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.


A 2015 Crush Letter

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I am known to harbor a few crushes. Why hone in on one fella, when you can keep an unsafe distance from letting anyone REALLY know your heart… Am I right? True, it’s probably unhealthy for my romantic life, but having a wide range of crushes has kept my brain distracted from that weird lonely feeling that creeps in every now and again.

Take that and combine it with my word for 2015 — Flawless — and I feel like this year will be full of confessions and putting myself out on the line. Before I throw myself into anything I’m going to ask myself, “What would Bey do?”

So here’s my first Crush Letter of 2015, because we all know Beyonce would go after what she wants, when she wants to. As for the boy that this is about? I HAVE TO KEEP SOME SECRETS!


To You:

I am heading to Costa Rica as we speak. The country is warm and friendly and full of tropical fruit. This plane is loud and annoying and NOT full of tropical fruit. Also, United Airlines doesn’t seem to care even a LITTLE bit about personal space. The man next to me is snoring and leaning dangerously close to me, and I’m preparing for that awkward moment when he wakes up on my shoulder. And now I’m rambling.

I got the courage to write this letter when we hit a patch of turbulence. I fly often, but I always have a doomsday outlook on life when I’m hurdling through the air in a metal tube, so it goes. I also happen to be reading Lena Dunham’s book, and I find her transparency inspiring. I promise I’m getting to a point.

I like you.

I find you wonderfully intriguing, insanely frustrating, and for some reason, I care about what you think. When I stumble on some weird Icelandic band whose music sounds like the Northern Lights, I want to share it with you. I imagine the way I feel about you is akin to the way girls in the 30s felt about their beaus. Full of giggles and quick eye glances, I want to exchange long letters and favorite novels back and forth. You make me feel old fashioned.

Part of the intrigue comes from having zero idea where you stand in all of these things. You may only think of me as a temporary friend. Filling conversation to pass the time. Or perhaps your steely nature and stoicism means that if I were to wink at you, you’d wink back. There’s something so intriguing about not knowing where a crush’s brain is at. It makes me feel like I’m in junior high school again, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.”

Perhaps that is what is so charming about all of this, the not knowing. The anticipation of when I’ll be honest and upfront and tell you that kissing your face on a regular basis wouldn’t be so shabby. And who knows, maybe those feelings aren’t reciprocated, or maybe I won’t ever get up the courage. Writing about it on the internet is a step in the right direction, I do believe.

Either way, know that a bit of turbulence made me realize I should tell you that I like you. And even though me landing safely kept me from ACTUALLY sending this to you, you were thought about. You are admired. And maybe one day you’ll find out this was about you and you will hold my hand.




I also hope that every boy reading this post thinks it’s about them. Because let’s be honest, who doesn’t love to be flattered and told that they are adored? I have crushes on all y’all, I’m sure of it.

How You Get the Guy

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You know how when you have a SUPER exciting thing happen and then you want to keep it to yourself, just in case you jinx it by telling anyone?

That is where I’m at right now.

I am holding my cards close to my chest, eyes closed tight. Because if I show my hand, I have this pit-in-the-stomach feeling that everything will disappear. Seeing as y’all have heard QUITE a few of our crazy “we don’t know how to do this” vent sessions, I thought it might be time for a little sunshine/rainbows/potential-to-be-happy bullshit.

Let’s be real, I still have all my walls up and am over analyzing anything positive that happens to me. It’s SO. MUCH. EASIER to be negative and accept defeat before it hits you like a ton of bricks. I talked myself into a frantic panic rant (see: last post) over this fella, and had convinced myself that he was just in it for the ol’ hang and bang. The amount of Beyonce and T. Swift I listened to for those few days was outrageous.

Of course right after listening to Grown Woman for the 100th time, he asks me to dinner. I put on my sassiest pants, and steeled myself for rejection. Sporting my best ice queen face, I instantly melted the moment he started telling me a heartwarming story about traveling the world. And his laugh? God damn… it’s so charming.

Yep. I’m in trouble.

The good thing about my neurosis/panic mode was that I did stick with my, “he’s gotta like me for me” mantra. I shook off any of my impressive “look at how cool I am!” layers (let’s be real, it’s one layer. And it’s thin.) He showed up at my house and I was wearing pajamas and listening to old country. I give no fucks and no apologies for the things I like and the person I am. The even better news? He is turning out to be more of a goober than I thought.

Sure, he’s charming and handsome and he could get any girl he wanted. But he uses funny voices, cracks stupid jokes and then giggles to himself about them. He has a puppy voice, which he practices on my dog. Not going to lie, the moment he plopped down on the floor to snuggle my hound, I knew I was a goner. I think he’s charmed by the fact that I like to spend a lot of time in my kitchen, listen to podcasts and want to discuss 19th century medicine, our education system and how generational poverty is a damaging and terrifying thing.

I mean, there’s nothing as awesome as an intelligent, independent, extremely sassy lady who hates crowds, people and loud noises. Right fellas… Right?

Enough of the rainbows/sunshine/nonsense? Good, because here’s where that Don’t Date Us pessimism comes in. As L put it, “you’re like a baby deer.” I’m guarded and hyper aware of any and all “noise”. Sure, there are all kinds of signs that he likes me. He holds my hand, and says all the sweet things. He keeps making plans with me and isn’t one to silently slip out the backdoor when I’m not looking (do people actually do that? Whatever, it added some drama to the post.) Regardless, I will remain guarded, and I won’t put all my eggs in one basket. I will shy away from vulnerability, and treat it as the casual once-a-week relationship/fling/whatever it has been for the past month.

Who knows? This post could be the jinx, and I should have just kept my god damn mouth shut (HA! L and I are REALLY good at that…) Don’t worry, y’all will know what happens next, because let’s be real, secrets don’t make friends.