Not Quite 30

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Sorry. I blog about butter one day, and abortions the next. I just felt this was important.

A woman is blogging anonymously about her decision to have an abortion here: http://myabortion.tumblr.com/

Know why she’s doing it? Because when she found out she was pregnant, she searched the internet for a blog detailing some reasonable, personal experience that doesn’t pretend that abortion either doesn’t exist, or is the WORST THING EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

When she couldn’t find one, she started her own.

I would leave her a comment on her blog, but she doesn’t seem to have that option. I’m guessing that’s because hundreds of vitriolic posters would leave her messages telling her to change her mind if she did. So, I’m just going to point out that if I could leave her a comment, this is what I’d say:

It’s not the worst thing in the world. And it is fucked up that Googling “abortion blog” brings up nothing but scare propaganda and places for grieving parents to share the memories of their dead children. Where are the resources for capable, level-headed young women who have made the decision not to keep a baby, and just want someone to give it to them straight what exactly they’re about to be going through?  How come they have to be made to feel like they’re heartless witches if they don’t treat the Big A like a horrific trauma that will inevitably make you feel like throwing yourself off a bridge?

So, Anonymous Blogger. Here’s a little bit of what you can expect:

- At five weeks, your boobs are going to start to hurt like nobody’s business.

- At six weeks, you’re going to have to severely embarrass yourself by explaining to your boss that you’ll be missing work for a “surgical procedure,” the details of which you can’t get in to. Get ready for everyone to immediately assume you’re having your boobs done.

- When you get nauseated, eat ginger snaps. They help.

- Be grateful for the Xanax they give you at the doctor’s. You aren’t going to mind the whole experience nearly as much as you think you will.

- Oh, except for those cramps when they dilate your cervix. That SUCKS.

- But they’re over quickly. Then, if you’re like me, you giggle through the rest of it.

- Especially if the nurse on duty happens to be a girl you used to hate in elementary school, because she was your best friend’s Other Best Friend, and is on your mental shortlist of “people I would most NOT want to know I was getting an abortion.”

- Eat Italian food afterwards. The pasta is comforting.

- Most of all, don’t feel guilty for not feeling more guilty.

 
That’s the nickname for my new favorite comedy “Tropic Thunder”. Karen and The Artist and I saw it together on Friday night and even sitting in the very 1st row of seats in the theater we still all absolutely loved it. If you haven’t seen this movie go see it IMMEDIATELY. And then go on imdb.com after and read the “memorable quotes” so you can laugh out loud all over again.

Also, we had dinner at Breadbar in the Century City mall which was very good. Especially if you love bread and carbs which you all KNOW you do

 
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here on the blog. I guess that’s what happens when you finally find yourself in a drama-free relationship. Life just rolls along so smoothly and pleasantly that all those funny and interesting dating stories that used to keep your friends riveted for hours on end are no longer part of the equation. And trust me, I am NOT complaining.

For the most part, everything so far with The Artist has been just wonderful. He still makes me a coffee just the way I like it every morning (this morning I even got it in bed!), and he’s still sweet and flexible and easy-going and affectionate. Sunday we had our first chillaxing day so instead of running around like a chicken with ADD like I always do, I actually vegged out on the couch with him for 9 hours watching the Olympics, napping and eating take out. Heavenly.

At the same time, I am definitely experiencing some growing pains with all of this. It’s just been just such a long time since I’ve liked someone this much, that I forgot about those kind of weird awkward moments new couples can have when they’re in a situation where they just don’t quite know how to relate to each other yet. For example, this past Sunday some friends and I went to watch The Artist participate in a cycling race. Well afterwards we’re all standing around and my friend A and I wanted to go run an errand together. So I tell The Artist that I’ll be back over at his place around 2:00 and then he’s like “Okay.” And then I’m standing there like, waiting for some kind of hug or kiss goodbye, or SOMETHING. And finally after an awkward moment of standing around I’m like, “Okay, um bye then” and walk off without the proper goodbye that I’m used to. Well of course I was just mortified by how uncomfortable I had just been (and I think it’s one of those things where you just had to be there) and thank god A was with me to reel me back in and remind me that The Artist and I have only been dating for 6 weeks and that we would still have some awkward moments while we learned how to read and relate to each other. She also reminded me that The Artist had been straddling his bike and that he had kissed me hello in front of her but that he couldn’t exactly stand up and kiss me goodbye if I wasn’t standing right next to him.

Sure enough when I got to him place later that day he was just as warm and affectionate as he always is and I realized that A was right and that I’m just going through the growing pains of a new relationship (plus I’m self-admittedly a little neurotic and read way too much into stuff like a lot of girls).

What about you guys? Did you have growing pains in your relationships?

Being married means having impassioned discussions about topics so trivial that as you’re having them, you listen to yourself and sort of can’t believe you’re not living in some surreal Twilight Zone, a world in which Other You cares about things that the Real You never would.

A few days ago, I went to the market to stock up on the essentials, plus some everyday baking ingredients we were out of, such as butter and olive oil. We run through butter pretty quickly, so I bought a jumbo box of the stuff that has the stag on the front of it.

That night, Cash was rooting through the fridge for a snack. He pulled out the box of butter and held it aloft between thumb and forefinger, staring at me accusingly. This is the actual conversation that followed.

CASH:    Why did you buy unsalted butter?

ME: I always buy unsalted butter. What’s the problem with unsalted butter?

CASH: I hate unsalted butter. It tastes like ass!

ME: No, it doesn’t. It tastes like butter, without salt. Salted butter is just butter with salt added to it.

CASH: Well, I don’t like it. Why would you buy unsalted butter in the first place?

ME: Because my cooking recipes call for unsalted butter, so that later I can add salt to taste. Why are we even having this conversation? I always buy unsalted butter.

CASH:  No you don’t. I hate unsalted butter.

ME: Yes I do. And you never had a problem with it up until now, so obviously you like unsalted butter better than you think you do.

CASH: (glaring at me) You know, it’s funny, because I JUST had a conversation about this topic with Andy. And we were talking about our wives, and he was complaining that his wife always buys unsalted butter. And I said you DIDN’T.

ME: You and Andy had a conversation about butter?

CASH: I STUCK UP FOR YOU.

ME: So that’s what this is about.

CASH: I just don’t like unsalted butter. It tastes BAD on my TOAST.

ME: Fine! I will go to the market tomorrow and exchange the unsalted butter for the salted butter, okay?

CASH: (hurling the butter back into the butter tray) No. It’s fine. (stomps out of the room, grumbling.)

ME: FOR GOD’S SAKE, MAN, IT’S JUST BUTTER.

Of course, it wasn’t just butter. It was a betrayal. Cash had stood up for me to his friend, effectively placing hos before bros. He had staked his reputation on the fact that, while other people’s wives might commit the cardinal sin of purchasing foodstuffs that their husbands disliked, his wife knew him well enough that she would never commit such an egregious error. And then I had gone and proved him wrong. I had ground the sanctity of our shared refrigerator into dust under the heel of my shoe. Now he had lost face.

Mea culpa, honey.

I have a small bag of crazy. It’s no secret and I’m not ashamed of it. After all, I’m only human, and a girl, so I am subject to small bouts of neurotic here and there. Luckily I have great friends that I can call on when my small bag of crazy starts expanding in size.

I spent last night at The Artist’s and this morning when I awoke, The Artist made an espresso for me, surprising me with a splash of soymilk which he had bought and was keeping in his fridge just for me since I’m lactose intolerant. It was such a simple, sweet gesture, and just a small demonstration of how thoughtful he can be.

The irony is that just two nights before, and unbeknownst to The Artist, I almost called this whole thing off entirely. See, on Saturday night, The Artist and I hooked up for the first time. After only 3 weeks of dating, that’s pretty much record time for me. I tend to date people for 3 MONTHS before getting that close with them. But after 3 weeks of hanging out almost every night with The Artist, and 3 weeks of crazy making out, I thought I was ready for that next step.

I guess maybe I wasn’t as ready as I thought because the next night when we got together again to move him into his new place, I was looking for any sign of weirdness from him to indicate that now that we had slept together, I was about to get dumped. Now granted, there had been absolutely no weirdness the next morning, and he called during the day to chat and to check in (I was taking care of his doggies while his friend G helped him move). But when I went to his place Sunday night to eat dinner and help him unpack and move in… well let’s just say that if you look hard enough for anything, you’re sure enough to find it, and I left The Artists’s Sunday night convinced that I had made a huge mistake. I was SURE that he was regretting his decision to even get involved with me and was now figuring out how to get out of it. After all, even though I went over there to help him finish a whole day of moving apartments, wasn’t he focusing TOO much on moving in that night? Was it me or was he being less affectionate than usual? Why is he acting like last night never happened? Was he looking at me like I had boogies hanging out of my nose and wart on my chin or was that my imagination? When he asked me at 9:30 if I had to get going soon, why was he all of a sudden kicking me out so early? “He’s so nice he’s acting weird with me so that I will break things off with him and then he doesn’t have to be the bad guy” I kept thinking to myself. I drove away and burst into tears convinced that I’d been had by one helluva player.

I got home and my best friend M consoled me. She was both sympathetic but also played Devil’s advocate, knowing that I have a tendency to over-react sometimes when I start feeling vulnerable. I went to bed feeling slightly better but still convinced that The Artist’s “weird behavior” was an indication that this wasn’t what I thought it was. Cheap cheap cheap, I am so cheap I thought to myself over and over again.

The next day, as usual, The Artist IM’d me as soon as I got to work. And as usual, IM’d me all day long. It made me feel a little better about things, but I had gotten myself so worked up convincing myself that I was going to get blown off, that I was wondering why he was putting up such a front. Then sure enough! At the end of the day, my suspicions were confirmed. The Artist left work without asking me what I was doing later that night, which is VERY unusual. “That’s it. I’m being dumped. I’m totally being dumped. He’s just figuring out how to tell me.” The hurricane inside of my head continued to rage on my emotions. I went to a movie that night but couldn’t concentrate (partly because I was too busy being neurotic, and partly because it was “Step Brothers” which totally sucked). Even if we don’t hang out, The Artist always texts me something in the evening. “Oh god oh god, we hooked up and it made him miss his ex and now he’s regretting it so he’s just avoiding everything.”

I left that movie, went home, ate some dinner, and having whipped myself into a complete frenzy, picked up my phone to call The Artist and tell him that this whole thing just wasn’t for me and that my gut was telling me that we shouldn’t see each other any more. Thankfully, knowing myself well enough to know that I can be over-sensitive, especially when sleep-deprived, I called Karen instead. Karen, my angel, miracle worker, Mother Theresa flat out called me on my crazy impulsiveness. “You have to give it a couple of days and see. Don’t call him! You’re being impulsive. You thought that everything would be weird after you hooked up and now you’re making it a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Just then I got two texts from The Artist, “You up? I’m bored. And sleepy” “I didn’t do anything bored or productive tonight ”

I shared the texts with Karen. “Call him right now!” she said. So I did. And guess what. As usual, he sounded so happy to hear from me. As usual, we had a great conversation and made each other laugh. As usual, there was NO weirdness whatsoever. “Good night Lauren,” he said so sweetly as I hung up the phone. All of my fears, worries, neurosis, were immediately erased as I realized that everything had been in my head. Oh my god, I thought to myself, I was THIS close to ruining everything because of my small bag of crazy had a growth spurt.

The next morning, as always, The Artist IM’d me first thing. And as usual, at the end of the day, IM’d me to see if we could hang out that night. I had plans (also as usual) but agreed to see him later to watch a movie. We cuddled up on the couch with the doggies watching a movie and I spent the night at his place with the 2nd time being better than the 1st for the pure fact that I felt safe and comfortable and adored. When we got up this morning there was no weirdness but for the fact that I was self-conscious about my hair sticking out in every direction like Robespierre. We went outside with our espressos and watched the doggies run around the yard with his arm around my waist. Later when it was time to leave for work he kissed me goodbye, looked me in the eye and said, “I’ll talk to you later”…and I knew he meant it.

Okay, so I haven’t posted about married life in, like, forever, and mostly that’s because Cash reads this blog, and really, what’s the fun in divulging juicy details about your spouse if they discover you did it twenty minutes later and can then pester you with nitpicky instant messages? Lauren has the added benefit of *most* guys she blogs about not actually knowing that she has a blog in the first place–and I say most, not all, because I know a few times, girl has had to self-edit to preserve the egos of potential love interests. Next time around, we are going with COMPLETE ANONYMITY, people.

But I don’t want to give the impression that life isn’t interesting right now, because it is. Kind of frantically interesting. The jobless thing…well…it happened. I hate it, but I’m weathering the storm and trying to be patient, all the while bugging everyone I have ever known to hire me, sheerly out of pity. I don’t mind a pity job. I will totally take one. I’m applying for assistant positions, for God’s sake. I have no pride.

On a different topic, we’ve been looking at all these houses.

We’ve been house shopping for what feels like years. The search has gradually been refined as we studied the market and figured out what we absolutely needed to have, and what we were willing to give up. We currently live in West Los Angeles, and for five years we have rented a somewhat crappy apartment in an otherwise fantastic neighborhood. Centrally located to major freeways, green and grassy, low-traffic, close to both sets of parents, a manageable drive to anywhere inside the thirty mile zone. In addition, we have some great neighbors, the apartment complex is small and management is off-site, and there is always parking. Giving up any one of these aspects would be very difficult. Basically we wanted to keep all of them as housing requirements, while also adding square footage, central air and a backyard–all without feeling like we were being totally ripped off by the overinflated bubble that is the Los Angeles housing market.

Guess what? This is impossible.

So we narrowed it down to somewhere within the southern portion of the San Fernando Valley, and lowered our standards. Even so, there are still hundreds upon hundreds of available homes–the Sunday open house tour can be overwhelming. Fortunately we have a secret weapon in our extremely affable and enthusiatic realtor, JL. JL’s major problem is that he is much too honest for his job. He can’t help blurting out an honest opinion if he hates a house, and that honesty has been an invaluable weapon for us. JL has been shephering us around the valley almost every Sunday afternoon. In a future post, I will run down a list of interesting things you learn while doing the open house circuit, including the fact that after awhile, you can’t visit someone’s home in real life without becoming bizarrely interested in how new someone’s dishwasher is and how much they might have paid for it.

Thanks to JL, and to Cash’s obsession with sites like Trulia and Redfin, we looked at what felt like every house for sale between the 405 and Universal Studios.  Trudge in, put on the booties, roam around, trudge back out. One house fading into another. Private sellers seemed like the way to go–short sales are giants pains in the ass, while foreclosures are almost invariably falling apart crap heaps or lack something essential like, say, a kitchen.

We did find a couple of gems. The first was a four bedroom on the border of Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys. Close to the freeway, beautifully landscaped, cozy and homey. Best of all, it had an east coast-style, above-ground pool and a jacuzzi in the backyard. It was slightly overpriced at $599,000, so we put in a lowball offer for $500,000. We were willing to be countered up another $50,000, but we never got the chance. The owners rejected the offer outright, despite the fact that the house had been on the market for months. That was back in spring, and guess what? The house is still on the market. Assholes.

Discouraged, we kept looking. Within a short period of time we were glad we did. Housing prices have continued to drop in this awful market, and as usual, the only people benefitting from this crashing economy are first-time home buyers like us who are also lucky enough to have the credit and financial history to pre-quality for a decent loan. After the Van Nuys setback, Cash and I put our game-faces on. We became hyperfocused on finding the right home. We became unable to pass by an Open House sign without following it. We explored new neighborhoods. We dragged poor JL out at every opportunity, even if it was just for an hour on a Sunday evening.

And we did find some good places. The best of the lot was a foreclosure on the border of Studio City listed for the comparatively rock bottom price of $509,000. We were expecting nastiness, especially considering how nice the neighborhood was (crappy houses in nice neighborhoods are almost always overpriced), but to our surprise, it was totally cute. The former owner had spent a ton to update the bathrooms and kitchen. It had a backyard with fruit trees in it. It had, as they call it in homeowner speak, “good bones.” We walked through in silence, then walked back outside. Cash, JL and I looked at the house in silence.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

We put in an offer the next day. The agents working for the bank selling the house icily informed us that they already had a pile of offers on the table and were currently sorting through them all.  They had priced the house at way under value in an effort to get it off the books as quickly as possible, knowing they would be deluged with offers. Fair enough, we decided. We’d make it worth their while. We made an offer at $20k above asking price. You might think that’s crazy, in this market–but when you look at comparables in that same neighborhood, they run $700k, $800k and higher, so it made sense to come in strong at $540,000 with $10k back in closing credits.

Anyway, weeks went by and we never heard anything back. JL’s calls to the agent were ignored. We decided not to wait around, and continued the search. A week later we found another promising house in Sherman Oaks, competitively priced. We tried to put in an offer, but were told they wouldn’t be accepted until the end of that week.

As it happened, the end of that week, we were leaving on vacation. After some discussion, we filled out the official offer and sent it over to JL to submit. I actually wasn’t aware that when we left town, JL had decided to hold off submitting the offer for a couple more days.

It paid off. While in Hawaii, we got an email from JL titled, “OMG.” The agents on the foreclosure had come back to JL, saying we were their first choice of buyer. A few days later, they’d sent over a contract to sign.  After some haggling (completely unsuccessful–word to the wary: banks fielding offers from multiple buyers have no incentive to meet any of your demands!), and some last minute hand-wringing as we waited for the bank to sign off on the contract, they finally did. And we opened escrow last Friday.

Now, it’s a whole new world of panic! Inspections! Appraisals! Homeowners insurance! Titles! Beehives in the electrical panel! The niggling fear that the house has something horribly wrong with it and we were completely duped! Tomorrow is the major inspection, after which we will understand exactly what kind of work this house needs and what we are getting ourselves into. Until then, high hopes!

I think it must be a sign of my encroaching old age that I am getting more and more freaked out by public bathrooms. I used to consciously breathe through my mouth while I was inside one because I was afraid of smelling the bodily fumes of strangers. Now? I mouth-breathe without even realizing I’m doing it.
I try not to think about who was in there last, or why. It’s hard to decide what gives me the willies more: listening to a stranger pee in the stall next to me,  or seeing someone come out of the single bathroom I’m about to walk into, and having to think about the fact that their ass was just parked on the same toilet seat that mine is about to touch.

It’s getting ridiculous. Last week I had to change my tampon in a public restroom on a beach in Hawaii, and I nearly hyperventilated the entire time. And Cash still teases me about the time I came home from work, indignant because I’d gone in for a pee break following lunch with a co-worker, and she audibly pooped while in the stall right next to mine. It was just…a breach of trust, you know? I didn’t even know her that well! She could have waited until I left! Why would someone do that?

I have a friend who is the biggest germaphobe I’ve ever met. She flushes public toilets with her foot. I used to think she was crazy. Now I wonder if she’s on to something. She hardly ever gets sick. Meanwhile, I’m probably a boiling hive of public ass germs.

I spent a lot of time with The Artist this weekend. In fact, we saw each other on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and we had so much fun. We ended the weekend by seeing Sharon Jones/Feist at the Hollywood Bowl, picnicking and drinking wine under the stars. I love every minute that The Artist and I spend together and I feel like we’re getting closer although I’m trying to keep some distance and not let things move ahead too fast since even now, I’m still not 100% sure where things are going. And that’s not to say that he is even remotely sketchy or evasive in his behavior. Quite the opposite. Since our first date The Artist has been consistent, reliable and sweet. Still, I’m not one to assume that I’ve landed in a committed monogamous relationship until it’s been made pretty clear.

I’m enjoying it so much and am looking forward to seeing where it goes. And the best part is that I got an email from the Dr. over the weekend. He said that even though we’re not going to be dating, he would still like to hang out here and there which is GREAT because I do enjoy his company so much so perhaps you CAN have your cake and eat it to.

Now the only thing I have to worry about is Disaster. Disaster and I talked on Sunday morning and he let me know that he could tell that I was dating someone since my “behavior had changed.” Yes it’s true now that I am spending such a majority of my time with The Artist, I just haven’t had time for Disaster with whom I’m maintaining a friendship. It’s hard because my attitude towards any hurt feelings should be to not worry about it whatsoever, but I do love him as a friend and care about his feelings and do feel bad that he’s feeling neglected. At the same time, I have someone in my life who I like and care about and for the first time in 3 years I have no interest in prioritizing Disaster.

In some ways it’s the best feeling in the world for me to feel like I’ve finally found someone who I’m CRAZY about, but in other ways it feels VERY weird to be closing the door on something that’s been part of my life for SO long. I mean, even if you get gangrene in one of your limbs and it’s infected and going to make you sick, it’s still hard to cut off that limb and see it gone forever.

Only time will show what happens to my friendship with Disaster, if anything if I continue things with The Artist. Right now I’m trying to just focus on the present and enjoy every moment that comes my way.

I realized something about myself today. I can be capable of great selfishness. It’s a bitter pill to swallow since I consider myself to be a good person, but I realized that I was taking advantage of the Dr. because I was afraid.

All this time that I’ve been dating The Artist, everything has seemed too good to be true. Especially because the last time I felt this way about someone and they had the same feelings as me, it ended in well…Disaster. Even though Disaster loves me to death, and I do believe that as he says, he always will, he was never able to fully commit to being together with me. It created a 4 year on/off relationship filled with turmoil where I was constantly questioning whether or not I was with the right person. Obviously he was NOT the right person, but it was hard to see that while I was in the middle of it all.

Now that I’m dating someone again who is just as in it as I am, it’s scared me. Because I can’t trust that it’s not going to just fall out underneath me the way it did with Disaster. And because it’s always so hard to be vulnerable. To let someone get as close as they can and have them possibly decide once they get there that your flaws are just too big for them to take on. But what I realized is that just because I have this trust issue, it doesn’t mean that I can’t take a leap of faith with The Artist. And it also doesn’t mean that I have a right to keep the Dr. around as a plan B in case things don’t work out.

And that’s not to say that I don’t care about the Dr. I do. And I enjoy his company, and he’s funny, and he’s sweet. But I already know that I’d always feel like something’s missing with him. I think that a blog’s worth of dating speaks to myself having enough experience to know that by now.  And I also know that as long as I feel this way about The Artist, and if he feels about me the way that he seems to, then it’s not fair to have the Dr. around. As the old saying goes, three’s a crowd.

And most importantly, it’s just not fair for me to commit lukewarmly (is that a word?) to seeing the Dr. here and there just in case things don’t work out with The Artist.  True love is not “just in case.”  So, with many apologies, I emailed the Dr. and told him that he was right. And that if we are going to hang out, then it should be if and when it’s just me and him. I don’t even know if he’ll respond much less be okay with my fickle approach to things, but I hope that at the least he doesn’t hold it against me.

The plus side is that I feel as if a weight has been lifted. Besides my stint with the Professor this will be the first time in a long time that I’m not juggling multiple menz and it feels really good to just focus on one person and to also know that with the amazing friends that I have, I will be okay even if it doesn’t work out.

Until lata.

-Lauren