Tinder Sucks

Yesterday I was reminded why Tinder sucks--It's full of assholes.

Every online dating site has an exorbitant amount (That's right you condescending prick who said I was using a "vocab word" by using the word FICKLE, I used another fucking VOCAB WORD) EXORBITANT amount of men I do not wish to fuck.

But because IM A CLASSY FUCKING BROAD I just ignore those wretched trolls. Because if you don't have something nice to say then just leave it the fuck alone.

I either delete or ignore messages from the undesirables or if I matched with them & suddenly have a change of heart I simply unmatch them. 

Easy as that. 

There's absolutely no need in drawing out a rejection or explaining in detail why someone is not qualified to see your naked wobbly bits. 

It's simply unnecessary. 

So having not given my Tinder account much attention (SEE Upcoming trip to Spain SEE ALSO Not really giving any fucks) I decided I should 'play' & try & make some new matches.

Because that's like, my JOB.

So I make a few new matches and one of them writes me right away.

"Why is it always fat girls that take pinup photos?"

I was so shocked I was actually confused. 

I started to write a reply--

Do you find insulting women gets you laid? 

--or--

Why did you bother matching with me then?

But decided instead to NOT engage or reward such idiocy with a response and simply unmatched him.

Now, it's not like this was my first encounter with an asshole on Tinder. 

I'd say I was most certainly an expert on the subject. 

Men suck. 

They're giant babies. 

And those are generally the ones I think should be inside me. 

(I make poor life choices but I have a racktastic rack so I think it makes up for it.)

But for Some. Reason. what this idiot said bothered me.

Maybe because there was NO REASON for him to write me in the first place.

Do you know how many guys match with you on Tinder and never send you a message AT ALL??

I'd say it's at least half. 

That's a lot. 

A lot of men interested enough to swipe right but not interested to send "Hey."

So this guy chose to swipe right and then write something insulting?

W H Y?

I think that's what bothered me. 

LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

That's what your gender does on Tinder. 

Unless they decide they want to make the effort necessary to secure a potential sex partner. 

But this hater who probably started the IG ban of the hashtag curvy decided to make the effort to write me just to be nasty. 

And dating was already exhausting with the men I chose to actually meet.

I REALLY didn't have the energy for the men I would never meet. 

So men of Tinder, of Portlandia, I have no faith in ANY of you. 

You don't know who you are. 

You don't know what you want. 

And you don't know how to treat a woman. 

And I've fucking had ENOUGH.

Princess Life Goals

I've been learning things about myself. 

Like this morning I woke up really grumpy. 

There were no cartoon birdies singing, I wasn't smiling at the sun & greeting the day.

I was like grumpy cat. 

Bloated & frowning.

Now why you might ask?

I'll tell you why.

I worked all week at a stressful location. 

No, not stressful. 

Hostile.

Think like a really really fun place to work but the opposite. 

And then say after that less than lovely day I spend every night at home applying to jobs because that's what the mature thing to do is. 

If you don't like your job, apply for a new one. 

Or if your job pays you so little you may not have rent money in two months then frantically and desperately apply to anywhere that pays $15 an hour. 

Yes I'm making less than that right now. I don't wanna talk about it.

And then let's say that this place of hostile fun calls you the morning of your day off because they "have you on the schedule" even though it wasn't on your schedule and even though you couldn't possibly go in to work because then you'd go into overtime and we all know that going into overtime at any corporation incurs the wrath of satan. 

So you ignore it but feel resentful that their condescending judgement was the first voice you woke up to and now your grump makes grumpy cat look like the fucking Easter bunny. 

I hate everyone.

I'm burnt out. 

I'm stressed about money. 

And I should be jubilant in anticipation for my departure to Spain!

Hello!

This was going to be one of the most amazing adventures of my life!

But everything else in my life felt so negative and draining and I had no energy left to be excited. 

I didn't write all week. 

I didn't run or climb all week. 

No exercise. No creative expression. 

Just people treating me like I was unworthy of a remedial entry level position at work and then hours poured over a computer hoping to land an interview and impress someone enough to think I'm worthy of 32K a year. 

I wanted to make a video entitled I HATE EVERYONE but I decided that really wasn't the "message" I wanted my channel to convey.

So I let myself relax for the morning and then started getting ready to perform. 

We had two princess parties today and I had to find some way to rally because no little girl wants a grumpy Anna at her party. 

I got coffee which helped a little. 

Except the people ahead of me after waiting in line got to the register to order and spent the next several minutes hemming and hawing like, "Hmm....well, gee....I don't know."

And I fought the urge to interject that if they weren't prepared to order then perhaps they shouldn't get in line so those of us on a time crunch who KNOW how to order a fucking iced coffee could get on with their lives without being interrupted by their mundane indecisiveness.

Make that a venti, this princess needs to tone down her bitch fast.

I got in my car and scrolled through my princess sister's texts to the video she sent me. 

It was of the little girl who was our first party of the day jumping up & down & giddy in front of the camera. 

"Yay! I'm so exciteeeeeeed! I just want to shout hooray! Yaaaay!"

It was the kind of stuff that melted the Grinch's heart.

And it soothed my frustrated spirit and made me smile. 

I met my fellow sister and when we arrived at the park I was actually happy to be there. 

The way little kids look at you when you're dressed like a Disney Princess makes you feel like a hero.

And the little girl, whose adorable video had melted my grumpy heart, was even more adorable in person and was dressed exactly like a mini me, with the braids, the dress & even the pink cape. 

And the second party we did was equally as adorable and full of as much appreciation. 

The look on that little girls face when I asked her if she wanted to sing Do you wanna build a snowman? was full of so much amazement, joy & wonder, it made me the happiest I've felt all week.

Driving home with my sister I whined about my job search and how much I was dissatisfied with my current job. 

"My goal is to make this business such a success that I kidnap you and we just do this full time as our careers."

And the mere idea of it, of getting paid all the time to make kids feel that inspired and full of joy made my heart sing like an actual Disney song.

'Yes,' I said. 'That is my new life goal.'

I'm going to become a full time professional princess. 

And make every work day as joyful as today was. 

Now--

    to just make it happen....

The Problem with Modern Dating

I don't even know what I'm looking for, I told a date recently. 

And that wasn't me trying to sound cool. 

That was me being honest about the fact that at age 33 I genuinely have no fucking idea what my expectations are concerning relationships. 

Like. 

I don't even know if I want to get married anymore. 

In my twenties I definitely classified myself as a hopeless romantic. 

I even remember when I first met Sheldon four years ago telling him that I didn't understand how people could sleep together on the first date because they didn't even know each other.

How could they feel any sort of connection?

Then I turned 30 & I realized it's called sex. 

Yes, I had sex in my twenties, though not as much as you'd think. 

And every guy I slept with I loved. 

See. Hopeless romantic, to be certain.

But when you're not a teenager and you're not in college, when you enter adulthood dating changes. 

It's no longer about finding a boyfriend so you can have a relationship and maybe even one day get married. 

No, dating in your thirties is about getting laid. 

And I'm afraid I've been molded by these new customs and I'm not sure what to make of it. 

I NEVER. EVER. Thought I could become the kind of girl who had sex on a first date. 

But since the objectives have changed, sometimes the point of a date IS to have sex. 

But why is having a relationship suddenly the uncool thing to do?

10 years ago the cool thing was to have a significant other, to be in love and do all that coupley crap that people bombard their Facebook with during the holidays. 

But now?

Every date I go on seems to worship at the altar of casual noncommittal hookups. 

Even though ALL of them would admit the sex wasn't as satisfying as it was with the last girl they loved. 

So if we understand the connection between physical pleasure and intense emotional connections why have we separated them?

And how do I shift back into that romantic version of myself when this is the first year of my life I forgot the name of a guy I slept with?

See this THIS is why I was pining for The Phantom even after it was blaringly obvious I wasn't his perfect drug. 

He was the last person, the only person, in fucking AGES to romance me. 

Romance. 

I couldn't even handle it when he was pouring it on thick because it felt almost ridiculous.

Not that he was ridiculous. 

But the idea of a man spending hours upon hours with me, date after date, serenading me, gazing into my eyes and all instead of just fucking after a few old fashioneds?

Of course I thought it meant something!

Of course I was going to be stubbornly convinced it was something special!

Because it was so fucking different didn't it have to be?

And everyone including him thought I was crazy for holding on but DO YOU UNDERSTAND MEN DONT WRITE LOVE SONGS TO GET LAID unless they were in my music theory class junior year. 

That's why I held onto it!

I don't understand why you're trying so hard to hold onto this.

Because there's no one else like that!

It felt like the holy grail of Tinder. 

So I went on a date. 

And I liked him. 

And I told myself to do things differently this time.

And I planned to. 

And then he kissed me. 

And you know. 

Maybe modern dating has dissolved into something carnal and basic because it seems easier than getting our hearts broken again. 

Because by the time you're single in your thirties, you're no stranger to lost love. 

And it really fucking sucks. 

And it leaves this crack in your heart. 

And most of the time you can just ignore it cuz it's just a fucking crack. 

It's not broken. 

But sometimes the wind blows and you hear music when there isn't a sound and the air rushes inside and fills that crack. 

And it swells. 

And it's hard to breathe. 

And a wave of sadness covers your beating heart. 

And then you feel angry for feeling sad about something that was ages ago. 

That you honestly are finding it harder and harder to remember. 

And so your next date you fall back into the new you. 

The you that was so fucking skeptical of the romance in the first place. 

And you wonder if it had been better if you'd never let the romance get the best of you. 

Because that's what you miss most. 

That's what made you giddy like when you were 23 all over again. 

I didn't want to be an overly romantic little fool. 

But I didn't want to be whatever I feared I was becoming now. 

How, in this age of modern dating can a romantic thrive?

How can she come to exist?

What I held to, what I'd mourned for had only partially been him. 

What really saddened my heart was losing the girl I'd allowed myself to start to become once again. 

A woman embracing love. 

And only in this case by the time I was ready to fall, he was no longer there to catch me. 

I always hated trust falls in school. 

Fucking hated them. 

Love or Something Like it

I started rereading a book that Ireland recommended to me last year. 

Although I only read about half of it before so I guess I'm not rereading so much as I'm finishing. 

I think part of what I loved about Ireland was that he recommended a book about relationships. 

A  M A N.

Recommended a B O O K.

About RELATIONSHIPS.

There are so many parts of that sentence I find shocking.

So finding myself in another Having Trouble Letting Go of an Ex Even Though I Know it's for the Best dilemma, I thought it was time to turn the pages of 'Attached' by Levine & Heller once again. 

In completion this time. 

I already knew that I have anxious attachment.

And I already knew that Sheldon has avoidant attachment. 

FYI Anxious-Avoidant romantic pairings are the WORST combination possible and DOOMED to fail. 

Thus our awkward, though necessary transition into friendship. 

But. 

I figured out something else.

The Phantom of the Opera is an avoidant too. 

He's exactly the same as Sheldon. 

No WONDER I found his withholding so attractive. 

It was familiar. 

And you know what else?

They're both Aquarius. 

(Which supposedly is a great love match to Sagittarius??)

And they're also the same fucking age. 

I thought they were so different.

But in reality--I fell for a copy of someone I'd already fallen for. 

Who was somewhat a copy of someone else. 

I HAVE TO STOP DATING THE SAME FUCKING PERSON!!

Tomorrow I have a date scheduled with a thirty-nine year old. 

Thirty. NINE.

That's eleven years on Mr. Phantom & Sheldon.

I told my date that part of his appeal was that he's not 28. 

He probably thought I was being funny but I was being fucking serious. 

I WANT TO BE WITH A MAN.

And train myself that boys who are still trying to find themselves are not desirable. 

Rule #1-- If a man is still in school he's not ready to date me. 

(And yes. Sheldon & Phantom are both still in school. Maybe they should get together & go bowling. I really see a friendship blooming here.)

If a guy doesn't have his career settled it is highly unlikely he'll have room for a force like me in his life. 

His career fuels his drive, feeds his ego, gives him a sense of self.

And without being grounded in his own skin I am TOO FUCKING MUCH.

Rule #2--If I tell a man how I'm feeling or what I'm needing and he disregards it, I'm running. 

This is classic avoidant behavior and flies directly in the face of my needs and basically transforms me into an anxious, insecure, worried little girl.

When I asked the Phantom to meet up with me he refused to.

Even though the last thing he did the last time we met up was lean down and kiss me.

He has avoided me with such intensity you would think I was a leper. 

Or a murderer. 

And not in fact some girl who simply wanted a genuine, private conversation. 

But avoidants can't deal with others emotions. 

They shut down, push away, won't deal. 

And I am a girl who knows what I feel and expresses it. 

And punishing me because of that is not conducive to my needs. 

So my date tomorrow. 

And any future date is heretofore an audition--

To see if he is the kind of man capable of responding to my needs. 

Because I've had enough avoidant men to last a lifetime. 

Now I just have to retrain my mind that the anxiety I'm used to feeling in relationships with these withholding unavailable men is not love.

Love meets you for a drink. 

Love talks when you need to talk. 

Love holds on. 

And love is my life goal. 

Not my time

Holy shit. I haven't written for a week. 

A FUCKING WEEK!

What the hell??

I am realizing how much writing I actually do while at work. 

And since I was at a busier location last week I had no time to write. 

Oh my life is so hard. 

I had to do work at work. 

Good Lord, Reese.

It is hard to find time to do all the things I want to do.

Saturday I had invitations to do the AIDS walk, watch the Ducks game with my family, have dinner with the Bestie, perform at a birthday party as Princess Anna, go dancing with my gay boyfriend.

And I had to work four hours in the morning. 

I obviously couldn't DO all of that. 

I also wanted to shoot my YouTube video, write a blog, go climbing, start editing my video, go for a run after my climb, do some fucking laundry that's laid out all over my floor (I mean, my apartment is totally clean, you should come over & I'll make you a hot beverage.)

I obviously couldn't DO all of that either. 

I had this moment this weekend, this genuine moment, where I thought--

I don't know how to do all the things I want to do and see all the people I want to see and be alone long enough to create all the things I want to create in the number of hours I have to do it. 

Like. 

I genuinely don't know what to do. 

I've been a very overactive hyper social butterfly lately. 

I've seen a lot of friends. 

I've gone a lot of places. 

That sounds ridiculous. 

I'm really not that cool. 

I've just met some new people, in the random artistic ways that could only ever happen in Portlandia.

It's been really fucking fantastic. 

I've been such a busy little bee I've mostly forgotten to miss those two idiots who decided we couldn't hang out anymore. 

Of course Sunday's are the worst. 

I don't know what it is about Sunday's but I always miss Sheldon and I always miss the Phantom. 

It's like they put some hex on me that forces my brain to think about their absence even if I've forgotten them the rest of the week. 

I love and hate Sunday's. 

I've also been busy looking for a new damn job.

My job is fine. 

I actually don't mind it. 

But it doesn't pay for my life.

I literally make less than what my bills are. 

I feel like a dummy for waiting this long to start looking for something else but I thought they were going to promote me & then the money would take care of itself. 

No. The money is taking care of no one. Least of all its self. 

And then I start feeling like an asshole because I have no career and no fucking idea what I'd wanna do anyway.

I just wanna make enough to pay for my life so I can create and spend time with other artists and try and balance my time doing all the things I don't have time to do. 

And then I feel like I'm looking at the whole work thing all wrong and I feel guilty. 

I had two interviews today. 

And they were bullshit. 

Interviewing sucks. 

The interviewers don't know what they're doing. 

They all ask the same stupid questions as though you can really tell the nature and work ethic from the way someone describes "A Time They Resolved A Customer Conflict."

I said something at the end of my first interview that seemed to rub her the wrong way and I wanted to be like, "So that's it, then? Are we done? It seems apparent you're no longer considering me because of your dismissive goodbye."

But that's not really socially acceptable in these sorts of formalities so I just graciously smiled all the while thinking, She doesn't like me I'm not getting the job. 

God!

It's fucking exhausting!

Like going on bad Tinder dates. 

That I had to pay for on my broke ass salary. 

They were a waste of time. 

And I don't want to waste my time!

I want to use my time because I have a lot I want to do. 

It's weird. 

It's weird being stuck in this limbo of transition. 

And then after the frustration of the day all I wanted was to see one or both of their stupid faces. 

What a bizarre beast is human nature. 

Craving the most absurd things at the most unexpected times. 

I love and hate that about nature. 

I seem to be loving and hating a lot lately. 

I feel intoxicatingly alive. 

Because When You Know

I remembered today why I love writing so much. 

I watched some video about this artist sharing minutes of silence with strangers and how one of them ended up being a lover she hadn't seen in thirty years. 

It was beautiful. 

And after I watched it a link for an article appeared, The Absolute Tragedy of Meeting the Love of your Life at the Wrong Time.

As I read it, all I kept thinking was, this is exactly how I feel. 

And that's what writing does. 

It expresses someone's truth and that truth reminds us we're not alone. 

Someone else has felt exactly this. 

And that's beautiful. 

And instead of feeling sad that I met the love of my life at the wrong time, I felt content knowing things were coming my way I had no way of anticipating.

Things that would also be beautiful. 

And things even full of love. 

Watching the reunion between those lovers was so beautiful. 

Anyone watching it can think of that one person that if reunited with after thirty years just looking into their eyes would bring tears into yours. 

I remember how it felt looking into Mr. Volcano's warm eyes after five long years. 

I can't even imagine how much more moving it would have been if twenty five more years had passed. 

I have an interview today. 

A second interview for a job I interviewed for five months ago. 

Timing. 

I'm a little nervous but I mostly don't care which way it goes. 

I want it. 

But only if that's the path my life is meant to take. 

I trust Timing. 

I know that change is headed my way but I have no idea how that's going to manifest. 

What it will look like. 

Where it might take me. 

And not knowing feels amazing. 

I love change.  

I've changed my hair color so many times I'm like a rainbow. 

I've changed jobs-- well I've changed jobs so many times it's kind of insane. 

I am an impulsive woman.

I don't even know what I want. 

And I'm glad I don't. 

I thought about the sorts of qualities I'd want in a partner and I'm not sure what that even looks like anymore. 

And I'm glad I have no idea. 

When I have no preconceived ideas, no requirements, no specifications for what I want to do or where I want to go or who I'd want beside me, it means I'm open to all of it. 

I love to write. 

I write truth. 

And whatever it looks like I want truth in my life. 

My girlfriend told me that when she reads my writing the words just flow out of me. 

That it just comes. 

And I laughed because whenever I write I do just sit and the words pour out. 

Like one long, drawn out sentence. 

I never start and come back. 

I just write until I have no more to say. 

The truth is constantly pouring out of me.

And I think that's a large part of why I lost my love. 

Truth is a powerful and frightening thing. 

Most people don't dare share what's in their hearts. 

They're afraid the world will grind to a hault.  

Let our lives lovingly express truth.

And everything else, my career, my lover, all of it, will fall into place. 

Because Life does that. 

And I embrace all of it. 

I embrace the delicious uncertainty of all of it. 

My Heart has Spoken

Being a grownup is the fucking worst.

Do you know what I'm doing right now?

I'm sitting at a cafe, where I've been for a couple hours applying to jobs.
Because that's what a sassy redhead wants to do on her day off.
Spend it looking for a different job.

I wish I was listening to music at some guys house talking about how inspiring Jack Kerouac is.

Things really were less complicated in my twenties.

But I do feel proud of myself.

I guess that's the good thing about doing things you don't want to do but need to.
Then you can feel like a rockstar because you actually fucking did it.
And since the only way to make something change in my life requires actual effort on my part I figured my three day weekend was the time to go about initiating change.

To me!
And all the fabulosity I don't yet know is headed my way.

There is also something to be said about focusing on my own growth making me less preoccupied with the multitude of idiots I don't want to have sex with.

Don't get me wrong.
I really miss sex.

But you know I don't know if sex that's not great is worth having.
And great sex only comes from an actual connection with your partner.

Other than the need to just be dominated and have my hair pulled.

This is obviously what happens when I go too long without sex.
I start talking like a crazy person.

Seriously though.

It's not on my brain anymore.

I think I had to be real with myself and realize I didn't actually enjoy the casual inconsistencies of hooking up.
I just somehow thought it might make someone jealous and motivate them to do the job properly.

Sheepish grin.

Whoops.
Live and learn, as they say.
Reese has tried and disliked the casual hookup and craves instead something far more genuine.
It means more time with my bedside boyfriend but you know what?
That means a lot less pregnancy and std scares and I'm ok with that.

I kind of just want to focus on how awesome my own vagina is without being cluttered by a penis.

Most penises I've encountered don't know who they are and I really want to be bonded to someone who knows who he is and what he's passionate about.
If he doesn't know who the fuck he is how is he gonna know how fucking rad I am?
That's just basic science.

I like my life right now.

I like that there are people in my life, people I'm close to and people I barely know, people I used to know deeply who still take the time to reach out to me because of the Art I'm creating.
Yes, there's an element of my histrionic need for validation.
But more than that I want to inspire people.
And I am.
And that is what I want for my life.

I want to write and create and thrive and push myself to step out of my own comfort zone (which we already know has very few boundaries, as it is) and I don't want to be bothered by the people who don't fucking get me.

I'm loud.
And I say what I feel.
And I mean it.
And that's a really fucking wonderful thing.

And what I'm realizing is there are people everywhere, literally across the world, (Shout out to my girls in the UK & Spain!) who absolutely delight and celebrate that with me.

And those are the people I want to devote my heart and energy too.
And they are the ones I think of when I make a new video or write a new blog.

And I don't want to be bothered about finding love anymore.
Like it's my responsibility to catch it like some ball hurling a hundred miles an hour at my face.

I already possess it.
Buckets and heaps and mountains of love.
Flowing richly through my life.

My need for that love to be embodied in some male romantic partner is absolute poppycock.

I'm a rare and complex bird.
And it's not surprising I've yet to find a man who is strong enough to fly next to me.

They're all roaming on the ground.
And I'm through with hiding my wings to try and roam with them.

I want something so much greater.

And it feels amazing to feel that singing in my soul.
Even while the love dances in my heart stronger still.

To love and to truth.
And to following your frightened little heart to the depths of its passion.

How could I possibly need more than that?

The Best Manhattan of my Life

Whoever said you should follow your heart was a bloody fucking genius. 

My heart tells me to do stupid shit all the time but I always listen. 

And I'm always glad I did. 

Running headstrong into the night.

Or the morning. 

Or whenever the fuck I decide to follow my heart. 

I stayed out really late. 

Or really early, actually. 

At what hour in the night does it shift from being out late to out early?

Seriously. 

I wanna know the answer. 

All I know is we'd gone to four different bars. 

I felt like some hip college kid. 

We're so cool, we're bar hopping.

Because adults don't have energy to do that. 

We don't wanna keep closing our tab.

We want the bartender to get us good and drunk. 

And then take us home with him. 

Or not. 

There's always tomorrow. 

So when Jimmy suggested we go back to his place I thought, Yeah! Party continued! But I was starting to feel kinda tired so I checked the time. 

2:03am

Two in the morning?!

How the hell was it already two in the morning?

I had to work in the morning for fucks sake!

I needed to get to bed & snuggle with my Cartier. 

My cat is the only person welcome in my bed. Don't judge me. 

So by the time I got home & closed my eyes I got just enough sleep to feel really hungover at work the next morning. 

I didn't even drink that much but since I never got the chance to sleep it off it was apparently enough. 

I managed to paint my face like the goddamn makeup artist genius that I am so when I saw the girlfriend I woke up to that morning (Apparently I also let my drunk girlfriends in my bed who don't want to drive home) later that same night she said, Wow. You look stunning.

Because she'd seen the hot mess I woke up like.

Dis.

It made me feel really good because I wanted to look stunning. 

Effortlessly so. 

But in that way that girls do when we're like, I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard but I want to look cute. Like ravishingly cute. And stunning. But casual. You know, like, oh this old thing? I just threw this on without any thought, even though the polka dots on my scarf are the same polka dots that are on my shirt and the other shirt is ruched but not too ruched just enough to make me look skinny so I don't have to suck in my gut cuz these jeans are kinda tight but they make my butt look good but I'm gonna be sitting so I better go to the bathroom a couple times so hopefully he sees me walk by and notices my great butt. 

See I put like no thought into it. 

At all. 

And when my girlfriend said I looked stunning I had to refrain from shouting FUCKYES! 

But where was I?

Ah, yes. 

Hung to the fuck over. 

I really kinda wanted to go home and go to bed. 

But it'd been my genius idea to meet my mother for drinks to see him.

I couldn't very well stand my mother up and I did want to see him even if I was too tired to keep my eyes open. 

Being so out of it actually worked in my favor because I was too out of it to have any energy to worry about how he might react having me there. 

I drove down and parked my car. 

It was pouring. 

I got out to fill the meter and just stood there. 

It's been so hot in Portlandia the past two months I hadn't been rained on in ages. 

I realized as the water started to change the color of my shirt like some mood ring that while I wanted to savor my moment with Mother Nature that I also wanted to look good when I walked in and I should probably stop being such a fucking hippie and start walking towards the bar. 

I found mother without looking up to where I already knew he was. 

I wanted to be there but I almost wanted to blend in to the scene. 

So while my vanity wanted to yell THATS RIGHT IM FUCKING HERE DO YOU SEE DO YOU SEE WHO THE FUCK JUST WALKED IN

Instead I quietly found my seat with the hushed diligence as though I was being seated just as the opera was beginning. 

I waited longer than I expected before I let myself look over and see him. 

There he is, my inner teenager elbowed me in the side. Look!

There are certain people in this world whose mere presence paints a smile on your face. 

They don't even really have to do anything. 

Just being is enough. 

I told mother of my latest adventures and the book I've been obsessed with and --

"Has he seen you yet?" Mother interrupted me. 

I glanced in his direction scrutinizing his every movement. 

'I don't know,' I said, 'I can't tell.'

Just then he threw the liquid nitrogen that had been steaming in the glass with such force at an angle that was exactly towards the table. 

As though if I'd been laying down instead of sitting up it would have hit me in the face. 

'He knows I'm here,' I said mostly to myself.

Him and I were vastly different in a lot of ways. 

In more than I would ever find out. 

But we were alike in one way. 

Everything we did had meaning. 

Our behavior wasn't accidental. 

It was with purpose. 

And intensity. 

Funny enough that one gesture contented me. 

Because I felt that I'd been seen.

I'd had a desire to see him and be seen. 

And that was it. 

Beyond that I just wanted a drink. 

The man makes a damn fine cocktail. 

We continued visiting and I occasionally glanced over to enjoy the view. 

A good while went by, enough that I wondered if he was just going to ignore me indefinitely--Twenty? Thirty minutes had passed?--And then somehow a shift and I looked up and saw him looking right at me. 

This was it.  

Like some sort of science experiment what would happen when you dumped one chemical into the vial that had an already existing chemical in it. 

Who the fuck knows until you just throw that shit together. 

He smiled and waved. 

Like. 

A sheepish, hand right by his face, quick hello, the way a boy on the playground might wave to the first girl he doesn't think has cooties. 

The corners of my lips shifted upwards into a slight smile of acceptance back and my hands stayed placed in my lap.

I didn't need to reciprocate. 

Me being there was my hello. 

"He waved at me," I finally included mother in the moment. 

"Am I a terrible person for feeling good that it took him twenty minutes to work up the courage to do that?"

'No, it just means that you were right about the connection you two share.'

I ordered a drink he'd never made for me before, and realized as it was being made that it was another bartender who had my order in his hands. 

Dissatisfied I asked mother if she might like that one and I ordered another.  

I asked the waiter to please make sure that bartender made my drink this time.

I watched as the waiter walked over to him to relay my request and as he prepared it he once again threw the nitrogen right in line with me like the glass had a string that attached to my wrist. 

And once the drink was finished he handed it to the waiter to bring to me. 

I drank the Manhattan with the same appreciation as though I were sipping diamonds. 

Mother took a sip to compare. 

Her eyes grew large. 

"Wow. Do you think he used the good stuff in that one?"

'Probably,' I said. 

No words. 

Just the best. 

For the lady. 

I brought the card to one of the bartenders to close our tab and as I started to sit back down I saw him walking my way, from the other end of the bar. 

For a moment I just stood there, staring. 

It was dark but even amidst the shadows I saw a smile form on his lips. 

But something in me had to move, had to break our gaze, like I almost didn't want him to walk up to me and say anything. 

I don't know why. 

I just had to sit down. 

"I'm going to use the restroom if you want to go over and say hi," and with that she left me alone at the table. 

I watched him work and reflected on how simple our interaction had been. 

I was content. 

What I'd needed had been simple. 

He thought everything about me was so damn complicated. 

But I'd just needed a wave.

Suddenly I was ready to go. 

I didn't want to go say hi. 

He wasn't ready to talk to me. 

Because if he had been he would have delivered that Manhattan himself.

And even though I'd shown up that was as far as I wanted to take being invasive. 

If he wanted to talk to me he would come over to me. 

I got up and walked out into the crisp air that no longer held the rain. 

I looked at him through the glass door, talking to some customer, explaining the complexities of some liquor, of some history of the drink.

I thought how we were in different worlds now, I on my boat, he on his. 

And how lovely it had been that he'd waved to me across the sea that existed between us.

That was enough. 

It was all I'd needed. 

Acknowledgement. 

A momentary connection. 

As I drove home, my contentment manifested on my lips. 

'I love you,' I said aloud. 

And I sent it straight to him. 

And it was then I realized I still could. 

Even if we never spoke again. 

The love danced in my heart unabashedly for no one else to see. 

Simply for the pure joy of feeling it. 

And feeling the release of any expectations, of all those I held tightly with such determined ferocity.

And instead just smiled. 

All the way home. 

Connected. 

Still. 

But this time. 

Accepting.

If You're Reading This

I'm coming to see you. 

Like. 

The day after tomorrow. 

I'm pretty sure you're gonna talk about what a crazy wackadoodle I am after I'm gone but I don't even care. 

Actually. 

I'm pretty sure you won't talk about me at all. 

You're a gentleman. 

And a bit of a quiet lonesome cowboy. 

You probably won't speak of it at all. 

But Lord only knows what you'll be thinking. 

That I'm quite certain I have no idea. 

I feel differently now. 

And I guess maybe that's why I decided it was time for me to show up. 

I'm not mad anymore. 

In fact I felt for the first time this week like I actually understand why you did what you did. 

And it feels really nice not to want to set you on fire anymore. 

I'd actually just like to give you a hug. 

But I'm not expecting that. 

In fact I'm not expecting anything. 

I'm prepared for apathy and silence. 

So if anything beyond that happens I will sip content. 

My friend told me I should treat it as though it were the last time I ever saw you. 

And I liked that. 

There was something simple and satisfying in that. 

Celebrating a moment in itself. 

As it is. 

Without looking beyond it for further satisfaction. 

Without needing it to continue. 

Or be anything. 

I'm rewriting your character in my story. 

I couldn't bear for you to simply become The Ghost.

Because then it would be the same as if you died. 

And I don't want my stories to be tragedies. 

My life's thematic scheme is clearly comedies, as Fate laughingly continues to misguide and mislead me, far astray from the course of true love and soul mates and boys that don't block my number. 

Pretty sure you did, by the bye. But I didn't even feel bothered by it. I think it helped me finally accept your silence.

The whole having no choice thing helped too. 

But see I decided you weren't going to be lover or ghost or anything quite so major anymore. 

But you were going to go back to how you were originally cast--

Strikingly handsome, aloof, off in the haze of the background and the music, with the ever occasional cameo of showing up to say something meaningful and gaze earnestly into my eyes. 

I would sit, always, with someone else by my side, just as I had that first warm summer night. 

And my eves, as that one and each to follow would never be about You.

But. 

Me.

See your story, your tragedy is not mine. 

We two are not one. 

We are merely strangers. 

Who on very rare, very lovely nights, will share the same space. 

And move freely, separately, distantly from one another. 

With a mere momentary glance as our only connection. 

The strength of which neither of us could fathom.

The Death of Lucrece

I saw a theatre performance this weekend that was so powerful it brought me to the brink of tears. 

I'm not even sure why I didn't cry. 

The tears were there, the way they well up and remained trapped behind your eyes. 

It got harder to swallow as the brink of a cry was stuck in my throat. 

The actress was so mesmerizing I was literally breathing with her. 

I'd been in bed for three days since my surgery and by the third night I had to get out of the house. 

I was also dreadfully sick of being alone and I wanted to be around people.

Even if I was sitting alone, I just needed to be near others. 

A friend of mine went with me and I had no idea what to expect from the show. 

Although, 'The Rape of Lucrece' should have been an indicator that I wasn't seeing a light hearted comedy. 

It was one woman singing and reciting the poem for 80 minutes and there wasn't a second of that I was bored. 

I was literally on the edge of my seat.

She was so captivating. 

The piece was so intense and dramatic I thought how much she had to give of herself for that role. 

And I wondered if the people she cared about came to see her perform. 

Because she was riveting. 

And I thought how much of myself I poured into my own role and that was such a fun, silly part.  

For something as emotionally demanding as what I saw, for how much of her own heart she clearly poured into the part, I hoped for her sake the people she loved were in the audience. 

I was so moved by her performance that I waited for her to come out just so I could give her a hug and tell her how beautiful her performance was. 

At the end of the poem Lucrece dies and the part that stirred me the most was when the father was mourning his daughters death. 

For some reason, I suddenly thought of The Phantom. 

And how I genuinely thought he might die. 

(I mean, shit. I was supposed to see him and then he couldn't meet because he woke up with blood coming out his eyes. BLOOD. In his EYES! That shit was all so scary and I wasn't even the one going through it. And hearing from him so inconsistently. And then not seeing him for so long on top of it?!! It was too much.)

In hindsight, I realize I shouldn't have held onto my crush so fervently for quite so long. 

But I really don't think my feelings would have been quite so intense if fear and worry and anxiety hadn't all been such huge factors. 

We should have just been getting drunk and having sex. 

Then the relationship could have played itself out like any other one. 

I guess I don't really blame him for just pushing me away. 

It probably seemed much simpler to him than letting some strange girl he barely knew into a world of so much pain. 

Hindsight's like that, I guess. 

Clear only after you're far enough away to focus on the truth. 

I don't think I was wrong either, though. 

No one who cared as deeply as I did could ever accept being pushed out of someone's life when you were so concerned for their well being. 

And I hope one day he sees that. 

And realizes I wasn't wrong either. 

I hope a lot of things. 

But mostly I hope that my next performance is as inspired as the one I saw.

There's nothing quite like genuine passion to stir the soul.