How could I start a blog and not write about you? Half of my heart (the best half) that saw me through my entire 20s and so many wayward decisions with only the occasional side-eye of judgment (I agree, that was stupid, oh and that, you were right). Your little heart was so strong and so ferociously brave and yet you retained this puppy-like exuberance and wild spirit (and were almost entirely untrainable). I'm not sure if you kept me younger or if we did it to each other but there you were, my curmudgeonly little snuggle-bug who maintained a svelte and wily way even through your last moments. 

olive english bulldog love of my life

Now you're gone. And I know it was for the best but when I think about the cause of your death I keep thinking back about what more I could have done. You would have done more for me. I cried all the time at first and now it's about once a week (and every time I drink - hence two months of no drinking cleanses since you left). Mom says that the beauty of your life is that you taught me how to love so deeply, and that your absence has opened up something inside of me that I can share with someone else. I sure hope he is worthy, you've left some big shoes to fill. 

Baby bully, you're so many places I go - the Fens where you used to dive bomb geese-poop-treats, Christopher Columbus park where you growled at the sketchy guy you didn't trust down the alley, under my covers, when I crack my eggs in the morning. You were my perfect reminder to relax because life is so damn short and that really, hundreds of fuzzy belly kisses are the cure to anything in the world. Thank you, without those memories and reminders I would be way less human. 

You're there on my shelf too. In a cedar box. It's not totally befitting your goofy + wild nature but it's still so special to me. I hold it and it's weight grounds me (in death you finally got on that diet I always joked I would put you on...). We've got some big plans this year, and although I'm not ready to open that box just yet, there are some amazing adventures in store for us.

Forever Alone

"If a girl is in her 30s and still single there's a reason."

Yes. She chose to be that way. 

This is a real-life quote from pest* (and so many other men and women, and fuck it, even me a few years ago). Pest and I have attempted to date about 26 times in the last 2 years and I finally pulled the plug for good this week by choosing a female date over him for a wedding. Lackluster just doesn't even begin to describe his history of dating me, but maybe some of our texts through the years can help to paint the picture:

Back to the topic at hand. Marriage. "You know I'm going to marry you" has been the rallying cry I have heard from 5 or so of my exes, not counting many instances where the conversation has been broached with other fellas. I am so grateful I did not get married yet. Thank. Fucking. GOD. I have changed so much since I was 21 that any of those relationships would have been doomed. At this point I am a frugal mustachian who doesn't drink that often, isn't sure about kids, and am gearing up for a month in Southeast Asia next March (from which I may not return). NONE of my exes shared that vision and I didn't even have an inkling of it as recent as 1 year ago. 

Even more interestingly, the person I am becoming is a very acquired taste. I do not appeal to most men anymore and that's in fact a pretty awesome thing... Just last night a hot guy was hitting on me at a wedding and when I started talking about mustachian life and early retirement he told me it sounded like a cult... NEXT. As an aside, personal finances isn't light first conversation talk (oh wineeeee) but it certainly weeded him out quickly enough.

I was lamenting these facts a bit today (how my dating pool has shrunk so exponentially with my new roadmap + goals) and mom told me a quote she heard from Aunt Linda. It's just perfect:

"I no longer care about if someone likes me. more importantly, do i like them?"

*name changed for confidentiality

gettin bendy + giving zero fucks

gettin bendy + giving zero fucks