Farewell Dating Blog, It’s Been Real

C post, L post

Y’all, it’s *so* much easier to joke about being bad at dating than it is to actually to date. In all honesty, I’m just a girl with a lot of scars and a bitter taste in my mouth. If I were to throw down my cards, it would be a hand flush with distrust and self doubt cloaked in sarcasm. WHO WOULDN’T WANT TO DATE THAT, am I right?!

It’s about time I stop using this blog (and everything else in my life) as an excuse for avoiding love, dating, and all that big, bad relationship stuff. “I hate dating” loosely translates to, “I’m terrified of vulnerability.” Brene Brown should be my personal life coach.

And seeing as L is madly, truly, deeply in love and I’m going on a warpath against my bag o’ issues, it’s time to retire this precious blog that has served us so well for over a year. For those that are curious, my current status: single. Yes, I’m still calling on my on-demand boyfriend, flirting with the young coffee boyfriends, thinking inappropriate thoughts about men in relationships, and the latest news? My first boyfriend from high school is most likely going to be my new roommate.

Turns out I am worthy of love and I’m going to try my darndest to trust men again. I just got back from a trip to the desert with my best friend, burning sage and getting lost in red rocks. I’m using that trip as the catalyst to act like the nearly 30 something person that I am. Southern Utah… It changes lives.

Searching for GIFs to match my angst has been a true pleasure, and I will miss ranting and raving about all things love. Fingers crossed that by letting go of my bitterness and distrust, a handsome, kind, smart, funny, and ambitious man will literally drop from the sky.

Here’s to love, life, and potentially finding a man to share my heart with.


A little over a year ago, C “talked me into” starting this dating blog. By “talked me into” I of course mean she said something along the lines of “hey let’s do something silly” which I of course immediately YASSSSSSSed my way into.


We started out strong, attempting to date semi-regularly and putting ourselves out there. There were moments of pause for both of us because life gets busy, careers come first, and our dogs are better than most people. But then we both faded. Me, because I met someone, and C because… well you just read her update.


When people had asked me early on what would happen to this blog if I met someone, I had fully planned on continuing to write. Plus, real talk, I didn’t foresee myself meeting someone. Once Right Swiped myway into the wonderful life I’m building with Steve Martin, I tried to continue writing with semi-regularity… doing the whole introducing and documenting a few wonderful firsts thing. But as our relationship has continued (LOOK MA, 6 MONTHS!), it’s proven more difficult to write about him and us. I brag about him all the time on social media, so it felt a little excessive to pour out paragraph after paragraph about him here as well. We’re grossly happy, and well, no one wants to read paragraph after paragraph about that. If you do, that’s what Nicholas Sparks is for, yo!


So, this is my official sign off from this here dating blog.  While I don’t know exactly what my next project will be, don’t worry, I promise it won’t be mommy blogging.

Dating 101 : Don’t Get Drunk

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Turns out I date men who love alcohol.

I blame it on the 20-something culture where being social means you’re drinking. Gloss over any state of discomfort with booze and you are golden.

Whatever the case, I’ve been with my fair share of men that had an unhealthy relationship with booze. Now, don’t get my wrong, I am known to imbibe. I have a weak spot for whiskey and beer, and it’s hard for me to turn down an invitation to grab drinks. That being said, I know my family history, I’ve heard the horror stories, and my type A personality has a firm grasp on where to draw the line. Approximately three times a year I put myself on a cleanse, which basically means I abstain from alcohol for a month, existing on a diet of vegetables, eggs, and little else. Fuck yeah I feel amazing. Fuck no it’s not sustainable. If there were ever a time to throw up one of those cliché cartoon magnets that says “life is too short to not eat chocolate and drink wine”, it would be now.

I recently met a man and we set our first date at a nearby pub. The banter was friendly, I was pleasantly surprised by his 6’4” stature, and he threw down some one-liners that actually made me laugh. I like to think of first dates as interviews, and this fella deserved a second one, ASAP. A prolonged hug and innocent smooch left us making tentative plans to hang out this weekend. Saturday rolled around, and after spending the day hiking, I found myself at least 40% excited to see this gentleman. While that might not seem impressive… it is. I hate small talk and dating. So, while the temptation of my hound dog and my new apple spice tea (LEAVE ME ALONE, I KNOW I AM 80 YEARS OLD) nearly led me to cancel, I channeled my inner “dater” and we set a time to meet. A few minutes later he sends over a text along the lines of, “I’ll most likely be intoxicated, FYI.”

Fellas. Here’s the thing. If you’re into a lady, think she’s kind of cute, might want to kiss her face, DO NOT GET DRUNK BEFORE YOUR SECOND DATE. There’s such a thing as class. And being a gentleman. And giving a fuck. Granted, I’m not a high maintenance gal. Anything traditionally romantic gives me the heebie jeebies. My high school boyfriend once filled my room with candles and poetry he wrote for me, and I nearly cried because I thought he was hiding in my closet to “surprise” me. It doesn’t take much to woo me, but I like men to at least give a little bit of a shit. I like them to at least pretend to make an effort to win me over. Needless to say, I sent a snarky text about being stone cold sober and choosing baking and my dog over him, and proceeded to have a lovely Saturday night in.

Moral of this story: if you are a normal, smart, handsome man who isn’t addicted to alcohol, please give me your number.

A Positive Post for a Change… #TexasForever

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A lot of my time on this blog has been spent complaining about men. My inability in finding a fella I want to date, the fact that I’d rather spend time with my dog, how I don’t trust them, etc. The thing is, I know some very amazing men, and it’s about time I added a positive spin from my side of the world.

Last week my pal came up from Texas. He is the reason that I stayed in Austin when every fiber of my being wanted to give up on that town. Initially, finding my rhythm down there was tough. I was broken in more ways than one. A part of my heart was in love with him, but most of my heart was just so thankful to find a friend. I could lean on him. His friendship, and my ability to open up to him, is why I gave Austin a bit of myself. Without his friendship I wouldn’t have found my lifelong soul mates in that warm and delightful town.

Our friendship is a two way street. I know he trusts me. He tells me things and values my opinion. We write letters to each other and I find joy in psychoanalyzing him. He tells me about his lady troubles and I ask him why I can’t seem to find someone that takes my breath away. I have these brilliant men in my life who I carefully stack into the best friend category. People always raise their eyebrows and say, “well, you’re clearly in love with him.”

You’re right, I am 100% in love with him. But I don’t want to make him mine. Perhaps it’s out of fear of losing him. I have lost best friends by taking that plunge, and it hurts. A deep ache that I would like to avoid. Perhaps it’s because the friendship I have with him is so much more important to me. Or, it’s because I know that dating him would drive me up the fucking wall. He’s wonderfully imperfect, and as his friend I find all of it charming. If I were to date him? I’m fairly certain we’d kill each other. My anxious type A personality would drive him insane, and his ability to over analyze EVERYTHING would make me push him off of something tall.

Old co-workers have always hinted at how they thought we would have gotten together, little pushes towards how we should at least give it a try. But to me, this man is in the category of men that I trust unfailingly. Why oh why would I ever mess with that?

His place in my heart is to be the brilliant, trust worthy, two stepping, guitar playing hippie that I give copious amounts of shit to. I tell him my issues, and he tells me his. We drink beer and dance. We share life plans, big ideas, broken hearts, and the grand adventures we both want to explore.

And I trust him.

I trust him with my brain, my heart, my friendship… To me, that is enough.

I’m a Real Life Trainwreck (In a Charming Way, I Promise)

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I promised I would respond to Trainwreck as a follow up to L’s real and raw post about how this movie hit close to home. Let’s start with my girl Amy. I love that she is an intelligent, hilarious, kick ass feminist who speaks her mind. If you have yet to read her speech about sex and self love, stop reading this and go do that. It’s much more eloquent than any of the dribble I’m throwing down at the moment.

So yeah, I loved the movie. It was delightfully raunchy and you knew from the opening credits exactly how it was going to end, just like any good romantic comedy. Of course she was going to get scared and lose him, only to do some grand gesture to win him back. Also, her dance moves were impressive. I spent a long time trying to find this song so I could dance around my room to it, pretending I also know how to shimmy and shake.

I don’t think any woman can go into a rom com these days and leave with high hopes… Or maybe it’s just my very pessimistic heart? Dating is the fucking pits, and the online sphere only makes it worse. Y’all, L and I have been writing this blog for MONTHS, and I’m in an even worse place than when we started. Maybe I’m more like Amy than I thought? Let’s outline THIS trainwreck so I can pretend that I have something to write about that is relevant to dating.

  • My on- demand boyfriend. That’s still a thing. I haven’t seen him for a month(ish) and I’m okay with it. I adore the shit out of him and he’s my go-to for random adventures, but I’m still in the same place. I’m not going to fall deeply in love with him and make him my lobster. If that were the case, it would have happened already.
  • All those boys that hold pieces of my heart? They still have little bits of me. Strings that they pull to remind me that they are still very much camped out in there. They remind me that for awhile I wore vulnerability a little bit better, and let some other hearts waltz with mine. All of that romantic nonsense that allows you to let your guard down and rely on someone for a large chunk of your happiness.
  • I think I now have a profile on any and all dating websites, and haven’t gone on a single date for approximately 9 months. I have made plenty of dates and I have cancelled on every single one of them. Yes, I am that girl. There is just so much about online dating that makes me tired. I will pull any excuse, knowing that I would rather find my next partner by accident. All those memorable ones from my past? They started out as eye flutters turned to friendships turned to long letters turned to love. I wooed them slowly. Dropped sass and sarcasm, thick as honey, until there was nothing left to say but yes. And they did. And when we fell into it we already knew the way each other laughed. They already knew how I like to make big plans (learn the banjo, bike across the country, quit everything and travel for a year) and that I get scared when actually faced with change. I like to ease into love. It takes time to break down these walls, and when you do… Boy oh boy, do I know how to love.

  • My distrust… It’s only grown. I was recently in a very interesting situation where a fella and I were flirting and I once again dabbled in that terrible and treacherous world of being the “other” woman. It was harmless, or I assumed it to be, until a very dear friend pointed something out to me. Choosing her words as carefully as she could, she reminded me that making these plans with a boy who was very much taken would only make my distrust grow. How easy it is to woo men away from those things they claim to love! Don’t worry, I stopped flirting with such a terrible idea. Perhaps that’s the first step in learning how to trust again? Or perhaps karma is reminding me that I have acted the part of the other woman, and perhaps my defeated and callused heart just won’t warm up again. But that is far too depressing to think about, and I think I still have some hope left.

Man oh man, that list definitely makes me sound like a trainwreck. However, this post isn’t asking the internet world for a pity party. Like I’ve mentioned in almost every single one of my posts, my life is full of very beautiful things. My time is well spent with family, friends, and making future plans… All of these things that create a colorful and beautiful life. For now, that’s enough.

Owning My Trainwreck

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It’s been nearly a month since my last update, which means that Steve Martin and I are about to cross the three month mark. While I went into this blog project with C hoping to meet someone after essentially a decade of singleness, I wasn’t expecting to actually land a mega-babe and experience what is without a doubt my first partnership with a man. This is the first time in who knows how long that I can’t see an end-date or something that would make me cut and run. You might assume that in and of itself would make me want to cut and run, but it doesn’t. That being said, it isn’t all roses and it almost entirely has to do with my isms and deep dark fears, most of which came spilling out on a sidewalk of sobbing the other night.


Spoilers about Trainwreck ahead – consider yourselves warned!

Steve Martin and I had tickets to see the first movie in years I’ve seen opening day, Trainwreck, because I was pretty sure it’s the first and only movie that’s ever featured a character I could really, truly relate to. Sure, Nora Ephron has written some knockouts and I love so many rom com babes, but there’s just something about the way Amy Schumer owns her life and body and choices that makes me want to drink white wine and say “yassssss queen.” I had a hunch on the way it all would play out would be all too familiar (based on the trailer and articles I gobbled up prior to its release), but I wasn’t expecting it to hit so shockingly close to home that I erupted in tears after exiting the theater.

You guys, I laughed my ass of during this movie. I would go see it again in a heartbeat. But something that happened in it made my skin crawl and made my stomach sink and scared me silly. As you might gather from the premise, Amy’s character has a long history of casual relationships and it’s not a thing that she hides from her love interest in the movie. He seems to embrace it and not really pay it any mind because it has nothing to do with their current relationship. Then, during their first fight, he throws in her face her prior history and a few other “less than desirable” traits.

amy drunks

It was the last thing I was expecting. I sat there stunned in the theater trying to keep it together as I flashed back to The One Who Got Away hurling those same words and thoughts and feelings at me during our first fight. Before that moment, Amy’s movie boyfriend hadn’t payed her past any mind in the same way that TOWGA hadn’t payed my past any mind. It all came out of the blue as the lowest of low blows.

Since that moment in my life, I’ve made a very deliberate choice to own my history and my experiences and my choices. Any man who gave a shit about “my number” was promptly dismissed from the roster, and any friend who paused before laughing at one of my stories or god forbid tried to scold me had the same fate.


Cut to the movie’s conclusion, with Amy doing a full song and dance (literally) to win the boyfriend back. She was left fighting to prove that she was good enough for him. Yes, you read that right. Are you pissed? I was pissed.


I walked out of the theater and was just overall overwhelmed. It all hit too close to home and left me terrified. Would this be what would happen with Steve Martin? Would he come to resent the many glasses of wine I consume or the many men that make up my dating history? I’ve had a man I thought was perfect point out what he considered my personal flaws and use them against me and against our relationship.

As I completely fell apart into Steve Martin’s chest outlining these thoughts and fears and predictions for our future, he promised this would never be the case for us and for him. My past isn’t something he would ever use against me, and it’s not something he considers when considering me and our relationship. And he wasn’t just saying that to get me to stop crying in public, he was saying it because he actually means it. Weird, I know.

Like I said at the start of this post, I went into this blog project with C hoping to meet someone after essentially a decade of singleness. I wasn’t expecting to actually land a mega-babe and experience what is without a doubt my first partnership with a man. A man who actually and completely loves me because of who I am, not despite who I am.


My “Love” Language (ha.)

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Here’s your update… I don’t have one? I had such high hopes that this blog would push me to try harder, be more adventurous, be less cynical, etc. etc. As y’all know, L hit the jackpot and locked down a very handsome man that adores her. Kudos L, kudos. Me? Well, my heart is just not in it. I think this is due to a number of things.

Firstly, I have my on demand boyfriend. Say what you will, it’s the perfect situation in so many ways. We play house together when we are both feeling domestic, and I have someone to call on when I want to escape the city. We like each other’s faces enough to sustain this unique relationship for the past year, but the expectations are nonexistent. If he happened to fall head over heels in love, I would toast his heart, kiss him on the cheek, and wish him well. I know he feels the same. Until then, we will find comfort in each another, playing banjo in the backyard over Steve Martin songs, whiskey, and fresh coconut.

Secondly, I still don’t trust men. I realize that this is something I have to address and work on. I know that I’m the only person in control of this. I am aware, don’t worry. I also know that this isn’t something that will happen overnight (or over two years). It will take patience and resolve. For now I work on finding friends who are good men. They remind me that they DO exist. I don’t date these men because I’d rather be their lifetime friends. I have lost too many beautiful hearts to lose the few good souls I have found.

Thirdly, I don’t know if I want a relationship. My life is my family, my friends, my dog, my work. I know that when I find a man I want to make a life with, I will make time for him. I have done it in the past, so I know I’m capable. The problem is, since my last boyfriend, I haven’t found a fella I want to call home. Sure, I have found/dated/slept with a number of wonderful people, but none of them have been my wake-up-slow partner in crime. I have felt that before, and I won’t settle down until I feel it again. Call it picky, call it ridiculous, call it whatever you want. Until I feel the rumblings of love in the pit of my stomach, I will write casual on their name tag and continue the search for my lobster.

For now, I make due with silly situations. I have my on demand boyfriend, I have my inappropriate texts with off limits fellas, I have my weird attachment to a boy that I can’t pin down. I have my heart scattered among a number of different scenarios, none of which are traditional or “healthy” or run of the mill. Maybe that’s just it. Maybe I exist to flit and be single and remind men that women can be casual too. Maybe my existence on this earth is to have brief bursts of no- strings-attached romance. Perhaps I am meant to fling myself into the world and collect men and one off relationships like stamps. As L and I continue to wander through our versions of love, our stories are going to shift. She will focus on what it means to fall for a good and honest man and I will move further from traditional.

Who knows, maybe that IS my language of love.

Baby Steps and Mini-Milestones

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I remember in high school celebrating monthly anniversaries was like a real THING. Couples would brag about each and every milestone, keeping a tally of each time they had flowers delivered during 2nd period. This isn’t high school and I’m 27 not 17 but still, I have a pretty big anniversary coming up in my adult life. Steve Martin and I are about to cross the 2 month mark and it’s embarrassing that I’m even keeping track of that. But there’s a neurotic reason for it, because of course there’s a neurotic reason for it. There’s a neurotic reason for everything in my life.


I had this realization when starting this dating blog with C – I hadn’t had a relationship last past 6 weeks in a shockingly long amount of time. The last time I had something pass the 2 month mark was almost 7 years ago. SEVEN YEARS. We had a different president! I wasn’t legally allowed in bars! Bon Iver was everyone’s favorite sad indie dude!


That relationship left me pretty scarred in a way I didn’t fully admit to myself until recently. While there have been men who I’ve said the nasty little “I love you” phrase to since The One Who Got Away left, those men never made it past the 6 week mark for a reason. When I started to feel strongly for Steve Martin, I did a little research. According to this incredibly reputable article I read (kidding, it’s probably trash), it takes roughly 7 weeks to fall in love with someone. What I knew subconsciously all along was proven after a simple google search: I was cutting and running before I got too far in over my head.


I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m a control freak. I know, I know – shocking. With each man I’ve dated over the last few years, the relationship dissolved because I didn’t ever want to risk being as hurt, wrecked, and generally unlike myself as I was circa 2008. I’m good at being alone, I’m not good at being a weeping pile of human garbage. Option A is much more desirable than Option B clearly. I’m not a pretty crier for starters although I am very much a fan of angsty breakup music.


I’m not celebrating 2 months going strong with Steve Martin in some big stupid way, I’m a grown ass woman despite my love of teenage drama’s from ABC Family after all. But it’s nice to have tracked down a man who I love and who is a real partner through my all too numerous neurosis. He doesn’t seem to mind that I have no idea what to do when it comes to relationships or Batman video games. I hear that all this is worth the risk so we’ll see if you were all lying to me over the years or what.


Bragging Is For Lovers

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A funny thing happened at mine and C’s high school reunion: Instead asking me about my life or my work or the classic “so what are you up to these days,” most people wanted to know about my relationship or to talk about the dating blog. Shoutout to a male classmate who let it be known that he didn’t know I was funny until reading this. Thanks dude, guess that’s the reason you tried to light my hair on fire at a high school football game? Whoa, that got dark for a sec, sorry.


C, the perpetual charmer, got to dodge dating questions by professing she’s single because she hates everyone (which is mostly true because most people are hatable). Me on the other hand, I have no such escape route. I was left stammering about Steve Martin and our relationship and how great he is and it is.


The weird thing about being in a great relationship is my weird inability to talk about it in public.

I wonder if people would read/enjoy this blog if I just used it to document all the adorable shit that comes out of his mouth. Don’t you guys just want to know about the living nightmares C and I willingly take home? Do you really want to hear about how Steve Martin and I have danced in my tiny studio apartment to Foreigner, or how we go on bowling and hot dog dates, or the circumstances under which we exchanged “I love you” for the first time? Did you just puke in your mouth in a little? MY FEAR EXACTLY (that shit tastes terrible and I care about you).


Honestly, I’m way more comfortable talking about the negative things that happen in my dating life because they’re easier to make a joke out of. Loving someone is full of funny silly ridiculous moments too of course, but as I have yet to fart in front of him, they’re less straightforward to write about. The first fart story though is sure to be a doozy.

So while I yammered on about Steve Martin and the status of the blog to the people who brought it up at the reunion, it left me feeling really strange. Bragging about the unbelievably healthy partnership I’ve found just feels too good to be true. Some days he feels too good to be true. As someone who has lived a perpetual glass half empty keep your expectations low so you never get hurt if you can laugh through it you can live through it overall worst case scenario lifestyle, I don’t really know how to express this happiness stuff. But I’m working on it.


My High School Reunion

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I went to my high school reunion last night. It was awkward and bizarre and amazing. Just as you would imagine something like that would be. Combine a lot of alcohol and thousands of conversations starting with, “so, what have YOU been up to?” and you’re bound to have a good time.

L and I got quite a few folks commenting on this blog which was flattering and somewhat surprising. Needless to say, I got a few questions regarding my lack of posting lately, so here I am. I wish I could give you some awesome update like L with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach. I cannot. I am in the same place as always. Working way too much, hating online dating with a fiery passion, and only eyeing those that are completely off limits. So yeah, I’m in a super good place… per usual.

Instead of talking about my inability to be a normal, functioning adult who dates or whatever, let’s talk about HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS!!! At the end of the night I ended up taking my high school boyfriend home. But before you get all “WHAT THE SHIT?!” on me, let me explain. He came back to my friend’s house with five of my besties and we just stayed up late, drunkenly shoving food in our faces as we talked about how odd the evening had been.

It’s strange to walk into a room full of people you haven’t seen in 10 years and try and figure where they belong in your heart and brain. There were the boys that took us to dances, the girls that were scary and mean, the people I couldn’t place for the life of me, my favorite teacher and many more. And then there was the boy who camped out in my heart, leaving an etched out space for himself, as first loves always do.

There’s nothing as ridiculous and magical as your first relationship. You fumble through hand holding and the first kiss. Figuring out how to act at school with each other is a tightrope walk, as you’re also navigating how to be a real human. My first relationship was with a punk rock kid who had lip piercings and was in a band. My mom disapproved immediately and my dad just remembers him as the “super tall kid who was ridiculously skinny.” To me, he was a dream. He played guitar! And had dyed hair! His snake bite piercings made him JUST enough of a bad ass that I tried to learn what flirting meant, and started practicing.

Our first kiss was outside in the rain at the house that was everything our parents feared and everything we loved. Two of my best friends happened to be dating two of his best friends, so it only made sense to join in on the fun. We spent a year or two holing up in the top floor of this parentless house, playing video games and being ridiculously in love.

I’ve touched on how blissful naïve love is. You go into it without any preconceived ideas or fears, except maybe what you saw in 10 Things I Hate About You. You figure each other out through hours on the phone, talking about nothing as you had just seen each other ALL DAY at school. There wasn’t all that stupid adult shit that got in your way, and as long as you made it through the school week, you could get into trouble on the weekend. It was new and exciting and so god damn cliché. I remember listening to hours of Jimmy Eat World, New Found Glory, Blink 182 and Saves the Day, relating those words to my emotions, making up drama for the sake of our first fight. I journaled endlessly about our relationship, struggling over whether or not he’d pay attention to me after his shows. I’d make him mixed CDs that were filled with pop punk love ballads, because that music really seemed to understand the struggle and beauty that was first love.

Heaven knows I was a complete idiot in all of it. I didn’t know how to be a good partner and was always nervous that who I was (and what I looked like) wasn’t enough for him. Granted, my fashion choices were terrible and I had a haircut that was cringe worthy. Still, I waded through the mess of hormones and emotions and loved this boy as much as a 15-year-old heart can love. It was beautiful and messy and silly. It was puppy love and it was perfect.

While the relationships I have had since my high school boyfriend were much more “real”, there is nothing as vulnerable or pure as the first time you kiss a boy on a park bench and he holds your hand.

L is Listed as in a Relationship with Steve Martin

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Last week Steve Martin did something that threw me totally off guard. I didn’t think he was this type of guy. I would have appreciated him noting this on his Tinder profile. He called me and the first words out of his mouth were “you’re either going to be really mad or you’re going to be really happy” which obviously  I thought meant he’d done something like bought me a donut. But no, I immediately noticed a flood of notifications appear on my oh-so-cracked iPhone. Steve Martin had gone and done it: He’d made it Facebook official.


I’d mentioned in a previous post that we had had the “Define the Relationship” conversation pretty early on, so I don’t know why this left me so surprised. Maybe it’s just because in the past with other men there had always been a discussion around it. Usually led by me because in my late teens/early twenties it *mattered*. Can we all audibly groan at the thought of that being a thing that matters?


I first posted a picture of Steve Martin and myself together, smiling like daft morons, 2 weeks into meeting him. It wasn’t calculated, and it wasn’t a pre approved conversation. I knew he wouldn’t mind because, weird, he wasn’t hiding me or us. It was our social media coming out party, and it felt nice. That’s why, while it surprised me that he’d gone so public, it wasn’t something that I minded. It was his version of shouting it from the rooftops (which yes, I know is adorable and ugh he’s such a good catch).


A result of the title change was that a lot of friends had questions about the status of the blog so I thought I’d give an upfront post to fill y’all in. As this is my first relationship in a while I feel like there’s obviously something to write about – meeting his friends, breaking down my walls, the first fight we have, documenting how happy I am, etc. So even though it’s Facebook official and I’m no longer swiping left, I hope you’ll keep reading my reluctant confessions because I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m having a lot of fun with Steve Martin – and without giving away too much too soon, this might be the best relationship I’ve ever been in. Not that there’s a lot to compare it to but still…