At a certain point in life most of us get to a place where we are pretty comfortable with who we are. Despite that, I’ve noticed we still manage to struggle with being a good person. What makes someone “good” and another person “bad”, and what is about each of us that are attracted to the dark or the light? I bring this up because it came up more than once recently in conversations with different people. It seems whichever way we, ahem, swing we’re always hoping to experiment with the other.

Ok, sure this isn’t a big mystery. The grass always looks greener on the other side and while there are things or people we think we can’t do or be, it is so damn exciting to imagine it – even if it is for a minute. Given all the ways we segregate ourselves in society (in secret, of course) good and bad are probably one of the last categories of division that still aren’t taboo to say out loud and everyone is usually in one camp. You’re either on “Team Jennifer” or “Team Angelina”.

I was talking to my girlfriend and she was telling me how she has trouble relating with some other friends of hers. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy their company. She thought they were all great but, it was as if she wasn’t as free to be herself around them – her whole self. They were “goody-goodies” as we like to call them. You know the type – that borderline annoyingly sweet girl or guy who always seems to say and do exactly the right thing. “Oh no, I don’t drink,” or my personal favorite “I could never do THAT,”; that individual that makes you feel like you have lived this debauched life even if the most you’ve ever done is shoplift – once. Not there is anything wrong with any of these fine qualities, it just mucks up the relating a bit when you are not said, “goody-goody”.

All this talk of good girls, made me think of one of my closest friends growing up. She was a “bad girl” in the truest sense of the word. She drank, smoked, cursed, chased boys. She was great and I loved hanging out with her even if my parents held their breath every time I was with her. Yes, it was exciting just thinking we could get into trouble but was she a criminal? No, she meant no harm and as s a friend she was fiercely loyal. Or maybe it was just me and I couldn’t resist temptation.

Now as I said, there is nothing wrong with being a “goody-goody” or a ‘bad girl/boy”. I believe both can co-exist if you are willing to expand your definition. If not, I’ll be honest it does make things harder and frankly easier to fall from grace. I have this one friend that whenever we get together, gets a gleeful, slightly sadistic and definitely voyeuristic pleasure from asking me what “wild and crazy” things her single friend is up to. At first I felt a lot pressure to come up with something unbelievable to tell her I did last Friday night, even if the truth was I watched “Zoolander,”…again.. Then it started to bother me because it seemed to be less out of genuine interest and more about personal titillation, but I think I get it now. It was, is fun for her. She worries me because I fear she may do something completely out of character one of these days. She’s the type that I’m afraid, in an attempt to cram in all her “bad girl” desires, one day does something irreversible like cheating on a spouse or gives up everything to study scientology (not that is anything wrong with that, TomKat).

The second time this topic came up last week another friend and I were discussing a mutual friend. This mutual friend is a great guy. I love him. He’s funny, he’s smart and he’s compassionate. He is not however, a good boy or at least not by the conventional definition. It’s when he tries to be good or at least what I think, he thinks is expected of him that things get messy. It usually involves a lot of alcohol and some blackouts. I think this is because our inherent nature, whether we like it or not, eventually shines through. is definite Is he a work in progress? Yes. But at this age, it’s our responsibility to be, as cliché as it is, true to our selves. I’m not advocating hedonism, rather responsible self-indulgence. Kind of like the beer ads – drink responsibly.

Back to my friend in elementary school, the thing is I don’t think I ever saw her as bad, just flawed. And while on the surface we may have seemed different, I saw them in me too. It’s amazing what insight you have into yourself at thirteen. I think it’s when we try and pretend the flaws aren’t there that we get into trouble. Besides, isn’t it our flaws that make us all so unique and interesting? I remember when I first met my now 5-year old niece who is hell on wheels in her parents’ eyes. She had this look in her eye just as she was about to do something she’d probably got into trouble for. She manages to always just tiptoe over the line but never quite step into we’re-sending-her-to-military-school territory. I looked at her and she looked at me and I couldn’t help but smile just a little because in that moment we recognized something in the other. I smiled and I thought, “Yeah, she’s a bad girl. Thank god.”

With the New Year here it seems appropriate to mark some resolutions in this column. I sat down with pen in hand (ok, not exactly) and eagerly awaited the resolutions to come pouring out. I waited for awhile. Nothing happened. Of course the ubiquitous “go to the gym” came up but who are we kidding? Then it occurred to me that maybe I can’t resolve to make any changes because I’m approaching this the wrong way. I should approach the New Year resolution like a corporate review. Have a few, small, attainable, realistic goals for myself - the key word being attainable.

So, as I thought about my “goals” for 2006 I had to look over 2005. 2005 was in a word, overwhelming. Not bad, not good, just overwhelming and this sentiment seemed to be echoed by everyone I knew. I’m not sure if it was just 2005, the state of the world, the state of our individual worlds or a combination. I wish I could even say it was just New York, but I don’t think it was that either. But I kept coming back to this sense of being overwhelmed.

Growing older has its upshot – independence, money, drinking. It also has its downside – independence, bills, hangovers and perhaps what no one really says out loud – loneliness. And it is that feeling that is awful and overwhelming. No one wants to admit it because it feels like admitting you are a failure. I know I felt, feel that way. But, I admit it. I’ve been feeling lonely. And, it’s not as simple as just wanting someone around, it’s a feeling of wanting the right person around. It’s palpable and only gets worse or, feels that way anyway. When I was 25 it didn’t occur to me that I might even want or need this. I was having too much fun. At 30, it’s different – the bloom of going to some ridiculous party and talking to a hundred guys has come off. Maybe I’m maturing. Well, maybe not that exactly but being with someone that gets me is so much more appealing than sleeping with a certain amount of men before I get married. Yes, women have those “lists” also.

I’m not sure what brought on this spurt of maturity for lack of a better word. I know I was feeling lonely even if I couldn’t identify it at the time. Three of my ex-es got engaged this year and they all crushed me in different ways. I think that might have had something to do with the lonely feeling. It wasn’t that I wanted to get married of even marry any of them; it was that they didn’t want ME. I was even shocked at how upset and disturbed I was by this turn of events. So, this year I don’t have any resolutions but I do have a goal to not be lonely.

If this were a corporate review I would think of small steps to reach my goal. You have a goal of getting promoted so you say “Go to X amount of training sessions”. So, the next time an ex (boyfriend or otherwise) of mine gets engaged (it’s up to 7 now) I will not let that mean I have a problem. It just means it wasn’t right for us or, the bastard didn’t know any better. Just kidding. I will, “Go on X amount of dates”…or maybe just buy myself a new pair of shoes (trust me, it’s an amazing cure for loneliness). You get the idea. It’s simple and within reach. I’m not saying you can’t have lofty goals but I think there is something to goals that can be attained aside from the feeling of accomplishment. I think it spurns good vibrations which only lead to more good vibrations.

A few columns back, a reader wrote me asking me about how to approach someone; how to make the first move. And, in theory I know the answer – make eye contact, smile and my favorite “take a risk”. But, in practice I realized I don’t do it enough of it myself. Shameful for a columnist on the subject, I know. It occurred to me that when I am out I am usually with my friends and frankly, I’m not “looking”. I think I have always been of the school of thought “you can’t look for love”. Taking that into account while I’m perfectly social, perhaps I need to do something a little more active.

Case in point: there was this one time I walked into a store with my girlfriend and the sales guy came up to us to "help" or, so I thought. He was being very flirty and I responded in kind, but I didn't do anything. I walked out of the store only to have my girlfriend hit me. "What are you doing? He liked you! You should have gotten his number!" I just stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language. Is that what I was supposed to do? Oops. I went back in a week later, he remembered me, we flirted some more and he gave me his number. No great love story emerged, BUT I remember feeling so exhilarated afterwards that I didn’t regret it, not for one second. I’m going to try that again (with someone else) sometime in 2006.

I’m not sure if any of this actually works but does it really matter? It’s exhausting to analyze, to stew in self-pity and wonder what I did wrong when I could just be thinking about what I want to do next. The possibility is so much more exciting than the alternative. Sounds good for now anyway and I’m sure like most “goals” I’ll have to remind myself of this come the first week of February when another *@&^%$# ex of mine gets engaged. But that’s the beauty of having something in print, it always comes back to bite you on the a

Girls have the best stories. Just mix one part cocktail and two parts over a decade of dating and the stuff that comes out is worth its weight in gold. Case in point, I was having drinks with two of my girlfriends the other night and the obvious topic of men, boyfriends and other crap came up. I still haven’t completely cracked the connection between alcohol and ex-boyfriends, but it’s a toxic combination almost always resulting in a regrettable drunk-dialing incident.

My one friend regaled us with tales about her ex, which is in that inevitable “gray area” as well as the countless number of bad-date stories that she had to choose from. Of course, this led to the “sharing” moment between the three of us to see who would get first prize. She won that night. She met a guy at a bar with friends and for the first couple of hours he seemed great, funny, interesting even, until of course he told her he wanted to share something about himself with her. He decided that was the moment to tell her that he didn’t masturbate. He never had and he never would. Keep in mind they weren’t talking about anything closely related to that subject beforehand. I don’t make this shit up. Frankly it didn’t matter who won, it’s always the same thing. It’s a jungle out there.

When I am having this conversation with my girlfriends, who are mostly rational, sane, intelligent women one would get the impression that the men that are out there are…well, freaks. The funny thing is when I talk to my single male friends they have the same thing to say. All the available women out there are freaks as well. I’ve heard nightmarish stories on both sides of the gender pool, although I will admit I am slightly biased towards my gender. So, I’m wondering if it’s something cosmic, as in all the right people aren’t meeting, like ships sailing past each other in the night?

Let me address this in another way. I listen to these awful stories from my male friends, who are also mostly sane, intelligent and rational and I think yes, these women they go out with are crazy. They all say the same thing. The women they approach or date are only interested in getting married, how much they make and what men will buy them. From the greeting, “So, what do you do again?” to the rejection, “I only date guys that make/do ______ (fill in the blank) to the favorite, “Where’s my ring?” – these women are either too confident or too desperate. By the way, where are they meeting these women? Of course, I sit and I try and apply these stories to women I know because I am really interested in figuring this out. Are we really like that? Did we unknowingly do some seriously freaky shit that we were unaware of? For example, I have a friend who approached every first date wondering if this was the man who would be her husband, the father of her child. She’d have an entire relationship, first fight, tenth fight and breakup before the appetizers arrived. Okay, not the healthiest approach to dating but hardly one of the types described above. Having said that, I’d even run away from her. Sorry.

On the other hand, I remember being on a blind date once that started off with a lot of potential. We were having fun, it was relaxed and the conversation was good until he started to drink too much. I could already see where this was going to go. I tried to refuse the after dinner port, feigning exhaustion, but it was too late. The sad part was that I thought I could’ve liked him so I was trying desperately to avoid any situation where he might say or do something he regretted. But it was a train wreck waiting to happen and just as I thought we were in the clear, he said a most embarrassing statement. I can’t even talk about it. Okay, I can. He said he wanted “to lay with me”. What?! What does that even really mean? I think I would have rather he just said he wanted to fuck me. After that, I thanked him for the evening and ran straight for the nearest cab. [A note to all of you: don’t try to out drink your date even if you think he/she is lightweight. This never has a happy ending. The rule of thumb is that you are probably said lightweight.]

When did it all get so hard? I want to say after high school but I think definitely after college and especially right now. At least in that environment you had the natural setting of shared, close sleeping quarters, no responsibility, nothing but time on your hands, a blind faith in your fellow man and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. Dating in the modern, cosmopolitan sense is actually a very unnatural setting. Sure, it’s carefree and for a brief time there you really are looking to just have fun, but for the most part we are all looking to pair up in some way. Why else would any of us go through this madness day in and day out? Think about it – guys have the unbearable responsibility in most cases, to approach women and get rejected 9 times out of 10. And women have the exhausting task of trying to be all things to all men but still remain, steadfastly, themselves.

The first date nervous tension is inevitable. We all accept that. All things worth having are worth getting nervous about. But here’s a thought: we’ve all been on a date that we weren’t into or an interview for a job that we didn’t really want and those went pretty well, right? Here’s an idea: whenever we really don’t want something that annoying little voice (a.k.a. inner freak) in your head disappears. Approach a first date, a job interview, an audition from the same place, “You don’t want it that bad”. Can’t hurt to try, right? Your inner freak is just waiting for you to feed it with too much alcohol, say something stupid or worse yet, listen to your mother’s nagging voice. That’s a lot of voices. For most of us who are schizoid enough, that’s two voices too many.

So, in my bid to ease or rid the world of this pressure (and with any luck, freaks) I ask all of you ladies to be nice to next guy that sidles up to you in a bar and let him get you a drink. He may not be your “type” but if you’re like most women, you don’t really have a type. It’s a myth fabricated by Danielle Steele novels. And guys - please don’t wait until we are about to leave the bar before you approach us. Don’t be scared if we’re with other girls, just bring friends but be subtle. We all know about the wingman. We’ve all seen the beer commercial. Just come up and talk to us, sans line (unless it’s really creative). Trust me, we appreciate the effort and I promise we won’t bite.

I’m an addict. I admit it. I just can’t get enough. Flirting, that is. I’ve noticed, as I get older what a valuable commodity flirting is, be it in a relationship, in the early stages or even just for fun. It’s just good stuff. It is instant gratification in the age of instant everything. It’s like the perfect pair of heels (on sale), a cool vodka on ice or McDonald’s French fries, but even better. I love the way it can make you immediately revert back to being a15-year old passing notes in class, except these days it’s a text message or a coy IM session. The rush nonetheless, is the same.

What is about flirting? I think it’s the anticipation of what might be next. Like the minutes before the first kiss – you know it’s coming and you’re both just waiting for the other to lean in just so and there it is. It’s been likened to a “dance” and other cute metaphors but I just think it’s just hot. It’s how we talk to each other, man or woman. It seems more and more we have forgotten how to talk to one another. I don’t mean “communicate” in the Dr. Phil way. I mean really talk to one another and have fun. It is something of art form and man, a person that can flirt well, well let’s just say it’s a good skill to have even if it turns you into a giggly teenager.

As much as I hate to admit it, I have been going through a funk of late. I was starting to think I may never like a guy again. You know, “like, like” a guy. I was craving something, anything that remotely felt like something. I don’t know if it had anything to do with the end of summer and my feeble attempts to hold on, or just the fact that everywhere I looked I saw people kissing. I’m not kidding. It was everywhere I turned as if someone was giving me a giant, cosmic middle-finger. But even amidst all the paring-off and kissing, I wasn’t sure what I really wanted. I did know that dating alone wasn’t cutting it. I can only speak for New York but I suspect it’s not much different in other places. NO one seems to want to have good, clean fun anymore. People flirt, but more as a defense mechanism. It’s just not the same as getting shoved on the playground by the cute boy in class.

I left work a few weeks back smiling ear-to-ear all the way home. I had the silly grin on and if I had a piece of gum in my mouth, I know I’d be blowing bubbles. It all started innocently enough. An IM window popped up. Something funny was said. A witty response was sent back and before I knew it, I think, no I’m pretty sure we were flirting! Yes, we were definitely flirting. I’m surprised I even remembered how to but that’s the great thing about IM. While flirting in and of itself is relatively safe, IM adds another level of security where you could be a little more outlandish if you wanted to be. Before I knew it, an hour had passed (yes, I’m still at work) and I was on a little bit of a high. I was starting to scratch my head wondering what he was going to say next. What should I say? I immediately had a vision of me in 6th grade calling my best friend after getting off the phone with Robert Perez (sigh) and asking her, “But, do you think he LIKES me, LIKES me?” How could this be? It wasn’t in person, there wasn’t even a kiss. It was all over online! Maybe there is something to online dating? But that’s another column.

But, as I mentioned earlier I’m an addict. Give me a little and before too long, like a junkie I’ll need a bigger fix. That’s the one downside to a fun, flirtatious escapade. Even if you aren’t in it for something more, the minute it starts to wane all that nervous energy bubbles up the surface and comes out in strange and mysterious ways. You’ll either tire of it, and in effect, Him, or you’ll ask yourself silly questions like: Is there someone else? What does that mean? It’s a constant struggle not to go to the “bad place”.

I’ve resolved to accept that dating in the 21st century is a different animal. No one “courts” anymore, emails have replaced love letters, and IMs have replaced good old-fashioned flirting. I can track the deterioration – literally the beginning, middle and end of my last relationship over a series of IM sessions. Is that what it’s come to? Is it so bad really? I mean, if you can still feel like smiling like an insane person just because a boy may think you are kinda cute, it can’t be all bad.

While riding home on the subway on Monday evening, iPod blaring in my ears I found myself quietly and discreetly (I hope), sobbing. I’m sure people were looking or trying to look away but I couldn’t stop. I tried my best to control myself. I did have a different idea for this week’s column. But, as with most plans life happens and plans change. And, there I was on the “A” train headed home, heart breaking and feeling utterly helpless for a friend. I found out that morning that her fiancé, whom she was to marry in a week, had suddenly died.

Just 24 hours earlier, this woman was another colleague and a friend. Someone whom I had grown to care for but never someone I thought would so personally touch my life. I felt selfish, shallow and rotten. Now, she was in my every thought and all I could think about were the conversations we had outside of work. She loved, loves her fiancé and that was so evident whenever she spoke of him. She admired him and it was a unique thing to see and hear in this day and age and especially to a hardened city girl like myself. I didn’t realize I had forgotten how beautiful it is to see people in love, people that truly respected and admired one another. It is a rarity.

Death, especially sudden, seemingly senseless death as cliché as it sounds, inevitably makes you reevaluate your own life. It makes you think about things you haven’t thought about in a long time, about new things and sometimes making major life changes. Perhaps that is the purpose. We all get lulled into complacency and life isn’t about that. It is fluid, it’s about change, it’s about risks.

I thought about all the “risks” I’ve taken in my life and all those that I didn’t, in my personal life anyway. I always thought of myself as carefree but unbeknownst to me age and the city, dating for gazillion years and just life had caught up to me. I was slowly becoming what I hated most - the cynical, city girl. And whom had it served? Not me, certainly. I still believed in romance, didn’t I? I did but I was certainly more wary than I was earlier. It’s sad and shameful- there are so many of us walking around hiding from each other and ourselves, afraid of getting hurt, afraid of appearing weak. Not feeling anything and finding newer, shinier ways to medicate ourselves. I know that was the case with me. I never wanted to appear weak and I definitely medicated with vodka at times. I can’t help but think about what I might have missed out on. What is that? And while I’ve searched and can really find no meaning in this particular event. Maybe that is the only thing to get out of it - change.

I feel angry and ashamed given what my friend is going through because for the life of me I cannot fathom the pain, and I wish I could. I wish I could take some of it for her. It’s cold comfort for her I’m imagine, but, I think of how lucky she is to have known what she knows and love how she loved. I wish I could feel that as well. I’m starting to remember.

We had this conversation recently, my friend and a few other friends after the last episode of “Six Feet Under”. We sat in a room and talked about life, love, death and spirits and everything in between. Sounds like a morbid conversation but it was oddly uplifting because there was hope. She was looking forward to the future as we all were with a sense of reverence to the past. I thought about the final scene over this unforgettable song and it left me a little haunted and thinking about those that are left behind. She’s left behind now and I’m sure completely uncertain of what her future holds. My only wish is that she remains, as much as she can with hope.

We all know these things deep down. It’s unfortunate that tragedies are what pull us out of our self-absorbed bubbles to really see things as they are. That all of it, everything is worth it even what we are unsure of. And, for someone who was slowly starting to lose faith in true love, I was a believer again. I just needed to be reminded.

When I started writing this column, I wrote about turning 30 and all the new opportunities it brought. But, I think it is only fair to also address how life takes us for a ride, a slightly fucked-up, unexpected ride that can leave us feeling like we may never “grow up”. Did you ever wake up in the morning and truly not know how you got to where you are? Ever feel like you were in the movie “Office Space” looking at your TPS report and want to cry/laugh? Growing up, I dreamed of being everything: a writer, actor, singer, astronaut, biologist, lawyer, pilot, international relief worker and teacher. The one thing I can say with absolute certainty that I wanted to do was write with acting as a close second and so, viola here I am. I turned thirty this year and I realized that even at this age when our parents were married and may have even had a family, that our generation is still searching, still trying to make our dreams come true, or even figure out what that dream is.

I think we hit our late twenties/early thirties and start to ask ourselves how this all happened. When I was a fair and naïve 24-year old at my first job in PR, I was miserable and felt like a complete failure as a human being. I tried a million and one ways to rationalize my “job” to myself. That I basically harassed reporters all day to write about something I didn’t even care about and got treated like shit by the client of said useless product, but at least it was “creative”. Then my slightly older and much wiser colleague said something to me that I still use to this day. She said, “You have to decide what kind of person you are. You are either the kind that needs to love what they do OR you are the person that can do what they don’t hate in order to do what they love.” It certainly made things clearer. I could still save the world (or at least not make it worse) if I wanted. It just didn’t have to be my “job”.

I feel like I’ve had this exact conversation many times with friends, co-workers since the day I started “working”. We have choices - choices, a luxury perhaps that our parents’ generation didn’t have. And, this freedom, instead of giving us more clarity as to what we want to do with our lives has only served to muddy our thinking. Can too many choices really be a bad thing? Hell, most of the world thinks that what’s wrong with us damn Americans anyway. So, what do we do? I honestly don’t have the answer. Some might argue that life just happens and “grows you up”; eventually you succumb to responsibility. But, what about those of us without traditional responsibilities that still cling to the dream of the dream?

In your twenties you’re not really sure what you are doing and often your job is just your first job. You take your job seriously but not so seriously. You spend happy hour with your work friends at cheesy spots in midtown or downtown, at night you go to Upper East Side bars that remind you of campus. The office is sometimes just an overgrown version of your dorm or the student center. You spend hours with these people pouring over drinks and discussing what you really want to do with your life. And before you know it, you are in your mid to late twenties and you have something of a career. What I’ve noticed is that it’s usually at this point that you hit the fork in the road and make something of a decision about which way to go.

When I was 27, I had this moment. It was small, quiet and I still don’t know what sparked it but I think it started two years earlier when I was still the PR girl. I had to quit and I knew it because more than anything I didn’t want to become VP and if I kept on that’s where life would take me and nothing scared me more than that prospect. Now don’t get excited, I wasn’t quite that brave yet! I quit, but started working right away in the Internet world and what seemed like two minutes later, the bubble burst and I was laid off. I was lost. I didn’t really know what to do with myself. To an outsider, this may seem like the perfect time for making a life change, but no, not yet. Again, I wasn’t quite brave enough. I got another job (a fluke) at a good company doing something I was completely unqualified for, but one of my old bosses liked me and the saying is true, you never know who is going to help you in the future. It was at this job that I seemed to find peace or maybe it was just that I was finally older. I can’t say for sure, but I had my moment: I enrolled in a two year acting school, started writing more and the rest, as they say is … well, still happening.

Fear is such a powerful, debilitating, comfortable thing. It still amazes me how much it controls us, still controls me even now. My acting teacher had this thing he would say to us when we weren’t getting something. He’d say, “What are you so afraid of? You might survive and you might even have an experience,” (or something like that) and it’s so true. Everything we do, say, feel - work, friends, family, love is all ruled by fear even for the most carefree amongst us. When I was little, I wrote feverishly. I wrote grand, sweeping epics to my own version of “Are you there, God? It’s me Margaret”. I recently re-read that story, which incidentally is still unfinished, and it struck me that even though I was 12 when I wrote it, I seemed so clear about what I was doing. Then I thought when did this all change? When did I decide I wasn’t good enough to do all the things I wanted?

Sometimes, I wish I had been braver earlier but regret is a useless emotion. I sometimes think I wasted a lot of my early twenties just talking and dreaming but not really doing anything. I know real life happens – parents, rent, expectations and all of that. I think a lot of us can say the same thing. I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, in fact I sometimes feel I know even less now. But the point is that when it all seemed to fall into place I kept thinking of what my co-worker said to me years ago. You just have to figure out the type of person you are. Once I didn’t hate what I did, I was able to do what I loved…even if I did get still scared sometimes.

The One. That elusive One that we imagine, dream, fantasize about. Is he/she out there? Let’s say you are one of those people that believe in love and all that. You also probably think that there is someone out there that was made for you – your soulmate. The One who (ick) completes you. I’m beginning to wonder if there is such a thing. Maybe it’s really just all about timing and not in the hands of the love gods. Scary thought, if you, like me, have been spending most of your dating life just knowing that one day “the One” will somehow walk through your door.

Recently, a friend of mine and I were talking about her current relationship. She said that she had given up on learning anything from her relationships. To say that relationships are about learning and discovering who you are is all a crock when, in reality, every relationship is new and “learning” can’t be found in another person. I found this oddly liberating. All this time, I had been celebrating my failed relationships by saying, “Well, at least I got X out of it,” when all the time it was just a way to cover the hurt of failing again. Perhaps it just makes more sense to take a relationship for what it was and accept that maybe it was a waste of time (or not), but not to belabor the point. End of story. I loved this! It was like I had finally been given permission to not expect some major epiphany with each and every heartbreak.

This is what led me to wonder about soulmates. If there is no epiphany to be had from relationships, maybe there is no such thing as a soulmate. This is to say, if there is no higher purpose beyond the relationship itself, then relationships become random, and then the idea of destiny fails as well, which is the very basis of a soulmate. Are you following me? Perhaps there are other, more powerful factors at work in a relationship - namely, timing. I thought I had met my soulmate once in what seems like eons ago. We met, we locked eyes, shared a joke and were holding hands within minutes. I don’t know what it was, but it was something at first sight. It blew me away. To this day, nothing has come close to that moment. Sounds great, right? It didn’t work out and the reason it didn’t was nothing as dramatic as you might expect. It was just timing. We just couldn’t get the timing right. It seems we were never quite ready for one another. We met and became friends because he had a long-distance girlfriend. When he and his girlfriend broke up for a bit, I was dating someone else. And, that’s essentially how it went; we were never single at the same time. The one time when the stars did align and we were both single it seemed like it could work but by this time so much time had passed that the last time we saw each other became the last time we saw each other. I know you are probably thinking, that if we were truly soulmates then we would somehow have ended up together. Maybe, but trust me, he’s as close to a soulmate on a purely soul-matching level as I’ve ever come across. And that is saying a lot.

I’ve been in love maybe twice in my life, once for sure. But, of the two men I seriously considered marrying or could marry, neither of them were these two loves. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, right? Marriage should be with your soulmate. Or maybe a relationship is more than all the bells and whistles; maybe it’s the day-to-day stuff. I always took pleasure in the day-to-day, the quiet moments, in the relationships with the men I almost married, the moments when we didn’t always say a lot to each other but manage to still hear a lot. As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten past passion and have really started to relish the real. I wonder if I’ve become more cynical or just more realistic. That’s not to say I think passion is obsolete. It’s definitely necessary but maybe not in the way I had imagined. When I was younger I think I wanted the romantic, brooding anti-hero who just walked out of a Hemingway novel, while now I’d be ecstatic with someone who just knew when to rub my feet.

So maybe there is more than one “The One”. That might make more sense because we are never really the same person at all points in our lives. But frankly, it’s still this notion of “The One” that bothers me. It’s all a little limiting and is almost asking that you set yourself up for failure. I have this friend, happily married and for all intents and purposes to her soulmate. I can’t picture either with someone else so you can imagine my shock and awe when she said she didn’t believe in soulmates. “What? How can that be?” I said. “[Your husband] is the love of your life?!” He was, she said, but she also knows that there was one other person in her life that she would have considered marrying. So, what happened, I wondered. Timing, she said. It was all timing. This isn’t to say she wasn’t happy with the way life worked out. Quite the contrary, she was thrilled.

Ah, Jude. How we loved thee? You were Hugh Grant before Bridget Jones. You were charming. You were suave. You were witty. You proved you weren’t just a pretty face but also an “actor”. You were a husband, a father and recently engaged to be married. Most importantly you were English. And now, you are just another…cheater.

Hearts everywhere broke last week, when the impossibly beautiful actor confessed (because he was caught) to cheating (multiple times) on his equally impossibly beautiful fiancée, Sienna Miller which got me thinking about the C word - Cheating.

At some point we have all either done it or had it done to us, cheated that is. I know some of you are reading this and thinking, “I’ve never cheated and no one has ever cheated on me”. No one that you know of, that is. It’s been around for as long as men and women have and it’s usually followed shortly after the first kiss. Cheating is just one of the many awful things we do to each other when we’re in a relationship. Of course not every relationship involves cheating. But, that also doesn’t mean the parties involved aren’t capable. The one thing you have to accept is that no one is safe, no one is incapable, not even you.

As terrible as the act is it rarely has anything to do with the individual person. Sure, some people are just dogs and “can’t help” themselves but leaving those aside, most of us cheat because of something we’re not getting. This is dangerous to say because the last thing you want to do is blame the victim, right? Sure, it’s not that simple but believe me - something is amiss in your relationship. Brad-Jen-Angelina, anyone? Even nasty Jude has allegedly blamed his ways on Sienna not being around enough. Cad!

I have this friend who contends cheating is not so black and white. That cheating is something that must be determined on a case-by-case basis. For example, if one party is cheating and if the other party does the same, they cancel each other out. I also have another friend who believes that sharing a kiss with someone else is tantamount to cheating. So, there you go. Either way, they both have very personal definitions of what constitutes cheating that work for them. It’s probably a waste of time anyway to judge people when they cheat because there are usually a host of reasons, but they are almost always selfish.

When I was a little girl I thought I could never “cheat” on my boyfriend/husband. I also thought I would never drink or have pre-marital sex. Oh, well. As I got older I was comfortable with the definition that it wasn’t actually cheating if the relationship was already dead and the emotional connection no longer existed because if that wasn’t there you weren’t cheating on anything, were you? That’s what I told myself anyway, when I cheated on a boyfriend in college. You also have to factor in your role – are you the cheater or the one being cheated with? Some might say the level of responsibility shifts a bit depending. But come on really, isn’t that just a way to sugar coat it for ourselves? I mean the truth is we all like to think we “would never do that” but at some point we all have.

Case in point: There was this guy I knew once. He was a friend’s boyfriend. Not a very close friend but good enough. I knew “them” for at least a year or so and they were great. Quite possibly one of the more perfect couples I knew. They were funny, cool, attractive and seemed to genuinely enjoy each other. Your basic template for the kind of couple you wanted to be. Out of the blue, it seemed I started getting strange semi-drunken phone calls from him at odd hours. I’m still not sure how he got my cell phone number since I never gave it to him or his girlfriend. Nevertheless, the calls were innocent enough at first, at least in my naïve little mind. Surely, he wouldn’t be calling me for any other reason than to chat. He was my friend’s boyfriend after all! I thought for sure that his girlfriend knew about these calls and that they even shared a laugh about how he drunk dialed me. Turns out I was wrong. He hadn’t been telling her. Surprise, surprise, I know.

On one fateful night after another dialing incident, he and I met for a drink for what I had planned as “nipping it in the bud”. I was going to make sure these calls stopped. At the bar, I looked at him with equal parts of disgust and intrigue because I just didn’t get it. They were so happy together. He couldn’t possibly want to jeopardize it. But for the first time, I also really looked at him. He was gorgeous. I don’t know why it hadn’t hit me before. I’ve never been one of those girls but suddenly I started to feel very out of my league. He handed me my first drink and finally said, “Ok. I’m all yours. Ask me anything. Just promise me one thing - you won’t tell X that we met up.” Ahhh…the perfect opening, I thought. I said, “Ok. First question – why can’t I tell X that we met up?” What followed was not what I expected. He proceeded to tell me everything a woman wants to hear about herself through someone else’s eyes. It shouldn’t matter I know, but I listened. I was filled with mixed emotions; fear, excitement but never a firm decision either way. We talked for a long time, hours in fact and before I knew it I was doing exactly the last thing I thought I would be. Call me shameless, call me narcissistic, call me foolish but don’t call me stupid. I knew what I was doing and probably even what he was doing but I had rationalized it in my mind despite the fact. I wasn’t the one with a girlfriend right? And when two people are as attracted to one another the way he and I were that night, isn’t it almost out of your hands?

Surprisingly, the next day I didn’t feel guilty. I felt a momentary “that should never happen again” but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of the night. I started to wonder if I was truly without remorse or morals or any of those things that “good people” have. Maybe this was why I wasn’t in a relationship – because I simply didn’t know how to be in one. Who knows, all I did know was that psychobabble wasn’t going to help. It was what it was and now it was over and I couldn’t be happier. I had my trophy f*ck. It’s crude but true. The problem is once is rarely ever enough. As cliché as it sounds, it was like a drug – how he made me feel and eventually I’d want more.

He called several times after that night but I either ignored his call or kept it brief because I didn’t need his words. I surprised myself even by how little of my emotion was invested in that experience. Months passed and then one night I did need “his words” and I made the one mistake I promised myself I would never ever do. I slept with a man to feel better about myself. It was awful. Nothing was how I remembered it. The next morning I felt the most physically agonizing guilt and shame. I felt sick and I literally couldn’t look at myself in the mirror because I did think of her. And it hit me how selfish and self-absorbed my actions seemed in the daylight. What I didn’t remember was that the reason I didn’t feel so bad the first time was because I didn’t start off feeling so bad. This time I had and it only made it worse. But at least I had enough of the drug. I hit rock bottom.

To this day when I am reminded of it or if I hear a similar story, I can still feel that all too familiar feeling, that nauseating emptiness in my stomach just before having to throw up. Maybe at the time I was subconsciously looking for a way to feel what I thought I was supposed to feel. I’m not sure but apparently it worked for me because I never “felt” more than I did that next day and every day since.

MIKE
How long do I wait to call?

TRENT
A day.

MIKE
Tomorrow?

TRENT
No...

SUE
... Tomorrow, then a day..

SUE
Definitely. Two days. That's the
industry standard...

TRENT
... I used to wait two days. Now
everyone waits two days. Three days is
kinda money now, don't you think?

MIKE
Yeah, I'll tell her I don't remember and
then I'll ask what she looks like.
(pause)
Then I'll ask if we fucked. How's that,
Tee? Is that "the money"?

TRENT
Laugh all you want, but if you call to
soon you can scare off a nice baby who's
ready to party.

“Swingers” (1996) by Jon Favreau

And there it is folks, the eternal struggle between men, women and the phone wrapped up in a nice, pretty box tied with a bow.

How many times have you had this conversation with a friend: “I don’t know what happened? Things were going so great but he hasn’t called back in a day/week/month.” Recent theories, books and Oprah would have you believe “He’s not that into you,” or that you didn’t follow “The Rules”. Fuck that!

It got me thinking about how much time we waste on trying to figure this all out. I, alone probably wasted a good part of my twenties trying to unravel the mystery. It all started junior year of high school when the boy who would come to be later known as my first love, Anthony (sigh) started calling me the summer before senior year. We talked every day, a couple of times a day. It was AMAZING. Even then, I was unconsciously aware to not show my cards too soon. So I played it as cool as I possibly could for a 17 year old. Until one day while we were talking on the phone he said he loved me. Correction, he said he was talking to the “love of his life” (yes, I still remember). Considering I was the only other person on the line, I had to assume he meant me. I was hooked. Do you know what happened next? He didn’t call the next day, or the day after, or the week after that. No rhyme, no reason. It just stopped and I like many girls before me turned into a slightly “darker” version of myself reminiscent of Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction”. Anthony and I went on the on-off roller coaster for a year afterwards but I was never the same after that day.

While, I’ve gotten better at playing the “game” every so often you still get blindsided and you are 17 all over again. By the way, yes it is a game and whoever says it isn’t is lying to themselves. The truth is there really is no mystery as to why the phone suddenly stops ringing. It just does. It’s timing my friends and women seem to be perpetual prisoners of it. We sit and wait for the call and guys know it. Frankly, even if we aren’t waiting for the call, guys think we are. If Trent’s dissertation above didn’t shed some light on it for you read it again or, just rent Swingers if you haven’t seen it. It’s brilliant.

Without giving away too much, I offer that we women take a cue from our counterparts and try not to think too much…about any of it. You’ll save yourself a lot of heartache and headache if you can do that. Therein lies the rub: women are by nature analytical to a fault at times, and we can’t help but want to figure it all out. Maybe we need to approach dating and men with a more Buddhist approach – lose all attachments. If we don’t care then it doesn’t matter. Right? Or, if I’m right – if we don’t care then they’ll come running like Pavlov’s dogs because it’s that easy. (Oh, I’m sorry did I say that out loud? We’ll get to that later.)

So, going back to why the phone never seems to ring when we want it to – there are two theories, I think.

Theory #1: Men tend to get scared easily and react by not acting at all.

Seems plausible, right? We all like to think our men are so deep and complicated that they were so obviously scared off when an intense connection was made that they just panicked and did nothing. It’s a nice story and perhaps it’s even true in some cases, but let’s get serious here. For the majority of us, with the exception of those with deep rooted psychological trauma and abandonment issues, an emotional connection while scary isn’t enough to make us run for the hills. Desperation makes us run. This is the same for men and women. The slightest whiff of its sour scent makes us want to run to another state, take our phones off the hook, dye our hair and change our names.

I know what you are thinking. “But, I wasn’t desperate? We just had a good time. What happened?” This leads me to the next theory (a personal favorite).

Theory #2: Men think every woman wants them.

Before I even get started on this, wouldn’t it be nice if most women thought this way? Think about it. How many men do you know when talking about a woman they have just met or are going out with, are unsure that the woman is into them? Not too many. Men leap to the positive – “She wants me”. It could be as innocuous a gesture as a hello, but nevertheless the answer is a resounding “I can” rather than an “I can’t”. You have to love that go-getter attitude! We ladies could take a lesson here. It’s never, “Oh, I don’t know how she feels about me. I wonder if she thinks I’m too fat/not hot enough”. Notice how much longer it takes to say what we’re thinking.

This “theory” goes hand in hand in hand with the desperation statement. It goes a little something like this. Things started off really well between the both of them. She is feeling fine and great about herself. She likes him but isn’t sure she likes him enough to see him again. Three days go by without a call, then a week. She’s feeling anxious and a bit nauseous. He’s on PlayStation. She starts to wonder what she did. Was it something she said/wore/didn’t say/didn’t wear? Suddenly this call that she didn’t even want has become her singular focus. This is where it all goes south. She starts secreting “eau de insecurity” and believe me, even though he’s across town and having a beer with his friends, he smells it. He may not even be sure what it is but he’s not going to call back.

When I turned 25, I had this, shall we say “crisis”. You know the whole, “I should be married or at least in a serious relationship” business. The point is, I freaked out. The guy I wanted to be with was torn and trying to figure things out with his long-term girlfriend. I told him he should marry her and he did. Nice move on my part. Almost simultaneously, I started seeing a guy who for all intensive purposes fit the requirements on paper. I wasn’t into him but he made me laugh and he was a good kisser. I decided I was going to make it work no matter what. Even after an especially awful date which would leave any hot-blooded man embarrassed for his masculinity, I tried to make it work. I made the effort. I called him. Guess what happened? Yup, he smelled me coming and I never heard from him again. And, I didn’t even want him!

Quite frankly I had a hard time writing this column because this topic is tired. This constant “What if?” that we ask ourselves. Does it even matter why they don’t call? No. It pains me that I even spent this much time talking about it but alas, the fairer sex is more analytical about matters of the heart, myself included. So, for the sake of argument I suggest that in order to level the playing field you ladies out there get to know your opponent; you respect your opponent. Sound good? Just think about it for a second. I wonder what would happen if the guy who you had such a good time with, who thinks you are so into him found out that instead of waiting by the phone for his call you were with your ex two days after you were with him. Now, wouldn’t that be interesting.

I was having a drink with my girlfriend the other night and I couldn’t help but feel a little, well guilty. Why you ask? Well, because the girl I was with wasn’t my girlfriend. You know - your best girlfriend, your BFF. The one you would meet without even planning. The one where within seconds of meeting you both are cracking up over something seemingly silly. Your sister from another mother. She gets you and she never annoys you the way your boyfriend does. And here I was, sitting in a pool of my guilt feeling like a cheating bastard because I was with someone else and enjoying myself.

It all started innocently enough. I was supposed to meet “the other woman” for a quick drink since we had made plans some time back. My girlfriend wanted to meet as well but I had already made these plans. Being the trusting soul she is she told me to go on and have a good time and to call her later. I invited her to join us but she couldn’t so I said it would be a short night anyway and I’d call her when I was done. Two pitchers of sangria later I was already in to deep. I was “sangria-ed”. Remember that Seinfeld episode when Elaine had too much Peach Schnapps? Then you get it.

Suddenly, we were talking about our plans for the future and the inevitable discussion about what we were doing with our lives came up. After another glass, we moved onto our ex-es, like the guy she dated for years that in hindsight just didn’t fit her. Then we talked about the guy I thought I was in love with, who’s now getting married to someone else. And, through it all I listened and she listened. She really listened because no matter how silly you know it sounds, for those few minutes you just want someone to hear you. I was having a great time and it was a strange feeling because while I love all my girlfriends and we all have a connection, I have something distinctly different with each one. But this time, I was feeling like I was having the same connection with another person, and that was a little disturbing. We were vibe-ing off of one another they way I do with my girl. I was just having drinks with another girl. So, why was I feeling so guilty? Was I really making more out of this than it was? Probably, but tell that to my guilty conscience.

I started to think about our relationship. It had been through its ups and downs like any other, but we had made it to the other side and stronger. We even had semi-regular “date nights”. She recently got married and while life really isn’t much different now that her boyfriend is her husband, I realized I was subconsciously moving away from her. I was giving her space for her new life. A new life that included other couples, families and obligations that didn’t involve unplanned Saturday afternoons. And, I wondered if this was why I was feeling guilty. Maybe, I could feel myself separating from her so I was already “looking around” or maybe like most of us, I was just afraid of being left alone so I decided to leave first.

After the last pitcher of sangria and having gone through countless bad dates and every possible career scenario, it was time to go home. As I stumbled across town, I feverishly dialed my cell because I suddenly realized it was later than I thought and I did promise to call when I was done. My girlfriend picked up and I, obviously guilty was overly enthusiastic and talking much too fast. I asked her how her night was, if she still wanted to meet up (she didn’t), did she want me to stop by (no, she was about to go to bed). She was of course, unsuspecting and just wanted to know if I had a good time. I did. God help me, I did. We said our good nights and I went home and figured this was my burden to bear.

The next morning after my haze wore off I got my usual morning email from my girlfriend. She started to tell me a story that to the ordinary observer may seem nonsensical but to me was completely logical. We joke that we share a brain and it was comforting to know we still did. It may appear like a small realization but it occurred to me that our relationship hadn’t changed. Sure, it had evolved a bit but that was really nothing to be scared of. The best relationships are the ones that age well, and if our relationship could withstand her getting married it could withstand my minor indiscretions. Great girlfriends are hard to come by so when they do, you hang on tight just like you would hold on to a pitcher.

Turning 30 inevitably is marked with many supposed “milestones”. It used to mean something big. I remember that show “thirtysomething” when I was a teenager – I never watched it mind you, because it had “old people” on it, but even then I knew that 30 meant grown-up. I mean, hell most of the people on that show had families of their own, houses, standing dinner parties, mortgages. In case you were wondering, I live in New York City so by default, I have nothing “standing”.

Despite all that, I did feel throughout my twenty-ninth year a sense of purpose. I wasn’t quite sure what that was exactly, but I know I felt it. And moreover, I woke up on the first day of my thirtieth year feeling…not much different. It’s true. I felt exactly as I did the day before. Sorry to burst anyone’s bubble but it’s a fact. So, what I came to realize was that I had been turning “30” (whatever that means) for the last couple of years. The last days or years of my 20s, basically anytime after 25 was in preparation for this year. Makes sense really when you think that it takes Saturn twenty-nine years to makes its way through the signs - the Return of Saturn. You’ve heard of it. No Doubt even titled their third album after the planet’s journey. It’s a really good album if you haven’t heard it.

Saturn is the ruling planet of all things involving growing up - responsibility, limits, and life lessons. I love this definition, “He does not deny or diminish imagination, inspiration, spirituality, or good fortune, but he does demand that these things be given structure and meaning.” (astrology.com/saturn.html). It all sounds so karmic, so fated, right? Sure it does. But if you are expecting some epiphany on your thirtieth birthday you’ll be waiting some time. Because the truth of the matter is that the epiphanies happened somewhere between the ages of 27-29.

I learned I liked myself more than I thought I could. I learned to truly not to sweat the small stuff – that my very being did not lay in the hands of how I looked that night, where I was going or if “he” would see me. I learned that I don’t know nearly as much as I thought I did. My career wasn’t as important or frankly even what I thought it was, rather enjoying my passions alongside my work was what makes a person happy. I learned cooking at home is a lot of more fun than takeout (sometimes). I learned dive bars as long as there was good 80s music in the background, are a hell of a lot cooler than that new hip lounge with the line outside (seriously, does anyone wait on line anymore?). That spontaneity is everything. That being funny is very cool. That everyone should have at least one one-night stand and it should be amazing. That while all that is fun, sex is just plain better with someone you care about and it isn’t everything. That few things come close to a really good glass of wine with good friends. That cursing and saying “fuck” and “dick” is fun and just sounds better as you get older. Gray’s Papaya is a phenomenal hot dog. I learned that after years of training in my twenties, that while my alcohol tolerance has reached an exponential level my recovery time has also matched up equally. Ok, I actually do miss that about my twenties. Rolling out of bed isn’t quite as effortless anymore. I learned I am SO grateful I didn’t get married at 25. And most importantly, I learned that I just turned 30 and have no idea for the first time in my life what might be next and nothing could make feel more comfortable, relaxed and happy.

Cheers!