To my fan...or stalker...

So I've noticed a pattern y'all...
Every time I post something within a minute or two someone has gone to read it. I don't know if it's the same person but if it is OMG hiiiiii :) 
You are my first ever fan/stalker and I so love you either way. It would be amazing if I could see who you were but I also kind of don't want to; 1. because I like the mystery and 2. because there's a very high chance that my mom is the only one that reads this.
Regardless of what the case is, I will try to stay interesting and at least remotely funny for you. Thanks for paying attention to my rants.

Love ya <3

To the Neil Armstrong of my Vagina...

I still remember how we met. You were the first person I talked to freshman year. You spent our entire high school career staring down my shirt. I remember whenever I’d catch you doing it, you’d just flash me a smile and say it’s “the perks of being tall”.  You were always so blatantly honest and shamelessly deceitful all in one that I didn’t know if we were even friends half the time. Regardless of all the stupid arguments and drama, I always knew you were going to be someone special in my life. Of course at the time I thought that meant that you were going to be just another guy I crushed on and got crushed by. Instead I had the revelation to make you more than that. I wanted you to be a memory I’d smile about for the rest of my life.

Unbeknownst to you, I decided to give you the most important possession I had. Once again, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a virgin and if it’s any consolation, you were perfect. This is not something a lot of girls get to say. Most, I’ve found, look back on their first time with regret because it’s tainted with the heart break that followed. We weren’t in love, hell we weren’t even together, but I knew it was right. I’d had boyfriends who tried to be the first man on that particular moon but none ever made it past the launch pad. With you I was completely relaxed. There was never a doubt in my mind whether or not it should be with you.

It’s been almost 5 years since that fateful afternoon, and I still have no regrets. You were exactly what I needed at the time. You’re still exactly what I need actually. I miss you like crazy sometimes. It’s not just the sex, which is great by the way, it’s just you. Being around you makes the day better. You always have something interesting or funny to say. You’re smart and driven and just intoxicating fun. I wish I could say that we’ll see each other soon. I wish I could say that we’ll have another chance to make all those late night sexting sessions a reality. I wish I knew how your part in my story will unfold. Unfortunately, the sobering truth is that we may never see each other again. You live 1,000 miles away and neither one of us is going to make that pilgrimage just for sex. We say we will, but we both know we won’t. Knowing you and fucking you has been a thrill ride.

Forever yours,

Nat (and more importantly, the first few voyages into my deep space)

The one that got away or whatever...

I'm starting to think that maybe I'm the only one with complicated exes. Allow me to paint you a word picture; 
Last night, while I was rocking an awesome wine buzz, I started going through pictures on my phone. Have you ever had someone in your life that you know you guys would be perfect together? Me too. Except, we don't see each other that way at all. Still I can't help but ask myself if I'm choosing the wrong people in general. Here is someone who; has the same sense of humor as me, can hold a conversation, has insatiable wanderlust (as do I), and is just plain great. He's what you'd call a "perfect on paper guy". I just can't, for some reason, make myself want him. 
I say that I want certain qualities in a guy and he has all of them, in spades, but nothing. Instead I fall for the "where the hell did you find him" guys. Thug is usually my preference, but you can't date a thug and expect a gentleman. It's basically like saying you want Prince William but you end up dating Eminem. How do you change your taste? Actually not my taste, how do you change your attractions? Because I seriously need to stop going for the homeboys and start going for the good boys.

A fan letter to Taylor Swift...

Can I just tell you how great you are? I’ve never really considered myself a fan of any artist. I enjoy many different kinds of music but do not pledge my allegiance to anyone in particular. That being said, I fan girl the fuck out for you. I don’t know if you curse but I have a mouth like a sailor and I apologize for that. Your music inspires me. Before I ever heard any of your songs, I thought I was the only one who hurt so deeply when they had their heart broken.  When I first heard one your songs I was going through a horrible break up. Your words resonated with me so deeply and I was instantly hooked. The main reason for my writing this letter is to thank you. You have given us hopelessly romantic saps a voice, and a beautiful one at that.

            My dream is to one day be front row at one of your concerts. Actually, my dream is to move to Nashville and we can become friends and write songs together, but that sounds a little stalker-ish so I’ll go with the concert thing. I’ve watched so many of your interviews and I know all the words to your songs because I believe they are genuine. I may not know you in person but because your music is so open and honest I feel a connection with you nonetheless. I hope you continue to make amazing music and that you find great happiness in your life.

With love and admiration,

Nat

P.S. Meredith is adorable.

A year ago today...

As you may or may not know, today I turn 22 years old. Call it nostalgia, remorse, or guilt, but this birthday has left me feeling everything but happy. You see, for my 21st birthday I gave myself an apartment. I was working a pretty solid job and the night before my birthday my ex (bribed with beer), helped me move my stuff out of my mom's house and into my new place.
I'll admit, my apartment was a hole in the wall. It was cramped, ill-conceived, and apparently a half-way house for every frog and lizard in the area (note: I am deathly terrified of both). Despite it's obvious character flaws, I loved it. I felt like for once I had something that was mine and no one could take away. I had spent a long time being continually kicked out of my mom's house because of my behavior/her being fed up with me. Having a place of my own to me signified the stability of knowing where I was going to sleep every night.
You'd think that because of all of this I would've busted my ass to keep it right? Well, you'd be wrong. Through my own irresponsibility I lost both my job and my apartment. This was subsequently followed by the worst year of my life. I won't bore you with the details but it involved; lost jobs, having no money, doing highly questionable things to earn money, theft, endless fighting, and bouncing from house to house because no one wants to support a dead beat.
This past year has left me exhausted. I have managed (mostly due to my mom's influence) to put back together some semblance of a decent life. I am now working full time and living with my mom again. I wish I could say with certainty that it can only get better from here but I've never really been good at keeping promises. For now, I'm taking it day by day and hoping for the best. 

My love letter to vodka...

I love you, honestly I do. I owe so many fun filled nights to you that I thought why not pay a little tribute to the magical elixir that is you. I wish I was a poet so I could write you a wonderful sonnet filled with all the beautiful things I think of you, but alas, I am not. I hope you are content with this simple letter. My favorite way to drink you is with Sprite and a lime wedge, although after a couple of those I honestly don’t care what I’m drinking as long as I’m drinking. I’ve always said that drinking vodka is a dangerous thing, and it is. See, with other forms of alcohol you have a phase where you are tipsy and feeling nice before you get shit faced drunk. With you baby, there is no foreplay. You go from 0 to 60 before I can even notice (especially in shots). I remember very clearly going to a club and drinking only two vodka Sprites and before I knew it I was “allegedly” on my 7^th cup and giving my friend Jeymi a standing up lap dance (don’t ask). Its nights like these that make me love and hate you.
While I had a blast that night, and so did Jeymi, it wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of good girl behavior on my part. If we were to compare alcohol to people, you’d be the bad boy boyfriend that you know you should leave but it’s just too damn good. But fuck it, I’m not exactly known for making good decisions when it comes to love. Sure, I’ve gone through phases where I was loyal to other liquors. A very compelling argument can be made to the fact that I’m still not over tequila, but tequila makes me slutty and so our affair has since come to an end. For now, I am a one drink woman, and baby that drink is you. I’m sure we will have many more nights of romance, where you will undoubtedly convince me to do dirty shameful things that I will regret in the morning. I look forward to them, and so does Jeymi.

With love,

Nat (or whatever fake name I gave the creepy guy watching me give the lap dance)

On a happier note...

Tomorrow is my birthday!

To be honest I wasn't all that excited about it. My recent stint of perpetual unemployment has left me drained of all funds and DEEP in the financial hole. Thankfully I've started working a new job and will receive my first paycheck this Friday, here's the catch, because I'm so deep in the hole my first check will go as it easily as it came. The only thing I hope to gift myself is being able to bring my cat home (mom, if you're reading this please let me bring Sophie this weekend). Aside from that, I expected no celebration of my birthday and was relatively OK with that.

Then I spoke to my friend Phoebe (we've been friends since I was in 8th grade), and she was not about to hear that I wasn't going to celebrate my day. She invited me out to a pub-style bar in the neighborhood we used to live in and that is where I will be celebrating my 22nd year of life. Well, on Friday night actually because its never a good idea to go to work with a hangover so I'm giving myself the weekend to sleep it off.

I'm officially excited about my birthday :)

Yesterday was difficult...to say the least

I knew that by taking this project on I was going to have to write about some of the more painful times in my short life. What I didn't know is how hard that would be...

I haven't lived a charmed life, in any sense of the word. However, the fact that most of the traumatic events in my life were fairly spaced out, gave me this unrealistic sense of comfort. Yesterday when I began writing about some of the darker things (drug use, sexual abuse, abortion, etc.) I realized that my life had not been that happy bubble I'd always imagined. Up until this point I had been content to let the demons hang out in the back of my mind. They never really bothered me, or so I thought. I've slowly come to realize just how much they've influenced me and made me who I am. Something else I learned yesterday; don't judge a book by its cover. I know it's an old cliche and everyone knows it by heart but I never really understood it. Allow me to explain, I shared some of the letters I've been working on with my best friend. I expected her to give me her opinion on them and maybe make some suggestions. Her actual reaction blew my mind. She was so moved having found out things about me that we'd never discussed. She shared with me some very personal information as I had done with her. Without a doubt yesterday was a crucial day in our friendship. Through sharing the things that have haunted us for so long, we were able to develop a much stronger bond. If it's possible, I love her even more now.

I wrote this letter for her before all the secret sharing but every word of it still rings true, only so much deeper now;

To Rossy, my soul mate.

Oh baby, what can I say to you that I haven't already said. God bless the fucked up road that led me to you. Being your friend has been one of the only perks of the worst heart break I've ever felt. Did you know that in my eyes you are effortlessly amazing? Your no bullshit style of speaking leaves me in awe. I can't imagine who I would be without having met you. You succeeded at snapping me out of the dark place, which is a task previously thought to be impossible. We're so different that I don't even know how we manage to stay friends. You're so strong and proud and you hold on to your convictions. I am not strong or proud and I'm as flaky as a puff pastry. I need you desperately. You make me better.
I know this all may sound like I'm professing my undying love for you, and in truth I am. We both know how hard we work to stay friends. You know that you're the one I run to when shit gets real. I know that no matter what happens I will always have you to run to. But you know all of this. I've told you countless times how much you mean to me. I want to tell you some things that you may not know.

You are amazing. You're kind, smart, and beautiful inside and out.

I will always have your back. No matter what life puts us through I will fight to the bitter end for you.

Both times that you left for New York I cried inconsolably in the car. I didn't want to cry in front of you because I knew it wouldn't make it any easier for you to leave, but it hurt like hell.

I feel incredibly blessed that you are in my life.

I wish I knew how our story ends up. I mean, I know how I want it to end up but not how it will end up. I hope that we grow old together and happy. I hope our kids become best friends. It amazes me how much I trust you. I don't trust anyone. I don't know how you pulled that off, but you did. I trust you with everything. It scares the shit out of me. I've been here before. I've trusted, and loved, and depended on someone. She fucked me over. Please don't fuck me over. Even as I write the words, they seem ridiculous to me. You're so blunt and honest all the time that I never once doubt whether you mean what you say. You're never afraid to hurt my feelings. You tell me what I need to hear even if I don't want to hear it. When we fight, we never hold back. We sometimes take it too far and say some fucked up shit to each other but underneath all the anger and fire is the truth. I believe that more than anything else. I know you don't use me because I have nothing left anyone to use and you're still here. I know what we have is true friendship because we are real to each other.
I love you because we hate the same people. I love you because you're just as dark and twisted as I am. I love you because you make me laugh even when I'm bursting into tears. I love you because you know when to let me cry and not make me laugh. I love you because you're my favorite person to get high with. I love you because you're my favorite person to get drunk with. I love you because you are you.

Forever your soul mate,

Nattiiee

Why the letters...or more importantly why I feel the need to write them...

Like most writers I find I can express my feelings better when I write them out. But that's not really why I'm writing these. In a perfect world the people that they're addressed to will never read them. And maybe they won't. It isn't because I want to express my feelings to them. I write them because these are thoughts that I need to put out into the world. Some of them are sad, some of them are funny, most of them grew out of various kinds of love. All of them are very much me. Passive aggressive is usually my preferred style, and nothing says passive aggressive like a book of nameless letter about shit those people don't even care about anymore. I can't explain why I hold on to those feelings as long as I do, but I know I'm not the only one that does it.

I guess my hope is that by writing them and putting them out into the world more weak hearted people will say their feelings to the people they feel them towards. As opposed to bottling them up and then letting them explode in a weird crying, ranting, happy, shiny, fit of rage. It's happened before. A lot. Don't ask. I wish someone had told me that my feelings mattered. I wish someone had made me feel like my thoughts were worth sharing. Maybe no one will care what I have to say. Maybe this book will be the biggest piece of shit in literary history. But I'm ok with that, it's my whole heart. In all its messy, bloody, fucked up glory. I hope you'll like it (once its done). I hope the people I wrote to realize that I wrote it for me, not them. I hope they know that I don't mean to drag up old issues or hurt them. I just want them to know, once and for all, how I feel. Or not. I hope they don't read them, or if they read them I hope they convince themselves it's about someone else. Except for the angry letters, I hope the fuckers I wrote them to know EXACTLY who I'm talking to. And I hope it hurts them. Does that make me a horrible person? Perhaps but it's the most honest thing I've said in quite some time.

First Letter: To the self-proclaimed love of my life. Also, you’re a fuckwad.

I wonder if you still think of me. I kind of like to think that you do. Not because I want you to miss me or anything (actually I totally want you to miss me). In a weird way, I just want to matter to you. I want you to care because I cared for so long. I often find myself playing out different tragic scenarios in my head. You know the ones where I end up in a coma and you'd rush to my bedside...those. In my imagination you always save me, which is stupid because in reality you're the last person I can count on to come to my aide.

I used to believe in magic and fairy tales. Not the Disney kind, but the real life kind. Where a boy and a girl could fall in love and overcome all the shit and just stay in love. Then you happened. Now I wake up and feel empty. I don't feel like myself. It's like you sucked all the magic out of me.

I thought I would be over you by now. Everyone thinks I should be over you by now. And yet, here I sit, feeling sad and broken. I don’t know why I write you these letters. I know I’ll never send them and even if I did I know they would only make you happy because it would confirm that despite all the bullshit you’ve put me through, I still love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t even remember loving anyone before you and God knows I won’t let myself love anyone now. I just can’t shake the feeling that you and I are meant to be. I still think that you do love me, that one day we will be happy together, that all of this is just the shitty part before the great part.

It’s either that, or you’re fuckwad and you sincerely enjoy watching me suffer. I don’t know what to do. I wish I could ask you because in many ways you’re still my best friend. I would never dare ask you though. I know the answer would be cruel and painful. Maybe all your cruel words are the truth. Maybe you don’t love me anymore. Maybe it’s all in my head and I’m just obsessed with you. But my heart (or more specifically the part of my brain that controls emotions) refuses to accept it.

I wish I was stronger. I wish I was strong enough to just fucking move on already. To stop answering your phone calls and running to your house at your beck and call. I know you just use me. I know it’s killing me to let you use me. I can’t help myself though. I crave it like a fucking crack fiend. It’s not that the sex is mind-blowing (well sometimes it is), it’s just the being with you part. The “we’re still good at this” part. It feels a little like us, or who we used to be. But you’re using me, I know you’re using me. I also know that I will continue to let you use me. If you’re a fuckwad then I’m the idiot in love with the fuckwad and that’s no better.

I keep going over (quite obsessively I might add) every mistake I made in our relationship. In my head our story is different. I fight for us. I move out and go live with you like you once asked me to. I put our relationship ahead of my own spoiled needs. In my head, we’re happy. In my head I didn’t fuck things up. Oh how I wish I could live in my head. Stay suspended forever in that magical alternate reality, but sure enough when I wake up you’re not there and I hate it. The real reality sucks.

I don’t know how much more I can take but I said the same thing last year and I’m still here. Sad and pathetic. I know that the main reason why you don’t give a shit is because you know I’m not going anywhere. You can do as you please and in the end I’ll still be there. It’s a depressing fucking existence. Maybe this is how it’ll always be. Maybe I’ll never move on and you’ll just continue to torture me forever. Fuck. I hope not. Please come back. It’ll be better this time, I promise.

Love,

Your pathetic Ex

P.S. You’re a fuckwad.

My mother suggested I make a blog...

I am aware that it sounds a bit pathetic, but I think she's on the right track so here I go. I should tell you a little about me;

My name is Natalia but everyone calls me Nat.

In exactly 2 days I will be 22 years young.

I work as a receptionist (so I have a lot of free time).

I've been writing since I was about 11 but I've never really completed any project I've started.

Piggy-backing on that last point, I will tell you why I have made this blog. It was sort of inspired by the movie Julie & Julia. See, she wanted to cook her way through Julia Child's book and in order to make sure she completed it she made a blog to hold her self accountable to wondrous world of the Internet. I'm kind of going with the same idea. On Friday I began a new project. Sort of a book of open letters to various people in my life (past, present, and future). I don't know if it's any good but I'm going to finish it.

Like Julie I am giving myself a year to finish writing it. At the anniversary of the creation of this blog, I will mail out as many copies of my book as I can afford to print out to various publishers and hope for the best (or hyper-ventilate until they respond). Will it get published? I have no idea. But the idea of growing some balls and actually going through with this is just too tempting. So here goes...