Love Law ... Read More »]]> Everything is fabulous in the beginning; he is so funny, the conversation is banter filled and flirty, the wine is flowing, life is good. You tell your girlfriends, joke about your future hubby and all of a sudden it crashes and burns. Sound familiar? In my dating experiences, oh boy(s), I have wistfully wished I could turn back the clock and get out when I saw the red flags. In hindsight, these memories are just used to fuel my inner minx and remind me of how far I have come, and how not to make the same mistake twice.

Love Law #1–Don’t just trust your gut, listen to it.

All of us have been given the gift of a subconscious, many are even quite intuitive. It is the body and mind’s way of signalling us for both danger and excitement. However, it is not uncommon to ignore the fuzzy tummy feelings that can distract us. Case and point, I spent a year with a man who didn’t even have interest to be friends…and I knew it the whole time. You always know when it doesn’t feel right.

Love Law #2–If there is no mystery, you’re history.

My girlfriend Kate and I both recently started newer romances, and recently over cocktails we discussed the concept of maintaining a feminine mystery. Both of us, admittedly, have previously fallen into “Too Much Info” trap. Women create and form bonds by sharing, we feel closer and connected after relating, however, men like a little intrigue. They want to wonder what you’re up-to, where you went last week, what you wore to bed. Key word? Wonder. In the initial stages of courtship is it pivotal to leave something to the imagination, it lures him in, keeps him chasing you and before you know it he cannot wait to know more.

Love Law #3–Be straight up.

Yes, you need to be coy, but you cannot be up for Best New Actress. Faux romances are instantly time stamped and will expire faster than leaving milk on a counter. It kills me when I see women forget who they are and pretend to be interested in his “stuff.” He may love hockey and classic rock, but do you? Faking interests versus supporting interests are two very different things. Eventually, your facade will wear off and he will be wondering if you have been genuine about anything else in the relationship. Besides, one clear indicator that he is not the one is if you have to pretend to be someone else.

Love Law #4—Make an effort.

This is not to suggest that we have reverted to the ‘50s again, or that the Feminist Movement is long gone, but it is very important to remember to keep up appearances. There is something so romantic about heels and perfume. Take the time to invest in yourself. Eat well, sweat a few times a week, and get your hair done. This is not about being superficial – it’s about being good to yourself and projecting a sexy confident aura. Men notice, and they appreciate it. Trust me. Wouldn’t you rather date the woman who took care of herself? *Bonus – behaving this way will generate a very sexy energy, which will help to attract new suitors, or add some zest to your current partnership.

Love Law #5–I’d rather be alone than in bad company.

Name a male archetype and I have dated him. The worst part? I knew how brutal they were (see Love Law #1). These days, I would much rather sit at home with myself, a glass of wine and a magazine than spend an evening with another jerk. It just will not happen. This takes confidence, and self respect. You date your worth, don’t forget. It takes cojones to step back and wait for the magic.

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer living in Toronto with a focus on Relationships, Lifestyle and Personal Development. At press time, she is currently deciding what dress to wear for her date tonight. She can be reached at stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Photo credit © Andres Rodriguez | Dreamstime.com

“So my buddy saw you on Facebook and liked your pictures. Can he add you?”

Uh, sure?

After the technological info was exchanged, it turned out that his pal was completely adorable. Dark features, brooding expression, three piece suit. ... Read More »]]> I was recently at my girlfriends place and got a text message from an old guy friend I used to work with. Said friend is funny and cute, tall and just my type. We used to go out for drinks, albeit nothing ever happened. He is in a relationship, and I was involved at the time we knew each other.

“So my buddy saw you on Facebook and liked your pictures. Can he add you?”

Uh, sure?

After the technological info was exchanged, it turned out that his pal was completely adorable. Dark features, brooding expression, three piece suit. Early 30s, secure job and financially independent. For once, I was about to be set up with someone who had a head on their shoulders. After Reunion Boy, I had made a solemn promise to everyone from my best friends to the street car driver that I would make better choices in whom I shared a bed with. Perhaps this guy could be the proof in the pudding. Oh, and he was a dead ringer for Colin Ferrell.

After a few brief texts and a couple phone calls, Three Piece Suit and I made a plan to meet for drinks at a local pub in my neighbourhood. Like a gentleman he picked me up. Like a lady, I was sweet, flirty and looked good. Like a gentleman he picked up the tab. Like a lady I only had three drinks.

Two hours later I was at home, and unsure.

If you could describe me in three words, which is a difficult challenge, they would be Expressive, Spontaneous and Funny. Of course there are many depictive adjectives to explain my multifaceted personality, but when it comes to the men I chose to spend time with, those three must be stroked and encouraged. Turns out Three Piece Suit were none of the above.

He bored me. I’m talking eyes glazed over, running through my daily reminders for the next day bored. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time, but he didn’t trigger a dopamine release. Was he cute? Yes. Was he respectful? Absolutely. Was he the water to my oil? Yeah. I figured that would be it; chalk it up to a good learning curve, and a step closer to being with the right guy.

Not ten minutes after I got home my Blackberry vibrated. Turns out Three Piece Suit wanted another go round.

“You looked good. Really good.”

I did.

“Thanks, you too.”

He did.

Somehow the fact that the date was bland didn’t matter, and before I could pause we had made plans for Saturday. Everyone deserves a second chance right? He was cute. Perhaps he was just tired. This time I will know for sure. He said he was planning something. That’s sweet, right? He is setting up a date in advance. That is considerate and respectful, right?

I just couldn’t get past the icky feeling that Three Piece Suit and I simply didn’t have any chemistry.

Sparing any feelings or revealing details, it is safe to say that I was correct in my first view of our potential pairing. He is calculated and matter of fact; I am quirky and sensitive. I see humour in daily events, he doesn’t play the radio in the car. He was the beige to my magenta.

Chemistry is so pivotal to relationships, especially in the beginning. If you and New Dude don’t have a swirling mix of pheromones and fantasies by date three? It ain’t happening. Ever. Don’t waste each other’s time. Chemistry also cannot be forced or manufactured. You cannot bottle it, nor can you describe it. It is the je ne sa qois that makes partners seem to be stuck to each other. In a good relationship, good chemistry is like being covered in sticky honey and he is your bee. You just cannot get enough of each other. I have to give him credit – he really put in effort and I have nothing bad to say about him personally, however we just didn’t click.

The “Great on Paper” guy has happened to most of us, if not all, and it is important to remember that ultimately it is not about what he does, but who he is. For me, I need to be laughing. I need spontaneous, silly intellects who I can share inside jokes with. Personally, all my closest relationships with both men and women have quick witted personalities. I need to be kept on my toes. Unfortunately, I would have steam-rolled this guy. I can only imagine how annoyed he would be with me too. It is important to be true to your inner chick; don’t settle for someone who instead of thinking about what he looks like naked, you run a mental budget of your grocery list.

Three Piece Suit is a great guy; but for someone else.

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer with focus on Relationships, Lifestyle and Personal Development. Throughout the writing of this column she and all the girls mentioned in this piece sent over fourteen text messages respectively. Contact stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Photo credit © Alanpoulson | Dreamstime.com

I am planning a wedding.

In June of next year, I will be acting as the Maid of Honour for one of the most fantastic women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Christie and I have known each other for close to eight years; about the same time she has been dating her polar opposite fiancé. I remember the day Christie and I met; we worked at the same restaurant. She blazed through the doors of said eatery declaring her intentions of partying that night.

“Who is down to go out and drown some drinks?!”

Her then platinum locks ... Read More »]]>

I am planning a wedding.

In June of next year, I will be acting as the Maid of Honour for one of the most fantastic women I have ever had the privilege of knowing. Christie and I have known each other for close to eight years; about the same time she has been dating her polar opposite fiancé. I remember the day Christie and I met; we worked at the same restaurant. She blazed through the doors of said eatery declaring her intentions of partying that night.

“Who is down to go out and drown some drinks?!”

Her then platinum locks bouncing in synch with her steps.

“Uh, yah! I am so in!”

My enthusiasm masked the fact that this was not only the first time we had ever met, but the first conversation we ever had. We were nineteen and twenty-two, respectively.

Years later, we have an unshakeable bond that has lasted illness, our one big fight, moving to different cities (and back), and countless first dates and heartaches.

Enter Kate and Ashley; whom we decided together to add to our circle of friends. Kate, tall, with legs for days and gorgeous copper hair fuelled our fire for an active social life and risk taking. Kate was game for anything, laughed louder than most, and was the girl who would pick you up from the side of the road after a terrible first date (true story.) Ashley, the baby of the group with the most stunning blue eyes I have ever seen, was next to join us. She was young in her years but wiser than most; loyal and family oriented; she never met a cocktail she didn’t like. She was the Charlotte York of the group, albeit with a hell of a lot more sass. Together the four of us hit the town, went on trips, cried over the silliest men and truly grew up together.

Eventually, Kate moved 2300 miles away, Ashley went to college, I bopped from city to city to find myself and Christie became a business owner. In the time in-between we all managed to stay in contact. Of course, as I write this, the four of us now live within fifteen minutes of each other, and time has passed. The days of slamming vodka coolers and dancing until 4am are behind us, but we are still soulmates. Yes, things have not always been peachy. In fact, each of us has taken serious issue with someone, about something’s, and there have been moments where we were all not glued to each other’s hip. However, what makes me so grateful is the fact that we are authentic when it comes to our friendships and all agree that there is no time for resentments and dramatics. While we all had major turning points within this foursome platonic love affair, we discuss issues and not topics. We rarely fight, and when we do, we fight clean – no names, low blows or past bull.

Our honesty is remarkable. Unlike many women that I have encountered, we actually talk. It is so important in lifelong friendships to have the cojones to actually be blunt – because at the end of the day we all have our ‘off’ moments. We all piss each other off, we all have attitudes, and we all have misunderstandings. What is so fantastic is that we credit each other enough to squash our issues before they manifest.

While everyone else is so afraid of hurting feelings, we have enough respect for each other to say how we feel. It is not uncommon for us to talk, text and email each other over ten times a day, just to make it known that we are excited about one another, and what our friendships mean. Not only do we plan brunches, pedicures and nights out, we are now all planning for Christie’s wedding – Kate and Ashley are also her bridesmaids. Despite falling outs, dropped calls and broken plans we have such a solid connection and that is due to having the class to be true; to talk as well as listen, and for that I am honoured.

Lucky us.

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer with focus on Relationships, Lifestyle and Personal Development. Throughout the writing of this column she and all the girls mentioned in this piece sent over fourteen text messages respectively. Contact stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Photo credit © Николай Григорьев | Dreamstime.com

I am afraid to tell people this.  In fact, to many of my esteemed friends and colleagues I have yet to.  Until now, that is.

I am not an animal person. In fact, I preface visits to people’s houses with the question: “Any pets?”

The few people I have confided this too stare at me with a mix of exasperation and confusion. Essentially, the look people give me when I tell them that I am not much of an animal gal is that of being a blackheart.  I do not want to harm the little bastards, as cute as they are; I ... Read More »]]>

I am afraid to tell people this.  In fact, to many of my esteemed friends and colleagues I have yet to.  Until now, that is.

I am not an animal person. In fact, I preface visits to people’s houses with the question: “Any pets?”

The few people I have confided this too stare at me with a mix of exasperation and confusion. Essentially, the look people give me when I tell them that I am not much of an animal gal is that of being a blackheart.  I do not want to harm the little bastards, as cute as they are; I just am missing that ‘Aww-look-he-peed’ gene.

Let me clarify. I have a love and appreciation for all universal creatures. Bunnies make me happy, Marineland was a favourite childhood place, and I could watch monkeys play for hours. I just don’t want them touching me.  Further, it would be nice to be able to leave the animals in their natural habitat and not have to come home praying my shoes are still intact.

My “Animal Thing” only started recently.  It progressed when my fear of farm birds took epic proportions. As funny as it may be, disproportionate birds are truly terrifying. Turkeys and ostriches and even roosters literally force me into hiding. I can recall a time in my early twenties when I spent the night at a girlfriend’s place- the sight and sound of her parrot was a near cause for an anxiety attack. Loud, large birds scare me unconditionally. It is my belief that the only bird I can appreciate is Tweety.

Next came my inner gross-out for what I’d like to call ‘Deep Sea Urchins.’ Squid, octopus, fish, swimming things with claws and or tails, and the dreaded lobster are enough to make me lock myself in the bathroom. No scuba diving for me. Maybe it is the vastness of the ocean; how large and copious it is. It boggles my mind and hurts my eyes to look at bizarre creatures of the sea. I have to avert my vision to the selection of fancy breads when I see the fish tank at Sobeys. Ironically, I once applied to be a waitress at a local Red Lobster.

Alas, this does not explain my aversion to house pets.  I needed to figure out more.

I recently discovered my new pet peeve – pun intended—after a recent four day house sitting experience in which I was to look after a dear friend’s four month old bulldog.  His name is Patrick and he is beautiful. He is cute, healthy and from what everyone told me while walking him, he is extremely happy.  I get this, understand this and actually appreciate this. While this is all true, it pains me to admit that he is also restless, whiny and needs constant attention.  Earmuffs, Patrick.

The moral debate to which whether or not I am a monster plagues me daily.

“He didn’t do anything!” Retorted said puppy’s mother when I grimaced and flinched at the dog licking my toes.  Sure, not technically, unless you count the immediate hives and stick that the dog slobber had created.

“You probably had a bad experience when you were a child.” Suggested another friend, who had to keep her dog on the balcony during a recent visit. Perhaps we could equate it to a Freudian theory.

“Well, we only had Whitney for a few months before you grew tired of her.” A fuzzy feeling statement expressed by my mother in regards to my childhood dog.

Then it clicked.

I am an only child with a viciously independent streak. I enjoy doing what I want, when I want to. I am only responsible for myself and happy to have no dependants. The only people I take care of are the ones who can enjoy a glass of wine, books, laughter and chit chat. I do not relate to anything otherwise.  Pair that with the fact that growing up, I was the “Allergy Kid.” A simple slumber party in grade school resulted in being hospitalized due to pet dander dancing through my body. Aside from lip-gloss and my cell phone, a constant supply of antihistamines still remains in my purse. Oh, and an inhaler. Long haired dogs, short haired cats, it doesn’t matter how one mixes the equation. Me, plus house pet equals being uncomfortable. That appears to be the bottom line. I have been conditioned to associate house pets as a cause of anxiety.  Dogs and cats can kill me, birds and fish are frightening. I have single handily begun to actually resent these creatures who mean no harm. However, as pseudo mean as this may come across, I matter before they do. So there it is. I don’t do pets.

Exhale. Wait for the backlash.

I should learn to get over this. I actually like my friend’s animals—I just don’t want to deal with them.  In fact, my cell phone background picture is of the previously mentioned bulldog puppy.  I like them in theory, but put in close quarters I twitch and watch them and constantly monitor my breathing.  Call me what you want, but please don’t call me a monster. I have years of ill association to deal with. I have recently been contemplating donating to PETA and other animal relief foundations to ease my guilt.

Baby steps, right?

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer and editor living in Toronto. Whilst writing this piece she twice jumped in shock when three different dogs and a pigeon clambered over to her. She can be contacted at stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Photo Credit © Willeecole | Dreamstime.com

When I am not working on any articles or edits, I pay bills as a cocktail server in a restaurant downtown. A typical late night shift includes frighteningly acute wit and idle time for jokes, pranks and conversation with co-workers. On a recent shift two of my favourite bartenders mentioned that they had read some of my columns, and while they were genuinely impressed, I got a reaction that caught me off guard.

“Ahh, Stephanie Churma giving relationship advice?!”  Said the girl.

“You know, it is so true how we never take our own advice.” Said the guy.

Cue communal laughter.

The wind was ... Read More »]]>

When I am not working on any articles or edits, I pay bills as a cocktail server in a restaurant downtown. A typical late night shift includes frighteningly acute wit and idle time for jokes, pranks and conversation with co-workers. On a recent shift two of my favourite bartenders mentioned that they had read some of my columns, and while they were genuinely impressed, I got a reaction that caught me off guard.

“Ahh, Stephanie Churma giving relationship advice?!”  Said the girl.

“You know, it is so true how we never take our own advice.” Said the guy.

Cue communal laughter.

The wind was nearly knocked out of me. Of course I write relationship advice. I was a romantic dreamer in grade school, with scrapbooks to prove it. I turned into a bratty flirt by 14, which then manifested into a wiser, yet still slightly masochistic adult.  Not to mention that I was, and still am involved in all of my girlfriends relationships. I watched them fall in love, I watched them get hurt, and through their hits and misses, I have learned an incredible amount. I have seen firsthand the damage that comes from infidelity-and can now spot behaviours that are associated with such. I could host world-wide seminars on breakups and now to understand this new twist in your life.  I have seen depressed men, angry men, fraudulent men, hilarious men, addicted men, caring men, famous men, you name it. Between my own highlights and war wounds, paired with my vivacious crew’s, it is safe to say I have a fair bit of knowledge on the subject.

However, the bartenders’ statements still stood in my mind. Rarely do we follow our own advice. How is it, that, we can know for certain what someone else should do, but, if it were ourselves under the microscope would we act the same?

Probably not.

Often times it can be difficult to take the road less travelled. In fact, most chose not to. It is easier to take the lazy way out, even if that means repeating the same lesson until we ‘get it’. We don’t take our own advice because it means having to be vigorously honest. It means doing things we do not want to do. It is easier to spur ideals into strangers then to face what we ourselves need to do. In theory, we know what needs to be done, yet in practise we backtrack.

I can write about men and sex and (ideally) get women to understand both a little bit better.  Yet, truth be told, in the past I have not been exceptionally wise when it comes to actually listening to myself. I have gotten back together when I knew it was over, I lent money when I knew I wouldn’t get it back. I spent a year with a man who didn’t even like me, and let me know it. The list is endless. The columnist in me would shake me cold, yet at the time I had to experience it. In fact, those exact mistakes are the proof I need to justify my concepts.

It is my belief that we have everything we need to thrive inside us. Some of the best gifts we can get include our intuition, confidence and integrity. You earn these character points by going through utter garbage, learning, and getting better. Ergo, you need to be a screw-up once in awhile to gain peace and wisdom. Especially if you choose to navigate through the deliciously excruciating world of sex and romantic companionship.

Upon reflection it turns out I wasn’t offended when Girl Bartender literally laughed at the idea of what I write about- not only do she and I compare notes- but she couldn’t wait to share her latest issues with me. How ironic.

Photo Credit © Gemenacom | Dreamstime.com

Stephanie Churma is a freelance writer with a focus on sex and relationships, lifestyle and personal development. Have a sex or dating story? stephaniechurma@hotmail.com

Follow me on twitter! www.twitter.com/stephaniechurma

Photo Credit © Gemenacom | Dreamstime.com