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#BombshellCode, Confessions, Dating, Model Life, Sorry I'm No Sorry

LUSTstoned – Style… or Substance?

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LUSTstoned

Having promised to always be honest with you, I’ll admit that I can be a little… superficial.  I’ve chosen style over practicality (and rationalism) many times.  I mean, come on- have you seen my shoes??  So its no surprise that I’m probably guilty of choosing the men I date in the same fashion.  See what I did there?

I like the bad boys.  The rockstars.  The charismatic ones that specialize in seducing.  And ultimately destroying.  They’re charming, passionate, and intriguing.  Their sex appeal is intoxicating.  Being the object of desire to these men is like slipping into a brand new pair of Louboutin’s.  Convinced I can match they’re complexity, it gives me a natural high.  I’m not love stoned- I’m LUST stoned.  I call these men “enigmatic”.  You, on the other hand, would probably call them an asshole.  I will eventually end up calling them that too.  Except its usually after the storm.  And just like hurricanes, they each have their own name.  Some are more catastrophic than others.  But the same warning signs are always there.  And I’m the idiot that refuses to evacuate and later needs to be airlifted to safety.  And by airlifted, I mean drink wine and vowing to never date again.  Until the next one comes along.  Because who knows- maybe he could really be the one??

LOL.  Right.

I think I’ve been too busy treating men like accessories.

So here’s the real question- Why?

Well, before we can even try to answer that, lets get to the good stuff first.  A look at a few of my recent examples.  After all, if this is going to turn into a case study, you should be equipped with the proper information.  That, or at the very least, it will bring you some great entertainment.

CASE STUDY #1:  Hurricane Rockstar

Hands down, the Rockstar is, and always will be, my personal drug of choice.  There’s something about a man with a guitar that eliminates all logic in my body and replaces it with pure stupidity.  And like a true addict, I’ve dabbled in every field.  From coffee house crooners, to Grammy winning A-Listers, they all leave me unable to process and react to their actions the way I would with other men.  Instead, I chalk up their bad behavior to their bad boy way of life.  Like being a musician of any sort gives them a get-out-of-jail-free card for being a dick.  They’re not being unreasonable and selfish- they’re brooding and mysterious.  They’re not broke- they’re starving artists, refusing to give up on their passion.  Its endearing.  Its admirable.  Its sexy.

ITS ALSO A FUCKING JOKE.

And I’m proud to say my last rockstar was the one that finally landed me in rehab.  For good.  Unlike Amy Winehouse, I was screaming, “Yes, Lord, YASSSSSS!”.   You see, I have this ridiculous habit of giving people way more credit than they deserve.  I’m totally ignorant in the sense that I believe the person they are presenting to me is who they really are.  And above all, I truly believe they are simply incapable of being cruel to me.  Until they are.  Yes, I’m that stupid.  Or that hopeful.  I’m not sure which yet.  But I DO know this- when someone share’s your personal conversations for another woman to respond to, you need to erase that person from your life.  Immediately.  Because they either have the maturity of a 13 year old, the respect of a 5 star douchebag, or severe self-esteem issues.  Because nothing remains more true than this- hurt people hurt people.   All it takes is one very harsh look at reality, and an intelligent, handsome rockstar morphs instantly into someone who probably doesn’t care much about anyone but himself.  And while I may be clueless with men, I am ON POINT with my standards in love.

With the quality of people I want in my life.

And, above all, the respect I deserve.

So in conclusion, someone so unhappy with their own life has absolutely no place in mine, guitar or not.  Case closed.

CASE STUDY #2:  Hurricane Full of Shit

I’m ashamed to even be talking about this one.  Really.  And I’m inviting any of you to come and slap me for even entertaining this tool as long as I did.  And here, gentlemen, is where I will dispense the greatest piece of dating advice a girl can offer-

Never, EVER set the standard of the first date higher than what you plan to maintain after.

Case in point: Yacht Boy (as I shall refer to him) had pursued me for a while.  Seeing him as wholesome and serious, I of course dodged every attempt like Mayweather in the ring.  But he never quit.  And as fate would have it, I ran into him one night.  We ended up talking- really talking.  And much to my surprise, we had a lot in common.  It was then that I started to realize that maybe all the things about him I had initially run from were exactly what I needed.  He was going to be out of town for a while, but we agreed to get together as soon as he got back.  Of course, during his time away, we texted and shared pictures.  Not of our bodies, but of our actual lives.  Things that were important.  It was…. nice.

We made plans for the day he returned home.  Yep, you read that right.  I wont lie- it felt incredibly good to have someone that was so excited to see me.  He literally was driving, across states, to take me out.  Understandably, he ended up running a little late.  Given the effort, I didn’t mind one bit.  When he picked me up (Yes, you also read THAT right- picked me up) he apologized, explaining that upon his arrival home, he was greeted to absolutely no power at his place.  Wanting to keep his plans with me, he simply showered (a very cold shower in a very dark bathroom) and was out the door.  Everything else he would deal with later.   Whoa.  Wait.  Say what??   I’ve had to ask guys to change into actual jeans just to go out, because no, joggers are not acceptable date attire.  And this guy risked hypothermia for me?  And think about shaving- I knick myself just looking at a razor, let alone sliding it along my body in the dark.  So I’m thinking this guy is even an absolute gentlemen, or a total fucking idiot.

Idiot would eventually win.  It always does.

So as you probably guessed, we had a great date.  So much so it led to a second date.  At his place.  With power, of course.  Wanting to show off his culinary skills, he cooked a full course dinner and even made homemade ice cream for me.  I know, I know- its almost too good.  We would see each other a few more times after that, but something started to happen.  Or, everything started to happen.  To him.  It seemed like making plans were impossible because he was sick.  Or going out of the country.  Or out of state.  Or a family member had died.  Or multiple.  No really.  Like, 2 in one week, I believe?  Now, I might be a total asshole for saying this, but I call Bullshit.  You’re either a terrible liar, or the unluckiest person around.  Either way, its safe to say that you just got filed back into my “No Thank You” file.  But EVERY FREAKIN TIME I shut that damn thing, he would come along, and say something to get my attention.  Again.  He knew how to keep me at just the right distance to string me along.  And so the cycle began.  He would set something up.  I would believe him.  Because he couldn’t possibly do it again.  And then HE WOULD DO IT AGAIN.  In fact, at the end, I think the only real reason I would even agree to see him was just to prove myself right about him.  That he was a liar.  And finally I summoned the courage to point out to him what I had already accepted.  I reminded him of his effort on our first date.  That he had set his own standard when it came to me.  That he had kept his word and put me first when we set plans.  And that he had failed miserably in ever reaching it again.

And I don’t date failures.

Bye, Felicia.  Another case closed.

CASE STUDY #3:  Hurricane HeadCase

I wont go into too much detail with this guy.  Because unlike the others, this one actually hurt me.  The others were comical (after the fact) and were certainly valuable lessons.  But this one- I cant really explain what happened.  Or why.  Other than to say that some people are just bad.  And probably have bigger issues going on in their lives than we will ever understand.  You see, this was the guy that made the effort.  And then went beyond it.  When we talked, he didn’t just listen to me- he took notes.  And would surprise me with things later.  Like my favorite movie.  Or a pillow I saw in a shop when we were out on a casual stroll.  When I was sick, he made hour long trips just to bring me soup and ice cream- only to then snuggle me, letting me fall asleep on his lap.  When it got too late, he would take me to bed, and would leave only after I had fallen asleep.  One of the last times I saw him, we watched the sunset at the beach and downloaded stargazing aps.  We spent the rest of the night talking about like and looking at constellations, among a few other late night beach activities.  It was also the night he told me how he “really, really, really, really, really, really wanted this to work”.  And I did too.  No question about it.  He told me what he needed from me, and I agreed.

And then he disappeared.

He went total ghost.  It was, quite honestly, one of the most indescribable feelings to experience.  A little anger, a little disbelief, a little sadness.  All mixed with confusion.  And hurt.  It was a definitive moment where I had opened myself up.  Became a little vulnerable.  And let the walls down just a bit.  And got smacked down hard.  And all because I actually believed him.  And started to explore my feelings towards him.  And why wouldn’t I?

Easy- because I’m a normal, compassionate, loving human being.  I don’t promise rose gardens to unsuspecting victims.  I don’t stir up feelings in individuals just to stroke my own ego.  And I certainly do not intentionally hurt others just to fill some void in my life.  Maybe he was unhappy, and I was a temporary cure.  When his ego was sufficiently inflated, there was no longer room for me. I’m sure whatever the reason was, it was justifiable to him.  Otherwise, I believe I would have gotten an “I’m sorry” at one point.  But like most sociopaths, I know now that day will never come.

So as much as I would like to blame all these guys, the obvious similarity they all have…. is me.  So it brings me to my original question- do I choose these men because I truly see them as potential partners.  Or are they all just glittery accessories, comfortable in the sense that I already have a good idea how it will end.  And therefore, I never have to get too invested.  I never need to get to a point where I can see them as a Potential Maybe, instead of a Inevitable Storm.

Personally, I think in the end, I’m still hoping for the Potential Maybe, that’s just lost in the Inevitable Storm.  The storms we as females all have to go through.  Because like a good margarita, I doubt we would appreciate the sweet nearly as much without the sour.

#BombshellCode

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#BombshellCode, Beauty, Confessions, Fashion, Model Life, Uncategorized

Modeling- Vanity? Or Lesson in Humility?

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A Pivotal Moment….

Every model has some story about how they were “discovered”.  For me, it was a little different.  I had always been told by friends and family that I should model- that I was “so photogenic”… and “so pretty”.  And my obsession with fashion magazines only encouraged them.  What they didn’t know was that I was extremely insecure.  What others saw as vanity was actually only self conscience attempts to hide every flaw.  And even though I had all this encouragement, nothing could make me see it till I myself started to see it too.  Ironically, it was the other models in my fashion magazines that finally helped me do this.  They inspired me.  Pushed me.  Challenged me.  Not to be like them physically- I was insecure, not stupid.  But to be part of something beautiful.  Iconic.  Extraordinary.  Like the old school Guess? ads we all know and love.  It wasn’t about being the actual girl in the picture- it was about the entire image itself.  To me, every ad campaign from Gucci, YSL, Chanel, Versace… it was all ART.  And I wanted a to be a part of it SO bad.

Fast forward to a few years later….

My best friend is marrying the man of her dreams, and I’m the Maid of Honor, just like we had always promised each other.  Now, for the average BFF, this is already a big job.  Like, huge.  And tough.  Because its also the one time you knowingly, and very lovingly, have to tone down your look for the big day.  Because its not about you.  In other words, you have to look amazing, without actually looking amazing.  YOU are the accessory.  You’re the Chanel clutch (classy, simple) carried next to a Balmain dress (jaw-dropping gorgeous).

But that’s okay- cause I happen to love Chanel.

However, the job duties become even more challenging for someone like me.  Because I’m the fashion queen in the group, my friends have always come to me with dilemmas.  Especially for big events.  So naturally, when it comes to my dress for the big day, no one wants to tell me what to wear.  (Even though I promise I would if they did…  I think…  Okay, I might customize it a tiny bit…)  So as anticipated, I’m given free reign from the Bride to find my own Maid of Honor dress.  Her only request is simple- it has to be purple.

Easy for anyone else.  For me- it’s my new fashion conquest.

This launches me into one of those epic fashion searches I’m famous for.  And this is why I say that this particular responsibility is so much harder for someone like me.  This isn’t merely just about finding a purple dress.  Its about finding THE purple dress.  Its about the finding the most perfect, amazing, purple dress that was ever stitched together.  Its about finding the perfect dress so my Best Friend’s day is EVERYTHING she ever dreamed it would be.  Because this is a day where details matter- and I’m now one of those details.

With images of terrifying bridesmaid dresses from the 80’s swimming in my head, I know the one most critical factor is to stick with something classic.  Timeless.  Simple.  Something ageless that wont send shivers down children’s spine when they look at their Grandparents wedding pictures years from now.  I can honestly tell you I have had nightmares involving those puffy sleeves… to a fashionista, they’re legit scarier than any clown.

And this is when it all happens.

I think I’m at my 35th bridal shop.  I’m giving the same speech to the assistant- “…..purple.  Any shade, but not too dark… long and floaty… unique, but classic… mermaid preferably…. do you have anything backless?”.  This particular shop also carried pageant gowns, so I was feeling rather positive.  At the very least, there would be some unique gowns to slip into and pretend.  It’s like playing “Dress Up” for grown ups.  So I’m in heaven, trying on gown after gown while the assistant feverishly pulls more- her determination was quite impressive.  High on fashion endorphins and lost in the thrill of sequins and sinfully plunging necklines, I started to lose focus.  As I admire the latest body-hugging contestant in the mirror, I suddenly realize- this dress is gold…??  Wait, what is happening?  Purple… we need PURPLE!!  It is then that I realize another woman is watching this parade of pageant gowns- the owner.  Before I can even call for the assistant to redirect her focus back to the original mission, the owner comes to me.  Turns out she had just received a new season of gowns and wanted to see them on someone.  And because of my body type, I was “perfect”.  Perfect meaning “big boobs, small waist and can squeeze into sample sizes”.

At the same time, a photographer was also in the shop.  He shot a lot of weddings and worked with the owner of the boutique quite often.  My impromptu fashion show had caught his attention.  “Have you ever modeled before?” he asks.  I laugh.  Of course.  Cause that’s what I do when I’m nervous.  Or on the spot.  Crazy right?  I bet you thought modeling was all about vanity and self-centered attention.  Wrong, wrong, wrong…. but more on that later.

I’m not sure what it was.  I had been asked before.  Many times before.  Maybe I was just in the right mood.  Maybe I was feeling all this good wedding energy.  Maybe it was just simply meant to be.  But I agreed to shoot with him.  And just like that, it all started.

So while I didn’t find the perfect dress there, I did find something.  An opportunity.  A crossroads that actually became one of the most pivotal moments in my life thus far.  I often wonder if the insecure side of me would have won that day, and I had said “no thank you”.  Who would I be right now?  Where would I be right now?  What great things would I have accomplished in lue of my experiences as a result of saying “yes”?  I’m not saying I’m a better person as a result- just a different person.  A stronger, slightly more confident version.

Earlier I mentioned vanity.  And how utterly incorrect it is to associate it with modeling.  Or at least with MY modeling.  I’m sure there are those who simply just enjoy having their picture taken.  Who relish the attention of being the primary focus.  And that’s okay- to each their own.  But to assume that’s the agenda of every model is not only inaccurate, it’s unfair.  I’m somewhere on the opposite end of the spectrum.  You see, shoots have become a personal challenge for me.  A way of growth. Of acceptance- of who I am both physically and mentally.  There is no hiding from my flaws- only brutal honesty.  I give up total control of how I will be presented when all is said and done.  Or shot, rather.

Take a selfie for instance.  We are ALL guilty of them, so bare with me here…  When someone takes a selfie, they take multiple shots, right?  Go on, you can admit it.  I bet you even have a favorite side you prefer.  You then choose the one you like best.  The one that has the perfect angle.  It hides what you don’t want to show, or if you cant hide it, well… you can find a filter.  Or, it accentuates, or points to, what YOU want to feature.  My point is, you don’t take a selfie without the intention of putting the best “you” out there.

Modeling is pretty much the opposite of that.  Its like taking all those shots, never looking at them, and giving them all away to someone else so they can do whatever they want with them.  Scary, right?

Yeah- that’s what I thought.

Now lets take it one step further.  Think about the person that has those images.  They’re zooming in on all the things you would be mortified for someone to notice.   Think about your date walking up to you and pointing out that pimple you thought you covered.  Or that stretch mark on your hip.  Or the dimples on your thigh.  Or… you get the point.

That’s how vulnerable and exposed I feel every time I step in front of the lens.  My guard comes down, and the brutal physical honesty comes out.  The imperfections.  The flaws.  Remember when you first heard your voice from something recorded?  You probably thought something like “That’s not how I sound?!  Is it…??”.  That’s pretty much how I felt in the beginning when I looked at raw shots.  I was forced to see myself in ways I had always avoided before.   Or ignored.  I saw the real me.  I saw myself through another person’s eye.  The good… the bad… the flaws.  Or what I use to consider flaws.  Slowly they have turned into love and acceptance.  Not totally- but I’m more forgiving of myself then I ever thought I would be capable of.

So in short- for me, its a lesson in humility, as my Dad would say.  Its a glimpse at reality.  The sometimes very brutal truth, depending on the lighting.  The truth where there is no capturing your “good side” (mine is my left).  Because they will capture every side.

At the same time, its also an opportunity to open yourself.  To let parts of yourself out that you normally try to silence.  An opportunity to accept yourself.  An opportunity to creatively express emotions or feelings.  Some of my favorite shots are simple candid moments between me and the photographer.  Maybe we were sharing a cigarette.  Or talking about my most recent boyfriend.  Maybe we were simply musing about the future.  And that is where the challenge comes from.  With everything I have discovered and accepted about myself, why would I even think about stopping?  Especially when I know its just the beginning.  I want to dig SO much deeper.

And the best part?  I have images as personal proof of my evolution.  Some good, some bad- all special.

Just something to consider the next time you want to call a model Vain.  Perhaps its YOU that needs to dig a little deeper as well?

Like the great Karl Lagerfeld once said, “Change is the healthiest way to survive”.

And for those still wondering, of course I found “the perfect dress”.  A beautiful creation by Vera Wang, and customized with a vintage brooch.  I was the perfect accessory, to the perfect wedding, of the perfect couple (I love you!!).

So remember, whether your searching for a dress, or self acceptance, just follow your natural instinct.  Do what feels right for YOU.  Don’t be afraid to take chances.  And never miss out on a chance to discover more about yourself.

Because perseverance will ALWAYS pay off.

#BombshellCode

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#BombshellCode, Confessions, Dating, Intro, Model Life

Confessions: Intro

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Confession 1: 

The Intro

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Yes, yes- I know.  I promised you when this fabulous site first launched that I would be open and honest about my own personal love life.  And I think now is the perfect time to begin that process.

You see, a very large motivating factor for this very site is my perpetual habit of choosing men that are SO wrong for me.  Like, really wrong.  Like, so wrong that my own Mom gave up any kind of hope a long time ago.  And lets be honest- if I made logical decisions on whom I dated, I doubt I would be nearly as interesting.  Or scarred (literally).  And think of all the awesome experiences I would have missed out on.  Like finding out the guy you’ve been dating for a month is married.  Or being bit by an overly intoxicated date (I really wasn’t joking about the scar).  And then there’s the closet Jesus freak that compared me to a prostitute (thank you POF!).  How about the guy that freaked out on me, and then blamed it on his preventative hair-loss medication…

By now, I have enough experience to supply complete storylines for at least 3 movies.  Except none of them come with Fairytale endings.  Yet.  No, they’re probably more like horror films.  And clearly I’m like the dumb, slutty blonde character that always dies in the end because she runs the (very obvious) wrong way.

You would think I’d learn by now…

Which brings me to my topic.

After years of dating, and with no real relationships to really show for it, it makes me wonder- Are we all willing to keep putting ourselves out there because we’re addicted to love?  Or just the rush of dating to find someone better?

Lets go back to the old boring way people used to do it.  There was no internet, no texting, no Joe Manganiello.  I mean, that’s enough right there for me to hate things.  But yet, I think people were at their happiest when it came to dating.  They didn’t have a whole world of potential partners to choose from- they had their hometown.  They didn’t initiate contact with weeks of texting before “hanging out”.  They went on actual dates.  Together.  Without any prior knowledge of each other that they gathered from Facebook and Google.  Like, whoa.

And for those still not quite sure what this mythical term means, “Dating” was considered a formal act of courtship.  A clear first step in determining if you guys were going to get hitched down the road.  They went to places like drive-ins.  Probably because the only action they could even hope for HAD to take place during the actual date itself- because going home with the other person at the end of the night wasn’t even an option.  Hence why you actually had to GO TO PLACES SPECIFICALLY TO MAKEOUT.  Where other couples were making out around you (Ew…).  And then you waited for a phone call.  Like, really waited.  By a phone that was connected to a wall.  For days (which would be like weeks today).  And that was code for “You are now in consideration for future hitching”.

Awesome.

Take my parents, for instance- they met at a party… and never left each others side.  They grew up in the same town.  Met through mutual friends.  Fell in love.  And STAYED in love.  As a bonus, they even got me out of the deal.  Again- Awesome.

And since we’re on that note, lets look at me.  It seems the fact that I have remained single is so unexplainable to my friends.  No one can understand it.  Or when I meet someone new…..

liberata dolce blog confessions single why

I often get stared at in wonder by family the same way people probably look at crop circles.  How?  Why?  Should we be afraid??  After all, I come from a good, balanced family.  My childhood was almost TOO perfect.  There are no tragic incidents from my past to report.  I have a college degree.  A great career.  BAD shopping habits (it cant all be sunshine and roses…).  I’m healthy…  Intelligent…  Happy…

So…. whats wrong with me?

The answer- Absolutely nothing.

I’m just an example, or by-product even, of dating by today’s standards.  Or rather, lack thereof.  I’m an example of someone addicted to the thrill of the hunt and driven by personal challenge.  Men are trophies.  Sex is power.  And feelings, if you even have any, are disposable.  Terrified at the thought of missing out on someone better, I never want to get too attached.

Okay, so I’m not totally ALL of those things.  Not all together.  Because that would make me a frigid bitch that’s incapable of love.  If anything, I’m the exact opposite.  I look for it so hard that I ignore all the signs that are screaming for me to run.  And yet I don’t.  Because I’m the dumb blonde that always runs the wrong way, remember?  But I can probably directly link one or more of those reasons to most of, if not all, of my past relationships.

And speaking of which, lets look at some of those, shall we?

*As a side note to the men of my past who might find themselves reading this- relax.  Your identity is safe.  This isn’t a Burn Book, and you’re not that special.  But it IS my honest opinion.  So deal with it.

Now, I cant possibly write about all the great loves of my life in one post.  I feel like I would be cheating you from some pretty epic examples of “Oh no he didn’t!!” moments.  And those moments are exactly what you came here for.  And just to set the record straight- I’m no angel myself.  But most of you probably already guessed that.

So instead, I’ll share these stories with you individually.  In the form of “Confessions”.  Confessions to my past addictions (also known as “men”), and the lessons that came with them.  Because like any good drug, they all had some euphoric hold on me.  And then eventually left me strung out and exhausted.  Some even left me ashamed.  Others craving another hit.  Some I went multiple rounds with.  Some I hope to never lay eyes on again.  Ever.

So get ready.  Because honesty is always the best policy….

Sorry I’m not sorry.

#BombshellCode

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“There’s nothing wrong with getting dirty when you clean up well.”