*blue balls not included.
Love can’t be forced even in the most romantic of cities. Take my trip (nearly five years ago — bah!) to Paris. I mean, everyone’s taste in romance is subjective. But PARIS, MAN! Paris should knock your socks off with its vibrancy, its cityscape, the countryside, the wine… its cheese.
LOVE IN ALL CAPS.
Romantic holidays should never, ever be spent with a significant other WHO HASN’T TALKED TO YOU IN OVER 12 HOURS. That doesn’t count the plane ride.
Why the hell am I remembering this trip? (Why the hell am I thinking of this asshole, mostly). Memories are stirring because I’m talking with friends about a potential overseas trip, and my Western European Road Trip adventure was my last time, well, in Europe. I MISS THE HELL OUT OF THAT COUNTRY. I miss the hell out of foreign travel. And there’s so much that I had planned to see by now. I want to go back to Prague (even more romantic than Paris, if you ask me) and visit Budapest, and figure out what it will finally take to get the boyfriend on board with planning a Scotland-Ireland trip (besides Scotch. I’ve tried.)
A romantic vacation is necessary at various intervals of relationship status — even if they don’t pan out as planned. And especially if you don’t have anyone else to love (hello, finding yourself in Rome!). Fall in love with a foreign city. Now that’s some romance. Mexico doesn’t count.
For us… we go camping. Or, Cleveland.
(I’d rather be backpacking.)
Anyone can relate… of this I AM CERTAIN.
Shoebox Blog, via Geeks Are Sexy.
Keep your toothbrush away from mine!
OCD, hypochondriac, germo-phobe… pick one: I’m them all. I have adult issues with cleanliness and matters-of-the-stomach when it comes to food phobias. The majority of my obsessive-compulsive cleaning streaks ceased when we adopted cats. Because let’s be serious, OMG HAIR EVERYWHERE! I’m almost comfortable even with cleaning gunk out of the eyes.
*retch*
So, this recent story from Allure about sharing a boyfriend’s products (NOT ONE YOU LIVE WITH, MIND YOU) made me make that muscle-strained “ew” face. Being that AB & I have been living together for almost three years, we’ve stopped buying separate tubes of toothpaste, and I even share his shampoo after derby practices… BUT I’m sorry, it’s completely gross to use another man’s deodorant.
Years ago, I shared a toothbrush (once) when I visited SSD for a weekend when I forgot mine — not PURPOSELY forgetting — but, yes even though we swapped spit on numerous occasions, there’s something inherently grosser about male toothbrushes. And armpit hair. I cannot…
*gag*
Side, random note: do you and your partner pee with the door open?
Also, when you “purposely forget” your toiletry items when you stay at your boyfriend’s, remember that your period can start at any time, especially when you least expect it. True story. I’m pretty sure this and the Toothbrush Incident of 2008 was the same awesome weekend. I win.
For what it’s worth, I agree with the writer about men’s razors… and the smell of Irish Spring. I dated a guy once who used it (the soap), and I bought myself a package after we separated. Not because I wanted to smell the darn man anymore, but OMG that smell in the morning is downright fabulous. 10,000 better than “zest-fully” awakening. But I cannot share soap. Even the boyfriend and I have different shower puffs (there’s seriously 18 bottles of stuff in our shower). And when we have guests over, I can totally tell when they’ve used my bar, and I have to shave the exterior layers of it off before I can use it.
Wearing rubber gloves, of course.
The other side of this story — that the article so cleverly “forgot” to mention — is when you “purposely forget” your stuff when staying at your dude’s place, you run less a risk of losing out on hundreds of dollars worth of products, clothes and the best platform suede boots known to exist when he decides to Pancake your ass and never give your shit back. Just saying.
At least always keep a tampon on you.
{Allure.com: Products I Purposely Forget When Staying at the Boyfriend’s}
Photo credit: Psu4 via flickr
FIVE!
I really hate dreams about ex-boyfriends.
While seemingly a fair number (I remember even in my subconscious state having to think about it), there are obvious “mutations” of what constitutes “love” depending on a variety of factors. Even if the words were never said to one another. For instance, what I considered to be “in love” ten years ago is quite different as I see it today. Also, I completely and whole-heartedly agree that you can love more than one person at the same time. What can I say; my heart is just that big. And so is my penis. Seriously, wanna see it?
If that number were true, however, my “five” would be (in no particular order, but giving my CURRENT boyfriend the number #1 position only seems… properly credited):
1. AB
2. HSS
3. The Fiance
4. SSD
5. 10SB
My, I’ll be pissed at myself (or sure to hear about it) if there is someone I forgot to be included as part of this list.
AB: Enough said, right? I mean, I only talk about him ALL THE TIME. And how incredible of a person he is — and how incredible of a person he’s made ME. Without a doubt, the truest and most sincere of true loves to be had. I’m very lucky.
HSS: The High School Sweetheart. The “first love.” The volatile, young, passionate, ANGRY, kill-for-him kind of love. We dated (on-and-off) for… about six years. Somewhere in my aging, I actually forgot how long we dated. Since the summer before our senior year in high school (yes, he was my senior prom date), until some time in my early 20s. If you had a high school boyfriend, you KNOW how difficult it is to let this person go — physically and emotionally. The truth is (regardless of the cheating vengeance between the two of us), we grew apart, and it was hard for both of us to admit it. I’m happy to call him my friend today — and see him (finally) in a healthy relationship with someone who seemingly complements him well.
The Fiance: And just as soon as you finally realize you need to let someone go, another comes into the picture to remind you of what love is all about. I admit, it’s still strange to imagine myself with a FIANCE. I moved in with this guy three weeks after meeting him, and I wasn’t more sure of ANYTHING in my life. We endured a long, committed, healthy and open relationship for almost three years. But about a year in, a tragedy occurred that caused an emotional rift — and eventual distance. It was never really the same. The engagement happened long after we fell slowly apart, separated, I moved out, and we once again reconnected. At the time, and almost immediately, engagement seemed to be the right thing to do (and to prove to others that we were SERIOUS this time). As you know, this is NO reason to get engaged, let alone get married. We fell apart again soon after (and I had to move my stuff out AGAIN).
SSD was the acronym for his job (followed by the word “dude”). I never told him that I loved him, although I had a good friend who made SURE he knew after our emotionally-charged, messy, I-want-to-drive-off-a-bridge “break up”… and I think I sent him a letter. Anyways, we had no labels; we never talked about the status of the relationship — we only had fun. We were long distance, so every time we were together, only the best of memories were created. And in the moment, I was all for it. It was… perfect. Especially, in that I could “keep” my own life. That is, until it was over. And then I realized how big a part he was of it. And it was DEVASTATING. Especially considering that I spent probably one year too many in something that was never even defined. The details are still fuzzy to me, but he didn’t think I was serious about him (I probably wasn’t IN THEORY, but in my heart, I was), and those feelings were much of how I felt about HIM. Ain’t that a recipe for dating disaster?
To be honest, I struggled back-and-forth at my inclusion of 10SB. I was in a miserable part of life, and looking to cling to anything (or anyone, rather) who gave me the chance — and the right amount of attention. It was a horrible, horrible relationship, based on the mind of a woman (ahem, me) who just was not in a good or confident place in her life. That’s not to discount “what we had” (even though, in my mind, he’s still a total, irrational… dick), but I certainly learned a lot from that experience. Most of all, about what I want and need in a compatible partnership. That, sadly, was just not it.
How many LOVES would you put on your list?
Photo credit: rustman, courtesy of flickr.
There was a time when I used to write about my funny or OMG-that-didn’t-really-happen stories related to ex-boyfriends. When AB & I got together, I stopped. It was a combination of being too happy to dwell in my past misery and a part of letting the past be the past. But I think I might start to share some of those soap operas again, as I feel those memories have a part in shaping how I feel — and who I am both individually and attached — while in a long-term relationship. Plus, some shit is just plain hilarious and needs to be told.
Also, it’s not because I’m suddenly UNhappy, but it was prompted by a stupid irrational argument last night between AB & I, which no doubt caused my “I need an extra hour” deep sleep dream I had this morning about my high school boyfriend, HSS (high school sweetheart). In real life, HSS & I fought with the fury of 100 feral cats, which resulted in five-plus-years of on-and-off-again instability (but oh, first love!). When we were dating, I was ALWAYS mad — it didn’t help that he did a lot of dirty, shitty things that consistently pissed me off. So I yelled. A lot. I threw things and broke things. And I also hit him (once even giving him a well-deserved bloody nose in a club). I even got so mad one afternoon that I flushed an emerald ring he bought me down the toilet. Yes, I was nothing but a Drama Queen and a Total Bitch in one very small, 95-pound package (but whatever, I could box you and punch your lights out — or so my internal bad-assedness told me).
I knew I had anger issues, but they really didn’t subside until he was gone. Or at least until I was ready and able to move on from him emotionally (which took a LONG time, even overlapping several other relationships, mind you).
In my dream though, we both changed — how telling.
And then some scary Russian mobsters were in our Las Vegas suite, asking me for a million dollars to repay them for… something I don’t remember. Even though I was staying on the sixth floor. Or was it the ninth?! Therein lied the rest of my dream, attempting to escape from these two thugs — running up-and-down staircases, not being able to find my room number as I ran down the halls.
What a freaking metaphor.
Back to last night’s… ahem, “discussion.” I sincerely hate when anyone feels they need to “talk down to me” as though I’m unintelligent. I might not be the most logical of thinkers — and because I think differently than you, does not mean I need the conversation “simplified.” Point being, I really DON’T like to be angry. But I also will not let it go if someone is essentially calling me stupid. Which in my mind, was exactly what he was doing. So when AB made a generality after that argument last night that I am “always angry,” my shit hit the roof even worse. And I could just feel my blood boiling. I made him take it back, of course, but I couldn’t shake that emotion for anything. I like to think sometimes that I’ve come a long way since HSS. I’m in, by all accounts, a life partnership with someone for whom I care deeply. But holy hell, watch out for my wrath when I get angry enough that I start losing my voice.
Oh, and of COURSE it was a sex dream.
Duh.
This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
