Loving Dirty Underwear

Our wedding day, August 23, 2000.

I did my fair share of dating. By fair share, I mean what I feel was fair and enough that I didn't need to share myself with anyone else. High school wasn't the highlight of my life, social or otherwise, so very little dating went on and when I got out of high school I was convinced that there was no one romantically interested in a weirdo like me. I had gay friends who fulfilled the part of me that wanted to hear "You look hot" or "Let me pick you up for dinner, sweetie". I knew how to masturbate, so looking to get laid wasn't making my to-do list at the time.

My longest relationship, before meeting my husband, lasted a couple of months and ended when this particular guy visited me in Vegas and informed me that he wanted to give up his whole life and move in with me. The desperately needy thing was a turn off and I dumped him before he headed back home. I had one relationship (if you can call it that) which ended after I drove 40 minutes to bring Mr. Faker homemade chicken noodle soup and found him in bed with a girl whom he introduced to me as his girlfriend. There was the guy with a mullet who took me on a ride down State Street on his bullet bike and forced me to question the type of men I attracted. If they weren't in a band (equals jobless) than they lived with their mom (equals will love her more than you). My batting average wasn't very good. One of the band guys took me to his sister's house, where he lived on the couch, and proceeded to treat me in a manner that I imagine most prostitutes would find disturbing. A couple of weeks later, he introduced me to his girlfriend after I surprised him by showing up to one of his shows. Yeah, I've been that girl a few times.

I wasn't made to withstand the "bliss" of having a random guy buy me a drink in a bar, ask for my number and then fuck my best friend the next weekend. I've never enjoyed having strangers buy me drinks, I'm clear that there is an expectation. My parents taught me that nothing in life is free, so that shit never worked on me. I don't like wondering if you want to hold my hand or kiss me at the end of our date. I find no joy in hearing you call your mom a horrendous bitch or informing me that you have two kids you never see because their mom is cunt. It tells me a lot about a man who speak about women in derogatory terms and I don't like it.

Then one day it all changed. I met someone who worked, went to school, and respected me. He wasn't in a band (which makes sense if you have ever heard him sing) and after 13 years, I have never walked in to find him fucking anyone else. Or introducing me to his girlfriend. We had new love that eventually grew into saggy boobed, spare tire love. While some may tout the heart palpitating joy of new love, I will take old love every day of the week. The longer I wake up next to the same farting rear end, the more I realize that I wasn't cut out for single.

I like consistent. I like waking up to the same bad breath, the same inability to take a quiet shower, the same pair of holey underwear and the same drink cups left in every corner of the house. I love washing aforementioned holey underwear and turning the one leg of your jeans inside out before I throw them in the washer. It is a little piece of heaven when you gently caress my back and ask me if I am up for one more show. I am totally up for one more show. I was built for long, smelly, old, fat, nasty love. That new stuff is highly overrated and I get the same butterflies I did the first time you kissed me, except now I don't ever wonder if it will be the last time. We will kiss again tomorrow and the next day and then we will fight about money or who is getting up with the kids. I will apologize and so will you and I'll curse your dirty underwear after you leave for work. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

  Our first 5k together, May 2013.

Don't forget to head over to mythirtyspot.com where I have a new article about raising boys and why I was scared shitless to do it. 

Cookie Cutter Nothing

I find joy in the most ridiculous things. Taking pictures of cookie cutters for a post I haven't even written, makes me giddy. Last week, I carefully arranged sticky notes and took more than one photo of them, as well. My mind is a cluster fuck of ideas that could only be labeled artistic by a mental patient. It's a running theme in my life.

When I was a kid, I never felt like I fit in with my peers. I have never had a sense of style, a clear grasp on the male species or a nuclear family. While everyone else was watching Star Wars and playing on this new contraption called Nintendo, I was playing baby dolls and mastering the art of the board game. As I got older, I continued to dress in thrift store clothes and could never put a definitive label on my musical taste. It was an absurd mix of Neil Diamond and Rage Against The Machine. In short, I've never been cookie cutter anything. I longingly watched 'normal' kids start dating and make a skirt/boot combo look runway worthy and I wondered "If I had that outfit, would it change my life?" or "After my nose job, can I look forward to the opposite sex noticing I am alive?" My hope was that one day I would fit into some mold that made me appealing to someone in any way possible. I was weird and unwillingly to see it as a positive.

After high school, I left my small town life behind for the bright lights of the city and a desire to be a new me. I still couldn't dress myself and my obsession with gay men kept me in the dark about how homely I really was. While I had great friendships with women, I was super awkward on the dating scene. Take for example the time I was on break from class, sitting outside on my giant cell phone and talking with a young man I was spending time with. I never had a firm grasp on what our relationship was, but I got to end the conversation and proclaimed my love for him. Dead silence. I quickly hung up my brick phone and accepted the fact that I was a fucking weirdo who would never have a normal relationship. I have always done things in the wrong order, with the wrong people while donning an eclectic mishmash of clothing.

When I met my husband, I attempted to freak him out by pretending to be a super slut. It didn't work. His fashion sense was worse than mine and he saw something in me that I had yet to see in myself. He thought I was pretty and wanted to have full conversations with me. And he was straight. It didn't make sense. In true fashion, I was engaged to him within a month and struggling with how I, off all people, could be a wife. What kind of girl was I? I farted, burped, ate full meals and smoked on the patio while my fiance studied for exams. Any man in his right mind knew I wasn't marriage material. I anticipated the day he would finally realize what a mess I was and make a beeline for the Witness Protection Program. He never did.

Nothing has changed. I am a mother. A mother who lets her kids eat sugar packets at restaurants and pick out their own clothes. I am a runner. A runner who smokes and will never pound the pavement for longer than 30 minutes. I am a wife. A wife who doesn't make the bed and has no problem farting before/during or after intercourse. I am a friend. A friend who adores you and will never remember your birthday. I am a music lover. A music lover who rocks out to Flor Rida alone in my kitchen and then proceeds to scream the lyrics of Nine Inch Nails while picking up my kids from school. It makes no logical sense. It used to bother me that I didn't fit some cookie cutter profile, but the older I get the less I care. I will admit to wishing I could wear bright lipstick and put an outfit together, but some things just aren't meant to be.

Dating...Thanks But No Thanks.

Supposedly being married for years is said to be monotonous, dreary and really quite boring. Imagine....waking up to the same person everyday, washing his underwear, and smelling his ball sweat for month after month, year after year. Sound frightening? Well, apparently you haven't dated in awhile. I have been lucky enough to be married for 10 years and out of the dating pool, however I have heard the pool is a little murky these days. It's all here say but it is disturbing.
*Men showing up for dates with wrinkled shirts...really? for a first date? How about a little effort scum bag.
*Wearing more jewelry than the woman you are meeting for coffee.....creepy. The long earring went out with the leather wrist cuff and the mullet, pal.
*Talking incessantly about what a bitch your ex is.....huh? Well, it's a nice leap into the future knowing what you would say about me when it all fell apart because I realized what a freak you are. Oh, wait. I already figured that out. Next.
And last but not least...
*The grown ass man who promises a night of dancing then fakes tired and asks you to come to his place to watch a movie. Yes, ladies, they are still using this line to try to bone you on the first date. I guess I figured since you were out of college by about 20 years, you may have some better material. Good to know that some things never change.