Confessions to Make.

I have a confession.
I keep starting to write things and then not liking them, so I don't finish the post.

I keep wanting to talk about things - the stresses of my job, the contentment of my relationship, the relatable things those I love are going through - and I get about two paragraphs in, and can't turn it into a cohesive essay about anything & I get discouraged and delete whatever has been written. I have had a huge case of writer's block in the new year, and I can't seem to beat it.

A few examples:

Jim got me a new laptop for my birthday. This one has a fully functioning 'L' Key.

Sometimes I cry when I pet Kat Moss because it was just the two of us for so long, I feel like we're a true Duo, and she's seen me through the hardest of times as well as the best.

I think I give really good dating advice.

Apartment F is fucking nuts a bit looney; with so much distance between him and that relationship, I now know that he is everything I thought of him, but worse.
The kind of worse you only see with retrospect's 20/20 vision.

I've been reading more. A lot, actually.

I hatefuck watching Girls. I really don't like it, but then inevitably end up I watching it, hating it the whole time. Except for that episode where she stays with the handsome man in the Brownstone. I loved that one. All the rest of 'em though, make me want to take a cleansing shower. And I have theories why - which range from 'I simply don't like it' to 'As a society we are taught that women who are not conventionally beautiful (or even pretty at all) do not deserve love'.

Speaking of retrospect, I suspect that's the only view of the world that my own sense of self awareness can see.

I was terrified that I 'went back on my word' about so many things I said or wrote since I was single. I did, in fact. But I have forgiven myself, and allowed myself to enjoy having a home, a partner, and few less friends because I am healthier, happier and whole.

I want to be married.

I have always known that I function better in a world with external structure; which is why I am so happy now. But that, initofitself, makes me insecure, because I wish that I had the autonomy to be successful in creating - and thriving - within myself & my own internal sense of structure. I don't.

I am not friends with Goldi or Beauty anymore. I'm waiting for someone to ask why (no I'm not, actually) because the best poetic answer I can come up with is, 'I imagine I became very exhausting to be friends with.'

I'm very midly obsessed with Reed Krakoff.

That being said, I am grateful for my friendship with My Best Friend in San Francisco, and in our entire lives we have never been closer.

My aesthetic has changed quite drastically - with trend, job, osmosis and age. Think: fewer peace signs and more peplums. More Miu Miu, less Blue Life.

I'm cooking again, and for the first time in my adult life, I am open to the bougie Farmer's Market, locally sourced, clean food, organic mumbo jumbo I eschewed for so long, as it seemed like too slippery a slope into 400 calories a day of juices and maybe some prunes to wash it down. That fear was apparently too slippery of a slope itself, because it wasn't & I love it. Admittedly, that may have more to do with the quality of Instagram photo it affords, but really? Who cares?

These are all things I have wanted to write about, but haven't had the creative energy to ruminate on. With job, and an actual life that I enjoy just experiencing, and not necessarily dissecting every detail of (or if I do, I tend to do it ad nauseam to Jim, who is a very good listener).

Though, I do try and keep the I Want To Be Marrieds to a minimum.

A Little Emerald to the Diamond.

Writers are narcissists: They presume that their personal obsessions and neuroses are of deep fascination — or even beneficial — to potentially millions of people.

- Brian McGreevy, in his article, 'Don't Call Lena Dunham Brave'. 

I'm a "writer". Please insert your own airquotes.
And with that in mind, know that I have written and rewritten this post a couple times this morning.
I have also embraced the fact that I am a bit of a narcissist. "A bit."
I am comfortable with that as well.

So, all morning, as I have reheated my coffee while I researched brain functions and hemispheres and was going to try and propose that women (and by women, I mean me and hopefully whoever else it is who reads this little blog) have three parts to their brains, until I realized that all people have three parts to their brains. (The cerebellum, the cerebrum and the brain stem.)
I was going to try and say that the Left Side controls reason and the right hand, the Right Side controls imagination and the left hand, and a (self)Center section that controls all that is the self-centered and unreasonable that goes on in our brains. (Hopefully, this section does not control our mouths.)
But then I realized that that too is silly.
Hell, forget the Conscious & the Unconscious or the Ego, the Superego and the Id.
It's all a weak analogy for one simple thing.
Like most of my postings, all I am doing is trying to find a related metaphor for the emotions that make me feel really uncomfortable; in this case, under the guise of pseudoscientific jargon in order to justify or dissect what exactly it is I am feeling. 

Because, my neuroses are of deep fascination to potentially [seven] people. Right? Right?!?

Why am I uncomfortable with my emotions today, the day after Valentine's Day?
Because one of my very Best Friends got engaged yesterday.
On top of a mountain covered in snow.

I am over the moon happy for her. 
She deserves love and a beautiful wedding and marriage.
I love her! She's one of my very Best Friends!
Captial BFF!

That being said, the event caused an avalanche of the 'What about Meeeeeees?!?'

Which is one, very selfish, and two, very embarrassing.
So the psuedoscientific babble, the justification of it all - The whole rumble of emotions that took over in the moment, they make me flat out uncomfortable.
I realized that it is not a third, yet to be discovered, part of my brain, nor is it my sub-id or whateverego.
The fact of the matter is simple: I am Jealous. 
Not totally unlike a mentally ill person who knows that the voices in their head are Crazy but cannot help but follow their directions, you see. I know that it is immature and stupid to be jealous of such a wonderful thing, but I cannot seem to follow that knowledge's directions.
And in writing this so plainly, I am trying to exorsize those crazy making voices of envy a little.

To be perfectly honest, I couldn't help but wonder (no matter how unrealistic I knew it was) if maybe Valentine's Day would be the day he asked me.
I thought this about Christmas too.
Its these thoughts that you have that you know (you know!) are crazy, that you know aren't realistic, and you literally have to talk yourself down through reason and logic (Oh hel-lo Left Brain, welcome to the party) and even then, part of the thought persists.

I'll probably think it about my birthday, our anniversary  any nice dinner ever or weekend trip, I assure you. I can't help it; I want it so much, it's unwavering. It's in these moments that I get frustrated that he was married before, and engaged quickly the first time. As though somehow, if that hadn't been the case, our timeline would be different. While the reasonable, logical side of me knows that if that hadn't been case in the first place, we may not even be together. Regardless, the thought persists.

green with.

So, when I saw this momentous event in my newsfeed, for a person I love so much, I was (and am) happy.
And then...

I was jealous. 

I cannot be the only one who finds them feeling this way every once and while at the sight of these things in their newsfeed or text inbox, right? Right?!

I was overcome by shame for my jealously, but alas, that did not make it go away.
It stuck in my chest, and produced the most unflattering semi-permanent facial expression and then unfortunately, because I knew that my boyfriend was not going to propose, and my boyfriend did not propose, my Valentine's Day was somehow sub-par.
Which is really unlike me, as I am typically pretty good about not putting too high of expectations on events or holidays like this - rather focusing on what I can control as opposed to what I cannot.
It's not Jim's fault that I was bummed this Valentine's.
I wasn't even bummed, we had a lovely evening at home (our home!) together.
He made me a sweet Valentine & I did the same for him.
It was exactly what we had planned - low key with tacos and tv.

whomp.

He didn't get me flowers, and his Valentine was made from copy paper and Scotch tape, and I was disappointed. Because she got a 2.2 carat ring & I am jealous of that, and so then something that any other day I would think was the sweetest thing (it had a poem, you guys!) all of the sudden doesn't have the same (ahem) sparkle.

The whole of it makes me feel adolescent and shallow. And, very very ashamed.
The whole of it also wants to have pity party in my bathtub with bottle of Vueve and a good cry, but I will not give my jealousy the satisfaction. I will not, I tell you! 
All of the sudden, my boyfriend's inability to tell me that he 'loves me more than anything ever in his life in the entire world over' is not because he simply doesn't speak in such hyperbole about his feelings (something I know about him, and typically respect) becomes he doesn't love me as much as I thought.
Somehow yesterday, 'To the moon and back four times' wasn't enough. It was all I could do not to turn to my boyfriend and say point blank, 'I'm jealous of...' with a pouty face, but I knew to keep that one in.

The truth is, I am jealous. Even though I know it's stupid.
Even though I know that Jim loves me. 
And, most importantly, even though I am happy for my friend. 
It persists.

Yet, in the light of a day I didn't even put much weight into to begin with, under the reflection of a grandiose gesture of love and a lifetime of commitment, not only am I jealous that I didn't get a proposal, but now I didn't even get flowers. Even though, I know that my sometimes too pragmatic boyfriend probably thought to himself, if he thought about it at all, 'Why would I get her flowers? We already have flowers.' (We always have flowers.) Honestly, I wasn't expecting anything other than tacos and a Valentine up until the morning off. And then, it's not enough? I do wonder how much the boy picked up on - I oft think that I am being so opaque - playing it super cool - then later find out exactly how transparent I truly am.
This is an emotion I am not accustomed to feeling; and I know that with time it will fade - I expect by sometime around 2 or 3 pm this afternoon - but for the moment, for the morning, I am trying to work through it.

This gang of immature emotions, this gang I can't seem to shake, its just about to jump me in.

So, I decided to fight it. I fight it by doing this.

And that's the best I can do, right?

Funny.
Even in the time of writing this, the feelings started to fade. I could tell, because I just started to get really excited about the specifics that go along with throwing a bridal shower.

And I feel as though I should note that I am in no way am trying to take away from my friend's engagement, and am truly very very happy for her, but this is my platform, and sometimes the view from the perch that is my brain - made up of three parts - is not the prettiest. Or the most mature. 
I am - from my core - so happy for you, James. 
I love you. 
Thats why this is so frickin' uncomfortable.
Also, you better let me pin to your wedding board, or else. 
I should also mention that I will not drink anything, anything! out of a penis shaped straw.

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.

My Sunflower.

I'm a Grown Up Thirty Year Old. 

Thirty years on this planet, almost Thirtyandahalf, and I am finally a Grown Up. But, as you know, it took me a hellava time to get here. In fact, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be a Real Grown Up, but just a kid wobbling around in high heels playing the part.
(Not true, I walk really well in heels, but you get the point.)
But here I am, Thirty, up for a promotion I may not get, living in a home that actually has a mortgage (granted, its not mine) with furniture that is not a collection of hand me downs, Ikea krap & craigslist finds.
My bedside table if from... Crate and Barrel. Whatiszismadness?


Oh My Twenties.
More like Twenty Lifetimes.
My twenties felt like several lifes squished into a decade.
Twenty lifetimes, with acne and wrinkles, with roomates and with live in boyfriends and sometimes with both simultaneously.

All of these lifetimes, squished into the early part of a new century. Its funny, how when you live in a small town, with the same people roaming the streets with you over the same timeline how each and every change in your life is (however slight)  part of a greater whole.
At 21, I moved down to a new city sight unseen with my bed in the back of my dad's minivan.
Into a condo by school, where I hung my favorite Sunflower painting from back home up in the dining room. Off to college! I promptly met a stoner Frat boy who became my College Boyfriend (we all have one).

Hazy nights from party to party to Jack in Box to party to home, my roommate and his Frat Brothers in tow. This was not a good look for me. 
In the peripheral was always a pretty blonde girl, the girlfriend of a Brother. She I were not friends, but mere acquaintances  the kind that in college you inevitably end up introducing yourself to almost every weekend.
My roommate at the time went and rushed a sorority - to 'make us friends' and there too, in the peripheral, was another pretty blonde girl. I had a crush on this one's boyfriend.
After a move to my second apartment of my Twenties (this one I loved) with its interior French sliding doors, pool table and Craftsman built ins - including a diner style breakfast nook (booth seating!) into which my Sunflower painting fit perfectly - and the subsequent breakup with the Fratboy College Boyfriend, I met a bunch of girls through a pretty brunette in one of my summer school classes.
And in the peripheral was - yes - another pretty blonde girl, the roommate of one of my Best Friends from College.
Still now, I was barely 23, but felt old for my age.
In this home with the Breakfast Nook, I met the one-day-Ex of 5 Years.
Which catapulted me to the life I lived for most of my Twenties.
And my third Apartment of my Twenties: the one I shared with him.
Sunflower sitting perfectly in our kitchen, on a wall that was so perfectly suited for it, its like it had been waiting for that painting since the day it was built. Up winding stairs, and over hardwood floors, my Sunflower watched as I went from a College Wild Child, post-roaming the streets of Hollywood in glitter shoes and Wilco drenched adventures, to a Mild Mannered Twentysomething Townie Pseudo-Housewife. And in the peripheral, again, were those same three pretty blondes. At the time none of them my favorites, per se, as I knew very little of them, and saw them only when out and about in town. I was jealous of the First Pretty Blonde because I thought I could sense that the Ex of 5 was attracted to her. (I actually stormed out a dinner once because this insecurity got to me so much. Ahh, 25. Insecurity rules when you're 25.) Pretty Blonde #2, the sorority sister, and I formally met on a really bad night, and stayed aquaintances, but nothing more. Pretty Blonde #3, the roommate of my friend, I always resented because she always looked like she was having such fun, without a care in the world, while I was living a life of What Will the Neighbors Think? .

Our Roaring Twenties.

All of us in our twenties.
Living out our terrarium-like twenty lifetimes year by year, sometimes intersecting, though rarely.
Students to girlfriends to jobs to happy hour.

Within the span of a Decade, a Year, a Month or a Single Moment.
It seems as if... In your twenties, your life changes in the blink of an eye.

I believe this is true for life in general. (Um have you seen what Thirty has done to me?!?)
A pimple pops up over night, and so it seems wrinkles as well. And grays.
Your life is fluid in your twenties.
Those who were once only in the peripheral of what seems like the way life will always be, can so instantaneously move to the very forefront of Your Everything.
I always thought that the First Pretty Blonde would always be the Girl Whose Boyfriend Passed Out By My Car in College. Then she became The Girl Who My Boyfriend Flirts With.
So naturally, I assumed that she would always then be the Girl Whose Boyfriend Passed Out By My Car in College And Now Who My Boyfriend Flirts With. 
(Whether or not this was actually true is still unconfirmed by the way.)

One 4th of July, I was caught blindsided by the overwhelming dislike that the now Ex of 5 Years had for me. Dislike that had, in fact, been building up for months and months and months.
Have you ever felt like your partner just doesn't Like You? 
I'm sure that that is not a feeling exclusive to your twenties. I'm sure none of this is.

And that Sunflower painting watched as that boy came home and told me he would never be my Husband, and we would never be Us again.
It did not see when, weeks later, he told me that he'd been greatly mistaken and he missed Us and he missed Our Sunflower, because he said it in the room where there was only a shadow of where the Sunflower painting used to be but wasn't anymore. 

Where I said, silently to myself, That Sunflower was never Ours. 
Because it was hanging perfectly in my new Kitchen Attached to a Room.
Where I said, silently to myself, That Sunflower is Mine. 


It was mine and it was in the Fourth & Last Home of my Twenties: My Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached. Where Kat & I fled after the disastrous break up with the Ex.
On August 1st, 2010, where my Ex's wonderful father hung it so perfectly in my new kitchen.

But even though I still had my Sunflower, I'd still lost the closest thing to a Home, a Husband, and Family in one slow moving swoop. In what felt like an instant. I was 28 by now, and I was broken.

But my Sunflower hung so perfectly in that kitchen, watching me navigate the lifetimes of twenty eight and twenty nine and thirty.
It watched Kat lounge in the sun, it watched me so poorly maneuver through the worst Autumn I can remember, of being alone and lost and sad. It watched me write the better part of over two hundred blog posts.
And it watched as the Pretty Blonde who was my College Best Friend's Roommate, the one I was so jealous of because she got to have all the fun, get dressed for a night out in our Tiny Town and it watched as she and I became fast friends.

I actually had this print too for a long time.

That Sunflower watched as we came up for the outline for The Story of Goldilocks, and it watched as that friendship helped me become who I am today.
Pretty Blonde Girl #3, that girl who was in the peripheral of so many of my mini-lifes of my Twenties is Goldi.
And that Sunflower watched me pluck out gray hairs with fervor that grew with even more fervor, and it watched as that tiny apartment went from Exile to Refuge to Cage.
And while that lifetime was happening, I was re-acquainted with the Second Pretty Blonde. She too, was at many of those college parties, often with that Boyfriend I had had a crush on so many years ago, and she too has made me who I am today.
Behind Pretty Blonde Door #2 is Beauty.

Now what ever became of The First Peripheral Pretty Blonde, Girl Whose Boyfriend Passed Out By My Car in College And Now Who My Ex-Boyfriend Flirted With? 
To me, this is the most interesting example of how much life changes with time, and how fluid and wonderful life can be. It is weird, Pretty Blonde Girl Number One, is the prime example. Because, for many years she was just a memory of so-n-so's girlfriend from college. Then, at a drunken dinner somewhere around 25, when we still didn't know each other and probably had to be reintroduced, and I probably relayed the story of when her then-boyfriend passed out by my Volvo in '04, a story which I doubt she even remembered, and I was so certain that my then-boyfriend was, ya know, into her that I got up and left abruptly.
Well, she is close with Goldi and with Beauty, and has been since college. At my Lifetime 28, Pretty Blonde Girl #1 and I probably went to a brunch of bottomless mimosas or something, something I barely remember,  but however it happened, we became facebook friends.
Still, not even knowing much of each other other than hearsay & hair color, when I finally got up the gall to share this project with more of a mass audience, I blindly sent her the link.
That Sunflower watched the Dutchman arrive and leave and what seemed like a Lifetime wrapped up into a single summer and it watched me get ready for Goldi's 27th Birthday Party in San Diego, being hosted by both the Del Mar Races & the First Pretty Blonde Girl  and her New Boyfriend.
Pre-races, we popped a bottle of bubbly, and that Pretty Blonde came down the stairs, I remember it so clearly, and said, 'You're a really good writer.' 
And she went on to tell me and whole kitchen about this project. It was the first time someone I didn't really know very well, barely at all, gave me feedback about this. It felt good. This project somehow connected this Pretty Blonde and I in a way that I had never experienced at that point. (Actually this blog has allowed me a closeness with people that I've never experienced before, and in turn has allowed me to be more myself in 'Real Life' as well.) She and her Nearly Perfect Boyfriend also became a Litmus of sorts for me, for some reason, with my Paper Planes and all that, because I looked at the two of them, and thought, 

'Ya know, thats what I want. Thats what I deserve.' 

I watched as she went on mini breaks and full blown vacations. I watched as her relationship had many aspects that I wanted but had never had in my own.
I watched as she got outta town, met a Man and Grew Up.
I watched and it gave me my own aspirations*

*Now, I'm not advocating comparing yourself to other's, 

I'm just saying its okay to know 

a Good Thing when you see it and work from there.

Its funny, now, because, now when I am whining about living in what was My Not My House Home but paying rent for place at the beach, she texted me with, 'I'm so glad I'm not the only one doing that!'
Its an odd yet wonderful connection she and I have.
She's no longer Pretty Blonde Girl Whose Boyfriend Passed Out By My Car in College And Now Who My Ex-Boyfriend Flirted With. 
In my Twenty Lifetimes of my Twenties, she has been an unlikely constant, like My Sunflower. She was one of the Must-Comes to my own Birthday. She is someone I am always happy to see, whether it has been a year or a month. She is someone who, though we don't speak often, when we do, its as though we've been friends for years and not a moment has passed. I am happy for her.

My last text from her reads,

We are so lucky!

Because we are.
She's the one who gave me the idea for this post; though, quite frankly, it sort of took on a Life(time) of its own.


And, at Thirty, I too, grew up, met a Man and got outta town.

October 1, 2012. Two years and two months in my studio. Time Flies.
My lease was up today on My Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached. 
Its not my exile. Its not my refuge. Its not my cage. 
Its just not mine anymore. 

I live here in Orange County, with Jim now. 
For Realsies ya'll.

My First Home of my Thirties.
I have a home.
And so does my Sunflower.
And again, it has a wall that has been awaiting its arrival, next to my side of the bed.

It got here yesterday, after we did the final gutting of an apartment I will never return to.
I will never go to that home again. Though parts of it live on - Beauty and Goldi both have remnants of it in their homes now, but for the majority of it - the furniture I had collected so slowly in my twenties - the shabby beachy blues and whites and seafoam green pieces that I so came to love - those are gone.

It still watches Kat nap in the sun.

But not my Sunflower. 
That's Home now.

A special thanks to Les. 

Out With the Old & In With the New.

'I can think of ten different times, just on the drive home, that I thought... I should pinch myself. What we have... You and I...'  

He trailed off, once we were home from our (ammmahzing) retreat to Central California.

I spent yesterday reorganizing the minutiae of the house; the things that I hadn't dared touch because this was Jim's Place. I had gotten flustered a few days ago, because yes - I decorated this space & I have drawers in the dresser and a whole side of the closet, but still -  underneath the surface, it did still feel like His. 

So, I started with the bathroom cabinets - the medicine cabinet & the drawers - under the guise of 'Well he uses my face stuff as much, if not more, than I do, so I'm just going to organize.' 

I'll just be right here. I don't want to 'disturb' anything.

I had been (self)relegated to a single drawer while the rest of them where poorly dispersed with dermologica samples and random combs. So, once I was done, and my nail polishes were organized in the medicine cabinet right along next to his hair mud or whatever its called, and he came home, I gave him a tour. 

He loved the organization of it - I may or may not have made some labels - and when we got to the medicine cabinets, my Essies and my Sally Hansens standing proud next to his nose hair trimmer, he smiled and said,

I like that our stuff is together now. 

Later, on the patio, I explained to him exactly what I'm explaining to you - the realization that even though I've been living here for months essentially, I have been walking on eggshells regarding his stuff. His cabinets are his cabinets, his drawers are his, and I don't want to... I don't even know... Be nosy? Cross the Line?

But he stopped me, and said,

No more eggshells. I want this to be Ours. Rearrange and organize all you want, it's your home too. I want it to be that way. It's not even that things will really change all that much, I'm just happy it will be more, I dunno... Official. I'm just happy that its Ours.

So, the following day, I took to editing, well, everything.
The pantry, the pots and pans, the drawer arrangement, the linen closet, the fridge.
To just organize them in a way that makes sense to me, that creates order and simply improve upon them. And, in doing that, I got to know the nooks and crannies that I had been trying not to pry upon; the weird mismatched sheets, the expired and unopened Juice Plus bottles.
I threw things out, folded them better, hung them up.
And its nice, because it gives me a better understanding of what is here and what is ours. What spices we have, what we're running low on. I gives me a greater sense of home, and of control, and of shared space.
Yesterday started with me, cross legged on the kitchen floor, iPad in hand - googling the differences between the 16 sauce pans in his cupboard and ended with the two of us eating Snickerdoodles in bed while watching Downton Abbey.
In between that, after being given the okay to toss things without worry, THIS happened too.
I know it may not seem like a big deal, the idea that underneath the surface it was all still his and my having the go ahead to change it, but it is a big deal to me.
That I didn't have to stare at the eleven jars of jalapenos anymore, or the drawer filled with toiletries lifted from various hotel rooms (oh you know you do it too). Sometimes I am so afraid over overstepping boundaries, or the idea that I've meddled too far or I don't know...
But it felt really good to know that I have free rein in our home together.
Or to quote Downton Abbey, I'm the Lady of the House.

You see, I've always been a good Homemaker, I know this. 

In my past relationship, that was the only thing I felt like was valued. 

I can cook and mend, and clean and entertain. 

I made sure that the Ex's friends all had cold beers during the game.

But to be fully accepted within that home, to be wholly loved and appreciated, to be told I'm smart, to be told I'm funny, to be told I'm beautiful all wrapped together with a look of sheer Love, is not something I've had since I was child. 

I show him the cabinets and that is all well and good, he's glad that I switched where the forks are kept, because we both - for months - have gone for the wrong drawer, and he's thrilled. 

But to follow that up with a dinner where he laughs at all my jokes and listens when I interrupt him, and tells me that he hopes that I always steal food from his plates and looks at me as though he's about to burst into an explosion of pure happiness, rainbows and all, is a new feeling for me. 

We took my eighteen year old cousin to dinner after her first week of college (actually, she is the first of my family to meet Jim) and to have him be so present at dinner, so engaging with my little cousin; to be so honestly interested in her syllabus and her yoga class, that was new to me. 

To be on the phone with my dad, and have him say,

'Well, your boyfriend sounds like a good Man. I look forward to meeting him.'

This is all new to me.

How odd is it, that for me, being in a relationship with a man who educates himself daily, and has an open mind and a warm heart is a new thing? 

That we can go to dinner, and I can spend the meal making him laugh with funny voices and silly quips, and then we can come home and just be. That we can spend ten hours in the car - switching from the Pandora station from stand up comedy to the audio book we bought to NPR and back to comedy. 

Talking and not talking for hours.

To be loved by a man not for what he wants me to be, but for who I am. 

This is all a new to me.

the Fear.

I'm at a crux.
I don't know if thats the word for it, really, but it seems to do, so go with it.
So, I'm at a crux.
Not with M (who these days is sans mustache) but with myself within the relationship. Its odd, because from the get go I have been 'myself' with him, and we have something truly wonderful and open and grown up with our relationship. But, after over two months of dating, and essentially living with him in his condo that we decorated, I am starting to feel... The Fear.
The Fear of losing something so wonderful. These little tentacles of insecurity creeping up and over and onto me, my thoughts, my hugs, my kisses. When we first started dating, I would abstain from talking about him too much, getting bitchy at anyone who even mentioned the 'L' Word, panicking at the thought of all this and all that, panicking at the thought of jinxing something so wonderful.
My friends even asked if  'I was into this guy'.
I was.
And yet, we moved forward, sweetly and wonderfully and into the world of whispered I love you's and I love you very much so's.

And now I am terrified. Not of what I was once so afraid of - letting someone in, letting something be real, being responsible for someone else's happiness. But I am terrified of losing him, losing this. Of him changing his mind, and falling out of love with me.
Maybe, at my core, thats what I was afraid of all along.
I can't have another man walk in and say he's changed his mind. 
I hate that I have easily and without fear put so much on to Us.
No that isn't true, I don't hate it.
I love it. But it scares the bajeezus out of me - the idea of losing that.
I told him not long ago,

'... I know that everything won't always be perfect, that's just the way the world works. Sometimes bad things happen, and I feel as though we are building the strong base for a relationship that can withstand the bad things that the world may throw our way. And I feel like we'll always have this time to look back at, when everything was perfect.I feel like we are building a strong base for a future together, and for the first time in my life, that doesn't scare the shit out of me.'

(Oh, the eloquence.)
But in the last week or so, maybe because I have been essentially living with him, as has Kat Moss, I have felt the fear creeping in. The fear of loss, the fear of risking loss. I don't know what the Fear is really, but its there and all I want to do is talk about it ad naseum, talk about my feelings and emotions and yaddayaddayadda, but then I stop, because I get afraid of those making me lose him too.
One of the best things about our relationship is that we've 'always been on the same page', without much conversation about. There was never that discount futon uncomfortable vulnerability that I'd experienced before; there was time, and dialogue, and care and the building of something together. From getting him out of that damn house and into his condo (which is now near completion, with redoing the closet next on the list) and getting me over my weird hang ups about - well, everything - we've done it with ease and grace.
Its moved fast, but at an adult speed.
But I can't help feeling these insecurities take over. I don't know why I started doubting my lovability again, but I kind of did. Like one false step, and the jinx'll set in.
Maybe my lack of outlet, maybe my lack of Me time with my girlfriends has something to do with it; maybe I need a little more of both in my life.
Here's the thing, with my cat at his house (it was not fair, her alone in the Tiny Room all the time) and the fact that his house is 1. much biggger (he has a couch you guys! A couch! And a bath tub!) and 2. generally more comfortable (see: couch, tub, coffee maker, fridge full of sugar free Redbulls, and fresh flowers everywhere and 3. it feels like 'Ours'. We decorated it, we've made it ours. We call it 'Home'.

But, when all is said and done, my Home is a catless mint green studio apartment 35 miles away, with month old dirty dishes in the sink and a closet filled with winter clothes. My Home has started to feel like exactly what is was when I first moved in - an escape from something terrible. An escape from the Ex. And it was always meant to be a place of transition, and though I love it and all the wonderful beach town memories, and time with my girlfriends and my Dutchman, and everything, it never had the comfort of my place with the Ex, the apartment with shared for five years.
My Home was exactly as I've called it for the past two years: A Tiny Room with Kitchen Attached. Or, a glorified closet. And I don't live there anymore. Not for more than 45 minutes about once a week.
But, I've also said I won't move in with anyone else again, too fast or without a Certain Level of Commitment. And to a large degree I'm stickin' to that (except for the fact that I'm writing this from Our Bed right now, with my coffee on My Nightstand.)
So, there are some blurry lines there already.

For someone so happy (which I am) I hate that I am so afraid.
Not afraid to Love, because I do, with all my heart.
Not afraid to see a future with someone, because I see it with clarity.
And for the first time in my adult life, it doesn't scare the shit outta me.

The Fear I feel... Is the fear of being Wrong.
I guess.
Though, to be honest, I've never been wrong about this before. 
Because, I've never felt this way before.
I'm afraid of those things that I cannot control.
I'm afraid of him changing his mind.

I'm afraid it's gotta be jinxed or something.

But I'm pretty sure it's not.

Also, I think I am going to go back to this blog. I've missed it so.

Happy Endings.

Kat Moss has moved out.

My apartment, where I am now, my adorable little beachside room with a kitchen attached, looks like Roanoke.
Someone lives here, there are dirty dishes in the sink, paper strewn about, an empty pack of Parliments long forgotten sitting atop my nightstand.
But, no one is living here.
My home is simply a home for my clothes right now. As circumstance & convenience have me more and more at M's, and it being Our Creation, Our Place... My little bungalow, with all it's memories of F, and it's memories of last summer, and as a general Escape from my Past Life, it has become a shell.

A Shell of Saturn's Singledom.
Now, this is not exactly what I've wanted.
I love my little place, and my life here & have felt a bit alienated from it this week, as I've spent every night in Orange County.
But, when given the choice to drive home to my one room studio, or spend the evening with a man who rubs my feet, tells me he Loves me, and leaves a coffee cup ready to go in the Keurig before he leaves every morning, you can imagine which decision I am not hasty to make. But, coming here, for the first time, without my Kat waiting for me is a real reminder of how slowly but surely we are combining our lives.
Kat was sad and alone for most nights, with the F maybe stopping by to feed her until he no longer could, or would, it only made sense to bring her to M's.
M loves her too, and calls her 'Little One' and it makes me happy that we are all there, together, without worry.
But I can't help but feel like my last grip on any strand of singledom is gone.
Why am I afraid of that?

I'm afraid that if I do, I'll seem selfish.

Because I stood on a soap box for so long saying I would never rush into something like this, that I would never lose myself to a relationship again, that I can't help but feel a bit like a hypocrite.
And a circumstance and convenience go, I have no choice but to simply let go of that feeling right now.

I'm just afraid that I won't get the Girl's Night invites anymore for being disregarded as being with M.
I'm just afraid that I'm doing what I said I'd never do.
But most nights, when I have no invites or plans or am working late, the only thing I want to do is be in M's bed, watching old episodes of Happy Endings.

Ya know, I'm not afraid of my future with His as an Us, but I'm afraid that from the outside looking in, it will seem as though I am losing Me.


Also, I cut my hair. Short, above my shoulders.
It was time for a more Grown Up look.
And I had a Grown Up Fourth - work and then fireworks and dinner at the Montage in Laguna Beach. And while overlooking the Pacific, watching the bright lights, I realized that in two years, two July 4th's ago, my relationship with the Ex fell apart, everything went to shit that day. And that one July 4th ago marked my anniversary of my own independence. And that there, standing on that patio, with a man who has and is falling in love with me - and I him - that I have come so far in the past two years.
In two years, I have actually, really, truly, become a real life Grown Up.
And in turn, even with all  my empty nest syndromes and fears about missing out or moving on, I have fallen for a Grown Up.

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.

The Curse is Broken!

I have broken the Curse of the Missoni Skirt!
I wore it to an interview at Johnathon Adler, which went quite well and they asked me - at the end of said first interview to come back Saturday morning for a second.

Yip. This could make me happy.

Whimsical home furnishings in a semi-corporate environment?
Um, YESPULEASE&THANKYOU!
New challenge based upon a strength I have spent the last 5 years building?!
Please! Capital P.
Merchandising & decorating are my first loves!
Well, them and Justin Thompson, but he still has me blocked on Facebook, so I guess it doesn't really count.

C'est la vie. Sweet sweet la vie. 
So come Saturday, with my sister in tow, I shall be interviewing and then birthday partying.
And not be quite so terrified of the (not Target version, but of the italiano variety) zig zag print temptress hanging in my closet.

S'riously guys, I just pee'd a little.
S'riously.

On an unrelated note - How is it that photos of closets can get me equally as aroused as anytime spent look at Ryan Gosling's mug? I seriously think I am more attracted to shoes and cocktail dresses than I am men.
Well, at least shoes'll never imply that I need to tone up my ass.
And for that matter, if the pair is high enough, they'll tone it for me without even asking.

30: A Blank Page of Paint by Numbers.

...Just enjoy the house to yourself! We should be home by 9.

I haven't been in a space this large, by myself, in as long as I can remember. I am sitting at the dining room table tap-tap-typing away in an empty house in the desert, eating hummus and drinking a glass of Barefoot from of one of those tiny 'American Doll' sized bottles sold by the checkout at the drugstore. I am alone. But, it's different than being alone at my 'house' (cough! studio!). There's a bike in the kitchen, a Buddha decorated with fortunes on the counter* and a plastic bowling pin set on the floor to my right.
I can hear the family dog in another room, dogtag jangling.
It smells like dinner and kids and A Home.

*I originally called it the bar, but in a family home, I realized, its not a bar .

It's a countertop. Duh. I'm new.

I haven't had this, especially to myself, in as long as I can remember.

You know, being technically 'unemployed' is an odd thing. One one hand, I have days where I haven't anywhere in particular that I need to be, but many days where I find myself choosing to be places I haven't been in many many years. Such as, but not limited to LA, Santa Monica and Newport (but Newport for fun, which I never used to do.) I mean, I see my Malibu Bad Ass more now that she resides near the Miracle Mile than I did when she lived down the street. On the other hand, though I find I have nothing technically on the docket, I feel like I've been busy, busy, busy. A lot of it has to do with the aforementioned travelling, but also that the two or three days I do spend working, I spend the night out of town.
Right now, I'm in the middle of a three day stretch in the desert of Southern California, where it's a balmy 75 degrees & a storm'sabrewing. (Literally.) The house I'm writing from is the home of the sister of the owner of my shop. I mean, not only have I not spent time in a real Home in years but its also been a long time since I have spent so much time with a Family in general, Capital F. I mean, I have spent the last two years bouncing between the couches of my girlfriends and the beds of my, errrr... Let's go with 'lovers' on that one, so being around a Family has been... Comforting. It's a dog, kids - the whole familial shebang.
Something I haven't been wholly surrounded by since I was a kid myself and I'd forgotten how comforting it is; how much I love it.
And, when I wake up in the morning, there are two little boys excited that I am 'finally!' awake.
Sometimes it feels like going to 'work' is more like a vacation from Life.

See: Cacti.

(See: jobless, boyfriendless, aimless.)
In the Desert, I have a purpose, I have a Family, I have a sense of value; I feel a sense of unconditional love from the Family that I have grown to be a part of; my boss, her parents - especially her father - her sister, her sister's two sons.
I just generally feel less Lost.
Now! Don't get me wrong - I have a family of friends in my Tiny Little Beach Town too, but these people have known me since I was 24; since I was six months into a relationship with the Ex of 5 years. They saw me grow up, move out, move on, and now they're here for me when I've lost my job and am in a state of total flux.
Because, being jobless, boyfriendless & with a milestone birthday on the horizon - I am feeling at a loss.
All the things that used to define me do not anymore - Everything (everything!) is in Flux right now.
It's all blank.
Nothing is defined; I am not coloring within the lines because there are no lines to color within.
I am approaching 30 with a blank page in hand.
Not a blank slate. Just an empty page.
I feel like I pressed the 'Pause' button on my own life's remote. You know, so that I could really take in what just happened, and I've just kept rewinding the last scenes, dissecting them ad nauseam, totally unsure of what to expect next.
I feel like my life has been paused. And I'm waiting for someone else to come along and press 'Play' because I am afraid of what's to follow & haven't even totally digested what's already happened.
This folks, is why I don't like watching movies alone.
The hardest part of the Blank and the Pause is that with all the time in the world to think - with the uncertainty of it all - comes my uncanny knack for over-thought. 
I am over-thinking a paused frame, I am over-thinking a blank page.

Vogue!

How so?
Well, the first thing not written on the blank paper?
Not shown in the freeze frame?
'What Do I Want To Be When I Grow Up?'
I have no idea. My mother always said she just 'knew' she wanted to be a Mom. I never felt that way. (Though, spending time with this family, I am finding it harder and harder to imagine a fulfilled life without a family. Without the bike and the bowling pins and the little tiny hands.) I also know I can't work two days a week two hours away for the rest of my life, so I have to find something. But what? I don't know. Do I want to continue to be a shopgirl forever? No. I think I have more to offer to the world than what jeans will go best with that blouse. Or, conversely, if that is my calling, do I want to do it from someone else's shop forever? No. (I actually did turn down a job for just that reason last week.) So, I go to my thirtieth birthday less sure of what I want to be when I grow up as I did when I arrived at my 20th. (At Chevy's. See also: Twenty year olds are idiots.)
Second thing not written on the blank page?
'Why Am I Still Single?' Shut your fucking trap if you're thinking it's just 'cuz I haven't found The One yet; obviously, I haven't found the One.
But you know what I have found?
Well, for one - Cheetos. Family houses! P'shaw!
I found Apartment F, who though we are not Together, I still Love more than anything. The Spark & attraction may be lacking, but I still see him often, eat dinner and watch a movie with him, sleep next to him (though not with him) several nights a week. I still find myself awake at 11 pm, creeping upstairs to crawl into bed next him. I went away for work last week & when I got home he had bought Kat Moss food, fed her the 3 days I was gone, done all my dishes, taken out the trash, and...

I Have a PhD in Unavailable.

And. Cleaned the toilet and left me a cookie.
Even my PhD candidate of a sister coo'd, 'Aww. Can't you just be with him??' (In my defense, she may be smarter than me now, but she talked to herself until she was 9. I used to look out the window and see her balancing back and forth on the 6 foot fence, all Anne of Green Gables-style, chatting to herself. If I watched long enough - sure enough, 'Whoops!' She'd fall off one side or the other. In her defense, she's in the best Women's Studies PhD program in the country & was one of three (out of like 10,000) to be accepted with a scholarship. But I digress. And brag.)
I am still single because I am stupid.
I am probably still single because I am too picky. And too afraid of the responsibility that comes along with being a pillar to a house like the very one I typing from. I am still single because I am arrogant enough to think that someone will come along and sweep my off my feet.
I'm stupid, because when I am in my Tiny Room, watching New Girl with Apartment F, and Kat Moss is curled up on both of us and he starts to fall asleep; that is the only other time I can recall that even feels close to Family. F even texted me today, after a thread regarding him sneaking Kat Moss into the hockey game he attended this evening in his pocket, with,

I love that little kitty.

Also, it should be noted, Apt F is psychic, though he doesn't know it.
He calls it 'intuition' & I call it, 'Has he been reading my text messages?'
He hasn't, because if he had, he probably wouldn't be speaking to me, let alone buying me cookies. 
I also feel like I should explain that the F & I (though I know he still cares for me) are very open about not being together, and still leaning on one another, and loving each other. He knows that I feel like something is missing from our connection - or as he put it, 'You love me but you are not in love with me, that is what is missing'. And I know that - in the long run - he wants marriage and a family & I (much like my sister at 9) walk a thin wooden fence on the subject and fall on either side of that fence at any given moment allwillynillylike (while totally talking to myself). And for the two of us to then that to stay in a relationship that is only getting more and more serious when we don't fall on the same side of the fence most of the time really isn't fair to his own hopes and dreams.

Teeter totter. 

I am still single because I am terrified of being responsible for someone else's happiness, whether it is the F's or a husbands or most importantly, a child's; especially when I am so terrible at being responsible for my own.
And for the Freeze Frame, for the Pause, (no, Mom, not that 'Pause'!) I have found a Carpenter (Yes, Like Jesus) in Santa Monica to er... fill in the blanks for the time being. It's been about three weeks.
Of steady not going steady.

What?! Carpenters wear a lot of plaid.
Even if they're from Calabasas.

Couldn't we have gone to Frida's Pitas?
That Mexi-Greek fusion place on La Brea?
No... We couldn't.
Cause I just made it up.
(It should be real though.
Make it make it happen,
Internet.) 

A Carpenter who I thought would prefer to keep things on the more Casual side of Friday, but I am starting to feel like even he wants more. For instance, he wants to be invited to the St. Patrick's Day fiesta that Goldi & I strong-armed the Doctor into hosting (Apartment F wanted an invite as well) and if he isn't invited, he wants to pick me up and take me back to his (actually quite beautiful) apartment off Santa Monica Blvd when it's over. Neither of which will happen because I don't see any reason (or necessarily want) to leave my friends. (That, and there is a certain boy that will most likely be there that I may or may not have shared a Moment and a kiss over Oasis's Wonderwall on Halloween.) (Also, a glaring example of F's intuition? A text that read, I feel like you don't want me to go hang out with your friends at the Doctor's because they're trying to set you up with one of his friends.' Argh...) Anyhow, between the Carpenter (they have a really good union) wanting me to, I quote (him), 'flaunt him in front of my friends' and the fact that he took me to restaurant where the waitress not asked where his parents had been but also his Grandparents, I am getting the feeling that he wants more than I do now as well. The ripple of something that went through the air when he told his brother (yes, I have met his brother) and his roommate that he took me to 'Paco's Tacos' was... Unnerving. They looked... Surprised. It was an odd moment; and odd moment that I am probably reading too much into, but at the same time... They seemed as surprised as I was that he would take me to somewhere so intimately 'Theirs'. Though, to be honest, most of time when I am texting with the Carpenter, I convince myself he has some form of... Special Needs. (Not sexually. He just seems retarded. His texts read like... Well, 'Me Talk Pretty One Day'.) He seems so stupid via text, that I start to reckon I've missed some twitch, some form of Autism, that I find I'm always surprised that when I am with him, he is articulate, honest, forthright and sweet.
Note: He, too, made it a point to tell me, at Paco's Tacos, that he does want children. (My response? 'Filed.')
We're supposed to be Casual!* Not speaking of children at his grandparent's favorite Mexican joint.

*Yes, Tar, we put on our jeans first.

He also speaks fluent Spanish, and when I told him that I understand it better than I speak it, he was surprised that I got everything right in his little quiz (which did not include, Where is the library?). Not only that, but when we were at Paco's Tacos, the waiter asked him en espanol, if he would like a coffee after dinner, I responded that I would. En ingles. He made a crack about me being flaca, and I nearly shouted, 'I'm right here! I can hear you!' And finally, he conceded that I can actually understand Spanish better than I am able to actually speak it. With that he if I could understand one last thing; and he muttered something under his breath. I immediately thought he was making a dirty joke or fun of me and asked him to repeat himself.
He said it again, this time louder and more sheepishly, yet still very quickly.

Tu esta muy bonita

I replied, blushing, with a simple thank you.

I am still fucking single because no one is ever good enough.
And one might presume, that in my world, that no one is not just anyone...

YES! SOMEONE PLEASE FIND ME THIS!
A full page of Paint by Numbers.
Happy 30th to Me.
No? You sure?
Damn.

It's me.

So here I go: Big birthday on the Horizon; Blank Page in Hand.
Turning Thirty, jobless and single.
Unsure of anything other than that my life is inexplicably on Pause.

No, not inexplicably. It's to be expected, I guess.
Because, apparently, even after all these years...

I'm still on the fence.
I'm still fixated on the television station that airs nothing but snow.
I'm still waiting for my Life to be a fucking Paint by Numbers...
...of a House & a Home, and a bike in the kitchen and a dog in the yard.
Or a Kat.

But it's not.
No one's is.


Sidenote: I do have a Second Date with 'The Mormon' (who is not, in fact Mormon [anymore]) on Monday. Our first date was at the Hollywood Improve about two weeks ago, and went very well. Actually, if you had been at the Hollywood Improv that night, you probably would have never guessed it was our first date, but more likely would've thought we had been together for years. The only real caveat is that he is an ex-Mormon. Like, only off the church and on the sauce +/- 18 months. Nevermind that he's divorced with a four year old, I'm more worried about trying to mesh an ex-faux-Jew/college wildchild with a divorcee Mormon who just jumped into the 'civilian' dating pool.