So I was at my friend’s house the other day, recounting a story about how I had stayed with a boy for nine days overseas, and how trying it was, considering I had NEVER been overseas really (with someone I was very attracted to) and NEVER had “lived” with someone for more than five days in a row.

After getting over her shock that a woman of 32 years had never lived with a man for more than 5 days, she proposed that, perhaps, it explained the importance I place on having as much quality bedtime with a lover as possible. Perhaps, I’m in the habit of devouring someone as soon as I see them, because I’m basically a love anorexic who spent at least nine years in a long-distance relationship, creating a pattern of periods of no physical contact interspersed with periods of intense affection. In fact, that was a pattern in most of my relationships after the first serious one in college (that broke my heart!).

There may be something to that. Someone asked me the other day if I think I have intimacy issues. That was a tough question to answer, mostly because I feel I am a very open-hearted person with a lot of love to give, and I’m always trying to be more honest and assertive in my relationships. But the fact that I keep finding myself in (and accepting) relationships which fall into a pattern I may be used to from childhood (daddy issues? starting in junior high, dad used to go away for 2+ weeks at a time to work and come home for a couple of days) makes me wonder if there isn’t something I find familiar and comforting about the drought/intensity scenario.

I guess I need long-distance rehab or something! HELP!!

But I just turned a boy down who couldn’t see me at all for 4 weeks, so I think I’m making progress, haha.

I don’t want to overanalyze this (I just realized that the word “analyze” contains “anal”, haha, over-digested), but if I really do want someone who is going to make love to me twice a day, I should stop accepting relationships that provide that once every 3-4 weeks. But….I dunno. Part of me is enjoying getting to know myself via seeing different people (different mirrors), which requires you having the SPACE to see other people, i.e. NOT making love to the same person twice a day. So, basically, I need something inbetween, so maybe I’m right where I need to be.

I hate my brain sometimes. But love my life. Life is amazing.

Valeted cars tonight in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in town, near the Getty residence. I found something highly amusing, a box with a bunch of throw-away items in it. Now, in my part of town, a throw-away pile would consist of a plastic shopping bag or two, ripped, stuffed with cheap, unfashionable clothes you would never wear, many stained or smelly, worn-out shoes, and maybe some random kids’ toy parts strewn into the sidewalk.

This stash was in a large, sturdy cardboard box. The first thing I noticed, after a graduation cap and gown, was a tuxedo suit jacket and pants. There was also a small bag filled with random holiday, birthday, and graduation cards, and a couple of sturdy candle holders and some small candles. I took the cards to open later, on the off-chance there might be money in them (silly me! Do wealthy people even bother putting cash in cards for each other?). But what really cracked me up was finding a once-used tuxedo in a throw-away box in a wealthy neighborhood. Classic.