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Make-Believe Boyfriends

When I was a kid, I played a lot of make believe.

From cops and robbers with my next door neighbor and Mary Kate & Olsen detectives (forgive me, please) with my childhood best friend to Peter Pan & Wendy with my pre-school playmate – I was always imagining a world outside of my own. And, when my friends and I took a more classic approach and played “house” – I refused to be anything but the girl because well, I am a girl, after all.

I can remember full days of pretending to be something else – a princess, a mermaid, a singer, a movie star, and of course, a reporter. There was something magical and wildly entertaining about escaping from reality and entering into a new realm where I could be free to explore and to capture a persona I didn’t actually embody. Plus, who doesn’t enjoy a great dress up (even today!)?

As we get older, the masks we put on and the roles we play change, and while it’s not make-believe, per se, we present ourselves in different manners depending on what the time or situation calls for. We can turn on happy-and-enthralled while at a networking event, or super-duper professional for work, or pseudo-interested for a date that’s going all wrong.

And sometimes, if we are clever enough to trick even our most difficult critic, ourselves, we can pretend we’re in a relationship when we’re not. We can even call them non-dates and non-relationships and non-love because we’re calm, cool, and collected about the situation. We can even have sex without terms or conditions or without saying the infamous three words or without spoken expectations.

But – in terms of love and well, dignity – is it ever healthy to play make-believe with a man? Or is it better to send Mr. Non-Committal back to where he came from?

I can’t say I’m in the situation where I’m seeing someone I want to call my boyfriend or I want to be exclusive with. But, I will admit, without giving names or specifics, that I’ve dated a few guys that could have possibility in this big, beautiful city. Somehow, though, my relationship with myself is currently trumping all of them. Call me selfish and self-absorbed with this journey, and I’ll nod my head in agreement – but somehow, the getting to self-love is helping me grow in leaps-and-bounds, without requiring a man in the mix.

Though, as I’ve been going on non-dates and kissing non-boyfriends – I’ve thought a lot about the relationships we go through as single ladies that never “technically” (by Facebook standards, anyways) ever become official. Does a lack of a title or commitment make them less important or influential? Or is a label something we place on a courtship because with commitment comes a promise that we can depend on?

I’m not sure if actually becoming a pair as opposed to just mimicking one, truly changes the relationship – but I will say that playing make-believe with love doesn’t result in a happy ending…in the long run. But at the beginning, before happily ever after, I think a period of pretend is necessary.

The reasons for make-believe and dress up in the first place – where it be as a little girl or a 20-something woman – are to test the waters and try something new that you enjoy. How do we know if we will ever be a famous celebrity if we never act? Or how can we be sure we’d accept the princess lifestyle if we don’t give it a whirl in our minds? (I doubt any of us would decline putting on Kate’s shoes, though). The same goes with any new courtship with a dude – if we don’t act like we’re in a relationship, without the title or the supporting documents, we can’t be sure we really want to be part of an “us” with them.

At some point, the talk we all dread bringing up needs to be addressed – but when you’re just starting to get to know someone, why rush? Before I started this journey, as soon as I started remotely liking a guy, I was damned-and-determined to reel him ‘em and put a “taken” bow on his forehead (and profile). I wanted to do everything and anything in my power to make sure he made me his girlfriend so that I wouldn’t risk losing him to another chick.

But now, instead of letting myself get lost in the rush and the romance and visions of our kids and what my last name would be – I step back, I enjoy his company, and most importantly, I just take it slow. I picture in my head and feel what it would be like to be by his side, on a permanent basis, and I figure out if I want to move to the reality of a relationship or if playing pretend for a while is all I really need. While I do want a committed relationship one day, there is no need to be Ms. Committed when I first meet someone.

There is no hurry, no reason to worry – because if during playtime you realize you don’t want to be a fairy princess or a famous musician or a girlfriend – you just take off the crown, put down the mic, and let go of his hand…and go back to you. But if you do happen to enjoy it, while playing make-believe, that magic you feel reminds you that anything is possible.

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No Deadline for Love

When I was in college, I was a hostess at a restaurant in the outskirts of town. The place was reasonably priced for a surprisingly rich cuisine, and they allowed (well, encouraged) me to wear pretty dresses, so I stayed for the extra wages into my final semester of school. One night when it was slow up front, I had way too much time to think about the sour patch I was having in my relationship with Mr. Idea, the difficulties with my friends (primarily due to Mr. Idea), and the feeling that I was all-in-all so ready to leave my sleepy university village for the never-sleeping streets of Manhattan.

As I usually do when I’m bored or emotionally distracted, I started scribbling some notes and some ideas for articles or ramblings (which have now turned into this lovely blog). Many of these notes consist of lists and quotes that I find meaningful or inspiring, and because apparently I’m a 13-year-old in a 20-something’s body, I usually write the words “all pretty” or sign my name like I’m a celebrity (but I have deleted the hearts and smiley’s, for the record).

One of the lists I made that evening described everything I hoped to have by December 2010. And ironically, as I was cleaning my apartment, I stumbled upon the folded piece of paper –the eve of December 1.

On my wish list for this point in my life, I wanted (in specific order):

-A job paying enough to be secure in the publishing industry.

-For the job to be in New York City.

-To find a decent apartment that’s affordable and in a safe neighborhood in Manhattan.

-To meet and be dating the man I will marry.

-To remain healthy and fit and continue to become more beautiful.

-For my father to get better and for my parent’s marriage to be saved and rekindled.

-To mend my relationship with my father.

-To never under any circumstance give up on finding the love of my life: a man that will make feel incredibly happy and loved.

Well, 7 out of 8 sure isn’t too awful, right?

As I read through these words and mentally checked off items on this list, I thought of how much of my life is mandated by deadlines. My career in itself is defined by them and while those are not optional, the limitations and restrictions I place on myself are.

This mini-list of desires for this exact time in my life is a minimal example of the constraints I’ve always strapped myself to. I can’t think of a time (even now) when I haven’t had a countdown to something (birthday, trip, Christmas, weight-lost goal, etc.) on my dry-erase board. I’ve perfected my resume and added on freelancing gigs for the mere fact that I knew I needed to have a robust and diverse writing background by my age. I’ve given myself an allotted amount of time to “get over” someone and move on. I still have lists that I must meet before I’m 30 or before I have a baby or before I get married or before I get my first wrinkle. Now, not all of these are necessarily bad or limiting, but if I’m always living on a deadline, waiting for the next phase to get here before I can set a new due date – am I ever really just living? Sure, I’ve been able to meet some of these set-in-Lindsay-stone dates – but is that only because I needed to move on to the following item? Or at the very least, create a new time stamp? Does everything work that way?

The one thing I haven’t checked off my December 2010 deadline – find and be dating the man I’ll marry – isn’t something that quite belongs on a story lineup for tomorrow. I can’t check off “meet the love of my life” and move onto the next task at hand because it doesn’t ever end. When I meet this person, I’ll stay with them until the end of time (because we will hopefully beat divorce statistics).

So why, prior to this blog and to this journey, was I in such a huge rush to meet this man? The reason a limit is ever set, at least in publishing, is because the mag is going to press at the middle of the month or the article is time–sensitive, or the breaking story must-get-out now or it will lose its value and its newsworthiness.

But does love ever lose its importance? Will it ever not be worth screaming from the rooftops when you feel that thing that we’re all told we will feel with Mr. Right? Is it necessary to set a date before we even literally set a date for our “I Do” exchange?

Following my usual run, I sat on the rug in the middle of my miniature Manhattan apartment (that’s affordable), thinking about the job that allows me to live in the place I adore, and the family that has grown and healed in countless ways since I wrote that wish list, and the blog that’s only intensified my faith, not only in finding everlasting love with a man, but in myself too. And so, I made a decision:

I ripped the list into tiny little shreds.

And on a new sheet of paper, I wrote eight new wishes:

–Believe in my possibilities and my gifts.

–Experience life’s many wonders and opportunities.

–Grow into myself.

–Dream of more.

–Do good for others and for the universe.

–Give my thoughts, my heart, my time, and my patience.

–Question the limits and the traditions.

–Explore my world and my fears.

…..and

–Love myself without exceptions.

As for the deadline? Every single day, all day long, with or without a man, my family, my job, my city, my looks, my friends, my bank account or my youth. Because really, there is no deadline for happiness. And, even though it may scare me to fully admit it and let it go, there is no box to check or list to make or deadline to meet for finding love.

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The Almost-It Love: Mr. Idea

There was a period between my junior and senior years of college where I went on a string of really awful dates. Sometimes the guy would like me, other times we’d both realize how wrong we were for each other right at the start. While I didn’t really stop dating, I became incredibly frustrated and once I felt like my New York move was within reach, I declared I would stop going on such terrible  first dates and save myself the trouble.

I mean, if I wasn’t preoccupied with bracing myself for another man who literally slurped up his pasta, I’d be able to concentrate on more important things, like freelancing, my friends, and enjoying my last semester before graduation. And so, for the first time in my life (now being the second), I stopped looking for a relationship. I put up my guard and decided that I didn’t want anything to do with the opposite sex or the hassle they ultimately brought to my life.

And that was right when Mr. Idea walked in.

Most literally, I saw him walking down the street towards me in this green shirt (that I can still see clear as day as I type it right now) towards me and a sliver of hope said “Oh, let that be him!” A friend of mine, S, had set us up on a blind date and though it took me a while to agree, when I saw him with his big goofy grin and his 6’4″ frame strutting my way – I couldn’t have been happier to meet him. Our lunch date turned into dinner and a movie, which turned into us staying up all night long, talking and laughing, gradually feeling the fireworks burst between us.

Within a week, he started calling me his girlfriend and the love that we were growing so effortlessly continued to bloom over the next few months. Being around him was so easy and the way we melted into each other’s hearts and bodies seemed perfectly ideal. And our union came with so many signs – something that has always been important to me. He was from New York, I had always wanted to live there. He told me his name meant some sort of butterfly (jokingly, of course), and I had always said that whoever I ended up with must give me butterflies in every inch of my body. He always said we were putting the carriage in front of the horse because we moved so quickly, and for a while, I had always wanted to be proposed to in a horse-and-buggy in Central Park. He left me notes in random places to surprise me and brighten up my day, and as a writer, I always value written words.

I could list countless other romantic signals that made me feel like he was The One for me. I couldn’t imagine anything more aligned with the universe and I certainly had never felt anything so magical, so peaceful, so passionate and so surprising. We fell incredibly quick and before I knew it – I looked back at this person who I thought was so right for me and realized, I didn’t know who this person was.

And things started to change as fiercely as they began. All of the red flags that I ignored in an effort to keep the love alive for him started sprouting up in such vivid warning colors that I couldn’t ignore them anymore. We were incompatible in the bedroom. We were incompatible emotionally. We wanted different things. We had opposite drives – both in sex and in our careers. We valued and wanted vastly different things out of our partners and our futures. Suddenly, the couple that everyone wanted to be turned into the couple who fought, stayed up all night , and the flutter in my heart morphed into a severe sting that I still feel today. Right this very second.

I had put off writing about Mr. Idea because even in the duration of this blog, he’s been in-and-out of my life by calling or texting or emailing. You see, even though we broke up several months ago (nearly a year, now) – we haven’t been able to just let go. Sure, we don’t see one another, nor will I ever agree to be a couple with him, but for whatever reason,  it is insanely difficult to let go of him.

During our relationship, I learned much more about what I want (and what I don’t) – but more importantly, I learned about myself. Before Mr. Idea, I was the gal who said she would never let her social life go when she became part of a pair. But when he walked into my life and I started loving him – his priorities became first. His desires became supreme. What I needed and what I deserved became secondary to meet his requirements. I stepped away from my friends, from my writing, from my goals, and positioned myself as his everything. Because there were so many romantic signs and I had this idea of what we would be, I would be silly to walk away – no? I would be wasting all the work and the tough times I stuck through for him if I just broke it off, right? No matter how miserable I was or how often I cried from his selfishness – I knew I couldn’t leave.

Until finally, it occured to me that I literally had no other choice.

If I didn’t pack up my heart and my pride and any type of confidence I had left, I would lose everything I had worked so hard to get to. I would start compromising what was most important to me and 20 years from now, I’d look back and wonder what in the world I had done. And so, with the most courage I could derive from my stomach, I said goodbye. I cried harder than I knew possible and there was more fear inside of me then I had when I boarded the flight to New York.

Because, I still loved (and love) him. I knew he wasn’t my Mr. Right and though he had qualities that would never satisfy me in the long-term, he did bring happiness to my life. He did help me grow into a better person. He did help me through some difficult times. In the beginning, there was a lot of passion and incomparable butterflies that reaches my toes, like I wanted. And anytime you leave someone who you still care about – you have that emptying feeling of fear. Of hesitation. And at times, you want to go back – but you remind yourself that stepping into a relationship with someone who was merely a dream…will end in a nightmare.

I’d by lying if I said there was a day that went by that I didn’t think of him or I didn’t wonder if I made the best decision. But I know I’d be a fool if I returned to a relationship that did far more harm than it did good. Or a love where I lost every other love in my life to focus on a dead-end relationship.

On the surface, in photos, and on paper – he is everything I wanted. But when I broke up with him, I did it because I realized I hadn’t fallen in love with him for who he is, as a person. I had been swept away by the idea of him. And the image of what I thought he and we would become. I saw things I didn’t like, things I knew I could never live with, and things that didn’t match me at all – but I stuck around because I believed that something would change. That the magic we felt so immensely in the beginning would come back around, and I’d realize that whatever troubles we faced were just temporary. It took a couple swift kicks to my heart and my head for me to come to my senses and start to let go of this idea.

And really, what dies more slowly and more painfully than a dream? A heartbreak will leave you broken, but you’ll feel the gumption to go on another date eventually. But when you fall in love with this amazing dreamy idealistic plan that you dervied with someone, it is so difficult to let that longing go.

I will never forget him nor what he taught me and brought to my life. He is not a bad person and at his heart-of-hearts, he is a sincerely wonderful individual who is all deserving of everything kind and wonderful. I would never wish him anything but happiness and the best of love.

I just know that I’m not the love of his life, nor is he the love of mine. Because when I think of finding Mr. Right or Mr. The One – I don’t want to be smitten with an image or an idea, I want to love the real deal, the honest-to-goodness reality and truth, and all of the flaws of another human being. If there are no silly romantic symbols or pennies leading me to him, so be it. I’d rather have no signs then allowing myself to be misled by my own idealistic desires.

After all, ’tis better to feel and lose true, profound love, then to get lost in something that’ll never be more than an idea.

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Just Because You’re a Bird, Doesn’t Mean I Am

As the taxi pulls around at Columbus Circle, the young woman with long brown hair and piercing blue eyes, looks out the window. When the car comes to a stop, she steps out, her Louboutins leading her way, tosses her hair around and a panoramic view of Manhattan flashes in her stare.

She struts to her high-profile, wildly successful job where she has the corner office, and men answering her calls for her. Her day is filled with important meetings, entertaining lunches, and calls from best friends who are slightly more neurotic and ridiculous then she is. Although, she has her little quirks, has a hard time letting go, and organizes her life to the ultimate degree. Though she may not realize it (or she actually might), her life lacks meaning and she often spends nights tucked away in her fancy apartment in a doorman building…wondering what piece of her existence is missing.  Those who know her best would call her high strung, and someone in her family, a mother, a grandmother, or an aunt twice-removed tell her she needs to just relax.

But of course, she can’t. That is – until she meets him.

This is a guy who she doesn’t like. A man who doesn’t fit into her checklist of required qualities to be dating material. He doesn’t work in her five-year plan or into the space of her heart she’s reserved for love. In fact, he is everything opposite of what she ever wanted. But of course, he’s smitten. He sees her and instantly falls in love with all of beauty and all of the flaws that define her. And even though he as some shady past or a past love who stole away his heart (making him a player of course) – he knows he will overcome it to win this gal’s admiration. This is his woman, after all.

But before he can claim her, something happens.

She is transfered somewhere else. She’s forced to pick her career. He completely screws up. She finds out a secret that makes her question everything. He won’t commit. She can’t believe he is actually different from every other guy. He can’t man up. The love that changed both of them, just isn’t designed by the fates…

…until it is.

He makes a grand gesture or she flies half-way across the world to be with him. She gives up her career for the Harry Winston or he goes back to school to make her satisfied. They both pack up everything they own and move to Africa. Nothing else matters, all other situations and issues are solved, because even if it’s hard, it is all worth it as long as they have the love they share. Of course, they live happily ever after, until death do they part, in perfect bliss and matrimony.

Why, oh why, are all romantic comedies the same?

My friend, S, and I spent an evening in with greasy street meat (but so good!) and two girly chick flicks. Now sometimes, there are no better nights then the ones you spend with a friend you can talk to and not feel guilty about eating food that you know is going straight to your hips. Somehow, if you eat it with someone else, it doesn’t seem to count. Right?

The movies had different leading stars and were set in opposite ends of the world – but the message was exactly the same. And really, the path it took to get from hating-the-dude to loving-the-dude was identical. The women were both highly organized and particular and the dudes, laid back and chummy. But yet, the girl broke up with the seemingly ideal man who she was dating to be with the guy who was from a completely different league then her. That is, once she whipped him into shape and forced him into a grand gesture.

I can’t say a man has ever performed or thought up a big hoopla to win me back, but I have to wonder: why do movies make the public display of affection and admiration, so alluring? Does a relationship have to have struggle and conflict and fights to make it work? Does a woman have to leave to make a man realize he absolutely needs to have her in his life? And, if we do happen to want to give a dude a second go-around – does he really have to do a grand gesture to get our heart strings back in tune?

Is it really about the love letters and the flowers and the chocolates or remembering initimate details that makes us swoon for a man? Do we need to have that drama and that dazzle to leave us dazed and confused, but ultimately – madly in love?

Maybe I’m coming from a place of inexperience or I haven’t read enough romantic novels or watched enough boy-wins-the-girl comedies, but I don’t believe true love should be that complicated. Sure, I know relationships take work and they don’t magically morph into something perfect when situations require compromise and change. However, I’m under the belief, that if after months of trying or weeks of crying and questioning – sometimes a relationship is more work than it’s worth. When it stops being supportive and progressive, loving, and passionate – and starts becoming nothing but a hassle, a harm, and full of  arguments that go on for six-week periods, what’s the point?

I don’t want to be with a man that I have to push to the limits to make him realize he has something good when he has me. I don’t want to have to leave to make him want to stay. I don’t want him to have to think of some beautiful, romantic, gesture that makes me weak in my knees and forget any hostility I ever had towards him or the relationship. I don’t want to be won back, I just want to be The One for him. It isn’t about being completed or about a dozen tulips and a marching band playing “I Want You Baby” as a man cascades up stadium stairs. There isn’t always a boombox outside the window or a single glove on Wollman rink, 10 years after we first met.

I don’t believe that life is like a romantic comedy and I certainly don’t think we should ever measure up men to the characters we see flirting with their leading ladies on the silver screen. Because real relationships may be messy and dramatic, but they are not prescribed by the directors and producers who play on our desire for true love to make millions. Because, as love addicts, or what I’d like to call, hopeful romantics – we will always stick around to the end so we can get a glimpse at a happy ending.

But in reality, that happy ending doesn’t always involve breaking up and getting back together, fighting and making wild monkey sex afterwards – sometimes, it is just about the simplicity of being together. About two people who share the same affinity for events, culture, travel, morals, and values.

So maybe I’ll stop living vicariously through the love stories I grew up watching and continue to rent and go see in the theaters. While I do love seeing the good rejoice over the bad and the guy and the girl finally finding each other – what I love more is thinking of the reality of a real relationship.

One that is about two people who want the same things, and while they may disagree – they never have to declare they are a bird because there partner is a bird. I mean, really?

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There is No Other Me

Lately, I’ve been going through a pseudo-identity crisis. Not because I’ve lost touch with who I am or because I’m not adjusting to the ever-changing tide that defines my 20s – but because a friend of mine is constantly telling me how much I’m like someone else.

Alright, let’s get this a little clearer, a boy that I’ve been hanging out with, points out the similarities between me and his ex-girlfriend.

Now, he doesn’t do this to be rude or to reminisce about his former flame, but he finds it humorous. I can’t say I actually think it’s funny (though certain matching traits and stories are quite ridiculous) – but I admit it has thrown me for a loop.

This blog and journey has made me celebrate being single and feeling comfortable as a minus one. While I do have my obsessive moments (usually brought on by red wine or love songs), as a whole, I see dramatic changes and an intense rise in self-confidence. I could contribute this to growing up and starting to realize the bigger picture and scope of my life, but I really, truly, believe part of the transformation is due to facing and accepting my “love addiction.”

However, even for the brand-new-me who is happy to be flying solo, being compared to another woman doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, at times, it has made me angry. Regardless if you are falling head over heels for a man, have the desire to date him, or just are enjoying his company – no one wants to be told “Wow. You sound just like her.” or “She said that too.” or “You’re her two years ago.”

I’m sorry, dude, but just because you seem to have a “type” –doesn’t mean I fit into a mold that was created by your lovely lady of months (or years?) ago. While I like to think I’m relatable, I am also my own person,o ne of a kind, and a unique, beautiful creature, that deserves to be treated as such.

Hearing him compare or indicate the parallels has made me think before I speak and question if he sees me for me or as a slightly different version of someone he once loved. Even more so, it has made me wonder if it would bother me if he wasn’t in fact, a man, but just a girlfriend who kept saying “Oh my God! You remind me of my ex-best friend!”

Would I still be irked by being discounted as an individual, by being matched up to another person?

I think so. While it is rather odd when a triangle is created between you and a man’s former gal, it is still peculiar when anyone thinks you’re “just like” someone else. Everyone, man or woman, wants to feel like they are one in a million, not a clone of someone they’ve never met.

So to keep myself from continuing down this very bizarre mini identity crisis I’ve been experiencing, here are 25 facts about me, that even if someone else feels the same way, they belong to me:

-I drink coffee every single day and exactly the same way. With skim and three Splendas. Sometimes, I go back for seconds. Possibly thirds.

-I can’t stand the quiet. I must always have music playing to be able to write, sleep, work, or get ready.

-I’m a big fan of museums. It is my goal to see every single one in the city several times while I live here. Among my favorites include The Met and the Guggenheim and the MoMA.

-I think constantly and I’m always brewing an article, a blog, or an idea. If there were more hours in the day, I’d spend them in the park, watching people go by, meeting new friends in random NYC-approved ways, and drinking, well, coffee, of course.

-I’m about as girly as it gets. I own two pairs of skinny jeans that I adore and look great on me. However, if you’re my friend and you see me in jeans, you say “Wow, you wear pants? It is so strange to see you in them.” I also own probably 75 pairs of heels. No exaggeration.

-I’ve been in love twice in my life. But I’ve had a lot of lust in between.

-Whenever I’m down or blue or nervous or unsure of what to do in my life or if I’m going on the right path, I always find a penny. Sometimes a dime. I believe it is the heavens way of telling me they are listening and guiding me.

-I want to be a published author of a book. Scratch that, I will be.

-I’m a fan of babies and puppies and when I see either, I coo. I make no excuses for it.

-I love to run and if I couldn’t run or write, I’m not quite sure what I would do with myself.

-I love to travel. I have a list of places I must see before I die and I’d love to live abroad for a portion of my life, possibly even raise my family there. When I was in college, I had a map of the world and I pin-pointed every place I wanted to go. I need to do that in NYC too.

-I love being naked. Not sure why, just like it. However, I will never go to a nude beach or colony. Well…unless someone paid me to write about it.

-It took me a long time to call myself a “writer” or a “journalist.” Because I had been “playing” that part since I was seven, when it actually happened, I felt like I was still playing make-believe.

-I document everything. I have a “Dream Book” that highlights all of the important dates and people that have been in my life. It also holds movie and show and art ticket stubs that I will never throw away.

-I’m dying to get a bike in the city. And to move downtown. Both, I believe will happen by summertime.

-I love to cook and bake. I’m looking into taking a baking and/or cooking class next year. And possibly a dance class. I have absolutely no rhythm, but I’d love for someone to try to teach me.

-I never go anywhere without my wallet, lipstick, and a blank notebook. I often times, however, forget a pen.

-I’m a PC-user, but want to be a Mac user.

-When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is shower. Then I drink a glass of orange juice and check Gmail, this blog, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and The NY Times. In that order, no exceptions.

-I talk to my mom at least once a day. I really should call my dad more.

-While I like to go out to bars, I don’t want to meet a man there. I think it is a prescription for trouble.

-I love atmosphere. It is almost as important to me as the food at a restaurant. I like candles, music, and presentation. I want to have an experience, not a meal.

-I don’t have a food weakness really, other then, well, food. I like all of it: desserts, breads, meat, veggies – ah, I’m in love. I will eat almost anything, except cauliflower. I think it looks like broccoli gone wrong.

-I sincerely don’t think I’m ready to meet the person I will marry. And for once, that doesn’t bother me.

-Yes, the city is everything I hoped it would be. But it is different too – in a good way. It is more difficult and more amazing then I thought possible.

While these may seem like silly things, it is often the little traits that make a person. And if I’m going to love myself, no matter what, under any circumstance, I’m going to adore the miniature characteristics that people may or may not notice, but are important to me.

And regardless if there is someone else out there who feels the same way or does the same things or acts in the same fashion, I know there is only one me in the world.

So sorry, buddy, I’m not like your ex-girlfriend. I’m like me.