From Summer Fling To Heart Sting

After the heartache, the mess, and the challenges that occurred two days ago, I’m feeling the light breeze from my open windows, thinking to myself “I needed that.” Seems bizarre considering a few days ago, what I thought I needed was a therapist and a sedative. To be fair, I probably still need both.  

Rewind to one of my first weeks as a LA native. I open up an unread message in my DMs on instagram that I had been ignoring for days. 

I read “Hey there I think we had a little chat on okc about your mesmerizing eyes and smile haha How are you?”

I told him I’m not on the dating app much, and gave him my instagram. I didn’t think he would actually send a message. He created an instagram account just to talk to me, which gave me some serious serial killer vibes. 

Initially, he seemed like the type of guy that would send me a random friend request on Facebook and I’d think, “What in the no mutual friends do you want from my life?” 

Then, foolishly accept the request, only to receive daily cringy messages and maybe an unsolicited dick pic. 

He’s Israeli. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes, and a bright smile. He had been working at a summer camp in California, and was spending his final month traveling America until his flight back to Israel. 

Eventually, my judgments of him being a creepy serial killer faded. I knew that we would have a good time if we met up, so we did.

We met at the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I wasn’t nervous. I was happy to have good company in this new city. 

When I first saw him crossing the street, I wanted to take him shopping so he could buy a new wardrobe. His jeans weren’t doing it for me. However, that’s not my job. He can call Queer Eye for the Straight Guy if he wants help.

Instead, we walked up and down the outlandish crowds and buildings on Hollywood Blvd. We talked, laughed, and teased each other until the California sun inspired us to take a seat at a table in the shade. 

After 45 more minutes of fun in no sun, a man who had been sitting next to us walked over with the wrapper to his sandwich, and a nearly empty soda. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard your conversation. I just had to say, you guys have such amazing chemistry! It’s beautiful.” The stranger said to us with a smile.

That moment my friends, encapsulated our connection that day, and week to follow. However, that connection didn’t last forever.

He spent the following week traveling with his pack of Israeli friends. All the while, texting me all day, and FaceTiming with me every night. He would tell me daily how much he missed me and thought about me. I generally don’t miss people, but I pretended I did because I liked him.

He came back to LA early just to spend his final week with me at my apartment. *Insert dramatic impending doom music here* 

We had completely different ideas of how we wanted to spend our week together. I wanted to explore the city. Maybe walk to the Hollywood sign, or take a trip to the beach. I thought about going to new restaurants or a bar in Hollywood. 

He wanted to stay at the apartment all day, eat ramen in bed, and get his dick sucked. Our differences became more obvious each day.

On the fourth day, we were laying in bed, once again. 

He put down his phone and said, “Change of plans. I’m going to spend my last few days with my friend in Pomona.”

I instantly felt a rush of emotions. Old trauma of abandonment issues and unworthiness began to bubble up within. I looked over, confused. 

“Okay.” I said as I rolled over to face the window.

I couldn’t fathom having a conversation with the aching in my chest. I knew if he liked me the way he did before, he never would have wanted to leave. 

After about 45 seconds he asked “How are you feeling?”

He knew something was wrong because my mouth usually doesn’t stay quiet for that long.

“Sad.” I said, as my eyes began to tear.

I could have played it off like I didn’t care, but I didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to act like a little bitch to make him feel bad. I wanted to feel my aching heart so I could give it the space, love, and attention it was desperately searching for. 

I let myself cry. Yes, in front of him. I wasn’t about to shove my feelings down and not give myself the opportunity to heal because of some 24 year old, ugly jean wearing dude. 

I wasn’t Kim Kardashian’s ugly crying face sad. My eyes filled with tears, and in between my wavering words, I sniffled. 

“I can’t see you like this.” He picked up his phone to book an uber instead of staying one more night.  

He continued “Look, I’m just a 24 year old….” 

“This isn’t about you.” I interrupted. 

“I’m not mad at you. This is not about you. This is old shit coming up for me.” It felt good to say. 

I selfishly didn’t want him thinking he was that special. He wasn’t. We had a special connection, but he definitely was giving himself far too much credit. 

I had a line of guys out the door waiting for him to leave so they could see me. If he thought all my eggs were in his basket, he was sadly mistaken.

He did not create this feeling of unworthiness. He was the catalyst for this trapped trauma to resurface and, with my willingness, heal. 

This was not about him. This was my father leaving when I was a child. This was my first and biggest crush choosing to be with someone else. This was me, looking myself in the mirror every day as a kid thinking “You’re not good enough.”This was me, taking a knife to my body in middle school, and developing additions to cope in high school, because I wanted to escape the internal pain rather than face it and transcend the trauma.

Wasn’t expecting this to get so dark, but here we are. Don’t worry, it lightens up.

I acknowledged that it wasn’t about him and I did nothing wrong. Ever.

This is life. I am worthy of a good one. My worthiness is not dependent on the actions or feelings of others. 

I let myself feel all of the past pain, and gave it the space to exist without judgement. 

By the time the uber arrived, my tears and aches passed. 

I’ll never forget the sad look in his eyes when we hugged goodbye. I made a lighthearted joke which I can’t remember now. Then, with a smile, I turned around to leave his sight for the last time. 

We haven’t spoken since and I’m genuinely fine with it. I truly believe he was brought into my life to help me heal, and help both of us grow in profound ways. 

…But for fucks sake, I was only the second person he had ever been with romantically. I should have at least gotten a written thank you card after all I taught him, if you ask me.

Jokes aside, I didn’t expect it would end this way. I will say, when it’s all said and done, I am beyond grateful for how things played out.

Sometimes the experiences that feel bad, are the ones that bring you what you are needing the most. 

Your Girl Was Ghosted

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Your girl was ghosted. I’m talking Scooby Doo Ghosted. Like, I want to solve the God damn mystery. Although I’m pretty sure I know why, the only way to solve this entirely is to move on. However, this topic is still worth exploring. 

So, why do we ghost? I’m not going to lie, even though I was so salty about being ghosted myself, that’s not to say I didn’t do something similar to someone else the following week. The situations were vastly different though, so I still think I deserve an explanation and apology from that fuck boi. Anyways, there are many reasons we do it and I honestly believe in some cases, it is for the best, but not in mine and not in many others. 

Here’s what happened to me… I didn’t want to marry the dude. I would have been fine calling him “Thursday night” or having him in my contacts as “Netflix and fuck”. He, however, probably assumed otherwise considering the speed in which things progressed. You know how things can be as an expat. Day one swipe right, day two Netflix and chill, and by the end of the week you live together and he’s shitting with the door open. Consequently, instead of simply expressing his concerns or what he wanted, he went from Magic Mike to Houdini, and disappeared. At least that’s my assumption. What would have been ideal is not having to come up with an assumption because someone was mature enough to express himself and his needs/wants. 

Ghosting is the easy way out, but is it the right way out? In cases where there has been some type of connection developed and it moved beyond acquaintances, then ghosting is a cop out to avoid expressing yourself like a mature adult. It’s more of a mind fuck to try to figure out what happened than to hear the truth. So, in many cases it’s selfish and inconsiderate. As I said, I’m no saint, I’ve been there done that, but it’s important to do what you can to improve your own communications skills, and own up to how you feel.

More importantly, if you’re on the ghosted end of the spectrum, if they’re not mature enough to give you a response or explanation in the first place, what makes you think you’re going to get the kind of response or closure you’re looking for if you attempt to pry it out of them? It’s like trying to calm down Karen mid conversation with the manager. It would probably cause more harm than good.

You won’t always be able to get the closure you deserve. However, you are able to move forward regardless by closing that door and allowing new ones to open. So, in short, communicate instead of ghost, and don’t ever chase a ghost for answers. Thank you, next. 

Dear James Pt. 2

Dear James, 

It’s been about a month. I thought I’d be over you leaving by now. Not completely, obviously, but I didn’t think the thought of you would still bring tears to my eyes. I listened to a song about death on the back of a motorbike in the rain. My tears blended perfectly into the world you’re no longer a part of. Last week my phone ran out of storage. I went to make some more room and saw our WhatsApp conversation was taking up some of the most space. I shouldn’t have clicked on our conversation. I had to leave my friends to cry like a little bitch. You probably would have made fun of me and then followed up with wise words to make me feel better like you used to. 

I’m afraid, James. Your death made me face that I too could leave before my time. Before my dreams and desires come to fruition. Before I manifest the goals that I feel are so close, yet so far. It taught me a lot though. Be so at peace with what I’ve created, that if I joined you today, wherever the fuck you are, I’d be happy with what I’ve done. To be fair, I am happy with what I’ve done, but feel like there’s so much more I need to do. I wanted some of those moments to be with you. 

I’m reminded by you constantly. This time last year, we were hanging out every day together. It’s rainy season. Remember how we got stuck in that down pour in the middle of nowhere and we had to pull over in some shed until it passed? Where was that? Phong Nha? Ninh Binh? You would know, but I don’t think I ever will.

I’ve seen a stupid amount of things on Facebook I’ve wanted to share with you. Should I send them anyways? Would you know I’m sending them? Do you know I’m writing this now? A sign would be pretty dope. You used to make fun of me for that kind of “slang”. Did you know that my catchphrase is “tragic” and all my friends know it? They don’t all know it’s because of you. 

I see the tchotchke you gave me every day. It hasn’t left my bedside table since I got it. That was so selfless of you. I wish I told you how much that meant to me. I have a gift I was planning to give you next time you visited. What should I do with it now? 

Now that you’re gone, I’m stuck with a lot of questions that can’t be answered. I’m forced to think more about the meaning of this thing called life, and to be honest, I don’t know what to make of it anymore. Life was better with you in it. I guess that’s the goal. To leave life making the world better having been a part of it. Rest in Paradise, James. 

The Devil Wears Lululemon

Whatever we’re wearing, the devil wears too. There’s a devil out there that’s created by you! 

Hold back the tears, and don’t be sad. Being a devil doesn’t have to be bad.

The reason the devil is something you fear, is because you’ve pushed away a part of you that is so dear. 

Don’t worry if you are a bit confused, because I still have some more explaining to do.

I will show you an example that will make things clear, and prove that the devil doesn’t have to stay here…

I was feeling as single as a dollar bill, and felt a huge void that I needed to fill.

“Why am I still so down and alone, why can’t I find true love with a hot guy to bone?”

The Devil was at it again in my mind, giving me lots of problems to find.

“Something must be wrong with me, I can’t find a man. what am I doing wrong, I don’t  understand!”

I thought once I was loved I would feel complete, and there was something within me I’d first have to defeat.

Once again the devil was back to work, and I was being driven completely berserk! 

Nothing is broken or needs to be defeated, when I accept the darkest parts of me, I’ll realize I’ve always been completed.

I was rejecting the part of me that felt unloved and undesired, rather than asking that part of me what it required.

All it was seeking was self acceptance and compassion. Was I listening to some devil just because I liked her fashion?

When you push away a part of you that wants to be accepted, you create a large void and you will feel rejected.

It feels like rejection because that’s what it is. The devil feeds off that shit and comes across as a wiz. 

Don’t feed the Devil whether it wears sweats or shoes by Kanye West. Give the true you some love because you deserve the very best. 

Emotionally Unavailable Man Magnet

Have you ever wondered why you’re in another situationship/relationship/fling with a guy who has the maturity or emotional intelligence of a fetus? Or, perhaps you continue to date someone who is controlling or manipulative. Whatever the case may be, I can relate when it comes to attracting a similar type of person. I’d like to introduce myself. Hello, I’m Emotionally Unavailable Man Magnet.

Currently, my crush is emotionally unavailable for a plethora of reasons, but I think the fact that he has a girlfriend is a good place to start. My last crush had just gotten out of a 6 year relationship with the love of his life who left him for another girl. I think it’s safe to say he had some kinks to iron out. I could go on for eons but you get the point.

A few months ago, I was talking to a fellow human being, (I was going to say friend, but that would have been a lie.) when he unexpectedly read me faster than Harry Potter back in 1998. I felt naked, and although I’m pretty sure I literally was at the time, I’m speaking figuratively. 

Why? Well, somehow we got on the topic of relationships. After he spoke of his past love/ trainreck of an ex fiancé back when he was 18, I mentioned how I’d never been in love. That’s when the reading glasses came on. He took a drag of his cigarette from my bedroom porch before he spoke.

“You probably started to fall for someone back when you were like 15, and before anything could actually happen, he hurt you, and now you never let yourself go that far because you don’t want to get hurt again.” I sat at the edge of my bed with my mouth wide open. He smirked like he just spoiled the ending of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince without my consent. 

Instantly, my mind was flooded with thoughts and memories that made my heart ache. I began to ruminate about the boy I liked when I was 15, and how that became the catalyst for self harm and a suicide attempt. I also questioned if that connection could possibly still be affecting me over a decade later. To be honest, it wouldn’t have been the first time I asked myself that. I started to regret swiping right on this dude that was now pouring himself another drink while I sat in a state of inner turmoil. 

I began to ask myself, is the reason I crush on emotionally unavailable men because I unconsciously feel safer from harm? Is that why I tend to attract those experiences? Could going down this rabbit hole solve anything? The answer to the latter is possibly, but why not tell myself a new story instead? Maybe that was true, but that was then and this is now. Now, I don’t need a magic potion or wand to start shifting my perspective on life and love. It won’t be as easy as saying “Wingardiujm Leviosa!” but acknowledging that it is safe for me to be open to love, and more importantly, paying attention to my passions and projects rather than penis, will steer me in the right direction.

It’s time to tell ourselves the stories we want to read. I’m throwing away that old emotionally unavailable man magnet tale. I am a magnet for personal development and opportunities for positive change. I’d like to reintroduce myself. Hello, I’m Brooke Lyn Landon, and I’m a magnet for forward movement, and continuously creating a life of fulfillment.

My Three Biggest Insecurities

I think it’s safe to say, having insecurities is something we can all relate to. I don’t know why I feel so inclined to talk about my biggest insecurities, but I have a feeling this will make people laugh, and by the end, leave you feeling inspired. Not to mention, I’ll roast the shit out of myself, and who wouldn’t want to hear that? Without further ado, here are my three biggest insecurities.

Let’s start with my hair. Rather than my hair, I should say lack thereof. It’s so damn thin, I’m one hair pull away from looking like Danny DeVito. I brush my hair as carefully as Gollum polishing off his precious ring to avoid losing a single strand. Sometimes, I’m convinced I’m watching that scene in The Lord of The Rings when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning.

However, looking back, I remember one of my biggest insecurities growing up was my hair itself. I hated the way it looked, and straitened it for so many years that most people had no idea what my real hair actually looked like. Now, I love my Jew curls, and wish I could have seen the beauty in it then. I also wish I could see more of the beauty in whatever left of it I have now.

Next, we have my back. Sounds strange in theory, but it’s not when I’m walking in front of you, now looking like a mix between Danny DeVito and Jessica Simpson… During her pregnancy. There’s this tiny accumulation of fat in my mid to upper back that makes it seem as though I’m about to sprout wings. If I’m not careful, I’ll be able to fly myself back to the US for the holidays. At least I’d save some money. Maybe I’m being a little extra with that statement. I’m not waddling around like Eric Cartman right after Halloween or anything. It’s just not cute, and the thought of exposing my back in a bikini makes my wings shudder from nerves.

Yet, who’s to say it’s not cute? I remember seeing two girls in bikinis at a river while I was with a guy I had spent the last few weeks traveling with. One of the girls looked like she was just on the cover of Vogue Magazine. I said “Damn, look at her body!” He asked who I was referring too, and responded to my answer with “I like her friends body better.” To her side, was a girl who had a little belly, curves, and a relatable back roll. Nothing wrong with any of that, but I wasn’t expecting him to have that response while standing next to such a bombshell. He had little to no interest in miss wingless Vogue Cover Girl.

Lastly, (not actually last, but for the sake of time it is.) we have my mouth. Not my literal mouth. People pay to have lips as fat as mine. I’m taking about my inability to shut the fuck up sometimes. If I get excited or nervous, I’ll talk your ear off. Filters no longer exist and I’ll be sounding like an auctioneer in no time.

To be honest though, that’s an insecurity I’ve been embracing. Yes, at times it can get a bit out of control, but it’s a gift. I have the gift of gab, and I’d rather have to learn to reel it in sometimes, than not have such a gift at all.

All of those things we call insecurities now, will either continue, or be replaced with the next part of us that we choose to negativity focus on. That is, until we decide throw our middle fingers up and say fuck what the world has programmed us to accept about ourselves. All of what we call “shortcomings” are illusions and become accomplishments once we overcome them. It’s all a gift.

There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with you. The insecurities we perceive were created by our past because we didn’t know any better at the time, and that’s okay. You’re not alone. Now, we know better. So lets start rewriting our stories.

Heartbroken on Valentine’s Day

Okay, maybe heartbroken is a little extreme. I certainly wasn’t heartbroken on Valentine’s Day. However, that day my heart did plummet to the bottom of my stomach. So much so that when it dropped, it came with an explosion of suppressed wounds and triggers that I certainly wasn’t expecting. All of that took place the moment I heard the sound of my friend say several words.

I met my friend through a dating app in the summer of 2018. You can probably guess where this is heading…It turned into a beautiful friendship along with one of the most unnecessarily complex “situationships” I’ve been in. When he moved the country, I moved on like Hugh Hefner. Still, we remained good friends and I did not look at him as more than that.

Look, I’d be the first one to admit a committed relationship would never work between us. He was and still is one of my closest friends, but we are polar opposites in every sense of the word. If we starting dating seriously, it would be like Kim Kardashian and that basketball player that lasted a whopping 3 months before they filed for divorce. Not compatible romantically long term. Anyways, you get the point, so let me get back to mine.

The moment I saw his face on my phone however, I thought “Damn, he’s hot.” but snapped out of it to catch up on life. Then, he said what I knew would only be a matter of time before I heard. “I started dating someone.”

I kept a smile on my face while I felt my heart ache. The hardest part was that I never expected I’d feel that way about him anymore. I didn’t think such news from him would eradicate every trace of dopamine in my brain. I thought I had moved on. Maybe I did to a certain extent, but my body mind and soul were sure to let me know I still had old wounds to face and heal.

Everything he said after that just amplified my pain. We got on the topic of sex which was a recipe for disaster. He talked about how he’s having some of the best sex of his life with her because she got him to do what I had been wanting him to do the whole time we were together. So, it seems like he decided to wait until he left to go from Mr. Vanilla to Christian Grey.

I’d like to think the reason after I hung up and felt like absolute shit had a lot to do with having only accumulated five hours of sleep over the last several nights. I want to believe it was PMS or mercury in retrograde or any other excuse in the book. That said, regardless of whether it’s one of those things or not, those feelings were in me. These thoughts and feelings that came up through the experience needed to be addressed in order to move forward and become stronger and more understanding of where I am and what I need.

It all boiled down to the limiting belief that we all have in one aspect of our lives or another. “I’m not good enough.“ It was that underlying unworthiness that came from him never having asked me to be his girlfriend. It was that subconscious doubt I’d never find the one for me. It was a mix of so many things that were just waiting for the right moment to bubble up into my consciousness so I could reflect and hopefully heal some old limiting beliefs. If only there was a way I could have programmed that episode on a day other than Valentine’s Day.

Am I now some love guru that has healed and doesn’t overthink when a guy doesn’t text her back within 24 hours? Absofuckinglutely not. However, although I can’t eloquently articulate why, I do somehow feel better having processed those feelings that came up as a result of talking to him. I’ve come to learn that the situations we initially feel some resentment for, are the ones that deserve our gratitude and attention most.

My Life is a Fucking Shit Show, but I’m Still Happy

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I tell it like it is. My life is a fucking shit show, but I love it.

It only makes sense to start off with some of the reasons why my life is a fucking shit show. My internal clock has been fucked for the past two months. I average about 4 hours of interrupted sleep every night. I can guarantee both of my parents will call me within the next few days about their concerns on the matter. My mom might even book a flight to Vietnam in the hopes she’d miraculously be able to cure my sleeping problems by her mere motherly presence. It’s like Edward Cullen from twilight bit me, and now I never need to sleep to survive. I wish the reason I can’t sleep was because that stud bit me though.

It also looks like I ate my old self from all of the bahn mi and fried rice. I swear, all of the meals here are basically “Would you like some food with that oily, greasy, fattening  fried-ness?” I’m going to town anyways, often resembling that Telly Tubby character with a vacuum nose that sucks up food with the intensity and speed of Robert Downey Jr. taking a line back in 1987.

Did I mention I barely drink water? I’m surprised I’m not looking like SpongeBob in the episode where he goes on land and almost dies from drying up. PS I woke up today with tonsillitis and the penicillin makes me feel like a 90 year old cat woman, but instead of cats, I have a sore throat.

Now, let’s get into being in Vietnam. People shoot snot rockets in the middle of the road more nonchalantly than a head nod. The air is as polluted as the mind of my friends psychotic ex boyfriend. Every time you cross the road you feel like you’re in the video game frogger and you are playing the hardest level on your last life.

Believe it or not, I love my life and where I am regardless of those situations. I’m even making changes to create a better life, and to love myself even more. I just signed a lease to have a home base in Vietnam. I’m with friends who I love, and they don’t shoot snot rockets in the road. I started working out again and got a gym membership. Working on the sleep and water, but I think it will change in time. I also started the job of my dreams, although I almost can’t even call it a job. I literally get paid to travel the world and make friends.

All that said, life in general is always a fucking shit show. There will always be shit, but it’s what you make of it. And I’m making me a bomb ass fucking shit show, and it keeps getting better. 

I’m Such a Fucking Hoe, I Love it

Let me get straight into it. I’m such a fucking hoe, I love it. Now, I’m saying that partly because it’s based off of a song, and it’s a banger after a couple drinks. I’m also saying that because it’s kind of true.

Let me clarify. I’m not hooking up with a new boy toy every day. I still have standards. Plus, I’m not about to chase people down. I’m not desperate. That said, if the opportunity arises, yolo!

Yeah, I’d like a relationship, but I’m not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs with cobwebs between my legs waiting until it happens. I’m going to live my best life, and see what’s out there in the meantime.

I feel like this topic is so taboo. Exploring your sensuality has been made out to seem like you’re the next Charlie Sheen. Really, it’s a way to grow and learn more about yourself when done for the sake of exploration and enjoyment, and not just for a release or to fill a void.

It’s not always enjoyable. Last month, bless his heart, I was with a guy who was as vanilla as vanilla extract. Another time, someone talked a big game. Then, it was so underwhelming, the game he talked about ended up being more like elementary school baseball.

However, I’ve also been pleasantly surprised. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I’ve learned more about what I’d like in a future partner, and shared great memories. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those guys is reading this now.

Side note: Though there’s no shame in being hoeish, I still feel the need to clarify that I’m not quite as hoeish as I’m making myself out to be right now. I think “free spirited” and “open minded” is a more accurate description. However, I’m such a fucking hoe, I love it, has a ring to it, and it’s not wrong. Anyways, let’s get back to it.

Regardless of whether you walk away with a glow and pep in your step, or an eye roll and a shrug, you’re always learning more about what you want and what you don’t want. Not just sexually, but also what you want in a person, partner, and yourself. Don’t be afraid to explore your sensuality. If you’re not into that, and want to wait for your future partner, that’s cool too. If you want to be a fucking hoe, I love it.

PS BE SAFE!

There Are Plenty Of Fish In The Sea But How Do I Find Mine?

Between living in a hostel, going out, and dating apps, there are no shortage of fish for me to meet in the sea I’m swimming in. Yet, all of these years and experiences has only kept me saying “Just keep swimming”  like Dory from Finding Nemo. Only at least Dory wouldn’t remember boring dates or unmet unrealistic expectations.

I’m not one of those thirsty girls trying to get wifed up and start a family… Although dual citizenship sounds pretty nice. I’m just ready for love, and want to be with someone who’s down to be goofy, and spend time with me long term-ish. Is that too much to ask?

I find myself asking how I’ll ever find my fish when I’ve done all I can think of on my part. I go out on dates, meet countless new people a week, and put myself out there on the daily. Still, 9 out of 10 times it’s fun, yet as I walk away I internally hear Ariana Grande’s song “Thank You, Next” play in my head.

That’s not to say I’m not enjoying the single life. I think it’s healthy to like where you are, but still want more for yourself. So, the question remains. How do I find my fish?

The answer is I’ll never find it. It will find me. I know that sounds just about as cliché as a basic bitch wall hanging that says “Live, Laugh, Love” but it’s true. There’s a natural unfolding that takes place when you replace searching with being.

I’d be lying if I said my life didn’t occasionally turn into a game of where’s Waldo, and by Waldo I mean my future man. It’s not always easy when you want something and it’s not showing up. Yet, I have confidence that the best has yet to come for me and my love life. In the meantime, I’ll keep living it up, and appreciate the single life. When the time is right, my fish will appear, so long as I just keep swimming.