The Rat's Ass

Well hello there...

Here's a brief re-cap as to what I've been up to the last few weeks since writing.

• Hiking
• Cabin-Vacationing
• Therapy
• Cooking
• Volleyball
• Friends
• Family 
• Work Insanity
• Yoga
• Love 

Yep, The Beast and I have officially moved way beyond platonic-hiking-buddy status. Shortly before my last post, I invited The Beast to get beers with me and friend visiting from out of town. After the happy hour, we all went back to my apartment where I cooked up an ambitious dinner for my guests. After my friend left, The Beast lingered just a little longer and he kissed me. We have continued to be each others' regular hiking partner. We just also go on non-hike dates as well.

Almost two weeks ago, I went on my annual summer trip to the family cabin. It was a relaxing and lovely time full of people and dogs I love. Kayaking, fishing, cooking, endless nights of drinking beer and playing poker... It couldn't get any better... until it did. What made this trip particularly awesome is toward the end of my vacation, The Beast got a ride up to the cabin with my aunt's boyfriend. The next morning, we backpacked through a mountain range to get back to town. Yes, I hiked home from my family's cabin with a 30 lb pack on my back and My Boy harnessed to my waist. The trip had been in the works long before The Beast and I became "an item" and it was something I had wanted to do for years, so I was rewarded with a great sense of accomplishment and contentment when we celebrated with a beer on the home-front.

Busy is a grave understatement when it comes to my work. If anything, I have been dramatically overwhelmed. But I welcome the reprieve from boredom or any time for depression-provoking over-thinking. Seeing as I have struggled to make a regular yoga practice this year, I am slowly building myself into a 1-hour-per-day commitment. I am now between 20 minutes to 1 hour, but I find I am steadily increasing the time I set aside for it and it feels good to finally be nourishing something that means so much to me. I have also started playing volleyball again. It was my athletic interest of choice my entire childhood and into my early twenties. Getting back on the sand and in front of the net seems to have ignited a long lost spark.

Lastly, I have finally made the big step of seeking professional therapy. I have my third appointment later today. Obviously, my treatment is in the very early stages and I am not sure I have established a connection with my therapist just yet. I have however, begun to notice a little improvement. Mostly in my acceptance of the stage my life is in. My whole psyche, shit, even the posts in this blog seem to be an attempt to "fix" where I am in life. But what if there is nothing that needs fixing? What if I am exactly where I am supposed to be? I have a very hard time "not giving a shit" as I have always viewed that mindset as lazy irresponsible. Yet, in the last month I have stopped "giving so much of a shit" and I have noticed my level of happiness has increased. With this added boost of optimism, I also find I am more productive. A productivity that leads to attaining the goals that recently seemed in vain.

Funny how that works.

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?

All or nothing

So much for my rejuvenating weekend of solitude. Moments after developing my plan to give myself a time out, Sister called to tell me that we're taking Dad out to lunch today (Sunday). I suppose somewhere in my fucked up logic, I figured that if I couldn't have the whole weekend to myself, I might as well throw out the whole idea. Friday, it didn't take much for me to talk myself into having a happy hour beer with my friends. It also didn't take much for me to then partake in the dinner my neighbors / landlords were hosting that night, where I naturally stayed up too late and drank one too many Mango Mojitos (they were delicious). Where did that get me? Waking up for work with a slight hangover, then back to drinking more beer and eating bar food with Sister yesterday.

Why do I do that? All or nothing? Why couldn't I have just told myself that since lunch with Dad was in the cards, I'd have to make extra sure my solitary time was well spent? Instead, I let myself have an attitude that one little kink in my plans meant "screw it all." Now, it is Sunday and I only have 2 hours until I need to start preparing to meet up with them. My apartment is not clean, I have not done the things I needed to do, and more importantly, I do not feel well rested for the daunting work week ahead.

I do this all or nothing with much of my life. If work is going crazy and I am unable to 100% focus on a certain task, I just say "fuck it" and play solitaire in between phone calls rather than using what little spare time I have to be productive. If I am going to go out for a drink, I usually just say "fuck it" and end up drinking many more than just one. If I eat junk food at lunch, I just say "fuck it" and continue to eat like crap the rest of day, if not the rest of the week. If I am attracted to one person, I am completely incapable of being attracted to anyone else. I am such a serial monogamous person, that I can't casually date, talk to, or have an interest on more than one man at one time.

Which brings me back to hot new guy from last weekend. I haven't been as neurotic as I could be, but he still has yet to call or text to ask me out, or just to communicate at all. Therefore I have been over-analyzing and replaying all of our meeting in my head. When discussing the timing of our next meet up, he did mention that it likely would not have been this last week as he was really busy. So I hope that he is just waiting to call until he can actually propose a time to get together again. Normally, if a guy hasn't called me within eight days of getting my number, I would pretty much forget about him. But (big but here), when he left my apartment last Saturday, he called me on his walk to tell me that he thinks I'm awesome and can't wait to see me. He later also sent a text that it was the best walk of shame ever. Now, call me crazy, but if a guy wants to get the hell out a girl's apartment and never see her again, he isn't going to dawdle, drinking coffee and hanging out with her for five hours. (Exception to this would be if she was giving up the pu-nanny, which I wasn't) And he sure as shit isn't going to call her and text her that same day. He would bail at his earliest opportunity and he would just never communicate with her again.

It has now been eight days since that communication from him. There could be any number of reasons he hasn't reached out. He could truly be as busy as he said he would likely be. As mentioned, he could be waiting to call until he can set up a legitimate date. He could also be confused, wondering why I haven't been blowing him up all week. He could have lost my number (though that would be a pathetic excuse). So now what? Do I shoot him a text asking how his week was, and risk sounding impatient? Or do I just wait and risk never hearing from him again? I met him one night. If I don't hear from him, I'll eventually forget about him and get over it. But for awhile there will undoubtedly be some "What's wrong me? What happened?" thoughts going on and I will beat myself up, trying to figure out what I could have done differently to encourage a different outcome..

Again, it's all or nothing. I make a move, or I don't. And in the meantime, this interest that I've had for a man I've spent a total of twelve hours with and put me in blinders. And I haven't found anyone even attractive since. No wonder I am still single. I put all my eggs into the basket of one person, I met one time.

This all or nothing, give up, sort of attitude is reckless, damaging and immature.

Anything but boredom

I did it. I chopped off my hair. An entire foot of it, actually. It was my first professional hair cut in almost a decade. And I got professional highlights for the first time in my entire life. To me, that is just crazy. I have never been a spa or gussied-up type of girl. I usually just trim half an inch or so off my flat, lifeless, boring mane every few months. The new hair makes me feel a little more "adult". Grown women get their hair done, right? It also has given me a good dose of confidence that I seem to have been lacking lately.

On Friday, just hours after writing my last post, an odd and somewhat traumatizing incident occurred. I was on the phone with a client when a mini-tornado swept through my office parking lot. I glanced over and saw a coworker struggling to close the glass door that was swinging open and threatening to blow away, right off its hinges. Then, in eerily perfect unison, I hear the gasp of several other coworkers and a cry of "C, your car!" I politely excused myself from the call I was on and hobbled over to see the wreckage. A fucking tree was on my car. On top of my goddamn car. Surprisingly, I didn't completely lose my shit. The hilarity of what my eyes were seeing was just too strange and too odd to get all worked up about.

By the time I arrived at my regular stomping ground for a beer, I was done. I was ready to tie one on. My friends and other regulars raved about my hair and expressed their sympathies for my now defunct ride. I caught up with an old friend who has moved back to our little town for the summer and we agreed to meet later in the evening to get a little shitty. And shitty we got. After, oh I don't know, three or four shots of Patron, I noticed a very tall and very handsome bearded man in our establishment. He was a new face and obviously not a local in our town. When my beer needed a refill, I slid up to the empty bar stool next to the hottie and placed my order with the bartender. While waiting, I felt brazen enough to introduce myself and compliment my new friend on his astounding karaoke skills. (I am nowhere near confident when it comes to approaching good looking guys. I blame my assurance on my new hair and the fact that I simply just didn't give a fuck after the tree vs. car shenanigans.)

Hot new guy seemed absolutely shocked that I had approached him and rewarded me by purchasing my beer when it arrived... as well as inviting me to keep chatting with him. Just as I thought, he was not a local in my town. He lives in the big city and had been at a picturesque wedding in my neck of the woods. After closing the reception, the party turned into a bar crawl and he had found his way into the bar my friends and I were at. Eventually, his friend popped over to say their limo back to the city was on its way to pick everyone up. We exchanged numbers and he expressed his disgust over having to leave the conversation with me. So I did something a little nuts and said "Stay here then." He kissed me. Then did a walk of shame from my apartment to meet his friends for brunch the next morning.

Now, in my last post I exclaimed how badly I needed to get laid. But as luck would have it on that fateful night, Aunt Flow showed up to make sure I didn't put out. Which is probably for all the better. We kissed and cuddled and made out like a pair of horny teenagers but we didn't get intimate and I told him I was glad for that. I said "I think I'd like to see you again, but if we had sex last night, that probably wouldn't happen." He laughed and tried to convince me otherwise. We chatted a lot and seemed to have great conversation that flowed and he didn't hightail it out of my apartment at the crack of dawn. In fact, we woke up early and laid in bed, talking and drinking coffee for a solid five hours before parting ways. He even called me on the walk to tell me he thinks I'm awesome and he cannot wait to take me out on a proper and "sober date".

My favorite part of meeting him was when I initially did the twenty question interrogation to find out why he was single. He said there is a running joke among his friends that he is always the guy a girl dates just before she meets someone she wants to marry. I was astounded and said I use the term Wife Fluffer for myself, as most of my demons end up married or close to it soon after their relationship with me ends. His response? "Well, I think we should date then. Because if things don't work out between the two of us, at least we'll meet the loves of our lives right after." Brilliant. After spending some time today, stalking him out on facebook and linkdn, I found that he is actually legit. His job, interests, education, and upbringing are exactly as he said they were. Oh, and he is also not on any sex offender registries.

So we'll see. Maybe he won't call and I can continue on with my whining ramblings. Or maybe he will and I'll have some good or bad dating posts in the near future.  

To whore, or not to whore?

While I very obviously have no shame about men and such, I tend to refrain from delving too much into the best parts of it: S.E.X. Perhaps I want you all to think I'm sweet and virginal. And perhaps I just want those moments to be sacred and not read by the masses. But truth be told, I am bored. And I need to get laid. Badly. I'm talking yelling, hollering, ass-slapping, going all night, nooky.

When I was younger... shit, who am I kidding? As recently as the end of times with The Wrecking Ball, I would sometimes find myself looking for validation with my cooter. Lately, not so much. In many ways, I feel like I enjoy sex more when it is monogamous and has meaning behind it. And as I get older, I find myself more sensitive to the idea of not being taken seriously because I drink beer with the boys. The last thing I need is to actually give the haters reason to think I'm just "one of those girls." Yet, It has been a good six months since anyone other than my OB/GYN has been anywhere near my bits. Currently, there are few things I would love more than to break this dry spell.
*Yes, I know. There was The Writer. Unfortunately, due to his insecurities and neurosis about his 135,678 unique and unheard of health problems (hypochondriac much?), and the uncanny ability for said issues to turn me off, we only did it a handful of times when we first started dating. And it was never very fulfilling. Yeah, that relationship was doomed.

But here's my dilemma. Even if I managed to allow myself a booty call just to clean the pipes, I don't exactly have ready access to any subjects. Sure, I have a handful of the aforementioned man-friends. But there is NO way I would subject myself to any extra curricular activities with any of them. They are actually my friends. Even the few that are single, I respect and frankly, think of them as family, thus have no desire to see their junk. And Phoenix? Hell, he'd be lucky to get friend-zoned at this point.

What about the option of getting shit faced and going home with a random? Unfortunately, I live and play in a small "everyone knows everyone's business" type of community. It most certainly has it's perks. Just not in the way of finding an easy, non-awkward, and discreet lay. If I were to execute the random bar hook up, I would have to venture to the Big City and bring my conquest home to Trinity and her gay roommate. They wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, they'd probably encourage it. But something about turning 30 leaves me unwilling to get on all fours on my BFF's couch.

So I guess that leaves me to do things the old fashioned (and more respectable) way. While draining my C batteries, I might have to actually find a guy who likes me and wants to date me. Between my love for my small and close-knit town, and my dedication to my career, my hopes of meeting someone "organically" seem to be dwindling. Sure, I have recently declared that I may not be ready to give the whole relationship thing a go right now. But that was before I got horny. Things suddenly seem a little more urgent. Perhaps a new haircut, new dress, and new match.com account?

Face Plant to Freedom

So...um...yeah. Phoenix is sort of fucked up. I will spare you the play-by-play but here's the gist:

Last Saturday, after way too much inhebriation at a friend's party, Phoenix offered to walk me home. During the walk, some drunken slurs were made from both sides. Ultimately, he became downright nasty and mean. His behavior and his words actually scared me. It was as if he turned into some sort of vicious stranger.  He wound up leaving me to find my way, disoriented in the middle of an unfamiliar neighborhood, at two in the fucking morning. Who does that? Seriously. What kind of stand up man in his Thirties leaves his female friend to fend for herself, lost, at two in the morning?

In a way, I am relieved by it at this point. Though our conversations and bond appeared to be growing, we never became intimate so I do have that to be thankful for. And if I ever find myself struggling to divert my attention away from a particular someone, them behaving like a bipolar douche is sure to do the trick. I could sit here and over-analyze his every word, along with the drastic change in his behavior. But I really just don't care much. Anyone who can treat a person as awfully as that, is no person I care to get to know any better. I will admit that for me, there has been some awkwardness. I have been avoiding my regular haunt, as it is now his regular haunt as well. But that really isn't the end of the world either. For now, I need some distance from Phoenix. And not drinking so much (while saving a little bit of cash) isn't exactly a bad thing.

So, I'm free. And better off. For now.

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.

It's Never That Simple

...but I am convinced there is nothing too much beer can't fix.

In my last post,I declared to the world that I was dropping my pursuit of Phoenix. Yeah, right. Two days after that, a group of us, including Phoenix, drank too much. It was the very first First Friday of summer in my small town. It is kind of a big deal. My town will take any excuse to party, even if it is something as simple as the first Friday of summer. We started at our usual happy-hour beer location and naturally, Phoenix showed his pretty head. He came right up to me before anyone else and did not leave my side the rest of the night.

Our group later found ourselves as part of the town party, streets barricaded and all. Of course, Phoenix and I were magnetically attached and after one (or two) too many beers, I flat out told him how much I love hugging him. He responded as if it were a challenge to see how much he could hug me in one night. My head was buried in his chest for much of the evening. I am not sure how we got on the conversation, but at one point, he mentioned something of a lady friend back home that he had been "on again, off again" with. Well, truth serum can be strong so the following conversation happened:

C: Can I ask you a question?
P: Of course.
C: Is your "on again, off again" thing the reason you have yet to make a move on me? Or are you just uninterested?
P: *Chuckle* It is definitely NOT that I am uninterested. I am very interested. And yes, that has been one reason. I talked to her when I went back home last weekend. She said she wouldn't commit to me so I should just start a new life here. But I am also slow moving at these things. And I am the new guy in town and you are the girl who knows everyone.
C: Okay, well we should hang out more then. Without our usual beer entourage. You know, have some pressure-free non-dates.
P: *Chuckle again* Yeah, I would like that.

And so it was. He walked me home that night, holding my hand. Rather than the usual stopping at the driveway to say goodbye, he wanted to come in to see and play with My Boy for awhile. We made plans to go out on Saturday (last night). We did. It was awesome. We also made plans for him to not only attend this week's community collaborative dinner at my abode, but also to contribute in it. In a few hours, we will be yet again, meeting at our usual spot. Still no kissing. Just holding hands and a lot of those wonderful, heart warming, hugs. I will take that.

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.

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.

Fishing Weekend Report

I last opened up to you about The Fisherman.  After he arrived on Friday, we took our dogs on a long walk in my neighborhood.  Nearing the end of said walk, he said "What I love most about us is that we always just pick up where we left off.  We never have any 'I haven't seen you in a year and this is weird' moments.  It's always just so... easy?"  Sort of hilarious as I said nearly the same thing in my post earlier that day.

That night, he took me out for the customary sushi dinner.  I LOVE that he buys me sushi every time we see each other.  Our dinner conversation was fairly typical for us; mostly about our careers and dogs.  Like me, he absolutely adores his job.  He, on the other had, abhors where he lives.  He confided in me that he really has no social life outside his coworkers.  Outside of work, he is fairly miserable in the cow-patty town he lives in.  He basically said "Please, find me a job here that I will love just as much as the one I have now.  Then, I can move here and we can get married."

Aww...  But I'm not exactly checking out the want-ads.  As great as The Fisherman may be, I would have to be out of my damned mind to even entertain the thought of him relocating his life to start one with me.  No more than thirty minutes after his departure on Sunday, I started hearing many complimentary "You guys are so right for each other" comments and answered many questions about The Fisherman.  My response? I don't really care for a boyfriend at all right now, let alone, a long-distance boyfriend.  I don't have the desire and energy to put in effort to truly devote myself or my life to a man that lives one block away.  I'm sure as hell not putting in the effort to drive out of state once or twice a month.

Sure, I love the idea of love and romance as much as the next person.  Probably even more than most.  But I am just not looking for it right now.  My life is too big and too great.  I simply want to just be me.  Not anyone's girlfriend.  Just me.  And while I may not be anti-romance, if it does happen, it needs to be organically.  In the case of The Fisherman, that would mean him getting a job and relocating to my state on his own accord.  Then and only then, perhaps building a more regular friendship with me that may (a very strong may) have the potential to become more.

This time, there were no tears when he and his dog drove off into the sunset.  In fact, it was a relief.  Sure, I had a wonderful time with him.  We spent the weekend eating decadent sushi, drinking micro-brews at my favorite spot, hiking, BBQing with friends.  It was great and it was fun to "play house" for a little while.  But when my dog and I had the place to ourselves again, it was complete bliss.
 

Going Fishing This Weekend

There is one demon I have failed to ever mention.  I'm not entirely sure I can count him as a demon, solely because we have never actually dated.  The Fisherman and I have known each other for about five years now.  Though some say "ideals" are the root of misery when it comes to love, if I were allowed an ideal partner, The Fisherman would come awfully close.  He is the mountain girl's version of a romance novel hero.   He has lived in the wilderness as a fishing guide and is about as outdoorsy and manly as they come.  Growing up, my Dad always told me real men carry a knife in their pocket.  The Fisherman always has knife in a his pocket.

As I said, we have never seriously dated.  If only because we live in different states.  Somehow, we almost always seem to be magnetically drawn to one another when we sense the other might be single.  We can go six months to a year without seeing one another, only keeping friendly contact.  Then BOOM - stars align.  We both conveniently end up unattached at the same time and the flood gates open.  Each time, it's the same story.  We see each other as much as we can, travel between locations, express over and over how if we lived near each other, things would be perfect.  We eventually drift apart, one or both gets involved with a more local romance and we remain "friends" until that sixth sense kicks in again.

So there I was, last weekend.  Celebrating a hike with some friends over a pitcher of microbrew in the afternoon sun, loving my single and free life, when my text alert buzzes.  Before I even checked my phone, I already knew who it was.  I knew the dam had been released.  Today - just hours ago - The Fisherman informed me he is checking out of work early to make the few hour drive to visit me for the weekend.  Hell yeah!  But.  Wait.  Just WHAT THE FUCK do I think I'm doing?

I don't want the distraction of a man right now.  I sure as hell don't want a relationship.  I just freed myself from being shackled.  I have been restless for too long.  Since ending things with The Writer, I couldn't be happier about my singledom.  In fact, I have hiked over 55 miles in the last 2 weeks of freedom.  That is not a typo.  Fifty-Five fucking MILES.  I have been able to keep my home in order, actually focus at work, take care of my dog, see my family, drink beers with my friends while listening to MY choice in music.  Life has been very good.  The last thing I want is anyone or anything getting in my damn way.  Yet I know, I always enjoy every minute I spend with The Fisherman.  And you know why?  Because I can do all those things with him.  We are so similar in our interests and passions that it is just easy.  Very easy.  Sure, we'll probably sober up from our playing house drunk when he leaves on Sunday.  And I will likely shed a tear as he loads his dog into the back of his Subaru to drive away.  I will feel a pang, knowing it seems unfair we can't be together.  But it's okay.  I find justification in knowing that Sunday will come.  And I will still be single.  And I will not have had to sacrifice a single part of my weekend to spend it with him. 

Love and Obsession. Or Something Else?

I have been a bad blogger the last couple months.  Truth is, I haven't had much to write.  As I stated in my last post, things with The Writer have been difficult lately.  Because of that, my life has not been as exciting as one would hope.  And... we are through.  At risk of sounding like a callus bitch, I'm not one bit sad to see him go.  That's not because The Writer is a bad person or he screwed me over in some grandiose way. But more that I regret spending the first three months of my last year in my Twenties, trying to make it work. I feel that my time with him was wasted time.  All of that energy and time I invested could have proved to be more worthwhile put into other places.  The concerts, parties, hiking trips and activities I missed out on with my friends.  The poker nights at Sister's that I didn't go to.  The nights I could have been experiencing LIFE and have something to write about in this blog.  All the nights my poor ailing dog spent alone because The Writer refused to come to my apartment.  I shudder.  Why? 

I can say that for me, it was over when I realized The Writer wasn't bringing much of anything into my life.  I staunchly believe the best part of a relationship is immersing yourself in one another's passions (while keeping individuality, of course.)  It started out that way.  I brought him to concerts of bands he'd never heard of and introduced him to the creativity of vegetarian cooking.  He brought me along to industry events with his writing and let me be the first to read some of his drafts.  Eventually though, he decided he didn't like doing "my things" and also started making less of an effort to share his with me.  Our relationship literally came down to me putting off my desires and responsibilities to watch him work.  A little too late, I came to the conclusion that he added little more than the physical presence of another human being.

It has been a good while since I have felt connected or bonded to him.  I picked up on this right away.  My first thought about this was "Uh-oh."  I thought for sure, he had just worn out his welcome and my interest was waning.  Then, through my misguided attempts of amateur self-therapy, I got to thinking that maybe that's what healthy love is supposed to feel like.  Maybe the fact that he wasn't on my mind all day, every day was actually a good thing.  Sitting around obsessing and willing the phone to ring certainly isn't healthy.  So when I'm relieved to not hear the phone ringing, that's healthy right?

I now know these feeling that I had were a sense of growing up and maturing. For the very first time in my life, love is not a priority.  I simply do not have the time or the will to deal with anything or anyone getting in the way of meeting my goals.  I feel smart and proud of myself for finally getting what everyone has fucking tried to tell me all along.  So in every sense of the word, I am relieved.  I cannot even express the amount of weight that I feel has been lifted off me.  Reading back on all of my previous, whining posts, I see that giving so much of myself in the last Twenty Nice years, hasn't gotten me very far.  I am looking forward to being selfish for a while. I hope that one day, a handsome and bearded gentleman who is passionate about his passions and supportive of mine, will come my way.  Until then, I am a bitch with a mission and need a clear path, free of obstacles.  Thankfully, The Writer is one demon I don't need an exorcism to be free from.

The Gloves Come Off

So as you know by now, I think The Writer is pretty swell. 

He is also my boyfriend. Really.  Honestly.  The other night, we discussed exclusivity and that is what we are.  He asked if I preferred him to refer to me as his "girlfriend" or "concubine."  I expressed that I prefer the former.  We have been dating (and calling, texting, IMing like a couple of teenagers) for the past month or so.  It may perhaps be a little quick for us to take ourselves off the market.  But what the hell; why not?  

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I proudly stood my ground while humbling myself to vulnerability and actually spoke up.  I did not wait for him to bring it up.  I did not just assume the best or the worst when he didn't bring it up.  I took charge of my well being and did it myself.  Remember my promise to myself to not hit the sack with him until after we became exclusive?  Being a little old fashioned isn't so bad.  We actually learned to like each other for reasons beyond the physical.  Whodathunkit?  Holy shit.  I'm a big girl now!

That has a boyfriend.

Date #3 with The Writer

Happy Monday everyone!  May you have a wonderful start to your week!

The Writer and I shared Date #3 on Saturday.  He came to my town where we had dinner and stopped by a Holiday party / Charity benefit / Concert some friends of mine were hosting. That also means I ended up introducing him to a handful of my social circle.  Normally, it is no big deal for me to introduce a date to my friends.  In fact, that often happens on the first or second meet ups.  For some reason though, I feel the need to keep my time with The Writer personal.  I want to keep him all to myself.  My friends are great and welcoming people so I certainly do not feel worried about him getting to know them.  More that I just want to fully devote my attention to him when we are together. 

Upon leaving the gathering, we came back to my house where we shared pictures and our favorite funny videos with one another.  Naturally, we also made out like teenagers until 3:00 a.m.  Though it has not become a subject of conversation between us yet, I have decided to keep my knickers on until we are an exclusive item and have had a mutual conversation explicitly naming us as so.  I foresee this becoming a challenge as firstly, I am not great at expressing my emotional desires to men.  Rather than having an adult conversation and leave myself vulnerable to potential rejection, I seem to withhold my feelings while only hoping (but never knowing) he feels the same way.  Secondly, I find him insanely charming and handsome and my willpower to resist a man like him could be fairly weak.  Damn it all; I will put my heart before my libido this time.  Dare I say, I am beginning to really like The Writer do not want to risk falling into casual sex with him.

We are going out again tonight for a film screening in the city.  Our courtship makes me feel special.  His writing seems to provide him with perks and invitations to fun events.  The idea of him asking moi to be his date, is quite flattering. 

Introducing The Writer

So I left out one minor detail when I said today (or yesterday, at this hour) was uneventful. That was intentional as The Writer (or future-demon) deserves his own post away from those demons.  
I got a text from The Writer this afternoon, inviting me out.  I had to decline as I already had plans - that were later canceled, of course.
A text from The Writer is a bit of an event.  Enough to put a smile on my face, at least.
We met via OKCupid and mutual friends.  So far I find him smart, funny, sarcastic, polite, well educated and handsome. 

• 1st date  - Quick cup of coffee.  Enjoyable conversation.
• 2nd date - Movie and a beer.  More enjoyable conversation.  First kiss.
• 3rd date - Happening this Saturday.  We'll see.  Too early to determine his intentions with me.  Exciting anyway.