Old School

This weekend provided quite the unexpected turn of events.

A little over a week ago, while joining my friends for our usual Sunday afternoon beers, I ran into my old high school boyfriend. Yes, that high school boyfriend. The one who had rushed to the emergency room in his homecoming suit to see his girlfriend with blood clumped in her blonde hair. We went to a small charter school with a graduating of class of just over thirty students. For the most part, we all keep in touch via Facebook. Seeing as I live in my hometown, it is not unusual to run into former classmates. I can't quite say there was anything super dramatic about running into him at the beer garden. Only that "The Accident" has been weighing on my mind lately, and seeing someone from that time seemed conincidental.

None the less, the following day, I posted the courtesy "Nice to run into you. Hope all is well!" note on his Facebook wall. Within fifteen minutes, he had sent me a private message asking for my phone number as well as inquiring if I would like to get together. We made plans for this last Saturday to have a play-date for our dogs and grab a beer. I had a slight feeling that he was maybe hoping for more than just a friendly interaction, but I put those thoughts away for the most part. It had been eleven years, after all. Like me, he still lived in the area and he has had all this time to reconnect with me, so why now?

The morning of the non-date, Bodhi and I went to an outdoor yoga class. On the drive there, I was sort of thinking out loud and reminiscing about what type of guy I remembered my old boyfriend to be. I have nothing but fond memories of him. As a teenager, he was kind, selfless, generous, honest, and giving. To put it simply, he exuded Sweetness. But again, we were kids way back then. There was certainly no guarantee that he was interested in anything more than catching up with an old friend. And even so, there was no guarantee that life and heartache hadn't jaded him into Douchebag Supreme. Still, I was excited and the morning was filled with a mysterious wonder as to where his intentions might lie.

I met Sweetness at our predetermined time and location. The first thing I noticed was how cute he looked with his slightly crooked smile and now grown up beard. The second thing I noticed was how beautiful his dog was. Even My Boy was smitten with the duo. He loved having another dog to romp around with and he overcame his usual anxiety to immediately let Sweetness give him attention. After hours of the dogs cooling off in the river and running themselves exhausted, we decided it was time for some human fun and headed to the nearest dog-friendly patio for some adult libations. Our laughter and imbibing went on for the rest of the day, well into the night. We eventually retreated to my apartment where I not so slyly suggested that he shouldn't drive home. He told my I was beautiful. Told me he thinks of me every day. And even way jumped the gun by telling me he wanted to see me all the time and wants to pursue a relationship with me. He also swept my chimney (thank god!).

I had a wonderful time with him and we have made plans to have dinner tomorrow. I am excited, optimistic, happy, and freaked the fuck out all at once. The seriousness and emotionally openness of his words have taken me aback. He did seem a little hurt when at the mention of a "relationship", I retreated a little. But, come on! How can one know they want to be committed to another person after only eight hours spent with one another? Sure, I want to see him more. But I am simply unable to make that kind of decision at this stage. Then again, his only problem is that he doesn't have any problems. Sweetness is still the sweetest man I have ever met. He still is kind and honest. I have spent all of my adult life with emotionally unavailable men, so engaging with one like him should be a relief.

How is it that all I have ever thought I wanted in a partner is someone who is kind and genuine with me, yet when he presents himself, he's not enough of a douche to make me want to seal the deal. I even recently put into words my perfect man and here, Sweetness has manifested but I refuse to get on board. Could it be that I am not as ready to commit as I thought I was? Perhaps I attracted assholes because somewhere in my sub-conscious, I knew they wouldn't work out and I wouldn't have to commit? Am I a perpetuation of the old stereo-type of "Nice guys finish last?" How sick is that? Last night I gave Trinity a recap of my weekend and she flat out said "I refuse to listen to you bitch about having the perfect guy in your life. I refuse!"

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Male Driven Insomnia

After spending nearly all of yesterday drinking entirely too much beer with Phoenix, we stumbled our way to our respective homes. Just minutes after I walked in the door, my text alert goes off. He is apparently not done with me for the evening. We exchange some friendly and flirtatious text banter for the next half hour or so, until I presume, he passed out. Lucky him, as my brain reeled for hours.

What should I wear when I see him next?  
Shit. I have so much cleaning to do before dinner on Wednesday. 
Ooh, perhpas I will make myself some new earrings by then. 
Wonder if he really is "off" with the girl in his old town? 
Goddammit.  Seeing him every day is really hindering my work out regimen.
Holy fuck.  I spend a lot of money having beer with him every day.
If I get butterflies from him hugging me, am I going to stop breathing when he finally kisses me?
I wonder if he drinks enough tequila on Wednesday, he won't want to do the twenty-block-walk home?

This internal dialogue went on until somewhere around 2 a.m. when I finally turned out the light, wrapped my arms around My Boy, and tried in vain to get some sleep. Yes, I have broken puppy training non-no #1. I have been letting My Boy sleep in bed with me. Due to his past reputation of chewing everything in the house, he is crated during the day, and until recently, at night while I sleep. But I'm a giant fucking softy.  What can I say? I feel guilty that he is in a crate for nine hour stretches and then stuck in there another seven overnight. I am also slowly trying to give him a bit of freedom and forcing him to cope with being around the tempting, chewy goodness of my shoes and computer cords, while not actually chewing them.

The problem is, My Boy is big. On one hand, having a big hairy being on my bed, helps me to not care so much about the big hairy being that isn't. Sometimes, his panting breath will lullaby me to a deep sleep. Last night was not one of those nights. Last night was a night of him laying perpendicular to me. Of kicking me in the face with his hind legs. Of him crowding the bed to where I woke with only one extremity still on the mattress. This is how I spent the little three hours of sleep I was trying to get.

I think these boys are trying to kill me.