Status Report

Before we go any further into my sordid dating past, Ashera had the idea that I should provide a status report on my life and current relationship information; what it’s like to be single for a while after two back-to-back relationships, etc. Because Ashera is right about everything, I agreed. Seriously. That lady holds the key to the Western gate; she knows all. And it’s almost her birthday so I believe I’m legally obligated to do whatever she asks/says/demands.

Captain’s Log: December 11, 2014. I have been single for almost exactly ten months. And it’s fucking amazing. This time last year, I was struggling in my relationship. I wasn’t happy. I knew I wasn’t happy, and that I hadn’t been for a long time. I was not good about expressing those feelings because my ex was having a tough go of things, and I felt selfish for being unhappy. Of course, he was treating me poorly, as he had for nearly four years. I had built-up resentment and anger; I was so incredibly frustrated and stuck and exhausted from trying for so long. I am not saying I was the perfect partner. I know I wasn’t. I could have been a lot better, and I know it. Yet I did give it my all for as long as I could, and it still was not working. Most nights I didn’t even want to get together with him. I just wanted to go home and hang out with my new, awesome roommates, or enjoy some quiet solitude cuddling with my cat, Gomez (or Donuts, depending on whom you ask). The thought of having to get together to hear him complain about all the daily injustices he suffered became too much. I yearned for more Nicole Time. Time with my friends, time with myself, time spent doing what I wanted to do, which was often drink faux champagne in the bathtub while watching Six Feet Under. I was comfortable with the thought of being alone, for the first time in years. The first time my ex and I broke up, it wasn’t quite the same.

Yes, we had broken up before, about this date two years ago. We were living together and going through a rough patch, when he suddenly announced to me he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. He started staying at his mom’s house; I lived alone, surrounded by memories. It was horrible. My anxiety levels had increased in recent years, but I started to have regular panic attacks. I couldn’t face it. My whole life with him was around me, every single day, but he wasn’t there. He had never really been there. I tried to handle the situation, and was starting to get to a decent place, when we ended up having to help each other move out of that shitty apartment at the end of January, because most of our friends bailed on moving at the last minute. We relied on each other, and of course, had ex sex. My feelings were re-awoken. We started talking and getting together, mostly for sex, because that’s what we did best together.

We attempted to keep it casual at first, but how do you casually date someone you had lived with, had recently broken up with, and had spent almost three years together? It wasn’t possible. I gave him the ultimatum: we are together for real, or we stop this completely because I can’t handle it. I thought that was very honest and upfront, which was something I was working towards: being honest and not just saying everything was fine when it wasn't. He agreed to give it another shot. It started out wonderfully and was going quite well for a few months. I was ecstatic. Ashera (and all of my other friends) were not so pleased, but they supported me and loved me because I have excellent friends whom I love dearly.

And then the hypocrisy started to re-emerge. My anxiety came back. His usage of stimulants and substances increased and began to piss me off even more. We started having real fights. It all came rushing back to bite me in the ass again (not in a fun way). As noted before, we broke up shortly before our four(ish) year anniversary, at the beginning of February, 2014.

I went through a lot of shit the past two winters, trying to reconcile many disparities and figure out what I want and who I am. Luckily, now, ten months single, I finally have a better understanding. I do not have to worry about his reactions to what I want or how I feel. Do I obviously still bear some resentment towards the ex? Yes. Am I proud of it? Not necessarily, no. In a lot of ways I have forgiven him for things that were done and said. But I’ve realized I really had to forgive myself, because I hold the most anger towards me for putting up with all that I did for so long. I am not perfect. I am, however, more complete and more ‘Nicole’ than I have been in years.

In June, I took the chance and drove myself and my cat across the country to California to live with my aunt and uncle and start again. If I had thought more about it, I honestly don’t know if I would have taken the risk. I left all my amazing friends, most of my family, a decent job, a great apartment, all for the unknown. I had to. Life out here is so incredibly different from life in Buffalo, but in a way that works for me. I love the weather; cliché but true. I am not a fan of cold and snow. I don’t ski or snowboard; I’d rather be inside reading and drinking hot chocolate or wine in front of a fireplace. And living in NorCal, I get to do that. It’s like magic. Almost everyone I’ve met is friendly and open. I’ve made new friends. I have a temp job that pays decently, and I work part-time pouring wine on weekends for a winery that I love love love. The owners are another set of ‘adoptive’ parents (I have a few). My aunt and uncle are fabulous people, and my eight-year-old cousin is just as crazy as I am. I feel like a big sister, and I’ve never gotten to be that before. I feel loved, but not in a smothering, oppressing way. I feel loved in a genuine, hey-we-are-here-for-you-no-matter-what kind of way. And it’s not just from my aunt and uncle. All of my friends and most of my family were incredibly supportive of my choice to move and try this whole West Coast thing out. I’ve realized how incredibly lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life, all across the world. Not everyone gets to have the support I’ve had, and continue to have. In short: being single is fucking awesome.

Of course there are bad days. Everyone gets lonely, whether you are single, dating, married, domestically partnered, etc. That’s the human condition. But I choose to recognize and realize that I am part of something vaster than I can comprehend, and generally speaking, I am happy. I am complete with myself. I have never been a believer in soul mates, or that one person has the possibility to complete me for the rest of my life; how is that possible? Every person grows and changes. We are all constantly evolving. The Nicole typing this now is a very different Nicole than the one who left Buffalo just shy of six months ago. Single Nicole is very different than caught-in-bad-relationship Nicole, who was very different from beginning-of-relationship-sunshine-and-roses Nicole. I have changed so much in the past ten months. I believe I have grown stronger and more secure. Ultimately, our opinions of ourselves are what really count. I’m fucking amazing. So are you.

I’m also ecstatic that I have realized my potential to flourish outside the confines of a romantic relationship, because who knows when the next one could begin? Every day is full of possibilities. But I have a solid relationship with myself, now, to base and branch a relationship off of. I know that, for me, I am enough. All the casual dating is just for fun. Why not? I am still new to the area, still trying to figure it out and explore and discover what is around me. Mostly, it is a pretty good time.

Yet I have to confess: I have recently begun talking to someone that I think I would like to have stick around for a while. Even if it’s just a friendship for the moment; I am enjoying…whatever is going on. That in itself is a revelation for this current Nicole, who reviled relationships up until…recently, I guess. Not saying this is going to turn into an actual, serious relationship. It would be difficult; we don’t live in the same state. I have no clue what the future holds. I just realized that I am enjoying talking to someone and feeling things I have not felt in a long time. In a way, it’s just nice to know I still have the capacity to feel this kind of thing, however faintly, however fleetingly it lasts. I was pretty certain for a while that I would never, ever, commit myself to anyone again. (And I know you're reading this....hi. :))

When I originally started writing this post, I went on a long rant/tangent about my ex and our breakup(s). I realized, though, that once again, I was making my life about him. This is not about him. It is about me. I am important. I am fantastic. I am still forming. My status is metamorphosis and transformation. I am a phoenix, testing out her wings. Some days I’m in the ashes. Most days, however, I am soaring through the sky. Cue the Ani DiFranco:

Sake it to me, baby.

It was one of my best friends ideas for me to go on a date. Well, actually, that’s not 100% true. I was talking to a friend of mine who had moved out of Buffalo, and told him that the ex and I had broken up. His first reaction was to be upset that he and I had never had sex (sorry, dude); the second reaction was that he had a friend back in Buffalo who was single and really cool. I got his name, Ted*, and stalked him on the book of face. Turns out, we had a few friends in common, and I recognized him from back when I worked on-campus. He was cute, and seemed cool based on what I gleaned from social media. I texted one of my bestest lady friends, Ashera, who also knew him. She immediately approved of this situation. “He’s a really cool guy! And super nice. I can’t think of anyone who could say something bad about him. And he has likes cats.” Well, that was easy enough.

I told my OOS guy friend to go ahead and see if Ted would be interested. He was! I was a little bit shocked, to be honest. This was merely a few days after the dead ex-girlfriend incident (see post below this one, entitled “Margaritas on a Tuesday”). I was given his phone number, and proceeded to text him. We became friends on the book of face. Oh, and this was all going down during a sex toy party being thrown at my apartment. So I had a gaggle of women around me encouraging me to talk to him, go for it, your ex sounds like a horrible douchebag, etc. I was also a bit drunk, which helped calm my nerves just a tiny bit. Ted agreed to meet me for sushi that upcoming week. The ladies all congratulated me, and we celebrated by drinking even more and twerking around my apartment. It was a fabulous night.

To say I was nervous would be a serious understatement. This was my first official “first date” in years. I did all of the stereotypical stupid girl shit. I tried on all my clothes and had my roommates weigh in to pick out the perfect outfit. I raced home from work the day of, to make sure I would have time to primp and perfect every last stupid detail, from my hair to which pair of boots look best with this dress, are you sure? Positive? Because this decision could make or break everything. The minutiae are the important part of a first date, after all. I know how ridiculous this sounds, but aren’t we all guilty of this? I wish I could say that, by now, these nerves and the pressure have eroded, but sadly that is not the case. I get terrified before every first date to this day, but this was the worst by far. I screamed multiple times in my car just to release the pressure. It sort of helped. Ashera told me to calm down; I’m just going to make a new friend. That’s all. She has given this advice to me hundreds of times by now.

Ted was already at the restaurant when I arrived. He stood up to greet me, which I thought showed character and a generally nice attitude. The date went well, I think. He tried sake at my insistence. I don’t think he enjoyed it, but shit, he was willing to give it a shot. He was trying to maintain a healthier diet and hadn’t really eaten a lot of Japanese food before. I love Asian food, particularly Japanese and sushi, so I helped as best I could. We had good conversation; a few awkward pauses but I figured that was normal for an almost-blind date. He was sweet; he offered me his leftover sushi and didn’t check his phone once. He paid. I was impressed because, overall, I got a nice vibe and had a good time. We hugged outside the restaurant, and I went home quite pleased.

My roommates, Jackie and Maddie, and Maddie’s boyfriend Andrew, were home drinking wine and hanging out in the living room. I explained every damn detail, and they drank it up, along with a lot of wine. Andrew was particularly impressed. “What? He sounds like a gentleman! This is what you needed! I love him. I love him. He’s great. I love him.” I was trying to not freak out any harder than I was. The date had gone well. Now what? Shit. I hadn’t prepared for this possibility. Andrew told me the time after the first date was particularly important to play “the game.” “Text him saying you had a nice time, and then don’t text him until he texts you first. Just wait.”

I am an impatient person. I have a lot of good qualities, but patience is not one of them. I am of the immediate gratification sway, which is why I’m bad with money and terrible at planning ahead. I texted him saying I had a good time, and tried not to say anything for a few days. I am really, really bad at this aspect of the “dating game.” The whole “if you like them, don’t talk to them for a while. Make them miss you.” Bitch, what the hell is the point of that? I don’t like games. I don’t like having to wait or make people wait to prove a point. Again, I am impatient. If I like you, I want to tell you immediately. I want to talk to you all the time. It is pretty easy for me to tell if I like someone or not; usually within the first ten or so minutes of discussion, I figure it out. There are exceptions to this rule. But by and large, no matter how I feel about you, I figure it out pretty fucking quickly.

Apparently, in a fit of pique sometime between then and now, I deleted our old conversations from my phone. So while I don’t know exactly when I texted him again, I know I texted first to ask him to hang out that upcoming weekend. There was a “birthday party” for Lou Reed at one of my favorite bars, and Ashera and I were going. I figured that would be okay; invite him along to hang out with a mutual friend and maybe it wouldn’t be too awkward to text him first to get together again. Ted responded that he had plans already, but that he would let me know when he was free again to hang out. Ashera assured me this was a good sign, and to just let it be. I did. We went to the bar that weekend, I may have met someone there and that might be a story for another time (it totally is).

The day after the party, I went to Wegmans to get groceries. I bought everything organic, gluten-free, etc, in an attempt to start a healthier diet. I still do this sometimes. I go through phases. I’m not perfect. Anyway, I texted him about my outrageous grocery bill for trying to buy all healthy food. He responded in the affirmative, since this was something he was struggling with too. And then I never heard from him. I texted him later that week, to ask about getting together again. No response. I had the courage to call once, and the voicemail was full, and he never called back. Ashera and her boyfriend, also named Andrew, thought this was strange, and insisted something was probably wrong with his phone. His roommate, Jamie, also a friend of Ashera’s, couldn’t explain it either. “He just doesn’t want to get laid, I guess,” is what Jamie told Ashera. He went inexplicably ghost like Swayze. I don't know why. Maybe I was just too excited, or too fresh off a relationship. He could probably smell it on me. Ted was technically the first ghost, but he has certainly not been the last.

Now, almost a year later, he and I remain friends on the book of face. We occasionally comment on things or like one another’s posts, but by and large that is it. We actually had an encounter a few months later, in a night I can only describe as fucking ridiculous, and which I will detail in a future post. I think we are cool now. If I were to run into him again, I wouldn’t have any issues. It just didn’t work out, and that’s fine. Ted, if you’re reading this (and there’s a good likelihood that you are), hi. I hope Buffalo is being kind to you, and that your cat is doing well.

*Not his real name.

Margaritas on a Tuesday.

My ex and I broke up a few days before Valentine’s Day, which also would’ve been our four-year anniversary. My heart hurt. I kept randomly bursting into tears (at home, at work, driving, eating, wherever). I went home to my parent’s house to be consoled by my mom that weekend, and spent what should’ve been my anniversary on the couch, crying and watching Gypsy with my mom and freshly-minted teenager nephew. He was perplexed by the whole situation, because he is in that awkward pubescent stage and hasn’t had a serious relationship yet, thank God. The fact that he’s a teenager alone is terrifying to me; once he starts seriously dating I might pass out.

My nephew wanted specifics. “Why? What happened? What did he do?” Well, my darling nephew, those are questions your dear aunt was trying NOT to think about at that moment in time. Still, he consoled me with stupid YouTube videos, and let me sing “Rose’s Turn” at full volume in his face. It helped a little bit. “Aunt Nikki, were you in this musical?” “No.” “Oh. Because you know all the lyrics to this song, and you sing it well. And really loud.” “It’s just the exact song I need to sing at this moment, that’s all.” “Oh. Ok.” Teenagers.

I went to the hairdresser I used to work for. She touched up my hair color and brought back the bangs I had grown out a year or so prior. My mom hugged me any time I asked, and kept reassuring me that this is what I had wanted; this is what was best for me, and I knew that, but it was still fucking hard.

When I got back to Buffalo, my friend B took me out for celebratory “hooray you’re free!” margaritas at one of my favorite Mexican bars/restaurants. (95% of the restaurants in Buffalo are also bars. Fact.) We met up a few times a year, specifically for tacos and margaritas at this restaurant. It was a Tuesday night. She arrived before me, and held down a spot at the bar for us to sit, drink, and eat the most delicious guacamole in the world. A middle-aged man was talking to her when I arrived, but he seemed pretty harmless. We began pounding down margaritas. Now, this restaurant makes them strong. Two and you’re pretty tipsy. Three and you’re hammered. We had finished our first round, discussing relationships and horrible exes and those fun conversations you have when you’re newly single, and the bar started to get busy. The middle-aged man was joined by a middle-aged male friend. Okay, fine, whatever. Henceforth, they shall be known as MAM1 and MAM2. B leans over and tells me that, actually, MAM1 had been warning her that MAM2 would be arriving, and he could be a bit…unpleasant. Oh, fantastic; look, a second round of margaritas appeared! We could live with them as our neighbors with enough tequila in our systems.

Midway through the second round of margaritas, MAM2 decided to start chatting us up (mostly B to be honest, because she was closer, but I was definitely a participant). There was talk of tequila shots, attempts to get us to bar-hop with them, handing out of business cards, and the loud and proud declaration of, “I’ve already had six beers today!” While this is all going on, a handsome man in his mid20s walked in and sat down at the only spot open at the bar…right next to me. How convenient. He orders a drink, and listens in on MAM2 and MAM1 feebly hitting on us. I nearly turned to him to just start talking and get out of the conversation with the MAMs. Fortunately, though, they got the hint and left, no tequila shots necessary.

Right after they left, cute man turned to us and said, “Wow, I’d like to apologize for every man on the planet right now. That was terrible.” I immediately liked him. He asked why we were out drinking on a Tuesday night. B responded, “What else is there to do in Buffalo?” Not much, as he was realizing for himself. He was an English teacher who had just moved to Buffalo and lived nearby! I made a Dead Poets Society reference that he understood. We talked about Sylvia Plath. He told me my hair was “perfect” and that I looked like Francoise Hardy. He was tall, thin, charming, well-spoken, 28…pretty much an ideal match for me. I was kicking myself. Thanks, universe! And then.

He seemed drunkish when we first started talking. B and I had finished our margaritas; I was contemplating getting another one and staying to talk to this handsome gentleman. B was over the whole situation and wanted to leave. She was not nearly as enamored with this guy as I was. I agreed to settle the bill and depart. As we were figuring this out, he had finished his drink, and I think a second one, and was now definitely good and drunk. AND THEN.

He started going on a sad, drunk tangent. He wanted us to come back to his apartment, both of us, because he didn’t have any friends yet, apparently. We declined. I had started writing my phone number down for him at this point on the back of my receipt, and then this gem came out of his mouth: “Now, now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but… You remind me of my ex-girlfriend.” Protip: never tell someone you just met that they remind you of your ex, especially if you are trying to pick them up.

I told him I was not offended, even though I was a little bit. I was tipsy, he was cute, and I still thought the universe was trying to help me out. He got my phone number. AND THEN. He said something along the lines of having a rough time, being sad lately because of the move and also because, “My ex…she killed herself less than a month ago.” OH. OKAY. No wonder you liked me so much. Shortly after this revelation, he ended up bolting out of the restaurant and into another bar. I didn’t hear from him for over a week, and then one day I got a long, rambling text message from him asking me out. I was overwhelmed and freaked out and didn’t answer back for almost a week myself, and only did after encouragement from friends that I would at least get an interesting story out of it. I never heard from him. I do hope he’s alright. He seemed sweet, just going through a particularly rough patch.

This was the first man to get my phone number after the break-up. A man who told me I reminded him of his dead ex-girlfriend. (And, to be fair, that I looked like Francoise Hardy, which is such a great compliment!!) This was just the first in a string of strange encounters that we call ‘dating.’

Welcome to my life.

And so it begins...

Hello new internet friends!

My name is Nicole, and I am 26, a recent transplant to California, and incredibly single after two back-to-back long-term relationships. How long? Well, from the ages of 18-25 (two months shy of 26), I dated only two men, with barely a month between the relationships. Before the age of 18, I didn't have a boyfriend. I know. Let's not talk about that now.

I am navigating the single life and this terrifying world of dating, much to the amusement of my friends and other various loved ones, who all encouraged me to begin blogging about my ridiculous dates. I toyed with the idea for a while, and finally decided, what the hell; so here we are!

My last relationship...well, those are stories for another time. It ended officially, finally, last February, when I still lived in Buffalo. The craziness started there, and has followed me cross-country to Northern California. I don't want to give too much away, but I've had people: tell me I look like their dead ex-girlfriend; go Ghost like Swayze (many times); send the ill-advised and always disgusting dick pic; ask me what I found in their bathroom; and lots of other ridiculous stories.

Besides dating stories, I plan on showing pictures from Tinder of awesome conversations I have with people on Tinder. They're mostly me being a bitch about grammar and spelling, with the occasional asshole/pervert, so prepare for that excitement.

This is really just a quick background/explanation that I will link to in the future if people have questions about the basic reasons 'why' I would start this blog. See above. Well, those; and the potential to turn the blog into a book; and that book into a movie or TV show starring me having lots of simulated sex with incredibly hot actors; and those hot actors would love the simulated sex so much it would turn into real sex on all the piles of money I make off the book/movie/TV show. That's my real motivation; let's be honest.

What else could I want?