The Idiots Guide to Fly Fishing (or, Why Can't I Like Salmon?).

What, then, am I hunting for?

You know, I don't like salmon.
I want to like salmon, and about twice a year, I try it again, thinking to myself...

Maybe this time, I'll like it. Maybe this time I'll feel different.

I love Apartment F.
He makes me feel safer, more secure and more loved for who I am than I have ever felt with another man.
I can tell him everything, anything, without fear of judgement, without fear of him not loving me.
I want to be in love with him, I wish I could just stop all this nonsense, and just be with the man that loves me the most. And I'm even considering it - yet again - thinking to myself - yet again,

Maybe this time it'll work. Maybe now I can be happy with him. Maybe it'll be different.

I want to know in my heart that he's the one for me, but I don't.
In his heart, he believes that I may be the one for him, and it's driving him crazy that I can't, or won't.
It's driving us both crazy.

Why can't I just be In Love with him? He is In Love with me.

Though it's now come to the point where we love and cuddle and fight and cry and unfriend and refriend, and it's annoying to my friends because it is always something.
But I don't want to lose him.
And I feel like I might.
He referred to himself as a 'Placeholder' last night, and I didn't want to agree. Honestly, I feel as though I've become this person who always thinks that something better is out there. Always on the hunt for the next best thing. Someone who can't be content with what she has. By comparing the F to other men I've dated (and obviously that worked out just dandy) or even (gasp!) comparing him to other men my friends have dated or are dating I feel like I'm settling; which then makes me feel both selfish & arrogant, because he is wonderful. And yet, I am imperfect and flawed and scarred and scared, and he doesn't feel that way in the slightest, he doesn't - even on our worst days - doubt his love for me. In my worst moments, he kisses me forehead and holds me and calls me a 'silly, silly girl' and tells me everything is going to be okay.
And we don't even sleep with each other, just next to one another.

Why Can't I???

He rubs my back in his sleep.

The F is there for me whenever I need him, whether it be to feed Kat Moss, clean my toilet, give me a hug & a shoulder to cry on, steal his wifi or just instinctively know Me. And after the debacle of the Mathematician, we've been spending more and more time together, and I feel sound again.
This weekend I was centered and jovial and happy and surrounded by beaches and pools and my best friends and I was better than I have been in a month.

Everybody wants someone like that in their life.
Everybody deserves that sort of love.
Have I simply forgotten that I deserve it too?

Goddammit, why can't I just like salmon?
Everybody else seems to.

Pity Party Cat Pants Day (aka Tuesday).

So there I was...

...In line at the drugstore, buying two cans of cat food & a bag of cat litter, wearing gray elastic waistband sweatpants and without a stitch of makeup on at 2:30 on a Tuesday.

A little less Meow
and a little more Roar.

And It hit me: Oh my God, I am standing in line at the drugstore, buying two cans of cat food & a bag of cat litter, wearing gray elastic waistband sweatpants and without a stitch of makeup on at 2:30 on a Tuesday.

Holy Hell, What Have I Become?!?

In my defense, it's been a relatively craptastic couple of days. 

But, seriously? 

Crazy Cat Lady by 30? 

I feel like Bridget Jones' worst nightmare. 

Without the boobs.

This Pity Party Cat Pants Day is partially due to the fact that I had my third date with the Mathematician last Friday. We went for margaritas & then to a mediocre art installation in DTLA. The date itself had been prefaced with a text from him correcting my spelling (they're not there) and culminated with him needing to jump my car in the morning.
Damn headlights. Not my finest moments, I admit.

And, what had happened in the in-between, well let's just say that I realized three very interesting things about him:

My inner Jagger kind of took a blow.

1. Oh that's right!? You're a musician!
It's the YouYouYouTheFrontman Show 24/7. 

And, I do not have a weak spot for egomaniacs.
I'm the Mick Jagger, remember?!

2. He does not think I'm very Smart. Clever, maybe. Dumb, no. But certainly not smart. I think he is content to have arm candy; but alas, I've been in that relationship before & I am not getting into it again.

3. His voice goes up when he's feigning interest in what others (me) are saying. Our third date & I already can pick up on the subtle nuances of his boredom? Grrrreat.

He also went on the explain that the night had started off on the wrong foot because his fellow band members had called him out on talking only about himself and telling the same stories ad nauseum and that he'd kind of felt like an asshole as a result. Wellyadon'tsay? 
There was a moment in the night when I realized that I didn't feel good about myself being around him, and that I may be the nurturer in relationships, but that I also expect the same in return.
I did admit to him that I feel like an Asshole most of the time too, and we did bond over that; but the reality was, I think we both knew that whatever our connection was, it had dissipated.
Both of us had found things in one another that we did not like.
He noted that I am very sensitive & can't often take what I dish out. He noted my (admitted) shyness around new people, and that I was in fact a bit too short to kiss when I was wearing flats. 

We said good bye in the morning, after he had to jump my car's battery, and we did not make plans.

Oh the Third Date, the Make It Or Break It Date. 

Pro: Pretty.
Con: Dumb.
Pretty dumb.

So being the Total Creep that I am, I went on to my secret profile on OkCupid (the one that can't be traced back to me or any of my friends) this morning because curiosity took over when I saw that he had made some edits on the site's newsfeed. 

Oh my, aaaand had he. 

I never said I was a 'Bad Ass'.
I said 'Sometimes I feel like an Ass.'

His profile now reads like a Pros & Cons List to 3 Dates with Me. 

He rewrote the entire thing, adding in tidbits and references to the great conversations we'd had over the course of our three dates about God & growing up & doing funny voices and he also added some reals gems such as:

I'm quite talkative and I have found that I get along well with other talkative people. Sorry quiet girls*, we are probably not a good match.

I also have a tendency to be very sarcastic, in a nice way, but I have been told that when I am sarcastic I speak in the same voice that I use when I am being serious, and I guess this annoys some. One way or another, no one has ever accused me of lacking personality.

Some OK Cupiders have also commented that I am better looking in person than in my profile pics. If I'm going to brag I suppose this is the place.

And for the Finale, the answer to the 'You Should Message Me If...'

You have a thick skin and you take things with a grain of salt.
Thin is good too, and tall is better.

We haven't spoken since Saturday Morning.

So I'm thinking there will be no Fourth Date? 

Thankfully.

Admittedly, my feelings are hurt & my ego is a tad bruised.
Which, I know is silly, because I didn't want to see him again.
And he's an asshole. But, it's definitely a blow to the ego. Ouch.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm also thinking, I may need to add a little more to my profile to somehow specify that I am, in fact, quite sensitive. And 'Girly', I guess.
I like 'girly things' like redecorating and blogs and clothes and brunches and girlfriends.
(But notsomuch Pinterest, actually.)
And I don't care about your band.

And that interpersonal intelligence is my strength, as opposed to knowing why eequalsemceesquared or whatever. 

Whatever.

And that tall is good, but there is such a thing as too tall. 

To some.

But firstthingsfirst, let me end this damn 
Pity Party 

& take off these fugly ass sweatpants.

Sidenotes: The egoblow was certainly softened by a conversation last night with Apartment F. We had a really honest conversation last week about why we won't work out, and yesterday he did tell me that (in the kindest way possible) that he thinks that I am, quote, 'Stupid. But only because he loves me so much and I am not in love with him.' Which, on days like this, does make me wonder if I am stupid. Because he does love me so much. But, I know in the long run, that isn't going to make me happy but I also know that in the long run, I want him in my life in some capacity. Even if it's just as the 'Ex Girlfriend who he is still friends with & makes his new girlfriend a little jealous'. Not that he has a new girlfriend. Oh! And also, he told me that his mom thinks that I've been a 'good influence in his life' which is a pretty damn huge compliment. And then we made pizza & watched Mad Men.
Also!!! I haven't sent out thank you cards for my birthday yet. 

Such a faux pas, I know. I'm so disappointed with myself.

But... I will. Soon.

Humbug.

I am having one of those days where I just want to delete my facebook, close my okcupid account, and start like living off the land, or something.
Get off the grid.
I'm stressed, I'm annoyed & I just don't want to do anything.
Oh, and the third date with the Mathematician was fine.
But for sure, our last.

The Mean Reds.

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once.

Haruki Murakami

I also just remembered why I hate dating people the I actually Spark with.
Because.... Vulnerability is about as comfortable as a discount futon.

A Burro List.

A Collective List of Things I Do Too Often:

Cursing people for getting married and/or pregnant on Facebook.
Explaining to people that 'I'm never getting married and/or pregnant'.
Googlestalking.
Thinking my own thoughts in 'Status Update' form.
Painting my nails.
Reading about television shows I just watched on the internet.
Wondering if I am more or less like Zooey Deschanel than I think I am.
Wondering if I am anything like Zooey Deschanel at all.
Complaining that my back hurts.
Wondering what people aren't telling me.

Wondering if the subtle humor in my text messages was noted, or if I just came off as an asshole.
Telling myself not to say certain things outloud.
Saying those things outloud.
Not calling my family.
Being annoyed with my family.
Wondering why my family never calls.
Wondering who the heck is reading this.
Hating the fact that I only own one spoon.
Being too cheap to buy more spoons.
Not going to the beach.
Wondering what I'd look like blonde.
Internalizing song lyrics.
Internalizing novels.
Internalizing.
Projecting.
Thinking 'I should go to the beach' when it's too late in the day for it to be warm at the beach.
Leaving situations thinking the same thing I think after sending a questionably humorous text message.
Feeling like an asshole.
Feeling like an ass.

I either have to work on not feeling this way at all and/or stop feeling like a jerk for thinking this shit in the first place.
OkayYaI'mDone.

Pin Pine Pound.

Eee Gats! 

I finallyfucking joined Pinterest. 

Now I'm going to struggle with having even fewer hobbies & feeling even less clever.

Butbutbut at least my 'board' will make me feel like I have great taste in other people's hobbies & cleverness, right? Right?!?

Pin this? Nothankyou, but I will, in fact tie it.

Sightnotes.

I want to redecorate.

My apartment.

The Mathematician's apartment.*

*We had our second date last weekend. He made me tacos at his house, and we drank wine out of teacups. It was wonderful. Like a crazy person, at home the next morning, I imagined marrying him while I was in the shower. I imagined him becoming my best friend and teaching me all sorts of wonderful things, and looking up in his big blue eyes... Women are insane, by the way.  

  

And I, with the help of our Fourth Addition, redecorated Beauty's living room (it's now quite cozy, and actually looks like a living room.)

Perhaps even the idea of falling in love is making me want to nest.

The Mathematician and I are going to an exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art tomorrow, and he promises to explain hologram people to me. 

Because he can.

And last weekend, after dinner, we went out to drinks, and everytime he held me, all I could think was, 

'I want to be yours.'

Photos: Most of them are from my newest obsession of a inspiration blog:

 coco + kelley. 

Small Luxuries.

I sprang for flowers today.

Oh For Goodness Sake.

'Things just seem to work out for me. They just... They just do.' 

                                    Beauty said to me in the car yesterday.

'Me too! When something is goes wrong, it always seems to work out just fine. I feel... Lucky.' 

The little and the big, the worst situations and the best, I feel like in this path that I've carved out for myself on Earth, nothing is ever as bad as it initially seems, and works out for the best. I am not the person who blames the world, or her environment, for what does go wrong in life; I don't have a Me v. the World mentality, but I'll gladly accept that in my world most things work out.
Perhaps this is why I believe that People are inherently Good. 
I hate when others like to fight me on that, citing violence and hatred as a symbol of humanity's inherent 'Badness'.

Because to me, the Bad is the exception. 
Good is the Rule.
It's just unfortunate the bad makes the nightly news.
For every one or two terrible people we hear about, there are literally thousands upon thousands of good people not making the news, maneuvering through their imperfect worlds, learning and growing and loving.
I truly believe that people are inherently good, with our free will & all, and our ability to learn and grow through the mistakes and missteps we make and take. No matter what happens, I doubt I will ever believe otherwise. My own personal spirituality also leans towards the idea that this is because humanity was created by an inherently Good (uncreated) Creator who gave us the ability to Hope, Learn, Grow and Empathize, buthatsjustme.
Things work out in the world for me, and for Beauty, and for most of us because we are navigating a world of Good People doing the best they can. Even the bitch who flipped me off on the 405 last week has probably tossed coins into the Salvation Army bucket in front of her local CVS.

And I'm walking through a world of Good today.
And yesterday.
And if I'm lucky, which I believe I am, tomorrow.

What prompted this little pseudoreligious ramble, you ask?*

*Other than my conversation with Beauty, 

who daily shows me that she has a 

lot more to offer than just good looks. 

Yea, a little like that.

Well, I walked into my local coffee shop this morning; a locally owned bustling Italian cafe favored by the transplanted Europeans of the area, with my sunglasses still on as I literally rolled out of bed and into the car. I've been going there for close to ten years, and this morning - being Saturday - the place was expectedly packed. The familiar faces behind the counter, the ones I see every single morning these days, they are kind. The usual barista these days is a hipsterish blond boy with an equally blonde beard - I like seeing him every morning. I like seeing him around town with his girlfriend. He exudes a quiet sort of kindness.
Well, this morning, I walked in and got in line. The older man in front of me ushered me ahead of him in line, for no reason in particular. I thanked him and took my place ahead of him. My sweet blond barista smiled at me and mouthed, 'What're you getting today?' I motioned 'big cup' and mouthed back, 'Large Americano'. (Which, to be really honest with you, is the most expensive of my 'usuals' and I really at this point have no business spending $4 on a coffee when a $2 one would suffice, but I went for it anyway.) Still standing in line, waiting for the two young Italian men ahead of me to decide between a cannoli or a cookie, the barista leaned over the bar and handed me my drink, smiled, and said, 'I got ya today.'
I thanked him, and left, wondering if coffee shop baristas realize the power they yield?


And that got me thinking about the power that we, as humans, yield. 
And how we do Good.
That we have ability and the want to make someone's entire day just by doing something as simple as giving them a free Large Americano.
Without knowing that they shouldn't really afford it.


Today is going to be a good day.
Today is a Good Day.

You Have (0) New Messages.

Do you ever have those days where everyGodDamnpersoninyourphone calls you except the person you're waiting by the phone to hear from? And you don't want to play games, but in your head you're thinking, 'Well, I'm just not going to text him until he texts me' or of texting him something absolutely insane like, 'So is that it?' until finally you decide to text something normal & sane like, 'Hey! How was your day?' and then they finally call you and you realize they still like you and you're still on for Saturday and they were just really busy doing things like taking really hard math tests for their PhD program and working a lot?

Yeah, neither do I.

Heartstrings.

My parents always said, 

'Put a guitar in a boy's hand and he's immediately ten times more attractive'. 

(Obviously, my parents are musicians.)
It started in middle school, when the boys I was in love with, including my first kiss, were allowed to use the band room at lunch for band practice. Bush songs and Nirvana covers as sung by preteen rocker boys were what made us girls swoon.

Does the same apply to the ladies, I wonder.

Cut to college, when my stoner/frat-boy boyfriend and his friends sang acoustic Sublime covers in their dingy windowless apartment. On their musty hand-me down couches, I melted at the sight of my scruffy blonde boyfriend picking at the strings of his guitar surrounded by Jimi Hendrix posters and glass bongs.
Now, nearly ten years later, I've gone on one date with a boy who last night very cryptically gave me the website for his band, telling me to listen to one in particular because, 'It would change my life'. 
Some of it's really good, some of it's a little too 'Jesse's Girl'-esque for my tastes.

Between listening to him sing and remembering the way he looked at me during his lecture on conceptual mathematics & the most important numbers in the universe, 
I can't stop thinking about him.

Update: After a bit of online stalking, I've realized that my Jesse's Girl reference is pretty dead on, as from what I can tell, it's a hispter/tongue-in-cheek eighties cover band. Oh thank god.

Breaking All The Rules.

When Goldi and I skipped into world of the Online Dating, we set up a few rules for the 'First Date'.

1. No Smoking.
2. Two glasses of wine, maximum.
3. Maybe a kiss at the end, but nothing more and not before the date's end.

Where we differed was that I also was not comfortable talking about past relationships, asking about them, or really straying from the typical 'first date' conversation fare of funny stories from childhood. I most certainly wanted to put my best 'self' forward, and when I first started dating, I was under the impression that my 'best self' was a watered down version of me - you could actually call it the 'Hostess Version' of me. Minding my manners, staying away from topics like religion and politics. I know that these first date 'rules' may seem a bit antiquated, but for our first foray into adult dating, they seemed sound.
Cut to one year later. I'm still dating, with a handful of relationships in my belt, and a handful of 'suitors' still asking me out pretty regularly, but I am really lacking a meaningful connection. I haven't felt the true 'Spark' in a long long time. As much as we all love Apartment F, one of the biggest problems with us was that I never had that with him. The Dutchman, well, that Spark was palpable, but impossible to maintain overseas. And with all the mediocre dating I've been doing as of late, between the Carpenter & the Mormon, and leaning on Apartment F like an anchor but not a boyfriend, I've taken a relatively passive stance on dating in general. I have boys who text me, who I may or may not text back, asking me to meet them out for drinks, boys who've found me on facebook after an introduction on a lazy Sunday asking me to dinner, but between friends and my birthday, trying to find a job, and travelling back and forth between the desert and the beach, I haven't a ton of time to carve out anything worthwhile or even really that meaningful when it comes to any form of a relationship.

Needless to say, I haven't found the Spark in any of the aforementioned Dinner Companions.

But, as I have recently hopped back on the online dating bandwagon, I had a date on Easter Sunday.

'I'll meet you in the bar. You should be able to spot me - I'll be in the black ball gown holding a single long stemmed rose.'

'Hmm... I might need to change. I'll be wearing a tux, my jacket will be unbuttoned and my bow tie will be untied.' 

'Perfect. We'll blend right in.'

So, with all of the Rules in place, and an hour long phone conversation with him last week, I prepared for my date by texting photos of possible outfits to my Best Friend in San Francisco and listening to Gotye.
My date for the evening was someone that I had actually messaged first (a rarity & a relative 'Rule Break' initofitself), after searching on OkCupid for 'single men' withing '35 miles' who are '6'4'' & Over'. (I like 'em tall, Itellya. Reeeeal tall.)
In his profile, he spoke about singing in a rock band in Turkey, getting his PhD in Mathematics, being excited for the future and looking for someone to laugh at his 'stupid jokes'. Not only that, but he was 6'5'' & has piercing green eyes. I ended my initial message with,

'I like it, I like it all. 

But I may be reading into [your profile] too much simply based on the fact that you're 6'5''.' 

He had responded in kind with,

'I got home last night and read the best message I've ever received on this website... 

And then I read yours. :)

...I like your profile too, but I may be reading into it too much simply based on the fact that I like your pictures.'

My Best Friend and I had decided on black equestrian pants, a Moroccan-esque printed tank and a gray denim moto jacket in lieu of the black ball gown, and I was on my way, meeting him for drinks at 6 at a restaurant with a live band & a panoramic view of one of the many bay marinas in my tiny town.
Right before I left, however, there was a knock on the door; Apt F wanting to know if he can borrow my computer while I'm out for the night. I politely oblige while dry-shaving my legs over the sink and push him out the door. I am vague about where I am going, but, thankfully, 'dinner with my friends' is a sufficient enough answer.

I was there before my date, which I've made a point never to do in the past, wanting some sort of grande entrance for myself.
In the past, I've preferred to walk in and see the look on a date's face when they spot me - to gauge their excitement or lack thereof, to get a sense of how they take me in - like some sort of First Date Bride. But I knew that this date was a good 10 minutes behind schedule, as he was coming from Easter dinner with his folks that had run longer than he'd expected.
So I took a seat at the sunken-in bar & ordered a glass of wine.
Finally, in walked an extremely tall, thin man with a bit of scruff, red shoes and huge, sparkling green eyes. He spotted me at the bar, I stood up and we hugged. He was handsome - but handsome in a way that from every angle his face changed a bit, plain from one view and striking from another. 
Over the next hour, this animated, loud man and I talked, and talked over eachother, and laughed. It was one of those first hours where I most certainly liked him & found him so smart and nerdy and sexy that I was at a bit of a loss for wit or sound story telling skills. Usually, when I'm nervous, I become 100% funnier & wittier - the Hostess Me comes out in spades. But with him, trying to gauge if he liked me, and wondering if he would, I couldn't seem to lay on the Hostess, and what came out was a less witty, yet more Real me. We ordered another round of drinks, and the conversation went on and on and on. Finally, after my second drink was done, I excused myself to the restroom to let my Best Friend in San Francisco know that this date was going, well... My exact text was, 'Best!'. I came back to the bar, and he had ordered a third drink. I commented on it, reminding him that he did have to drive home, and ordered a third myself, sadly remarking that this would have to be my last. (Rule Break Numero Uno.) Then, I mentioned that he had written on his profile that he 'Smokes when he drinks' and ask him if he wants to step outside. He says yes. (Rule Break #2.) I am trying to extend this date as long as possible, as I don't want it to end. I am obviously more comfortable at this point, as we have started doing funny accents at eachother and speaking like old-timey Newsies. (We have officially entered 'Dork-Out Date' Territory.) Once we got outside, overlooking the bay, standing not even close to eye-to-eye (he is a full foot taller than I am, if not more, so even though I'm wearing my tallest heels, he's still got a whole six inches on me), we look at eachother and it just feels so, so natural to begin kissing. (Rule Break #3.)

We go back inside, and order calamari. (The same calamari that doomed one date; the date where I thought to myself, If I have to fucking sit here while this idiot eats calamari, I may kill myself. The one where I incited Code Blue and left before the appetizer had arrived.) At one point, he stops me mid-story, and states,

'You know, you sound like you have a fantastic life.'

Neither of us want this date to end, we confide.
We keep making excuses to stay - just one more cigarette, how 'bout an app?, lets split one more glass of wine.
Both of us knew going into the date that this one had Real potential.
I love the way he looks at me.
And  I - for once - went into it being Real Me, not Hostess Moi.
Silly and open, honest and excited.*

*I credit my ability to do this now to my relationship with F. 

To finally figure out that a real, healthy relationship needs to be based not on walls, but on windows. 

In my relationship with F, I was unabashedly Myself, and he still loved me. 

Whereas, with my dating the Aussie, or even with the Ex of 5 years, I held back for fear that if some aspects of me or my experiences came out, they would deem me unlovable.

We then go next door, to a Mexican chain for Margaritas, on me.
And we kiss.
And we talk; there, I ask something I have never asked on a first date, the old 'why are you online dating?' question and I learn of his last serious relationship of four years, a breakup followed by a period of 'sluttiness', and finally, his foray into online dating.
I learn that I am his sixth date of the website. 

And, he continues, most certainly The Best. 

I tell him the vague outline of my five year relationship, and the subsequent mini-relationships that have followed. (I do, however, leave out that my last relationship was with my neighbor.) 

Our conversation starts to veer into an implied, 'If we do start something...' territory. We both confess to needing 'Me Time', he lets me know that most of the time he gets off work late, and 'whomever' he's dating needs to be aware of that. 

These are topics I've never even began to touch on a first date.

We make plans for next Saturday. 

We leave the Mexican joint, walk out to our cars & realize that well, for one, we still don't want the night to end and two (something that we both feign surprise over, but had known, err... silently planned) that neither of us should drive. 

We were not far from my house, and we taxi there. (RULE BREAK: INFINITY!) 

He notes that he has to send an email from my house, and I explain that I have lent my computer to my neighbor for the night. Once we're home, we drink cheap wine and talk and talk and talk........ 

(Dot, dot, dot.)

He is the perfect combination of cerebral intelligence and charisma.

I explain this about him to my Best Friend the next morning, and she says, 'Like you.'

The Spark is there.

I want this to work. 

I want this to be something. 

I want this brilliant, sparkling man to fall for Me and I want to fall for him. 

This is exciting and terrifying. 

But, I'd be lying if I said that I'm not afraid of the fact that I broke all the Rules ruins the chance of that happening, or if this could be the Exception to That Rule.

In the morning, I wake up at 6:30am, with him next to me. 

I look up at the door, and I see Apartment F with my computer in hand (he has my spare key for cat-feeding when I'm out of town) looking down at us both, his eyes taking in the situation sadly. 

I groan. 

I realize that because I had left my car at the restaurant, he didn't think that I was home, let alone even fathom I would be with someone else.

He puts my computer down, drops the spare key in the mail stand by the door, and backs out silently, locking the door behind him.

My green-eyed, 6'5'' first date did not wake up.

I know F is devastated, but to be honest, I am somewhat relieved. 

Sidenotes: Not going to Colorado. The F has Blocked me on Facebook. Johnathan Adler has checked with all my references.

The Perks Of (Not) Being a Wallflower.

Its funny, since last summer, my style has become less Rebel Ballerina and a little more Rebel Ralph Lauren. And I have spent the last couple months collecting pieces that have less of a 'Ballerina from the Wrong Side of the Tracks' vibe, and more of a 'Downtown Americana' feel... Leather pencil skirt dress, silk bike shorts, nautical neo-vintage Rozae Nichols, everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) paired with a denim shirt and my equestrian boots.

I have even denounced jeans for the most part - keeping only a few pairs: high waisted JBrand skinnies, high waisted Seven flares, a white pair and a floral pair. (Though I do have my eye on a neon pink pair from Current/Elliott as well). That and everything I wear, jeans included, is high waisted - which has sparked more than one boy I know to say something about how his 'mom wears jeans like that'. 

But I don't care, because they make me look leggy.

In organizing my closet yesterday, I realized that I have spent the last three months of unemployment collecting 'costumes'. 

I mean, really... 

What better way to distract myself from the humdrum than relishing in pieces that are anything but?

I'm ready for Spring dressing. And/or pantsuits.

This was on the Sartorialist on my birthday.
And I loved it.

I'm obsessed with Blazers right now. I just love how Easy this is.
Capital E.

Even blurry, Tilda is amazing.

I can't decide if I like this editorial.

April 4th, 1982.

Some of the best days of my life have been the days I had nothing planned at all.

Dinner Date in Denver?

I've been invited to Denver.
By the man who told me a week ago that 'Today, darling, (you can) have whatever you want.'

Brrrrrrrr.

• • Meet me in Denver? 

    I have a house. If you can, here's what I will do... Fly you out, pick you up, treat you to all of the fun things we do... and make sure you get home in one piece 

    Think about it. I don't need an answer now. 

    Yes or No, I'm still a fan of you. 

    
    I promise we wil have a great time, and you will feel comfortable every moment 

    I am a good man. 

    Pick the dates the week of the 15th, I can work part time from the house. 

    I will work as little as possible. If you want to take the car and venture out to a spa, restuarant, shoppping whatever... go for it. 

I said yes. Never before in my life have I had the option of agreeing to such a thing.
I like him.
I am not spontaneous, but something about him makes me more so.
When we met, we had a wonderful rainy day holed up in an amazing hotel room, without a moment of awkward or weird. We were silly, we were open, and it was oddly comfortable, just being with one another for 36 hours.
I never heard from him again but now I know we both had one another's phone numbers noted incorrectly in our phones.

I was told to 'dress warm'.
He said it was his birthday present to me.

Sidenote: My 2nd date with the Mormon went fine. He lacks certain social graces that are made up for in intellect. Unfortunately, there is no Spark.

Small Victories.

Really, I just didn't want to leave the house.

Being a Grown Up has its challenges. I do feel like I met one, head on, this afternoon:

The eternal question of, What to have for lunch? 

What did I want for lunch?
Um, the rest of Haagen Daas that is in my freezer. 

But I told myself, in the same cadence my mother would put it that,

White Chocolate Rasberry Truffle ice cream does not a lunch make.

So I actually got in the car and bought a turkey sandwich instead.

Dori - 1.
Haagen Daas - 0. 

Win!


Sidenotes: Have a rescheduled Second Date with the Mormon tonight. He's just so persistent, I had to say yes. I liked him on our first date, so we'll see how it goes. Also, I am yet again in full fledged online dating mode, and may or may not be expecting a call from a very green-eyed, very tall Los Angeleno somewhere around 5 o'clock today. 

It's My Party (& I'll Cry If I Want To).

The 'Bastard' being aging.

Oh... Birthdays. 

Nothing like turning a year older to remind me that I sometimes feel a little bit like the Child-Like Emperess in the NeverEnding Story.
This growing up business is harder than it looks. 
My party was a hoot. A hoot, Itellya. I got to see some wonderful women I don't see nearly enough, drink copious amount of champagne with the best of them and regale in my good choices in friends for an entire night. Yes, I was stressed & no, I don't feel like I got to spend enough time with everyone there. And though I did whine about turning 30, get in a massive blowout fight with my sister the next day, and have a wicked hangover the next morning; the party itself was a success. And now I just have to get through tomorrow. (My real birthday.)
To be honest, I am really trying to see my birthday cup as half full, but am failing at doing so just yet.

Because, like a little girl who ate to much cake & is now experiencing a full on sugar crash, I can't help but be a bit sad at who didn't come (which is so stupid, considering I am so pleased with who did) and not focus on the fact that my sister has apparently deemed my 'lifestyle' as 'worrisome'.
Ah, sisters. Who else has the uncanny ability to bring you back down to the caverns of Earth than someone who has known you since 1985.
Oh, it was quite an afternoon the next day with my little sister. Quite the tearfest.
Yes, I know, I should quit smoking. I know this. It's a goal for this year. And yes, I enjoy me some red wine. But. But. But.
You see, as much as we love one another, my sister and I have always had a tense relationship; obviously, in being my sister, she has seen me at my worst; and sometimes I feel like she can't let go of that. I have worked for many years to become a healthier version of myself (small steps, but steps nonetheless) and I feel like here and now, the day before I turn 30, I am doing okay.
Not just okay, but like really OK. Captials all around. I'm OK.
In all honesty, once, many many years ago, I on a whim decided to do some lurking on our family computer - looking for what, I wasn't sure, but after going through the internet history for a bit, I stumbled across a LiveJournal post that my sister had written about an eating disorder I was struggling with. Our parents were divorcing, I was about to go off to college & I was trying to find some modicum of control during a summer where everything seemed to be totally out of control. This was 10 years ago. And since then, I have felt that in my little sister's eyes, I will always have an eating disorder, and I will always be self destructive. She, as sisters will be, is very critical of my actions. But back then, I was barely 21, and a very different person than I am today. Today, the day before I turn thirty, struggling with job, money, aging and all that goes along with it, the last thing I needed was to then be told she's concerned about my Lifestyle.
Now, if this was 18 months ago, I would understand - after my breakup with the Ex of 5 years, I was drinking too much, dabbling in reckless behaviors, and definitely not eating enough; but here - today - though I am not at my happiest point, I am not even close to my lowest. And I am aware of my actions, I am aware of my shortfalls and trying to remind myself of my strengths. I have chosen to focus on my strides, my hopskip&steps towards being a Grown Up. Liking reminding myself to focus on who showed up for my birthday and not who didn't, I wish that my sister was able to focus on my gains and not my losses. I don't want her to worry about me, I don't think there's much of a need for it. I am doing OK.

I am OK.
Now, I know that not working full time has done a number on my self-esteem - I have lost what used to define me, much like when I broke up with the Ex. But after we broke up, and I was no longer 'His' and we were no longer 'Us' and I spiraled towards The Nothing for months. But this time, after losing the very definition of Me, I have certainly stumbled but I did not - I will not - spiral. Because, this time, I have more than just one definition of myself. This time, I have the women who surrounded me at my birthday to remind me that I am more than just a Shopgirl. This time, I'm a more grown up version of myself. And though, I love my sister very much, and always will, I cannot let her definition of me throw me for such a loop. 

Because, I believe she is quite Wrong. 

My sister told me the day after my birthday party that my hair was too thin, my skin looked unhealthy & my teeth were bad. Yes, my teeth are bad. Yes, I am very self conscious about it. Lets never speak of it again.
My hair? My hair is actually  the healthiest than it has been since my Big Break Up of 2010. (Though, I admit, dying it the day before my birthday to hide the multitude of grays that have moved in near the crown was probably not the best idea.) My skin is actually better than it has ever been. (The happiest side effect from all that dental work? A huge blast of antibiotics that cleared my skin up!)
But, even while I am struggling with not working or losing a part of my identity, I am not making bad decisions about food, drugs or men. I am thin, but I am not too thin. I am self aware & trying to stay strong.
And I will not let her disapproval be how I define myself at Thirty. 
Granted, I do not want her to worry about me, but I honestly believe she doesn't need to.
(Which she calls denial. I call it, There is no need to worry.)
Because I know that I am OK. I will be even better once I start working again; and I sent my resume off to a couple more places today, and thank you cards to those who interviewed me last week.
And, even more importantly, I had a great birthday party - I laughed, I danced, and I teared up a little during my own birthday toast.
Because when I look at my Life, and those who are a part of it on a regular basis do as well, I know how good it is to be Me. 
Let me rephrase that: How good it is to be Us. 

There is no need to worry.

I relish in the fact that my 'Us' is many many different women who I love & adore - from bosses to shopgirls, to college friends and high school friends, to each and every friend from in between.
Because these are the women who know Me.
My 'Us' isn't just me and a boy, anymore.
And that's where I find the strength and desire to make healthy decisions for myself in my life.

Because, it's them who know my daily struggles, loves, passions and losses.
They see me win and they see me lose, and we see me pick myself up and dust myself off, over and over again.
And I see the same in them.
They know that these days I check the mail everyday.
That these days I allow only those who love me In.
That these days I have an outlet for myself.
And, I'd be stupid if I didn't admit that yes, I know that there is usually a tinge of sadness in most of my words, but a lot of has to do with inspiration coming from the struggles of being human; that even on my finest days, on the happiest, I can't help but also be a little sad.
That's just the way I'm built.
But I do not let that overcome me, nor do I let it define me.
That even though I have a propensity towards acting like the Child-Like Empress (the temperamental and delicate diva that she was), and to sometimes want to hurl myself into the Nothing, that I am not and that, these days, I do not. Ever.
I wish my sister could see that.
See that at 30, I'm hopeful for the future.
And that life is a learning process and that I'm learning.

So, with that in mind...
Happy Birthday to Me.
Here's to Our Health.
Our Happiness.
Here's to a Life of Learning.
Here's to Us.