The saucer-shaped structure formally home to Del Taco officially closed its doors Thursday, June 30 to area residents and Martians alike. Located at 212 South Grand Boulevard, the building, famously known for its obscure architecture, has a good deal of history behind it. In the 1960’s, the building was home to a Phillips 66 gas station and along with three nearby buildings made up ‘Council Plaza’- constructed for a senior citizen housing development plan. All four buildings were added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2007.

Current drama over the building surrounds Board Bill #118- a proposed bill that would provide tax abatement to redevelop the property and potentially fund a buildings demolition; however, any developer wishing to demolish historical property would still need to get approval from the Preservation Board. From the Save St. Louis Del Taco Facebook Page to an area rally last week, St. Louisans are more than vocal on their perspective of demolishing the building and are hoping to gain support from the Landmarks Association of St. Louis for its preservation.

The buildings owner is looking into finding a new tenant, but wishes to demolish it if no one steps up to the “saucer”. Members of the Facebook page are suggesting ‘In-N-Out burger’, a California staple, or perhaps ‘Ted Drewes’, a St. Louis favorite. The full Board of Alderman will be voting on the proposed bill on Friday, July 8, 2011.

By Kristyn Potter, 3′s a Fiesta Columnist

You sleep with your phone by your bed. You put your phone on ring whilst showering, jumping for joy when you hear your ringtone- Britney Spears “Toxic”. You dropped your phone in the sink full of water, dirty dishes, and an excessive amount of bubbles because you got a text and made the attempt to read it.

You immediately updated Twitter and Facebook with statuses notifying friends that your phone was now temporarily out of commission and to contact you via message.

Even now you check your phone every few sentences you read, to see if you have a new text.

His name is temptation and he is the devil in disguise.

I always wondered why guys had such an incredible hold on my wavering attention: carefully crafting my next response to the man of the moment while making my bed, thinking of a funny story to tell him to showcase my wit, sneaking him into my prayers at night.

And, it’s no secret that his love and affection was only half of what I desired. Let’s get serious.

Eventually, however, the new car smell would wear off, inevitably, and before you know it, it’s 2011 and you’re stuck with last year’s model and no warranty.

Like any woman with an overactive imagination and too much time on her hands, I compared my past flings to cars during a recent conversation with a friend. I could probably compare my experiences to jewelry, perhaps television shows, or cellular telephone brands. But, what I know is cars. Lots and lots of cars.

My first ex, back in highschool, was a black Volkswagen Jetta: smooth, reliable, and crisp. Yet, like every Jetta, he had a remarkable fast side to him- cutting corners and creeping around. He cheated on me.

My second ex was similar to the Jetta, but he was more of a Chevy Cobalt- red and exciting. He was All-American, sporty and sexy. And, reliable, as far as American cars are concerned. But, upon moving to sunny Florida a few years after the relationship began, he and our relationship started to break down.

An ex in college was a four-door Ferrari. Before you ask, yes they do make Ferrari’s with four-doors … I know because it is my cousins “family car”. This ex was hot, with a smooth and sporty finish, zipped around the world pretentiously and unapologetically, and gave off the utmost dignified persona. His four-doors signified to me stability and security, acknowledging that while he was Fast and Furious, he also had the resemblance of a family man. I was fooled by his exterior.

All in all, I have dated Jetta’s, ’92 Camaros, BMW’s, and even an old school throwback Caprice Classic with the nerve to have hydraulics and a killer paint job. I valued this diversity of taste and more importantly, what each of these models symbolized.

Through all of these adventures, I have come to a conclusion. While my “Mr. Right Now” is a crimson coupe, with tinted windows and personalized plates, my “Mr. Forever” is a Mercedes E Class Sedan- luxurious, stable, high-performance, and above all, a family car.

Everyone values different things- whether in a house or apartment (townhouse with ceramic tiles in the kitchen or warm, brick home with mahogany accents). In the car they drive- sporty coupe like a Celica or reliable and sturdy like a Range. Or perfume that they wear- sweet and subtle like Jacobs’ Daisy or bold and proud like Chanel No. 5. These individual preferences are what make us unique. After all, it’s what is on the inside that counts: cream leather seats, chrome features, a high-performance engine and a sunroof to brighten my day.

Published in College Femme Magazine

By Kristyn Potter, 3’s a Fiesta Columnist

Tales of the Fauxmance

Fauxmance (noun): 1)The act of being in or encouraging an emotional, physical, and/or mental interaction with another with a desire to evolve in the future. 2)Fake romance

*disclaimer: acknowledging or labeling something as a fauxmance doesn’t negate the very real effects the other person potentially has on you, it is just a way of describing something that to the outer world doesn’t truly exist.

Here’s the deal. I met someone.

Now, before you get your panties, boyshorts, and boxers (for our male readers) in a bunch, let me start by saying that it isn’t what you think. Or it is exactly what you think but labeled in a way that it appears to be less than what it actually is.

Everyone knows that New Years Eve is a time to explore the power of your liver, fully engage in interactions with friends and loved ones, and overall celebrate a kickass year. Well, let me just say that the year 2010 was by far the best and worst year of my life, which somehow put me into a weird state of equilibrium on Jan 1. I met some of my closest friends, graduated from college, broke up and made up with an ex as well as a rebound ex (details of that love affair to be explained gradually throughout the column), bought a sketchbook to mask my post-graduate depression, and ended up sketching together a masterpiece. I also started writing a new novel, finished a few short stories, and moved into a super hip flat in the hipster part of town … but, who’s really keeping track?

Anyway, similar to that of my graduation night (where we celebrated “Four Years of Fuck Yeah!”), I brought in the New Year in the same fashion- with a New Years Eve- Eve bar crawl with my closest buds. I ended up meeting a hottie in our group of mutual friends, and instantly hit it off. Despite the mass amount of liquor and merriment involved, we had instant chemistry that I thought was more than circumstantial.

But of course, I always think chemistry is more than circumstantial, and thus The Single Files is because I have an odd perspective on what a relationship is, how it is built and sustained, and when it is real versus when it is a facade of my deep and eager imagination.

Well, what gives?

Based on the knowledge of my past dating habits, as well as my 2011 resolution to spend five months of ‘Me Time’, I knew that I was headed down a toxic path. So I did what any girl would do: graciously accepted his phone number, casually texted him during the day, and pussyfooted my way into a romance that I know good and well I’m not allowed to be in.

The end of this tale is that there isn’t one. As promised, I told said hottie tottie that I am unable to date him for another five months, to which he responded (and I quote): “You get yourself together and I will spend this time doing the same thing, and we can make it official in 5 months.”

It’s not everyday you meet someone who complies to your absolutely ridiculous request at savoring your freedom from the constraints of a relationship. But, this week, I met someone who did. Whether he is around in five months is neither something I am worried about, nor consumed with. Because in five months, I will be resolved emotionally and mentally from the baggage of my past relationships and ready to get back out there, leaving my game playing at 2010’s door.

Until next time,

Kristyn

Published in College Femme Magazine

By Kristyn Potter, 3’s a Fiesta Columnist

First there was boyfriend shopping. Then, came crush shopping. Now, the final episode of the shopping bug comes just after Christmas- where every store in town is having yet another sale and old flames are back for the holidays. Except, this holiday season one integral part of my life is changing. With the New Year comes a sense of self-renewal, and in my case five months of singledom.

People generally result to the ‘tales of singledom’ as an anti-climatic ending to a failed relationship and/or crushed ego, suggesting that the single files are a source of self-imposed rationalism rather than what it actually is- a default idea that serves as the scapegoat for much bigger problems. I’ve been a victim of this for years, eight to be exact, and with a new decade comes a new sense of self-reliability and emotional responsibility.

The goal in revived singledom isn’t what you think- finding (as in relentlessly seeking) a counterpart. The goal is merely and actually quite simple: bettering yourself. Since freshman year of high school, when I traded Kmart clothes for a shopping spree and more fashion-forward attire, I have found myself in a relationship. The word ‘found’ signifying an element of surprise. But, this newfound coupledom wasn’t nearly a happenstance. Freshman year I had a boyfriend. Sophomore year I had a boyfriend. Junior year I had the same boyfriend as sophomore year. Senior year another boyfriend. Freshman year in college I ‘found’ myself engaged to my senior year boyfriend. Sophomore year I had rebounding boyfriends, but boyfriends all the same. Junior year I had a boyfriend. Senior year of college I was off and on with my junior year boyfriend. I think you get where I’m going with this.

In some unfortunate sense, I am able to reflectively and rationally state that my serial dating spree, while enjoyable to say the least, wasn’t from circumstance by happenstance but a habitual problem.

Before checking into dating rehab, I made myself a promise/goal for the New Year: taking a stab at being single. I have no problem going to the movies by myself, sitting in my room rocking out to Ke$ha and reading New York magazine, or eating at restaurants solo. But these acts of introversion needn’t be disguised as security. I’m putting my foot down.

For those women out there like me (I know I’m not the only one), I suggest taking time to find things out about yourself and enjoy time alone. Following and chasing dreams, more than maintaining friendships, and finding what makes you happy. You can’t be with someone until you can be with yourself. Try it out. The possibilities are endless and the results will have an everlasting bettering effect.

Cheers,

Kristyn

Follow Kristyn’s five month dating hiatus and the lessons she learns every Thursday only in College Femme Magazine.

Published in College Femme Magazine

By K.M.P, August 9, 2008

Two years ago, I made the biggest mistake probably of my life by not making banana pancakes with a wonderful guy.

I had just gotten out of the most serious relationship I had ever been in my life, including a whirlwind and exceptionally short engagement.

My ex was the most amazing man I had ever met and after the explosive break-up, my lenses were fogged to what could be a better man. He had dirty blond hair, and a warm smile. His somewhat alcoholic tendencies were masked by the convenient and overused term, “college fraternity boy” and at that time that was all that mattered.

We first met at a celebration of my and my six other sorority sisters’ inception into our organization, and his fraternity took the liberty of housing the party. Looking back on it, years later, I would claim that it was love at first sight- either an accurate depiction of a pure love story gone wrong or the term used most carelessly by a hopeless romantic motivated by the ephemeral world of romance. Either way, our eyes caught, we introduced ourselves somewhat hastily- me being a shy girl not exactly knowing her place in the collegiate world and him an experienced, world-traveling Prince in disguise. He literally danced circles around me the entire night, cascading himself deeply into my heart with every spastic and chaotic expressive dance move. He danced right into my soul.

The dating was just as chaotic as the dancing- another whirlwind of expressive love making, random excursions to even more random places, movie nights, and a dancing explosion to banana pancakes performed by yours truly on the pillows of his couch. He looked at me appreciative, and somewhat intimidated by my drunken motivation to do for him what he had done for me- transformed my life through a few simple steps, slurs, and smiles.

It ended, of course, like all good things. However, we mustn’t be overwhelmed by disappointment in my shoulda-woulda-coulda love story for it was I that called things off. I wore the “scorned-woman” title like a badge instead of my heart on my sleeve. It was almost as though I wore it proudly, even though if you ask me I will probably say that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I was hurt by the past, by my hopeless and unrelenting love life and more than anything afraid it could happen again. Vulnerability was the force that drove me away from him, and many other guys to follow, for fear that I would ever wear that broken heart on my clothes again. I wish I would have known that he could have been the guy to patch it up, as those who patch up clothing after falling down and hurting oneselves. The shoulda-woulda-coulda love story.

Before I knew it, it was the same back and forth rope pulling that I had experienced in my last relationship possibly because of the imprint we left in each other either with the swift, passionate moves in the bedroom or on the dance floor. Either usually works, however the outcome is a bit more prolonged depending on the way it has been etched into the body.

I think I tried first, but he could have made an attempt that I missed. I attempted to hang out, he avoided the possibility. Then, he attempted to hang out, I had moved on to another miserably unsuccessful contender. Then, I tried, as I paced back and forth in the library wishing the Wizard would give me the beloved courage so often sought. I was shy, and scared, and vulnerable. Vulnerability passed through me with every step toward him and the most I could say was a mere hello. He had me, and I knew it.

This summer I fostered this madness, watering the seed of desire he had planted in me years previous. He was always in my thoughts and conversations. The first thing I thought of when I awoke and the last image imprinted in my mind before bed, his careless appearance and drunken expressions that had transformed themselves into something more desirable than all of the riches in the world. I felt as though I loved him, shattered that possibility at the mere thought of love, and then went right back all over again. It was a vicious cycle he had somehow caused and what’s worse, is to this day he still probably has no idea.

I may try to lay the moves on him again, crossing the wooden dance floor with an artistic shift in my body and a devilishly enticing smile on my face. I could just walk straight up to him and say how I feel. I could try the characteristic flirt that I am most accustomed to. I could say some lame pick up line to relieve the tension or I could make him banana pancakes. It’s the shoulda-woulda-coulda love story entwined around a Jack Johnson song and an impressively and uncharacteristically pure desire to “wake up slow”.

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Here is a very comprehensive list of books that are must-reads for this fall! Whether you’re in school, working a 9-5, or just hanging out post-grad looking to pass the time…this list is for you! Enjoy!

1)Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd (Author of The Secret Life of Bees) and Ann Kidd Taylor (released in paperback 9/7)

“Sue Monk Kidd has touched the hearts of millions of readers with her acclaimed nonfiction and beloved novels, including The Secret Life of Bees, which has sold more than six million copies and was turned into a feature film. Now, in this wise and engrossing dual memoir, she and her daughter Ann chronicle their travels together at a time when each was on a quest to redefine herself and rediscover one another. As Sue struggles to enlarge a vision of swarming bees into a novel and Ann ponders the classic question of what to do with her life, this modern-day Demeter and Persephone explore an array of inspiring figures and sacred sites in Athens, Eleusis, Paris, Rocamadour, and places in between. The intimacy of travel and the wondrous nature of the sites they visit bring forth each woman’s internal struggle and provide fertile terrain for reflection and inspiration. They also give voice to that most protean of human connections: the bond between mothers and daughters.

2)Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby

“Nick Hornby returns to his roots-music and messy relationships-in this funny and touching new novel that thoughtfully and sympathetically looks at how lives can be wasted but how they are never beyond redemption. Annie lives in a dull town on England’s bleak east coast and is in a relationship with Duncan that mirrors the place; Tucker, once a brilliant songwriters and performer, has gone into seclusion in rural America- or at least that’s what his fans think. Duncan is obsessed with Tucker’s work to the point of derangement, and when Annie dares to go public on her dislike of his latest album, there are quite unexpected, lifechanging consequences for all three. Nick Hornby uses this intriguing canvas to explore why it is we so often let the early promise of relationships, ambition, and indeed life, evaporate. And he comes to some surprisingly optimistic conclusions about the struggle to live up to one’s promise.”

3)Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

4)Little Bee by Chris Cleave

5)Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver

6)A Short History of Women by Kate Walbert

7)Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

One Day by David Nicholls

9)Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

10)City of Veils by Zoe Ferraris

By Kristyn Potter

I went boyfriend shopping at the end of the summer, to celebrate recent accomplishments while subsequently searching for the replacement of my most recent relationship downfall. Now, before you judge this current venture, I’d like to point out that boyfriend shopping is a very reasonable and respectable thing to do in your mid-twenties. You’re young, socially and financially pre-responsible (which is the step before full responsibility), and you’re thriving with positive energy and optimism. The only thing you are missing (well, maybe not you, but the rest of us) is someone to share that positivity with.

Unless you’re me. For the past two years I was in an on again-off again relationship with someone who made Darth Vader look like Sunshine Barbie. And, even that is an understatement. Needless to say, upon graduating college and figuring out what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing (and who I wanted to share it with) I realized that my current hunk was not my “Mr. Right.”

So, on a Wednesday night, I ventured out on the town with my four friends all in a respectable search for “Mr. Right Now.” The search didn’t take nearly as long as expected, and not in an “I dressed like an approachable slut with the hunger for desire in her eyes” kind of way. I wore a dress, and gladiator sandals. Which doesn’t exactly scream promiscuous.

Within five minutes of walking in the door, a very attractive Nigerian man in his twenties approached my friend Jonathan to “say hi” (I later found this gesture to mean he was trying to get a chance to get my name and my phone number). I wasn’t as receptive to this gesture as you would think. Partly because my notion of boyfriend shopping wasn’t as desperate as you’d expect. In fact, I was more oblivious to the college guys trying to get a few words in than normal.

The rest of the night, I juggled conversation with the Nigerian guy (a second year master’s student with plans of attending medical school in the fall) and a first year MBA student who was interested in business law. They were both very aware of the fact that I was talking to the other, flirting with the other, and dancing with the other however, they made little to no attempt to remove themselves from the situation. I went home alone. Which, might I add, is a consequence of ‘boyfriend shopping’ when you are neither sincere in your desire nor desperate.

The next day I was the recipient of two text messages, inviting me on a date. Boyfriend shopping seemed to have done its job. And well, might I add. The only problem is after going on a date with the Master’s student, I couldn’t decide if I still wanted the boyfriend that I so desired.

Three weeks later, and I am finding myself with the ever-pressing, forthcoming “talk” with said guy. The elusive “where we are and where we are going talk”. You know, the one you have before you embark on the somewhat daunting task of having a boyfriend.

Nelly claims that taking over the show for Static is his way of providing entertainment for the city and giving back to a radio station that has supported his music over the years.

It’s hard to decide whether Nelly’s jump into the corporate world of Radio One is a form of selling himself out for the sake of capitalism or whether he really is trying to hold it down for the city. When 104.1’s ratings are increased due to the celebrity’s ability to gain listeners and snag interviews, it won’t be a stroke of luck but more of a stroke of genius.

Sounds like the company is using a star to generate revenue and audience, if only for a month, unless Nelly is just strapped for cash.  However, being part owner of the Bobcat’s doesn’t exactly scream broke.

Daps and Hugs to 104.1 for bringing a St. Louis star back on the radio. Maybe Chuck Berry will be next.