Whomever Said "Love is Easy", They Are Lying to Themselves or Celibate Part I

I never realized how much give and take goes into a relationship. I just finished reading a book called Lies at the Altar: The Truth About Great Marriages that my mother handed to me one morning after I'd sat on her bed discussing my current relationship. What her exact message was, I cannot guess, mainly because she is an expert at double meanings. Written by Dr. Robin L. Smith, best known as being the psychologist that is often featured on Oprah's show anytime there are people with relationship issues, the book discusses healthy techniques to solidify an existing marriage, to prepare for an upcoming marriage, as well as things to demand in a healthy relationship. While readingI thought about my current relationship, but more so about how my past relationships had affected my outlook on love and how I'd changed. I realized in doing so that I am different, not in a bad or good way, but different. I've broken down the men in my life, not by name, but by type and the relationship, as well as its outcome and what I've learned and can pass on to those. (These can apply to men and women, so if this sounds like your partner, but just a "he" instead of "she", know the pronouns are interchangeable.)

The Distracter: I met him when I was in high school, and was immediately taken aback by his looks. He was pretty much the guy you dream of and can easily find yourself going out of your way to see. I pretty much was infatuated with him, loving the moments when I was in his company and hating the moments when I was not. He was interested in me, if not for my naviete (because in those days, I truly was, especially when it came to the opposite sex), but for my attempts at humor, my ability to hang on his every word and syllable. Whatever he told me, I took it as the truth, hook, line and sinker. However, he was also a charismatic handsome man, and that is a lethal combination. So his lies became my truth, and his world became what I lived for...he diverted me from my own goals and inexplicably created new ones for me, and in becoming a part of his world, his goals and his fantasy, I lost myself. When I began to realize this, as others around me did also, I started to pull away, and even though his good looks kept my heart aflutter, my brain knew better. Eventually, we went our seperate ways, not because of a conflict that came to a boil but something much more simple....Mr. Distracter needed a present audience, and if he traveled off to school, I was unable to follow. Lesson Learned: You have to be secure in who you are and love that person, from your morals to your clothes, before you can even think to love someone else. You have to know yourself before you can know someone else.

The Con-Artist: My first interaction with the Con-Artist was in college. Now, don't get me wrong, he never stole a dime from me. When I call him the Con-Artist, I mean that he was able to build himself in my mind, heart and spirit as the end-all answer to my problems. The actual con was that it took me a while to discover that it was an illusion, and instead of stealing my money, he stole my belief that men were trustworthy. The sadder thing was that Mr. Con-Artist did not realize he was creating this illusion, and if he did, in his eyes it was the best he could give me. Initially, I took his feelings and expressions of love as enough, but I needed more..to know his feelings were unconditional, as mine were for him. That was the illusion, because at the first true test, all his dissatisfaction towards me and things I could not change altered his 'love' for me and our fractured relationship. Because the illusion was so elaborate and well-maintained through time, the men that came after him had to deal with the damage he'd created on my psyche, restore my faith in men, and though some were good men, great men even, the work proved to be too much. As a result, I ended up losing out on a guy who could have been my relationship partner for a long time...maybe not forever, but a while. Lesson Learned: Each relationship is its own entity, and just because the last person broke your heart, it does not mean that the next person will. You have to find ways to repair yourself so that the next person that comes along does not have to deal with the remnants of a Con-Artist.

Coming in Part II:The Pacifier, The Smotherer and The Diffuser-Abuser

Ashley Robin

"Look Mommy, There's a Volkswagen Sittin on the Side of the Road at 1am"..."Ooh, Let's Keep Drivin!"

Last night had to be the suckiest night ever. Seriously. I felt like goin to see my cousin in the suburbs and drowning my sorrows (more about those later) in a sickeningly-sweet alcoholic beverage. I got there, had a good time, probably a little too much to drink and spent an hour sobering up over ridiculously hot buffalo wings and blue cheese, leaving out only because my stomach was doing more flips than Mary Lou Retton on speed. Driving on the way home, I was thinking about my current situation, trying to get as much mental process done and started feeling a little tired. Lucky for me and all the other drivers on the highway, I had a can of Red Bull in my backseat. So, not realizing my gas tank is damn near empty, I pull over to get it out of my pseudo overnight bag. Unfortunately, the bag was in the trunk. I remembered reading somewhere that people were getting out of their cars while leaving the keys in the ignition and wound up locked out of their own car, so I cut the car off and hopped out, using them to get the trunk open and my taurine-flavored energy drink. I stood there for a minute, gulping down the can's contents in what my mother calls "Bumblefu*k" (i.e. Nowheresville, USA population: YOU) and watch the cars whizzing past me. I can't help but feel that Bumblefu*k doesn't seem like such a bad place to take residence..at least temporarily. Anyway, I got a little chilly and decided to get back in the car and on the road, because the cool air had given me some additional energy. I get in the car, turn the ignition and whoops....car's not starting. I keep trying, my three inch heel boot covered foot pushing the gas pedal damn near to the floor over and over when a voice in my subconscious says to me. "Hey dummy, you forgot gas before you left her house and got on the highway...you decided to wait because it was cheaper out here...now the car's pretty much on empty and won't start!" I feel even more sucky. I look at myself in the mirror as if to say "Stupid, Stupid, Stupid..." but suddenly feel the buffalo wings coming up....(you don't wanna hear about the next part, but let's just say I have a reason to not eat buffalo wings that are that hot again). After that, I find my cell phone that is damn near dead and call my boyfriend. He doesn't answer. I would call my mom, but she's knocked out on demerol for a painful tooth, and my dad's in New York, so all he's gonna do is try to call my mom. As I'm thinking about who would be up at 1-something-am on a Monday morning, and out of those, who would be willing to drive out to Bumblefu*k to rescue a half-awake, mostly sober with a stomach churning more acid than the vial that created the Joker, Red Bull chugging, buffalo wing and mojito breath having 5 foot 2 and 1/2 nitwit who forgot to put gas in her tank because she's too preoccupied with other issues, the phone dies. Hahaha...now the joke's on me. Sadly, I ain't laughing. As I walk to the nearest exit, which was a little bit of a ways, but luckily I have a flashlight and an umbrella in the car. (The flashlight so I don't get lost in the dark and the umbrella for thwacking whom or whatever may feel the presence of mind to pounce on me..), I reflect, "How did I get here?" "What was I thinking?" and more importantly, "What would Lois Lane do?" (Superman was on earlier, and my thoughts late at night are almost always completely random). Finally, after staggering up the side of the off-ramp without being hit, feet aching and somewhat irritated at myself and my own silliness, I spot the best thing I've seen all night, a BP Amoco, which logo strangely reminds me of the LimeWire file sharing application. Debit card in hand, ready to borrow gas can from the station, I am sure that unlike dear Lois, I can save myself and will not require the assistance of a red-caped, blue-tight adorned gentleman.
Fate or circumstance, whichever you believe in, was not through with making my evening worse, however. I'm all ready to take said gas can to said stranded vehicle with about five or six dollars of gas in said can when the attendant, a weird fellow named Sherman, informs me my debit card isn't being read by his lovely machines. Many lovely profane words later, I am standing outside staring at a pay phone. I have to call someone to help me out of this mess, and I am slightly pissed. Saving myself would have been so much more interesting. Luckily, a buddy of mine who suffers from insomnia, along with his need to rescue people is known for being up and going on crazy missions in the middle of the night has a similar phone number to my own. (You must realize that my own memory at this point of the night is crap, and my cell phone is worthless.) I call, and luckily, he answers, saying he is on the way. Bless insomniacs when you need them. A strange conversation and a courtesy cup of hot chocolate later, I am accompanied with gas in a gas can back to my car. Also, I have been given 10 dollars to put into my tank so that I can indeed arrive home. I walk in the door sometime around 2, not sure when, send an slightly irritated text to aforementioned sleepy boyfriend and pile in the bed.

Ashley Robin