Locked Away

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a beach near Lakeview, looking out at a bunch of little kids, making sand castles, splashing in the water and having fun as only children can in the summer. The weather isn’t even very nice. It was hot and mostly sunny out about an hour and a half ago when we first arrived, but then the clouds rolled up, covering the once nice bright shining day, turning it overcast and cool. This actually suits me quite well, because even though I enjoy a hot summer day as much as the next person, a cool day at the beach means I can relax and read a really great book without sweat pooling in my ass crack. 

I sit and look out on the water, and I try very hard to prevent my brain from wandering into the memory banks where the now distant memories of me and Kevin at this particular lake live. I’m failing at this by way, and not even just a little bit. I see people on a gigantic 6 person inflatable party barge, and it reminds me of when Kevin and I lounged on his party barge the first summer we were together. I see boats in the distance, people fishing or skiing, and my brain is back on Kevin’s best friend’s boat, and we are catching fish early in the morning because that’s when fishing here is the best. I see the yacht club and think, “why in the fuck do we have a yacht club here? You live here. You ain’t fancy. These aren’t even yachts, they are boats. Small ones in fact.” And then I remember last summer when Kevin and I took a drive out to the beach, just for something to do on a lazy Sunday and we went for a nice walk. As we walked past the “yacht club” I made a similar joke about how ridiculous it is to try to be fancy in this neck of the woods. It was one of the last days we spent just the two of us, just enjoying each other’s company. 

I’m trying (and failing) to move on in general. Sure, I’ve had the Maxes and Marks, and the Eriks and the Shamuses, and they have all been fun. Snapchatting, Tindering, and Tweeting have filled my time, and given me brief moments of flirty entertainment, but they have all been a distraction from the fact that I am so unbelievably miserable with my life. Sure, on the surface I seem fine. I crack the jokes, I smile a lot, and my selfie game is on point, but I’m fucking miserable. And I have been since October. 

And it’s not just the loneliness. Well, it’s mostly about that, but not all about that. I’ll also spare you the lengthy essay about my depression over being 31, single and childless. To say that that record has been overplayed would be the understatement of the century. 

I’m in a rut. A big one. My life feels just like I’m going through the motions, no ebbs or flows, just steady monotony. I have far too much free time to think and overanalyze every detail of my life, and unfortunately because of this, Kevin continues to live rent free in my brain. We’ve been apart for 9 months (has it really been that long already?!) and yet I still haven’t moved on like I wish I would have by now. I have never had such a hard time getting over someone. Mind you, I’ve never loved anyone like I loved Kevin, so I guess that makes sense. I just want this to be done. I want the fact that he unfriended me on Facebook to not bother me. I want to not constantly wonder if he’s got a new girlfriend (pretty sure he does) and wonder what she’s like, and if he loves her yet; if he can see the future with her that he couldn’t see with me. I know I said a few months ago that I wouldn’t undo all that Kevin and I had for the world, but after 9 months with this soul consuming, gut wrenching pain, I want it gone. All of it. All of the good and every last shred of the bad. 

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? I call bullshit on that. Maybe this is only true when you are old and on your death bed and have spent your entire life madly in love with your soulmate, only to be taken away from them by the fate of death that plagues us all. But if you have your heart smashed into a million pieces by the one you love when you felt like you had your whole life ahead of you with this person, fuck that. It’s better to not have loved at all. Life shouldn’t be about pain. Love shouldn’t be about pain. Love is supposed to make your life better, not indescribably worse. 

I feel sorry for the guy who wants to be my next love. He’s going to have so many walls to climb over or knock down. I’ve put these all up to protect my heart, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it be that easy to get to it again. Hell, forget getting to my heart, he’s going to have a bitch of time just getting me to go for coffee with him in the first place. As it is, I’ve only met one new guy since I broke up with Mark a month and a half ago. I even deleted my dating profile, although I still have Tinder. I guess a small piece of the pre-Kevin Olivia still lives on, even if post-Kevin Olivia would prefer to go live in a cave somewhere. 

My brain keeps telling me that all this will pass. One day I will wake up and feel like my old self, and I won’t give a single fuck what Kevin is doing. My heart however is like the weather. Some days it’s warm and sunny, but in a moment’s notice it turns dark and cold. 

One day I’ll be better. 

But today is not that day. 



Different Days

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the suite, not a creature was stirring, but I so had cold feet.

The Netflix fire was roaring, and the wine had been poured, the gifts were all wrapped, and were properly stored.

The turkey had been eaten and stuffed to the tits was I, and yet the thoughts of this year, still brought a tear to my eye.

For my heart had been broken, and still had not mended, so many of my thoughts in text were not sended.

So here I sit thinking, laptop in lap, writing this blog while I drink what’s on tap.

I think of this year, all the time that I’ve blown, as I drink not so merry, to a Christmas alone.

I hope you all enjoyed my lovely little Christmas poem.  That bad boy took me quite some time to think up.  I hope all your festivities were wonderful.  So far mine have been alright.  Just so you know, I am writing this Christmas Eve, partly to get a jump on this, because I really want to have a post for next week, and the next few days are going to be busy, and partly because I’m a bit depressed all of a sudden and I feel the need to get things off my brain before I go to bed.

Now, usually at this point every year on the blog I give you guys (all 5 of you) a recap of my year.  This in hindsight is fairly pointless to do, because if you are reading every post, you already know how my year has gone for the most part.  It took me 3 years to come to this conclusion.  Holy fuck I am slow.  So this year, I have decided to cram all of 2015 into one sentence.  Basically all my year included was Kevin, Kevin going many many miles away for work, our relationship deteriorating, our relationship ending, I’m single and dating again.  There you have it ladies and gents, my year in a nutshell.

Instead, I think I’d rather tell you about my December, because that I think has more going on, and frankly I think I have dedicated more than enough blog space to getting everything out about mine and Kevin’s relationship and where I go from there.  But I know that what my 5 readers are really interested in, is my new single world, which so far, I’ve been very vague about.

So without further ado, I give to you ladies and gentlemen, Olivia’s Newly Acquired (and Not at All Wanted) Single Girl Life!  Hooray! In my last post, I mentioned that I am in fact back out in the world of dating.  At the beginning of December I put myself on the Tinder machine (which actually was not nearly as ridiculous as everyone makes it out to be) and back on the dating site I was on prior to meeting Kevin (which is exactly as ridiculous as I remember it being.) Since the beginning of December, I have met 4 guys.  There was the farm boy, who was nice, but we just didn’t have much of anything in common.  Then there was the film geek who I had a bit more in common with, but he came off as a bit pretentious, and to be honest I kinda only wanted to meet him because he met Neil Patrick Harris, and yes that impressed me.  And of course as is the case with all things related to online dating, the last in the line up was The Bummer.  The guy who despite being a well intentioned man, was clingy, and needy, and came on way too strong for someone who only met me for a 45 minute coffee one time. He literally did not leave me alone for weeks, even after I explicitly told him that I wasn’t interested in him. I even told him I was interested in someone else.  And it still took me a week of not replying to his messages, and finally sending a much more rude text than I ever like sending before he finally got the hint.  But in life, I have learned that it can’t all be sunshine and lollipops in the world of dating.  Sometimes a bummer rain must fall.

The good news here is that through the bummer rains shone a rainbow.  A rainbow by the name of Max.  Now, Max and I met for drinks at the very beginning of December. He was the first guy I agreed to meet with since Kevin.  And I was nervous as hell. I had to fight every single urge inside of me that was saying I should cancel, get back into my pajama pants, get back on the couch, and cry myself through the next 6 months. I am so glad though that I went. We hit it off right away.  He’s interesting, and intelligent and open minded.  He has a sharp wit and a great sense of humor.  He is kind, and caring, sweet and thoughtful.  He is just my type physically. He even grew up in a small hick town not too far away from the small hick town I grew up in.  We clicked.  But I still felt weird.  It felt so odd to be out with a new guy.  I didn’t want him to kiss me goodnight, because I honestly didn’t know how I felt.  So I was more than ok that he didn’t.  But when he said he wanted to see me again, soon, and I got excited about it, I knew that there might be something there.

The second date was even better than the first.  This time, we went to a nice restaurant, and then we went to the arcade.  It was the first time in a long time since I have had that much fun on a date.  Usually the dates that I go on consist of meals, drinks, maybe a movie.  And I usually have to plan it all (which I fucking hate doing).  But Max planned everything. He took the lead, he put thought into what we were doing, which in my books is romantic as all hell.  And he came to play.  We didn’t just play skeeball (although I fucking love skeeball) we played Tetris and pinball, I kicked his ass at the racing game, and he even went toe to toe with me for a couple sweaty rounds of Dance Dance Revolution.  It was fun.  More fun than I’ve had in awhile.  We took a snowy December night walk to a coffee shop afterwards, and when he walked me back to my car, I felt butterflies.  He kissed me goodbye that night.  It was wonderful.  It was perfect.  And when I got into my car, I cried.  Like a god damned baby.

Kissing Max was amazing, the whole night was amazing. But that kiss was just a reminder that I was dating again, and that Max for better or for worse, was not Kevin.  Not that I wanted to be back with Kevin, just that I was starting over again, and back in that uncertain place that came with being with someone new.  Since that night Max and I have been seeing quite a fair bit of each other, and the dates have been a fantastic mix of exciting and low key. The kisses keep getting better and luckily there haven’t been any more tears afterwards. 

I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself when it comes to Max though.  I like him a lot, and truth be told I really would like it if we continued to see each other, and as of right now that looks like that’s a real possibility.  But I’m not holding my breath, nor do I dare call him anything other than just a guy I am hanging out with for now.  I mean for fuck’s sake, I thought Kevin and I were a lock after almost 2 years, and look how that went down. So I am not going to jump the gun and call Max my boyfriend until I know for sure.  Knowing my luck in this department, I will be all kinds of alone again by Valentine’s Day.  All I can do right now is keep doing what I’m doing with Max, and hope for the best.

Well, that’s it for 2015 blueberries.  I hope this year has been good to you.  It has been interesting to say the least for me.  I have had so many great times this year, but at the same time it has been one of the hardest years of my life.  Here’s hoping next year is all the good, without the bad.

Oops, my wine glass is empty, and it’s officially Christmas now, so I guess I should put the wine and laptop away and go to bed.  Happy everything guys!! Here’s to the best of 2016’s!



Tick, Tick, BOOM!

86 days, 13 hours and give or take a handful of minutes. This is how much of my 20’s I have left. I have just over 3 months till my big 30th birthday. I had big plans for this one. I mean, I’ve been known to have big plans for all of my birthdays, but this one I figured had to be the biggest and best.

Tick, tick.

What my plan originally was, was to gather all my close friends (like all 5 or 6 of em) and organize a weekend trip to Vegas. That way I could do a few things at once: I could cross Vegas with my friends off my bucket list because I have never been there before and I would be guaranteed a good time for my birthday, because hello, it’s Vegas! A good time is supposed to be guaranteed! But, Kevin gently made the very valid point that if I have a hard time getting people to come to my birthday when it’s just going for a delicious and reasonably priced meal a few blocks from my house, well then it may be unrealistic to expect anyone to travel to Nevada for a weekend. If I did Vegas, there is a very good possibility that it would be an even bigger let down than last year. And it’s not like I could blame anyone for not being able to (which is just a polite way of saying not wanting to) come. I’m sure any of you in your mid to late 20’s and older can attest to the fact that finding time to set aside for friends and family is sometimes incredibly difficult. Work, dating/significant others and kids seem to be taking up everybody’s time. Most of the time it feels like there just aren’t enough hours in a day to be had. So it’s really no surprise that my birthday celebration wouldn’t be high on anyone’s priority list.

Tick, tick.

This birthday is looming for a few different reasons. I’ve been feeling old for awhile now (working with teenagers at a high school will do that to a person) but with every ache and pain I get, or anytime I play the nostalgia game and realize that I haven’t had a legit telephone land line in well over a decade, or that “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls was released 19 motherfucking years ago (and I vividly remember hearing it on the radio for the first time, and then later trying like nobody’s business to record that song on a mix tape with as little radio DJ talk) it makes me feel really, really old.

Tick, tick.

I’m also panicking because I am not in the place I was hoping to be by the time I turned 30. Sure I have a job I love, I finally have an amazing boyfriend by my side and all that, but there is still a lot I don’t have that I wanted to by the time I turned the big 30. By 30, I was expecting to be a full fledged writer, or a rock star. You know actually getting paid to write, not getting just 3 hits on my blog daily, or being a high profile rock goddess, not just reserving my singing to the shower or the car. I was expecting to be married long ago by now, (to either a regular guy, or one of the Backstreet Boys) not just having celebrated my very first anniversary with my first ever long-term boyfriend at 29. But mostly, I thought by now I would be a mom. Out of all the things I thought I’d have or be by the time I turned 30, this was the big one. And the closer I get to 30, the more disappointed and discouraged I feel, and the more the fears of never getting the chance to have kids scream their way around my brain.

Tick, tick.

It’s hard not to think about. Really hard. These days I literally cannot go 24 hours without seeing a pregnancy announcement or “bump” photos on Facebook (one of the many ways in which Facebook and a lot of people on Facebook fucking suck). Hell, some days, it seems as thought that’s all I see on my Facebook newsfeed. My family is no better; a lot of my cousins and step siblings have been procreating for years now. In fact, a cousin of mine and his wife just announced over the weekend that they are expecting in August, my 25 year old step-sister is due with her first child in 2 months and I am guessing that it won’t be long after my older brother and his fiancée tie the knot in May till they are knocked up too. Even my job is no help. But that’s my fault really, what do I expect when I started to work in a high school in a daycare set up for young moms getting their high school education? Don’t get me wrong, I do love my job, and I find working with teen moms and their babies really rewarding, but I can’t help it that I secretly find myself jealous that these immature, fresh faced 17 year olds get to have these beautiful babies, and I, ragged and old, do not. Granted I wouldn’t have wanted a baby at 17, that would have been a motherfucking nightmare, but still.

Tick, tick.

I want it to be my turn now. I want to have kids before all my eggs dry up and fall out, and I want to have kids before I’m way too old to keep up with them. I don’t know if you guys know this or not, but taking care of children requires an astounding amount of energy. Energy which I am already having trouble mustering some days, and I’m still relatively young. I would like to have kids of my own before I’m old enough to get the senior’s early bird specials. I want to have kids because my biological clock is ticking so goddamn loud that some days it is literally all I can fucking think about, and that makes me absolutely loathe being a woman. Why can’t Mother Nature just send a text once in awhile like, “Hey there. I don’t mean to interrupt what you are doing, I just wanted to let you know that I have this basket of eggs here for you. I’ll wait a while, so no rush, just something to think about. No pressure. K thanks, bye!” That approach, at least for me, would be much more welcome.

Tick, tick.

Instead, I’m over here in a panic, being pulled in a million directions every time Kevin and I get even the slightest bit close to one another. I want kids right now, but not right now. What? Well, Kevin and I aren’t ready for it. We have only been dating for 13 months. I don’t think our relationship is prepared to add a baby to the mix. I still feel like I don’t know if I’m girlfriending properly half the time. I want a baby, but not at the expense of my relationship with Kevin. This is what sucks about waiting so fucking long to find a great guy to date. It’s far too early in our relationship to be even discussing this, but it’s getting a bit too late in my life not to be. I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock of course being my vagina, and the hard place being…well…nevermind.

Tick, tick.

So, for now I am just going to have to do my best to silence that annoying clock, and hope that when the time is right for Kevin and me that everything will work itself out. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to my regular, run of the mill life, taking care of other people’s kids and whatnot. Oh, and probably bring Kevin to the hospital, as I am sure he probably had an aneurism while reading this.



5 Stages of Online Dating

I got asked by a fellow dating blogger, Chloe (chloecline.com), on Twitter (@ChloeCline) to write a guest post for her blog. My first thought when she asked was “Holy shit, someone reads my blog!” My second thought was, “Holy shit, someone likes my blog enough that they want me to write something for their blog!” And my third thought was, “Holy shit. What the hell am I going to write about?”

Lately, I’ve been hit with a rather large case of writer’s block. I had created two years’ worth of posts on here that were based on the fact that I was painfully single, and dating pretty much everyone in my town. My online dating life was particularly eventful, and led way to so many stories, I haven’t really begun to tell them all. But as luck would have it, after years of dating many a douchebag, I finally found my boyfriend. So while it’s good for me, it’s bad for my writing.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t miss dating. I may have gotten used to being single, and going out with many different men over the years, but I am happier than a kid at Disneyland to be in a loving relationship. And even more than just plain old dating, I really very much do not miss online dating. I mean, after all, I am old enough to remember a day back before cell phones existed, when guys actually had to call your one and only land line and risk talking to your dad first in order to get ahold of you. I started dating in a time before MSN Messenger and MySpace were around, when to ask someone out without calling them you needed to pass a note to their best friend in math class with a “check yes or no” option at the bottom. Ah, those were the days. Online dating may be the way that our world is finding love these days, but it’s definitely not the most ideal, or the most romantic. Call me old fashioned, but I miss the days before dick pics were the norm in the dating world. And the more that I think about it, online dating can be so bleak that the stages of finding love on the internet bears an uncanny resemblance to the 5 stages of loss and grief.

1. Denial
You sign up for a dating site “just to check out what all the fuss is about”, not to seriously date. You log on fairly steadily though and talk to lots of people you would consider dating, but you still don’t think of yourself as an “online dater”. When people ask if you are seeing anyone, you always say no, because you aren’t really seeing anyone, you just happen to be meeting a lot of different people for coffee, and well, anyone would agree that that isn’t really dating. Besides, if you did tell them you were seeing someone (which you aren’t) you’d have to answer a bunch of questions about who this person is, and what they do for a living, and the worst question, where did you meet. And as we all know, the first rule of Online Dating Club is that you don’t talk about Online Dating Club.

2. Anger
At a certain point you will be very angry with online dating. “Tittysprinkles? Really?! I have to sit here and look through messages from guys with screen names like motherfucking Tittysprinkles? Oh, yeah, I am soooo sure that you have a 9 inch penis, that doesn’t sound like a lie at all. It’s nice to see that you are unemployed though, and living in their mom’s basement rent free, having money these days is so overrated and really, who wouldn’t want to live off a diet of mac and cheese and ramen noodles? Oh, that’s nice, I see that you have a bunch of kids all by different women; this means there is a good chance that you have met Maury. Oh, but I guess that’s all ok, seeing as though you don’t want a relationship anyways, you just want to have lots of random sex, and HOW IN THE FUCK AM I EVER GOING TO FIND A DECENT PERSON IN THIS RIDICULOUS EXCUSE FOR A DATING MECHANISM?????” *Turns into the Hulk, starts incoherently screaming, flips a table, and punches a baby* Anger is a very important step to online dating, and will also lead to no less than 5 instances of looking at the computer monitor or your phone screen, and going “Fuck this shit, I’m done!” while looking for the “Delete Account” option.

3. Bargaining
“I will just meet this one last guy, and see what happens. If it’s bad, then I will give this whole online dating thing up forever, I swear to God.” Or another popular thought here is “Please God, just let me meet one great guy online, let this seemingly awesome guy I’ve been talking to for a few weeks now be an actual awesome guy, and let us live happily ever after. If you do this for me, I promise that I will be nicer to people. I will give up my seat on the bus to all the old ladies and pregnant chicks, I swear. And I will call my mom more often. And give all the dollah billz to homeless people. And I will stop laughing at Kim Kardashian when she cries. Actually, I will just stop watching Kim and all the other Kardashians altogether. I will just radiate sunshine and shit rainbows, just please, for the love of you, let this guy be amazing enough to be the last guy I meet online.” Incidentally, for those of you who were wondering, this step is the step that directly lead to me meeting my boyfriend.

4. Depression
Before I met Boyfriend, I spent close to 7 years logging on and off the dating site, and spent countless hours meeting many, many non-contenders. During these 7 years, I spent a great amount of time hating myself. And hating everyone else. I felt like there was something wrong with me. There had to be. Why hadn’t I found anyone worth dating yet, and why had the few guys I actually had liked when I met them turned into nothing? Why was it so hard for me to find love, when everywhere I looked around me, people were in love. How could a person not be depressed after a certain point? How could you go on that many awful dates with awful people and still walk away feeling good about yourself, and your life? This is the worst stage of online dating, by far. Because unlike in real life, where yes, you see countless men everyday walk right by you, you don’t get to actively see just how many of these men would openly reject you, or see just how many aren’t right for you in any conceivable way. The knowledge you get online is not the greatest self-esteem tool at your disposal, trust me.

5. Acceptance
At a certain point, all that anger, and depression and denial will fade away, and you will accept online dating as the reality you are in. Yes, it’s definitely not ideal, and it for sure can lack the excitement and magic of the old fashioned way of dating, but online dating has its perks too. For the most part, you can find out a lot of information about a person before you even talk to them. This gives you one big advantage over in person dating. You can weed out some of the guys who you want nothing to do with, without having to actually meet them first. You can tell if a guy wants a relationship or not, if he wants kids or not, or if he’s smart enough to know the difference between there, their and they’re. You know, the important things. Sure, people can lie online, but people do that in person too. If anything, being relatively anonymous behind a computer screen usually gives people the balls to be more honest with others, and say things that they might not be able to say out loud. (Which, if this isn’t the first time you’ve come across my blog, you would know that this is what my entire blog is basically based on.)

And hell, after a certain point, you may even find online dating fun. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. After a while you may find your groove online, and start enjoying it. I know I sure did. There was a good year not long ago where I enjoyed getting messages on the dating site. I even enjoyed getting these messages from the weirdoes. Once I learned not to take things so seriously, I got entertainment out of it, and had it not been for all those idiots who once messaged me, I wouldn’t have any material whatsoever for my blog. I felt the same way about the dates. For every bad date I went on, I got a great story out of it. And every once in a while, I’d meet a new guy who gave me butterflies, or go on a first date that would give me hope that someone decent was still out there, and worth looking for. I’m not the kind of person to believe that things last forever, but had it not been for online dating, I probably would have never met my boyfriend, and I consider him to be the absolute cream of the online dating crop. Every once in a while, you never know, you might accidentally hit the jackpot.

So there you have it. The stages of grief/stages of online dating. I’m glad that for now I don’t have to deal with all that, and that I can now sit back and listen to everybody else’s online dating horror stories. What I enjoy even more than that is discussing which guys to stay away from with a friend of mine who has recently rejoined the online dating world, and is now looking to me to make sure she doesn’t date someone awful. The circle of life is complete.

I’m glad that my dating douchebags wasn’t in vain.


I’m Glad You’re Mine

Longevity of anything in this life, especially when it comes to love, seems almost impossible to achieve. Look no further than the current divorce rates around the world and my point is very much proved. I actually googled that stat because I was curious. And now I’m a bit depressed. I’ll share the chart that I found, because I don’t think I should be depressed all by myself.

IMG_4434 (2)
Note to self: do not get married in Belgium, and maybe consider going to Mexico to get hitched.

Now, what I didn’t post here is the rest of the information I found on that website, and the one statistic that scares me the most. It’s the one that says that children with divorced parents (like me) are more likely to never marry, and are more likely to divorce if they do. We are also twice as likely to have anxiety, depression and self esteem issues than those whose parents are still together. So, thanks for that mom and dad.

My parents have been divorced for almost 20 years. They have been divorced longer than they had been married. And they have both been remarried just about as long as they were married to each other. So in theory, we all should have moved on by now. And for the most part, we all have. I rarely think about it. My family is doing great, and my step families are both awesome. But every once in awhile when I think of my own relationships, and especially my current relationship, I can’t help but think about those divorce stats, and how that may affect me without me ever really knowing about it.

I am always worried that the rug will be pulled out from under me when I least expect it, and when I am the most happy. I play it safe, I keep people and relationships at a distance so that if something ends, or people leave, it won’t hurt as much. I’m far too pessimistic for my own good. And like I said, it’s hard for me not to be pessimistic when it comes to love. I’m sure my parents loved each other at some point. And then one day in the 17 years they were together, they started drifting apart. They slowly stopped loving each other. I saw it happen before my eyes. It was slow, and painful. I’ve already felt that pain once in my life, I’m terrified of it happening again. So sue me.

Today, as I write this (on the 21st, and partially on the 22nd), it is the official 6 month mark of boyfriend’s and my first date. Now, to most, a mere 6 months is nothing to really write home about. I used to scoff at people who used to celebrate monthaversaries. I used to think that it was childish, and immature and ridiculous to celebrate or even just being excited about staying with someone for only a handful of weeks. “Pfft, 6 months? Whoopdy friggen doo, you stayed together the average span of a Canadian winter. Congrats, but any maroon could do that.”

However, in my dating life, 6 months is a long fucking time to be in a relationship with the same guy. I’ve never lasted 6 months with anyone. Hell, making it to 6 dates with someone has been difficult for me. Even Dave #4 and I only made it to about 5 and a half months before all hell broke loose. And it’s not just about staying with someone for that long, it’s also being happy with someone for that long of a time.

So 6 months for me is an accomplishment. I’m happy to be at this point in our relationship. I’m thrilled we made it here, and that I’m as happy in my relationship as I am. I’m trying my best to remain optimistic that this one, this relationship, will be the one that sticks.

So far it seems promising. Honestly, we are one romantic montage of scenes from our time together away from being a romantic comedy starring Jason Segel and Rachel McAdams. I pick him because he is probably the actor who boyfriend is the closest to resembling, and her because I love her, and she’s far more beautiful than I am.

Getting back to the point, things have been going well. I definitely see a future with him. And I am looking forward to the next 6 months with him, and the 6 months after that, and so on. I just have to keep reminding myself that. Like I said, I have a tendency to expect the worst. And if you’ve been reading my blog for the last couple of weeks, I have some serious walls up.

I just need to focus on the good. The fact that we still get along after 6 months. The fact that all our arguments have been very small and have resolved themselves very quickly. (For the record, it’s not a god damn goose, it’s a motherfucking DINOSAUR!) The fact that he still makes me laugh my ass off, and how he still gives me the feels in my lady parts on a regular basis. Actually, the fact that everything is working quite well in the bedroom department is a very good sign. Usually that has been the first thing to go in my previous relationships. It’s also to the point that when I spend a few nights sleeping in my own bed instead of his, I don’t sleep as well, and I start to miss him. All these things are good signs. Although our lack of selfies together is cause for concern. I guess it can’t all be smooth sailing, right?

Guys, if this is the love that I’ve been looking for for so long, you can understand why I wouldn’t want to lose it! It’s pretty great!

So congrats to me for being with someone for so long, and congrats to him for being able to put up with me for so long. It’s been a great 6 months, and I can’t wait to see what the next 6 will be like.

And yes, I just spent a full entry gushing over a monthaversary. I’m lame and immature and incredibly awful.

Like you didn’t already know those things!


Ch, ch, ch, ch, Changes

Wow, back two weeks in a row? That must some kind of record or something.

Actually, this isn’t a post. It’s more of an announcement.

Calm down. It’s nothing huge. I’m not going to tell you that I’m pregnant, or that I’m getting a sex change. Although, I imagine my readership would probably increase if I was either one of those. But no. This is a much smaller announcement. It may shock my tens of readers, my dozen of ones who stop by every few months to catch up on my newest post, but oh well. Actually, I doubt it will shock anybody. I’ll be lucky to get a “Oh, that’s nice.” from it.

After last week’s post, I got thinking. My thought was that one post in almost 2 months is simply not good enough. I need to write more. The problem with this blog is that it’s a dating blog. I started it while I was hopelessly, desperately single, and it became my outlet for all my bad date anecdotes and tales of woe. It was cathartic and therapeutic, and helped me see my love life from a different perspective, because I was able to go back and re read, and to a greater extent, re live those moments and really try to understand what was going on there. I can’t even begin to explain how this little blog, with it’s very small but awesome following, has changed my life. You wouldn’t think such a tiny thing would have done that, but I’ve gained more positives from this little “hobby” than I have ever gained from an actual job, or my career.

Now, as any faithful reader has seen, since I found Boyfriend, I haven’t been writing as much. Like I said last week, it’s partially because things are going well so I don’t have much material to write about there. Mostly though, it’s because I want to keep my relationship relatively private. I’ve seen relationships fall apart over shit that is said on the Internet. It’s ridiculous. Dirty laundry, and personal details are not for the likes of Facebook and Twitter. Am I on the social media sites? Absolutely I am. But I don’t post much on these, and when I do, I try to be funny, and entertaining, rather than a dramatic attention whore.

I obviously save that part of my life for this blog. Now I realize how hypocritical it is to say that I don’t air dirty laundry on the Internet, seeing as though the kind of dating details I’ve posted here have not always been well…not always appropriate for a public forum, but there is a big difference between writing anonymously about guys that even my close family and friends who read the blog don’t know, and writing these personal and intimate details about my boyfriend, who all my family and friends know. It’s more real. It’s way more personal. And I have way more to lose with Boyfriend than I ever did with any of the guys who came before him.

So I’m left with a dilemma. Do I stop writing about dating? Do I shut down the blog, and say until further notice that’s it for now, it’s been a slice, and let that be that? Or do I keep going the way I have been, and write once in a blue moon because I have nothing to write about?

I think I have a better solution. I’m going to stop writing about dating Olivia, and just write about being Olivia. This way, I can write about whatever the hell I want, and whatever comes up in my life that I want to write about. So that’s what I’m doing. A little bit less relationships, and a little bit more every thing else.

Just thought I would announce it. Not only to avoid confusion, but also to have a half-assed entry for this week.

I’m so damn clever.



These last 5 months have gone by in a blur. There have been many ups, a few downs but things for the most part have been good. So good in fact, that I just realized today that it has been about a month and a half since my last post.

I’ve had ideas for entries, but because my dating world has been such smooth sailing, I haven’t really been able to muster more than a paragraph or two. Which I guess is good. I do miss writing, and I actually miss the drama of dating the tiniest bit, I’m sad to say. That drama gave me something to write about at least.

It’s not as if boyfriend and I haven’t had a drama free relationship so far. You just haven’t heard about it because when we have had small fights and disagreements, they don’t go too far. It’s usually that one of us gets something that is bothering us off our chest, and the other apologizes, and we kiss, tell each other we love one another, and then that’s it. The only time it lasts longer is when one of us is crying (me, it’s always me) and it’s taking longer to smooth things over (and by smooth things over, I mean to say, calm me the fuck down.) I have to admit, I have cried more in front of boyfriend than I have in front of all the other guys I’ve dated in the past. Combined.

But this past weekend, boyfriend pointed something out that really got to me. Something that I hadn’t realized I was doing.

We were on our way back from our camping trip. We had taken the first week of July off to go camping with a friend couple of boyfriend’s. The plan was to stay in his nice big camper at this big lake known for it’s excellent fishing. So there we were, “roughing it” (staying in a camper like boyfriend’s is hardly roughing it. The worst part of the camping experience was the lack of decent cell service, and the inability to make the football game come in crystal clear on the TV.) and in close quarters for a full 10 days.

This by the way, is the first time where we have spent a full week, living together, and spending pretty much every minute of the day together. Before we left, I was worried that we would be wanting to kill each other after 3 days of being together out there. Instead, after 10 days (including 2 straight days of pouring rain where we literally did nothing together cooped up in the trailer) I’m finding it incredibly difficult to go back to my house. In fact, we got back 3 days ago, and besides the 5 minutes it took for me to drop off my dirty laundry at my house, I haven’t been home.

All in all, the camping trip was a lot of fun. We fished (I actually caught a bunch!) we swam (well, I swam. Briefly, after I jumped off the boat, into the lake to catch the fishing rod I accidentally dropped in the lake) and boyfriend and I got shitfaced on the gigantic inflatable party barge he bought from Costco. On the way home from the lake, boyfriend and I talked. We talked about our sex life (giggity) we talked about the fight we had the night before (and yes, I cried) we talked about our families, and we talked about what we wanted our future to look like (both if we’re still together and if we’re apart).

In the midst of all this talking, boyfriend mentioned that he feels like I still have a lot of my walls up. I apparently keep a lot of things to myself, and I’m not very open with my life. I should have been hurt by this, but I wasn’t. Cause it’s true.

Now, I don’t want to get all “sitting on the therapist’s couch, talking about how much my parents and past boyfriends are to blame for all my issues” but in a lot of ways this is the case here. And also, fuck you, it’s my blog, I’ll blame whoever I want.

My parents were busy people when I was growing up. Aside from when my younger brother was born, and my mom was on maternity leave, both of my parents had full time jobs, plus ran the family farm when they weren’t working. That’s actually why as a kid I loved winters more than the summer; it was the only time of year when my dad wasn’t out in the field till after my bedtime, and gone again before the sun came up. During the winter, my brothers and I got parent filled Saturdays of ice skating on the dugout (in case any of you don’t know, the dugout is just a giant pond-like water supply most farms around here have) and sledding down the big mountain of snow dad would plow from the middle of the yard and pile in a corner of the yard. Inside the house there was usually fresh baking to be had by mom, and snuggles on the couch while watching movies or reading books on Saturday nights.

That was before my parents got divorced. After they got divorced, they were even busier when there was no snow on the ground, and my brothers and I were being shuffled around, back and forth between two houses and two lives all year around. I was 10 years old when my quality time with my mom and dad went from okay, to practically non-existent.

So it was then that I learned to keep to myself. I knew my parents were very busy, and to a greater extent, very stressed out and had little time for my stories, as they rushed me through things that I was trying to tell them, so they could get doing something else. I got used to being like that. To this day I’m very choosy about what I tell my parents. I live in the same city, but don’t see them more than once every couple of weeks, and I can usually go just as long without even talking to them. I love my parents, but those walls we’ve built up over the last 29 years are hard to get around sometimes.

But I can’t let my parents take the full blame on that one. I can also throw some of that blame onto my exes, because honestly, the only purpose for exes, is for them to be there to blame for all your current neuroses.

Now, not all my exes were self absorbed idiots who didn’t care what I thought or felt. Some of them felt the same way boyfriend does now; that I put walls up and couldn’t open up to them. But there were a few who spent all their time talking and seemingly caring only about themselves, to the point where there was little to no time for me. Dave #4 was the worst for that. For the very little actual talking we did after our first date, it was usually about him, and his life. He would tell me all about his day at work, what he wanted to do on the weekend, how he was feeling about a certain situation. And when I would try to tell him about my day, or my plans for the weekend, or how I was feeling, he would pay attention and listen for about a minute, then tune me out. So then I just stopped telling him stuff. He didn’t care anyways.

And don’t even get me started on Erik. Sure, we weren’t in a relationship, but if I had a nickel for every minute I spent listening to him go on and on and on about his life, the play he was in, the music he was listening to, the book he was reading, the trip he went on or whatever else he could think to tell me, without caring what I had to say in return, I’d be an extraordinarily rich woman.

I can tell you though (for about the millionth time) that I have found me a great boyfriend this time. I think I’ve mentioned before how he is very open and honest with me, and is always asking me about my day, and my work and what I’m thinking, He wants me to be comfortable with telling him how I’m doing. If I don’t have much to tell him, because I don’t think a story is worthy of retelling, he’s always the first to ask, “That’s it? Nothing happened today?” as if he actually wants to know what is going on in my life.

It’s hard for me to talk about these things that I feel like aren’t big deals. However, I am working on it. Keeping my mouth shut because of the fear of being shut down, is a harder habit to break than you’d think. It’s hard to be comfortable enough to share my life with someone when I couldn’t even do that well with my parents. And they were the ones who gave me this life for fuck’s sakes. It’s not the easiest thing.

I’m going to try though. I need to learn how to open up (tee hee) so that boyfriend can get in (tee hee hee) because I don’t want my stupid issues like that to come between us. I want Robert Downey Jr to come between us. Boom.

In all seriousness though, my walls are going down. I’m yelling timber. You better move. You better dance. Wait….what?! How did that get in there? And why is that song so motherfucking catchy?!

And yes, in case you were wondering, I did indeed choose the title of this blog entry based solely on this song.

Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me, cause I know you’re lying.