Freestylin\\\’

My partner and I don’t exactly go to Church every Sunday. So, instead of doing a baptism, I’ve been looking into Naming Ceremonies for my son.

It just seems like a great way to do something very special for a baby — very similar to a wedding, but the vows you make are for your child. Isn’t that beautiful? And you can also choose a dear friend to be something like a mentor or a role model for your child, very similar to a godparent. I really love this idea and will keep you posted as I discuss it with my baby daddy.

I love my mother. Believe me: I love her. She definitely knows how to ask the wrong questions at the wrong times.

“Does R have a baby?” she asked me, in a slightly sing-song and innocent child-like voice. (It’s a tone she uses when she knows I might get upset!)

Who is R? R happens to be a mofo I have no residual feelings for what-so-ever whenever I think about him, although I do think about him from time to time. He happens to be the dude I mentioned in an earlier entry about marriage. He was the first person I was engaged to.

Gritting my teeth, I replied as respectfully as possible, “I don’t know, and I probably never will know if he does.” I wanted to add “nor do I care”, but I knew my mother would take that as giving her attitude, so I dropped it.

These damn exes. Why should we still think about them? I was talking with a my friend, J, today — delightfully relishing a Shandy (try it, it’s way cooler than a mimosa) during a work meeting. Somehow during this work meeting, the ex-boyfriend talk came up.

How to Attend the Wedding of a Person You Can’t Stand

Somehow, it was unavoidable. You received the invitation in the mail, and it’s not exactly like you can decline. You may love the bride to pieces but want to vomit on the groom. It may be family, or your co-worker, or even a friend of a friend — and for whatever reason, you HAVE to go or else it looks bad. The prospect of attending this wedding gives you intense pains resembling that of a hernia, and perhaps you just threw up a teeny bit in your mouth. Well, suck it up and toss that RSVP card in the mail. You’re going, and you’re also going to ace it.

Things You’ll Need:

Step1) Don’t go alone. Bring an awesome, intelligent, interesting, fun date. It can even be your own sister. Just make sure it’s someone you love hanging out with regardless. Bribe them if you have to.

Step2) Wear an outfit you LOVE. It will put you in a good mood. Remember not to compete with the bridesmaids, however.

Step3) Resist the urge to roll your eyes during the event. It will not go unnoticed. This also goes for any defensive or negative body language. Instead of crossing your arms, keep your hands in your pockets. Put a rubbing stone in there if need be. Finger the beads of your necklace. Take a clutch.

Step4)Do not do anything passive aggressive, like “accidentally” bumping into your object of distaste, or getting a wedding gift you know they’ll hate. It will only appear aggressive.
Step5When you shake the couple’s hands, give a big smile and a firm grip. It helps to be talking about something very positive and happy with your date right before you have to do this so it appears more sincere.

Step6) For whatever reason you hate this person, remember that this wedding day is their day, it is very special, and if you do anything obnoxious it will be you who looks like the jerk.

Step7) Every time you have the urge to retch or make a sarcastic comment, immediately say something complimentary instead. “Her dress is gorgeous!” instead of “What a crock of poo” will go a long way. You also never know who will overhear.

Tips:

Maintain good posture.

Focus on the good.

Leave the reception early if you absolutely have to, but at least wait after a dance or two.

Do not say anything insincere. You will be transparent.

The next generation of 90210 is up on the small screen this fall. Which makes most of us reminisce about the old crew from back in the early 90’s — the love, the fights… the fashion.

One of the best outfits I must say was Donna’s getup in the U4EA episode when that crazy Emily Valentine spikes Brandon’s drink with a drug called “euphoria”. Donna wore over the knee black boots, black hot shorts, a long sleeve scoop neck top and a hot belt. Yay, for the Fly Girl 90’s, I’m so tired of the 80’s and the big leggings comeback.

So, what has happened to the old crew? There are talks of special appearances by Shannen Doherty, Jennie Garth, and Tori Spelling on the “Next Generation”.

Andrea, played by Gabrielle Carteris, unfortunately suffered partial facial paralyzation when during the filming of an attack scene in a movie. She’s blonde now!

Brian Austin Green turned to rap and put out an album called One Stop Carnival, which tanked. Most recently, he was in the Terminator TV show about Sarah Connor.

Jennie Garth and Ian Ziering were both on Dancing with the Stars (but not as partners). I remember when she married the guy from the Lemonheads! Ian has an official myspace page.

Jason Priestley is a big Barenaked Ladies fan and has a really interesting/goofy website.

Luke Perry divorced the model he married (they were married for awhile, I remember reading an article back in the day about how Minnie got his attention by sending him her bra).

Shannen was on Charmed, where Nat (the owner of the Peach Pit) guest starred on a show.

Apparently, CBS (see cbs.com) went genius and now offers free viewings of Bevery Hills, 90210 and Twin Peaks. This has gotten me addicted to 90210 reruns, a show that I was not allowed to watch when it debuted — not until its third season or so. Fashion has certainly come full-circle, because I’m sure that I could assemble all of Kelly Taylor’s outfits from an American Apparel store.

Just in time, too, because in a couple of weeks I am going to be attending my 10 year high school reunion. Which of course, brings me to the all-important question of “What do I WEAR?” If it weren’t enough to decide what bad ass frock I’m going to flaunt with my growed up self, the theme is all white.

You heard it.

In a word, disastrous. The last time I bought a dress for an all-white party, I got to sail around Manhattan on a boat. It was pretty stylish, but what happened to the dress isn’t: It know has interesting brown spots all over it. Coffee? Bailey’s? Who knows.

The other thing is: hair. A few entries ago, I was pining over pixies — which is totally the crop of choice among the truly fashionable. Being the most stylish also happens to involve a set of nerves that throws being self-conscious out the window. Today, after watching my friend, J, look extra awesome with her Melrose Place “Jane” hair, it definitely gave me the courage to cut my hair ala our favorite Beverly Hills shoplifter, Winona Ryder.

This look definitely would have shocked my fellow graduating class, since I had hair down my back throughout high school. My style has also changed into a Nylon Magazine meets Redbook kind of deal, when I used to wear baggy clothes and random snatches from my mother’s hideaway vintage back in the day.

High school is usually a horror story for most people, and I definitely survived through some nightmares. It usually involved boys, best friends, or family. In all, I had a great group of friends from all over the cafeteria lunchroom. I was charming, witty, and a tad bit Brenda Walsh dramatic. There was no Luke Perry for me yet back then, however (not until my co-workers at the indie video store during my college days). It was either the Zach Morris look-a-like in my chem class (whom I would date for five years! By the way, uber-long high school relationships are way overrated — I wish I had the mindset to date more back then) or the Mos Def-esque prince who was a little older and where my heart truly was and stayed for many years, especially after hearing him read a piece that was inspired by the movie Leaving Las Vegas

If you asked me in high school what I would be doing now, the first thing I would have said still remains true: I live for writing. All the rest? Although I wound up with a guy I went to high school with, I didn’t even see him after high school until I was 26! I have a son, although I thought my blooming career would not allow for kids until post 30. You never would have heard me admit to wearing slim/skinny jeans — and I definitely would have had my license by now!

I’m infamous for an article I wrote about pity dating. I still have people coming up to me and telling me how it changed the way they communicate. Many men will not like what I am about to write because they won’t want to admit that this has happened to them with a girl they thought had the hots for them, and probably a few women will be too ashamed to admit that I’m right. However, the truth is that I’ve seen it time and time again, especially with women who are in their early 20’s or new to the dating scene. I wanted to bring it up because of a frustrating exchange with a co-worker in a relationship who didn’t want to admit that she was in a relationship to a guy who was asking her out, even though she was not interested in this guy!

You run into the weird term “chillin’” or “doing something together” or “hanging out”. And I’m not talking about your boobs. Let’s say a guy uses the term “hang out”. In comes your selective hearing: If you do like him, you want to translate it into a date, but if you don’t like him, you want to translate it into something very platonic or “Oh, he just wants to be friends! I like having friends.”

I used to “chill” and “hang” with guys I had no romantic interest in whatsoever, but it turns out I was a bitch and leading them on. I’ve seen this happen again and again in so many instances. A guy will ask for a girl’s number at the bar, she doesn’t want to be mean, so instead of being real about it — she either gives him her number with the intention of ignoring him if he calls or tries to “buddify” the potential date by saying they can hang out “in a group” or “with friends”. Guess what? That’s still leading him on! Guys suffer from selective hearing, too. Many of them will interpret that as, “Oh, we’re going on a group date.” Or, “Oh, she likes me, she wants to hang out.” Also, don’t lie and say you’re in a relationship if you’re not. It’ll either get back to them, or the person you’re interested in will find out and think you’re in a relationship when you’re not.

Ladies, word of advice: Keep it real. Don’t lead the poor guy on. If you’re not interested, just say, “I’m not interested.” Do not be afraid of hurting someone’s feelings. How big of an asshole would you feel like if a guy felt sorry for you and gave you his number and you called and didn’t understand why he wasn’t calling you back? Exactly.

I’ve gotten into so much crap for this. My problem was that I sincerely just wanted to be friends in most cases. So I’d just fool myself into thinking that the guy got the hint, but really, he didn’t.

Also, try not to get tricked about giving your phone number or email out if you really don’t want to. If you want to, then go for it, but if you don’t then don’t. Just say, “No thanks.” That’s it. If you get called a bitch then obviously he’s a controlling jerk and you don’t need friends like that anyway.

My friend, J, kept looking at her phone the other day and telling me, “This guy I’m not into keeps texting me.”

I asked her if she told him she’s not interested. She said no.

I mean, yes. Technically, people are supposed to know that if you don’t reply to their messages, you’re not interested. Honestly, I can spare five seconds in my day for someone I have a crush on. Unless I’m playing a game, which is stupid — game playing is for middle school. In reality, however, many people live in the same place. And that’s (drumroll please):

DENIAL.

They will rationalize that the reason you are not calling back is because of A, B, or C. And you will keep getting those unwanted texts.

In some cases, however, I wonder if, even though the texts are from an unwanted suitor… are they actually unwanted?

I remember running away from a guy in order to avoid him. But secretly, did I like it that he was stalking me because he was giving me attention? Even though I hated his guts? Sometimes, that’s the case, too. And why would I be interested in what he’s up to or who he’s dating after I’m not the obsession anymore? That actually didn’t happen (me wondering about him). But it is a pretty nacissistic an conceited attitude.

Point being: Be real. It’s one of the most attractive qualities in a person — being genuine, honest, and being able to carry that without coming off as a snobby bitch. This is after over a decade of dating, and it’s very valuable advice.

I bought a pack of Camel Lights with the coupon my friend gave me at the same time that I bought the pregnancy test that told me that I was pregnant with my son. I smoked my last cigarette on my way to the undergraduate library, where I peed on a stick in the public bathroom. A couple minutes later, I read the strip that took a second of denial to decipher. Then I threw my pack away with the test that read “positive” and walked to work, my first non-smoker walk in a long time. It was a very lonely walk.

Rarely do you hear about people picking up smoking in their mid-twenties. I had been a preachy non-smoker ever since I learned about cigarettes. I had never, ever been able to understand why people would voluntarily inhale cancer. Stop while you’re ahead. That sort of addiction was foreign to me. I had friends who smoked, but I refused to date smokers.

Then I fell in love with a smoker. I never smoked while we were together. After that relationship, in a self-destructive way, I inhaled my first cigarette (an American Spirit blue — very super intense) and loved it. I loved smoking. I loved coffee and cigarettes, I loved beer and cigarettes. I loved getting to sit on the smoker’s bench. There was this whole smoker’s culture that I embraced. The social aspect was so interesting — sitting at a cafe, having people ask for lights or to bum smokes, it just sparked this whole new range of conversation that was amazing to me. I loved the ritual of rolling my own cigarettes by hand. I could write an entire article about how much I not only loved smoking, but everything that came along with it, including the stench.

Then… I got pregnant. I had to cut it out of my life. I had never attempted to really quit before — I had managed to cut back to a cigarette a day, but I never wanted to quit.

To support me, my boyfriend quit when I did. It was way harder than he’d expected. He caved in a couple of times. He would do push-ups when the cravings would come back.

After my pregnancy, he continued on as a non-smoker. He does not want our son to associate him with smoking. It’s not just about not smoking around our son, but even anything else that has to do with it, like a smoke break, or even smelling like cigarette smoke. He also thinks about what a gross and nasty habit it is, and how much harder it makes any physical activity. Once, after being tempted post-second drink, he looked at a picture of our son on his cell phone to get him past his craving.

I asked him if he considers himself a non-smoker or if he is just on pause for right now — waiting for the right time to start up again. He told me his mentality is that he’s really quit.

I’ve had cravings to smoke many times, but I never do. Mainly, I know that it would be horrible for my son because I am breastfeeding.

My problem is that the cravings are getting stronger now. I talked to my partner about it and he asked me about when I start craving cigarettes. Lately, it’s been when I’ve been feeling particularly stressed, anxious, nervous or lonely. It gets unbearable sometimes.

When I say it gets unbearable, I feel like only a handful of people may know what I mean. My partner flies away for four days out of the week because he has to commute out of state for work. I am stuck in a town I mostly hate — without any close friends left. They’ve all moved to NYC, which is a shattered dream for me. The rest of my friends are either very single or very young, or both — meaning I’m hard to hang out with because I have a kid and I can’t really go anywhere that easily.

My partner suggested that I get through these difficult times by doing another activity that will relax me the same way smoking a cigarette will, and that activity for me is writing and has always been writing. It’s actually a brilliant idea. I thought I could either write here or write letters to long lost friends.

The advice given to mothers who are having trouble quitting smoking is that a mother should keep breastfeeding instead of opting for formula. According to kellymom.com, breastmilk will provide immunities to the effects of secondhand smoke on babies. They become more susceptible to infections and diseases. If a mother decides to continue smoking during pregnancy, she should cut down — 20 cigarettes a day can increase risks. Do not smoke before or during breastfeeding, instead smoke right after to decrease the amount of nicotine that will pass onto baby. It takes 95 minutes for half of the nicotine to get out of your system.

Dr. Lisa Amir, in a review published in 2001, concluded that “Although there is consistent evidence that women who smoke breastfeed their infants for a shorter duration than non-smokers, the evidence for a physiological mechanism is not strong.” That means babies of smokers who are weaned faster than babies of non-smoking moms aren’t necessarily weaned faster because of the smoking — it could just be problems with “poor lactation management” prevailent in smoking mothers. That’s actually a study I would like to read about.

The best bet is to just quit. I actually kind of hate myself for reading that website because now it is even more of a temptation for me. I have to use this whole new mentality for not smoking. It’s definitely easy for non-smokers to preach about how nasty cigarettes are and to use bully methods of communication, which I feel are the least effective. I’m obviously still an addict. I haven’t even quit for myself. I quit for my son.

I just read a little bit about the new book about Hugh Hefner, which is a book all about the Playboy mogul’s sexcapades.

That’s right, his sexcapades. Excuse me while I throw up a little in my mouth.

Onwards. It’s mentioned that it is a “shocking” tell-all, and that the author was given access to Hefner’s personal documents in order to pen the book. The word I’m confused about here is “shocking”. What can possibly be “shocking” about the founder of Playboy magazine. Having sex with a man? Nope, not shocking… threesomes? No… pretty normal and not-quirky if you ask me. Sex has been the new adventure for awhile now. I really do not think that anything could shock me about Hugh Hefner’s sex life. Obviously the man has done a lot and has hidden salami many ways and with many people, maybe all at once.

If you want to write a shocking Hefner novel, sex shouldn’t be the angle. If you want a typical Hefner, story however, then you’re going the right route.

This just in, owning an SUV — especially a Hummer — is a fashion faux pas. NPR’s words, not mine.

A fashion faux pas.

Interesting. Also? A recent survey mentioned on NPR stated that women will be much more interested in talking to a guy with a hybrid rather than a sports car. How much more likely? 9 times out of 10. My boyfriend did not believe this. Honestly, after the 80’s, when have sports cars been sexy anyway? I tend to want to flip-off a sports car rather than want to hump its owner. Hybrids are interesting in theory, but when they develop a way to turn trash (not new food) into fuel, then let’s talk. Neither are that impressive. How does the subject come up at the bar, anyway, without one of the people coming off as an uber-lame ass-clown? “Hey, I-uh, noticed you drove up in that Prius. That’s really, really admirable. So are your underpants made of recycled materials also?” Or, “So, foxy lady. You wanna go for a ride with the top down? My Porsche has your name written all over it.” Ugh. Seriously.

I’ve never had a love relationship with cars, it’s mostly been hate. Attribute my never having a driver’s license to that. My only car love was an ‘88 Buick Regal that got laid to rest two years ago. She was a gas guzzling boat that I drove (ahem) with a driver’s permit. But like I’ve always said, it’s the unhealthy relationships that we cherish the most.

The concept of “going green” as a fashion statement rather than having it be a conscious effort to save our environment just has “wrong” leaking oil all over it. What happens when the trend is over, then?

People tend to have a love hate relationship with girls with short dos. Some consider it a don’t, while others have a strict preference for the pixies. My take?

The current answer is HOT HOT HOT. I’m going short a la Jean Seberg in Breathless, the indie-mother of all American in Paris films. I was surprised to learn that a couple other of my friends are going the super-short route as well.

Photo courtesy gonemovie.com.
Drinking Shandies (not bousgie) with my friend J over some garlic shrimp (bousgie) pizza, we were discussing our desire to crop our locks with the risky new “it” look.

“I like it,” she said. “It gives me an excuse to dress like a slut.”

I, on the other hand, like the ambiguous gender look. Especially lovable: My son won’t be able to yank my hair into bruised oblivion!