Yesterday.

Said Wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet Reads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

At First Glance.

This looks like my Mother.

The Year of the Patio.

It is the quality of the moment, not the number of days, or events, or of actors, that imports.

+ Ralph Waldo Emerson

As the year end's, and everyonewhoisanyone is doing the 'end of the year' retrospectives I figured I'd join in on the cliche. (Just wait for my 'New Year's Resolutions' post!)

That, and I was at dinner with Goldi & Beauty the other night, our fourth addition - a sweet aquaintance of mine & a friend of their's - asked me what my 'favorite age was'. I couldn't answer the question right then, on that patio in that moment, but with further introspection I'd have to say, much to my surprise, it would be 29.

This was, in my opinion - The Best year of my life. Capital B.

I have a full & vibrant life, with people I love and who love me.

I also have a tendency to not show my face in photos, for reasons both artistic & vain, which is perfect for my little 'pseudo-anonymous' blog (though, I suspect, most of the people who read this know exactly who I am) I have compiled what are representations of some of my favorite moments of the past year.

Wine drunk on patios, running the beach in caftans, girl's dinners, flowers in our hair, lunches and vintage shopping, lazy Sundays with the xx blaring - These are the moments that have come to define my 2011.



My first taste of liberation: Girl's Night.



Patio/Brunch/Typical.

 

the Classy Pact.



Jimmy Rigged: Goldi in Sunlight set to music.



Falling in Love for the Weekend.



My Tiny Town Celebrates.
We celebrate from Rooftops.

Further Proof of my Accent Adoration.



The Real Deal.



Independence Day.



Leaving Planet BIOHF3W



in the City, at the Doctor's.



Bowling: Fail.



Parisian kisses at the Poor Man's Melrose.
Bijou Bijou.

Neighborly adoration on a well worn patio.

Home.

Party Hats & Dancing Shoes (or, F! I'm Going To Be 30).

Her name gasped in the night. One last word of a dying man.

But one word that tells a thousand stories of a woman who left her mark on every man she met.

I found this quote & it really resonated with me. I don't know who said it, but it gave me chills, and it reminded me of that look that my Dutchman used to give me & of my wondering what the montage of my life would look like at its end, and who would include me in their own. And you know, as Thirty approaches (quicker than I had expected), it has struck me that I have no idea who will include me in their montage; because, the reality is - whether our lives be long or short, the way we touch people and they in return touch us, is wholly experienced on an individual level. In short, I think we leave our imprints on people without even realizing it, and many leave theirs on us without ever realizing it. Men and women, alike.

So here I am, nearing thirty, and astrologically coming to the end of my Saturn's Return, thinking to myself, 

Chapter 30, Volume 1.



What's next? What's my next adventure? What will be my next addition to my thousand stories? Whats the next thing that will inevitably end up in My Montage - or in someone else's? What will be the next chapter in the 'Folklore of my Life'? 

I have made leaps and bounds this year in many ways internally, and am starting to make headway into the external improvements I have to make as well. I have goals, I have imprints left with me and imprints left to give. I am slowly but surely digging myself out of the complacent hole that the ostrich in me has buried her head in.

I have a dear friend who speaks to me with such excitement when we talk about what I have been going through in the past year, with singledom and friends and work annd yadda yadda yadda, because I know she sees herself at 29 so strongly in me. Where she was at my age is verrrrry similar to where I am now; she and I have had parallel experiences in many ways - and for me, to see her where she is in this moment, the direction her life as gone in since turning thirty - it shows me how much can change in a matter of a year, or two or three. In such a wonderful way. From what I remember her telling me, she had a great 30th birthday surrounded by friends, at the time living in a studio in Hollywood and an exciting life of singledom. And she is now - only a few short years later, successful, living in a beautiful home (with a backyard) and engaged to a terrific guy who suits her perfectly. I already knew that things could change in a matter of a chance meeting or a single great decision, but she is even more walking proof of that we really cannot predict the future, but with positive actions, and by being surrounded by loving people, we can at least attempt a little control as to where it ends up.

She & I, we're a funny combination in conversation, as our brains use the same non-linear way of communication, we go in loops. I'll say one thing, & it'll spark something in her head and she'll tell me a story or thought of her own that relates to mine and I'll hook onto something she said and once she's done there I am relating myself to her thought. We joke about this we talk; the way we internalize what other has to say into our own experiences... We share, we share share share and then inevitably, we Dance.



Thaaaat's gonna leave a mark.



And I do believe, the imprints left by our dancin' shoes (or lack thereof) will be there forever in my story; like the dinosaur's footprints, or the mark of the hole my internal ostrich buried her head in for many many years.

So I'm turning Thirty, and I am willing myself to be excited. To look at it as a leap towards an even better existence. I mean, I am happy, I have great friends, I have a lot to be thankful for and I have hope for the future. I do believe that the next couple months are going to be game changers - actually, I am determined to make sure they are - because, though I am not going to be able to swing my original goal for Thirty (head off to Europe), I don't think its a total failure that I didn't. (I did get a pair of Louboutins, which was my other goal - though deeply discounted, I still got 'em.) And I have a couple friends, like the Flame-Haired Dancing Queen from above, or my Anchoring Ex-Shopgirl, who like me, entered their thirties in a world of in-between-ness, and have since created lives for themselves that are, now, nothing of the sort.

The Beauty of the In-Between.

And the imprints of the In-Between are what have made them who they are today.

I do think the best is yet to come, where me & my wonderful world of being
In-Between meets Adulthood, or whatever it's called.

The kind of Adulthood where you're not afraid to check the mail.

The kind where you can afford to send yourself to Europe. Or take a vacation in general.

Or get an oil change when you're actually supposed to get an oil change.
Or do all other things responsible adults do before they put on their dancing shoes.

So fuckit.

Bring it on, 3-0.

I will have this dance, thankyouverymuch.

Sidenote: I don't know what I am going to do for my actual birthday; I don't necessarily want to go Big, ifyaknowhatImean, but I want to do something.
But also, not the sort of something that basically means, 'Hey friends, come buy me dinner'.
Hell, I'll probably go dancing.

Edit: The top quote is from Mildred Peirce, which makes sense. I loved that story.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

So in my fleeing of the Ex so long ago, I made the swift and not very well thought out decision to take a studio apartment on a tiny peninsula in my tiny town. The peninsula itself is beautiful, and each side is lined with gorgeous multimillion dollar beachfront homes. But, sandwiched inbetween all these stunning properties are a bunch of funky apartment buildings.

Like mine.
Eight units, all the same - all tiny rooms with a kitchen attached.
The Poor Man's Melrose Place.
And speaking of early 90's references, the residents are quite the Motley Crue.

Apt A. The Shut In. He came out to chat with us last weekend and after a weird conversation about punk rock & Nazis, Apt F looked at me quizzically, & asked, 'Where'd he come from?!' Um, he lives here.

Apt B. The Hoarder. My Ex's sister once asked, How's the old man in Apt B?, and my response was, 'Ah, you know... Usually drunk & pants-less.'

Apt C. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World & Her Supermodel Cat. Ahem.

Apt D. The Sassy Chicadee. The only other woman in our entire complex, and the one who told me that the general consensus (okay, between her & Apt E) was that I was not friendly unless I'd had a glass of wine. I told her I was just shy. She has since rescinded the statement.

Apt E. The Mountain Man. Sweet yet very odd guy with great taste in music and an even better sound system. Provides the soundtrack for the weekends. Once asked me out. I said No, I don't think its a good idea to date my neighbors. Oops.

Apt F. My (Accidental) Boooooooooooooooyfrieeeeeeend. Enough said.

Apt G. The Cute Surfer Dude. He does not mingle. Pretty sure he thinks we're all insane. We might be.

Apt H. The Family. Oh yeah, two kids and their Dad aaaaaaaaand his girlfriend. They live above me in a tiny room with a kitchen attached and they vaccuum. A lot.

Apt I. The Old Man. He works nights in an orange reflective vest. For a long time I thought he was a crossing guard, but then realized that isn't really a position that requires a night shift.

Apt J. The Lakers Fan. He is a big black guy who has decorated his entire place with Laker's memorabilia and drives a Lexus with a vanity plate that reads NOH8N. I wouldn't dare.

We all get along just fine, especially us 'kids' in C through F, throwing in some patio time with Bijou for kick. (Though do I suspect that they had some BBQs over the summer I was not invited to.) We're an odd bunch in an odd place.
But it's Home. Capital H. And, much to my surprise these days, I'm okay with that.
Our next plan is to find a video projector and play old movies on the giant white wall that backs up to our parking lot. Or have a dance off. Not sure.

Guidelines, Timelines & My, How Time Flies.

I am a very different person today than I was one year ago.
I mean, if we're doing something right in our lives, hopefully we can all say this every year. But seriously, in terms of personal growth - this has been a pretty fucking banner year for me. Granted, I am still working on a lot - still have a hard time checking my mail and paying parking tickets and being vulnerable in general - but, simply put, I was a hot mess one year ago. A seriously Hot Mess. I had no sense of autonomy, no sense of direction other than down - I was simply in a downward spiral, feeling totally unworthy of love.

I was far too thin, far too wild & far too sad. Why? My internal value system totally out of whack & was wholly dependent on my relationships with men. Since I was eighteen (thats about ten and a half years) I have spent - hold on, let me grab a calculator... about nine years in relationships. And that isn't counting dating or 'seeing someone'. That's nine years of hearing, 'Oh, you're So&So's Girlfriend.' Really, I have always had a boyfriend. And in most cases, a back up boyfriend to lessen the pain of breaking up with my real boyfriend.

Timeline A: The Boyfriends.

As a result, I was lacking the internal values that it took to be a good friend. Self absorbed, with my entire identity being wrapped up in being So&So'sGirlfriend for so long, I lacked the skills to maintain quality relationships with other girls.
I really had no other form of identity aside from whatever relationship I was in.

Timeline B, (the Orange Line):

S

We should totally hang out sometime!

How many times have you heard this? Women are notorious for saying this to each other and never following up. These empty phone number exchanges happen usually in bar bathrooms over vodka tonics with the acquaintance whom, for some reason, is your best friend in the place that night.
And rarely, if not never, do we call. Maybe we'll friend request each other, maybe we'll write 'so good too see you! xo' on one another's walls and then we move on - 'liking' the occasional status update as we go.
Which can kind of make making friends in your twenties difficult. Especially if you didn't have any friends to begin with; whether it be because you broke up with your boyfriend or moved to a far off city in search of yourself. Its hard to make friends as women; I've always said that, when it comes to meeting new people, women (especially young women) typically don't like other women until they have a reason to whereas men tend to like other men until they have a reason not to.

It was Veteran's Day of last year, and I had the day off; my phone rang right as I was getting onto PCH. It was sunny, and warmish for November. So, exactly one year ago, after flailing and failing for a few months post-breakup, I got the phone call that would change my life. It sounds dramatic I know, but the reality is - It really did change my life. And, Idobelieve, it changed her life as well. I had really been struggling at that point because I had very few friends other than some anchoring past coworkers & Bijou, - really, the only other girlfriend I had in my tiny town was my friend for one reason - and one reason only: because she had just broken up with her boyfriend too. We could wallow in loneliness together, but had nothing else in common. So imagine my surprise when it was an acquaintance that I had run into a few weeks prior - an old roommate of one of my closest college friends. We had done the whole song&dance drunk at a bar, the good ole' We Should Totally Hang Out, but I'll be honest - I never thought she'd call. We made plans to meet for sushi in a half hour. I just remember sitting there on the patio, waiting for her to arrive, thinking -

Well, I wonder how this is going to go. I really don't know this girl.

We had never hung out before, other than by chance years before in big groups & to be honest (mostly out of jealousy) I hadn't thought much of her. (Okay, totally out of jealousy.) Lunch went well; we laughed and actually had stuff to talk about - and, I being 'new' to girlfriends, basically talked about mysef the entire time. Imagine that.
This was my First 'Date' with Goldi.
Problem was, initially Goldi and I were a little too wild together. Maybe a lot too wild. Between that, and with me re-learning how to be a good friend in general, there were a few missteps in the first months of our friendship. But during the short lived reunion with my Ex, I found myself missing this new friend, wishing I was out to dinner with her & not sitting on the couch with my Ex. It really wasn't until the morning after I broke up him - and I called her & a couple other girls that I had gotten to be friends with over the same time frame, Honey & Bijou - to join me for my Break Up Brunch #1; it wasn't until after that brunch, when she looked at me as we were leaving our (now) favorite patio, and said,

'Alright, now what? Today is your day.'  

That was the moment, for me, that she I became the true friends we are now. Still wild, though more aware of it, we slowly started bonding in a way that was sort of borderline obsessive. But in a really good way; in a way where we finally - after a series of sort of poor decisions - we looked at eachother on her couch one night and made a pact.
A pact to start acting like grown ups, to stop acting like we were college-aged twits.
To hold one another accountable for their actions.
And if we couldn't, as friends, do that for one another - then we couldn't be friends with one another.

We Sparkle.

Our new (tongue-in-cheek) motto was, Be classy. We decided on more restaurant checks, and fewer bar tabs. More patio parties but now without the bottomless mimosas. We started acting like the most mature seventh grade best friends two twentysomethings could be. Not that we haven't had Fun, with nights running with the grunions on the beach, of singing Lisa Loeb at the top of our lungs on her couch, of tearful I Love You Man conversations over red wine, of spats and of eye rolls; but we have sparkled and sung our way from Winter to Fall. And of that pact, we both internalized it; it became an agreement to ourselves and not so much to each other.

Not a Bromance, a 'Bra'-mance.

Over the course of the past year, I have gained a reallysuperclassy best friend, and through her, a myriad of other amazing friends. And yes, mine and Goldi's relationship has evolved initofitself the past year, between boys and boyfriends and Dutchmen and the curveballs of Life in general, but the reality is - because of that pact; we have both grown up so much this year.
Because of this shift in my own value system; the idea that I was no longer defined by boyfriends, but by my own Friends, my life's little graph now looks like this:

Timeline C, (the Red Line):

See that upswing? F yeah.
Because these days, even though I apparently have a boyfriend again, I am not defined by that.
I am Me. I am defined by what I call, my Collection of Blonds (with a few brunette's and a redhead thrown in for good measure). I am defined by the world I have created for myself. And when my Dutchman was here for a month, though I was a bit harder to reach via telephone on Planet BIOHF3W, our interactions with my circle - the double dates, & happy hours, the wedding & the whole damn experience - it really just amplified how great my life is here to me. That I have so many supportive friends; so many wonderful friends. I was amazed by that snapshot of my life that the Dutchman saw, by the support I have felt all around me for almost a year now.
And this time around, I finally found a boy who is also my Friend, who likes my friends. Who has said, time & time again, that he understands how important my friends are, that the one thing he does not want to happen, under any circumstance, is for our relationship to get in the way of my friendships. And I don't either. The other night, he and I went out & Beauty met up; he was ready to go home, so he sweetly said,

Alright, I'm going to give you guys some girl time.

And he left us the patio, happy as could be.

As much as this little blog is can read at times like a love letter to dating, it is -in fact- a Love Letter to My Friends.

To my Mother, to my Little Sisters, to Goldi, to Bijou; to my girlfriends across the street, my girlfriends in San Francisco. To my girlfriends who invited me to Thanksgiving, who helped me when I was bed bound with a sprained ankle. To my Shopgirls from the past; the ones who were my rocks when I broke up with my Ex in the first place.
Because they are what make me who I am; not Apt F or the Dutchman or the Aussie.
Those boys are the real sidenotes in my Saturn Return.

Because most of this growth has occurred on patios this past year; by being inspired by the women around me. And I have watched each and every one of my friends this past year grow and change; we're all taking those huge steps, & we're taking them together. From job changes, to dating doctors, to ridding our lives of the Beasts, to making friends in the Big City; I have watched each and every one of my friends succeed in so many ways; I have watched my friends flourish. I have felt myself flourish.

And because, now, I have this very love letter to write - because now I have the platform & the courage to write it, and, most importantly, the people to write it about. I have all of these things, because I am a whole enough person in my own right - as just Me - not as So&So'sGirlfriend. Now, I may be ready to attempt something Real for the first time in a long time. And yes, I'm scared - terrified even; because part of me associates real relationships with the loss of friends, and I refuse to be that girl again. I refuse to date someone who would treat my friends as though they are competition with him or any less important than his own friends.

And I found a Friend in Apt F who values my collection of friends as much as I do.

I am a very different person today than I was one year ago today.
And for that, I am thankful.

Happy 'Anniversery' Goldilocks.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough.

I honestly think I would go insane(r) if I didn't have you.

I know I would go insane. Seriously.

We are lucky. Imagine if you didn't randomly sign up for the  jc summer school class.

I know that was 10 years ago. Crazy... We have 70 more years of being best friends!!

The summer I was nineteen - while still living in my hometown & attending a community college made of brick & covered in ivy -  I had to go to summer school as I had spent my first year out of high school and in possession of a driver's licence basically fucking around and working at the mall. I don't remember the specific class, but I walked in that first day in June and - lo & behold! - sitting in one of the desks was a very familiar face.
A very familiar face indeed, as I had technically known her since 2nd grade & we had gone to most of middle school, all of high school, and even a school trip to Europe together. I literally have memories of her from the playground, from Homecoming Rallies and from Sevilla.
But we had never really been Friends. Members of different however somewhat overlapping cliques in high school - hers was undeniably 'cooler' - we had gone to some of the same high school parties (including, but not limited to, a joint Sweet 16/ Happy 21st Birthday kegger), had had a few awkward exchanges, and a few random trips to the beach.
Cue: Um, why am I having a flashback of me and you and so&so&so&so eating cheesebugers in our bikinis at the beach? Was that a dream? Itwasnot. 
But there she was, tall & blonde & sitting in my community college summer school class - home for the summer and making up credits from her state school. It only made sense to carpool together as it was about an hour each way on a two lane highway through wine country. That summer, couped up together in my little red Subaru while listening to the same mix tape on repeat, we just Clicked, Capital C.

Her: Do you think I should change my foundation color now that I'm not tanning anymore?
Me: Yes.

Me: I don't know why everyone thinks I'm a snob.
Her: Probably because you wear Gucci sunglasses. (It was 2001.)

As the years went by she became the kind of friend that I could talk to about anything and everything. Months could go by without talking to each other- you know how life is - and once we got on the phone with one another, we wouldn't skip a beat. Her heart and mine, her mind and mine are so devastatingly similar in so many ways - and so different at the same time.

But we get it; we get each other.

Me: I feel like a slut.
Her: You're not a slut. Sluts don't exist after the age of 27.

Her: I just ate a jar of almond butter.
Me: It's okay, I ate a whole Hawaiian pizza last night. Out of pure loneliness.

Both of us in the throws of Saturn's Return, we know the silly and the sad for one another - from the simplest of style questions to celebrating our successes (and our falterings); without any filter, without any fear of judgement; we can laugh at ourselves. I know what 'stealing batteries' means and she knows what we'll reflect on when we're grandmothers. I can cry to her; I can send the most cryptic of text messages and she knows exactly what I mean. And vice versa. She holds me accountable in ways that no one else can. There have been times where physical distance & even emotional distance have put pause on our closeness, but when we have needed one another, really needed one another - distance and time haven't mattered. She tells me the truth & I give it right back to her.

If you get back together with him, he's going to ask you to marry him. And I know you will say yes. And if you say yes, you're going to end up divorced in five years.

Especially in this up & down emotional roller coaster that has been my life for the past year - whenever I am feeling like I've gone absolutelyfucking Crazy, that something is missing or about to just totally lose it - I usually find myself thinking,

God, it's been awhile since we spoke...

Mt. San Francisco.
 Location: Saturn.

My Godmother, my mother's best friend of thirty years - the Best Friend that she called 'Sis' - a dynamic, magical woman who knew my dynamic & magical mother inside and out, passed away this year.
I still and probably always will choke up when I think of her not being somewhere in this world; she was to my mother as my Best Friend in San Francisco is to me - My very best friend in the world.

In our lives, I believe the people who love us form a quarry around us, they are the rocks that make up the landscape of our lives - and I know I say it ad naseum - but I am blessed to have many rocks. I am lucky in this life to have amazing friends all around, to have a beautiful quarry, to have and have had many best friends - each one of them brings something amazing & spectacular to my life. The landscape of my world is a beautiful one.

And I know I am blessed to have many Rocks, but she is my Boulder.

Sidenote: If the community college gods are listening, thank you for whatever class it was that you allowed that other girl to enroll a week late in the semester.

Well, the Answer Used to Be 'A Bird'.

So verrrrry nice to meet you.

In addition to my best friends in my tiny town and my Best Friend(s) in San Francisco, I also have a Best Friend in France. Actually, she isn't in France anymore, but for clarification's sake, that's still how I refer to her as she lived there for a couple years.

In college, she and I roamed the streets of LA with all the entitlement of two twenty two year olds that didn't know any better. Both brunettes - we likened ourselves to the blonde Chloe girls that were all over the magazines back then. We introduced ourselves as the Crown Princesses of Belgium with our hands extended for a kiss, rubbed shoulders with handsome heirs, and got into Trouble. Capital T. We got into even more Trouble when we were joined by my Best Friend in San Francisco. What a trio we were, I tell you.
And, when people asked the two of us what we wanted to be when we grew up, our answer was always, 'An Icon.'

(Admittedly, we were kind of total bitches. But it was fun.)
As we've grown older, and more mature (wellonecanonlyhope) - we still joke about being Icons. Capital I. A la Lauren Hutton, the Olsens, Kate Moss, Goldie Hawn or Gwen Stefani.
 

I have the icons of a 16 year old circa 2003.

 

Um... Why are all my icons blonde?



And the icons of a 15 year old circa 1993.

So what do I want to be when I grow up, you ask? Well, the answer hasn't changed much.
I want to be an Icon. And an astronaut. And a good person. Oh hell, I don't know.
I want to be a grown up. And an Icon.

Break Up Brunch: Round 2.

Tim Gunn
Goldie Hawn
my Dutchman
my best friend in San Francisco
Jane Birkin
Sean Penn

Ooh this is fun! I love this game! Six People Living or Dead to have your Dream Dinner Party with! Or brunch, whichever. The possibilities are endless! Think of the conversation... Imagine Goldie after an couple of glasses of champagne! My Dutchman being quizzed by Tim Gunn about fashion in the Netherlands - the popped collars, the footwear. Sean Penn blantantly flirting both Jane and my best friend. And me, sitting back, hand in hand with Holland and talking about my mother with Goldie, "You know you two had the same seventh grade teacher..."
I mean I could say to you, It was surreal... I had this dream last night where me, Goldie Hawn, Tim Gunn, and you were there and he was there and we were on a patio...

Sean, can you please
pass the pepper?

So I've got a story for you:
Yesterday I was sitting inside at a very familiar restaurant with Beauty - one where I know most of the waitresses by name (probably because they're all named Megan) and the owner as well. His name is not Megan. Break Up Brunch, Round 2. We were seated right next to the door, with a veiw of the patio, and enjoying guava mimosas and reccounting the night before - We had gone out together so I could drown my sorrows a little (or a lot). I'm a little (okay, a lot) heartbroken over the break up with the Dutchman, but it was something that needed to happen. So, at brunch, I see an old aquaintance of mine seating herself on the patio & I go over to say hi - we had seen eachother the night before and both looked (and felt) a bit bedraggled, we exchange pleasantries but I feel like she's giving me kind of a weird look. I follow her gaze - and BOOM. Sitting himself down next to her is...
My Secret Ex-Boyfriend.
Handsome and floppy haired - I have not seen him in six monthes or more. We do not say hello. We do not meet eyes. He plans his trips to the rest room (as he would have to walk right by my table) for when I go smoke. Longstoryshort; he was who I dated immediately (and secretly) after I broke up with me Ex. It was quite the stealth operation. We lied to our friends, hid our relationship, went out on dates where we were sure not to be spotted. He was never - technically speaking - my boyfriend, but we did have wonderful nights together, walking the beach & talking. Over the course of our three month long clandestine affair, his mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. It was a rough time for both of us, and I deeply felt for him. I found him both brutish and brilliant; I do think he cared about me, but certainly not to the extent I cared for him. He's actually kind of a notorious playboy one town over but rarely meanders over to my tiny town; he sticks mostly to his. So, monthes went by, no one found out and I tried another shortlived stab at a relationship with my Ex and we all moved on. But then somehow, it gets out that my SEB and I dated. I find out through Bijou that it's now public knowledge and by the fact my SEB leaves several Whatthefuck!? voicemails on my phone. To this day, my SEB's best friend very much dislikes me because of the uncomfortable position I put him in because he is also best friend's with my Ex. (Obviously, this was not my moral prime.) I don't know the status of my SEB and Ex's friendship, but considering I may have accidently told my Ex about the first kiss while sleep-talking right after we broke but but still lived together, I do not believe that they are friends either. 
These are not people I would invite to my Dream Dinner-Party or Brunch; but my morning  started to feel like a dream. Perhaps it was the champagne.
So, if you're following this: I broke up with my Dutchman Friday & by Saturday I am sitting uncomfortably close to a man who broke my heart justalittle and his best friend who hates me. Well, I am sitting uncomfortably close to two men who reallyreally do not like me. More people I recognize trickle into the restaurant - all part of this same crowd of locals. Oh no. I call my best friend in San Francisco, and tell her who is there - sitting and laughing right out of veiw. She asks if my Ex is there too, and I say No, but I'm just waiting for him to walk in. Right as I am getting comfortable with the awkward yet benign situation; I see another group walk up in the window. BOOM. My stomach dropsflipsturns.
Yes, there he is. I had been waiting for it - I had been feeling like it was overdue, I mean even my Dutchman had seen him!
There he is. My real Ex boyfriend. New girlfriend & un-friended on facebook sister in tow.

Last night I had a dream that I was grabbing a drink and my Ex, my SEB, their best friend, his sister and his new girlfriend (who he went to high school with and I always suspected they had a thing for one another - she's a divorcee with a bad nose job*), that one guy who accused me of being bipolar and I were all there.                                                                       

*I know, that was low. I'm sure she's very nice.

He'll probably marry her.

It just seems too unreal. But it's a tiny town, and we are all roaming the same main drag.
But still.

why, yes, these are the smallest size they make,
thank you for asking.

The restaurant owner watched the whole scene unfold with sheer terror.
But it is not a dream. It is a nightmare. My unwelcome BB:R2 has become a hilarious - yet still unwelcome - nightmare.
Imeanreally? Really? Who is walking in next? The Aussie? Nothing would shock me.
This is the worst Dream Dinner Party (or Brunch) ever. Although, I will say I have never been happier that I was wearing my skinniest of skinny jeans and had actually blow dried my hair.
There was no hello, my Ex could not even look me in the eye. My SEB, that's a whole other deal, that was a couple monthes but my Ex-Boyfriend of 5 years could not even manage a wave. I stayed put though - well actually, Beauty and I popped around to a couple tables, champagne in hand. It was basically the most ridicuous collection of EverySinglePersonIDoNotWantToSee the day after I break up with my boyfriend. A parade of Ex's, a patio filled with people I have poured my heart out to. I refused to leave the restaurant before them, it would have let them win in my head.
It's my tiny town too, godammnit.
And seriously, I couldn't have been the only uncomfortable one in the restaurant.
The good news is - I'm friends with his sister again on facebook.



Sidenotes: I am so sad about breaking up with my Dutchman, but in the same breathe I will say that it has taken a weight off my heart. I will always care for him; he is a good man & hopefully although it might seem impossible, hopefully - if the stars align - we can try again sometime in the future; I just can't hold my breathe hoping for that. It was too much.
More on that later.

Kiss Kiss. Bang Bang.

I have one friend left from my many many years with the Ex. Actually, when he first met her - he came home and said,

My friend's new girlfriend reminds me exactly of you when I first met you.

So, naturally, I liked her right off the bat. Now this was many years ago, and we were friends right away. But the type of friends that are created by boyfriends, really. She came to my birthdays, we met up as duos for drinks and drinking, ran into each other on holiday weekends. We bonded while chain smoking outsides restaurants over fashion, shoes, ebay finds & The Boys. Rarely, if ever, did we see each other one-on-one.


She should have been a Parisian.

Then, last summer, when I found myself - as you well know - without a boyfriend, without his family, and without friends of my own, it was she who I turned to. She was on a brief break from her boyfriend at the time, so she and I met up for drinks on the rooftop bar of that gym where you can charge your drinks to your gym membership. Three mile run followed by a pitcher of Coors, anyone? From then on, she always made it a point to keep her plans with me when everyone else was wavering, flaking & probably couldn't stand me due to my constant lamenting over my my life sans the Ex. I was going through a hard time, she knew it, and she stood by me & actually listened. She returned my calls, she invited me to parties where I wouldn't know a soul, just to get me out of my house. She kept my secrets and told me hers.
Standing in my tiny kitchen last summer, mixing wine spritzers in to-go cups for the beach, I opened the freezer with my left hand, followed by a hammer from the jar on the table with my right, and started pounding away at the ice block that had formed in my store-bought bag of ice, she laughed her infectious laugh and said,

See!?! Look at us! We don't need no stinkin' men!

In that instant, for first time in a long time, I felt like I finally had an ally standing next to me in my new single studio apartment. On my own for the first time ever, I finally had a Friend of my own in my tiny town. Ironically, it is through her that I have met most of my other friends - my life now is actually the result of my friendship with this little doe-eyed Girlfriend of a friend of my Ex. (Say that three times fast.) She was the key to me creating my own bubble as opposed to walking on blistered tiptoes around my Ex's.

She is dark, hilarious, snarky and fiercely loyal.



We once showed up to a coffee date wearing the
exact same outfit in opposite colors.
NoSeriously,WeDid.



She is the friend that will tell you when she's pissed, but then follow that up by blowing you a kiss.

If I am a Rebel Ballerina, she is my Renegade Little Sister.

Bijou, bijou mon amour.

Joyeux anniversaire. xx 

To know her is to love to hear her say the word, Fantastic:
Fintaaaaaaahstic.

Sidenotes: I feel a bit more anchored today; have done a lot of thinking, went to bed ridiculously early last night (for me at least) but not before relaxing on a Japanese latern-lit patio at a barbeque with a couple glasses of Pinot Grigio and Good People.

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.

(She Has No) BBQ Stain On Her White T-Shirt...

... More likely it's wine & even more likely, I'm the one who spilled it on her.

Blue. Purple. White.
With perfectly tossled golden waves, parted down the middle falling over halfway down her back.
Florals. Denim. Canvas. Kicky.
A delicate mix of beach babe & small town girl.
All paired togther an ever-changing bright mix of jewelry.
(I may or may not be writing some sort of love letter to my friend, here! Did I mention she's got quite a rack!?)
So, over a second Bloody Mary with extra olives, it was Decided. that Goldi - a solid combo of bubble, blonde & bohemian - embodies the perfect California-by-way-of-Country look...
Like Country Music video that was cast in LA, she's a bit of a Nashville Rascal.



ethereal Nashville Rascal



patriotic Nashville Rascal



townie Nashville Rascal.



West Coast Nashville Rascal

I almost wanted to call it California Country Strong, but Goldi's got her shit together way more than lil' Gwynnie did.