I’m Right Here (& Other Thoughts On Love)

I laid on the floor of my apartment and cried while listening to Ryan Adams' Heartbreaker. I was on the floor because I didn't want to taint my bed with tears and my couch had already met its quota for crying a few years before. The floor was the only possible option to cry on about the same thing, again.

Notoriously, men that are interested in me (that I'm interested in too) date other people. Quoting chapter titles from He's Just Not That Into You at me won't change the truth of my experience. It's happened my entire life: they date someone else. I just want to get with one of you, and you all get with some brunette that's way shorter than me and only-kind-of funny. Except for the last one. You got with a tall blonde that lives on the East Coast. I'm 20 minutes away and totally dope. What are you doing?

Here's how this situation shakes out in my life: I'll be hanging out with a friend I haven't seen in a while, and after a few drinks they say something along the lines of, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone, but FILL IN THE BLANK HERE was interested in you for a long, extended amount of time and never said anything about it." That's weird. I'm the anyone you're not supposed to tell. Also, FILL IN THE BLANK HERE is married or in a serious relationship with his girlfriend. One of the FILL IN THE BLANKS HERE lived in the same city as me three separate times and never asked me out or made a move once. Not once. He didn't even hint at being interested in me because he was always dating other girls.

As this continues to happen, I don't have enough square footage in my apartment to keep crying about the same. Damn. Thing. This time one of the FILL IN THE BLANKS HERE was getting married and called to see if I was coming to his wedding. No, I'm not coming to your wedding because I'm too busy looking for the Adam Driver of my life. I don't mean the character Adam Driver plays on Girls; I mean the actual Adam Driver. I'm looking for that super tall guy that isn't incredibly charming during talk show interviews, but it doesn't matter because he's incredibly talented and likable. The one dedicated to his job, that cares about people and has to adorably keep flinging his hair out of his face every ten seconds while talking to you. Why can't that guy get up in my life? Instead, the guy up in my life is one that is interested in me for a long time, says nothing about it and asks me to go to his wedding where he marries someone else. I've yet to RSVP to one of these events.

I know there's one common denominator here. As I look at my actions, I find there's something in me that's waiting for that short brunette (tall blonde) to come along, and a co-worker pointed this out to me at a party recently. While asking everyone what to do about my dilemma, an art director named Kid stopped me and said the following:

You've got style, but you aren't showing it off.

Kid could see it and I couldn't. It was right in front of me, but how did I keep missing it?

This realization became more clear while standing in a dressing room last week. I was at a small boutique on the Westside and had tried on a dress that was semi-casual couture. It was short and black with a neck that was slightly avant-garde, nothing that I normally wear. As I looked in the mirror, I wondered why I didn't normally wear things like this. Semi-casual couture was in desperate need of becoming my new one-and-only because I looked banging in this dress. Why didn't I buy this reasonably priced dress (no it wasn't, I was in LA on the Westside) and wear it because it's exactly what I'm wearing? Judging by my looks in the mirror, I could have walked out of that dressing room and started showing off my style immediately. That may have been true, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I'm not the only one guilty of hiding in the dressing room in this situation.

If I'm honest, I need to trade out Ryan Adams for that Sean Mendes song that's all over the radio right now. That kid is mostly haircut and barely has enough life experience to warrant a music career, but I can't stop listening to his new song. It's not even the whole song I'm into. It's only part of it.

I'm begging you for mercy

Begging. I'm begging you. I'm pleading with you. I'm crying on the floor, and it's not pretty for you to have mercy on me. My heart has taken every rejection, every burn, and every disappointment and it can't take one more ounce of heartache. My heart needs space. It needs to know it can heal. It also needs to know it can cash in.

As I move forward, there's one very important thing I have to remember. It's the thing that is most evident and blatantly in front of me and the next FILL IN THE BLANK HERE.

I'm right here.

And I have been the whole time.