Cohabitational
August 31, 2010 at 6:25 am | Posted in cohabitation, conversations, my neurosis | 31 CommentsAs of this weekend Mr. Darcy and I are officially living together.
The two of us, captured by Tomato's camera on his visit.
In light of this BIG LIFE CHANGE, I’m starting a new blog series called, “You know you are living with a man when”. Here’s the first installment:
You know you are living with a man when. . .
There are Japanese swords in your apartment.
Swords!
I like to refer to them as “fighting swords” to which Mr. Darcy likes to retort, “What other kinds of swords are there? Cooking swords?”
Smart ass.
****
There are conversations that go something like this:
“Dude. Your shoes SMELL.”
“Really?”
“YES! I almost passed out just walking by them in the hallway.”
“I’ll buy some odor eaters.”
“I think they are too far gone for such measures. You might want to consider buying a whole new pair.”
Offenders are on the left. Peeeee U!
Later while watching tv together:
“Dude. Your feet SMELL.”
“Really?”
“I’m tweeting: I just want you to know in case I die that it was the stink of my BF’s feet that did me in.”
“Great. Juuuust great.”
****
There are books about war and history and nerd things next to your crafting books and guitar:
Our books are dating.
****
There is a brand new flat screen television within two days of moving in:
Apparently a new tv comes with every cohabitating boyfriend purchase. SCORE!
****
We’re still setting things up but once we’ve got it all situated, we’ll do a video tour of our home for you. For now we’re still trying to figure out the desk set up, what rug we want, waiting on our new couch, etc. etc. etc.
Never a Dull Moment When He’s Around
August 30, 2010 at 6:19 am | Posted in adventures, family, fun & frolicking | 9 CommentsOops! I kind of got sidetracked by this guy visiting:
The One. The Only. The Infamous Tomato.
Please excuse my absence. It was a whirlwind of good times which included family dinners, a quick jaunt to Vancouver to see some of his friends, one of the best dinners I have had in a long time (The Boathouse in Vancouver is SO GOOD), a sudden thunder & lightning rainstorm, a ridiculous hotel pool, long chats on long drives, drinks and more drinks, an epic massage and Crowded House at Chateau Ste Michelle.
So yeah, I was kinda busy.
The Crowded House concert was awesome. Except for the people who decided to stand up and block our view. Especially the lady who was wearing cat ears like a headband on her head. That's just not a look that works for anyone.
Oh and most importantly (to me), my Mr. Darcy and my Tomato finally got to meet. I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Darcy is officially approved by all my nearest and dearest. Like there ever was a moment of believing otherwise? As if.
This could alternately be titled: Where to men meet and bond over bacon.
I’ll be back to regular posting tomorrow. We have voting for my business name on the horizon! (Did you think I forgot?)
Drop the Should
August 25, 2010 at 6:42 am | Posted in everyday frustrations, life lessons, love, my neurosis | 48 CommentsI’m just going to come out and say it: We’re struggling.
I figure this is what all couples go through when they are transitioning their lives into cohabitation, starting new jobs (him), changing schedules (both of us), and having more than one job to juggle (both of us). This does not mean the end is near. It does not mean we’re not a good couple. It just means that. . . we’re human.
Right?
Because for a girl who often constantly puts such rigid and high standards upon herself that only a super-human could achieve them, this has been and persists in being, an on-going exercise in adapting.
Last night at therapy I spent the majority of it cataloging the ways in which I am “wrong” and “unworthy” and how I will, let’s face it, inevitably fuck this great thing up. Because that’s what my old story tells me. Because that’s the line I’ve been feeding myself for ages. That old stuff is a lot of BS wrapped in old hurt. The take-away message from therapy was “stop should-ing all over myself”. As Mr. Darcy is often reminding me, life is messy and the best laid plans will probably get fucked up so we have got to learn to roll with it.
I’m just so used to beating myself up. Lately it’s as though I am under a microscope. Every fault I have is on display and there is no hiding. I feel vulnerable and embarrassed. I am like a blemish-covered face without any cover up. Eeek! Who wants to see that? Except, Mr. Darcy does want to see it. Because that’s why he is my Mr. Darcy. He likes me just as I am.
I guess I’m still trying to swallow that truth. I falter not because I question his sincerity (never) but because I question my worth. During these tumultuous times, it’s hard for me to remember that I’ve made a lot of progress. It’s hard for me to believe I deserve this and him.
Love is messy and complicated. Sometimes we inadvertently hurt each other. Sometimes we are both so stressed out we aren’t able to be supportive of the other person. Sometimes we misunderstand each other. Sometimes we laugh like crazy. Sometimes we have an idyllic day. Sometimes we argue. But I’m trying. And he is trying. We’re stumbling around trying to figure things out. Sometimes we bump into each other, head first, and it hurts like hell. Sometimes we find the other person’s hand in the dark and fumble along together.
Because we’re in this together. This is not a fluke- it’s the real deal. We want it to work. And it will only work if we work at it.
Blackmail Material
August 24, 2010 at 6:02 am | Posted in funny bone, sweet debauchery, why I love him | 13 CommentsWe’re lying in bed after his surprise party on Saturday and Mr. Darcy McDrunkerson is feeling very chatty. Here’s an excerpt from our bedtime chat. Imagine him whisper-slurring his words too for added effect.
Sizz: “You didn’t brush your teeth, did you?”
Darcy: “I peed.”
Sizz: “You peed?”
Darcy: “I’m just a man.”
Sizz: “You’re JUST A MAN? These are your excuses?”
Darcy: “My breath will stink in the morning so why not now?”
Sizz: “Wow. That’s a commercial for dentistry if I’ve ever heard one.”
Darcy: “I will write it down.”
Sizz: “That’s okay, I’m recording this.”
Darcy: “And I’ll make my millions.”
Sizz: “Mmm, I don’t think that’s how you’re going to make your millions.”
Darcy: “Says you.”
Sizz: “Yes, I did just say that.”
Darcy: “You have it on tape.”
Sizz: “Now you’re catching on. Yep, tape.”
Darcy: “Really?! Ohhh shit.”
Darcy: “I know what I am drunk.”
Sizz: “So you are agreeing that you ARE drunk?”
Darcy: “I am drunk.”
Uh, the camera is UP HERE. Not at my boobs.
I’ll Always Be Older
August 23, 2010 at 6:41 am | Posted in birthday, love, why I love him | 18 CommentsOn Saturday, I surprised Mr. Darcy with a gathering of his friends at a local watering hole in honor of his birthday. He didn’t think his friends, the majority of whom live on the other side of the water (East Side to the locals), would ever venture into Seattle-land. But for him they did. Because he’s the kind of guy you do that for. Because he is the kind of friend who would go above and beyond to help you or be there for you. He’s generous, loyal, easy-going and good-natured with a wicked wit and a sharp mind.
Even when he’s drunk.
You see, Saturday was the first time I had ever really seen Mr. Darcy hammered. His friends kept purchasing him rum & cokes and as the night wore on, he was six or seven in. As his designated driver I watched with amusement when he got up to say good-bye to departing pals and he would sway back and forth whenever he was required to stand still or upright. On the way to the car I proclaimed, “You’re drunk!” and he replied, “I’m not THAT drunk. I haven’t thrown up and then asked for another.”
Ah, this man of mine. He’s aces.
I managed to get Mr. Shmoopie home. On the drive back to our place he was proclaiming his love for me in various ways. This boy likes to talk when he throws a few back and his shmoopie factor skyrockets. “I looooooooove you” is said with half-closed eyes in my general direction. We arrive at the building and he stumbles out of the car and proclaims, “KISS ME!” from the driveway as our new tenants are struggling with boxes at the front door. Very sexy, indeed.
I get him upstairs and into bed and he’s chattering on about this and that but he’s whisper-talking even though I am right next to him. I wish I could upload the video I took of him. It cracks me up every time I hear it. Let’s just say, I am dating a very funny guy who someday might run for Crongress which is, by his estimation, a governing body run by Walter Cronkite.
I’m glad he had a good time and was surprised. He’s not used to birthdays being celebrated all weekend long (or week-long in my case) but that’s how we do it in my family. Last night there was family dinner at my Mom’s with presents, eclair cake and Finn wrestling Mr. Darcy on the couch not 2 minutes after he arrived. He’s very popular, this boyfriend of mine, with pets and kids and mothers alike.
And with me. I’m pretty much totally in love with him (understatement). But, I’m saving the sweet talk for his card.
Planting the Past (1)
August 20, 2010 at 6:15 am | Posted in life lessons, light bulb moments, my neurosis, processing | 27 CommentsA few weeks ago the Universe did what it is wont to do and gave me a sign that it was time to plant.
My routine changed that morning. I was driving in the opposite direction I usually go to run an errand before work. I was at the light waiting for a break in the cars so I could turn. My eyes drifted to the random people walking down sidewalks and then I caught sight of a familiar frame. He was walking across the street, sipping a coffee drink, in shorts and a baseball cap. I wasn’t sure at first but you don’t date someone for a year and a half and not recognize their gait.
He was with her, his new live in girlfriend. I know this because we have mutual friends and news like that travels. When I heard, sure, there was a bit of a tug at the corner of my heart he used to occupy. Not because I wished that had happened for us but because we used to talk like it could have and I’m a sentimental fool prone to melancholy. But the tug was fleeting because my heart has a full-time tenant named Mr. Darcy. Besides that, I’m long since passed the what ifs where this person is concerned. The clarity with which I know that we are not for each other is crisp and undeniable.
For a long stretch of time I was bitter and angry. I used his toothbrush to clean the grout of my kitchen counter. I threw away things that reminded me of him. His name would come up in conversation and a dark place inside me would bubble with righteous indignation. How dare he exist! How laughable, really. How ego-centric of me. And yet the thoughts persisted and the bitterness lingered. I knew it did not serve me. I knew I wanted to be over it, free from it. But you can’t force the moment when you are struck with readiness to forgive and forget.
Like on a bright summer morning when you take an alternate route to work and run into your ex with his new love on the street that divides your shared neighborhood like an equator. Because in a city of 563,374 people you are bound to run into him. The Universe has a sense of humor, after all. And the Universe, ultimately, wants you to feel free, wants you to be your best self, and you can’t be your best when you are twisted up inside with old anger and hurt.
I watched him cross one street then turn to cross headed directly into my gaze. My eyes darted from her then to him. I wondered how this was going to play out. I didn’t turn even though there was an opening. I held my breath and watched it unfold like a scene from a movie or a music video except there was no soundtrack playing.
He was looking around and that was when he saw me seeing him. It’d all be projection if I were to say what he felt, what emotions crossed that face I used to know every detail of. He looked at me looking at him and then reached to take his new girlfriend’s hand as they kept walking and he kept looking at me. I smiled mostly to myself to see that not that much had changed and then finally turned my car away from him and that moment hanging on Broadway and E. Thomas between traffic lights.
I let The Fella go a long time ago but that day, I planted what used to be, what could have been, all the hurt and the disappointment. Because we tried and we weren’t right for each other. Because I’m not angry anymore. Because I hope he’s happy. Not in spite of how he hurt me but because we once loved each other and I’m grateful for whatever brought me to where I am now. Because now is exactly where I want to be.
This is how I tend to the garden of my heart. I till. I plant. And something beautiful grows from what once caused me pain.
“There was no pot of gold, hardly a rainbow lighting my way/But I will be true to the red, black and blues that colored those days./I owe my soul to each fork in the road, each misleading sign./’Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude can dissolve my sweetest find/Thanksgiving for every wrong move that made it right.” -Thanksgiving, Poi Dog Pondering
Sister of My Heart
August 19, 2010 at 5:42 am | Posted in fun & frolicking, memory lane | 9 CommentsI first met her at the awkward age of 14 at Westmont High School. We had English class together. I would transfer to an all girls prep school while she stayed on to make friends with the boy who would eventually be my first boyfriend (the one and only Tomato). She has been an ever-present influence and presence in my life for over 23 years, if you can believe it.
Jenny Two Times, sister of my heart.
Yes, I am sticking out my tongue. And wearing a shirt I stole from her closet.
The last time she visited me we stood like we had countless nights in our past- waiting between acts, sipping a cocktail and people watching- at one of our favorite past times. Seeing live music. Martin Sexton to be exact. When Jenny got up and spoke at my good-bye party before I took my leap into a new life in Washington, she spoke out our connection, our sisterly bond, and how the thread that bound us through all those years was our mutual love and appreciation of music. And that night, on her last visit here, we made a list of all the shows we had seen together. Here’s a smattering:
- Tori Amos (4 times)
- Edie Brickell
- Live
- Pearl Jam
- Liz Phair
- Tracy Chapman
- Blind Pilot
- Martin Sexton (3 times)
- Sara Bareilles (2 times)
- Sweet Virginia
- Vic Chestnut
- Asylum Street Spankers
- The Weepies
- Stone Temple Pilots
- Lenny Kravitz
- Arrested Development
- Blind Melon
- Neil Young
- Counting Crows
- Dave Matthews Band
- Peter Stuart
- The Black Crowes
- Howie Day
- The Steve Miller Band
- Morrissey
- Garbage
- Black Flag
- Van Morrison
- Social Distortion
- Beastie Boys
- Janes Addiction
- Rage Against the Machine
- Smashing Pumpkins
- Poi Dog Pondering (3 times)
Can you tell we went to a lot of shows in the early 90s? We spent countless hours driving around, the windows rolled down, letting our worries be carried out by the wind, singing at the top of our lungs. No matter what we were going through- family dysfunction, heartbreak, teen angst or twenty-something growth spurts, we always had music and each other.
Sometimes a song will come blaring out my speakers and my first thought is of Jenny Two Times. And I love that about her, about our friendship. She is that song that comforts me, lifts me up, makes me smile and dance and feel the most like myself.
Today is her birthday and we are not together so I am sending this one out to her.
Love you sisterfriend. So much. Happy Birthday!
Om(g)
August 17, 2010 at 5:34 am | Posted in everyday frustrations, health | 22 CommentsMy regular (and favorite) yoga instructor wasn’t there Sunday and in her place was a teacher I try to avoid. Why? Because the one time I had her as a sub she went too quickly through the poses and insisted on running us through downward facing dog to plank sequences ad nauseam. Not only did I not feel like I was getting the proper instruction but I also felt like she was trying too hard to be a yogi.
Sunday’s class wasn’t any different.
She started by dissecting the OM. Or as she likes to say, Ah. Om. Mmm. She kept sounding it out like that over and over throughout class. As we readied ourselves to chant the three oms that begin each class she whipped out a harmonium. Oh yes, she did. And she played it while we chanted and then sang the Anusara invocation. It was horribly distracting because it sounded awful. There is something magical in the group chant- the voices ringing out in a singular, communal sound- but with the harmonium, the beauty of the voices was drowned out.
And that was just the beginning.
As class went on, she kept the air conditioning off but the lone door propped open with a singular box fan. In a packed room of at least 40 yoga students with temperatures reaching the 90s outside, she ran us through the first 20 minutes of class without any AC. WTF? Does she think this is Bikram? Finally, God bless her, a fellow student requested that the air be turned back on. BUT! The teacher never closed the door to the outside thus making the AC only partially effective.
Sigh.
For those who have taken yoga, you know that proper instruction is key to being successful in class. You’re bending your body in unlikely positions so you need a teacher who can both encourage and thoroughly describe how to pose your limbs. This teacher is not that person. Her instructions go something like:
Lift with your inner thighs! Point your pelvis towards the windows! Lower your seat! Use your inner feet to root up while your heart lifts, lifts, lifts. Feel the “ahhhh” and the “ohhhh”. Good! Now reach back with your heart but push forward with your hand. Keep your eyes soft, soft, soft. That’s the “mmmmm”.
And that was all for just one pose. Said in rapid-fire speak.
During a pause in the action, I look at Supple and said something like, “I want you to lift your vagina but push back with your butt.” She tried not to laugh too loudly. Then she was all, “I want you to take your breasts and reach them through your armpits towards your shoulder blades.” Then I was all, “Take your butt cheeks and make them expansive and soft. Lift with your big toe and feel the stretch.”
At least we had a laugh over it.
Don’t get me wrong- I love yoga. A good yoga class is akin to church to me. But this teacher is not my guru or my cup of tea. Not with her harmonium and her rambling, esoteric instructions. I’ll be skipping any class she is teaching from here on out.
Rearranging
August 16, 2010 at 5:59 am | Posted in my neurosis, processing, why I love him | 26 CommentsLately the message being reinforced to me by the universe is to: Listen & Love.
Like when your boyfriend of eight months is packing up his apartment and bringing bags of clothes and boxes of nerd toys over to what was formerly your bachelorette pad and you’re feeling the ohmygodthisisreallyhappening panic set in. You’ve got to just take a deep breath and really listen. To what’s going on in that head of yours. To ask the questions that are hard to say and then REALLY listen to his answers. And above all, remember that you love him and he loves you.
Or when said boyfriend insists on packing a box or two a night after work and sloooowly bringing stuff over which in your mind seems ridiculous because who wants to drag out moving? Moving sucks. But when you’re a rip-the-band-aid-off kind of girl you might tend to plow through life rather than take your time. And your boyfriend is not like you. This is what balances you. And drives you batty. So after you lose your cool because you are scared, hungry, tired, hot, etc. and you’ve apologized for being kind of a bitch, you remind yourself that above all, you love him and he loves you.
You see, Mr. Darcy and I are not in a fairy tale. This is a real, bona-fide, adult relationship with its ups and its downs- its sleepless nights because of bed hogging or snoring, its morning breath greetings, its sleepily mumbled I love you’s and arguments while driving, its back and forth over where to put the tv, its sharing of the remote, the bathroom and the chores. If we are happy it is because we work at being so. At being supportive and open and loving. Because we don’t need to tell you that love takes work. That’s the nature of partnership.
So there’s a lot of negotiating and compromise going on between us right now. We’re navigating our way through unchartered territory. Neither of us knows how to do this and so of course we are going to bump into each other on the emotional highway. The best we can do is give each other the courtesy of checking our own issues, being honest, sharing and being willing to meet halfway.
To just remember to listen and to not forget why we’re here. We’re here because of love.
I’m trying not to bury the feelings that got me to this precipice of risk- the deep love I have for this man who has made a home in my heart. Where the book cases go or who gets what closet doesn’t matter in the long run, just that we are together and remembering that it’s the love that matters in the end.
Making a Spectacle Out of Myself
August 13, 2010 at 5:57 am | Posted in float my boat, vanity | 24 CommentsYou see these:
My tried & true specs. Oh how I love them so.
These are the same eye glasses I’ve been wearing for at least 5 years, maybe longer. I love these frames. They have become part of my face and my personality. They are unique- I get asked all the time where I got them and complimented on them. I’ve grown so fond of them that considering changing them for a new pair made my heart palpitate a little. How will I ever find glasses that are sassy, retro yet hip, and unique?
The last time I talked about this on the blog was April of 2009. Many of you even voted on which new frames I should buy! But when I went to follow through on the actual purchase I found a lot of roadblocks. My insurance would only cover a small percentage if I bought them out-of-pocket. My doctor wouldn’t buy them for me just to try on. The places that might carry them did not take my insurance. And so, I stopped pursuing it.
Wearing my old glasses would not have been a problem if I hadn’t had a bit of a tumble one Friday night in the streets of Capitol Hill after too many vodka tonics wherein my glasses flew from my head and landed on the sidewalk. Because of that, they are scratched up on the lens and on the corner front of the frame not to mention one arm is slightly cracked and bent. And guess what? Those frames are no longer made. BOO ON THAT!
But then I thought, maybe it’s time to shake things up? Most frames don’t fit my eye shape (it’s a big eye problem) or they sit wrong on the bridge of my nose (I apparently have a narrow bridge) so most of the frames I am usually drawn to don’t work for my face. After an arduous session of trying on frames and internet searching, I think that I managed to find a frame that suits my style and face shape. What do you think?
My new glasses: where retro meets nerd.
Why yes I am taking photos of my new specs while in my car. Please note: I was not actually driving at the time. Safety first!
The other news is that, besides biting the bullet and finally getting new frames, I GOT CONTACTS. Yes! At the ripe age of 37 I have finally decided that I am brave enough to stick my finger in my eye. I figure that it’s worth it if I get to finally wear sunglasses. I went for my tutoring session yesterday and managed to get them in after a few tries. The hardest part I found was getting them out. But practice makes perfect… and for a sore eyeball. At least Mr. Darcy is an eye contact wearing expert so I have him to help if I ever have questions.
So I’m slowly adjusting to the new image in the mirror. Is this what people who have nose jobs feel like? Except I can (obviously) take my glasses off whereas they can’t remove their nose (double obvious). What’s next for me then? Growing my hair out?! Why yes, it is. Stay tuned. That’s a much longer process.
*The frames are actually a dark chocolate-brown but you can only really tell in direct light.
*I really need to go buy some sunglasses now- I don’t even own a pair.
*My right eye has a distinct stigmatism which I kept accidentally referring to it as a “stigma” which made the glasses tech and myself crack up.
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