Imagine that you are a talented young woman raised by a loving father who has instilled in you the value of an education and your own inestimable worth in the world. Imagine that your father, your only ally, dies just as you are on the brink of independence.

If you’ve ever made a fatal relationship faux pas, a mistake so obvious, so innocent, yet so irreversibly damaging to your fledgling romance, that you kicked yourself for years and swore you’d never commit this mistake again - until it happened again, then you’ve already experienced a dose of what  “Relationship Deja Vu” is all about.

There are a few common mistakes that will end even a promising new romance on an early date that we all recognize but sometimes still fall into. For example, saying I love you too soon...or too late, or talking about old relationships too much, or even dealing out TMI - too much information - about oneself too soon - even if they invite you to do so! Don’t fall for that one, babies! The gory details of your knee surgery or the time you wet your pants in third grade art class are best saved for a later, shall we say... more intimate time.  These are all easy to avoid with just a few humbling years of dating trial and error. But there is a whole different class of mistakes, lurking just below your conscious threshold, kind of like an alien lodged in your chest cavity - unique and personal to each and every one of us, which is not so easy to avoid. I call this series of ‘miss-takes’ the Romantic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, wherein you take all of the biggest mistakes of your, now defunct, previous relationships and lovingly project them onto your new love interest!

Romantic PTSD is harder to catch because it is so obviously right in front of your face! You did this exact same thing last time or he/she did and although you swore up and down that it would NEVER happen again, here.... it.... is - happening all over again!! It’s kind of like walking your new prospect through a 3D, animated, haunted house filled with reenactments of your old relationship traumas– Bwahahahah! And I must point out, about as much fun.

One of the most common causes of Romantic PTSD in the adult male or female is being “Stood Up” or the dreaded phone version of the “Stand Up” – the “I’ll Call You... But Not Really” Syndrome.

No one who has ever been stood up can fully forget the burning sense of growing humiliation as the appointed hour comes and ... goes. Or worse still, the hours and days after the “Stand Up” of rationalizing that you were, in fact, not “Stood Up”. One reasons to oneself that this person has unfortunately been maimed in a tragic car accident and lies unconscious and therefore is unable to contact you. Now men and women are both vulnerable to these romance related injuries, but since about 90 percent of all dates involve the woman being picked up and transported to the date by the guy, it stands to reason that 90 percent of those being “Stood Up” are women. But let’s not underestimate the effect of waiting for the even more commonplace phone “Stand Up” either - for both sexes. And straight from out of the ‘Katz Meow’ diaries - I’ve got my own romance-related PTSD doozy, which haunts me still.

I had been a friend, platonically, with a musician who lived several thousand miles away for five long years. I say long because, although we were enormously attracted to each other, and enriched each others lives in many other spiritual ways, it seemed we could never get the timing exactly right for both of us to take it beyond the friend level. Finally he was scheduled to perform in Chicago – twice - at the beginning of summer and at the end. He finally said, “Let’s do this! When I come back - let’s spend the night together.”

I was very happy…and very worried. What if after all this time and all that fantasizing it turned out we had no real chemistry between the sheets? So we began to have a kind of long distance sexy phone talk, pre-dating, so to speak, every few weeks or so. One Friday, after a very sexy conversation, he excitedly said, “I’ll call you Monday!” like he just couldn’t wait any longer to talk to me again. Lovely! I was very excited and looked forward all weekend to Monday’s call/date...and then waited all day Monday and...all night...and all week... until he finally called - you guessed it - the following Monday.

I waited five years to talk to him this way - surely I could have patiently waited one more week! But... my Romantic PTSD kicked in and prehistoric traumas dating back from high school suddenly showed up at our party: that and maybe a wee, tiny, little amount of very unfortunately timed PMS, which is kind of like saying a wee, tiny, little amount of dynamite.

Anyway, I did try to refrain. My friends and family, even total strangers advised me... Not to make a big deal about it. Believe me, I rehearsed the coming conversation in advance, wherein I did not go on and on about the weeklong lateness of the call, but, what can I say – I was irritated. Still, not wanting to weird things out, I told myself aloud, even as I picked up the ringing phone - “Kimberly, do us all a favor - all of the voices in your head - and do NOT badger him about it!” But suddenly – as unexpected as a rainstorm on a sunny day - I just had to bring it up… the fact that he said, “I’ll call you Monday, not next Monday or some Monday...this Monday – and, as if in a bad dream, I turned from warm, sassy ‘Super Jew’ into cold, insecure ‘Super Shrew’ in nothing flat.

After a few awkward minutes of this, it started to seem a silly thing to argue about and we made a sort of uneasy truce and resumed the sexy talk but something had ever so subtly shifted –like one of the faces just crumbling and falling off Mount Rushmore - subtle like that. And then when my cell phone died mid-“sexy speak” and he did not call right back, I knew it was the beginning of the end. Long story short, the whole affair went from sizzling hot friendship to ice cold power struggle in five minutes. I ended up canceling the rendezvous I had dreamt about for five years. Now I know this Romantic PTSD isn’t really a pure example of an “Ill Call You” or a “Stand Up” but I think it illustrates how a little toxic memory mix of both can lead to more of both. My PTSD issues about calling etiquette wrestled with his PTSD issues about being in control of the calling... and we both lost.

Yes, we can all agree, girls and boys - that the full on “Stand Up” or “I’ll Call You - But Not Really.” are cowardly, passive aggressive, mean spirited ways to simply say goodbye to someone. It is much more hurtful to disappear than to speak out and set that other soul free. The not knowing what went wrong makes people crazy. Have a heart people! We’re all in this together, aren’t we? We all want to find that great love before the ride is over! Don’t even add a valise (Italian for small piece of hand luggage) to someone else’s already giant, heavy, “wide load”, rolling cart of Romantic PTSD baggage! If it’s too awkward to tell them the truth, that she has ‘man hands’ or that he kisses like a dead fish, just make it a mercy call and make up a believable excuse; a sick relative, an old flame, 24 hour flesh eating virus or rapidly approaching asteroid and deliver it with some gusto for God’s sake! It’s a lot better than nothing to the one waiting by the phone! After all, my next Great Love might be your Recent Reject, so be considerate. 

At the same time, those of us Romantically PTSD challenged, who have sweated out too many of the long, lonely nights staring at the phone that does not ring - we need to remind ourselves, that this is not last year’s stand up! And this is absolutely not last year’s relationship! So make that effort to give this one a chance.

Try this, when your own unique cocktail of Romantic PTSD bubbles up and you find yourself walking down those haunted halls, with an alien sticking out of your ribcage that mentioned marriage on the first date... eyes wide with horror and a surprised “What the f---?” dazed look on your face, that IT is... happening... again...  Slap yourself! Just like Cher slapped Nicholas Cage in “Moonstruck”, and say “Snap out of it, baby!”

Rick and I met for the first time when he ever so graciously agreed to be my very first on-camera celebrity interview back in 2006 right before his performance at The House of Blues here in Chicago. You never forget your first.

Twice a week, I drive 30 minutes in rush hour traffic to pet three, delicious doggies for about fifteen minutes. And why not, it’s the only fifteen minutes of pure unadulterated loving I get without fail each week. Before I even get to the door, the barking and howling begins. “YAY, she’s HERE! She’s here to love us!”

Just before tip off, the singing of the national anthem takes on a more meaningful feeling during wartime. I notice a feeling of pride and determination especially during the last few bars when Bulls fans’ cheers drown out the rest of the song.

Of course one of my New Year’s resolutions was to cut down on my smoking - it’s the same resolution I make every year! And I have cut down, I probably smoke half what I used to. I hate that sometimes my mind is telling me it doesn’t want to smoke right now, even as my hand is reaching in my purse to light another cigarette.

Christmasukah also brings out the best and worst memories for every dysfunctional family (is there any other kind?), so I have learned to rely on my good friends for comic relief during the holidays to keep the good times feeling good. And with funny new friends like Scott Thompson and Taylor Negron...

Well, 2007 flew by and had lots of amazing developments for us here at Buzz, including our brand new partnership with NBC5.com’s “Chi Town After Dark”. The New Year always makes me wonder what the numbers mean so I looked it up and it turns out the number seven is the number of investigation...

I used to love Valentine’s Day. I remember in grade school buying boxes of those cute little cards and candies that said “ I Love You” and “U R the 1” and excitedly giving them to everyone in my class, including the girls. I always got at least as many as I handed out and felt a little sorry for the kids who only got one or two...