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.