We've All Got Issues.

I have used my facebook, twitter, and other social media networks to express my political beliefs in the past few months.  But rarely do I speak my own words.  I more often than not quote a comedian, or even more hilariously the republican candidate.  I feel like with the election being just around the corner, I would like to take a minute to explain why I believe the things that I do.  This isn't open to debate, as this is strictly me stating why I will be voting the way I will in November.  I don't expect people to agree with everything I say, nor do I want to be dragged into a argument with anyone because I posted a blog on a Thursday evening.  If you are one of those people that can't hear someone's opinions without writing a rebuttal in your head before the words even fully enter your brain, do us both a favor and stop reading right now.

Ah. Isn't that better? That guy is such an idiot. 

I will be casting my vote for my president of the United States of America; the charismatic, handsome, intelligent, and bad-ass Barack Obama.  There are a few core issues that make me stand behind my POTUS, and those are the issues I care enough about to pay attention to government at all.  I can't sit here and pretend I know who is more qualified to handle foreign policy or even explain back to you what the proposed tax cuts or increases are.  I'm sure I would care more about those things if I owned anything - like a business, a house, or even a car.  Or perhaps if I was an active member of the US military.  Since I don't qualify for any of the previously mentioned circumstances - this is what I do know:

Gay rights.  How is this still even an issue?  I have only been on this earth 25 years, and it didn't take me all that long to figure out the greatest thing one person can ever have, be, or want is simply love.  I want everyone to be in love and to love.  I want my worst enemy to be loved so fucking hard they die from love.  If two, consensual, independent-minded individuals are in the love with each other, I don't care at all what gender they are, they have every right to, and should, broadcast it from the mountaintops.  They should be able to stand in front of a judge, or a priest, their families and friends, and hold a marriage certificate like anyone else.  Because if two people take a vow to spend the rest of their lives together, and love each other so much as to want to do so, that shouldn't be denied to anybody, ever.  Period.  End of discussion.

Women's rights. I have a vagina.  Though it's been questioned by those who have witnessed my abilities in the kitchen, or when picking out matching clothes, I am a lady, with delicate lady parts.  Government has always been a man's game, and that's fine.  Quite frankly, I wouldn't ever want the job.  But there should also be an acknowledgement to the fact that if you don't have ladybits, you shouldn't be the one deciding the appropriate maintenance and care for ladybits.  (Unless of course you are a man that studied vaginas, and became a vagina doctor - in which case, good for you guy.  Vaginas are gross).  I don't make a million dollars a year, I don't have unlimited funds to ensure I can keep myself safe and protected throughout these very transfomative and honestly scary sexual developmental years of my life.  I want to know that those choices will be determined by me, and the government will be supportive towards my effort to keeping my body healthy and safe.  Let's also consider the fact that if I didn't have the right to make choices for my life, and my body - I would have a 5 year kid right now who would be living paycheck to paycheck right along with me.  Who knows where I would be, or the person I would have become if I didn't have the ability to choose the life I want and to make the hardest decision I believe a person ever could for myself.  Which leads me to my next point...

Obamacare. My father is technically unemployed.  He is also battling stage 4 renal cancer.  If ever in my entire life have I seen a need for the government to step in and provide healthcare to those in need, its right now.  My father has worked his entire life.  He has provided to a family of 6, raised 4 pretty intelligent individuals while working 40 plus hours a week and being home for dinner every night.  The man runs into some bad luck when the economy took a turn for the worst.  He lost the house he spent his entire adult life paying for.  He lost his job.  And after providing for his family, his community, and giving back to his government in the same way every hard working American does, Mitt Romney wants to turn his back on a plan that would give my family the resources to fight this thing, He isn't a lazy man.  He didn't decide to get cancer one day, and then sit back and collect money from your tax paying dollars to be well again.  But god dammit, if there is a way we can give back to people, regardless of circumstance, to give every American a fighting chance at healthy lives - why wouldn't we? 

These are the issues that matter to me.  This is why when I go into the voting booth in just a few weeks, I have no doubt in my mind that I am making the right decision for myself, and I do truly believe, this country.  These issues are the ones I will always fight for, in the horrible case that they remain issues to fight for.  I stood up every day of my school years, placed my hand over my heart, and recited the words "with liberty and justice FOR ALL".  I believe in this country.  I believe in the people that fight for good in this country.  And I hope if these issues matter to you too, that you read up on what these two very different men stand behind and let your voice be heard on November 6th.

Trust Me, I'm Lying

I have been filled with anxiety this week.  I could list off all contributing factors, but it would require multiple blogs and I fear that if I don't occasionally reference my sex/dating life that you fine people will all stop reading.  So I will bypass that overwhelming list and skip to something that has been weighing hard on me the past few days.  I am in a relationship now.  It's going well.  I am falling, in that wonderful way you do when you start getting to know someone and let them get to know you.  I fall asleep with strong, warms arms around me more often than not these days.  I get to kiss someone on the regular.  Which is one of my favorite perks of all.  There are meals together, cuddling, and hours spent watching movies and television on the couch.  I have someone to talk to, someone to play with, and someone to get irrationally mad at when I am having a bad day.  It is a relationship, and it is all the great things that come along with it. 

The problem is that my history with men, and self awareness, set off red flags left and right that make me feel like I am going to make a bad decision.  Or fall too hard.  Or run away.  I don't trust the decisions I make with men, because every one that I have made in the last 10 years has been wrong.  That's obviously an exaggeration.  I have been in love and have been loved. And to be able to say that, in and of itself, shows that I did something right along the way.  But the outcomes of these relationships, or the people that the men I have been involved with have turned out to be, were far from the best choices I can make for me.  And after learning these lessons through so many relationships, I feel I have a responsibility to not let history repeat itself.  The simple fact that I don't want to fail again has me questioning my heart harder than I am letting it fall in love.

I don't want to run screaming at the first signs of trouble.  But when things aren't great it's also my responsibility to evaluate whether or not it's bad in a way that's normal or bad in a way that will land me in the same place I have so many times before.  Part of me thinks it's great that I am being cautious.  That this shows growth that I am trying to determine the outcomes of choices I am making before and as I am making them.  And the other part of me is terrified that me being terrified of being brokenhearted again is going to prevent a relationship that is and can make me happy for a very long time.

I just want to trust myself.  I want to not worry about whether I am thinking too much or too little.  There are so many qualities about myself that I believe in, and know to be true and good.  But anything related to my romantic or sexual relationships are not any of them.  A present moment evaluation of the relationship is to say that it's good; that I am happy.  That although I've been stressed for the past few weeks for a variety of reasons, at the end of the day I am happy that he is sitting on the couch in the other room playing video games.  My heart would be broken if he were anywhere else right now.  I get to sit in my room, listen to Del Amitri, and write this blog hashing out feelings about dealing with my own feelings.

This is the same shit I would be doing if I were alone, only I am not.  I have someone here that cares about me enough to be here when I needed him to be, and is comfortable enough to leave me be when I need to write a blog about my insecurities in our relationship and about life.  So I am going to trust myself for now.  Or at least try really hard to.

The Woman I Love

I went to go see Jason Mraz tonight.  Which was incredible.  I saw him 9 years ago in Decatur, IL.  My brother Sean even managed to pull off a smoke break and photo-op with Jason himself.  He was an up and coming singer/songwriter that was playing college campus' and hoping to catch a fan base along the way.  Almost a decade later I walked into the First Midwest Bank Amphitheater in Tinley Park today to a crowd of 10,000 people waiting in anticipation to see that same pimply-faced 20something I shared a Marlboro mild with so long ago. 

For his musicianship alone, it is a privilege to watch him perform.  Considering the 9 other musicians he shared the stage with, including an incredibly hot female percussionist, the show - top to bottom - was perfection. Besides being an amazing show, Jason Mraz has always been incredibly quick and witty, and may have a bit of a political agenda (but as long as it's on par with my own opinions - I wholeheartedly endorse it).  In between songs, specifically before he sang a song called "The Woman I Love" he made a few passing comments about females.  He said that women were amazing, but the biggest mistake women always make is forgetting how amazing we are.  And how, even though it may entail bitching, nagging, or irrational meltdowns; when we forget who we are, it's up to men to "man up" and remind us of the incredible women in us that they love.

Someone like me, who has had terrible relationships with men piled on top of deep-seeded self esteem issues, am very much an offender of what Mr. Mraz speaks of.  I am a woman.  And not in an annoying, feminist way; but that's pretty fucking incredible. But I feel, like a lot of other girls in this world, when I say that that is belittled on a far too regular basis.  Such is life.  Black people will always have it bad.  As will gay people.  As will Indians.  As will Nascar fans.  People will always discount you based off petty things that are not only not within your control, but things that have little or nothing to do with the actual character of a person.  But I digress. 

I am willing to look past being a woman, and look more closely at this "awesome" person Jason Mraz seems to think may exist in me.  And I'm sure it doesn't hurt that I am in a relationship now, so I have had validation outside of Jason and me, and actually in the form of another human being that doesn't mind his name being attached to mine for all social intents and purposes.  I'm Katie Mother Fucking Keller.  I'm not 21 any more.  I don't spend every night out doing outrageous things with no endgame and/or regard for the people around me.  I'm a little boring.  I like watching stand up comedy, listening to music, and reading books.  But I'm still pretty fabulous.

I can make people laugh in their saddest moments.  I can compliment and notice that thing about you, that isn't that new or special, but you are dying for someone to acknowledge.  I can look you in the eye, and without being able to promise that everything will be okay, will be able to promise you that I will be there.  And that no matter how bad it gets I will be in your corner.  I can sing you song lyrics for days.  I can dance and sing terribly when drunk enough at karaoke bar, and it will make you feel good.  I can take my own sadness, and genuinely try to turn that into happiness for someone else.  Jason Mraz was right, I am pretty fucking awesome, and my biggest mistake is not remembering it.

Maybe having someone who is sharing so much of my time with me will be a good mirror into some of my better qualities.  A reminder of the reasons that people, a specific person, wants to share their moments with me more than anyone else.  I am far from perfect.  And I pick apart every last emotional flaw I have, in this blog specifically.   But in the spirit of the good vibes, and free love that J Mraz was preaching at his show tonight, I'm going to go on record in saying that 2 years of blogs, 10 years of relationships, and 25 years of waking up everyday - Katie Keller is, in fact, awesome.

2 or More's a Crowd.

I have always prided myself on being a very independent person.  I moved out of my parents house for the first time when I was 18 years old.  And though 6 months of that was spent in college - the other 7.5 years of my life since has been a rather gypsy-like tour of the western suburbs by myself and my cat, Charlie.  We lived in crappy apartments, beautiful apartments I couldn't afford, a house with a bunch of 21 year old boys, a boyfriend's basement, a house with a husband and wife and two beautiful daughters, another house with some very straight-edged female nursing students, and now, a small 2 bedroom house that I actually call home.  Of all of those places previously mentioned, I don't consider any really a home to me.  They were places I lived, but never home.

When I first moved into this house, it was definitely not a home.  I shared the house with a wonderful roommate, and our collective 2 cats, and though the circumstances were far improved from my previous living arrangements, I was not comfortable in my own skin, let alone the roof over my head.  I went through the motions and packed up my bags when it was time to leave here, ready and willing to move on to the next gray place I can survive in until something more stable happened.  But a series of stressful, yet retrospectively wonderful, events occurred in which I couldn't leave this house.  And though I was terrified of what and when my next move would be (physically and emotionally), I felt like I finally had a second to catch my breath.

I've been in this house for 2 years.  I've been alone in it for just over 1.  And I can honestly say of the person I have become and of the things I have accomplished in that amount of time, the thing I am most proud of is this house.  It is the place I can run away to every night and turn off the world.  Nothing makes me happier than having the ability to come home after work, pour a glass of wine, and shamelessly dance around my living room singing into a remote controller.  I can literally disappear for days and not have to talk to a single person or deal with a single problem.  I also have a place friends can get away to.  The ones that have parents, or roommates, or significant others - this is there place to hide.  And if I extend that feeling of relaxation and comfort I absolutely will, to everyone I can, every time. 

My social-sphere has shifted over the last year, vastly.  I have a new best friend and we spend a shit ton of time together.  And I wouldn't change it for the world.  The best moments of the last 7 months have been with her.  She spends a lot of time at my place, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Then there is the other best friend who has been the only person I have consistently spent time with for close to 5 years now.  And we are used to seeing each other a good amount of time during the week.  It's my unwinding time.  We can sit on the couch and watch tv the same way I would if I wasn't drinking and dancing.  We talk sometimes, laugh a lot, and I wouldn't give up not one minute of those moments we spend together during the week.  Throw in a spattering of social events with the other close friends here and there, and the countless hours lost with HSF, and my place to hide is no longer.

So I have been evaluating what the appropriate balance is.  When do I say stop and take back the place I could draw the blinds and pretend things weren't hard and stressful and avoid dealing with reality?  Reality is sleeping in the guest room, or on the couch, or most recently in bed next to me.  I don't want to sacrifice the relationships I have created, and the memories I have been able to have by making this house my home.  And on the other end of that I don't want to stop having a fail-safe mode in which this home is the only place I can give my head and heart a break from everything.

I don't want to hide anymore.  I do want to continue to feel independent, and that this house that I have worked so hard to make my home remains as such.  But I know a lot of my frustration and overall overwhelmed feeling comes from that fear of being with people, being with someone, and not having countless hours to blame myself, hate myself or choose to feel nothing.  Being with people isn't bad.  Having a circle of family and friends that love you and want to spent time with you is nothing to be complaining about.  But I do need to schedule in a bit more "me time" for the sake of my sanity and for the only cardio I'm really getting from all that dancing around the living room (maybe with Jason Mraz, in my head, just a little).  I'm just having a little trouble finding my footing in feeling independent and not having that mean alone.

The Town Bicycle

It's been about a million years since I have written a blog.  Probably because things have been in transition for me romantically - and I have felt like if I said anything about it in my blog I would jinx it.  Kind of like how I don't like to tell my mother I am dating someone until we've been together for like a year.  Because the second I say out loud "I am seeing someone and it is going really great" is the precise moment it all goes to hell.  I am having a sneaking suspicion that in the last 24 hours things have started to go to hell anyways, so I decided to say "fuck it - let's write a blog".

The problem that I have in this relationship, as well as any relationship ever, is that I have a colorful history with men.  That is the nicest way I can say it.  But for anyone who knows me, or has any idea of how many people I have been with and what my sexual past looks like - they are the same people that know me well enough to explain that it has never been about achieving a high-score.  Or that I just love sex so much that I need to have it all the time with lots and lots of people.  My sexual history is a product of my much larger issues with insecurities and self-esteem.  It's a tale as old as time.  At least for those of us who come from a history of abuse, specifically sexually.

After years and years of getting involved with the wrong men, be it for a night, or drawn out over months of being treated poorly - you start to convince yourself that that's all you are going to get.  That that's what you deserve. And maybe it's a 'what came first the chicken or the egg' scenario - but for as long as I can remember I haven't really thought highly enough of myself to change the types of relationships I was falling in and out of.  I was just so amazed that anyone wanted to be with me, whether it be for 7-10 minutes or longer, that I put my heart into these toxic relationships, and made justifications time and time again that these guys weren't terrible.  They were fine, I was broken, and if anything they should all get gold medals for taking me on in the first place.

So I start seeing this guy, that has been described by friends and family alike as "someone I wouldn't normally date".  I can't imagine they mean physically, since he is dark and has a beard and looks like he should be in a band.  I can only assume they are referring to his temperament, the way he speaks to me, and how attentive and kind he is to me. This is the guy that showed up for our first date with a dozen white roses.  He says "thank you" for things, and opens doors and genuinely cares about my feelings.  But this isn't the type of guy that turns his cheek to a girl with a past such as mine.  The only types of men able to look past that are the ones that DON'T care, the ones I have been dating.  I am starting to feel like it will be impossible for me to be in a healthy relationship with a good man, because I have damaged myself beyond a point that any self-respecting, kind, real gentleman would ever want to be with.

We have talked pretty openly about our pasts.  He has been with far fewer people than I have, sexually and romantically.  And the thing that I find to be the most amazing/terrifying/

heartbreaking is that it isn't the shear volume of people that upsets him.  I mean, sure, he doesn't love the idea that I have shared my body with that many men.  But all he could do was ask me why I have allowed people that didn't ever treat me well to stay in my life for so long, and even more embarrassingly why I sought them out and fought tooth and nail to keep them around.  And I have no real explanation for myself more than what I have just admitted to you all here.  I don't like me very much, so it's easy to grab on to anyone that gives me the slightest bit of attention, even if it is a negative kind.  And that mentality has been fucking me up in the head for years - it doesn't just resolve itself after a few great weeks with a great guy that actually gives a shit about me.

I guess what I am learning (add it to the list of things I discover I'll have to overcome each and every day for the rest of my life) is that I can't undo a single thing that I have done.  I can't go back and tell a 14 year old me that someone, someday will love me and care about me in a real way.  I wish I could.  I wish I could, not only to avoid the relationships of the past decade of my life, but just to remind that little girl that it is worth waiting for.  And that if I could have just given it a bit more time, more time to learn who I am, what I am good at, and why people like me - that maybe that would be the determining factor of who I let into my life physically and emotionally.  Versus being here now, with the kind of person I've always wanted to be with, feeling as though I'm 10 years too late in being the person he's always wanted to be with.

The Pajama Theory

Me and my best girlfriend have an ongoing joke about our ability to pick up men in our pajamas.  Maybe it's because men see you in pajamas and correlate that with you going to bed.  And it's some sort of sexual connotation for them.  Either way, it never ceases to amaze me.  And really has me questioning the countless hours I spend on hair/makeup/outfit selection when I have amazing luck in nothing more than gym shorts and an over-sized t-shirt.  Let me explain.

Last week I was sent to Nashville by my amazing music store to attend the bi-annual NAMM convention (National Association for Music Merchants).  I have never been to Nashville.  In fact, I have never been on a business trip.  So I was elated to find I would have my own room, and once the seminars were over, and the show room closed for the day, that we would be free to gallivant around the city.  Now, I am particularly lucky because I happen to love the company of my coworkers.  So most evenings were spent sharing stories of our pasts and hopeful futures over many glasses of red wine (and to my surprise cinnamon whiskey shots).  But I am younger than my coworkers, by a bit, so when they retired for the evening - I found myself in the hotel bar waiting for wine to be purchased for me by handsome business men.

I had great success on the first night.  Meeting a very nice young man from Alabama who was in town with his family business that crafted violins, cellos, basses, and ukuleles.  We talked over some drinks and did some kissing.  But I kept it PG.  I tucked myself into bed shortly thereafter and figured I would see what I could muster up on day two. 

Night two was equally as successful, though I spent most of the evening talking to a married man - still willing to buy me a couple - and who was incredibly interesting.  I felt satisfied with that exchange.  It doesn't always have to be a hot and heavy makeout session, I told myself.  And just as I was getting ready to leave, the nice boy from night one came down to the bar, very obviously looking for me.  I debated, for a very brief moment, continuing the evening with him.  But decided against it.  I told both of my captive male audience at that point that I needed to rest, and that I would see them both on the floor tomorrow at the show.

Look at you, Keller.  Way to not be too slutty on a business trip.  I got into my room, feeling proud, and changed into my pajamas.  I determined I should smoke just one last cigarette before bed, so I went down to the front entrance of the hotel to ensure I didn't run into either boys from earlier in the trip.  I was sitting on the ground, back against the wall with headphones on.  Let me reiterate for those who aren't following - I was in blue cotton gym shorts and an oversized Oswego High School baseball shirt.  I was clearly making no effort to socialize with my headphones on, and was actively avoiding eye contact with anyone outside the hotel at what was now 1am.  At that moment a very handsome man stepped out of the backseat of a town car, and headed towards the revolving door before catching my eye.  Dammit.

I shyly pulled one of the ear-buds out of my ear to hear a warm greeting sent in my direction.  Next thing I know, handsome business man is sitting down next to me, on the concrete ground, asking me about who I am, where I work, what I am doing in town.   Most the conversation was muted by my consuming thoughts of how my face must look without any makeout, and how apparent my cellulite is in these shorts.  Handsome business man was unfazed.  Next thing I know we are kissing.  Next thing I know we discover we are both on the 3rd floor.  Next thing I know I am slammed up against a wall in the elevator.  I was in my PAJAMAS FOR CHRIST SAKE.

Now, I can still carry my less-slutty head tall and proud, for I did not sleep with handsome business man.  We fooled around a bit, he was an excellent kisser.  And eventually I was more tired than I was turned on and escorted him to the door.  We exchanged business cards, and a kiss goodnight and with that I had no intention of ever seeing or hearing from him again.

But I've been home for a few days now, and I got curious.  So I pulled out his business card and punched his name into the ol' google search.  Imagine my surprise to find this guy all over the fucking internet.  He is the CEO of a company, that I shall not name, that manufactures guitars.  His company has won an obscene amount of grant money to move forward with their products, and he has been listed in many financing magazines for top young entrepreneurs.  He is just as handsome in picture as I remember him being in person.  Oh, and did I mention he was the CEO of this ridiculously profitable company?  I think I should have slept with him. Waited it out a few months, then made a phone call claiming I was pregnant and tried to get hush money.  That’s terrible.  I don’t mean that.  I kind of don’t mean that.  I really don’t mean that.

 

What’s the point of my story here?  Is it nothing more than wanting to brag some more about my sexual prowess and ability to pick up men all over this great country of ours?  Mainly.  But it is also just as fascinating to know that my luck with men is not limited to a little black dress, stilettos, and perfectly polished hair.  CEO spent most of the night complimenting my quick wit, beautiful eyes and kissing ability anyways.  So ladies, take a hint from Chelsea and I.  Wash off the makeup, throw on your sweats, and just be comfortable.  Men are going to come and get it anyways.

 

The Goodbye Girl

It would be unfair to say I have been actively dating the past few months. In fact, I have been foolishly holding onto the broken pieces of my most previous relationship versus making any real effort to move forward. In an attempt to try and pull myself out of this romantic-funk (see what I did there?) I started clicking around the ol' dating site a bit more seriously than usual. After browsing through dozens of lackluster profiles of moderately attractive men, I found one that shined through the others. This gentleman was dark and handsome, 25 years old, gainfully employed, and interested in the same variety of music and movies as myself. What the hell, I thought. Couldn't hurt to say hello.

So I sent over a message. Something random and brief about seeing Death Cab for Cutie a few months back, and then again flying over them on the ski-lift at Summerfest last week. I closed with my number, and encouraged him to hit me back to meet, quite possibly, the coolest redhead anyone could ever know. A few minutes later I received a picture message of Death Cab playing at Summerfest on that very night I was there. Impressive, sir. Well played. After a few exchanges we had decided to get together on Sunday for a few beers.

Imagine my relief when I opened the door last night to discover a very good looking, adult male, who was both taller than me and didn't smell like hamster cages. He even had facial hair, and dark-rimmed hipster glasses. I melt all over again just thinking about it. Conversation picked up immediately as we had tons to learn about each other. He even made his move for our first kiss very shortly into our meeting. Which was ballsy, but appreciated by me, as I move quickly with things myself as well. It was a pretty perfect first date that I floated through with ease and confidence. Sounds like a sure thing, right? At least for a few more dates? Wrong. Because he moves to Boston on Wednesday.

Now lets think back to a recent blog in which I mentioned the bearded fellow I met at trivia night, the one who I hit it off with and spent a lovely evening getting to know. That guy, also pretty perfect chemistry, did call me after our initial meeting. But only to inform me that he was moving to Texas a few short days later. What in the world is going on here? Is it impossible for me to meet someone qualified to date Katie Keller that will keep residence in Illinois longer than a week after meeting me? My girlfriend asked me after explaining this date to her, "are you just men's 'goodbye'?" It certainly is starting to feel that way. As though I am one last good time before anyone I could be interested in sets out to start another life far far away.

Bearded Ben had mentioned that he wanted to stay in touch. That he was only going down there to finish up school, and he would make frequent visits back home. Which means nothing to me. We only met once. It's not like I will lock myself inside waiting for his return. I decided not to kid anyone when Boston Boy left last night. He kissed me goodnight and told me to have a good trip to Nashville this week, I responded by telling him to have a good life. Because I will do nothing but break my own heart if I even entertain the notion this kid and I will ever even see each other again, let alone be romantically involved.

Welp, such is life. I have decided after a long day of contemplation that these situations are all signs of something good. Sure it's frustrating. And it makes it really hard not to pick up the phone and beg the ex for his attention again because he is here, at least for now, and I won't have to wonder whether my heart will be broken or left for Boston. Because with him a broken heart is a sure thing. What it does prove is that I am redirecting my radar. That I have sought out, though fleeting, two really great guys. Not the kind that I just see great potential in and hope to someday recreate into something worth dating. Both of these guys are well established, intelligent, and mature. They, in the short time I spent with them, were kind and attentive. And I will go on believing in my overly optimistic mind that had either one of them been staying in the greater Chicagoland area, that they would have been incredible romances. That we would have continued to get to know one another, fall deeply and passionately in love, and when they made the big moves to Boson or Texas that I would be in the passenger seat grateful for the opportunity to start a new life.

Goodbye Boston Luke. Goodbye Bearded Ben. I enjoyed your kisses and playful banter. I even more so enjoyed the reminder that men like you are out there. You were both just on your way out, and a part of me loves being your goodbye girl. One more sweet memory to hold onto from Illinois. I hope you find everything it is you boys are looking for, and thanks again for reminding me what it is I am.