And Then He...

We sat across from each other in the bright restaurant. There were so many things to say, and so many things that had already been said. Everything was robotic and sterile and serious and wrong. Technology had stunted the healing of the relationship; facebook and text messaging made it to easy to proclaim 'i'm sorries' and 'i miss you's.' And now we were left with the real physical fact of our bodies that used to move closely and with familarity, now moved jerkily around one another's, not sure where to rest. Even walking to the restaurant had been tense with unfamiliar movements: a nod when there should have been a kiss, hands held inches apart when walking that used to clasp warmly and with confidence.
So we sipped water and watched others in the place smile warmly and woodenly. We hoped to do the same, but time was not on our side, and neither were words. Sentiments easily voiced through the vessel of a computer or a phone are so hard to work through the lips. Lips and tongues are easily hurt; to bite ones tongue, to bite your lip: to take back what you wish you hadn't said. Harder without a delete button.  We sat there and it felt like hours when it had only been minutes.
It was fucking uncomfortable.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" I wanted to go somewhere else. I didn't know how to exist here. I felt like smiling crazily, which is always a sign I am uncomfortable. I have the weird tic of smiling with teeth when something horrible happens.  "Like... a bar? Somewhere... Not here."
Here was bright and clean and neat and somewhere a couple would go if they had a celebration. If they wanted to drink a clean white wine with their quince.
"I don't want quince."
"What?"
"I mean...We can stay here if you want. But I... Um. We should go to the bar next door. And drink."
"Okay."

We ordered a pitcher in a dark bar and it felt the way I felt. Guilty and worse for wear. Dark and frequented by dark people and dark thoughts. But comfortable. The bar didn't put on airs; it fucked up and it regretted things. But it existed and woke up every day and started again.
I am the bar in this metaphor.

We drank a lot, we talked less then I thought. We didn't need to talk as much as I thought we would. There was not really anything left to say. He held my hand and it felt perfect.
Later when he kissed me, I would hear music.

The List

I think this is a topic that has been pretty well covered in the media. Everyone's got one, even Barney Stinson. Okay, especially Barney Stinson. (By the way, How I Met Your Mother is not always the funniest show, but at least there's Neal Patrick Harris. Worth it.)
It's not necessarily the people you sleep with. I wouldn't post that, that would be tacky. Also I'm a virgin.
(Pause for laugh track)
The list I'm specifically talking about is your list of types.
The cliche guys (Or gals. God knows there might be some man somewhere reading this, hoping to pick up on some tips. Good luck.) you found yourself romantically (Or genitally) entangled with.

My List:
The Nerd - Oh my god he's so nerdy. But so smart. And also so grateful to touch your boobs, even if he's grappling around with them like they're game controllers. 
The Asshole - Sure, for two seconds at that bar he seemed nice. But now he's hitting on that girl. Your waitress.
The MindFuck - Wait, you thought you were winning this argument. He didn't come home until 3 in the morning, why are you apologizing? Yeah, of course someone just gave him those condoms you found. Wait... What is HAPPENING?!
The Nice Guy - Nice guy, why are you so nice? At first it was really... nice. But now it's just boring.
The Great on Paper - Everything about this guy is awesome! He works for an airplane company! He builds airplanes! He owns stock! He is in awesome shape with awesome facial hair! ... And there is absolutely no chemistry.
The Military Guy - He's on time, treats you like a lady and wants to drop money on you. Drawbacks? He voluntarily owns guns and enjoys it.
The Funny Guy - Oh, he's funny. Very funny. Someday you'll probably have a serious conversation. 


And of course there's always the guy that fits into a couple categories. But I prefer to fit people into tiny cliche boxes and label them. It's more fun that way.
What's your list?
I asked Seth, and he gave me incredibly cliche titles for women that's he's encountered. So very successful, in other words.
Seth's List
The Scenester
The Party Girl
The Prude
The Ditz

Newsflash, no one says ditz anymore. We say "Kim Kardashian," or "dumb ass bitch". No just kidding. We say Snooki, obviously.
I am none of those things he listed, so apparently I'm not included in people he's dated. Though we are "casually dating"? Whatever that means. Once you try and define things, things get all messy and weird.

It sounds to me like he has dated a lot of "crazy" people. I sometimes balk at men that have a long history of putting up with insane women, because it seems like there's something wrong on their end. Endless patience, or just an inability to find a normal person?

Hello, attractive lower halves. 

I'm Much Too Young To Be This Insane

I have been thinking a lot lately, for no reason at all other then obvious ones, about falling in love.
I think too much. I know that. But how can you tell yourself to not think about something? Especially if that something is thinking itself!
Okay, I can see I'm getting a little too deep for you. 
Let me lay it out here.
The things I've been thinking about.
Love:
How do you know it's there?
Are you supposed to be hit with it? Like a train, or a bus or other things people use to violently describe the feeling of love? 
If I broke up with boyfriends that I said 'I love you' to, was I actually not really in love, since we broke up?
Is this "love" bullshit actually created by the media and only exists in television and movies and is only intended for people like Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock? 


I would always ask my ex boyfriend, "Why do you love me?" In a whole, desperate sad girlfriend way.
"Chemicals in my brain! Hormones and pheromones," he would say, kissing me on the top of my head on his way out the door. My love for him felt desperate and tangled, mixed with a lethal dose of anxiety and passion. 
So that was sweet. 
To my other ex boyfriend I would ask the same question, and he would tell me a different thing every night. My love for him felt warm and comfortable, and sometimes spread through my chest and shoulders like a blanket when he touched me. 


I don't know what love is, or what it is supposed to feel like. It feels to me right now like love is made of compromise. I don't date smokers, but he is incredibly funny. I don't date short guys, but he likes to read.
Full of things you don't like, mixed with things you've always wanted. 
When you find love, do all the pieces fall into place and that person is perfect? Or do you just not care about those little things you hated because... I don't know!


My boss at work is awesome, and she and her husband love each other very much. When I asked her how she knew that she was going to marry him, she said,
"After two weeks, I knew that if I spent more time with him and actually dated him, I would never leave him. We would get married." 
That is an example of the hit by a train love. That actually exists for people!
My mom and dad have been married about 30 years. They are the perfect couple. I have only heard them fight once, that I can remember. My mom loves my dad more then herself and vice versa. Sometimes they meet for dinner and they're wearing the matching outfits. It's disgusting. 
My mother on my dad:
"I didn't think I was going to marry him, no."
So that's comforting! 
How did you know you wanted to marry Dad then?
"I guess because I couldn't imagine being without him."


I know I shouldn't even think this much about it. I'm 23, it's not like I want to get married tomorrow. But I have always been so curious. So, so curious about everything. And incredibly impatient to boot.
And now it's like, I want to experience this thing, but it's not like sky diving, or sushi. You can't just order it.
I want to know how it feels, I want to know what I am like in love. I want it to color my day and my being a bright yellow. 
Is this going to be like college, where the entire time I was stressed out, and tired and having the time of my life without realizing that it was the time of my life?
Is being single right now going to be like that?
Should I not be in a relationship just for the experience of not being in a relationship?
Can I turn my brain OFF?

"At one point, we were very attractive and young,

but then you got Alzheimer's and I lost the ability to hold 

an erection."

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name. 
- Andre Breton

Detritus of Relationships Past

Detritus
Noun
Definition: Litter, Waste
Synonyms: Pieces, Crap, Rubble, Leavings, Shavings, Shit Your Ex-Boyfriends Left Behind

Having moved and broken up with a boyfriend fairly recently, I have quite a bit of experience with this. However mutual and amiable a break up is, finding his stuff never comes without a bit of a sting. Like, when will all this shit be gone? Can I not completely purge this from my life? No, you cannot.
There will always be a birthday card slid in between the pages of a book you never read, some movie stub lost in the caverns of your suitcase. Or there's the millions of facebook pictures you're tagged in together. Those too. Thank you technology. Gone are the days we could put all of that stuff in a barrel out back and burn it ritualistically (Not that I did that. At all. Okay that one time.).
Now we're reminded of our failures (Or theirs, but it feels the same doesn't it?) on a daily basis.
My break up (Which I will not speak of at length, but here is a little nod) was mutual and amiable. And stings me daily.
Not because I want to be back in the relationship, I do not. That whole mutual thing. We-will-find-our others-which-are-not-each-other and blah blah blah. But I think it's almost worse to be mutual, because what do you do with the detritus? 
I'm not mad at him, per-say. It sucks, and there's no reason to throw away that photo album, but there's no reason to keep it either. Is it a sad gesture, or a friendly one to keep it? Is it moving on, or throwing something away when you toss it out?
I hope one day to move somewhere and not bring anything, but I know that's not a reality. I like my stuff. It's just the odds and ends that stick around that bug.

I call this "Comfortable Clothes Named for Boyfriends"

Every girl keeps a t-shirt. It's a known fact. It's like a bonus

after getting your heart pulverized! Also, please do not assume 

anything from the fact the blue t-shirt says "Kids Club".