Toe to Toe, Heel to Heal.

My very Lady Like new shoes.
Kate Spade Leslie Heel.

I did something bad...

I said sheepishly, holding up the shopping bag that now carried my new pair of Italian crafted, gold heeled pumps. These are shoes I have no business buying, but did so anyway.

He laughed.

You know, I think that if you see a pair of shoes you want, you should have them. 

I mean that. 

This time I laughed.

I'm going to remind you of that later, when I fall madly in love with a pair of twelve hundred dollar Swarovski encrusted Louboutins.

The next day, we are stopped at a gas station and I am about to run in and get some essentials.
Jim hands me his Visa and tells me to 'Get him a soda and whatever it was I was going to grab...' 
I pop out of the car, and just as I'm shutting the door behind me I hear, in feigned panic,

'They don't sell Louboutins in there do they?!?'

Sometimes I admit, these days, I do feel a bit like Cinderella.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall. (Or, Shattering Who Is The Fairest Of Them All.)

Friends, lovers or nothing.
There can only be one.
Friends, lovers or nothing.
There'll never be an in between, so give it up.
You whisper 'come on over' 'cuz you're two drinks in.
But in the morning I will say goodbye again.
...Anything other than yes is no,
anything other than stay is go,
anything less than I Love You is lying.

-Fucking John Mayer. I hate that kid. 

I am not perfect. 

This is a post in two parts.

1. 

I went to lunch today. Not on a date, but to lunch. 

With a boy that I went on two dates with in the Fall, and really liked as a Friend. 

Not a Lover but also not Nothing. I asked him to lunch because more often than not, if I see something funny or silly I want to share it with him. Since our two dates, every time I see a cheese with a funny name, a man with a glittery shirt or anything else that makes me smirk, I break out my phone and fill him in. We have a hilarious rapport and I like him - As a person, as a Friend. 

Admittedly, he liked me as More, and I may or may not have asked him to lunch because I needed some self-esteem reinforcement*. (Caution: This is not the way to do it. Caution!) 

*Though I was not willing to admit this to myself prior to the actual lunch date. 

I wanted to go to lunch with a boy who saw me through rose colored glasses: Not as the girl whose ex-boyfriends don't speak to her, as the girl whose exes from 10 years ago still have her blocked on facebook, but as the girl who he had two fantastic evenings with right as the Autumn leaves were beginning to change from green to gold. So, we met for lunch, and I could tell he was nervous. 

Hell! I was nervous! I didn't know what to expect. 

He was certainly curious about my lunch-related intentions and he asked me, point blank, though very kindly, why I asked him to lunch; and I gave the above explanation - that the silly texts and facebook banter were not a mass-text to all men, but to him specifically. I even pinky swore that this was the truth. (Because it is.) 

But the short(ish) version of our lunch un-date is that, in between the octopus carpaccio appetizer and the good bye hug; I somehow managed to break down the glass menagerie-version of myself my mind had created pretty damn fast.

Shatter that glass, you ass.

How? I guess by being myself - the sometimes inarticulate, overly layered (clothing wise) and admittedly a bit spacey version of myself. I didn't have all the answers, I got overwhelmed by all the Italian on the Italian menu, and haven't been following all the presidential debates. All over two glasses of tap water. I was grateful he ordered my salad for me, we smiled and laughed, but the reality is, by scheduling a confusing date for unclear reasons and then showing up as Myself, and not the First Date version of me, I believe broke down what I thought was the perfect image he had of me in his head. And not only that, I thiiiink, as a result of the general ambiguity of such a lunch date, with a boy I broke it off with, I was stupid to expect any sort of ego stroke in the first place. I mean, really!?! Man, of course, as much as I was testing the flame, seeing if it was a fire I could rekindle - no, ignite - he, on some level (if not totally aware already) could see how transparent my actions were. You see, I realize now, I wanted a man to see that unblemished version of me, not the faulty and unflattering view in the mirror I see, or the faulty and unflattering view of me that F had. 

And F loved.

That F Loves.

But, transparency being as it is, and as well, fragile as I am - now and always - of course he saw right through me! It was a weird thing to realize. I guess it was a mistake to be myself, fragility and all, when my only intentions were to sit there and have someone see me as my most Perfect Me. Because, especially now, I know am not and he never saw me as such. It dawned on me, because of certain things he said, that how I thought he saw me was never, in fact, how he saw me at all. 

Which, to say the least, is discouraging.

In explaining my thought processes regarding leaving my shop,  I was saying how I had come to realize that I'm going to be thirty and needed to...

...get a Big Girl Job? He interrupted.

In that moment I felt so small.
So. Small.
The answer is yes, but I hate that a man who knew so very little about me could say that so succinctly. I thought I was hiding the fact that my shopgirl job was the princess loving eight year old in me's Dream Job.

Dress Ups Forever!!!??? Where do I sign up?!?

I mean who doesn't love a tiara?
Or a motherfucking tutu?

I was so naive to think that I was the only one to think of my job as some manifestation of a child's love of costumes.
(Because, at my lowest points, that is exactly how I see it.)

Nix that with 'em both.
Ya? Kay? Cool.

But at least, I guess, when a man looks at you and thinks possible 'wife, mother, partner' he can overlook such quoteunquote "silliness". So by shattering that vision to a man - by ending that (even) momentary vision of partnership -  I guess my 'Not Big Girl Job' becomes a matter of discussion.
At lunch, I realized that I am as see-through as an open window with the curtains drawn; like a giant bay window accompanied by a dull view. From that point on, over the course of our lunch, I was stumbling over my words, unable to verbalize an entire thought. (Not a rarity, but again, I now assume these things are somewhat excusable when you are looking at a girl through OkCupid's rose colored glasses.) Anyhow, the lunch went on, and my insecurity continued its flare up, and by the end of it all - when he was telling me about the girl he last dated seriously having no real interests of any kind (and OCD) - I was internalizing each statement as a subconscious dig at me; him telling me I have no interests either.
Or, in Lehman's terms, I am not interesting either.
My Brain at Work: Because, though I love clothing, decorating and all that, of what interest is all that to man? (Because, that is what's really important, right?!?)
Before he got to the her 'having no interests', he also explained that he - in the realm of online & real world dating - had decided to look for a girl who,

'...Made her own money, took care of her own, because I have in the past always been the one taking care of the woman, ya know?'

So between that statement, and the 'Big Girl Job' interjection... I couldn't help but think,

'Aaaah, I see now. I see how you saw me: Why you liked me. You thought I needed someone to help me be a Big Girl.'

Fuck! Dude, I only (selfishly) wanted the personal reinforcement that someone could think of me as unblemished, as a beautiful existence permanently composed of two dinner dates.
But, instead, I left lunch with my ego shattered. 
I realize only now that even though I felt like he threw some terrible rock at my own self image at lunch today, he did not; I realize now, that my ego was looking to be stroked and instead someone held a hand mirror to it. And, the reflection of myself that I saw, or heard, in his words - in his actions - made me feel like I was never that 'perfect' image in the first place; to him, I was always a little girl lost in need of someone to order her (not very good) Pear & Gorgonzola salad for her.
And today, at lunch, is exactly what he did.

'She'll have the pear and Gorgonzola salad and I'll have the...'

Friends, Lovers or Nothing.

 2.

Not even Cuddle Buddies.

Apartment F was my Lover.
And my Boyfriend.
And is my Best Friend.
But I need to work on not turning to him, as my 'Best Friend', because I broke up with my Boyfriend.
Though he may love Me - Me, my number of lovers, acne scars and anxieties alike - Me as I see myself in the mirror, flawed and transparent - It is not fair to him.
Because we cannot simply be Friends.
Because although Best Friend and Boyfriend were once one in the same, it is not fair to him because I need to realize that they are no longer. Friend is not best friend or boyfriend.
I need to be fair to him, because I love him. Even though when he looks at me, he sees what I see; and sometimes I think when he's sees it, he loves her more than I do.
But I cannot lean on his shoulder to cry about leaving Him*. 

*Not even under the guise of Kat Moss asking about him. Meow.

Because he cannot differentiate between Friends, Lovers or Nothing like I do.
Who am I kidding, I can't either. 
Regardless, in order to be fair to him, I have to edit out the first two, too.
We have to be Friends, Lovers or Nothing

Fuck you John Mayer. Fuuuuuuuuck you.

 ...Anything other than yes is no,anything other than stay is go,anything less than I Love You is lying.

Sidenote: I have a date with potential Saturday night. Like REAL potential. So I have to get this helpless child schtick out of my head beforehand otherwise it is doomed. I need to be okay with being me, Me, me me me, no job, half a job, eight year old dream job alike. Aaaaaaaaaaaand, I'm back at the game. Back to the dates, back to the dinners and the why wait?!

Taking Stock. (Or, the Beanstalk that Grew Into Oblivion.)

I came to a huge realization in these past few weeks:

I'm totally oblivious.

Nobutseriously, I am.

huuuuuuuuuuhhhhh?????

In the past year, as I slowly have moved from one side of the spectrum of Oh My God, Pay Attention To Me to Just Being Me In The World, I have become totally oblivious to others around me. Not my girlfriends, not to my very familiar market checkers, not my clients or to the occasional eye candy that may pass by, but, other than the familiar, I am totally oblivious to how others take me in - the strangers, the girls who covet my shoes in the bathroom (or don't, I guess, as I am not really paying attention) or to the men who sneak a second look at me as I pass by in a crowded restaurant. Either I am totally oblivious or this doesn't happen at all. And, to be honest, after nearly twelve years of being Me in semi-adulthood, I am fairly certain that it does. Or at least I hope so. But still, I've apparently stopped noticing.

Everything & everyone else is a blur.

I was taking stock of the currant state of my life the other day - after a great night out with Goldi, Beauty, our sweet Fourth Addition & our Australian Sugar Mama, after where the world was just us - a night where the five of us were the only ones in a crowded restaurant (well other than the waitstaff, which treated us with such attentiveness, that at one point Goldi leaned to me & double checked to make sure that we were not, in fact, famous) - and I realized that - in between dinners with friends, redecorating Goldi's apartment, the job hunt, the two day trips I have been taking out to the desert for work, birthday plans for a date nearly two months away (March 31st! Mark your calendars!), the million faux errands that I run now that I am not working, being comfy at home, or perusing the bookstore or Buffalo Exchange - I rarely every notice anyone noticing me. I've become so consumed with my Lovely Little Life, filled with many many amazing friends, that I have come to maneuver through my world in a state of total oblivion.
Whereas before - in my insecure youth, or when I was with my Ex & subconsciously felt under appreciated, or after we broke up when I was dealing with major self worth issues due to the breakup - I was constantly aware of a wandering eye; reveling in the extra helpfulness of a Starbucks barista or the flirtatious nature of a specific bartender, I am no longer even paying attention.
But I guess, if you really break down the above paragraph cell by cell & inch by inch, what it really means that my oblivious maneuvering throughout my world represents one HUGE change in me: I'm not horrifyingly insecure anymore. Now, that's not to say I don't have my moments; but its no longer what defines Me. And it did for a long long time, with out me even realizing it. I mean, yeah, I'm insecure about my teeth when meeting new people (as they're the only part of me I'd consider blonde). I'm super nervous going into interviews. I feel funny & self conscious  when my heels feel too high. I still check OkCupid daily, but not in the way where I'm desperately searching for a date, let alone another Aussie. Nor am I the girl who walks into the bar and picks out the hottest guy she can find and decided that even for a moment, I will make them mine. I mean, I rarely even walk into bars anymore.

What?! You don't think
Lace Bloomers are the new Levi's?

What I have come to realize is that at my core, I'm not that girl whose insecurity seeps out of her pores like wine the morning after a night of one too many. Not anymore, at least. In my head, I'm just the girl (woman?) who dresses a little funny - my summer uniform of shorts and ankle boots and far too many necklaces has evolved into knee high boots, leggings, lace shorts and so many shirts layered over each other that I feel as though I have come to resemble Joey in that episode of Friends where for some reason he puts on all of his winter jackets at once. And I'm sure other women look me up and and down and think, 'What the hell is she wearing?' But to be honest, I rarely notice. I'm too busy scoring a dead on Winter Kate burnout velvet & fringe dress for $13while texting Bijou about wall installations to even look up. I actually hadn't even considered that I get the Up & Down from other women until Apartment F commented on it. And even after he said it, I gave the honest rebuttal of something to the effect of, 'They're probably thinking 'What the hell is she wearing?'' (He responded with a 'Noooooooooooo, I don't think that is the case'.) But on a larger scale, for myself, is the fact that I am no longer desperately scanning the room for whose eyes I draw attention from when I walk in.
I simply just walk into rooms now.
Like a normal person.
Like a confident girl who is there to do other things than inflate her own (deflated) ego.
I saw a girl tonight, at the hockey game I went to with my Boss & Soul-Sister of a Client, give me the Up & Down. And it was the first time I'd actually noticed someone do it in as long as I can remember. And she was probably thinking, 'What the Hell is that girl wearing?!?' (And yes, I was wearing black knee high equestrian boots, black leggings, black lace bloomers, a long sleeve black tee with a with a grey cashmere sweatshirt over it with an open denim shirt over that, and far too many necklaces. And yes, I liked my outfit, and yes, I dress funny.) But it was funny to me that I actually stood still long enough to notice it happen. (I was waiting for my girlfriend to come out of the bathroom.)
But what really magnified exactly how oblivious I have become was a brief conversation I had in the 'smokers lounge' outside the hockey game. I had mentioned that in college I had been a 'total Mary Kate Olson wannabe' and my Boss smiled knowingly and said that she could see that. (One could make the argument I still am.) My Boss was then remembered that she had stumbled across photos of me at an event from about four years ago after going through our work computer. And how shocked she was at how I looked. With more curves back then, and a decidedly more conservative style to boot, she couldn't get over how different I looked at the start of my shopgirl career. This difference is not something I am oblivious to, I knew the exact photos she was talking about. She was trying to put her finger on the difference, and after a couple seconds, she finally she said,

Aha! I know what it is! You're sexy now. You have a sexiness about you you didn't have before. And you don't even know it.

My Soul Sister of a Client agreed. And I - well, I was dumbfounded. I don't feel seeeexxxxxy. I thought I just wore more jewelry now. I mean, I don't dress sexy (see: above mention of many layers). I even said so. But from what I gather, they weren't talking about that palpable, overt sexiness. She was talking about a sort of sexiness that comes without trying to be sexy, I assume. (Hope?)
The kind of sexiness that comes with Utter Oblivion.
And more importantly, with Quiet Confidence.
And I am oblivious to it. But I am secure with myself, lace bloomers and all.

And, all this time, I thought that
I was a plant killer.

You see, after taking stock, I realized that that is what I have grown into.
I was at lunch with my Malibu Bad Ass today and we were talking about how all of our friends have grown up so much this past year; how in our own ways, each and every one of us has grown as a person like beanstalks. Like fucking Beanstalks. Up, above and beyond what we had ever thought possible in a year. In what feels like overnight.
How she who was once known for her partying is now known for her stability. How she who was known for complacency is now known for her ambition. How she who was known for her insecurity is now known for her self assurance. How she who could not check the mail now does it daily. And as for these changes, we were oblivious to them as they were happening but hell, here we are.
Whether we are aware of it, or totally oblivious, here we are.
As unbelievable as a Magical Beanstalk, it's true; I finally, finally, feel like a Grown Up. 
I'm a Grown Up.
I did it.*

*No, F that. We did it.

All Booked Up.

Goldi & I have been reading The Hunger Games trilogy. The type of reading where you stay in bed all day, totally consumed by a story. No, it's not War & Peace, buts its damn entertaining, letmetellyou. She'll be passing the second book off to the Doctor, and we'll soon be starting the third and final installment.
So, I guess, in a way - I got that book club I've been dying for, after all.
Also, for those of you who have been following from the beginning - I saw Goldi's Lawyer at a restaurant in Orange County yesterday! He looked kind of fat and pretty puffy and had a very not cute date with him. (I'm being totally objective, I swear!)
Now, I am going to hop in the shower & get dressed. It's a Saturn/Goldi day - I'm taking today as holiday just like everyone else! Back to the grind tomorrow; interviews, resumes, call backs & follow ups.
But for now, I just need some getting dressed inspiration.

Mirror, Mirror. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Do you ever feel like when you have a boyfriend, you get uglier? My earthy, hipster Littlest Sister asked me this morning.

I agreed, enthusiastically. She is home from Grad School and in a long distance relationship.

Yeah, she continued, I've been with my boyfriend for a week straight, and when I got into California I was skinny, my highlights looked amazing, and my skin was clear. Now, I've put on weight, my roots came in and his beard is making me break out.

The mirror did not give me
the answer I wanted.
F U MirrorMirror.

I replied, referring to the fact that I will be in Family Land for the holiday weekend,

Yes! Just this morning I was looking in the mirror thinking,

Those bitches better not plan on taking photographs.*

*We are nothing if not a vain trio of sisters.

With my jeans a bit snug, my skin snow white & stress level up to eleven, I looked in the mirror, mirror on the wall (or up against it) this morning,

and though I was never the fairest of them all, 

I saw a very very Blaaaaahhhh girl staring back at me. 

Aaaaand, it hit me.

I have a serious case of the Boyfriend Blahs.

Nowdon'tgetmewrong, Apt F is... Fine. He's caring and sweet, and very stressed out. And it's not like my life has changed too much since we got together other than having him sleeping next to me everysinglenight.

I still schmooze on patios with my girlfriends, have whole days spent carousing with my friends, and basically do my own thing (or at least the 'winterized version' of it), but I am... for lack of a better word: Bored. Capital B.

LET'S MIX IT UP A BIT.
Capital EVERYTHING.

I care about him (a lot about him), we're friends, I like his company, and all that...
Buuuuuuuuuuuuut............

I think he's bored too. I mean, we're both pretty even keeled people, both a balance of introvert and extrovert, both smart, both broke. And maybe it's just contentment, or maybe we both have too much going on in our stressful little hand-to-mouth lives for any excitement; so when we are together we can just decompress. (Actually, I think that's exactly how he sees it.)

We don't fight, we get along great but we don't have Electricity.

I may not want Drama, per se...
But is Excitement too much to ask for?

We're like that light switch you always keep on, but only because you don't know what it's actually a switch for. And I know, I know (Bijou, I'm talking to you) that it's not always going to be Like the Commercials, but what the hell happened to my f'ing Paper Planes?!? My Windmills?

I am finding that I am missing dating, missing the possibility of Electricity.

The Spark!

Missing! Sparkle.
Reward if Found.

I don't feel like I Sparkle any more. I'm stressed and feel puffy, and I don't have the excitement of singledom to distract me. Instead, I have a boyfriend who is stressed out & puffy too. That, and we don't have a ton to tallk about; as we have moved passed telling eachother the anecdotes of our lives and now interact with eachother like a somewhat bored married couple. Going through the motions, taking the motions for granted. And Apt F may be content with us, and he is more stable than he was at our start, but the reality is, we both have gotten a bit complacent and kind of stagnant. That whole 'progressing forward as a couple' thing... If this is that, I don't know if that is what I want.

Gone are the 'You're brilliants' & the 'You're beautifuls'.

Now, it's all 'What do you want to do for dinner?' or 'Do you have any cash?'

Part of me suspects he feels the same way, content & willing to be as such through the holidays and then...?

I don't know; I want more.

But you know me, I want it all:

I want to be the belle of the ball,
the fairest of them all,
the Prince not the pauper.

Rabbit's Foot.

Send me good vibes today, as I do believe it is the start of something...

I'm going to be chasing a white rabbit or a dangling carrot here for awhile.

Choose Your Own Adventure; The Witches' Duel.

How is it even possible to think so much of a person in general... And I'm thinking of a girl I have only known for 3 days the whole time... And telling you I love you doesn't even feel strange.

Its words like these that can make a girl crazy. Or at the very least, they've made me Crazy, Capital C. I haven't wanted to talk at great length about it - anxiiiiettttyyyyyy - but the Dutchman arrives in 6 days. He will be here for about three weeks and we are going on two short mini-vacations. Together, in my room with a kitchen (and a Kat Moss) attached, we will spend the better part of three weeks together. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. Kat is taking the news well; I, however, have become absolutely Bipolar over the whole situation.



Which Witch is Which?

Close your eyes and imagine my Good Witch & my Wicked Witch engaged in some sort of dramatic Hollywood Princess Bride style fencing duel - the lunging, the swinging, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. That is my brain these days. (Okay, that is my brain most days.) Yeah, my dueling witches are at it, big time: He's gonna see you're crazy! He's going to drive you crazy! (Swipe!) You will have a wonderful time! You're not crazy, you're amazing! (Swoosh!) No, you're crazy! See how crazy you are! (Jab!) He loves you, even with all your quirks! (Swish!)
(If you aren't sure what I am talking about, skim http://stylesaturnreturn.blogspot.com/2011/05/are-you-good-witch-or-are-you-bad-witch.html .)
I am very excited, don'tgetmewrong; my heart swells and sings when I think about him, talk to him, text with him. But in all honesty, I'm absolutely terrified. My Wicked Witch has been whispering... 'What if he gets here and he comes to realize that I am not, in fact, this amazing wonderful California Girl that he thinks he is in love with? What if he steps off that plane and I no longer have those feelings for him? What if after a couple days, we cannot stand eachother? What if he regrets wasting his vacation on me? What if he takes back all his wonderful words? And then my brain goes: What if my fear of this happening turns this into some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy where I sabotage his entire trip because I am afraid of it going poorly?'
Basically I am afraid that my fear of failing to live up to my best self will ultimately wreak havoc on his entire holiday here. Hey! I am nothing if not self aware. Argh.
But then again, I am also thankful for his rose colored glasses - I do think he will get here and only see what my Good Witch tells me is inside of me. I believe that he does love the true and wonderful Me; because she does exist and is deserving of such love. I believe he sees me for the good that I am. I am thankful for the fact that, if I wanted to, I could probably tell the Dutchman all of the above fears, & he would tell me I was mad, & that he loves me for Me. And he would be telling me the truth. (Ha! Knowing me, I probably will.)
I have to remind myself of what I said earlier,

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.

*That's right folks, I have to read my own blog to be reminded of such things sometimes.

The electricity between us the when we first met; that was no accident. The honest conversation between us since that weekend has been nothing but wonderful. So, why on Earth am I so afraid? Why do I struggle with the fear of being unlovable? Why do I sometimes doubt my own worthiness of love? I don't doubt others', I don't doubt his!  When I was with him before, I felt the same sense of possibility I felt with the Aussie but none of the insecurities (Am I smart enough? Well read/traveled/spoken enough? Pretty enough?) The rejection I felt from the Englishman (which I will detail later, when I feel like meditating on yay! rejection) is (obviously) nonexistent. Why, then, do I let that damn Wicked Witch coax me into some sort of hysterical self doubt? Sheissuchabitchbytheway.
His visit may be fantastic. It may be awful. It may be so-so. We won't know until we get there. I just have to remind myself it is an Adventure & that it is my Adventure. An explorer doesn't not get on the plane for fear of it crashing; the pilot doesn't board the plane with the assumption it will crash. And without them - metaphorically, duh - there would be no adventures. Part of being a grown up is living your own, personal Choose Your Own Adventure novel, I guess. So, to my Wicked Witch - I choose to give you the finger. (Turn to page 29!) Fuckyouverymuch. I choose to stop listening to you and allow this to be an unsabotaged by Saturn visit by my Dutchman. I mean, he's coming all this way...
In 6 days.
He will be here in 6 days.
Okay, 5 days and 22 hours.
5 days and 21.5 hours.
But who's counting?

Growing Up in NeverNeverLand.

I think one remains the same person throughout, merely passing, as it were, i these lapses of time from one room to another, but all in the same house.                 

                                                                 - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

NeverNever
(sitonaswinginsuchashortskirt)
Land

So, I went to my long forgotten Myspace(!) page today - to grab some old pictures. Under the “Blog” section I found this little description of myself… I wrote it in August of 2005. *I had no idea I was a 'blogger' back then! I was right around 22 & I had yet to meet the Ex, was still in college and quite a lost little girl. This time in my life was the only other time I was single.
(I recommend reading the left column first, then the sidenotes.)

Reading this, I was a shocked at:

1.) How little I have changed & 2.) How much I have changed. 

I was a Girl when I wrote this - a little wild, a little reckless. And although I have struggled to tame that girl in the past year, I feel that, at the same time, I am simply a more polished, more centered version of this same girl; these days I actually feel like a woman. (I refer to men as "men" forGodsakes.) I am beginning to believe that my Peter Pan Syndrome is really starting to diminish. That's not to say I don't have a whole helluva lot more growing up to do, but at the very least the wild girl described above only comes out every once and awhile. And although I oft refer to my tiny little town as NeverNeverLand, its starting to feel less and less so. *I mean when you take a look at your life, and realize things like,"I am facebook friends with not only the bartenders at the local dive, but the bouncer as well," you may need to re-evaluate your life a little. Or, you might be an alcoholic. I kid, Mom, I kid.  But I'll be honest, I feel such a sense of pride when they ask me - via facebook of course - where I've been. (It's the little things in life.) I feel such a sense of pride when anyone asks me that these days! My response was, More Restaurant Checks & Fewer Bar Tabs. Yes, I was proud of that come back. So I guess, what I'm trying to say is that over the course of my twenties, I'm still at my core, the same girl - in my make up & constitution but that girl has gone from a Lost Boy Girl to a Peter Pan and then - slowly but surely - to a Wendy. 

You need not be sorry for (Wendy). She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.                                                                                                 - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

I'm getting there. Or trying my hardest to.
I'm trying to be a grown up NeverNeverLand.

Breaking Beauty & the Beast.

Life may not be a Fairytale; but I'll be honest - there are some fairytales I wouldn't want to be a part of anyway! Um, well, Hansel & Gretel for one - although I do have a penchant for what I call zippy German men... Or Dutch ones... (Okay, just give me an accent, & I'm happy.)

You know that feeling of,
"What the heck was I thinking?"
Yeah... Me too.

Another example -  Beauty & the Beast. I am quite certain that no Beast will ever just magically change into our Prince Charming justlikethat. More importantly, Beauty never deserved the treatment the Beast gave her in the first place & if she hadn' t been stuck in the East Wing (a captive, mind you!) she would have been smart enough to get the hell out of there as fast as should possibly could. I mean, really!? Essentially we grew up with this "romantic" story of well, imprisonment, abuse, and ...falling in love? Yeah, that's what we're teaching little girls - Put up with the Beast, girls! He'll change if its true love!  
Am I the only one who sees how absolutely fucking ridiculous this is?
Don't get me wrong, we all have our beasts - those aspects of our personality that are far from perfect - I have cheated before, I have raging "Love Me! Syndrome" sometimes. I hate checking the mail for fear of bad news. Or bills. As a kid, when I would stub my toe, I would immediately hit the closest sister. (Thankfully, I have since grown out of this habit.)

Sometimes you just have to
walk the fuck away.

But beasts & all, this does not mean we deserve a Beast.
I've dated men who were arrogant, men who were narcissists, boys who were mean. (I was once on a 2nd date with someone who actually said, outloud, "I have a face for TV, a voice for radio & the arrogance for both." Wow, dude. Really!?) I have been in relationships where I felt unimportant, stupid and voiceless.
My friends have dated, loved & even married men who were insensitive or cruel, or self-centered.
These are the Beasts.
And, as women do - sometimes we believe we don't deserve better; we play this balancing act of, "Well I am not perfect, so how can I expect - or even deserve - perfection?" I have done this many times in the past. And the reality is, no, no one person is perfect. But I refuse to believe that doesn't mean we can't have a Prince Charming without having to navigate through the torment of the Beast first. And if Prince Charming starts turning to a Beast, I refuse to believe Beauty wouldn't or shouldn't get the hell out of the East Wing, the West Wing or the whole damn relationship.We are not captives, although sometimes we may feel like we may be.
We are all Beauties. Deserving of love, deserving of kindness, deserving of being treated like a Princess.
If we know what we are looking for, if we are not afraid to ask (demand!) the universe for a man who loves our Beauty (beasts & all) - then I believe we will find it.
We may have to kiss a few frogs first,
but - as you know- that's a whole other story.

Beauty, I am proud of you.

Sidenote: My brain has turned off any signs of singledom for the time being; still think of little else other than the Dutchman. Haven't spoken to B---- since I met him. Or anyone else, for that matter other than girlfriends. This situation is ideal for Goldi.

The Superman Switch.



We all know that one of the 'dangers' of online dating is the accuracy of photographs... It's a given. Some people look better in photos, some worse. We only use our best ones (or most clever/exciting) in our profiles, I mean, I know I do! It just comes with the territory. You're essentially advertising yourself, so no - you're not going to put up that haggard picture of you at 4am in New York hugging a newspaper stand, now are you?
That being said, on Thursday I went out with someone who - intellectually speaking - I really relate to. He seems to get me. The two of us have spent hours on the phone, & he has been able to pick up on huge parts of my personality from even the smallest nuances and personal statements. For a man - for anyone really - he is intuitive and he is intelligent and kind. He has is life together, has great friends, owns his own company... and a boat(!). I like him. But I was a little worried that attraction would be an issue; I knew he was a bit bigger and shorter than I usually go for, but on personality alone he was already ahead of the game, so I figured it wasn't super important - I am a big believer that a fantastic personality can make almost anyone attractive. And vice versa for that matter; how many people have you come across that are really good looking until they open their mouths?
So we agree to meet at a tapas place downtown.
First thing I notice is that from straight on, he's the spitting image of Dean Cain, TV's beloved Superman:


Fantastic looking fellow, don'tchathink?

It's going well... The sangria has been poured, & my nerves are subsiding.
And then I notice It.
He looks over his right shoulder to say something to me...

...and all of the sudden,

he looks like a Troll.

Oh God.

Front on: Dean Cain.
Right view: Troll.

Front on: Dean Cain.

Left view: Troll.

Glass of sangria in: Shiny, droopy-eyed trollish Dean Cain.
It started to happen faster...
DeanCain.
Troll.
DeanCain.
Troll.
DeanCain.
Troll.Troll.Trooollll.
He is the human version of the above optical illusion.
OldLady.YoungLady.OldLady.YoungLady.
Superman.Troll.Superman.Troll.
I don't want to be a shallow person. I really don't. And I by no means am trying to be cruel, but you know when you get something stuck in your head and you can't get it out? (Think the mole scene in Austin Powers here.)
Looks aren't everything...  Unfortunately, I just can't get that out of my brain, and it really ruined the possibility of a "spark" for me. I just kept fearing the troll. He was great; it's nice to know that there are men out there who are intuitive & know how to listen (add those things to my ongoing list of things I want and deserve in a man). I am still working on how to tell him there is not going to be a second date.
Aye aye aye.
Sidenote: 3rd date with B---- Friday. He's comin' to my hood. He's had a rough week. I'm excited to see him.
1st date with the 49er Saturday. We'll see how that goes.

Forgetting the Prince + Remembering Girlfriends.

After scanning the room, my mother spotted a little blond girl,

Sweetie, what's your name? Lisa? Well, Lisa - this is my daughter. You two are going to be great friends.

And with that, she had us hold hands and triumphantly march into Kindergarten, together. She was my first friend - through kindergarten and first grade, not so much through middle school, again through Myspace, and now - nearing thirty, peripherally through Facebook. She looks exactly like her mother did when we were - and she was - young.

Thank you, Saturn. Thankyouverymuch.

 In eighth grade, my binder was covered in the bubbly writing of a fourteen year old obsessed with Gwen Stefani and fitting in - written out were phrases and words that would be Greek to me now - long forgotten inside jokes, boys' names and song lyrics. Inside the binder, were notes from my friends about boys, school and eachother. Throughout high school, maneuvering through the throngs of other (invisibly) insecure and hyper hormonal teenagers, I sought refuge in a few friendships that seemed unbreakable - until one of us would get jealous or competitive and we would end up back stabbing or in some cases, front stabbing, one another.
Around nineteen, I was known to utter the phrase,

You know, I just don't get along with girls, I just get along with boys soooo much better.

Of course, at 19 I thought all other girls were competition - I only wanted to hang around guys. I thought that would somehow make me The Winner. (But it also meant I had no friends without the ulterior motive of sex.)
At 23, when I moved in with my boyfriend, I stopped returning some very good friends' phone calls. I actually listened to said boyfriend when he told me he thought my friends were flakey and stupid. (But, by listening to him and alienating my friends, it was in fact me being the stupid flake, wasn't it?!)
And it's only now, over the course of the last year, that I have finally realized and learned to appreciate the true value of good girlfriends.
Thankfully, gone are the uber-competetive & comparitive friendships of growing up; I believe, as women, we are taught to veiw one another as constant competetion - to our own detriment. It starts young - think of Snow White and her evil stepmother or Cinderella's terrible step sisters. Without reading into it too much, haven't we been told over and over again that it's the Prince who'll save us, who will complete us? And that other women out there are just competing for his attention at the Ball? (Or the bar.) Whereas most men like other men until they have a reason not to, we as women are taught not to like other women until we are given a reason to. Until then, we tend to veiw eachother as rivals. Why?!
Not everyone outgrows this veiw, unfortunately - we all know those women out there who instead of being an ally are constantly trying to one up you. I've been that friend & I've had that friend.
So, newly single, over the summer, at 28 and a half, just as Saturn's Return really begun to "test my character and the structures I built my life upon" I realized, I have no friends. I mean I had friends, but for the most part they had all grown up or moved on and away or they were fully aligned with my relationship with my boyfriend. Talk about 'structurally unsound'...
Thankfully, the good friends from before forgave me my flakey stupidity and were (and are) there for me day & night when I need them. I can call them crying, laughing, cursing or crazy as a hobo. And I hope they realize, and I think they do, that I'm game to do the same. Old aquaintances have fallen away. Old habits have been broken.
As time moves forward, while I'm restructuring and reevluating the way I have lived my life, I have been lucky enough to have stumbled upon a couple more. I no longer veiw other women as rivals; I no longer have friends just to call for Happy Hour - It's something so much deeper now. I have friends to call for hummus & wine. I have friends to keep on Code Blue (Something Bad Happened!) Alert during a first date. I am on Code Blue for theirs. I have two hour long phone conversations with these girls. I have friends who call just to see how my day is going. I have inside jokes, I have running partners, coffee clatches. I have a friend who, if I really needed her to, would drop everything and hope on a plane to come to me. I have a friend, that at 10 PM last night, would've jumped in her car and been at my house if I asked her to. Don't even start me on the mix CD that may have been made a couple Saturdays ago...
You see, I finally have friends that make me laugh like a seventh grader, but not cry like one.
I am no longer a Snow White or a Cinderella competing against her enemies & waiting for her Prince to save her; instead I am a happy little dwarf living and laughing alongside - not against - many other dwarves. I can lean on them, I know their strengths and their faults and they know mine. And I love them for it.
I think, perhaps, I need to seriously date my friends for awhile.
Forget the Prince. I'll be with my dwarves.

Sidenote: I have cancelled most dates going forward this week. I handed myself a fucking eraser.
Also, Goldilocks & Platonic-Guy are friends again. In real life & on facebook. Troubs and I may or may not have played a roll.

Are You a Good Witch or Are You a Bad Witch?

The Wicked Witch tells me that I have bad teeth. She also tells me that my hair is stringy.

The Good Witch tells me I have a great smile. She reminds me that I look really pretty with my hair upswept in a sidebraid.

I'll get you, my pretty...

The WW cackles in my ear,

Remember all the stupid things you've done?

To which the GW sings,

But don't forget about the smart!

The WW reminds me of the mean and the GW reminds of the kind.

My Witches cackle and sing - they go back and forth all day, everyday. I imagine we all have those two battling voices in our heads - and we listen to the Witch screaming or soothing louder that day, that week or that year.

This past year I have felt much like the original Dorothy maneuvering herself down that damn Yellow Brick Road; trying to find a way home, making friends and enemies along the way, learning as I go. I've listened to the cackles and stumbled into dark WW territory and I've seen the vibrant, fulfilling, and happy places that I credit to listening to the GW's song.

For the most part, these days, my Good Witch is singing in-tune, at the top of her lungs - that I'm doing well, I'm worthy of the happiness & love that I feel. My GW is happy and she is loved. She is out in the world, making the best of each day; resilient & strong, and having a great time at it. The Good Witch & I are a good team, letmetellyou.
But sometimes that asshole Wicked Witch  has been able to convince me that I have nothing going for me or that I'm abrasive or selfish or all of the above. My WW is all those things. On a particularly bad day, she might even convince me that I'm unlovable. And unfortunately, sometimes I've listened. The Wicked Witch and I - we make poor decisions, we are careless and we are shortsighted.

Hopefully, like the OG Dorothy, I safely get 'Home' - defeating whatever flying monkeys or runaway hot-air balloons that come my way. And, like her, I am going to need the help of my Good Witch and my friends to help me get there.

We all do.

Dorothy couldn't have done it alone and neither can we.

The Story of Goldilocks.



Pretend that's hummus there on the table.

Wine & Hummus nights are a common occurance with me and my girlfriends -- many of our most hilarious conversations, ideas, shared secrets & inside jokes have come from sitting in our apartments together with a tub of hummus and a couple bottles of cheap red wine. On one of these nights, not long after I decided to sign up for the online dating website, I convinced my closest friend, lets call her 'Goldilocks' (as she has both depth in her highlights & even more so in her personality) to do the same. It took quite a bit of wine, a panic attack (and about a week,) but she finally agreed. Mind you, she wasn't on the hunt for a boyfriend, nor did she have much experience in 'grown up' dating. She was quite concerned with what to do when the check came*,

But, I'm just not comfortable not offering anything!

Goldi, just smile and say 'thank you for dinner'. Or excuse yourself to the bathroom. But always say thank you.

* My girlfriends have often commented on my ability to not even lean towards the bill. Sorry, guys, I have had too many boyfriends who I have literally supported at times. If my date bothered by this, he's not the guy for me. But I always say thank you.

So off Goldilocks and I skipped into the 'Dating World'.

So after a particularily bad cocktail date last night, she called me to come pick her up even though she was only 3 blocks from her house.

It's okay, I have hummus. And wine.

Girl, thank god. Let's go.

We went back to my house. Our post date hummus and red wine session eventually led to this breakdown of her experiences with online dating:

The Lawyer:  First date off the site. The second she met him, she thought Wow. This is gonna go well. Two hours in, they finally looked at the menu.

(She is using superstitious numerology to justify sleeping with him as we speak... Their date is on the 13th of month and it's their 7th date. Something about the Lucky 7 cancelling out the 13. All justifying aside, she just wants to sleep with him.)

 The Model Ex Druggie: Within moments of sitting down knew there was no connection. The conversation followed that included things you would never tell someone that you were trying to impress. He did pay for dinner, but he was a sober manorexic, so... he was a cheap date.

The Platonic "Wish We Could Be Friends" Guy: Really liked him, and went on two dates with him. (I accompanied her on the second, and I had a blast too.) No 'spark'- he did not take this well: immediately 'unfriended' her on facebook. She thinks about their undone friendship frequently.

The Cheap Jock: Made her pay for parking and beer. Nothing to talk about. Actually called for a second date; she did not return the call.

....and tonight's winner: 

The Adonis Liar ("Chip"): Knew within two minutes of sitting down: full of shit. Spent the whole date calling him out on inconsistencies in his stories and thinking about The Lawyer.

So after much red wine, & two containers of hummus, we have come up with our 'grown up' version of the classic tale of Goldilocks:

• The Adonis Liar - too hot.
• The Cheap Jock - too cold.
• The Platonic "Wish We Could Be Friends" - too soft.
• The Ex- Model Druggie - too hard.
• and... finally, The Lawyer - juuuuuuust right.

They're going out tonight.
So are the Australian and I.