And I'm a little bit broken

I've been teetering on the edge for a while. Looking down into the hole and pretending not to notice that I've already started to fall. It's hard, I'm coming off the high of a busy, well spent Summer. A sad Summer but also a good Summer. Life is always tricky like that.

I'm not ready for the Fall. I said I was ready to slow down this month, but I'm not. I'm not ready for indoors and being bundled and real life. It's funny how Summer makes me feel so free even though I don't remember the last true Summer vacation I had.

Today I received my first "Dear John" text, from a guy I let myself like more than I knew I should have. Nothing in it was surprising and at the same time I wanted to vomit and cry and jump on a plane home. I wanted the stars and the dark. I wanted my headlights on a windy country road. I wanted to drink whiskey and shoot at the bottle. I wanted the endessness of the ocean. I wanted to be any and all places other than here.

I'm not sure how much of it even really had to do with that guy as much as just an overflow of frustration with dating (or rather that it's always not actually dating) in this city.

For a moment, everything seemed to be coming together, work, friends, crush, moving into an apartment to call my own. There was a solid twenty hours where I felt like maybe I had backed away from the edge but then the city just went ahead and pushed me all the way over.

So, hello, hole.

Hello, bell jar.

Tomorrow I will put out my two new flavors (Rose sweet cinnamon ice cream with cardamom dough! Honey ice cream with salted rosemary dough!) and work on the third. I will pack up my one room here. Over the weekend I'll move and create a new space and maybe dye my hair and call my mother.

And I'll hope that my bell jar stays behind.

There and Back Again

I got back Friday from nine days in California.

Nine days under the stars and redwoods.

Nine days forced to slow down.

Nine days reflecting, examining, turning around past choices in my head. Not having regrets, just playing the "what if" game. I felt so removed from Sonoma County. In eleven months, I changed in some way that made me absolutely certain that that is not my life anymore, that I really was just visiting. It made me think of all the decisions I've made that could've left my life in different places and it made me really examine the life I have now.

What if I hadn't broken up with Jacob? Would he have broken up with me by now? Or would we, nine years into a relationship, actually be planning a wedding instead of just assuming we'd spend our entire life together? (I know, I know, we'd probably both feel miserable and trapped but that's not how the "what if" game works) I once knew with absolute certainty who I was going to marry. That's so foreign a feeling now, yet at the same time I feel like I'm always chasing after it. I don't know what "it" is anymore, but I know I'll know it when I feel it. I think.

What if Che had realized what an ass he was sooner? What if all the apologies he gives me now had happened two years ago? Would I have forgiven him? Would we still be dating? What if I had accepted his wine cellar proposal instead of moving to New York? Would I still be working at a group home, going to school and living perpetually feeling slightly ill at ease? Or would I somehow embrace being a country wife? There was a moment once where I thought I could do that (before the wine cellar proposal, by which point the moment had long since past), settle down where I could raise my own animals and grow my own food and turn it all into a meal each night. While I still love those things, I just can't picture myself in that life anymore.

What if that guy I'd had a crush on since 8th grade, my Harry Burns, had made a move sooner? What if I had been dating him for a year, instead of Matt, when Michelle offered me a room here? Would've I have accepted her offer? Or even, what if he had just asked me to stay in those last two weeks before I moved? He never would have, and that's one of the reasons I love him so. But he's also probably the only person who could've given me pause. I didn't even try to see him while I was in California. I don't know why. I don't know if I was afraid that that relationship never having a chance to happen would turn into a full blown regret if I did see him or if I'm just a pansy and couldn't bear the thought of the disappointment if we no longer connected in the same way.

I think I've been so focused on relationships because they were so often the thing I let hold me back but also because I felt like the reoccuring theme of my visit was "You work how much?! And when?! When do you have time to go on dates?". It's easy to forget here that there are plenty of people in other places only working 40 or 50 hours a week. People that work normal hours, have normal social lives and go on dates that aren't either in the middle of the night or at a normal time but on a Monday. And mostly my answer was "I don't" because that's an easier answer than "Well, there's this one guy I've been sleeping with but he's kind of an ass and I have no desire to date him and he has no desire to date me and it's kind of perfect in an absolutely no emotion sort of way and then there's also this other guy that I've had a crush on since July and I don't really know where we stand at the moment because I'm too afraid to ask because I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get the answer I want but I really really like him and it's fucking up what few dates I go on because I keep comparing".

(Sidenote: I know where we stand now. It definitely wasn't what I wanted. We definitely did have that conversation in a bar at a friend's birthday on my first night back in New York. So. There's that. To steal a phrase from my grandma, my heart could use a bandaid right now. But it doesn't need stitches, because we were never really dating, so it can't really warrant more than rejection hurt and disappointment it didn't become what I wanted. Basically, I'm sad, I'm not sobbing into a pint of ice cream sad but, still, sad)

I've been chanting the "my career will never leave me" mantra for a year now (thank you, Lady Gaga) but I'm starting to realize how much I've let it take over. I used to give up myself in relationships to the point where I no longer could define myself as somebody outside of it and now I don't know who I am outside of my job. When I'm off work for too long I start to get uncomfortable because I don't know what else I do other than work, laundry and sleep and also because I end up spending too much time with myself. My focus has been too much on work and not on building friendships. I'm not entirely sure how to change this yet, but I know I want to. I know I value having relationships more than my career. I also know I focus on my career as a way to hide from putting myself out there and taking the emotional risks making new friends requires.

Once again, I'm striving to find the middle way instead of always going to extremes. I'll get there.

Someday.

Wear clean draws

Easter turned out to be a highly quotable day. SO quotable,that in fact, Matt declared something I said as the quote of the day before we even got out of bed. I have no idea what it was, but I’m sure it was both hilarious and memorable.

I think my mother’s favorite quote of the day was when I loudly declared, “there’s no fucking cherries in Hawaiian Punch”. (Which is totally true, but there’s a fucking picture of cherries right on the front of the bottle. Half the things they picture on the bottle are not listed in the ingredients. They should replace them all with corn. Corn shaped like a syrup bottle.) She told me I should tweet that. I told her that she should get her own twitter account and then she could tweet whatever she wanted. Maybe she could rival “shit my dad says” and then she said “That’s enough to almost make me get my own fucking twitter account”. And then she and Matt yelled “Des NUTS” and grabbed their crotches. Ok, that’s not quite what happened. But all those things did happen and it was all during Easter family time.

You know how there’s at least that one David Sedaris story in which his sister says “You’re not going to write about this, are you?” and he replies “Of course not”? I feel like that is the point my life has reached constantly, except at least 50% of the time it’s people telling me I should blog about things. Which is kind of hilarious, because basically they’re telling me I should write a story about them for them to read.  Which means everyone I know is either at least as narcissistic as I am or thinks that somehow their recollection of a situation will become more hilarious through my retelling it to the whole internet OR I’ve somehow managed to surround myself with people that realize life really just is that ridiculous. There’s also option four, which is just that I’m that ridiculous and everyone I know is constantly but slyly acknowledging it, but I’m choosing to ignore that option.

The point being, my boyfriend doesn’t wear underwear because of linen pants and guns.

Backing up…

“Your boyfriend doesn’t sag and have half his ass hanging out”

“Well he’s older”

“Yeah, but I feel like he wouldn’t anyways, he’s just not a sagging kind of guy”

“Also he’s so skinny I’m pretty sure that without a belt his pants would just fall off. Oh, and if he were sagging his ass would literally be hanging out”

“He’s not wearing underwear?”

“No he doesn’t wear underwear”

“TMI!”

My mom says “TMI” a lot but it’s always followed up by questions like “Is it true, what they say about tall skinny guys?” which is obviously a cry for too much information without being blunt about it and since I’m the most wonderful loving daughter, I like to fuck with her and respond with things like “What do they say?” and try to get her to out and out say that she’s asking about the size of my boyfriend’s penis because if she just wanted to know about tall skinny guys I could’ve answered that question years ago. Now she’s totally thinking “TMI” in her head.

I guess it was also possible she was waiting until I had a more reasonable sample size. Good thinking Mother, this question needs to be scientifically answered, I’m pretty sure we still need a larger test group so you’re going to have to set up everyone you know with tall skinny guys ‘cause I’m planning on sticking with this one. (Because this is the only one that will tolerate me writing about speculation on the size of his penis and lack of underwear on the internet.)

“Is it because that would require doing more laundry?”

See? Not actually TMI.

“I don’t know. Probably. It’s not like it’s something we’ve had discussions about. You can ask him and find out”

Except, somehow I ended up asking him many hours later and I have no recollection of why it came up again.

“I just haven’t really worn underwear since I was like sixteen. It’s not that I don’t ever wear underwear, I just generally don’t wear underwear”

“You said you didn’t even know where a pair was”

“Well that was an exaggeration, I know where maybe two pairs are. I mean there are certain situations in which I wear underwear”

“Really? Like what?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like wearing underwear with linen pants… also packing is a bitch with linen pants because it’s not like you can just put a holster on your linen pants, you have to wear a belt and the whole point of linen pants is they’re supposed to be light and breezy”

And at that point I basically go into hysterics, which is totally unreasonable because seriously, I feel like the problem of gun vs. linen pants is probably a really pressing issue.

 If you’re a mobster.

In Miami.

But I feel like there’s not actually a lot of overlap between the militia email and NRA car insurance offers getting community and the linen pants wearing community. Yet somehow I’ve found the person in which they meet. And somehow, this person is somebody that crazy liberal pacifist me is pretty damn into dating and I am now standing in a gourmet grocery store discussing the issues of packing heat while wearing linen pants because I asked my boyfriend why he doesn’t wear underwear.

Of course, through this whole chain of thought and fit of hysterical laughter Matt is just looking at me like I’m crazy because in his mind he just made a totally pragmatic reasonable statement.

And that’s when I said “I should tweet that”.

“You should just blog about it”

Meta.

A little more country than that (My Mom's Friend Matt, Part Two)

So when I wrote "My Mom's Friend Matt, Part One" Matt told me I should write about the conversation he had with my mother in which she tried to convince him to date me. But seeing as I didn't have that conversation I told him he would have to write about it. So here it is, the long awaited "Part two". All the conversations between Matt and my mother were written by Matt, all the rest is me filling in the other side.

---

"Dude Matt, you should totally date my daughter."

(Yes, this is really how Alana's mother speaks. To me at least.)

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Well,you're a nice guy. She needs to date a nice guy. She's been dating this total douchebag; it's time for her to date a nice guy. You should date my daughter."

"Ok ... "

"No really. She's smart, and she knows what she wants, and she's really cool, and she's not crazy-"

"Wait, how could your daughter, not be crazy?"

"Look, she's not the kind of crazy you usually date. And anyway, she's HOT. Like I used to be ... believe it or not, I was hot once. So yeah, she's hot, and she cooks and stuff. She's got this blog, it's called 'Butter is Love', and she's got this other one that talks about personal stuff, that one is 'Don't Hate Me 'Cause I'm Indie and You're Punk.' Just google that shit, it's the first hit. Go check it out."

"OK, so not only are you trying to get me to date your daughter, but you're encouraging me to cyberstalk her?"

---

Text message conversation. Notice which of us uses full words and punctuation...

"Matt says he is cyber stalking u on facebook. And 'it would be a priveledge to meet her'. And he know yer boyfriend. And doesn't like him much"

"What? Really? That is weird"

"He did go to El Molino but says he can't find u in his yearbook. And u look cute in an apron"

I start looking through my pictures on facebook and realize that there are no super recent pictures of me with an apron but there are a shit ton. Seriously, I wear aprons a lot. And then I start thinking he must really be in depth facebook stalking me if he got that far into my pictures. Or you know, my mother could've told him about my blogs, without me knowing.

"Well, not being able to find a picture of 14 year old me is probably for the best."

"Perhaps. Anyway. His name is Matt M------- and he says his facebook page has a picture of him sitting on the tailgate of a pickup with a sawed off shotgun, but don't let that fool u. I told u he likes guns..."

"Ok, I'll stalk him back"

"You are right. He's cute. I'm in."

---

Here's something interesting that happened to me today. When I ran into your mom this evening, she explained to me that she'd spent "a car ride" trying to convince her daughter meet me.

Having very seldom been told that "I need to meet" someone in any capacity other than that I might find them to be quirky or something, I gave absolutely no thought whatsoever to how strange that might actually be.

She's told me (you might be pleased to hear) all sorts of wonderful things about you. What's more, is that she proclaimed she could further prove all of these things by directing me to "blogs and twitter and the El Molino yearbook, and stuff." Not seeing any other way than to be a creepy asshole, I engaged in the time honored pass time of creepy assholes everywhere, and looked up someone I've never met on the internet.

And lo and behold here I am, sending a message to someone I've never met, trying desperately to think of something to say that's appropriate for a situation I've never been in before. :) Kinda strange right?

Anyway, I read a part of your blog. It was really interesting and well written (you probably know this); I started feeling like a total creeper though on account of how honest it was. I suppose it would've been different if it was someone I never intended to meet, or someone I'd already met, but I felt a little off about reading gobs of (what seem to me to be) really open commentary about someone who probably knows little or nothing about me. So, since so much of you is freely available for the reading (I'm wondering how many points I lost for my shotgun) it's only fair for me to at least try to explain a little about who I am.

So I'm 25. I grew up in west Sonoma County, primarily on an apple ranch. Went to Forestville School (GO VIKINGS!) and El Molino (GO LIONS!). I live in Santa Rosa now, out in Rincon Valley, about half a block down from where your mom lives. I go to the JC (GO BEAR CUBS!). Since high school I've worked in construction, logging, and I did a stint as a professional online gambler. I have this one pair a leather flip-flops that all my redneck friends make fun of me for wearing, but I don't care. They also make fun of me because I talk to my cat like it's a person, but I don't care about that either. I drive a super junky old Ford Taurus that's light blue, but everyone says it's periwinkle blue, which they seem to think is really really funny. They call my car the Periwinkler (GO ME!). I have running hot water. I live with one of my best friends and his girlfriend, who is also a close friend of mine. I love music, even if some of my musical choices attract criticism from my more cynical friends (like Simon and Garfunkle). I'm a bit of night owl. I'm impartial to long walks on the beach. One time my grandpa towed my truck home with his tractor ... they were both Fords. I'm constantly fixing my friend's computers. My favorite restaurant use to be Equus before they fucked everything all up.

Believe me, I've got many many more useless pieces of information about myself (which I'm sure you'd be absolutely thrilled to hear about), but I'll spare you. I hope I've at least partially made up for the fact that I had absolutely nothing worthwhile on my Facebook page. Hopefully it's also somewhat made up for the fact your first picture of me you saw was me sitting on my friend's tailgate holding a shotgun (which was about three years ago ... by and by). Trust me, if I had a picture of me running out of a burning house with armloads of puppies, I would've quickly made that my default picture. Sadly no one was there that day.

Hopefully I've made this a little less strange, or at least made a total ass out of myself, which sometimes can have to same effect. My phone number is ***-****, maybe you'd like to grab some coffee sometime?

Matt

I read this message and have a minor heart attack. Seriously? Awesome. My mom is like, here look, read about my daughter being neurotic and drunkenly sleeping with people, that'll totally make you want to date her... I swear, only my mother...

---

"Maybe if you're going to set me up on a date you shouldn't tell the guy about my blog in which I write about being a crazy floozy... Just sayin'"

"He thinks ur adorable. He says the picture in the apron and the dead animal thing are really hot"

"He sent me a pretty amusing message on facebook, so I'm willing to forgive you."

"Matt was impressed that u don't just blog about 'Oh, I like shoes, airhead airhead, etc'. Although I pointed out that you do like shoes..."

"Ur blog is FANTASTIC"

"Oh. And he's sitting right here in my living room..."

"Did you facebook him back?"

"Yes."

---

[Present are Matt, Siobhan, and perhaps two other people.]

"Oh man," *yawn* "I am tired." Understandably so, it was early ... ish.

"Oh yeah? Up all night fucking my daughter?" Followed by the kind of laughter that can only come as a result of embarrassing not only one of the people present, but also one of your children in absentia.

---

[via text]

"So you're luring my daughter to your lair already?"

"Well it was either go out to eat, or eat something here. Plus, I've got hella movies."

"Oh Jesus, I don't wanna know that. I don't want to know about you breaking the bed." etc. etc. etc.

"What?"

"Just use protection."

"Wtf?"

"Too much information Matt."

"You fucking sicko. I said movies. movies. M-O-V-I-E-S. MOV-I-ES. Films."

"O."

---
[also via text]

"Awww, Alana sent me a cute message." -M

"Gag." -S

"Stupid fucking iPhone autocorrect ..." -S

"FAG!" -S

Really, Mother? Really? Really? No, seriously, REALLY?

---

"I feel like since I can read all about your dating history on the internet, I should tell you about mine."

Of course, my mother had already given me a brief synopsis (God knows what my mother has told us about each other that each of us has no idea about...) but I want to hear the story straight from the horses mouth. I get the details on the crazy bitches and the not knowing what they want.

"I know what I want and right now it looks an awful lot exactly like this. I'm not the kind of guy that's going to do a bunch of shit right away so you'll date me and then never do it again. I'm not going to treat you differently in front of my friends. I'm not the kind of person that's going to freak out at six months. I'm a simple kind of guy, what you see is what you get... and it's all yours."

A woman wants her cowboy like he wants his rodeo

You're probably thinking, "Really, we're done with the boy, aren't we done with country music?" but alas, no, because there's still so much "what the fuck were you thinking?" followed by "oh, wait, I see why you were suckered in" followed by me still living in the country which means that I drive around in my car yell-singing "I hate that stupid old pickup truck you never let me drive". (Yes, I just admitted to listening to a Taylor Swift song all the way through, please judge me, I would, the alien that sometimes controls my actions even does) Because I do hate that stupid old pickup truck he never let me drive, seriously, I hated the issue of whether or not I was allowed to drive it. This is never something I thought would come up in my dating life. I really wouldn't care except that he offered me his BMW to drive home one night when I wanted to head in before him (who lets someone drive their bimmer before their truck?) AND he had seen me drive the same exact truck (albeit older and belonging to my grandpa) on many occasions and would comment on how sexy he thought it was. Stupid country boy machismo. Lame sauce.

Back on track, I don't know if I actually ever stated this a year ago in my blog, but my plan after breaking up with Jacob was to remain single for a while. I hear this is the reasonable thing to do if, a) you're ending a really long term relationship and b) you've spent more of your life in relationships than out of them and you're only 24 (or, at the time, 23).

There was no plan when I broke up with the boy, because we hadn't really been dating. I started the whole online dating plan in the period when we were still occasionally sleeping with each other and he was sleeping with other people because I had conversations with five people in two days in which they recommended online dating and Ms. Mae told me she thought the only reason I kept sleeping with the boy was because I was afraid that nothing better was ever going to come around. So I figured I might as well give it a go. Oddly, I'm really happy that I didn't go on any dates before telling the boy I had no interest in being friends or even talking to him anytime in the near future. I proved to myself that I could take that risk of not having anyone other than my incredibly loving and supportive friends and family and that I respected myself enough to not let the boy treat me like shit anymore.

(You might be asking why a woman of twenty four who has spent more time in relationships than out would ever be afraid of not finding someone and it would probably be a reasonable question. I don't know.  I guess I'm just insecure and human like that.)

This time 'round I feel the exact same way in a not at all sort of way. I realized as I was looking through OkC profiles and finding dealbreakers I didn't even know existed (Did you know there are still people that think Dan Brown is a legitimately good author?) like using commas instead of periods for ellipses (I think, why else would you put three commas at the end of every sentence?) that maybe I don't actually want to be in a relationship. I mean, I do. I want someone to bring me that giant bowl of mashed potatoes. But I only want it if it's amazing. I'd rather take the time to take a deep breath and figure out what the hell it is I want before I accidentally go on a date with somebody I've thought was a douchebag since about 8th grade and have the emotional rollercoaster ride of my life for the next ten months because it turns out, he is still a douchebag.

So let's figure it out by breaking it down; every other boy mentioned in this blog vs. the boy:

-Jacob: This would be my high school sweetheart. He's still one of my best friends; we watch project runway, look at cardigans and talk about video games. If I has to suddenly face some sort of major life crisis/event he's most likely the person I'm going to call. He is probably the reason music is such a big part of my life. His college major has changed from structural engineering (wait, or was it civil first?) to electrical engineering to architecture to, finally , math. I would not describe him as manly, but he can wire houses and use power tools, so that's something. An all around very nice, nerdy, well dressed (though it's taken some effort to find clothes to fit his 6'6" frame) guy. This is not at all relevant, but he has a Great Dane puppy named Charles that is the cutest thing ever and can probably already fit my whole head in his mouth.

-Just My Type Boy/The Boy's Best Friend: One of my best male friends growing up. He had a crush on me from sometime in middle school until possibly sometime in the past year, or now, I don't know. I've had crushes on him off and on that whole time. We talk about girls being stupid, video games, traveling and watch really bad movies (Like Conan the Barbarian). We've jokingly propositioned each other so many times that I'm fairly certain we've finally ended up in each other's friend zones. He was a biology major with a math minor. Despite being a seemingly oblivious sort of guy, he always know what to say to cheer me up; whether it be telling me I'm amazing or joining in on the self deprecation. I hear he can be a bit of an ass to date. He climbs a lot of rocks, so he looks pretty muscular and manly until he opens his mouth and you realize he's mostly a pretty nice, somewhat awkward, nerdy guy. He also has an adorable puppy, her name is Claudia.

-Charlie Trouble: In case you've somehow missed the me making out pantless in a bar posts, this would be the boy who I may have crushed on, impulsively slept with and broken the bed of while in New York. He might've announced to a bar that I was his future girlfriend and just didn't know it yet and suggested proposal as a method to keep me in New York. We were both inebriated for one of those statements and neither of us were for the other; I'll let you guess which. I feel like it would be a bit silly to write out a whole bit when I've just written about him. Let's just say one of his jackets has a WoW patch, he has a LotR tattoo, I told him I would marry him if he built me the Enterprise... I think you can see where this is going...

But if you want me to spell it out for you: I am a sucker for nerdy boys.

For serious.

(If I ever start a dating only blog I'm pretty sure it's going to have to be titled "Let's talk math baby, and could you be a little awkward about it?".)

-Ché/The Boy: Apparently had a crush on me from third grade until I broke his heart when he asked me to go to a dance in 6th or 7th grade. I don't remember this at all. We had all the same friends but were never particularly good friend with each other. Sometime in 8th grade this changed, probably around the time I called him a chauvinist ass and he called me a bitch. I have no recollection of why this happened, just that it did. I'm sure I had a good reason though. We mostly avoided each other freshman year of high school and then I transferred out of that god damn hick school to the fine/performing arts magnet and forgot he existed until he popped up in my people you might now thingy on facebook. I remember at one point in time thinking he was a nice enough intelligent sort of guy so maybe I was wrong about the whole chauvinist ass thing. We started writing each other daily. He bought me nice dinners, he has a nice car, he knows how to say all the right things he has the responsibility of taking care of things around his and his mother's ranch, he reads a lot, he once asked me if he looked homeless in all brown when he was wearing a very green shirt and he knows how to use a chainsaw. He was a history major, but mostly only likes the old white guy war stuff as far as I can tell. When he'd come home to find his roomie or best friend and me playing MarioKart he would make funof us. Our common interests include talking about our dead fathers, booze and sex. With a heavy emphasis on the booze and sex.

My friends, his friends and he have all stated that he must have been an incredibly long rebound/I was just going for the opposite end of the spectrum, but I think that's only 75% true.

Both of us have an odd, idealized love for country life. I'm not going to lie, it really does give me great joy to drive around in a giant truck blasting country music because it's just straight up fun, so is drinking by candlelight in the barn and being in a house full of people drunkenly shouting along to "Friends in Low Places". However, I do not want to do those things all the time. I like the environment so I like my fuel efficient car. I like going to indie rock shows. Also the ballet and museums. I'm a contradictory sort of girl.

But I think there's a part of me that's a sucker for the ideal of the educated, sensitive country boy. You know, he knows how to have a good time but he also can take care of his responsibilities. He appreciates food cooked from the plants and animals he's grown. He spends days with the woodsplitter so his mother can have firewood for the winter. He'll probably mostly make sure you're happy and you get what you want, but he's not a pushover. He can fix things And, obviously, he knows how to handle a gun when the zombie invasion comes 'round. (And yes, the boy is part of the constantly talking about the zombie invasion club.) This was the impression the boy gave me when we first started seeing each other. I am not actually a sucker for the country boy who wants to get drunk every single night, tells me I can be a god damn feminist as long as I still shave my legs and would like to be able to use his guns to shoot pretty much anyone that pissed him off.

The country boy image still appeals to me, but I'm pretty sure that if I have to choose my type, I'm going back to nerdy but preferably with some of those other qualities thrown in.

I would like a boy that is something like 75% nerdy, 15% country (I may settle for not a pushover and can fix things without actually being "country") and 10% hipster (alternatively, not actually hipster, but likes music a lot).

So basically, right now, I'm going to be ludicrously picky because I'm not in a hurry and I don't ever want to pretend it could possibly work with someone not even remotely my type again. I'm sure I'll relax my standards once I've been single long enough. Maybe I'll even stop judging people by their taste in authors and ability to write out full words (when hell freezes over) but I don't really know.

And the part where I feel exactly the same as last year...

Once again, how does this whole single thing work?

Fuck you and your untouchable face

So I've moved onto anger. Let me tell you, it feels great. It feels a lot better than feeling mopey and pathetic and "please take me back-y". Nothing better than self righteousness right?

I went through a period today of thinking the best thing would be to pretend the last three months didn't happen. Then I went through a period of thinking that the healthiest thing would be to pretend that Sunday didn't happen.

But then I thought about why Sunday was really what was breaking my heart and I started to get really, really pissed off. At one point during the break up he said to me "We were going to have this conversation yesterday, but then when you said it was your dad's birthday I just couldn't do it blah blah blah high note better blah blah blah".

A) I totally told him that I was acting crazy that week because Sunday was my father's birthday on Friday evening, actually we had a whole conversation Friday night about the issues each of us were having with our relationship. However, he was drunk and I was tipsy and I insisted we shouldn't have the conversation until we were sober and he insisted we should so it's not surprising he didn't remember. Actually he has a horrible memory sober as well, but I think he would've remembered that one. I thought he had remembered that one.

B) What the fuck? He spent a day with me at my most vulnerable saying sweet nothings, talking about the future, using words like "fate", kissing me and holding me, making eyes at me over dinner whenever his mother wasn't looking, asking me to stay the night even though it would mean at least an hour drive in the morning, and AND sex. (Yeah, I'm sharing that with the internet. I'm sure you're shocked.) Sure, all the other opening up myself, emotional vulnerability crap hurts like hell, makes me angry as hell but the sex part, in retrospective, is kind of gross. "Icky" and "sleazy" as others have put it. Knowing Che, had this happened to one of his female friends, he'd probably go hunt the guy down, punch him in the face and remind the guy that he has guns and he better not hurt his friend again (yeah, we're very different people) and he would not at all take into consideration that maybe the guy wasn't sure what he wanted or thought he was making the better choices. Che tends to think in reactionary, overprotective, absolutes. If only I had a friend like him right now to go threaten him and punch him in the face...

(Ok, there's a chance I would get all angry and feminist on that friend but even leftist, pacifist, feminists like me have their limits when their hearts get broken..)

Sunday really was an amazing day and I really don't want to taint it because he is a really really sweet guy (despite his overprotective, alpha male-ness) and I'm not entirely sure he was entirely sure about what he wanted and god knows I'm a sucker for the dead father card (it's a pretty reasonable card, I was all sorts of fucked up after my father died) but then there's the sex part, and the number of female friends he's slept with part, and the "I'm thinking this is a pattern for him" part, and you know what? Fuck 'im. He would not approve of his actions. I do not approve of his actions. I don't care what sort of confusion he was having. He couldn't have been that confused if he came down to Berkeley that immediately. Sleazeball asshat. Really? He wants to be my friend? Now that he's proven whose in control, proven his manliness to his friends and everyone we went to middle school with whose hearts I apparently also broke? And he criticizes his friends for dating younger boys because he thinks it's a power issue. Obviously sleeping with a girl first and becoming friends later is not at all a power issue.

And yeah, I realize I might regret sharing this all with the world if, in a couple of weeks, he realizes he's  crazy and I forgive him (because, let's face it, I would probably make that mistake because there's still a part of me that just wants to hold him and tell him it's ok to let his guard down once in a while and it really does all get better- yeah I'm codependent like that) but what are blogs for if not for ranting?

Rant, rant, rant.

This is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you

Have I mentioned that Northern California is fucking gorgeous in the Spring?

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It was a fairly fantastic weekend. The first whole weekend I've spent with the new boy (someday he'll get a name). He surprised me by calling on Thursday to tell me he was coming home early from his road trip, and by the time I called him back he was already home. Montana to California all in one day! 

Friday was burgers, shakes, cuddles and sweet nothings. And surprise number two- he won't be leaving to travel again until September (also, he would like me to come meet him in France- I better get to saving)!

"Are you ready for this to get serious?" he asks, tickling me, halfway joking.

"I don't know," also halfway serious, I giggle back. 

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Notice you don't even get to see all of new boy's face yet?

Saturday was lazing in bed, walking to get coffee, wandering the gourmet ghetto in the sun while we waited for our lazybone friends to wake up (ok, to be fair, we were up at 9 on a Saturday) and then Oyster Bliss at Cafe Fanny. Oysters, champagne and pastries, oh my! Back to sit in the sun on Alex's (Alex is my new baker friend, not the new boy, just to clarify) balcony and drink more champagne.

Next I headed up to Guerneville with Lara to play bingo with my mother and men dressed as nuns. Yes, I live in a part of the country where it is considered fairly normal to play bingo run by absolutely fabulous nuns (the sisters of perpetual indulgence). It was hot, there was traffic and it seemed like the drive took forever, I was sunburned and cranky so we left early (at 9pm).

Drive Lara back to Petaluma then out to the boy's ranch in Bodega. They were watching the end of the new Death Race. Did you know they don't even hit pedestrians in it?! What's the point of watching Death Race without extra points for hitting pedestrians?

More snuggles, more sweet nothings. (Seriously, if I had to watch a couple acting the way we do when nobody is around, I would probably vomit. As if the whole, reconnecting with the boy next door whose had a crush on you since 3rd grade isn't cutesy enough, right?)

Sunday was brunch in my hometown. My favorite breakfast sandwich in the whole wide world. Grocery shopping. You have no idea how oddly happy it made me to do something so normal, domestic, obviously not a date. We lazed through the late morning with books on the couch.

Alex showed up with tequila and it was time for margaritas by the pool.

God it's a hard life I'm living these days.

Things got a bit more serious in the evening when Che's mom called because one of the horses was attacked by a coyote and it needed to be put down. He wanted to shoot it and immediately put it out of its misery, she wanted the vet to come out. Noah and I went in to town to bring back burritos and beer. (Man, it sounds like I drink a shit ton from this post's activities). Then I conquered the Trivial Pursuit board while we waited for Che to deal with the vet and his mother.

He came back in obviously upset, obviously trying not to be. I don't yet know how best to comfort him. When to leave him be and when to try to take care. My heart ached.

Later we went out hunting the coyote. The boys got guns while Alex and I were on flashlight duty (of course). We walked in the dark mostly, it was a warm night and, oh my god, the stars. There was no coyote to be found. We walked back towards the house and I just kept looking up thinking, "God, I miss the stars".

I miss warm country nights. Walking through the woods with friends. Drinking in barns. Lying on a blanket/trampoline/truckbed and watching the moon cross the sky. I miss the stars. I miss home.

The boy kept hinting at me moving back up that way all weekend. It was cute and comforting and on the other hand hit the "woah! it's only been 2.5 months and you've been gone most of that time" button. I'm pretty sure had we been in opposite positions he would be a bit freaked out by that sort of talk. Back and forth. Both totally in love, trying to take things at a reasonable pace and failing miserably. It's kind of fantastic.

Best quote of the weekend:

"I just got a flash of 'this is weird'... I remember when you got boobs!"

(He did, in fact, accurately remember that I got boobs in 5th grade... Dating the boy next door is kind of weird.)

The Conclusion

"I tried to be mad at you but I just kept thinking of that sweet smile"...

And we both agree that a) we like each other quite a bit  b) our relationship is going at a little too much of a break neck pace that freaks us both out and c) I owe him one for last Sunday

Also, I agree to shoot things.

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Now, I grew up in the country but I'm not "Cun-tree". I was raised by transplanted bourgeois, socialist, city folk on a measly 3 acres. Yes, I will blast country once I hit the Sonoma County border and I will drive too fast on windy country roads and swear at tourists, but I do it all in my Toyota Corolla with a peace sign and a Gandhi bumper sticker. Guns... not so much my thing. In fact, I had never shot a gun before today. Unsurprisingly, I am not very skilled. I am determined to fucking figure it out though. If backwards ass real hicks can do it, I can do it.

In case you're concerned about me being too far gone... don't be. We went wine tasting and sang along to the Decemberists. Also there was hitting golf balls with the shooting. It was a weird day of combining country and yuppiness. By which, I mean, pretty damn awesome.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm still somewhat mortified by last weekend though.