Long Distance Relationship Tips

So I did not win the Powerball jackpot yesterday. But I did win 4 dollars.


If you read my earlier posts, you would know that I am in a long-distance relationship. And it can really suck sometimes. 

So I decided to make a list of tips on surviving loneliness and missing loved ones. I try to follow these tips in my life. 

Warning: It’s never easy.

1-Try to be positive.

This one might be the most difficult. Think about your next meeting. Think about your memories. Don’t let the dark clouds get to you. Everything will be ok one day.

2-Suck it up. 

Be a grown-up. I cry way too often and I am not proud of it. I know loneliness is never ideal but sometimes you should know to just suck it up and live with it.

3-Keep busy. Find a way. 

There are days when I really miss my family and boyfriend. The pain and hole is so big that I can’t concentrate on anything. If you are in the same boat, STOP IT. Don’t think too much about the future and just live the day. Do something that makes you happy. Learn a new language. Pick up a hobby. Write a book (or start a blog).

4-Never lose hope.

I know how you feel. I know exactly how it feels to be so far away, lonely and hopeless. I am like you. I try to be optimistic but sometimes it’s just too much. And I feel like losing hope in my relationship. In myself. In everything. Which is wrong. It’s why we should all stop. If it’s meant to be, it will be. You can’t change that.

5-Don’t eat too much. Or whatever.

Yes I do eat too much. I am also not proud of that. But if it makes you feel better, who the hell cares? It’s your body.


This is probably the best tip I can come up with. If you really miss your significant other (still hate that word), dream of your future. Imagine how it is going to be like when you are finally together. It is free to dream. 

Remember this quote from Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt:

“You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace.” 



I won Powerball

Just kidding.

My dad convinced me to buy four powerball tickets yesterday.  

“We’ll be there by Friday, if you win”

If I win.

I am sitting at Starbucks on the corner of my street as I type this. I look around, and anything I can think of seems more possible to me than me winning getting 5+powerball.

The man on his laptop proposing to me for example. Not that I would accept.

Or Matt Damon walking in and offering me a part in his new movie. I would accept.

Or this blog hitting a million views overnight.

Or getting rid of all my cellulite.

Because yes, all these things are so much more possible than me winning a billion dollars overnight.

And honestly, I don’t think I deserve it. My story wouldn’t go viral on the internet or TV. 

Except in Turkey.

And maybe France.

I hope someone who really needs it wins.

And gives me half of it.




The first words I said today were:

“Listen. Between you and me, I am not really getting married”

I had to go to the Marriage Bureau in the morning. (No, still not getting married). Let me say this, I was wearing my shit face. I had gone to bed at 2 a.m., I did not want to get up at 8 a.m. and did not want to leave my bed (or my apartment for that matter)

I can’t confess this to many people in real and I often grow tired of having to put on fake smiles. But here is the truth; I am going through a difficult time. And quite frequently, I feel down; very down. It’s difficult to make friends fresh off the boat and I can’t help but miss my old ones in Paris. I do not know if I am ever going to get used to this. And this is a terrible feeling to live with.

Back to the story. Today morning, I honestly looked horrible. My skin was irritated, my undereyes were purple as ever and great, I hate to queue. I was not feeling it at all.

And then I looked over to see a couple waiting across the hallway. A wedding dress. Hair, make-up, heels, everything. He had a tux.  The insignificant day of January 11th was very special to someone. And someone I lived in the same city with. 

That thought kept me busy as I saw couples coming in and out of the door.

Apart from that little epiphany, the rest of the day was quite mundane. It’s getting colder here in New York. Never mind, I suck at weather talk.

Reminds me of Holly in P.S. I Love You:

“Yeah, it gets dark at night”



A truly easy way for one to feel out of place and unsafe is right after holidays. It’s also known as post-holiday depression. And for those in long-distance relationships, it’s called long-distance-relationship-post-visit depression.

I know because I googled it.

I also googled whether or not there is a grocery store called Total Foods after watching Meryl Streep in Ricki and the Flash on the plane.

There isn’t.

So for the last few days, I am furious to say that no, I was not allowed the luxury to cry myself to sleep.

Here is why.

The main lock to my apartment is broken. Which means that no one in my apartment can lock the door. Which means that someone can break into the apartment when everyone is asleep. Which means, being in the room closest to the door, I am the first victim.

Oh for God’s sake. I would have thought that the fat-person-dies-the-first cliché was outdated.

So here is what happens when I go to bed. I try to let it out. Come on. Cry a little. It’s ok. Listen to Judy Garland. And then just as the first tear is about to roll down my eye, I get fear.The fear that someone is going to break into my aparment and kill me.

And I am not sad anymore. I am scared shitless.

It’s working so well that I hope the other girls never call the landlord to get the door fixed until my significant other visits (I hate that word).

The lock is supposed to face down. Not sideways.


I don’t hold cities responsible

I started my first blog about 4 years ago when I was a student in Paris. It didn’t work out. Here’s why.

It was supposed to be about my romantic (and if lucky, erotic) adventures as a blossoming 18-year-old girl. Before getting into all the romantic city crap, let me tell you one thing. You have to be way above average to ever get a French guy to approach you randomly. Le Divorce, you fooled many girls into thinking they would receive free Hermes bags from dark and charistmatic French men (also fooled them into thinking they could get away with Kate Hudson’s bangs).

I am proud to say that I was about average. My eyebrows had never been plucked and I painted my eyelids blue with my Sephora eyeliner. I was still a child.

But that’s not the only reason my blog didn’t work out.

I did not know anything about the opposite sex or actually, sex in general. I was a late bloomer. I had not even been kissed yet…

I spent a lot of evenings watching how-to-French-kiss-so-that-he-won’t-know-you-are-a-kiss-virgin videos on youtube in my Catholic dorm room. (Yes, I lived with sisters.)

For years I believed that I was out of place. French guys’ indifference didn’t make it easier (I’m not blaming them). I thought I was ugly, fat and undesirable. Little did I know that these thoughts would change soon and I would be offered a modeling position by a friend. I’d like to think that my transformation was successful but the blue-eyeliner, velvet-skirt girl would always stay with me. (And no, I did not lose weight. On the contrary, I gained)

Long story short, I decided to give blogging another try. I have changed, so has my location. I am going to try to share moments from my new life in  New York City but I will always be that awkward 18-year-old in Paris.

P.S. A few years later, a guy asked me if I was interested in being featured in his blog. When I asked about the content, he answered

“I am writing about the sexual encounters of a young man in Paris”

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.