Back to the Future (Statements).

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

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

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

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

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

Do these glasses make my Lady Parts look smarter?

Yep. Just like that.

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

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

See: Shit. I have to pack.

'Autumnal' is One of My Favorite Words.

With happiness comes a certain level of monotony, I suppose.
This past week, I have been a happy girl - going about my day to day business of work & boy & friends without much thought. Well, thats not true, entirely. But when most of my thoughts include the following: 'how to make the most space useful out of our closet', 'what handbag do I get for Fall', 'what do I need for Fall', 'what kind of tile to put in the bathroom' & 'what day does the housekeeper come again?' it doesn't make for any sort of inspired blogposts.
So, in an attempt to do something creative (other than reorganizing my closet), here I am.
Type type typing.

Fall. It may be August, and 82 degrees out, but it is Fall in zee world of fashion.
And I'm ready for it. Elle Fashion Issue beside me, new aesthetic of new job slowly but surely creeping into my fashion psyche via osmosis, and a month of working with the same dozen pieces of a my closet while staying at Jim's, I'm ready for a new season, this one being more Gainsbourg's muse and less Rebel Ballerina than ever before. Its funny; clothing to me, getting dressed in the morning has always been like a costume change in the middle of the off-Broadway production of my life: I dress for the scene.
The Rebel Ballerina was rebelling against the Ex; she was not 'like everyone else' like he wanted - she was angry and happy and romantic and guarded. Now, appropriately, with a newish job guiding my eye, and a boyfriend who celebrates my creatively & intelligence, my dress has begun to reflect that. (That and probably my obsession with Meghan on Mad Men.)
Okay, enough windbagging, here is my Wish List for Fall. (Hel-lo it's called 'Style' and SR, right?!)

1. Pants.
I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaate jeans. I own three pairs: one white, one high waist denim & one floral pair for kicks and giggles. I am very very very excited about Pants being on this list. I know, it sounds weird, but we're not juuuuuust taking about pants. We're talking about Pants. Capital P. I already have a pair en route from wardrobing at work; high waisted navy silk, with tiny silver polka dots. Nipped in at the ankle, slightly pleated at the waist, I want to pair them with black pumps and a silk shell. Also, I love polka dots right now.

2. According to Elle, I need a leather shift dress. Perfect. I have one I've never worn and love very much.

Done.
Enough of a numerical list, it's too much pressure.
Also, on my list:
A folio clutch.
A lady like croc-embossed Doctor's bag.
The new Cat Eye sunglasses.
Other than that, I'm focusing on finding a tile to redo the bathroom with.
And a good way to maximize space in the closet.

Rough draft of closet interior.
This is what I do now.

Oh, all that ...And sending in my thirty day notice on my Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached.

Connect Me To My Dear Friend, Charlie, Post Haste.

My dearest Little Sister,
I apologize for recommending that you find - and I quote - 

'Creative outlet... Like I did with Pinterest'. 

That was... Well, weird for one. And smug for two.
You're only 27. You don't have to have anything figured out. I swear. 
And as for the shit you are figuring out? You're doing a fine job at it.

You are!
Every time you laugh,
a fairy gets it's wings.

Better than fine. 
Hell, I'm thirty and I still say things like, 'Find a creative outlet like I did with Pinterest.'
(And I talk about it like it's a real thing; as though I've joined some existential MENSA book club. 
I had to spell check the word existential, forgodssakes.)
You know what advice I do have?
It's not even mine, but it made me feel better when I received it.
Last Autumn, when I was feeling entirely out of control, and having ups and downs like the Colorado Rockies have mountains, I went as far to write asking for the advice of advice guru E. Jean, of ELLE Magazine.
I'm not sure if I ever told anyone I did it, but I love her, and felt... Helpless at the time.
It was a mess of a letter, more personal than I ever had been to anyone with my name attached, but...
She wrote back. 
(And, I cried.)
And no, it's not the exact.same.situation, but her words are golden, and more eloquent than mine can be at times
(see: above comment from a-hole big sister).
Here is her response.
And It's damn good advice.
And it helped me.
A lot. 
And you're already doing it now, and that's the best you can do.

Miss D! Miss D! Miss D!

*Pretend she's saying your name, okay?

You are so clever and marvelous and talented---- 

You DON'T HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING. 

JUST one tiny thing every day. 

One piece of mail, for instance..... 

Try it!
Tiny
Tiny
Tiny! 

Ravishing regards,
E. Jean

Gawd, she's amazing.
And more importantly, so are you.
You will land on your feet, I swear - whether it be during a charity marathon or a leisurely stroll. 
I promise.
And, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.

Kid, I've got your back.

I love you.
More than Pinterest.

The Lies We Tell Ourselves.

Text to Bijou:

Everytime I find myself looking at wedding shit on pinterest I fight to urge to shout, to no one in particular,

I swear, I'm just holding it for a friend!

Five Stars: A Recipe for a Perfect Weekend.

2 bunches, Tuberose and lillies purchased by the boyfriend on Thursday.
1 Housekeeper on Friday.
Generous amount of coffee, to taste.
1/2 jar, William's Sonoma Belgium Waffle Mix
2 tickets, Laguna Beach's Sawdust Festival for Saturday.
2 albums, recommend Nico's Chelsea Girl & Passion Pit's Gossamer (substitutions accepted)
2 tickets and a parking pass to Sigur Ros at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery for Sunday. (here)
2 servings each, prosciutto, salami, goat cheese & apricot preserves, crackers, balsamic marinated mozzarella, fresh basil, cashews, grapes, cut strawberries and a baguette separated into two large tupperware containers, with individual ingredients separated as necessary. (see: below)

The most uptight picnic ever.
Hell, no one's ever accused me of being
Easy Going. 

2 perfect margaritas*, served over ice in never been used Vera Wang hi ball tumblers.

*For Margaritas: 2 parts Patron Silver, 

1 part Rose's Sweet Lime Juice, 1 part contreau. Fresh cut limes to taste. 

Salt as desired.

Sprinkle all ingredients generously with the feeling of having all the time in the world.

I had the weekend off.
A weekend off, for No Reason other than it was a weekend.
A weekend to Be.
To buy art for the living room.
To listen to music.

To discover that, yes, I have in fact finally found a man that will dress up as Richie Tennenbaum to my Margot.
To do my hair and to be told I'm beautiful.
To learn that a Lazy Sunday is preferential to a Sunday Funday.
To make bad jokes and to sing unabashedly in the car.

To sit quietly on Pinterest, every once and a while calling him over to look at things of interest.
To just Be Together.

A weekend that makes you want for as many ways to say the word 'Love' as the Inuit have for 'Snow'.

I love him like fifty six words for snow.

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

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

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

Them Heads really know how to Talk.

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

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

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

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

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

Gawd, if I could have only known.

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

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

 and I am packing my shit into it and 

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

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

I spent a loooooooottttttttt of time ducking those proverbial hits. 

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

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

'Fearful' is not the right word. 

'Afraid' is better. 

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

For the most part, they've dissipated. 

I drink less. I smile more. 

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

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

Apt F taught me that I am lovable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I did. 

In my head, I was. 

My Australian gave me own glimpse. 

A glimpse into a Whole New Woooooorrrrlllldddddd of adult dating.

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

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

Man oh man, I deserve this Love. 

I deserve a Love Like This.

I want this Love. 

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

And its been a learning process, an imperfect process. 

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

Everything is perfect.

Perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is It.

Caveat: Or at least I sure hope so. 

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

Parental Meeting 101.

Stay away from sex, religion & politics.
And - ya know - probably save my vintage leather dress for another occasion.

Never Ever Will I Ever.

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

C. JoyBell C.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have changed. 

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

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

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

It's growing up. Its moving forward. 

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

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

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

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

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

And that's okay. 

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

Or the F for that matter. 

My friends are growing and changing and I am too. 

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

Its okay that I have faux-moved to suburbia. 

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

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

I forgive myself for that. 

I sound like Stuart Smallies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or beat myself up over. 

I just have to accept that I am changing. 

We are changing. 

Things change.

And I have to remind myself that that is okay.

That is a good thing. 

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

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

Even though I said I never would again. 

Even though I haven't been asked to.

I want to really come Home.

An Oprah Moment.

Full Disclosure.

The MMM hasn't a mustache any more.
Nor does he drive an M series, its something else by Beamer, an 'S' series something.
Though, he's still a bit mysterious.
So, the MMM isn't really fitting, now is it?
His name is Jim.

My Not My House Home.

So, I'm lounging here, with hot coffee in a mug and Bon Iver playing on my itunes, reading recaps and pinning pins, and I feel so... Comfortable.
I'm at home. Even though it is not technically mine, I would much rather be here, with a couch and a bed, and the energy that has built up in this newish condo in suburban Irvine between me and M. Here, we are happy.
Here, we lounge watching Our Shows, with Our Cats, and Our Vera Wang hi ball tumblers that we found at Home Goods together for $4 a piece. Here, we has quite literally created a space that is just that, Ours.
And though we have not been together long, and though I still (and will) have my own place far away at the beach, this space have become a combination of both our tastes.
Modern and new, mixed with vintage and old. The whimsy of a boy who spent some time in college staring at lava lamps and listening to Jimi Handrix, with the hints of a girl with likes to decorate with books and flowers, and has done so since college. I mean it's his place, so it is reflective of both his grown up tastes (that light fixture, dark woods) & and his boyish good nature (Math Art! Lime Green! Psuedopsychedelic prints), but its come together well.

Remember his old place?
When I walked in, and thought 'This guy needs a girlfriend.'
Well... He has one now.
This is my Not My House Home.
And I love it.
So, I snapped some pictures. Bear in mind, I'm in Irvine.
And its not done.
And I am no magician.
I arrived at a shell: a couch, a coffee table and a dining room table.
Oh, and a God awful brass light fixture over the dining room table.
We've done everything as a team, together.
Next up: the closet and then the bathroom.
Though, I did ask if he still wanted to do his orginal (teal/Casbah-inspired) idea for the bathroom last night and he looked at me and sweetly said, 'No. Do whatever you want.'

The Living Room (I originally wrote: The Loving Room, which was a mistake, but Hmmm...)

Mug, coffee filled.
Pillows, Restoration Hardware.
Shelf, Ikea - with findings from life, Ikea, Anthro.
Wine crate, gift from my old shop.
One of my favorite things ever.

Coffee Table book purchased on our way home from Palm Springs,
at the James Perse outlet.
It is not, in fact, by James Perse but only
JP-Approved.
Kate Spade 5 Burroughs coaster.

Why yes, that is a First Edition book of Poems.
Yes, M has read them aloud to me.

Over the Fireplace.

Behind the front door.
This is the sconce that prompted the balance conversation.
Anthro, for like thirty two bucks.

Vintage Bar Cart, also from the old shop.
Now serving as a valet stand & bookcase by the front door.
Yes, I have moved some of my furniture in.

Dining Area.

He gets flowers every weekend while I am at work.
The checkers always ask if he is trying to 'get out of the doghouse?'
'No, I just like fresh flowers...'

Dining area. That light fixture is what started it all.
Yes, those are 'Math' paintings.
Left to his own devices on Etsy.

Bedroom.

Kat Moss' new digs.
Johnathon Adler lamps.
(We have since moved the picture up about five inches.)

So its colorful, its a little irreverent (?)
...and it finally feels like people live here.
Because, they do.
Happily.
With two cats.

Sweet Satisfaction.

A Wise Woman said to me, via IM today, after a catch up & fill in session,

'We are adults! We used to borrow keg taps now we borrow paint primer.'

Or...

Lazy Girl.

I gave myself permission to spend the entire day bouncing between Pinterest, facebook & tumblr, all while doing my nails, putting off doing my hair, listening to Lana Del Rey, washing my white jeans to wear on my daily day off trip to TJ Maxx and drinking many many cups of black coffee.
Don't worry Mom, I also had a bagel & cream cheese.
I am being Lazy and Content in my Not My House Home.
I'm slowly cleaning up, though the place is so clean from my last day off on Monday, M cancelled his cleaning lady for the day.
Actually, I'm gonna take some pictures.
In a bit.

Geometrics.

One of the best things about M is that after writing it all down yesterday, and feeling the catharsis that comes along with putting all my thoughts into one cohesive idea (rant, ramble, what you will), is that after all that & the fear and the insecurity - the best thing about Us is that I can tell him all of it. I can tell him about the fear, and the writing, and the general ease I feel now after writing, and he just smiles and understands and loves me.

'The way I feel about it, he said, is that if we [our relationship] were a graph, it would start here (he motioned with his arm) and just keep going up.'

Without belittling me, or my feelings, but while still letting me know that, at this point on the graph, my fear is unwarranted, and simply that - just a fear.

And I feel better.
Whole.
I am happy.
And in Love.
And I deserve to be.

Also, Goldi's Golden Birthday is approaching... 
We need ideas for a Birthday Party. 

the Fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I'm pretty sure it's not.

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

New Beginnings.

thirty.score

I think I'm gonna play over here for a while.
(that's a link by the way)

Happy Endings.

Kat Moss has moved out.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Balancing Act.

There is a sconce I picked out for M's place; it's red and probably paper mâché - it is fashioned into a vertical rectangle, except for the lower right corner, which is asymmetrical and looks chipped off.
The other night, after lighting the candle, and admiring our handywork, he looked to me and said,

'I like the right corner. I like that it's different.' 

And I responded with,

'Thats what I like about Us. I bring out the less structured and more non-linear side of you. And you bring out a more structured me. We balance eachother.' 

To which he agreed.
Wholeheartedly.
I've met his brother.
The condo is nearly done.
I'm happy and spoiled and treated better and with more respect than I ever have been before.
And our Balance is no act.

My fourth of July was perfect, and I am Loved.

A Bit of Free Advice.

One of the most important things I've learned about dating men not in their Twenties?

Always keep antacids on hand.

Feel free to quote me on that.