tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8156936216476869712011-04-21T13:41:20.795-07:00Dating is sort of like wandering around in a candy store. You want to sample everything so you can find the one that's right for your romantic palate. I've tried the whole store. In my blog, I'll tell you about the sticky ones; those who've built a chocolate shell around their hearts and those who only added weight to my hips - and my heart. Come with me on my (mostly) sweet adventure as I introduce you to some of the flavors in my life (who might just be like some of the flavors in yours).Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-67305540026785179892009-03-11T13:46:00.000-07:002009-03-11T13:50:16.028-07:002009-03-11T13:50:16.028-07:00

I realize there are a lot of men in the world. And yes, I know just how big the world is. Because of its sheer size and the fact that, like snowflakes, men are all different, it’s inevitable that somewhere, among the flickering brilliance, are a good many with whom I’d have a lovely time. But I wanted him.So now it doesn’t really matter how many other men I see. It doesn’t matter if they’re more

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-57528165466037998932009-01-26T22:48:00.000-08:002009-01-27T23:52:48.587-08:002009-01-27T23:52:48.587-08:00

I knew the moment I saw them. There, in the entrance of my yoga studio, was a cloud of dazzling red curtains, framing the doorway. I felt like I was walking into Aladdin's bedroom. One look and I already knew they were mine. It's funny how you can look at something and know that. Up until recently, I've only felt that way about drapery.The day after I saw those curtains, I went right to Target to

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-62451643249541775262009-01-19T23:29:00.000-08:002009-01-19T23:40:55.786-08:002009-01-19T23:40:55.786-08:00

It's like this: I'm terrified of love.And yet, it's the one thing I want most. Makes sense, though. We're often the most afraid of that which we truly want. Why? Because sometimes just the idea of knowing you might actually get what you want is terrifying. For 32 years, I never wanted love. I wanted nothing to do with commitment or being open or vulnerable. I didn't know until recently that it

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-3520360205379148492009-01-03T23:21:00.000-08:002009-01-03T23:52:08.726-08:002009-01-03T23:52:08.726-08:00

I look around me, on the street. My eyes stray from the produce in the grocery store. At the pump at the gas station, I am pumping my brain with questions. Could he be you? Could the next man I see be more wonderful than you?My gut tells me no. The same way it told me when I was locked in the embrace of a tall, dark and handsome man who spoke a foreign language and wanted to take me to Costa Rica

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-2324709455079384232008-11-15T00:25:00.000-08:002008-11-15T00:35:49.300-08:002008-11-15T00:35:49.300-08:00

I cried in the car, there next to you. We were in the parking lot at the bank, and the street lights were painting the side of your face bright yellow.The engine was still running, and I was thinking about how the exhaust pollutes the environment just like your memory pollutes my thoughts. My head is full of poison.You are devouring your quesadilla and bean and cheese burrito in a way you never

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-71850509731849892592008-10-17T23:09:00.001-07:002008-10-18T10:27:17.208-07:002008-10-18T10:27:17.208-07:00

He was a terrible kisser.I mean, like, beyond bad. I'm 31 and I've kissed a lot of frogs, but this one was toad in the tongue department. What, exactly was he trying to do with that thing?I thought this the entire 11 hours we kissed. Well, it felt like 11 hours. It was probably a minute or two - a minute or two too much. Although I liked Surfer Dude, I wasn't sure if I could really teach a 37-

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-81006028080645926922008-10-09T23:08:00.000-07:002008-10-10T23:29:09.075-07:002008-10-10T23:29:09.075-07:00

Why do I do this? Get rejected from a guy and immediately go into “not enough” mode? It makes no logical sense. I know I’m a groovy chick. People like me. Men have liked me – a lot – in my short life. And somewhere deep inside, I really like me too.Yet it’s my knee jerk reaction to being dumped. I blame it on King Kong and the slue of men I hurled myself at after his complete dismissal of me, but

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-59979826708743016252008-10-09T22:54:00.000-07:002008-10-09T23:07:32.002-07:002008-10-09T23:07:32.002-07:00

Waiting for a bus is like waiting for a man. You keep looking around the corner, hoping the next one is going your way, will stop to let you inside, not leave you standing in the cold. “Excuse me, sir, do you mind holding me? I’m sure the woman behind you wouldn’t mind moving. It won’t take but a moment. Just wrap your arms around the left side of my body. Brush my cheek with your wrist as you

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-71916344254728037842008-10-09T22:48:00.000-07:002008-10-09T22:54:18.074-07:002008-10-09T22:54:18.074-07:00

I was talking with a friend the other day and he was telling me about his male friend who is hopelessly in love with a girl he broke up with because he suddenly became terrified of the idea of forever. So instead of telling her he was scared, he just left. That’s what so many men do. And we generally have to suffer in the wake of those consequences.Of course the guy realized his folly and decided

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-59154877038648400382008-09-24T23:33:00.000-07:002008-09-24T23:46:45.725-07:002008-09-24T23:46:45.725-07:00

What does this mean? To be authentic. For a long time, I didn't know what this meant in a relationship sense. Now I think I do. It means be who you want to be, not who you think someone wants you to be. Say what you want to say when you want to say it. Do what feels right, not what is acceptable. Speak from your spirit. Don't let fear get in the way. I've been afraid of love. Of men. Of dating.

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-31085501674242625042008-09-20T22:21:00.000-07:002008-09-20T22:48:06.644-07:002008-09-20T22:48:06.644-07:00

I don't want him anymore.Those are powerful words for a girl like me. A girl who slurps up unrequited love through a broken straw. When those straws are broken, nothing really comes through, but you keep slurping anyway. You know, just in case.But this time, I didn't want to drink anything Mr. Corkscrew had to offer. He drunk texted me at 1 a.m. I was only two days into my new job in a new time

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-65208168477887477772008-09-19T23:03:00.000-07:002008-09-20T12:40:53.272-07:002008-09-20T12:40:53.272-07:00

I was standing at the bus stop today, musing about life. Well, about my romantic life. Same thing.I realized that for most of my dating life, I never really knew who I was. This meant I freely gave of myself in ways I didn't realize could harm me in the long run. Turning 30 really does present a new kind of gift. You're suddenly aware of your actions. You look deeper in order to figure out what

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-6549025127759986342008-07-25T14:16:00.000-07:002008-07-28T09:37:38.299-07:002008-07-28T09:37:38.299-07:00

He was never my boyfriend. On a conscious level, I knew this.But a little deeper beneath the surface, where hope lies untainted by the sharp hands of reality, I pretended he was mine.I suppose we’re all guilty of this from time to time. What woman hasn’t, at some point in her starry-eyed past, drifted home on the tail feathers of a word or a smile? And who among us hasn’t seen our future in a

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-35358755885221465172008-07-24T22:42:00.000-07:002008-07-28T09:39:44.774-07:002008-07-28T09:39:44.774-07:00

My life is one giant coincidence. Or is it?The Celestine Prophecy would have you believe there is no such thing. That every single thing that happens to us is 100 percent on purpose. It is simply our choice in how we perceive it. We can go on about our day, ignoring the little old lady who dropped her purse in front of us at the grocery store, or we can stop to help her pick it up. What would

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-75942386637819612232008-07-24T22:23:00.000-07:002008-07-28T09:39:10.186-07:002008-07-28T09:39:10.186-07:00

Chicago is a vortex. A wet, sticky trap.It’s the Bermuda Triangle of my relationships. Even though I’m 30 miles outside the city, staying with a friend, memories of the Mad Scientist haunt my waking thoughts. Today was the first time I think I ever cried for him and it’s been two years since we first met and I discovered what it feels like to be happy. I mean, happy underneath your toenails happy

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-27967077690690151372008-07-09T20:31:00.001-07:002008-07-09T22:55:03.070-07:002008-07-09T22:55:03.070-07:00

That's all most stories are anyway, aren't they? Soggy. Never quite as crisp and as you want. Besides it's only one story, somewhere out there in the swirling abyss of fate, that we're waiting for anyway. The one where we know the ending because we get to be in it. The one that doesn't leave us hanging on the edge of an emotional cliff. Though I'm not pining for Mr. Beer Man, I decided to make up

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-17695357256908700472008-06-25T19:56:00.001-07:002008-06-26T14:40:34.280-07:002008-06-26T14:40:34.280-07:00

Last week I had a bit of an emotional setback. Mr. Corkscrew sent me an e-mail. Not a “Hi, just wanted to see if you’re still breathing,” like the Mad Scientist sent me when I was in London and he was on his way to Paris (but had no time to see me-ouch), but hi via LinkedIn. It was a request to connect with him, “a friend.” He plugged in my name and clicked the friend button. And if that wasn’t

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-87158970347909698202008-06-25T19:55:00.000-07:002008-07-28T09:38:28.059-07:002008-07-28T09:38:28.059-07:00

As a quest to become more healthy, I decided to create a list of all the things I no longer want to put into my body.So far the list looks like this:Things to AvoidRefined sugarDairyNutsCornWhite flourMr. Corkscrew, Mr. Beer Man, Mr. Oily, King Kong and the Mad ScientistNotice I didn’t say men. I don’t need to avoid men. That was never my problem. Men from my past were the only ones who ever did

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-63323350793262501092008-06-17T21:09:00.000-07:002008-06-17T21:11:12.629-07:002008-06-17T21:11:12.629-07:00

It's a funny thing about trains. You always feel them coming. When you're standing at the platform, it's easy to tell when a train is arriving. Not by any visual cues, though. You feel it. First, the ground shakes just a bit. Then, the wind begins to blow all around you, tickling your cheek and brushing up against your leg. Then, you hear it. It whistles as it lurches forward, the sound of bell

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-20867159793994481342008-06-07T11:39:00.000-07:002008-07-09T23:19:36.929-07:002008-07-09T23:19:36.929-07:00

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” Mr. Beer Man said as we were walking through the Lincoln Park Zoo. “I realized something about myself when it comes to relationships. I’m selfish.”When I didn’t say anything for a while, he asked why I was silent. I told him it was because I had no rebuttal. I agreed.He wasn’t surprised. And neither was I, when he said that he didn’t care.“It’s who

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-44140192764276327202008-06-07T00:04:00.000-07:002008-07-09T22:55:51.254-07:002008-07-09T22:55:51.254-07:00

What if what you came for was something totally different than what you thought it would be?I thought I was coming to Chicago for a little hand holding and nurturing. I thought Mr. Beer Man was going to wrap his arms around me and kiss my earlobes, telling me it was all going to be okay.Instead, I got cold dinner alone in a very hot studio apartment. I got him two hours late with no explanation.

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-21438196644736027432008-06-06T19:55:00.000-07:002008-07-09T22:56:30.949-07:002008-07-09T22:56:30.949-07:00

He was 1.5 hours late. I had cooked a pasta dish with some of the artichoke garlic cream I'd brought back from Italy. I also made a tomato, mozzarella and basil salad.He wasn't here to eat it, so I watched Tracy Ullman and ate it in the dark.When he came home (without calling), I tried my best not to do the girl sulk, but he picked up on it. "I made you dinner," I said. "Thanks, but I never eat

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-32399559552865337302008-06-06T13:15:00.000-07:002008-07-09T23:19:13.223-07:002008-07-09T23:19:13.223-07:00

So I've got this problem. I'm what you might call a dating recidivist. I keep making the same mistakes over and over, with the same men. Basically, I recycle my lovers. It really cuts down on the whole "So, what do you do...what's your favorite color" conversation that takes up so much darned time. By recycling, I eliminate the formalities and have a built-in familiarity system. I know what they

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-7787686350540795552008-05-29T19:17:00.001-07:002008-05-30T15:51:17.109-07:002008-05-30T15:51:17.109-07:00

There's a song by The Smiths by this name. It's actually the part in Ferris Bueller's Day Off when Cameron is struck by a gorgeous mural of Seurat's scene of families on a beach.I don't remember the scene, nor did I know the song until two years ago. In fact, I didn't even know who The Smiths were. But everything has changed. And now I'll never look at that painting - or love - the same way

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-815693621647686971.post-58938087592597544102008-05-27T22:16:00.000-07:002008-05-27T23:07:29.332-07:002008-05-27T23:07:29.332-07:00

It happens every time.Whenever I get into a relationship that I feel might be getting serious, my first instinct is to run. Fast.I want to run to another state, or hide under the blankets for a year. I want to assume a new identity, maybe masquerade as a salsa dancer in Tijuana.I want to date an entire football team. I want to pick up men – and some groceries – in the produce aisle of my local

Candy Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06823680063328925864noreply@blogger.com0