Smoke If Ya Got Em!

I don't talk about him much, do I? He proposed to me almost three months ago, and I've been wearing this lovely little vintage ring on my finger ever since. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at it. We have a happy little home in Silver Lake. We cook together a lot yet still spend too much money on eating out, and once in a while share a cigarette on our porch amongst our dying plants that we potted when we first moved in with the very best of intentions of keeping them alive.

I guess that's why I don't write much about it. I worry that happiness isn't much of a drawn when it comes to blog fodder. But I'm happy. I'm done with dating forever. I changed my life completely last Valentines Day when I asked the cute, tall, curly haired fellow on the smoking patio for a cigarette even though I don't really smoke, and then handed him my phone number unprovoked when I left.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like right now had I not had the courage to speak to him. But then I remember that I've never been that type of girl -- the type to not do something, to not put herself in a possibly uncomfortable position despite great risk to her self esteem. Life is for the living, I strongly believe. If I could give one piece of advice, if I dare become that happy asshole blogger for one second, the kind who pretends to have all the answers, that would be my piece of advice: be bold. Do something. It's so worth it.