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Stuck in the Middle.

My phone goes off.

It’s him.

Trying to be cool, trying not to be that girl who desperately waits around all day for a response, the girl who goes so far as to bring her phone with her to the bathroom so she doesn’t miss his text (who am I kidding, I am so that girl) I wait a few seconds before I snatch it up with such rapidity that I nearly drop it.

Seeing his name on my screen, a shy smile forms. Those who happen to be around me already know who it is I’m messaging. I’m not exactly mysterious when it comes to my emotions and feelings, and my joy at receiving his texts lights up my face like the 4th of July.

What can I say? I’m just that girl.

As my eyes tear through the text, I’m happy, of course, so happy. But at the end, I find myself feeling just slightly disappointed because while I enjoy talking, spending time with, and getting to know him, I’m at the point where I kind of want a little… more.

Fighting against the hopeless romantic that lives within these walls of mine, I've struggled with my feelings since I first started hanging out with him. Not wanting to rush things, enjoying the process of getting to know him, like really getting to know him, I’m fighting the urge not to get emotionally attached to someone I just started getting to know. Which, per my history, is what I’m known to do.

So I’m here, stuck in the middle. Appreciating this new friendship, but also desiring something more.

I’m not exactly a pro at relationships (my history having been limited to bad dates and brief stints that ended with ghosting and a broken heart). Having relegated myself to pining after Prince Charmings in fairy tale stories with happy endings, I’ve fantasized, romanticized, and ruined relationships because of my sometimes unrealistic expectations I set for those I meet.

I fall, hard.

Sometimes, the guys I date are just not meant to be, and instead of accepting the simple truth that we’re not compatible, I simmer in the rejection. On other occasions, I’ve overthought myself into oblivion, ruining things before they’ve even had the chance to flourish. Sometimes, I keep quiet about how I really feel and other times, I get rejected expressing those same feelings.

So you see, I’m not exactly savvy when it comes to navigating the murky waters of my relationships.

I think part of the reason why I get my heart broken so much is because I live my life based off emotion. I rely solely on that part of my brain, instead of utilizing all parts that would help me see things more wisely, more intelligently, a little more clearly.

I know at some point I have to talk to him about it. I need to find the courage to express how I feel, which is this: I enjoy spending time with you. Honestly, it’s that simple.

And as much as being honest scares me, it also thrills me because I know that one day, their response will be reciprocated, and they might just feel the way I do.

But I won’t know until I try…

Creating the occasion.

“Oh, well we’re undressed,” touts a family that had just walked into the front doors at Addie Camp. I stood there at the hostess stand with a smile on my face, wearing red pleated plants and a white silk blouse.

“Wow, you had to pick the fanciest restaurant in town,” says a grubby looking fisherman to his buddy. This was after he gave me the up down, no doubt judging my 1950’s high waisted shorts, tucked in off the shoulder salsa top, and red lips as “fancy.”

“We’re not really wearing the proper attire,” whispers a woman to her husband, looking at me sideways as I wait there in a tight black fifties dress and rhinestone accessories.

These are common phrases I’m greeted with at the front doors of Addie Camp. As hostess, it’s my job to welcome and bid adieu to the guests and naturally, my favorite part is being able to dress to the nines for a few hours a night (we have so little occasion to dress up here, as you know).

See, since I was in middle school, I’ve had a history of being a little bit of a rebel when it comes to dress. Calls to the office about me wearing “the wrong blue” (you can’t approve blue as an acceptable color and then deny turquoise, it just doesn’t work like that!), skirts being too short, lace not being considered a fabric (it is), and distracting the boys with my pencil skirt and corset (if they’re distracted, that’s on them). I’m also six foot two, so anything I put on my body naturally stands out. So I get it, I don’t exactly fit in with the Alaskan stereotype.

You know the one I’m talking about.

Xtra Tuff boots with the classic Salmon Sisters fold over print, North Face or Patagonia sweatshirt, and a Carharrt beanie. Draw it up, that’s what most Alaskans consider to be proper attire!

But I’m not most Alaskans.

Sure, I own all of the above items, but I also have closets (yes closets) full of vintage dresses, silk skirts, and embellished tops that are dying to be worn. And yes, while there aren’t many occasions here to dress up, that doesn’t stop me. I simply create my own occasion for such beauties to be worn.

Like working at Addie Camp.

Most of the time, it’s received well. And even though I’m not one to care about such trivialities like what people think of me and what I’m wearing, it does bother me when someone eyeballs me and what I have on, and choose not to stay and eat because they feel I am a representation of this “all too fancy restaurant.”

(what they don’t know is that I would dress up in the same outfit for a trip to the grocery store or a run to the bank)

I know I will always get curious looks for dressing the way I do in a state that dresses the way it does, yet there’s still no place in the world that I feel most comfortable standing out in. I somehow thrive best in a town that prefers wearing camo print over paisley. Does it make sense? Not really, but I love it nevertheless.

So please, don’t judge a book by it’s cover and assume that my mink stole and suede kitten heeled accessories dictate the dress code in the establishment I work in. Take it and and understand that I am merely a woman who takes an ordinary occasion to dress up and turns it into an extraordinary one…