This Is How It Feels To Be In Love With Your Best Friend

I’m going to dwell on every little eye glance. On every touch, every attempt to pin me against the counter and whisper songs into my ear while you slightly brush your beard up against my neck. I’m going to dwell on the times I asked how your day was and you replied with, “Better, now that you’re here.”

I’m going to catch myself staring at you while you’re blissfully unaware and trying to get that essay done before midnight. I’m going to play songs on repeat that remind me of you—the ones that mirror how I’m feeling about you and about “our situation” at the moment, switching between sexual frustration, thankfulness, and utter hopelessness. I’m going to tell a couple of absolute close friends and a couple people who will never meet you about how I feel about you. I will tell my therapist about how I can’t tell if you’re just so comfortable with me because we’re best friends and whether or not you might actually be hiding those feelings by joking about them. I’ll convince myself there’s no way you could possibly joke this much without possibly being serious about it. 

I’ll get all breathy and heady when you pull my head into yours so our noses touch while you stare into my eyes. I’ll tell myself you’re just really theatrical and like being funny and try to make your friends laugh. I’ll remind myself you’re like this with most girls, and that I shouldn’t take it personally.
I’ll realize after you sleep with a random girl at a party that just because we’re best friends doesn’t mean I’m immune to feeling hurt. I’ll finally understand all those warnings about getting involved with a friend or someone you’re close with, because it changes your relationship forever. I’ll try to trick myself into thinking we can still be best friends without it ever becoming a problem for me.

I’ll pull myself into a deep hole, I’ll wallow in self-pity. I’ll attempt to slow it down at first, recognizing the acceptance of it actually means what I feared to be true. I’ll find a song that I didn’t know had so much depth and meaning and listen to it for 24 hours straight by making a one-song playlist of it. I’ll be incredibly distant for about a day or two until I realize I’m the only one allowing you to have this much control over me.

I’ll drink a lot more red wine than I usually do for about a week straight, smoke more than I should, and look up related articles online about “how to tell your best friend you love them.” I’ll scrutinize every one of our encounters, trying to make them as flirty and suggestive as possible. I’ll wonder if I’m ever going to be loved back, if my efforts will ever be reciprocated, if I’ll ever be on the receiving end of these songs about passion that I’m somehow completely drawn to.  I’ll accept a friend’s offer to go out on a Tuesday night, to wear my new pants that make my legs look miles long, the ones I couldn’t manage to wear out this past weekend because I got too drunk and fell asleep at my friends’ house. I’ll get too drunk off red wine—again—and hope that you’re not out, too. So you don’t see me. So you don’t have to think I’m a mess.
I’ll scold myself for letting these feelings wander, for not stopping them when they began. I’ll scold myself for thinking I could enjoy the daydream just as a means to keep my mind busy during the day, as a tactic to seem uninterested when I meet other guys out and hopefully attract them by my indifference. I’ll realize this all doesn’t matter and that I can’t control my feelings.
I’ll learn that feelings aren’t meant to be controlled.
I’ll learn to sit with them, these feelings. I’ll learn how to sit in my own uncomfortableness, in my own awkwardness, in my own grief. I’ll probably still think about you all the time, wondering how the sex would have been and how much I would have liked hanging out with your mom over holidays. I’ll tell myself it just wasn’t meant to be and that something else will come along.
And something else might. Something else probably will. But if and when the time comes that I’m not simply daydreaming about loving you anymore, I’ll be there for you.

10 Ways Not To Break-Up With Her

I have been through my fair share of breakups as well as listening to countless breakup stories over endless tubs of Ben & Jerry’s. Through all that, I realized that more often than not, men tend to be pretty clueless and cruel when it comes to breaking up with their significant other. In order to save my fellow women from further emotional pain, here is a list that I have compiled (in no particular order) on ways I think a guy should never end a relationship with a girl.

1. Don’t lead her on.

So you are already set on breaking up with her. Don’t make it harder for her by making her believe that you still love her with all your heart. Don’t buy her stuffs. Don’t pay for her meals. Don’t try to be the perfect boyfriend. It does not make things easier for the girl. You are not doing damage control. You are being an asshole.

2. Don’t go on a holiday together and then proceed to breakup with her.

You have decided that you do not love her anymore. The worst thing you can do to your almost-ex-girlfriend is to bring her on a holiday to “rekindle” whatever flame that the both of you have only to breakup with her in a foreign land where she has no friends, no support – NOTHING; especially when said holiday destination is number one on her wish list.

3. Don’t breakup with her in front of your friends, on foreign land.

What kind of person would do that to someone that he loves, or in this case, loved? Just imagine the embarrassment that you will feel if you got caught with your trousers down; now multiply that by 20 or even 100 times. That is the amount of embarrassment a woman would feel if you broke up with her in front of your friends. She would have to act like she is perfectly fine, calm and collected, when deep down inside, her heart is slowly shattering into a million different pieces. To top things off, she won’t be able to tell a soul about it to ease her pain because a) she is with YOUR friends; and b) she is in a foreign land, surrounded with YOUR friends.

4. Don’t have sex with her and then breakup.

A woman is willing to give up just about anything for the man that she loves, literally ANYTHING. When she makes love to you, you better believe that she means it. So men, even if you don’t love your girlfriend anymore, at least have the decency to control your member and refrain from having sex with her and then afterwards tell her that you do not love her anymore. You are a sorry excuse for a man and she deserves someone better than you.

5. Be honest with her about things – DON’T beat around the bush.

If you don’t love her anymore, then be honest about it. It is not an easy feat but breaking up has never been easy now, has it? Don’t drag the relationship on for six months, trying to be normal, only to tell her that you have lost feelings for her a long time ago. Once you realize that your feelings for her have diminished, talk to her about it. Don’t make up excuses like “You were busy and I did not want to disturb you”. If she really cares about this relationship, she WILL make time for you. She deserves to know what is going on at your end too. It is a two-way relationship, after all.

6. Don’t introduce her to family friends.

You already know that you are going to breakup with her. Don’t plan lunch dates with your mother’s friends or anyone significant in your life. She will take it as a sign that everything is going well with the both of you and feel secure. So the moment you drop the b-bomb, she would be completely clueless, disoriented and vulnerable.

7. Don’t go on breaks.

You either BREAK UP or you don’t. Breaks are not only a waste of time but they usually end with a breakup anyway. So stop wasting time and effort and either choose to stay together or just breakup. If you love her enough, you would stay and try your best to patch things up.

8. Stop contacting her.

So, the both of you have just recently already broken up. You text her only when you need emotional support. You call her when you feel lonely. You tell her your problems and when she responds with a long ass-ed text, trying to lift your spirits, you don’t bother replying. So, is she your emotional booty call now? Does it make you feel like a man? Are you happy with what you have done? Just save her the additional pain and leave her alone. By doing so, you are actually doing her a very big favor.

9. Don’t tell her the relationship is lackluster and disappear.

Do not lie in bed with your girlfriend, hold her and tell her that you think the relationship lacks luster, and then proceed on a two weeks hiatus to Fiji, where you refuse to contact her to tell her that you are safe and sound just because you wanted some time away from her to think things through. First of all, she deserves to know that you are safe; and secondly, the both of you have been together for more than two years! Of course the relationship is bound to lose the spark that it had at the very beginning.

10. Don’t tell her that you are only attracted to her looks.

No matter how drunk or high you may be, these words, once uttered, can never be taken back. They will scar her for the rest of her life. She would think of herself as an empty shell, a dumb blonde that you only loved for her good looks. It is one thing to break a woman’s heart but another to completely shatter her self-esteem. You are a sorry excuse for a man and you should be castrated.

8 Types Of Songs For The Best Breakup Playlist You Will Ever Listen To

Earlier this year I got my heartbroken for the first time. I don’t mean the angst and tears that come from breaking up with your significant other— the death of any relationship is hard. I had broken up and been broken up with by other men before, but this was different. This time I got dumped. I don’t mean getting dumped in a casual he doesn’t text you back kind of way. I mean getting dumped so hard it hits you in the face. Getting dumped so hard it causes the kind of pain that turns you into a sobbing train wreck that believes Taylor Swift is talking about her. The kind of pain that comes from realizing maybe you were actually— at least a little bit— in love. The kind of pain that makes you feel a physical pain in your chest when you hear their name. The kind of pain that makes you feel like you will never be ok again.

In the last few months, I’ve had to learn how to deal with the strange, intense and crushing feelings that come with genuine heartbreak. One thing that has really helped me is this playlist. Losing yourself in music when you are too broken to feel anything else can be a very powerful, healing thing.

1. The song that makes you cry

Sometimes a good deep cry can be very healing. This song in particular spoke to me in the first few weeks after my breakup. I found myself missing the small things about him the most—the touch of his hand, his art that I never really liked, watching Netflix together, etc. This song expresses the emotion of that heartbreaking realization that you will never have that same sort of intimacy with that person ever again.
Too much to ask- Arctic Monkeys

2. The song that makes you think of them

This can really be any song you associate with them. I remember buying this album because he recommended it, and listening to it in his arms one night not long after we started seeing each other casually. DELETE THIS. It is not healthy to listen to this. All it does is remind you of what you lost, and makes you build up a nostalgic picture in your head of what your relationship was. And it will make you cry in public when it comes on your ipod randomly.

Ends of the Earth – Lord Huron

3. The song for when you claim you’re over them but you’re really not

This is the song you play on repeat because you think it makes you stronger. You think you are finally letting go of them. You are finally starting to get that they don’t want you anymore, and maybe you can deal with that. Trust me, if this is the song you are playing on repeat you are not quite ready to deal yet, but acknowledging that they are not the one for you no matter how much you want them is a good first step.

You’re not the one – Sky Ferriera

4. The song for when you’re “over them” but would still trade your left arm to be with them one more time

I remember hearing this song for the first time right after telling a friend that I was totally over it and realizing that maybe I wasn’t. This song made me realize that maybe it wasn’t even him as a person that I missed, but our relationship as a concept. I missed the comfort, the intimacy, and as much as I tried to let go I still wanted to be held one last time. Reveling in the emotion and angst was important for me in to get on the path to healing.
Blue- Marina and the Diamonds

5. The song for when they want to be friends and it’s too hard

I remember my ex showing up at my door around 3 months after dumping me, taking back everything he had said and promising that he wouldn’t’ t leave me again. That lasted for about 8 hours. The next day he decided we would be better off as friends, and for the next two agonizing weeks I tried to interact with him while feeling like I was constantly being kicked in the face. These weeks made me realize that I was not the reason for what he did. It really wasn’t about me, it was about him and his own issues. It took away the rosiness of nostalgia and hindsight, and made me see that I deserved to be treated better than he treated me. I knew I had to let go, even though it was painful, because hanging onto him was going to destroy me.
About you – San Cisco

6. The song for when you can’t stop thinking about them months later on

The Wombats have been my favorite band since I was fifteen. Their new album— Glitterbug—came out two months after I had been dumped and it was honestly a savior. This song in particular was great because it helped me recognize I was angry. That I didn’t just miss my ex, but that I was also furious at him for the way he had treated me. I was furious at myself for not being able to get over him. The inability to get someone out of your head is like a literal war, and this song is the battle cry.
Headspace- The Wombats

7. The song for when you are ready to start moving on

Hear me out, this sounds like a very angry obsessed with your ex kind of song. And it is. But listening to it on repeat meant that I had finally gotten to the place where I didn’t blame myself for what happened anymore. The places were I could think of him without it destroying me. The place where I realized that I could really accept that it wasn’t my fault. That even though I still thought of him, it didn’t mean I was weak. It meant I was human, and in someway it was good because I finally could see him for who he really was.

Think of you – MSMR

8. The song for when you really can move on…

I heard this song for the first time on the bus the other day and started to laugh. When you’re heartbroken it feels like you will never be able to connect with anyone ever again. That you aren’t good enough , pretty enough, smart enough, or just enough to be worthy of anyone’s attention or love. It takes a long time for those feelings to go away, and I’m still struggling with them. But there is relief; it really does get to a place where it’s manageable. Over time you get to a place where you can hear this song, and think that maybe there is someone else for you out there. Love with any stranger, the stranger the better is possible. You can forgive yourself for falling for them, for getting heartbroken, and you can move on. There is hope.
Someone New- Hozier

This Is Why The Travel Craze Needs To Take A Step Back

We’ve all been there recently. Innocently scrolling our news feeds to only come across another post about someone’s far-off travels. It leaves us feeling envious, to say the least. But this is exactly where I think the modern definition of traveling is getting it all wrong.

Traveling used to be something you told stories about. Occurrences on the road happened by chance, not by seeking them out manually to make for a killer Facebook post. Trips used to be about sharing experiences and remembering, not for making artsy pictures. This new idea of traveling has slowly morphed itself to a standard of image, projecting itself onto our small screens. People travel to say they’ve been somewhere exotic, or to say they grew as a person. But is this really why travel is important? Since when did the notion of traveling become our obsession instead of the actual action of falling off the grid?

Young people are faced with this current “travel craze” the most. Not only is it flooding our Instagrams, but it’s plastered on Pinterest in quote form, written on our coffee mugs, and covering the fronts of our journals. The need to travel is prompted as is if it has to happen right this second…as if travel is supposed to be something instantaneous and ready to be exploited. More than often, it leaves us feeling disappointed within ourselves; society assumes that if you can’t travel at this moment in time, we never will. Not only are we pressured to travel, but we are even more pressured to post about it.
Believe me, I’m an advocate about getting outside of your comfort zone and traversing the world, but I’m even more an advocate of doing for the right reasons. I imagine it would be difficult for someone our age to go somewhere, without letting the masses know about their whereabouts, happenings, and deep philosophical realizations along the way at every waking moment. People often forget that even though they crave to get lost, they never fully allow themselves.
Not everyone can afford to just pack up and go, which is where the lack of travel appreciation is lost, and more envied. Just like many things in life, travel takes time and patience; it’s this annoying fact that paves the way for an even more unforgettable travel experience that can be remembered, not shared via the Internet.
Keeping in touch with friends? Fine. Letting your family know you are safe? Even better. But remembering that travel is more about the experience and less about how many likes you get on a photo…now that’s a dying art.

This Is What Happens When You Love A Writer

I’ve seen a lot of back-and-forth here lately about the merits and drawbacks of dating a writer. Whether it’s good or bad, whether it will end well or poorly for those involved. And, well, I don’t know. I really don’t. I am a writer. I’ve never dated one. That would be a bad idea.

I can’t tell you whether dating a writer is a good or bad idea. All I can say with any certainty is what, roughly, will happen to you if you love a writer.

Love a writer, and you love a wondrous, broken, fragile thing. A creature who has with their own two hands pulled down those structures protecting them from the outside world, in order to better see it, feel it, capture it. They had to, but sometimes that means that the world is too big, too loud, too bright, too close. Sometimes they have to shut it all out. Sometimes, that will include you – don’t take it personally. Sometimes, though, it won’t include you. Sometimes, they’ll shut everything else out with you on the inside. Take that personally. It’s a big deal.

Love a writer, and yes, every day will be something different. Some days dishes won’t get washed and sweatpants won’t get changed out of and conversation will be in short supply. Some days are procrastination days – these days are for spring- (or fall- or summer- or winter-) cleaning and grocery shopping and god-please-just-anything-but-writing. Use these days to your advantage. They can be fun. Some days are writer’s-block days. These are days to duck and cover. Believe me, they are sorry, or they will be eventually.
Love a writer, and you’re signing up to have an opinion about everything. Plot lines and plot holes and plot bunnies, character concepts and character development and character names, or imagery or rhyme schemes or references. If you have an opinion, offer it. If not, well, secretly they don’t always need you to actually have an opinion. There will be days when they just need to talk. About everything. Possibly twice. These are days when everything gets trapped up in their heads and something’s clogged between the head and the pen and the only other option is it comes spewing out their mouth. Sometimes brains just need an external hard drive. Listen. Nod. It’ll be okay.
But more than all that, more than anything, be loved by a writer. Because it’s true when they say that you’ll never die. Whether you know it or not, whether they know it or not, some part of you will get written down eventually. You’ll be somebody’s back-story or somebody’s someday or, heaven help you, a real proper character. Some part of your self will live on in their words until never dawns – but that isn’t the best bit. The best bit is that you will be known. Memorized. Understood, probably more than at any other time in your life. A writer trains their mind to create three-dimensional people, people who have flaws and motivations and backgrounds and demons, so a writer understands that people are three-dimensional. Lots of folks trip through this life only ever seeing shadows and obstacles and step stools and stereotypes and their own reflections – a writer doesn’t have that luxury. A writer knows that real people can’t exist within expectations and on top of pedestals; they will always, always fall.
Be loved by a writer, and you will be understood, even if only because they know just enough to know that they will never, quite, fully, understand you.

Waiting For You To Come Home

“I used to build homes out of people. I sought safety in their arms and when they left, like most people do, I felt homesick for a place that no longer exists. But, I have learned to stop finding shelter in other people and built my own. They are now just a stain on the wall, an uninvited guest and I am no longer an open door that is waiting for them to come home.”
That is what I wrote on my blog almost a year after you left (without a word, without closure, without even a sign that you were leaving me behind) and though I thought it to be true at the time, I know now that it is a lie.
You are a stain I don’t want to paint over, or wash out, or ever get rid of, even when my mother offers to do it for me. I just tell her that I’ll get around to doing it eventually, but we both know I never will.
In refusing to doing so, I let myself hold onto the idea of you for a little while longer, even though you found it incredibly easy to let go of me. Forgive me if I cannot do the same. So, I’ll keep stains on the wall and dusted photo frames and shirts that no longer smell like you because holding onto the idea of you doesn’t hurt as much as trying to let go of you entirely does.
It’s just that, you never said goodbye, and maybe that is why there are some nights where I wait for you by the door or expect every call to be from you, because you never said goodbye, I’m still waiting for another hello.
I’m still waiting for you to come home.

This Is How Going To Italy Taught Me What Traveling Is Really About

There’s a difference between vacationing and traveling that most people don’t understand until they’ve been submerged in the two. When someone goes on a vacation even though they may be in a new time zone they never leave the comforts of home behind, and there is nothing wrong with this. It’s actually really nice, you stay with your routines, and enjoy things within your comfort zone and stay content the entire time. Traveling on the other hand is a whole other experience, and I don’t mean traveling in the sense of getting from one place to another, but actually allowing yourself to experience the differences on a foreign place; food, language, customs, sights, etc. you try to become one of the locals, blend in with your surroundings. You open up your mind, body and soul to this new place, in exchange for learning something new about yourself.

I’ve seen some absolutely breathtaking sights since I’ve been here. Italy is full of gorgeous architecture and history. It displays how skilled the human race has been in art and engineering for centuries, the capabilities we have had for hundreds, even thousands, of years is often unappreciated or not realized until it’s right in front of you. The dedication, effort and pride it took to create such masterpieces is astounding, and leaves you feeling so small in comparison to something so impressive.  Families live in homes that hold stories of multiple generations, having a green thumb is taken seriously and is shown throughout the entire country with vineyards and gardens, even in the cities. The abundance of history that pours out of every corner can be overwhelming to take in, and although impossible, you try to catch it all.  These characteristics are just a few that make Italy unique, beautiful and a place sought by so many to experience.

During this trip to Europe, I discovered the difference in “vacationing” and “traveling” in ways I never have thought before.  At one point on the trip John said, “I’m happy that your trip hasn’t been all sunshine and glitter and you’ve been able to experience how Italy really is.” The humidity was miserable and with temperature reaching the high 90s it made it that much worse, the cities are crowded and personal space is practically nonexistent. Change for €20 was hard to come by, along with more than three ice cubes for your drink. The comfort of air conditioning is lost due to the age of the buildings, leaving a window and a stroke of luck for a breeze your best bet. I’ve taken every form of transportation since I’ve been here; train, bus, taxi, boat, and plane, even all in the same day to get to our destination. I’ve been tired, grumpy, overheated, and in pain all at the same time. I haven’t styled my hair once, my feet have blisters and I’ve been sunburnt. All these factors have tested us all individually and as a group, but remembering being uncomfortable is temporary got us through.

People tend to forget that beyond the pictures we find on the Internet that showcase images of beautiful sunsets, astounding architecture and mouthwatering cuisine, that Italy is a real place. We don’t take into consideration aspects of life that are unpleasant, such as a busy street, food that isn’t what we expected, or an unfriendly stranger. However, you have to take it for what it is and find the beauty anyways, because it’s always to be found. If I’m being honest, there were moments of my trip I was wishing it was over and I was back home, but then we would see a painting, ruins, scenery, even this little girl on her bike, that would turn my mood around, reminding me how thankful and blessed I am to be here. It’s ok to miss the comforts of home, that’s normal. I’m just happy I didn’t let this get the best of me, because in the end everything we went through was all worth it.

Italy, you are absolutely beautiful. Thank you for letting me see your sights, and experience your culture. I’m able to go home with new insights, and a broadened worldview, which is priceless. I’ll end with this quote by Anthony Bourdain: “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts; it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave behind something good.”
I couldn’t have said it any better myself.

How To Write An Email To Your Ex-Girlfriend

Imagine Jay-Z writing a letter to someone who used to pick on him in school. Look at him now. Look at you now. You’re pretty much like Jay-Z.

Know that the email is perfect because you will write it in the way only you can write it—that is, in a thoughtful, emotional, mature kind of way. People would say this is mature, except you do things like this all the time because you’re an adult. This email is how Gandhi would tell someone he hates them. It’s that nice.

In this email, you’re in control, you get what you want, and what you want is to show that you’re over your contemptuous silent phase. You want to let this story end in a good way, you know, to avoid fallout later, when you’re famous? Take it easy. Humility is important in this letter. Barack Obama probably had to write letters like this to all of his ex-girlfriends so they wouldn’t go on Fox News to say what a callous lover he was.
Grammatically, everything goes together. No mistakes. This is the federal government of your emotional psyche. Keep it short, though, because the person you’ve become since the breakup is busy efficiently crushing tasks on a long list that ends in greatness. “#4. Reconcile Ugly Breakup.” Crushed.
Try for emotional honesty, yet convey a new sense of distance. It’s friendly but expresses a protagonist’s hint of distrust. In the novel based on these events, the reader has already taken sides. Ultimately, this email is so mature it makes you want to cry a little bit, or at least give a half-serious, melancholic salute to whoever wrote it.
This email acknowledges that she left you broken on that November morning the way European nations honor massacres that occurred in the 17th century. You are commemorating that sad thing some people remember but no one cares much about now.
Imply that there are some things you’re not saying. This email takes a road so high, you can’t even see it from November, champ.
Envision her reading the email the way people read letters at the end of movies. The sentimentality and swelling violins will bring a satisfying sense of finality to the proceedings. This email is the product of so much thought and effort that it is almost embarrassing.
Now—and this is the hard part—send it and forget her.

The 6 Stages Of Going Back To A Hobby You Quit A Long Time Ago

Social media is constantly inundating us with messages of inspiration. A common one is “What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?” You’ve probably come across this, and you’ve probably had something in mind. Maybe you thought of an activity you once loved.

Something you used to do regularly, but you quit because life got in the way. Going back to a hobby that you used to do long ago is different for everyone. But from my experience, it tends to lead to the following 6- Step process.

1. Realizing you miss it

Maybe there’s a particular moment when it hits you. You’re watching a movie about that particular hobby and all of a sudden you feel a pang of sadness. Or your friends pick up the hobby and you get irrationally jealous. Why do your friends get to have all this fun? Those endorphins should be running through your blood.

To cope, you start humble bragging, which eventually turns into just plain bragging. You tell decade-old stories about your past accomplishments in this activity. All you really want is to feel that joy again. Not the joy of victory, but the joy of exercising your passion. Why did you even give it up in the first place? You might remember the reason, but it doesn’t seem valid anymore. You have no choice. You must go back.

2. Assuming you’re going to be an expert at it

So you’ve decided to do this. You get in the studio, on the court, in front of the chessboard, wherever it may be. Clearly your name’s not Kanye because someone let you into your zone (Ed note: Yes, I know that Kanye eventually gets into his zone). You’re ready to put your natural talents to work. You remember being great the last time. You’re nervous but eager to pick up where you left off.

3. Realizing you were wrong about the whole “being an expert” thing

So apparently when you stopped doing this hobby, everyone else who did it continued and excelled at it. But that’s okay, just a bit more practice and you’ll be fine right? Wrong. Even after that first few days of practice, you don’t improve much. You go for an audition, performance or competition and you fail. And honestly, you’re kind of surprised. You can normally handle rejection, but not when it comes to this. You’re an expert at this! Or at least you used to be.

4. Falling into a temporary slump

Now, you’re convinced you have no talent. There was a bus to take the learning curve and you missed it when you quit. Time to get a new hobby. Or maybe you should just dedicate yourself to watching Netflix. And there’s that new iPhone app everyone’s talking about; you can check that out. Life will be fine without your briefly revived passion.

5. Getting over your ego

You can’t let momentary failure get in the way. There was a reason you went back to this and you need to see it through. You’re reliving the moment in Step 1 all over again and this time, your motivation is here to stay. After all, during that brief time period in which you went back to your passion, you actually saw traces of your talent. And most importantly, you had fun.

6. Picking it up again and going at your own pace

You didn’t pick this up again to get to a professional level. You did it because it made you happy. Sure, it would be cool to master your skill, but mastery only comes with a lot of practice. Practice that – most of the time— you’ll actually enjoy. And what could be better than doing what you enjoy?

Life might get in the way sometimes, but if you truly love something, there’s no quitting, only taking a break. Just…maybe wait a while before you take your next break. You might find that you love this enough to add it to your routine. And maybe one day, after all that practice, you will be an expert. But one thing’s for sure; you’re already doing a pretty good job of living life because you’re pursuing your passion.

4 Reasons Why Females Love The Chase

Let’s face it; most of us girls have been interested in a man – regardless if he was our type or not – because he was playing hard to get. I have witnessed this to be especially prevalent in young women these days; women can’t seem to get enough of chasing men around in circles. I have narrowed down the list I compiled this morning at 3 am, down to just five reasons why I think females love the chase. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t think any of the things I listed below are necessarily bad, they’re just my personal observations.

1. They’re bored

I’ll admit it; I am guilty of this one. When my favorite TV show ends for the season and my pantry is full of gluten free crackers, hell-to-the-yes, I look for some excitement.

2. They think they can’t get rejected because they’re hot shit

If you are an attractive woman reading this, hey, I don’t blame you if you do this. Hell, if I had the face of Mila Kunis and the body of Jennifer Lawrence I would chase after every fucking guy I found even remotely attractive because the odds of getting rejected would be almost zero to none. More power to ya.

3. Some women inherently are attracted to assholes

Girl, they’re not playing hard to get. They’re playing hard-to-talk to because you’re playing hard-to-get rid of. I don’t know what it is about trying to get that one guy who always treats you like shit because we all know it is never going to happen – like ever. Aside: In elementary school I had a huge crush on a boy who literally despised me which just made me like him even more. Throughout middle school, I found myself trying to prove myself to him that I wasn’t as bad as he thought I was. This sounds silly, but I think this happens more frequently than we catch on to.

4. They like the challenge

Everybody likes a challenge, especially if it hasn’t been completed before. There is something about achieving the unthinkable that is so important to our ego. In other words, say there is a really challenging level in a video game, everybody is trying to beat it and after a while it seems almost impossible. Then bam, you beat the level. How do you feel? That’s fucking right, on top of the world. This is exactly the same with men, we want to work hard to win them over because when we finally get them, the payoff is ten times better. 

I Accidentally Wandered Into The Wrong Locker Room And It Was The Best Mistake Of My Life

Coach Klein blew the whistle, signaling the end of practice for the day. Ryan finished his lap in the pool and pulled himself out, glancing around the indoor pool complex. He noticed the rest of his team gathering over in the far corner of the pool, and jointed them.
“Okay guys, good practice today,” Coach Klein said. “Now I don’t have to tell you all about how important tomorrow’s meet against McLane is — you already know that. So get a good night’s rest, make sure you eat a healthy dinner, and pack some healthy snacks for the bus ride there and back. The bus will get here around 9AM, it’s a two hour ride, and the meet starts at 1PM. Everybody clear on that?”
“Yes coach,” the team replied in unison.
Coach Klein nodded. “Okay then, you’re dismissed! See you tomorrow, guys.”
As the team got up and made their way over to the men’s locker room at the far end of the complex, Ryan made his way to the coach, taking off his swim cap and shaking the water out of his short brown hair.
“Hey, coach, you got a sec?”
The coach turned to face him, and nodded.
“Sure thing Cooper, what’s up?”
“Well I was wondering if you’d let me stay an extra hour today, I’ve been wanting to work on my flip turns to make sure I’ve got it down before tomorrow.”
“Hmm,” the coach grunted. “I don’t see why not, it is a Friday after all. And your turns have been a little sloppy.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a key on a long black lanyard, handing it to Ryan. “Just make sure you lock up when you’re done and get the key back to me in the morning. We let you seniors get away with a lot of crap, but anything crazy happens and it’s my ass.”
“Thanks coach!” Ryan said, placing the key on top of his towel he’d placed on a plastic chair nearby as the coach turned to leave. He glanced up at the clock on the near wall. It was 5PM, which was perfect. He’d be out by six, home in time for dinner at seven, and still have enough time to finish his history essay and play a little Skyrim before bed. Ryan readied himself at the edge of the pool and dove in, feeling the cool water flush over his lightly tanned skin.
An hour passed, and Ryan pulled himself out again. He felt like he’d gotten enough practice with the flip turns to feel confident about tomorrow’s meet. He grabbed his towel, the key, and made his way to the locker room. He was feeling a little bit of a headache, though, and was starting to regret not eating anything since breakfast. Ryan lowered his head to give his left temple a quick rub, and pushed the door to the locker room open with his shoulder.
Inside, the lockers were set up in rows running parallel to the entryway, so that from the door Ryan could see all the way down to the showers at the far end of the room with a long metal bench running down the center of each row. He walked down to his row, and made his way to his locker. He stopped before opening it, though, and continued on down to the showers.
Ryan laid his towel, goggles, and key down on the end of the bench and pulled down his swim shorts, releasing his penis into the open. He hated wearing the tight shorts, since his dick always tended to find a way into awkward positions and he couldn’t adjust it underwater. He stepped into the rows of showers and turned one on, letting himself soak for a short while. He pushed the button on the little shampoo dispenser and got a little on his hands, running it through his hair to clear the chlorine out.
When he’d washed it out, he shut off the water and walked back over to his towel. Ryan clumped it over his hair first, drying it before running it over his slim, toned body. He’d never been much into weight lifting, but cardio and core workouts were his thing, and because of that he managed to keep a lean physique despite a diet of junk food, greasy burgers, and pizza.
He heard the locker room doors open and voices as he walked back to his locker, wrapping the towel around his waist. Ryan figured it was the soccer team, as they usually finished practice around that time anyway. He’d say hi to his buddies Pablo and Eli before heading out.
Something was off though. The voices sounded oddly high pitched. Somewhat…girly. Ryan shrugged it off, and twisted the knob on his lock. But it didn’t budge when he pulled. He reset the combo, and entered it again, but still nothing.
That was when he noticed that this wasn’t his locker. His lock was green, but this one was red. Ryan looked at the locker two spots down, Freddy Gomez’ locker. Or at least what should have been Freddy’s locker, as this one had a different lock too.
“Hey!” he heard a voice shout from halfway down the row. “What the fuck are you doing in here!?”
Ryan looked up, and his fears were confirmed. Standing there in green shorts and a sports bra was Taylor Reese, the star attacking midfielder on the girls’ soccer team. She had her arms folded just under her breasts, which were easily C’s, but in the sports bra were pushed down to look much smaller. The commotion drew the attention of three other girls, also on the team, all eyeing him intently. Taylor had her shirt in hand, but dropped it onto the bench.
“I… ahh-“
“You what?” Taylor cut him off. “You better have a good fucking reason for being in here, perv.”
He glanced at the other girls, who were trading looks that he couldn’t quite make out, then back to Taylor. “I… I walked into the wrong locker room!” he forced out. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’m sorry! I’ll leave right now, I swear, I didn’t even see anything!”
Taylor looked him up and down, shifting her weight to her left foot and smirking.
“I don’t think so, buddy. You’re not going anywhere.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow, confused. “Umm… what do you m-“
“Do I have to explain it to you?” she interrupted as the other three girls came closer, wearing the same hungry look as Taylor. She closed the distance and pushed him against the lockers, bringing her mouth within an inch of his.
“I haven’t had a cock in me in months, and here I have one all wrapped up for me.”
As Taylor reached for the towel, Ryan gripped it tightly, holding it up.
“Right here, in front of your whole team?”
Taylor shook her head.
“Not the whole team, just us four. Everyone else went straight home.” She turned to the other girls, who were either watching intently or gently fondling themselves. “Sarah!” she called, prompting a girl with sandy blond hair, green eyes and a peachy pink skin tone to step forward. “You’ve got him first. I’m gonna shower. And I think I’ll need some company.”
She turned and walked towards the shower, taking off her sports bra and revealing the tan lines underneath. The two other girls followed her, taking their hair ties out and letting it fall, one a deep brown and the other a very light blonde.
He watched as they continued to the shower, but he felt a hand on his face, pulling his gaze in the opposite direction. Suddenly he was face to face with Sarah Tate, a forward on the team. She was a year younger than him, and he’d seen her in a couple classes the year before. He remembered fantasizing about her back then, and this excited him quite a bit.
“So… ahh… do you wanna start, or should I?” Sarah asked, a nervous but excited gleam in her eyes.
Ryan looked over at the other girls, who had stripped out of their clothes and gotten into the showers, then back to Sarah, and smiled.
“I’ll start.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, and though he could taste the sweat on her lips she was a surprisingly good kisser. He put his hands on her waist as his tongue went into her mouth, and pulled her in close. She grabbed at the outcropping his stiffening cock was making against the towel, running her fingers over it. Ryan grabbed at the edge of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head as she lifted her arms. Sarah grabbed at the towel’s fold in an attempt to pull it apart, but he grabbed her hand.
“You first,” he whispered with a smirk.
Sarah smiled and bit her lip, running her nails down his chest before taking off her sports bra, letting her perky breasts drop and bounce. Ryan fixed his gaze on them, reaching out with a hand to fondle at them as she pulled down her shorts and panties, running a hand down her hairless mound to rub at her clit. He looked over her body, noticing a pudge around her tummy. Not that it was a problem to him, he actually rather preferred women with more average looking bodies.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said with a smile.
Ryan nodded, pulling apart the folds of the towel and revealing his stiff member, eliciting a wide-eyed gaze from Sarah. She almost immediately dropped down and gripped it with one hand, slowly stroking his length as she rubbed herself with the other and he played with a breast, his free hand tucked behind her head entangled in her hair.

He licked at her neck, tasting the sweat again as he slid two fingers inside of her, forcing a gasp and a teeth-clenched groan.

“Do you like it?” he asked nervously. He’d only ever had sex with one girl, and although they’d done it multiple times, the last time a girl had touched his penis was a year ago.
Sarah looked up at him, nodding. She stretched out her tongue, licking the underside the cock in her hands from base to tip and giving it a little kiss before slowly sliding her lips down the shaft. Ryan tightened his grip on her hair as he gently pushed into her mouth. She gagged as she got to his base, but was able to take the full seven inches back to her throat. Sarah pulled back, dragging her lips past his head and licking it.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping the saliva from her lips. “It’s been a long time since I’ve got to deepthroat a guy.”
“It’s fine,” he said with a smile, aiming his cock back at her mouth. She licked him again, then took his member back in.
She had settled into a catcher’s crouch and was running her fingers down her lips, leaving a small pool of fluid as she dripped onto the floor. When Ryan noticed, he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he shot off his seed into her mouth, quietly restraining a groan. Sarah raised her eyes up to meet his, an innocent look in them as she drew her lips backwards down his cock, sucking off the cum that dripped and swallowing it down with a cute smile that almost made Ryan feel guilty.
When Sarah stood up, Ryan pushed her against the lockers, sticking his hand down between her thighs. She responded by spreading them open for him, and as soon as his fingers brushed her lips she began to moan, quietly at first but as he stroked her moist folds she grew louder and louder. He licked at her neck, tasting the sweat again as he slid two fingers inside of her, forcing a gasp and a teeth-clenched groan. It didn’t take long, and within seconds of finger-fucking her she squealed in excitement as she came on his fingers, a sloppy mess of her feminine fluids seeping out and drenching his fingers and making a satisfying sloshing sound.
Ryan brought his fingers up to his mouth, tasting her juices as he sucked on one finger and offering Sarah the other, which she accepted eagerly. She closed her eyes in enjoyment as she cleaned her mess off of his finger.
“Our turn,” called a voice from their side. Ryan turned to see the other two girls watching them and playing with themselves. He struggled to remember their names, he knew for sure the one with black hair was Jordyn but the blond girl’s name was escaping him. Katie? Kacey? Definitely something with a “K” sound, or a hard “C,” but he was too distracted by their exposed tits and the trimmed strips of hair that decorated their sex. “Sarah, Taylor said she wants you to help her wash off. Don’t keep her waiting.”
Sarah nodded and walked off with her head down, but not before glancing back at Ryan with a smile. He followed her with his eyes, chuckling at the little bounce her ass made as she walked away.
“You like her?” asked the blond, drawing his attention away. Her lightly bronzed skin almost clashed with her hair color, but it was that and the accent which reminded him her name was Karen Ospina. She was the girl whose family moved to town from Spain earlier that year. “You don’t like us?” she asked with a coy smile.
Ryan chuckled nervously, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his head. “No, no, of course not! I… ahh… I just… I mean I already came with her, so…“
“Good,” Jordyn responded, exchanging a glance with her teammate. “You can focus on us then.”
“But wait, I thought you were into girls?” he asked Jordyn, confused.
“Well maybe you’ll be the one to turn me,” she replied, biting her lip in a sly smirk.
The two girls pressed forward, placing their hands on his body. Karen went for the mouth with her kisses, displaying a mastery of the tongue kiss of a kind that Ryan knew he’d never be able to match. Jordyn went for the chest, kissing down his abs to his softening cock. As she took the flaccid piece into her mouth, Karen guided him down onto the bench, laying him on his back.
Karen pulled out of the kiss and crossed a leg over to the other side of the bench. As she crouched down over him, Ryan felt just the smallest drip of wetness land on his face. He admired the view of Karen’s hanging lips as they descended towards his mouth. He arched his neck up to meet her, taking the moist petals into his mouth, sucking on them as he wrapped his arms around her thighs. One hand was pulled aside by Jordyn though, and guided between her thighs. Ryan took the hint, and ran his fingers through her slick lips. He couldn’t see past the ass hanging over his eyes, but he could hear the two of them making out, their moans muffled by each other’s mouths.
He could feel himself getting hard again, but focused on the two sets of soaking lips he was being forced to service. He wasn’t complaining, of course. To him, this was the best thing to happen all school year.
“Mmmm, asi papi,” Karen moaned as she ground her pussy against his face.
He ran his tongue down to her clit, licking in a circle around it before dipping it into her slick opening. She gasped as he moved back to her clit, taking the hood into his mouth and sucking as he flicked his tongue over it repeatedly. She was the first to come. Jordyn stifled her screams with a hand as Ryan threw his head from side to side and enveloped her stiff clit with the flat of his tongue. Her body shivered and she squeezed her thighs around his head as her orgasm came and went, leaving his face a sopping mess.
Karen struggled to stand, but Jordyn helped her up. “Hijo de puta, he’s good with that tongue,” she said between breaths as Jordyn crossed over the bench and began to kiss her body.
“Is he now?” called Taylor as she approached them.
He could see Sarah following closely, shyly biting at a nail as she eyed Ryan and his now erect manhood. “Too bad all I’m interested in right now is that cock. Thanks for getting him ready for me, ladies.” She turned to the two girls that were now two knuckles deep in each other, grinning. “I knew that would get the two of you on each other. And now he’s all mine.” She waved Sarah over. “Hold him steady for me, would you dear?”
Sarah obliged, wrapping her fingers around his stiff member and smiling at him innocently as Taylor slid down onto him, the steaming hot sensation kicking off every nerve ending in Ryan’s penis. She quietly moaned as she took his entire length inside of her, gently bucking forward when her pelvis made contact with his.
“Mmmm, that’s a filling piece,” she groaned with a smirk before grinding back and forth.
Ryan sat up, wrapping an arm around her back and putting another on one of her soft, round breasts. Taylor looked him in the eyes and reached around to his back, digging her nails in and letting out animalistic grunts as she hastily rode his cock. Ryan answered by gyrating his hips upward into her, eliciting quiet moans as his full length dove inside her.
Ryan laid her down onto the bench, grasping both of her breasts and massaging them as he thrust into her wet opening.
“Do you want me to pull out?” he asked between thrusts, to which she answered with a nod.
He settled into a half-crouch as he slammed his penis into the fit soccer player, his balls slapping against the space between her lips and her ass.
“Don’t fucking stop!” she gasped. “Oh GOD that’s good!” she shouted as she grabbed one of his hands and moved it to her throat. Ryan took the hint and wrapped his hand around it, gently at first. The sheer excitement brought him to near orgasm.
“I… I’m gonna cum!” he grunted, tightening his grip on her throat as she squeezed his wrist.
Taylor began to cry out in what sounded like a mixture of pain and pleasure, furiously rubbing her clit until finally Ryan couldn’t hold back any longer. He withdrew from her tight, wet slit and sprayed his cum across her body from her navel to just below her throat.
Exhausted, he sat down onto the bench, leaning backwards to lie down. Instead of finding the bench though, he bumped heads with Karen, who in the interim had found herself in a sixty-nine with Jordyn just behind them on the bench. He sat back up, looking over at Sarah, who had sat down on the floor while fingering herself to the sights in front of her.
“Mmmm,” moaned Taylor after finding her breath. “Fuck, that was good. Short, but good. That’s one hell of a cock you’ve got there, kid.” She looked over to Sarah, who had been watching her. “You like his cum, don’t you?” she asked the shy girl on the floor. Sarah nodded in response. “Come on, come over here and lick it off of me.”
Sarah obliged, kneeling forward to lick at Taylor’s naked body, soaked in sweat and semen. She cleaned off the girl’s body, swallowing every drop. As she finished, she shot a glance over to Ryan’s softening member.
“Ca-can I… umm… is it ok if I… ahh…”
Ryan nodded, reaching out a hand to caress her hair as she happily took his cock into her mouth, licking off the remaining cum that dripped from it.
Taylor sat up, chuckling. “I think she likes you. Did you know Sarah here is a virgin?”
Ryan shook his head. “I’d have never known, from the way she can suck a dick.”
“Hmm, a shame,” she said, eying the girl that was gently playing with his penis. “Maybe another time soon you can change that.” Taylor stood up, working the combination on the lock that Ryan had thought was his before he’d gotten caught in this situation. “In any case, I’m satisfied for the night. You can show yourself out, right? I’d hurry with that if I were you. You never know who’s on campus at this time.”
“Aww fuck!” Ryan said, having lost track of time entirely. “I have to go, I need to get home, I’ve got a big swim meet tomorrow!”
As he stood up, so did Sarah.
“Bye Ryan!” she said, smiling.
He smiled, and left the locker room, taking one last glance back at the girls, two of whom were just finishing up with each other while the other two got dressed.
After getting into the boy’s locker room, Ryan rapidly dressed himself and packed away his towel and swim shorts. He couldn’t even make sense of what had just happened, and was still trying to determine if it had even really happened. There was no possible way a guy like him could have something like that happen to him, but everything pointed to it being real. Including Sarah meeting him as he walked out of the locker room.
“Hey, Sarah!” he said, both excited and nervous at seeing her again.
She brushed a lock of her hair back out of her face, revealing a shy smile. “Hi, Ryan. I… I was wondering, you know, maybe… would you like, want to get coffee this weekend, or something?”
Ryan smiled back at her, nodding. “Of course, yeah, that would be awesome! I mean tomorrow I have my swim meet, but how about Saturday?”
Sarah nodded, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket, handing it to him with a shaking hand. “Here, it’s my number. Umm, you could maybe text me some time?”
“Yeah, of course, sounds good!” Ryan looked around, noticing they were the only people in the complex. “So… do you need a ride or something, it’s getting kinda late and it’s dark out.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but Taylor is giving me and the other girls a ride home like she always does.”
“Okay then, I’ll… ahh… I’ll talk to you later? Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure!” she said with a smile, turning to walk away.
Ryan watched her leave, noticing the way that the shorts she wore hugged her curved tightly, and when she’s walked through the doors, he smiled. Now there was definitely no way he’d be getting any sleep at home.

10 Ways To Keep The Butterflies Alive In A Long Distance Relationship

1. Communicate via phone call

You might want to make regular calls like once or twice a week that would last for an hour or so. (Trust me, if you are in love, one hour wouldn’t be enough). There are apps for free calls, which mean, you do not have to blame it on the cost of the calls anymore, all you need is a WIFI connection. Regular calls will keep the flame up and the drool all over your pillow at night.

2. Utilize technology to have a “date night” using video chat

Current technology can be very helpful, when you want some face to face time with your lover. Setting aside a “date night” and doing a video chat session will make the miles seem smaller even if only for a few hours.

3. Flirt ALL the time

Being flirtatious every day will keep your significant other drawn to you. If you aren’t going to compliment and intrigue them, someone else who is closer will. Bottom line, if you want them to stay drawn to you, turns the flirting up!

4. Show interest in the daily activities of your partner

Showing interest in the small things in the daily life of your partner can be very good or very bad. Knowing certain routines of their lives shows you care but don’t be creepy about it. Knowing some daily activities could scare away your loved one instead of drawing them to you.

5. Watch movies, games, news etc. at the same time

Watching a movie or other program at the same time may seem corny but it’s all about togetherness. Whether it’s a movie both of you have been wanting to watch or a porn that just came out, a couple that plays together stays together.

6. Be creative in a dirty way

People have needs and those needs have to be satisfied. This part has to do with boys more than girls, because most of the boys need to see things rather than be romantic to be turned on. You just need to find the balance of how to make it interesting; otherwise it will be really awkward.

7.  Exchange gifts and material things

Exchanging material items is an element of excitement for both, especially when the contents are kept a secret. Having an item that was handpicked by the person you are longing for, will bring a bit more closeness to the relationship. Just make sure it’s reciprocated.

8.  Have a set plan for visits

If you do not have a set plan for visits or at least the coming visit, you are just wasting each other’s time and the chances of ending up in the friend zone are too damn high. If you are shy to meet up, be brave; at the end of the day neither if you can make it work if you aren’t physically together.

9. Never go to bed angry

NEVER EVER GO TO BED ANGRY! This is bad in any relationship. I’d rather fight to save something with make-up setting after than go to sleep ignoring the problem and causing a bigger gap in the relationship.

10. Keep a ritual

Humans love rituals and scheduling things. by wishing your soul mate a good morning and good night every day, you will help him/her to have the sense of being closer to her/his daily life. Also the fact that you will speak on the phone once a day or week, it makes it exciting to wait for after a long tiring day.

On Growing Up With Parents Who Were Both Alcoholics

I grew up with two alcoholic parents. They weren’t always alcoholics, and even when they were, I wasn’t old enough to fully comprehend the spectrum of alcoholism; social, binge, consistently just plastered. I also didn’t realize that there was a bit more to the puzzle that was my childhood, and alcohol wasn’t the only substance running through the veins of several family members.

My mom had two personalities: she was my mother, and then she was what I called “loopy mom”. We called her loopy because my sisters were young and I had no explanation for her behavior when she had been drinking or partying because half the time I didn’t know she had been, though she was literally a different person. It was as if her entire being was constantly in a pile around us and we were scrambling to clean it up before anyone saw. My father was smarter.

We are an upper middle class family, and while my parents divorced when I was 15, the alcoholic nature of my childhood just sort of remained one of the few constants in my life despite a rapid series of changes, divorce being one of them. Ironically, there was never a time where both my parents were just out of commission. Whenever one was off the rails, the other was stepping up to take care of us the best way he or she knew how. It would last until the moment one of them got it together, at which point the other parent clocked out and it was his or her turn to fall to pieces.
The bulk of my childhood, as best I remember it, was my mom leaving the house around 10, despite my heavy hinting that I would sacrifice just about anything for her to stay home. My sisters and I would crawl into her king-sized bed, the one my parents used to share, and as they would drift to sleep, one on each side of me, I would watch TV with every light on. I memorized the Nick @ Night line up, and I grew to match the TV show that aired at a particular time with my level of anxiety. If Roseanne had been on for over an hour, it was far too late at night to remain calm and I was praying to hear the door open. The sound of the front door opening and keys hitting the counter was my saving grace because by that point my eyelids were so heavy I could turn off the TV with one hand and hit every light with the other, passing out before she stumbled to the stairs.

With my father, things were a bit different. He rarely went out to drink while we were at his house for the weekend. However, because I was so used to staying up waiting for my mom, I developed insomnia beyond repair by age 9. And one of my biggest fears was being the last one awake in his house. With my mom, I had no choice, but with my dad, I found myself greeting him after he returned from work by rushing to him and rather than saying “hi dad how was your day?” like most children, I would say “Hi dad, are you tired?” When I was younger, he understood this fear, and would answer “Not one iota. I am totally awake.” But dare he fall asleep, I would raise hell to keep him awake long enough until I exhausted myself from the argument that would unfold as I begged him to stay up and drink coffee. I was so exhausted by my efforts by around 2 or 3 am, at which point he was awake and livid, and would knock out. And the cycle would continue.

When my mom was hospitalized after a drug and alcohol induced mental breakdown when I was 15, it was the end of alcohol for her. And I finally had my mother back. Actually, back is the wrong word. I had a mom for the first time in recent memory. And around that same time was about when I lost my father. My mom was a social alcoholic and my dad was a binge drinker.
At the same time, being in high school, I was discovering the perks of Midwest binge drinking with a bunch of teens for myself. And I loved it. Somehow I never grew to be a kid who connected alcoholic parents with my own consumption of the drink. The two were separate in my mind. My dad never hit bottom, but he did eventually stop drinking when I was a freshman in college, after it became so bad he was legally ordered to stop (the details of which belong to a much longer story for a different time). Every day, he calls his probation officer. Once he does, they have 8 hours on the clock and could potentially call him up, randomly, and order him to be tested to see if he has been drinking. It’s like a game of risk. He had a menthol cigarette once that showed up in a blood test, and I had to vouch for him saying it was mine, which was the truth. He takes it pretty damn seriously. At least, that’s what I tell myself. He has to, right?

I have two amazing parents. They pick and chose when to be amazing, usually based off of when one parent is faltering. Both of my parents are recovering alcoholics. My mother is very into AA, and my father is not. I drink socially, as do both of my sisters, in the way that people our age do. I often find myself in situations where I can’t stop drinking, and I wonder what and who I am becoming. Mom? Dad? Both? Neither?

Alcoholism runs through my veins the same way the rest of their genes do, but I have never once thought I would sit in an AA meeting. Recently, I have been drinking more and having more fun doing so. Going to bars, dancing, and I haven’t been happier. I don’t know if it’s the drinks or the people I share them with. I never drink alone. I found myself wondering these past couple of days why such a sudden change in my behavior. I also wondered why I didn’t care. And why I still don’t.
I woke up this morning after drinking from 1pm to 4am to celebrate a friend’s birthday, something I have never once done in my life. I went home with someone from the bar, and laying there at 6am in his bed, I found myself contemplating this life of mine, and the choices I have made to lead me to this point. Two parents who spent most of my life drinking pretty irresponsibility until I began following the same path and sobriety hit them. That’s how I understood my family.
Tonight, I discovered that my father just broke his sobriety after nearly 18 months. March 30 was his birthday, and he turned 56. He called my sister drunkenly the night before from Arizona, where we have a vacation home. We all called to wish him happy birthday. He didn’t answer, and nobody has heard from him. Part of me is angry, part of me is sad, part of me wants to help him. Part of me wonders if he is alive, in jail, sleeping it off or puking it out. And then there is a part of me that just wants to live my life as if I never grew up swimming in liquor. Never grew up opening the fridge to find nothing but beer. Never grew up picking my father off the ground or just begging him to stop drinking. Never grew up craving the sound of my mother coming up the stairs with smeared make up and slurred words. Part of me doesn’t care. That’s the part of me that is the strongest. The part that will have a drink tonight because I can.
Because alcohol just exists the same way I do. Because I am an adult and so are my parents. All of us human and flawed. And people will be people whether they are your mom or dad or a stranger in a bar whose bed you end up in staring at the ceiling with all of these misshapen perceptions of your past, present and future swirling through your head after far too many Irish car bombs. And as they say in AA, I have to accept the things I cannot change, change what I can, and know the difference. I’m learning to do just that.