Cleo's Dating Blog

Posts Tagged ‘growing up

I really like pumpkin pie and banana cream pie. I’m not too into apple pie or pecan pie.

Regardless, I am always sad when my dessert of choice is gone. The sweetness never lasts long enough! I am not ashamed of licking my plate.

Even sharing dessert can sometimes be challenging for me. It is a hard life that I lead.

Whether or not you share in the same struggle of mastering your sweet tooth as I do, we are all lucky that things like beauty and success do not come in pie form. Otherwise Ashton Kutcher and the Olsen Twins would rule the world.

Many people act like they do not realize this to be true. I find that I have fewer and fewer friends because so many girls get catty and judgmental and so many people in general would rather see you fail and struggle then succeed.  As a newbie to the world of entrepreneurship, one of the rules of growth is to be careful with whom you share your ideas with. Haters bring negativity and no one taking a risk needs any extra doses of doubt.

Beautiful women are often harsh with other beautiful women because of competition. The fight for attention, perks, stature, or the feeling of self-worth fuel the seeds of jealousy and contempt. But let’s be honest ladies, it is not the other beautiful face that is making you look bad, it is your attitude.

The world would be a sweeter place if we could all remember that the best things in life are not limited by a pie sheet. There is a limitless amount of beauty, strength, charisma, and love to go around. I prefer to surround myself with the best of the best because it inspires me to be more tomorrow than what I am today. The narrow-minded can stay home.

If your thoughts are limited to a 12 inch circle, it is not too late to break free. When you do, you can join my club.

Yours Truly,

Cleo

As far as I understand, when something does not fit well, you have two choices: shove it in OR give up. I tend to practice both philosophies in my life, mostly out of curiosity.

Sometimes you meet a cute boy and he asks for your phone number. It is new and exciting until he decides to text you for the first time at 3am saying, “Wanna make out?”. Square peg may not even be screwed in properly.

Other times you meet an average looking boy and he surprises you with wit and charm. You have lots of fun together and special exchanges of butterflies. Then you start to think that maybe what you wanted was a triangular peg after all.

You can change your mind all you want, but a triangle is not comfortable inside a circle.

Sometimes you can find bedazzled square pegs. These fancy ones are fun to keep around for entertainment purposes but does not necessarily make them fit better.

Other times you meet square pegs with round edges and it’s such a close match! Attraction, conversation, and availability. Yet something is missing that you can not explain.

And then one day you do find a circle peg! What a rush.

But sometimes the circle peg is not done meeting square holes.

And the cycle begins again.

The good thing is that this time you know how to recognize a circle from a square and you know that trying to make a square fit or trying to make a triangle appealing is just effort without results.

If you are really lucky, then you now also have the experience to realize that all these pegs can not do anything to change your shape, what fits you best, and what you deserve.

To summer flings and more,

Cleo

 

 

People say this to me often.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” What tends to follow is, “Just lower your standards a little.”

If I could lower my standards and be happy, don’t you think that I would just do it already? It’s not like I am trying to win a contest of who can stay single the longest. I would love to have someone that could watch movies with me and play with my hair.

For those of you that have known me for many years, you know that I have not always had high standards. I used to have lots of boyfriends because I would only look for a few, key qualities and ignore the rest. Usually if a guy was nice and treated me well, then that was enough.

My ability to ignore things has drastically decreased. I can no longer date men that play video games all day, drink themselves to a mushy physique, smell bad, have yellow teeth, embarrass themselves in public, cry a lot, dress like it’s still the 90’s, smoke a lot of “medicine”, have a different personality around friends, have small hands, do not like to cuddle, think driving really fast is cool, have a dry sense of humor, or have nothing interesting to say (these are all true).

I have lowered my standards before, but having the wrong boyfriend is worse than being single and lonely. When single, I spend my time thinking of ways to improve my life. Although occasionally rough for a person like me that loves companionship and the idea of love, at least I know I am improving. When I do not fully adore my boyfriend, my time is spent trying to convince myself that I am happy or that I have enough patience…or else I am thinking of the most strategic ways in which to end the relationship. Sad, I know.

I guess I am at that annoying stage in my life that middle-aged people always tell me to cherish. “I wish I had enjoyed my 20’s more!” Alright, but your 20’s kind of suck when you have no proven career, no authority in the workplace, no family, no money, no beach house, no swimming pool in your backyard, no nanny, and so many distractions. The opportunities are beautiful and boundless, but it is such a waiting game to see which ones will flourish and which ones will crash. One step at a time and hopefully 30 years from now I won’t regret anything major…

Chat soon,

Cleo

 

One of my best friends always supports me no matter what I do. If I want to drunk text, she supports me. If I want to eat a hamburger, she supports me while also participating. If I want a spray tan, she supports me. If I want to throw a singles mixer without any experience, she supports me. If I want to curl up in a ball and cry or if I want to dance on a pole, she supports me.

Much like cheesecake, if something yummy is in front of me, then I am going to eat it up until there is nothing left. I love support! My ego smiles.

I have other friends that tell it like it is (or as they see it). If it was socially acceptable, they would probably slap me across the face for all the times I let my emotions and fantasies of love get the better of me. They tell me when I am thinking too much, when I need to move on, when I say stupid things, or when my dress is too tight. They tell me when a guy is not into me when all I want to do is make excuses for him. These friends also play devil’s advocate on my business ideas and ask questions that make me sweat (hypothetically… girls don’t sweat).

These friends are the protein powder of my life. My ego does not crave or actively enjoy this treatment, but it is necessary for me to grow strong life, love, and dating muscles.

Most of my friends, however, just feel my pain and share in my joy. They are the staple, margarita pizza of my life.

Too much of one or too little of the other, and I would be a crazy mess… even more than I already am! The binge and purge method is not healthy. Having a well balanced support system and wide spectrum of opinions creates a good life diet. Cosmopolitan Magazine and horoscope compatibility charts do not have all the answers, as much as I love both strategies. However, if you are going to heavily rely on one source, Cleo is probably your best bet.

If you are open-minded to different ways of thinking and willing to adjust some of your old habits, then you may discover the ancient tradition of maturation.

Goddess Love,

Cleo

 

My Monday had the potential to be horrible because I burnt my tongue on my tea last night and still can not taste food.

OR… I could focus on the nice weather and how I was not cold when I went outside today. Or smile at how many good friends I got to spend time with. Or be relieved at how many calories I burned in spin class tonight.

If none of these great things happened for you, maybe you can be happy that I have a new video out!

Happy Monday,

Cleo

 

I am thinking of changing my Facebook status to: in a relationship. It feels true.

Even before my parents first let me drive off in a teenage boy’s janky car to go to the movies and hold hands, I have dreamed of being “in love.” I am caring, fun, and all the other things so obviously I would make the best girlfriend. Plus, everything I read about Libras says that we are at our best when in relationships.

Despite all this, somehow I have been single most my life. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I do not, and sometimes I can not imagine a different lifestyle.

I have spent a lot of time dating, under all different types of circumstances. You know this, because you read my blog :). In doing so, the goal is to figure out what you want, what you like, and what you can handle.

What good is going on a date with the cocky guy from the bar just because he was creative in how he asked? Or going on a third date with a guy that you felt no sparks for just because he takes you to fun restaurants? Or staying in a relationship that is making you act crazy? Or hooking up with your ex again just because it is comfortable? If you know it is not working or that he is not the guy for you, why do it? (Insert the word girl as needed).

Comfort, distraction, boredom, desperation. None of these colors look good on anyone. Sorry, Demi Moore.

Based on past experience, I know what I want.  If you are at the same point as me, acting against that is not doing you any good. You may be sending the wrong message to the world. You may not be ready for what you want.

If you are not at the same point, dating is good. It is important to see what the world has to offer. Personally, dating showed me how many people I am NOT attracted to.

Sure, I still like to flirt and have fun, but I have come to a new conclusion. If I want a good guy one day, I need to act like a good girl.

Reflecting on my college years, I was pretty crazy. I wanted a perfect boyfriend yet found myself making out in the bathroom at parties… or dating my friend’s exes… or getting schwasted… or drunk dialing… or other things I will not put on my blog.

Then once out of college, I was subconsciously trying to distract my unhappiness with my jobs/life onto men. I wanted someone to make me happy because I was not doing well at it.

It makes so much more sense to me now why I was single. The me now would not have dated the me from back then! At least not seriously (I have always been hard to resist completely, *wink*).

Currently I am single, but I have never been happier. I still struggle with the question of, what do I want to be when I grow up? But I know this is normal.

Knowing what I want in a relationship and knowing what I have to offer makes me very happy. I am totally committed and entirely involved with my happiness. In fact, I am so involved that I am not going to let the wrong guy or the myth that being single is lonely screw it up. Patience and I are becoming best friends.

Often people ask me why I am single. I am single because being amazing is hard to match.

Recently a man walked by me and said, “Mmm, he is a lucky guy.” Besides being slightly creeped out, I thought, ” Well, whoever I end up with is going to make me a lucky girl also.”

Thus, I feel like I am in a relationship with myself and am content with the current status of my love life. I still have faith in magic and sparks and good love matches, but am in no hurry. I believe it is better to wait for the right person than be impatient and commit to turn the wrong person. Plus girl time is fun!

Good luck in all that you do.

Luv,

Cleo

We haven’t met yet,

but if feels like I know you.

–//–

I could try to imagine what it would feel like,

to shake your hand,

to lock eyes with you,

to share your space,

but I don’t want to if it’s not real,

if I can not reach out and touch you.

–//–

It feels like I am already so deeply in love with you,

but I don’t even know what a love like that feels like.

–//–

I try not to think about love,

because I don’t know what your face looks like,

or what color your eyes are,

or how you act when you get angry,

or how you breathe when you sleep.

–//–

All I do know is that I’m not going to waste time on someone that is not you.

I am happier alone than with someone else.

You are my someone else.

–//–

So until that day comes,

when my heart softens,

and my life changes,

I will stay put.

Independent,

and a little cold.

xx,

Cleo

I am participating in a short story contest and honestly, I don’t even know what the prize is. I just wanted something to motivate me to write more creative fiction.

The contest is hosted by NYC Midnight and it is their 6th Annual Short Story Challenge. The challenge includes three rounds where each time you are given a prompt and time limit.

The first round just ended so I am sharing my story with you. Hopefully I make it to the next round! Let me know what you think :).

I was assigned to write a story with the genre of sci-fi, character of a babysitter, and event of a sale. Here goes!

Love,

Cleo

The Adventures of Big Mac Girl

A young girl unknowingly finds herself in the middle of a wild science experiment as an older man capitalizes on her insecurities. 

________________________________

They called her Big Mac girl. The truth was, she did not even like hamburgers, let alone McDonald’s. Unfortunately, the thing about bullying is that it need not be factual.

Every day she would come home from school and find remnants of melted cheddar cheese and Thousand Island dressing in her backpack. It made studying a sticky struggle and smiling an even greater one. “Where did these girls find the time for such ridiculing?” she wondered.

Yes, she was overweight. Some would even say she was extremely overweight. Growing up in a large family of large people, eating delicious food was what bonded the Bigg’s clan together. Fried chicken, lamb chops, spaghetti and meatballs, mashed potatoes, three-cheese baked mac and cheese, and blueberry pancakes were common dishes consumed before a day’s end.

“Mom, can I ask you something?” she inquired, while her mother stirred the lamb stew.

“You mean may you ask me something?” her mother replied.

“Yes, may I. May I go to a different school?”

Her mother stopped stirring and looked up at her daughter. With eight children, it was easy to overlook how fast each one was growing and how quickly they were finding their own identities.

“What’s wrong with the school you go to now?” her mother asked.

“I get bullied by everyone! I am called the worst names and am constantly cleaning condiments out of my belongings. Next year I will be in 8th grade and I want a fresh start. It’s not fair.” She spoke with a conviction her mother had never seen before.

“Sweetheart, anyone that makes fun of you is just jealous of the close-knit family you have. Their opinion doesn’t matter! The only other school in the area is that snooty, all-girls academy and I wouldn’t send you there even if we could afford it.” Although she knew her mother loved her very much, she was also very stubborn. This discussion was over, for the time being. “Now, eat your potatoes.”

One of the only things that made her forget about her lack of friends, lack of respect, and lack of a desirable physique was her physics class. She loved the complexity of the subject, the thrill of solving unknown variables, and how most kids in her class could not grasp the concepts. Plus, it did not hurt that Mr. Watson was the most charming, handsome, and intelligent teacher in the whole school.

“Hello class. Today we are going to dive into the concept of color waves. With the coming out of those new color television sets that can be purchased for your home, I thought it would benefit us all to know a little bit about how they work.” Mr. Watson smiled and she was sure that his teeth were glowing.

While he spoke, she took notes vigorously, sometimes to the point of getting a painful cramp in her hand. She fought through it.

He always looked directly at her when he was about to raise a question to the class, as if warning her to make sure she lifted her hand first. “I have a bit of a personal question to ask you all,” Mr. Watson chimed. “Our normal babysitter for the evening is sick and my wife and I already have tickets to see the new Charlton Heston movie. Would anyone be interested in babysitting? I would be deeply appreciative.”

She wanted nothing more than to be appreciated. Her hand shot up like rocket.

She arrived at 5:30pm sharp, just as Mr. Watson had instructed. She had brushed her hair and put on a little bit of red lipstick that she had stolen from her mother’s purse.

“So nice of you to be on time,” Mr. Watson said. Her cheeks blushed immediately.

She was nervous to meet Mrs. Watson and had no idea how old their child was. All she knew was that Mr. Watson had glowing, sparkly teeth.

Mr. Watson gave her a tour of the house and its quaint rooms. When they got to the back of the house, Mr. Watson stopped and turned slowly to face her.

“Now, this is my favorite room of the whole house,” he paused for a moment. “But, you cannot tell anyone at school that I showed it to you, okay? Promise me.”

“I pinky promise, Mr. Watson.” She would do anything to know what was behind that door if it meant bringing her closer to her favorite teacher.

He smiled. She melted.

He opened the door. The room was so dimly lit that she could hardly see three feet in front of her.

He grabbed her hand. “We have to go down some stairs. Be careful.”

As he led her down the stairs, her heart raced, but mostly just because they were holding hands.

At the bottom of the stairs, they rounded the corner and arrived at a fluorescently illuminated room that looked a lot like a laboratory and smelled a lot like a pet store. There were small cages all along the walls and as she looked closer, she noticed that there was a rat in each one.

“These are my children,” Mr. Watson said proudly.

He must have noticed the perplexed and slightly disgusted look on her face because he immediately started to explain the purpose of this rat-room.

“Do not be frightened. I’m a scientist after all. I am in the middle of an extraordinary, ground-breaking discovery. Don’t you want to be a part of that?” He looked so deeply into her eyes that she thought she might faint.

She nodded, slowly.

“Good. There are instructions on each cage and each child has their own personality, just like your brothers and sisters,” Mr. Watson explained. “The Mrs. and I will be back before you know it, so make yourself at home, have fun, and get to know my children. Just make sure you do not leave this room. If all goes well, I will have a special treat for you when I return.”

He squeezed her hand, smiled, and left the room closing the door behind him. “What have I gotten myself into?” she thought to herself.

For a long time she stood in the same spot, frozen. Then, a loud clatter came from the cage marked “D” as the rat behind bars began to ferociously claw at the cage.

Her skin crawled but she inched closer to cage D.

Rat D must be fed every 10 minutes. Use the food in the blue container. Failure to do so can lead to extreme aggression.

She turned and noticed a row of red, green, and blue containers to her right. She ran over and scooped out a mush that looked a lot like soggy French fries mixed with peanut butter. Rat D gobbled up the mush and then succumbed to an intense food comma.

She almost giggled. He was so chubby that it was cute.

Feeling more comfortable, she walked around the room, looking at the “children.” All of their instructions had something to do with feeding.

Rat A must be fed every two hours. Use the green container. Rat C must be fed only once a day with food from the red container…

At the end of the row of cages was a small door attached to an odd, dome-shaped machine. It must have only been about 5 feet tall and had the numbers 2-0-1-2 written on the front.

Getting hungry herself, she sat at the desk in the center of the room and searched the drawers for something tasty. Perfect, she made a Ritz Crackers discovery! She continued searching the desk out of curiosity and came across some unmarked bottles of pills, pages of handwritten notes and charts, and money. However, it was not the nickels and dimes money that she was used to, but money with Benjamin Franklin on them! “Mr. Watson must be rich,” she whispered.

Just as she was finishing up her snack, she heard the sound of footsteps and Mr. Watson’s unmistakable laughter.

“How is my favorite girl doing?” he asked as he quickly walked around the room, examining his children.

“You did a great job!” Mr. Watson was very pleased. He got down on one knee so he could speak to her on an equal level. “It’s time for your special gift.”

He reached into the desk and pulled out two Ben Franklin’s. She could not stop thinking how many Coca-Cola’s or gummy bears she could buy at the market with that kind of cash.

“This is two-hundred dollars. The cool thing about this is that we can trade it for even better things. For example, I discovered a small pill you can take that allows you to eat whatever you like and still become skinny. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Did that sound nice? It sounded like her dreams just came true! She could go to school and not be bullied and still eat her mom’s amazing cooking. Miraculous!

“To get the pills is simple. All you have to do is take this money, go to a secret store, and trade the money for the special treats. Then, your life will never be the same!” Mr. Watson was a great salesman.

She smiled. “What store do I go to?” she asked, innocently.

Now Mr. Watson sprung to his feet. “Let me show you.”

Once again, he took her hand and led her to the dome-shaped creation in the corner of the room. “You are going to a place called Los Angeles in 2012. Everyone in this place is skinny and wears size 0 clothing. The sun always shines and people stay young and beautiful for a very long time.”

“That sounds nice, but I am not going to fit in,” she confessed.

“Nonsense. After these special pills, you will be a movie star.” Mr. Watson knew just the right things to say.

He put a strange contraption on her head and straps on her shoulders and arms.

“After you get inside, I am going to push the green button. When the machine stops buzzing, open the door and you will be in my good friend’s home. Hand him the money and he will hand you a small bag. Then, go back inside the machine and push the yellow button that says 1959. Understand?” Mr. Watson spoke very articulately.

“Yes, I understand, Mr. Watson. Thank you very much for this gift.”

He pushed the green button. Everything around her began to shake wildly. She closed her eyes and prayed that this would end soon so she could get her present and finally be skinny.

As quickly as it had started, the shaking stopped and the air was quiet again. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room she arrived in was a lot different than Mr. Watson’s basement laboratory. Instead of inside, she was actually outside in a dirt courtyard. She could see palm trees in the distance. At least, she thought they were palm trees. Text book photos are not always accurate.

Instead of cages with rats, this area had stables with horses. There was an old man stacking hay in the distance. When he saw her, he came running towards her.

“Hello doll. You made it! We are so pleased. Do you have the money?” the old man had the most unusually young looking face, yet the skin on his neck and hands looked as old as her grandfather’s.

She was too afraid answer so she just handed him the two Ben Franklin’s.

The old man looked happy but, for some reason, his face struggled to smile. He handed her a brown paper bag that had Clenbuterol written on it.

“Do not take more than one per day. If your heart starts to beat too fast, just sit down and take a deep breath. Have fun cutie pie!” He turned and galloped off to his horse stables.

Before heading back, she looked up at the bright sky and felt the warm sun grab her face. This was her last moment as Big Mac girl.

She pushed the yellow button and was back in Mr. Watson’s laboratory in less than the time it takes to microwave last night’s meatloaf.

“I missed you,” Mr. Watson gave her a hug.

He took the bag from her and counted the white pills.

“Perfect. I am so proud of you. Let me see your hand.”

He placed seven, shiny pills in her youthful palm.

“If you want these pills to make you happy and thin, make sure you do the following,” Mr. Watson explained. She wished she had a pencil and paper to take notes. “Take one pill every morning when you wake up. Drink lots of water and just eat as you normally would, as much as you want! However, you may start to lose your appetite, but that is normal. Lastly, be sure not to tell anyone because then everyone would want these pills and I only have enough for me and you.”

She could hardly sleep that night. From this moment on, she was going to start saving nickels and dimes for a new, skinny-girl wardrobe. Her mom would no longer need to extend the buttons on her pants or buy her tops from the men’s department. Maybe she could even have friends at school and not eat lunch alone.

The moon was shining big and bright that night. As she laid awake, smiling and dreaming of a better future, Mr. Watson also could not sleep. He crossed his fingers and said a silent prayer, hoping that his favorite student would not experience the same fate as his first batch of rats did.

Additionally, the Mr. Watson of 2012 had trouble falling asleep. He had failed to share his secret with the little girl from the past. After a life of studying youth and physical beauty, no one was more qualified than him to share the experiment’s conclusion. Chasing physical beauty may qualify as a valid pursuit of happiness, but never would it amount to its acquisition.

 

 

I am so glad that I used to be really insecure. (key words: used to be).

When I was a kid, I was super skinny. My ribs showed, I had no arm mass, I had the smallest calves, I had no boobs (which I still don’t. I always did have a booty, though). Before I got braces, my teeth were messed up. I had a huge gap and a severe over-bite. My fashion sense consisted of only the plainest jeans and t-shirts. Plus, I was extremely shy! The slightest bit of attention from any boy, even the most unattractive, would make me blush. I hated speaking in front of groups, small or large. I avoided mirrors because I did not like what I saw. I did not like the sound of my voice. I had chubby cheeks. I was not the smartest in class. I was not the most popular. Boys did not try to kiss me under the bleachers. I was not Homecoming Queen. I got embarrassed easily. I could not do a cart-wheel. I played the clarinet.

I honestly was not a fan of myself. I envied characteristics of many other people and would often get lost in lavishly detailed daydreams. My imagination was my escape.

Although I did not believe them, I still got some compliments. However, most were from my parents and I always just figured that was what parents were supposed to do. And for some reason, some boys did have crushes on me but I was so deathly shy that I acted super cold and bitchy and would always ignore them.

But, every girl wants to feel pretty. One day I decided that I wanted to feel pretty. I was going to figure out how to make myself believe that.

Practicing in the mirror, what I discovered was that I am most pretty when I smile. I am most pretty when I am happy. I am most pretty when my personality bursts out my pupils. This was a very great discovery.

To this day, I still stand by the belief that true beauty comes from within.

Today, despite my gorgeous face and rockin body, I am a personality person. The main reason why I get noticed is because of my personality and the only reason I believe that I can have any man in the world is because of my intellect. To quote a friend, personality people get better with time and age. And what a relief that is because Botox looks like it hurts!

So I say, thank god that I used to be insecure. If I never figured out that wit, charm, confidence, contagious energy, and wisdom are more important than how tan my skin is or how expensive my purse is, I would not have a chance against all the Barbie doll, supermodel, airbrushed, hair-done, Christian Louboitin-wearing, women that are my competition. Thank god I used to be a huge dork.

With warm hugs,

Cleo