuck. Also, for spot on hilarious recaps, check out Scented Glossy Magazine. Love that funny bitch.)

5) Sitcoms like "The Office" and "30 Rock"

6) Lifetime Movies. Oh fuck yeah. We need to talk about this.

I don't know how many of you out there watch Lifetime, TV for Women, but OMG yah should. Lifetime is currently bringing the immortal and epic tales of Nora Roberts to life. Done. Count me in. Where do I sign up? I'm there.

Last night, Galatea and I watched "Midnight Bayou" staring that chubby child star turned hottie boom bottie Jerry O'Connell. Lifetime's recap:

In the Nora Roberts movie "Midnight Bayou," Harvard-educated lawyer Declan Fitzpatrick (Jerry O'Connell) impulsively gives up his settled life to buy Manet Hall, a newly restored plantation manor near New Orleans to which he has always found himself drawn. Legend has it that the house is haunted, and shortly after Declan moves in he starts hearing voices and seeing things. Declan is also distracted by an undeniable attraction to Cajun local Lena Simone (Lauren Stamile), who grew up on the bayou with her grandmother Odette (Faye Dunaway) and has her own deep connection to the manor. Living in the house, Declan begins to have visions from a century past and details of events that took place in the mansion. With the help of Odette, Declan and Lena realize that they are inextricably linked with Manet Hall and uncover a shocking secret that has been hidden there for more than 100 years. (The "Midnight Bayou" movie is based on the Nora Roberts book title of the same name.

I mean, COME ON! How can you NOT watch? Twenty minutes into this, oh what's the right word what's the right word, MASTERPIECE, Gee and I were invested. To the point that we were shrieking, "what the FUUUUUUCK!" and, "Shut the FUCK up!" along with, "Noooooooooo waaaaaaayyyyy" and the classic, "YEAH! Makeoooooouuuuuut." In retrospect, there could've been at least two or three more sex scenes but whatever. O'Connell was hot and the story line was gold. 

The DVR is currently holding for me "Tribute" starring Brittany Murphy (yeah, where DID her career go, right?) and sex on a stick Jason Lewis, better known as Smith from "Sex and the City." Brittany looks like a hot mess but Jason looks like he should take advantage of me. YEAH I SAID IT.

People, I think we can all put money on the fact that I will be watching each and every one of these movies with a carton of cappuccino with chocolate chips frozen yogurt in my little hands.

Now, if only Lifetime would re-air "The Golden Girls" again, my DVR life would be complete.

DVR, oh sweet sweet DVR, what joy and mindlessness you bring me. I lurve you.

Anxiously awaiting the return of Mad Men-

A-to-the-VA

Ava Log- April 13. Rain. Cold. Gray.

And damp. Bleak. Lethargic. 

I refuse to put my winter coat back on.

I'm starting to panic that Spring, real 65 degrees, sunny, trees in bloom, open patios, sundress wearing, frolicking Spring will never come.

Which in turn, means that Summer, true 85 degree, air conditioner units, bathing suits, days at the lake, not watching TV for weeks at at time, sandals and sunglasses, the sensation of fewer responsibilities and flings of Summer will never EVER arrive.

Chicagoans are tough. We grin and bear this shit weather with patience and cynicism. We're all just trying to survive at this point.