Tag Archives: dating

f*ck you carrie bradshaw




I hate you, Carrie Bradshaw. I hate that we have the same problems, date the same shitty men, that you have a closet full of Manolo Blahniks and I have to budget in my Jimmy Choos.

This is not a rant but could easily turn into one.

He broke up with me on a post-it.” ~ Carrie Bradshaw.

My dating life is a series of Carrie Bradshaw quotes, if a very short email is the electronic equivalent of a post-it. Let’s just say, for the sake of my non-rant that it is considered to be the truth in all varying forms of reality. I’m also the writer which means that I get to pick whatever direction this goes. So…

Most men would raise a brow, or roll their eyes, or make some sort of facial gesture (with or without hand involvement) to the Sex And The City reference, in which case, I would like to make two quick points.

1. I’m not writing this for you.

2. It is our femininity, the yin/yang that attracted you to us in the first place.

I think we can just leave this first quote as is, ladies. I received a short and sweet email. No phone call, no face to face, no balls. Make no mistake, there was a part of me that wanted to respond, and a part of me that wanted to light a cigarette. Part of me had a dent in my heart that only his smile, and the way it felt when he held me, could fix. And yet there was another part of me that started to question my actions, my looks, even myself.

When the questioning starts, all kinds of terrible things can happen. Don’t go there.

“When it comes to life and love, why do we believe our worst reviews?”

If you’re anything like me, you’ve either completely ignored my “don’t go there”, or worse, you think… I’m different. I can handle this. It’s a growth spurt of self-analysis. Sure it is, sugar puff. If we continue to question ourselves, a certain phenomenon can occur.

This phenomenon begins with a very tiny speck of a thought. When I say tiny, I’m talking as close as you can become to non-existent without actually being invisible. You’ll suddenly remember your “him” saying something that was completely harmless at the time, and not intended to be anything malicious. You’ll remember him asking, “Hey, what happened to that black dress you wore when we went to (insert name of place)?” Here’s where it gets tricky. Your next thought is… did he only like me in black?… maybe I didn’t wear enough black… he hated the way I dress… black is slimming… he thinks I’m fat… he dumped me because I’m fat… oh god… this is ridiculous, I can’t believe I’m even thinking something so stupid… fuck, he thinks I’m stupid… I need to buy more black…

See what I mean? The thoughts are certainly ugly ladies, but you aren’t.

“Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate.”

Ever meet Mr. Could Be Right while pining over Mr. Wrong? Don’t worry… you will.

There is one thing through all of the trials and tribulations of the heart and the penis that remains intact. And that thing is my dignity. That doesn’t mean that my pillow won’t be stained with mascara when I try to sleep tonight, but it will be a dignified cry. Such a thing must exist… right? (holds head up in gesture)

Maybe you’re only allotted a certain amount of tears per man, and I’ve used mine up.”

Sometimes tears are messy. Sometimes they are soulful. Sometimes they start to roll down your cheek before you even know what hit you.

As I’ve expressed, my pillow will more than likely see some tears, as they have been intermittent post email. There’s some venting in front of me. My tear quota has not been reached… yet. Which brings me to my Mr. Big.

My Big story did not end the same way that it did in the movie. I know! I was just as surprised as you are. Everything up to the actual public acknowledgement of a real relationship was spot on though. The break ups, the tears, the love, the passion, the tears, the laughter, the tears, the pain, the lies, the tears, the cheating; I married someone else, divorced someone else, dated Big again, more tears… that was all the same. It was cut you to the bone awful.

My Big and I definitely needed a new word for “over.”

The last time I found myself hurt by him there were no tears. I literally couldn’t cry. Not one more drop. That was one year ago and that was the day I knew over was really over.

“After a break-up, certain streets, locations, even times of day are off limits. The city becomes a deserted battlefield, loaded with emotional landmines. You have to be very careful where you step or you could get blown to pieces.”

Anyone else narrow their “spectrum of living” grid to a minimum? (Because what you really are gunning for is seeing your ex with someone else… something that’s only a touch more fun than peeling your own skin off.)

Even driving holds the potential for a disaster on two to four tires. Have you ever noticed when you are going through a break-up that suddenly everyone drives the same car as your ex? It could be the most random car ever, but suddenly everyone is driving a 1982 fucking Fiat. What is that, exactly?

“I don’t understand this. I get mugged and you get him? Maybe that’s just my karma.”

My friends that know me well have all heard me say at one time or another, “in a past life I must have killed an ex by running him over with my car. My guy luck and my car luck are the same. They both suck.” I think that statement may just wrap that quote up in a nice little package. Yes?
This brings me to the last quote, and this quote may be the most important of all. It wasn’t Carrie, but Samantha Jones.

So not sexy honey. Dump him immediately, here use my cell phone.”

You see, no matter what you’ve experienced in matters of the heart, no matter how many times it has been broken or how long you were seeing him, no matter how deeply you loved or if it was a new flicker of hope that got extinguished before it’s time, we need our friends to get us through. I hope you all have a Samantha.

We need to laugh, and laugh at ourselves. Find the humor, and most of all find what you need inside yourself.


When it comes to love: the first time

Ah dating. It’s trial and error and it also involves all kinds of “firsts”.

The first (and I can’t even believe I am typing this but here it goes…) facebook message/text/phone call. You “chat”. If you’re interested perhaps there is some mild flirting involved…chat some more…usually leading up to the next first on the list.

The first date.  If it’s a blind date you may need a back up plan….a diversion…a friend with an “emergency”. Sometimes it’s necessary. I had one blind date. We ended up in a relationship.  I was fortunate to have a successful one, as were my parents. My parents met on a blind date and they have been together for 54 years…It can go either way.

We all know that the first date can be an utter nightmare. You see two or more women talking early morning in a coffee shop and one looks completely haggard? She’s a mess. Her left eye is twitching. She did not just get back from war. It was a bad first date. Trust me. I know the look.

I try never to have expectations of date number one, although I always secretly hope he opens my door. It slays me every time. First dates can be a whirlwind; the new attraction can leave you with a glimmer of something more….possible potential….perhaps a random butterfly. I could go on… but a great first date? It speaks for itself.

I prefer it when a first date goes well. Let’s be honest….you should….unless you finally had to go out with the guy from *insert religious building here* that your mother has been nagging you about since last June. The guy who hasn’t been on a date for three years unless his own mother has set him up on it. The things you do to appease your mother….

The infamous first kiss. It can knock you off balance if it’s good. If it’s great it can wreck your world and move others ….or it can be a kiss that makes you want to end the date early so you can either call your friends for emotional support or your dermatologist after your face has been ripped off.

The first time you laugh so hard with him that you actually cry….or snort. Don’t judge me. It’s happened. Fortunately, there has been no maniacal laughter or snort during a first kiss.

The first time his actions match his words. If this seems like it comes from a bad past experience, you’re right. It does. It still means the world to me. Why? Because this is when he starts to show that his word means something. His actions are the barometer for the sincerity behind those words. This first can mean more than the rest….even the kiss.

That first “moment.”…the one where you think you may be having a feeling. I love this ‘first’ because you just never know when or why it happens. It could be something romantic he says. He could have said something stupid or done some ridiculous dance move. Maybe he looked up at dinner and had food on his face or it was breakfast and you heard him slurp his coffee. Maybe it was when you heard him snore— you never know what people find endearing. There’s just no telling when that moment will be.

The first time you think….wow….he may actually be a good guy. This thought needs to occur more frequently with age, by the way. Sorry….true though.

The first time that he looks into your eyes and really sees you….this one is my very favorite.For me, there is nothing that compares to really seeing someone for the first time. It is the beginning of intimacy. A time where the layers can start to fade away because there is a developing sense of openness and honesty.

The first time you realize that neither of you mind being ridiculous in public….That being said, I must try on stupid hats of any kind (they usually come home with me).. Fine. Maybe it isn’t as romantic as the rest of the firsts on my list…but it sure is rad…and usually photo worthy.

The first time you are apart….when you feel your hands actually long for a close in distance. Always makes me wonder about that absence makes the heart growing fonder thing. Did someone across the world from another person say that one time because they were secretly cheating? Was he involved in some secret underground poker tournament and had to appease her so he didn’t have to call for 36 hours? Did a dad say it to his inconsolable daughter? I’m going to have to google that shit. Truth. Sue me.

The first time he says he wants you to be his……this also could be a rather lovely moment…or sheer disaster if you aren’t on the same page.  But if you are? It’s a knee shaker. Please don’t tell me it sounds primitive. Ok. I know it does….but I’m a romantic.

Now that there have been all those moments…those crazy, nerve wracking and beautiful ‘firsts’….the signs of trust and honesty, passion and longing, compatibility and laughter. That is the first time I can finally say…”You. I want you”.

when it comes to love….


everything you’ve wanted to know…..

have you heard?

my column full of sass can be found at— http://www.elephantjournal.com/author/ronna-holtz/. check it. love it.



Contemplating profound moments….longing for more than perfect seconds…Completion or lack there of  is more confusing than i had dreamed.  Eyes filled with something I cant explain (do I have a place in them?). Reflections that make me feel like I can take over the entire world, or at least my small meaningless corner of it.  Flirting with disaster?

Time. Past (to present) has become my enemy. Wishing to erase countless moments of sad as easily as I extinguished my last cigarette…..the feeling of being so physically empty you feel like you’re being eaten from the inside out.

If you could see my reflection through the broken shards could I be more than a night? Could I be a constant? Will I remain the consistent 24? Will I hear those words recanted? The words I refuse to utter for fear of a backhanded hall pass and a designer straight jacket.

My mind plays the night on repeat, like a needle in a beautifully worn groove. My body has changed —as it must when you feel so deeply for the first time….blood coarsing through my veins because you…well. because of you. Because of your eyes that see me…your words that move me…your laughter that warms me. Because of your touch that fills me as our bodies entertwine…

I never could have imagined time passing so slowly. I never could have imagined you.Image



LAX–late. Forgot my jacket. Forgot my toothbrush. Forgot my book. Almost forgot my ass and I left two hours early.

I’m flying home to say goodbye to a dear friend and I’m deeply saddened under my armor- thick layers of denial.

I have cried almost every moment that I’ve been alone. Alone is when the reality hits. Alone is when I find fear. Fear of Sunday. Fear of goodbye.

I’ never really regretted my lack of visits until the moment I heard he was gone. I don’t think I believe it. In fact I know I do not. It’s safe up here 35,000 miles above the planet. It’s the ether. It’s not real. Nothing is real up here. I could get drunk and be a surgeon from England and no one would be the wiser.

My first flight was filled with girl scout troop leaders and I immediately thought they were a plant devised by my friends to fuck with me.


I get to see him sooner than I thought and he has been more of my thoughts than I care to admit. He has been a distant comfort and by Wednesday I may just dislike him immensely…. ( joking darlin…. But you already know how my pen rolls)

Life is filled with loss and missed moments. Live it to the fullest. Take chances. Do cartwheels on the beach. Find all the beauty that you can and love like it will rip you apart from your core.

This week will be one of contemplation as it is when someone is lost. There will be memories shared, jäger spilled and shit spoken in mass quantity.

I love you Andrew Buba Flood. You will remain with me forever. You will be in my heart and in my mind, until those cease to exist until my soul will once again recognize yours my dear friend.

I do not know what is beyond this world but I pray that there is peace in your heart, you are with your family, and that you and Josh have found PBR and a strip club.

Never forgotten,


%d bloggers like this: