Three Good Nos!

 Friends, I'm dying to tell you what's going on with The Guy Next Door, but first, a series of very modest miracles. I feel like my Higher Power scooped me up a few weeks ago, like if I keep doing trust, I'm on my way to healingtown.

It started with Summer Princess. The week before Thanksgiving, she told me she had to leave town abruptly, and said she wanted to get together before she went. We planned a day-after-Thanksgiving brunch and I was excited to catch up, but I had trepidations. I thought the leaving wasn't the right move, and I could feel the urge to rescue her or get her to try to see the error of her ways.

Not knowing the whole story, I couldn't possibly have known if her ways even HAD an error, but leave it to a codependent to just think I know everything anyway! I thought about cancelling the brunch, but then I just...didn't. I thought I could probably get through pancakes without trying to rescue anybody.

But! I was just starting to get ready to go when I got her text--she'd already left. And I felt a whoosh of relief--She had known the right thing to do for herself and done it. I didn't need to weigh in or try to control the situation, it just was! I knew I would miss her and that she might not be okay, but I was so, so proud of her for doing what she needed to do. It gave me a whole new faith in other people, and hope for my own path too.

The second Good No came shortly before a planned second date with Dreamy Playlist Angel. I was excited to see him! He had even been practicing a harness for me, as far as I knew. His text came the morning of the date, saying he didn't want to do casual right now. He said I was wonderful but that he wanted to get his act together so he could hope for more serious relationships. The same whoosh! Such a very good boy! Once again I felt guided by the divine, like I was in a flow I didn't need to try and control.

WHAT IF EVERYONE KNOWS WHAT'S RIGHT FOR THEMSELVES and I can trust them to tell me?!

The third Good No was a concert date with Mr. Long Distance. I had an extra ticket to a show I knew he would like in a nearby city, so I asked out of the clear blue if he'd like to come join me, go to the concert, and share my cozy Airb! Kind of insane given that we'd only ever had a video date, but he said yes! We had a nice catch-up over video and I was soooo excited to see him! I remembered how gorgeous his dick was from our video date way back when! Woohoo!

There's a line from The New Pornographers that I think of sometimes when I'm doing too much to make something happen: "I've pencil-sketched the scene, it's feeling Byzantine." That's kind of how I felt the morning I was getting ready to go to the concert. I was excited but also! We don't know each other in person at all! I would have to figure out how to eat in front of him! My nervous system felt out of whack, but I wanted to see him. It was a lot of scary new things, but I could probably figure it out!

He was taking a Lyft to a bus to a train, and he missed the train. He said it gave him a bad feeling and he would have to cancel. Whoosh. We would have had so much fun, but I was just as deliriously happy to sit in the rafters and be a concert goof by myself. I transferred my extra ticket to my Airb host, who sent it to a friend of a friend.

I know I can't always flow through life with the universe deciding things for me, but I'm very grateful when it does. I feel brave for whatever comes next, and I'll tell you more soon. :)

Merry Merry Knotty Thursday! Thank you so much for reading me!

 

Dear readers, I love you so much! Thanks for being there for me when I don't know what the heck I'm doing, which is almost always. The world is harsh and we have to fight so hard all the time, I'm grateful I have such a cozy place to come and be a slut for you!

I might have some new stories to tell you soon, but for now, I'm just so grateful! Give yourself a hug, eat something yummy, watch your favorite movie, celebrate yourself in all the ways big and small.

Wishing us all our dearest dreams. May the Pink Haze of Desire take you exactly where you need to be. I'll see you there!

Meanwhile, In 2006

Between reading a history of indie rock with The King of Carrot Flowers and getting deep into my Portlandia rewatch, my ears have decided they need to be filled with The Flaming Lips almost all the time. I like the way the bleeps and bloops and bwowwwmps bounce back and forth in my headphones.

So now it's time to write about one of the most beautiful and sad and gorgeous nights of my life so far: a birthday-weekend Flaming Lips show!!! The openers were The Magic Numbers, Sonic Youth (!!!) and (I can't believe I forgot this until the King of Carrot Flowers reminded me!) Ween. I don't think it was too long before my crush/our friend-breakup, but that night, it all worked together perfectly somehow. I felt everything all the way. I was overwhelmed with love and wanting-to-be-loyal about Sweetie-Now-BFF and I was frustrated as heck that I couldn't heap love upon The King of Carrot Flowers as well.

The longing was such a presence at that show that I feel like I should've bought her a ticket. Two wives, one best friend, one longing please! I think that's who I'm always buying a just-in-case extra concert ticket for.

The longing is what the music is for. Like edibles or good speakers, it makes the songs more vivid.

There was a loooong time of sitting in the bleachers and being low-key, listening to Sonic Youth sing "What a waste...you're so chaste.." (They do that one on Gilmore Girls, too! I love the way Kim Gordon bounces and shakes when she sings. I try to imitate it every time I'm singing loud/doing dishes.) The Magic Numbers played Mornings Eleven: "Call me if you're on your own, maybe you can meet me in the morning."

I WANTED to meet The King of Carrot Flowers in the morning, then return to my cozy home with Then-Sweetie come evening time. Sometimes that DID happen, but not for illicit snuggles! We would go for a swim or for ice cream or one time, with a bunch of his grad-student friends, the zoo.

By the time The Flaming Lips came on, we'd migrated higher up the bleachers and a few of our poet friends and work friends joined us. I felt elated, but also urgent, like WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE THIS! How did we all get to be here, together?! How did we get loves and friends and friend-loves to all be in these bleachers with us!? As happy as I was, I was also a little mad--how could I possibly express this tsunami of affection? How could I be present hard enough to honor this unearned miracle?

Luckily, we were at a Flaming Lips show! Sparkles and confetti and martian girls and lifting up the sun and battling the pink robots (I strongly suspect that the Flaming Lips are Phish for hipsters. I'm trying to banish this thought but cannot! Now you have it too!) and singing along to Do You Realize?? under the stars in my hometown with my arms around my dear ones, it was a rare moment of being sure I was giving life the honor it deserves. A rare moment of loving exactly as hard as I wanted to.

Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part Four

 

Snuggling under the covers with a roped-up cutie is like a whole vacation in itself. I recently redid my bedding all in soft pink, it's like curling up in an aggressively cute cloud. The perfect place for a perfect boy.

I like holding him close, protecting him from the world. I like his angel-floppy hair and his open, sincere face. I like him lots. The confidence he'd shown when he kissed me at the door was here in the cloud bed too, eager and game. Both of us, just so happy to be here.

(Side quest: so many of these stories culminate with me on my face, screaming into a pillow in joy and delight. Is this scary for partners? It recently sunk in that I would be jarred by this level of emotion and noise from a partner, maybe others feel the same? I remember Lovely Guy saying he felt like he was being violent even though he wasn't. Poor dear! Maybe I'll talk to people about this?)

Anyway, confident. He bent me in a way that felt new, one knee over his shoulder. He hit the spot so neatly and thoroughly, a heave of relief and pleasure. Fitting together like puzzle pieces seems like a thing I should have gotten used to by now, should have learned to take for granted, but I never have. He just made me feel so, so good.

When I came (and came, and came) I cried out "Thank you, oh THANK you!" over and over. I remembered briefly that "grateful" is a stereotype about lovers my age, then realized I don't care--I was born grateful and I hope, in fifty to seventy years, to die grateful too.

The rest of the night was sweet snuggles and music-and-movies chitchat, what else could anyone on this earth ever need?

It took a couple days for OCD to start yelling at me about it, obnoxiously moralizing and strictly anti-fun. Here are some of the things that my brain decided:

*If he's not texting in this moment, I am forgotten and humiliated.

*I'm sabotaging my chances at romantic love by letting myself play casually.

*He is automatically going to choose the other lady he's casually dating, therefore proving I'll never measure up or be any good.

OCD is an asshole! I felt a little relief from breaking things off, but my body didn't want that! After a few more days, the anti-fun obsession machine quieted enough to hear my body's opinions, which were:

*Yes!

*Yay!

*More please!

He was admirably copacetic about the breaking-off and then un-breaking off. I want him to keep coming over as long as it's fun for us both, and who knows what that will look like! He's coming over Friday night for Mulholland Drive and ropes, wish me luck! :)

Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part Three

I would really like to bite this butt next time I see it!
And also spank it! Possibly also spoon up next to it and go to sleep.

Despite the name, I've totally been forgetting to tell you about his playlist! In Such Great Heights, A Complete Cultural History of the Indie Rock Explosion, (The book I'm still reading and which The King of Carrot Flowers finished weeks ago!) Chris Deville says it's a typical male fantasy that some girl (Or in my case, some Manic Pixie Dream Mature) is gonna come along and tell a guy he has great taste in music. I guess I fulfill that fantasy pretty regularly! When I was younger and (even) sillier, I thought new music could only come via a cute boy, even if that's never really how I collected it.

ANYWAY, since Dreamy Playlist Angel introduced himself by way of complimenting my Sleater Kinney t-shirt and mentioning a Portlandia rewatch (What would the Gen-X equivalent of this be? Complimenting a Strawberry Alarm Clock tee and mentioning a Monkees marathon? Either way, I'm in.) I had no qualms about asking him to choose the music for our rope time--and that was the correct choice.

Off the couch and upstairs with the candles lit and the cat crated, I felt a jolt of joy as we found the bight and square-knotted the ropes. Dreamy Playlist Angel, with his sculpture-y shoulders and sweet-but-not-too-sweet demeanor, was such a warm and beautiful and inviting canvas.

I hadn't practiced on anyone besides me in the longest time! The ropes felt easy on him, flowy and smooth. I reached around his waist to loop the ropes around, rested my cheek in the crook of his neck for a moment. Kissed his sweet neck and his soft, politely-eager mouth. Good Boy. He's so good.

I wish he'd wanted a picture of the front of him, the harness came out so nice! He looked so pretty and sexy with the loops and knots over his chest, swooping up between his legs and squeezing his butt crack all snug.

His music was dreamy but not overwhelmingly feelings-y! Sweet and swoony at times (Thinkin' Bout You by Frank Ocean! My favorite thing to sing!) but leavened by silliness. Plus! Surprising amounts of saxophone!

Dancing around to indie-rock sax while putting the finishing touches on a beautiful man's hishi karada seems like a very wise way to spend a few moments of my one wild and precious life. 

 

A Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part Two

 Sometimes I worry that I'm just telling the same stories over and over, and maybe I am. How many different times did Monet paint the cathedral at Rouen?! Am I saying I'm the Claude Monet of describing dicks? Kind of.

We stayed in front of the TV, kissing and petting and chatting and snuggling and sort of also watching Twin Peaks. He said, "I want you to lean this way and tease me while I cuddle you."

His cock reached for me, hard under his soft pants. "Oh, you ARE a good boy," I said, just grazing my arm over his lap, then feeling the contours of him, friendly and hopeful and utterly here to serve. Not mine at all, but also, mine.

I played with the tip of his cock, thick and reaching. I'll never get over the jolt of it, of a dick that likes me. I would like to have him in my hands and mouth right now, or expertly folding me over, or just cuddling under a blanket watching TV and feeling him hard for me, like it's the first time I ever felt that. Every time, it feels like I've never experienced this before. Every time, a surprise.

Despite the ropes that will delightfully happen in the next installment, this wasn't really a Good Boy/Ma'am situation. It felt more equal, a delicious taste of vanilla, a warm friendship all full of kissing. I'm starting to feel so excited for everything that comes next!

Knotty Thursday: Ribcage Harness and a Cozy Read

 

I've done this one a couple times before, but this time is special! I'm practicing it so I can teach it to Dreamy Playlist Angel next time we hang out! It's one of the easiest ones to practice on myself, but I look forward to trying the cute weave that Rory does in the back: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADN90FVYty0

It's been a few weeks since I did my Wednesday night ritual, and it made my brain feel...organized. Serene. Grounded. I just got a bunch of candles out of the Christmas stuff, so I had the scents of raspberry, cupcakes, and sangria all at once. Sweetness all around.

Some rope nights are about ravishing myself in all the ways, but this was more of a spa-evening. I brought a cute book upstairs to read, my favorite romcom author.

My smaller cat doesn't need to be crated during ropes, and it was lovely having her snuggle up to my face while I was reading. I spent the evening feeling cozy and celebrated, and then I slept so, so well.

A Perfect Friday Night With Dreamy Playlist Angel, Part One

Is it weird to feel all swoony making out in front of "She's dead, wrapped in plastic."? Probably!

I think Dreamy Playlist Angel sent me a ping on Feeld. He's 29, theoretically below my oft-ignored and somewhat arbitrary lower age limit (35) but the floppy-haired vulnerability of his picture and the boldness of his texts convinced me he was not to be missed. Plus, he reminded me of my dear friend/crush/friend The King of Carrot Flowers, the quintessential Cute Boy With Records. (You don't have to have records to be one, you just have to not mind when I stop the proceedings to change to a better-suited song.)

(Side note: There might be paragraphs to write about the worry and protectiveness I feel around playing with twenty-somethings. Not now though!)

He'd never seen any David Lynch stuff! So I picked the coziest possible thing, the Twin Peaks pilot. Fish in the percolator!!!

He (the boy, not the percolator fish) arrived at my door at 9pm, Friday before last. I don't usually like to do things on a Friday night, I'm more likely to be in bed playing phone games and bingeing Normal Gossip by 7:30 pm. But he gave me time for a nap, and said he didn't mind a pajamas date, so here we were.

He was prompt! He didn't stand at the entrance of my apartment complex and wait to be shown in! He just used the directions I gave him and came right to my door! Perhaps I should not be THIS excited not to go down the driveway in my pajamas, but it's the little things.

Is there anything better than opening the door and finding out your cute date is also tall!? Yes! The confidence!

I don't think I'd even closed the door behind him yet when he said "Do you mind if I kiss you?" He held my face and took me in, his first kiss both gentle and reassuring.

We made room on the couch and snuggled up, easy as if we already knew each other. Comfortable. Peaceful. And so, so hot.

The thing that sticks with me the most is kissing his wrists. I felt a sweet, devouring spark there. Pausing briefly to identify with vampires. I wanted all of him in my body, just from knowing that soft pulse. A heave in my chest and an absolute river in my pajama pants. Ohboy.

I'm a teacher. I'm always ready to teach, but he didn't need it. He treated me like my body was already his home, already lived in. I love how somebody can belong to me without belonging to me at all, mine and his own, eternal and also time just flying by.

Snuggled under the downstairs comforter, his hands found their way inside my bra and just stayed there, friendly and gentle. I felt a brief worry that we were going too fast, but my body hushed me with deep wellbeing, and got still, let myself be held. 

 

Knotty Thursday: Oh, Dreamy Playlist Angel

 

<3 <3 <3 Look at his shoulders. <3 <3 <3

Me: Oh sure, I'm up for casual.

Also me: Holding him and kissing the top of his head while "Pictures of You" by The Cure plays.

He felt shy about showing the front of the tie, but it was a lovely hishi karada.

It felt so good putting this good sweet boy in my ropes, especially the parts where I had to reach around him, and would just pause to hold him and kiss him and breathe him in. How can just a regular middle aged lady be blessed with so much beauty and softness and hardness and desire?! I'll never stop being surprised and delighted.

For a few days, OCD wouldn't let me claim the experience--if he doesn't belong to me, how could I know it's real, like, a real thing that happened?

My heart wouldn't let me keep him. I don't want to try and fit the (somewhat elusive) definition of casual. I want a thing my heart can eventually run with, a thing that can last and grow.

We said a cute goodbye yesterday, and as soon as I let him go, my heart filled with light, as if it were Christmas morning. I love that I can adore him and wish him well without worrying that he's going to choose the other lady, the one who lives around the corner from him and is closer to his age. Maybe she's perfect for him!

I tend to beat myself up for the times I don't make it to a second date, but there's such a power here--to wrap him up and spoil him, talk about music and movies a bunch, then let him go into his own life again, maybe a little shinier and knowing some new secrets.

It might just be beautiful.

Amends Tales: Summer Princess Reached Out!

 A few weeks ago, something really nice happened! I wasn't even sure if it was real until I checked in with a mutual friend. I thought it might be a catfish situation! A friendfish!

I hadn't been in touch with Summer Princess since I left the camp job a week early in August. This is partly because I was embarrassed/finishing up trauma work, but the main reason was! After The Future Mrs. Summer Princess found out about my crush, she had written a few unhinged, gently-threatening-yet-somehow-friendly DMs and texts, and I wanted absolutely no part of any of that. I missed Summer Princess but I never would have imagined she would miss me!

But she did! She messaged me on Instagram to apologize for her fiancee's notes and for how bad everything had gotten. She said she valued our friendship and would understand if I just told her to fuck off.

But of course I didn't! Her fiancee had every reason to be protective of her, and I was being so weird. But Summer Princess said she knew there was nothing to be protective about!

With OCD, I've had to train myself not to seek reassurance. When my mind tells me I'm bad and scary, I'm practiced in just telling myself "Maybe, maybe not." But knowing that Summer Princess liked our time together and felt safe meant a lot to me. My heart filled up with fluffy pink relief.

We don't talk often, but I'm so happy to consider her a friend again, to be out here rooting for each other. I like when I'm playing Animal Crossing and my Switch tells me what she's on there playing. I like being able to send her a K-Pop Demon Hunters song to wish her a happy Friday.

So, a friendship appreciation post. If you've been here for me reading or in person or *swoons* both, just know you're appreciated and loved. I want to take better care of my friendships, cause I would be absolutely NOWHERE without you.

Amends Tales: The King of Carrot Flowers

 

Now we're a two-person book club! :D

I promise I will eventually get back to the hotness, but I have a few platonic updates I want to share first!

Back when BFF Formerly Sweetie and I were first together, there was a third pal with us all the time. I'm naming him the King of Carrot Flowers because we were and are talking-about-music soulmates, and the early 2000s were a very Neutral Milk Hotel-y time for me. For us all!

King of Carrot Flowers was with us ALL the time! On Sundays, Sweetie and I would do the big New York Times crossword puzzle, and then head over to his place to watch The Simpsons and Malcolm in the Middle. We all went to see Rilo Kiley (Openers: Tilly and the Wall! Tapdancer as percussion!) in the dead of winter in a very subpar car. He was in our wedding.

He lived right by the nice pool in the park, we swam there and agreed that yes, it DID look like those Ice Mice candies inspired by the Harry Potter treat trolley. We drove weirdly far to get ice cream, and I got blissed out and swoony about the albums he played on his first-generation iPod, plugged in with the aux cord. He burned me my first and only copy of my favorite album, The Execution of All Things. It conked out in my car's CD player about 5 years ago.

Modest Mouse. Of Montreal. The first time I learned what a collective effervescence is, I was flirting with a religious studies grad student in King of Carrot Flowers's kitchen during a snowstorm disco party.

He used to housesit for us when we were away. He was our cat's favorite because he always brought sushi.

The song he kept on his MySpace page: 

Sometimes, when no one was looking, I would just hit refresh on his page over and over, just to feel connected to him.

We LOVED each other as friends and it's not at all surprising that I got a crush! Almost immediately upon marrying Sweetie, I fell into a WHAT IF I NEVER SEE A PENIS AGAIN panic so of course I would want to bi it up with this very romantic (to me) friendship.

I confessed the crush one night, walked over to his place after a spat with Sweetie and, to the soothing sounds of The Colbert Report, told him I was having feelings for him. He was very kind about it but said he wasn't interested in sharing with Sweetie. Polyamory was a few years away, I didn't even know the word yet.

If you've been a reader for any length of time, you can guess what happened: I felt sad and rejected and picked a fight to get space from him. That space lasted for about twenty years!

Then, the other month when I was babbling to BFF about how much I love dorking out about stuff with Guy Next Door, she said, "Why don't you call (King of Carrot Flowers)? You guys loved talking about music!"

So I did that thing where you send a friend request out into the universe and never expect to hear back. But I did! He accepted my apology and said "We're all better at giving each other grace these days."

It felt like I'd found a missing puzzle piece. We've been in touch ever since and I could not be more grateful.

Postscript: The Guy Next Door Doesn't Actually Hate Me

 Friends! I had such a cute rope date on Friday! Maybe I'll tell you all about Dreamy Playlist Angel sometime, but first I want to wrap up another story.

So, a couple weeks ago, I sold my dear red car. It was hard to let go, but she was costing me like 1500$ a repair visit. I need to be saving up and improving my credit in case I need to move (Because rent keeps going up, not because of Guy Next Door) so BFF-Formerly-Sweetie is very generously letting me share her car.

So that meant that, because BFF does poll work on Election Day, I didn't have a car last Tuesday. It was a particularly stressful workday, fun but with lots of moving parts. So I was dazed and a little giddy when I was getting in my Lyft at the end of the day. The backseat door handles were the hidden kind, I still don't understand where they were. I got in the car a little flustered, just wanting to go vote and then take the most emphatic nap ever.

The driver was cute and maybe mid-thirties, and his day job was adjacent to mine-lots to bond about on the short ride. He bragged that (swoon) he'd voted first thing in the morning, and I told him that's where I was headed after home. I put my chitchat on autopilot and listened to his answers, each one more charming than the last. But my head was all swirly from work, from the person who would come to be Dreamy Playlist Angel, about how pretty the bright yellow fall trees were, about how good it would feel to lay down and take my scheduled after-work nap.

When I got in the door, I discovered that my phone was not in my purse. Or in the pockets on the outside of my lunch bag. It wasn't in my hoodie pockets, and there weren't any pockets in my very work pants-y work pants. I had left my phone in the cute driver's car.

Okay. Well, I had my laptop, so I hopped on customer support and reported my lost phone. The driver wrote back pretty quickly that he had the phone, just needed my address to bring it back. And I would be charged an extra 20$ for his time--so fair! But there was a glitch and the chat with the driver cut off. By the time I started the request again, both my address and the driver's number became unavailable. I needed a phone to get my phone back.

I almost kinda begged for them to do it by email instead, but they couldn't. Online impossibility is my worst trigger, so I let myself melt down for a few minutes, a good scream-cry and lay on the floor combo. Then I got up, wiped my face, and resumed trying to solve the mystery of how to get my phone back.

There are five apartments in this complex, four sets of very lovely Weak Tie neighbors who would have been more than happy to help, and Guy Next Door, who had *just* gotten back from a monthlong yoga retreat. I was feeling like we could be on good terms, but I didn't want to find out in the middle of an internet void meltdown.

So, in the latest installment of the demented romcom that is my life sometimes, I knocked on his door. He opened it, smiling and smelling of after-work weed. He was in his work clothes too--like we were both in our cosplay as grownups.

He gave me a hug and agreed to help right away. I invited him in and we sat at my very cluttered table, covered in everything I'd just dumped out of my purse, some undies and socks that needed to be folded, and various other midweek detritus. I was behind on the dishes as always, so I hoped he wasn't too grossed out by my perpetual Dishhenge.

I told the very unhelpful Lyft chat that I had access to a phone now, but they told me I had to re-report it, but the reporting-it link kept looping back to the unhelpful chat. There wasn't anything I could do at that moment but to stare at the void. And catch up with Guy Next Door.

I told him I was sorry for being a jerk, and he said, "Even if you were a jerk, I'm here for it. I just like being your friend,"

!!!!!!

While I went a few more rounds with The Void on my laptop, I was so happy to be updated about GNS's adventures! And he was an excellent emotional support neighbor! He looked up my very uncalm calm-down song:

I had him set a timer for me (he picked singing bowls) so I could only try my futile online quest for eight more minutes instead of looping around on it eternally. He had some helpful ideas to try, but he is tech support, not Void Support. When the timer went off, I said goodbye and a million thank-yous and went off to vote.

Voting is a big social event in my neighb, and it cheered me up a bunch. As I was walking back from the polling place, I heard a man's voice saying "You!" in just the cutest way. 

It was the Lyft driver. He'd been driving around for an hour trying to figure out where he'd dropped me off. He remembered I'd said I was going to vote, so he thought he would ask around at my polling place to see if anyone knew how to find me! He said if that didn't work, he was going to go back to my work and drop it off there! My HERO!

OF COURSE I asked for his number--I can never resist a possible meet-cute! We exchanged numbers and I went home, elated to tell GNS that all was well, delighted to have voted, and very, very ready for gummies and Gilmores and sleep.

It wasn't a meet-cute with the Lyft driver, just a golden moment of possibility that made me feel so entertained and hopeful and silly. So that's where I am now. I wonder what will happen next.

Knotty Thursday: Thigh Roses and Shiny Sheets!

 

Yesterday I had a podiatrist appointment for my lil bone spur and got the best news a 51-year-old who has walked A LOT can get--there are exercises that might make it not hurt! Time to celebrate!

I've been thinking lately about how cute my legs and feet are. This thigh rose tie is inspired by a Rory's Brainworks design, really easy and calming!

 

Just simple ropes on top! My lingerie collection is getting a little out of control but there keep being more pretty bras!

When I ordered these sheets, I didn't realize they were shiny! I've never had shiny sheets! The sensation is so smooth and cool and slippery. I hugged my pillowcase instead of a stuffy last night!

Autistic Euphoria and The Guy Next Door, Part Six

I really wanted, as I always do, to fast-forward to friendtown. I didn't want to give myself space to let the rejection-hurt pass, I just wanted to keep being around him. But my OCD therapist gently pointed out that if I kept being around him, the feelings would just get bigger. (What happened to "maybe, maybe not," lady?!) I got really mad at her but I knew she was right. 

I texted to tell him about the spark, about needing space, about how sitting around listening to The National was not going to help me find perspective about him. He responded so kindly and so rightly! He said he'd look forward to being friends when the time is right and that he was still always up for catsitting whenever we needed him.

This was the night I was trying the mermaid wrap over and over, getting nothing but slipped loops and tangles. I HATED being called a friend and I wanted him to have seen me as desirable. OCD fired up and told me it's because I'm fat, and old, and not normal enough. OCD told me he couldn't see me, though I think in some ways he saw a me nobody else knows yet!

I texted and asked: Like, why not me? Why just friends? I retracted the question immediately, how could there ever be a satisfying answer?! I tried to call to try and smooth things over (If I'd just gone over there, would it have been more or less humiliating? The world may never know.) but just ended up leaving a short and bitchy voicemail. Not horrible, but definitely uncalled for.

I was HORRIFIED with myself. Ever since I saw Baby Reindeer  and probably before that too, I've been scared to death that I might be, deep down, a stalker. Two texts and a voicemail do not a Martha make, but I was scared RIGHT to death. I called BFF-Formerly-Sweetie to come over and mind me for the evening, to make sure I didn't do more. Definitely a little bit overkill, but having her here calmed me down.

There was more mortifying back and forth the next day, including the mistreatment of our respective artwork. (Nobody puts Ribbons in the recycle bin! That's how the Dirty Dancing line goes, right?) 

Blessedly, he'll be away for a couple weeks at a yoga retreat, and I'm so relieved to be temporarily offstage from that crush. I don't know what will come next, but I think, just like with Summer Princess, I took bad care of this connection. The time being his friend went by so fast and I wish it wasn't over already. 

I miss him and I feel afraid of him and afraid of myself. But the Autistic Euphoria was real, and I hope I can someday share it with someone in a healthier way. I've been browsing apartments to make myself feel less trapped, but this in-between feeling is sad, and there's nothing except time that can fix it.

Knotty Thursday: Yay Mermaid Wrap!

Guess what! I had a cute date Tuesday night, and it was made magical by a mistake! The bar I'd picked was closed, so the cutie and I walked a little ways--and found a little beer garden with no one in it but us! Songs were played, Hidden Folder was shown off. Not sure where it will lead but there's no better cure for tunnel vision!

I'm really proud of this tie! The last time I tried it, I was so wrecked by the (thoroughly unsurprising!) proximity of and rejection by The Guy Next Door that I couldn't find my connection to my ropes or myself. Last night was the opposite. As soon as I crated Younger Cat and tied two thirty-foot strands together, I sank into concentration in such a beautiful way. Yayyy!

Autistic Euphoria and the Guy Next Door: Part Five

 

Even though I was on edge about how to talk about (Or not talk about? Who can say?) Girlfriend Next Door, the second Art Night went even further into the magical realm of Autistic Euphoria. It's not too different from the joy of meeting someone the ropes really like! It felt so profoundly liberating to have someone to play with! He bought over his music (some complicated situation with a private server) and we played songs back and forth.

If I'm playing songs back and forth, my heart is 100% in the mix. I try to tell myself it's no big deal, but that's a lie.

I was hypervigilant for Signs He Might Like Me Back. He talked a little about Girlfriend Next Door and it didn't sound like they were that serious of a thing, but he was definitely not as touchy-feely as he'd been the previous visit. A couple of times I touched his arm for emphasis and he looked apprehensive. I can read signals from time to time, and it's concerning to me that sometimes I just want to ignore or counteract them. Maybe everybody feels like that sometimes but it makes me wonder if I'm a predator. I don't think so, but I could do better.

No polite "thanks for having me" text this time. He'd offered to watch the cats for an upcoming trip, but he didn't write back or acknowledge when I sent him the trip dates. So my brain did what it does for inscrutable texting rhythms--made it about me. Was he Backing Off or just busy.

Why, at any point, didn't I just tell him what I was feeling or ask him anything about what he wanted this connection to be? Things I could have asked if I was being true to myself at any point during our sadly abbreviated friendship:

After the first hangout: "Hey I felt a spark last night, what do you think? Any potential there?"

At any point: "Am I texting you too much or do we just have different rhythms?"

After I found out about GFNS: "Are you two poly or exclusive?"

I have these skills! I've been poly or poly-adjacent for nearly my whole adult life! But, when The Guy Next Door first came onto my radar back in August, my OCD therapist suggested I wait and let him say something if he liked me in a romantic way. This had a certain logic to it, especially since we live so close together.

So, as if the work of this blog had never existed, I'd accepted the don't-tell-him challenge. And it brought me so much pain. Probably caused him some pain too.

Autistic Euphoria and The Guy Next Door: Part Four

 

I was so busy bouncing, listening, interrupting, and picking out songs that I didn't realize he'd drawn Happy Eraserhead Baby! A moment of pure garmanbozialessness,

So after I found out about Girlfriend Next Door, I told The Guy Next Door there wouldn't be any Art Nights for a little while, but that I was happy to be friendly neighbs and wouldn't rule out hangouts in the future. I started Operation Mind My Business. I was genuinely friendly and welcoming to Girlfriend Next Door when she was housesitting, and there seemed a chance that all the crushiness might be over, that my ever-elusive dignity might stand a chance.

(Wait is the idea of dignity kind of a pain in the butt? I think maybe it is!)

But by the time he was on his way back from his trip, I just missed him. So I texted, "It's lonely here without anyone making me tea." and reinstated art night.

(Later on, a Codependents Anonymous friend would identify this choice as "abandoning myself." Maybe it was but I can't quite regret it all the way.)

Three Thursdays ago was our last Art Night. There were only two between us, not sure why my brain made it into such a ritual that it might as well be an institution! Except! Oh yeah, OCD, autism, and an acute case of twitterpatedness! I worked so hard getting the apartment ready! I agonized so hard about what to wear! Strangely, I don't remember what I did end up wearing! So weird! So rare!

(OCD Versus) Autistic Euphoria and The Guy Next Door: Part Three

Meanwhile

 After our first Art Night, The Guy Next Door texted a gentlemanly note thanking me for the evening, just like someone would do after a promising first date. Or a lovely first friend hangout! I should have just asked.

It didn't take long for OCD/trauma to take over for the euphoria feeling. I didn't WANT to devote so much of my consciousness of whether he was texting me at any given moment, but that's the illness. That 15-to-20-percent of my brain could have been used for lesson planning, for learning my knots, or literally anything else, but my brain remained fixed on the little green messages square, hoping a red number would appear. If I could have one aspect of my gorgeous neurodivergence just zapped right out, I would.

We talked in the yard sometimes, so I tried to gauge how much he would want to talk and how much he wanted to be left alone. I tried to do the insane math of how much he would want me to be out in my own yard. I'm doing a thing lately where I weed 10 minutes a day (Trying to avoid the dreaded weedwhacker!) so that kept me from hiding in my apartment and avoiding the yard entirely.

At one point, I sat in one of my Adirondack chairs to read and it broken underneath me. I have no idea if he saw, but in my head, I might as well have been onstage.

Both our sets of front windows are so big! But I felt exposed even with the blackout curtains drawn, even in the privacy of my own bed. It was hard to ever feel truly alone. I felt his presence when he was home and I missed it when he was out. I got entrained to his rhythms. I still am.

No more texts came for a few days. He missed saying happy birthday, even though I'd mentioned the date like a million times. Signals! The day after my birthday, when I was feeling satisfied but spent from my birthday adventures, news arrived.

"So it turns out that (Girlfriend Next Door) and I got back together, lol. She'll be housesitting for me this week. I hope you'll get to do some chatting, she's a delightful human being."

Things just change so fast. Sometimes I can't keep up, and this really felt like the rug being pulled out from under me.

He'd mentioned being poly, and this seemed like some poly bullshit, all of a sudden being expected to bond with her because he liked her. Or! Just some friendly neighbor stuff. I did meet her and we DID kinda bond, over his love of making hot drinks in overly complicated ways. She's curvy, chatty, femme brunette, it's possible he had a type. Or it's possible he just needed a stopgap until she came back to him. Or! Courtesy of Occam's Razor--friendship!

I didn't know what he wanted me to do or want or be, but I knew one thing--I didn't want to get tangled up with these two.

So I told him I needed to pause art nights for a bit, hunkered down to be sad about this mismatch. I truly wish I'd left it there.

Knotty Thursday: Cards Instead

 

I'm still feeling a little trapped from the Guy Next Door situation, so I don't feel ready to try the mermaid tie again. So I did what I always do when I need a little inspiration: read seven different Tarot decks!

Autistic Euphoria and the Guy Next Door: Part Two

 On Thursday evenings during the busy part of the year, I try to stop everything and make some art. Whenever I want to get to know somebody, friend or date, I invite them to join.

The Guy Next Door came across the yard to my door with a gardening book he'd picked out from one of the VERY numerous Little Free Libraries on our surrounding blocks. He showed me an illustration of a wall garden he wanted to create "for us both to enjoy."

(Ladies and gentlehumans of the kitten jury, I submit this as evidence that I wasn't crazy for thinking he might like me back! Not that you asked to see evidence!)

He sat down at my table. I played my summer camp playlist, skipping the songs that felt too emo or too harsh for the occasion. We were doing watercolors and it was just...it was so easy. He talked so freely and I felt so comforted by how open he was about his life. Divorce, love, disappointment, sobriety (of the California sort). It felt so easy to share my own stuff back without feeling like it was too much, like I was too much.

All that sharing made me powerfully smitten, so fast! I knew I couldn't fling myself at him because I wasn't ready and he's LITERALLY my next door neighbor. (In retrospect, flinging might have been the safer choice.) Instead I made plans like this:

"If I knew you better, I'd scoop you up and take you to the beach with me on Sunday. Let's stay friends for at least a year so we can have a beach day next summer. You drive so I can be high on the way home. We'll listen to Atavista by Childish Gambino."

"Okay, I can do that!" He seemed happy to be included in my weirdly specific daydream. Art night dream.

I had tickets to a little-bit-out-of-town showing of Fire Walk With Me, my favorite David Lynch movie and maybe the second-scariest movie ever. (First place goes to The Blair Witch Project.) "If I knew you better, " I said, "I'd give you my extra ticket because (BFF Formerly Sweetie) does NOT care. I see us at a David Lynch event someday, you as the Log Lady and me as... I don't know, I'll have to pick a less obscure character than I usually do."

Typing these visions of the future, they feel more than a little nutso, but I promise, he looked so happy about these plans. He was, as they say on My Brother, My Brother, and Me, playing in the space with me.

I forgot to feel embarrassment or shame for being so enthusiastic and nakedly fascinated by him. (If there had been real nakedness, I think things might have gone better. OR worse! Who knows.)

He seemed nakedly fascinated by me too. (I wonder if that was just the fact that he was higher than me. As OCD therapy would say, maybe, maybe not.) Under his gaze, I bounced. I rocked. I fell into special interest holes and he said he was happy to fall down in there with me. I was giddy with unmasking, and he seemed to be in a giggly joyful state as well. Maybe he was. Maybe it was real, at least this part.

Mostly he sat across the table from me, but sometimes he came over next to me and we sat stonedly shoulder to shoulder. When he was leaving, he gave me a hug that just crossed the boundary over to sensual--his fingers moved over my shoulders in a desire way? Or just it was that over-familiar weedy hippie-boy hug that used to send me into an anti-Platonic tizzy in my college hometown in the mid-Nineties.

Maybe my evidence isn't incontrovertible, but I really want to convince you this wasn't just me fooling myself for the millionth time.

Yet.

Autistic Euphoria and The Guy Next Door, Part One

 Around the time I was processing the Summer of Trauma and writing my Summer Princess posts, my next-door neighbor and I started talking. I'd noticed he was cute when he moved in back in spring, but I'd said hello to him and his pretty girlfriend as they were walking down our shared driveway in dating finery, looking so beautifully Love on the Spectrum. (I don't know if that was me clocking them or just seeing what I wanted to see.) and I was all obsessed with Summer Princess, so I hadn't given his cuteness much thought.

(Holy moly! I just stopped typing to see if Autistic Euphoria is a thing other people noticed! And! This Psychology Today Article! )

The Guy Next Door uncannily resembles the guy I'd have imagined for myself in my 20s and 30s--a sweet-faced and vaguely hippie-ish white guy with longish curly hair and a beard. He's all-but-dissertation at an Ivy. He looks exactly like he has the taste in music that he has--dreamy indie rock. The perfect Death Cab for Cutie cutie of my dreams. I told him I could have written him, which doesn't sound like a compliment, but is. This story ends with us high and me swoony, sitting at my painting table listening to The National.

Anyway, I was in the one-chance-out-between-two-worlds state between summer and fall, trauma work and quiet healing, when he stepped out his door and handed me a clear mug of bright red hibiscus tea. We chatted for a while, and then he bought out another tea for Other Side Neighbor. The three of us stood around talking, looking for all the world like people who'd figured out how to gently share our lives with others.

There was something so attentive about him, something that made me feel profoundly seen. I felt giddily like I didn't have to mask around this person!!! I let my weird self out a little more, even letting out my David Lynch impression, which I usually only do in front of BFF-Formerly Sweetie and the cats.

WHAT A GREAT TIME TO BE ALIVE IF YOU LOVE THE THEATER OF THE ABSURD!

The next time he came out the door with tea (I cannot emphasize enough how close his door is to mine!) it was just for me. I'd mentioned that I thought the hibiscus tea would make good iced tea, so he brought it chilled this time. Same clear mug, same brilliant red color, but he'd made it this way just for me.

Some people just have such a delightful way of inspiring oversharing! Between regular what-we'd-like-to-do-with-the-yard talk, we shared about our respective mental health stuff and our different twelve-step adventures. (Alcohol for him, codependency for me.) 

I mentioned that the guys in my apps seemed to be a little unhinged lately, maybe due to "cuffing season." He let me know he and Girlfriend Next Door had broken up but he wasn't on the apps. I maaaayyyyy have let slip that he didn't have to look further than my door. Instant karma from those app guys I was complaining about--I out-un-hinged them for sure.

"Aw!" he said to that. Maybe it was an "aw" like "Aw, that's sweet" or like "Aw, it's kind of sad that you said something so open and strange."

The hardest thing about getting obsessed with a person is the way I'll avidly look for Signs and Wonders from them, the littlest things that might mean they like me, but also turn the most blinkered eye to any and all red flags on both sides.

Other Side Neighbor helped facilitate the exchange of numbers and, from my now perspective, my fate was sealed. My new OCD and Mindfulness Workbook says I should tell myself "Magic is silly" in response to ideas like fate, but I can't quite get there--in matters of the heart, magic happens all the time.

Knotty Thursday: Rigger's Block and Rejection Sensitivity

 A mermaid tie is pretty easy, but I tried and tried and couldn't get it right. That's how life feels right now, friends. 

Back when I was finishing up trauma work and processing what happened with Summer Princess, my next door neighbor brought me hibiscus tea, or maybe he was just bringing it out for all the neighbors and I just thought he wanted to talk to me. Who knows.

Either way, he was so fun to talk to.  He's a Twin Peaks fan! And I felt so at ease with him that my David Lynch impression came out.

(WHAT A GREAT TIME TO BE ALIVE IF YOU LIKE THE THEATER OF THE ABSURD!)

Bonding. Cuteness. Eventually, sitting around listening to The National. But all of a sudden, he picked somebody else, blah blah blah trapped in a hell of my own making.

Knotty Thursday: Better Ankle Weave!!!

 

Confesh: I called in late to work so I could stay home and look at how pretty these pictures are. I love, love, love my new ropes routine! I watch my tutorial, put Youngest Cat in her crate, bring snacks and water and a gummy upstairs and then just tie and lounge. Sometimes it's sexytimes, but I like just having a peaceful little slumber party with myself too. When the ropes are neatly untangled and put away, both my cats get special food, it's a whole celebration.

I went to the doctor this week and found out I might have a tiny fracture in my heel. Sadly, I think I remember when it happened--just stepped down into the pool wrong in like mid-July. I'm trying to get out of the habit of feeling ancient, but some days I truly do feel like I'm turning into dust.

Also! When I tell a medical professional I take lots of walks, I would LOVE to not hear a surprised/condescending "Oh, that's good!" as if I recently discovered the concept of walking after 51 years of life!

Anyway my foot will need to be babied for a while, so these might come in handy for more than just Wednesday nights! :D

Knotty Thursday: Ankle Weave

 For some reason, the end of summer always makes my feet hurt. So I decided to give them a little treat! I think I could do these a lot prettier, but this was a great first try! Here's the tutorial if you want to try for yourself:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsuZi9f4ul8

This tie felt more soothing than sexy, I liked taking a gummy and laying there feeling cozy, just playing scrabble on my phone and listening to an episode of You Are Good.

I'm so happy to be back to this routine! Summer-to-fall is always a rough nervous-system transition for me--all the changing schedules and routines!!! So it feels healing to put this time aside to be kind and romantic with myself. Thanks for being here with me, I always appreciate the company.

Knotty Thursday: A Little Carried Away

 

I think this is so pretty! But I need to be a bit more disciplined next time! Sometimes I just get in the flow and keep braiding, weaving, and knotting, and then it's hard to get out of!

And okay, my right arm got the teeeeensiest bit tingly, so I couldn't lay around in the ropes as much as I like to--next time!

But it was really nice to come back to my ropes, to light some candles and incense (rose) and turn out all the lights. I tried music, but silence was nicer.

Trauma Work Summer Part Eight: The End

 

This story feels like so long ago already! Spoiler alert: the trauma work seems to really have helped! When I returned to my school-year job, I felt a joy so strong that I might have been ACTUALLY filled with sunshine! I feel more three-dimensional and grounded, like here at almost-fifty-one I might be an actual adult. Maybe the work saved me, for a little while.

Back to a few weeks ago: the panic lit by the Fire Prevention Play just wouldn't go out. After I confessed my attraction to Summer Princess, I couldn't convince myself I wasn't a threat to her, that I wasn't somehow coercing her to be near me whenever she was near me. 

Prickly and sometimes-moody as she was, she did NOTHING but try and stay friends! While I was coloring/providing a sensory area on our field trip to Dave & Busters, she played an old version of Animal Crossing and sat quietly with me. Back at camp, she made August Valentines with me and the kids. Summer Princess and I took turns picking out dreamy/moody songs amongst the cutting and pasting. She was being a pretty wonderful friend, and I couldn't access the friendly, sunny part of myself.

I knew it was wrong for me to be there with her in such a panicky/heartbroken state, so I ended up leaving camp a week early. I still love her so much (now in a peaceful, non-urgent way) and I'm so grateful for our friendship, however flawed and brief. If by some miracle you're reading this, Summer Princess, thank you. I'm honored to have spent a few weeks basking in the glow of you. I wish you a super-sparkly life and every wish come true.

The Monday after I said goodbye to camp, I went on a roadtrip I'd been planning all the hot, traumaful summer: A trip to my high school hometown, sort of an Exposure Therapy final project. I wanted to face the apartment complex where my Main Trauma happen and the house where my dad made the MT worse by providing my number one intrusive thought: "You brought this into our house."

I spent a two-day trip staying in the most lovely Airbnb, nurturing my inner teenage self and listening to lots of podcast recaps of Fire Walk With Me. In front of the (still very ugly) house, there was a beautiful yellow rosebush. It must've been an heirloom rose, the smell was exquisite.

Laura Palmer was there in my head, a shaman and a doula, helping me lead myself down the path to a new life of innocence and hope.

Maybe I'll write more about that adventure one day, but for now, I just wanted to tell you: I'm happy. My coworkers surprised me with an early birthday cake before the long weekend. This week I'll be both seeing my favorite band AND watching Fire Walk With Me on a big screen! I even like somebody who kinda makes sense for me.

I want to freeze all these happinesses in carbonite, make them permanent, unassailable, unquestionable. I want edges defined and boundaries drawn and a notarized certificate that says I'm not doing anything wrong.

But it feels okay to sit in the present, eat leftover early birthday cake, and hope.