Real. Sweet. Reads.

He made me a notebook for Christmas.
Like, mademade me a book, by hand.
A handbound leather notebook.
Because he is supportive of me writing.

Of course, I burst into tears.
Oh yeah, and shoes.

Yesterday.

Said Wednesday.

Wake up next to Jim.
It's a perfect sunny December day. 
Watch Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Tidy up.
Walk to Crossroad's.
Find a white fisherman's sweater for $10. Actually, $9.50.
I have been looking for a good fisherman's sweater.

Buy a bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of champagne.
Catch up a bit with my Malibu Bad Ass by way of Denver.
Take my hair out of the nasty little bun it was in, spray some dry shampoo in it, blow dry it, and viola, I all of the sudden have the hairstyle I've been wanting - the curls from the day before are still there, but messy and full and perfect. 

Check mail. So many Christmas cards.
Sit on the porch like a fidgety child, waiting for my Best Friend from San Francisco to arrive.
She arrives. 
Sit and talk and laugh and cry and trade clothes and get a lunch of ahi tuna poke, tater tots & spinach dip.
She meets Jim. She approves.
Jim gets me a delicious burrito.
Jim is happy that I am happy.
My Malibu Bad Ass writes a wonderful little post about our friendship.
Bijou finally caves and starts her own blog.
Watch Scrooged while cuddled up on the couch in a knit blanket fort of sorts.
Fall asleep, next to Jim.

Yesterday was the Best Day Ever. 
I kid you not.
I am so in love with everything.

Three, Letter, Words.

Bijou Bijou.    <--that there's a link, y'all.

Bijou finally made her writings public. 

Just one more thing to make my Best Day Ever even Better.

ALL CAPS CAPITAL BEST DAY EVER.

Sweet Reads.

I'm always so proud when one of my friends does something truly extraordinary; like saying, after a lifetime spent in LA,

'Fuck it! I'm moving Denver to see about a boy.'

And then, having the courage and the words to write about it. 

So, my Malibu Bad Ass is more of a Denver Debutante these days,
and she's getting Creative. 
Capital C.

Check out the start of her new blog here: Class Optimism Luck. 

I also think it's funny how different each one of our beloved friends can be, while still being our friends. 
Opposites attract and all that jazz and stuff.
Bijou's personal motto has been, 'cynicism, nihilism, sarcasm, orgasm' for years, while my Bad Ass names her blog 'class, optimism, luck'. 
My 'style & saturn return (aka essentially re-building what it means to be a successful grown up)' is pretty apropos too, I guess.

Blanket Fort Musings.

Good morning! 

In the movie of our lives, she would be played by
Miss Williams while I would be played by
Claire Danes. We decided.

My house is a little messy today, but its only 8:35am and I'm already running the dishwasher so thats a step in the right direction, I suppose. I have Bon Iver playing full blast and its chilly and sunny outside. I've sent all my Christmas Cards out like a real grown up, & I didn't even have to ask anyone for their addresses, because for the most part, I already got 'em. Tomorrow I may see my Best Friend from San Francisco, as she has made her yearly pilgrimage to Southern California. I haven't seen her in two years, since our 10 year high school reunion and before that when we bought very expensive tickets to huge concert in LA (much to my Ex's surprise) to see Florence + the Machine and Brandon Flowers.
I just got a call from Jim telling me to not look at anything that UPS might bring today, and the teenage boy with the curly mad mop of hair just walked by, like he does everyday, on his way to school. 

Wrapping is my holiday Zen.

These holidays, however stressful as they are because of work, are going well. They are going well, though I have to say - I maaaay have gone a little crazy with gifts for the Boy, after agreeing upon only three, I somehow collected over twenty.

Shopping last Sunday for servingware & centerpieces for our Holiday Housewarming Party, after hitting up the big spots, like Bev Mo, HomeGoods & Michaels right as we were leaving, & I was walking back to the car, Jim had just finished up loading the trunk. He turned, hopped back on the shopping cart, feet on the bottom bar, and full speed ahead, rode it back to the front of the store. 

Hair blowing, smile on his face, he zipped past me on my left like a boy left to his own devices, flying. 

I love him so, I thought at that moment.
I love him so, I think now.

So we are set for our housewarming, after quite an investment in cake platters and serving trays, and Belgium-brewed beer & Dad's rootbeer in vintage pop bottles. Our centerpieces for the table are finalized, with berry branches in galvanized milk jugs, and a simple menu has been put together. 
We are happy.
I am happy.

Though, truth be told, we did have our first argument a few nights ago.
What about, you ask?
The tenets of time travel.


Yep, we are perfect for each other. 
And no, we don't agree upon how time travel would work if time travel were real.




But who cares, because neither of us would go back in time and change a thing.



I did something. 
I have that oft mentioned lace caftan, right? 
Well, honestly, I'm never going to wear it again though I only wore it a handful of times. 
I've outgrown it.
But I love it so. 
So I made into something that will live on for a while.

Happy Holidays. Yes, these are happy holidays.

Reality.

I miss you.

Thanks.

Do you ever stop, look around, take it all in & realize how lucky you are? 
Welp, you should.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

(the perks of being a wallflower.)

The Victor v. The Phantom.

Ya know, I haven't been writing as much these past several months. I haven't had much to say, nor have I have too much inspiration. Torment is a beautiful muse, you see, and happiness only begets more happiness. Meaning, I sure as hell have a lot to say and pick apart and remind myself to be grateful for when I'm dealing with loneliness or a general undercurrent of sadness; but when I'm happy - that's it.
I have few words for it other than 'happy!', 'love!' "partaaaaaay!'
Sure, things aren't Perfect, but they're as closed to it as I have had in recent memory.
In memory.
And when I really think about the last six months, who I was when I turned thirty, God so much has changed. 


I am thriving.
I have a couch, a bathtub and a Boy. (And, a grown up career path to boot.)
I made my demands of the World, and after a scuffle with World, I came out The Victor.



And sometimes, okay all the time, I look at that Boy, and at my World, and I cannot believe it's all mine.
Finally, I see what I want and I know I deserve to have it.
I see his profile catch the light and he looks beautiful and we are happy.
We wake up laughing and fall asleep contented. We are well aware that things are not always so perfect, and we game plan on how to deal with curl balls thrown.
But, when we wake up fall asleep and all the time in between, we are at a loss for a better word than 'Love'.
We times'd it by pi, then realized that's not very large, so we added an infinity, and then some.

It scares me to think that the Ex of 5 Years and I fell out of Love and we didn't even notice. I think about it a lot actually; I try and pin point exactly when it happened, when did we fall out of love? I don't know. It was well before we broke up, obviously. But when, exactly, I cannot recall. Though, truth be told, I can hardly believe we were together for five years. I can't remember what we talked about for five years. I mean... What did we say to one another for 1,825 days? I remember the backhanded, the fights. I remember the really wonderful, especially from when we first met.
But the in-between? That's a blur.

Babe, tell me again, the origin story of 'Motley Crue'? 
(No joke, when the Ex and I ran out of things to talk about, I'd ask that exact Q.
It'd keep him going for at least an hour.)

It scares me immensely to to think of falling out of love with Jim.
To sink into a relationship that is becomes something other than Lovely.
I am afraid of taking his love for granted, and vice versa. And to not notice until it is too late.
Or, conversely, to notice but not to care.

I learned so much from my relationship of five years, and the subsequent period of crazy dating that followed; but what I am determined to take away from my Ex is to have chosen a partner that will not fall out of love with me, and I not him. When I reflect back on my past relationship, what I feel most is a sense of being disliked. My Ex did not like me very much. Especially not there at the end. He didn't have a ton of respect for me; and when I repeat some of the stuff he said to me back to myself, my feelings still get hurt, years and years later.
My feelings are oft hurt by a Phantom Ex Boyfriend.
Jim thinks I'm smart and hilarious and wonderful and I think the same of him. And I have vague memories of Liam thinking similar of me when we first met, but he changed his mind.
And that still stings.
And that still scares me.

Its scares me immensely to think of Jim falling out of love with me.
I have to remind myself that he is not him and they are not the same.
I have to remind myself that what has passed does not have to be the rule.

This is good stuff.

But you know what the real difference is between the two?
I told Jim about these fears, and he did not disregard them.
He did not tell me I was being crazy.
He just reassured me he wouldn't.
And then, from another room, I heard him making up new words to a We Wish You a Merry Christmas,
(I kid you not.)

...I love you more today than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow...

Though, truth be told, I'm not sure if he was singing to me or to Kat Moss.

Fete.

Put your party shoes on.

I did it; I decided to throw a party.
A White Elephant Holiday Housewarming. 
With the tagline, 'Wrap your crap' 'cuz I'm cheeky like that.