Late night and there’s another blind date drama knocking on my cell phone. The plot is simple: boy meets boy through some creepy date website and after a brief encounter the relationship evolves into an immense halo of expectation. If cell phone and text messages fuelled it, second date: blew it. Panorama: apocalypse!

Now, let’s not panic and start by asking why did so profound and promising encounter of twin souls ended up on Sunday night fiasco. Apparently, and although there was this immense love and esteem towards the whole personality of the boy in question: personality ended up not being enough. Something lacked. And no, the other guy was not handicapped: all of his members where in place and his presentation felt everything but shameful – that being, a boy like that should have been up to the expectations; or at least up to grownup expectations. I mean: wouldn’t you be grateful if you could spend the rest of your life – or realistically, the next 3 months – in the company of someone that actually understands your speech (?) and doesn’t require you to spell every random notion into letters?  Isn’t it enough sharing an exceptional deal of understanding in order commit?  What else is your mind/body/or soul demanding from your blind-date-subject? Where should we draw the line of demanding?

The guy might not pour glitter from his body and he probably doesn’t have the same amount of Photoshop qualities that Mariah Carey was born with. But, how honestly can we claim fireworks at a second date?  If the words have been blowing your mind since the very beginning, why are looks blowing your date now? Fact is, we’ve all been taught: a) Not to judge a book by its cover b) that Beauty is at heart, and c) Beauty is in the eye of the beholder – so…why does the drama of physical appearance still ruins blind date lovers?

I guess when it comes to love, all that we’ve been taught is bound to be forgotten. We have to dress UP, make UP, flaunt UP, and pretty much, be available to COME UP with every possible scheme that can guarantee a successful encounter.  Can’t I just walk out the door and head to a blind date wearing some track suit: and not the flattering ones by Alexander Wang?  Can’t I be ME instead of being pretty? Or worse: will my height, bone structure or facial hair determine fatally the course of my love life?  I mean, it’s not like I’m demanding someone to drag me on a wheelchair for life. I have legs and they aren’t that short, plus I groom and dress carefully, in short: I’m tasty.  But most importantly and beyond this tastiness, you’ve been reading my book – licking my PAGES – for the past 7 days via phone conversations that lasted until 2am; and if some would say that we have plenty reasons to commit, you’re now saying that body chemistry is lacking from the equation.

Come again? NO. (You need to go) Fix those brain acids and text me when you’re done!

Ok. I’m making it personal. I shall remember yall how this is a story about a phone call from a friend of mine at late night hours who shared with open honesty that he didn’t felt the click! and thus, why long-term-relationship wasn’t also clicking! The centre problem at relationships in their beginnings is:  why do we fuel the expectations tank with words when we know the engine won’t get going without the looks?

Tricky. I can only say to those of you who demand some Lars Burmeister criteria to get going: darlings, please be open about it and keep away from anything that doesn’t spell the letters YOUR PERSONAL ADONIS on it. And for those of you questioning Lars Burmeister or personal Adonis definition:  Google it. Anyway, my point stays: why would you even wet someone with your expectations if you know deep down inside you’re not up to it? Why keep on promising? Why kissing back? Why miss-you-much Alejandro, when you rather fuck Fernando? Why playing the game when you know you can’t play by the rules? You’ve been fuelling that car for the past week and now you’re not up for a ride.


It’s not him: it’s you. You are the one that doesn’t feel like riding it – you’re unavailable, you have a past – anything goes to dust yourself off. All your life you’ve dreamed that love would feel like a luxury class trip. Leather seats and a lot of brass finishes. Let’s have a reality check: no! True love comes in a random car without customized features. People do expect that love will dazzle them in an image of beauty: and it will – but it can happen both ways: you either fall blunt for Swedish hotties that look very much alike your misconceptions of beauty sponsored both by Disney and your ignorance, or else, fall for a real guy with the best possible body that actually dazzled your mind since that first phone call. Nevertheless, a real guy is far away from your childhood dreams, and just so we’re clear: your problems start when you’re still holding on to them.

When it comes to childhood, all that mama taught you about the beauty being at heart feels just like a lousy story to prevent body offenses at the fat kiddo from your class, thus settling your behaviour in avoidance from school conflict and most importantly, keeping it cute while you were mutating into a monster. It worked, but deep down you missed her whole point. When your mamma told you beauty was at heart, that didn’t meant that hearts are turning old rags into vintage couture – and neither did the monster that turned into prince charming meant  that when you love someone he’ll grow a six-pack out of love. More precisely it meant that beauty lies on those intimate and deep qualities that gain fondness through the heart and make a given old rag beautiful beyond all runway entrances. Minds need to be fixed, or better: hearts need to be changed.

Our expectations are pretty messed up: we think we’ll find true love on that next runway entrance even though true love doesn’t make an entrance, it blends in.

If a soul is just enough to stick around, why are we searching for mighty visions of splendour? Whatever those mighty visions were, they take us back to childhood – to a doom of needy fulfilments when we couldn’t live without a diaper. Do you still need prince charming? Is he going to take you on a magic carpet ride? Don’t you get it? Whoever expects life to be a Chanel Couture Show is expecting it to be a dream. And when you built reality according to your dreams, you are most surely accepting to be asleep.

That’s the Chanel Couture Karma. Runway is a fancy dream, but to dream we have to be asleep.  And that’s why people miss life: because they’ve been sleeping all throughout it.