How Staying Apart Will Keep You Together

For the entirety of my dating career, I have run into the same issue over and over again; I would meet a great guy, become completely smitten with him, spend every second I could in his arms...and then become sick of him and/or dump him in under six months. For years I thought something was wrong with me because I couldn't stay in a long-term, committed relationship without feeling like gnawing off the hand my man was holding (though I often did stay in said relationships out of guilt, creating a miserable situation for both parties involved). I became a serial dater of the worst kind and as a result, lost a lot of important guys in my life and acquired nicknames including, but not limited to, succubus, Jezebel, Eve, siren, hussy, harlot, man-eater and, of course, the usual bitch, slut and whore.
After releasing the most recent of my victims, I made myself a promise to not even go near the idea of a monogamous relationship for a good while. I became a self-proclaimed swinger, giving myself the right to have no-strings attached hook-ups with any guy I pleased, and to casually date as many different types of men as possible.
The first of my hook-ups was a guy who had become a friendly acquaintance at school, and someone whom I knew wanted me; Kyle. He was an odd duck, but an extremely good-looking, intelligent, and polite odd duck, so I gave it a shot and found him to be quite the man-candy. Aside from hooking up, I just plain liked spending time with Kyle as a person. While I did stick to my promise and dated other guys, Kyle was probably always the favorite. Knowing I wanted to be a free woman, Kyle respected that, but after several months it became clear that we were pretty smitten with each other. Of course, I knew this meant it was all downhill from there.
Much to my surprise, it wasn't. We didn't really start hanging out more, which at first I was a little upset about. However, I found that instead of losing interest in him, my interest grew. Every time I saw him I was happy and excited, and what was more, I still actually wanted to have sex with him. I was absolutely perplexed by the situation until one night when I stayed in to have a "me" night. As I lied in bed writing, my mind drifted off across all of my past relationships and I finally realized what was different. For the first time in a relationship, I was allowed to have a "me" night. I could also still hang out with my friends almost every night. The reason I wasn't getting sick of Kyle is because he gave me the space and time to be Caitlin.
We never see each other more than two or three times a week, which can get a little tough, but for the most part, it just makes me more excited for the days when I do get to see him. I can't say for certain that I will never get sick of him, but I can say that this is hands down the happiest I have ever been with another person because I still get the chance to be my own person.

I think that when relationships first start out, a lot of people tend to binge on all the happy,romantic things they are feeling and ignore the fact that they are still two separate people. They do everything together, and end up sacrificing many of the people and things in their lives which made them happy as an individual, eventually leading to feelings of suffocation and resentment. This can especially apply to people who are living together and sharing one bedroom. Having to sleep in the same bed every night can become monotonous and even irritating depending on the other person's sleeping habits. So why not have two separate rooms and have "sleepovers" a couple of times a week? Just as every person is different, so is every relationship and what may work for the "Leave it to Beaver", All-American, perfect couple, may not work for you. So even if a married couple sleeping in separate beds seems weird, it could be what makes all the difference.
I used to always think that if I didn't want to spend all or most of my time with my significant other, there was something wrong with me, because it wasn't what I saw in the movies or the media. But, the truth is, as much as we may love another person, one of the most important ways to a happy relationship is to have time and space for ourselves, so we can keep being the people our significant others fell for in the first place.

Why Brangelina is the Scariest Thing to Happen to Long Island Since the Amityville Horror

It began at around 9 a.m. on April 19th, 2009 when I got a text from my friend that read "OMG! Brad and Angelina were at the Oyster Bay Stop and Shop! That's right near you, did you see them?!"
No, I had not see them, nor did I have any interest in seeing them. I'm not really the type to go nutso over celebrities of any sort and I certainly don't understand the fascination with the Paris Hiltons and Brangelinas of the world. Apparently the rest of the world, or at least the rest of Long Island, doesn't feel the same. Starting with that fateful trip to Stop and Shop, it suddenly seemed as if all of Long Island had Brangelina Fever.
That text message proved to be nothing in comparison to the barrage of Brangelina-related questions, comments, and incidents I had hurled at me over the next few weeks. The magazine racks quickly became packed with tabloids featuring Brad and Angelina in Oyster Bay, Long Island on the cover and contained riveting stories and photos of Brad and Angelina's OB house, Brad and Angelina at Stop and Shop in OB, Brad and Angelina at CVS in OB, Brad and Angelina out for a family stroll in OB. Think about this for a second; a magazine was taking terrible Kodak disposable camera pictures of completely average people doing completely average things and making millions off of it because these very average people just so happen to be famous. Well, as a Long Islander I thought that most of Long Island would be brought to their senses by the fact that if these things were taking place in their normal, everyday home-sweet-homes, it couldn't really be that big of deal. Naturally, I was wrong. The tabloids flew off the racks throughout Long Island, including where I, and Brangelina live, Oyster Bay. After the magazines alerted absolutely everyone who saw them that the world's biggest celebrities were in town, the topic became unavoidable. At least three times a day I would be asked by random people who I never really talked to if I had seen Brangelina, what were Brad and Angelina like, what did the Jolie-Pitt household like to do on weekends, had I ever partied with Brangelina? There were internet articles popping up everywhere claiming that Oyster Bay was causing some sort of a split between the two because Angelina was involved with Oyster Bay men and that Oyster Bay mothers who usually "schlepped" around in sweatpants were now glamming themselves up for Brad Pitt (this is absolutely insane by the way, because Oyster Bay is the land of MILFs, Botox parties and mansions starting at no less than one million. If things around here got anymore "glammed up", we'd be in Bel Aire).
One day as I walked through town with my friend, venting about the pandemonium that had apparently hit our town, we noticed that there was some sort of filming process on what I later found out was the set for a TV show, which neither Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie were cast in.
"Wonder if Brad and Angelina are there," I joked.
Before we knew it, the entire area was surrounded by hopefuls attempting to get a look at the acclaimed couple. People literally left shops and restaurants just to get a look. Mothers called friends and family on their cell phones to lure them into town to play "Where's Brangelina?" As we walked on, my friend and I were approached by a man in a convertible talking excitedly on his iPhone. As he turned a corner at a good 40 mph, he screeched to a halt at the curb, asked "Have you seen Brad and Angelina?!" and drove off in frenzy as we told him we had not. A week later I was informed that a high school acquaintance had tipped off People, or OK, or one of those typical tabloids, providing it with information about Brad and Angelina in exchange for a lousy $2000. How low can you go Long Island?
It's not the fact that people getting excited over celebrities that is bothersome. I understand; they're beautiful people who many aspire to be like. What bothers me is that people allow their entire realities to become twisted by the presence of over-publicized, yet perfectly average people. Such is the case with Long Island, hence the storm of text messages, trashy magazine articles, sell-outs and crowds of Brangelina-obsessed zombies. For whatever reason, indirect contact with these two beings has turned Long Island into Bedlam.
I can't say whether or not the mayhem is intensified by Long Island culture; maybe it's the affluence that makes many Long Islanders feel entitled to schmoozing with the "beautiful people", or maybe it's our close proximity to the most well-known city in the world that makes us feel like it is somehow in our destinies to brush shoulders with fame. Honestly, though, it would probably be the same anywhere else as it is here, maybe even worse. It's just a wonder to me how a glimpse of the beautiful people has made my home seem so ugly.

The Swine Flu: Why This Little Piggy Can't Make Me Cry

If you know me, you probably know that I am a hypochondriac. I think I have every disease known to man... all the time. I attribute this to my loving but neurotic grandmother, may she rest in peace, who habitually thought everyone around her was dying...all the time. If we had dirt on our hands, we immediately were plagued with some mystery illness that would surely kill us if we didn't go to the doctor within the next 24 hour period. As a pseudo neo-hippie, I believe in free love and enjoy being out in nature more than anything, but as i get older I notice it has become increasingly harder to do so without my grandmother's Brooklyn, New York, Jewish accent screaming, "ya gonna catch ya death; ya gonna need a tetanus shot!" The bottom line is that disease scares the living Hell out of me for no rational reason beyond the fact that dead or alive my grandmother has proven herself to be the archetypical Jewish mother.
And yet somehow, with the threat of Swine Flu all around, (the sheep wearing dentists masks, this persistent cough , and my frequent trips into the City), I just can't get myself to be worried about the Pig. I'll admit, I was sent into a momentary panic a week or so ago by an unusually high fever, but I awoke the next morning feeling like a new woman and haven't given it a second thought since. I'm just not worried about the swine flu. So naturally, this worries me. Why should a hypochondriac such as myself, who is finally faced with an actual disease, unconcerned with it? Call it a hunch, but I'm going to say that, for starters, it's called Swine Flu. All I see are images of the three little pigs or Pumba from The Lion King. Not very threatening. Now The Black Death, that's a keeper in terms of disease names. The Black Death does not sound like something you want to mess with. Neither does Scarlet Fever or Flesh Eating Bacteria. These are all things I would instinctually try and avoid based on the name. But Swine Flu sounds like a bored seventeen year old's senior prank, and quite frankly, in a time where I can't really count on finding a job when I get out of school or ever being able to retire, you tell me how much thought I should really be putting into how to avoid what sounds sort of like an overpriced, pork-based dish served at a fancy restaurant somewhere around Broadway. Bird Flu, Swine Flu, Mad Cow Disease. Doctors are getting lazy with their disease names, I'm getting bored with the over-exposure of them, and the rampant publication of Swine Flu fluff seems to be a blatant avoidance of the only real American issues, because let's face it, the amount of suicides resulting from job loss and economic failure probably trump any number of Swine-related fatalities. So I guess that's my answer; I'm not worried about Swine Flu because there are a lot of other things for me and my generation to be worried about. The wasted youth epidemic that is sweeping my generation of the nation is a lot more of a threat than a drop of pig snot could ever be. We were told to go to college, work hard then get a job. But we can't even though a lot of us actually want to. But the papers won't put that on the cover because it doesn't sell as well and it doesn't send people rushing to purchase over-priced and unnecessary medications. I’m not scared of the Swine Flu because I’m more scared of where this country is headed and what it means for my future. I’m not scared of the Swine Flu because if I get it and it’s as bad as they say it is, then hey, at least I won’t have to worry about paying off student loans or trying to save the endangered retirement fund.
That’s all folks.

The Bracelet

Alex glanced at the little piece of plastic around her wrist and frowned. This wasn’t the type of accessory a girl usually wants to wear for a night out, but she felt like a fake cutting off her hospital bracelet so soon. She shook thoughts of St. Francis from her mind and took a drag from her joint. She was stressed enough from having to play catch up at school after being released from the hospital. The last thing she needed was to have to try and impress some guy her friend had set her up with.

“It’ll help you get back into the swing of things…you know, normalcy” her friend Anna had told her.

The two girls were now wandering hurriedly around Alex’s room getting ready for their double date slash concert.

“He’s an old friend of Eric’s and he’s a great guy.” Anna said cheerily. I met him yesterday and he is really good-looking. He’s smart too. He’s been away at this fancy private school for the past couple of years, and he’s going to Vassar in the fall but as smart as he is, Eric says he’s still crazy fun. We’ll just all go to the concert together and have a great time. It will help you get your mind off of…stuff…”

As much as Alex appreciated the efforts of Anna and Eric, Anna’s long-term, perfect boyfriend, she doubted not only the sincerity of those efforts, but also that some demi-god of a guy would help her to forget “stuff”. In fact, she was pretty sure his perfection would only emphasize her instability, because the “stuff” Alex was trying to forget about didn’t consist of the normal, angst-ridden, teen issues. Less than a week ago Alex had still been unable to wear clothing with any type strings or metal attached to it, for fear that she would either try to kill herself or someone else with it. Even in the half-conscious, drunken, self-loathing state which Alex had been dragged to The St. Francis Psychiatric Facility, she had mustered the coherency with which to ask the nurse “how the fuck’mygonna kill myself with a zipper, bitch?” In response, the nurse proceeded to strip her down, dress her in an ensemble of a paper gown complete with slipper socks and that beautiful plastic bracelet and fed her a sedative (as if she needed any more drugs in her system) in order to shut her up. “After all,” said the nurse cheerily, “we don’t want to disturb the other patients who are on their way to a happy recovery.”

Despite the absurdities the hospital employed to ensure its patients’ well-being, it seemed that Alex always found an equal and opposing absurdity to ensure her ceaseless stay at St. Francis. And so, despite the hospital staff’s original estimate that Alex would only need to stay two months maximum, the entire year came and went and only four days ago, exactly one year and two weeks after she had been admitted, had she been officially released. No one but Alex and a few far-too-happy doctors at St. Francis knew exactly where she had been and why she had been admitted, and only Alex knew for sure why she had stayed so long. As Alex’s best friend since kindergarten, Anna had been satisfied with the explanation that “I knew I was on a bad path and I just had to go away for a while where people could help me…so basically my dad dragged me away kicking and screaming against my will” In any case, Anna got the gist and had dropped the subject. At least, this was the impression Anna had given Alex. However, in high school, bad news travels exceptionally fast, and so by this point, Alex was aware that, starved of information, Anna had proceeded to fill in the blanks like a bad game of Mad Libs with stories ranging from Alexis trying to kill her father and being hauled away by the authorities to Alex being pregnant, getting an abortion and going insane from the guilt of killing her first unborn child. “But what can you do?” thought the newly reformed Alexis, frowning, “that’s just your typical upper-middle class teenage girl sort of friendship.” “Besides, I am the only one who knows about that girl’s little eating issues.”

Alex turned away from the mirror where she had been applying enough black eyeliner to make even Alice Cooper cringe. She flashed a synthetic smile at Anna, but it quickly fell back into a frustrated pout.

“So you’re telling me that you set me up with some perfect guy who’s going to what is essentially an Ivy League level school in the fall a few days after I was released from a mental hospital? Anna, I don’t think he’s going to be smitten with someone whose interests are getting fucked up, resisting anything that isn’t masochistic, and listening to music that would make your grandmother cry. He’s probably into girls that wear kaki and headbands and play field hockey and go to sock hops.”

“Sock hops?”

“I don’t know, Anna, whatever it is that good, intelligent people who attend private schools do! Sock hops, clam bakes, croquet…practicing fiscal responsibility; I don’t know. But I do know that whatever it is that he does, I don’t know shit about, and he is going to think that I am a basket case at the very least. How did you even get him to go to a punk rock concert anyway?”

“Apparently his father has sold insurance to a couple of the members of the Misfits. He’s the one who got us these tickets in the first place. That whole family is tied in with a bunch of famous people.”

“Of course they are”, sighed Alex as she purposefully smudged her eyeliner because “a Misfits concert just isn’t a Misfits concert unless everyone there looks they’ve been on a ten week bender and a lot of drugs that can’t be smoked”.

“That’s lovely, Alexis” said Anna, not thrilled that her friend, fresh out of rehab, didn’t seem much different from before she had gone to rehab. “Listen, if you don’t wanna go, I can always have Eric tell Prince Charming that you weren’t feeling well. And then you and Amy Winehouse and Kieth Riachards can all hang out here and snort your parent’s ashes. Besides, you probably are still a little too…fragile” she said with a demeaning tone, “to be going out and meeting new people.”

“First of all, fuck you; my mother was buried. You should know that because if remember correctly we were ten and you wanted to skip her funeral because it just so happened to be on the same day that Lilo and Stitch came out in theatres.” Anna winced at the unfortunate recollection. “And second of all,” continued Alex, “after a year of residing in a place where a Britney Spears CD was considered contraband, there is no way in Hell I am missing that concert.” She looked back to the mirror for a minute and shook her head wildly in order to achieve that perfect “I’ve just had meaningless sex ten times in a row, now let’s go drinking” look. Content with her appearance she turned away from the mirror and reached for her combat boots. “So what’s Casanova’s name anyway?”

“Charles.”

“Jesus Christ, Anna… Charles? What’s his last name, Vanderbilt?”

“No” said Anna with a nervous laugh. “Its Walcott...” she said lowering her voice.

“Oh my God ...you set me up on a blind date with a ‘Charles Walcott’ four days after I was released from a, I mean, just when I’m starting to get my life back to normal?"

"Charles Preston Asher Walcott III actually..."

Alexis rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m referring you to St. Francis,” she snapped. She laced up her boots and slipped a black hoodie over her wife-beater. “Now let’s go before his parents decide to lengthen his name and you have to introduce me to Charles Preston Asher Warner Skip III, Esquire.”

As they made their way to the back of The Pit, the local bar slash concert hall, Alex frowned, considered all the possible ways the night could get worse.

“Nope, can’t think of anything” she said just loud enough for Anna to hear, “not one damn thing.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Anna. “Listen, Alexis, don’t be weird in front of Charles and Eric okay? Like, I know I’m your best friend but…they’re not. So just try to act like a human being, kay? And stop looking so glum, you look like an Auschwitz victim.”

“Ugh,” Alex couldn’t decide if that was a shot at her religious background or not. “Whatever you say, Aryan Princess,” she spat at Anna, looking only more unhappy than before.

“Good. Now they’re at the bar getting us drinks because both of the boys have really good fakes. Let’s push our way through quick before the first band goes on, or the guards will give us a hard time when we try to go upstairs.”

“Woah, woah. Upstairs?”

“Yea. We got private balcony seats” said Anna happily. “Very VIP.”

“VIP? Anna, this is a Misfits concert! I want to be down there beating people up and drinking Guinness until I pass out, not sipping a Long Island ice tea and observing the mayhem from above.”

“Well, tough luck, Alexis. If you wanna go back stage and chill with the band afterwards, you have to be a good girl and sit still and watch nicely while the band plays. Come on, Allie, please” she said with a pout. Allie is what Anna had always called Alex ever since they were five when Anna wanted something that Alex wanted no part of. Alex was a sucker for nostalgia.

“Ugh, fine. Let’s go”

As they approached the bar, they saw Eric wave. From a distance, Alex could see the back of who she presumed to be Charles, buying drinks; and she already didn’t like the look of him. She could see that his hair was perfectly gelled and that he wore a crisp, white, collared shirt paired with a pair of designer, pre-ripped jeans. “Gross” thought Alex.

“Hey there, cutie” said Anna as she gave Eric a kiss.

“Hey Eric” Alex muttered.

“Hey, Alexis. This is Charles” he said pointing to the perfectly groomed back before her. The back disappeared as the boy turned around and handed her a Guinness. Alex froze.

“Well, hey there…Alexis, right?” he said with a sly smile.

“Well, that’s it,” Alex thought as she stared at a face she had seen many, many times before. “Time for me to back to St. Francis, because I must be losing my mind.” There, before her, stood someone she had laughed with, cried with, and lived day to day with for over a year. Perfect Charles Preston Asher Walcott III, was just as crazy as Alex was, “and we both have the same hospital bracelet to prove it,” she thought twisting hers around her wrist.

Charles stood still smiling that knowing smile, arm out-stretched, holding the Guinness.

“Allie, what’s the matter with you? Say hello and take the beer”

“Ch-Chuck?”, Alex finally managed to stutter.

“Uh…no, it’s Charles, actually” he said, all the while still smiling.

“Um, Allie, you okay?” asked Anna.

“Yea. No. I just, I think there’s something wrong with my contacts because I don’t think I should be seeing what I’m seeing, so I’m going to go fix them and then I won’t see it anymore. Bye.” And she dove into the crowd, careening towards the exit like a train off of its tracks.

“Wait!” came Charles’ familiar voice from behind her. “Alexis, hold on!” The sound of his voice grew closer. “Alex!” Charles grabbed Alex’s arm. “Jesus, you’d think I was here to bring you back to Francis”

Alex whipped around. “Away at a private school, huh?” she asked coyly.

“Well…that’s half true. I was away at private school last year. But after that…well, you know the story. Better than anyone else, in fact”, he said tugging on the bit of the hospital bracelet that stuck out from under Alex’s sweatshirt.

“Why are you still walking around with that scarlet letter around your wrist, Alex? We don’t need to be those people anymore. We’re out, it’s done.”

“It’s not a scarlet letter,” she said furrowing her eyebrow. “It’s more like a badge of honor. Like, I went through something most people will never have to and I made it out alive. I don’t really get why you don’t feel the same way.”

“Because, Alex, if I had a reminder everyday that I’m messed up, and that I’m different from everyone else I’d start to believe it, and I would never have a chance at being happy. I’d just end up right back at St. Francis…and so will you if you keep wearing that bracelet.”

Alex looked more displeased than ever. Then in a sort of a frenzy, she lifted her wrist to her mouth and began to chew away at the little piece of plastic. When at last, she had chewed all the way through, she spat the bracelet out of her mouth and watched it fall to the beer soaked floor.

She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you Charles”

He took her hand in his and shook it firmly. “Likewise… Alexis”

They let their hands drop, and Alex finally took the now-warm Guinness from Charles’s other hand and took a sip.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.