Lost

I remember losing my mom in a grocery store when I was about 4 years old. I was very scared and was roaming around the sea of legs searching for the pair I recognized. My heart started beating faster and my voice grew louder as I called for my mom. I was lost.

This is a word I have heard many people in their roaring twentiez use to describe how they are feeling at this point in their life. Is that part of it all? When you are navigating through your younger years and figuring out who you are, you really feel you are in a place you don’t know? At least when I was four I knew exactly what I was looking for, my mom. At 24, I have no idea which aisle let alone which grocery store to look in to find what I’m looking for (unless it’s a really good brie) 

I commiserate with my friends and discuss how it’ll all work out but in the back of my head I always wonder, when? Perhaps this is when we learn patience. I have to keep searching and learning and seeking. I have to wait patiently to discover what will make me feel a little less lost.

All I know is that in my panic stricken 4 year old state, I did find my mom. And at 24 I may feel just as lost now but I’ll get there. And hopefully find exactly what I don’t even know I am looking for.

The Socket to My Plug, the Meat to My Taco

Coming off a 6-month bender, triggered by a devastating breakup with a cheating ex-boyfriend, I never expected to meet my soul mate. During these 6 months, I did what every single 25-year-old girl would do: I drank and smoked too much, slept with and dated random guys, and traveled with my girlfriends (Chicago √, Toronto √, New Orleans √).

I was ready to conquer the Fall back in Philadelphia with all the sexy working class men still rocking their tans from the Jersey Shore. And then boom, a girls night out in the city turned into a night in bed with the man of my dreams.

I’ve always been told when one door closes another one opens (cliché). But I was not ready for this door to be opened. Maybe I toyed around with the idea of “it’s time to start dating people I actually like again,” but I wasn’t ready for the door to come bursting down. I was enjoying my mischievous single-girl nights doing whatever the fuck I wanted.

I was not sure what was going to come from this all-nighter with this new man of my dreams. I knew I was dying to see him again and that I hoped he would ask me out, and that I couldn’t sleep at night replaying over and over again every detail from our night.

Three months later, here I am happier than I have ever been with my dream man by my side. I couldn’t and wouldn’t want life to go on without him. Everything now just makes sense. It’s amazing when I look back at the 180 degree turn my life has taken in three short months of dating my soul mate. What I went through prior to meeting him was preparing me for what was yet to come.

Yes, I believe in fate. He’s the socket to my plug, the Romeo to my Juliet, the meat filling for my taco. (Coincidence that tacos are both of our favorite meals? I think not.) So to all the single ladies out there: I promise there is someone who is right for you. And he is trying as hard as he can to get to you. So in the meantime be patient and enjoy your version of a “bender,” whatever that may be. Because you never know when someone is going to come and sweep you off your feet. And if it weren’t for my friends dragging me to the bar on that October night, I would have never experienced true love.

Why the hell not?

Oh man.  Turning 25.  It feels like just yesterday I was pulling out my black and white polka flask at (underage) college parties with so many cute older (fucking immature) guys who smelled like…frat houses.  Those were the days. 

Turning 25 isn’t so bad.  I’ve sat comfortably in this age for 10 days now and so far, no noticeable wrinkles or sudden arthritic onset.  Back in the day when I turned 24, I told myself that I’d consider joining some sort of dating website if I was still single when Father Time turned the clock to 25.  Well, that happened.

Ages 24 and below were not lost completely in the love department.  Let’s see, where do I even start?  How about the gentle giant who redefined unrequited college (and post-college) love?  Needless to say, it didn’t go well for 6 consecutive years and if I hadn’t just moved across the country, it still wouldn’t be going well.  Though, in a rare display of care for a fellow human being, he did want to help me pack for my big move.  Perhaps it was therapeutic for us both that I was leaving so we could both let go…even though I hadn’t seen him for 6 months before that.   Next up to bat was Wil.I.am (not the real one) who dated me to get to my roommate so he could date her.  Not ideal, to say the least.  Then, the guy who I dated for 3 months and 3 weeks who had enough tears to fill the aquarium.  Like the Biebs song “You Smile, I Smile”…I cried, he cried.  Last but not least, a man…a Greek God if you will…who had EVERYTHING from head-to-toe, but not a lot between the ears.  After 5 months of shenanigans, he shared that he hoped we could just keep sleeping together without strings attached.  He was also my employee.  Let’s talk about how I cried myself to sleep every night for a good month after that.  Moving 2,000 miles away never sounded so great.

So here I sit, in a brand new city and newly 25.  Match.com?  Why the Hell not?  I mean honestly, what do I have to lose here.  I’m not going to meet anyone sitting alone inside my apartment when it’s 50-fucking-degrees below 0 outside.  Unless they’re online.  And also cold.  And S/W/M looking for S/W/F.

I absolutely believe in the power of being swept off my feet, true love and my knight in shining armor riding up on his white stallion.  Maybe a beige stallion.  Nothing in Philadelphia is actually white.