Sweet home California. This state has been home to my 5’10” bod since I was born in its northern region 22 years ago — so I’d like to think I’m a little bit of an expert on the people that live within its tan lines … I mean borders. Except for men. Those ones are tricky.
At age five I had my first crush on a boy named Chad whose coke-bottle glasses made him look like a mad scientist with anxiety issues. It was pretty serious. Oh, the story followed the same boy meets girl pattern — except this boy and girl had just been potty trained two years prior and thought that adulthood meant getting to eat as much cookie dough as you wanted (which is a part growing up I have taken very seriously … and with a crap ton of chocolate chips). He brought me flowers to class and we spoke tenderly of what it would be like to be married while lying beneath the monkey bars and getting sand kicked in our faces by the others running past us in the heat of a game of tag. How immature of them.
And then it ended. After kindergarten graduation we both realized we were simply headed in different directions. I was enrolled in Ms. Ordonez’s first grade class and he was in Mr. Johnson’s — it was for the best that we both moved on.
And that was about it. The rest is just one sad tale of things-coming-to-a-grinding-halt after the next. In middle school I was too shy to talk to the male species. In high school I was too aggressive. Literally, when I was fifteen, I had someone straight up run away from me. The part that sucked about that whole situation was that when he ran away, he ran right into the classroom where my next class was … because we had that class together. Most awkward ninety minutes of my life.
And then college happened. Or should I say college in L.A. … And actually college wasn’t THAT different. Do you see what I did there? I made you think that I was having all kinds of affairs behind bookshelves and in my entirely too small dorm room while my roommate was away at home when in actuality none of that happened — the library was far too small … plus, I’m a lady, I don’t do that stuff … what?
But here I find myself. A college graduate of two months — unemployed, single, and loving it! … Except not loving it quite enough to resist the temptation to sign up for Match.com. Don’t judge. So I succumbed to all the commercials featuring two attractive people staring hungrily at each other over their plates of chicken parmesan and salad … wanna fight about it?
I suppose this blog will serve as a diary of things to come. As I move back and forth between the city of angels with breast implants and one of northern California’s smallest mountain-towns (my home), I will take you on this journey of love with me.
As a side note, I am currently writing this from the comfort of the living room of the LA family I babysit for … while watching the Bachelorette … with the dad … who also watches The Hills … but is not gay.