Best Boyfriend In The World

Apology to my lover

2010-10-25T15:25:00.000-07:00

Here's to us, in another 40 years.

I owe you an apology.
When I fell in love again back in 2008, I couldn't help myself. I wanted to share it with the world. After all, I was sharing every pratfall I experienced that led up to that point in Kiss & Tell The World, why not share the ecstatic joy of falling in love with ya'all as well? I felt a duty to prove to my dear readers that while I was fully capable of being snarky, sarcastic and pessimistic as hell about post-40 dating, that I was just as capable of expressing my newfound optimism and boundless love when I met the right person?
And then, at some point, after that new car smell wore off, I stopped sharing.
And for that, I apologize. To you, my sweet man. Because here we are, 2 1/2 years later, and I still love you so so so so so much that I have gone up against the biggest corporation in America to save your mother's house when she was wronged. I love you so so so so so so much that I don't stomp hard on your foot when you encourage my parents to come and visit more often because "Family is everything!" as you are so quick to point out, darn you. I love you so much. And I don't want anyone to think that just because I don't write about it as much anymore, that I love you any less.
I plan on loving you for the rest of my life, until we're older than our own parents now. And I plan on still having those lovely, lingering kisses with you when we're well into our 80's. And you know how I am. Once I set my mind to something, I'm in it for the long haul, baby. So keep doing those lip calisthenics!

In the meantime, readers, check out my new blog detailing my efforts at restoring my lover's mother's home, which was improperly foreclosed upon by Bank of America.

The Honeymoon Is Not Over

2010-05-25T16:55:00.001-07:00

I can hardly believe it, but a month from today, the Best Boyfriend In The World and I will be celebrating two amazing years together. And you know what? The Honeymoon is most definitely not over yet. Sure, there's been moments when we've had disagreements, experienced some hard feelings and said some things we shouldn't have. And more than once my sweetheart has turned to me and said, "So that's it? The Honeymoon's over now?"

No, honey. It's not. Strangely, amazingly, it's not.

Maybe it's because we're still doing that long-distance journey every weekend or so...a long 4 1/2 hour trek to be with each other, but we make the best out of every moment together. Perhaps if we lived together, we wouldn't treasure our time as much as we do.

Maybe we'd start to take each other for granted.

Maybe we'd get so used to being around each other that we'd get bored.

And then again, maybe not.

But here I am, almost two years into the most incredible relationship of my life, wondering how I got to be so lucky that I have a man who gives me everything I have ever wanted, and yet he thinks he's the lucky one to have me in his life.

Really, could it get any better?

Maybe it could.

I sure would like to find out.

Flamingo Ninjas

2009-06-09T00:31:00.000-07:00

In 1983, a rash of lawn ornament thefts was taking place throughout the Rogue Valley. Garden gnomes, lawn jockeys, plastic fawns and rabbits, and pink flamingos. Scores of pink flamingos. If I recall correctly, even the Dari-Mart cow disappeared one foggy night.

I was a senior in high school at the time. There were rumors that a couple of my classmates were involved in the nighttime shenanigans that resulted in dozens of police reports about missing yard decor. It's been 25 years since the thefts took place, and I don't know if there's a statute of limitations issue at play here. But just to be safe, I'll let them continue to bask in semi-anonymity. I'm still not absolutely sure they were involved, because they never really admitted to any involvement, at least not to me, but I had a pretty good idea Mouse and the Attorney were part of the gang.

There was one particular yard on Oak Street that suffered a greater loss than most. Everyone knew him as PJ, an eccentric (which is sort of redundant when speaking of anyone who's lived in Ashland for more than 10 years) propmaster at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. He had a menagerie of pink flamingos on his front lawn, about a dozen of them. Well, maybe 5 or 6, lining the walk up to his door. Then one evening they disappeared.

It made front page news in the Daily Tidings. In English class, there was a lot of snickering. But no direct confession from Mouse and the Attorney. But we all knew. Well, we all suspected.

Months went by. PJ's lawn was still barren, the flamingos never recovered by the police. The ring of lawn ornament thieves must've moved on to other things, because I don't remember hearing about them again.

Until they showed up on the front lawn of the college next Easter.

Bright and early that Sunday morning, dozens of pink flamingos showed up on the campus lawn in front of Britt Hall. A huge flock of them. Not just PJ's 5 or 6. More than several dozen. And they were dressed in Easter finery. Little dresses and shirts, and bonnets. Once again, it made front page news, this time with a photo. The police took the entire congregation of birds down to the station, and a police spokesperson was quoted in the paper encouraging people who had reported stolen flamingos to come down and attempt to claim their recovered property.

Apparently not many people bothered to try to identify their flamingos, but PJ did. In fact, he ended up with the entire flock, wardrobe and all. For years you could still see those flamingos, all dressed up, populating his front yard. For all I know, they're still there, two blocks off of Main Street.

Meanwhile, Mouse, the Attorney and I all graduated from high school. At the last minute I ditched my plans to go to the UofO and instead signed up as a Psych major at the college in Ashland. That first semester I broke up with my high school boyfriend of 3 years and started dating Camo-Boy, a tall, skinny Sophomore in combat boots who hailed from another town and lived in the dorms. He took me to a Wall of Voodoo concert in SF on our first date. But he was quiet, very shy, and didn't talk much.

One winter day in 1984, Camo-Boy was off studying at the library. I was sitting in his dorm room, awaiting his return. I was alone in his personal space for the first time. I don't recall if I just got snoopy, or if I was looking for a pen in his desk drawer (okay, so I was just being snoopy), but what I found was an envelope of photographs. I thought maybe I'd found pictures of his ex-girlfriend, but what I found absolutely shocked me. I couldn't believe my eyes.

There were flamingos in various stages of undress. Naked, piled in a bathtub, metal legs askew. There were hands, prophylacticated in rubber dishwashing gloves, washing and rubbing down each flamingo. Then photos of flamingos being fitted with little bonnets and frilly dresses. What followed next were photos of a breaking dawn in Ashland, taken from a spot I knew all too well. Across from 7-11, the green lawn of the college campus, dotted with flamingos, dressed in their Easter best.

When Camo-Boy returned from the library, I held up the envelope of photos and with one eyebrow raised, I said, "Lucy, you got some 'splaining to do." And finally, the dam broke. He started talking, and never stopped. He told me how he'd been roomies the year before with a mutual friend from high school that had graduated a few years ahead of me, but surprisingly not Mouse nor The Attorney. In fact, he never mentioned their names at all. I still think they were involved, but had been enlisted as minions, and not masterminds of the Easter Flamingo migration. He told me how they'd spent their nights prowling yards throughout a 2 county area, and how they'd planned to return the flock en mass to a public place. How they'd washed and wiped them down to remove any fingerprints. And how he'd sifted through the bins of baby clothes at Goodwill for weeks to find the right garments to outfit an entire flock of pink plastic flamingos.

Then he confessed to a few more nighttime ninja escapades that shocked me. Not simple lawn decor thefts, but stories that involved air conditioning vents and computers. Stories that made my jaw drop and kept me enraptured for hours. Stories like this one. He was far sneakier and interesting than I'd given him credit for, and suddenly much sexier after the realization that was a prowler who stole from the rich and gave to the propmaster, and not just a member of some simple flamingo liberation group, like these guys. He was so cool. I moved out of my parent's house and followed that guy all the way to the east coast. Didn't last long though. The last I heard, he'd joined the Army. Special Ops. Or so I imagine. I'm sure it's something covert.

The flamingos, so I understand, all still reside with PJ, and now their outfits change with the season, but it hasn't been without continuing fashionnappings. A friend says she kidnapped one of his flamingos in '85, and outfitted it with a sombrero and poncho before putting it back. Some of the other absconded lawn ornaments continued their journey around Southern Oregon for a few years. The porcelain cow ended up passing hands a few different times, once ending up in an encriminating photo smoking a cigarette in bed with a companion, and as late as 1986 was still moving around town; once chained to a tree (see evidence below) in a yard near Lithia Park.

There's a company now that actually sells pink flamingo lawn ornaments (see below) with a complete set of 8 different outfits for various seasons and holidays for less than $25. I'm tempted to get one, but I know it'd just be a matter of time before some teenage gang of ninja flamingo thieves swoops in and steals it under the cover of a warm summer evening, and then months later, after I'd moved on and replaced it with a less attractive ceramic gnome or a Chia-bunny, I'd be pressured to go down to the police station to identify my bird when it ends up on the lawn of city hall with a bunch of its buddies.

Man Maid

2009-05-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

I am so proud of my man!

I know, it's been awhile. No, I haven't fallen out of love or broken up with the best boyfriend in the world. I was actually lucky enough to have him with me in person for the better part of 3 months before he went back to work, so it just didn't seem like I should be blogging about him when I had him right there in front of me.

Anyway, he's back on the road, living in a trailer, working on a road crew 11 or 12 hours a day. Or not. Some days they just tell him to take the day off.
Days like today.
Poor guy, doesn't know what to do with himself.

Last week he went on the great mouse hunt, and emerged victorious (thanks to Jesse, who gave him some great advice about rodents not being able to resist peanut butter).

Today, because the weather's crap and he had nothing else to do, he finally set his mind to being productive, put on a pot of coffee, a little french maid's outfit, and started cleaning the bathroom.

OK, I'm joking about him cleaning the bathroom.

OK, fine, I'm joking about the french maid outfit.

But he really is cleaning the bathroom!!!!

I always knew she had talent

2009-04-28T22:55:00.000-07:00

I jibjabbed the kids!

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Quote of the Week

2009-01-27T21:02:00.000-08:00

Lunch

I've had some extra time to spend lately with The Best Boyfriend In The World. He's been in town all week helping out with the monster bathroom renovation. After all, he started it when he did the eyeball pluck on my tub surround back in November.
Since he's here, he's been picking up my 6th grader from school every day.
Yesterday when I got home from work, he was in the doorway of the bathroom, contemplating a hard day's work. She was splayed out on the floor, contemplating her homework.
I said, "Anybody hungry?"
He said, "Nah, I'm okay. I had a late lunch."
"Oh yeah? What'd you eat?"
"Doritos."
"Really? That's all?"
"Oh no, mom!" said my daughter. "He had some potato chips too."

Space Cowboys

2009-01-19T10:12:00.000-08:00

Heard in my living room, yesterday, approx 11:30am:

"Zhoo Zhoo!! Zhoooooo! I got you! I got you with my

P-38 Space Modulater Transmogrifying Laser Ray Gun!"

"Vweeeeem! Vweeeem! No way! I'm sucking the energy out of your gun with my Meteor Space Oxygen Sucker! You're toast!"

He was running around with an orange foam rod dartgun (without any foam darts) and my new shower head and massager attached by a hose, holding one end up to his face (replacing his oxygen supply, of course), pointing the other end at her. She was decked out in a blue bandanna, black cowboy hat, blue LED glasses without the lenses, and a toy pistol (as well as the energy sucking device), chasing him around the living room, through the kitchen, past the dining room table and back through the hallway into the living room again, occasionally shouting, "We're Space Cowboys!"

I don't think she even knows who Steve Miller is, which just makes it twice as adorable that she must think she came up with that term all by herself.

Separated by 32 years in age, but equal on the playing field, my space cowboys.

The key to a loving relationship? Loving Yourself.

2009-01-05T22:41:00.000-08:00

I was married for a very long time. 17 years. To a very nice man. He's kind, generous, gentle, and a great father. He was never mean to me, never physically hurt me, and never lied to me. Yet I asked for a divorce. Because I didn't like who I was when I was with him. There was just something about our chemistry, about the way we interacted, that left me unsettled. Restless. I can't quite place my finger on why or exactly what it was, but the bottom line is that I didn't like myself very much.

I'm not ex-husband bashing. He's a perfectly nice guy. He's the father of the most wonderful daughter in the world, and he's 50% of why she's so great. He was just the wrong guy to be my partner in life.

The reason that I'm bringing all of this up is that in discovering what it was that made my first marriage so wrong, I discovered the exact thing that makes my relationship with the best boyfriend in the world so right, and here it is:

I love who I am when I'm with him.

Pretty simple.

Again, I can't necessarily put my finger on it. Maybe it's just chemistry. Maybe it's our history. Maybe it's improved communication. Maybe it's the desire to try harder. Bottom line is that there is something about the way Eddie and I are together that results in me liking who I am more than I ever have in my entire life. My self-confidence is boosted. My face literally glows. I'm nicer to strangers. I let people go in front of me in line. I smile more. I love myself. And it's not necessarily just because Eddie is always telling me that I'm beautiful and sexy, or that I'm the best girlfriend on the planet. I think it's because I am driven to be a better person when I'm with him, and being a better person makes me feel better about myself.

What a wonderful feeling it is not only to love an amazing man, and to be loved by this man, but also, and most importantly, to love myself.

How much do I love thee?

2009-01-03T10:12:00.001-08:00

Every couple has a secret little language, their ways of communicating affection and intimacies to each other that's all their own. For Eddie and I, we have a love competition.

He started it when he left me a voicemail claiming, "I love you more than all the rain in Oregon."

That's a lot.

Since then we've been trying to outdo each other.

I love him more than all the sand on the beaches.

He loves me more than all the water in the oceans.

I love him more than all the stars.

And then he threw down the gauntlet.

"I love you more than love."

He loves me

2009-01-03T10:06:00.000-08:00

He looked at me.

Just looked at me.

And kept looking at me.

Finally, he spoke.

"I love you."

And I knew right there in that moment that there was never a man who was more sincere in all his life.

No darlin'. You do NOT look familiar to me.

2008-12-15T22:56:00.000-08:00

OMG!
This is what you find recorded on your laptop when you leave your 11 year old alone in the car with your laptop for a few minutes while buying cheese at Grocery Outlet. All I can say (besides the apple obviously doesn't fall far from the tree) is thank goodness I had a child with XX chromosomes instead of the other kind.
Because I am a little terrified to think about kind of terror I might have unleashed upon the world and what I might've found saved on my computer had she been born a boy instead.

Quality TIme vs. The Commerce of Christmas

2008-12-10T06:23:00.000-08:00

OK, so it's the holidays. And we're in a recession. And I've been ultra busy lately doing absolutely nothing. But it's kept me busy. I haven't even started to think about buying Christmas presents for my loved ones.

Well, that's not true.

I've thought about it.

I've thought about how buying presents is a chore that I dislike a lot, especially when I have no clue what to buy someone. I feel obligated, it stresses me out, and I get into a bad head space running around like a maniac. Pretty soon I'm not thinking about how much I love the person I'm buying a gift for...they're just names I'm trying to mark off a list. And that just makes me feel worse. I go from store to store, whipping my head around trying to take it all in, thinking "Would my mom like this? No. Would she like that? Urrgh. Next store."

And is buying stuff for people really what Christmas is all about?

I mean, it is about generosity and giving... but is it about frantically shopping, trying to find the perfect thing for all the people you love at the same time, finally choosing stuff that has no real meaning in it all all, just something, anything with a gift receipt so they can exchange it later for something they really like?

I think it should be about appreciating and loving the people in your life, about spending quality time with those people, and enriching your soul and theirs.

So tonight my daughter and I are going to spend some quality time together baking cookies to give to our loved ones.

I know I can't ditch the obligation of shopping for gifts altogether this season, but I'd like to.

So if you get a little box of cookies from us this holiday, know that we were thinking about you this season, appreciating you for being in our lives.

Every cookie will be filled with love, appreciation and thankfulness.

And every cookie contains a wish for your happiness, enrichment, fulfillment and better things in the coming year.

Back from my Vacation

2008-12-08T00:02:00.000-08:00

Whales Head Beach, Brookings

Sorry...I was on vacation from the Best Boyfriend in the World blog for awhile. It was the holidays, after all.

But I'm back.

Hi!

Today I took a 3 hour walk on the beach with the best boyfriend in the world. We took several walks on the beach over the weekend, actually, and those walks inspired some of the best conversation I have ever had in my entire life.

Although he's a pretty amazing guy already, those walks, and the byproduct - the conversations - brought us both to a deeper understanding of each other and our relationship.

We've had some rough spots lately, mainly discovering some differences in our conflict management styles.

But we also both understand how incredibly lucky we both are to have met the person that is just RIGHT for each other. And I personally feel....well...I hate to say this, because it sounds so, so, SO Jerry Maguire, but this man completes me.

He tames me (ask anyone who knows me. I needed to be tamed).

He fills up my emotional bucket.

He takes everything I have to give, and he gives back to me.

We both realize that this relationship is special, it's a one-of-a-kind, and it's worth fighting for.

Well, to be more accurate, it's worth learning new conflict management techniques for.

One of my friends asked me last week if the honeymoon was over.

Well, yeah, sorta.

Except that this weekend we sorta went on our 2nd honeymoon. So we're probably even more pathetic and gushy than ever.

Can I go home?

2008-11-25T10:51:00.000-08:00

This morning the best boyfriend in the world brought coffee to me at work, kissed me goodbye, and took my daughter to the toy store. I think a hackey sack competition is in the works. They've had arm wrestling contests, starting contests, armpit farting contests, and now this.
As they walked away down the street, I watched them the whole way, grinning from ear to ear until I lost sight of them, struck by how sweet they looked. Eddie swaggering just a little bit in a body that seems to get buffer every time I see him, my daughter skipping along with her pink satin purse, filled with gift cards and a crisp dollar from the tooth fairy. Later they're going to make peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.
My two towheads that I love more than anything in the world, spending the day together.
Can I go home yet? Can I please?

Clarification

2008-11-24T08:27:00.001-08:00

Perhaps a little clarification is in order, and from now on I'll be a bit more careful about how I tell people about the amazing man in my life.

Yesterday I was catching up with an old friend that I haven't spoken to in years. We had a lot to catch each other up on.

Finally, I got around to the Best Boyfriend In The World.

I said, "...and then I started dating my 9th grade boyfriend, and suddenly everything's wonderful! He's amazing."

She was shocked.

Speechless.

Couldn't believe what I'd just told her.

Horrified, actually, that I was so desperate for male companionship that I was dating a 9th grader.

He's on his way back to me

2008-11-23T20:46:00.000-08:00

Less than 24 hours

Less than 1600 minutes

Less than 86,400 seconds..86,399...86,398...86,397...

until the best boyfriend in the world is back in my arms.

Ya think I miss him just a little?

86,396...86,395...86,394...86,393...

Tompkinese from the mouth of an 11 year old

2008-11-23T11:23:00.000-08:00

Heard on the stoop of my front steps this morning:

"Emalie, can you ding the dong?"

My daughter speaks Tompkinese!

Eau de Girlfriend

2008-11-22T16:04:00.001-08:00

My boyfriend, I fear, has lost his stank.

It happens to guys, he theorizes, after they've been without female companionship and intimacy after awhile. The stank wears off, he says. It's not just a man thing, either. Happens to us womenfolk as well.

I told a friend about his theory (and his completely unscientific experiment to prove it, which involved going fishing on the high seas for 3 months in Alaska and then buying lots of drinks for lots of women who went home with other guys instead of him). She agrees with the idea, although she put it a different way. It goes something like this:

When you've been without for awhile, and don't want to be without, people tend to come off as a little desperate. Which chases people away. Which would tend to make a person even a little bit more desperate. But once someone does find a companion, a lover, someone who fulfills that hungry need for intimacy and affection, they've got a new energy. Like an aura, she said. But it's obvious to other people. People can pick up on happiness and satisfaction, and they gravitate towards it. They want to be around someone who's blissful and satiated.

Which is why, she said, Eddie's stank theory makes sense. Once he's got the stank on him, women can sense it. Smell it. And they want it. They want him. As soon as he and I became an item, girls were flirting with him all the time...in the grocery store, in restaurants, old girlfriends calling him up and asking for another chance... it's sort of annoying, actually. But I'm secure with my place in his life, so it's a bit amusing as well.

This stank theory is why the girl who's already got a boyfriend suddenly has to beat all the guys off with a stick. And the girl who's single and putting herself out there is wondering why all the guys keep clamoring around one who's already spoken for.

Anyway, it's been a month since I've been able to rub my stank on my boyfriend. The smell of me has worn off, and not only does he sound hungry and irritable, he says nobody flirts with him anymore. Poor guy. Too bad I can't bottle Eau de Girlfriend and send it up to him.

28 years ago today

2008-11-21T06:40:00.000-08:00

Today is the 28th anniversary of the first time my lover first kissed me. And the 28th anniversary of the first (and only) time I ever got kicked out of a school dance.

He had just turned 15. I was still 13, but just 3 weeks away from being 14. We were both 9th graders at Jefferson Junior High. We met in gym class, as best I can recollect. That fall we learned how to play frisbee football. Eddie liked my blue shorts. He thinks they were turquoise. I say they were more navy blue. But we both agree that they were the kind with the underwear built in, slit up the sides a little. Dolphins, Eddie calls them. He liked them so much that he kept chasing after me on the field, trying to pull them down. I remember him singing, "Another One Bites The Dust" and "We Are The Champions" by Queen.
Just like today, 28 years ago the 21st day of November fell on a Friday. Eddie asked me to the dance that night that took place in the school gym. I still remember bringing a can of cream of mushroom soup for the canned food drive and dropping it into a big bin in the hallway outside the gym. I'm sure I was wearing my white faux sheep wool jacket with pockets so shallow that anything I ever put in them fell out and was lost forever. Except for Eddie's hands.

I remember being out on the dance floor with Eddie. I think he was wearing his white wide legged pants. The rage back then was painter's pants with the extra deep pockets on the sides, perfect for a comb. Not that he ever combed his hair. He had that tousled thing down.

That was where we kissed. Dancing on the gymnasium floor. Once we started, we couldn't stop.

(Editor's note: He's still the best kisser. I was just telling him so today. Maybe it's just because we learned together, but his kisses are perfect and delicious.)
We may have stopped kissing briefly, once when they announced who had shot J.R. over the loudspeaker, and again when one of the teachers tried to separate us. Eventually, they just kicked us out of the dance.

So we walked a few blocks away to the pizza parlor with our friends Kristin, Arnie, and others who's names escape me after so many years.

It was the start of something wonderful that didn't get a chance to fully blossom at the time. But we kissed and kissed and kissed every day for hours and hours, whenever we got the chance. It didn't last long. That's not true. For 9th graders, we lasted an eternity. 2 whole months, until my family moved away.

But here we are again, 28 years later.

Kissing again.

Happy Anniversary to the most amazing kisser and the most fantastic human being I have ever had the pleasure and joy of getting to know all over again.

The following I totally ripped off of a greeting card in Rite-Aid tonight:

Why is it that I wake up each morning feeling like its my lucky day?

Why is it that suddenly pie in the sky dreams seem possible?

Why is it that suddenly I'm considering doing all those things I said I'd never do again?

Why is it that after years of feeling emotionally numb, I feel more alive than ever?

Why is it that I look forward to going to bed now, even if it's just to sleep, as long as you're by my side?

Why is it that I'm asking these questions when I already know that the answer begins and ends with you.

Eddie, I promise to always treat you with love and respect because you are someone I plan to be with for a very long, long time. And you're worth it. You are the man.

Who Shot J.R.?

2008-11-20T06:11:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you about what I missed on tomorrow's date, 28 years ago.
More than 41 million people were gathered around their tv sets, watching the 2nd highest rated show in television history. They were finding out who shot JR.
I missed it.
Not that I cared. Tomorrow I'll let you in on what I was doing when 41,470,000 tv viewers were glued to the set. It's not that I didn't hear about who shot JR; I did. But I was far more interested in my new boyfriend.
Here's the synopsis for Dallas on that night:

Sue Ellen's fingerprints are identified on the gun that was used to shoot J.R. She is arrested and jailed in the shooting of her husband. She is further devastated when the Ewings abandon her, leaving her to languish in jail. After bail is mysteriously posted from an unknown source, Sue Ellen seeks solace from her sister, Kristin. Sue Ellen seeks answers through hypnosis sessions with her psychiatrist, Dr. Ellby. These sessions lead to the answer of who shot J.R.

Don't tell my boyfriend I'm getting googled when he's not around

2008-11-19T23:31:00.000-08:00

I learned a long time ago that there really is no true anonymity when you're surfing the net.
And while I don't know your name or where you live or how old you are, I know how you came to find me. Or at least how most of you found me. And you know what?
It's soooo incredibly sweet.
There's this great little program that tells me what people googled to find best boyfriend in the world.blogspot.com.

Today someone in Zurich, Switzerland was searching the internet for a 'best boyfriend certificate.' What a great idea! Meanwhile, Several people over the last few days from California have found me because they were looking for a card to get their boyfriend.

Someone in Toronto, Canada loves their boyfriend just about as much as I do. Yesterday she searched for a special way to wish her boyfriend a happy birthday and found this site. She also did a search on "I love my boyfriend so much" and found me again. Hiya, sister!

But here's what I love: Yesterday a guy in New York did a google search on "How to be the best boyfriend in the world." Guy, whoever you are, good luck to you, you sweet man. I just hope your girlfriend (or boyfriend for that matter) knows what a dedicated, wonderful lover you are, or at least strive to be. Oh- and if you're into the long distance thing, I've got a couple of girlfriends who might like to meetcha. A couple of guys too, for that matter.

Somebody in San Francisco thinks he's the best boyfriend in the world - at least that's what he googled in order to find me. Honest. "I'm the best boyfriend in the world" was his search. Also just as weird, is that this blog was the #1 result. Yeah, I can even see what their searches bring up. It's just wacky and cool, this little program. Tells me that people from Malaysia and England and New Jersey and even Redding, CA have looked at this blog. Again, don't worry. I don't have your name or email address, and I'm not going to send you threatening emails or tell your boss you were surfing the net looking for a way to be the best boyfriend in the world at work. I mean, where do you think I'm typing this from? (Just kidding, boss. It's almost midnight. I'm in my pajamas.)

And then there's the search that solidifies my raison d'etre. The girl in Poitou-charentes, France who searched for "things to send to a boyfriend separated by miles." Honey, I feel your pain. And bless you for thinking of him. You might be one of the best girlfriends in the world too.

Tompkinese, Part 2

2008-11-17T22:51:00.000-08:00

Tonight I was talking to the Best Boyfriend In The World on the phone while I did 27 minutes on the treadmill. It went by so fast. We were talking about all that mushy stuff that we always talk about - the kind of stuff that makes most red blooded hetero men reach for the puke bucket - talking about his enormous capacity to love and how each of us has an incredible work ethic, the kind that made it possible for each of us to be willing to give 110% in a relationship in the hopes that we might get most of our investment returned, instead of how a lot of people go about it, which is to give absolutely nothing of themselves emotionally, and hope love will just fall into their lap is like thinking you've got a chance of winning the lottery without ever actually buying a ticket.

"Baby, that is so profane!" says the best boyfriend in the world.

It was a nice compliment, really, it was! I knew what he meant.

But still, Tompkinese, at it's finest.

The difference between profound and profane is just.... well.... profound.

It's been 3 long weeks since I've held that Tompkinese speaking man in my arms. Only one more week.

Voicemails

2008-11-15T06:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get voicemails from the Best Boyfriend In The World that go like this:

"Hi babe, it's just me, loving you. Bye!"

And then other times I get messages like this:

"Hey, baby! My baby's gonna be tap dancing? What the Sam Hell is going on with that? OK baby, don't forget... I don't wanna be embarrassed walking around Redding with you by my side. So do real good, ok? Because I don't want people in Safeway laughing at us when we go in there to buy a red bell pepper or something, ok? Alright. Anyhooch, tap your little heart out. And remember: you represent the both of us. I don't want anyone laughing at me in Safeway. Peace."

Ripped Straight From The Pages Of My 9th Grade Diary:

2008-11-14T06:15:00.000-08:00

It's a yellow hardcover book covered with little white and pink daisies and pink and green polkadots. The words "One Year Diary" are embossed on the cover in gold. It's most important adornment, however, is the lock.

Here's my entry from November 25th, 1980, twenty eight years ago this month:

"Last Friday, November 21st, there was a dance at school....there was a guy named Eddie and he and I were pretty good friends, until that night. And by the end of the night he and I were going together. We've only been together 4 days, but I'm so happy! I really think I love him. In fact, I'm sure that he's gonna be real special to me. We're like the Siamese twins."

A few weeks ago Eddie and I went to visit his hometown on the coast. He introduced me to some friends, and as we stood in their yard laughing and joking, our arms around each other, one of them said, "You two are like Siamese twins."

Yeah, I knew that.

Happy Birthday Lover

2008-11-13T06:13:00.000-08:00

43 years ago in the old hospital in Coos Bay, a tow headed little baby boy was born. His mother decided to call him Eddie. And that's what she put on the birth certificate. Not Edward, not Ed. Eddie. His people were of less than modest means. Apple pickers, who moved around a lot throughout the Northwest. Just like our grandfathers, he lived in houses without running water or indoor plumbing. His siblings were all from different fathers. He never knew his own. And when most kids were in Little League, learning how to throw a curve ball, Eddie and his sister were looking through the dump for copper wire to sell to make some extra cash.

I remember when I got to be a teenager, my parents were tearing their hair out trying to control my rebellious streak. When Eddie got to be too difficult for his mother, she sent him off to live with his older sister. I'm glad she did. That's how I met him.

He may have grown up in a situation where he wasn't given the same amount of encouragement and support that I had. And although he has suffered one of the most difficult paths to get to where he is today, he has finally arrived at his destination.

Scarred by the tattoos of his youth but cleansed of old ways, his heart and mind have been opened to new paths that are lit with great clarity. He attributes the light on that path to God. I am always reminding him that while God may have provided the key to unlock the door, Eddie was the one who chose to open that door and walk through it and never look back.

As he finds himself at my doorstep, his heart in his hand, his soul bared for anyone to see, his eyes brimming with tears of joy, tears for what might have been, tears for what never was and humble tears for what lies ahead for him, he offers me more love than I can believe was possible for a person to offer another.

He brings tears to my eyes every day, and every day I love him just a little bit more as he overflows my heart with true, pure emotion.

I am the luckiest woman on Earth.

Happy Birthday Lover.

Happy Birthday To All My Scorpio Friends

2008-11-12T06:23:00.000-08:00

I'm just a little jealous. I have so many friends and relatives who get to be Scorpios.

Why can't I be a Scorpio too? It's just not fair!

Happy Birthday Lena & Leona, happy birthday to my almost-sister Caroline and happy almost birthday to the Best Boyfriend In The World. Oh, and a happy birthday to my favorite composer, Johann Nepomuk Hummel, Aaron Copland and Fanny Mendelssohn, Felix's big sister.

I Don't Argue Like This With Anyone But Him

2008-11-11T07:34:00.001-08:00

You'd think with all the sweet things I say about the Best Boyfriend In The World that we're still in that Honeymoon Phase where every single thing about the other person is absolutely perfect. That moment in time before he's farted in front of me (fyi, he got that one over with right away), and when we're both in that silly, deluded place where we believe the other can do no wrong. You know, that special time before our first argument.

Well, we got that over with a while back too.

A couple of times, actually.

But somehow each time we hit a little rough spot, we come out better for it. Not just our relationship. But each of us, as people.

My BFF even said to me the other day, "I have a feeling that you're going to grow tremendously as a human being through your relationship with this guy."

I already know she's right.

And the other day he said to me, "I feel like each time we have an argument, I come out of it loving you more. Which I didn't think was possible."

Now don't go thinking that we're going to start looking for reasons to argue just so we can make up and love each other more. Arguments are never fun. But it's true that each time we have a difficult, uncomfortable situation between us, that as we talk it out and move through it, I come to respect him more as a person because of his incredible clarity and understanding of himself.

In my entire life, I can't recall a relationship with a man that I felt was just as strong or stronger after a difference of opinion than before.

Honestly. I've never argued like this with anyone but him.

I feel a song coming on... and it's not even Friday!

I Made My Boyfriend A Birthday Card Today

2008-11-09T13:50:00.000-08:00

Young Eddie, knowing he was destined

to spend hours and hours on the phone

with his girlfriend later in life,

decided to start training right away.

Editor's Note: Yes, that IS an actual, unretouched photo of the Best BoyFriend In The World at the age of 3 on a pink phone, looking more sweet and innocent than I've ever seen him, a good 12 years before I met him. I glued this onto a blank card and mailed it to him along with a care package filled with goodies for his birthday as a bonus surprise. Shh, don't tell him!

The Magician's Code

2008-11-08T00:13:00.000-08:00

Gotta tell you a story about my kid.

I'm breaking format, but I was probably boring you with stories about the best boyfriend in the world anyway, right?

Tonight I took my daughter on a date. A little girl's night out. First to dinner at Vintage (I had Moroccan chicken and champagne, she had the fish tacos and water), then to Turtle Bay Museum for Culture Shock, where we learned some really interesting things about the bullying habits of geckos and listened to some really cool music, courtesy of Mike Flanagan.

So my friend Dean, the most talented actor in the city, comes up to me after spending some time escorting my 11 year old around the museum, and tells me that she's a pretty funny kid, with a mean right hook. Dean is a magician's apprentice. A pretty good one, too. And he's got a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Sophia's seen him perform before, and is, without a doubt, completely enamored with him.

So she asked him how he did one of his tricks.

"Oh, I can't tell you that. It's against the magician's code." He tells her real magicians have an oath, and they never give away their secrets. Ever.

She begs.

She pleads.

He resists.

She begs and pleads some more.

She insists.

Still, he says no.

She persists (she's good at it).

She persists some more.

Finally, she breaks him.

He tells her, in strictest confidence, how he pulled off this really cool trick where he sends an origami flower up in flames, only to be replaced by a real rose.

And when he was finished telling her how he accomplished the magic, she cocked one eyebrow up at him and said, "Well, you're no magician."

"Why would you say that?"

"A real magician would have never told his secret."

POW! Right to the kisser!

And then she got into an altercation with the bartender involving an Archie comic book and dog poop. But that's a story for another day.

This is my friend Dean NOT getting bamboozled by an 11 year old:

Yep, I'm comparing my boyfriend to the President-Elect

2008-11-05T15:08:00.000-08:00

The Best Boyfriend In The World is similar to Barack Obama in one way.
No, he's not black. Not even half black.
He's not a lawyer, not from Illinois, doesn't have any roots in Hawaii or Kenya, hasn't associated with any radical bombers (uh, I might have to take that statement back so don't hold me to it) and he's the last guy to ever think about running for President. In fact I doubt he's ever thought about running for any kind of office, ever.
But you know what? He looks at me the way Barack Obama looks at his wife.
Must be great to be Michelle Obama, because I know how I feel when he looks at me like that. Like I'm the only woman on the planet.
It is very clear that the 44th President of the United States is deeply in love with his wife.
There is so much love in the way he looks at her, so much adoration and respect in his eyes.
That is an amazing, beautiful thing.

Mysogist

2008-11-04T07:10:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting in my office today and this guy, Brian comes in to fix a phone line.
He says that since the last time we had them come into the office, he was promoted to replace Chad, the manager of that department. Did I remember Chad, he said.
"Oh, if he's who I'm thinking of, I didn't like him. He was a misogynist." Which really needs no explanation. Or so I thought.
"He's a massagist?" says Brian. "Why didn't you like him, did he give you a bad massage?"

Criminy.

Beam Me Up, Scotty!

2008-11-03T08:53:00.000-08:00

View Larger Map

And it goes from bad to worse.
I'm still A.
B is in the middle of Bumhumping Egypt...somewhere north of Wagontire and south of Fossil, where he was last week.
C is where he's at now. Lost in Oregon. Lostine, Oregon. For 2 flipping weeks. 12 hours away by car. This is when a teleporter could come in really, really handy.
I'd be willing to pay top dollar. As much as $913 maybe. Maybe a little bit more.

Cool Beans!

2008-11-02T18:57:00.000-08:00

I don't remember the subject of our conversation. Only that Eddie had an idea, and it was a good one, and I was excited about it, and replied enthusiastically, "Cool Beans!!!"
He said, "Where did you get that saying from?!"
"Uh, I dunno. I've been saying it forever. I don't know where it came from."
"Babe, I think you got it from me. Back in junior high. I used to say that. In fact, I always thought I just came up with it myself."
I gave him the benefit of the doubt... well, I didn't really. But I let him think I thought he came up with the phrase. Because he is, after all, the best boyfriend in the world.
But tonight, watching Speed Racer with my daughter (who demanded to have her own blog today), Trixie said it, and it got me to thinking about the origins of the phrase.
I found a bunch of websites perusing on the origins here and here . And while it's possible that any one of those sites could point to the original use of the phrase, I don't think that's how Eddie or I came to use it. But knowing my sweet boyfriend and what he was like in junior high, I think the explanation from Urban Dictionary is the most likely.
I knew it as soon as I saw who was behind the quote, from a famous LP some of you may remember from our, um, childhood:

Cheech: Hey man, look at this car made out of weed!

Chong: Oh cool beans, man!

Ingrid Michaelson is calling

2008-11-01T06:30:00.000-07:00

Eddie has a special ringtone in my phone, one that speaks to me. Well, it sings to me.

"I love the way you say good morning,
and you take me the way I am."

Every time I hear that song it puts a smile on my face, especially if it's coming from my phone, because I know the Best Boyfriend In The World is calling me.

Since Sunday evening, Ingrid's serenading has fallen sadly silent.

Until last night, when she started singing to me so unexpectedly!

As it turns out, the Best Boyfriend In The World drove all the way to Prineville, a 48 mile excursion, under the pretense of stocking up on groceries, but he said it was really to call me.
Unfortunately, it was while he was stalking the aisles of Grocery Outlet, trying to find something palatable, and he was having a hard time. A hard time finding anything that looked or sounded appetizing, and a hard time focusing on his girlfriend. So I told him to hang up, concentrate on the food, and call me afterwards. Later, he sat in the parking lot drinking a half gallon of milk out of the container and eating granola bars while telling me he loved me through a mouthful of oats and grains. Sho shweet!

Thanks, Ingrid! It was lovely to hear your voice.

Would you like to hear her voice too?

Please Deposit Another Quarter

2008-10-31T06:06:00.000-07:00

The Best Boyfriend In The World just discovered the payphone.

It's been so long since he's used one, he forgot how. Also worth mentioning - AT&T has apparently ignored the Eastern Oregon phone booth. It's still a dime for local calls. At least that's what it says on the phone.

So, although Mr. Blue Sky still gets top billing because Eddie will sing it with me at top volume on road trips, for Video Friday I pay homage to the telephone with my 2nd favorite E.L.O. song, Telephone Line:

P.S. I like this version far better than the original E.L.O. music video. It's got that certain 'girl band pinkness' that I adore.

$152.50 an hour

2008-10-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

The Best Boyfriend In The World isn't a happy camper right now, only being able to borrow a phone every other day to call me, and knowing that he will probably not be able to see me for the next 3 weeks, unless I somehow go to him.

So I checked it out.

Here's what it'll take:

I can book a flight on Alaska Airlines, leaving Saturday morning, because I would never shirk trick-or-treating duties with my daughter Friday night. I can catch the 7am flight to L.A. where I change planes, heading to Seattle, where I change planes again and end up in Pendleton at 5:45pm.

Then I'd rent a car and drive 119 miles to his hotel, where we'd probably have to book our own room, since he's bunking with another workmate. Mapquest says it's a 2 1/2 hour drive. Allowing for just 15 minutes to fill out paperwork at the car rental place, and knowing how fast I drive, I estimate I'd finally get to kiss my sweetheart at 8:30pm if my plane is on time.

Then, because I still have those pesky motherly duties to attend to, I'll need to return Sunday. The only flight out is at 6:10am, going to Seattle, then Portland, and arriving back home at 3:25pm. They tell you to arrive at the airport a good 2 hours in advance, but this is Pendleton. I think it'd be safe to get in at 5am, meaning I'd have to kiss my honey goodbye at 2:30am.

Total cost to see the Best Boyfriend In The World for 6 hours?

Roundtrip Flight: $762.50, including taxes & fees

Rental Car: $55.00 (includes 150 miles, taxes & fees)

Additional mileage fee: $27.00 (90 miles x .30/mile)

10 gallons of gas (I'm lowballing it at $3.25):$ 32.50

Cheap Hotel Room: $ 34.00

TOTAL COST: $913.00

Dedicated

2008-10-29T07:20:00.000-07:00

He had to climb a mountain to call me.

OK, so he drove in his car to the top of the highest point in the Middle of Nowhere, Eastern Oregon. But still. He had to go looking for a signal, and finally found it.

I almost didn't answer my phone, because I didn't recognize the number. That's because Verizon has no cell service in those parts, so his phone is useless. But the Best Boyfriend In The World wasn't giving up. He borrowed his bosses phone, who mentioned that his phone sometimes works there, and started driving up.

That's dedication.

Color Me Unhappy

2008-10-28T08:02:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

A is me.
B is him.
Right now A is separated by B by 6 hours and 36 minutes of driving time.
A is not very happy.
Neither is B.
We just want to be together.
He is 70 miles from the nearest store and is living off of beef jerky, cereal bars and roasted peanuts for the next 4 days, shelling out $17 a night to share a crappy hotel room with some guy he barely knows while they fix a couple of bridges. I shouldn't call it crappy. I'm just assuming that for $34 a night, it's pretty crappy. Then again, it's probably the only hotel room within 70 miles, so I guess I shouldn't knock it.

Thanks to Google Maps for pointing out just how far away I am from my boyfriend.

Are Republican Sleeper Agents taking over in Coos Bay?

2008-10-20T00:09:00.000-07:00

I would've been happy with one of these. Seriously.

I am seriously considering calling Barbara Boxer to see if she might be interested in kicking some Oregon ass. Seriously.
This weekend the best boyfriend in the world took me to his hometown of Coos Bay, Oregon to visit his family.
Turns out there's something of a minor lighthearted feud going on between his niece and her grandfather, who lives next door. He's voting for the GOP, and has posted a McCain/Palin sign in the corner of the yard facing sweet Brook's house, just to get her Obama lovin' goat.
We told Brook she needed an Obama lawn sign. So we started looking for one to swipe. Seriously.
It was kinda hard. There's apparently a lot of McCain/Fey supporters in Coos Bay. Everywhere you look, McCain signs. Very rare is a declared Democrat. We did see a few lawn signs, but it was apparent from their proximity to McCain lawn sign clusters that they were guarding very important territory. What we were really hoping for was to find the Frank Tredway of the Southern Oregon coast...the kind of person who would have 11 or 12 Obama signs placed throughout the property. One on the porch, one in the window, another on the white picket fence, you get my drift. Somebody who wouldn't miss the disappearance of just one sign for a really good cause.
So this morning we went to the mall to get my sweet boyfriend a new cell phone case. Apparently the velcro in the old one has worn out because he's spending so much time on the phone with his girlfriend.
But I digress.
There's an Obama office in the mall. And it's walls are covered with Obama '08 signs. Just what we were looking for!
We walked in, and said, "Hey, can we get an Obama yard sign? We really need one."
A 50ish guy with a pink beard (Seriously. I wouldn't kid you about this stuff, you know that!) says, "Well here's what you do. Head on down to the other end of the mall to the Democrat Headquarters, they should have one there. They were closed a few minutes ago, but they should be there now. Or soon."
We're wondering why they don't just give us one. They've got plenty, they're all over the walls. I try to talk them out of one. He stands his ground, pointing towards the other end of the mall.
But my sweet boyfriend, he doesn't complain. He heads down there while I browse Sam Goody. Then returns 5 minutes later, empty handed.
"Closed. Nobody's there."
Well, it is Sunday. Normally I'd agree that this is a day of rest. But for Obama's sake people, there's like 10 shopping days til election! It's time to get serious, folks. Seriously!
So we head back to the Obama office and report the awful news. And then we say again, "So can you just give us one? We really want it. We're just trying to spread the good word here. You know, furthering the cause."
They said, "You'll just hafta wait til the Democrat office opens. They have the lawn signs."
"Yeah, but so do you....can't you just give us that one over there, one of the 12 you've got on the wall?"
"Gosh, sorry," pinkbeard says. "No can do."
"Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!"
We turned around and walked off empty handed, absolutely stunned that these guys were so sphincter tight with the signs that they couldn't give us one, and go replenish their supplies when the real Democrats arrived to work, fashionably late, whenever that was.
If McCain and his minion win the election because the Republican vote on the Southern Oregon coast tipped the scales in his favor, I'm blaming ol' Pinkbeard for being stingy with the Obama lawn signs. If he turned me down, how many other people did he send away who were begging for signs?
I'm thinking of calling Barbara Boxer and informing her that the people running the Obama office in Coos Bay are sleeper agents for the Republican Party; working hard to keep Obama lawn signs out of Coos Bay.
I just can't think of any other reason they wouldn't just give us the stupid cardboard sign.
It's just stupid enough to make me want to vote for McCain out of spite for the pink bearded guy.
OK, just kidding. But if McCain wins, I'm personally blaming that guy at the Pony Village mall.
Remember: 50's, tall, pink beard. Hard to miss. Sticks out like a sore thumb in Coos Bay. Kinda like a Democrat would.

Tears of Joy

2008-10-19T07:15:00.000-07:00

I saved this voicemail from a few months ago for those moments when I need a little reminder that my alpha male, testosterone packed, multi-tattooed, football loving, heavy equipment operating, construction worker boyfriend is really just a pussycat, tamed by love.

"Baby, that was the most awesomest voicemail that I have ever received. And my first, very first initial reaction to it was to start crying. I am so happy to be with you."

Every time I hear it, I wanna cry a little bit too. He's the most awesomest boyfriend in the world.

I'm jumping on the Video Friday bandwagon!

2008-10-17T11:13:00.000-07:00

I know I'm putting words into his mouth, but I know he feels this way.

I know it with all my heart.

It's Irish lilting James Morrison and his song, Better Man.

The lyrics are beautiful.

This Is What I Wake Up To Every Morning

2008-10-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

In my voicemail, today:

You are the most wonderful, beautiful, sexiest person alive
and I absolutely adore you, baby.
You turn the switch on.
Yeah.
To full power.
I love you.

It could only be better if he were saying this in person instead of through Verizon.

I think the Moon & the Stars have aligned

2008-10-15T05:55:00.000-07:00

Mercury's In Retrograde

I was talking to my good friend, Snarkypants, the other day. Asking her why all my girlfriends were calling me with fucking emergencies all of a sudden.
"Mercury's in retrograde," she said, matter-of-factly.
"What the hell does that mean?" I replied.
"It means you should be snuggling with your boyfriend next to a fire."

At first I'm sure I had a scrunched up, puzzled expression on my face, because I just didn't get it.
I just have no understanding of the moon and the stars and Mercury, and I have no clue what retrograde means.

Then I realized that two nights before, I'd done just that. My boyfriend and I, at a party, snuggled under my poncho next to a bonfire. He actually came running over to me and asked me to lift up my poncho so he could stick his head up through the neck hole, fitting both of us into my garment like Siamese Twins. It was cozy.

Guess everything's just the way it's supposed to be

Pardon My French

2008-10-14T16:48:00.000-07:00

Note: I'm ripping this post off of my old blog. It's one of the only ones that seems appropriate to post here, because it's actually based on a simple fantasy about the type of man I wanted in my future. Although it wasn't based on a real person at the time, that fantasy has become a reality, and the future is now the present. So...well, here it is:

I wrote a poem.
Musings on a potential future lover.
No one in particular.
Just where my mind went while I was in the Safeway produce aisle a few days ago.
I translated it into French, using Babelfish.
Then I translated it back into English.

Translated Into French:
Quand je suis au magasin d'épicerie et les fraises ont lieu dans la saison, je pense à sélectionner les baies les plus rouges et les plus mûres et les alimenter à mon amoureux dans le lit.

Quand c'est un beau jour, je pense à la façon dont gentil il devrait s'étendre dans un pré, faisant une sieste avec mon amoureux, et lisant des livres ensemble.

Une nuit claire, je pense au sujet de ce que serait il comme au stargaze de mon baquet chaud, et contemple l'univers, les bras de mon amoureux enroulés autour de moi.

La nuit quand je vais dormir, j'allume mon côté gauche, et imagine mon amoureux derrière moi, m'embrassant, mettant en forme de tasse mon sein dans une main, le reste de nos doigts et des jambes entertwined, peu embrasse décorer mon cou.

Translated Back To English:
When I am with the store of grocer and the cutters take place in the season, I think of selecting the reddest bays and ripest and of feeding them with my in love in the bed.

When it is one fine day, I think of the way in which nice it should extend in pre, making a nap with my in love, and reading books together.

One night clear, I think about what it as with the stargaze of my hot bucket would be, and contemplates the universe, the arms of my in love rolled up around me.

The night when I will sleep, I light my left side, and imagines my in love behind me, embracing, formatting of cup my centre in a hand to me, the remainder of our fingers and legs entertwined, little embraces to decorate my neck.

When I am outside with friends, I imagine that my in love is with us, an arm draped above my shoulder, according to the conversation and the laughter, and leaving me sip on his beer. I imagine my in love to seize my jacket of the back of the chair and to whisper in my ear, "love of I your friends, but leave suits us between in the bed."

I think of suction on his lower lip. To slightly run my fingers in bottom of its chest under its button of belly, but above its buckled hair and to intend its breath to catch. I imagine to draw his hair right, and to leave fingerprints on my in love behind.

That's What Girlfriends Are For

2008-10-13T10:58:00.000-07:00

Just One More Reason Why I Love This Guy:

I don't even remember why I brought it up.
I was just telling him a story, about something that happened to me last week, about a guy from my past who contacted me out of the blue, and how I felt about that.
Me, I'm a girl, just talking the way we talk, about long-ago feelings and things.
Him, he's a guy. He's imagining me kissing this dude. Imagining me imagining myself kissing this dude.

He listened, we talked for a few minutes about it, and then he just got up, gave me a kiss, took me by the shoulders and said, "Baby, this is the kind of thing you should be talking to your girlfriends about."

It's not that I can't talk to him about anything; I can. Fact is, there are some things that he would rather not have to hear about, but he understands my need to get it off my chest. And he directs me to the people best qualified to listen to me talk about stuff like ex-boyfriends and pap smears and junk. Because that's what girlfriends are for.

What Do You Wanna Be When You Grow Up?

2008-10-09T14:49:00.000-07:00

Lofty Dreams
I was discussing the possibility of a career change with my boyfriend.
Not my career, his.
Because, although you'd think my glamorous job in radio would surround me with enough ego and drama to runneth my cup over, it doesn't. But his job building a turning lane on Highway 140 for a big road construction company is filled with drama, drama, drama. And he's kind of tired of it.
I said, "What do you think you'd like to do if you quit your job?"
"I think I'd like to go back to school and get a degree in art so I could teach wood carving," he replied. And then, a mere moment later, he said, "Or I'd like to be a professional football player or a fireman!"

Dork

2008-09-22T23:54:00.000-07:00

Recently, I called my boyfriend a dork.

I love that I can call him that, without him getting all offended and holding a grudge against me for 8 or 14 years. I love that he can laugh and then casually come up with a line that really should be on his own line of t-shirts:

Who Needs Sleep?

2008-09-22T23:35:00.000-07:00

Last night, as my sweet boyfriend was on his 3 hour drive back home, he called me to tell me that he missed me already.

I told him that one of the things I truly miss during the week, when he's up in Oregon (building the most incredible biceps I've ever seen) working hard on creating a turn lane on Highway 140, is sleeping next to him in bed. Spooning. And the forking ain't bad either, just so ya know.

Cue the laugh track. I need one, because I'm not really all that funny, or very original. In fact, I got that spooning/forking joke from a greeting card I found at Walgreens a few days ago. But what Eddie said in response to me getting a bit melancholy about not having him next to me in bed during the week was just beautiful.

"Oh baby," he said. "When I'm with you, sleeping is just a waste of time."

Tompkinese Part 1

2008-09-22T23:13:00.000-07:00

My boyfriend is the best boyfriend in the world.

Honest, I mean it.

He has a peculiar way of talking, but it doesn't hamper his ability to communicate effectively. In fact, sometimes it actually succinctly enables him to say the right thing even though it's not what he meant to say.
For example, the other day he was chastising me for being naughty.
Yes, that kind of naughty.
He said, "You're ENCOURAGEABLE."
I knew he meant to say that I was incorrigible.
But to tell you the truth, telling me that I was "Encourageable" was far more appropriate for our situation. Because really, if I'm encouraged, who knows what I might be talked into.

Main Entry:: in·cor·ri·gi·ble
Pronunciation:: \(ˌ)in-ˈkȯr-ə-jə-bəl, -ˈkär-\
Function:: adjective
Etymology:: Middle English, from Late Latin incorrigibilis, from Latin in- + corrigere to correct — more at correct
Date:: 14th century

: incapable of being corrected or amended: as a (1): not reformable : depraved (2): delinquent b:not manageable : unruly c: unalterable , inveterate

— in·cor·ri·gi·bil·i·ty \-ˌkȯr-ə-jə-ˈbi-lə-tē, -ˌkär-\ noun

— incorrigible noun

— in·cor·ri·gi·ble·ness \-ˈkȯr-ə-jə-bəl-nəs, -ˈkär-\ noun

— in·cor·ri·gi·bly \-blē\ adverb