End of a Pursuit

So I have been hanging out with Phoenix a few times a week for almost a month now.  And I have decided to drop my pursuit.  I am still crazy about him. But he has yet to take the bait. Really, this crush on him has proven more confusing every day. Like the desert climate, his affection for me can turn hot and cold in a matter of twelve hours.

Last week, he went on a road trip to get more of his belongings out of storage.  I did not expect him to be back until Monday of the long weekend.  On Sunday however, as a group of us were celebrating Robo's boyfriend's birthday over a BBQ, he shocked the shit out of me by appearing out of thin air just to my left.  My stomach turned with butterflies, the pounding in my heart could not be controlled, and as a my cheeks turned every shade of red, his lips curled into a smile that simply said "It is so good to see you."  He walked towards me and embraced me in the strongest and most comfortable hug I have ever felt.  His big arms fully engulfed me and his barrel chest was so solid.  In that moment, I felt safe and content.  Everything surrounding us disappeared. I felt deaf, as if the entire BBQ went silent at the sight of our reunion.  And perhaps it did. Mere moments later, a friends' husband walked up to us and laughingly told me to "wipe the shit eating grin" off my face.  I honestly missed this man in the five days I hadn't seen him.

This man that I have yet to kiss or even go on a proper date with. I actually missed him. Although the long drive had rendered him exhausted and as he said, comatose, he stayed at the BBQ long enough for one libation and to catch up on what that last few days had brought me. Perhaps that is one reason I am so smitten with Phoenix. Every time I see him, he asks about my day. And genuinely asks because he wants to hear. At the BBQ, he wanted to know everything, however menial, he had missed. When I asked of his trip, he did not really even care to elaborate more than "My friends wanted me to hang out one more night but I really wanted to come home.  I didn't even stop to rest."

Since the BBQ, I have seen Phoenix once for beers at our usual spot.  Tonight is a community collaborative dinner at my place. He is on the invite list and upon hearing about it, seemed thrilled. However, I have resolved if he doesn't make it, I am dropping my pursuit. Not to blow him off. But simply because I have thrown him much bait that he has yet to bite. When consoling my tears and helping my wonder if The Wrecking Ball would give up his addiction to continue his life with me, my Dad once told me "Men are simple. If he wants you, he will come get you. And he will do what it takes to have you." I am a firm believer in that. Every time I have ever made mental excuses for the behavior of men, I end up the pursuer and it never works out in my favor.

Sure, I have many wonderful friends that tell me "I have a good feeling about him", "He's just shy", "You might have to make the move".  But I just cannot bring myself to do more than I have. My original intention was to simply become friends with Phoenix. In which I have succeeded. He is now a member of my core group of friends. Because of that, I am afraid of a rejection that could result in awkwardness. So if friends is all it is, I have decided I am okay with that right now. Life was easier before I developed feelings for him. Time to free my brain and my heart onto inner pursuits. Besides, "just friends" can still give wonderful hugs.

A Hard and Heavy Shell

As long as I can remember, I have loved turtles.  I find them to be soothing. For years, friends and family often pick up little turtle figurines for me to collect.

Years ago, at a souvenir shop in the desert, I was eying a piece of turtle jewelry.  Attached was a tag detailing a Native American tale of how the great turtle is thought to carry the weight of the world on its back.  The turtle is carrier of all things in the world.  I have no idea if that tag accurately described the legend, or if it was some fabricated bullshit to entice tourists.  But it stuck with me and it is something I have always remembered.

When we were kids, Mom was kind of a piece of shit.  Being the older sibling, I put myself in charge of Sister's safety and well being.  When Mom took off on a bender in Reno and left the two of us girls alone (at ages 7 and 4), I was responsible for getting us to school every day.  Thankfully, a concerned neighbor notified our elementary school and Dad was awarded custody of us.  I still feel I failed in protecting Sister.  She had some serious shit happen to her and I couldn't stop it.  As we got older and Sister went through hard times, I had no choice but to not fuck up.  The burden was on me to be "the good one" and make Dad's life a little easier.

When it came to saving our relationship, it was not up to The Wrecking Ball to curb his cocaine habit.  Instead, it was my burden to learn to accept and live with his cocaine habit.  His vice resulted in mood swings.  He loved me in the morning and loathed me at night. He once showed up to meet my relatives an hour late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night.  Of course, I would tell myself over and over "If I try really hard to be a better girlfriend, he will love me so much that he will want to stop."  We all know addiction doesn't work that way. Yet, the fall and demise of us, was somehow my doing. My begging and pleading and ultimately standing up for myself, even if it meant fighting for us, was responsible for the end. 

These are only a couple of ways that I take on the responsibility for the failings of others.  I surely inherited this trait from my father. I see how this has affected him and I know that I cannot continue to take on the world this way.  The burden has been too great.  My back will not hold the weight for long.  As my body ages, I feel the impact of the stress.  The chronic headaches, the anxiety, the bouts of depression. For once, I want someone to be my rock.  I want someone to face the burdens with me, not let me carry them alone.  I want someone I can count on to be there.  To have my back when the shit hits the fan.  I long for camaraderie.  Fucking hell, it is my turn.  Well meaning loved ones often say to me "Patience Grasshopper.  It happens when you are not looking for it." 

While I wait, I will continue to admire the beauty of these strong and patient creatures.  I will reflect on the weight I have carried and recognize that it is a testament to my loyalty and devotion to the world I live in, and the people in it.  It is proof of my nature, what I am capable of, and the type of person I am.

I love you because...

It is no secret that I have spent much of my Twenties consumed by my relations with the wrong men.  At present, I am trying to focus on myself and letting love come into my life, "organically" (as I keep saying).  True, I allow myself to get a little too distracted with my boy-crazy tendencies.  But hey, I'm not dead. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to write a little love letter to the right guy, whoever he may be. The following are the reasons I will fall in love with him, and will keep loving him.

Huh... thinking about this list.  I think I want a lumberjack.  

You are strong, yet gentle. You fiercely protect what is important to you.  You stand up for yourself and refuse to put up with bullshit from the world around you.  You are not afraid to work hard and get dirty.  You are tough. Yet, you show compassion and kindness to our dogs, our friends' children, and all other beings more weak and meek than you.

You do Man Stuff.  You can change the oil in a car, change a tire, start the BBQ, line a fishing rod, unclog a toilet, kill spiders, take out the mouse traps.  I can do all these things too.  But there is something so primal and sexy about watching you do them.  Just promise you will let me keep cleaning the fish.  I love that shit.

Your beard keeps your face warm during all the chilly nights we spend in the wilderness.  It tickles the corner of my lips when you kiss me.  Your lack of a shaving routine promises you will never take longer than me, getting pretty in front of the mirror.

Your idea of a romantic dinner is one we create together, then enjoy outside in the company of our dogs.
 
You love dogs.  And always will.  And understand my love for them.

You tell me "Nice one" when I out-burp you.

You are healthy but love beer and cheese as much as I do.

You make me feel beautiful.  You love my love-handles for what they are.  Something to hold onto.

You love family.  Even if you don't have your own around, you willingly, because you want to, become part of mine.

You can dance the weekend away at a Bluegrass festival with me.  But you're completely okay with the DJ playing hair-bands at our wedding.

You love my cooking and don't just fake it to make me feel good.


You have your hobbies and let me have mine.  Though, we share our common interests as well.

You let me be emotional.  You respect that I am a woman, and it is my nature.  But you show me your logic.

You firmly believe beaches and cities are for vacation.  Mountains are for living.

You are responsible and keep your word.

You are my best friend.  We trust each other with all of our dirty little secrets.  We have no secrets from one another.

Tent sex. Enough said.

Mass Consumption

I have found myself in a slippery slope as of late.  Between the constant distraction of trying to make Phoenix like me, the heartache of losing my dog, and the promise of impending summer, I have been majorly unproductive.  Instead of participating in one of my greatest joys and cooking for myself everyday, I have been eating out. (That might be because I haven't even bothered to go grocery shopping since putting My Girl down.)  Further, I tend to do this eating out after I've had one too many at the micro-brew stop.  Every damn day.  In the last few weeks I've gone to work hungover more times than I would like to admit.

Thus, I feel like a giant cow.  And not one of those cute, happy cows that make California Cheese.  A lazy, gross, cow.  Covered in flies and expelling methane gas. The cycle is familiar; I've been here before.  This shit leads to depression.  This version of myself is one I do not wish to reunite with.  This version of me is trapped, broke, tired, grumpy, paranoid, and not a fun person to be around.  This version needs to take a hike.  Literally.

 So today, I will make it through the last five hours of my hungover hell.  Starbucks and Del Taco will help me survive.  I will go home to snuggle My Boy.  Cook myself some real food.  Wake up tomorrow anew.  And if I go visit Phoenix for our happy hour, I'll do my damnedest to keep myself in check.  I need my friends to help keep me in line too.  To not let me go down that path.  I have  not yet strayed so far that I can't find my way back.

My entire adult life has been the familiar "1 Step Forward, 2 Back" routine.  Time to grow the fuck up and move on.

I Have an Addiction.

To being needed.  To nurturing, saving, rescuing.

I have a new dog.  Adopting My Boy wasn't the intention, though I am not surprised how it turned out.  My aunt (who is practically my own age) is recently divorced with two kids and lives an incredibly busy life.  Last winter, they adopted a companion for their old and very mellow Collie.  The puppy they got was absolutely adorable, a big ball of fluff.  He is a big breed too; likely German Shepherd / Malamute mix.

Well, as time went on and My Boy outgrew his cutesy and cuddly puppy stage, he started terrorizing their home.  He is now huge and requires a lot more training and exercise than they were providing him.  He repaid them by eating nearly every single personal belonging, then shitting it out on the dining room floor.  Naturally, when I had to put My Girl down, my aunt said "Hey, you wanna borrow him?  I think it'll be better for you to come home to a dog every day and as a bonus, he will get some much needed discipline."  Of course, big and hairy is how I like 'em so I agreed.

I am proud to say that in our short amount of time together, My Boy is doing great with me.  He gets adequate exercise and he actually seems to truly enjoy our training sessions together.  He repays me with lots of snuggles and affection, while even being the perfect amount of protective over me.  Recently my aunt, her kids, and I have decided his new and forever home is with me. 

He is certainly not My Girl.  In fact, he is the polar opposite of her.  He counters her boldness and bravery, with shyness and curiosity.  I like to think of that as a beautiful thing.  As I drove My Girl to the vet on that terrible day, I thought to myself "My life is about to change.  Drastically."  And it has.  My Boy shows that.  He is a different dog and I feel like a different me.  I am grateful to be back to Dog Mommyhood.  It is where I am most comfortable.

Struck by Lightning on a Clear Day

It is amazing what a difference a week can make.  Two Saturdays ago, I found myself at home after dinner with the parents, relaxing and blabbing on about how responsible I am. Fast forward seven whole days, and I'm taking shots of tequila with Trinity at my house, prior to taking more shots of tequila at the bar to commemorate Cinco de Mayo like the good Gringa I am.

Our itinerary of debauchery was well planned.  Through the course of about thirty emails last week, Trinity and I decided she would come to my town for the night.  She would meet me at our usual day-drinking micro brew spot before we ventured on to a sponsored block party our friend's band was playing.  Eventually, we would spend the rest of the night belting out Beastie Boys karaoke in memory of M.C.A.  Sounded like a great plan, one reminiscent of my earlier Twenties.  I only asked that I not wake up pregnant. We executed our plan fucking beautifully! Days later, we are still talking about how great it was to be so irresponsible for an evening.

Copious tequila shots were not my only irresponsible indulgence from the weekend though.  I have developed a crush.  A real, honest, omigodimsixteenagain, crush.  I have known Phoenix for a few weeks, as he is Robo's new neighbor.  He moved to my town less than two months ago, and is thus, the new (and yet to be tainted) guy in town.  Really?  A handsome man in my small mountain town that neither me or any of my friends have slept with?  Get the fuck out - I've hit a gold mine!  In all honesty, I wasn't thinking of him as a romantic partner when we met.  I know my group of friends can be a little clique-y, as if we are the cool kids on the playground.  So when I would see him venturing out on the town solo, I always made an effort to be friendly. 

However, the platonic nature of my feelings towards Phoenix came to a screeching halt this weekend.  As our quick greetings slowly started migrating to walking each other home, post happy-hour dinners, and spending hours on end with one another, people started to notice.  At first, I would respond to inquiries about our status with "It's not like that.  He's new here and I'm just trying to be friendly."  After many prods from my guy friend, Cowboy, I finally just said "Okay.  I admit it.  I have a HUGE crush on Phoenix."  I eventually let myself realize that as much as I try to fight it, I genuinely want to hang out with him.  Like, every fucking day.

At the present time, my little (or not so little) crush on Phoenix is just that.  There has been no holding hands, kissing, caressing, and certainly no fucking.  But our conversations have certainly drifted from just random "getting to know you" bullshit to more deep and meaningful things.  We talk about our families, our, pasts, our goals, our hopes for our futures, and most recently, what sort of things we like and dislike in relationships.  I feel that I may be sensing some mixed signals from Phoenix. We spend a LOT of fun time together, but his lack of physical forwardness confuses me into thinking that perhaps this attraction being mutual is a fleeting thought.  Cowboy on the other hand, says I have simply forgotten what it's like to be pursued by a gentleman: "Just because he hasn't tried to poke ya, doesn't mean he's not interested in ya.  Now gimme me a dip."

So now, here I am.  Obsessively checking my phone, tripping over myself when I hear it ring, asking Trinity to help me compose texts, and in general just over-analyzing every damn word or action I see from Phoenix.  How immature and irresponsible can I be?  But it sure is a lot of fun. Goddammit.  As I have said before, the last thing my life needs is a man to come around and fuck it all up.  My brain has more important shit to do.

Got My Robo Mojo Back

Last night, I had a wonderful time with my girl, Robo.  Like Bodhi and Trinity, Robo is one of  my wonderful friends that I simply cannot live without.  Robo too, is beautiful and bright.  But I would have to say her best quality is how genuine she is.  While kind and warm, she has this amazing "fuck it" attitude about her.  As a good Midwestern girl who is ever confident and secure in her own skin, Robo never tries to be someone she's not.  Her feet are planted firmly on the floor.  She is also the most honest person I know, and never sugar coats the truth.  Robo tells it like it is.  If someone is offended by hearing the truth or if someone has a problem with who she is, Robo says "Fuck 'em."  To Robo, life is just too damned short to worry about silly and superficial things.

Because of this, I feel most like myself when I am in Robo's presence.  She has the ability to make me relax and feel at home in my own mind whenever I am around her.  Many young couples, (understandably) value their privacy in the early stages of cohabitation.  Robo and her boyfriend, on the other hand, have a home that is warm and inviting.  There have been countless times the two of them have offered me their guest room, simply so I don't have to be alone.  I know that sometimes when I get down, I can be downright exhausting.  I can work myself into such a giant frenzy that I'm not even thinking clearly.  My words ramble the random jibberish going on in my brain.  Robo and her boyfriend never seem to tire of me.  And when they do, they certainly don't show it.  I love them for that.

When Robo returned after a two week visit with her family, I may have been just as excited to see her as her boyfriend was.  I needed some time with her.  To catch up and talk about what life has dealt each of the last two weeks.  But mostly just because I needed to feel more like me.  Few things can help me get there, than seeing this great friend of mine.  I feel so incredibly blessed to have her in my life.  I am so glad she's home.