daydream disbeliever

Mad Ramblings From a Blithering Idiot
2008-02-13 05:16:47 (UTC)

If Only I Was as Talented as Jenny Lewis...

...I could express myself so much better. I have the curse
of never finding the right word or phrase to describe how I
feel. I've come to terms with my mediocrity.

I really feel as if I should write here more. It's much
more private than my previously mentioned myspace blog,
which I often relate work anecdotes, but I have a few
readers of that little piece of crap and sometimes I just
feel the need for privacy. This site is the equivalent of
my bedroom when I was thirteen. It's public, but there are
no pictures or "About Me" sections that need to be filled
out. What you see isn't the entire picture because I
usually just tend to complain and vent here, and there's no
need for censorship of my thoughts like there. A sort
of, "Jesus, I can't write THAT because X, Y, and Z might
get pissed off" kind of feeling. I can shed all my modesty
of thought here. Does that even make sense?

I don't even know why I'm trying to explain myself to
myself.

Anyway, I will see B for a while this weekend. Not the fun
that we wanted, but we made plans for the weekend after. I
love how we always do random things. We have yet to go on
a traditionally boring "dinner and a movie" date. We've
watched movies, but snuggled on the couch in my apartment.
I have to stop and think about the things we've done.

On our first almost-but-not-quite date, we got rip roaring
drunk at our favorite hometown bar, then suddenly decided
to go bowling. We ate at a 24 hour diner at 2am and ended
up sleeping on his friend's boat. Nothing happened,
because I liked him too much to let him do anything but
kiss me.

The next time we met up we were at the same bar and danced
with a bunch of middle aged disco dancers, also known as
our parents and their friends. I swear, my mom's friends
are more fun and more exciting than my own. They don't seem
afraid to really live. He didn't kiss me that night and I
was disappointed. I thought he didn't like me much after
all until he asked for my number.

Then the thrice weekly phone calls started and it all sort
of snowballed from there. The way he asked me to be
exclusive seemed straight out of an eighties high school
movie. I was a bit caught up in the sweetness and silliness
of it all. He touched my face, told me I was the most
amazing girl he'd ever met, and said that he wanted "to
make this work" and that he "wanted to be in this for the
long haul". He then proceeded to almost invite himself to
my house the next weekend. Not that I cared. I was over
the moon with giddiness. The next night we discovered our
shared love for Frank Sinatra, and when "Fly Me to the
Moon" started playing on the radio and I said that I wished
I could dance, he hops out of his Jeep, pulls me out, too,
and we slow danced by the river. One of my girlish
fantasies came true that Sunday night-a small part of me
has always wanted a man to spontaneously dance with me to a
Sinatra tune no matter where we were when it was playing.
Of course, the song has always been "My Funny Valentine" in
my dreams, but I'll take the other any day. I love how he
likes to be spontaneous like me. Every time we're together
it feels like an adventure, even if it's just a trip to Wal-
Mart. I've never felt that way with anyone before.

So the next weekend he came up as planned. We go to zoo, go
bowling, and...fun ensued. I just can't write about sex.
I can feel myself blushing now. But I will be brave with
myself and admit that I feel comfortable and pretty being
naked around him. I don't feel embarassed at all, which is
another first.

He had a ski trip planned for months before we became
serious so we could only see each other this past weekend
on Sunday night when he came home. I spent the weekend
with my sister and my best friend. It was J's birthday and
L just had her second child. He did something truly
surprising that night. When he picked me up, he said he had
a surprise. Wanting some K-only time, he had a hotel
room. We snuggled, had lots of me-blushing fun, watched a
bit of tv and slept. The next morning he took me back to
my sister's and we both went to work. The only thing I
regret is the time constraint. I hate seeing him only once
a week.

Now the powers that be are keeping us apart for Valentine's
Day (the first time in my pathetic existence that I've
actually had a valentine) and most of the weekend, but he's
already made plans for the weekend after. It's perfect.
We're going to the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame. It's just a
couple of hours away from me. Neither of us has been there
before. I love how our relationship is full of firsts for
both of us. I hate to sound like a broken record, but
every minute of our time together is an adventure.

And he only gets sentimental when he's drunk. Every night
of his ski trip he would call me and say "K, I miss you so
much. I want to come home and be with you. I miss you, I
miss you, I miss you." He doesn't say it when he's sober.
I hope he's like me and tends to let his true feelings slip
out when he's in his cups. Then I'll know for sure he's
telling me the truth. But then again, if he didn't feel
anything for me, he wouldn't call me every night at the
same time. But phone calls are beginning to be not enough.

Although this text woke me up this morning. He must have
sent it to me while on his break...
"I am still looking at the picture of you on my phone. It
put me in the best mood. Also just wanted you to know that
you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I miss
you so much."
It made me cry. And I'm the girl that makes fun of those
kinds of things.

He's silly, he's fun, he's spontaneous, he's a hard worker,
he's a fireman, and he's...my boyfriend. I still can't get
used to the idea. I close my eyes and envision his wide
smile. He has the warmest smile I've ever seen. No, felt.
His smile is one that you feel and makes you want to smile
back every time. I feel truly alive when we're together. He
makes me think that anything could be possible. I've never
experienced that with any guy I've ever dated. Dare I
mention it, even to myself?

No, not yet.

K.




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