The beginning of the night...

...Was much better than the end....

A few nights ago I went out with some co-workers for three-dollar Guinness night at a local bar. The prospect of Guinness being 3 dollars a pint was just heaven, and I kept talking about it throughout our shift. My co-workers and I started off the night by going to one seedy bar at the end of the downtown stretch. At the seedy bar they purchased two pitchers of cheap beer. I, having the pitcher in front of me, proceeded to constantly fill my cup back up when it got to the halfway mark. Ergo not really knowing how much beer I had consumed by the time we went to the second bar.

Amongst my co-workers I am the youngest. One co-worker in particular had caught my fancy since I had started to work there. We invited him out, and I was more than excited when he came with us. This man is well beyond taken, so the prospect of me even thinking about flirting with him was off limits, but I still really wanted to get to know him in general. He has been my first crush since an on and off very complicated and emotional situation with someone I gave my heart to fully. The fact that I had even had a crush was more amazing and precious to me than he’ll ever know.

My friend Nick met up with us at the 2nd bar. All of us were talking and having a great time, then one co-worker left. So it was just Nick, myself, and let’s call him Frank because he has some baby blue eyes. The three of us began chatting, but Nick had to leave because he had class early that morning. So after that it was just Frank and me. I was a bit worried things would get a little awkward. I always worried about whether he caught me looking at him from across the store, or about my awkward beginnings to our short conversations in between customers. Despite these concerns, and to my surprise, we talked with ease. We discussed movies, books, music, but we also talked about our families. He spoke about his girlfriend, and how their move back to Santa Cruz was hard on him. We agreed that we loved the city life, and how the city remained alive and vibrant no matter what the time was.

Then he bought me another beer. This gesture made me feel really special because in a college town this is a rare act. Plus, I am not used to having male attention in general. Having a drink purchased for me was just so nice even in a purely platonic conversation. We continued to talk. We talked about our families and told each other personal information, but it didn’t seem like it was too much, it just seemed like we understood. It took us by surprise when the lights turned on in the bar to tell everyone to go home. So Frank and I got up and walked outside. I told him which direction I was walking, and then he just said “Ok” and started walking with me. Yes, Frank walked me home. Another gesture that is just so beyond nice. As we walked we kept on talking, and everything just felt so perfect. I thanked him twice for walking me home, I gave him a big hug and we both said how nice it was to hang out. When I got upstairs, my roommate was in bed reading and I told her all about my night, and what a gentleman Frank had been. I was on this kind of high because of how nice the night was. So I got online to check my Facebook of course.

Well I was looking online to see if there was anyone to chat with, and I had noticed that a new friend of mine was on. He is much older than I am and an ex-boyfriend of my good friend Amanda who is 10 years my senior. Let’s call him Joel, after Billy Joel, who is an avid fan of younger gals.

Well being a new friend of mine I initiated a chat with him because on Facebook there’s always that awkward “who’s going to comment first” phase. I said to him how I was happy we were friends, and I told him about my night of drinking. He said he had just been to a concert. Then he asked me if my best friend Bill was my boyfriend on my profile picture. … Interesting. I said no, and then he did something quite unexpected. He told me I was cute. Like I said, I am not used to male attention. I mean when a guy calls me cute or gives me a compliment it takes me off guard. So I got all flustered and said a big thank you to him, not expecting anything else. Then he said, “Well cute isn’t the right word” and I said, “Well what is?” and he replied “Beautiful”. Well that had done it. I was completely in flirtation mode. After that he had talked about getting a beer some time, and I, who had never been on a date said, “Sure that could be fun”. I told him how I didn’t live too far from the bars, and he asked where I lived. I wrote my address, and then he said he’d be right over.

I don’t know where he got the idea that I was inviting him out, or telling him that I wanted to date him, but he suddenly started talking about going out that night. I told him that it was a bit late, but then he suddenly became very persuasive. I’m not really sure why I said what I said next, but I told him, “Well if you come over, all you’ll get is a make-out session” I don’t know why I typed those words, but I can honestly say that I was not serious about them. I was simply flirting, and it was fun to play around with a guy, and have him want me. So we talked about him coming over, and I told him the info, NOT expecting him to actually do it. I was certain we were joking. I even told him it was creepy that he wanted to come over, but then he had persuaded me that it was just funny. So we were chatting about the thought and he said "Be right over", I said “OK haha”, then he left the chat. I was really confused. ... Until I heard my front door crack open.

Everything was all fun and games until he walked through my door. The minute this man cracked open my door, everything became too real, and I discerned that he had taken all of my words seriously. At the time and a couple days after, the situation felt very strange and invasive. However, now that I view the situation it has become quite funny to me. My experience just makes this guy seem like a yoga loving, spiritual new age, trying to cling onto the last bit of his youth, piece of scum. When he walked through that door our age gap told the story.

Let me paint a picture of this glorious scenario in your mind.

I was sitting at a table that rests right behind my couch typing away on my computer. Then I heard my door crack. I didn’t even know my door was unlocked. I looked up and saw the face of 42 year-old Joel. My eyes became wide, and I said, “Oh my god Joel, I can’t even believe you’re here!” Keep in mind I was still pretty drunk. Then I said, “This is hilarious, I can’t believe you’re here.” Me laughing, and Joel looking confused. Joel responded “I know it’s so silly” Then there was this awkward pause, and I said, “Um well do you want to sit and talk on the couch?” He said a bit shamefully but with a glimmer of hope in his voice “Sure that sounds nice.”

FYI, I live in a two-bedroom apartment that houses three 22 year-old girls. I have one roommate and one housemate. For us it’s home, but this is not a place where I would bring someone for a late night rendezvous.

We don’t have much money, so things don’t coordinate that well. Four cinder blocks and a piece of wood hold up our TV, most of our artwork it tacked up on the walls, our lamps don’t match, nothing matches really. So, this is not the sexy seductress lair Joel might have been expecting. As I pointed him over to our $90 couch we got off of Craig’s List half covered by a bed sheet my mom gave me, I asked him if he wanted some water. He said sure. So I went to the kitchen to get him some. Looking at all of our mismatched dishes, Disney mugs we use for bowls, and our uneven cups, I chose the classiest cup we had, a Budweiser pint glass, and filled it with water from the sink. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s tap.” He didn’t seem to care. So I moved over to the couch, wearing my over-sized, full of holes, Fraggle Rock t-shirt I’ve had since high school, and my pair of blue shorts I sleep in every night. Perfect “seduction” clothing of course….

Joel and I sat on the couch, and I said, “Um, so well, where are you from?” Then he said “New York”. I got excited. “Oh no way! I’m going to move over there next year when I get more money! I mean I’m working right now so I can save up.” I was obviously the kind of career woman he was looking for with that statement. He asked me where I was from, and I told him southern California. I explained that I had moved to the desert my freshman year before high school…. 8 years ago. I told him how I loved Santa Cruz, and how graduating felt really great. I think it should have been apparent from that moment that I was just starting out on my life, and that he was trying to save his.

Then he said, "So where is your roommate?" and I replied, "In our room." "Oh wow so you really do have a roommate." he said as if he couldn't believe I was telling the truth. It seemed like he was disappointed we could not have a room to ourselves and a bed to share. He mentioned how he practiced massage, giving hints about being physical. Bored, I got lost in thought while he talked. I thought about how unappealing this man in front of me was. I mean he has a kid! Where was his child? Did he just drop everything and leave him alone, to come here? Pathetic. I thought about how nice Frank had been before, and then I thought about the man I love. I remembered him and how I felt with him. I thought about his eyes, his kiss, and how I miss his touch. How he lingers in my dreams, and how I would much rather have him on my couch than this tired shade of a man.

Joel noticed I had become quiet and exclaimed how the situation we were in was kind of awkward. At that I said, “No just kind of funny right now.” Then he asked why I flirted with him that night, and I said "I don't know. I'm not used to male attention, so it was just nice being complimented." I don’t know how, but apparently that was a cue for him to make a move, “So it would be bad if we made out huh?” he said. I, not even thinking about making out with this wrinkled, lonely, insect said, “Yes, Amanda is my good friend, and … I think you’re a bit too old for me.” He said, “How old do you think I am?” In a way that suggested that he thought I would guess much lower than his real age, and that he would go with it. I replied dauntlessly “Well, I saw the year you were born on Facebook, so I know how old you are.” Defeated, he just said “oh” and there was a pause, and he replied, “I should probably go huh?” I said a fast “Yes”.

So I walked him past my “Bad Kitties” calendar, took his Budweiser cup, and turned to say good-bye. He went in for a hug, and it felt like he was going to try and kiss me so I turned my cheek away enough for him to get the message. As he walked out of my apartment he turned back with this sort of pained expression. The only way I can describe it is a little deer that hadn’t gotten his way. A little, annoying, sexually frustrated, stupid deer. Well as he gave me this look I slowly closed the door, saying in a singsong voice, “Bye Joel.” The little deer looked lost, and afraid.


The next day I had to tell my friend. Even after he left I was already contemplating the email I would send to her, and remembered I needed to pick up some food she had made for me. I took a mental note to tell her then. The next day, I woke up with the realization of what had happened, and with whom I had been flirting. A wave of embarrassment, betrayal, and just plain confusion hit me as I lay in bed that morning. I had to tell her. I could not let this be a secret. I was not that kind of friend. I thought about calling her, but I decided I needed her to hear my story in person. I was thinking about the right words to describe my situation as I walked to her door. I let myself in just like she had requested, and she came bounding down the hall greeting me with her beautiful presence and love. She told me my food was in her car, and she was meeting with someone quickly. So I came back as they were finishing up.

As she was getting some food she said ”So tell me about this beer buying guy last night!” I replied, “I need to talk to you about something.” Then I proceeded to tell her about how Joel and I had flirted online, how I gave him my info, how he had come over unexpectedly, how I was completely not ready for anything like that, how I told him I would not betray my friend, and how our ages were too far apart for me to be interested. I’m not gong to lie I was worried that I would be to blame. When I told her what happened her face scrambled up and she went “Oh my god, that is just disgusting. I am never speaking to him again!! Oh my god. I am so sorry you had to go through that. What a creep!” A wave of relief washed over me. She understood!

See Amanda knows me. She knows how shy I am with men. She knows how I have been intimate with only one man. She knows that I have no idea what to do when it comes to male attention. She completely got it. She also knows Joel. She dated him for six months, and when I told her the story with every detail, she would often say “That is so him. I know that look. I totally know what you’re talking about.” So I was just so relieved that I was not to blame. I told her that I did flirt with him, and gave him my information, but I was not expecting him to actually come over.

Flash-forward to the next day, I get a message from Joel on Facebook saying how sorry he was, and how he was embarrassed for his actions. He asked me whether he should speak to Amanda about the situation or whether it was between us. I wrote him back saying that I had no hard feelings about the situation. I mentioned that he was awesome but our ages were too far apart. I also mentioned that I had already spoken to Amanda about what had happened. I think I hit a nerve when I mentioned his age because in his response he replied that "For the record" (this phrase was used in every response of his from then on) I was not honest or taking responsibility for my “flirting and teasing” him.

Then I found out he had sent Amanda a message too. Stating that I had initiated a chat with him last night giving him my address and telling him to come over. Uh, what? He also mentioned to her that he was stupid, and that I flirted and teased him. Amanda sent it to me. When I read it just felt like I knew who this guy was. Yes, I initiated a chat with him, but the chat started with “Hey hey hey! We’re friends on Facebook now!” I did not initiate the chat with my address and specific instructions for him to come over. No. I don’t think I even mentioned anything good about him during our conversation. So that night of the chat when I heard a crack in the door five minutes later. I was shocked. And when I heard that I was being blamed for “teasing” him and "making" him come over, I was disgusted.

I am not the kind of woman that seduces a man in the middle of the night to come over and hook up. Especially a man 20 years my senior. I was completely taken aback when Joel walked through my door. I mean, if really was trying to "tease" him over to my place, you'd think I would have put something a little different on than my Fraggle rock t-shirt. The thought is just laughable for those who know me. I am extremely shy when it comes to the opposite sex. I was in love with the first and only person I’ve slept with, and I didn’t do anything with said person until four years after we had met. I am not the one-nightstand kind of woman. The thought of even sleeping with anyone but said first time man, is not even in a realm of possibility. I had no intention of kissing Joel, and I think he just got hurt over how strong I was in the situation. He was not expecting a drunk 22 year old to tell him he was too old for her, and walk him out. He was also not expecting her to tell him that he shouldn’t have even come over in the first place, and I’m sure he was not expecting her to tell him that "For the record" she wishes him the best in life. But I do. I wish him the best in whatever he does, and I hope one day he can see that I was not the one who needed to be reminded to act their age and be the responsible adult.

This entire situation made me realize one thing; I am so much stronger than I thought. I had the courage to say no when someone was trying to take advantage of me. I had the power to turn someone away, and confront them when they accused me of lying. I had the efficacy to be twice the person they were. I admitted my faults within the situation, and I told him his as well. In this degree, I am truly proud of myself for knowing that I deserve much better than Joel. I deserve someone my age who will cherish and love me because I am that wonderful. So now I realize I have always had the strength to choose what I want, and not just say yes hoping that my actions will make me more desirable or loved in another's eyes. I already know I can be desired and loved, and that someone, someday will think the world of me, and not just make me a late night assignation.

I smelled it last night.

My favorite smell. It blew into work like a scarf flying in the wind, and took me by surprise. The sharp, cool winter air. The air that makes me think of home. The air I’ve loved since a small child. The air that tells me I’ll need my coat. the smell that says any day now I’ll be drinking hot chocolate, lighting candles, covering myself in blankets, and smelling sweet smells of cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg. The smell that taps me on the shoulder and reminds me to buy gifts for my loved ones.

Some of my fondest memories have been from smelling that air. I remember smelling it one year when I was in middle school. I don’t remember what grade I was in, but we were living in an apartment in a town called Sunland. Our apartment was the biggest one in the little complex, but that really isn’t saying much. The complex was at the dead end of the street and it was composed of seven apartments. It was blue with chipped paint and clouded paneled windows that were slowly inching their way out of their individual frames. We had an apartment on the first floor. My brother and I would often forget our keys so we would break in through the windows. First we would climb the fence, and then came the tricky task of popping those little panels of glass out of their individual frames so we could slide through the window and go open the door. I think we broke about four throughout our entire time of living there.

I spent many nights staring through that same window, longing to break free from my little town. My bed was right next to it. I loved to lean against the wall and feel the cool air on my face as I slept. I remember one night I wondered why my favorite smell hadn’t arrived yet. It was early Fall and it had rained a lot before so I was expecting it to come. An after rain smell and the smell of winter are very different. My smell is crisp and cool. The scent in the air after the rain smells earthy. I love it, but it’s the winter air that welcomes the rain and really makes me dream.

That night I climbed in bed and stretched out my arm to turn the little knob to the right of the window. I cracked it open and that's when it hit me. The smell of the most beautiful air in the world. It was crisp and so full of welcome. I breathed it in and got chills. I furiously turned the knob until the window was completely open. Covering myself in my blankets I laid in bed looking at the night sky and smelling the air. I remember feeling so happy and so in love. This air was like my mom’s hugs, or my brother’s smile, it was like the warmth of my grandmother’s house, or the laugh of my father. This air made me feel alive. I looked out my window and thought about my dreams. When my air comes back into the night I dream. I dream about my future, and all of the things I want to do in life. I think about possibility, and take any struggles or walls blocking me out of the way. Nothing can defeat me.

When my air comes home I smile, and think about how much I love life. How much it didn’t matter that I was living in circumstances where we lived on Tap Ramen for a year, or we had to have court ordered visitation rights with my father in the back of his truck, or the fact that my aunt was slowly becoming a darker shade of her old self. None of that mattered when my air came back. He is my first love. All that mattered was how much I had yet to do in the world, how much I was going to accomplish, and how my big dreams could fill up the night sky. My air and I fell asleep and we danced with each other in my dreams all night.

So you can imagine how I wasn’t expecting him to arrive so soon. I was at work cashiering at the register next to our juice bar, so not too close to the door. There was a period when no customers were at my register, and I caught a sharp wiff. Shocked I spun around and my eyes grew large as I looked outside, excited at the thought that my air was finally back. “Oh my God” I said. My manager walked by, and I said “It’s winter soon! It smells like my favorite smell!” By this time I was already at the door trying to find it again. And my manager was with me trying to sniff him out too. But alas, just as fast as he had snuck up on me he was gone. I smelled him a couple more times before we went upstairs to close, and was confused as to why he didn’t stay longer. When I walked outside after work, I caught a faint smell of him lingering, but the downtown streets covered it up with dingy sidewalks and loud cars.

I just figure that he’s not ready to come back yet. Maybe this was just a token of affection. He was sending a message to tell me that he hasn’t forgotten me, and will be back soon. He does travel quite a long way, and I’m sure there are many other young girls who love his smell too. I’m willing to share. However, when he returns he will be mine and I will be so happy. Oh, I can’t wait to dream again with him swirling around me.

Woe is me ...

I want a better job. I'm lucky to have one, but I really want to stop scraping by all the freaking time.

Things I want to buy right now:

Movie Tickets

Food

Plane tickets to Greece, Italy, France, Spain, England, and India.

Magazines

A vegan ginger cookie from my work

Toilet paper

Beer

New dresses

New Jeans

New blouses

Earrings

New shoes

Makeup

Movies

Season 5 and 6 of Dawson’s Creek

A stand mixer

A juicer

New workout clothes

Books

Gas

Places I am currently looking for new housing and jobs:

New York

London

Things I need to pay off:

Parking Tickets …4 of them

My credit card

My overdrawn account which should be overdrawn in about .... a day.

My car

My school loans

My roommate for lending me money for our security deposit.

Things I can buy/pay off:

None of the above

The day I have paid everything off in my life will be a beautiful day.

My life is great, I am great, and I am so lucky to be alive. I mean that.

A Beautiful Moment...

I remember a moment in Middle School when I was in 8th grade and I was walking down the hall near the art classes. I don’t remember why I was there, but I had Mrs. Smith for art that year. My 6th grade year I had Mrs. Buchanan and out of the two Mrs. Smith was always preferred amongst students. Mrs. Buchanan was a very strange woman. She was very tall and had a large structured face, a chin that reminded me of Jay Leno with the build of Julia Child. She had shoulder length hair that was black but had become overrun with gray hairs fighting their way to claim their rightful place. Like they had been waiting for so many years to finally revolt and conquer her head. She had short bangs that were usually crumpled at the top, small eyes, and large lips. She talked very loudly and abruptly, and once you were in her class it was apparent that if you were not a true artist you were not favored. I worked very hard in Mrs. Buchanan’s class. I sat and listened while she taught us how to draw faces, while we built felt puppets, and when she gave my assignment a C because my self-portrait was not my best. However, I never connected with her. Before class I waited in the hall and peered into the other classroom right across from hers longing to be in there instead of the tan boring room I was about to go into.

Mrs. Smith’s room was alive with color. She was a short African American woman with a round face, a huge smile, and personality that was full of life. I remember looking into her classroom and wishing I could be singing and listening to her laugh. Well two years later I was in her class. It was great too. Everything I had hoped for and more. She sang to people on their birthday. She would have the birthday student sit on a stool and she would try to out do her last larger than life production of “Happy Birthday to ya!” My birthday was over the summer so I never got to sit on the stool.

Mrs. Smith was kind. You didn’t need to be an artist to be in her class because once you stepped foot in her door you automatically became one. She respected every student, and let their own abilities shine through their work. It did not matter whether your drawings were just like the model, it was yours and unique, and beautiful. She made me feel special. However, Mrs. Smith was not the teacher between my two art classes that made me feel the most worthy. This surprisingly came from Mrs. Buchanan.

Jr. High was not a time in my life when I felt beautiful. The people at my middle school had already begun to have sexual relations with each other by the time I was in 8th grade, and I had only had my first open-mouthed kiss with a boy the year before. I was not popular or unpopular, I was just me. I was not skinny, I was in the middle. I had friends, but I didn’t stand out from what I could tell. My after school activities consisted of walking to my brother’s elementary school to hang out with all of the kids there. I played handball with them, I talked with his teachers, and I helped out. Then my brother and I would walk home and we would hang out and watch TV. We usually went outside and rode our bikes or roller bladed.

I was a big bike rider I had two friends, Marlon and Michelle that I would always go out with to bike ride. I remember having so much fun with them. I was not like my other friends who were drinking on the weekend, going to parties, or engaging in underage sexual activity. I was me, I was sheltered, and I was sure as hell not going to get in trouble with my mom. If she ever found out that I did anything like that it would have been bad to say the least. So I really credit my mom’s strictness to me turning out normal and actually going to college. I however, am digressing.

Well it was 8th grade, and I was walking down the hall going somewhere. Graduation was about to happen, and I was moving away from all of my friends. Both sad because I was leaving everything I knew, and excited to have a fresh start. I had known these people since kindergarten, and they knew all of my embarrassing moments.

Feeling pretty to me was not something that came naturally. As I walked down the hall Mrs. Buchanan stepped out of her classroom. She had this kind of lost look as if she were going somewhere but didn’t particularly care about the situation, and I, remembering her class, looked down at the floor. Then I suddenly wanted her to remember me. I didn’t think she would have, and so I just looked up maybe hoping to get a small smile. Well as she passed me she slowed down and looked at me gingerly, her eyes became not small, but kind and full of warmth. She smiled down and while shaking her head she said in a weak voice “So beautiful” and then kept walking down the hall.

I was shocked I tried to smile at her, and looked at her back as she walked past me, but I think the moment just made me unaware of what to do. I thought she had hated me. I thought she didn’t remember me at all, and yet she had just given me the greatest moment of Middle School. I would have never considered myself to be beautiful then. My mother said I was all the time. She called me beautiful every day calling me her “beautiful brown berry”. I would have never thought anyone would consider me to be beautiful apart from my family. I never thought that people even noticed me.

However, I can say that Mrs. Buchanan was the first person that ever made me feel beautiful. So thank you Mrs. Buchanan. Thank you for that gift, and it’s only now that I realize how much I needed it at the time, and how much I cherish it now.

On tension ...

You know those classical Hollywood romances where there’s that one climactic kissing scene with that sweet violin music in the background? You know the one. Two lovers are looking at each other with passion, and they’re spewing out lines that are direct but growing in heat with each vowel. The woman’s voice becomes weak as she tilts her head up, the man’s voice starts to form broken sentences as he tilts his head down. The violin becomes choppier and then smooth and then strikes each moment they get closer. The lovers keep throwing one-liners back at each other until the heat and their strangely tilted faces can’t take it anymore that they have to move into a soft kiss.

Have you ever noticed those kisses?

How the actors heads are tilted so much, how their lips barely brush each other, and then suddenly the kiss becomes more intense by more tiltage of the head. And just when you thought that a head couldn’t tilt up or down any more than that, they deepen the kiss and the woman brings her face down for even more tilting. Oh and then there’s the face rubbing. So it’s not really like kissing. It’s like they kind of rub their faces back and forth like the woman’s lip is a shoe brush or something. “Oh hold on, let me clean your lips with mine dear. It’s romantic.” Oh and then it’s as if the woman will fall on her face if she is not being held by him right there. His lips are literally keeping her standing.

Let me show you what I mean:



See as much as I like those kisses and those movies, they can never beat the British. For me British romances and PBS book to miniseries specials hold a dear place in my heart. I think I get this from my mother, who watches them religiously. If I were watching a random British PBS romantic miniseries and wasn’t familiar with it, my mom would fill me in with the history, telling me all about it whilst expressing how shocked she is that I didn’t know anything about this particular series. She would give me an “Oh Chrissy, no no no, you must watch it”.
I was actually named after a character in one of these adaptations. So, we’re meant to be. I suppose I love them because they’re so heated. No one ever gets along easily. There’s always tension between the two main characters, and it makes for a very interesting encounter. They butt heads, but are equal. I freaking love it. It’s addicting. Here’s what I mean. This scene is one of the hottest scenes ever. In the history of scenes:



I mean come on! Just look at them! They’re all wet, and he’s all confess-y. Plus the way he says that he loves her, “I love you. Most ardently” What’s even better is that she jumps down his neck. Angry and confused because she loves him too. Then when he steps closer to her, and she rejects him, but then just as he’s about to leave it looks like he’s going to kiss her and then forms a pained expression. Oh and then she has to fall back on the pillar to take it all in. Yea take that all in Elizabeth Bennet. It’s just perfection. It’s so British, and it’s so good. I mean this is a heated battle, just think about the sex they must have when they finally do get together. Yes I am laughing at myself while I type this. However, it’s what I find to be way better than the violins and the constant head tilting. I think because it’s honest, and it shows how scary love can be. It shows how scary realizing how much you can care for someone is, and how much you have to look inside of yourself to find the answers after someone screams them to your face. Oh and then there’s this one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqidX_5ZsLg

He’s so hot. Mr. Darcy might be the perfect man because of how flawed he is. I love flaws. He’s attractive because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s vulnerable yet stubborn. Oh and it helps that she’s so fucking gorgeous too. Oh god and the sun in between them. Perfection. And the walking, and the piano, and the walking, and her face as he approaches, and the walking. It’s glorious.

So see, I love classic Hollywood. I love the soft glow of the women, the cocky men, and the grand scale of it all, but give me the English countryside, conflicts of class, and broody men who finally realize what they want and I am there. I’m a sucker for it, and proud.

So for the Elizabeth Bennett’s, the Jo March’s, the Beatrice’s, the Joey Potter’s, and Hermione Granger’s of the world, I can so relate to you, and your stories are the ones I choose to love the most.

Finally starting and...

I don't really know where to start.

I'm sure a lot of people say that when they first write things like this, but I mean it. I want to be a writer, but I never know how to start my writing. As a young girl I would try to keep journals and diaries, and it would never work. I would be too afraid that someone would find it, tear out the pages, and recite them aloud to all of the people I wrote about. Like a play where all of the characters are of your creation, and the critic you're assigned is the girl you fought most with in high school.

I remember when Harriet The Spy came out in theaters. I definitely went through a "Harriet" phase. I wore a jacket all the time, I had all of my "spy-gear", I made tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches, and I kept a diary. I remember writing about all of the people on the playground, both friends and not very friendly. When it comes to popularity, I have always been in the middle. Never too popular, but never quite unpopular. I got along with everyone really. There were those people who wouldn't really associate with me for their own insecurities, but for the most part I knew everyone and just had my little group of friends. It has been that way since kindergarten. Therefore, anyone in my "spy book" was at liberty to be discussed.

I don't remember much about what I wrote, but I do remember that my words were found. Just like Harriet, my journal was taken, and read amongst my friends, causing them to shun me for a short period of time until I apologized enough and until they forgot about it all. Just like Harriet I remember being hurt, and angry, and for the most part sad. However, I remember learning that sometimes people may not like what others have to say about them, I sure didn't when my friends found my journal, but once I knew what people were thinking I learned an immense lesson right away. This is not to say that by me writing openly about people I know on here will teach them a lesson I'm saying it will help ME look at how I interact with everyone. I'm saying that this little experiment will help me try and find myself.

I'm pretty secure in my being, more about that will come in later posts, but I'm working out some kinks, kinks that everyone has. I just want to try and grab those swirling thoughts from the back of my mind, you know the ones that keep trying to elbow their way to the front? Well I want to take those and comb through the knots. However, I think the reason I have never been able to fully commit to a diary, a journal, a story, or a true path for myself is because I am afraid of the consequences. So I suppose I shall see what happens with this endeavor, and I suppose I shall learn a lot in the process.

My spy phase eventually faded. However, like Harriet I have never let go of the desire to see what makes people who they are, what they find most beautiful in this world, and how wonderful this life can be. I'm ready to slow down and see where I go from here.

It can really only be up.