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I’ve wanted to post for a very long time, I swear. Actually, there’s a list of things that I’ve wanted to write about including the fact that I graduated with my Masters last week, the fact that I recently got national recognition from the company that I work for regarding the cases I’ve pulled lately, or this cocktail party that my girlfriends and I are having later this week.

But some other stuff came up.

I’m used to getting nasty comments on here. I get it: I groan about relationships for the majority of this website. After the post I wrote about my friend Chris dying, I received a comment that said he deserved to die, that god gave him leukemia for a reason. That hurt. But one of the latest ones that I got was “I think this whole thing could have been chopped down into a few short statements: Caitlyn meets Perfect Guy. Caitlyn falls for Perfect Guy, finds out he has girlfriend. Caitlyn tries to ignore, becomes obsessed. Rejection ensues.”

You’re absolutely right. It could have been summed up in that. And not to compare myself to brilliant pieces of art, but Lolita could be chopped down to “pervy old man lusts after/falls in love with his step-daughter. Has sex with her, goes to jail”. Any goddamn story can be chopped down to the basics. And then they’re no longer stories, they’re just cheap imitation summaries.

The other night I was driving along with one of my girlfriends delivering the invitations to our cocktail party. Somehow blogs came up, something about how our good friend has one. She kept talking about how cool they were, how she wanted one. “I have one too,” I told her, and showed her the link on my Blackberry. Her response… seemed really fake. I’ve known the girl for years, I can tell when she’s lying and when she’s faking. I just knew that she’d known beforehand, but that she wanted me to think she hadn’t. I played along, told her the things I loved about blogging: the ability to vent, the support you get from other bloggers, the weird connection you have to them. I email almost daily with one blogger, and caught up with friends I haven’t talked to in years on here.

To “chop things down”, as that commenter so kindly put it, I found out that two of my closest friends had had a conversation regarding my blog a bit ago. The entire thing was dripping with sarcasm, about how they could have a psuedo-political, overly emotional blog too but they’d have to fake it like I do.

That conversation was between two of my closest friends.

I guess that there are several points here, the first being that I never saw myself coming across like that here. I’ve liked having a semi-anonymous place to vent and sort out thoughts. Do I really come across like that, so overly emotional and fake?

The second part is the fact that two close friends said that. I have the option of covering a surveillance this Friday night, the night I took off to host this cocktail party with them. And really, the former is looking like a lot more fun than the latter right now.


I really forgot how hard relationships can actually be, especially those in which the people are three-hundred miles apart. Actually, I’ve never had experience in the latter part of that; I’m a bit inexperienced when it comes to these long-distance relationships.

Pittsburgh Boy and I had our first fight on Sunday night. I am not a good fighter, not in relationships at least. My first instinct is just to end the relationship, rather than try to talk things out. He said something, and my reaction was, “I need to hang up now. We’ll talk tomorrow. Bye.” After I hung up, I forgot everything good about the past two months and was thinking break up, break up, break up!

On Monday, I talked it over with a few friends. They all seemed to have the same opinion: I was being rash, I was panicking, I would be throwing away a perfectly good relationship. Ian said it best:

well all i’m saying is that you need to be honest with yourself about everything, and not to be constantly on the lookout for exit strategies, you know? it’s one thing to be careful, another to alway be ready to abandon ship. because if you really do care about him then it can be worth it to have problems at the beginning.

I know he’s right. I think I got used to looking for exits in relationships, mostly because it’s easier to break up with someone than be broken up with. But also because, for the past few years at least, I would be able to jump back into my comfortable cycle with Pete.

Now it doesn’t help that Pittsburgh Boy didn’t call last night like he said he would. Last night was the first night since we’ve met that we haven’t talked. He emailed with some excuse about falling asleep early. I sat in bed last night trying to get my head off of it by watching a movie, then going for a run when I couldn’t calm down, then coming back to bed when I couldn’t even concentrate during my run. Ultimately, I think I hate being in relationships because they make you feel this vulnerable.

Ian ended our conversation yesterday with a bit that I hope comes through today:

it’s a give and take, and in the end you just have to weigh everything against your desire to be with him. it’s easy to get mad, it’s hard to forgive. but forgiving is ultimately more important.

On Friday I had another minor freakout. I spent the morning in an autopsy and after leaving work found out that Pittsburgh Boy hadn’t even left Pittsburgh. “We need to talk,” he said. He went on to say that even though he’s been fairly intense lately with us dating, he thinks we should take it slower, not throw titles around. I’m definitely not a titles type of girl, but my head started flashing back to PK. Four years of moderate dating with no titles thrown around? I couldn’t take that again. I told him that perhaps it would be best for him not to come then, that I didn’t want this just to become some stagnant relationship with no clear lines. Calmly, he told me to think it over for ten minutes and figure out what I wanted. I did want to see him, so I called back and told him to come before rushing back over to a crime scene.

The crime scene was, to say the least, morbid, so I handled it by meeting up for drinks with Gay Rower afterwards. We discussed how I needed to seduce Pittsburgh boy (hadn’t I already done that?) and what the outcome of the weekend would be. Another one of our rowing friends met up with us, and the two of them walked me back to my car. I picked up a cheesesteak and black and white cookies for Pittsburgh Boy, a nice welcome to the city. Over at the hotel I threw on boxers and a movie and opened a bottle of wine.

He got there twenty minutes later and I pounced. It felt so amazing to be back with him, so natural. There have never been any nerves, any uncertainties when we’re together. We took a quick shower and then curled up in bed talking for the night.

In the morning I took him to my hometown, where we had a fantastic brunch and then wandered the main street. He was infatuated with it, and raised his eyebrow repeatedly asking how long the train is to Philadelphia and wondering if they had his field of jobs in the city. We went to the local candy store, with jars upon jars of every candy imaginable, and filled up a bag of jelly beans and gummy worms.

We made a quick stop over at the races- College Roomie was there and things were tense with her, and I wanted to spend as much alone time with the boy as possible. We stopped by my house to grab Willa and I took him to the local park, which had a few miles of easy hiking and a spot for Willa to swim. We held hands through the entire walk and he stopped every so often to pull me closer to him. I really could not help noting how natural everything felt, as if this were our routine that we’d been doing for years.

We stopped by to drop the pup back off and (through devious planning on their part) my parents were there. I hadn’t wanted them to meet so early, wanted to give him and I time to develop before scarring him with my family. He got along well with them, was at ease answering their few questions, both sides teasing me at my insistance on leaving. And then my grandmother showed up. You see, my grandmother had made clear that she wanted to meet the man that I was holed up with for the weekend. The only way that would work out would be to trick me. Pittsburgh Boy handled it well though- while I was a general mess, he calmly talked about golf with my grandmother. I pulled him out of there as quickly as I could, ignoring pleas from my parents to stay for dinner.

Pittsburgh Boy asked to see our local grocery store- they don’t have this chain out in Pittsburgh and it’s actually very impressive. We walked through the rows of artisan breads and homemade desserts and chose a dinner of eggplant roullettes, stuffed shells, and cannolis.

Back at the hotel we settled in for a long bubble bath with glasses of wine- I’m by far not this type of girl but it felt nice to relax and just talk. He ran downstairs after and grabbed even more food from the restaurant- giant pub pretzels, spring rolls, and bruschetta- while I laid our spread out on the bed. I have not felt this relaxed or this happy in a very long time over something as simple as dinner on a hotel bed over intensely serious conversation.

In the morning I felt a pang of sadness knowing that I was getting this attached to someone who probably wouldn’t work out. Writing out directions for him to get home I realized just how impossible all of this is. We’re starting off our relationship long distance, and there’s a pressure for it either to continue like this or for one of us to move. It’s true that I’ve been interviewing for jobs there, but I’ve also been interviewing for jobs in New York and Iraq and Washington. I could never move somewhere for someone else, so at this point I’m just hoping that things work out.

Writing all of this out has really cleared up why he doesn’t want to place titles on us. It makes everything more definitive, makes us feel guilty if we don’t talk for a day or if we go a few weeks without seeing one another. But I know what it is- I’d rather drive the six hours to see him than drive five minutes to the local bar to see anyone else.

I came within an inch of breaking up with the Pittsburgh boy this week. I was going through waves of realizing just how great he is to realizing how much I hate being in relationships. And then there was the whole thing where I was thinking about Pete on a daily basis, having incredibly vivid dreams that I was back together with him, finding photographs of times we were together. I lined up all of the negatives in my head over Pittsburgh boy: that he lives so far away, that he’s a Republican, that everything feels so quick. And then Pete emailed.

Pete and I talked on the phone later that evening and while it made me miss him, it also made me realize what I have now. I have a guy who is packing up and driving three-hundred miles after work to spend the weekend with me. Who specifically got a hotel room at a hotel nearby the restaurant where we had our first “date” (It’s a very, very rare chain. Four or five restaurants on the east coast. The other one was in Harrisburg two weekends ago).  He’s bought a bottle of champagne, I bought a bottle of red wine. He’s called me every single day since we met, told me how beautiful I am, how crazy about me he is. I just cannot pass this up. The day after we met I came home and couldn’t stop staring at our pictures together. I don’t want to keep worrying if the person I’m with really cares about me, or whether he just doesn’t want to be alone and is “settling” (his words, not mine).

So I’m going to forget all of that and reaaaaaally appreciate what I have this weekend: an incredibly handsome, charming, intelligent, funny man driving across the state to see ME. A weekend of romping in a hotel, of enjoying crew races and a night out on the town. As Peter said: “let yourself be appreciated, twerp.” I’m going to do just that.

And mayyyyybe I’ll post some pictures on Monday! And maybe by then I’ll have thought of a good name for the boy. Any suggestions?

Pittsburgh, Part III

On Sunday morning I woke up and made breakfast for us- scrambled eggs with cheese and cream cheese and pancakes. Everyone else was a bit hung over and moving slowly, but we made plans to head out to Southside for the Spain-Germany Euro cup final. The first bar we went to, we met up with College Roomie’s friend, Megan. Megan and I loved the German crowd- we were packed like sardines against the bar with everyone jumping together. College Roomie, our other friend, and College Roomie’s new roomie headed across the street to another bar while Megan and I got sloshed on German beer and shots with German fans.

Afterwards, College Roomie took me and our friend up for a view of the city from the hills. The sight was gorgeous, perfect. I kind of fell in love with Pittsburgh then. When we got back, I took a long run along the trail next to the canal. It was a bit late, so the sun was setting just as I cross this gorgeous train bridge. I stopped and watched the sun set, then ran into the city and back. It was one of those perfect, sweaty runs. I burst back into College Roomie’s apartment to find that a couple of her friends- including her best friend- had arrived.

After a quick shower and throwing on a dress, I settled in for a night of heavy drinking with the friends. Jesse, the one friend, saw me sipping vodka and orange juice, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and chugged before passing to me- this did not bode well.

Within the hour Jesse and I were making fun of College Roomie’s best friend for not having made a move on me the night before. I don’t even remember exactly what I said, but I knew that it was harsh. He went outside, I think a bit angry. I had to go to the bathroom, but Jesse decided he wanted to use College Roomie’s bathroom. Since College Roomie lives in a boathouse, I decided to run upstairs and use the one in the locker rooms. Run is the operative word- I for some reason thought that running was a great idea. Turning on the lights was also seen as unnecessary, so I was running full speed through the erg room in the dark. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I ran straight into one of the ergs and broke a few toes (have spent most of this week getting x-rays on my fractured foot and broken toes). When I realized that my leg was bleeding, I screamed.

College Roomie’s best friend must have heard me and came to find me. I was close to tears, telling him how much my leg hurt, and then he was kissing me. It felt…perfect. I completely ignored the fact that my toe was jarred off to the side- I was kissing a gorgeous guy. The guy and I ended up spending all of the night together, down on the docks, by the river under the bridge. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I would be getting on a plane in a few hours.

The thing is, when College Roomie was setting us up she intended on it being purely physical. But it was hugely emotional- we spent most of the night talking about our families, our lives, our friends. It was intense and hard when he had to leave at 5 am.

I got on the plane that morning expecting to never hear from him again, but it’s been exactly the opposite. He called me that very evening and we talked for hours. “You know,” he told me, “my friends are confused as to why I’m calling my one-night-stand. But I don’t want us to be a one-night-stand.”

We talked every day this past week, texted all during the day. On the fourth of July, he called and asked me to meet him halfway the next evening, insisting that he wanted to take me on a real date. I drove the two hours to meet him halfway, crawled into bed at the hotel room he’d reserved. When he arrived a half hour later, it was like we’d been dating for months. He crawled into bed beside me, let me watch the Phillies game, and whispered in my ear the entire time. We had an amazing date out, holding hands throughout dinner and rushing back to the hotel room.

I know I’ve been all anti-dating, but this completely blindsided me. The guy is exactly everything I want- intelligent, sweet, caring, athletic. He’s a rowing coach too, so he knows how important that side of my life is to me. He also has a solid career in a similar field as mine, so we’re both interested in what the other is doing. I found myself doing things that I never usually like doing- cuddling, holding hands, letting him pay. But I loved every moment of it with him.

He’s flying in next weekend for a race and to see me, so we’ll have to see where this goes. I’m too nervous about getting my hopes up and jinxing it. Long distance relationships make me nervous, and after PK I’m fairly nervous about guys in general. I guess I’m also held back by the fact that we kind of did things backwards, not getting to know each other until afterwards.

Pittsburgh, Part I

I left work early on Friday to get to Pittsburgh nice and early- College Roomie had made plans for us (her, Jason, her roomie and me) to go to a concert in the park on Friday night. My plane would get in with perfect timing to get there as it started. When I got to the airport, I tried to convince the booking attendent to switch me onto an earlier flight- that was a no go.

Everything was fine until the rain started. The other passengers and I waited, tense, watching it pound against the airplanes on the tarmac. We sat with bated breath until finally the red light flashed beside our flight number- delayed. And then we watched as they delayed our flight a second, third, and fourth time. No way I would get there before the concert, and I’d have to fend for myself for dinner. I approached the booking attendant’s stand again, and, eyeing the pizza-ice cream- fried fast food, questioned if they had anywhere that served lactose-free, gluten-free, vegetarian food. She eyed me for about five seconds before I rescinded my question and asked a new one: where was the bar?

I clicked my heels down to the bar, only to find that it was packed. Everyone’s flights were getting delayed, and I was lucky to find myself a place near the bar. I smiled at the two girls next to me, both blondes my age. I don’t remember how we came to the decision, but the three of us grabbed a table towards the back with three large pints of beer. The introduced themselves, we talked about jobs and families, boyfriends and “fun buddies”, as the one girl put it. They were amazing, and it was nice to find out that one, Megan, was on my flight.

We finished a few pints and then got another in a to-go cup to sip while waiting back in line. Standing in four inch heels in this new fangled airport line? It sucked. The blonde got onto the plane before me but saved me a seat. I slid in next to her, and another older woman slid in next to me. Megan and I finished our drinks and were both in a happy state, flirting with the flight attendant and convincing him to give us more drinks for free. So it’s safe to say that by the time I was waiting outside for  College Roomie to pick me up, I was sloshed.

“She’s in rare form,” College Roomie said as she introduced me to her roommate. I was- somehow I had also convinced the flight attendant to bring me tens of bags of peanuts, and I had opened each one. I’m going to be terribly afraid on the day that College Roomie decides to clean out the backseat of her car, only to find a stash of loose peanuts.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my best friend J,” she said. I was only listening half-heartedly at this point. She’d been trying to convince me that this guy was perfect for me, going so far as to send me pictures of him. I had to admit that he was adorable, but I just wasn’t in that state. She kept at it though- told me I’d meet him the next day at the barbeque she was throwing. When College Roomie and I climbed into bed together, she insisted again. “Just meet him, you’ll see.” I nodded obediently, mostly because the whiskey sours had made me sleepy. We crashed, whispering back and forth to each other just like we’d done back in college.

Yesterday was one of those perfect Sundays, and it was the day where it snapped and made me realize it was summer. In middle school, summer always seemed to come so late and last so briefly; the scorching days where your legs stuck to the plastic seat at the desk didn’t count as summer, no matter what the calendar said. But yesterday was it.

I had gone for a run Saturday night, which was a horrible idea considering it was 89 degrees out at 10:30 p.m. Can you believe that? I tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t be horrible- after all I endured years of rowing and playing soccer in weather just as hot and humid. Even though I opted for a shorter run around the cute town that I live in, I was sweating. I know that sounds gross, sorry, but I was. I came back and gulped water, checked my phone and saw a text from Ian. He was in town, wanted to get breakfast in the city. There was also a voicemail from my boss- could I possibly stop by the office to do a very important task for him? He supplemented a few choice phrases, calling me his “whiz kid” and “best intern ever”, and any chance to get in the office works for me.

In the morning I threw on a cute outfit. We were, afterall, working with a major agency helping them prep for an operation. I wanted to look clean and put-together, so I put on a silk/cotton blend blouse and an a-line skirt with heels. The prep went fast, with the guys from the other agency and I joking around practically the whole time (they were trying to convince me to apply and interview with their agency, twist my arm a bit). I headed out with perfect timing to pick up Ian in the city.

When I got in, the weather was perfect. We went to local chain place that I love, both getting cinnamon raisin bagels with fruit cream cheese. Afterwards we walked around the art show in Rittenhouse. This guy was one of my favorites, though I’m not crazy about his non-dog pieces:


Ian and I drove back to my town and sat talking over coffees until his brother came to get him. I went back to my house to find Willa sprawled out in her baby pool in the back yard, asleep with her head on the edge of the rim. Perfect time for a text from Ella, asking me to come over for a swim.

Ella’s family not only has a gorgeous house, but they have a magazine-worthy backyard too. The majority of prom photos were taken there, and a friend of ours got engaged in that backyard (they had met there, and they also got married this past weekend with the after-reception party in her backyard). Ella’s backyard has a giant pool off to the side, with soft lounge chairs lining the side. I threw on my bikini and rushed over, making the trip a bit longer picking up a nice selection of beers.

It was a bit of a family party- Ella’s young cousins were there and we spent the first hour splashing in the water with them. Our friend Lauren and her boyfriend came over, and the hours drifted off intermittently switching between football, swimming, and lounging while listening to the Phillies game. Our only breaks were to drive and get salads for a late lunch, and then after Lauren and the boyfriend left Ella and I got water ice before climbing back in the pool for a volleyball game. We ended the day with a nice long soak in her hot tub, having a serious talk about relationships.  Doesn’t that sound perfect?

I honestly couldn’t have imagined a more perfect Sunday.


Wow, the blog has really sat on the backburner. But between classes, my internship, and weekends down the shore life has gotten a little ridiculous.

The internship is exactly what I’ve always wanted. I’m technically not allowed to go into details about what I’m doing, but generally I’m working with fugitives, counterterrorism, intelligence, and homeland security. I’ll also be experiencing a bunch of other sides in this field. For instance, yesterday I got to sit in on an autopsy and do a few cuts. It’s incredibly interesting and a perfect fit for me.

The actual internship group is large, but there’s only one other guy in my unit. Our personalities match up, so it’ll make all of the grunt work (filing, organizing) a ton easier.

Between classes and the internship I’m fairly busy. I still manage to get down to the beach on the weekends- last weekend John, Mer, Rachel, Brian and I went down to Mer’s beach house. I’m not even going to go over Saturday night because I basically spent the night crying. It was horrible. But the next morning was great; I got up and went for a long, long run on the beach. On the way home I picked up breakfast for my hungover friends- egg and cheese sandwiches and donuts. We headed down to the beach afterwards, spent the day soaking up the sun, digging a giant penis-shaped hole (John called it the “cockpit”), and playing football. A guy a bit down the beach was fishing and caught a dogfish shark and I got to hold it.

OH! And Tennessee! I forgot to mention that entire trip. Between leaving my laptop in Virginia (hence the lack of posts), getting to the second hotel and finding a squatter in my room, and keeping 20 high school boys from running across the highway to the “Guns and Golf” store, it was hectic. We also had two major emergencies on our last day- one of our boats crossed the finish line (and won Nationals!) but one of the girls had a horrible asthma attack and was pulled from the boat and rushed to an ambulance. Another girl crossed the finish line and passed out, and was also pulled and rushed to an ambulance. I ended up running about 6 miles that day between the finish line, the docks and the ambulances. When I ran back over to the ambulance the girl was just waking up. I asked her if she was ok, she goes “Did you see my sprint?”

So really, have been ultra busy lately between the trip to Tennessee, the new internship, classes, and training for the half marathon (oh yeah, that too). But I’m sure I’ll end up with plenty of “my hands were in a body!” or “I got to see the best crime scene photos today…” stories.

Let it die and get out of my mind
We don’t see eye to eye
Or hear ear to ear
Don’t you wish that we could forget that kiss
And see this for what it is
That we’re not in love
The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn’t the ending so much as the start

I just got home from the Feist concert that I took my mom too for her birthday. I’m never really sure how to explain my mom and my relationship- strained at times, I guess- but we had a great bonding time at the concert. I made her a CD of Feist’s music a few months ago, and it was nice getting into the city with her alone for the evening.

During the intermission, my mom brought up Pete. I forget exactly how he was brought up. I think I mentioned something about how I was going out with T again this week, and she asked about when I was going to see Pete again. I shook my head and said, “I’m not”. “You always say that,” she countered, “but you always see him again.” My mom and I don’t have the relationship where we discuss the intricate workings of my (non) love life, so I didn’t answer. I’m not going to tell her that he said “we’re not going to date, I’m never going to come and see you, but you can come up here” to me. It was too embarrassing, made me too miserable to think about.

My mom decided to continue, saying that she thought we’d work it out. “He always comes back around,” she said. Not this time, I thought, even though I nodded. She probably saw this relationship- if I can call it that- the same way I did. In one of our last fights, I told Pete that I know him to well for this. Looking back, I know I’m wrong. I have no fucking clue who he is, what he’s thinking, what he wants. I know the image he showed me, the person I wanted to be dating. I know the idea of him that was stuck in my head.

My mind was still reeling- I’d been ignoring messages from T all night, always unsure over him whenever the subject of Pete comes along. Feist sang that song and I guess it’s always hit home for me. Time to let it die, right?

As my mom and I waited for our ride I sent a message to T: “Drinks, Thursday night.” I guess he’d been waiting for an answer, as he wrote, “Cannot wait to see you again.” So a new start?

I’m in scatterbrained-Caitlyn mode again, so of course that means everything’s going to be in list form again:

1. My coach wants me to race lightweight again this summer. Lightweight is 130 pounds; I’m currently 138 pounds. Rowing is largely about weight. When I was a heavyweight rower in high school my coach (the very same one I’m working with now) had me bulk up to 165. When I switched to lightweight, I went to 130. In college, when I started coxing (yes, that’s the term. No, it’s not perverted) I was between 115 and 120. I’m obviously not a natural 130 so it’s going to be a trying few months getting back to that for this summer’s racing.

2. I went with a new layout on here. I kept telling Peter that it was too dreary, too miserable. He refused to help me change it. It made me feel sad when I looked at my blog and I hated that. This, hopefully, it a bit more cheery. Does anyone know how to change fonts on here though?

3. I got the internship that I wanted. It’s unpaid, but I’ll be working at one of the most prestigious offices in the area with counter-terrorism, intelligence, and homeland security. The guy that I’ll be working under is a HUGE name in the field. I’ve also been asked to come and do a second interview with the agency in NYC.

4. In the past four days I’ve met two of the most beautiful men in the world. I went to a race with my friend Rach the other day and we were meeting up with her old coach. At one point I look over and see a guy that can only be described as “my type”. I nudged her and said, “I think I’m in love.” Rach laughed, and started frantically waving to him. “That’s P,” she said. I spent the next few hours drooling. The guy rowed at a D1 school, coached high school and then college afterwards. And now? He’s in the same field I am, working for a government agency. Rach couldn’t stop laughing as we talked about inter-agency tensions between the one he works for and the one I’m interviewing with.

5. The second guy is a coach at my boathouse. I walked up to my lightweight boat yesterday and asked them to get their oars down. None of them moved. None of them, in fact, even looked at me as I spoke. I followed their direct line of vision. “Holy crap,” I muttered. The stroke seat started cracking up. Now with rowing, the girls are supposed to keep their heads directly in the boat unless we tell them otherwise- it can ruin the balance of the boat if someone is looking out. Unfortunately, high school girls are predisposed to turn every time we pass a boys boat. “They’re not cute! Get your heads in!” I shout at them. I’m known for saying that. This guy? Is the exception. All yesterday I kept warning the girls when we were coming up on his launch so they could watch him. Their faces when he smiled and waved at me? And then when he walked up and started talking to me back on the docks? Kodak moment.

6. I’m trying to talk myself out of buying this dress. It reminds me of the dress Carrie wore in Sex and the City- you know, her “sex dress”. But I’m deadly in love with it. Please, someone, talk me out of it. Criticize it. Save my wallet after the other night.