Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Ladies and Gentlemen, I write to you from my own little blissed-out corner of the world.  Without realizing it, I've been on a writing hiatus and have been more than just a little distracted and spending almost all of my free time with the sweetest girl on the planet.  For reals!  I've slipped into a cocoon of sorts where it's all love, sex, romance, giggles and floating hearts above my head.  Jeeeeezus.  I'm almost ashamed to admit it.  Well, maybe not that ashamed - I am too fucking happy to have any shame about this.

I'm so happy, in fact, that all of my little secrets have been slowly slipping out.  Layer by layer, the Mighty Musician is getting to know all of me - warts and all.  My walls are coming down, my armor has started to wear away and the guards that have protected all my secrets are starting to fall asleep on the job!  Case in point:

When MM and I met about a year and a half ago, I could have never predicted then that we would ever become a couple; we are so oddly matched (which is to say, perfectly matched, but no one could have ever predicted that).  In fact, we're so different, that I was often surprised that I enjoyed becoming her friend as much as I did, and even more surprised that we became and stayed really good friends.  What I never told MM, though, is exactly how she came to my attention.  We met last year through that old dating website but I never confessed to her, until recently, that she didn't come up as one of my "Dating Matches".  Of course, I always let MM assume that that was the case because the truth makes me sound like such a date-poaching dickhead.  In truth, I came across MM's profile by way of Nugget (secret #1).  

I'm paraphrasing because it was just so long ago that I can't remember:

Nugget: "Hey, I just got an email from a girl who's not at all my type but she's totally yours."

Miss-Adventures: "Oh yeah? What's her screen name?"

After having looked at MM's profile, I took it from there and sent her an email (she was so cute and I've always been a sucker for brunettes with blue eyes).  I wish I could say that this is where the story ends but it's not.  So, not only am I a date-poaching dickhead, but after we met, I blogged about MM being a Dating Trading Card (Link: Prospective Dates as Trading Cards) (secret #2).  So, not only am I a date-poaching dickhead who trades prospective dates with my bestie, but I'm also the asshole who then called my now-girlfriend "socially awkward" and "nerdy".  Can you just imagine how well that went over?

MM: "'Socially awkward?!' Is that ME?!" (To her credit, she was laughing when she said this and only half kidding with her indignance.)

Miss-Adventures (literally burying my face under a pillow): "Ohhhhhhhh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. I am such a dick.  I'll go sleep on the couch if you want me to."

Fortunately for me, MM was not overly offended by my lack of grace, my insulting remarks, nor was she at all butt hurt about being a Dating Trading Card.  I, on the other hand, may never forgive myself for prematurely labeling my socially awkward enthusiastically goofy and nerdy quirky girlfriend in a public forum.  But seriously, who would have ever predicted that we would have stayed friends, much less wind up in blissed-out coupledom? 

I wonder if other bloggers run into whoopses like these??

The Chaperone

Last minute dates are not my forte, but sometimes you're just itching to get out of the house and you need a catalyst. A few weeks ago I was feeling just that, so, I took to the internets, and 20 minutes later I had a date waiting for me across town. So, I drove over, parked, and strolled up...to a very, very crowded bar watching the end of a very, very exciting basketball game. Luckily, I didn't have to wade through the crowd to find my date, because he was saving me a seat right by the door. How nice! I sit down to watch the last few minutes of the game (giant upset), and then, when the game is over, he suggests we grab a table and a beer...oh, and have I met his friend who's here with him that he's known since grade school?
So, The Chaperone, my date and I all grab a table and a beverage, and he starts telling me about his journey from the South to the Marine Corps to the Bay Area. He's super, super handsome, seems pretty sweet, and...a little intoxicated already. Apparently, he and The Chaperone have been there for a few beers already. After telling me about his little journey, The Chaperone starts chiming in, and then railroading the conversation, mostly telling me about how he was the smartest kid in school. It's sort of starting to feel like a competition, which is making me uneasy. I think The Marine senses this, and suggests that we go play darts at a nearby pub. I offer to drive, since they have a two-seater, and 10 minutes later we have another drink and a fistful of darts. Not, however, after the blondes at the bar made eyes and smiles at The Marine (which he happily returned, so I wandered over to the dart boards as soon as I got my beer to give him time to do whatever he needed to do. Surprisingly, he didn't linger long).
We settle on playing the game Cricket, which I've never played before. The Marine, who's full on intoxicated at this point, starts telling me the rules. The Chaperone starts interjecting, saying he's wrong. They start arguing. Then they start arguing in earnest. The Chaperone Googles, The Marine asks the bartender, and there are conflicting answers. Finally, The Chaperone agrees to drop the subject and let us play "our way," stating, "We need to stop or [The Nugget's] not going to want to hang out with us anymore!" He does not, however, lose any opportunity to get a jab in about how we're doing it wrong.
We start playing, just me against The Marine while The Chaperone sits this game out and critiques. Every once in a while there will be a verbal scuffle between the two boys about technique. I learn to ignore it quickly. Then, as he's preparing for a throw, The Marine says to me, "I have three questions for you." Oh. Well. Okay. The first question was easy enough. "What was your childhood dream?" Veterinarian! I like this game. Next question? "Oh, you thought I had this all figured out already?" Well, yes, that was implied when you said you had three questions. Whatever, it's my turn to throw, anyway.
Eventually, during a throw, The Marine, who can barely stand without a wobble at this point, has a second question. "Is it philosophically significant that humans are the geometric mean between a microcosm and a macrocosm?" I take a deep breath, because I know that he strung together the biggest words he could think of in an attempt to sound more intelligent (and possibly sober), and that The Chaperone was going to have a field day with this question. So I say, "Those are all human constructs, so yes, it means we're super self-absorbed." As predicted, The Chaperone is nearly falling off of his seat with laughter. "We are? Says who?" "Well, just assume that this holds true," says The Marine. "Okay! Let's also just assume that the Cubans killed JFK. NO! No, it's not significant because it makes no sense!" "You're wrong and she's right!" The Marine says indignantly, and stomps up with a pout to make his throw.  I think he was a little hurt that I smiled at The Chaperone's ribbing, because he then announced he had to use the restroom...and 5 minutes later I could have sworn I heard him talking with the blondes at the bar.
At this point, we had been playing darts for close to an hour, and both myself and The Chaperone are ready to leave. We decide to play three more rounds, and then choose a winner. I narrowly lose, and we head out to the car. As I drop them off at their vehicle, The Chaperone says, "It's been nice to meet you!" and ducks into the driver's seat. The Marine lingers and says, "Okay! Question number three. What is your excuse for not kissing me right now?" Predictable. Did I mention he was very, very handsome? So I gave him a brief goodnight kiss and sent him off to his chaperone, never to be seen again.

She writes the tune that makes my heart sing

How the hell did that happen? 

For so long, I was feeling broken, damaged, bruised.  I worked hard to make my way out.  I tried everything to repair the fragments of my broken heart and glue back together my shattered life until one day, I caught myself in a moment and realized that I was feeling pretty well healed, strong, and even peaceful.  The pieces were finally coming together and my life began to feel like my own again. 

Then it happened: timing being the all-important factor that it is, and Mighty Musician being the best surprise that I never saw coming, I began to feel a real change within.  It started as a shift between us, subtle at first, followed by a sudden change in direction in our already-in-progress friendship, and then a leap of faith involving a couple of open hearts and I found myself (and continue to marvel) in utter bewilderment: I'm happy.  Beyond that, actually; I'm excited.

Nobody is more surprised than me.  I'm looking at my friend with a new pair of eyes.  And she's seeing me in a way that few get to do or have ever done.  Honestly, it's fucking terrifying.  I feel so very exposed with Mighty Musician - she already knows me and there's no bullshitting her.  Better than that - there's no bullshitting myself.  And yet, feeling that vulnerable is a bit like skydiving: it's thrilling, exhilarating and frightening all at the same time.  I feel like I'm flying and falling simultaneously. 

For a long time, all I wanted was to press fast-forward on my life so that I wouldn't have to feel the feelings that overwhelmed me.  I knew that the healing would come eventually but (and I know this is NO surprise to you all) I'm impatient like a motherfucker, so I would desperately pray for a fast-forward button.  'Please, just get me through this.  Please let me survive another day.  Please let tomorrow hurt less.  Please let this mourning period end quickly.'  And now I find myself in a completely different head and heart space: I want to press the slow-mo button just so that I can soak up every second of this time.  I want to take it all in, remember every moment and detail with perfect and irreversible clarity.  I want to enjoy this for everything it is.

There is something so very special about working through your bullshit, putting your life back together and then finding the most lovely surprise waiting for you when you do.  She's holding a single red rose and she's written you a song that makes your heart sing.  That, my friends, is what bliss looks like.

Sexy Talk

Ahh, the beginnings of a new relationship.  Is there anything more exciting?  More seductive?  More sexy?  Your hormones are going bananas and you're feeling twitterpated with every new text message or phone call.  Every thought revolves around spending more time together and exploring each other in every possible way.  And then you have a telephone conversation that goes something like this:

Her: How do I turn you on?

Miss-Adventures: Umm… (as I start to blush and grin wildly)

Her: Get warm!

Miss-Adventures: Huh?

Her: Get warm!

Miss-Adventures: What?

Her: I can't figure out this fucking furnastat!

Miss-Adventures: Wow.  This conversation suddenly got very disappointing.

Just my hunch, but this may be why we actually fit so nicely together.

______________________________________________________________________

UPDATE: I have been informed that she did NOT say "furnastat" (like I could have sworn I heard) but did, in fact, say "thermostat", which is obviously more accurate but somewhat less amusing.  My bad.  (Sorry, babe.)

Safe Sex?

Practicing safe sex.  I was perusing the Google How-To page and I ran across the headline: "How to Practice Safe Sex".  But didn't we all get that class in junior high school?  

Students, this is how you roll a condom onto a banana/cucumber/baby carrot/egg plant.  

We all learned about STD's, pregnancy risks and the proper names of boys' and girls' reproductive bits.  But I started to think: no one taught us how to practice emotionally safe sex.

Like most of you out there, I got the same spiel that mom and dad passed along.  

When a mommy and daddy love each other, they hug and kiss and the daddy puts his… 

Well, I needn't go further but you get it, right?  We were all taught that LOVE was the emphasis.  This is what couples do when they're "in love."  I think we can all agree that sex is better between two people in love; it's absolutely sublime.  And it's admirable, the emphasis that mommy and daddy placed on a loving sexual relationship.  But come on, let's get real: more often than not, we're just getting our freak-nasty on without much forethought about emotional protection.

By show of hands, how many of you were prepared for the emotional baggage that came with your first one night stand?  Or a random hook-up?  How about that guy/girl you just kinda liked?  Or a pity fuck?  How did you navigate the rules of a friend with benefits?  What about with that guy/girl who already had a girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband?  Or the mother of all emotionally unsafe sex: a 'please, I just want to forget my ex' fuck?  (Trust me: those never work out as well as you hope!)  With all of that and hundreds of other different types of emotionally unprotected sex, is it any wonder why we're all so screwed up about it?

How many times were you faced with the dreaded "dry spell" and when the opportunity presented itself, you took it without commitment, without expectation and without giving so much as a second thought to "Dear Baby Jesus, I just want to end this god-awful drought!"?  How many times after having your heart broken did you try to fuck the pain away?  How many times have you used sex as a weapon?  That is, to spite an ex with someone else, or to engage in angry sex with your lover after a knock-down, drag-out fight?  And how many times did you rush into sex with someone new because you wanted to lock them down into something more committed?  How many times did you feel a relationship unraveling and use sex as a way to hang on to your lover just a little longer?

These are the things that mommy and daddy never prepared us for.  These are the things that our teachers never taught us in junior high sex-ed class.  You know, they really ought to make condoms for that.

When Friends Become More

Hypothetical situation - -

Let’s say for a moment that you’re me, and a friend comes to you and says that she likes you and has been wanting to ask you out but hasn't because she (a) was afraid that you would say no, (b) was afraid that it would make the friendship awkward because she thinks you’d say no, and (c) wanted to respect the space that you’re in given your recent heartbreak.  Further, let's say that you've always thought this friend was attractive but (a) that you did recently get your heart stomped on and "all the king's men" are still working on putting your "Humpty Dumpty Heart" back together again, (b) this particular friend knows all about your last relationship and subsequent heartbreak because she was not only witness to, but support system, through those moments, and (c) this friend is moving out of state to attend a scholastic program in less than 6 months.

So what would you do?  I mean, besides talk it out in therapy?

Here's what Miss-Adventures did:

I talked it out in therapy.  I discussed my fears, of which there are many.  I addressed the negatives and accentuated the positives.  I pondered upon the possibilities, the unknowns and the what-if's.  And then I stuck my toes in the water ever so slightly, and ever so out-of-character.  I mean, really, let's be honest: I am a big ol' bull in a china shop.  Historically, I have always rushed without hesitation, usually knocking over small children and breaking valuables in the process.  But this time… no way.  Like a timid house cat, I'm peaking out from behind the sofa with wide eyes, open ears and a very careful step.

Here's the thing: I'm not just terrified of being hurt again (though that's a very valid concern), I'm terrified of hurting someone that I care deeply about.  Those of you who know me know that my friends are, without question, my everything, and my lady-friends will always take a back seat.  After everything I've been through, the only thing I am completely certain of is that when the Titanic is going down (and it always does), the only floatation device out there worth hanging onto are your friends.  So when I'm faced with a friend who wants to explore a deeper relationship, my chief concern is protecting her heart, like I would any other friend.  But when my concern is protecting her heart from mine… well that gets pretty tricky.

So I'm going in slowly.  Cautiously.  Carefully.  And terrified-edly.  But I'm going in.  I'm going in without expectation, without urgency and without any plan for the future beyond our next date.  And ya know what?  I'm enjoying it.  Like, really, enjoying it.  Enjoying the little touches, the innocent hand-holding, the rush of the goodnight kiss, the occasional sweet text messages that let me know that on I'm on her mind and the intermittent butterflies that tickle my insides. 

Could it be that, for the first time, I'm actually living in the moment rather than trying to ponder the possibilities of potential?

The Peeping Tom

I met him on the steps of the local art museum, and he was cuter than I expected. We wandered the food trucks awkwardly, me coming away with a cupcake and him wolfing down some tacos on the folding chairs lining the sidewalk. Small talk came easier after that as we wandered into the museum, eventually pausing over an exhibit as he said, "So, would you like to make out later?" It was a strange question, totally out of context as we looked at art and artifact, talking about work things, so I just shrugged. I wasn't in the habit of planning my affection, and 35 minutes wasn't enough time to gauge my attraction.
We found ourselves in an interactive exhibit built out of an old hot tub. Sitting on the benches, we amused ourselves with the questions about California that the exhibit provided, before he paused to answer a text. "Sorry," he said, "I made plans after this because I didn't know if you'd be crazy. Do you want to go have a drink with my coworker and I?" It sounded like a terribly awkward situation, but a drink sounded delightful, so I agreed. Minutes later, we were being kicked out of the museum as it was closing time, and to the bar we went!
Things started to go decidedly downhill once we arrived at the bar. He was weirdly condescending and several times toed the line of outright racism toward his Latin American coworker, which made both the coworker and I noticeably uncomfortable. He finally moved past this sort of need to puff out his chest and prove himself the bigger, badder dude, and the three of us settled into a nice conversation. This soon began to be interrupted by what seemed to be, bafflingly, attempts to prove his dominance over me. It started with a sterner-than-necessary, but still what I naively thought to be innocent, request for me to sit closer to him. A few minutes later, he demanded that I change my sitting position. Moments after that, he simply reached out and grabbed my hand, placing it around his shoulders. I must have looked visibly unsure of how to proceed with this unsavoriness, as his coworker cleared his throat and said he'd be soon calling it a night.
Mr. Charming paid the tab (but not without remarking how expensive it was, prompting both of us to offer him money. He brushed it away, saying, "No, no, it's the price of living in the city!"), and we headed to his car. Upon arriving, he handed me a piece of paper with his full name, phone number, email address and street address on it. "This is in case you feel the need to verify that I'm a decent person." Oh. Okay.
He then began pressuring me to make other plans for the evening. "I don't want to go to any bars. I chose the last place, so it's your turn to choose." I stated that it was probably too late for a movie, and the only other thing open would be a bar, so we should probably just call it a night. He tried to convince me that if I wanted to, we could prolong the evening by offering me three options:

1. Hang out in the car. Inadvisable, as cars are uncomfortable!
2. Drive to the hills. Inadvisable, as it's chilly outside.
3. Go to my house. No foreseen downsides!

Obviously, it's not my habit to invite people I have just met into my home, so I repeated that we should probably call it a night. He reluctantly acquiesced, driving me home. Once we arrived, in a move that I was later advised by several male friends was absolutely predictable, he stated he needed to use the restroom. I hesitantly let him upstairs, and sat on the couch while he used the restroom.
"Oh! You use the same body wash that I do!" he proclaimed as he stepped into the living room. That's odd, I thought. I'm pretty certain I closed my shower curtain before I left the house, as is my usual habit. He'd have to had intentionally looked in the shower to find it, tucked in the corner. He didn't leave me much time to ponder this as he somehow folded his nearly 6' frame inexplicably into my lap, where he proceeded to tell me everything I didn't need to know about how he conducts relationships. He explained for a good 5 solid minutes that he was exploring poly relationships, and why he was pursuing them. I politely waited for him to finish, and then gave him a terse smile, advising that I wasn't interested in nor equipped to deal with poly relationships, sorry.
Thankfully, my response got him out of my lap, but only to move onto the couch where he quickly back pedaled, stating that he'd never actually had a poly relationship, and he was only interested in them in theory. He then went on to state that all he really wanted was a family, and spent the next 10 minutes telling me all of his emotional issues, and how they affected what he wanted in his ideal family dynamic. When he was done, he looked at me and said, "So? What do you think?" As if he'd given me all of this information, and that somehow meant I was required to either except or reject him on the spot. At a loss of how to react to this (although, looking back, I should have said, "REJECT! Have a nice night!"), I shrugged and said, "Wow, that was a lot of information."
Apparently, he took this as a positive marker, because he then kissed me. I'll admit, he was a surprisingly good kisser, so I went with it a moment, and then said, "Listen. It's late. I need to be up early...." "Fifteen more minutes!" he announced. Um, what? No. This process repeated itself three times before I forcefully stood up and said, "I REALLY need to get to bed." He looked hurt, and then indignant, and finally said his goodbyes before leaving.
If nothing else, I've learned that if someone needs to use the restroom, there's a perfectly good bar across the street.