February 20, 2011

He Said, She Said: Space (Balls.)

  • I Said: So, I tried to get a hold of you the other day.
  • He Said: Oh yeah? My bad, I've been kicking it with the guys all weekend. You know, I obviously like hanging out, and I have a lot of fun with you...but if I don't respond to a text or message or whatever, then just don't worry. We spend a lot of time together which I enjoy...but I also need my space, too.
  • I Said: I totally get that.
  • Which I totally did, after he explained everything I'd needed to hear for the past 3 days. Let the enjoyment of our space now commence, because now that I am no longer a crazy person, I'm starting to finally enjoy it and sleeping diagonally across the bed because he's not here and I can, too.
  • XOXO

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Couples Space Men vs. Women Miss Communication

February 23, 2011

Should We WANT To Lose Ourselves?

We all know the sayings: Lose yourself in the moment. Lose yourself in your work. Lose yourself to find yourself again. But should we want to lose ourselves in the first place? Lately, I’ve been wondering what good can come from losing oneself. I hate that moment in a relationship when you suddenly realize that you’re not happy being alone anymore, or, at the very least, have come to expect that someone else will be around to entertain you. And when that’s not the case, then that thought becomes an obsession, and it’s like you’re suddenly a half of a Siamese twin severed, who feels like they’ve lost their identity, or what was special about them. In many way, identity theft may be kinder than the moment in which you find yourself realizing you’re losing yourself, or, at least, losing the things that used to make up your life or define you as an individual or Single Person.

The existential crisis started around 56 hours ago (and counting). Thursday morning, I was woken up by a text from TGIS, and we continued correspondence from afar until about 5 o’clock that night, after which, I haven’t heard from him since. (Granted, I haven’t been trying very hard, but that’s because A.) I’m under the severe impression it’s just better not to nag, and B.) I’ve always thought it gives you a better symptom of your relationship to see when he finally gets back around to you.) One day was fine. But when I woke up this morning, I felt odd, disoriented. And that’s when I realized it was because I’m so used to waking up beside someone. Noon came, and I found myself still in bed, because no requests for brunch out had been made. By this evening, I was in full-out obsession mode about not only the state of my affair, but also, about what the FUCK I was supposed to do with myself and all this free time that had suddenly (and unwelcomely) been found on my hands. So while I may not be neuros-ing about it all over him, I found an outlet for it elsewhere: With my girl friends. Obviously. Because some things never change, even if your established weekend routine suddenly does.

I’m in my twenties. I’m so close to having my Bachelor’s Degree in hand I can almost feel it; I paid for the insanely expensive and insanely luxurious Ralph Lauren sheets on my bed myself; I’m paying down my credit card; and I’m giving a presentation at a national writer’s convention in Boston in March. My life is pretty fabulous, and yet, all it takes is two day’s worth of silence, and I find myself acting like I’m 16 again, trying to occupy myself by making a list of things to do with items like “Wash dishes,” “Moisturize entire body,” “Watch a ‘thinking’ documentary to try to get my mind off of ‘thinking’ about the fact it is a weekend and I don’t believe it without another person here: Sexual Intelligence; Wild China; Food, Inc.; or Prehistoric Predators, Season 1,” “Find some way to make a palatable drink with Skyy vodka, the dregs of orange juice, whipped cream that’s lost it’s whip, and anything else in the fridge, all while really just wanting a nice glass (or bottle) of wine,” and “Try not to ‘wine’ anymore.” It made me wonder: Do our lives really still revolve around boys?

Once upon a time back in sophomore year of college, my mother thought my friend Madison was secretly my lesbian lover. I can see why she might have thought that— we spend an uncomfortable amount of time talking to each other. Mostly, I think, it’s because we usually have equal levels of confusion in our lives, and think about things similarly. So it was Madison I turned to when asking, “Why do I always panic like this if I don’t hear back from a guy for like, I’m not shitting you, two days? I mean, it’s TWO DAYS. My sane self knows this. However, my relationship self is going mental. What I want to know is, why do I FREAK out?”

And then Madison said something very true, yet not very heartening at all: “Because you haven’t had good luck with similar situations in the past.”

Touché, my dear, and good fucking lord, there is no hope— I’m done for.
I am not the only one who seems to be wondering about the ramifications of losing yourself for someone else. Madison has her own issues, too. “The problem is that I’ve always known that [I was letting him use me like a doormat]. I just kind of let it happen. And that’s not me at all. And that’s why I’m ashamed.”

And that’s when I hit my epiphany in our conversation: “Secretly, I think we’re all ashamed at things we do in relationships or non-relationships with other people. Look at me— I’ve forgotton how to be ok with being suddenly alone. I think there’s something about wanting to be with another person that makes us crazy and makes us forget and sacrifice parts of ourselves because we want something else SO MUCH.”

It’s all so terribly ironic, because as I was driving home on Wednesday night after bringing TGIS back to his hometown, I was smugly reminiscing on this relationship versus past relationships, thinking to myself how you can be the person you’re supposed to be and want to be when you’re with the right person. Give me 56 hours of silence, and I’m still the confused little mess I was a year ago, give or take a different man, situation, and a few relevant learning curves. Look how far I’ve gotten on the road map to finding myself.


So what about you? How have you learned not to lose yourself, or how to occupy yourself when you’d rather be doing something with someone else? Do you think that we’re more willing to sacrifice parts of our lives and our selves if the payback of having the love of someone else is an option?


- From SATCG

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March 4, 2011

Me: “Sooooo…the doctor said that for the first week or two of Zoloft, it could make me a little manic or, uh, edgy, so, if you see me behaving weird or freaking out, just tell me to calm down and um…realize it really isn’t me…it’s in my brain, and it’s the medication. But after that I should be more back to normal than I’ve been in ummm, well, a long time.”

Him: “…Ok.”

Really? It was really that easy? “Hi, I’m telling you that I could potentially freak the fuck out on you again sometime this coming week, because I am Crazy Girl. Don’t be offended; it’s my brain going haywire.”


God, I love men sometimes.


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Relationships Couples Miss Communication Depression Drugs I Love My Boys Men

March 8, 2011

If Buffy Can't Do It, I See No Reason Why I Should Have To Confront My Scary Relationship Demons, Too.

  • Buffy: “They looked sort of…intimate.”
  • Willow: “But Buffy…Angel. There’s no way he’d ever do that. I mean, you’re the only thing in the world to him.”
  • Buffy: “Sometimes I wonder…Angel and Faith have a lot in common, and there’s so much he doesn’t tell me.”
  • Willow: “But it’s so clear, the way he feels about you. Buffy, I too know the love of a taciturn man, and you have to look at their actions.”
  • Buffy: “I was.”
  • Willow: “Well, what did he say?”
  • Buffy: “Say? You mean, when I straightforwardly asked him what was going on?”
  • Willow: “So you bailed?”
  • Buffy: “I couldn’t—I mean, not there—”
  • Willow: “Ok, enough. Stop with the crazy; go talk to Angel.”
  • XOXO

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April 1, 2011

This static silence is killing me.


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Relationships Couples TGIS Silence Miss Communication

April 3, 2011

So I’m going to assume based on the distinct lack of responses that we’re over, until I’m told or shown otherwise.

…Wow. Not how I wanted, thought, or imagined how things would go.


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Relationships Miss Communication Fuck My Life

April 4, 2011

Help Me Graduate! Q&A Time!

So, my senior thesis revolves around the communication differences between men and woman on the topics of love, sex, and relationships, and if there’s any way to write for both sexes so that they’d be equally interested in the material.

That being said, if you could answer the following question— anonymously is fine— just including your genderin the comments section, you’d be doing me a TREMENDOUS favor, and, also, adding onto what will end up being a pretty kick-ass, real-life expose post about men and women’s relationships: "What is your biggest pet-peeve in communicating (or in general,) with the opposite sex?"

Example: “That instead of listening to the entire situation I’m telling him when I want to vent, my boyfriend immediately focuses on how to ‘fix’ it, instead of just listening to me. I’m female.”

Thanks, loves!


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Q&A Thesis College Men vs. Women Miss Communication

Little Miss Relationships Doomed To Die

The more I keep researching and writing this thesis, the more and more pessimistic I get about relationships and the fact that men and women are in fact biologically engineered to NEVER understand each other.

…This is not boding well for my continued romantic existence. “I graduated college and all I got is this stupid jaded complex and B.S diploma.”

(A B.S diploma actually works in more than one way, if you think about it askjhahahahahahaha.)


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Thesis College Miss Communication Relationships Jaded Men vs. Women

April 19, 2011

Thesis. 34 pages. DONE.


An exploration of the differences between the communication styles, biological tendencies, and thinking that make men and women different than each other in the quest for a common language inside of the topics of sex, love, and relationships to better the understanding of our personal, intimate relationships.


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August 2, 2011

Misunderstandings With Melissa

  • "Did she just say 'Lesbian in the dark'?"
  • Melissa: "I think it was 'Left me in the dark.' Not like a closet lesbian."
  • Later...
  • Melissa: "Mumble mumble mumble mumble..."
  • "Did you just ask me if I kicked ass?"
  • Melissa: "No, I said, have you SEEN the movie Kick Ass?"
  • "Oh. I was going to say, I like to THINK I have kicked some ass in my time..."
  • Hi. I'm blonde.
  • XOXO

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August 4, 2011

First Right Of Refusal

I recently sold my horse. It was EASILY the hardest decision of my life; for those of you non-horsey people out there, imagine it feeling as it would be like to give up a 7 year old child. It was the right thing for me to do at this point in my life, financially, but about the only thing that made me actually go through with it instead of climbing on my mare’s back and taking off into the sunset, neither of us to ever be seen again, was the fact that I was able to include a legally-binding buy-back clause in the ownership/sale agreement. This means, that if the barn were to ever sell her one day down the road, legally, they have to track me down and ask me if I want her back before they can offer her up for public sale. This is called the First Right of Refusal, and it is a lovely, wonderful thing.

Which is why I think it should be an unspoken agreement in all relationship stipulations.

Look, don’t lie to us. You want to make things as painless as possible? Than tell us the truth, instead of a convenient cover, so we can skip the false hope, the anguish, the want, the heartbreak, and the loss, and skip right the fuck to hating you, get it out of our system faster, and over with, so we can dust ourselves off and move on with our lives. It’s really the only humane thing to do. If you say, “I think I need some time on my own,” please best believe that we’ll be keeping a weather eye to make sure that you actually stay that way— on your own— for a while, like you told us you were going to. If you say, “Maybe sometime again later after I’ve had time,” PLEASE, BEST BELIEVE that to us, that is like the First Right of Refusal. If we disband because YOU want some “alone time,” you best believe that we fully intend to be the first woman tapped for duty when you get tired of playing by yourself. THAT is how women work. THAT is what we assume. When we say, “I’d like some strawberry jam on my toast, please, but no butter,” what we mean is, “I’d like some strawberry jam on my toast, please, but for the love of god, if you bring the butter near me, I will CUT YOU,” when what a MAN seems to mean when he says, “I’d like some strawberry jam, please, but no butter,” is in his thinking, a politer way of saying, “Yeah, I’ll take that toast with some strawberry jam, but later, I’m going to actually go back for that butter that you just offered me, because I was thinking about my body muscle index and I really do need to eat some more fat today before I hit the gym.”

Woman: No butter means NO BUTTER.

Man: No butter means maybe I actually am going to have that butter, after all.

I can understand it is hard sometimes; life is confusing. I mean, hell, some mornings I wake up and have no clue where the fuck I am for the first 10 minutes that I’m barely cognizant. And there are some tough calls out there— pay the heat bill, or the electric bill?— that I thoroughly understand if they take you a while to work through. But let me break this down— when you tell us you’ve thought long and hard and not taken anything lightly to reach a decision…you sure as HELL better follow through with that decision. To the T. Perfectly. Textbook-style. Like the lawyer who was holding our Terms of Sale agreement was keeping close tabs on you and your movements. Because in matters of love and relationships, that sale was not of a horse, as much as I have loved mine— it was the sale of our heart.



- From SATCG

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July 16, 2012

Things To Distract Yourself From Long Distance:

Let’s face it— having a long-distance lover can be hard. It’s like being single with a side-order of having yourself constantly be reminded that the person you’d like to be with is not actually in the same state. There’s some weird “Yay, being independent and not having to share my bed is great!” moments interspersed with bouts of extreme sexual frustration and semi-shitty solo orgasms that make you want to cry, and not in a good way. You see these couples walking hand-in-hand down the street and when they kiss you just want to interject yourself bodily between them and say, “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRUSTRATED AND LONELY THAT MAKES ME WHEN THE PERSON I WANT TO SMOTHER WITH MY AFFECTION IS A ZILLION MILES AWAY?! HAVE YOU NO RESPECT?! GET A FUCKING ROOM, PERVERTS!!!” I get it. Believe me, I get it. Which is why I have learned to appreciate the little things in day-to-day life that get you through until you can see your Captain of the Loveboat again. Some of them are really awesome and I mean them sincerely. Others are totally just part of being a lazy semi-single girl whose lover just happens to never be around, but I also mean those sincerely. Whatever your issue is, I’ve got some ways to solve your LDR blues:

1.) Do your fucking Kegels every day. I know this may not sound like the rollicking good time that one can have while the cat’s away and mice could theoretically be playing, but let me remind of two things; A, these are the muscles that are going to keep you from having to wear Depends by the time you’re 65 and prone to pissing yourself during laughing fits, and B, doing them will not only make you tighter down there, but will also give your vagina the ability to hold onto him for DEAR LIFE next time y’all can get together to do the horizontal no-pants-dance, which will blow. his. mind. This is totally valid. Clench and release those muscles for 10 minutes a day. Become a sex-beast at it and work your way up to being able to pulse or hold a clench for 30 seconds. Send him babbling to the ER after he loses circulation to his cock if you must. Next.

2.) You don’t have to shave regularly. This may seem totally gross to some men reading this, but you know what? I am not sleeping with you, and if you ARE the person I’m sleeping with, rest assured I have the date I’ll see you next marked on the calendar with little doodles of hearts and condoms around it, and I will be as clean-shaven as a porn star and as smooth as a totally fuckable chick’s bottom when I see you. Depending on how long your stints solo are, there are all sorts of interesting periods to go through: the itchy Just-Growing-Out-So-Please-Excuse-Me-While-I-Grope-Myself-Down-There-To-Relieve-The-Sensation phase, the ’70s Bush (not George), the National Forest trust, and my personal favorite, the Grizzly Bear. I know it’s summer and therefore, a bikini line and shaved legs may be on your list of priorities, but I’m a blonde who doesn’t really grow body hair and is flirting with the idea of being a naturalist hippie, so I just refuse to GAF until I can give myself the perfect, silken, ingrown-free shave in 11 days. Because, let’s face it— you always get the best, closest, most pain-free shave when there’s more hair than skin to work with. Nobody enjoys having the stupid little red bumps down there that make less experienced men worry needlessly about herpes because THEY have never tried to shave their balls before to figure out what they are.

3.) Work out. This is not about respecting your body and being healthy and blah blah blah. This is about putting yourself through intense physical pain while your sweetheart isn’t around to hear you whimper like a sissy and witness you having to hold onto the walls and gradually lower yourself down onto the toilet in the span of 5 minutes like a very horrifying flash-forward of what living with you when you’re 92 would be like. Hopefully, they’ll be dead before that would really happen, because NO ONE deserves to have to see that ungainly shit. This is also about being ridiculously, ridiculously fit and good-looking the next time your lover sees you naked. Onward to less vain things!

4.) Volunteer for something to do a good deed AND keep yourself occupied. You don’t think I’m volunteering for Solarfest sheerly out of the goodness of my heart, do you? No. I’m volunteering out of the goodness of my heart because I love the festival and its people and also because it will give me three days of having a purpose where I would normally have free time that I would spend pining and sighing like a moody teenage girl who has never gotten laid and is waiting for Billy to call her on another lonely, insanely boring Friday night. Do you know what I will be doing THIS Friday night instead? Being in a drum circle around a massive pyrotechnic bonfire, trying not to get my ass burned. So much better. Keeping busy this way will also guareentee that you have some great stories and excitement to share next time you see each other, like when he asks what you did last Friday or when you have to explain how you got that bongo-shaped burn on your ass.

5.) Go for a hike. It’s summer. The weather is gorgeous. The trails are being well-maintained. People’s excitement to be outside is infectious. Plus, when you’re sweating and watching squirrel’s mating rituals and admiring the scenery from on top of a mountain you JUST DEFEATED, FUCK YEAH!, it’s hard to spend all of your time mentally calculating the hours and minutes until you get to hold their adorable face between your hands again and kiss the ever-living shit out of them. Take a photo of the panorama. Send it to them. They’ll be impressed at your Queen-of-the-Mountain prowess. Also, studies have proven that getting out into sunlit-dappled wooded areas makes your brain produce more serotonin, which aides both depressed feelings and makes you feel happier. So this tip is actually something for your mental health so you don’t drive yourself bat-shit crazy.

6.) Don’t talk/text/Skype every day. I know this may seem a little odd to be telling you to NOT talk to your S.O to get closer to them, but you tell me how exciting this conversation sounds: “Hey babe, how was your day?” “It was fine. Worked from 10 ‘til 4. It was really slow. Now I’m eating this microwave lasagna for one I picked up at the grocery store. What about yours?” “Remember that client that I told you I hate? Yeah, he came in today. So how’s your roommate?” “Same old, same old…they’re using my deodorant again and I hate that.” Yeah, so I just fell asleep. After I poke you awake, I’m going to ask you if it isn’t better to just contact each other when something good happens or when you really want to have some deep, meaningful conversation or a particularly spontaneous sext-session, instead.

7.) This is Tumblr. We all find/see/search out beautifully filthy images and GIFs of porn and sex acts every day. Save some of the better ones, and send them to your honey. Because really, what says “I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name” better than a moving image of a cock going into someone’s mouth or a woman screaming and writhing with getting penetrated? That’s my sort of romance!

8.) Inevitably, something will happen or be seen that reminds you of an inside joke or hobby or favorite thing. Or maybe, you see something really pretty and want to share it (see: hiking scenery, porn). Snap a pic of it with your ever-present cell phone and send it to them. Who doesn’t love getting random, pertinent, “just saw this and thought of you!” messages? They’re adorable. They show that you know the nuances and quirks of someone’s character. I know I do. I love being thought of. See? Bitches love being thought of.

9.) Paint your nails; organize your closet; pack and unpack and repack until you have a suitcase of a size and weight that is actually acceptable by the rest of humanity WITHOUT a vagina so you don’t scare the poor bloke when you show up looking like you’re about to move in; see #2 above and shave the day before.

10.) This is your perfect opportunity to be the world’s best Wing Woman for your friends. Scratch that— this is the perfect opportunity to be the world’s best friend. Go out with your girls. Catch up with your dudes and invite them over for a homemade dinner, because believe me, you are going to be DYING for male company. Return calls that are months old that you’ve been putting off. Check in with your family members to make sure no one’s died while you’ve been angst-ing about the miles. And because you’re probably not meeting anyone who you prefer to your long-distance lovah, feel free to flirt ruthlessly, hone your skills, and help your friends get laid, too. There’s nothing better than spreading the love. Unless, of course, it’s spreading your legs when you finally get to see your LDL again.

Happy time-wasting!


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August 15, 2012

Mars and Venus Communicate:

Last three days upon waking up: “OMG, it’s 11 AM already and Twig didn’t wake me up to reply to the text I sent him YESTERDAY. WHY is he not responding to me or in touch? WHAT is happening? Is it something I said? Is it something I did while I was out there? Have I been, like, supremely needy lately and annoying him? (Did he meet someone else?!) I know when he gets busy, he gets wrapped up in his work and sometimes it takes until he has time on the weekends to really have a good chat, but WHY HAS HE NOT SAID ANYTHING TO ME IN THE LAST 4 DAYS?!”

Text from Twig at 11:30 my time/10:30 his time last night: “Plumbing is finished! Can’t wait to get on with my life.”

See the below photo for referencing the communication difference and subsequent thought processes between men and women:

I am not crazy. (Well, I’m just as crazy as every other woman on the face of this Earth; I just enternalize it all and hide it better.) It’s not like I was REALLY worried he was purposefully ignoring me or had found someone else; it’s just that with 1,500 miles between us, sometimes I fall into that rabbit-hole of doubt. Everything is fine. The plumbing is done. Now he just needs to figure out how to get a claw-foot tub into an attic, make the shelves in the eaves, and finish the insulation, drywall, and finish the floors.

…I’m going to be a long-distance widow for awhile. Fuck. I CAN SURVIVE.

Moral of the story, love me, love my neuroses.


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August 28, 2012

Riding In VW Vans With Men. Or, alternatively titled, “Why I Am A Huge, Conflict-Adverse Procrastinator.”

I have a bit of a sitch that I need some advice on. Since I came back from MN a month ago, things with Twig have been…different…than they were between June and August. Not having an “end date” for the next time we’ll see each other is odd, and doesn’t give either of us anything to look forward to or work towards. Without all the “I will be ______ing your ______ in 5 days!” talk, it’s kind of progressed to “How’s work on the attic coming?” While I love, capital L.O.V.E the fact that he called me for the first time to chat and we’ve agreed to Skype, it’s not exactly hot. Not exactly the stuff of great romance novels (or even mediocre ones like “50 Shades of Euphemisms for My Vagina” at this point). I mean, he stills make me grin like I’m about 80 IQ points lighter than I am, and I am considering selling my own mother to be able to get back out there faster, but the romance has kind of died, if you know what I mean. It seems like somehow, just when women (or maybe it’s just me?) start to need more support and reassurance, men get comfortable. And it’s just completely counter-productive. But I have a sneaking suspicion:

The thing is…Twig doesn’t know that I’m going to be moving out there.

…Yeah, I’ll wait a minute for you to go “wait, what the fresh hell?!” and catch your breath for that one.

See, the thing is, when he messaged me out-of-the-blue back in June to meet up, I thought it was kind of hilarious and fatalistic that a dude from MN was here in VT and wanted to go out on a date. I didn’t say anything then, because it would have just seemed too weird. I had just decided at the beginning of the month that that was going to be my next move, and it was a little early (and yes, a little too strange a coincidence) to say, “Oh hey! Good looks; I’m moving there!”

And then the date went really well. So I didn’t want to tell him and scare him away with the thought of immediate commitment (not something I was looking for, either). And then I fell for him. Which made it seem like something that had to be talked about in person; not when hormones were running high and sexting was rampant. Somehow, future plans like “where are good neighborhoods that you’d recommend moving into?” just didn’t seem like they’d be taken too seriously after sending topless photos.

To my credit, I TRIED to find a good time to bring it up while I was with him; I really did. I asked suspiciously targeted questions like, “What are your co-ops like? Where are the best farmer’s markets? What days of the week are they on? What’s the difference between living in MPLS versus St.P? Does living in one or the other tell you what sort of person someone is? Where’s the best place downtown to get a beer? What sort of hiking is there around here?” But despite the fact that we gamely played 320 Questions, there was just no organic time to have The Conversation with him. Mornings pre-caffeine were just a no-go. Every afternoon, he was frazzled from work. In the evening, Baby Becks was around, and I really didn’t want to turn it into a threesome and have one man’s reaction clouding the one that was really important. The few times I started toeing the line and edging into the conversation, something happened, and I got distracted. (That’s what the prospect of a motorcycle ride, a dog, dinner, or a smoke session can do to me.) And yes, part of me was relieved to not have to cross that bridge…because crossing it meant that things could change, and, in fact, become serious. And as we all know, “serious” is something I can’t do without lots and lots of levity. And space. And time. Which, as we can now see, is running out.

So, here we are, a month out from MN and talking about plumbing. (My life is sexy in many ways, but this is not one of them.) I am DESPERATELY trying to work out being able to go back out for a few days in October, but until I nail those plans down, I know my best bet would be to just find a time (and the lady-balls) to fucking TELL HIM so that he doesn’t feel like he’s wasting his time, and I don’t feel like I’m just frittering mine away. I don’t want it to change things between us; I love them the way they are. (Actually, that’s a direct quote I’ve worked into what is the tentative beginnings of my speech. Let’s call it the ‘Fraidy Cat’s Speech.) I LIKE being independent and autonomous, but I also like sweet texts just because and knowing that someone is excited to see me. (…Whenever that might be.) If it was too soon to tell him on our first date, and not the right moment while I was with him in MN, I don’t want it to be too late by the time I get back out there. 

It’s really difficult to work “Hey, totally unrelated, but I haven’t told you…I’m moving out there ASAP once I have five grand in hand” into regular conversation.



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September 10, 2012

The New Kid In Town.

Remind me to make a “I’m new here; talk to me,” t-shirt for when I move to MPLS since I’m not a great at starting conversations in social situations with strangers and Italy trained me to have a Frigid Bitch wall that I can’t seem to tear down when in public. 

This is my only hope for making spontaneous friends (AKA: the best kinds of friends).


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