I can feel your frequency (inside of me)

"Hey, come check this one out," my roommate called from the couch. She had been looking at Match.com. Window shopping.

"Oh, he's kinda cute..." I agreed.

"Yeah, listen to this..." she began reading his semi-impressive profile outloud.

"What an advertisement." I said. "This is like marketing...and hard personal stats."

"...but you can't tell anything really deep, like ...does this person have interpersonal skills, ...a sense of sensuality, ...a spark..."

"...you can't feel their vibration. Frequency is so important. Far more important than dating resumes."

Thank you very little

Have you ever wondered how you can spend so much time with someone, good times of enjoying each other's company - or so you thought - planning things for the immediate future, only to be left in the dust of no follow through? Have you ever kept your schedule open based on a past discussion (on a date) and then found yourself waiting for a phone call, a return text or ... some follow through?

"I mean, when I say I'm going to call, I usually call. It's pretty simple," my recently left in the dust friend vented. "Why was it so hard for what's-his-face to call?! It's the dawning of the age of the iPhone. The tele isn't new technology. Shit, he could have txt'd. Emailed. Geezus H..."

It's about congruity: when you say you're going to do something, do it. The favorable pieces of you match up. Otherwise, you risk the terrible label of "flaky."

The Undercovers Vixen

Fresh from the front lines of the dating scene, researching the state of courtship in America, our saucy, savvy field analyst reports back the searing insights on (what else?) men, etc., and the burning questions that arise therefrom.

Stay tuned for the juicy bites from the other side of the table as she goes face to face with seemingly "together" guys, not afraid to be a straight shooter with her penetrating, no nonsense questions as she probes the depths of the male psyche.

Tautological

"Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result each time." - Einstein

How many friends do you see commit the same mistakes, or have the same tragic relationships over and over and over without end?

Each encounter with love, each relationship, no matter how trivial, is a lesson meeting you, waiting to happen. Each ounce of present is a moment ripe for growth and revelation.

If you fail to learn the lessons along your path the first time around, you'll meet them again and again.

Carpe Diem, baby. Time to end the tail-chase.

Spontaneous O

Have someone say this to you, and see what happens:

chocolate fudge brownie cake with hot caramel and peanut butter toffee chunk ice cream

Giddyupityness

Don't you just love that feeling you get when your crushing on someone? That crazy feeling of aliveness that zaps through your nerves like quicksilver on speed? That perpetual feeling of butterflies that renders you shaky, yet making you so high you need something to bring you down, to dull the tinglies, because it's just too much? But meanwhile you're just giddy with energy and smiles like light and happiness are seeping through your cellular walls like something heavenly?

The body electric

Excerpt from I Sing the Body Electric, by Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass:

This is the female form;
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot;
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction! ...

The great work of the noble warrior

In the name of the healthy masculine, Matthew Fox asks the men among us to step up and wake up to the big shift that's happening (and necessary) for the (spiritual) evolution our our species and for the sake of the planet in this article in ODE Magazine.

He writes:

"Women have been recovering their stories and their archetypes. Where are the men in the awakening our species needs so badly? Where is the healthy masculine in men and in women?

"Our culture has latched onto images of God as male and then defined for us what male means. Male means winning (being No. 1 in sports, business, politics, academia), going to war (“kill or be killed”), being rational, not emotional (“boys don’t cry”) and embracing homophobia (fear of male affection). Male means domination, lording over others—whether nature, one’s own body, women or others.

"Thomas Berry, a Catholic priest of the Passionist Order and an eco-theologian, talks about the need for “The Great Work.” What is this Great Work? It’s “the task of moving modern industrial civilization from its present devastating influence on the Earth to a more benign mode of presence.” Such a great work will require great spirits, real warriors, and it will require steering our moral outrage and our powers of competition in more positive directions.

"The Great Work is “not a role that we have chosen. It is a role given to us, beyond any consultation with ourselves. ... We are, as it were, thrown into existence with a challenge and a role that is beyond any personal choice. The nobility of our lives, however, depends upon the manner in which we come to understand and fulfill our assigned role.” Noble warriors are called for."

The one after the first

"Oh I'm intrigued," she smiled as she heard the girl's story. "This sounds so much like "The One Before THE ONE." Have you heard of that? Where the person you think is "the one" turns out to not be it, but really helps you realize what you really want... And the next One is the one that really hits it home."

Shin splints

"I heard The Shins today," she said to her roommate. "Do you like The Shins?"

"Not really," her roommate replied.

"They kinda remind me of ..." she started, with that reminiscent look on her face.

"... Of which one? 'What's-His-Face'? Or, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'?" her roommate replied dryly.

A wry smile crept over her face as she laughed at herself. "Yeah, that one..."

i(heart)him

She: I (heart) him

Chorus: Uh-oh, she (hearts) him.

Great expectations

She listened to the giddy gaggle of her friend carry on about his abstract finer points, the attractive ones, the ones that would translate into what makes a great lover. All those little things that built up the pillar upon which this semi-fantastic boy was erected.

"You know, I hate to burst your bubble," she smiled honestly, smelling the smelly smell of great sexpectations, "regardless of who you think he is, he still puts his pants on one leg at a time. I just hope it's not a let down for you if it ever comes to fruition."

Her friend's dreamy smile barely faded, her hope hardly cracked. "The bar's been set pretty low," she admitted. "It won't take much to surpass what's come before..."

The tell-tale dance

"Dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire."

It's been said that you can learn a lot about how a man performs the horizontal tango by how he busts-a-move on the dance floor.

"We saw some great dancers up in Breckenridge," she said about the latest sociological research on her most recent night out in the mountain town. "There was this one guy who was a really great dancer. ...But amazingly, he was even better by himself." [insert laughter here]

Dancing is more than a memorized set of footsteps. It's about the sensuous, the feel and the rhythm of the moment, no worries about text-book choreography - as any good horizontal tussle should be.

Take note at the next club or wedding and do some guesswork. Report back if the rule holds true.

Waiting on her world to change

"How are things going with him?" her mother asked, again.

She sighed, empty of emotion, not sure how to really answer that, again. "Fine," she muttered.

Her mom wistfully said, "Oh Sweetie, I'm really excited for the day that you're really in love with someone..."

Do you know where he gets off?

She left for work early that morning. Caught the same shuttle-bus that she always rode down the walking mall through the Denver Metroplex. And there he was. Again. The man in the hot suit.

He was the only man in this city of tired casual rustic wear that was tailored to the nines in a double breasted charcoal pinstriped cashmere blend Armani suit with a striped baby blue tie which only accentuated the fine details of his overall ensemble.

The suit makes the man.

She paused her gaze, momentarily breathless and wondering if this beau could pull off jeans with the same suave. He handled his attache case incredible well. She wished she was his briefcase.

She walked passed him on the way out and winked: "I can't wait to see your ascot."

The best way to stay warm

"What are you going to do tonight?" she asked her roommate as she was getting ready for a cold weekend up in the mountains with a handful of girls planning to meet random people and forget about flaky boys.

"I don't know," her roommate said, contemplating the options and wishing she was burrito wrapped in a pile of woolens. "Probably just laundry, watch movies, knit a hat and wait for a hot sexy Latin American man to come over and ravish me in my fresh clean sheets."

She laughed. "Body heat would keep the heating bill down..."

Shiver me timbers

Nora Roberts says that romance novels "are a celebration of relations, finding love, overcoming obstacles, and making commitments. I think that is something very worthy of respect. They're not just about naked pirates, although what's wrong with a naked pirate now and again?"

Bold

The shadow of an autumn butterfly flitted past her afternoon window on it's whimsical trajectory in the sun.

"Maybe I'm just putting out the "I'm here" vibe," she thought to herself as she paused from work. "I need to emanate the "I'm here for the taking" vibe for this one..."

Sweetness & light

"In a third stage moment, you are ready to be worshipped as you are, as the light of love that lives as all life's power. "I am light. Take me, if you dare."

"You are not just a body to be entered or a mind to be shared. You are the very light of life, alive as the love that yearns to open at the heart of all beings.

"You are moved by a force of love much larger than clitoris and career. Your true power isn't limited by your body or created by your mind, but flows open as the force of love, alive and bright as the universe."

David Deida, Dear Lover, p 139.

Mirror, mirror

"Your shells make you the last person able to feel whether your true heart is being expressed through your body to the world. That's why, as you grow more open in two-bodied love, you must choose and inspire a man whose spiritual and sexual direction you trust more than your own. And your man must choose and claim a woman ... whose heart-responsiveness and deep sensitivity he trusts more than what he can see for himself."

David Deida, Dear Lover, p 129.

Man eater

"Is that your boyfriend?" the bartender asked as he looked behind her.

"You mean that short bald guy with the angry look on his face?" she questioned.

He nodded as he mixed her Stoli tonic.

Oh, no!" she laughed, hard, with a big smile on her face: "Come on - I can do better than that."

Just my imagination?

"You should write about us," he said as they climbed onto the rooftop stargazing deck of a charming home in the foothills and sat together.

"Oh, I've written about you," she confessed, staring into the milky way, not sure if he had heard her. Not even sure if he had ever read her blog. Not even sure if he would have recognized himself in it, anyway, since she wrote so covertly (or did she?) so as to not hurt any tender hearts. She wanted to list off the post titles to see if he recognized any of them.

He was certainly the muse behind many posts, and there could have been so many more. It was hard for her to not be so revealing when it came to recounting instances with him, that unless it was many contexts removed, she simply couldn't blog about it.

On the other hand, it was such a great story - at least in her head, as she hung onto every felt nuance that said "wow, this is it schweetie. Run with it" -- that it was difficult not to write it. But the governor on her imagination is what stopped her all along from sharing such sweet tales.

How revealing could she be? Did he already know? He must know...

The cloak of the night air settled on her as stars streamed across the heavens.