Ah, yes, I can see clearly now

Long before The Guy came along, I went on a few dates.  One particular fellow I met while walking my dog in my neighbourhood.  It was some time in the winter and he was adorable fully decked out in his ski jacket and toque.  When he asked me out, I agreed despite the fact that my dog at the time, Maddy, hated him.  Maddy hating people wasn't exactly news, so I didn't think too much about it, but I should have.

Oh, how I should have.

Our first date was a walk around the lake with our dogs.  Turns out Maddy not only hated the fellow, but she also hated his dog.  So, I left Maddy at home and walked around the lake on one of the coldest days that year.  It went well, we had things to talk about and I agreed to a second date.

We met at a local coffee shop where I liked to frequent at the time (in fact, it's where I first met The Guy) and I was surprised when he walked in and removed his jacket and toque.  He was not cute AT ALL.  How on Earth he managed to look better with a hat and jacket, I will never know.

However, being the evolved person that I am, I decided to look past his GIANT FOREHEAD and strange body shape and have a nice afternoon of hot chocolate and conversation.  Well, I was enjoying the nice afternoon of hot chocolate and conversation.  He was looking at my glasses.

Now, I have had dirty glasses since the day I got them.  I will clean them within an inch of their warranty and, in the time it takes to put them on my face, I have fingerprints, paint, food, and dog drool on my lenses. 

Apparently this bothered my date.  Mid-sentence, he stood up, excused himself, went to his car, and returned with a glasses cleaner and wipe.  He took the glasses off my face and cleaned them right there in the shop.  I was stunned into silence, so thanked him and pretended that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

Our last date later that week was the date where I told him I didn't want to see him any more.  The glasses thing had clinched it, though I didn't tell him that.

These days, The Guy will occasionally comment on how he does not understand how I can see out of my glasses because he can hardly see in.  I laugh, go clean my glasses (for the 13 seconds they stay clean) and silently thank him for not being the kind of guy who has to clean them for me before we can talk.

Because I'm the kind of girl who is always going to have dog slobber on her lenses.

AWKward

A friend was commiserating about her lack of social skills and it reminded me of a story of my first almost-kiss. I hope it will help my friend to realize she is not alone. This isn't even my best story of how it is SHOCKING that I have a fiancee.

When I was 16, I started in on the dating field. I'd had my first almost-boyfriend at 13, but stayed away from having crushes on guys who would give me the time of day until I was 16.

I started dating "The First of Many Ryans" that spring before I turned 17. He was tall and thus all my friends, and myself included, assumed we were perfect for each other. He was the king of the losers. His friends were all weird and mildly creepy, but he was a nice guy. And, even better, he liked me too. This was assured by one friend who heard him talking to another guy in the library when she was spying on them from the other side of the stacks.

We started hanging out as one big group. He and I were surreptitiously left alone on occasion, but only if we could be watched by my friends without him noticing. To be fair, we needed the recon information to ponder over and gossip about later.

We started dating at the beginning of April. This "dating" was made up of watching "The Chipmunk's Adventure" and a weird Anime (sp?) movie that he brought. Obviously, we were meant to be. (Ha!) This went on for 6 days. Then my family went away for the Easter weekend.

We got together shortly after my family's return. He came over, we watched TV and we held hands. Finally, it was time for him to go home. I walked him up stairs to the door. He stopped on the front deck and turned. My mind turned to mush. And panic.

He leaned down towards me. Moments stretched. I could see him lean in toward my mouth. My brain went haywire. "He's going to kiss me!!! He's going to kiss me!!! What do I do? What do I do????" And then...

His nose bumped mine. I pulled back and put my head down. He kept leaning in, his nose pressed to mine, squishing it flat. He kept leaning for my mouth. I kept backing up and putting my head down. Finally, I made it to the door and shut it in panic.

I was mortified. Then and there I decided to break up with him just to never have to face the awkwardness of that moment. I wrote him a note during French class and shoved it in his locker. It took him two days to find the note. I never spoke to him again.

How did you know???

The other night, The Guy and I were hanging out at his place watching a movie. I was fiddling with a tag on the couch and accidentally ripped it off. I held it in my hand for awhile, playing with the material worn soft by time and many butts and contemplated what I would do with it. I pondered it and rolled it in my fingers and got an idea. A devious idea.

Without turning to look at me, The Guy said, "You're going to put that up my nose, aren't you?"

Raining on my parade

The other night, The Guy and I were talking about future plans and the roles of each person. This is how the conversation went:

Me: You know, if we ever get married, you will have to support my dream to be a ballerina. It will be your husbandly duty to do everything in your power to help me. It's a fact.

The Guy: That's fine. I can get behind that. As long as you can figure out how to do it while I follow my dream of being unemployed.

Me: That seems fair.

(A few minutes later after conversation has moved on.)

The Guy: You would be the worst ballerina ever. I mean, they are graceful and stuff. I can just see you running into them all and knocking them over.

Me: You are so keeping your job.

A year ago

It has been a year yesterday since The Guy and I started seeing each other. It has been a great year - lots of laughter and fun and support and kindness. He is a great man and I have thoroughly enjoyed the entire year with him.

To celebrate, I broke into his house and cooked a candle-lit dinner. We followed up with dessert and great conversation. It was just what I needed. And so is he.

Look up, look waaaaaaaay up

While in Havana, our tour stopped at the local market for some tourist shopping. (Why anyone would want to buy tourists...) The market was set up in a large L shaped with three rows of booths crammed closely together. Two people could barely squeeze by each other shoulder to shoulder. Each booth was about 4 feet across and 3 feet deep and each was cramped with shiney baubbles for tourists to purchase.

The Guy and I managed to push our way through the melee and instead wandered through the art section. We weaved through to gaze at pictures and wish we could afford to bring home the art we loved. As we went down the aisle, I noticed a man staring at The Guy rapt with wonder. As we neared him, a smile broke out on his face and he ogled with glee. He began motioning with his hands far above his head and grinning like a fool. He drew the line from his own height to that of The Guy and grinned wider at the difference.

The Guy is about 6'5" or so. He is tall and thin and wirey. And he looks like a giant compared to most Cubans. Especially to this Cuban. He bobbed and danced beside The Guy as he followed us down the row of art. He grinned and motioned to others to notice how he was standing beside the tallest man on earth. He had a list of every country he could think of and The Guy patiently pointed out "Canada". The little man grinned even wider and pointed to his own shirt which was that of the Canadian flag.

Then he passed us a note. It said he was deaf and mute and found it hard to find employment. It requested whatever change we could spare so he could help support his family. I motioned to The Guy to give him some money. We handed out a few peso to the man and he grinned and shook The Guy's hand and compared their height once more. He carried on the opposite direction that we did, laughing and turning back to grin at us often.

I said later that the only reason we gave him so much money was because of how excited he was to meet The Guy. Anyone who thinks that is the highlight of his day deserves a tip. He certainly made our day.

Good endorsement

Grandma called tonight. She is lonely now that we have all carried on home. She's finished moving the chairs back downstairs and putting all the linen away. And now its just her and Davy and it seems quiet.

While we were talking she said she wanted to tell me how she felt about The Guy. She told me if she could have picked out a man for me it would be one just like him. And then she said she had wanted to hug him but didn't want to "seem to force the issue".

I told her she can hug him next time.

Puzzles, Priests and Peanut Butter

I'm back from my Christmas excursion. Tired, over fed and content.

The weekend was baptism by crazy for The Guy. A weekend alone with my family was enough to open his eyes. I have to admit I was surprised my car was still there each morning, but he seemed to have a good time.

Grandma liked The Guy. She told everyone she could about him and invited him back to visit numerous times. She called him by the wrong name for most of the weekend, but my SiL has been known as "Melody" since she started dating my brother about 8 years ago, so I can't expect anything different. She offered him peanut butter a few times and seemed quite confused by his allergies. I think she found it unfathomable someone on Earth could not enjoy her favourite food.

The Guy was highly amused by Grandma too. He said he never got tired of her pointing out the picture of my Grandpa ("Now you won't think of it, but that man in the picture is my husband." The fact it is obviously an anniversary picture of the two of them did not discourage her) or her retelling of the story of how Mel lost and found her purse.

We exchanged presents and ate lots - mostly cheese (no pooping for us this Christmas). We watched black and white movies and did puzzles. The Guy had never done either before. I figured it was a good welcome to our family.

Just gets better

Tonight, The Guy and I went out with my family for supper. As we are sitting at the table enjoying our food, I looked up to see a bizarre couple at a table across the room. Both were in their late 50s. She had high teased hair, copious neck wrinkles and a tiny tank top which barely held her in. He had a black silk shirt open midway down his chest, a long pony tail and a handle-bar mustache.

I gasped and turned to The Guy. Without looking up, he said, "I saw them. I'm going to start growing a mustache tomorrow."

39 - 41 x365: Back in the day boys

#39: Aaron A

I met Aaron in the 90s - when he wore over-sized pants, long hair (shaved underneath of course) and an attitude. He was pint-sized with a super-sized mouth. I tried to protect him from getting beaten up by my brother and his friends. It didn't work, but we became fast friends anyway.

In our twenties, his life went drastically in a different direction than mine. I visited him in prison for the three years he spent there. I never understood how he could have gotten to that point, but I don't think it ever dawned on him that things could have been another way.


#40: Ray

He had red hair. I always was a sucker for red heads. I'm not entirely sure if he ever knew I existed. He was tall and athletic and gorgeous. When I picture him, he is in a cream coloured fisherman's sweater. I have no idea why.

#41: A H

We were 15, sitting on the steps talking about dating and I mistook a hypothetical question as him asking me out. I turned him down but later asked a friend to talk to him and find out if he meant it. He told her he never did ask me out and never would have. Even though I hadn't wanted to date him, I was crushed.

Cuddle-me-Elmo

When I was a kid, my parents had a ritual. Dad would come home from work and sit in his arm chair. My mom would sit on his lap and they would cuddle and talk and smooch. When I was 11, this was disgusting. 'Skusting! Now, I look back on it as a sign of affection and friendship and with a great deal of envy.

I have never been the girl who gets to cuddle on a guy's lap.

I was over 5 feet when I turned 10. I outgrew my mother's wedding dress at 11. I was awkward and gargantuan and completely ungraceful. I was gangly and klutzy and I never quite got over that.

I never really got comfortable in my own skin and with my own size. I often felt enormous next to my peers - most of my best friends were a lot smaller than me in both height and/or weight. That translated ten fold to the people of the opposite gender. Not many guys are interested in dating someone who could bench press them for fun. (I mean, unless they are into that, but it's usually not women they are going for.)

The guys I dated ranged from short and stocky to really short and skinny. (With some, I look back at pictures now and think... We looked ridiculous. How did people not laugh? I looked like I was dating my son!) I came to the realization I was likely never going to be the girl who was literally swept off her feet. I am more comfortable carrying the guy than the idea of the other way around.

Because of this, I am envious of those petite and sweet girls who can sit on their boyfriend if there are not enough chairs. The girls who can cuddle under the crook of their boyfriend's arm and not have to hunch over. Now I have a tall boyfriend (one who does not have to reach up to hug me) and I am still so awkward I cannot be comfortable. I sit awkwardly and can't figure out where to put my head or my arm. My back hurts or I am leaning weirdly. I want to sit in a comfy chair with him like my parents did and - although I know he is strong - I worry I will cause him to lose all feeling in his legs. And I worry I will tip the chair over.

You would think, after 31 years in this body, I would have figured out how to work it.

Green is the colour

I went to a football game today. Not only a football game, but a Rider game.

The last time I went to a football game, I was forced to attend by two friends. I didn't want to go, I told them I didn't want to go and I said that if I had to go, I was bringing a book. They didn't believe me. I showed them. I brought Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry and read most of it during the most boring 3 hours of my life. The book was fantastic. The drunken idiots screaming around me were not. My friends were furious at me and even to this day (almost 10 years later) will not speak to me about it. They just get quiet and surly.

In Saskatchewan, not cheering for the Riders is a crime. Seriously, it's in the charter. Well, not really, but it might as well be. Everyone and their dog shows up to cheer for them. Winning or losing. And believe me when I say, it's usually losing. But we're nothing if not loyal. Oh, and you think I'm kidding about the dog? I'm not. On the way back to the car, a dog with a Roughrider's jersey was sitting on some one's porch. Apparently, the dog is trained to growl at anyone in a non-Sask jersey. Yikes.

So, you will ask why I was at the game? Well, The Guy is an avid fan. Correction, a rabid fan. Everything he owns is green and has a logo. He threatened to buy me a jersey for my birthday. I am sure he bleeds green. Or, I've been told that's what Rider fans do. So, when he asked me if I wanted to go how could I say no? Especially when I said no to going to the Ozzy concert? I couldn't. And, I thought I should be supportive for this thing he enjoys.

So, I went. It was about 8 degrees (45 F) and we were on the sunny side. The wind was a little sharp, but not too bad if the sun was out. Which is was for lots of the game. Which is why my face and lips are burnt. Oh, that's from the wind too. And then it hailed. Yes, it hailed. HAILED. While it was still sunny. Uh huh.

I had a surprisingly good time. Although, the first few minutes I was there, I spilled ketchup down the front of The Guy's jersey he lent me to wear. Oops. Well, you can't take me in public, I do things like that. The game was really interesting and I learned a lot. I can't say I would make it a regular occurrence (mostly b/c I don't want to be one of those people. I mock those people.) but I did agree to go some other time as well.

The Guy's highlight of the whole time was the Rider's first touchdown. After the touch down, they kick a field goal and set off fireworks. Which no one told me about. So, I jumped a foot in the air and screeched. The row behind me burst out laughing and continued to do so as I jumped every time the fireworks went off.

I am threatening to make The Guy take me to a Dolly Parton concert. Or, to watch a marathon of So You Think You Can Dance.

Photographic proof I was there. (Gah. I look like my Mom)

Long weekend update

For a weekend I was planning to take easy, I did nothing of the sort. It is now the end of the weekend and I feel like I need a week to recover.

Normally, I end up working Thanksgivings. Somehow, just randomly, my schedule rotates to cause me to be working nights all weekend. Normally, if there is nothing family related that will take me out of town, I just work it. One year, I came home from night shift at 5:30am, threw the turkey in to cook and woke up at 2pm to make the rest of the meal.

This year, I was invited to meet The Guy's family. For the first time. For Thanksgiving. So, rather than showing up hungover from night shift, I decided to book off some shifts. My plan was to lounge about all weekend, cleaning house and playing with the dogs. Twas not to be.

Instead, Friday Ky and I took the dogs and travelled to N.Battleford to visit Grandma. It rained the whole way up, so we took a lesson from last year's debacle and Ky drove while I sat in the back and kept Maddy trapped in her kennel. Grae and Mel were driving in from Red Deer and Lyn was planning to join the group on Sunday.

Visiting Grandma was fun as always. She fussed about and fed us copious amounts of bad things "I've got to have cookies somewhere" and all the while suggested we are all too chubby. We listened to Grandma tell stories and we sat around and did puzzles. (Actually just one. Hardest freaking puzzle ever. I suggested we should burn it as soon as we finished it. Grandma's comment was that someone somewhere would enjoy it, so she wouldn't suggest burning it.) I slept a lot and walked the dogs with Ky through the fields and they all rolled in deer poop. (The dogs... not Ky)

I left early from Grandma's to come back in time to prepare to meet the parents. I was nervous as all get out. I kept asking The Guy what I should bring for them, but his response was "I don't bring anything." Yes. But you are the son. And thus you are expected to be useless. I am the son's new girlfriend. Bringing a hostess gift is just a way not to look like an ingrate or a skanky twit he just happens to be hanging out with and will be replacing by Christmas. I finally settled on a Saskatchewan lily hybrid potted plant. She was pleased. I think.

The whole day went pretty well. We watched football (bletch) but we won, so everyone was happy. We had appetizers and things and then settled down for a big turkey dinner and pumpkin pie. It was all quite pleasant and fun. His family is a little crazy, but in a really good way and I thoroughly enjoyed them all. His Grandma and I got chatting and she invited me to the old folks home for lunch one day. I took that as a good sign.

This has turned into a bloody novel. For that, I apologize. For all of you who made it to the end, what the heck are you doing? This was dull as tombs!

A little salad with your dirt?

Tonight, because we had plans and because I am not feeling well, The Guy called to say he was bringing me supper. He didn't want me to have to drive, so he decided to come to my place.

When he arrived, we decided it was too hot to eat in the kitchen. There were two options - eat in the cool basement amidst unpacked boxes or eat out in the backyard. The outside appealed to us, so we set up the table and moved outside.

There were two things wrong with this plan. The first was the dirt which had been freshly laid the day before. The second was the wind. Just as we were sitting down to eat, a gust of wind covered everything in a fine layer of nice, new topsoil.

We admitted it was not the smartest plan we had ever come up with. The Guy trudged through some of his meal, but in the end was not able to pretend the dirt flecks were actually pepper. I had no such problems. Being the chubby girl I am, I finished every bite.

Dancing about Engineering

Since my last post on love, I have thought long and hard about the subject. I have come to no great conclusions. Except possibly for the conclusion that I know less about life, love, relationships, friendships, etc. than I thought possible. However, I have also figured out what some of my fears are with regards to The Guy.

I am worried I am Carrie Bradshaw and he is Aiden.

Now, if you don't know what I am talking about, I will try and get you up to speed. One of my favourite shows, Sex and the City, has the main character Carrie. She is kind of a twit, but screws up enough to make her endearing. (That is not why I am like her. Smartass.) Anyway. Carrie dates this guy named Aiden. He is sweet and endearing and lovely and romantic. He is goofy and cuddly and hardworking and perfect. He's a wonderful guy. And she ruins it. Because she's not good enough for him, but more because she just screws it up. She can't let him in. And because of that, he moves on and becomes perfectly happy and she goes back to the big jerk head she started with.

I worry that I am Carrie. That I will not appreciate The Guy to the level he should be appreciated. I know he appreciates me. He shows it in every way. He's romantic and kind. He teases and jokes. He treats me well and wants me to be happy and does everything in his power to make it happen.

There is this scene we watched tonight from S&tC. Carrie told Aiden she was used to taking care of herself. She said she gave him the keys to her apartment and what else did he expect from her. He replied that it was all fine and good to have keys to her place, but pointed out she wasn't allowing him to get into her heart.

What if, after being independent for so long, it is impossible to be that open? What if I lose my Aiden because I'm too worried to rely on him and let it all really be true?

Being open results in getting hurt. And, in my experience, I either get my heart tromped on or I tromp on someone else's. There is no other option I have seen. And to tell you the truth, I am more worried about the damage I could cause him. I'm not a kind person. I am selfish and I lash out at people I care about when I am afraid.

I am not good at this.

Dancing about architecture*

How do you define love? How do you comprehend dating? How do you explain the process of trying to find love and figuring out who you love and why and how? Sometimes I imagine trying to explain it to someone who doesn't understand the concept instinctively (either an alien or a particular socially retarded friend - think hard and you know who I mean) and it is so frustrating because it doesn't make sense. Nor will it ever. Stop trying to dissect it!!

I have many theories about love. I have a theory that you can learn to love anyone. Or, in the very least, you can show love to anyone. You can be a loving person and act in a loving manner to anyone. Any two people thrown into a situation can make a real relationship if both are willing to work at it. That is why some arranged marriages work - really work. That is why some "love matches" fail - really fail. It's all about what you are willing to do to make it work and make the other person feel loved.

The goal of dating is to find a match - a person to share with and be a partner and accept you and make you laugh and hold you when you cry, etc. At least, that is what I understood the goal to be. Now some people think dating is strictly for "fun" or "release" or "entertainment". Fine. If you are 16, yes, that is the goal. By the time you are in your mid 20s, that should not be your goal. If it is, you are shallow and your life is incomplete. Sorry to say it, but it's likely true.

And how do you know if you are in a good match? How do you know if you love someone - truly love someone - when you can realistically love lots of different people? When do you know that "feelings" are becoming more than just "feelings" and turning into more? If you ask people, they say "Oh, you just know". Well, I think that's bullshit. (Sorry for the swearing, Auntie) I want a definition so that I know for sure.

I think being "in love" is totally separate from actually being in love. I think being "in love" is where you adore people for the things that later on in your relationship will make you want to stab them in the eyeballs. Love is something else. I would tell you what it is, but I have no idea. I have thought numerous times that I was "in love" and that I truly loved a person. Or more than one person. Or an entire boy band of persons. But I didn't. I don't have a flying clue about what it is.

But I feel like I need to figure it out.

*Few people will understand this quote unless you are aware of my passion for a movie called "Playing by Heart".

I heart maple leaf cow head

This week I purchased 325 lbs of beef - hamburger, steaks and roast - for my brother, KB and myself to split. When I told The Guy there was that much beef in my deep freeze, he stopped, turned to me and uttered with all sincerity...

"At this moment, I have never wanted you more."

Cone of Silence

These last few months have been a lesson in growth for me. Me, the girl who will tell anyone anything - about herself or other people - has been withholding information. The girl who opens her heart and soul (I wrote "sole" first - but you don't want my shoes, trust me) to friends and strangers alike has been keeping things to herself. It's weird.

In every relationship I've been in, there has been a constant flow of information. Between me and the guy about myself (which includes my family, my work and my friends) and between me and my friends and family about me and the guy. It has annoyed both sides of the fence - family is frustrated that information is being shared about them without their consent and the guy is annoyed that nothing is sacred. One lamented that he was not only dating me, but my sisters and my cousins as well.

This has been different. I have guarded my time with The Guy jealously. I have not discussed each conversation with my friends to flesh out "what he meant by that" or "how much he really likes me" or "what future is there for us". I have guarded each conversation with ferocious tenacity - people asking about it received a snarling "None of your business".

I too have been less open with the amount of information I have shared with The Guy. Rather than opening my heart and throwing all my baggage on the table - in an effort to scare him off or make him fix me, I gave information in a slower stream. A friendly, less intense getting to know you - rather than a boot camp introduction to all my neurosis. I didn't tell him about my need to eat candy in pairs, but that I have to buy them in groups of fives. I didn't tell him about my problematic relationship with my father and the subsequent "Daddy Issues" that arose from that. I didn't even tell him about my mother's death until last week.

I have enjoyed getting to know him and letting him get to know me. I'm not in a panic as to where this is heading or where I have been. I'm not over loading him with information or family events. It has been pleasant. I have been enjoying myself. And I quite like him. More so than I thought I would allow myself to. I'm not sure where it's going, but it seems to be a good thing.

This is what I told a friend about him:

I think he's a good man. I like what he stands for and who he is. I like how he is with his friends and how much he cares about them. I like how tender he is and how gentle. And I like that he has the lamest sense of humour.

There. Sorry to keep you out of the loop.

Why I'm a freak

Here is the conversation inside my head while getting ready for my date tonight. I was in the bathroom at work.

I am so late. Stupid work. I was supposed to be done before now. Ruin my whole evening. Wasn't even supposed to be here. Stupid work.

My hair is ridiculous. I look like a hockey player. I have wings front and back. Ugh. I need a haircut. No. I am not spending $30 to get my bangs cut.

I have 14 zits. Seriously. 14. On my forehead. I'm an adult and I have this many zits. Okay. I'm covering them with my bangs. That will work. No harm done.

Oh no. What if he moves my bangs out of my eyes in some hugely romantic gesture? I will be exposed. Okay. I will just swat him away - playfully. Not panicked at all.

OMG. Did I wash my hands? Please tell me I washed my hands. I couldn't have just put poop and baby powder under my arms. I can't remember. I am wearing poop and baby powder. I am an idiot. I can wash it off. It's not too late. I'm fine.

I have issues.

Change of Heart

For ages I complained that while I really liked the guy I was seeing, I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him. Stress of what to do about that led to migraines and lack of sleep. And then date 3 turned from a walk around the lake to that, drinks and a late supper. I took another look and I realized I wanted to spend time with him and I was excited to hear from him. Then I thought to myself, "Um, hey Bron, that counts as attraction". Oh, yeah. And then date 4 turned quickly into date 5 and tomorrow makes date 6.

You know what did it? Girls, you will totally understand this. First, he took my jacket for me and hung it up. And then he opened all the doors for me. Then, and this is the best part, he put his hand on my lower back when we were leaving the restaurant. I knew I was done for. The lower back always gets me. Just a gentle pressure on the lower back as you go into a room. Not a pushing, not a herding, but just a comfortable presence. It makes me all swooney.

So, I think I have a boyfriend. And if that is true, then I need to delete a lot of posts.