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The De-Stringing

So where were we? Right. The street corner, Starbucks in hand, him asking to see me again and me saying yes. The only problem is that this is late November, which means we’re coming up on what I like to refer to as my Ultimate B*tch Period, courtesy of The Lady Hoofers and our annual…

commu

How to Love when you Hate to Fight

Right. So yesterday’s post? Feel, Felt, Found? I’m sure you felt like I was just putting you off, dragging things out for the sake of a good story, but really I picked it for a reason. It shows, you see, how I handle conflict (calmly, quietly, slowly and yes, wrapped up in a pyschobabble bubble…

This is either where they filmed Adelle's "Rolling in the Deep" or its my living room.  I'll let you decide.

Of Magnets and Parmesan

This time around was easy: I mailed the book I’d borrowed from The European back to his house, pushed the magnets he’d given me to the side of the fridge and called a plumber. Calling a plumber isn’t part of my usual break up procedure, mind you, but now that I’m a homeowner, I’ve been…

waitingatairport

Of Course, Of Course

The European has gone back to Europe. Not for good, but for a few weeks, and when you’ve got plaster ceilings falling down around you and your entire life in boxes, a few weeks seems like a very long time. Still, it’s just as well. Now I’ll have no excuse not to work on my…

No.  Actually they don't.

Nightclub Navigation

The good thing about being, well, happy, is that you don’t mind what other people do or do not do. Exhibit A: The European is very smart. I’ve always known this about him but as time goes on, I’m starting to realize just how hard (and how constantly) his brain works. I don’t really get…

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Throw Back Thursday: Date #12

Here’s a little tidbit from 2010, back when I was young and crazy and able to date multiple men at the same time.  Enjoy! I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, eyes closed, holding the index finger of my left hand against my left nostril and breathing through my right.  Why?  Because the flap on…

manuscript

The End, The Beginning

It’s midnight or so, just after last week’s fireworks, and I’m on the roof deck with my brother, The European and my friend Casey, who I met when we interned together at a Quaker magazine. “How long has it been since you’ve talked to your agent?” Casey asks. And I have to think about it.…