Please Direct Me to the "In Between" Table?

 Adults are just big kids who owe money.

-Words of wisdom a la My Dad.

The Kids Table.



Oddly, at 29 years old, I still find myself referring to grown ups or adults. And as we all know - I am finally feeling almost like a grown up myself... but those words, that Us kids, and Them the grown ups, mentality is still there. Now, mind you, at age 19 the grown-ups were anyone over, say, 25. But now, the grown ups are anyone over like 38... Quite the sliding scale of Adulthood, really. It's just funny, how the older you get, or at least the older I get, with all the wiseness I have gained from my experiences - wise may be a stretch, I'll go with perspective - I still feel like a kid. I feel as though I'm toeing the line between the Kids' Table and the Grown Ups'. I sometimes wonder, when at a restaurant with a group of friends, whose ages can range from 23 to 35 or older, if people are looking at us thinking we're adults. A 19 year old joined us for dinner over the weekend (friend of a friend), and I remember thinking, "He probably thinks we're so old." I remember what I'm Twenty Nine sounded like at 19. God, I remember what Twenty Four sounded like. I still am shocked that I will be 30 in less than a year. Its funny, I dress like a kid; I sometimes wonder what people think I do for a living that see me during my daily routine in the mornings, dressed in odd outfits, with too much jewelry on. I mean I'm definitely no receptionist, thats for sure.
Last night, during a marathon Hummus + Wine (sans hummus, but with couscous), Goldi referred to, I think it was her parents, as Grown Ups. We laughed, because well, we are too. Sorta.
Someone asked me this morning what I was doing for the Fourth, and my response included the phrase, his parents are out of town, so... "He" is 34.

The Kids Table?

I can sit quite comfortably at the Grown Ups' Table, believe me - and talk about Santa Barbara vineyards and whether or not something needs more horseradish. Talk about life's experiences, and be bored with talk of the economy. I am happy sitting at the Kids' Table - with girlfriends gossiping and laughing like hyenas at the stupidest things.

But I'll tell you, as odd as it sounds - sitting at a Wine Bar over the weekend, with Goldi & Beauty, playing a game of "What Would You Name Me?" (I was both a 'Mary' and a 'Veronica') with a bunch of tattoo artists, I felt a little bit like we were sitting at the Somewhere in Between Table.
The Saturn's Return Table.
& I'm okay with that.



Independence Day (My 1 Year Anniversery.)

Last Fourth of July, my Life felt apart. Royally.
That was the Official Beginning of the End with the Ex. Worst.Day.Ever.
...but Fourth of July is still my favorite holiday.
There is no way that this year could be worse than last years'.
So, thatbeingsaid, I am looking forward to it with the excitement of a five year anticipating her own birthday. Bring it on. Please. Fireworks and all, because I'll be there... I'll being there looking fantastic. Surrounded by better friends than I've ever had.


America, hell yeah!
This skirt, hell yeah!



Fuck you, 2010.

Hallelujah, 2011.





The Founding Fathers should - would!- be proud of my Freedom.
Capital F.
ThankyouverymuchAmerica.

Happy 4th of July, everyone.
And... Thank you for being a total tool last year, Ex.
With love,
Saturn.

Michael Kors Would Be So Proud

I told you I was a sucker for a man who sends me flowers.
Capital S, Sucker.

The Dutchman sent me flowers at work today. All the way from the Netherlands. (Okay, technically, Orange County... but whatever. Details schmeetails.)

A dozen roses, with a note that read,

You know why. xx Holland.

I don't know why, but I am not complaining.

Breaking Beauty & the Beast.

Life may not be a Fairytale; but I'll be honest - there are some fairytales I wouldn't want to be a part of anyway! Um, well, Hansel & Gretel for one - although I do have a penchant for what I call zippy German men... Or Dutch ones... (Okay, just give me an accent, & I'm happy.)

You know that feeling of,
"What the heck was I thinking?"
Yeah... Me too.

Another example -  Beauty & the Beast. I am quite certain that no Beast will ever just magically change into our Prince Charming justlikethat. More importantly, Beauty never deserved the treatment the Beast gave her in the first place & if she hadn' t been stuck in the East Wing (a captive, mind you!) she would have been smart enough to get the hell out of there as fast as should possibly could. I mean, really!? Essentially we grew up with this "romantic" story of well, imprisonment, abuse, and ...falling in love? Yeah, that's what we're teaching little girls - Put up with the Beast, girls! He'll change if its true love!  
Am I the only one who sees how absolutely fucking ridiculous this is?
Don't get me wrong, we all have our beasts - those aspects of our personality that are far from perfect - I have cheated before, I have raging "Love Me! Syndrome" sometimes. I hate checking the mail for fear of bad news. Or bills. As a kid, when I would stub my toe, I would immediately hit the closest sister. (Thankfully, I have since grown out of this habit.)

Sometimes you just have to
walk the fuck away.

But beasts & all, this does not mean we deserve a Beast.
I've dated men who were arrogant, men who were narcissists, boys who were mean. (I was once on a 2nd date with someone who actually said, outloud, "I have a face for TV, a voice for radio & the arrogance for both." Wow, dude. Really!?) I have been in relationships where I felt unimportant, stupid and voiceless.
My friends have dated, loved & even married men who were insensitive or cruel, or self-centered.
These are the Beasts.
And, as women do - sometimes we believe we don't deserve better; we play this balancing act of, "Well I am not perfect, so how can I expect - or even deserve - perfection?" I have done this many times in the past. And the reality is, no, no one person is perfect. But I refuse to believe that doesn't mean we can't have a Prince Charming without having to navigate through the torment of the Beast first. And if Prince Charming starts turning to a Beast, I refuse to believe Beauty wouldn't or shouldn't get the hell out of the East Wing, the West Wing or the whole damn relationship.We are not captives, although sometimes we may feel like we may be.
We are all Beauties. Deserving of love, deserving of kindness, deserving of being treated like a Princess.
If we know what we are looking for, if we are not afraid to ask (demand!) the universe for a man who loves our Beauty (beasts & all) - then I believe we will find it.
We may have to kiss a few frogs first,
but - as you know- that's a whole other story.

Beauty, I am proud of you.

Sidenote: My brain has turned off any signs of singledom for the time being; still think of little else other than the Dutchman. Haven't spoken to B---- since I met him. Or anyone else, for that matter other than girlfriends. This situation is ideal for Goldi.

Paper Heart & Paper Flower.

I don't know, to keep my blog entertaining, I either have to continue going on horrible dates or fall in love.

To which my littlest sister responded,

Go on bad dates. If you fall in love, your blog'll be really boring.

I always have fresh flowers in my house. (Okay, I like to always have them.) I think the main reason I go running is to look at the flowers in people's yards. I'm a sucker for a man who sends me flowers.
I once read a (long lost) list of things every woman should know, according to Michael Kors - and the one that stuck with me the most was:

Every woman should know the names of at least five flowers, and carnation and rose don't count!

Well, I certainly took this to heart - making it my goal to know the names of many, many flowers. But my favorite has always been bougainvillea... the "paper flower".
It reminds me of both my teenage trip to Spain & my town now, it grows over everything in both places.
Somehow it is able to remind me of both
Far Off Adventures
and of
Home.
I love how it makes even the most dilapidated seem beautiful; the most mundane seem bright.

Neither far off or dilapidated.

Aaaaaaaand... this is neither mundane or home. Damn!
I suck.

So... The Dutchman has gone back to the Netherlands. Holland. Somewhere where the sky is low and Germany is nearby. Yeah. THAT far away. He, like the bougainvillea vines, is The far off, is The adventure, is The undeniable feeling of being home. I miss him more than I ever have missed someone I've only known for three days. He, somehow, in a matter of a weekend, was able to switch on the switch I've been trying to understand all these months - to ignite that illusive Spark. And I did to him as well -  and I still have no idea what It is, but I know that for the last week I have thought of very little other than him. Even sleeping, he is on my mind. 

Our last dinner was wonderful, although we were joined by his colleague... I went believing that this evening would most likely be the last time we ever saw of each other. We met at a restaurant overlooking the water and the downtown marina. I walked into the restaurant (in full Rebel Ballerina, I might add) and found the two of them at the bar. I had been there for about five minutes when The Dutchman leaned to me and said that he would be changing his planned trip to Hawaii to include a stopover in California, to see me again. I was elated. We all chatted over a glass of wine (me) and beers (them). The dinner itself was very nice - and then we all hopped into a cab - first dropping of his colleague at their hotel. When we got to the hotel, The Dutchman hopped out of the car explaining he had to grab an antihistamine in order to survive the hour or so he was able to stay at my apartment. (I have a very fussy Supermodel cat; Kat Moss.) We get to my house, and I realize he is not holding a box of Claritin, but a very expensive sunglasses case... He explains that he bought me something and hands me the case. Inside I find a pair of tortoise shell Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses. I am shocked. I am a terrible recipient of gifts sometimes, so I look at them - and immediately close the case. I thank him, and he tells me he knows I hate them  and I can exchange them if I want. But I do not hate them, I love them! I protest. I put them on, and I can honestly say that no pair of sunglasses have ever fit me better. How he did it, I do not know.

We continue talking, kissing, kissing, crying (me).

I would like you to think about something, he says. This August, after I come to you, please come with me to Hawaii. I will buy you the ticket. I have never felt this feeling for anyone so instantly, so strongly. I cannot not see you again. Please come with me.

I agree to go.
Is this crazy? Am I crazy? Are we crazy? All this year, I have been ranting about the Spark, feeling as though something was going to happen this summer that would change my life forever. I have been waiting for a catalyst of some kind. I haven't known what it would be - and I do not know if this is it - but somewhere at my core, I find this voice telling me that I only have one life, and to remember to live it fully. That this may be it - I have to at least see. That if we do not explore what this is, then I will regret it for the rest of my life.
He and I have discussed the possibility of this just being what it is - a crazy yet fluke connection between two strangers for weekend, or for a summer. But... I was not supposed to be at that bar that night; I was supposed to be on a date. The Dutchman had plans with other colleagues that he and his friend had blown off. I never go to that specific bar at night; Goldi and I had let our friend decide where to go. The Dutchman later told me that before we even spoke, he had followed me to the bathroom in hopes of bumping into me. At one point in the night, my friends and I had misinterpreted something he said as a signal to his colleague as a sign of wanting to rid himself of us, and we had left the bar. He caught us right at the door, just in time. If he had not, I probably never would have seen him again.


He wrote me later, once he was back in the Netherlands,

In any other situation between two other person there would be too much bumps on the road. But we found each other despite of all the miscommunication and wrong guesses about each other! ... I will be happy for the rest of my life that we were just in time at the exit of the bar.

...I know you still think that you picked me first, but I know that I had already chosen you when I saw you standing there. I mean, how could I not have seen you… There’s a beautiful girl standing there, with deep brown eyes a beautiful smile and dressed in an amazing black dress. At that particular moment I already knew from my inside that you were the girl I could easily fall in love with.

I only have one life. We only have one Summer of 2011. We don't get do overs. I haven't a clue what the future holds, but I know that this Dutchman has sparked something inside of me that I haven't felt in a long time, if ever. So, without getting my hopes up, I am planning this trip with him. I will see him again. And maybe it'll be like most New Years Eves, over hyped and ultimately a let down - but I won't let the fear of that stop me. Maybe we'll drive each other crazy, maybe we won't. Maybe he'll touchdown at the airport and I will melt, or maybe he'll cringe. But the reality of the whole thing is that I am unwilling to let the fear of it going wrong stop me from seeing if it could, perhaps, go very right.
So...
Here's to Far Off Adventures!
Here's to Home!
Here's to Paper Hearts &  Here's to Paper Flowers.

(She Has No) BBQ Stain On Her White T-Shirt...

... More likely it's wine & even more likely, I'm the one who spilled it on her.

Blue. Purple. White.
With perfectly tossled golden waves, parted down the middle falling over halfway down her back.
Florals. Denim. Canvas. Kicky.
A delicate mix of beach babe & small town girl.
All paired togther an ever-changing bright mix of jewelry.
(I may or may not be writing some sort of love letter to my friend, here! Did I mention she's got quite a rack!?)
So, over a second Bloody Mary with extra olives, it was Decided. that Goldi - a solid combo of bubble, blonde & bohemian - embodies the perfect California-by-way-of-Country look...
Like Country Music video that was cast in LA, she's a bit of a Nashville Rascal.



ethereal Nashville Rascal



patriotic Nashville Rascal



townie Nashville Rascal.



West Coast Nashville Rascal

I almost wanted to call it California Country Strong, but Goldi's got her shit together way more than lil' Gwynnie did.

Rebel (Ballerina) at Heart

Black, nude, pink, gray, cream. Layered. Fitted. Soft.
All paired with motorcycle boots.
Hard. Leather. Metal.
The mix of feminine & masculine.
And a bun.
I am a Rebel Ballerina these days.
Something that was Decided. over a Bloody Mary with extra olives.





sexy rebel ballerina



edgy rebel ballerina



leggy rebel ballerina



unbuttoned rebel ballerina



moto rebel ballerina

 I have never gotten so many compliments on my shoulders & neck, thatsonethingforsure.

Falling in Love for the Weekend.

I'm going to fall in love with you in the next two days, aren't I?

To which I respond;  Yes, probably.

He is leaving for Holland first thing Tuesday morning.

He has been here, in town, in America, for a little over a month.

Rewind to Saturday.
I walked into a bar & saw one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen staring at the big screen above the the  top shelf . He did not notice me, or so I thought. My friends and I elbowed our way right to bar, right next to him and order our wine. Wearing a long black backless dress, I positioned myself with my back to him as I was chatting with my friends. His eyes did not move from the television.
The three of us were approached by an older gentleman (and I used that phrase lightly) at the bar, and after about five minutes of harrassment, one of the girls I'm with explains to him that the tall blonde behind us is in fact, her brother. A fact to which he agrees, in a heavy Dutch accent. My friends start talking to the taller, slightly goofy looking Dutchman, and I use this time to slowly back into his TV-watching friend. I finally asked him what he is staring so contently at, and he answers with something about surfing -- in a heavy, Dutch accent.
I melt. Knees buckle. The whole shebang.
You know that spark I've been whining about? Well... Yeah.
We spend the entire rest of the evening together. Drinking wine, smoking cigarettes, kissing. Comparing our limited knowledge of one another's country's geography. Making fun of one another. I go back to his hotel. We do not sleep togther. We drink a cheap rose' with a screw off lid, and we kiss and kiss. Thats when he asked if he was going to fall in love with me. I already knew I would. (And not just because of the accent, or my deep desire to refer to those who effect me by their nationality.)
In the morning, he takes me home, having to first turn around to retreive my forgotten phone, then to stop for coffee then to pick up my friends and take them to their cars. He drops me off, and promises that we will get together for lunch or brunch or whatever, that we will just get together.
What followed was perhaps the best Sunday Funday ever --- neither Dutchmen (it was me, him & his lanky blonde colleague) had never heard of the term. I showed them my favorite patios in town; it is my favorite way to spend my Sundays, afterall - wine tasting in the sun, laughing & wearing a pretty dress.

Sidenote: As we were waiting for a cab outside the first restaurant, lo & behold! Who crosses the street to find me with two very obviously European men? The Englishman. He must think I collect foreigners.

At the second pub, sitting in the sun, we talk about our families, we joke & we smoke. (My mother's gonna love that.) I talk about the fruit trees by my childhood home, about the wine grapes I had in my backyard. He talks about his mom, and his friend speaks of his many brothers and sisters. (I have, apparently, gotten very used to being out with accents - I knew the waitresses would ask over and over again what these boys were saying.) We talked about Americans, Europeans, & the Dutch. We stare at one another. We kiss. A lot.

He finally said goodbye to his colleague - who after one too many Guinness' told me I should sleep with the Dutchman because I will probably never see him again after he has left. I excuse myself to the bathroom; I know it is probably true. But still, I do not sleep with him.
Thankfully, I do take a picture with him, while we are at the pub. It may be my favorite picture ever; he is smiling looking straight into the camera. I have my elbow resting on his shoulder, and I am looking at him. We look handsome together. I have texted this photo to everyone I know.
We take a taxi back to my house, and kiss and talk. He does say it, he does say he has fallen in love with me. I say it back. We both know that we not talking about Love - but that we are to some degree talking about that intoxicating spark. That immediate connection with a once-stranger. Not lust, mind you, bigger than that; that feeling of Who Are You...?! What have you done to me?!

He wrote: You stole something from me.

He left for work, we have agreed to see eachother tonight for dinner.

He texted me this morning with,



I warned you for this.

Me: Yes, yes you did.

Him: I shouldn't fall in love with you.

Me: Terrible idea.

Him: But I did, and now I have to deal with it.

I know I may very well never see him again after tonight.

And, I wonder if he will refer to me as the American Girl in his head.

When I got out of the shower this morning, I discovered he had crafted a small heart out of a napkin and hidden it in my jewelry box.

I have his heart. Or at least a piece of it.

B---- + White

I want to see you.

Received that text , unsolicited, from B---- at 8:11 Thursday night.

Can't really wrap my head around it.


So, I'm going out with him tonight.
I cancelled another date to do so, but I was most likely going to cancel that date anyways.
Biding my time right now while waiting to get ready by watching an old black & white Audrey Hepburn movie, in my white robe wearing black + white polka dot underwear. Honestly, I still don't know exactly how I feel about him. We're in such a grey area. Like I've said before, he gives me little to work with, but at the same time I know he likes me. I've begun to miss him, and we've been in more constant contact in the past week, since the 'surges' began. There are no games being played (at least, not on my part. I don't think he is either, I don't get that from him at all). We see eachother about once a week and text most everyday. But never actually talk on the phone.
This is one of the oddest things I have encountered in dating in the tech era, these heavily text-based interactions. Maybe it's a sign of the times, or perhaps it is just part of the word-based world of online dating... Beats me.

It's okay though, because I'm drinking Red Wine while I whine.

I think it will be our 6th date, but I've stopped counting. And we have never talked about what we are doing, or why, we just are. I wasn't kidding when I said he was action-based. I'm trying to just GoWithIt. I mean, he has met Honey and her Honey, and he may meet Goldi tonight. He said something last weekend about "if I got a girlfriend" when we were talkng about his roommate situation, but other than that... nada.

I don't know really what to make of any of it. I'm trying to wrap my head around how I can be confused yet at the same time, completely content with the way things are. Is it a sign of comfort or is it a sign of disconnect? I'm not sure.

I guess the reality is...
Nothing in life is black + white.

Sidenote: I don't know if I ever clarified, but the cancer scare was just that, a scare.



(Two) Cents & Sensibility

As a kid, we're told not to run with scissors. To hold hands with a grown up when we cross the street. To never talk to strangers. To say no to drugs.
Well, as adults the content may change a little... but the bits of advice & good rules of thumb are still rolling in...
So here are some of my favorite bits of wisdom (and my own lackthereof):

My Mother: Never date anyone with better hair than you. 
Well, that counts quite a few out.

Howard, the blue eye'd old man at the coffee shop: Ah, a baseball player? Ask what position he plays. You should never date an outfeilder; they're brutish and dumb. Stick with the basemen, they're team players.


I don't think this was the type of base running
Howard was talking about.

Anonymous: Love is the most potent cause of anxiety and also the most difficult to face.
You think?!

My Mom: When you're breaking up with someone, don't say maybe in time - you have to break up with them and not give them hope for the relationship working in the future, otherwise they won't give it up.
So what you're saying is, my faking a pregnacy with an ex to break up with the South African was a good idea, right?!

My Dad: Girls, just don't get married before you're thirty. 
Well, Dad, I don't think you have to worry about that one.

My Mother, told to my sisters and I while watching "Pretty Woman" as teens: Just remember girls, prostitution is never an option.
Gooooood to know.

My Mother's Good Friend: A Man is not A Plan.
And I say, for the unplanned man, there is always Plan B.

My Mother (Again): Men want to be every woman's first love; women want to be every man's last. We want to believe that they will never get over us.
Wait! Does that mean some of them do? Not possible.

Howard, again: Never date a Boob-Man. I mean, how shallow are these guys who think they just want one type of woman physically?! Stupid men don't realize the long term appeal of an inteligent woman!
Luckily, I never have to worry about being fallen for by a Boob-Man.
Or an Ass-Man for that matter.

My Mother: Sometimes we put up walls to love when we should be breaking them down. Take down the walls, put up silk curtains instead. Yougotmethere.

Me: Oh god, I must be ovulating. All I see are hot men everywhere. No really, I do.

My mom, in response to my teenage declaration of virginity until marriage: Well, dear, I think you should probably taste-test the ice cream before you commit to the whole quart.
Noted. In Sharpie, apparently.

I guess you could say I'm just taste-testing the flavors.

the Neighboring Shopgirl: Beware of accents. I married an accent.
I am forwarned, and will not heed your advice.

My Dad: Put a guitar in any man's hands, and he's instantly better looking. Or keys to a Porsche.

Dr. Suess: You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.
Is that why I've been sleeping so well? Damn.

Anonymous: The worst thing you can possibly do is worry about what you could have done. Eek.


Client's mother:  He'll be back. They all come back.
Doubtful, but thanks for the tiniest sliver of hope, lady.

My Godmother: Women can have a male friend, and then one day - Boom! You're attracted to him. Men, cannot, they have to be attracted instantly - if they're not attracted right away, they never will be.
Or, one day, you have a couple glasses of wine and he pulls out a guitar - Boom! Oops.

Saturn's Last Summer.

And I can see you
your brown skin shining in the sun
you got your hair combed back
sunglasses on baby


and I can tell you
my love for you will still be strong
after the boys of summer have gone



I spend most of the year waiting for it to be Summer. This year was no different.
I've got a good feeling about this one
That, and something in me says that after this summer, nothing will ever be the same.

I can just feel it.

Minding Your P's & Q's

Qualified.
YesPlease&ThankYou.

My Ex is Tall, Dark & Handsome.
I thought he just looked like the boyfriend I'd always wanted. With a nice truck.
That was my qualifying criteria back then. Now I know you don't pick who you fall in love with, and I did truly love said Ex, but I had - at 23 - not yet realized that there is an art to what my friends & I are doing now: what Honey's Honey calls PreQualifying. The act of learning what it is you do and don't want in a partner, and choosing one based on what you've learned. Not just saying yes, please to the first thing you spot on the menu.

This is a skill I am just learning now - via trial & error, of course.

After the PQ conversation with Honey's Honey, I started thinking about all these dates I've been on, and everyone that I have dated seriously in the past & what I have taken from each and every one of them. Obviously, I have learned more from some than others, but recently I have found myself really -really!- prequalifying the men that I date.
There are the little things - I am skeptical of anyone who lists "American Psycho" as their favorite movie. To those who actually write things like, "work hard, play hard", I say no, thank you. The poor guy who ordered "Chicken and Rice", said just like that, on our first date - at a Thai Restaurant! - yeah, that was a DQ on the PQ.
(Surprise! Surprise! He will be forever referred to as "Chicken & Rice".)
On a core human level you must like kids and believe in monogamy and God (no matter what God it is). In terms of online dating it is as easy as reading their basic stats in their profile. My most basic PQ's: a belief in Family & God. Yes, please.
After that, it gets a little more based on the idea that the more you live the more you learn; it has become more individualized.
In terms of B----, I like him, a lot. We've been dating and hanging out for awhile now. We've done casual dinners, fancy dinners, movies while cuddling on his bed, walks on the beach. He likes my affection, and is getting better at reciprocating it. We have the same odd sense of humor, relatively similar outlooks on the world and life, and he is sweet to me. His brain seeks beauty in the world, and he fights his own personal demons by creating it. (I love this about him.)  I have started to feel that swell, that surge, of energy in my heart when he wraps his arms around me. But! He doesn't express his feelings with words. He is very action-based; he shows his feelings physically - by hugging, holding, kissing - by creating beautiful furniture, by creating computer applications that help people. And if you're thinking to yourself maybe with time he will open up (in the verbal sense) - I'm doubtful. I have gotten to know him well enough to know that he most likely will not. Ever. He doesn't inhabit a world where those words really exist. As smart of a person as he is, he is literally incapable of being verbally expressive. And as much as I have begun to care for him, to think of him often, to miss him when he is not around... I know that as far as "the long run" goes, I cannot be happy in a relationship where I am not both shown and told how much I am cared for. If I say, "I like you," he says it back & if I say "I miss you" he says it back - but it's entirely one-sided in terms of who is initiating it. I need to be told I am beautiful, lovable, without having to ask first. Additionally, he struggles with Depression (by his own admission) and I do not think that I can be with someone who I know I can never really make happy. Who will never Be Happy. I think that in the long run, it would hurt me - it would cause me pain to try and try to make him happy, but never to any avail. 
The luxury of the PQ is that I am giving myself the ability to learn these things about myself, and try my hardest to not settle for anything less. I am giving myself the go-ahead to be as selfish about who I end up with as possible, and I have to say no, thank you to the Emotionally Mute.
(Out of all this dating I have done, I will say that SupermanTroll really has the ability to be both emotionally open and intuitive - he will one day find a wonderful woman, and she will be lucky.)
I also need someone happy with themselves, internally & externally. Yes, please.
I went on a first date with an old flame the other night; we had casually hung out in college, and knew each other from back home, but this time around he found me on one of the two dating websites I'm a member of. We went to sushi on Friday. The date went very well; I found myself (perhaps because of the sense of familiarity with him) being very open and quite candid. I liked it, and I liked spending time with him. We had good conversation, laughed a lot, he spoke with great love about his son (yes, he now has a one year old son) and we talked about how much both of us had grown up in the seven or so years since we had last seen each other. He is handsome, has a great smile, and I could tell in his eyes that he was genuinely surprised at my cleverness and my goofiness. Actually, at one point he even said so. He seems like a loving person and a good father. Yes, please. But! He lacks that cerebral intelligence that I have come to be so turned on by; the kind of intelligence that drives me to better myself. No, thank you. He didn't challenge me, and I am learning that I really am attracted to those men whose intelligence challenges my own. Now, I'm not writing this, saying "I'm so smart, I need a genius across the table from me" but I do need someone who I can learn from, who I can spar with, who makes me think.
(Actually, of the many many dates I have been on, I have only found this in a few men - the Aussie (obviously) for one, B----, and a bit in Maroon 5, believe it or not! And he was only 23!)
I am trying to pinpoint this analytical & creative intelligence, scientific almost, that I have come to PQ for. I can't really put my finger on it - but I know it when I see it. So I've learned, I have to say no, thank you to the Simpler Man.
(I 've found that if some describes themselves as 'simple' on their profile, or when talking about themselves, it's points off. I move on.)

The most common - and easiest to spot - issue I have with most of these dates I go on is the lack of purpose, or the lack of ambition. In the past year, I have learned that I, myself, have the tendency to be complacent, and to be indecisive. I need -need!- someone who counteracts this; who balances this part of me. That was one of the things that I loved most about the Aussie, and one of the factors that led to the end of my relationship with my Ex. The Aussie's ambition challenged me while my Ex's own tendency towards stagnation - or waiting for everything to fall into his lap - only exaggerated my own.

On a surface level, it starts with planning the first date: I need someone who will take the reigns to a certain extent - once the words, "I don't know, what do you want to do?" are uttered, I'm deducting points. "Sushi or Italian?" is a good sign. "How about Thursday, 8 o'clock at Bono's?" Yes, please! Now, I am not saying I want to be bossed around, or controlled, but I think that this is a good indicator of one being able to get things done, having a sense of purpose. It signals to me, "I know what I want. I want to take you out, I want to show you the best of me." This, and I may be wrong  - Hell! I may be wrong about everything! Who really knows?! - shows me that I am dealing with someone knows who what he wants, and has the drive and purpose to get it, hopefully in all facets of his life. Yes, please.

I just wrote a whole post about how I am looking for a driven, smart man who talks about his feelings.

Well, if  I'm not one original chickadee, I don't know who is! Goddammnit.

So all this being said (or written, I guess) I'll probably fall in love with some dumbass Bret Easton Ellis-worshipping, strong and silent type who works (sort-of) hard but plays real hard, who can't for the life of him figure out what he wants to eat for dinner.

Or not, thankyouverymuch.

Ha, he'd be DQ'd via PQ before I even learned his middle name.

A New Lease On My Life

I told myself last August, as I was signing the lease to my very first apartment solo,

I'll give myself one more year in this tiny town, and if I don't have anything keeping me here - I'm moving.


That "anything keeping me here" was, in my head, obviously A Boyfriend. And I was busy blaming my personal stagnation on my tiny little town. Where I would be moving - that was undetermined, but I figured without a boyfriend & stuck in a rut, I could go anywhere.
In the first months of being single, as I flailed and failed and for a short time, fell right back into the arms of my ex boyfriend, I kept telling myself that I just needed to get out of this town, or find someone who loves me or maybe even move home. I was lonely and immature.
But then, just as I was reconciling with my ex, something wonderful happened:  Real friends.
Not friends to simply comiserate with, or drink with. Actual friends that I missed while I sat on the couch watching TV shows I hated with my For-A-Second-Not-Ex . Friends that I had 'Girls Night' with on Wednesdays. Friends that called in the morning to say have a good day. I actually found myself asking myself why they were texting me "Hi honey! Have a great day!" until I realized, Aah, yes that's what friends do. Trying to explain to my For-A-Second-Not-Ex that I wanted - needed! - time for Me and time with my friends was like speaking to him in French. (He does not speak French, and fears anyone who does not speak English. Oh Gahd.) He couldn't understand and he was jealous. When I finally split with him the second time around two days before Valentine's Day  - I am such an asshole, I know - I did not flail and fail and fall; I texted my friends at 7 in the morning and by noon four of us were having an oceanside brunch, complete with the champagne so damn cheap they don't put it on the menu - my Breakup Brunch.
A couple weeks ago, I grabbed a bloody mary with "Hi Honey! Have a great day!" and her Honey. We were all chatting about our friendships and how we had met over extra olives and a little vodka, when Honey's Honey exclaimed,

Oh my god, you guys are Sex & the City!

 If you know me, you know this is my least favorite, and perhaps now my favorite - albeit totaly cliche - analogies of friendship. I mean, everyone thinks they're "Carrie", yet no one thinks they're "Miranda". When I was playing house with my French-fearing boyfriend of five years, I resented the SATC analogy. But now, what this pop culture reference really means about my life fills me with pride.



I am not an island.
But I may get on for my studio since I'll be staying awhile.

A few weeks ago, Honey and Goldi and I were all out grabbing drinks, and my one year commitment to myself and the idea of Goldi and I moving a couple beach towns North came up in the conversation. Honey's face dropped, and she practically shouted,

What!? What do you mean "have nothing keeping you here?' What about me!? How could you leave me?!

*This is the same girl who gave me the "buck the hell up and get over it!" speech in the bathroom of a bar on Friday. (Which I desperately needed in that moment.)

Hearing her say that, and seeing her face, I thought, I have been such an idiot.
I realized that it is not a boyfriend that will determine my moves in August. That the "something keeping me here" has become, luckily, My Friends. They are what will keep me here. I need them and they need me.
And it was not my town, but me, that was keeping me stagnant. It was my actions within that town that were hurting my personal growth: I had to make the decision to, as my mother put it, "act my age" within town. And part of that has been surrounding myself with friends that I am honest with, that I allow in enough for them to know when to tell me to "get over it, stop whining and put on some Lipstick dammnit." That I can have the whole I'm-Not-Our-Samantha-Just-Because-I'm-The-Oldest arguement with. That tell me point blank when I am being selfish - that it isn't always about me.
I have had to learn to stop being too stubborn to listen when they give me advice - to stop being too stubborn to let friends know when I need advice. (Actually, part of this whole self-realization process was kick started by a very [very!] stearn talking-to over the phone from  France. I got called on my shit. & I listened.) In my early twenties, I stopped sharing - to the point where my own sisters would tell me they wished they knew me better. But I have finally realized that as much as I tried to be an island, how much I closed friends & family off, they were still listening.
When I told my best friend in San Francisco about how the (near-senior) host of this year's New Years Eve party tried to kiss me, and she - without skipping a beat - asked,

Well, did you kiss him back?

When I told Goldi last Saturday that I had forgotten to put on a bra, she responded with,

Well, you always forget to put on a bra when you're hungover.

When I really didn't want to go somewhere that I really needed to go, she told me, very kindly,

You know, it isn't always about you. You need to go. Be a good friend.

I went, and I thanked her later.

My reality is: I've never had so many friends who know me so well. In both the silliest of ways and the most intimate. Not long ago, an aquaintance pointed out, while we were on the subject of dating, that to a secure man, if a woman had no friends, that was a 'red flag'. It hadn't ever occured to me, but she was right.

So, come August - I don't have to worry about not having anything keeping me here - because I have My Friends. I love them and I love it here. And that's all I really need. I love it here because I am wandering around this tiny town arms-locked with some it's finest residents. So, I will be resigning my lease come August - though this time it'll be month-to-month...

So, I'm staying put for now. Geographically speaking, at least.

Caveat: Some of my Best Friends don't live in my tiny town, and without them I would be nothing. I will visit them more.

Not the Cat's Meow.



And you thought there was no such thing as a Sexy Cat Lady?
Well, Google Image search certainly disagrees.

I am not going to lie, I have feel as though I have become a cliche.
29.

Single.

Studio Apartment.

Cat.

It's been a Pity Party Period.

Whaa whaa whaa.

I'm feeling a little like that scene in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days where she uses a computer application to morph their faces together; but mine wouldn't be of Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey (obvs) - it'd be like Bridget Jones and Charlotte from Sex and the City.

Eek!  I HAVE GOT TO BRING BACK THE GLAMOUR!!!
(And the self confidence)!!!!! C'mon Saturn! 

So! I am going out with B---- tonight, and a new guy tomorrow. He is not entirely new though; we actually know eachother from back home, as well as this tiny town - yet he found me on OkC. Cue: "It's a Small World". I also saw the Ex over the weekend, though he did not see me. (And, oddly, scored a bottle of wine because of it...)
That and I have a couple of unpublished posts - you haven't even heard about what went down with the Englishman!
This Cliche'd Pity Party sucks & I am determined to pull myself out of it. Like Now.

Meow.
No, you know what? Grrrrrrrrrrr!