I don’t normally do this, but buckle up for a sappy blog post that was initially going to just be a Facebook status update but ended up turning into this monstrosity.
Two years and seventeen days ago, I messaged him on OKCupid and told him he was stunningly gorgeous.
We started talking online and did so for a couple weeks.
Two years ago today, I met Dan for coffee at the local Panera.
I wasn’t quite sure if it was actually a date since he was so recently out of his marriage, but I thought that it would be cool to have an offbeat friend in the area even if anything romantic was off the table. Though he was real pretty so I hoped that maybe we could do some smoochin’ eventually.
I warned him about my manic nervous energy and flailing muppet arms, and he generously shared a deep and honest portrait of himself as we talked for hours that first date.
When he texted me afterwards, thanking me for making his first date in 6 years “a non-scarring experience,” I was so honored. He told me I felt safe. That meant so much to me that he felt like he could be vulnerable with me so fast.
CW: Discussion of death, including that of babies and children
Last month, my boyfriend and I took a two week trip to Ireland, London, Paris and Amsterdam. It was the first time we had ever been in Europe, and we decided that we’d love to straight-up move to Amsterdam if an opportunity arose.
I’ll eventually get around to writing about our experiences in each country, but I felt motivated to start by writing about my favorite part of traveling to new places: visiting those weird, dark, unexpected spots where many people look at me blankly and ask, “But…why?”
I’ve always been fascinated by the weird, the dark, the macabre. I loved reading about the Salem Witch Trials growing up. I was fascinated with methods of medieval torture. I loved ghost stories and the morbid histories of places. I remember going to the library and checking out books about plagues and learning about the strange things people used to do in the name of medicine. I remember being especially fascinated with the bit in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book about blowing up a pig bladder and using it as a kickball.