Perfect?

The moment that someone leans in and kisses you for the first time is a moment of pure unadulterated romance. I am not talking about the boy that drunkenly, sloppily kisses you after a tequila shot. I am talking about the guy that walks you home just to make sure you get there safe. When that guy leans in and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips your heart skips a beat. The sounds of a mellow indie rock love song play in your head.  Every first kiss like that seems like possibly the beginning.  

Unfortunately not every kiss is the beginning, and not every romantic moment is part of a greater romance.  Sometimes a moment is just that: fleeting, insignificant, and forgettable.  Romance can be falsely manufactured for a boy’s own purpose.  Hope can be given as a means to an end.  

When the other shoe drops and the moments of pure ecstasy are revealed as purely moments of convenience, your heart breaks.  Not because you were in love, but it breaks that the possibility of love is no longer there.  Being disappointed by someone you have pined over, been sweet talked by, can make another tiny piece of your heart harden.  How long until your whole heart is cold and hard?  

My heart breaks because I am just as far from finding a relationship, a partner, love than I was a week ago, maybe even further away.  Maybe it is because I don’t know how to reconcile the romantic side of me with the sensual side.  How do I be the bombshell with a heart?  If I am one, they want the other.  I don’t know how to shake my sense of inadequacy when every corner I turn, I am being told I am not good enough for something or someone.  All I want in life is to be not just enough for someone, but to be someone’s own idea of perfect.  

I have spent so much of my life trying to please everyone, to be perfect and put together, hiding behind makeup and clothes.  I will never be perfect, because the reality is I am a mess.  But there is someone out there that will think that my neurotic, obsessive, nerdy tendencies make me their own idea of perfect.  

Besides, that guy, that I believe is looking for me too, I have to learn to see myself as MY OWN idea of perfect.  I have to love my curves and the fact that my hair will never grow long.  I have to adore the fact that one of my eyes gets droopy when I have had too much to drink, and that my left knee will always hurt when it rains.   I have to stop chastising myself for not being what I think I should be.  There are some things about myself I can never change, and those are the things that make me unique, the things that make me Harper.

Instead of trying to be what I think will attract romance, I need to be me.  Maybe then, instead of a fleeting moment, I will find my great romance.            

Reckless

Sometimes making a spontaneous, poor decision is needed.  After over thinking every aspect of your life, sometimes you just need to do something without thinking.  Being spontaneous can remind yourself that you are still young and free.  That is how I found myself waking up in a hotel room in Rosslyn Saturday morning.  I made out with a beautiful Air Force officer from Georgia - they always seem to be from Georgia!  

I casually sipped my wine waiting for the Air Man and his friend to approach me; I couldn't wait to flirt with him.  There was a reason I let Elle leave me at the bar when she got tired.  I noticed their group when they walked into the bar, and I was in need of some male attention, especially from someone new.   

I don’t know why I decided to ride the metro to Rosslyn with him when I was a block away from my apartment.  Maybe it was the offer to help him pack and make out that seemed so appealing.  I liked that he was drawing a line in the sand, so I wouldn’t have to.  Maybe it was his crystal blue eyes that popped against his tan skin.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was the idea of being reckless, the idea of adventure, that made me get on that train.  Whatever it was, at the time, I wasn’t giving it any thought.  The Air Man was leaving in the morning, so we only had that night.  

Holding hands on the metro and walking through his hotel lobby - it all seemed so much like a movie.  It wasn’t until we were in the elevator that he told me he had a girlfriend back home.  I guess the guilt was sinking in.  It was now 3am and I was at a hotel in Rosslyn.  After contemplating the fact that getting home would be nearly impossible at that point, I went into his hotel room to help him pack.  There are two beds, and after telling him that he brought me there under false pretenses, I climbed in my own bed, wearing my slip.  

As he walks to his bed in his boxer briefs, I realize staying in my own bed would be harder than I thought, especially since we had already kissed.  The Air Man was hot, chiseled, and lean.  In the dark, we began to talk, and he invited me to join him in his bed, just to make out.  I was torn.  In so many ways, the damage was already done.  He had already kissed me and invited me to his hotel room.  I threw my moral girl code to the wind and climbed in bed with the most beautiful man I have ever let kiss me.  

Things got heated, but we never crossed the ultimate line.  My slip never came off, even if my bra did.  As the sun came through the window, the guilt came with it.  I layed there for a while, not quite ready to face the shame of leaving a hotel in my clothes from the night before.  When I did slip out of bed, I grabbed my things and tiptoed to the bathroom.  After reassembling myself, and brushing my teeth with my finger I emerged not knowing what to say.  The Air Man didn’t either.  He couldn’t get up because his boxers were across the room, which, for the record, I don't remember happening.  I could tell he hated himself for cheating, and I felt like an evil temptress.  

After the most awkward goodbye in the history of goodbyes, I made my way to the cab line.  My attempt at being spontaneous had resulted in me choosing something I had never chosen before.  I had chosen to be the other woman, fulling knowing that some girl back in Georgia would be broken hearted if she ever knew.  Not even with D, someone I have said I love you to, have I crossed the physical line once I knew another girl existed.  Maybe it was because unlike every other time, I knew I wouldn’t run into him at the frat house, student union, the bar, or the Longworth Cafeteria.  I will never see him ever again.  I won’t have to run into, and be reminded of, my indiscretion.  

I was spontaneous and reckless.  I had fun.  I just hope I didn’t wreck some poor girl’s heart.  

Epiphany

It is funny when epiphanies happen.  It is always at the oddest times and in the most inopportune places.  Yesterday I had an epiphany in the middle of Zumba class.  I have been trying to date the same guy my whole life.  D is a Liam, who was an Adam, who was also a Bryan, who was ultimately a Caleb (See the Many Loves of My Life … for reference).  The reason why I feel so comfortable with each of these guys is that I have been trying to date a version of them since I was 13 years old.  

I try to act like I am so evolved and my life is so different now than it was in college, but it really isn’t.  I have one bar that I go to more than any other, and I am friends with the people that work there.  I am continuing to chase an unattainable boy that, no matter how much I think we click, will never end up dating me.  I fake confidence, because deep down I am one big insecure mess.  I have been since the day I got glasses in the 2nd grade, or had to shoot free throws granny style in the 3rd, and got called fat for the first time in the 4th. I heard the boys in college refer to me as Bee’s fat friend.  It is very hard to feel good about yourself when people have been telling you your whole life that you have no reason to.  I am still the scared girl that went home in tears everyday in the 3rd grade.  The girl that’s mother held her back so she wouldn’t be picked on anymore.  

No matter how much I try to pretend that none of that matters anymore, I still find myself searching for other people’s approval, and especially approval from the men in my life.  I make out with a boy just to prove that I can.  I sleep with practical strangers, but I barely kiss the people that I love.  I play the part

of the bombshell, because it is easier than being the vulnerable self-imploding mess that is me.  

I really want to change.  I don’t want to hide under layers of spanxs and red lipstick.  I don’t want to continue my vicious cycle of unhealthy, one sided relationships.  I want to stop being selfish and making my grand dramatic speeches, because they are selfish.  I say them so that I feel better, and I don’t think about how much harder they probably make things for the people I give them too.  

I live in this big, wonderful city filled with so many people I have never met.  I am going to go out and meet more of them.  I am going to try new bars, and make new friends.  I am going to stop complaining about how much I hate my body, and I am going to actually work to change it.  Holding back on here is not an option anymore, because when I do I lose my outlet for my crazy.  I am going to actually give myself a chance to heal my heart too.  I am never going to be able to find someone that makes me happy, that can give me all of them if I am not whole myself.  It is time for me to take back my heart from D, Liam, Adam, Bryan, Caleb and any other guy that has undeservingly held a piece of it.    

I am always saying that  I am going to change parts of my life and never do.  This time I mean it.  This time I see that I am the only person keeping myself from being happy.  It is not some cosmic plot to make me miserable.  I was watching “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” and there was a part that really resonated with me.  Sam is crying and she asks Charlie why we let the people in our lives treat us like shit.  He answers, “We accept the love that we think we deserve.”

I am not going to sit in my studio and let myself get lonely or feel sorry for myself any longer.  I am stronger than I realize.  My imperfections are what make me beautiful.  The following two quotes are my inspiration for self confidence, my crutch to lean on, and the motos I should live life by.  

Writer's Block

The last few weeks I have been trying to find something to inspire me to write.  I think, more than being uninspired, I have been fighting a war between my head and my heart.  I can’t decide if we spend most of life trying to let our head catch up with our heart, or the other way around.  I think it depends on the circumstance.  My constant battle is that my head and heart are never on the same page.  It makes it very hard to find happiness when you over think everything new, and your heart won’t let go of the ghosts of loves past.  I let my lost loves and tragic mistakes haunt me.  I am so terrified of making the same mistakes over again that I twist myself into something unrecognizable, a lackluster version of myself at times.   

Some days, I wake up, and I know exactly who I am, while on others, I still feel like a lost girl chasing fairy tales.  I find solace in putting together a stylish outfit, having a glass of wine, or watching a terrible, soapy television show.  More than anything, I find my true peace writing this blog.  There is something about baring one’s soul to a group of friends and a bunch of complete strangers.  Nothing makes me feel more empowered than putting my digits to keys and ending up with something that I am proud to share.  It took me a very long time before I showed my writing to anyone.  I was petrified of being told I was wasting my time, that what I write is not worth the space it occupies.  That is not one of my worries anymore.  I believe in my writing, even if it is only being read by my best friends.  We should share the things that make us happy.  This is what makes writer’s block such a plague.  

Even though I tend to write about matters of the heart, I don’t know how to write about my struggle now.  Everyday I go back and forth between being smitten and indifference.  My heart wants to open itself up to Stefan but my head stops me.  I don’t know if I can handle another heartbreak.  Besides, I don’t really know if we are on that track.  That may be my fault.  I don’t want to ruin whatever we are, so I don’t ask, “What we are doing?”  I don’t text him, even when I really want to; I don’t want to appear clingy.  I just enjoy the time we do spend together.  When he is here, when he kisses me hello, it is like all my worries fall away.  

I don’t know what to feel because I don’t want to have unrealistic expectations.  I don’t know what to write, because I don’t want to put on paper my foolish dreams of potential happiness.  The plans I wish I had the courage to make with Stefan just make me that silly girl again.  Is it better to be sensible or should we believe in fairy tales?  

    

The Season of the DC Skin-tern

We are smack-dab in the middle of the worst time for dating in DC: Summer (or let me be more clear, Summer Intern season).  The Summer Intern (I should be more specific, the skin-tern) in DC is the young career man’s weakness. Every young single career woman in this city is well aware for the trouble that the dreaded skin-tern will bring to their love life.  You see them walking down the halls and see how the men (if you can call them that) look at these scantily clad co-eds bounce around.  If life is truly awful for you, you may even have one in your office.  If you are their supervisor, then you have the task of telling them that they need to dress more appropriately or that flirting with male staffers is unacceptable.  

I guess I see why the men of DC fall for the elusive skin-tern.  I do not agree with it, but I can see the appeal.  In a conservatively dressed city, these girls bring some sex into the office.  It doesn’t matter if the sex shouldn’t be there, or if these girls are barely old enough to have a cocktail (and some are not).  Skin-terns play dumb, even if they aren’t.  There are no intellectual conversations or philosophical debates going on.  Conversations are filled with talks of parties, the craziest things they have ever done, and anything else that make horny guys foam at the mouth.  Then there is the real kicker: they are only here for two months.  It's not enough time to get serious and you have a guaranteed out at the end of the summer.  They will return to school and the rest of DC will return to our regular dating patterns.  

Skin-terns just get on my last nerve.  I want a light-hearted summer romance too.  I want to have faith that the men I surround myself with aren’t fooled by a short skirt, low neckline, and fake giggle.  Unfortunately, every summer without fail, one of the good ones falls prey to the skin-tern.  It’s either one of my guy friends or my current crush, which stings worse than a jellyfish at the beach on the 4th of July.  They are Lindsay Lohans  and I am Marylin meets Jackie.  I am put together, poised, and sexy in a subtle “why wouldn’t you want me” kind of way.  These girls think you have to show it all to get attention, and yes it works, but then they are just a story without a name.  

These so called gentleman tell their friends they are calling their skin-tern, not whatever that girl’s name might be.  It’s then, when I overhear such stories and comments, that I feel a tiny bit of pity for the skin-tern.  No one falls in love with a skin-tern.  It’s not like anyone is falling in love with me either, but I, unlike the skin-tern, do not mistake lust for love.  I do not mistake a summer fling for the perfect romance with a staffer.  The pity fades quickly when I realize that it is the way these Jersey Shore want-to-bes carry themselves that puts them in that position in the first place.    

I do want to be clear about one thing.  Not every female intern is a skin-tern.  There are plenty of well dressed, ambitious, well-behaved interns that come to DC every summer as well. But every time I see some seemingly great guy flirt with a skin-tern over a classy, intelligent, age-appropriate staffer, I pray for summer to be over.   I pray for the day that I and all single career women of DC raise our cocktails and cheers to the the end of the summer skin-tern, at least until next year. 

Maybe ...

How do I find myself confused and caught up with Him, that boy I can’t shake.  Let’s call him D.  

He hugged me last night.  He initiated it.  I can’t remember the last time he touched me.  I think it was the night we danced, the night I pushed him away, the night I sent him home to call his girlfriend.  I didn’t lean into the hug.  I didn’t press my body against his the way I would with a boy I am flirting with.  It wasn’t tender.  It was if we were both scared to touch one another, like the world would end if we got too close.  

He really does care about me.  That was obvious last night, and it was as though he wanted me to know that.  I had already noticed that he always wants to make sure I get home safe.  One time he even gave money to a friend to put me in a cab.  I didn’t know it was him behind it, and his friend took the credit.  I’m unsure why, but it seems to change things.  I no longer second guess that he cares; I just am baffled by what it means.  

When he offered to drive me home this time, I didn’t see the harm.  Conversation was flowing and I didn’t want it to end.  I never know how long we will be on good terms, and am always frightened that he will shut me out.  He remembered where I lived even though he had only been there twice, and hadn’t since before Christmas.  Maybe I am seeing something where there is nothing.  Maybe none of it means a thing.  He let me know he made it home safe like I asked, but now I have his number again.  I don’t know if I am ready for that responsibility, that temptation. Too late.  If I delete it again, I know he will be hurt.  He was hurt the first time.  Here's hoping that the “Do Not Drunk Text” before his name in my phone will help this time.  

I wish I could say our conversation ended with him letting me know he was home, but it didn’t.  We were very sarcastic and it made me laugh.  I accidentally sent him a message meant for Skylar, a pep talk about not settling and holding out for the spark.  I was telling her she is an amazing woman.  I immediately realized my mistake and apologized, but that started the convo back up again.  He said that pep talks are always welcome.  I told him that I would have given him a different one.  He said a different quote might be better, but he isn’t picky.  So I gave it a shot: You are a kind person, you are smart, you are hard working, and you deserve all the good life will bring you.  

This is where it gets interesting …

D: That is better for you than me!
Me: I don’t know.  I think it fits you pretty well. You don’t have to be as kind as you are to me.  I don’t always make it easy on you and I know that.  I am sorry for that.
D: Yes I do … I was an ass a while back … You don’t need to apologize.
Me: People make mistakes.  It is what it is.
D: You are kind to say that.
Me: You aren’t a jerk, you are a good guy.  She is a very lucky girl to have someone like you.  I really mean that.  

That was it.  

Maybe I was his mistake, but I don’t think that the mistake was getting to know me, it was kissing me.  Maybe he is just trying to make up for his indiscretions. Maybe the way he cares about me is wrong.  But is it?  Can’t you care about the well being of someone of the opposite sex without wanted to get in their pants? Maybe it is different because we have been physical before.  Maybe it is different because I still look at him and long for his touch.  Maybe you can never recover from circumstances like the ones that we got to know each other under.  Maybe, just maybe, we are not supposed to be a part of each others lives.