Cleo's Dating Blog

Posts Tagged ‘learning

Sometimes I like to ask people when the last time they cried was.

If you asked me that question my answer would be: last week. I  may be above average on the emotional side or I also have this theory that I suffer from over-productive tear glands… but that’s better than over-productive ovaries!

The Brad Paisley Pandora station or a strong conversation about my parents could bring a tear to my eye. Usually it is thoughts about people I love that I must let go of, for one reason or another, that release the flood gates.

Am I an emotional wreck? Not at all. I smile, laugh, and feel peace more often any other emotion. Sometimes I cry from happiness or because of how much love I see around and within me.

I do not expect many people to experience the same levels as I do because, as we know, I am quite exceptional. Don’t hate!

When it comes to dating, I’ve realized that one quality that really draws me into a man is his ability to feel pain. Please do not mistake this for an attraction toward soft, weak, girly men. I am not the kind of girl that wants to play mommy with my lover. I am a mix of weak and strong, so if you are not as strong as I am, we will have a problem.

However, a man that takes emotional, mental, or love-related risks and consciously deals with the repercussions is someone I could find interesting for a long time. One thing that would instantaneously cross a guy off my list is the practice of floating. Floating over heartache as if nothing happened, floating in the shallow end of conversation, floating through women as if lust was the most fulfilling aspect of life. Emptiness is contagious and I am not looking for the easy way out.

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” -Oliver Wilde

At first I was not sure of my opinion of this Oliver Wilde quote on the wall of Marquee Club in Las Vegas. I just thought it looked cool! Of course, you are entitled to your own interpretation, but to me this raises the idea that temptations, mistakes, failures, heart ache, etc. are not what hinder us. Instead, it is the inability to learn from and rid our lives of them that ultimately allows us to fall short of greatness.

If you are going through pain, do not shy away from feeling it. Embrace that other side of being human. If you are dating someone that floats above the ability to care, consider moving on. We are all fragile and need to be picky in what we feed ourselves. :)

To glutten-free dating,

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

 

 

Inspired by a recent horrific date encounter, the following is a list of things a man should never say to a woman, especially upon first meeting her! All phrases are true and come from personal, first-hand experience.

1. “I could find 50 girls in this bar to sleep with.” (gross)

2. “I’m really good at making girls feel comfortable enough to have a one night stand.” (douche bag)

3. “I had a bad experience with going down on a girl before, so I don’t do it anymore.” (selfish)

4. “My ex-girlfriend and I did every sexual thing imaginable.” (baggage)

5. “This is a picture of my ex, isn’t she pretty?” (wtf?)

6. “I haven’t been tested for std’s in a couple years.” (never touching you)

7. “You’re a prude.” (I just don’t like you)

8. “Three drinks is not a lot. Have one more.” (still not sleeping with you)

9. “I don’t like wearing condoms.” (ever?!)

10. “I can tell you orgasm nicely just by looking at you.” (who are you??)

11. “I don’t believe in marriage.” (wait until you’re bald and fat)

12. “My girlfriend doesn’t know that I have a crush on you.” (then stop)

14. “Why didn’t you answer my last 7 texts?” (leave me alone)

15. “I think your friend is a catch.” (then date her instead)

16. “Send me a picture of your toes.” (no)

17. “I’ve slept with more people than you and your roommate combined, times two.” (I wouldn’t tell anyone else that)

18. “I have gotten my last 4 girlfriends pregnant.” (are you serious??)

19. “Sex should happen first to determine if we have chemistry.” (now I know that we don’t)

20. “I can’t believe you are with me. You are going to break my heart one day.”  (grow some balls)

If anything similar has been said to you, than you know how I feel. This free speech thing we celebrate sure leaves room for endless possibilities.

Striving for the best,

Cleo

 

Hot or Not?

Posted on: March 5, 2012

I do not know what part of the world you live in, but here in Los Angeles (greenhouse of the superficial) many people tend to pride themselves on meaningless things.

The obvious ones for women are breast size, engagement ring size, purse size, and lip size while puckering in photographs.

The obvious ones for men are number of dollars, number of women, number of “VIP” connections, and number of pull-ups accomplished at one time.

What seems to be a popular competition among both genders is number of hours worked.

All of these annoy me.

It is one thing to possess any of these traits because they fit into your lifestyle and who you are. It is quite another to flaunt them and believe that they make you important or entitled to special treatment as a superior human being.

What is the common denominator of all these characteristics? They are all surface level measurements. What you see is what you get (sometimes what you get is even less than what is advertised).

I am not blindly attracted to the superficial, super-rich, super-ripped, super-ladies men of the world.  The men I want to get to know are what the ancient Egyptians referred to as, “interesting.”

People with substance! People that surprise you by their intellect, values, wit, and personality. People that can teach you something that enriches your life. People that motivate you to become a better version of yourself. People that are fun to be around. People that are more than what they seem. (Of course, all of these things plus a hot physique is preferred.)

Ladies, is there anything more attractive than a hot and humble man? Or a financially stable man who is not flashy?

If all I did was work and talk about work, I would be afraid that people would notice that I am dull. Quite a few men I know that only work, drink beer, and repeat do not seem to notice that their lifestyle lacks any type of intrigue.

What does your daily life say about you? Are you obsessed with the way that you look yet completely neglect your inner self? There are so many meat heads in the world. What makes you different? Do you non-stop talk about your ex-relationships? Newsflash, no one will ever care as much as you do. Spare us some details.

The easiest way to tell if you are on Cleo’s Hot or Not list is by asking yourself these questions: Would you want to spend time with you? Is having a conversation with yourself fun and interesting? If you met someone just like you, would you think he/she is attractive?

If you are unsure of how to answer, then these are some things you could work on. Self improvement is an ongoing process! Do not just fill your life with meaningless things such as taking work home or going to a club. Become a person of interest and surround yourself with like-minded people.

Yours Truly,

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.

 

 

Want to see some naked pictures??

There is a reason why Kim Kardassian made a sex tape and why the Jersey Shore cast are rich and famous. Quality is not what rules media, sex and drama sell, and just because you have something great to say doesn’t mean people will choose that over this week’s TMZ.

It has taken me a decent amount of time to build up my medium-sized, quality-driven following. So you can imagine my secret frustration when my never-would-have-thought-about-blogging-if-it-wasn’t-for-me ex started a blog… and got more viewers his first week than I did in my first year!

I know my blog has great writing, complex ideas wrapped in shiny bows, and the charming likes of myself. However, he got it right in putting shirtless photos of himself! (And let’s be honest, I dated him for a reason).

Which brings me to my next point, if you clicked on this post when you normally don’t bother reading my blog, think about what that may imply about you. But hey! No judgement, I read crap online for fun too. I just thought you should know.

Anyway, you can make it up to me by watching my new video. Maybe I’m naked in it!

(Huge thank you to Zach Pizza and The Way Home podcast).

I may be bitter but I still love you,

Cleo

I went to the J. Paul Getty Museum last Tuesday with next big music sensation, Aishah. The experience was amazing, to say the least.

Aishah and I. Chercher la femme.

I have always wanted to be one of those people who is referred to as, “cultured”… but have yet to succeed. I know very little about history, very little about art, and even less about art history! But what is life if you do not try something new??

Taking the tram from the parking lot to the museum entrance, I could not help but ponder about my tiny existence on this planet (but I have no problem with “tiny” and all the adjectives associated: skinny, slim, petite, cute, small).

Stepping onto the golden, marble steps of the museum, the first thing I noticed was the immediate change in atmosphere from the gridlock Wilshire boulevard below, to the light, airy, and nurturing energy of the Getty. Wandering aimless, we opened ourselves up to the opportunity of discovering new treasures, meeting new people, and gaining enlightenment. I encourage you to do this in all areas of your life.

We spent a lot of time at the Gods of Angkor exhibit, learning about the spirituality of other lessor-known, beautiful cultures. My favorite discovery here was the yogini’s, women whose role is to destroy ignorance throughout the universe.

We spent a lot of time annoying security guards into helping us find the infamous Getty Central Garden.

We spent a lot of time meditating with the gorgeous LA skyline in the horizon.

Aishah, before she became infamously known as the Goddess of Song.

Since I was a little girl, whenever I look at classical paintings, drawings, or other works of art, I have trouble understanding exactly what I am looking at and why it is so valuable. Wahoo, a framed drawing of lemons in a bowl! As I said, I am not very cultured.

Oddly enough, what I remember most about my Getty experience is exactly that which I did not understand at first. I can not stop thinking about the painting entitled The Doctor’s Visit, by Frans Van Mieris, 1667.

Initially, I looked at this oil painting and thought, “Why is this here? Why is this so spectacular?” I decided to open my mind. Reading the description, the painting is said to feature a woman who fainted and a doctor that came to examine her (and a vile of her urine). The diagnosis is that she is suffering from love-sickness.

Love-sickness?! Despite a gown and head garment that I would NOT be caught dead in, me, her, and the rest of the present and past world, have something in common. Love hurts! Heartache was considered just as serious an illness as the flu or small pox or syphilis (well, maybe almost as serious). No matter how much we as humans have evolved,  no matter how much of the rain forest we destroy, and no matter how many medical discoveries we make, heartache has and always will exist. It is an unavoidable aspect of living life.

I find that beautiful.

Thank you Getty, thank you Aishah, and thank you art for making me realize that, although this life I lead is unique to me, we ALL are connected through love, through pain, and through life.

I am so tiny!

Lots of love and some love-sickness,

Cleo

xx