About Time…


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Seems like once a month is as frequent as I can post these bitches. But after some thought, I don’t think you really need my dbag wisdom more frequently, do you? Yeah. I agree.

So I’ve been in love with the movie About Time lately (go ahead and check it, it’s on HBO Go right now). I’ve been watching almost daily and my obsession has birthed a sudden taste for gingers [well, let’s be honest, it was this movie in conjunction with James McCarthy, the dreamy midfielder for Everton.] So today, after my 10th time watching the movie, I realized that I love it so much because the people in it aren’t meant to be gorgeous. They even make Rachel McAdams look kind of unattractive (as if that’s possible). It’s like proof that we, the awkward, chubby, shitty haired people of the world are allowed to fall in movie love too! It made me think: have I had movie-love times and not realized it? Of course I fucking have, and I’ll tell you one of the tales below.

One Valentine’s Day, after being dumped 5 months prior, I left a shitty day at shitty work and decided to get some shitty wine and paint a shitty picture. I was by myself as my roommate (and one true hetero life mate) was out with her boyfriend. Of course, I changed into pjs as soon as I got home (ain’t nobody got time for real pants) and rushed to the liquor store to get my dinner for the evening. I’d picked out my usual Yellowtail Shiraz (the big bottle) and ran for my building elevator as the doors began to close. Luckily, one of the two guys in the elevator held the doors for me and I joined them for the 4 floor ride to my apartment. Like any other pajama’d person in the presence of two cute dudes would do, I avoided eye contact and stared at my phone.
After floor 1, one of the dudes started asking me about my wine. It was a conversation that led to the inevitable “what are you doing on this Valentine’s evening?”
[fucking hate that question because it 1. assumes you want to be doing something on Vday and 2. makes them give you an awkward sad look when you tell them you’re not doing anything. Like who cares.]
Of course, I told him how excited I was for my wine and painting and he said “well, hey, I like art. Can we hang out sometime?” So, like any smart, independent woman, I said “sure. Apartment 405 if you want to stop by”. Sure enough, after a few hours of painting and a half bottle of wine, I get a knock on the door. Brandon [was his name] came into my apartment with his gorgeous smile and ridiculously warm and badass personality. We sat for a few more hours talking about whether we believe in fate (he’d been in a bad motorcycle accident and believed he would have died if not for fate), and love, and art.
He left my apartment after we promised each other that we’d start writing letters back and forth.

….movie. status. But here’s where real life came in: I got awkward because I’ve got commitment issues and came up with excuses to not hang out with him after that. We never got together, but we do still talk every once and a while. It’s been 3 or 4 years since that crazy Valentine’s evening. And proof that movie-type situations can happen to chubby, bi, stretch-marked, NORMAL people. [okay I know, you’re right, what is normal? We’re all normal. Even pretty people.]

So there you have it, my little lemon drops. Maybe the lesson is that it’s okay to hope for that movie magic, just remember that life is fluid and there are no credits. Movies are just a portrayal of one chunk of our lives.

Don’t lose that hope…
for anything (not just love),


Remember when I had a blog?

Well, well, well. Here I am, almost exactly a year after my last post, dealing with the same shit.

In the past year, I’ve been knocked down over and over. Fell in love at least 6 times. Moved to Minneapolis (oh haaaay Minnecrapolis!). Gotten three additional stretch marks and have finally begun living by my Jedo’s credo: “no matter what you do, do it to the best of your ability”.

I still have the cutest cat ever, the best friends ever, a forever changing (and confusing) relationship with my family, and a heart that can’t figure out whether it wants to be open or closed.


What have I learned? Oh GAH. Well, besides that it takes some major D-sucking to make your bosses happy, I’ve learned that if your heart snaps shut, sometimes you need it to be shut. I’ve learned that, aside from disasters and other health-issues that seem really unfair, life is only as happy as you make it.

I have a good friend who has recently set on a path to change, to evolve (is the word that he uses). And it’s absolutely inspiring. I’ve seen him trying to be happy for the past year, and he seemed to be doing all of the right things (keeping his body moving, keeping his mind sharp, not watching a ridiculous amount of TV…) and now he seems to be making the right changes. That kind of transformation is beautiful, and it makes me want to be a part of it. Remember a year ago when I had the shitty Christmas break and I used compassion to get over myself and feel better in the process? Sometimes you forget about that stuff. And I think it’s time to remember.

The lesson? Working towards happiness does not end; life is fluid, and we never stop trying to be happy –otherwise, what would we do with our lives? It’s a journey, bitches. A shitty, painful, gorgeous, lovely, totally worth it journey.

Stay lovely.


And then it happened…


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My December/Christmas break was.. stressful as shit.  (what’s new, right?)

I feel like it’s the same old story over and over again. I’m stressed and I’m continuously weaving between keeping my heart open and it snapping shut.  For the past 100 posts (gahd…that’s too much me…) I’ve ebbed and flowed my way through heartbreak, shit tons of rando hook ups, a fluid and changing sexuality and here I am…probably worse off than I was before.  It could keep on like this forever.

So Christmas break was stressful as fuck.  I was worried about my bosses and one guy that I’d previously hooked up with and had a very embarrassing situation with…whom actually continued to talk to me which blew my mind. I was worried about sucking at work.  I was tired. I was worried about all of the reckless decisions I’d made with my vagina and whether that makes me a slut or not worthy of love or whatever.  (OBVS we all know that that does NOT make me any less of a person, I can bang whomever I want whenever I want. My bod. No regrets.)  And there was one night when I was laying in bed at my parents’ house, freaking out, and I decided that if I had more compassion in my heart, maybe I would be a better person and my karma would be awesome and I wouldn’t have to deal with that stress.  TBH, I wasn’t even thinking about ma’heart being open.  I just wanted out of the self-made stress hell that I was in.

I closed my eyes and tried to feel my heart.  Gone. It was no longer there.  I tried to think of all of the amazing people that I just hope are happy.  I thought about my niece and nephew, my family.  I started to feel my heart again.  Then i thought about the people that I don’t want to succeed simply for selfish reasons.  The people I’m envious of, the ones who I kind of just hope a little bit that they get a shitty haircut and are no longer like 10x more amazing than I am… and I let myself just start hoping they’re happy.  Realizing that it had nothing to do with me. And then I thought of the people that I really just don’t like…and I tried really hard to have compassion for those people.  I wanted them to be happy too.  Why? because why shouldn’t we all be happy? we’re all people just trying to get through this crap.

And then I fell asleep thinking that it didn’t do anything for me.

The next day, about halfway through the day, I realized that my heart felt a little lighter.  I didn’t have the shitty feelings against other people that I previously had.  It felt good.  And then it happened.  My heart opened up…just a little crack, but it opened.

Wetsuit vaccines

The lesson, my darlings, is that it’s not all about us.  Sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to ease up on other people.  Compassion, bitches.  That’s what it’s all about.

Stay lovely.  And listen to The Vaccines. They’re inspiring as shit.


Does it hurt?


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I had this super meaningful, super real, conversation with one of my coworkers last month.

My coworker is an sweet guy in his 50s who lives in Kansas and lives a simple life.  He’s got a shop out back.  He’s got a wife that he loves.  He’s one of those people that you just want to be honest with.  I won’t bore you with the verbatim of the convo, but one thing that I said seemed to really get to him — it’s something that I tell all of my friends when they’re stressed, and I didn’t really think it was anything too profound.  I said “Our job in life is to be happy. It’s not about money, it’s not about status, or fucking hot girls, it’s just to be happy…” This brought tears to his eyes….which was a little uncomfortable, but understandable considering his struggle lately.  We talked about the coworkers that we love, the ones that we’ll always talk to, the ones that we want to keep forever.  

The people in my life that I want to keep forever are real.  I don’t know much, but I think I’m finally getting to the point where I understand who I want in my life and who (while I still care about them), I don’t know if I’ll keep forever.  They all seem to be real.


Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I’m the most real person — I’ve got my shit.  But the people that I love the most are people who just can’t help but be themselves.  The ones who can’t change themselves.  Every time I think about this, I think about my boss (who’s 50-something and who drinks a lot of beer) looking at a hot girl, pointing at himself, and saying “HEY….this don’t grow on trees.”  

Does it hurt? Fuck yeah it hurts.  Growing up, getting real, realizing that none of this really fucking matters….and that there are no rules.  It fucking hurts.  It’s full of heartache and trauma and being unsure of yourself and being unsure of the world.  But the point is —- it’s life.  This is your job.  To figure it the fuck out.  And to be happy along the way.

Be unapologetically you, my loves.  You’re gorgeous.


Hello My Old Heart…


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The first sign of returning happiness.  Did I do it?

Lately, I’ve been a pile of bones and skin and sexy chub.  I’ve been unable to get up.  A mess. A true jumble of confusing emotions and words and guilt and a heart that has finally started again.  No need to worry.  I spoke with my therapist about it and reached out to some close friends and took care of my self the best I could…but it was scary there for a bit.  All I could do was lay on the ground and cry and try to get my shit together when anyone would call.  I have a feeling more of you than are willing to admit have been through something similar.

My Tower.

In tarot, the tower is the most world-changing card that you can pull.  The story is that the fool is walking and sees the tower crumble. It’s on fire, it’s falling down, people are jumping out of it and shit.  Which is awful anyway.  But the kicker is that the fool is double-hurt by this situation because he helped build that tower.  The tower was built by him, his father, his father’s father.  That tower had been a cornerstone of his life. And there it was, crumbling in front of his eyes.   It sounds super shitty, and believe me, it is.  But in tarot, they say that no card is good or bad, it’s both or it’s neither.  In order for things to change and grow, at some point, you’ve got to break down the old.  Whether it’s your vision of what the world should be like, or who you thought you were, or where you thought you were going —- sometimes you need to clear that shit out and make room for what’s coming.  



That’s what happened for me. Here I was, popping along, with this feeling that something just ain’t quite right, but trucking on anyway — being the person I thought I was.  And turns out, that’s not me.  I mean, I’m me, but without boring you with the details, I realized that I’m not half as emotionally void as I thought I was.  I also realized that I have some residual shit from…well….from life.  From past experiences.  From people.  From living.  



So there I was, unable to get up.  Unable to do anything but cry every 4 hours and debate various ways to avoid my feelings.  But, I’m lucky, I have friends who texted me to get the fuck out of bed.  I have a sister who called and talked my ear off about how we, as a family of women, are strong, and loud, and terrifyingly beautiful — and how I can’t help who I am or what I’ve done, and I shouldn’t make excuses for it.  I have a best friend who called every day after work, even just to laugh about people picking their noses in traffic. And, because I’m a stubborn dickface, none of that even sparked me off of the floor.  

Here’s what happened: by some amazing grace, I took a break from my shitty self-talk, realized that I really don’t want to feel like this forever, and forced myself to start doing things that people say are helpful.  

  • They didn’t feel helpful at the time, but I thought “look, you can either lay on the floor for the rest of your life or you can get your ass up and try to paint…who the fuck knows, maybe you’ll be famous for it after you die.” So I got my ass up and started painting.  
  • Then I thought, “they say writing is therapeutic. let’s try that shit.”  So I wrote down exactly how I felt. I imagined what my heart looked like.  I wrote things like “I feel like shit. The kind of shit that’s been walked on forever, or the kind of shit that’s stuck to a dog’s ass and just keeps getting smooshed and more shitty.”  (literary genius. I know. Pretty eloquent shit.)
  • When that shit only kind of helped, I slept a lot.  I slept enough.  I let myself fall asleep and stay asleep so I didn’t have to deal with it.  Now, I don’t know if this is a good fix.  It just seemed to work for me.
  • And when I woke up crying, I went out and bought a book that helped me through another really shitty time in my life: A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle.  Now, I’m not trying to sell you on the book, it was just something that worked for me before.
  • I forced myself to get up and do some work.  Mostly because I knew that getting yelled at by my boss would make my life worse.  But I got the job done.  And that gave me some worth back. 
  • And last, but not least— and something that I want to fucking punch people when they tell me:  I got my ass up and ran the shit out of my poor legs.  I thought “well, I’m fucking miserable.  Why don’t I just go run and be miserable.  Then maybe my endorphins will kick in and I’ll get high.”  (which didn’t happen, btw.  The only runner’s high I get is the fucking amazing feeling of gratitude towards myself when I let myself stop.)

So, don’t take this as a way to get yourself out of depression because I’m no therapist.  I have no fucking idea.  I just know that throwing myself into these things helped me.  And yesterday, I had a really great day.  Today — I kind of feel shitty again. But there’s no crying on the floor shit.  It’s a kind of crap-feeling that I can handle and I know will get better.

and….so……there’s the story of the time that I was a fucking mess and how I was a strong-ass-bitch and got my sexy ass out of it.  With the help of some the best friends ever.

The End.

Stay up, little darlings.  Be strong, and loud, and terrifyingly amazing.


“Write hard and clear about what hurts…” — Hemingway


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I’ve been getting the same message through most conversations that I’ve been having lately: be honest about your life and follow what’s really important.  Creativity is one of those. I’ve been feeling like I’m losing my mind because I’m buying into the bullshit culture of my job.  It’s not so awful, it’s just a lifestyle and leaves no room for me.  

I’ve been having these conversations with people I’ve recently become friends with, coworkers….I’ve been finding these messages in the strangest places, but it’s leading me towards happiness; towards finally feeling like I get it again.

So I’ve been staying in.  I’ve been valuing people for who they are. I’ve been trying to listen.  And I’ve been forcing myself to at least write a little each day.  

The idea of vulnerability is so scary to me lately. I’ve been locked up so tight, this heart of mine hasn’t been breathing much.  Most “romantic” situations involve me bailing before breakfast and thanking god that I only have a [beautiful and incredible and just so lovely] cat to come home to.  You know, or falling in love with some rando dude at We Fest and getting super sad when he doesn’t text back (ugh).  But it’s not just the romantic piece of it.  I’ve been wondering why I disengage from friends, why I tend to just bail when potential lovers get too deep, and why I want to have deep, emotional conversations but they also make me want to vom a little.

Wtf. I used to be the fucking queen of vulnerability and exploring my heart/the hearts of others. I used to love that shit. Fuck, I even had an art series in which I asked everyone that I met “if you could paint your heart right now, if it could be ANYTHING, what would it look like?”  [one of my favorites was a fishbowl heart, chiggity check it below.  It’s also on instagram. Handle: leeannfabulous]


And don’t we always want to go back to a time that was better?  Or seems better according to our spotty memories. Regardless, vulnerability is important.  I saw the title quote the other day and it just seemed to stick. “Write hard and clear about what hurts.”  Ignoring the fear of being too dramatic or emotional and looking like a dbag (since when do we actually give a shit about what we really look like?), I’m taking a stab at it.  A tiny stab.  Like a Killer Dolls, little-tiny-hand-with-a-little-tiny-knife-that-doesn’t-really-do-a-whole-lot-but-is-still-scary-as-shit stab.  And if I come up with anything worth reading, I’ll post it.  Until then, you guys do it too.  I think the world would benefit from more vulnerability.

This week (or month, or whatever) I’m working on being vulnerable.  Feeling those feelings. Not shutting off and not pretending just because it’s easier. 

Be vulnerable, and be real my gorgeous blog monsters. And keep that heart open.

Until next time,





Lessons in self awareness and being bold.


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There I was thinking I was a slut, when I realized; I was just acting like a man.

I met this dude.  It was a sweet story, and just to brag, I’ll tell ya about it….fairytale style.  ‘Twas the last day of We Fest, and it had been a hard journey.  We’d fought long and hard to keep a steady drunkenness, to not get too sunburnt, and to make sure that not too much drama ruined the weekend.  I’d already battled a racist and had just battled a homophobe by reminding him of his privilege and telling him it was absolutely not ok to use homophobic terms.  I was drunk, and I was on edge. A man walks by me and throws a piece of cardboard on the ground and I snapped.  I picked up the cardboard and threw it back at him and yelled something about littering.  He turned around and his gorgeous smile grew.  He pointed at me and told me to “come here”.   “Fuck you,” I said, standing my ground, “You come here.”  We compromised and met in the middle…”what’s your name?”  he said. And introductions were made.  He told me I was beautiful.  I told him he was cute– Ok.  I’m bored of this, and I’m sure you are too.  Anyway, we held hand the entire night, he told me that he didn’t want to let me go because he didn’t want to not see me again, and he came with me to my camp.  The fairytale/movie ending was that when I walked him to the golf-cart taxi, he turned to me and said “It’s ok, I have your number…” and he kissed me, mounted his white golf-cart taxi and gave me a shy wave as he rode into the night.  “Damn, you look hot on that taxi,” I yelled after him.

My issue is that I didn’t want to sleep with him because I’d been hearing women say lately “I don’t sleep with people on the first night when I like them because I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”  Well, I do. And we don’t live in a fucking teen vampire novel. So I can bang anyone I want, even on the first date and it doesn’t mean that we won’t have a long lasting, meaningful relationship.

I have whored it up in Fargo.  I’ve been a total dude.  I’ve been fucking because I want to fuck.  I’ve been falling in love for 5 minutes, or a night, or not at all.  And I’ve been feeling like I’m doing something wrong.  And, further, I’ve been worrying about being too fat, too ugly, with too thin of hair, and ugly feet (LAWD, my feet are ugly, I mean, they’re bad….I mean, they’re so hobbit-y and unattractive that they need Jesus.) I’m sick of worrying about societal views on my body/sexuality. Fuck that shit.  I’m over it. For now, at least.


Therapy.  ohhhhhhhhh therapy.  Have I mentioned that I hate my therapist more than other therapists?  It’s probably a good thing.  She calls me on my shit and makes me think about things and isn’t fooled by my therapy lingo.  The meeting of We Fest guy brought on our ongoing conversation about my intimacy issues.  It’s forcing me to take a look at the relationships in my life and why I disengage sometimes.  And then, today, I saw a status on Facebook that said this:

I am rarely more mean or more difficult than when I am a delicate flower. 

I think that sums it up.  Before I left her office on Wed, she said that I need to take a look at why I sometimes alienate friends. She said she doesn’t know if I’m self-aware enough to figure it out.  I’m still searching, but that’s a good lead.

When I’m honest with myself and compassionate with myself, I enjoy things much more.  It’s obviously a work in progress.

Be honest, little darlings, with yourself and with others.  Be unapologetic about who you are (as long as it’s not mean).  And be bold, lovelies. Be. Fucking. Bold.


Falling together: a lesson in valuing friends…


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So I have this friend… she’s fucking awesome.  She’s strong and hilarious and just pretty much badass.  She was moved away from Denver at the same time that I was, and whenever one or both of us is having a total shit day, we call each other to bitch but end up laughing our asses off.  Ma’lord, I freaking value this bitch.

I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so fucking lucky.  It seems like every time I have a shitty day, I get a text from a hilarious cousin, or a good friend, or my amazing coworker calls me and forces me off my ass and out for a walk….and I don’t think that I stop and appreciate this as much as I should.  I have coworkers who call me to make sure I’m ok if my numbers suck.  I have family who are hilarious.  I have friends who listen to me bitch like a douche…and I have idiot best friends who shamelessly creep on people or take stupid christmas card pictures with me….

christmas tree

Tonight, after deciding I was going to just hang out at home and drink as much water as I can (I’m trying to hydrate) and watch The Breakfast Club, my friend called me because she’d locked herself out of her house.  Of course, I got up and drove to her to pick her up, but I realized that I don’t do these good-friend duties enough.  I’m so alone all of the time that I don’t help my friends out.  Frankly, I’m sick of hearing about drama, and first-world problems, and other peoples’ problems [remember: I’m apathetic and irritated and pretty much a fucking asshole].  But tonight I realized that I feel good helping my friends.  I like helping them out, and if I can just see past my stupid problems, I can be of use to my friends.

So now I’m trying to get over my shit and work on listening.  I want to be there for my friends. I want to be the kind of friend that texts people when they’re having a bad day and makes them smile.  Look — I’m not good at saying the right thing.  My bff, Briz, can tell you that I’m actually pretty bad at it and my jokes are pretty much always inappropriate for the situation….but I want to help.

There was a time when all I wanted was to be a positive in every life that I touch.  Idk about you, but I think that’s valid and kind of noble as fuck (don’t wanna toot my own horn, but…..beep beep man…)

Now if I can just get over myself first…..

Be selfless, darlings,  and be kind, and be brilliant….


Just a slight transitional apathy…


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It seems like I never get over this.  It’s just like a soft, apathetic, steady bleh feeling. My therapist says that I need to just accept it. Have a sense of humor about it….do what I was already doing.  She says it’ll go away if I lean into it.

What does that even mean? Well, it means that I just need to accept it.  Just go with it. And maybe make it kind of funny. If I’m going to be an apathetic dick, I’m going to be the most apathetic dickhead (and hilarious) ever.


And so I’m leaning…


Keeping le heart open….is rough when you’re generally apathetic or irritated.  But I’m working on it.

I’m starting these lists…Lists of the things I’m grateful for.  Lists of what’s beautiful about Fargo.  Lists of the things I love.  Lists of the wonderful things that happened in just one day.  It keeps me honest.  It keeps me from hiding away in “nothing’s good enough”.

One Fargo positive? I have time to think about this stuff again.  I can take a step back.  Watch the world from miles away.  I can see the bigger patterns in how they do what they do.  And why.  You know on movies when someone hasn’t seen another person for a while, they hold them at arm’s length and take a good look at them? I think we spend too much time face-to-face with our lives.  We’re all up in that shit.  But if we take some time, take a few steps back and hold the world at arm’s length,  we get to see it a little better.


So maybe we should step back, see what’s going on.  Look at the scenery.  Nobody dies thinking “I wish I’d worked more”.   Or “I wish I’d sold out”.   Or “I wish I didn’t go on that trip”.  Or “I wish I hadn’t reconnected with long lost family or friends…”

I’m at a point where I’m absolutely free.  I’ve got no one on the sidelines.  I’m not randomly banging anyone anymore.  And….i guess… right now, I’m completely open to some spark that lights my heart on fire again.  It’s been a while…and last time, I had to fight through a closed-off heart.  Now, I’ve got time to figure this shit out.   Maybe it’s the news (my GOD, I’m a gigantic news nerd. I can’t get away from learning about what’s going on in the world…this, THIS, sets my heart on fire. ), maybe it’s something else.

I’m not one to talk about happiness or my heart right now, because that shit is on apathy leave.  But in writing my feelings out, and with a little distance (and some Ted Talks), I’m figuring it out….I’m leaning into it.

ahhhh, hopefully I keep up the posts now….

Until next time, little lovely darlings, stay wonderful and however you feel right now, lean into it…


For a chubby lesbian, I pull shit tons of cock…


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I had an intense therapy sesh today… It was all connected to hurtful memories and body image and my inability to be intimate.  I can’t help but think about how important it is to keep an open heart.  I’ve been trying to keep my heart open and accept all potential lovers…but, shit it’s been hard.

I haven’t written because I’ve been emo and busy as fuck.  I’m sorry. I’m really going to try to write more.

I haven’t fallen in love because I’ve had a very hard time meeting someone I trust enough to love.  And the people I meet, seem to just want to bang.

I’ve been excited about my time up here in the great north (HAY FARGO), because I’m more healthy and I’m losing weight.  I’m still chubby though…and trying to be totally ok with it.

I’ve been working hard and trying to kick ass.  I have been working overtime, trying to go above and beyond, and pushing past my comfort zone.

I’m in the middle of a few awkward….relationship…things….and I’m having a hard time figuring out how to navigate that shit. [for a chubby lesbian, I pull shit tons of cock…]

And therapy is fucking my shit up.  Talk about inspiring me to question myself and self-analyze. 

My thoughts? Aw, I thought you’d never ask. I don’t know where I stopped really loving myself.  I don’t know if it ever actually started– i mean it had to have started, I’m pretty fucking full of myself.  I don’t know what it is about being alone that makes a person (or a chubby lesbian, if you will) feel so….alone.  

Things keep pointing towards keeping ma’heart open.  Talks with le therapist [while riveting, I’ll spare you the awkward details] have been surrounding my quasi-relationship/crushes/bang sessions.  We’ve been chatting about my inability to be intimate [which isn’t entirely true, I’ve had relationships, it’s just a little more tough to fall head over heels these days]. She tells me that all I can do is wait it out and figure it out when I meet someone that strikes me.  It could be a while….and it’s going to take some bravery.  But in the meantime, I’m keeping myself busy (haaaay).

Fargo. In Fargo, I haven’t met anyone that really blows me away, I’m talking to a few people on OKCupid, which is exciting but going very slowly.   I’ll keep you abreast of my situations as they happen.  

Until then, lovelies…