Being in love with my boyfriend feels like this video.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
2:00 AM by UnknownNo comments
**Editors' Note: Last week a guest submission from "Jane" came in about the first time she saw her boyfriend too drunk. Her boyfriend, Tarzan, responded this week.**
I must admit I was amazed at the response I received by your friends when I (drunkenly, I admit) made my pubic hair preferences public knowledge. Aghast looks, dropped jaws, smirks of derision. Since when did an attraction to a natural and beautiful thatch of luxuriant pubic hair become a sexual deviance? I argue that a sculpted and manipulated bush, or god forbid, a fully shaved one is much more strange and freakish.
I must admit I was amazed at the response I received by your friends when I (drunkenly, I admit) made my pubic hair preferences public knowledge. Aghast looks, dropped jaws, smirks of derision. Since when did an attraction to a natural and beautiful thatch of luxuriant pubic hair become a sexual deviance? I argue that a sculpted and manipulated bush, or god forbid, a fully shaved one is much more strange and freakish.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
8:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
**Editors' Note: Today's guest post comes in from a gal who said she loves DIW. Glad someone is actually reading this trash..**
I'm 23 and the guy I'm dating is 36. Despite the thirteen year age gap, we get along really well and have a lot in common... Aside from our memories associated with music from before about 2005.
The other day we were playing cards and drinking wine at his place, and he had a 90s station playing on the satellite radio. A song came on from 1996, and I told him how it reminded me being at Girl Scout Camp in third grade. A look of horror came over his face as he realized that while I was selling cookies and earning my Brownie Try-It badges, he was 23 and divorcing his first wife.
We switched the station to some current indie rock, and silently agreed not to tell stories from our childhood anymore.
I'm 23 and the guy I'm dating is 36. Despite the thirteen year age gap, we get along really well and have a lot in common... Aside from our memories associated with music from before about 2005.
The other day we were playing cards and drinking wine at his place, and he had a 90s station playing on the satellite radio. A song came on from 1996, and I told him how it reminded me being at Girl Scout Camp in third grade. A look of horror came over his face as he realized that while I was selling cookies and earning my Brownie Try-It badges, he was 23 and divorcing his first wife.
We switched the station to some current indie rock, and silently agreed not to tell stories from our childhood anymore.
Friday, January 31, 2014
6:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
I'm not the Rom-Com type. I hate cheesy romantic stories where the chick gets swept off her feet by Matthew McConaughey (why is he in every one of those god-forsaken movies?) and I typically retch when told cutesey-wootsey tales of love. Valentine's Day is bullshit as are most things having to do with Disney's version of true love.
It is with this disclaimer that I post what is most assuredly the grossest romantic thing to ever happen to me. Even I was like, really? That's so sweet it hurts my teeth.
I was in an outpatient surgery center a few weeks ago recovering from a minor procedure that included conscious sedation. I was just coming to but was still pretty out of it. I turned my head to see my big handsome boyfriend sitting by my bedside smiling.
"Mmmmmmmmhhiiiiii..." I mumbled before drifting off again, feeling comfortable and safe knowing he was there.
Later he told me that a beep from the heart monitor alerted him to the fact that my heart rate slowed down by about ten beats per minute when I saw him.
Apparently being in love is the best medicine.
It is with this disclaimer that I post what is most assuredly the grossest romantic thing to ever happen to me. Even I was like, really? That's so sweet it hurts my teeth.
I was in an outpatient surgery center a few weeks ago recovering from a minor procedure that included conscious sedation. I was just coming to but was still pretty out of it. I turned my head to see my big handsome boyfriend sitting by my bedside smiling.
"Mmmmmmmmhhiiiiii..." I mumbled before drifting off again, feeling comfortable and safe knowing he was there.
Later he told me that a beep from the heart monitor alerted him to the fact that my heart rate slowed down by about ten beats per minute when I saw him.
Apparently being in love is the best medicine.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
12:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
My first boyfriend was an anarchist. An anarcho-syndicist, to be precise, and a young student of philosophy. Big Nietzche fan. So, naturally, he didn’t believe in “love.” I did, though. And I was in love.
I wanted desperately to tell him I loved him, but I was terrified of saying it first. So I moped, and pined, and whenever he said anything that began with “I love …” I froze in anticipation. The sentences always ended with something like “this slice of pizza” “this weed” or “Hegel’s dialectical method.” Maybe, if I was lucky, it was “I love your ass.”
So finally, one drunken evening (Now, I can’t remember how far along the relationship was at this point. I felt like we’d been together FOREVER and would be together FOREVER and that my soul was his soul, and that there was no other love like ours, but in reality it had probably been a month. That’s the equivalent of a decade when you’re 15), we were laughing about something, and I did something really funny, I have no idea what, and he laughed, “I love you!” And apparently the look of soaring joy on my face was too much for him, and he explained that he didn’t mean it THAT way. So, naturally, I cried.
And since then, in relationships, I still have never said the “L” word first. Not-a-once. A lot of women I know don’t. I will ask a man out, I will tell him where to put it (literally and figuratively), I’ll take all kinds of risks in relationships. But the “L” word? No way.
What about you, gentle readers? Do you say the L word first? What’s it like?
p.s. Do any of y’all do this twitter thing? I do. Find me at Twitter.com/serialmono
I wanted desperately to tell him I loved him, but I was terrified of saying it first. So I moped, and pined, and whenever he said anything that began with “I love …” I froze in anticipation. The sentences always ended with something like “this slice of pizza” “this weed” or “Hegel’s dialectical method.” Maybe, if I was lucky, it was “I love your ass.”
So finally, one drunken evening (Now, I can’t remember how far along the relationship was at this point. I felt like we’d been together FOREVER and would be together FOREVER and that my soul was his soul, and that there was no other love like ours, but in reality it had probably been a month. That’s the equivalent of a decade when you’re 15), we were laughing about something, and I did something really funny, I have no idea what, and he laughed, “I love you!” And apparently the look of soaring joy on my face was too much for him, and he explained that he didn’t mean it THAT way. So, naturally, I cried.
And since then, in relationships, I still have never said the “L” word first. Not-a-once. A lot of women I know don’t. I will ask a man out, I will tell him where to put it (literally and figuratively), I’ll take all kinds of risks in relationships. But the “L” word? No way.
What about you, gentle readers? Do you say the L word first? What’s it like?
p.s. Do any of y’all do this twitter thing? I do. Find me at Twitter.com/serialmono
Saturday, January 25, 2014
5:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
A friend recently asked my opinion on wearing lingerie given by an ex with a new lover. I was totally at a loss for the etiquette on that one, so I put it to you, DIW readers.
Is it ok to wear lingerie given by an ex with a new lover? On a more general level, what do you do with old gifts from previous loves when in a new relationship?
Is it ok to wear lingerie given by an ex with a new lover? On a more general level, what do you do with old gifts from previous loves when in a new relationship?
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
11:00 AM by UnknownNo comments
I’ve been thinking a lot about exes lately.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
7:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
A few months ago my long-term boyfriend and I split because I decided to move to a different state for a job. He's the best man you could ever ask for and my heart still hurts when I think about the decision. Ever notice how when you first break your heart, it's this intense, all-consuming sort of emotional pain? I'm from Wisconsin and like most solid Mid-Westerners, we swallow our emotions well. Maybe I'm just actually emotionally delayed, but lately the heart break is this constant ache that wasn't there a few months ago. Music has been a huge solace and this video I found today has been on repeat all day. Bon Iver is a good Wisconsin boy so I have extra love for him.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
12:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
I recently met my good friend's sister. The way the visit worked out, the sister and I had some time to hang out the following day, after my friend left to fly back to Oregon.
Over a glass of wine, the three of us sat talking, and my friend's sister told me that whenever I woke up in the morning, we could go out and get breakfast together, and she'd be happy to show me around her town a little bit, as I hadn't spent much time there.
"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"
Whoa. Wha?
Back up a little bit. I'm in a relationship. Have been for about 2.5 years. I'm 30. In the last year, I moved across the country to be with him. So, would I like to go ahead and get - if not hitched - engaged? Sure. And I don't see the point in pretending that's not the case. I don't try to advertise or bitch about it, but I'm not going to lie about it - definitely not to my closest friends. But, now I have to wonder.
I mean, I figured my friend would give her sister some backstory on me. She knew where my friend and I had met, she knew the basics of why I live in the south ... but is "she's waiting on her slacker boyfriend to propose" on the short list of details about me that I expect people to hear before they meet me? Yikes.
It brought me back to a conversation my boyfriend and I had before we moved out here. Two friends of mine had been together for 10 years, and I knew she was ready to get things moving. Get married, think about starting a family. So when I saw him, and she wasn't around, I'd nudge. And I wasn't subtle.
"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"
It made me feel annoying, but I checked with my girlfriend, and she was totally OK with this type of encouragement. [I mean, I could write another blog post about why and how it is that there are certain decisions in hetero relationships for which women are basically removed from the decision-making process. You can't nag. You can't push. You're not supposed to complain, lest you be one of those gross old-fashioned girls who actually - gasp - wants to get married. Yuck. We're not supposed to care. And it's not like you could do something crazy like ask him.]
When my b.f. heard me talk about this couple, and about how the fellow needed to get his shit together, he wondered if I was trying to give him a hint.
"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."
But that conversation was a year and a half ago. Are things different? Is living in the south affecting my views on marriage? Out here, people give me a sidelong look when I mention that I moved across the country to live with my boyfriend. People check my hand when I talk about him. I've literally been told that Jesus wants me to get married. His stepmother told him it bothers her that he hasn't at least bought me a ring.
I don't know. But I do know this: I told my boyfriend the ring shopping story when I got home. I'll let him decide what it all means.
Over a glass of wine, the three of us sat talking, and my friend's sister told me that whenever I woke up in the morning, we could go out and get breakfast together, and she'd be happy to show me around her town a little bit, as I hadn't spent much time there.
"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"
Whoa. Wha?
Back up a little bit. I'm in a relationship. Have been for about 2.5 years. I'm 30. In the last year, I moved across the country to be with him. So, would I like to go ahead and get - if not hitched - engaged? Sure. And I don't see the point in pretending that's not the case. I don't try to advertise or bitch about it, but I'm not going to lie about it - definitely not to my closest friends. But, now I have to wonder.
I mean, I figured my friend would give her sister some backstory on me. She knew where my friend and I had met, she knew the basics of why I live in the south ... but is "she's waiting on her slacker boyfriend to propose" on the short list of details about me that I expect people to hear before they meet me? Yikes.
It brought me back to a conversation my boyfriend and I had before we moved out here. Two friends of mine had been together for 10 years, and I knew she was ready to get things moving. Get married, think about starting a family. So when I saw him, and she wasn't around, I'd nudge. And I wasn't subtle.
"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"
It made me feel annoying, but I checked with my girlfriend, and she was totally OK with this type of encouragement. [I mean, I could write another blog post about why and how it is that there are certain decisions in hetero relationships for which women are basically removed from the decision-making process. You can't nag. You can't push. You're not supposed to complain, lest you be one of those gross old-fashioned girls who actually - gasp - wants to get married. Yuck. We're not supposed to care. And it's not like you could do something crazy like ask him.]
When my b.f. heard me talk about this couple, and about how the fellow needed to get his shit together, he wondered if I was trying to give him a hint.
"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."
But that conversation was a year and a half ago. Are things different? Is living in the south affecting my views on marriage? Out here, people give me a sidelong look when I mention that I moved across the country to live with my boyfriend. People check my hand when I talk about him. I've literally been told that Jesus wants me to get married. His stepmother told him it bothers her that he hasn't at least bought me a ring.
I don't know. But I do know this: I told my boyfriend the ring shopping story when I got home. I'll let him decide what it all means.
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