The El Camino Real.

I'll pick you up something, seriously - I don't mind. What do you want? I asked my neighbor boyfriend as I was driving home last night.

Surprise me.

No.

Surprise me.

NO. If you want me to surprise you, I'll surprise you with the can of soup in my cupboard.

Laughter... followed by, I love you. He paused. Did I just say that?

So, what do you want me to pick up?

Granted, he said it in a 'friends' way, entirely off the cuff, because I am - well - Adorable. Capital A.
But he did say last night, after I had gotten home - food in hand,

I'm falling for you and it scares me.  

And you know, I have very strong feelings for him.

Sobutokayhere'sthething: I tried to break up with him the morning of Thanksgiving. I was pissed. Ultimately, we didn't end up calling it off, but I was left with a bad taste in my mouth and an outgoing text in my phone that ended with 'I need stability'.
I told him that it was the third time in three weeks I've thought to myself he's a loser (&, I can do better).
To which he barb'd me a little, gave me a little,

'Well, you're not perfect either'.*

 To which I said flat out,

Oh hell no. Do not try to manipulate me with those words. I do not play that game.

*He has since apologized profusely.

On this El Camino Real, this being a Real relationship, I'm having a hard time navigating the unfamiliar territory that based on friendship. I have a hard time understanding how it is his companionship that makes me want to hold him so tightly when I am with him. Physically he isn't my 'type' (whateverthatmeans) and I am attracted to him as a person more than to him physically.

But other times, he really drives me crazy. Now, I'm not perfect by any means, but for a thirty six year old Man, he's got some real fucking growing up to do. And I already took that route with the Ex. And I have always, always said that people will only change if they - themselves - want to change. My neighbor's last long term serious girlfriend essentially slammed the proverbial door in his face because he refused to change - to grow up. And I knew this going into a relationship with him; however, he has made such huge life changes in the past year - they cannot be overlooked either. I understand that both of us are just learning how to be a 'couple' & that we're not just going it alone anymore; and with that, there has to be some readjustments to our own lives. I adore being with him, I adore him. I love our friendship, and when we are together I feel completed in so many ways. I am comfortable and I am comforted. He values my intelligence, he thinks very highly of me.

But how many cactus do you need to see alongside the road to prove you're in the desert?

The reality is, I care very deeply for a person who - however good his intentions may be - when left to his own devices, it gets a little prickly.

Over the course of the last few weeks, its been one cactus after another. For both of us. But while mine are personal issues that don't really affect him other than that he now has a slightly more stressed out little lady to deal with, his have been - well, a little more of a problem. And he knows that. And he swears up & down that he is in the process of growing up, and changing those behaviors - but really... At this point in time, he's on shaky shaky ground.
I just don't know how to remedy caring for someone & being happy with them with the reality that in the long haul, they may not be right for me. That no one person is perfect but that I - and I have told him this verbatim - am not going to knowing hop on board with someone that is going to act like a donky at times for the next forty years. But, if I break things off with him - I will miss his friendship. And I'm not going to give up on him just yet - I am going to believe him when he says that he is actively changing - because it is not something I have asked of him, but that he's doing it for himself. I know a well as anyone that people do and can change. So, for now, I am taking him for his word.
To add to this, I can tell that the threat of losing me that morning - as well as just having been together so often & the natural progression of a relationship - is that his feelings for me are getting stronger.
(See: above.)
But every weekend, its seems as though its something.

Cactus.
Cactus.
Cacti.

He wrote me a text yesterday that simply read,

Hey! Thanks for being you.

I did not respond. (I didn't know how to - because I didn't want to write anything to the effect of 'ditto' because all I could think was, Why do you do the things you do!?!)
It was followed sometime later with,

I will offer you stability. Sorry for the other night. I won't do that again.

Again, I did not respond. For no other reason other than I was busy.
It was followed an hour later with,

I am fishing for some kind of reply. :)

He is sweet.
So, I'm not ready to end the cruise down the El Camino Real just yet, but I am definitely keeping my eyes out for the exit signs.
And, if I do, I'll follow the one the reads 'other Beach Cities'...

 ...because, I know one thing for sure -I'm not getting stuck in the damn desert.

If I am going to make the trip down the El Camino Real,

it sure as Hell better be called 'The Kings Road' for a reason.

Otherwise, I'll stick to PCH thankyouverymuch.

Better Than Stuffing (Or, Why My Life is Pretty Full).

Dear Goldi,
You are my anchor in this tiny town. As our lives have changed over the last year, I have been blessed to have you on the same classy crusade.

Dearest Best Friend in San Francisco,
Thank you for making me feel sane even at my craziest.
And for protecting me from so far away.

To My Mother,
Thank you for having that title.

To my Aussie,
You are the one who got away. But I am thankful for you teaching me the definition of Gentleman.

Dear Uncle Jay,
I should write more. I love you.

Bijou,
Thank you for being my inspiration and my sounding board. You are so wise.
You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I know you know you deserve as much and more.

To Honey,
Though you don't read this & I recognize it is you on the phone because you're screaming at other drivers, but thank you for listening when I talk. And valuing my words.

Dear Apt F,
(eye roll).

Beauty,
Thank you for asking questions. That and I have watched you grow in so many ways this year & love seeing you be the strong and independent woman I know you are. Sans Beast.

To my Malibu Badass,
This past year I have seen you achieve greatness. Do not regret your decisions, but focus on the many many leaps and bounds you have made this year; please know that sitting across the table from me the other night was a self assured and articulate Woman that has come so far in a short amount of time.

To Evy,
Thank you for reading. Thank you for your friendship with my mother. For some reason, when I write I feel like I am talking to you. I don't know why, but I do.

Dear Nancy,
I miss knowing you're out there.
I wish you were reading too.
I think you'd be proud.

Dear Dad,
I love you.
I tell you but don't show you nearly enough.

To my Best Friend in SF #2,
Don't let the 2 throw you, because you know as well as I do, that when I talk about the few friends who stuck by me before, during and after the Ex I am speaking to you. I think that what you are doing is so so so commendable, and that you will find - in time - as I believe you already are, that the City suits you, that I love you and that you are deserving of the best.

My Dutchman,
If you weren't Dutch, you'd be The One. Thank you for the snapshot of my Perfect Life in August.
You were perfect, but it was my friends who showed me that my life is perfect-er.

To my Little Sisters,
I am proud of both of you. We are so alike in so many ways. See: My Mother.

To my Flame Haired Favorite,
I love watching The Good Things happen to a Good Person.
I am thankful that that Good Person is in my life.
Thank you for being the litmus test for every guy I date.
I would do the same, but you don't need one.

To my Anchoring ex-Shopgirls,
Watching the two of you grow up & become mothers & wives has been a blessing. Not only that, but it was you two who I first let in - for the first time in my entire life - as Older Sisters. Without you two, I probably wouldn't have the ability to have such relationships in general; I am too stubborn. Your words stick with me more than you know.

Hey hey, Sugar Sugar,
Thank you for the home-cooked meals. Without you, I would have none. Zerozipzilch.
Your son, your sugared almonds and your presence in general has been a wonderful gift to me, and I adore you.
You can borrow that sweater.

Dear Brad Pitt,
I have to decline your proposal of marriage. My apologies.

To The One With the Bangs,
Thank you for giving me the courage to continue doing this.
From the very beginning.

To my Ex-Shopgirl Now Good Friend,
Your insights have helped me through the darkest times.
I love how our friendship has evolved.

Dear the Ex's Sister,
My heart will always be hiding in the cupboard with you.
No matter what cupboard it is - You will always think of me when you look in there.

Dear Client/Soul Sister of Sorts,
I am thankful for You. And your voicemails. But mostly you.

To my Boss,
I love our little world too.

To Fanny and Boris' (Teenaged) Mother,
Thanks for being the Older Sister I never had.
Like really though -You let me borrow your car.
And secretly know I'm cooler than you. Like any older sister does.
(Did I mention I have two younger sisters. I know these things.)

To everyone else who reads this,
I hope you are as thankful as I am for the people you make your life as wonderful as it is.
Because life is short.
And it is wonderful.

If I could compare friendship to cannibalism for justonesecond:

You are what you eat.
And I eat well.

Nom nom nom.

A Keepsake?

When I was nineteen, my best friend at the time was pretty magical. She was one of those friends that you connect with on such a weird level of total and utter goofiness. Even now, every once and awhile, I remember stories about her that have me laughing outloud alone in my car. She is part of the 'folklore of my life' in such a way that still, ten years after our falling out (my fault), I find myself talking about her often. We met as virginal teens, both just totally naive & completely carefree. Most of the memories I have of us are so juvenile, and so childlike but its just that - our innocence - that makes them so wonderful. I still tell the story about the guy in a class that would sit behind her no matter where she sat and smell her hair, or the time she was pretending to talk on her cell to avoid a creeper in the school office & it rang, very loudly, while she was supposed to be talking on it. Her reaction: Oh, hold on. My other line is ringing. We once packed up my little red Suburu & took off for Santa Barbara - yet before we left her parents' driveway her mother ran out after us, calling out & waving her arms. Girls! Do you know how to get there?! We did not. We were just going to... Go? We were babysitters, waitresses and shopgirls together. I still talk about when the car she was driving exploded seconds after she jumped out of it.
We were borderline obsessive (as teenaged girls can be) and we were in constant competition with one another (like teenaged girls will also be).
I remember her sadness when she realized we were growing up; and how much she was going to miss being a kid. I was so excited to become an 'adult' while she was essentially grieving the loss of her own childhood.
She was the first person I called when I lost my virginity at 18 and a half.
She held onto hers much much longer.

But my favorite story about her is pretty silly...
So, as teenagers do, she was messing around with the older brother of one of our babysitting charges. (Obviously, not while babysitting.) He was handsome and a bit older than both of us. Late at night, she would sneak into his apartment-style bedroom at his parents' house (yes, we were quite young) and one night he thought she had fallen asleep. He got up from his side of the bed, crept over to where her floral J.Crew underwear lay on the floor, picked them up and...

put. them. in. a. box. on. his. nightstand.

She was not asleep.

She watched him do this and then she waited.

Once she was sure he was out for the count, she crept around to the box,

took her underwear back and left.

A couple days later they were on the phone & she very innocently asked,

Hey! Have you seen my underwear?

He said he had not.

Imeanwhodoesthat?!?

Rise & Shine.

She is 'reflecting' on what she is thankful for.
Either that or she's just kind of confused.
Not sure.

Well, I'm up early.

Three days until Thanksgiving, and I'll be honest - I have a lot to be thankful for. When I say 'a lot', I'm not talking about my collection of shoes, or the two dozen skinny jeans folded into my drawers.

Because that would make me really shallow and materialistic.

The implied is - quite obviously - a lot of people I am thankful for.

For someone who, one year ago, really had no friends* (I know right?) - I now have more friends than I probably deserve. And not only that, the caliber of women that I have been lucky enough to surround myself with this year is really quite impressive.

*by 'no' I mean like 4.

So, I guess what I am saying is...

Thanks, guys. Capital T.

(You make me feel popular.)

Sidenotes: A girlfriend asked me recently if I still speak to my Dutchman. I don't really, but I think about him often. Her response stuck with me though, because she's so right.

She whispered back,

Yeah, you'll die with that one.

And I will. I had that summer. I had that man, albeit so briefly. And my heart aches typing this, still.

B is For Blurter.

I'm sorry for saying... inappropriate things last night.

Because, you see, I wasn't taking the words back.
Or sorry for saying them.
They just weren't... appropriate.



Apt F Me.

 I've had a terrible week. But one of those terrible, awful weeks where the world shows you exactly how lucky you are. The kind of week where everything hits the fan, and life shows you that you have a strong network of people there to help you clean it. I've done a lot of reflecting on the past year, maybe its because we're almost at Thanksgiving, and goddamnit I am lucky. Now, I just have to work on - well, finances, really. But that's a whole other story that would make for a verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry dull blog. But I digress... So, I can be wildly inappropriate. On Halloween, when someone was dressed as Freddie Mercury I made an 'pnemonia' joke. Yeah. Awful, I know. So, with a knack for saying the wrong thing or simply not thinking before I speak, I tend to blurt.
I'm a Blurter. The words just come out.
Hence the apology this morning as I stepped out of the shower.

For.
Saying.
Inappropriate.
Things.

Because I woke up this morning with a certain three words resonating in my head. Shit.
And it wasn't followed by the usual 'as a friend' that I like to tack on to the end of it. He said not to worry about he; that he was on the same page - That he understands. I don't even know what I meant by it. I don't even know if I meant it. Do I feel that way about him? I get these ideas in my head and they seem wrestle with my mouth like its the championship match. And they always seem to win.
One time he said it to me, somewhat casually, and I looked him square in the eye, and added 'as a friend' for him. He did not correct me, nor did he respond.
And this morning, on the phone, I went to apologize again & he said,

Don't apologize. I care about you & you care about me. 

My girlfriend asked me if I had butterflies when I saw him. I said No.
Bijou asked if I do indeed feel that way about him, and I rolled my eyes and made mention of him being puffy. Her response? Oh well, you're puffy too sometimes. So am I.*

*I'm obsessed with puffiness.

So here I am, white wine seeping out of my pores after an amazing night with my flame-haired favorite & her fiance, after a night of Pinot Grigio on the backyard patio & the blurry memory of a dance-off wondering what the heck I was thinking.
It's way to soon.
Have I been thinking this all along? Yes.
But! But! But! No.
Yes.
No.
Oh God.
Can I even differentiate between realllly really liking someone and being in love with them? Without butterflies, without that elusive Spark. Puffy & all. But with a level of comfort and of caring that I haven't felt in a long time. I once told him (er, blurted) that if he ever read this thing down the line, he'd look at me and go, You realllllllly didn't like me when we first got together. I know I whine, and I know I fought it like my mouth does my words & I roll my eyes and I panic about Goldi meeting the Doctor's parents because it reminds me that I may someday have to meet Apt F's. The word 'boyfriend' makes me sheepish, and I have only referred to him as that once to his face, and even that was in recounting someone else's words.
But I tell him everything - well, almost everything. Why? Because I'm a blurter. I am an Apt F-induced blurter. That filter that overtook me in my month with the Dutchman, where is that when I need it??

Do I love him? Yes, as a friend. I love our friendship and yes, I am... I can see the possibility...

See, I can't even type it.

But those words on that 'same' page we are on, those damn three little words... They wrestled their way from the paper to my lips to the air between us.

I said them.

I am happy. Why can't that be enough? Why must I go blurt all that is inappropriate?

He may understand but I sure as hell don't.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

So in my fleeing of the Ex so long ago, I made the swift and not very well thought out decision to take a studio apartment on a tiny peninsula in my tiny town. The peninsula itself is beautiful, and each side is lined with gorgeous multimillion dollar beachfront homes. But, sandwiched inbetween all these stunning properties are a bunch of funky apartment buildings.

Like mine.
Eight units, all the same - all tiny rooms with a kitchen attached.
The Poor Man's Melrose Place.
And speaking of early 90's references, the residents are quite the Motley Crue.

Apt A. The Shut In. He came out to chat with us last weekend and after a weird conversation about punk rock & Nazis, Apt F looked at me quizzically, & asked, 'Where'd he come from?!' Um, he lives here.

Apt B. The Hoarder. My Ex's sister once asked, How's the old man in Apt B?, and my response was, 'Ah, you know... Usually drunk & pants-less.'

Apt C. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World & Her Supermodel Cat. Ahem.

Apt D. The Sassy Chicadee. The only other woman in our entire complex, and the one who told me that the general consensus (okay, between her & Apt E) was that I was not friendly unless I'd had a glass of wine. I told her I was just shy. She has since rescinded the statement.

Apt E. The Mountain Man. Sweet yet very odd guy with great taste in music and an even better sound system. Provides the soundtrack for the weekends. Once asked me out. I said No, I don't think its a good idea to date my neighbors. Oops.

Apt F. My (Accidental) Boooooooooooooooyfrieeeeeeend. Enough said.

Apt G. The Cute Surfer Dude. He does not mingle. Pretty sure he thinks we're all insane. We might be.

Apt H. The Family. Oh yeah, two kids and their Dad aaaaaaaaand his girlfriend. They live above me in a tiny room with a kitchen attached and they vaccuum. A lot.

Apt I. The Old Man. He works nights in an orange reflective vest. For a long time I thought he was a crossing guard, but then realized that isn't really a position that requires a night shift.

Apt J. The Lakers Fan. He is a big black guy who has decorated his entire place with Laker's memorabilia and drives a Lexus with a vanity plate that reads NOH8N. I wouldn't dare.

We all get along just fine, especially us 'kids' in C through F, throwing in some patio time with Bijou for kick. (Though do I suspect that they had some BBQs over the summer I was not invited to.) We're an odd bunch in an odd place.
But it's Home. Capital H. And, much to my surprise these days, I'm okay with that.
Our next plan is to find a video projector and play old movies on the giant white wall that backs up to our parking lot. Or have a dance off. Not sure.

Found Letter.

Going through old papers, on a quest to organize my life - I found this folded into a book

It was addressed to me & signed by me.

It would be so much easier. Would it though?

The reality is, is that you say you could never forgive him for saying those things to you, but that's not true. The reality is, is that you don't want to be with him. Or you feel like you can't. Because of.

It would be so much easier, to be with him and let him love you and go straight to wife and mother. But you want wife and mother, but you don't know if it with [your Ex] or that you'd be settling. Not even settling; you would be doing it just to do it. Because you love his family, or his parents, and you loved your bubble. Because you loved your bubble. It kept you in.

You may be unhappy now, and lonely, and self-destructing... but that will change and you have to stop.

You have to stop behaving like you did when you were 22. I know you're hurting right now, but that's no excuse. You are a 28 year old adult.

You need to surround yourself with people who care about you. And that may not include -----. They may care about you, but for lack of a better phrase, they let you get away with too much. You would never act like that around -----.

And in term of [your Ex], you need to get over it. You need to get over the small town thing... you do - because its you who is doing that to yourself. You're making poor decisions and then complain about it being a small town because you're afraid of him finding out, or people judging you. Just stop acting that way and it won't be an issue, now will it?

Stop harping [your Secret Ex Boyfriend] so much. Whatever will happen will happen, and let's be honest - you don't actually know how much you like him. You like having someone. Who likes you. And stop doing that your [your Ex] too, it's not fair.

Like yourself. Learn to love yourself. The rest will come with that.

Step back.

Me

9/7/2010

Well, I think its safe to say I took my own advice.

Guidelines, Timelines & My, How Time Flies.

I am a very different person today than I was one year ago.
I mean, if we're doing something right in our lives, hopefully we can all say this every year. But seriously, in terms of personal growth - this has been a pretty fucking banner year for me. Granted, I am still working on a lot - still have a hard time checking my mail and paying parking tickets and being vulnerable in general - but, simply put, I was a hot mess one year ago. A seriously Hot Mess. I had no sense of autonomy, no sense of direction other than down - I was simply in a downward spiral, feeling totally unworthy of love.

I was far too thin, far too wild & far too sad. Why? My internal value system totally out of whack & was wholly dependent on my relationships with men. Since I was eighteen (thats about ten and a half years) I have spent - hold on, let me grab a calculator... about nine years in relationships. And that isn't counting dating or 'seeing someone'. That's nine years of hearing, 'Oh, you're So&So's Girlfriend.' Really, I have always had a boyfriend. And in most cases, a back up boyfriend to lessen the pain of breaking up with my real boyfriend.

Timeline A: The Boyfriends.

As a result, I was lacking the internal values that it took to be a good friend. Self absorbed, with my entire identity being wrapped up in being So&So'sGirlfriend for so long, I lacked the skills to maintain quality relationships with other girls.
I really had no other form of identity aside from whatever relationship I was in.

Timeline B, (the Orange Line):

S

We should totally hang out sometime!

How many times have you heard this? Women are notorious for saying this to each other and never following up. These empty phone number exchanges happen usually in bar bathrooms over vodka tonics with the acquaintance whom, for some reason, is your best friend in the place that night.
And rarely, if not never, do we call. Maybe we'll friend request each other, maybe we'll write 'so good too see you! xo' on one another's walls and then we move on - 'liking' the occasional status update as we go.
Which can kind of make making friends in your twenties difficult. Especially if you didn't have any friends to begin with; whether it be because you broke up with your boyfriend or moved to a far off city in search of yourself. Its hard to make friends as women; I've always said that, when it comes to meeting new people, women (especially young women) typically don't like other women until they have a reason to whereas men tend to like other men until they have a reason not to.

It was Veteran's Day of last year, and I had the day off; my phone rang right as I was getting onto PCH. It was sunny, and warmish for November. So, exactly one year ago, after flailing and failing for a few months post-breakup, I got the phone call that would change my life. It sounds dramatic I know, but the reality is - It really did change my life. And, Idobelieve, it changed her life as well. I had really been struggling at that point because I had very few friends other than some anchoring past coworkers & Bijou, - really, the only other girlfriend I had in my tiny town was my friend for one reason - and one reason only: because she had just broken up with her boyfriend too. We could wallow in loneliness together, but had nothing else in common. So imagine my surprise when it was an acquaintance that I had run into a few weeks prior - an old roommate of one of my closest college friends. We had done the whole song&dance drunk at a bar, the good ole' We Should Totally Hang Out, but I'll be honest - I never thought she'd call. We made plans to meet for sushi in a half hour. I just remember sitting there on the patio, waiting for her to arrive, thinking -

Well, I wonder how this is going to go. I really don't know this girl.

We had never hung out before, other than by chance years before in big groups & to be honest (mostly out of jealousy) I hadn't thought much of her. (Okay, totally out of jealousy.) Lunch went well; we laughed and actually had stuff to talk about - and, I being 'new' to girlfriends, basically talked about mysef the entire time. Imagine that.
This was my First 'Date' with Goldi.
Problem was, initially Goldi and I were a little too wild together. Maybe a lot too wild. Between that, and with me re-learning how to be a good friend in general, there were a few missteps in the first months of our friendship. But during the short lived reunion with my Ex, I found myself missing this new friend, wishing I was out to dinner with her & not sitting on the couch with my Ex. It really wasn't until the morning after I broke up him - and I called her & a couple other girls that I had gotten to be friends with over the same time frame, Honey & Bijou - to join me for my Break Up Brunch #1; it wasn't until after that brunch, when she looked at me as we were leaving our (now) favorite patio, and said,

'Alright, now what? Today is your day.'  

That was the moment, for me, that she I became the true friends we are now. Still wild, though more aware of it, we slowly started bonding in a way that was sort of borderline obsessive. But in a really good way; in a way where we finally - after a series of sort of poor decisions - we looked at eachother on her couch one night and made a pact.
A pact to start acting like grown ups, to stop acting like we were college-aged twits.
To hold one another accountable for their actions.
And if we couldn't, as friends, do that for one another - then we couldn't be friends with one another.

We Sparkle.

Our new (tongue-in-cheek) motto was, Be classy. We decided on more restaurant checks, and fewer bar tabs. More patio parties but now without the bottomless mimosas. We started acting like the most mature seventh grade best friends two twentysomethings could be. Not that we haven't had Fun, with nights running with the grunions on the beach, of singing Lisa Loeb at the top of our lungs on her couch, of tearful I Love You Man conversations over red wine, of spats and of eye rolls; but we have sparkled and sung our way from Winter to Fall. And of that pact, we both internalized it; it became an agreement to ourselves and not so much to each other.

Not a Bromance, a 'Bra'-mance.

Over the course of the past year, I have gained a reallysuperclassy best friend, and through her, a myriad of other amazing friends. And yes, mine and Goldi's relationship has evolved initofitself the past year, between boys and boyfriends and Dutchmen and the curveballs of Life in general, but the reality is - because of that pact; we have both grown up so much this year.
Because of this shift in my own value system; the idea that I was no longer defined by boyfriends, but by my own Friends, my life's little graph now looks like this:

Timeline C, (the Red Line):

See that upswing? F yeah.
Because these days, even though I apparently have a boyfriend again, I am not defined by that.
I am Me. I am defined by what I call, my Collection of Blonds (with a few brunette's and a redhead thrown in for good measure). I am defined by the world I have created for myself. And when my Dutchman was here for a month, though I was a bit harder to reach via telephone on Planet BIOHF3W, our interactions with my circle - the double dates, & happy hours, the wedding & the whole damn experience - it really just amplified how great my life is here to me. That I have so many supportive friends; so many wonderful friends. I was amazed by that snapshot of my life that the Dutchman saw, by the support I have felt all around me for almost a year now.
And this time around, I finally found a boy who is also my Friend, who likes my friends. Who has said, time & time again, that he understands how important my friends are, that the one thing he does not want to happen, under any circumstance, is for our relationship to get in the way of my friendships. And I don't either. The other night, he and I went out & Beauty met up; he was ready to go home, so he sweetly said,

Alright, I'm going to give you guys some girl time.

And he left us the patio, happy as could be.

As much as this little blog is can read at times like a love letter to dating, it is -in fact- a Love Letter to My Friends.

To my Mother, to my Little Sisters, to Goldi, to Bijou; to my girlfriends across the street, my girlfriends in San Francisco. To my girlfriends who invited me to Thanksgiving, who helped me when I was bed bound with a sprained ankle. To my Shopgirls from the past; the ones who were my rocks when I broke up with my Ex in the first place.
Because they are what make me who I am; not Apt F or the Dutchman or the Aussie.
Those boys are the real sidenotes in my Saturn Return.

Because most of this growth has occurred on patios this past year; by being inspired by the women around me. And I have watched each and every one of my friends this past year grow and change; we're all taking those huge steps, & we're taking them together. From job changes, to dating doctors, to ridding our lives of the Beasts, to making friends in the Big City; I have watched each and every one of my friends succeed in so many ways; I have watched my friends flourish. I have felt myself flourish.

And because, now, I have this very love letter to write - because now I have the platform & the courage to write it, and, most importantly, the people to write it about. I have all of these things, because I am a whole enough person in my own right - as just Me - not as So&So'sGirlfriend. Now, I may be ready to attempt something Real for the first time in a long time. And yes, I'm scared - terrified even; because part of me associates real relationships with the loss of friends, and I refuse to be that girl again. I refuse to date someone who would treat my friends as though they are competition with him or any less important than his own friends.

And I found a Friend in Apt F who values my collection of friends as much as I do.

I am a very different person today than I was one year ago today.
And for that, I am thankful.

Happy 'Anniversery' Goldilocks.

The Taste of Sweet Potato Pie (& Other Forgotten Comforts)

Here comes the cold
Break out the winter clothes
And find a love to call your own
You - enter you
Your cheeks a shade of pink
And the rest of you in powder blue

Who knows what will be
But I'll make you this guarantee

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time

And come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?
And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day

 - John Mayer (21st century manwhore)

I am not a cynic; I believe that most people have good intentions, I rarely suspect hidden agendas, and just generally like & trust people. Thatbeingsaid - in a totally noncynical way - I do believe there is truth to the above song lyrics. I am not immune to the temperature drop being some sort of catalyst towards a relationship; though, in no way am I trying to cheapen my relationship with Apt F by implying that we are only together for the sake of not being sans a New Years kiss - but I do think that the upcoming holidays definitely play some sort of unconscious roll in any two people getting together.

Like ice skating. Or sequins.

Everybody knows relationships are a Winter Sport.*

*you know it, I know it,

& John Mayer knows it.

This is not my point. It's - in fact - more of a Preffixual Sidenote (not a real thing*).

*well, now it is.

It's just that its fully Fall, and nearing Winter which means, as I realized yesterday - one third of the way into November - that it is almost Thanksgiving. I could almost taste the sweet potatoes, the creamed onions my Ex's mom makes every year, the pea & pimento salad my mother makes every year...
And then I realized I will be alone for Thanksgiving.
Being a single Shopgirl five hundred miles away from my hometown - it's kind of an either/or situation with Thanksgiving & Christmas - and this year I chose to take Christmas off. For the first time in six Christmases, I will be boarding a plane to Northern California to spend the holiday with my family. Last year was the first time I spent Thanksgiving with them in five years, and I spent last Christmas down here (and the four prior), with my Mom at my Ex's parents house.
I came to this realization & sort of panicked. Okay, more than sort of. I'll be working the day before and the day after - but what about Thanksgiving Day itself? I have talked to a girlfriend about spending it together, but we haven't followed up on that since like August.
And I know that my neighbor is going to his Dad's for Thanksgiving; which lead to my next panic jumble of thoughts:

Oh my god, at some point... if all goes well...I will one day meet his parents. Obviously not on Thanksgiving - far too soon. Far too important of a holiday. I'd rather sit at home watching old movies and eating yams getting drunk off spiced rum by myself than deal with that pressure. Funny Girl, anyone?

And then, the next thing you know, my mind was racing. This isn't just an 'eight dates & move on while still playing the feild/winter sporting event' relationship. I committed to a real attempt at something. Which means, not only will at some point will I meet his parents, if I have a Boyfriend... which I do;

Oh my God - Christmas gifts.
Oh my God - fights.
Oh my God - at some point we're going to disagree on something.
Oh my God - at some point he's going to find me acting irrational. (Oh, wait - beentheredonethat.)
Oh my God - miscommunication.
Oh my God - He'll introduce me as his Girlfriend.
Oh my God - the expectation of communication.
But, Oh my God - the at some point it's going to get Real.

Real.
You know that thing that I have avoided like the bubonic plague for over a year now?
Yeah, that.

So, a couple nights ago, we were laying together watching the food channel, & it was making me hungry for a real home cooked meal. I used to make dinner every night in my 'past life', but as I have spent most of my free evenings this year on different patios or 'baking' Lean Cuisines in my oven, I have only really had a handful of home cooked meals in the same amount of time, so I said rather benignly, without thinking,

We should cook dinner together one of these nights. I can cook, ya know.

Right now, we're just starting to find our footing as a couple; niether of us were expecting this, and we're slowly feeling eachother out, making sure we're both on the same page. But last night he brought up making dinner again - I think he has lacked homecookin' in his life lately too - so, I pulled out my binder of recipes that I have collected over the years & told him to pick something. He leafed through the three dozen or so laminated pages filed under 'entrees' finally deciding on a hearty chicken, tomato & mushroom recipe. As he made his decision, he said,

This'll be nice. It'll be our first...

...and he trailed off, not finishing his sentence as he looked as my face.

Now I felt exactly what my face was doing as a physical reaction to his words; I must have looked like I was having a seizure, or fighting Tourette's, as my brain finished his sentence. The word 'domestic' popped into my head, along with the peppery aftertaste of the dish he picked in my mouth. I have made that chicken dish probably fifty times, it was my Ex's favorite. I haven't opened that homemade cookbook since we broke up, haven't even looked at it; and now here I am, over a year later tasting every recipe I see - they're as familiar as Thanksgiving sweet potato pie - while I imagine preparing each one. Like a muscle memory, I remember exactly how it felt to make them in my old kitchen, I don't even need the recipes for some. Here I am, reading the 'add garlic' & 'less onion' notes I carefully handwrote on the margins. Here I am, planning on using those same forgotten handwritten notes to make dinner for someone else. For someone else. Not my Ex-Boyfriend, but my Boyfriend.
It got Real.
I am really in it; a committed relationship with the expectation of progression.
This'll be the first time.. with the implied ...of many? as a couple? we make dinner together?
He looked at me after watching my face spasm - me, transparent as always, and said sweetly,

It's okay. I'm weird too. And yes, I mean in the same way you're weird.

But I had forgotten the cooking dinners together, birthday gifts, friend's potlucks, double dates, me occasionally asking people, 'Is it okay if my Boyfriend comes or is it just a girls' thing?' All that stuff that goes along with a Real Relationship.

I had forgotten all of this.
Like the suprise of cold night air in November.
Like the surprise of Thanksgiving right around the corner.
How is it that we are shocked by the changing of the seasons, time and time again?
How is it that we are shocked by change, time and time again?
How is it that I have forgetten so much, yet remember it so well?

Sidenotes: Imagine my shock when - as I was typing these very words - that at this age, I had forgotten that agreeing to be in a committed relationship with someone essentially means that we are agreeing to see if we fall in love with each other.
Even more shocking was when my girlfriend asked, as girlfriends always do - if I could see myself marrying him (we are so predictable) that my immediate reaction was well, that face I made last night and then 'well... I wouldn't be wasting my time if...' Oh good lord.
I emailed my mother the one cute picture I have of me and him. She told me two days later, very earnestly, that she had printed it out and put it on display. We've been dating five days. Even weirder, I then told my neighbor she did this. Followed by, 'Why do I feel the need to tell you everything?!'

Edits: This is the recipe he chose. Thanks Martha! That & I do actually have somewhere to spend Thanksgiving.

Once Upon a Time.

There was a girl who was just learning to be a Grown Up.
Who was dating an Australian who was just learning to be a Grown Up too...
This was last Spring.
If you've just discovered Style & Saturn Return, I highly recommend going all the way to the very beginning  (aaaaand I mean April) & reading backwards.
I know it sound tedious, but I believe that its well worth it.

I'd pour yourself a glass of Wine first. Capital W. NowaitItakethatback. Capital Pour.

Don't You Always Want to Read the Last Page First, Anyhow?

You'll be glad you did.

Poker Games & Bowling Lanes.

So, my first date on Friday with Apt F was... Well, it was kind of a shitshow, actually.
I woke up at 6:30 am Saturday morning in a fog to a fully lit apartment, ESPN quietly on television and no neighbor next to me. I had a vague memory of getting home after dinner, drinks & more drinks. I picked up my phone, and dialed his number.

Where are you?

I'm in Hawaiian Gardens playing poker.

What?!

Yeah, you were being lame. So I left.

You're in.        Hawaiian Gardens.          Playing poker.

I hung up.
I was incredulous.
He followed that up with a text asking why I was so upset with him last night.
I responded promptly with:

No idea.
Not at all.

But I'm not too happy with you right now, so perhaps I was on to something?

He then replied, asking if he knocked on the door in twenty minutes would I answer?
I did not respond, put my phone down and... unlocked the door. Sure enough - in 20 minutes time, I heard his car pull up. He walked in, laid down next to me and we both slept until I had to go to work.

My poker face conceals about
as much as this women are wearing.
Very little.

I should probably explain; the date itself went well. I mean, we hang out every night. This time we just did it a restaurant. Longstoryshort, we then met up with Beauty for drinks, and about halfway through our first round, my Ex's sister walked in. Excited to see her, I followed her outside to smoke in the cold, mainly to gossip about Apt F and catch up in general. At that point, my Ex himself walked out of the dive bar next door, grabbed her by the arm & wordlessly led her away. After that debacle, the three of us headed down the street to another bar & promptly ran into Beauty's Beast of an exboyfriend. We stayed for a couple drinks, & Apt F and I returned to Apt C, where - according to him - I got very upset about my run in with the Ex. (This part is a little fuzzy.)

So, he left.
Why he didn't just decide to go upstairs to his own apartment is beyond me.
But, I think he needed to clear his head a bit; though he did it an a verrrry odd way.

With poker.
At a casino.

At 3 am.*

*I feel inclined to mention that he did not drink nearly

as much as I did.

 I may or may not have been drowning my sorrows a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

That's some Wall
ya got there kid.

Sometimes, we (and 'we' being 'me') forget that men have feelings too. Let's take into consideration that I do see him every night, have not been open to any sort of real discussion about us or being together; for instance; when I was gone last weekend for Halloween he texted me,

I guess I kind of adore you. Sorry to bug, but I felt like texting you that.

I replied coldly, We agreed none of this. Call you in the am.

I've been making it a routine to hurt his feelings justalittlebit. I have been stubborn and shallow; I have been so completely anal retentive; holding back and back until it was almost too late.
I have treated this Friend who I care about quite a bit like he was disposable, even when I knew he wasn't.
I really have been such a brat; its a good thing that I have a terrible poker face - that even with all my attempts at indifference towards him, I was transparent enough that he knew I had feelings for him. I'd have thrown my hands up a long time ago.
So after Friday night, he was fed up with me and my Poker Face & needed to put his on for a couple hours.
I don't blame him. 
Saturday morning, I showed up at the shop & soon realized I wasn't actually scheduled to work that day.
So after hanging out in the store for a bit, I turned around and headed home just in time for lunch. He was still in my bed when I got there - cuddled up with Kat Moss and watching football. Waiting for me. Our day together - he, me & Beauty - was fantastic; we brunched, bistro'd, and we all went bowling.
It was like the commercial, our day was spent in the Land of Oz.
Walking into a tiny little gastropub, post-brunch but prior to bowling, he nonchalantly asked,

I mean, what are we doing?

I rolled my eyes and wagged my finger at him.

No. Don't even start.



No! No! Nope!

 

Okay maybe a little. Or, a lot.


And later, standing there with awful clownish bowling shoes on our feet, he put his arm around me, & said,

You know I really do adore you. Which is more than Like. Which frightens me.

And, babe, you're really a terrible bowler. Just. Really. Terrible.

At this point, I know that I have allowed the whole notboyfriendBoyfriend mentality to get a little ridiculous - because, the truth is:
I really do adore him too.
That, and I am truly a terrible bowler with a crap poker face.

His dad asked what I did for a living.
Apt F answered & said, 'She's got amazing Style.'
His dad laughed, 'And she's dating you!?!'

We had The Talk Saturday night.
We agreed that our relationship was - & really had to - progress forward.

I mean think about it, for all intents and purposes you already are my girlfriend.

He's right.

We spend every night together.

Yep.

The only thing stopping us is whether or not you want me to be your boyfriend.

Again, totally correctamundo.

Whether you are willing to commit to progressing with this relationship.

And I'm not sure you are.

I looked at him sheepishly,

I am.

So, then, stop trying to sabotage it.

So I have agreed to work on ridding myself of the wall I've built upon that staircase I march & to rid myself of that awful poker face.
To be in a committed relationship.
To be his girlfriend.
I have a Boyfriend. Capital B.

And, he's promised not to take off to Hawaiian Gardens in the middle of the night anytime soon.

Sidenotes: Goldi found her Just Right in the Doctor. They said the three magic words the night they celebrated his birthday.
Apt F, aka My Boyfriend, and I really do have a great friendship, & in the last couple days I have really paid attention to how sweet he is, and how much he really does like me. And how much he has put up with all my bullshit. We're both just trying to grow up, me at 29 and him at 36. He makes me laugh, he holds me close, he compliments me, he likes my friends. Actually, he likes them a lot. He's not perfect, but he's pretty damn great. And fuck, I'm nowhere near perfect myself; and he adores me anyway. Unlike many of my past relationships or in dating, where I attempt to hide the parts of myself I dislike behind some guise of grace and poise - he already thinks I am graceful & poised, and a little bit kooky. Okay, a lot kooky.
And of Beauty, he told me that she 'talked me up' every time I left the table Friday & Saturday; so to her, I say thank you, My Love.
Also, I deactivated my online dating profile.

My Mother Always Said, Why Don't You Write Them A Letter?

Dear Ex Boyfriend,

You look handsome these days.
Well, you've always been handsome, but life without my cooking really suits you.

So, we saw each other again.
And, again, you couldn't even manage a simple 'Hello'?
Not even a head nod.
I just can't wrap my brain around it.

I would like to remind you - We spent five years together.
Five years.
And for many of those years, we were in Love.
I spent most of my twenties with you.
As 'Us'.

In the dark, I do exist.

We had a home together.
We sent out Christmas cards.
Kat Moss had a sister.
We were a Family for many many years.

And you know, your family stories are mine now.
Your parents & your sister - They were mine once too.
And I am thankful for that.

Yet you cannot even acknowledge me.

Your twenties - Do you not acknowledge them either?
Or do you just simply leave me out of the story like you did with the last girl who broke your heart?
Not a mention of her when you talk about that trip to New York the two of you took with your family.
Do you leave me out when you talk of our own?

I exist, you know. I always will.
& it breaks my heart a little that you can look straight through me;
as though I am nothing more than cold Fall air.

It makes me sad that you have so much anger that you cannot let go of.

So much so that you cannot even say Hello.
I am not asking for a hug, or even an arm squeeze.
Just a simple acknowledgment.
A Hi.

I wish you the best.

Love,
Me.

Oz v. the State of Kansas.

I have a date tonight.

A First Date.

I have stolen Kat Moss' boyfriend.

I believe we are going to Mediterranean. I don't know what I am going to wear, but I did manage to blowdry my hair this morning, so that's a start. I'm not sure what time he's picking me up, and I hope my face isn't puffy* by this evening as Bijou & I had drinks last night & I ordered a third glass of wine.

*I just checked, it's actually not puffy. I just look a little palid. 

But really, none of this matters because by the time I get home and dressed and ready for this so-called First Date, my date will most likely have watched me get ready for the whole damn thing. Because, thethingis, I have a date tonight with my notboyfriend Boyfriend (He's not my boyfriend!) from Apt F.

Rewind.
I had a date last night.
Not that kind of date though.

Pretend that espresso is a glass of  Pinot.

Its been cold here as Fall has settled in to our tiny town; its taken it's Autumn form of a misty, damp half-deserted beach town. The summer crowds are gone, the students are studying at the coffee shops & the locals are well hidden on their couches in front of their tv sets. So... surprise surprise! I spent a couple hours on that well worn restaurant patio last night smoking and laughing and bemoaning a certain magazine editor with Bijou.  Like most Thursdays as of late, there we are - bundled up in knit tights, leather mini skirts & high neck houndstooth peacoats. Some of these nights we are profound, some nights we are silly, and some nights we sit and stare at each other - tired from work, tired by life, or still tired from the night before.

On my first glass of wine, she asks about my neighbor. (Or, more likely, I brought him up.) I tell her that his side of the bed has started to smell like him. And yes, he has a side of the bed he has deemed His. I explain that I'm getting sick of hearing myself complain - all the wailing and eye-rolling - and I simply just want someone to tell me what to do. I know what I want, what I see for the 'folklore of my life', and waaawaaawaaa he doesn't fit. She responds,

I can't tell you what to do, Missy. I won't tell you what to do. I don't know what you should do. But I'll tell you one thing; Life is not always going to be exciting. And I don't mean that in a negative way, I simply mean that its not always going to be magical. You're going to have to realize that...

She goes on, describing sitting on her couch with her boyfriend not long ago,

...We were just sitting there watching television, and this commercial came on - I don't know what for. But it was these cool looking people dancing in front of a wall - there were costume changes, and props, and there they were, just dancing away - at one point there was a dog. Anyway, as the commercial was ending, I got up and started to walk into the kitchen, but first I stopped & pointed to the television.

Justsoyouknow, I said to him, I want my life to be like that.

And he just looked at me, and replied, 'Uh okay.'

And yes, somedays my life is like that; surrounded by cool people, those magical nights where you just have the greatest time. And yes, you had that with the Aussie. You had that with the Dutchman. But the reality is, the reality is - some days are just going to be spent sitting on my couch with my boyfriend.

The reality is, not every day can be like that damn commercial & thats not necessarily a bad thing.

Truth be told, I want a Grande Love Story.
I want my life to be fuzzy romantic polaroids, flower crowns, oversized cashmere and French lace caftans.
I want dramatic & romantic.
I want to be swept off my feet.
Most importantly, I want something good to write about.

Its like, I want to reside in the glittery Land of Oz, but somehow I ended up living in a couchless studio apartment smackdab the middle of Kansas.
And in this state of Kansas, I have one thing I am really afraid of: Getting stuck here.



It's complex in the Complex including Apt C in Kansas.

 
Because, sure enough, as with everyothersinglenightthisweek, last night post-drinks & guac with my girlfriend, I marched my little behind up those stairs I have gotten to know so well & knocked on his door.
I can only assume he was waiting for me to get home.
I told him last night that he was the first person I have dated - ever - who I was also friends with. I'm terrified of this, because I love my friends.
And I don't want to fall in love with him. Where is that line drawn? I sometimes find myself wanting to tell him I love him; especially after a couple glasses of wine, I look at this strawberry blonde, slightly rumpled Friend of mine, in a mismatched t-shirt & shorts and I want to tell him I love him. As a friend? We don't have The Spark - but we have something.

It is a casual, adult relationship; or at least that's what we call it. We were very open about this when it started, we openly talked about what a terrible idea it was for neighbors to become lovers. (I shudder as I type that word, by the way.) Actually, he once referred to our 'lovemaking' & I nearly choked. Rolling my eyes at him, I repeated his words back like they tasted bitter in my mouth.



I meant "French", Dating Gods. Not "Friend".



He looked at me crossly; and replied,

'Oh I'm sorry. Creating hate. That's what we were doing, creating hate.'

Touche, my neighbor, touche.

Last Wednesday night, neither of us called one another. We were each giving the other 'space'.

Well, I wanted the space. Up until my movie got sad, that is. They started beating the elephant! I thought they were supposed to be feeding it water?! Then I hopped up that flight of stairs & woke him up. I felt like a child, 'My movie got scary, can I sleep with you?'

To which he said of course, and I climbed onto my side of the bed.

His smelly, wrinkled bed.

We are going on our very first date, ever, tonight.
I'm actually kind of nervous.

Sidenotes: My mom didn't like my blog that I called myself a creep. She has no problem with me sharing (quite openly) about my dating & sex life, yet the moment I refer to myself as a 'Creep', she's having to stop herself from calling me and asking me to change the wording on my own blog.
Silly Mommie.

But! But! But! I Don't Want to Clean My Room!

I want Orange.

I decorate with Clothes.

I want a Birdcage.

I wish I was a Gypsy.

I am a Bird of Paradise.

I want Mermaid Hair.

Did I mention, I don't Want To Clean
My Room with a Kitchen Attached?

I decorate with Books.
& Tea Cups.

I have No Words.

I die over those Mugs.

I fucking love Mixed Prints.

I am Inspired.

Inspired? Yes.
To clean? No.
To walk down the street and cut some Bird of Paradises from the sidewalk for my apartment? OhHellYes.