I didn't mean to but I already did

Life doesn't hand you little miracles by accident. 

The stars don't align and the ground doesn't open up beneath you so you can pretend it never happened. 

No, life hands you those cataclysmic events to wake you the fuck up. 

To shake you from your reverie.

The sheer boredom you've been pretending was your life. 

You're restless and stir crazy. 

The atoms have been swirling inside you, building and boiling. 

And no one seemed to hear your cry. 

And one day you looked up and saw me sitting there. 

A ghost from a world ago. 

And something in you shifted. 

And you felt calmer. 

And the atoms inside you slowed down, and drew you to my side. 

And as you wrapped your arms around me the atoms in me halted. 

And they all turned their heads to look in wonder. 

At what the fuck was happening. 

And life doesn't explain itself very articulately. 

It kind of teases and coaxes and changes as quickly as it begins. 

But I'm not sad or angry or confused anymore. 

But in awe. 

Pure inexplicable awe over the sheer force of it all.

The steps that led me to that spot, that place you'd collapse with me and renew a passion I'd so foolishly believed in. 

And maybe some connections were timeless and transcended the realms of understanding.

Maybe there weren't words for what was and would never be but would also never cease. 

Maybe ours was too wild to last and too rare to die. 

Maybe somewhere in me I knew, as silent as my phone was, whatever spot you were standing in now, my face was all you saw. 

That face that both delighted and terrified.

And some things are too beautiful and their force is too great. 

And somewhere in you you knew, as motionless as your hands are, they ached to hold me again. 

And the atoms in you would never stop violently spinning until your lips tasted mine.

Again.

When the sky opened up 

and we fell 

And sang the duet

You haven't written yet. 

But the melody, the melody's been stuck in your head for months. 

 

Truth in All Things

I ruffle people's feathers. 

My manager has told me, Sometimes, I don't know how to respond to you.

I was showing pictures of my dates to one of my best friends and she laughed, I can't believe what a Samantha you've become.

I think I've always kind of instilled a strong reaction but it seems to be extra potent as of late.

I don't really know what that means but I'm gonna take it as a compliment. 

I offended someone. 

No, rather, THEE someone, as in that one person in the history of your life that you desperately want to give you a second chance. 

You know, the one that got away. 

The right guy at the wrong time. 

The cheese to my macaroni. 

The fucking love god to my YES I DONT CARE WHEN OR WHERE JUST FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TAKE ME NOW.

That guy.

I feel like old school me would have been extremely apologetic or even tried to eradicate the one action with a reaction. 

But I only felt one thing: Unwilling to waiver.

Relationships are built with compromise.

Communication is vital or it will collapse. 

And for an artist, creative expression is required or their soul will grow dark. 

I don't really know how to explain how I'm feeling except to say it's one of those rare moments where I've genuinely surprised myself. 

I spoke my truth and why I'd done what I had. 

And instead of longing for or even expecting a response I simply resolved in my heart that this wasn't what I wanted.

Not like this.

Not joined with someone who wanted a blurred out censor strip above my lips and a passion held back so as not to overwhelm. 

I am overwhelming. 

Don't you get it?

Men aren't drawn to me because I'm the safe option. 

I'm not the girl you meet and immediately think, I should bring her over to have dinner with my parents. 

Men aren't intrigued by my demure nature or my dulcid tone. 

The drinks I like have a masculine tone. 

And my gumption could knock a priest off his barstool. 

I'm intense. 

I'm a lot. 

And contrary to his resistance he told me once he actually admired how transparent I was. 

How I was "too honest."

Because no adjective could be appropriately Resafied if it wasn't first prefaced with the word too.

Maybe the thing with getting everything you've ever wanted is you don't really believe it could last. 

Because life doesn't satisfy the deepest cries of your heart forever. 

And maybe that kind of intense bliss is only given in small doses. 

Because maybe that kind of consuming joy would be blinding. 

Who the fuck knows. 

What I do know, is that my deepest longing, my perfect fantasy, the scene I'd played over and over in my dreams happened. 

And nothing could ever take that away from me. 

And I kind of didn't care that in the light of day his behavior darted away in familiar disappointment.

Because some things don't change. 

And some people will only ever see you as Too Much.

And I wanted a lover who saw me as Too Amazing.

I watched a pair of lovers sit across from me.

And the way they fed off each other's energy was intoxicating. 

She ate with such ferocity, like it was the last meal of her lifetime and sauce was smeared all over her mouth and cheeks and even dripped into her cleavage. 

And he, he didn't wince or reach for a napkin, or ask her to hold back the intensity of her fucking food passion, he grabbed her face and he sucked the sauce right off her mouth.

And they only seemed to grow more impassioned with one another as the absurdity of their eating continued. 

And as I sat there, taking in the moment they'd never witness because they were immersed in it, I thought, That, that is what I want. A lover who is so turned on by the weird, crazy shit that makes me so bizarrely Reese.

I love being too much. 

I love that the response from my manager is he doesn't know how to react to me. 

I love that I've evolved as a carnal, voracious woman that my best friend has recast me in my role on Sex and the City. 

I love that I know my insane intensity is actually the core of the reason we found our way back into each other's arms because he secretly fucking loves it. 

Because how could he not?

And maybe there will be moments I save my trumpet blaring for other eves and other sailors. 

And maybe when I've been accepted for the light that's reflecting from within my vibrant heart it would be impossible for us to so violently misunderstand each other because with intimacy comes trust and understanding. 

And there isn't room for foregone conclusions. 

Maybe in my next fantasy, the lover doesn't run, but simply wraps his arms around me.

And smiles as the sheer force of our passion devours our minds.

And we let it. 

Because we cannot bear another day of the monotony of living without it. 

Color Me Happy

I don't know what made me think of it, but I wished someone would make me a mixed cd. 

I remember when I was a teenager and Macy made me a mixed tape he titled 'The Longest Goodbye' that summer we spent every day together and he waited until I was leaving for school to tell me he loved me. 

And the mixed cds Nick made me, several years apart, the first titled 'Some songs I burnt onto a cd to give to Teresa.'

I held onto those for so long. 

Music used to be this way to express all that was chaotic in your heart. 

I haven't even made one for somebody in six years. 

I fucking miss that stuff. 

A girlfriend I hadn't seen in ages made plans to meet up. 

And for some reason, the tiny bar we went to once last summer came to mind. 

Remember that place we went that had coloring night that one time?

Oh yeah, let's go there!

And it was settled. 

And I suppose divine synchronicity would have her way that night because the Monday we went was apparently coloring night. 

And we were ridiculously ecstatic, like two little girls the night before their birthday. 

The picture they handed us was a drawing of a girl straight out of the twenties, her short bob tucked neatly under her hat, a mischievous smirk on her face.

I felt like it was a picture of me, so I colored her hair black and even gave her a beauty mark just to the left of her mouth.

At the bottom of the picture it read, Turn in your picture for a prize everyone wins a prize.

But then the little girl inside me suddenly felt conflicted. 

I wanted to keep my picture. 

It was a picture of me, after all (as all little girls think when they color a picture of a beautiful girl).

But I also wanted a prize!

I wanted both!

Realizing how ludicrous I was being (I was sipping an Americano cocktail, for fucks sake, if I drank Campari I could surely adult) I put on my big girl pants and resolved to give up my artistic masterpiece to claim my mysterious surprise. 

I walked up to the DJ gingerly carrying my finished picture like it was a thin sheet of gold plated glass. 

Here, I said, slightly begrudgingly, as I handed him my self portrait. 

Here you go, and he handed me a cd.

It's a mix of songs from the 60's. I make them from my vinyl collection, a lot of random stuff most people haven't heard of. 

My eyes lit up. 

I clutched the paper envelope like it was the winning lottery ticket. 

No way! I finally exclaimed. That's amazing! I was just thinking how much I wanted a mixed cd!

And then I saw a coloring book on display with all the drawings that had been a part of past nights coloring Monday's.

I handed him ten dollars and walked away with my treasures like it really was my birthday. 

And as I drove home, the cd blaring in my car, with songs I'd never heard before and instantly loved, I laughed. 

And laughed. 

I was giddy. 

And I couldn't stop smiling. 

Because sometimes the subtle cries of our heart can so easily be fulfilled, when we stop holding on, when we let go of the things we really don't need anymore. 

When we let the people leave who have to go, so the people who need to stay have room to sit. 

And I didn't think I could be any happier. 

I trusted my life. 

I trusted the vibrant cries of my heart. 

No one else knew what I needed. 

But me. 

Me alone. 

The best first date ever...all over again...

I still don't really believe it happened. 

Like these dreams that only happen while in the deepest rems.

And when you wake up you feel like you're stepping out of another world where the air is richer and when you open your eyes you suddenly breathe heavily because you don't know where you are or what's actually happening.

I couldn't help it. I can't help myself when I'm around you.

I assumed he would be there, even though he wasn't the reason we were going to his bar.

But I wasn't anxious because he'd texted me that week and even called.

So I guess that meant we were..cool..?

Even if I had no idea what cool actually meant. 

I only wanted one thing from him that night--

I wanted him to see me in this dress and look into my eyes. 

I just wanted to be seen. 

I guess the times we let go of all expectation are the times we get everything?

I've never stopped thinking about you.

I saw her guy standing outside, the real reason my friend and I were meeting there that night, to visit the object of her desire.

I walked over to him while he finished his cigarette and we talked for a fraction of a minute. 

Hey Sparkles, I suddenly heard from behind me, and there he was walking toward me, the object of my own desire.

My friends crush quickly left us and then we were just two.

Standing there. 

Looking into each other's eyes. 

I still remember everything. If I could draw I could draw it all right now. From memory.

As I fought back the urge to ask for a drag of his cigarette I realized I'd already gotten all I'd hoped for. 

And the night hadn't even started.

I told him about being at the theatre that night, about how incredible it had felt to have strangers come up to me and recognize me from the play I'd done eight months earlier, how they'd wanted to know when I'd be performing again.

Well you're really talented so of course they remember you, and I told you, that face, you've got a face people don't forget. 

I beamed. 

I may have even blushed in the dark. 

He already made me feel seen and we weren't even inside yet.

I'd been so sad he'd missed my show last summer because I wanted him to see what a star I was. 

But he already knew. 

He'd already seen me perform once before. 

And it suddenly didn't matter anymore that he never saw my show.

A tiny crack in my heart filled with his praise and I felt a surge of joy permeate my whole being. 

What is this--why are we?

I don't know but I've been trying to ignore my feelings for you for a long time.

What? You have?? Why? 

Because. It's so much.

I walked inside and my friend soon joined me at the bar. 

And even though he was off, he didn't leave. 

He sat down beside me. 

And didn't leave my side. 

For the next six hours. 

I've had three hours of sleep the past two nights. The only reason I'm here right now is because of you.

I didn't understand what was happening as we whiled away the hours, as we all shared the cigarettes I stole from his jacket pocket, as the whiskey poured and I sipped his drink when he wasn't looking.

And we laughed like we hadn't lost touch so violently for so long.

I can't believe its been a year. 

It feels like it was yesterday.

My friend was happy and her crush was happy and I was happy and he couldn't stop staring at me. 

And I still didn't have any idea what was happening. 

When you look into my eyes your breathing rate increases. 

I'd been so focused on being my friends wingman I hadn't expected an adventure of my own. 

We left the bar so they could close and to my surprise and delight, he came with us.

I'm getting her nachos and you a Jameson, he said when I met him waiting in line at this other bar. 

I smiled because he knew what we both wanted and I wanted to kiss him but I didn't know if I should. 

I imagined I'd crack the delicate spell we seemed to be under. 

I've fantasized about this so many times, you looking at me like that again.

He sat beside me in the booth and that's when I felt myself slip away, right back into the depths of his gaze, like even after all this time and all we'd put each other through, it was still home, I was drowning, falling deep under his spell once again.

The entirety of the bar, even my friend, faded away. 

Until we were the only two sitting there.

Sublimely content. 

And then we were outside, my friend and I, waiting. 

An older gentleman approached me with drunken compliments, which I accepted politely. 

He came bounding out of the bar and threw his arm around my waist, Ready to go, baby?

And as we three walked off, giggling, Did you see the look on that guys face?

But all I could think was how wonderful it felt to hear him call me baby and to feel that his arm was still around my waist as we continued walking. 

I've never kissed anyone the way I kiss you. And you've never kissed anyone the way you kiss me. 

My friend left with her crush and everyone had scattered so late in the night as him and I stood in the same spot he'd greeted me that night. 

The air grew deeply quiet and he drew his face near mine, Is this a good idea?

I don't know, I said, But you want to anyway.

And he kissed me.

And when he finally stopped, that word, thee word, that always danced on his tongue when we'd kissed so intensely so long ago resonated in both our ears. 

Fuck.

And I laughed. 

Because everything was different now. 

But somehow, in spite of us, we weren't. 

It was all still there, with the same delicious intensity of that first magical night. 

And then he kissed me again. 

And to my surprise, I never woke up. 

I had found my way back to Wonderland. 

There are many wishes I'm still wishing. 

Judge Not, Mother Fuckers

Most of the time I'm very good about not taking the rude shit people say to me personally. 

I'm a sparkly person and I'm not gonna let some thundercloud steal my joy.

But every once in awhile someone will say something that just burns a nerve.

So are you ever gonna settle down or are you just gonna continue to date? It seems like you're always going on a date with someone new. 

She just likes getting free dinners.

And yes, those two assholes were male.

Normally I don't give a flying fuck what anyone has to say about my dating habits. 

I'm happy and I'm searching for love.

That's more than most people can say.

So being judged because my lifestyle doesn't mirror yours shouldn't even bother me. 

But I was fucking pissed. 

A large part was the condescending tone it was delivered. 

This wasn't someone I consider a friend, razzing me out of an actual affection for me. 

This was someone I rarely talk to, am certifiably not friends with, who delivered his judgement with such a hateful tone it startled me.

Of course I wanted to find one person I felt so overwhelmingly connected to and in love with it changed everything I'd ever known or wanted and my life was shared in partnership. 

Making me feel WRONG for NOT choosing that was the equivalent of me asking him harshly why he didn't just go on a fucking diet already so he could stop being fat and unattractive. 

There are things society pounds into our minds about how we fucking need to be, what we need to look like, how we need to live, with whom.

And I could forgive a little easier that kind of backwards thinking if the asshole hurling judgement at me was thirty years older than me and grew up during an era when it was completely outrageous to not be shacked up by the age of 34.

But the condescension came from someone my same age which means he's educated enough to fucking know better. 

No.

I don't plan on just settling for any man who will have me. 

I date to experience connections and sex and be entertained as fuck by the amazing, absurd, incredible peculiarities of everyone I encounter.

I LOVE DATING.

If I met the love of my life and never wanted to fuck a different dick again I would still miss the surprising delight dating brings. 

I love people. 

I love meeting them and talking to them and finding out why they hate tomatoes and love Coldplay and are obsessed with skateboarding. 

People fascinate me. 

I'm an actor. 

I'm a studyer of people and what the fuck makes them tick. 

AND I FUCKING LOVE SEX.

And no two dicks are alike. 

And no two lovers are alike. 

And I'm not gonna attach myself to the penis that will fuck me when a lot of the time, that particular penis doesn't blow my mind. 

I'm searching for passion.

Consuming, ridiculous, intense as fuck passion. 

And I actually don't want to commit to someone who doesn't scare the shit out of me a little bit. 

I'm choosing to live my life as though I were actually enough. 

Can you fucking imagine?

Not waiting to accept my fate once I've locked down a "relationship" so you all can have me figured out and put me in the "had met her required expectations" box.

I want something more. 

I'm not like everyone else so I thinks it's bloody brilliant that my life isn't what you'd expect. 

I'm not what you expect. 

Of course my life is gonna be a different color. 

So don't stand there in your chosen dissatisfaction in your haze of mediocrity and make me feel bad for experiencing every facet life offers me. 

And fuck you for making me feel bad for being different when I've spent MY WHOLE LIFE wondering why I was. 

If I could draw I would draw it

I always go home on my lunch break. 

But there was something about this particular day that made me not want to get in my car. 

I started walking.

The sun beckoned.

I wanted to be lost in the trees, the sudden burst of nature tucked away between all those admin buildings, that made you forget you spent the majority of your week surrounded by grey cubicle wall.

(Of course, mine were pink, because if you can cover anything in holographic sparkly paper, you really should).

I walked to the point I'd walked before and instead of turning around to circle back, I kept going. 

The rain had gathered in a giant mud puddle destroying the path in front of me. 

And cleverly, or so I thought, I jumped around it, veering off course towards the grass (wetlands, is probably more accurate) and the further I got from the path and the giant rain puddle, the more apparent it became that the field was a sea of mud.

I laughed as my steps grew more and more laborious, realizing a splash of rain water would have destroyed my shoes far less than the layer of mud soaking through my worn out shoes. 

But I was happy. 

My greatest soul secret is that I long for adventuring more than anyone, even myself, realizes. 

I'm a city girl and I love my fancy dresses and my cosmetics and my slumber parties with my girls and late nights in the back of some strangers car. 

But I also love, no long, for adventure, outside.

With the bugs and the dirt and the unforeseen circumstances that usually result with me falling or ruining something I'm wearing. 

But oh, that adventure.

Feeds my soul the way passionate sex does.

And as I continued along the path having survived the swamp I thought was a short cut, I suddenly stopped. 

And giggled. 

There in front of me, with the sun beaming of the poles, was a swing set. 

That I never knew even existed because I'd never walked so far on this path before. 

And I ran up the hill, with the fresh mud squishing in between my toes, and threw down my keys and my phone. 

The swings I'd stumbled across on the beach in Alicante were one of my happiest memories there. 

Marjie let down her stubborn pretense and laughed and finally got lost in the moment with me.

It was as though the pure childish joy I felt over something as arbitrary as swings was contagious. 

And in that moment we were free to be ourselves with each other. 

And now here I was, all these months later, alone, on a similar swing set. 

The blue sky violently bright above me, white clouds swirled about like melted marshmallow.

I felt so sublimely happy. 

And I really didn't even understand why. 

Maybe the fact that I was alone,

Adventuring,

Accidentally.  

That I'd stumbled upon something I love with a very soul I love. 

And in that moment, under that sun, that was enough.

A part of me wanted to reach for my camera and something in me nudged me not to. 

Like I didn't want to capture or share the moment. 

I wanted entirely for my own. 

And there's something sacred in that. 

I love communicating. 

I thrive in sharing the stories that flood my heart. 

But the rare occurrences that silence me,

Those are kind of spectacular. 

Like a lover, who tells you he's never kissed anyone the way he kisses you.

And no one can duplicate that ecstasy or understand that wonder.

But me. 

And those moments are mine. 

And I cherish them.

My muddy shoes, glistening in the sun, eagerly awaiting the steps that will stumble upon the next unexpected delight, the next adventure, waiting to worship me, worship the moon, the stars we never could escape. 

and with a kiss...

You're not going to believe this, but I time travelled.

There was no portal or cosmic rays of light.

I just stood in a spot I've stood before and suddenly everything around me changed.

And I found myself on the exact same eve exactly one year ago.

And because I had time travelled, I knew what was coming. 

Even though it took me hours to realize what I knew.

The thing about time travel is that even if you're back in the same time, you're not the same person.

In entirety.

You know things. 

You've seen and ached and wept over things. 

Those very things that are replaying again tonight for the first time. 

All over again. 

And it was such a subtle shift, 

sudden in its violent polarity, 

from complacency, 

and maybe even disdain, 

to consuming, 

quivering passion.

And there was a moment he even posed the question of pausing, 

and waiting, 

there are other nights, he proposed.

And I nearly shouted, NO! 

because there could never be a night like this, 

for the stars to align in such bizarrely perfect synchronicity  

simply to surprise the absolute fuck out of each of our hearts. 

It was still there. 

All of it. 

The passion. 

The intensity.

The way the world fell away and we suddenly became a black and white movie.

And it was so much. 

Such rich, 

decadent 

satisfaction 

I can't possibly fathom wanting more.

Because it was everything. 

I saw and heard and felt 

each painful longing 

that had torn my heart in shreds 

restored.

Nurtured back to fill my heart 

with such consuming passion 

I felt my pores sing.

Hope.

And I believe.

I believe in the power of connection.

 

When your friends all know the truth, of all that's so clear to the rest of the world,

when your mother and each of your replacement lovers convinced you the whispers of your heart are confused. 

You're in denial.

And projecting. 

And ignoring the cruel reality shattering the longing in each breath.

And then suddenly, you know. 

With absolute, 

unswerving certainty, 

the only conductor of the symphony in your heart is you.

And I trust its call.

And I wait for life's fairytale timing.

And if I could take back all the heartache of the past year to miss the blazing intensity of this one night...

I

 actually 

     wouldn't 

not for all the world. 

Because in this night, 

I held a star, 

right in the palm of my hand.

And it's sparkle was so radiant 

I thought my eyes might see nothing else.

And for the first time, 

in maybe all of my time, 

tomorrow doesn't matter.

Because I tasted the truth.

And I couldn't possibly stop smiling.

Knowing it will always be there.

In spite of each of us.

A part

Of both our stories.

Love.

Unexpected

Surprising 

Overwhelming 

And oh so simple

love

And that's enough.

It is everything.

happy late anniversary

I remember in my twenties when we were trying to figure out who was gonna marry whom, and we thought, I wonder, I wonder if I'm gonna marry that kid who sat behind me in homeroom or that geek from algebra. And I remember after my high school reunion, after Facebook became a way for old school chums to ask you out, wondering if that fate was going to be mine. 

The jock I never remembered talking to.

The skater I definitely never talked to. 

Not that either of them became great love affairs. 

In fact, the date with the skater was the time he walked me back to my car and I fell. 

No. Face planted. Right on the concrete. 

It was the most ridiculously embarrassingly awesome date moment.

And then I never heard from him again. 

And think of all the jokes we could have made about how I first fell for him. 

What a waste of my ineptitude with basic coordination. 

Life likes to do that. 

Cycle back to the same characters.

Not the ones you want or certainly not the times you expect. 

This week I realized it had been a full year since the best first date ever which seemed incredibly bizarre. 

(That was really an entire year ago?)

And yet it did feel like a lifetime ago. 

I certainly didn't feel like the same girl. 

But still, when I woke up this morning to a text from him, and half awake, read the words I hope you're lighting up the sky with your smile, it didn't seem so far away. 

That time. 

That time he told me I had the brightest smile he'd ever seen.

And that same day, or eve, rather, tonight, another ghost crossed my phone. 

A guy I was supposed to meet a month or maybe two ago, but who stood me up. 

And there he suddenly was on my phone, messaging me a novel of explanation. 

And he wanted to know if I'd give him another chance and meet him for coffee. 

And I replied, Why the fuck not.

Because. 

Truly. 

Clearly, the people I think are supposed to be in this story aren't always the ones who make sense because sometimes things don't make sense. 

Sometimes people still think of you.

And you have no idea. 

Except for those moments, those unexpected moments it isn't your mom texting you.

It's him.

Some guy whose not done being a part of your story. 

Because he knows it's not finished. 

this candid lady

I actually got there early. 

I'm never early. 

My friends will plan on arriving at least fifteen minutes after I say I'll be somewhere because they know me. 

But for some reason I left on time and got there early. 

I sat at one of my favorite booths, which happened to be right beside a couple. 

The girl said, Maybe I should just go over there, maybe I should just show up.

And the guy, excessively supportive, replied, Oh yeah, you should, you definitely should...You wanna split a grilled cheese?

And I looked at him and smiled. 

She thought they were just friends.

That she could vent about her ex like he was one of her girlfriends. 

He totally wants to fuck her, I thought. 

And she had no idea.

We're often clueless about how people really feel about us. 

Often because they want us to be in the dark. 

For some reason, though, I felt compelled to cast the truth upon this beautiful girl, bemoaning the man who broke her heart. 

Her companion left to check his hair in the bathroom mirror and I just looked at her. 

I didn't say anything. 

But she felt my glance and looked back at me. 

Hello, she said, slightly uncomfortable. 

You two are just friends, right? I stated, more than asked.

Yeah.

I shook my head. No, he's totally into you. He doesn't want to be just friends. 

She laughed, But I've been sitting here talking about my ex the whole night.

It doesn't matter, I said, He's clearly crazy about you.

She smiled, in a surprisingly sincere way. 

Well I appreciate you being so candid.

And she was so beautiful. 

Stunningly beautiful. 

And to hear her speak it was like she believed the only one who could ever want her was this ex.

Maybe he's not even home, he hasn't posted anything on Instagram all day, and when I'd heard her say that I looked at my friend and we both laughed. 

We should be friends with this girl. She sounds like us, I whispered. 

It's really easy to see your life in this tiny scope, where the only relationships are the ones you've known with the people you're already used to.

And there are actually, not surprisingly, corners full of new encounters and waves of energy, capable of reminding you that the You you are is delightful. 

And sharing what you are with the strangers receptive to that energy is one of the loveliest parts of any night. 

And people say to screw those who don't appreciate you, fuck 'em, you don't need 'em.

But you know, it's actually not even about them. 

It's about the fact that your energy is needed somewhere else.

There's someone who desperately needs a dose of you, and if you haven't found them, if they aren't snuggled up in the booth beside you, then keep moving. 

Because trust me, someone needs you.

And whether it's your friend or your lover or a perfect stranger, the smile on their face as their eyes twinkle when they look into your face will make the rest of the world fall away. 

Until all you see is what's right in front of you--

Everything. 

a dose of your sweet energy

I've always known that I'm an extrovert. 

I told my Grandpa he wasn't paying enough attention to me when I was five years old. 

I'd walk up to strangers just to start a conversation. 

(This was back when parents were less afraid a stranger would hand their kid a candy bar with a syringe in it.)

I'm direct and demanding. 

I know what I want and what I need. 

At least I thought I did. 

Most of the time. 

I saw a play last weekend and one of the characters had a line where she looked at the audience and said, I just want to be the center of attention. I want people to pay attention to me. Is that so wrong?

Gee, could I relate. 

But funny enough I spent all of last week (up until that Saturday at the theatre) alone. 

I went to work and came home and was alone. 

And then I went to work and came home and was alone. 

Every day. 

For five nights in a row. 

And then, suddenly, Friday night I was sitting on my couch, and nothing happened, I didn't hear a song or stub my toe or anything, but I just started balling. 

Long, loud, hard sobs. 

Tears came running down my face and I felt like a crazy person. 

I was 

so

sad. 

But there was no concrete reason. 

Except I felt lonely. 

And for the most part, because I've always been such a social butterfly, the only time I ever spend excessive amounts of time alone are when I'm really ill. 

And I'm thirty-four years old and I should know what my basic needs are. 

But last week was a reminder that I need to spend time with the people that I love. 

Being alone can be great. 

It's when I process and create and talk to my cat in a baby voice. 

But most of my time needs to be spent in fellowship. 

Since Saturday I've gotten to see someone I love every day. 

Someone different every single day that I absolutely adore. 

Can you even imagine that?

And sure, maybe I've swung to the other extreme and I'm not giving my spirit the solitude it needs to thrive. 

But truly?

I probably only need one eve in seven alone. 

And it feels rather good to know that, to understand that part of myself. 

When so very little of so very much makes any bit of sense. 

A Damn Good Saz

It's really easy to want what you don't have. 

And then, it's just as easy, to be around someone who has what you want, and realize that you actually don't want it. 

At least not what they have. 

At least not the way you could get it. 

And it's genuinely refreshing to witness exactly what you don't want, so you can feel content, going home alone. 

Apart from all the false things that might imprison you. 

In all the ways you think you should be. 

There's something pretty wonderful about being single in your thirties. 

I am, in fact, calling the shots in my story.

I'm deciding when I turn left and when I don't turn at all. 

There's an abundance of possibility. 

And maybe even that is a cliche. 

Maybe the reality is it's pure, unadulterated, blind uncertainty. 

But openness. 

To any and all and the inconvenience of all of it. 

I have no one and nothing I'm bound to. 

And that feels kind of intoxicating. 

My time is mine. 

Alone. 

Today, I spent the entirety of a day, sleeping and cooking and relaxing and doing nothing spectacularly spectacular. 

Other than I just was. 

In my own space. 

Doing as I pleased in each passing moment. 

Until I decided to get dolled up and meet a friend.

But all day, all of that was my choice. 

And it's so bloody simple, brilliant in fact, to ask so little of life. 

But to just be. 

Content. 

Present. 

Open.

And I don't want to be with a person just so I can be with some person. 

I want to choose to be in that isolated companionship if something about that particular person compells me so. 

But if they don't. 

If I feel distracted and disconnected and my eyes wander to the couple next to me. 

If I feel invisible and undesirable and more wanted by the kitty at home on my couch.

Then I choose alone. 

Genuine, and full of fire and passion, as I am, content. 

Rather than settle to be a duo. 

A duet. 

I wasn't actually built for chorus, but for the spotlight.

And it will take a very, glorious specific soul to share such rarity. 

And I'd rather sit alone at this bar, then beside someone who doesn't see me. 

Or feel all I feel. 

Or doesn't long to wink at the stars blaring above us. 

all the same & changed entirely

One of the last times I climbed I felt really timid.

Climbing is one of those things where when you don't go regularly you lose strength.

You'll climb a slightly lower grade.

Moves that you once could do suddenly become more difficult. 

And in my case, I lost my courage. 

I started to climb a route I know I'm capable of doing.

But I suddenly felt overwhelmed. 

And frightened. 

And I just quit. 

My eyes met a girl who had been watching me.

It's so scary, I admitted.

You're not scared. It's hard.

No, I thought, I'm scared. 

You don't know me or why this is twice as hard as it should be. 

And she sat on the bench beside me and maybe I could have met a new climbing buddy. 

But I grabbed my bag and left. 

I just wanted to be alone. 

Sometimes it's more lonely being around someone who doesn't understand you. 

I heard this quote today, I collect people.

And it made me think of my friends. 

And I don't seem to be very good at love interests. 

But I am good at collecting kindred spirits. 

And it still bothers me what happened with Marvin. 

Even though it was my decision to end it. 

And my decision to block his number. 

But it's kinda sad, to realize you can still be so terribly wrong about a person. 

And sometimes even wrong about yourself.  

I didn't think I was still that girl who got scared to climb. 

I thought I'd sended enough routes to trust myself. 

But I don't yet. 

And I don't really trust my heart either. 

It seems a silly little minx.

Following its feelings like some fleeting dream. 

But I guess I'm still the girl who believes in love.

Even though I've seen enough dead ends to not trust myself. 

But I guess I do. 

In some ways.

On some days. 

And the rest of the time I'm giving myself permission to be a little terrified. 

To hide from the Chad's & the Oscar's & the Matthew's, who have no concern for my passionate little heart. 

And I know there will come a time where the adventurer in me will remember how brave she is. 

And she'll climb again. 

And she'll love again. 

And she will most assuredly fall. 

Hard. 

But somehow even in the failure, she'll feel joy.

Because she always does. 

I do.

Because that's the truest cry of my heart. 

whiskey pins

I read this article once about the struggles of an ENFP.

How they have a need to be everywhere something might happen and be around everyone.

And all at once also have an overwhelming need to be alone to process things, to create. 

And that pretty much summed up my night. 

A girl I don't really know had a gig tonight for her band I'd never heard. 

And a large part of me wanted to go and be a part of it. 

And another part of me really wanted to be alone with my cat.

And that's what I ended up doing. 

And even though it was delightful, still a part of me felt that maybe I had missed out on something tonight. 

And that's pretty much what every day is like being me. 

A friend told me that after five years he realized his entire relationship with his girlfriend was spent with them always looking to the future. 

They were always so busy making plans, for when they'd move here, when they'd be on to the next leg of their journey, that somewhere along the way they forgot how to be present with each other. 

And he was at a loss. 

And it's so strange to watch someone in turmoil over their relationship, a relationship you will never understand. 

I couldn't possibly. 

I think my favorite thing about relationships is the exclusivity and privacy that only you and that person will ever understand. 

Like how I seemed to be in this silent disagreement with a girlfriend and it took five minutes together to forget all of it. 

Or how I will forever remember the insane joy and shock and awe when the bartender leaned in and kissed my friend, after months of what seemed a one sided infatuation. 

Or the way that I know, that no matter what, there is nothing, that could ever keep my once in a full moon lover from always contacting me. Always. 

The way I understand what still exists between the kid who missed his bus to sit with me, and that I also understand our story will never continue.

I know that I am a creature who lives in each moment. 

And it's hard for me to look far ahead to something that seems so uncertain.

But I admire those who can.

And I admire the dreamers, and the truth seekers, and the lovers, the sisters who nurture my soul. 

And I wonder if, for all the moments I missed, any could be more precious than the ones I'm swinming in. 

The ones I chose. 

That chose me. 

That I stumbled upon.

In spite of myself. 

And as I said goodnight to my friend, so conflicted about what to do in his relationship, it was vividly clear. 

It's not complicated, doll. Nothing happened. You just drifted apart. So you'll either figure out how to come back together or you'll move on. 

Because that's what this is. 

This story. 

Stops and turns. 

And figures and shadows. 

And you decide, I choose, which step I take next. 

And who towards. 

What I will tolerate. 

And what is beyond my balance. 

And we will miss out on some of it. 

But nothing that we don't absolutely need.

Right now.

i didn't realize i still love you

I've never been so excited to see someone I rarely talk to.

I've had gay boyfriends before.

But I've only ever had one gay husband. 

I don't know if I've ever had a romantic relationship that was love at first sight but with him, it was. 

It was such dumb luck that we even met that night cuz I was in such a grump I almost stayed home in my pajamas so I could listen to Fionna and despise men.

But thankfully there are instincts stronger than wallowing and I dragged my bummed little rump to the festivities.

And that's where it all began.

I actually went to the party with another gay boyfriend. 

See.

Boyfriends a plenty. 

Husbands, rare.

I can't recall exactly what we talked about that night. 

All I remember was when I saw him and heard him speak I was in leeeeeerve.

And I felt like I was already cheating on my gay boyfriend because suddenly there was a new boy in town.

We hit it off and became a duo but sooner than I wish it had been later, he moved. 

And as is common with most distant relationships, we grew apart. 

Still, with the help of social media, we'd send each other a like here, an emoji there.

He moved again and this time it was closer!

Though a thousand miles still sounded like an awful lot and I'd wish for the day he'd be back in the glorious rainy state of Oregon.

He texted me last week, out of the blue, and told me he was going on a road trip to Oregon. 

I couldn't believe it!

I don't even know how many years it had been since we'd seen each other. 

And funny enough, my hair was black when I met him, but hadn't been since. 

And now five years later I was going to see him, with black hair, once again and I was so excited I thought I might pee.

We each drove forty-five minutes to meet one another.

And when I opened my car door and saw him walking toward me, I squealed.

Knowing that there are people who exist in the world, even when I don't talk to them often, who instill such an overwhelmingly joyful reaction in me is kind of the most amazing feeling in the world. 

And sure enough, even though we hadn't talked in ages, it was like a time machine, as though it were the day before yesterday we met and took our first selfie. 

Driving back home, I thought how after years of very little contact, realizing he was finally so close, I didn't hesitate to drive the 90 minutes just to see him.

And he told me his other Portland friends didn't make time to see him. 

And I was shocked. 

Here, I'd felt special that he made time on his trip to see me and I was one of the only ones in that old circle who made time for him.

I read this same week If you're not losing friends then you're not growing up.

But it feels pretty damn special to learn some friends you'll never lose. 

No matter how much you change. 

And how many moons you spend apart. 

Some loves are stronger than all that. 

And they're the loves I live for. 

That time Sex led to a Sobriety test

He picked one of my favorite bars.

I love when men are direct and decisive and don't suggest a bar where I'm apprehensive about using the toilet. 

One night stands should be classy.

Or meaningful lasting relationships.

Whatever. 

But always class.

He wore glasses and taught English at a university so I named him Professor in my head before I'd finished my first sazerac.

Good dates are the reason I love Tinder.

At its best you get to stare into the eyes of some dashing stranger who may or may not become an integral part of your life. 

That's terribly exciting. 

And when it's not exciting it's entertaining as fuck and that makes Tinder pretty fabulous too.

Seriously if they had a spokeswoman for Tinder it should be me. 

Spokesman?

Spokesperson?

Spokesslut?

I spoke of my plans for Ireland and he'd spent a great deal of time there. 

And wasn't that just a lovely coincidence except I don't remember the name of the city he said played the best live music which is fine because I believe in making your own adventure but sometimes I wish you kept in contact with certain folks if only for the sole purpose of asking, Hey what was that thing you told me that time?

I think he may have even been wearing a clauddagh ring but I didn't get a closer look at it because when someone's that handsome and wearing glasses the only place I want to be looking is in their eyes. 

He ordered the same drink I had which always amuses me. 

When a man mirrors his drinking to mine it's like the equivalent of standing and then kneeling slowly with his head bowed like I was the Queen of Portlandia.

It's the modern tipping of the hat and holding open the door but in an aggressive way that whispers I want to be what she puts in her body.

So it didn't take an obscene amount of coaxing for me to want to go home with him.

And it didn't take long for the Professor to assert his lesson for the night.

Get on your knees, he instructed, and to my surprise my shock at his direction was overshadowed by my urge to giggle.

That was so hot.

And after a time we lay there, he in his glasses, me growing sleepy.

And I thought I'd let the sleep come upon me and as I closed my eyes no more than a minute passed. 

My eyes shot open in the dark.

I'm gonna go, I whispered. 

And I'm not really sure what happened in those 45 seconds with my eyes closed but I suddenly did not want to be there.

So I left.

Content and sleepy. 

And apparently speeding.

Lights flashed in my rear view mirror and the word FUCK echoed in my brain.

I immediately reached for my "License and Registration" because maybe if I was an overachiever the cop would go easy on me.

I have this history of getting tickets for the most ridiculous shit.

Driving through a gas station parking lot. 

Not making a complete stop at a stop sign. 

I totally paused.

I once got a ticket for expired tags from a parking meter attendant. 

And we're not even gonna go into the number of parking tickets I've gotten. 

Don't worry, I paid them all, Mom.

So having this cop suddenly at my side at two in the morning made me begin to wonder what was so bad about staying at the Professors. 

I couldn't find my most current proof of insurance even though there were thirty older insurance cards in my glove box.

Shouldn't we rename that since no one actually keeps gloves in there?

And the cop said he was going to trust me on my insurance and a wave of relief washed over me. 

But I smell alcohol on your breath so I'm gonna need you to step out of the car and do a sobriety test. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkk.

Um.

Yeah.

So.

I hadn't had any dinner that night.

I'd been so turned on I just drank my dinner. 

And it had been hours since I'd had a drop.

But apparently the debauchery on my breath was ripe.

The only things that had been in my mouth were Rye and Riley.

Well this is funny, I inadvertently started speaking as I got out of my car. 

What's funny? The cop asked. 

I left because I didn't wanna spend the night!

Was it a first date? The cop somehow knew. 

Yes!!

Oh, well you don't wanna spend the night on the first date, he advised. 

And I resisted the urge to ask if being on the side of the highway with him at two in the morning was a wiser choice. 

He gave me the test, which felt like the longest few minutes of my life. 

I thought about the fact that if I didn't have such intimacy issues I'd be snuggled up with the Professor instead of  shivering in the cold in the little lace dress I hadn't worn any underwear with. 

I thought about how much I'd drive by and laugh to myself if I saw me standing there and it was some other poor girl.

I wondered what happened when people got DUI's and if I was going to have to ride the bus like all the guys I knew who had homework at age 28.

Ok, the cop broke me from my reverie, I'm not gonna give you a DUI. Thank you for driving sober. 

Stunned and slightly overwhelmed I followed him silent to my car. 

Is it against the rules to hug a cop? 

Cuz I really wanted to hug him in the next moment. 

Just get home safe, he said, and make sure you get proof of your latest insurance because that can get you in a lot of trouble. 

I nodded slowly.

And then he left. 

That was it?

Had he forgotten my ticket?

I always get a ticket. 

I'd been going 70 in a 55.

I wasn't drunk but I was speeding. 

Wait. 

Seriously?

A good date and I escaped a felony?

This was the luckiest dress of my life!!!

And the moral of the story is:

Eat some fucking bread with your whiskey.

Wrap your Fucking Penis

I never used to understand why people thought sex with condoms 'didn't feel as good.'

How could sex not feel good because of some thin layer of latex?

But then again, I'd always only had sex with condoms.

So I didn't know the difference. 

Then, out of sheer curiosity, I set up an experiment.

Sex for an hour with a condom.

Then continue sex with no condom.

HOLYFUCKINGSHIT.

THAT.

IS.

DIFFERENT.

Ok.

I get it.

I get it.

The intensity felt by raw, condom free sex is different. 

It feels good.

But you know SEX feels good. 

It certainly didn't suck with the condom.

You know what does suck?

Men who don't respect you.

Men who give zero fucks about your body or the fact that your sexual health is important to you. 

I was seeing a guy these past few months who knew.

K N E W.

How I felt about unprotected sex.

Not on the menu, asshole.

And the one time it happened I took accountability because like I said

E/xpe/ri/ment.

And he said that was totally fine and it wasn't an issue again.

Cool.

Respect.

I appreciate that.

And then.

THEN.

One night I was drunk. 

REALLY drunk.

Kind of impressed I didn't fall off the bed drunk.

And in my whiskey haze I managed to hand him a condom.

Which he did put on.

And after more haze I realized he was finishing.

And he was finishing on me.

He'd taken off the condom.

And my haze suddenly felt confused. 

It took a couple days for it to really sink in. 

The fact I'd had four stiff drinks and he'd had one beer.

The fact he'd entered me while I still had my underwear on and when after I don't know how long, I realized we were already having sex, that was when I'd reached for the condom.

The fact that the casual hookups I had always respected me enough to wrap it without it being such a fucking issue and the kid I was letting sleep in my sheets didn't. 

And I wasn't okay.

So I texted him.

And I told him I shouldn't have to mention this again but if he needs to have sex without a condom then he needs to find a new partner. 

And he didn't respond. 

For days.

And I realized that I'd known for awhile this guy was not my match and I sent another text and told him I wanted to call it.

And when I finally heard back from him he took no responsibility for what he'd done. 

He condescended that I wasn't being accountable.

Because it wasn't his fault.

And his tone. 

Shit, his tone was as disrespectful as his hands had been with my body.

And I ran.

Hard.

I assume the men who'll mistreat me might be the strangers I fuck.

But I certainly didn't see it coming from the goofy schmuck who hadn't wanted to stop seeing each other when I tried a month ago because relationships are complicated and you just work through them.

What a crock of shit.

Stay the fuck away from my temple. 

You don't deserve to feel or smell it.

I trusted your hands to pleasure me not misuse me. 

And have the decency to acknowledge the choice YOU made. 

Rather than turn the blame on these breasts and this face.

Because you KNEW I was more drunk than I've ever been. 

So you took as you pleased. 

And curious enough, that was the last time our bodies would be in close proximity. 

And now I know your true color.

And that difference in pleasure for you, that intensity for a moment of your night, proves that you and only you matters to you in this room.

And this town. 

And all of you, you men who will never know the fear of unwanted pregnancy, who never know the uncomfortable nervousness of waiting to hear if your vagina had been declared "Normal" think it unreasonable that we want you to wear a condom.

I don't want your crabs and I don't want your bastard. 

And if we're in love and exclusive and commited then fine. 

Maybe we can discuss that intensified intensity. 

But you, you fucking loser who wondered why I'd never been to the sleazy dive bar right near my place, with gambling machines and duct tape on the seats, 

YOU DONT KNOW ME AT ALL.

And I'm thankful, I'm grateful you served your purpose and helped me transition and stop missing the man I will never be with and may never fully be over. 

But you never knew me. 

Or understood me. 

Or valued me.

And that. 

That, Chad Smith, is actually YOUR fault. 

You remembered me from Okcupid a year ago and the message I never responded to. 

But when I was finally in your arms you cherished none of it. 

And any man who doesn't respect my body when I overwhelmingly WORSHIP it, can find another hole to pleasure himself in.

Wrap your fucking dick or get the fuck away from me. 

I 

Can't

Believe 

I have to even say it.

What is wrong with you?

The Ghosts of Tinder

A guy I seemed to have a cool vibe with on Tinder asked me, What's your blog?

So I sent him the link and then later in the day when I was on the app again I noticed he was gone. 

He'd unmatched me. 

And all I could think was, Is my writing really that bad?

People are painfully judgmental. 

They're IKEA bags full of douche bags.

And it's e/xha/ust/ing.

I actually decided after that to unlink my Instagram to my Tinder. 

You wanna judge me shamelessly beyond my six glorious photos?

Then you're gonna have to judge me to my face, assholes. 

I'm gonna make the cyber stalkers have to really work for it.

You know. 

The way men work so hard for anything these days. 

Insert eye roll.

I actually found it offensive that the guy who unmatched me was the same guy going on and on about his recent breakup and how much pain he was in like I was his free therapist simply because I'd swiped right.

Probably because of his stupidly sexy shirtless bathroom selfie. 

Judge me all you want.

When they're hot, god dammit, I like those dirty dirty pics.

Dirty.

So his over sharing was okay but something about my online sharing was unacceptable. 

Yeah. 

Ok. 

And THEN I get a novel of a message from some artsy brainiac who is totally my style, the kind of guy who makes the bullshit that is Tinder actually worthwhile, and he is effusively complimentary and I write back and I eagerly scan my messages later to see if he wrote back again and he's gone. 

Buh bye.

No kiss my foot or have an apple.

And again, wwwwwwhhhhyyyyyyy-aahh?

What exactly happened between you look like Elizabeth Taylor I dig your style are you a model to GOODBYE FOREVER.

It's getting a little fucking annoying.

In the early days of Tinder we all just met for a drink. 

And maybe unmatched after that if there was no sexy time vibe.

Now it's unbelievably more complicated. 

I don't seem to have the patience for it. 

But I'm definitely going to continue to keep track of it. 

Here's to you, the ghosts of Tinder. 

The men I will never have regrettable intercourse with. 

Aw schucks.

the start of an ending

I'm finding it mildly disturbing how easy it's becoming to cut ties with people in my life.

I used to be the type of girl whose soul shattered whenever someone didn't want to be a part of my life anymore. 

And today I thought about how I would feel if I never heard from the kid I've been seeing the last several months.  

And I didn't feel sad. 

And I felt like that said a lot. 

Do you know that I heard from The Phantom for the first time in ages and we were texting and he wanted to be friends and I should have been elated. 

But then one day his message was uncharacteristically sweet and affectionate and I remembered he had a girlfriend and I found it confusing. 

So I wrote him back my trepidation and uncertainty and wonder over his sudden outpour of admiration and do you know what he said?

I just don't know how to reply to this right now.

And there it was. 

The actual truth. 

Hidden behind a barrage of flattery and kissy face emojis was the boy who could only ever hide from me. 

Last year he refused to ever meet me.

And now he refused to acknowledge what should be a simple concern. 

But I'm not a simple girl. 

And he knows that. 

And some men don't know how to handle a complicated woman. 

Some find its easier to hide behind their phone. 

So I told him not to text me anymore because I'm disinterested in feigned affection. 

It's like an extension of our first Tinder messages when it should have been an extension of the way he looked at me across his guitar.  

But I'm craving transparency. 

I've felt more passion alongside the women in my life than the men in my sheets. 

And that is telling. 

The women I adore are so overwhelmingly genuine I swear I fall deeper in love with each of them after every conversation and every late night we spend together. 

And then there are the men in my life. 

The boys?

Who instead leave me scratching my head in confusion and feeling further away even after I kiss his forehead in the morning. 

Finding a lover who will be as raw with me as my best friends is mind numbingly difficult. 

It baffles me that I can be so compatible with so many fiery, passionate women. 

And the men I sleep with lack any and all consistency. 

They're all over the fucking map. 

And I'm actually. 

Done following them. 

I feel rather impatient. 

I don't want to spend time with anyone who doesn't nourish my soul the way my kindreds do. 

And I have to believe there exists a male version of my love affairs meaningful enough to be worth my thoughts and energy. 

But it was with surprising ease I re deleted The Phantom's number. 

And with equal swiftness I deleted Marvin's. 

My gay boyfriend I spent the entire summer & fall in love with hasn't contacted me for two seasons. 

And I'm sad to say I've forgotten I miss him. 

Because the only people I want in my story are the ones aching to be a part of it. 

And so far that only casts several gorgeous bitches, my parents, and one star-crossed lover whose terribly perfect for me in some other lifetime. 

I kind of want to eliminate the excess from my life. 

The place holders. 

And the ones we settle for. 

The warm bodies and the folks who'll never change. 

I don't actually need them even though my heart really wants to believe in someone. 

For now, that someone is Reese.

And she's kind of becoming a badass.

Or at least realizing she always was. 

In spite of the wrong guys.

And the wrong times. 

And even the right guys. 

At the wrong times. 

They're still not right. 

For me.

And this is kind of my story.