Tag Archives: dear future husband

it’s been a while, future man-friend;

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oh, hey there.
it’s been a while, i know.

i’ve been busy. and am only getting busier. buuuuuuuut. 
(just a quick note because i’m supposed to be busy, right?)

even after all of these years of seeing boys on the T bring home flowers to some lady at the end of their trip, and candle-lit dinners, and moments seemingly cut neatly out of a rom-com with ryan gosling, i still think  late-night chess would be a superior date. 

thatisall. okaybye!


future lady friend, who thinks you might need to watch your back at the chessboard.

that’s all, future manfriend;

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hey there, future manfriend.

i think it’s important to tell you now, that my life is absurd. before you buy into all of my nonsense like you are haphazardly ordering a hand-blender on amazon, thinking you will make blended soups alllllll the time (or something), i should let you know this.

i am a weirdness attractor. it just seeks me out. it finds me wherever i am.

when it’s at the bookstore: i always ask mindlessly wandering folks whether they need help finding things and it ends up with a crotchety grandpa talking about his dojo master who knows how to kill someone without even touching them. and he only drinks hot water with soy milk with honey, as per his dojo master’s recommendation. and going up in the elevator with a customer interaction commonly goes as follows:

lady: you know what i don’t like about this place?

me: oh, what is that?

lady: you can’t take books to the toilet. ugh, it’s so frustrating.

me: …..

i wear clifford heads. and “story time” is something i put on a to-do list at work. bear voices, giraffes that can’t dance, and snack time are common concerns of my day to day life.

whenever i pet a dog on the streets, their loyalty instantly switches to me (i’ve had multiple witnesses to this ridiculous phenomenon).

when it’s at school, it’s not unusual for me to be called “raggedy ann” by passersby. tourists at work assume i go to harvard and ask to take pictures with me (?!?!this has happened at least 3 times?!?!)

one time, i was trying to get a bike off of craigslist and went to meet up with the fellow who was selling it. we met up in a pretty public space, but knowing me i was fully ready to assume that this day might be the day that i get thrown into a sketchy, nondescript white van and taken off to become some drug lord’s wife (i’m a huge bushel of fun, aren’t i?) keeping this in mind, the guy (who was adorable and had a british accent and i secretly wanted him to ride tandem bikes with me into a sunset. i mean, huh?) tells me we have to go to his workplace, as that is where his bike is.

visions of being thrown into a potato sack and thrown into a van rushed through my head as i willingly followed him to my fate. he hands me an i.d. as we walk through the “peter pan: the musical” tents that were taking over downtown boston. i confusedly ask him what he does. “oh, i am john darling”, he says casually as i writhe and try not to foam at the mouth with overwhelming joy. just a normal morning for me, future man friend. almost buying a bike off of john darling is somehow my normal.

being hugged by homeless women as my date approached me one night (true story, he was parking his bike, and a homeless woman began hugging me out of the blue as he walked up to me. it was awesome) is commonplace.

like a moth to a light, the weirdness just launches itself on to me. and i’m not interested in shaking it off. and i hope you aren’t either. to me, weirdness is the cheese sauce of life. and i’m fully prepared (with lactaid pills) to enjoy it with you.


future ladyfriend.

let’s get out of here, future manfriend;

dear future manfriend,

i think honesty is the best policy. i really, really do. i believe in a complete laying out of my quirks and idiosyncrasies like a traveling salesman spreading out all of his half-used, rickety products for sale.

keeping that in mind, every few months or so i get this tingling in my fingers, specifically my “travelocity.com URL typing” fingers.

i have an extremely hard time sitting still, you see. i spent two hours on amazon looking at luggage. the image of a packed suitcase is enough to get my heart pumping. once you get the sweet taste of airplane cabin air, your plane neighbor chuckling to himself over “happy feet” playing on the tvs, and notes on altitude flooding your brain it’s hard to shake off the magic spell of traveling.

it’s in my clothes, it’s in my hair, it’s in my skin. i can’t shake that magic out if i tried.
and now i find myself in this place that i love, but that i’d love to run away from for a little while. i’ve been out of practice, you see. i’ve sat in one place for the last six months that just sitting my whimsical self on a commuter rail train to the outskirts of boston is enough to get my gears going.
i’ve tried to describe to myself what not traveling makes me feel like. it makes me feel stagnant. i feel kind of stale at times. and like i just described to a friend in an ever-so-eloquent facebook chat, i feel like “the universe just took a dump on my soul”.

i sometimes worry this plane-ticket temptation of mine might cause you to flee. i sometimes worry sitting still is an art that i’ve never really ever considered mastering. i signed a year lease two months ago on my apartment and i’m still amazed with myself.travelocity’" seems to be subconsciously typed on my computer every other day. i’m not sure at what point i will be okay with sitting still, but  when that day comes i will welcome it like an extended house guest in my apartment whose lease still shocks me.

so i offer you this quirk, if you will. i’m a little bit much to deal with. and just like a product pushed on your like a traveling salesman, you can feel foolish for buying into it whenever you look at it at a distance. but i hope my laundry list of quirks (singing while dishwashing, my foreign-children’s-book buying problem, drinking iced coffee in the winter, silly socks) will make you want to come along with me on these silly, little escapades with me. will make you humor my tendencies to flee.

or better yet, make me sit still for once.

your future nomad-lady friend,


get excited, future gentleman caller;

broston 006wee

broston 007editwee  {near the christian science buildings, broston.}

you know how i said i can’t wait to take you to one of my favorite places?
here’s a teaser.
let’s fling our shoes off one day in the fall and run through the infinity pool when no one is looking, okay?
i mean, that pool is kind of asking for it.

it really is.

with anticipation,

future lady friend.

just a note, future gentleman caller;

long time no talk, future gentleman caller.

like i said before, i really do think i am more than deserving of rugs of verdant greens and fiery crimsons to roll out in front of me.

i’m a twenty year old girl who knows that opened doors aren’t just a relic of old fashioned niceties. i know that appreciative side glances from across crowded rooms are what i deserve. and being walked under the orange lights that always seem to surround bus stops are more than appreciated.

after the episode of last weekend, where i found myself with a lack of these little bits of lovely scattered around, i knew with a searing certainty that your existence was even more plausible.

it seems like it would be the opposite, doesn’t it?

but no, i knew that the rocks in my stomach were even more of an indication that i needed to let what was left to just die off, to suck the poison out, to get rid of the thought process that i was getting the maximum when i really getting the bare minimum.

i know you’re there. i know you’re running furiously towards me, just like my dear emily made it so clear to me.

and i know that the day will come when i can count on a bus-stop companion. and the man who will kiss me and often and with more feeling than i can even imagine at this present moment in time. and a man who could stun me from across a room with that appreciate glance, and who can make my bones buzz just by being in my orbit in that same crowded room. the same man who can make my heart go aflutter, but also make sure i don’t float too high off the ground.

a man who isn’t straight out of a katherine heigl movie, but is better than any idealistic bit of fiction, because he likes faulkner more than what is deemed healthy. and likes only to eat graham crackers with his milk. and sometimes eats the core of an apple when no one is looking. and secretly sings along to showtunes.


who makes me feel lucky in that moment where i too can look at him across the room, with my bones buzzing and say with a rhythm and a cadence, “that one. he’s mine”.

who feels lucky when i sing the bee-gees when i do the dishes, with soapy water up to my elbows.  when i find it hard not to slide across my wooden floors when i wear knee socks. and when i read cookbooks like they are novels. who feels honored when i show him my favorite places.

i guess what i’m getting at, really and truly, future gentleman caller. is that i want someone who deserves me and i deserve as well.

up to my elbows in bubbles, waiting patiently for you,
future ladyfriend.

hello again, future man friend;


the other day i was pondering to myself about a subject i find most disturbing.

yes. ideal attributes in a man friend.

yes. i know it sounds innocent enough. it’s not like i was talking about world domination, and the like.

but i shuddered to think i would sound like one of those women. you know the types. who so casually list their ideal attributes wanted in a mate, like the world’s longest grocery list.

and they basically end up listing these perfect frankensteinian prototypes. without a flaw or quirk in sight. or jesus.

and i thought to myself. but man, wouldn’t it be great to find a boy who conveniently has aaron sorkin’s brain, andrew bird’s diction, and jake gyllenhaal’s beefy forearms?

but i had to catch myself before i even let myself dwell on daydreams about jake gyllenhaal’s dreamy disney prince physique.

because i’m more interested in being surprised. because i don’t exactly need constant witty banter capable of being captured on “the west wing”. and i don’t exactly need a boy whose words could earn a million points in scrabble (although “oxen” is a great triple word score).  and i especially don’t need a disney prince. hard abdominal muscles aren’t the ideal pillow for my head, anyways.

so i’m shredding that grocery list before it’s even started. and excited about the surprise.


lady friend of your (hopefully not too carefully detailed) dreams.

promises, promises, future man-friend;



i promise to always respect your hallowed hours of gaming, if you allow me to indulge in my own nerdy side; visiting the homes of my favorite authors, reading my bad poetry, visiting beautiful rotundas of dust-filled libraries. 

i promise to let you order pizza when the food i make is inedible, so long as you hold my hand in movie theatres. and in the car. and on the plane when the turbulence gets so intense that my eyes dart from you to the emergency exit. and when the food i make is inedible and i get sad, of course.

i promise not to make fun of your tattoos, if you respect the greatness (that’s what i’m call it, for lack of a better description) of mine. i know this will be quite hard. my tattoo is as nerdy as they come.

and after you allow me my halloween wedding (oh, you will), where all of our friends and family come masquerading as witches and goblins, lady gagas, and charlie sheens, skanky nurses and doctors. we will have that kiss. a kiss of utmost promise and trust in all of all that is unsure on our road.

and it will be a weird one at that, because i will most likely be dressed up as bellatrix. for that, i am quite sorry.

and even after all of the masks are peeled away. and the ceremony, glinting lights, and glitter are gone. let’s shake on all of  it, okay?

no crossed fingers behind our backs. i won’t even cross my toes, despite the fact that i might not want to give up my control of the radio in the car.

no toes, fingers, or legs crossed. only promises, promises to be kept, future man-friend.


future lady friend.

long time no talk, future man-friend;



i know what i like on my toast (natural, crunchy salted peanut butter + bonne maman raspberry preserves)

i know what songs i want to listen to on repeat for months (this and this)

and i know what characters i like to dress up as at harry potter premieres (bellatrix)

i basically know how to decide on the things that don’t really matter that much.

so when i’m sitting under my covers, all bundled up like i’m a hermit crab in its shell. unsure if i want to rub elbows with the steven pinkers and noam chomskys of the world. or be on the same stage as andy samberg.

tell me i can do both. believe i can do both when i’m not sure if i can. because god almighty, i would miss arguing with people about false cognates and whether dogs can understand what we are saying or not. and it would make my heart hurt if i couldn’t make people laugh for a living.


because gosh darnit, i know dogs can understand what i’m saying. and andy samberg would be such a lovely, platonic guy friend to have.

(and because i also secretly hope you are andy samberg. i cannot lie.)


your future lady-friend who knows what types of books she likes to read (ww2 france, books narrated by dogs and the like), colors she likes her nails to be (muted pinks and purples), and that she likes boys that are more decisive than herself.