So, I’ve found it’s harder for me to blog when I’m happy.
Not shocking…writing has always been my outlet when I’m bummed out or have a raging case of the emo-weavables. Writing is how I process, how I figure things out and move on.

I’m officially happy-and I know what some of you are thinking…“Cute new boyfriend, is that all it takes? Doesn’t she know a man shouldn’t make you happy? Hasn’t she blogged about that so many times herself?” Yes, yes I have, and obviously I know there is more to life than a hot guy in plaid. I’m happy for tons of reasons, but here’s the thing, dollfaces.

While my boyfriend is most definitely cute, he’s not new. It’s new in the sense that now we have labels, and OH SNAP it’s Facebook official, but my feelings for this person are not new. It’s taken both of us a long time to get here…while he was/is my best first date ever, and the kiss I’ve been waiting 29 years for (p.s WTF twitter? Deleting my tweets? RUDE), there were many, many times when I questioned what the hell I was doing. Times when I promised myself that door was closed, days when I’d have coffee with him in the morning and we’d have the most amazing time-the best conversations, the laughter…you guys, the laughter. But then, we’d go our separate ways and it was almost an out of sight, out of mind thing…except for me, it wasn’t. I’d make sure to have a date lined up for those nights, with some great guy who was ready. Someone who didn’t have anything holding him back, and would do just about anything to, for lack of a better word-woo me.

I had fun, for the most part…I like getting dressed up and being treated like a princess as much as the next girl. Newly single Ali and I even had a name for our summer of dating-cue Hall & Oates Maneater. It helped me forget about him, sometimes…but I can still remember certain nights. Nights where I wished it was him I was with, his hand I was holding so badly. And then I’d order another glass of wine and push the thoughts from my head. Friends referred to him as my “Big”, and yes, big fan of Sex and the City, but F’ that noise. Carrie and Big ended up together. We walked a fine line.

Like I’ve said, I kept coming back to him. But I’m not a masochist, and I don’t like feeling like shit on the reg, so I decided to take my Moms (and Oprah’s, I believe?) advice-”When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” So I did. I kept dating other guys, some I really liked, and thought…maybe. I knew he was dealing with his own things, he was on his own journey and the only person who could take care of my heart was me.

And then the unthinkable happened. When life shaking events occur, it becomes ridiculously easy to distinguish the people who truly care from the people who don’t. The people who are going to be there through the good, bad and horrific. I’m fairly certain I don’t have to tell you that he was there, almost immediately, no questions asked. And he’s been here ever since.

I don’t think love is a fairy-tale, and I always say that anything worth having is worth working for. I had to find myself again after what happened, and he was dealing with his own struggles as well. We’ve fought, we’ve cried (I’m sure he’s going to LOVE that part), we tried just being friends…and best friends we are. Co-workers too.  Things evolved.  Normally allowing my life to become so intertwined with someone else’s would just not happen…but I believe.

I believe we both had to go through the hard times to get to where we are now. I believe when you know you know. I believe in second chances. I believe in that gut feeling…I believe in following it, and hoping for the best. I believe in taking chances, and I believe that people can change. I believe in this team we’ve created.

I believe in our long hugs, I believe in the comfort and security I have knowing I can say anything to him, I believe in the moments that are just between us, I believe we found each other when we did for a reason.

I believe in him. But more importantly…

I believe in us.

Click here to view the embedded video.

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On We Love Dates today, I wrote a post I’m pretty damn proud of.  Why I Don’t Believe That If He’s Not Calling Me, He’s Not Thinking About Me.A watched phone never rings. Or something. And stuff. Don’t worry. He likes you.

Check my post out? I love you! XOXO

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Ohhhh haiiiii…
I MISS YOU. A little over 2 weeks of no blogging, barely any blog reading, rarely tweeting (although I made up for that this weekend like WHOA)…and a lot of thinking about what to do with this lil piece of mine.

First things first though-WHAT A WEEKEND. You know when you’re all, I just want to lay out by the pool and be mellow…and then you find yourself on 6 dates (some with the same person), staying out until 6am (I’m too old for this shit), running bleachers, shopping with the gay bff and buying a romper (A ROMPER. I have this new body kinda…and I guess that means confidence…which I guess means rompers? Help), meeting tons of new people, drinking, drinking, drinking, and then drunk tweeting oops, explaining said drunk tweets to your nearest and dearest girls who are all WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?, making out, and at the end of the 3 day madness cuddling on the couch with a hot guy who just seems to fit, watching the Bachelorette and laughing at his impersonations of  ”the weather man”, making plans for the future and wondering how the hell this happened?

Yep, yep. That’s me. Right now. If this is any indication of how Summer is going to be…I like what I’m seeing. I like it a lot. Starbucks drive-thru fish face with John-pre Whitney Houston sing a long, and yeah he’s wearing a headband.May I recommend some Fat Cat Pinot Noir? Meow.I’m dating a personal trainer. With an MBA. Who watches the Bachelorette with me. Just…let me be happy.

Anyways. I’m sure ya’ll are on pins and needles about what I’m going to do with my blog.  Well.  I’m not leaving you, but I am moving.  To Tumblr.  The last two weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about It’s Unbeweavable!, and what it means to me, and what I can realistically keep up with.  I can’t imagine my life without you (I wish I could quit you), but I also LOVE LIVING MY LIFE, without worrying about taking photos of every moment, or spilling my heart and soul out just for the sake of giving a good read.  On my new site, I’ll be doing more of a “Lifecast”-some days I’ll write, some days I’ll throw up a picture of my new romper, etc.  I’m getting it all set up, and I’ll let you know when it’s ready to go and I hope you like it!!  This is inspired by my all time favorite blogger, Julia Allison. So NO ABSOLUTELY NOT RETIRING!!! You’re stuck with me.

Anyways…I’m still here for now! And on We Love Dates!

Love you, mean it.  I hope you are all doing amazing.  I wish I could express how much you have touched my life over the past year and a half-there just aren’t enough words.xoxo

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Currently-Feeling at peace. The cupcakes landed (literally), and I’m moving on. Or I should say, keeping on.  I’m very optimistic about the future, about tomorrow, about TODAY, that I can’t help smiling. Thank you for all your support. I truly adore you.

Currently-Going blonde! Friday it began! No, not another post declaring my love for Taylor Jacobson, I’m not going platinum or cutting annoying, angsty bangs. I tend to freak out on Twitter while I’m getting my hair done. But whatever, I’ve been this light before, I’m not scurrred. It’s summer! This is my inspiration…UPDATE-we’ve reached the “honey blonde” stage and I have another appt in 2 weeks to lighten it even more.  You can’t go from dark brown to blonde in one sitting, without sacrificing length-something I am not willing to do right now.  

Currently-Nerding out and having major brain-gasms! So yeah, the same girl who just went on and on about her hair is also obsessed with MIT’s open courseware. Of course, I’m especially loving the lectures on Media Studies, but I got up early Friday to listen to The Society of Mind…and my mind was be BLOWN. Working out my brain as much as I’ve been working out my ass feels amazing. Working on myself inside and out…if that’s selfish, sue me…because I kinda love it. About damn time.

Speaking of, currently…down a dress size…OR TWO. (Feel awkward posting that. But HELL YEAH.) Someone actually didn’t recognize me the other day…I was all, “HI!!!!” and she was all staring at me like, who the hell are you, stranger danger and my inner monologue was like, wow ok…that was weird…hmm. Later on, I heard through my mom that she literally didn’t recognize me and said, “Wait, was that Liz?” That is a good feeling, ya’ll…and thus she is forgiven for being a total hooker

“After all, computers crash, people die, relationships fall apart. The best we can do is breathe and reboot.”-Carrie, Sex and The City

Currently…I have some winners to announce.
The L.A girls coming with me to the Hollywood Sex and the City Party are my hot date Ali, my favorite lil sex kitten “J”, Danielle, Heather (my new workout buddy! Steven makes us cry at the same time-no blog but a reader…Hi HEATHER) and Gabby. Duh Gabby’s going. I am SO excited. I can’t wait to get to know these girls better, get dressed up and have an epic girls night out.
The Sex and the City NYC Tour tickets are going to the looovely Miss Kriss. (We should, like, coordinate. Just sayin)
AND! Jenn won the Carrie Diaries. Woot. Also? Everyone should go congratulate Jenn because she’s graduating from Tufts! And then let’s find her a job because she’s a mother-effing badass rockstar.

Currently-Self Promotion-I have a new dating post up! “What NOT To Say In The First Email.” Let me know if you agree?!

What’s up with you, Currently?! Last time I LOVED your answers. Sharing is caring. I wanna know!

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“I believe in WONDERFUL THINGS, and GRAND GESTURES, and AMAZING PEOPLE and loving with reckless abandon and putting yourself on the line when it counts.”-From the post I put up on Saturday, and subsequently, removed on Sunday.
I have never, ever deleted a blog post in the year + I’ve been holding it down over here. I’ve freaked out after hitting publish, and asked friends, “Ohhh maybe I should take that down?” But I never have, because my thinking was, well this is how I feel NOW. This is what I’m going through NOW, at this moment. Maybe this will help someone, or maybe I’m not alone.

Saturday I posted-probably one of my most personal posts ever…and Sunday morning I took it down. Not because I was afraid of what you guys would say-because the comments I had already received were amazing and supportive, but because it is just too painful for me to read, over and over. Too hard to get your wonderful comments on my blackberry and be reminded of what a very dark place I was in Saturday afternoon.  Too much, too soon. I also want to protect this-him-it, if I can. I will always use this blog as my place to vent, cry, share, inspire, laugh, be inspired…and I’m going to continue to write very personal posts, but at the right time.

Timing is everything…a lesson I am learning, the hard way. I’m learning how to be patient, and allowing myself to feel things completely without it resulting in a dramatic, unhealthy knee jerk reaction because some feelings are just so hard to understand and I really like understanding, and I get off on putting things in their respective boxes and handling shit and getting it done and making sure nobody is upset with me ever, and wanting answers NOW, and wanting him to love me NOW, and I hate it when you think things are o.k, but they actually really aren’t, and I thought I knew how I felt about this or him or it, but oh oh oh look, I actually DON’T and it’s all very exhausting.  See?

I know this post isn’t any less vague than the one I took down, and I apologize.  I do thank you for the emails, comments and tweets from those of you who noticed something was a little off with me this weekend.  Never, ever think for one second they don’t lift me up.

What do I do now?  I’m taking all these feelings that I don’t understand and giving them the time they deserve.  I’m letting go of situations I have zero power over and allowing the cupcakes to land where they may.  Giving myself time…and I’m going to be kind to myself.  Think about what I ACTUALLY WANT. I’m going to work! And work out with Steven 5x a week starting today!  And cry if I have to-either from my feelings or from Steven ha.  And sooner, rather than later, this shitty weekend will be a distant memory-but hopefully the lessons I learned won’t be.  I hope they are front and center. No matter what…

“I believe in WONDERFUL THINGS, and GRAND GESTURES, and AMAZING PEOPLE and loving with reckless abandon and putting yourself on the line when it counts.”

Love to you all…and sending positive thoughts to us all for an amazing week. xo

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My new post is up at We Love Dates…6 Things NOT To Do On A First Date.Check it out…let me know what you think the worst thing you can do on a first date is. xoxo

Ohh and P.S. LOVING the comments on my Currently post-some are happy, sad, mad, funny-thank you for sharing. We’re all in this together.   Life you sooo crazy.

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After yet ANOTHER exhausting weekend of getting the guys in my phone confused and possibly forgetting their names (because I give everyone a nickname and now there are too many and why is every guy named CHRIS?! OR RYAN?) I realized I am failing miserably at this cuddleslut business–it was time to bring in reinforcements. I’ll let her do the rest of the talking. Take notes!

Rule Number One:

The first rule of cuddleslut, is do not talk about cuddleslut… Just kidding. The first rule is:

A badass bitch does not settle. Do you hear that? She does. not. settle.

Let it sink in. Let it marinate for a few seconds. Now never forget it.

Do not settle for:
- someone else’s boyfriend
- a cheater
- a liar
- a chain-smoking, online-poker playing, borderline alcoholic with Peter Pan Syndrome (my bad, that was me, I hopped on the bitter train for a second)
- fuckfaces
- douchelords
- anyone who reminds you the tiniest bit of Chris Brown or Kevin Federline or Jesse James

A cuddleslut is never desperate, she is the exact opposite. She makes boys desperate, hoping for just a minute of her precious time.

Rule Number Two:

Quantity versus Quality. What do I mean by that, exactly?

I’m not telling you to say yes to every. single. dude. that asks for your digits. But I’m telling you not to be super picky. A very wise (and sexy) young woman once said “Step out of your dating comfort zone.”

If your gut reaction to a guy was “no”, take a second to evaluate why. If it’s something silly like his shoes, get off your high horse and give the dude the benefit of the doubt.

But if your gut reaction was “no, no, hell no!” because you just saw him mackin’ on a dead ringer for babyslut Taylor Momsen or he’s wearing a t-shirt that says “Federal Breast Inspector” (or worse yet, Ed Hardy) then by all means, go with your instincts girl. Pass!

We have to cuddle with a lot of frogs before we find our prince.

If tall, dark and handsome isn’t working out for you, try another flavor. As a matter of fact, taste the rainbow. Sample every flavor. Medium, blonde and stubbly. Mmmmm.

Rule Number Three:

“Be yourself. Those who mind, don’t matter and those who matter,
don’t mind.”
~ Dr. Suess

Hell-ohhh-o, he knows his shit. Dr. Suess, was after all, a doctor.

Let your freak flag fly!

If you want to wear night eye makeup in the day sometimes, do it.
If you want to drink beer and not martinis, do it.
If you want to wear flats to the bar sometimes, do it.
If you want to wear ski socks under your sexy boots, ’cause it’s damn cold outside, do it.
If you want to drink cocktails from a Paul Frank mug on New Years Eve, do it.
If you want to get a fuchsia credit card from a swanky department store, that you will rarely be able to use, just because it’s pink, do it.
If you want to wear pajamas to your own birthday party, f’ing dooooo it. (Yes, some or all of this might be coming from personal experience. I’m weird and that’s why everyone some wicked awesome people love me.)
If you want to wear sweats to the bar, for the love of God, don’t freaking do that.

Be yourself. That way, you will always know that the people that love you, are loving you for you.

Rule Number Four:

Juggle, with honesty and confidence.

So now you’re runnin’ around, having the time of your life. Texting like a fiend. Dating like a man, but still crossing your legs like a lady. Cuddle to your heart’s content. (Make sure you can keep them all straight, unlike some people I know.)

Be up front, you’re not tied down to one guy in particular. Don’t hate the player, hate the game and all that bull shit, is just that, bull shit. Have integrity. Be able to look yourself in the mirror.

Do not become their housewife, their rent-a-girlfriend or their *shudder* “buddy” (unless you want to be in the friends-zone). Do not become Justin Bobby and kiss the black lipstick wearing drunkslut in the bar yards away from Audrina… or you know… situation with genders reversed.

If you decide someone in the rotation is not worth your time, because they turned out to be a douchetard, or you’re just not feeling it, take the appropriate action. Be honest. Be nice. (Unless they don’t deserve it. In which case, be brutal and tell them to go reflect on what an asshole they are.) (Liz here-bwhahahahaha…totes did that! He deserved it, trust.)

But if he’s a nice guy, just not for you, say so.

I Hate (that’s right, with a capital H) to just stop all communication guy. It’s shitty and it’s a cop out. I think a semi-decent guy is owed in the very least a text that says “I have fun, but I don’t feel the right connection. I hope you understand.” And most of the time he’ll suck it up and say that he does… understand… even if he doesn’t and he’s about to go drink a 12-pack and cry to his BFF.

And while we’re on the topic of honesty, the second that you do decide to pick a lucky winner from the bunch and lock that shit down, you need to let the other guys know. Or, you can do what I did and change your facebook status. Let all the assholes know what’s up be a grown up (not!) and stop returning their texts.

Rule Number Five:

Be safe. This is a two parter.

“Keep it loose. Except for your vagina. Keep that shizz, tight at all times.”

~ Alexi

Duh!

Get your ass on the pill, the needle, the sponge, double bag it, I don’t care. Don’t be someone’s baby mama.

Also, handle your heart with care. The second a dude displays less than admirable qualities either call him on it, or cut his ass loose. (See #4)

Please understand that I am by no means a doctor (like the all-knowing Suess) or an expert. I am just a freckle-faced, foul-mouthed blogger/former-cuddleslut with an axe to grind experience to share, jokes to tell and time on my hands. Lots and lots of time on my hands. Please forward any and all complaints to my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend. Just kidding, show us some love! What the hell else am I going to do while I’m at work this week, but catch up on your comments.

Isn’t she amazing? I will make her proud as Cuddleslut 2.oh. Happy Week, lovers. xoxo

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Badass is a word I use a lot over here-hence, The Badass Files. I love what it means to me, and I am not offended when someone calls me a Badass Bitch. I’m honored. A post on what being a badass bitch really means to me would never be complete without my love, Bella of Vintage Lollipops, the most badass of them all. Big heart, gorgeous soul, amazing closet but does NOT mess around. She grabs life by the balls, and inspires me in the process. And let me tell you-just writing this post has made me feel BETTER. We do not mean to offend, so switch out our filthy language for another word and our sangria for some Starbucks if you need to, as we sprinkle you with our badass fairy dust. Here is our lil collab, a tongue in cheek guide to being, yep…A BADASS BITCH.

A Badass Bitch would never...By Bella

There are moments in a woman’s life when everything is wrong, and nothing’s right… or everything is right and nothing’s wrong. And whether you’re the type that calls on a friend for support, drinks sangria from the bottle, inhales a cookie (or 5) when no one’s looking, or all of the above, we think a woman needs to be one thing… badass.

When it comes to the art of dating, more cases than not seem a careless coloring book filled with unexpected connect-the-dot conundrums to be solved and dissolved. And while the dating disasters of our time are real page turners, a badass bitch understands the notions that while women are from Venus and men are from Uranus… Venus can tell Uranus to F*** off anytime she wants. Okay, but I admit, dating is something of an exhilarating obstacle… I mean, there’s the first obligatory phone call, the first kiss, the first rush of something you swear you’ve never felt before, are certain you’ll never feel again, and the first of all the other many firsts we eventually come to either love or hate entirely.

However, a badass bitch also knows that she must always set the bar higher than the last because a girl’s just gotta have a goal. But come on, when a man proclaims his ever dying affections for you, as sophomoric as they may sound via text message, when it’s followed with, “I’ll pick you up at 7 o’clock, I’ll just stop by my parent’s house and ask for some gas money.” we’ve gotta draw the line somewhere. In this revelatory moment (because yes, this really happened), a badass bitch would never succumb to this sort of omfg nonsense. So, she takes said bar and moves on to the next. She takes the old bar and chucks it. Why? Because she can.

Because (you) She Can. ..By Liz

The badass bitch answers most questions directed towards her this way, but you must understand she never means it in a careless, screw the world kind of way. Quite the opposite, you see. The badass bitch has earned the right to say this, to believe the fundamental fact that she can do anything, have anyone, carve the life she wants for herself…because she can. Because she’s fought-not so much with others at a seedy bar, although that may have happened too, but she’s fought with herself-the hardest fight of them all. With the inner demons that hold her down, tell her she’s not good enough, pretty enough, funny enough. Or maybe she’s too pretty, too funny…nobody will take her seriously, so why try? She’s faced the broken hearts, broken heels, broken dreams we all struggle with, again and again.

Yes, the badass bitch has been there, crying on the floor, hating life, guzzling sangria out of a bottle like it’s her job. So what makes her so different, you ask? She got up the next day and decided to be fabulous, because it’s a choice, not the amount of dolla dolla bills in her bank account or the brand of her heels that make her who she is. The badass bitch knows when to ask for help. She was at the end of her proverbial rope…so then she called a friend to bring some extra over along with some bubbly and they leaned on each other. It’s a choice to be a badass bitch, to not give a damn what people think and live your life, chase your dreams, TRY AGAIN, drink your sangria, love fearlessly and KNOW YOUR WORTH. It’s a choice to demand the best, because you deserve it.

Are you a Badass Bitch? The ultimate badass bitch-ness Challenge

By your badass bitch fairy godmothers Bella and Liz

1. You’re a Badass Bitch if you can accept that women are Venus and men are from Uranus.

2. You’re a Badass Bitch if you drink sangria from a bottle. I mean, obviously.

3. You’re a Badass Bitch if you wear vintage fur, because let’s face it… the people who killed those defenseless little animals are probably dead by now.

4. You’re a Badass Bitch if you’ve ever thought about burning every single bra you’ve ever owned. (I actually set my bra and subsequently, almost my condo, on fire last week…by accident, of course. So think about it…but don’t DO it.)

5. You’re a Badass Bitch if you have at least one cyber stalker.

6. You’re a Badass Bitch if you overlook the stereotypical aspects governed by society.

7. You’re a Badass Bitch if you refuse to let your relationship status, job title, bank account define you.

8. You’re a Badass Bitch if you make the hard decisions, albeit making your own rules up along the way.

9. You’re a Badass Bitch if you (try) to never hate on other women-you’re a badass bitch, not a Mean Girl!

10. You’re a badass bitch if you’re reading this right now!

Above all, you fucking deserve to be treated like a queen, not a drama queen. You will not settle for anything less than your extraordinary worth. You will not settle, period. If a guy doesn’t call you/please you/call you/date you/show up/show down/or prove he’s deserving of your very presence… well then, ‘you just weren’t that into him anyway’. You are fucking amazing. And remember, no one said it better than Vera Donovan & Dolores Claiborne: “Sometimes you have to be a high-riding bitch to survive. Sometimes being a ‘badass’ bitch is all a woman has to hold onto.”
Love always,

Liz and Bella

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I wake up to this. Via

Lately, I keep having these mini identity crises, where I wake up in the morning and am not quite sure what hat to put on, and for the sake of  finally getting this post out of my head, can we, as a family,  just pretend that I- 1. actually wear hats and do not hate them and 2. do anything in the morning before mainlining at least 2 cups of coffee?  Also?  I am trying out something new and exciting and totally stressful…making coffee at home. With a French press.  And sometimes it’s just too much for me, so I usually end up grabbing my “hat” and going to Starbucks anyway.  In the meantime, my French press looks le chic on my counter.

So, there’s that. But for the record, just so there isn’t any confusion and a hat company wants to like…sponsor me or something?  I don’t “do” hats.  I look like an idiot.  I’ve never met a hat that looked good on me, besides maybe a beanie in the snow, but that’s more functional and I still feel like I have a condom on my head.  So no hats.

I woke up today totally intending on getting a Liz is Loving up by 12, because I actually do have products I want to share with you guys and I was thinking of how I could put them all into a nice lil collage so I wouldn’t even have to say anything, and it would be more of an article, all precise and tied with a bow maybe, than the word vomit I’m actually providing today. I wouldn’t have to get personal, or reveal what I’m really feeling or thinking about anything other than beauty products. And I could do my “job” over here, and then send you on your way to guzzle green beer if that’s your thing.  But instead, I’m just going to compare myself to a coffee maker. You’re welcome.

Have you guys ever used a French press?  I should be able to do this, I am a mother effing badass.  It’s a total balancing act-if you put in too much water, it will end up all over you and your counter, if you don’t put in enough, the end result will be mud.  Sometimes when I’m pushing down on the “thing” (because I don’t know wtf it’s called), I get scared that I’m pushing too hard and it’s going to spill and why can’t I do this and why.is.everything.so.hard, and why am I crying? I know so many of you are domestic goddesses and are probably thinking, um using a French press is easy, Liz-but just stay with me.

I feel like I keep pushing myself, pushing through, pushing forward, wearing the hats I am supposed to, all the while not completely letting go, because I’m terrified I’ll lose control and make a mess I can’t clean up,  and it will become all too apparent that I actually don’t know how to process certain things and some days I just don’t have my shit together and then maybe the tears won’t stop, and the mascara I was planning on telling you guys about will run and it might get all over his shirt or my friends will get sick of hearing about it-whatever, IT may be. Or maybe, even worse, I’ll keep pushing and pushing and still feel absolutely nothing, like I’m stuck in the mud, which is even more terrifying than feeling everything all at once.

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via thanks to the beauty file

It’s hot in here.

Possibly because I currently have 3 appliances plugged in (blow dryer, flat iron, curling iron), all to achieve the effortless waves you like so much, and I realize that the next time I want to deny that I am high maintenance, I’ll just effing sigh in resignation. I concede.

I wonder if I’ll ever be a “wash and wear” hair kind of girl, and if not what does that say about me? Decide not to give it a second thought. Decide not to care what people think if I include that in a blog post. For now, it means I’ll have pretty princess hair for the day, so WIN.

I wonder if I can tell you how happy I am that you’re here. I wonder if it’s too soon to tell you that lately my blessings are feeling like burdens, but I’m working on it-I wonder if you’ll understand what I mean and not judge me. I wonder if you’ll care that a broken friendship of mine is mending and that makes me really happy. I wonder if you’ll ask the right questions, say the right things-I wonder how I’ll react when you don’t. I wonder what will happen when you read the.blog.

Make-up time. It’s amazing what a little Nars Orgasm blush can do. Orgasm. I wonder what it will be like…

I wonder what it will be like when I stop wondering and just know. Know exactly what you smell like after a shower, or when you wake up, or come home from a bike ride and my fabulous, albeit yoga pants clad ass pauses the Kardashians long enough to give you a hug, because I don’t care that you’re sweaty. In fact, I kinda love it. I wonder what it will be like when you know all my friends names, faces and life stories, who’s fighting with who and who’s opinions really matter, who (or who’s boyfriend) will come after you with a hockey stick if you hurt me. I wonder what it will be like when you have coffee (or a martini, knowing her) with my sister, alone, because she’s my world and I’m your world and they’re colliding.

I wonder what it will be like when we bridge the communication gap, the distance gap, the schedule gap. I wonder if we’ll ever completely bridge every.single.gap life throws at us, and I doubt it. I decide again not to worry about it, and instead just hold on to your hand tighter and jump. I decide that if I’m going to be doing all this jumping around, I should do it in style, so I buy these jeans. Something about jumping around screams, “BUY THE HUNTER BOOTS“ to me, so I do. I mean, maybe with all this jumping I’ll land in a puddle, and a girl has got to protect herself.

And if I stumble into that puddle sans the hunter boots, would you lay your coat over it to save my pink satin stilettos?

I wonder…

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