“We’re Inside a Robot’s Vagina.”

Part 1:

Some changes a-happening. It’s our (the Beard and yours truly) last night in the house and the occasion was celebrated with cigars and grapes on the roof. Pretty fitting, considering his old man-ish brand of swag and my…habitual fruit eating. I’m gonna miss living with him. Oh. Except he’s been rushing to finish a bunch of art stuff before he lives in his van for the summer, so he/the house always smells like horrifying chemicals nowadays. Solid dude. We’ve sort of bonded being the last two in the house, and I think it’s because we tie up loose ends in a similar manner. For example, he has nowhere to store his (surprisingly large) collection of nude drawings/paintings, so we’re leaving them tastefully taped up for the landlord’s inspection. Deposit be damned!

And, Gaga, here I come.

And I got a new job! Like, today! Yesterday? Anyway, I get to bake and decorate and sell cupcakes and it’s a really good thing. It’s just a really good thing.

Oh, and I’m getting paid to be a guinea pig over the next three months. The hospital and college are doing research on heart functions of people who were born prematurely, so I’m gonna pedal on a stationary bike and run around and get surprised by things with other things stuck to me. Just…you know. Making lemonade. First session is this Sunday, so, we’ll see how that goes? Kinda nervous.

Part 2:

Blue Valentine just broke my heart. (The quote I picked horribly misrepresents my sentiment here, but come on. Robot’s vagina.) I don’t know, maybe it just freaked me out.

Part 2 ½ or 3?:

Okay, so… I spend a lot of time pretending to be a totally unromantic person. I don’t mean that like beneath-this-harsh-exterior-I-long-for-roses-and-prince-charming: My exterior isn’t all that harsh, and I’m not a roses kind of girl. But, for a lot of my life, I’ve been pretty damn tomboyish, and shunning “silly, girly stuff” like “feelings” and “caring” and stuff was a big part of that. Realizing that a lot of that isn’t so much “stupid,” as “human” is still kind of a work in progress. And I’m still learning to balance that out with my natural bluntness, odd turn of phrase and standard adolescent anxieties.

Feelings, man. They’re hard.

Anyhoo, this usually manifests itself as me telling a guy “I like you and want to touch your face and other bits, but being an official couple sounds overwhelming. Let’s just hang out or whatever.” (Yes, I have said that before. Verbatim. Smooth operator.) Then, in the event that he doesn’t respond by backing away slowly, we become a Whatever. And, granted, there are a lot of nice things about being a whatever, but what I’ve been realizing recently is that, I’m…a fan of the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. You know? The relationship thing.

It kinda caught me off-guard, frankly.

…But yeah. I like holding hands. I like being someone’s big spoon (or, depending on the height situation, their jetpack). I like being around their family and want to expose some poor fella to mine. It feels really…nice to have somebody to share things with, make forts with, give head rubs to. Someone who feels comfortable enough to wake you up in the middle of the night when they’re having a nightmare, or to talk about religion, or tell you how the thing that would freak them out most in an apocalypse is illiteracy. Someone who will brush the hair out of your face when there’s flour on your hands and you can’t do it yourself. Someone you trust enough to let kiss the inside of your wrist or between your shoulder blades. You know? Someone you trust enough to push.

That feeling of being on your toes all the time, but somehow totally safe with them? It’s kind of awesome.

I like…liking. Connecting? Loving? That.

I’m not sure if I crave, miss, or just appreciate these things. Or some combination. Or something else entirely... But yeah. Stuff.

It'd be sweet if saying that in person wasn't weird or scary-like... Then again, that's probably why it feels worthwhile.

Or whatever.