Breakin’ on Up, Movin’ on Up, and Finally Having a Piece of the Pie

When I moved to California, the prospect of a relationship genuinely gave my acid reflux. I had just stopped talking to my ex and I wasn’t ready for commitment at all. I was subjected to a considerate number of shirtless pictures featuring his fresh new abs and a waxed or shaved? chest. Champagne bottles were poppin’, underwear was showing, and he was in Brazil with a world of possibilities and a party boy mentality.

Was this the person that I dated for a year? Definitely the party boy, which kind of came with the package of dating an Australian. But everything else seemed a little vain, totally aggressive, and definitely forced.

My friends would send me screenshots of his posts and I would just look at them mortified. While they reveled in all of this, I was kind of in shock. I’m vain enough as it is and even I wouldn’t post a picture of me in my underwear.


Oh, and I’m stubborn to the point of delusion. But I’m not here to talk about all of my redeeming qualities.

With that being said, I think my ex is one of the greatest people in the world. We share incredible memories together and they’ll remain some of my favorite for the rest of my life. I have a ton of respect for him and the kind of man he is, but it was certainly a wake up call.

Do guys seriously wax their chests? I guess so.

We were on two different planets. He was on Planet Look at My Abs in Brazil and I was about to land straight on Planet 47, little to my knowledge.

Planet 47 is a fictional place that my best friend Frankie and I made up. It’s where people go when they need a little break from the norm. Or a break from society. Or just a break down.

Before the Planet 47 Incident of January 2016, I basically put myself through nun training camp for six months after we went to Splitsville.

I repeat, I did not touch someone for SIX MONTHS.

That’s half a year.

182.5 days.

After three months, I accepted that this was who I was. I wasn’t too worried about it. I’d find a nice nursing home to die alone in.

I essentially turned into a human soundbite of Bill Clinton saying, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” because on the spectrum of sexual relations, I was not having any. Not one sexual relation came my way. Not even one.

I was losing it.

In essence, I knew there were a lot of things that I had to change about my life in order to be happy and it wasn’t sexual relations. I had to do something for myself and not for anyone else.

So, I studied myself internally. Not like my organs, but my brain. My big, giant, brain. My unusual, hideous, gray-matter-filled brain.

I finally came to the conclusion that I hate dependency.

Most of the reason for the breakup was this concept that I was tired of doing long distance, but upon further reflection, I was tired of not being someone.

I’d honestly rather die of scurvy than be a waitress in Australia.

My identity was shredded and blended into “graduate student and girlfriend of successful business owner.” OH MY GOD. I want to die even saying that. It is not a real thing. And that wasn’t his fault. It was mine.

At some point, I had to let that go and make a move into the real world. Being an avid learner, reader, writer, and sensual lover will always be a part of my identity, but it’s not who I am.

So, who the f*ck was I?

I was about to go full Mulan and find out.

Except for the whole female warrior, best friend is a dragon, thing. I’m way too lazy for that and honestly, I’m scared of house fires.


I was raised to believe that making plans solve all of your problems. I’m of a different opinion, though. I think making an outline is a much better idea. There’s no point in writing the whole story, when you really don’t know how it will play out.

I feel like in terms of life, we kind of stay in this rough draft stage because we are ever-changing, making edits about what we want and who we want to be. It’s always great to have some kind of idea about the person that you strive to be and the things you want out of life, but those things are going to change faster than you wrap your head around.

So, I started outlining the person that I wanted to be. I reached out to friends for career advice, I revamped my resume and LinkedIn, and I said Bye Felicia to all of the negative things in my life. With the $4,000.00 that I saved up to move to Australia, I took the ultimate leap of faith, got on a plane and moved into a house in California.

With a man that I had never met.

With a dog that constantly barks at me.

Who I am consistently annoyed by.

Unless he’s wearing a t-shirt.

Then he’s sort of cute.

But still.

It was the best decision I could’ve possibly made life-wise. Dating wise, well… we’re still figuring that one out.

Granted, I hadn’t dated anyone or touched anyone in half a year, I completely forgot that crazy people exist. Like legitimate crazy people. I forgot ALLLLLL about how awful dating is. Why I hate it. Why I refuse to do it. Why I’d been a nun for six months. More importantly, I forgot that my first trip here, I met Dennis Rodman and he was an actual psychopath.

That should’ve been a giant red flag.

Next stop, Planet 47.


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