(365) Days Since Summer.

In a few days time, it will have been one.whole.year since I met the Dutchman.
A whole year since that beautiful boy and I stood on the corner of the sidewalk on a warm summer's night, and he asked me quietly if he was going to fall in love with me.
It has been months since we've spoken, and I gather he has a new girlfriend.
But one year ago, I had a whole new world in front of me - I had the possibility of Far Off Places, of I'd do anything for Love, and a nearly tangible electrical current running between he and I.

I had notions of expatriation in my head and soft spoken I Love You's in my ears.
I would fall asleep thinking of him, wake thinking of him, and think of him while I slept.
Manohman.

One Whole Year Ago. 
My Whole World Changed.
It feels like a lifetime ago.


But I guess one could argue that it happens everyday.
Everyday, Life Changes.

Far Off Adventures.

Oh why, Hello there.

I Spy With My Little Eye.

Oh, by the way... I found that Guy We Met On Saturday's wedding photos on the internet.

What?!? How?!?

Easy. I knew his first name, age and where he played football in college.

I am a creep.
Nobutseriously, I am. I should have been a private investigator, CIA agent or Professional Google Stalker.

S&SR, P.I.

Actually, I think I am a Professional Google Stalker. I can find a LinkedIn profile using just a first name, location & rudimentary knowledge of someone's profession. I have successfully found out how much someone I was dating bought their house for in 2009. I can find basketball records from 10th grade, donation amounts to Obama, college newspaper articles written on public opinion. I have even found myself in a wikipedia article. The aforementioned guy on Saturday, we sat with him and his buddies at a restaurant for maybe an hour. He's married with a kid on the way. I was just Google Stalking for the sake of Google Stalking. Don't get me started if I know your first name and you work in the entertainment business... IMDB, anyone? I know your entire career history.
Give me Google maps... And most likely, I can figure out the last three places you've lived. With photos.
We're living in a weird world. A world where every step you've made, every electric bill you've paid & any public Facebook page you've commented on can be found by near total strangers. Or the girl you have a date with Friday night.
I am a total creep.
But, hell - I think a lot of us are. Right?!?

When I was dating the Aussie, and he was trying to figure out the address to where I work so he could send flowers, he later greeted me at my door with,

Well, well, well... I have spent the afternoon reading very nice things about you.

I can only imagine he found both my shop's Yelp page, a couple magazine articles I was quoted in & our shop Facebook. Just by using my first name & my shop's name. He actually admitted on our first date that he - in trying to figure out what I do for a living - spent an inordinate amount of time googling my first name, the county that I worked in and a number of professions to no avail. I'll admit, after finding out where he went to school & the company he worked for; I spent quite a bit of time researching both.
(God, he is brilliant.)
I am still convinced he might have been a spy.
I spent quite of bit of time on Google Translate when I was with the Dutchman; I found out his ex-girlfriend's first and last name, his company & several of his investment companies as well... and it was all in Dutch. For awhile, I was also convinced he might be a spy. He is not, forthemostpart.

I'd Google-Translate him,
thankyouverymuch.

The funny part is; after all is said and done - I can also let go of it all. When the Aussie broke up with me, I deleted his phone number & all of our texts and I never called him again. Yes, I occasionally look at his facebook page (we are not 'friends') & maybe, just maybe, yesterday I realized one of his albums was - I assume - accidentally public. And yes, I poured over it. And maybe it was from 2007, but whatever. (God he is handsome.)
And yes, I am 'friends' with my Dutchman on Facebook (as are many of my friends) and yes, maybe I hid him from my newsfeed, and yes, maybe occasionally I Google-translate posts on his page.
So what?! We're still friends after all.
Okay so maybe I don't let go of it all. But I try.
I don't know why, but I have been thinking a lot about that Other Boy from the Other Side of the World lately. The memories of me & my Australian have been crystal clear lately. I don't know why I am still so fixated on that damn Aussie eight months later; but maybe it is because he has become the Standard to which every other man is compared. A Standard that my Dutchman lived up to. But the difference between the two is: I (had to) let my Dutchman go.
Whereas, the Aussie let me go.
He never called me again either.
I can only assume he stopped Googling me a long time ago.


F you, you Misty, Watercolored Memories.

With the memories of him being as easily as accessible as someone's LinkedIn profile these days, when I put my dating the Australian next to the open dialogue & friendship with Apt F and the beautiful Love Story with my Dutchman; I can see why he let me go. As much as I fretted over my own insecurities and not being generally cultured enough, well-read enough or beautiful enough; the reality is, those fears made me not open enough. I don't think I ever actually called him, unless it was to return his call. I was afraid to ask anything of him, to make any sort of... 'demand' isn't the right word, but any sort of forward moving action. I was waiting on him to do it; as I was near-paralyzed by my insecurities. And I was so enamoured with him but I didn't let him in until - really - it was far too late. Now I am not saying that that these are the only reasons he let me go, I'm sure he had a myriad of other reasons - both expressed and not so - but in retrospect, my paralysis and my unavailability was... Kind of Creepy.*

*Ah, ya live ya learn.

I think another reason I have been so fixated on the Aussie is because I miss the courting process. I'm stuck in a rut of television marathons on my bed & comfortable cuddling with Apt F.
Without the excitement & Spark that there was with the Dutchman.
Without the wine & dine of my Men with Accents altogether.
I'm bored. I may not neccessarily want a boyfriend per se, but I miss the exciting potential of maybe meeting someone who'll change my mind.
ImeanforGodsake's, Apt F isn't even Google-able.

I need someone new to Creep on. Capital C.

Long Distance Calling.




Dreams are where I have to go to see your face these days.

My Dutchman called me last night.
I had not heard his voice since he left and it brought me right back to two monthes ago. Right back to loving him, right back to that look he gave me. I was right there again.
I miss him. My heart aches... It's so hard to understand why it is that some people can just grab ahold of your heart and your mind & in an instant, in a moment, they have you forever. My Dutchman and have I discussed that it makes us each sad to think of the other moving on with their lives, meeting someone else and getting married to them... I mean, the idea of that makes me cry, but here I am moving on. Like thirst or happiness or nervous ticks, my love for him is so internalized that I have no doubt that I will always love him & he will always love me, but we will both move on.
He told me he has been focusing all of his energy on work, but he thinks about me often. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him. He asked if I have been dating. I told him I had gone on a couple really bad dates, yes. He laughed and asked why so bad.

Because they're not you, I said.

He told me he still feels like he must have done something wrong; and I explained that he did nothing of the sort - adding,

You are perfect.

I am not perfect.

Perfect for me.

Oh, yes.

Borrowing a very astute description of what I was feeling from that beautiful email I recieved from a friend, I explained,

But... [I was] in a precarious place and one can't make it very long with such intense feelings with no release or resolution.

I reminded him that this was the first call I'd recieved since he left, and he countered with an explanation that he has only seen his sister in Amsterdaam once since he has gotten back from being with me, and she only lives forty five minutes from him. I practically screached,

And you expected to be able to maintain a relationship with six thousand miles bewteen us?!?

He conceded,

I sort of knew that the emotional impact of the distance would be harder on you than me.

And he apologized for not calling sooner.

Sidenotes: Juuuuust as I am finishing writing this that Goddamn Adele song came on, "I heard that you settled down, that you found a girl & you're married now... Nevermind I'll find someone like you. I wish nothing but the best for you too. Don't forget me. Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead. Only yesterday was the time of our lives..." I hate that song. Followed by Gavin DeGraw's Not Over You. Someone at VH1 is out to get me.

October is Here yet I'm Reminded of June Gloom & the Hot August Sun.

I miss him.
Yet I've gotten used to it.

Narnia. Neverland. Same F-ing Thing.

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. -Socrates.

I know nothing. This I know for sure. I may think I know everything most of the time; I may have this dense little blog that was supposed to be about style and inspiration and trying to be a grown up with funny anecdotes about my dating life, but has now turned into the Chronicles of Love with an Accent - or The Dutchman, the Aussie & the Wardrobe, either will do - and I know I can seem preachy and bossy and lost all in the same sentence - because I am; but for the most part, I am just writing these words as reminders to myself. As some sort of proof of knowing something. Anything.
And then, after a long day in my brain - I arrive home and I realize - I remember - that I know absolutely nothing. I know this for sure.

I have made a terrible mistake.
I have made the right decision.
The latter. The later. The latter. The later.

... I wish it was enough just knowing that you are out there loving me but I have come to realize that it isn’t. I need to be able to lean on the person that I love - both emotionally and physically...I wish it was as simple as love conquering everything - conquering time differences, oceans, busy schedules... I wish it was as simple as just Loving someone… it has gotten to the point where I just can’t do it, emotionally. You are simply too far away. And my heart is broken...I will never stop missing you, I will not ever stop loving you. I refuse to forget you...

You are all I could ever ask for in someone to love, and to love me in return...

...I am so sorry. I love you.

-Me

I have made a terrible mistake.
I have made the right decision.
The latter. The later. The latter. The later.

Do you ever stop to wonder who will include you in their 'life flashing before their eyes'?
Or who will be in your own version?  I am watching a very sad movie.*
Who will include you in their montage of great loves? Or of great losses.
I am haunted by a single look he gave me, over and over. I do not doubt that I will be haunted by that look for as long as I can imagine his eyes. Which, I have no doubt, will be forever. No matter what happens in the next two, ten or fifty years, in my montage - that look will be there.

I have made a terrible mistake.
I have made the right decision.
The latter. The later. The latter. The later.

I don't know. I know nothing.


* 127 Hours

You Can't Have Your Cakebread & Drink It Too.

Oh that's right, I am with you!
And you're with me!
We're so used to dating, we forgot we're going Dutch!*           

*no pun intended.            

It didn't occur to us to even look at prices.
Seated on overstuffed brown leather bar stools, with a rainbow of liquor bottles extending all the way up to the ceiling behind us, my Ex-Co-Shopgirl now Good Girlfriend and I laughed and clinked our wine glasses together. We had just unwittingly ordered the most expensive glasses of wine on the menu at the bartender's suggestion. (It was not Cakebread.) We did not know this until he handed us the menu after we had placed out drink order. Douche.
My small frame swallowed by a black long sleeve jersey dress & motorcycle boots and her, tall as it is, in expensive bellbottoms and suede pumps - We are typical girls out for a drink. (I told you, I know my experience is parrallel to many!) We are those typical pretty young things sitting at a bar on a Wednesday talking about boyfriends, talking about fashion, talking about skincare discoveries, talking about everything over white wine & a bread basket. There were probably others just like us across the bar - though I recall only us at the bar. (Well, us plus the bartender & the fat man to my left that we tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore, and, well, the piano player.) Deep in conversation, she and I were alone in a room full of people. Both battling heartbreaks at the moment; those dull aching heartbreaks that are easily set off by a song sung about blue eyes or far away lovers or 'Big Girls Don't Cry' by Fergie. I hate that song.
But, at the same time, she and I are both hopeful, both headstrong.
(We are both currently in Self-Preservation Mode.)

his brain.

She is recently out of a relationship, and I am dealing with the looming and very real possibility of my own being impossible to maintain. Our wine is served - it's okay, but definitely not worth our firstborn children. Conversation heads right to the difference between men and women's brains; the idea that typically women think globally whereas men compartmentalize. They go to work - they're in 'Work Mode', they are with their girlfriend, they are in 'Girlfriend Mode' yaddayaddayadda. Women are more apt to take their whole day - take all of the experiences over the dayweekmonth and connect them on a their mental map as a whole - our life is experienced as a whole totally made up by the sum of its parts. While we are working, we are thinking about boyfriends and mothers, and experiences and emotions - and they are all pieces of the same puzzle, slowly being fixed together. My sadness over missing the Dutchman has effected my work and my relationships with my friends. I do not doubt that my Dutchman thinks of me often over the course of his day (he tells me this when we do talk) but it is not the same; he is working, he is busy with a hectic work schedule and that is his life right now. Now, I'm not saying all men (or women) are like this - but I am that type of woman and he is that type of man. Our wonderful perfect three weeks were his 'Girlfriend Mode' and these past three weeks, he is in total 'Work Mode'. The two are not interlocking pieces of the same puzzle; they are two totally different puzzles altogether. Fuck, they're not even puzzles, they're like separate drawers in the same filing cabinet.

This situation would be easier if he was here; if when he got done with work he came home and unwound and switched into 'Girlfriend Mode'. If he filed away his workday, and opened the drawer labeled "Her". But this does not happen when you are permenently separated by nine hours and an ocean.

No matter how much you love a person.

The piano is playing and she and I are still seated - pretty young things - at the dimly lit bar...

After a good laugh over a beehived girl we both worked with who didn't know which way was East and which way was West, Ikidyounot, the conversation veered back to relationships - & good byes. About a year ago, my beautiful Ex-Co-Shopgirl was forced to say goodbye to her own foreign-born boyfriend - They were together for years and the best of friends. He was leaving on an extended business trip, without a return ticket.

Pushing her hair out of her face, she explained,

He was in the towncar going to the airport, and I was driving our Range Rover - we were cruising side by side having just said our goodbyes. Down PCH, until the towncar made a right. I kept driving straight. His car went right, and I didn't. And as I watched them turn in my rearveiw mirror, it felt like I was watching my Whole Life turn right with him in that car - everything I had known for the past two years had made a right at that corner while I kept going straight, on my own.

And I knew I would never see him, as my Boyfriend, on American soil again.

And, I didn't.

When my Dutchman said his final goodbye at the airport, after he whispered I love you to me in Dutch, after he blew me a kiss from the sidewalk, as I drove off; I had the exact same sensation. The fear that That Life - a life with him - was left on that sidewalk along with him and his luggage in my rearveiw while I drove straight, on my own. And like my girlfriend, I didn't want it to be true either.

This morning I sent the email I finally realized I needed to write.
I have broken up with my wonderful Dutchman.
But, not for lack of deeply loving him.

Turning My Back On The Ocean

Summertime in my childhood was magical; my sisters and I had what essentially amounted to a park in our backyard & we spent a large portion (or what, in memory seems like a large portion) at our beachhouse in Northern California. Some years, we brought our housekeeper and her daughter with us, and some years it was just me, my parents and my two younger sisters. The water there is, by anyone else's account, cold - but to us it was just the ocean. The house backed right up to the dunes, and my mother could sit in the loft and look out the window to check on us while we played on the hot sand. My mother also taught us how to body surf - so armed with nothing other than our chattering teeth, goosebumps and fading one piece bathingsuits, my middle sister and I spent hours in the ocean catching waves. One afternoon, I was probably 7 or 8, making her right around 5, we were far enough out in the water so that we could not see the ocean floor, and could only touch it with our feet at that exact moment as the wave recedes. Swimming towards the the surf, laughing and breathing heavily from an hour or so of treading water, she and I were both pummeled by an unexpectedly large wave. It knocked us both underwater, turning us in circles. We were both small enough that in what was probably only 6 feet of water, if that, but we both lost the ability to tell which way was up and which way was down in that murky ocean water. When I finally found her hand, along with my barrings, I pulled us both up. Coughing, crying, and dry heaving from swallowing too much salt water, we traipsed back to the beach, defeated.

We both remember this event vividly.

I remember that exact feeling of confusion, eyes open to only see brown water circling around me, not knowing up from down or sky from sand. I remember exactly how it felt to finally find my sister's hand.

I have found everything so tedious lately. I don't think I will ever actually post this, because as I told my mother over one of our brief phone calls, no one wants to hear about my Musings Miserable.
I don't even want to.
Feel free to skip this one.



Maintenance may have fixed the leak,
but I'm still dealing with Waterworld.

But this is my outlet. I think  to myself, damn I need a hobby... And then I remember that this is my hobby. So, as the call center workers in India say, bare with me here.
The past couple of weeks, since my Dutchman left, I have felt like I've been just... treading water. Time has been punctuated by very little other than a raucous birthday celebration last weekend & a dinner party (of two) at a friend's house. I guess I am finally ready for summer to end. (Gasp!) Honestly, I feel like I might be losing my already precarious footing; fighting sadness, missing him, it washes over me without warning; I find myself crying at the slightest thing, overwhelmed by the even more minuscule. I just had two days off in a row from the shop, and for the first time in as long as I remember I had a hard time getting out of bed. Somehow, I walked out of the bookstore with what may very well be the most depressing book ever & I have devoured it, scribbling things in the borders, underlining passages. My mother is driving me a bit crazy, but then again - I'm driving myself a little crazy too.  I still hear very little from the Dutchman, as he is busy at work during the week making up for time lost while across the Atlantic & currently busy with a bachelor party. He promises we'll chat Sunday, but I don't know when exactly. I do know that tells me he loves me and he misses me, which I don't doubt, but it is always immediately followed by 'I have to go to bed and/or a business meeting.' Okay, not usually both at the same time.
So now not only do I miss him, miss us, I also feel taken for granted, I guess... Just waiting around, hoping he has a free millisecond to shoot me a text. How is it even possible to feel taken for granted from the Netherlands? I have expressed - albeit a tad cryptically - that I am struggling to him but I don't think he gets it. It is so hard, and I get so stuck in my head, and have the propensity towards loneliness - this grief over the return to Earth has only amplified it. That comfort with him, that quiet comfort has now turned into a deafening underwater-like silence & I am struggling to come up for air. Chest heaving, I find myself thinking, I don't know how long I can hold my breath.
A shift happened during the Dutchman's visit, the tides shifted from Single Me to I-Have-a-Boyfriend-Lets-All-Go-On-Double-Dates-Me. And my life has yet to shift back. It can't, really. I am not single - yet I have no one to be my date on double dates. The reality is, before I met him I was fine being oh so singleandreadytomingle; I mean, I was not perfectly fine, but I was fine - I had dates with B----; I had distractions - I had the beach & flirting and I guess, most importantly, I had the possibility of... Well, the possibility of meeting someone like Him. I had the possibility of the Spark. 
And I found that spark, and I fell in love with him, and now...
Now, I have his love, but I don't have him.
Really, I want him here. I know we're supposed to be all, "I don't need someone to complete me - I am  a complete person. I want someone to compliment my wholeness" and all that bullshit, but I have come to realize - of me, this is not true. I felt most whole when I had his hand to reach out for.
I am heavy-chested and have trouble breathing. This loneliness weighs down on my chest, it weighs down my arms; this loneliness has me trying to catch my breath. I feel constantly as though I've been knocked over by an unexpected wave, grasping out for a hand, and finding the hand that I am grasping for is too far away to reach.
This is not the reckless me, the pity-party me; this is me knocked down by a wave but altogether surprised by the sea.

Sidenotes: This is not to say I have nothing to look forward to - some of my favorite people and I have plans this week. I just feel like something is missing. Because it is. Also! Goldi and the Doctor are going strong, he seems - from what I know - like a really good guy.

Earth to Saturn (By Way of the 1st Star to the Right.)

The problem is that is felt so good being with you & therefore I miss you so terribly. Sometimes I wish we had not had such a good time. You know what I mean?

I know exactly what you mean. It almost would have been easier if we had driven each other crazy... Now I am even more in love with you and you feel even farther away.

 I have this missing feeling... My holiday & time with you feels like years ago.

I agree.

So our relocation back to Planet Earth, or Saturn, or Holland, or Wherever it is, from Planet BIOHF3W has been about as painless as you would imagine. Which is, well, totally not painless. Its pretty fucking painful, honestly. I mean, I was relatively used to the single & dating life before he arrived, before I met him; but after practically three weeks with my Dutchman - a man who I love, who loves me - I got very used to Planet This Man is My Boyfriend - Very used to waking up next to him, very used to walking in and seeing his face after a long day at the shop, used to his touch,used to double dates and used to introducing him as my boyfriend... I told you, I got Used to Us. It was so easy and effortless to love him & be loved by him. (Not to be confused with lazy or simple, mind you - it just came naturally, the two of us as a complete pair.)
He has been gone for a week - and this has been the hardest week in recent memory. Not only is he gone, but he is making up for lost time in terms of his job with 17+ hour workdays - so what was nearly three straight weeks of  being spoiled by just he and I has now taken a drastic turn & become, if I am lucky, five to fifteen minutes of texting a day. This man who I fell in love with is so far away - with no actual return in sight other than as "soon as possible", perhaps December, at the earliest, and very little communication. This last paragraph may read a little bit like he is blowing me off, but know what is included in our 7 minutes texts and what I know of him, I can assure you it is not.
My heart breaks hourly missing him. I am sad & I am lonely, and I miss him with all my heart. I try to push it out of my head, I don't talk about it for the most part, - the thought of it usually makes my eyes well up with tears. I can't help it but it makes me feel... Abandoned. And I haven't been by any means, and I hate even writing that down, let alone saying it out loud, but sometimes - even against our most reasonable thinking and rationalizations - sometimes we just can't help our emotional response to things. You know, he put it best right before he left when he said its not like he can just hop on a plane & be here from Friday to Sunday, like a minibreak or something. I know (and knew) that this would be hard, and his entire trip here he kept repeating to me (every time he saw my mouth tremble or eyes gloss over), he kept on repeating, No tears - I am not wasting tears on missing you while I'm still here with you. & he was right, and it made our time so much more enjoyable that he would literally force us not to focus on what we would feel like, say, a week after his return home (or yesterday or last Wednesday or next Wednesday or a week from next Wednesday) but I am struggling. I am filled with Sadness. Capital S.

What was the galactic address for Planet BIOHF3W again?
 & please don't give me that "straight on 'til morning" BS.
Seriously, I'll be pissed.

This situation has me literally cursing Cupid for picking him - cursing that bastard baby for putting a man in front of me that Saturday night that I could love so much but not have. Curse him for giving me someone I could forsee a happy future with, that I want a happy future with; for giving me such a gift of a boy, but a gift that is akin to those stupid "Name A Star" placards people give as gifts when they don't know what else to give. You know the ones -- they come with a map of the heavens and a unreadable location, & they feel so entirely intangible.

'Look, this star is yours!' 

Which begs the response, 'Uh, yeah right, a-holes... I can barely even see it in the sky from here.'

I know the saying that anything worth having is worth fighting/working/waiting for - but does it really have to be this fucking hard? I've been searching for this Love, for him, for as long as I can remember, so then why do I find it in someone that is so far, so absolutely far, far away. And there is no simple answer - it isn't as easy as me picking up and moving to North of Calabasas, or Planet BIOHF3W, or even like, Idunno, Nashville, anythinginthenameofLove - and he can't do that either. It's not as easy as a cross country move - it's across the world. It is as difficult as: There is no easy answer.
Because, the man I love is across. the. world.
Come in Saturn! Saturn to Planet BIOHF3W. Saturn to Planet Boyfriend:  You are across the world from one another. Yeah we know that, thankyouverymuch.
It is such an odd sensation, to mourn the loss of someone that you are not broken up with or even breaking up with, that is here on Earth but also gone. Someone absent from that spot on your shoulder where they should be putting their arm around you, just missing from that spot in your hand where they should be holding it. He is somewhere out there - somewhere tangible, somewhere with a longitude and latitude - someone somewhere who is dreaming of you, loving you, and missing you too. But in the same breath, the same heartbeat - gone.
I just get so afraid when I think about his other mantra - his mantra of, What is the worst that could happen? And before the answer was simple - it was 'We'll be late' or 'We'll be a little lost.'
I'm terrified that the answer has become, 'What if We can't? What if I can't?'
I just don't know what to do. Because the touch of his hand is may be missing from my own, but that spot in my heart is filled to capacity.

Sidenotes: I struggled writing this post because, as you a know, he does occasionally read this. But I started this S&SR as an unabridged outlet for myself, and myself only, with no intention of sharing it with those I date & I didn't want to cheapen it by censoring  or editing myself based on who I think might be reading it.

Used to Us.

That shopping center used to be an open feild.
That sushi restaurant used to be a Hof's Hut.
That side of the bed used to be His.

You know how once you've lived somewhere long enough or have gotten old enough, you find yourself remembering where things used to be?

that didn't used to be there.

This morning, I got back to my apartment - my tiny room with a kitchen attached - after dropping off my Dutchman at the airport, and for the first time in a long time - okay, perhaps ever - the apartment seemed wide open & empty. Before he arrived, I was terrified he & I would be so cramped together in such a small space that we'd go crazy. But now, walking in, finding myself alone for the first time in weeks, I was overcome with the overwhelming sense that something was missing; all I could see were the spaces where there used to be... Where there used to be a be a long-legged Dutchman sitting on my bed, smiling his knowing smile while I was trying on everything in my closet. Where there used to be a man who gaves me chills when he lightly kissed the top of my head, or better yet, my shoulder blade. He used to be next to me, pulling me in closer right before the sad point in a movie, whispering to me not to cry.

He was here - easy, wonderful and loving & now he just used to be here.

And I got used to Him.
And I got used to Us.

Needless to say, there was a fair amount of crying in the shower this morning.

Driving Lessons on the 101 North.

Near my hometown, on the 101 North, there is a spot of highway where it always seems to bottleneck. So growing up, whenever we hit that spot while driving - usually on our way to ballet or the mall, as the high stone walls closed in on us & the lanes themselves, my Mother would say calmly,

Now, when you're driving through here, just remember, there is no room for error.

Now, everytime I drive through that spot on the 101 when I'm back home, I find myself repeating her words - No room for error, no room for error, now remember right here, there is no room for error.

In traffic, I always think to myself;
each driver of each car
was once a thirteen year old,
has had heartbreak,
has has triumph,
has had failure,
& has had love (if they're lucky).
DeepThoughtsWithJackHandy.

The thousands of cars just cruising along, and then lanes start to merge, the bottleneck hits & they get a bit trapped and squeezed and slowed down inside a walled-in 3 lane highway, until they break free one by one and two by two about a mile down the road. All cautious, because at this point in their day, on their drive, in this moment in their life, there is no room for error.
There are so many emotions and feelings going on in my heart; so many things I want to say to my Dutchman while he is here, so many thoughts I have never thought I'd think whizzing through my brain at 60 mph, so many things I want to say to him. But they all seem to get bottlenecked en route from my heart & my brain once they get to my lips, I find myself thinking, No no there's no room for error, and then all that comes out the other side is I love you. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing bad to say, less my own fears & insecurities, but I still find my thoughts and feelings bottlenecking at my throat, backing up against one another like cars in traffic. I am not necessarily saying that this is bad thing, but sometimes I just wish I could just come out and say my thoughts, traffic & noise free. Actually, this holding back, this bottlenecking of sorts, has been the case in most of my relationships - the self doubt, the fear exposure & vulnerability; they are the stone walls on the 101 North. (Actually, once I was able to articulate to him that I am not used to feeling such vulnerability, he responded, "Vulnerability? What is this word?" My response? I laughed and said, "You'll have to use your translator for that one.") So, occasionally, actually more often than I think they do, the words still come out the other end of the bottleneck, unphased - one by one and two by two, without error. Its funny, you know, I once mentioned that I adored the intuitive nature of the unfortunately moniker'd Superman/Troll - well, my Dutchman has that intuition too. So even with my bottlenecked thoughts, my lack of words sometimes, my mantra of no room for error; he still reads my face, reads my thoughts. I have oft commented on my own transparency; the slightest mouth tremble, deep breath, or slow blink of my eyes - and I get this feeling at my core that he knows exactly what I am thinking.

Talk about Error-Free,
This is Flawless.

Actually, this weekend, prior to our wonderful and relaxing trip to Las Vegas, I finally told him about S+SR; it was beginning to feel like a lie, or that everyone but him was in on a secret, and I didn't want him to feel the fool. I let him read the posts about him; he smiled and smirked through them all, commenting that he now knew better how I felt, & that he was flattered to be written about in such a way. It was exposing, but it was also a way to fight that bottleneck; it was like taking the sideroad instead. Not a cop out, mind you, just a different way of getting to same destination.
When I asked him if anything surprised him in my writing, his response was something to the effect of, "Yes. That you can write like that... Your talent." He may or may not have also compared me to Carrie Bradshaw, which I find slightly comical coming from a twentysomething-year old Dutchman.

Four more days. He is here for four more days. (Deep breath.)
& if I could wish for one thing to bottleneck rightaboutnow, it would be Time.
If only Time would brake from 60mph to a slow crawl, it would be the only traffic I would dare not curse.

Last night, after dinner - sitting yet again on a gorgeous patio, complete with twinkling white lights and a wishing well, when he looked at me with a small smile, and slowly, deliberately closed both eyes and reopened them without losing my gaze, I knew exactly what he meant.

And so I replied, I love you too.

Sidenotes: No, I don't know what I am going to do when he leaves. But what I do know, what this visit has really driven home is how telling that immediate spark, that immediate connection, is. I do love him, I am in Love with him. I can picture a life with him, a future with him. One of my dearest friends commented at her own wedding that she had never seen me so happy & advised me from the dance floor to never let him go. She is a friend I listen to with all my heart and head, so again I am say to myself:
Remember, here, at this point, with this Love, there is no room for error.
(In Layman's Terms: Don't.Fuck.This.Up. But,  I'm not planning to, don't worry.)
Also, my littlest sister may have had a point about falling in love and this little project, but I'll be honest, I'm not the least bit bored.
And! I took a long hot bath at the Bellagio. Finally.
Sidesidenote: They have since, up on the Highway 101, fixed that section of the road; but really, that is neither here nor there.

Planet BIOHF3W

When my Ex and I met Liam Gallagher, from the band Oasis, he looked over to us, while mixing his own screwdriver from behind the bar, and said,

I'm in another galaxy, mates.*

* Yeah, call me a namedropper. Whatever.

Right now, I couldn't say it better myself. Okay, perhaps not another galaxy, but I've apparently left Saturn and have taken up residence with the Dutchman on the Planet Boyfriend-Is-Only-Here-For-3-Weeks.
But to be honest, I just wish I was in an alternate universe. An alternate universe where the Netherlands are located just North of like Calabasas. Hell, I'd take just North of California, or at the very least onthesamefuckingcontinent as my tiny town. Is that really too much to ask? Apparently so. Damn you Pangea! Needless to say, his visit is going well. Very Well. We're just past the halfway mark - he's here for roughly 9 more days. The past week and a half, he and I have been in our very own galaxy; when we are together, I feel as though the atmosphere around us is heavier, somehow charged. When we meet eyes from across the table, or patio, or dear friends' backyard, I feel enveloped by the air between us - I know I sound like a cast off contestant from the Bachelor right now, but it feels like an electrical current runs between us. (Can you imagine if the producers forbid the bimbos contestants to use the words 'connection' or 'spark' - the whole show would just be dead air.) I honestly do not know what to do; what we are going to do. I have no doubt in my mind, and he has said the same, that if this wasn't some transAtlantic long distance love affair, that if he was here or I was there, this would probably be It. But it is a transAtlanticlongfuckingdistanceacrosstheworld relationship and there are so many other factors involved; I am terrified still, but for other reasons now.


Also orbiting Planet BIOHF3W:
Every pretty dress in my closet.

All these panicked thoughts have taken up orbit in my brain: He has his whole life there, and I have mine here. I don't speak the language there, I would feel so isolated. Is it possible for me to maintain a monogamous relationship with someone who lives across an ocean. He speaks of moving here, is that really fair to him? At what point do I go, "I'd do anything for love" while still mantaining some semblance of common sense? Should we do anything for love? What if I'm wrong about everything? What am I going to do once he leaves? When is he coming back? When am I going there? How will I afford it? You get the picture... Round & round they go. When they'll stop, I don't know. It gets even more looming sometimes; goes into "If I don't go for it (or if I sabotage it) will I regret it for the rest of my life...?" territory more often than I would like to admit.
So the visit's going great. Thatsonethingforsure.
Now, I just have to call my friends more. Living on Planet BIOHF3W has made my phone calling skills a little weak. (Something that I maintain would not be the case if he lived just North of Calabasas, but Goldi does not seem to agree. I do not agree with her disagreement.) We have been quite social though; he's met most of my friends other than Honey and her Honey & really has hit it off well with everyone. Went on my first double date in a long time. We have planned a big international picnic (Aussies! Dutchman! California kids!) on the beach tomorrow, then we're off to Vegas for a couple days. No, no not what you're thinking.

The atmosphere on Planet BIOHF3W certainly is a whirlwind one.
There's also a lot of food on BIOHF3W.
Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeez.
(As I've temporarily turned into a "I feel so fat" girl, to my own annoyance & to others' as well, I imagine.)

Sidenotes: I got a random text from B---- last night (late last night) saying that he missed me. Unexpected with Capital U. Goldi's going on a date with a Doctor tonight & Beauty has been spotted with someone new. (I vaguely recall of a chorus of us - the Ducthman included - doing some version of "We Likey! We Likey!" at a bar the other night to her in mass approval.)

The Spark & the Sparkle (& Why Do I Always Doubt Both?!? Tsk, Tsk.)

Click click. Tsk tsk tsk. Click click. Tsk. Hmpph. (Exhale) Tsk tsk tsk.

I, apparently, have turned into something of an African Tribesman over the past year. A habit I, apparently, have picked up without noticing. I mean, my daily life this past year, although full to the brim with friends, work, texting, facebook, dates and phone calls, has been a relatively singular one. I've been single for a year. And apparently, making quiet clicking and tsking noises to myself all the while. Spending four days nonstop with someone else - after a year of (mostly)happy solitude - really brings stuff like tribesman-esque huffing and puffing and clicking to light.
He is here! The Spark is still there! Shining brightly! 24/7, he and I for the past four days!
The past four days have brought a few other things to light as well... I apparently have a few hangups (no shit, Sherlock!) and have found myself constantly 1.) telling relatively unflattering stories about myself (Did I ever mention the New Year's Eve I was really mean to a girl? Still like me now? How about the time I called a girl fat and ugly and she heard about it? Still like me now?) and 2.) having mild panics thinking that he is going to realize he doesn't feel the same about me after spending so much time with me, hearing about all the superkind things I have done. I need to stop this. Basically, other than me, he's absolutely wonderful.
My Dutchman is patient. He is sweet and kind, (and stubborn as hell). As I was late, lost and losing it to and from the wedding on Saturday and he was cool as could be; whereas my Ex would have been losing it on me as well, the Dutchman was calmly reminding me that the world would not end if we were four minutes late, & that we would eventually find where we were going. "What's the worst that could happen?" was his calming catchphrase. When I realized that I had left the invitation at home, leaving us without the name or address of the church, he did not make me feel like an imbecile, he said he simply knew I would figure it out. (I know this seems like a given - "Well, of course he doesn't try and make you feel stupid" - but I am for the first time being faced with situations that for years with the Ex were handled in a certain Threat Level: Red-way, and in comparing now vs. then... The difference is ah-mazing.)
Also, I learned that if you are ever attending a wedding where you are sure to not know a soul, bring someone with an accent. Instant conversation starter.

Sparkle & Fade.

You know, I know it has only been four days since he arrived, but I have spent this last year trying to be strong & resilient. Yet with him in these past four days, I am kind of fragile & emotional. It seems as though I am always caught off guard by my own vulnerability in relationships. It certainly has turned on the fluorescent neon sign that reads: I am terrified of Rejection. Capital R. (This is where I cue, "But isn't everyone!?") I felt the same with the Aussie, which is of very little consolation, considering... Maybe that is why I was lulled and comfortable in my 'relationship' with B----; it never asked me to be vulnerable.
I have found strength by leaning on the love of those around me; on the love I get from my own friends as personal proof to him that I am worth loving. Does this make any sense? When a bridesmaid at the wedding was cooing over how wonderful she thinks I am, that I am Good People, I found myself thinking, "See! See how lovable I am?!"  When one of my best friends started explaining a part of my personality to him, I silently thought, "See!? My friends know and love me." I am quietly realizing that I am uber comfortable in my relationships with other women; I am strong & resilient when it comes to friendships with other women, and relating to them; letting them in. But that too did not come easily for me. I wish I could collect that feeling I have with my girlfriends and bottle it up and spike Girlfriend-Me's wine with it.
My friends and I have joked in the past that I "sparkle". And on my very best days, I do feel like I maneuver through this world in some sort of radiant way; I do think of myself as a dynamic personality. I mostly think of myself as strong, kind & resilient. Whether or not this is true, it feels true some of the time. Then, bam! lands the Dutchman, or in walks the Aussie, and I forget it all - I am overcome with self doubt!
It is a weird thing to say; & it perhaps comes from a place of being unaware of exactly how transparent I am, but I am totally unable to gauge how much of my true self I am allowing to shine through to him. I believe he knows me better than I think he does; as we can't truly know how others perceive us - or at least I can't. I believe I have probably given more about myself away then I realize. While I stand there thinking I am holding back, for fear that if I give too much away he will turn on his heel and leave, I think I may be giving everything away. He says he can see it in my face. But I'm not sure.
Another thing... Over the course of the weekend, I did realize I am quieter than I thought. I mean, I knew getting out of my past relationship that I had been silenced a little; and I thought it was my Ex's doing but I am starting to realize that I may be just a little bit stuck in my own head (as my boss put it the other day). I am more careful with my words, perhaps replacing my younger-self's verbal diarrhea with the aforementioned click click tssk tssk hmph. But it is a calm, comfortable quiet. A sit-and-read-next-to-you-quiet. Not a silence screaming for filler.
In the past four days, we have gone out and we have stayed in. We have gone all out, and we have stayed in an expensive hotel. We have laughed, we have kissed, we have bantered. He was (and still is) a little sick Friday night, and I was laying in bed reading, him asleep & Kat Moss purring on my chest, and I looked around, at the two of them and just felt completely content.
We were at a restaurant a bit South on Friday, outside on the patio & he looked to me & said,

You think people look at us, and think to themselves, "Those two are really in Love?"

I don't know what I am so worried about.
Yet I woke this morning, heart aching for fear he wouldn't say it again before I left for work.
He did.

Sidenotes: I got my monthly 'friend' the day after writing this. Which begs the question, Why is my strongest symptom of PMS excruciating insecurity? Also, I have added a tag "Men with Accents" on the left hand side for filtering purposes. Just an FYI.

One Day.

One day until Day One. Ohgod.
My Dutchman is set to arrive tomorrow afternoon. I have so much to do; clean my car, tan, clean my house. I've been ordered to go grocery shopping, complete with a list of what to get. I am pretty overwhelmed, I'm not going to lie. I need a haircut, I have to do laundry - as I have been techincally using the same towel for about a week. I have to shave my legs, among other things. I need a carwash. I need to find something to wear to pick him up in, and to wear to the wedding this upcoming weekend. I need to get my life together.
OhGodohGodohGod.

California Dreamin.

What is with you guys and men from foreign countries?

I don't know, but if they are within a 3 mile radius of us, we will find them.



Internationally Renowned.



It's Monday again, mate.

And it was yet another beach-filled weekend, complete with San Franciscans, Canadians, Australians & Brits. I'm not sure when my tiny little town became a mecca for international travelers, but I certainly am not complaining. Nor is Goldi; she may or may not have met an extremely good looking Englishman herself, who may or may not be a professional rugby player. Yesplease&thankyou. Also, discovered that Canadian is probably the least sexy accent a guy can have. Bikinis, wetsuit-inspired silks, and short shorts were the uniform all weekend, which were paired perfectly with dancing, brunching and plenty of eye-candy.

So... (International) Lipstick Summer is in full effect. Oy vey.



Totally tubular.

Rig.

He just looks Australian, don'tchathink?

I went accent & haven't been back since.

Sidnote: The Dutchman arrives in 2 days. He is as panicked as I am; he told me so. Which makes me feel a bit better.

Michael Kors Would Be So Proud

I told you I was a sucker for a man who sends me flowers.
Capital S, Sucker.

The Dutchman sent me flowers at work today. All the way from the Netherlands. (Okay, technically, Orange County... but whatever. Details schmeetails.)

A dozen roses, with a note that read,

You know why. xx Holland.

I don't know why, but I am not complaining.

Paper Heart & Paper Flower.

I don't know, to keep my blog entertaining, I either have to continue going on horrible dates or fall in love.

To which my littlest sister responded,

Go on bad dates. If you fall in love, your blog'll be really boring.

I always have fresh flowers in my house. (Okay, I like to always have them.) I think the main reason I go running is to look at the flowers in people's yards. I'm a sucker for a man who sends me flowers.
I once read a (long lost) list of things every woman should know, according to Michael Kors - and the one that stuck with me the most was:

Every woman should know the names of at least five flowers, and carnation and rose don't count!

Well, I certainly took this to heart - making it my goal to know the names of many, many flowers. But my favorite has always been bougainvillea... the "paper flower".
It reminds me of both my teenage trip to Spain & my town now, it grows over everything in both places.
Somehow it is able to remind me of both
Far Off Adventures
and of
Home.
I love how it makes even the most dilapidated seem beautiful; the most mundane seem bright.

Neither far off or dilapidated.

Aaaaaaaand... this is neither mundane or home. Damn!
I suck.

So... The Dutchman has gone back to the Netherlands. Holland. Somewhere where the sky is low and Germany is nearby. Yeah. THAT far away. He, like the bougainvillea vines, is The far off, is The adventure, is The undeniable feeling of being home. I miss him more than I ever have missed someone I've only known for three days. He, somehow, in a matter of a weekend, was able to switch on the switch I've been trying to understand all these months - to ignite that illusive Spark. And I did to him as well -  and I still have no idea what It is, but I know that for the last week I have thought of very little other than him. Even sleeping, he is on my mind. 

Our last dinner was wonderful, although we were joined by his colleague... I went believing that this evening would most likely be the last time we ever saw of each other. We met at a restaurant overlooking the water and the downtown marina. I walked into the restaurant (in full Rebel Ballerina, I might add) and found the two of them at the bar. I had been there for about five minutes when The Dutchman leaned to me and said that he would be changing his planned trip to Hawaii to include a stopover in California, to see me again. I was elated. We all chatted over a glass of wine (me) and beers (them). The dinner itself was very nice - and then we all hopped into a cab - first dropping of his colleague at their hotel. When we got to the hotel, The Dutchman hopped out of the car explaining he had to grab an antihistamine in order to survive the hour or so he was able to stay at my apartment. (I have a very fussy Supermodel cat; Kat Moss.) We get to my house, and I realize he is not holding a box of Claritin, but a very expensive sunglasses case... He explains that he bought me something and hands me the case. Inside I find a pair of tortoise shell Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses. I am shocked. I am a terrible recipient of gifts sometimes, so I look at them - and immediately close the case. I thank him, and he tells me he knows I hate them  and I can exchange them if I want. But I do not hate them, I love them! I protest. I put them on, and I can honestly say that no pair of sunglasses have ever fit me better. How he did it, I do not know.

We continue talking, kissing, kissing, crying (me).

I would like you to think about something, he says. This August, after I come to you, please come with me to Hawaii. I will buy you the ticket. I have never felt this feeling for anyone so instantly, so strongly. I cannot not see you again. Please come with me.

I agree to go.
Is this crazy? Am I crazy? Are we crazy? All this year, I have been ranting about the Spark, feeling as though something was going to happen this summer that would change my life forever. I have been waiting for a catalyst of some kind. I haven't known what it would be - and I do not know if this is it - but somewhere at my core, I find this voice telling me that I only have one life, and to remember to live it fully. That this may be it - I have to at least see. That if we do not explore what this is, then I will regret it for the rest of my life.
He and I have discussed the possibility of this just being what it is - a crazy yet fluke connection between two strangers for weekend, or for a summer. But... I was not supposed to be at that bar that night; I was supposed to be on a date. The Dutchman had plans with other colleagues that he and his friend had blown off. I never go to that specific bar at night; Goldi and I had let our friend decide where to go. The Dutchman later told me that before we even spoke, he had followed me to the bathroom in hopes of bumping into me. At one point in the night, my friends and I had misinterpreted something he said as a signal to his colleague as a sign of wanting to rid himself of us, and we had left the bar. He caught us right at the door, just in time. If he had not, I probably never would have seen him again.


He wrote me later, once he was back in the Netherlands,

In any other situation between two other person there would be too much bumps on the road. But we found each other despite of all the miscommunication and wrong guesses about each other! ... I will be happy for the rest of my life that we were just in time at the exit of the bar.

...I know you still think that you picked me first, but I know that I had already chosen you when I saw you standing there. I mean, how could I not have seen you… There’s a beautiful girl standing there, with deep brown eyes a beautiful smile and dressed in an amazing black dress. At that particular moment I already knew from my inside that you were the girl I could easily fall in love with.

I only have one life. We only have one Summer of 2011. We don't get do overs. I haven't a clue what the future holds, but I know that this Dutchman has sparked something inside of me that I haven't felt in a long time, if ever. So, without getting my hopes up, I am planning this trip with him. I will see him again. And maybe it'll be like most New Years Eves, over hyped and ultimately a let down - but I won't let the fear of that stop me. Maybe we'll drive each other crazy, maybe we won't. Maybe he'll touchdown at the airport and I will melt, or maybe he'll cringe. But the reality of the whole thing is that I am unwilling to let the fear of it going wrong stop me from seeing if it could, perhaps, go very right.
So...
Here's to Far Off Adventures!
Here's to Home!
Here's to Paper Hearts &  Here's to Paper Flowers.

Falling in Love for the Weekend.

I'm going to fall in love with you in the next two days, aren't I?

To which I respond;  Yes, probably.

He is leaving for Holland first thing Tuesday morning.

He has been here, in town, in America, for a little over a month.

Rewind to Saturday.
I walked into a bar & saw one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen staring at the big screen above the the  top shelf . He did not notice me, or so I thought. My friends and I elbowed our way right to bar, right next to him and order our wine. Wearing a long black backless dress, I positioned myself with my back to him as I was chatting with my friends. His eyes did not move from the television.
The three of us were approached by an older gentleman (and I used that phrase lightly) at the bar, and after about five minutes of harrassment, one of the girls I'm with explains to him that the tall blonde behind us is in fact, her brother. A fact to which he agrees, in a heavy Dutch accent. My friends start talking to the taller, slightly goofy looking Dutchman, and I use this time to slowly back into his TV-watching friend. I finally asked him what he is staring so contently at, and he answers with something about surfing -- in a heavy, Dutch accent.
I melt. Knees buckle. The whole shebang.
You know that spark I've been whining about? Well... Yeah.
We spend the entire rest of the evening together. Drinking wine, smoking cigarettes, kissing. Comparing our limited knowledge of one another's country's geography. Making fun of one another. I go back to his hotel. We do not sleep togther. We drink a cheap rose' with a screw off lid, and we kiss and kiss. Thats when he asked if he was going to fall in love with me. I already knew I would. (And not just because of the accent, or my deep desire to refer to those who effect me by their nationality.)
In the morning, he takes me home, having to first turn around to retreive my forgotten phone, then to stop for coffee then to pick up my friends and take them to their cars. He drops me off, and promises that we will get together for lunch or brunch or whatever, that we will just get together.
What followed was perhaps the best Sunday Funday ever --- neither Dutchmen (it was me, him & his lanky blonde colleague) had never heard of the term. I showed them my favorite patios in town; it is my favorite way to spend my Sundays, afterall - wine tasting in the sun, laughing & wearing a pretty dress.

Sidenote: As we were waiting for a cab outside the first restaurant, lo & behold! Who crosses the street to find me with two very obviously European men? The Englishman. He must think I collect foreigners.

At the second pub, sitting in the sun, we talk about our families, we joke & we smoke. (My mother's gonna love that.) I talk about the fruit trees by my childhood home, about the wine grapes I had in my backyard. He talks about his mom, and his friend speaks of his many brothers and sisters. (I have, apparently, gotten very used to being out with accents - I knew the waitresses would ask over and over again what these boys were saying.) We talked about Americans, Europeans, & the Dutch. We stare at one another. We kiss. A lot.

He finally said goodbye to his colleague - who after one too many Guinness' told me I should sleep with the Dutchman because I will probably never see him again after he has left. I excuse myself to the bathroom; I know it is probably true. But still, I do not sleep with him.
Thankfully, I do take a picture with him, while we are at the pub. It may be my favorite picture ever; he is smiling looking straight into the camera. I have my elbow resting on his shoulder, and I am looking at him. We look handsome together. I have texted this photo to everyone I know.
We take a taxi back to my house, and kiss and talk. He does say it, he does say he has fallen in love with me. I say it back. We both know that we not talking about Love - but that we are to some degree talking about that intoxicating spark. That immediate connection with a once-stranger. Not lust, mind you, bigger than that; that feeling of Who Are You...?! What have you done to me?!

He wrote: You stole something from me.

He left for work, we have agreed to see eachother tonight for dinner.

He texted me this morning with,



I warned you for this.

Me: Yes, yes you did.

Him: I shouldn't fall in love with you.

Me: Terrible idea.

Him: But I did, and now I have to deal with it.

I know I may very well never see him again after tonight.

And, I wonder if he will refer to me as the American Girl in his head.

When I got out of the shower this morning, I discovered he had crafted a small heart out of a napkin and hidden it in my jewelry box.

I have his heart. Or at least a piece of it.