You've Been Advised

Emily thinks she's getting closer to figuring out exactly what she wants.

I love that my mom thinks bisexuals are confused. I think they’re actually quite clear when they say, “Yes, I’d prefer one with a penis and one without.” I don’t see the issue here. So, how cute is my dog Daisy when she rolls her eyes at my mom on the phone? See, Daisy is not on vacation all the time.

Contrary to what my co-host, Menace, says, I don’t bash monogamy as much as I make it my life’s work to help people have a monogamous relationship or be successful at whatever kind of relationship makes sense to them. That’s why I started the Sex With Emily show and wrote a book on Hot Sex. You can even buy it here. A dying sex life will lead to a dying relationship. Spice up your sex life. Today. It’s imperative.

Why is Menace bringing a date to my book party? For the record, I think if you’re single you should never feel like you HAVE to bring a date. Maybe that’s why you’re still single, because you grabbed that guy that you kinda sorta liked because you didn’t want to be alone in a situation where you might actually meet someone. Why not put yourself in more situations to be single. Think about it. Amy. Is. Bad. Ass. I love when she goes all Tony Soprano on her client. I believe she would actually break his legs if he broke her rules. Now I’m afraid to break her rules. It occurs to me that Amy is the kind of person you want with you in the trenches during wartime or any natural disaster.

Oh, Ms. Julia. That must’ve been fun when the editor tells you that Los Angeles is a bad city to date in. Kind of like when you book a trip to Thailand and someone notifies you it’s hurricane season. I’m amused that everyone thinks whatever town they live in is the worst place to date. Yes, I’ve heard that about Los Angeles, but in fairness, I’ve heard the same thing about New York, San Francisco, and just about everywhere else. I don’t believe it for a second. If you’re single, it’s not the city you live in, it’s you. Wherever you live you can find someone to date. Take a different route home from work, sign up for a class, and practice talking to men and women… I’ll get into that more later. Or listen to my show here. I talk about it and give a lot of advice on dating and relationships.

The book launch party was a success from what I can remember. No, I wasn’t drunk. I’m not actually that big of a drinker, which is annoying because people always ask me when I’m going to name the drink I’ve been holding all night.

The Hot Sex book launch at Harlot is kind of a blur because so many of my friends, acquaintances, and ex-boyfriends (there were actually more than one at second glance) were there. Oh, and my brother. Wasn’t that classy when I screamed “Michael” so loudly across the room? Clearly I was excited, and how cute is he? He doesn’t visit from Michigan often, and it was really special to have him there for such a big night in my life. So why is my brother the man in the life? Quick rundown (you’ll need this info later): Parents were divorced when I was 9. I attended four of my parents’ weddings before I was 25-years-old. They had a bad habit of re-marrying and divorcing. Then my dad died suddenly of a heart attack when he was 49 and I was 19. It was devastating for both me and Michael, and Michael has truly been the man in my life ever since.

Cut to Julia’s beautiful, Rockwellian family. I wanted one of those blintz things they were eating for breakfast. In fact I wanted to plop down beside all of them, chat, and maybe stay awhile. Insightful to hear that Julia’s parents are obsessed with her love life, and I can’t help but wonder if that isn’t what made her obsessed with getting married. Julia, let’s talk offline.

Back in New York... oh, Amy, my dear, you met him at the gym!? Why didn’t I have this information before? Never date guys you meet at the gym! OK, never say never. You could meet a guy anywhere, and on second thought, I’ve dated a trainer or two.

Ah, San Francisco for my mini therapy session on the Michael and Menace show. Good times. Just to clarify, most Sex With Emily shows do not dissect my life. Usually it’s my listeners’ lives I’m analyzing and advising, but Menace had my brother in his death grip line of questioning (dog with a bone comes to mind). Side note: How many times in this episode does my brother give me “no you didn’t” look by the way? If we had to drink for each one of his looks, we’d all be tanked.It’s true that I haven’t found someone, but it’s also true that I haven’t been looking. I have been singularly and solely obsessed with bringing Sex With Emily to the world. Now my therapist (or maybe anyone who took Psych 101) might say that I use work to avoid commitment. Oops. Look at the time. We’ll have to circle back to that in another post.

Julia, how did those giant stuffed animals get to LA? Did they hijack your suitcase? Please explain. More importantly, where did you get a picture of Craigslist Justin’s abs? I just need to know. On to their date, I could actually see Julia formulating her thoughts – “Hmm. I don’t want to make-out with him, but he must be good for something with those abs... Let’s see, I know! I’ll have him move my boxes.” You go, girl. Way to delegate.

Amy, this date with AB is painful. I want to send him back to Saudi Arabia, but not until I unslick his hair. That’s what I think about that. You dodged a bullet, girlfriend.

But help me here, because I can’t decide if it was more painful watching Julia break up with Craigslist-abs-of-steel-box-mover or Amy telling AB at dinner that he had hurt her. Wait, I know what was painful -- dinner with my brother when he brought up work. Work has been stressful lately. We were eating dumplings and he wants to talk business and yet he won’t even try a c-ring? Then he wants to talk about my belief that you never should rely on a man (or anyone) to take care of you. I’m not convinced my mom gave me bad advice, but I think Michael had a point that people can have healthy dependency on someone.

Then he mentioned something about me sabotaging myself. That doesn’t feel completely accurate. I think things weren’t happening, because I wasn’t in alignment with what I truly wanted. Everything happens when you’re really ready emotionally, physically, and psychologically, and most importantly, know exactly what you want. I think I’m getting closer, and so goes the journey. Until next time. Next Monday that is. Oh boy.


Breakdown Breakthrough

Julia Allison think Andrew did the right thing being honest with her.

Well, hello there! Welcome to the penultimate episode of this first season of Miss Advised. Only one week left until the finale in which... Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? This episode finds us back at my house in Marina del Rey surrounded by my ELLE editor (Keith) and a lovely ELLE photographer who can’t stop laughing at my ridiculous bedroom/closet/home/life. Sigh.

Photo shoots with new photographers make me self-conscious as it is, but to have one conducted by ELLE (in my own home, which tends to veer toward the eccentric) was beyond nerve-wracking. My mother was in town at the time, and I felt like she wouldn’t be thrilled with the concept of a photoshoot (She thinks they are “frivolous” and “self-indulgent” -- even though the shoot was my editor Keith’s idea). My nerves stemmed from that, along with anxiety thanks to a confluence of stresses, most notably my blocked writing. So much so that I was breaking out and stress eating. Not exactly what you want prior to a photo shoot.

Plus, Keith sort of...rolled his eyes at my closet. It’s not often you have your boss in your closet, but when you do, you definitely don’t want him to react like that. Especially if he works at a prominent fashion magazine. You start wondering if you just aren’t cool enough to exist, let alone write for said magazine. In a misguided attempt at "cool," the first outfit I tried on for the photo-shoot was this Rachel Zoe maxi skirt in blue (not pink!), which I paired with a simple white tee. It was a look that felt a lot more hip than I actually am. Ironically dressing that way made me uncomfortable. It just didn’t feel ME. But when I put on a vintage pink dress and sat (upon Keith’s request) in a pile of pink tulle on my bed, tiara in my hair, somehow I felt like myself again.

My editor chastised me about my taste (both in fashion and in home decor), but at the end of the day, I sleep in my bedroom every night, and I have to live with myself. Keith doesn’t! I figure it’s more important I like my own space than if anyone else does. Besides, it’s a great litmus test. If something as silly as a pink bedroom or a proclivity toward occasionally wearing frothy dresses scares a guy away, then I’m not convinced he was worth the trouble in the first place!I hope every woman realizes this: you don’t have to smooth away all your “eccentric” personality traits to find the right man. If he’s right for you, he’ll love you FOR those eccentricities, as long as you’re not counting “being a total bitch” amongst them.

As for the writer’s block I discussed with Keith: I DID eventually get through it, although it took some serious work with therapists regarding my anxiety and self-esteem issues. So far, I’ve published seven columns on (it will be eight by the end of the Guinea Pig of Love series, next week) each written at 2,000 words (they ended up getting edited down to 1,000 or so). You can read them all here. For someone who has been as tortured by writing as I have recently, getting through these is a victory for me. I know it could always come back, but at least I’ve won the battle. Next up: trying to win the war!

Ah, and now for the slightly more depressing portion of this episode -- my ill-advised (if you will) trip to San Francisco to see Mister Andrew. So, about Andrew. Sigh. I don’t know where to begin, but suffice it to say that although it seemed that trip was fast, it really wasn’t. Since the first “PROMMM!” date, we had spent time together, including weekend trips. We talked frequently on the phone and sent zillions of texts and emails. He played me music on his guitar and cooked dinner. I had met his friends and he had met mine. It was time to have that talk. You know, the dreaded “where is this going?” talk. I’m not a huge fan of those talks, but things were getting (as Andrew put it during that conversation) “to that depth” where we needed to discuss it. But Andrew did me a favor, and as much as it hurt at the time, for that I thank him. He didn’t feel that he could fall in love with me, and while that wasn’t what I wanted to hear then, it certainly was the right thing for him to say, because it was true. What if he had led me on, allowing me to develop deeper and deeper feelings that he didn’t reciprocate? That would have been brutal and kept me from being able to heal and move on to find someone who COULD fall in love with me. Andrew is a good man, and he couldn’t do that.

I cried quite a bit when Andrew broke up with me. (Oh, let’s be honest, when Andrew dumped me.) But it wasn’t just over Andrew. I started crying over Andrew and segued into crying over every guy who had EVER dumped me, and then from there into every relationship that hadn’t worked out, and from THERE into a future filled with men who would dump me and relationships that wouldn’t work out. It was quite a cry I had, and poor Andrew sat there rubbing my back, wondering what the hell was going on. Had he accidentally killed my puppy? No, I explained to him later. This is simply how women grieve (some women...sometimes). We stack all of these terrible things on top of one another, one after the other after the other, until it feels like our romantic lives are doomed, like we won’t ever succeed, like we won’t ever be loved. It was as if everything I’ve ever feared I looked at and felt completely and totally throughout my body. I grieved for every end I’ve ever had.

And here’s the strange part -- after I sobbed for about half an hour (and drunk half a bottle of champagne), I felt inexplicably better. Like I had gotten it out of my system. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was certainly cathartic. I had been holding in so much pain, so much fear, so much disappointment and regret over my love life, and Andrew was pretty much the last straw to a mini-breakdown. A breakdown I needed to have, as it turns out, to have a breakthrough.What breakthrough, you ask?

Oh, about that. Well, you’ll just have to wait until the season finale for that!

P.S. That slap? That was just a joke. Even in moments of sadness and disappointment we can (and should) laugh.

WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME ONLINE (if you want to read more!)

Me: @JuliaAllison / / / email me!


My roommate, JP: @JuliaPriceMusic / / /