This is a hard blog to write.
In fact, it’s the hardest I’ve ever written.
Ryan Gosling and I broke-up this summer.
I know, I know. But please don’t cry. Really, it’s not as tragic as it sounds. We’re still friends, you guys, but things just weren’t working out. I mean, he’s still “publicly” dating Eva Mendes, and I think he actually likes her. Which is understandable. Her skin is flawless.
And while he begged me to reconsider, I was just like “Ryan, I love you, but I’m just kinda over it, ya know?”
SO. MUCH. EMOTION.
He’s moving on nicely, but he’s still a little raw. So, of course, you should totally respect that and probably never mention my name to him. He just starts ugly-crying, and it’s terrible.
With that being said, of course I’ve moved on to someone else. We’re not dating, but I’m sure it won’t be long.
Especially since the Olympics are over, so he’ll have some downtime. That’s right. I have fallen head-over-heels for an Olympic swimmer.
It wasn’t an easy decision which one would have the opportunity and privilege to become my Mr., but it was a challenge I was willing to take.
On one hand, I had Michael Phelps. We dated briefly in Beijing, but then I found out that my friend Whitney was dating him too! That scoundrel. Him and Whitney are doing really well though. And she lets me watch him flap his arms. Good friend.
And then there is Ryan Lochte. Who is just all kinds of HAWT, y’all. And he has that arrogance factor. Which, of course, fits my pattern of dating guys that have the potential to treat me terribly. He showed promise and quickly moved to the top of my list of eligible suitors. But could I date another Ryan? It just seemed like a dangerous pattern. Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling, and now Ryan Lochte? I had to draw the line somewhere.
I began to fret. Which Olympic swimmer was I going to date? I’ve ALWAYS dated an Olympic swimmer for at least three months post-Games. My anxiety didn’t last long, and just as I thought I was going to have to switch to another sport and nationality (HELLO, OSCAR PISTORIUS), a ray of hope appeared in the 100m freestyle.
Oh, heart be still! After losing my mind watching an American win this race for the first time in 24 years (my age, coincidentally), I looked on the screen to see one of the finest specimens of the male gender that my eyes have ever beheld. In fact, I pretty sure the next words uttered out of every female’s mouth in that room were “Thank you, God.” And then my next words were “DIBS, HOBAGS.” I’m not proud of my malice or choice of words, but they were effective.
So there it is. LOVE. You never know when it will hit you or where or with whom, but it’s going to. And you just can’t stop the obsession train when it passes through your station, now can you???
And RyGos totally approves. His exact words were “He’s hot. You go, girl.”
AND HE’S TOTALLY RIGHT. I DO GO.