Some things that exist that shouldn’t.

  • Wobbly tables. We can regulate diabetes, remedy anaphylactic shock and help find people eternal and perfect spouses but we can’t find a way to keep my laptop from sliding around the table while I type?
  • Cover letters. If you think about it, the time you take to read a cover letter is wasted when you totally know you’ll want to hire me or not after personally meeting me for at least 1.5 minutes.
  • Embarrassment. I myself never declared to be a non-human so sorry for snort-laughing, never having had a boyfriend and burping like a dude.
  • Ticketmaster. I’m obviously not over being overcharged ever since that BSB concert (aka my whole life) but seriously, there has to be a better way to enjoy art and not feel like I’m attending an auction or being mugged willingly.
  • 5 dollar foot longs. You can’t really “save” the other half for dinner  (and who eats leftover subs)? Less is more and it’s about 6 inches too much more.
  • *Enter musical references pertaining to Creed, Nickelback, Tool. (poor guys–and by guys I mean my ears).
  • 24hr drive thrus. I’m mainly concerned of what goes on from 2:30am-5a.m and how nobody essentially is ordering 12 chicken soft tacos between those times because that’s just unimaginable…
  • Eat this and not that lists. My childhood love for donuts has not been the same and so my adulthood is very much so affected.
  • The fact it’s permissible for some people in America to not have health insurance. I know, I’m a broken record on this issue, but without health insurance, I shall remain broken.
  • 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner. If I wanted my hair to feel knotty and essentially more unconditioned, I’d use my bar of soap.
  • Irony. But only in the form of food like pairing a diet coke and nuggety chocolate bar. Just go all out or grab the nearest apple and be really sad.
  • 5 year high school and/or college reunions. The only thing this gives me enough time to accomplish is noticeable weight gain and the solidification of my single marital status.
  • AND ants. No follow-up necessary.



You had me at goodbye.

The first date I’ve ever been on I don’t consider my first date. Purely because trying to kiss me in line to Peter Pan then again during the ride does not add magic but takes it all and completely away. I understand the idea of false pretenses but I know the signs I give off, and it’s usually one of I’d rather be overcharged for a churro than have your cheeks near mine.

SO, my first official date I remember was during baseball season. He had I-just-showered-hair under what I thought was an impressive baseball cap. But to be honest, what was first just a purple button up which I feel was silk like material, ended up being a super distracting piece of clothing throughout the night. Sometimes I wonder if guys think about their outfits as much as girls (I) do, but a blatant NO comes to mind with this fella (God bless him slash sorry I was 19 so I was all about the exterior). But as we headed to the game, the sun was setting and I remember looking at his rear view mirror catching the purply red light reflecting from his 4Runner back window. I remember he even let me borrow his sunglasses because I was adamant in seeing the sky though it kind of burned my eyes. That was for some reason more than a nice gesture to me so since then, I’ve made it a point to check if a guy will either hand me over his sunnies or judge me in being stubborn in staring at the infinite sun. The former promises a potential lifetime of respect and hugs.

As we got to the game, I met with a friend and her boyfriend. Typical girls in the middle situation with bits of snickering in our own and at times intimate corners. I want to say we were cute, but I’m very certain we were as cute as much as we were falling in love with one another. Though the crowds and Rally Monkey mainly drowned the conversation out, his body language was rallying none of my attention or interest. I just felt awkward and blamed it initially on the sticky floor and mist from all the different drafts that were on tap spewing out of the angry man fans. But at least there was passion in those men! I kept thinking, “man guy next to me, where is your passion?” He spoke with no enthusiasm, which communicated a disinterest in a very interesting girl (no bias). Would I like a rope licorice? Sure. But would I have made you buy it? Probably. But we’ll never know any of these outcomes because you never asked. Or spoke for that matter.

During the bottom of the ninth inning, we decided to head out and grab something to eat. Conversation picked up a bit but the content was alarming. I suppose if I had an ex who did cocaine constantly which consequently led to the demise of my relationship with my lover, I’d probably divulge of such adventurous meets mysterious thriller story too…but yikes, I’ve never even had a whole beer and you’re talking about your ex who used to have at least like 3 beers. Suddenly I felt I was out of my league, but in the good way, where the league is a bunch of coked out, silk shirt wearing, monotone speaking peeps.

This was obvious a sign of a man who was still hung up on a girl who wasn’t me, which thankfully was quite alright/ideal. As I inhaled my animal fries ferociously to thwart of ANY potential interest he may had of me (because I’m just a good listener no matter who you are and what you wear) I soon suggested he’d better get me back home since it was a school night.

During the ride home, he let me play any Fall Out Boy song I wanted to and then after a then very impressive bridge to chorus transition, I was home. Before I stepped out of his vehicle, he suggested we go see Dave Matthews for my birthday (since it was coming up and he had two tickets). I nodded nervously and let him walk me to my front door. As he bent down to hug me with what felt like the weight of his world which surely had no room for mine, I reciprocated with my version of a thank you for the night with two and a half pats on the back and half-smile.

Then he said goodbye and I ran inside and sighed.

As I scurried inside finding my mom in the living room watching Lifetime, I instantly and hurriedly changed out of my too-thought-out outfit and into more comfortable threads. Though my eyes fixated on the young pregnant teen on the screen, my mind was on how nice that boy was, despite his tangled hair and heart. Thankful for his kindness though gray demeanor, I considered the date a success though a second one would never come into fruition. No matter how much Dave Matthews meant to me. Or how much I would love to have someone  to hug days on end.

Take heart, my loves.

I love you and value you because

You make others feel at home

You make laughter erupt in any room you occupy.

You try knowing failure never outweighs success.

You try.

You love unconditionally and inconveniently.

You are an emotional space, available 24/7.

You are active in your search for better.

You ache with others as well as rejoice.

You are emotional stability and when you’re not, you are at least familiarity.

You came from a nothing to what now looks likes something.

You pray for me without inquiring, support me without contesting.

You tie my shoes in the rain (if I ask/my hands are full holding your warm drink and/or pastry).

You face your infirmities with vulnerability that is inspiring.

You count on me, just as much as is expected.

You will more than gladly buy a first AND second cup of coffee before ever expecting I buy you one.

You run the race with a humility that I try to mimic very often.

You embrace change and cling to a foundational force.

You accept my somber soul, without inquiry or countering, but remind me there is light.

You inspire me and others, solely by being your authentic self.

You stretch the boundaries of safe.

You gladly harmonize with me because I’m terrible at it.

You foolishly continue to try teaching me how to roller blade, like dogs, and/or run a marathon.

You wish the best for me and all before the best comes for you.

You believe in “bests.”

You speak with Truth that permeates my curiosity.

You keep a close watch on the beings and things you love, just so you know I love you and value you.

I love romantic candy.

Last night I paced the grocery aisles trying to figure out what it was I needed for a chocolate souffle I swore I’d make myself next Valentines Day, because last Valentine’s Day I drank too much red wine and the only thing I made was a fuss about how I hadn’t any romantic or close-to-romantic prospects–that and how I learned even guys have low self-esteem too and I could only do so much beyond my sweet-smelling hair and endearing charm. And since I have yet to have any type of romantic entanglements during this year’s terrible candy and flying babies-influenced holiday, I figured, I freakin’ deserve that chocolate souffle I promised to my newer self. And for extra gumption, I’m getting a heart-shaped cutter (and avoiding all forms of flirting via text messages). I’m going all out with my solo-self and with some hard labored sweets.

Speaking of sweet, I believe it was a young, talented and Canadian pop-star who said, “I just need somebody to love.”

Such words whether said or sung, carry weight and wisdom and an adamant vertical head nod.  That very saying is one that delightfully tolls and tramples my insides both at the same time. Yet after momentary disdain of such a relevant statement, I’m left with the catered and massive space to respond. To myself, to others–and all by how I probably decide to live out my life–or maybe just that day, the 14th.

The plan?

To spend it with the many somebodies I love. And I guess it’s not the fact that I need somebody to love, more so that I need them all to know I love them. So though romancing a simple woman seems like Everest (insert underlying compliment comparing me to a very difficult accomplishment meets breathtaking wonder of the world) romancing about a handful of them will be easier and my very intention is to share my immense appreciation for the many someones I care for so deeply and  to realize and treasure how one day, I won’t be able to do this type of celebrating. So as of right now, I’m wildly glad I am able to.

So when the whole world celebrates their romantic lives and judges mine for the lack roses and over-priced chocolates underneath my arms, at least I will be abundant in story-sharing, braided heads of hair, advice on how to say yes/no to them fellas, wisdom on learning lessons the hard and/or graceful way and lastly sweet decadent desserts of many, MANY kinds.