Status: Approved

'I have to tell you, your Dad was nearly in tears last night. He said he hasn't seen you look so happy or healthy in years. And... Jim's soooo cute.'

This is an authentic representation of what he wore.

My stepmom whispered all this in my ear upon mine and Jim's arrival to my cousin's wedding over the weekend in Los Angeles, the day after Thanksgiving.
My dad then hugged me, and told me so himself. He told me I looked beautiful, which I don't remember him ever saying, but I'm sure he has.








Jim met (99% of) my family this past weekend.
You can guess how that went.

Smartest. Family. Ever.

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.

Back to the Future (Statements).

'Babe, we should
do that sometime.'
Yeeeeeahhh. Riiiight.

My disdain for 'Future Statements' in dating goes back... Well, really far.
How much Goldi and I hated those 'We should go _____ sometime' and 'When you meet __________' that men so casually throw around. They're just talking, and we're stuck overthinking.
We learned, like most women do, that such statements did not necessarily mean anything, and reading into 'what' was meant (boyfriendom? marriage? babies? forever sealed by the Mormon church?) by such statements was a waste of time and energy, and simply just a thought said outloud.
Nothing more.
For the most part, at least.

Jump forward - well, actually backward - to Jim and I sitting on the patio a few months ago, talking about the Hearst Castle.
We are not at this point even 'Exclusive', though we are, and he casually mentions 'We should go sometime.'
And my brain does what it's natural inclination is to do: Oh... 'We should go sometime' means he sees a future with me. A future with mini breaks. Boyfriendom. Marriage. Who will be my bridesmaides? Will peonies be overplayed by then, or still in style? Will I wear winter white or more of a soft, cream white? 
And then, as I'd trained myself to do, I reminded my uterus to stop being crazy.

Don't be insane, uterus. We're just having a casual conversation here. Go back about your business as usual.

Or at least, I didn't read too much into it.

Do these glasses make my Lady Parts look smarter?

Yep. Just like that.

However - and I have a feeling you can guess where this is going - however, Jim is not like other men I've dated. I know this because when I pulled up my lace shorts far over my belly button last night, and danced around the patio like an old timey boxer doing my best 'rolling fisticuffs + Clint Eastwood snarl' he still liked me. He laughed and maybe even still thought I was sexy. Maybe. Probably not. 
I also know Jim is not like other men I've dated because, well many reasons, but for the purpose of this post,  I know this because guess where we are going this weekend?!
Yes. Exactly where he said we'd go. (Shut it, uterus.)

See: Hearst Castle. 
See: Boutique Hotel on the Central Coast. 
See: Boyfriendom. 
See: Mini Breaks.

See: Shit. I have to pack.

The Big One. (or, Feels Like EarthQuake Weather).

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack You may find yourself in another part of the world You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?  

(that Talking Heads song you know you know the words to but not the name of.)

Them Heads really know how to Talk.

People like to ask in regards to any life altering moment,

When do you think it will hit you? When do you think it with settle in that (this) has happened?

With losing job, or gaining a boyfriend, or whatever I've always, in my adult life, answered,

I don't. I think that with most things, 'It' never hits you. It just comes to be, and then after time, you realize that things have changed - that It just Is. 

Things just become the way they are.
I still believe this.
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with Jim. It never hit me, justlikethat. Somewhere between 'This is Something' and 'I Love You', it simply became This Is Everything.
It was was, and is, and should be.
But tonight, sitting on "our" patio, looking in from the outside (quite literally - as I was peering into the front windows from the outside, at our new tuberose bouquet, at our light fixtures, at my Not My House Home), I realized that this is How It Is. That Home is my Home. My home is our house. His house is my Home.
How Did I Get Here?
I found myself thinking,

Gawd, if I could have only known.

And, I know, that like with anything, with everything, I may be peering right back into my own Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached in three months time thinking the exact same thought.
But I hope, with all my heart, I am not*.

*Unless it's when a U-Haul is parked outside with its hazards on

 and I am packing my shit into it and 

getting the hell out of that Safe House of a studio apartment.

I never fell for the when-you-know-you-know BS. 

I spent a loooooooottttttttt of time ducking those proverbial hits. 

It took learning about Me to be able to be open and honest and loving enough to fall for someone without everything else that used to be attached to falling at all.

I was so fearful of hitting something I couldn't even walk to the ledge for fear of falling. 

'Fearful' is not the right word. 

'Afraid' is better. 

Like being afraid to speak, or to be a grown up, or any other of the Fears I've had.

For the most part, they've dissipated. 

I drink less. I smile more. 

I believe him when he tells me, earnestly, that everything will be okay.

Even when I know that in life, there is no assurance of that.

Apt F taught me that I am lovable.

Or in his words, 'I love you even though you're crazy'. 

Apt F also taught me that I don't want to - nor do I (or you or anyone else) deserve - such a caveat.

My Dutchman taught me that I am lovable, if only for a second. 

Lovable, even with only a glimpse. A spark. A sparkle.

My Ex of Five Years taught me I can accept a loving man, a loving family, and with maturity and age, be a devoted wife  er girlfriend. 

Actually, I mentioned to someone yesterday that I had moved in with a boy after three months at age 23 and we were together for five years and her response was,

Oh. Man. You probably thought you were going to marry him.

I did. 

In my head, I was. 

My Australian gave me own glimpse. 

A glimpse into a Whole New Woooooorrrrlllldddddd of adult dating.

So peering into my own window tonight, like Tiny Tim did in A Christmas Carol, and thinking How Did I Get Here like the Talking Heads... It Hit Me: I got here by knowing I deserve to be here. 

And, Itoldyaso, It didn't Hit. It just Is.

Man oh man, I deserve this Love. 

I deserve a Love Like This.

I want this Love. 

How good did it felt to say,
'Dad, He really Loves me.'

And its been a learning process, an imperfect process. 

But with all I've learnt, and all my imperfections, at this moment, 

Everything is perfect.

Perfect. 

Perfection with no end date, no transcontinental upstairs neighbor captain of the basketball team mumbojumbo to deal with.

I've learned that I deserve This Kind of Love.

And I believe I give it right back in return. Fuck, I sure hope I do.

And when, two nights ago, I was catatonic with stress, and nothing was perfect, and I was laying quiet and still on the couch trying to breathe - fearful of the Mail, for lack of a better explanation - when two nights ago, he gingerly crawled behind me, squeezed himself between my body and the couchback, and simply just held me as tightly as humanly possible - without saying a word, just gripping me tightly, as though I may fly away if he didn't; then, I was only reassured of what Is.

Or, as my dearest Flame put it, I Willed This Love.

It never Hit me, because It with Us always Was.

This is It.

Caveat: Or at least I sure hope so. 

Otherwise, I have no sense of anything and should be diagnosed as delusional and/or lick my finger and stick it in the wind prior to making any decision because the wind would be as equally as good of a indicator as my own sense of direction. And I'll be real sad.

Never Ever Will I Ever.

You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy.

C. JoyBell C.

I want to write but I have been up since eight this morning and for some reason my eyes won't focus or even all the way open even though I am on my third cup of coffee.

Lids heavy, I'm perched on the couch, mentally and physically exhausted. 

I've tried caffeine. Sugar. A bagel. String cheese. I can't wake up. 

I want to make you laugh, I want to make you think, I want to put something on the page that will make me feel better. Not that I feel bad, I just feel. Happy, sad, stressed, tired.

Last night, after explaining my thoughts to Jim on realizing that part of growing up is moving on, and that part of moving on is change, and that parts of change can be uncomfortable or different, he complimented my ability to wholly think about a situation, and articulate it, and to express it. God, I love this man.

See, I've made so many declarative statements in the past few years.

See: I'll never move in with someone again! Unless we're engaged.  

See: I'll never give up My Life for a man again!

See: I'll never let someone in enough to change my life for them. 

Okay, maybe I never said that last one directly, but I surely thought it, however indirectly.

(Okay, maybe the sugar from the Capri Sun I just drank is kicking in.) Now, don't misunderstand; I have not technically moved in with the man, but I am here now, as he is work. I have been here for weeks, at this point barely going home once a week (more like once a month). We went back to my tiny town yesterday as I finally had a weekend day off and I didn't even grab the key to my own apartment (subconsciously, I suppose). 

We brunched and beached with my friends, and there in my tiny town, I realized that things have changed. 

I have changed. 

People also out and about noticed I have not been 'around', and people asked 'where have you been?' But there, boyfriend and besties in tow, I felt separate from what was once My Town. My Niche. My Home.

Even with Goldi and Beauty; things were different. They've had a whole summer there; whereas I've been working and less mobile than summers past, and I have been with Jim. And, I have been beating myself up for feeling as though I have eschewed my friendships for a boy after everything that happened with the Ex of 5 Years (who I saw, albeit so briefly through a doorway, yesterday) I need to realize that that is not the case.  I'm allowed to Grow Up.

My friends are wonderful, and they know me better than anyone else, but there is nothing wrong with growing out of that Tiny Town. That a move towards a partnership with Jim, a move to a job with different hours and locale, a move towards a more comfortable existence, is not eschewing my friendships for boy. Granted I'm not perfect, I've never claimed to be, but even if my balance is not exact, the change and the awareness of the change are almost as important. But, I have to let go of this thought that change is in inherently negative, or that I'm doing it to the detriment of other things, or wrong altogether.

It's growing up. Its moving forward. 

I'm not 'choosing' my boyfriend over my friends; I have to let that idea/fear go.

I'm choosing to be forward moving over my own propensity towards stagnation. 

Growing up an moving on and outgrowing and moving forward are all Good Things. 

Goldi and I may not talk forty times a day like we used to, Beauty and I may not spend every Sunday sitting on a sun soaked patio sipping champagne anymore, but that doesn't mean that something is awry. It just means that we are growing up. That's all Goldi and I wanted when we formed our Classy Pact; we wanted to become Adults. I did feel a little, for lack of a better phrase, left out yesterday, but I do believe that was more of my own insecurities' creation, and less of an actual thing. I have to remember that I can have both; a healthy relationship as well as many friendships. And that I am complete because I have both. And that I don't have to be 100% submerged in either for them to work. Because....

I have to realize that, like people and relationships, friendships change too. 

And that's okay. 

Its okay that I don't lean on Goldi as a psuedoboyfriend anymore. 

Or the F for that matter. 

My friends are growing and changing and I am too. 

And I have to remember that, and not beat myself up over not being entrenched in my Tiny Town. 

Its okay that I have faux-moved to suburbia. 

Its okay that one day, I may even really move to suburbia. 

It's okay that I may go back on my own words. 

I forgive myself for that. 

I sound like Stuart Smallies.

Because, it's not the same as it was before; I said that far reaching 'Never Ever Again!' statement in direct reference to my relationship of five years. When I should have been saying, 'I will never make the same mistake again' I was instead making far reaching statements like, 'I'll never do A, B or C again!' 

But Jim is not Liam. I am not 23. I have done the 'research' this time (a la the list, paper planes, dating, making up and breaking up, knowing what I want and need) and with everything I have learned in the last plus or minus seven years, I believe that being with Jim is the best decision I can possibly make when it comes to finding a partner for life. 

To grow up with, to (hopefully) grow old with. 

For God's Sake, this is the first man in my entire adult life I can truly see as a husband. 

In the 'when you find it you'll know' sense that I have for so long doubted.

I believe that sitting on this couch, type type typing away while trying to wake up is the best possible place for me to be.

Conversely, I also saw my newly-wed Flame Haired Favorite, and not a beat was skipped. It was so good to see her and her husband, and know that they too are proud of my steps forward, as well as their own. Never do I doubt how she will accept a faux move, or make me feel like I've somehow made a choice of B over A. Not that Goldi or Beauty do either, but I perhaps just feel more sensitive about that with them. 

My girlfriends all know me so well, in different ways. And, as elementary as it may sound, each friend I have serves a different purpose, each woman is a separate sounding board.  And each relationship is always changing, growing and evolving. That isn't a necessarily a bad thing, nor is it something to fear. 

Or beat myself up over. 

I just have to accept that I am changing. 

We are changing. 

Things change.

And I have to remind myself that that is okay.

That is a good thing. 

I want to move. Now there's a declarative sentence for ya.

Out of my tiny Roanoke apartment and into the place I now call Home.

Even though I said I never would again. 

Even though I haven't been asked to.

I want to really come Home.

(re)Evaluation.

So, the F 'stumbled' across my little project the other day.

F.

He had known about it, and had read excerpts from it when I felt that it better explained what I was feeling than I could articulate. But he had never read it in its entirety and well... I can't imagine stumbling across an entire in depth timeline of a relationship I was in; things written in anger, things written in happiness, things that were never said outloud to me; but were written in a public forum for everyone else to read.

Shield your eyes, kids!!!

I would crumble.
I have been thinking over the past day, after doing a quick re-read on all things F, most posts long forgotten, and I realized that I have been a bit blinded by my own selfishness, I never considered how my words in this thing could effect another. The F is not mad, per se, but he definitely now has a better understanding of how he hurt me in the beginning and how back and forth I have been (and why) in regards to him. Basically, I feel terrible that I hadn't ever considered how this expose of sorts could hurt.
Words sting; and these are words written for others to read - The bad can stay with you, can point out that your own personal fears about your own shortcomings are seen by others, that they notice them too, that it's not just you...
We are never as opaque as we hope we are. 
I told MMM - in the vaguest terms possible -  on our second date about this project of mine. We never spoke of it again. But last night, after having learned that the F had read what I written about him, I brought it up to M again.
His response?

Yes, I remember. And it's never very far from my mind.

That surprised me.
I explained to him what had happened with Apt F, and how hurtful my words may have been, and how upset I was at hurting someone's feelings, and yaddayaddayadda and explained that though I have never written a sour word about him, I would never ever want him to read what I have written and be saddened by it.

How did I not see this coming?
Also, go see Moonrise Kingdom.
It resonates with the melancholy 12 year old in me.

Much like why I didn't want the F to read it.
Also, do I really want M to know about every single person I have dated in the past year and a half?
No.
Nor do I want him to have insight on the intensity of my feelings for others, as even though they are past, just like I don't want to know about how in love he was was with whomever it was he was in love with.
This has been a nearly no holds barred outlet for me. 
This has been my avenue for self exploration, for storytelling, for figuring shit out. 
But, in my conversation with M, and my exploitation of F, I feel as though I may need to seriously reevaluate Style & Saturn Return. 
I mean, I'm not technically even in my Saturn's Return anymore.
M and I have had conversations about honesty, and mutual respect for our own privacy (full disclosure: I wish I could get away with pronouncing it 'Priv-issy') but at this fork in the road, I have found myself wondering how public I want my life to be. 
How much of my relationship with M do I want give away? 

It was one thing when I was single, trying to maneuver a life I had never led before; finding solace in the parallels of my existence to others'. 
But I am not alone, I never was, and I most certainly am not alone anymore.


I explained to M all these things, and we had a long talk about (in the vaguest terms possible) whether or not I really need a blog about dating & being single, when... Dot dot dot. 
We left each sentence at that: dot dot dot.
I mean, who really knows what the future holds...? I sure as hell don't. 
But, I know what I feel, and I know what it could hold.
M did not ask me to not write as I do, he would never, he just pointed out that it's purpose may need some re-evaluation. 
And, I agree.


Simply put, when I asked him weeks ago out of the blue, before any talk of - well, anything really...
When I asked him,

This is Something, isn't it?

He responded with a simple Yes. 

This Something is Real.
And this Something is Ours. 
Ours, Alone.

Mind you, I am not going to stop this blog altogether. 
I just probably will not write about my relationship with M as in depth as I have in the past. 
Which, I can imagine, is fine. Relationships, especially happy ones, can be quite mundane. 
I am probably going to simply focus on more abstract ideas and/or more aesthetics. 
Or both. 
I mean, truly, that was my original intention for this blog anyway. See above 'Musings + Inspirations'.  No mention of 'Dating'.


And to the F, if you're reading, please stop. 
No, but seriously, I am sorry. 
You are my dearest friend and I love you. 
And I am so sorry. 
Now, click the 'Back' button. 
YaKayThanks.

Housewarmings.

This shall go in the kitchen.

salt & pepper shakers by kate spade.
I started to explain, as he was opening it,
that I 'wasn't sure which
one was the salt and which
was the...' and then I stopped
myself.

I got MMM a Housewarming gift. I was going to go with a succulent, but Roger's was closed so I got him a salt and pepper shaker set instead. He loved it, and explained that the thought had occurred to him that I might get him a housewarming gift because I'm, quote, 'awesome like that' but he didn't want to get his own hopes up if I didn't, nor did he want to be as presumptious to think I would, but that he had a hunch that I might.
And, luckily I had been planning to all along, because in his words, I'm awesome. In my awesomeness, I've been given the go-ahead, and relative carte blanche to 'help' decorate MMM's new (old) condo.
Now, if his old shell of a 'home' was any indication, I assumed that he (for lack of a better term) had no taste. None, zip, zilch, nada.
The old place had perhaps two pieces of decor: Dated looking Tommy Bahama knock off palm tress in bamboo frames over the couch and a pot of fake yellow daisies on his dining room table. Actually, right before we were going to bed the other night, he said, out of the blue,

You know, I never intended on you seeing that house. I was thinking I could stretch out having you over until after I moved. 

I laughed, and I understood.
But imagine my surprise when I arrived at his new (old) condo in Irvine after his move and found most everything in a state of disarray other than the two prints he had carefully hung in his living room: One, beautifully matted in a simple black frame - a line drawing on craft paper of a singing Jimi Hendrix, draped in a colorful American Flag, with a speech bubble in French (a gift from his White House working brother) and a large Dali print, framed in an ornate (yet totally appropriate) gold frame.
Both are pretty cool, without trying to be 'Cool'.
So, I learned, he does have taste.
Pretty damn good taste: simple, masculine (and extremely grandiose sometimes).
He has to be reigned in: No, you will not(and cannot) do a (forty thousand dollar) remodel on your condo's bathroom, you don't need a steam room that bad', 'no you cannot recess the ceiling in your bedroom', no you cannot cut a wedge in the side of your patio table so it fits neatly into the wall - all the time and energy and frustration that would take isn't worth the hundred bucks it'd take to buy a new one. You think that light is too bright? No, you don't need to craft a dome to put over it, just change to a lower wattage bulb. 
Luckily, he sees it my way most of the time. Smart man with a mustache.

Takin' care of business.

His dark brown sectional couch was throwing him off, and he didn't know how to situate the thing in the new living room. I took one look at at, and quickly explained how to flip the dimensions around so that the chaise section was under the bay window, and explained that it was okay that the back faced the dining room because it broke the Great Room into sections. Why do people think that the best way to decorate is to push everything up against the walls? Man oh man.
Annyhowww... This went on from room to room, we discussed color pallettes and lighting schemes, valet trays and bedding ideas. By the time I got back to his apartment the following evening, he had followed my directions, swapped the couch, flipped the dining room table horizontal, put the area rug underneath that as opposed to underneath the couch and we were good to go.
As you probably have guessed, as for helping him decorate - I'm all in.
So in doing 'research' for such a task, I spent the better part of my day yesterday on Pinterest. Ha! So the thing actually has a purpose!
We have a list going of what room needs what, and where needs what and he is tasked with finding a new coffee table because he 'hates' his. (I believe it is perhaps his ex's. I still have very little info on that situation, though I do believe I found out her name by some reused moving boxes.)
We've done two 'Fact Finding Missions' to two separate Targets.
I've started with the kitchen & dining area (which is in desperate need of a new chandelier) and after a bit of prodding, an agreement on 'blue', and a look that said 'No, you cannot cement the floor in your kitchen' & lets go less 'Super Modern' and more with 'utilitarian & masculine in a more Restoration Hardware vein', I think it'll work out quite nicely.
So... Behold my findings.

West Elm 5 Jar Chandelier.
This is probably going above the dining room table.

The Kid's stuck on wallpapering something.
This may get it out of his system.

For a more utilitarian way of decorating his kitchen,
we're going cannister-heavy. Planned purchase?
A jar with 'Etc.' written on the outside to store his
rarely used pot stash in.

I like the idea of a bar that doesn't look like a bar.
By the way, I've got him drinking wine now.

Okay, this one's for me.

Again, with a more utilitarian decor,
exposed dishware in strong colors
to tie in the blues.

Also: He shaved his mustache. Hallelujah! 
I haven't seen it yet. 
I'm scared and excited and so so so relieved.
Also, if you know of any good decorating sites or blogs, feel free to leave it in the comments.

No Place Like Home.

How are we expected to know when our registration expires? MMM asked, exasperated, as we were going over some of his bills last night. He had neglected to pick up the mail (bestillmybeatingheart) from his condo for months and had been slapped with quite the fine.

Um, well, the sticker on the back for one. I responded, with a laugh.

Hmph. I guess I'm just forgetful, or unaware, about these things sometimes.

I closed my eyes.

I've noticed. What color are my eyes?

Brown. But to be honest, when I first met you, I didn't kmow, or remember. It wasn't until we hung out again, and I noticed how pretty your eyes are that I was able to remember that they are brown.

I laughed again.

Can you really dye my eyes to match my gown?

MMM is moving today. 

Out of the house he shared with his 'wife' (though, to be honest I know very little about the relationship other than it was very short, and they were only married for three months, so I am working with the assumption that it was annulled, which would not even make her his ex-wife? Right? Right?!) When I first met him, and was struck with the notion that he 'needed a girlfriend', it wasn't out of pity, nor was it out of any sort of judgment of helplessness. It simply was just what popped into my head when I looked around at his house, undecorated and sad. The house was a shell.
The condo he is moving into is His and not Theirs, and he has made it clear that he just wants to get out of that house and move on. And his need for a 'woman in his life' has been even moreso clear in the past few days. He has thanked me for convincing him to invest in a U-Haul, as opposed to his original plan of using a truck from his business that wouldn't even be available until after five. (Though, admittedly, my pushing for the UHaul was less about his convenience and more about my own concern over him taking too long to move & not being able to spend time with him.) We ran through a checklist this morning of all the things he needs to do (cancel this, pack that) and then he brought up the 'chandelier' he wants to change in his condo.

It's gold. Well, not real gold, I don't think, but it's gold and on a chain, and I want to change it but don't know how.

I'm pretty sure it's not real gold. I mean, this ain't Dubai. I said, laughing. But if you want help finding a new one, I like doing stuff like that. I'll go with you.

Well, yeah, he said. I was gonna ask you about that...  

In the two weeks, now almost three, that we have been hanging out, it has become incredibly clear that even though he is mysterious and mustache'd, he is also amazing company. We have spent the last three (three!) nights together. The first night we went to dinner and then the last two I have just gone to his house straight from work, late, and we have sat at his kitchen table, just talking & sharing a bottle of wine. His last three days in that Godforsaken house, have been Us.
And now, he's moving back into his own condo, and he's asking me about whether or not to bring his BBQ, or what to do with a 'triangle bookshelf'* he bought years ago.

*It's shelving you mount on the wall. 

The brackets are triangular. 

It took me awhile, and some coaxing, 

to figure out what this 'triangle bookshelf' was.

You're due a short rundown, as I know with work and everything I haven't caught anyone up on the MMM timeline.

It is as follows:

We had our second date, and then our 'third' date was not a date, as it was simply me just coming over after the following evening and staying the night. Our 'third and a half' date was on a Wednesday - where we ventured to a small concert in Orange County. I had never heard the artist's music, though I had heard of him. The concert was wonderful, I was tranfixed by the singer, Devendra Banhart, and had an amazing time with MMM. After it was over, I went home, as I had a long day the following day. So, still PG, ifyaknowwhatImean. . Our 'fourth' date was to a gourmet small plates restaurant in Corona Del Mar on Friday. I bought new underwear for that date. The following day, we slept in and lounged around his house, watching New Girl episodes (he had never seen it, and loved it) and drinking coffee. We went to lunch at some point, and then lounged some more. And I have spent Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and potentially tonight with him of this week.

He has a Grown Up name to
go with his Grown Up Mustache.

But who is this Mysterious Mustache'd Man? He is thirty, quick witted and kind. He finds me interesting. Even when I'm explaining retail math, or the commission scale at work, or the intricacies of female dominated workplace dynamics. I'll stop myself short, and mention how boring my topic of choice may be, and he stops me, and confirms that he is in fact interested. And I believe him. 

I find him interesting. 

And still, a little mysterious. 

He is sweet and dorky and shy, but in a way where I can tell he is still well-liked and well-regarded. He works for his father, alongside his best friend, and they have plans to, when his father retires, take over the (very successful) business together. He is driven and wry. He is terrible(!) with expressing his feelings. But after our fourth date, I did tell him that if we were going to continue to see one another in this way I would need him to be more verbally expressive with me. 

His response? 

I don't know how to, but I will try.

The next morning, as we lay together, and after a bit of silence, he turned to me and said, rather awkwardly,

...I very much enjoy spending time with you... And... I like being close to you like this... 

So he is trying.

Upon further reflection, I feel inclined to note that nearly every compliment that he has ever given me has been about my intellect or the way my mind works. In our conversations, or debates, which have ranged from what year the film Titantic came out to the universe's creation being a fluke or in fact, a creation, even when he is playing the Devil's Advocate, he speaks with nothing but respect for my opinion or beliefs. He has never pulled the all-too-common, 'No no, let me tell you how It Is' that most men I have known do and he will concede when he has run out of explanations. He oft remarks that I have 'given him something to think about'. It's a different feeling, to feel valued by someone for  my brains over my body. I have felt like mute arm candy so many times, or even that feeling of (like with the Mathematician, of him being attracted to me so being able to overlook certain aspects of my personality or whatnot.) To feel like, with MMM, he is most attracted to my mind, and the physical is secondary (and I feel the same of him) is a new, and extremely appealing base for a potential relationship. So he may not be out there, yelling from the rooftops how much he likes me or how hot he thinks I am, but I do not spend my time with him second guessing myself, or his feelings for me. So there is something to be said about that. He knows I'm not perfect, but he doesn't treat it in a way that feels like he is making an exception, like F does, a 'I like you so much, I'll overlook your Crazy'. He seems to just accept it. To go with it. He also likes cats.
But even with his lack of verbal expression, he is not flawed when it comes to showing he cares.

We drink it together, on his patio.

His actions speak volumes.

Most mornings, he gets up before I do. He lets me sleep while he makes us coffee and only wakes me once it's done with a kiss, a good morning and a hot mug.

He is moving today, and we have spent the better part of a week together. He deleted his OkCupid account after our third date, and I disabled mine two days ago. I'm not looking to jump into boyfriendom just yet, but I am most certainly excited by the potential of MMM. I think his move will be good for us, and him especially. I find it to be somewhat symbolic - Him leaving that house at what could be the start of something new. I am excited to be his Ikea Buddy, and I adore waking up next to him. I believe that we started things off on the right foot, that neither of us are playing games, we are honest, alike and and we waited for a spell to be 'close like that'.
He often admits when I am right.
I am right often.

I met him and thought, 'This dude needs a girlfriend.'
I know him and feel, 'This man is better off with a woman in his life'.
And I suspect I will walk into his new/old condo and think, 'This place begs for a woman's touch'.

And, Home sight unseen on my end, he has already begun to ask for it.
And, I'd begun to plan for it.

Happy Housewarming!

This is the sort of thing I was aiming for with my paper planes.
The chemistry, the quality & the kindness.
This is the sort of wind I was asking for.
Demanding.

Also!
He wants my help in doing a shadow box succulent wall on his patio.
Um, yeah, hi, please!

the M. M. M.

It's odd, when you are reminded that your are - in fact - good at something.
After months of not working, feeling discouraged and living for the weekend, I finally feel Good again.
You know, they say it's easier to find a job when you have a job, and I now know what they mean; it's easier to 'sell' yourself as good at a job when you actually have a job you feel good about.
And I feel good about my job. In fact, I'm really kind of kicking ass.
It's nice, because the managers (how weird it feels not to be The Manager, I admit, but still) but the managers speak to me in a 'knowing' way; a very respectful, conspiratorial 'You know what I'm talking about, you know what you're doing' sort of way. I feel like that in just a couple of weeks, I have proved myself, and my value to the sales floor, and that feels good.
I feel like I very quickly showed them that they had made the correct decision in hiring me.
And with a returned sense of autonomy comes a renewed sense of self worth.
Basically, I feel pretty damn good.
Aaaaaand... With this newly refound self esteem, I have jumped back into the dating pool.
I think with the lack of 'direction' I had without employment, I wasn't really feeling 'dating'. I mean, how could I feel like I had anything to offer in a relationship when I was already questioning it in my relationship with myself? I think that was entirely reflected in the three dates with the 6'5'' asshole in the Valley.
I went on a 2nd date with the mustache'd man from last Tuesday on Saturday. We met for sushi at  my favorite sushi place - a cougar den with a Sublime cover band on the Pacific Coast Highway.
The man with the mustache and I had a good first date; he is introverted, shy and a little bit of a loner, and underneath that (terrible terrible) mustache, he is quite handsome, with dark deep set bedroom eyes and a crooked row of bottom teeth. On our first date we bonded over the fact that we both avoid calling things ironic, because we can never really remember what exactly the definition of irony is, and know it is usually used wrong. And our second date was no different - I find him easy to be around. There is something a little dark about him, and on our first date I had said, point blank, 'You are very sensitive, aren't you?' He agreed. I worry a bit about that, truthfully, because give me an inch and I'll take a mile. 
'Take advantage' isn't the right wording, but I do know that if a boy lets me, I can tend to... well... Take advantage of that a little.
Like with the F, I let him keep me company, at this point all he gets out of it is being around me, and I know that. But I digress.
The man with the mustache and I had our sushi, grabbed a couple drinks at the bar and I didn't want to leave him. I enjoy being around him, and I find him intelligent and a little mysterious. Yes, actually, that's it. This quiet mustached man is mysterious. So we agreed to head to his house, together.
I know, I know, not really the best second date etiquette, but we kept it very PG the entire time. I  promise.

Although I've both followed and broken 'The Rules' - lately in dating, I have been very good at not following  The Rules as I used to. I know I've mentioned it before, but I have become much better at not just putting on my 'Hostess' hat, and going into the prospect of a relationship being me. Acknowledging my quirkier side,   or admitting when I don't know something - The version of Me that shows on the first date is more genuinely Me than it used to be. I remember when the Dutchman was visiting, he and I and Bijou were at brunch and I went to say something and I stopped myself. Bijou jumped on it, 'Why do you do that!? Finish your damn sentence!' My cutting myself off was such a sign of my insecurity, and she knew it.
But lately, especially after what I've learned from Apt F, in his love for my Me-ness (after never really being in an adult relationship that didn't stifle me, or make me doubt my own intellect), lately I've been more confident in the lovability of Me. And hell, what you see is what you get these days. (Full disclosure: This also can be attributed to my girlcrush - and the world's - on Zooey Deschanel. Quirk is so In right now.) 
So, back to the second date with the Mysterious Man with the Mustache... Wait, no, one more digression. A couple of weeks ago, I redid my entire online dating profile. Perhaps in a thinly veiled attempt to 'get back' at the Asshat in the Valley who changed his own profile to read as a Pros & Cons to 3 Dates with Me, but I decided that I definitely needed to revamp what I said about myself. To make it more representative of who I am, and less of how I want to seem. And in doing that, I have noticed been attracting a more introverted type of man. Which is a new type of man for me.
Okay, now back to the second date. We left the sushi bar & got his car from the valet. After a quick stop at my car, to grab a pair of sandals and my makeup bag, we headed to his place. Now, I know that he is moving into a condo he owns in a few weeks, but right now he is living by himself in a three bedroom house a couple of cities South of me. I was forwarned that he was not expecting company, so his house was a little untidy. Oh man, it was.
I wanted to clean it so bad.
Clean laundry on the floor in the living room, unfolded and wrinkled, iceless ice trays in the freezer, Saltines on the sink in the bathroom.

The Mysterious Man with the Mustache with an M3 made me want to mother him. I kept thinking to myself, This is one of those guys who needs a girlfriend. I could totally get this place into shape. So, we poured some wine, and made out well into the night. I swear though, it was totally PG. We slept in Sunday, wrapped in eachothers arms. At around ten, we got up and he made us coffee. Hot coffee in hand, pajamas still on, we sat on his couch, kissing and talking for the next several hours. He told me what happened in Mockingjay, because Goldi and I decided not to read it, and we talked about our love of Lost in Translation, and how Bill Murray's character is totally based on Harrison Ford.
Being with him is easy.
Silence isn't awkward.
We are the same age, almost exactly, and our brains work in eerily similar ways. On our first date, I had said something (jokingly) that had come off as quite rude, and had apologized profusely that evening, but while we were sitting on his couch in his undecorated three bedroom house, I looked at him, and said,

'Hey by the way, I'm...'

He cut me off,

'You don't have to apologize again. I promise.'

The night before, at the sushi place, I had said something to the effect of,

'It's funny, I think you are very intelligent. Probably because we have very similar points of reference to almost everything.'

To which he agreed.
I had somehow managed to get a split in the crotch of my black jeggings (ew, I know), but we decided to go to lunch around two. I threw on the t-shirt he wore on our first date over them, a gray tee with an image of John Lennon on it that he got at 'the Mall', put my denim jacket on over it and watched as he picked up a very wrinkly (though apparently 'clean') tee off the living room floor and we headed North, back up to near my car. For some reason, I started talking about my Best Friend in San Francisco, and how weird it is for me to think about the fact that she used to be married, and I had a thought...

'You've never been married, right?'

He paused.

'Actually, yes. I have. That was my last relationship.' 

Hmph.
I asked a series of quick questions:
How long? A few months. Length of entire relationship? A year. Kids? No.
Is that why you live in that house? Yes.
I kissed his shoulder, and he changed the subject.
We had a nice lunch and he dropped me off at my car.
And I missed him.
I went and collected Beauty off the beach, we grabbed a quick lunch, I caught up with her and her roommate (who recently started 'Internet Dating' as well) and then headed over to my Flame Haired Favorite's house for talk of her upcoming wedding and a glass of wine.
And I still missed him. The Mysterious Man with the Mustache.
So, as I have never been a big game player in dating & have apparently eschewed most of The Rules anyway, I called him after leaving my girlfriend's house.
And invited myself over.
Still, we kept it PG, watched his shows and went to bed.
He made me coffee this morning, and we made plans to go to a concert Wednesday night.

Although I did say to him, last night as we were laying in bed,

'Hey...'

He cut me off,

'No.'
'Why? I just want to see what it would look like.'
'No.'
'Fine.'

So I guess the Mustache is staying.
For now.
Hell, at least it makes for a damn good moniker: The Mysterious Man with the Mustache.
MMM.

Nope. Still Don't Like Salmon.

To Apartment F. 

After a dinner date & three days of 'trying again'.

I just... I just realized that no matter what, for some reason, I would end up breaking up with you again. I don't have any answers other than these: You are my best friend, and I love you. And I thought that I may lose you, so if to keep you my best friend was to try and date you again, I was going to try. But the 'Spark' (such a fucking cliche word) still wasn't there. I think you look more handsome than ever, you are more forward moving & thinking than ever, and I have very deep and real Love for you, but as much as I wanted it to be one type of Love, it just isn't. And I can't help that, I guess. At breakfast this morning, Beauty referred to the boy she is seeing as, 'Probably not the best thing for me, but I still like him.' and I laughed, because with our situation, it is the opposite. You probably ARE the best thing for me, but I don't 'like-like' you. I do love you though, and I have never had a male friend I have loved so much, and I don't really know how to even have male friends. I'm at a loss. 
But, I cannot and will not do this back and forth again. I cannot keep kicking a dead horse. Everything we've talked about is true, my feelings and statements and trying to get to the 'bottom' of why we won't work - we've gone over it all. Time and time again. And perhaps it's my up & down, my hot & cold, that really did us in, I'm not sure. But, my God, we know I am like that. I just wanted to not lose you in my life, and I wanted you to 'see the point' of just being friends with a girl, but you couldn't seem to.
I hate this because I feel like I know all the answers and none, simultaneously. 
The bottom line is - Same girl as at the restaurant as at home, just (and I know you may doubt this) when I got home, I realized I couldn't be selfish anymore. I couldn't just be with you to 'keep' you here. It isn't fair to you. I didn't want to stay with you knowing that I would, yet again, break your heart.
That was the face change - that was the solemn realization that I had. I am sorry. I am very very sorry.

I had to cut it out.

We tried. For a moment. I tried to like salmon, again. But still, I do not.
And on a walk with my Malibu Bad Ass yesterday, looking at all the beautiful houses, and the smaller more modest ones as well, I could not picture the F and I standing in front of one. I could never 'see' us in the future together; with him, with all his love - it still seemed too unattainable, too far away.

No joke, this is in my neighborhood.
And this is not what I meant by 'unattainable'.
I'm talking more single story bungalow, ya know?

Though, on a lighter note: I am centered again, I've been showering regularily, walking again, fun to be around again, and happy again.
Why?
Well, I got a job.
I start Monday.

So hopefully, it will be a company I can grow with & allthatandyaddayadda.
Fucking finally.