Now seems like as bad a time as any to expose the fact that I’m a fraud.

For the past three years I’ve written a blog focused in large part on dating and relationships while remaining pretty much single and very much inexperienced in the realm of life as a couple. Up until three weeks ago I hadn’t dated someone long enough to “meet” the parents. Not since high school have I purchased a birthday gift for a man I call my boyfriend. And never have I ever played the female part in a couple’s Halloween costume (or the male!).

So when the idea for us to get out of L.A. for a weekend came up, I was slightly more than slightly panicked. And when I was later informed that the idea was, in fact, mine – I about fell over.

“Well since you claim this was my idea,” I told the most patient 28-year-old man this side of the Mississippi, “can I change it from two nights to one?”

And so we left this past Saturday morning for Ojai, California (not just the name of the family business in Brothers & Sisters!). R had taken care of absolutely everything like some living, breathing “36-hours in….” New York Times article leaving me plenty of time to over-think every element of our uninterrupted alone time together.

Do not get me wrong. I very, very much like R and was very, very much excited for our maiden voyage together. But that in no way prevented me from being preoccupied with fear about the myriad things that could go wrong. I am a mental multi-tasker.

My fears included but were not limited to:

• Getting car sick on the ride up. No, I don’t generally get car sick, but every once in awhile I’ll look down at my blackberry too much while I’m passenging and start to feel a little wonky. This is embarrassing because it doesn’t/shouldn’t happen to people over the age of eight.

• Absolutely hating the way R drives on the freeway and questioning the quality of his entire person as a result of this finding.

• Not really remembering how to ride a bike. I’ve gone five plus years without riding a bike and found that, despite what they say, it is not just like riding a bike. This one’s doubly problematic because I can’t possibly look adorable in a bike helmet and therefore run the risk of suffering a massive head injury resulting from my inability to remember how to ride a bike. (Note: We didn’t end up biking but did go on a “hike” during which I wore a Louis Vuitton saddle bag and carried a large, skim cafe au lait.)

• Finding out that we are wildly indecisive as a couple in situations that require “winging it.” R: So we have an hour to kill, what should we do? Me: I don’t know…what do you want to do? R: I want to do what you want to do. Me: Well I don’t know what I want to do.

• Finding out that we are wildly incompatible as a couple in situations that require “winging it” R: So we have an hour to kill. What do you want to do? Me: I’d like to spend 45 minutes in each of the seven vintage clothing stores in town. You? R: I’d like to drive around and see if we can find somewhere to shoot skeet. Me: Ew.

• Talking in my sleep, snoring, and/or passing gas in the night (slash at any point over the course of the trip). If these fears were placed in order of gravity, this would be #1. If you are reading this and thinking, what’s the big deal??, you are probably a man. If you are reading this and thinking, uummm, one or more of those happened, and want to stay my man, keep it to yourself.

• Not liking Ojai, assuming I therefore won’t like most of California, questioning my decision to move/plan in life/ability to make plans in general aaannnddd then lacking any ability to keep these thoughts to myself such that I finally annoy this seemingly unwavering man to the point of no return.

None of the above happened (I repeat: if you know otherwise, zip it). It was, in fact, just as comfortable slash fun as spending 36 hours together here in L.A. except we’ve never gotten involved in a competitive wine taste-off here and don’t generally see barefoot pregnant women dancing to a band of four, 65-year-old men performing a set that 180’d from a Credence medley to an Incubus hit.

Maybe this relationship stuff isn’t as complicated as I’ve made it out to be over 500 posts in the three years of writing this blog.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” R said lowering the Ojai playlist he made us for the ride there and back (I know…), “I did some back-reading of the blog. I think you might have be over-thinking some things.”

Forgot one:

• That my boyfriend will start reading old blog posts and realize just how insane I am.