Worth a Thousand Words

Well.

I did it.

Drew a line in the sand.

And said I wanted something more. 

And all he wrote was that seems unfair.

But the thing is, it's actually perfectly fair. 

This is my story. 

And I cast the characters. 

At least the ones who stick around. 

Well.

Some of them leave before I want them to.

But that's their story.  

I'm not sure what came over me. 

But something in me awakened and was tired of being ignored. 

And I didn't want to play anymore. 

We'd set a date to meet this week. 

And instead of being excited to finally see him again I realized I didn't really want to go. 

I didn't want to sleep with him. 

In fact I'd rather do anything else with anyone else. 

My heart wasn't the same anymore.

I lied and told him I couldn't meet. 

And then I made plans with my friends.

And I suggested maybe we could meet sometime next week. 

Next week I'm on vacation so I won't be around much.

And that was it.

I'd seen him twice this month.

Twice.

Since Christmas Eve. 

What were we even doing?

I didn't even feel like he liked me very much. 

He rarely texted. 

He never complimented me. 

And I'd worked so very hard to be patient and understanding and wait. 

Just wait. 

For him to be excited to see me again. 

I sent him the photo I'd been holding onto, the drunk selfies I took on our first date, when I'd put on his glasses and thought I was hilarious. 

And adorable. 

And all he said was hahahaha!

If he would have just told me I was adorable maybe I would have met him for that drink on Thursday.

But my needs weren't being met. 

And they haven't been. 

And I looked at my heart and it nodded in agreement.

You're settling.

Because being with someone who doesn't make you feel beautiful is better than being alone.

Ok. You're great, but I'm looking for a connection with someone who makes time with me more of a priority. 

And he didn't try and change my mind. 

And with my one text, it was over. 

But I didn't regret it. 

In fact somewhere buried in me I felt relieved. 

The thing is. 

People think being single is this unfortunate thing that happens to you.

Like you lost some contest and singledom is your consolation prize.

But I have so many friends whose circumstances are making their decisions for them. 

And they have to make their choices work.

Their relationships have already been selected. 

And they don't have any say in it anymore. 

And some of them are glad. 

And some of them know they are settling. 

Because it seems the thing to do. 

And I've had this urge, this ache, crying out in my heart for something more. 

Something that shakes me, moves me, challenges and scares the shit out of me. 

Someone who misses their bus just so they can stay and have a drink with me. 

Because in that moment, I'm all that matters. 

I'm where they want to be. 

And he's out there.

It's out there. 

The kind of intensity that makes the rest of the crowded bar blur away. 

And feeling the rejection of Marvin's indifference I reached out and texted some kid I'd decided not to go on a second date with. 

And in one text he made me feel more validated than Marvin had in weeks. 

And life makes me laugh. 

Because there are so many wrong guys out there. 

Each with a tiny fraction of what I'm looking for. 

Or what I think I'm looking for. 

What I'm hoping for. 

And one day one of these wrong guys is going to take my breath away when I blink and in that second see he's actually right for me. 

Unlike any of those before him.

Take Me or Take Me

I've come to the conclusion I'm an emotional slut.

I'm super digging on Marvin and his absurdly adorkable glasses. 

But ever since I saw the Phantom I can't stop thinking about him. 

I feel like my thoughts are cheating. 

It's not even sexual.

It's just some bizarre fascination incarceration laceration. 

I just wanted to say words that rhymed. 

Rhyming is fun. 

It's like oral sex when it's not done out of obligation. 

My emotions are really fucking fickle.

I don't really trust them.

I trust Taco Bell to always be just a little disgusting. 

I trust Facebook to daily suggest I follow Mark Zuckerberg.

I trust my Bestie to send me inspirational memes with either an adorable kitten or the word fuck in it. 

I trust a lot of random shit. 

But I don't trust my feels. 

I think sometimes I think too much with my penis. 

And I should really think more with my uvola.

That's like my heart, right?

The thing is, my need for attention is so great I really don't know how to not blow up some guys phone. 

Or girls phone. 

You know why I have so many girlfriends?

Because if I texted just one girl all the things I spread out between the lot of them she'd probably have to change her number because I'd use up all her data.

So why is it that when it comes to dating I'm just supposed to settle on one?

I like every boy. 

Can't we all just make out?

Not that I like sharing my toys. 

But seriously, Timing certainly is a dirty fish monger. 

My brain knows which choices are best for me and yet sometimes I still occasionally get drunk and smoke a menthol cigarette. 

I don't get life sometimes. 

But then again, it's that damn confusion I find so alluring. 

Torment me again, you fickle emotions. 

Let's go on this ride you like to lead me to believe is valid feelings. 

When I think it really takes very little to sway me this way or that. 

It's amazing what being ignored can do to my interest level. 

Sometimes absence makes the heart simply indifferent. 

Or maybe I'm just so accustomed to so much anxiety being involved in my relationships I forgot what it felt like to be in a really good one. 

Maybe he just needs to lay on me so I can remember. 

Or forget. 

My emotions kinda don't give a fuck. 

And that's kinda hot. 

That Absinthe

Why is it that often the most epic nights are always the ones you accidentally stumble upon?

Or that somehow find you, rather.

I was on my way home.

But I decided to glance at my phone before starting the car.

HALP! For realsies! What do I do??! flashed across my home screen. 

It was my dear Amelie.

The most adorkable girl you will ever meet in your entire life. 

She was at this bar where this guy she really liked works.

Who, coincidentally, worked at the same bar as the guy I was once mad crazy about.

He's not there, is he? I texted her back.

The last time I saw him several months ago he wasn't particularly friendly and I really didn't want to see him again.

He's not working but he just walked in. I think he's leaving soon though.

Ok, I wrote back, On my way.

I walked to the back of the bar to use the restroom and also to calm myself down because I suddenly felt very nervous. 

I'd told myself I'd never go back there, or if I did, it'd be after enough time had passed he'd hardly recognize me. 

And there I was again, same breathtaking chandelier hanging In the corner, same bar I once dearly loved. 

I left the restroom and saw him, his back facing me. 

I had to pass him to get to Amelie but I wasn't there for him, I was there to support a fellow love crazed friend, so I didn't even glance his way and sat immediately at Amelie's side. 

She'd befriended a couple sitting next to her and after introductions they offered me a sip from their absinthe.

Oh, I'm getting over a cold, I don't want to share your glass. But I'll drink the last of it after you're finished. 

The gentleman quickly grabbed the glass and chugged the majority of what remained and handed it back to me with maybe a quarter of an ounce left. 

I stared at the bottom of the glass and tried not to shoot him a dirty look, and simply tossed my head back to finish it. 

It had most of the dissolved sugar cube in it but what fragment of liquid hit my tongue tingled in slight numbness and reminded me of the first time I had absinthe, in Kai's kitchen, years ago. 

I glanced toward the corner I had seen him standing in and he wasn't there anymore. 

He'd probably left, I thought, wanting to avoid me.

Amelie was telling me about a date she'd been on and all of a sudden I heard him laugh.

It was so strange. 

To all at once recognize something about someone you haven't been around in a very long time. 

Our visit with the couple lasted maybe ten minutes more and they wished us a good night. 

I sipped slowly on the hot toddy in front of me and suddenly noticed a tall figure reflected in the mirror across from me. 

Hey stranger, it's good to see you, he said, wrapping his long arms around me in a hug.

Hey, you too,I said, softer than normal.

I was slightly stunned he'd walked over to say hi.

He very animatedly starting telling Amelie and I about his day, his classes, about the burger he was craving, about the bus he'd just missed. 

I suddenly became a spectator of my own night, of what was happening, part in disbelief, part in adoring wonder. 

Here he was.

Sitting beside me.

For no reason for being there other than just to talk with me, which was something he hadn't done in nine months.

I kept waiting for the catch, waiting for him to say something insulting, waiting to realize he was merely there to meet someone else. 

When he stepped outside to smoke he walked around to sit right in front of the window right in front of us.

His attention was overwhelming. 

Meanwhile Amelie's crush busied himself behind the bar hardly looking up from his work making my poor friend bored from his non interaction. 

Normally I would have suggested we go elsewhere but I was so mesmerized from my old loves sudden interaction I was glued to my bar stool.

Quiet. 

But glued. 

I felt inexplicably calm.

Completely out of character. 

While my adorable friend rambled on about her escapades I just watched him.

I said nothing for the majority of the time I was there, and I just took him in.

All of it.

And he watched me back.

I can't even remember the last time we'd looked at each other so much. 

It was this strange sensation knowing everything had completely changed and yet still, after so much time, we each delighted in each other's face. 

At one particularly boisterous part of Amelie's story he looked at me and raised his eyebrows and we both smiled. 

My eyes must have somehow twinkled because he suddenly said, I've always admired people who can wink.

And I blushed under the dim lights.

You winked? What'd you do? Show me what you did? Amelie played along.

I didn't do anything, I said.

That's just what my face did when it looked at him.

Ninety minutes later I knew he would leave soon, catching the long overdue bus for that burger he'd wanted two hours ago.

Without a word I got up from my chair and walked over to him and he stood too. 

I tightly wrapped my arms under his coat and held him. 

And for what felt like enough time to play an entire ballad, we just stood there. 

And there was something in his hug that felt healing, that spoke more than any thousand texts could say.

Amelie's crush was standing in front of us all and asked Amelie what she thought of her drink.

Well, it's alright, even though you didn't make it and I asked you to, she sassily replied. 

Sometimes things don't turn out the way we want them too, and my mouth fell open, because he clearly meant more than just the cocktail.

I hugged Amelie goodbye and walked out of the bar just ahead of my lost love.

As we got outside he put a cigarette between his lips, and suddenly looked like some black and white photograph.

I reached up to him, standing on my tiptoes, this time wrapping my arms around his neck.

It was such a simple accidental encounter.

But something about our interactions always felt like some scene in a movie.

There was an intensity between us.

I had no other word for it. 

Not love, not passion, not friendship.

An energy. 

Something danced between our souls and as I stepped away and looked back at him I realized if I never saw him again after this moment, that would be okay.

There were no words waiting to spill out from my lips.

I felt content. 

Get home ok, drive safe, he said.

Oh, I'm fine, I only had that one, I said.

And you finished the last of that absinthe, he said.

And we both smiled. 

He'd been watching me.

From the moment I first sat down. 

Because I still captivated him.

And it was so fucking perfect, I couldn't quite believe it. 

I got home and I showered and I marveled over every detail of the night.

Of every moment that he chose to be near me.

And every glance. 

And sideways smile. 

And I wondered what he was thinking at this moment and if our night was to be some sort of dream.

Where the planets aligned and our paths would likely not cross again. 

And just then my phone beeped.

And I thought Amelie must be sharing how her night ended. 

And as I leaned over my phone, my mind knew before my eyes even saw the numbers.

It was him.

For the first time in eight months.

The Phantom texted me.

Da Boobs

A woman told me I was showing too much cleavage today. 

For a moment I felt all warm and fuzzy like I was back in retail sales again and all the glory that comes with having females in management. 

Oh, I'm sorry?

Is that sexist?

Guess how many men have ever told me I was showing too much cleavage?

Zero. 

Guess how many women?

All of them.

Can someone please explain to me why someone who has breasts is giving me a hard time for having big jugs m'self?

People of the world, listen up.

Having to carry around two giant D cups everywhere is WORK. 

Managing to smoosh those magnificent mangoes into clothing everyday without them popping out and attacking you is a miracle from GOD.

It takes a special skill to find clothing tight enough to fit the actual shape of your body but loose enough that it can manage to house my giant boobies. 

Would you feel more comfortable if I was wearing a shapeless sheath?

Ooh I know. 

Why don't I wear a moo moo everywhere I go?

That way no one will be offended by my boobs because I will look like a giant sack of a woman. 

That would be awesome. 

I'm sorry the neckline of my dress offends you. 

V neck lines are very popular with busty women because it gives part of our boobs some air to breathe since they're normally suffocating under our clothing. 

Or awkwardly creating gaps in the buttons on our shirts. 

Or making our shirt seem like a crop top because the amount of fabric needed to cover our chests wearing a high neckline means we may offend you even more deeply with the inch that may show of our tummy. 

Heaven for-fucking-bid.

So I put on a tank top under my dress to try and lessen the offending breastaces which only managed to make my cleavage MORE pronounced because when you wrap something else around big boobs it pushes them together more.

But there you are. 

My clea-VAGE isn't quite so ap-pa-RENT so I hope you can survive the rest of your day unharmed. 

Also. 

A large chested woman has Never.

Ever.

Told me. 

I was showing too much cleavage. 

Because women with massive boobs understand.

How fucking hard it is to keep those ladies in line. 

And for those of you women clueless to the world of unruly breasts--

Imagine your ass.

Was on your chest. 

THAT.

Is what it feels like.

When you're told to cover that shit up. 

Dat shit just ain't happening. 

 

the sub switch

I told my friend that if I ever got to meet Benedict Cumberbatch I would wanna kiss him. 

Just kissing? She asked me.

No, you're right, I'd want more than that.

I know you, she replied. You'd be like, go to the bedroom and wait for me.

She's right. 

I would. 

When I was in second grade my Mother went to a parent teacher conference and the teacher told her, Teresa is a very sensual child.

Mother said she didn't quite know how to respond to that. 

In this case it wasn't Maybelline.

I was just born with it. 

Being sensual from the time you're too young to know what that word even means has its benefits. 

I've never been shy.  

I remember playing that game in elementary school where we'd chase the boys around the playground and if we caught them we'd kiss them. 

And I ALWAYS caught them. 

Then I grew up and somehow, all through my twenties, I always managed to get what I wanted. 

If I liked a guy I could always get him to go out with me. 

Maybe just for the night, but still. 

I knew how to get men to give me what I wanted. 

Temporarily.

The problem with that was one day I met a guy who never gave me what I wanted. 

We dated. 

But everything was on his terms. 

It took him eight months before he ever told me I was beautiful. 

I was mystified. 

Why did you date him for so long? you might ask.

I honestly have no idea. 

I also preceded to then be obsessed with him for years after we broke up. 

After I broke up with him, I might add. 

He was just so different from any other guy I'd ever known. 

Something about him both intrigued and frustrated me. 

I'd been assertive, hell, I'd even been aggressive, my whole life with men. 

I'd meet a guy and think he was cute and say, You should take me out sometime. 

And as a result the majority of guys I went for were shy, more introverted guys. 

And a lot of those guys were just as shy in the bedroom. 

But that wasn't what I really wanted. 

But I didn't know what I wanted because I'd never experienced it. 

Well after me dominating my relationships in my twenties I realized how incredibly unsexy it is when a man can't make a decision.

When he doubted himself in life. 

When he was hesitant during sex. 

Would you believe I once dated a guy who pulled out during the first time we had sex and declared, We can't do this!!

Hey buddy.

It's been DONE.

So #lifegoals and all that rubbish.

Finding a man who could handle my sass in life.

And my sub in bed.

And maybe mystify me but still be able to tell me I'm beautiful. 

For fucks sake.

Trial and error, my pets.

You see a slew of bad suitors. 

And I see a fine tuning of the hobby I call-

MEN.

Me, The JackRabbit & The time he Masturbated inside me

Before you freak out this is a latergram.

Laterblog?

Is that even a thing?

But I decided it was time to bust out the Confessions of my Night Stand and tell you about the time I had the most ridiculous sex of my life.

It was also the worst sex of my life but in an epically hilarious way.

He was so overly smiley and Ivy League looking he looked like he'd stepped out of a Republican campaign. 

When he smiled I swear his teeth caught the glint of the overhead light and there was a soft ping heard in the distance. 

He was friendly and chatty and the date seemed to be going fine enough. 

But then he got up from his chair and sat down beside me and that should have been my first warning. 

I don't do dates like that. 

Sitting side by side on one side of the bench so we can both face the bar together awkwardly like we're sitting on some homecoming court. 

No. Hell to the no-o-oh.

And then he actually made it worse. 

Keep in mind I'd only been on the date for twenty minutes but some guys like to bring their A game early. 

That's A for awkward, obviously.

I'd kind of like to kiss you, he says like he's Matthew McConaughey.

I'd kind of like to kick you in the balls, I refrain from saying. 

And instead, I smile, wondering why men EVER think it's okay to accounce such things. 

I'd kind of like to insert my penis inside you right now. 

I'd kind of like to smack dat ass right now. 

For the love of Nike just fucking DO it.

So the kiss

The kiss??

Alright, the kiss was fine. 

Whatever. 

It was a kiss. 

It was after the kiss I started to question his sexuality. 

Are you seriously holding my hand right now? this time I actually speak out loud as I looked down at his hand interlocked with mine, after our awkward Sadie Hawkins kiss, sitting side by side, staring at the entire restaurant. 

Yeah. I thought it might be nice to hold your hand so I just went for it, he speaks aloud back to me.

Okay.

I did, I did, just think men should DO that but obviously not when we're talking a same booth first date 25 minutes in hand holding situation.

I laughed lightly, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. 

I wrenched my hand back from his overly eager death grip and he teased me for thinking his behavior was strange. 

NO GIRL WANTS TO HOLD HANDS AWKWARDLY AT A TABLE WHEN SHE'S KNOWN YOU FOR LESS THAN THE TIME IT TAKES TO WATCH AN EPISODE OF DOWNTON ABBEY FOOL

Good. LORD.

He managed to somehow get the hint and moved back to his proper side of the table and I finished the date unharmed. 

Well, for some reason--

I'm gonna go with boredom?

I agreed to let him come over. 

Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking either but you know girls do dumb shit when they're drunk. 

No. 

I wasn't drunk. 

I was bored.

Remember?

So we're making out and he says, Move down the bed a bit I don't want you to hit your head. 

I don't want you.

To hit your head.

Remember this, ladies, for if a man ever says this to you, you're gonna need to fake a violent stomach bug and get the hell out of dodge. 

Hit my head? Why would I hit my he--

Powpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpowpow

I was having jack rabbit sex. 

For a moment I thought maybe I was on some hidden camera show because surely NO man actually ever had sex like that. 

I mean, it felt like he was masturbating inside me. 

I felt a giggle rising up inside me. 

It was coming--At least something was--

I was going to literally laugh in his face over the sheer absurdity of what he was doing. 

But suddenly he leaned down--Not.Slowing.Down.A.MOMENT--How you doing? You doing alright?

I bit my tongue, Mmhmm, I let my mouth smile. 

I know what you're thinking. 

Why didn't you say anything, Reese?

Because when a man is going at warp speed inside you from literally the second he's in you, there really isn't time to find the words to express your disapproval. 

You're in this mixture of shock and disbelief and confusion and amusement and you're mouth is too busy flapping from the sheer force of it all to form any coherent sentences.

And it wasn't painful or uncomfortable it was just the most ridiculous awful sex I'd ever had in my entire life. 

And in true awful sex fashion, it thankfully, didn't last long. 

I don't think I've ever come so fast, he said. 

Gee. 

Thanks.

What a flatterer.

Then I faced, firsthand, the reason I never, ever, let men come over to have sex. 

How. 

Did I get him. 

To leave??

What ensued next was an awkward--have we managed to pinpoint the theme of the night?--spooning session where I tried to get up and he wasn't quite finished yet because apparently we hadn't gone and made this date quite awkward enough. 

Then. 

Then.

He wanted to have sex again. 

It was at that moment I got up, got dressed and went into the living room. 

My living room. 

In my apartment. 

With my clothes back on. 

Because desperate times call for ridiculous measures. 

And eventually he got a clue and fled the crime scene.

And for some unholy reason he apparently thought we had a great time together cuz he's asked, on numerous occasions, to see me again. 

So.

The moral of the story is:

Sex on a first date is generally awful.

But sometimes, on extra special occasions, it can make you wish you'd crawled under the bar table to make your escape when he'd held your hand in the first place. 

me, a blade, and one damn onion

I cut an onion tonight. 

Gonna score that a negative twenty-three on any normal person's scale of awesome. 

For me, however, it was a pretty big fucking deal.

I don't cook.

Don't. COOK.

Friends come over and open my refrigerator and say, You have no food.

I use what should be my pantry for clothes.

But I have all the tools to make it look like I'm domestic.

Pots, pans, wooden spoons, a giant knife.

Knives. Shudder.

You know, slicing vegetables wouldn't be an extreme sport if someone taught me the correct way to hold the damn thing. 

Hand at the start of the handle. Thumb and index finger pinching either side of the back of the blade.

He may have told me all that before the onion debacle. 

I don't remember. 

I'm sure he did, he was all about efficiency, security, a very tidy work space. 

But like most things I don't give two fucks about I probably wasn't listening. 

I didn't care about cooking.

I just wanted to be with him.

So when it came time to chop the onion in half, I barely held it still with my left hand and threw the blade down mightily, holding it all the way back near the base of the handle with my right hand and slice.

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.

I'm ok. It's ok. I'm ok. I'm ok.

Kai walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet and told me to stick my finger under the running water. 

I was so overwhelmingly embarrassed I almost didn't let myself cry.

Needless to say he chopped the onion that night. 

And when he suggested I try again a few days later I replied with a violent NO.

I bet that was the pivotal turning point in our relationship, the moment he realized I am monumentally incapable of the simplest adulting. 

It really was a simple oversight. 

The kind of mishap any cook has had in the kitchen. 

But for some reason something shut down in me. 

My dad nearly cut off one of my fingers with pruning sheers when I was helping with outside chores. 

And here I'd gone and nearly repeated the almost tragedy helping out in the kitchen. 

I belonged in neither circumstance. 

So for some reason this afternoon, all these years later, when I decided I would actually "cook" my dinner and my guests, I realized exactly what I wanted to make--

Red Sauce.

It was time the onion and I met once again. 

And I'm not gonna lie, I was totally fucking nervous.

But you know what, I did it. 

It was an incredibly uneven cut, so it was more a third of an onion and two thirds instead of two halves, but who the hell cares. 

I conquered my damn fear. 

And when I tasted the finished product it was delicious.

As my guest arrived, I went to the stove to boil the water for the pasta and then sat back on the couch.

And he kissed me. 

And you know.

We never actually got around to dinner. 

And I was totally okay with that. 

Hell. 

I think I'll even cook more often. 

I actually.

Kinda.

Liked it.

Who fucking knew?

Cora? Whose Cora?

I went to my parents tonight to watch Downton Abbey.

My wild Saturday night. 

I haven't been this sick in so long. 

This is day seven and while I'm "better" in the sense I'm no longer bedridden with a fever, I'm still so bloody sick. 

Congestion no cold pills can cure. 

And a headache that makes me hate humanity. 

I am so fucking grumpy.

I don't feel like myself at all.

It's maddening. 

But tonight, for a few hours at least, I got to lose myself with the characters I've come to adore over the years.

This is the last season, Dad reminded me. 

And that reminded me of how I first discovered the show. 

Kai.

This looks good, he had said, stumbling across it online. 

I was hesitant (as he loved reminding me later) but one episode and I was entranced. 

He'd find the seasons in their entirety before they aired in the states so I'd watch the entire season in a matter of days. 

And then be sad that it was over already.

Like him and I now.

Twice, twice, if you can imagine, I watched the bonus Christmas special before the first episode, which basically meant I had spoiled the entire season for myself. 

The Christmas episode was a season extra, tying up all that had happened during that season. 

Kai would laugh at me, as he brought me more tea, back when most of my nights were spent curled up on his couch, the same grey couch he left behind when he left that apartment.

I knew as I shut the door in that colorful hallway as I helped him gather the last of his stuff that things would never be the same again. 

And they never were. 

So tonight, as I drove home after only seeing two episodes of the season, I thought that maybe it wasn't so bad to have to wait to see what happens. 

Maybe there was something more fun about having a piece of it to treasure once a week.

Even if a part of me wished for more, to know what was gonna happen. 

Maybe not knowing was okay. 

Maybe change was okay. 

I drove passed the billboard for zoo lights. 

I missed them this Christmas. 

And I'd gone the past several years. 

I'd always be sad when it was over because I didn't want to go yet and we'd be frozen but he'd humor me, and we'd see the entire display a second time. 

Running. 

That may have been my favorite part, running together, past the crowd surrounding us, lights a blur, laughing, still partly frozen.

But together. 

But he wasn't there to run with me this Christmas. 

And he wasn't there to get the final season before it aired. 

And sometimes I forget he isn't there anymore. 

And then something will happen that reminds me how much I used to adore him. 

And how we really did have our way of loving each other.

Which nobody, including ourselves, ever really understood. 

that's a satellite, darling

Everything is temporary. 

And for some reason this always upsets me.

Like if everything I treasured when I was nineteen was still my life now, would that make me happier?

Everything is changing. 

And this is actually a good thing because nothing thrilling comes from similarity. 

But if I realize this, why do I always crave the resistance?

Resisting each changing entity like it was trying to devour my joy.

It is a relief to accept the shortness of things. 

When you're a kid the notion of being friends forever is more important than anything you can possibly imagine. 

But how many friends are strong enough to make it to forever?

And is it really even their fault that they grew too weary to make it there?

Relationships take time. 

So much time. 

As I've grown older it baffles me how difficult it is to bring people together. 

I was always out running around town with my friends. 

And now my friends are tired. 

And they want to stay home.

Alone with their melancholy. 

Self indulgence has replaced companionship. 

And maybe that's okay. 

Maybe we need to focus more on ourselves as we grow older because we do spend our entire adolescence fixated on everyone around us. 

But somewhere there must lie a balance. 

I miss that time. 

When time together was put before all else. 

Those late nights talking into the sunrise, our dreams dancing around us as we connect and love the person sacrificing sleep to be with us. 

And then we age and learn sleep is a requirement for health and happiness and instead we text our friends some other time and watch movies alone in our beds feeling slightly disconnected from the stars we used to lay under and gaze at. 

Youth, that aberation.

I watched three awkward kids walk along the road, clutching their backpacks, shuffling their feet as they looked down, uncomfortable in every inch of their own skin.

No, not for all the world would I travel back to such uncertainty. 

But an ounce,

perhaps a whisper,

of the unadulterated bliss,

that came with getting absolutely lost 

in the most inane moments. 

Take me to a place, where we will lay, 

you dear ones and I,

under each shining star

and tell of our dreams, 

without a care of anything but being together.

Surely there's a time we still can dream, hand in hand, whiling away the time as our laughter echoes through the passing night. 

surprise endings

Listening to a voicemail from an old lover is surreal, in part because you kind of forgot they were still on your phone. 

It's also validating because life, the fact he never accepted your Facebook friend request not even after that night in his car, really him in particular, have led you to feel slightly insane over the whole debacle. 

So even though it feels like a lifetime ago, I can't bring myself to delete the voicemail messages. 

In part because it's tangible evidence that I am not crazy (at least not in regards to that).

And also.

Men don't leave voicemail messages very often. 

It feels kinda special.

But I had something new, special, happen this past week.

I guess special probably isn't the appropriate word. 

But it felt special to me.

I got mad. 

Inordinately pissed at this guy.

Because when something has all the fun of being new it also has all the propensity for not understanding each other. 

Enter Reese.

He seems like a really sweet guy.

They all seem really sweet at one point. 

But due to my interpretation of his texts I lost my super sweet self and channeled my alter, bitchier ego and let him have it. 

Now it's been my experience when I let my rage reign men go pouting into the night. 

And I was actually prepared, nay, expecting this to be our end. 

And then as my phone beeped, I went to read his reply, anticipating my rage met with indignation and as my eyes skimmed the words, I'm sorry Teresa....didn't mean to aggravate you....I apologize. 

I was stupefied. 

Let's just say the message I sent was so harsh my girlfriend told me she would have thought fuck it and never talked to me again if I'd sent her that.

And she's a Charlotte.

You know, the really sweet, believing the best, loyal friend from Sex & the city.

And she told me all I know is I wouldn't have responded calmly to that.

And he, realizing how upset I was, calmly responded and apologized. 

I'm sorry, but--

What?

I genuinely didn't know what to say. 

In fact I didn't text back for an hour. 

Not because I wanted to be cool and wait because I was like, mouth hanging wide open, phone in hand, sitting dumbfounded on my couch, not comprehending his response. 

The only response I'm used to stirring in men is passion or hatred. I don't generally incite a calm reaction. 

Who the fuck was this guy?

In the end, all was well, and it's like the misunderstanding never even happened. 

Except it did. 

And I learned it's okay for me to be angry.

That may not seem like a big deal, but generally, the men I date punish me for getting angry.

I've felt, in most of my relationships, I'm not allowed to be upset because the men can't handle it.

I've dated two men, my entire life, I felt it was okay to get angry with and it wasn't the end of the fucking world. 

Now here was number three. 

Cool as a fucking cucumber.

Oblivious to the fact that I kinda just really got excited to be dating him.

my soul mates

You know you have good girlfriends when they cyber stalk your enemies for you.

There are certain things you don't want to know, or don't want to actually do.

But having your best friends do the dirty work for you it's suddenly wildly different when they chime in, Oh I know what they said, here let me tell you...

I laughed because there was no point in me even trying to stop her, she was going to read me what was posted and by the time I formed the words, No I don't wanna know, she was already half way through the paragraph she was reading aloud. 

And you know, after I knew what it said, I was kinda glad.

The reason the quote reads The truth shall set you free is because the truth does, in fact, set you free. 

That's why it's actually really fantastic to know it. 

A friend of mine I used to talk to nearly every day went dark and I had no idea what was going on with him. 

Was he hurt? 

Was he depressed?

Did he hate me?

But he'd never write me back.

And the not knowing part drove me bananas.

So I cyber stalked him, as good friends do, and I saw that a picture I had posted to his wall had been deleted. 

He'd had time to delete my loving post but never texted me back.

Oh. HELL. No.

Not cool. 

Not okay in any way, shape or form.

So I wrote him again, confronting him for doing that and asking if he didn't want to be friends anymore and I finally heard from him. 

And I'm still pissed he missed my birthday and blew me off for so long but at least knowing the truth, I realized it had nothing to do with me. 

People forget that most of the time it actually has nothing to do with you. 

Or me. 

It's all about them and all their shit. 

But for all the people who don't make time for you, who don't text you back, who block and delete you, there are the oh so wonderful dear ones, who support you completely, who defend you and uplift you, who bring you food and wine when they come over because they know you didn't go to the store, who stalk your enemies and ex boyfriends and let you know what you're not missing, and they are the lights of my life, the sanity to my sheer madness. 

And I wouldn't trade time with them for the world. 

Takeaway this, bitch

This week was the second time in the last month I've felt like a territorial big sister ready to kick the ass of some bitch who done wrong my friend.

Snatches can snatch all they want with me. 

Wait. That sounds wrong. 

That's not what I meant.

But pick on one of my soul sisters and I just want to walk up to you and punch you in the vagina. 

You heard me, you self righteous cunts.

My girlfriend had a girlfriend and at first she was excited about her. 

But as what happens with dating my friend discovered their compatibility was not what she had believed it to be. 

That fucking happens.

It's a natural part of dating. 

We meet. 

We click.

We lust.

Maybe we love.

And then we either stop loving or never leave each other the hell alone. 

I should write Hallmark cards.

My problem with the dick of a woman aggravating my friend is, their relationship was already open.

From the get go, there was a supposed acceptance and understanding of where the other was at, the newness, the uncertainty.

The page they were on was I really dig you, let's see where this goes, knowing we each have the freedom to explore with other partners. 

But time reveals all things, and time showed the girl to be a rather self involved partner and the over indulgence waned on my friend and she doubted their connection. 

And even though they started out supposedly in this place of open acceptance she bombarded and accosted my friend with verbal diarrhea calling her a narcissist.

Hey. Bitchy Mcbitcherson.

My friend is not a narcissist just because she doesn't want to put up with your shit.

I remember when she first met you. 

And how every atom in my body was thinking RUN cuz you be a crazy hoe.

And I knew that long before my friend got mixed up in all this.

The only narcissist in your relationships is YOU. 

It's why your breakups always turn out the way they do.

It's why your presumptive email made me want to reach through the Internet and bitch slap you til you cried like a male virgin.

My friend is a pearl.

She's fucking amazing. 

And sometimes people date and it doesn't work out. 

At least she communicated openly and honestly with you about where she was at. 

You didn't need to be so damn impolite just because she didn't want you.

I hope you feel like a giant asshole for a long time because no one you've slept with likes you.

And the next time you mess with my friend I'm coming after you and karate chopping your ass.

Love, Resa

Fuck with my friends and I'll fuck with you.

And we all know, I fuck harder.

insomnia

I made Marvin a cup of coffee this morning. 

I don't think he understands that's as domestic as I get. 

Or that I haven't been that domestic in four years. 

It's really fucking weird.

Don't get me wrong. 

A relationship is great. 

I mean, hell, that's why I've endured all the ridiculous dates and ridiculous sex over the years. 

The ultimate goal is a relationship.

Isn't it?

But in the middle of the night I got up to use the restroom and then wandered into the living room to find my cat, Cartier, sleeping on the couch.

My cat hates men. 

Fucking HATES them. 

Girls, he snuggles up beside. 

But there's a man in our place and he gets all territorial like, I'm the only male who gets on that bed, asshole.

So I sat next to him on the couch and petted him. 

I miss you, I whispered. 

There's this great, sexy guy asleep in my bed and I'm in the living room talking to my cat.

Typical Reese, 

Somewhere there's a shrink speculating that sums up all my relationship problems right there. 

Or maybe not. 

I climbed back into bed and looked at him sleeping. 

I curled up next to him and smiled as I looked out the window.

I was in some foreign land, some alternate reality, where I had what I wanted and yet a part of me doubted it. 

A part of me still wanted to run away, to sleep on the couch with Cartier. 

To just be alone. 

I like my life alone.

It is lovely sharing it with someone. 

But it is foreign to me. 

At least like this.

Intimacy is a wonderful, terrifying, extraordinary and unpredictable thing.

Tonight I get to sleep in my giant bed alone.

With Cartier curled up by my side. 

And I am grateful. 

But I know the next night he comes over it won't feel quite as foreign. 

And maybe one night I'll even forget what it felt like when I preferred sleeping alone.

I can't imagine that. 

But I guess anything is possible, isn't it?

Dear Matthew

Marvin texted me tonight.

And he wrote, If that's what you want, that's what you'll get.

And I don't know why, but I suddenly thought of you.

And after our first date, when we were planning the next one, you wrote, Whatever the lady wants.

Remember that?

Back when you were excited to see me?

When after every kiss you exhaled the word Fuuuuck because you couldn't believe how great it was.  

Just kissing me. 

That all was so long ago.

Back when Sheldon and I used to rock climb every week.

Back when my career was selling jewelry. 

Back when I wanted to be famous on YouTube. 

But everything in your grey little world crumbled around you and then it was no longer about what the lady wanted. 

I never got what I wanted again after you left the theatre in your tux, my red lipstick smeared all over your face. 

And that was nine months ago. 

Isn't that crazy?

Your profile picture is still the photo I took of you. 

And the last photo you posted on IG was six months ago, that photo of our bridge. 

It bothered me for months. 

And then I realized I should just feel special. 

You don't post anything often. 

But when you do, it means something. 

I thought of you, too, because when I was trying to reconcile you said to me, It shouldn't be this hard.

And I hated you for saying that because it was only so hard because we never saw each other. 

But you know what?

Then I met Marvin, and it's been nothing but simple. 

There is no drama and no misunderstandings. 

He likes me and he thinks I'm a babe. 

And he says it. 

And you know all those nights you would never come over because there was just something else more pressing than being in my arms?

He always makes time for me. 

Christmas Eve he drove forty minutes just to see me for a couple hours after even seeing me the day before and I don't think I've felt more loved all year. 

The only time you ever gave me was in between everything else. 

Remember how you'd fit me in and give me an hour of your time?

You were right. 

It shouldn't have been so hard. 

Because when you're compatible with someone you can't wait to be in their arms again. 

They aren't your last priority. 

He was gone for two weeks and seeing me is his agenda his second night being home. 

You would never have done that. 

And then you'd make me feel guilty for needing to see you. 

Marvin's as impatient to see me again as I am to see him. 

And we were never like that. 

And I didn't understand. 

Because I felt so crazy about you. 

And I so desperately wanted us to be something real. 

Because you did come hear me sing.

And you were moved to kiss me. 

And I thought that was love. 

But that's all we had. 

That one magic moment. 

When I thought my life was a fairytale. 

And now I have something so delightfully ordinary. 

And I have never felt more beautiful. 

And more like myself in a very long time.

I'm worth his time. 

And that's already more than you ever gave me. 

My darling. 

You thought it was me, but you got our story entirely wrong. 

The only thing complicated about it 

Was you.

And I could never do anything about that. 

May your current lover,

And the coming year,

Be full of magic and wonder and inspiration. 

And simplicity. 

Gorgeous, perfect, simple love. 

the ones who got away

What if you just tell him that you're crazy? That's what I do. Then he knows.

If women were honest with the men they dated, this would be the first thing we'd tell them.

Hi. I have a propensity for over reacting and being hyper sensitive and generally my way of dealing with it is acting out in ways that reassure and validate me but generally will piss you the hell off so if you could just make sure to always text me back and tell me I'm pretty we should be fine.

I think I just wrote my Tinder self description.

The truth seems to grow increasingly more complicated as we get older. 

I kind of miss the days when the only thing I cared about with a guy was what bands he listened to. 

We had no fucking clue how simple things were back then.

My girlfriend got dumped on New Years. 

Can you imagine?

What idiot is like, I know, I'll plan an evening with my gal, take her to dinner and then right after wishing her a happy new year, ask, Do you think we're compatible?

What a cotton headed ninny muggins.

Hey buddy.

You're the one that wanted to be exclusive with my friend, remember?

You're the one whose tooooootally not cute enough to be with her.

Timing, good sir, could have reduced your epic shit show.

So we did what all women do when some idiot does us wrong-we roasted the hell out of him.

I tried to watch Sherlock with him and ten minutes in he's like, I don't really like this.

'Whaaa?? Dump him immediately. It's over! Who doesn't like Sherlock?

And with such simple reasoning what else is there to even consider?

But as we talked late into the night it was really more than that. 

Any rejection, even if it's from a guy you know isn't right for you, is still a rejection. 

And my friend didn't understand why people you share a connection, an intimacy with, so easily can just cut you out. 

So you are no longer a part of the story of their life. 

And it rang true to my own heartache. 

But the thing is, we don't have that many hours in that many days. 

And we're older and have things we want to do and things we're obligated to do and the amount of time we have for relationships is limited. 

Nobody ever wants to think about that. 

But you can't stay friends with everyone. 

Because everyone would require more energy than you possess. 

What you can do, is adore and cherish the ones who do make time for you, who do love you enough to want you in their story. 

And it fucking sucks there are always going to be people who don't think you're compatible or don't see the point in meeting for coffee and there is nothing, absofuckinlutely nothing you can do to change them. 

But I do believe when we are rejected by one, one lover or girlfriend, someone who doesn't dig our quirks or delight in our eccentricities, it opens this tiny window for someone else to step in and fill their place. 

And you hate admitting that's okay because there's actually enough love in your heart that it could be anyone. 

It doesn't have to be them. 

Even if you wanted to believe that. 

People enter and depart and the trickiest part is allowing yourself the openness to be vulnerable with them. 

And then the forgiveness to completely let them go when they never return your texts again. 

No relationship is forever. 

Because something, willingly or not, will always tear you apart. 

So while they are here, each darling kindred, hold onto every moment. 

And rejoice when there's suddenly new room in your life for someone even more right for every ounce of crazy dancing through you. 

high on honesty

I started 2016 being incredibly fucking brave.

See, dating this era has turned into a convoluted vague cluster fuck. 

No one has any idea what anyone is doing and that makes us all run around and do incredibly crazy shit as a reaction to not knowing what the fuck is going on.

Or maybe you just sit at home watching Netflix, chill, and I'm the one acting out.

I like this guy.

I'm in serious like.

But the kid blowing up my phone isn't the one I'm in like with.

But not knowing where you stand with someone makes it easy to do anything with anyone because what they don't know won't make me have to deal with it. 

That's the way I handled The Phantom and his inability to make time to see me. 

I went out with someone else. 

And what happened?

The Phantom got butt hurt about it and didn't want to see me anymore. 

There were a ton of crazy circumstances and we all know things didn't really end with that conversation at East Burn.

But my assumption about where I stood with him led me to seek validation elsewhere and that was ultimately our downfall.

How the fuck was I supposed to know?

Cut to now, and I feel my instincts kicking in and my urge is to go out with the kid blowing up my phone because that seems easier than wondering where I stand with the guy who hypnotized me with the Like.

And something in me decides, No.

Fuck it.

I want to know where I stand. 

And once I do, I can decide what I want and don't want and that, rather than reacting, should be what drives me away or closer to him. (Or hims).

So I ask if we're seeing other people and he writes I am not seeing anyone else.

And maybe this seems like such a simple question to you, but in my experience, it has often opened the door for a cavalcade of chaotic confusion and expectation and it frankly seems easier to ignore it than ask about it. 

The Phantom told me we were dating exclusively after two weeks and then I immediately didn't see him for 25 days.

You can understand that's made me a little averse to labeling anything quickly. 

But the thought of going on a date with someone else made me feel a little guilty, like what if the object of my Like saw us together. 

What would he think?

So in spite of my slight paranoia I asked to see where he was at. 

And it turns out we're on the same page. 

And I immediately texted the guy I didn't really want to go out with again and told him I was seeing someone. 

Because apparently I am. 

And that's kind of fantastic. 

And when he gets back in town he wants to see me again. 

Cuz you know, when someone likes you, they make time to see you. 

And I forgot how that one simple thing, time, can change everything. 

Happy New Year, You

I don't remember what I did last New Year's.

Not because I was so raging drunk I blacked out and don't remember my epic night. 

Because I just don't remember. 

It's a holiday, like St. Patrick's Day, or President's Day, that doesn't instill in me a very strong reaction. 

I'm not really sure why, though I suppose it's because, growing up the month already had my birthday, my brother's birthday and Jesus' birthday.

So by the time we got to the Year's birthday, it was like, eh whatever. 

I like champagne and fireworks but I don't really need to kiss someone at midnight.

If the tradition was fucking someone at midnight, that would be a different story. 

I do like the idea of a clean slate, though.

A new story.

Blank pages. 

The unknown slowly unfolding. 

It's strange we only think about that happening in January when the entire year is a different story falling together each day. 

A girlfriend and I were talking about soul mates, about the idea that there is one person out there for us. 

And we decided the idea that there was only one was absurd. 

This past year I loved several different men. 

In different ways, to varying degrees.

But I would have done anything for each of them.

And that wasn't feigned affection, that was my genuine heart.

The idea of loving more than one person when I was younger would have shocked me. 

I believed love to be so black and white then. 

But the thing is, love, the kind of love that isn't purely selfish, changes and shifts, it listens to the object of its desire. 

And I don't think I ever stop loving any one of them. 

I just learn to store the unreciprocated love and let my heart freely adore another. 

It's a rather beautiful cycle. 

Loss. 

And then something new is discovered. 

And in very rare cases, certain loves never leave you. 

They always remember to wish you a happy new year. 

Some loves are the only ones who text you at midnight.

And that one connection, for that one moment, is enough to remind you, that love exists. 

In quiet corners, on quiet nights. 

Some loves never end.

Their story simply rewrites itself to find its place in every new chapter. 

Book Three.

Hello 2016.