Sweet Valentine, Part Five: Princess of Saying Stuff

 Last night I was in an online Codependents Anonymous meeting with a handful of strangers and we were talking about the feeling of floating, the moments when it feels like Higher Power has us and we can just cruise along and accept the gifts. I admitted that lately, when I'm in that good floaty place is when I tend to make my love mistakes. But then I realized! Maybe they weren't mistakes! Maybe my soul knows what it's doing and I don't understand it yet! 

For now, I'm not going to try and understand it. I'm just gonna celebrate Sweet Valentine and hope for the best.

The night before Valentine's Day, I went to the little shop down the block to get roses and vegan cupcakes for my new dear. I hoped he would bring presents, but I wanted to make sure presents were there. One thing I'm extremely certain about is that such a cute connection deserved to be celebrated.

On Saturday mornings, I'm usually playing games and listening to The Flop House, so that's what I did. I told him to text when he was on his way, that the door was unlocked. I felt both like a human and like a fantasy, made of something between bones and lace. When I was younger and more pretentious, I used to describe myself as diaphanous, and that kinda works here--grounded and floating. See-through and also (maybe a little too) real.

I was working away on my Animal Crossing island when he arrived, smelling of him. He came right into bed and we kissed and cuddled, folded into each other like he'd been there all along. "I missed you before I met you, " I said. Princess of saying stuff.

(I forgot to tell you about a moment from our Wednesday date, when I told him he had some of my purple face glitter on him, and he rubbed his face against mine to get more, like he wanted to cover himself in me. I felt exactly the way a sentient cupcake might feel when it's getting devoured with gusto. In the wise words of Lizzo, Lick the icing off, put the rest in your face.)

There's something about his presence that hooks me in at the middle, at the crux of my being. He makes me feel safe and seen, like he has me. I felt like I could relax and be myself and not second-guess every move I made. Really, there didn't need to be much thinking at all, just wise and beautiful bodies carrying us through the day. 

When he was wrapped around me, I felt home. When I was kneeling in my cozy bow-down-to-Love-Itself spot looking up at him sitting on my bed, I felt tiny and treasured. He called me Princess, and I felt him mean it. I asked him to be my boyfriend, and after clarifying what that would entail, he agreed. I felt absolutely confident asking, but from a couple weeks away, it feels insane. 

Friends, I miss him so, so much. I'm giving him time and space to figure things out, giving myself time and space to see what I really want. There's three more weeks left of that time and right now, here's how I feel:

I will be so, so sad if I don't get to keep getting to know him, but I want to give him the space I promised. For myself, I want to keep heartspace for partners with more time, more surety, more bandwidth, but right now, I just want him. I want a chance to start over and take our time, to step back into the flow of him, to someday be part of his life. I want to take walks and hold hands.

I know I'm usually more explicit with the sex part, but for right now I want to keep it to myself, and for him. 

Sweet Valentine, Part Four: Between Two Dates

 

How would anyone understand things without Mary Oliver?

Like a lot of people with Relationship OCD and probably non-divergent daters as well, I struggle with the time between the first date and the second. The uncertainty is hard, yes, but my brain always wants to rehearse for the eventual ghosting or other kind of rejection. I have to be ready to say goodbye perfectly, because if I don't, I feel shame. To react anything less than magnanimously to rejection feels like a violation of consent, like I'm impinging on the person's bodily autonomy. As with many things, OCD makes fraught things fraughter, and I would like it to please pipe down.

I had no hesitation about asking him out for Valentine's morning though, it just felt right! Like, we're both cute and horny and full of spiritual love, why not do the traditional Valentine things? We deserve it!

But then. The plan-making process. The waiting-to-hear-back! I started to wonder if I'd sabotaged our chances by picking such a pressureful day. Maybe I did! Or maybe our chances are just what they are. 

As soon as the plan was made, the time was chosen, I felt like going all in. I felt like Aphrodite in my Valentine's Eve dress at school. I was g l o w i n g with hope, joy, and confidence. I even thanked Blue Ribbon Work Crush for being the greatest work crush of all time--going on three years! We had a little whirlwind of cute before going back to our normal high fives and safe little flirts.

I worried that Sweet Valentine would think I was cliche if he showed up and I was in red lingerie with a bouquet of multicolored roses and some chocolate cupcakes, but also, this is our one and only life, and it was Valentine's Day. It might have artificially raised the stakes, but I wouldn't trade that morning-to-afternoon for anything in this world. But if crashing into each other like waves made it so I wouldn't get to keep getting to know him, I'm sorry about it too.

It feels painful to think of writing about the sweetness and hotness and rightness of that day, not knowing what will become of him and me, not knowing where this break-to-reflect will take us. But I'll write it in good hot faith when I'm ready, I promise. 

An Absolutely Beautiful Mess, Part One

After three maybe too-intense dates, The Good Boy and I are on a pause so we both can figure out which end is up. (BFF says that’s what fizzy water is for because the bubbles go up. I don’t know why I find that observation so comforting.) Let the untangling begin:

On Wednesday the 9^th, The Good Boy and I were scheduled to have our third date—an actual go-someplace date! We were going to see the new J-Lo romcom—I’d originally planned it as a self-date but he suggested we go together before we’d even had our first couch date.

I think maybe the combination of Ma’am-ing and Valentine’s week made me lose my mind about our movie date a little bit. I was so, SO excited to get dressed up, for him to buy the snacks, to sit in the back row and hold hands, maybe make out a little. My anticipation was a little bit teen-girl-childlike, maybe bordering on unhinged.

So of course, OF COURSE it got cancelled, or, I thought, postponed. TGB was having issues with his other partner, and they needed the night to talk things through.

TGB had been together with his First Poly Partner for about six months and she was the reason he was trying nonmonogamy. Until this cancelled night, I hadn’t thought much about her except to respect her nights and be grateful she’d sent him out into the world so I could meet him. Grateful was my main emotion about FPP, and somehow, it still is.

I’d already bought tickets for the movie, and TGB paid me back double. I felt two ways about that! A little queasy, kinda I’d been bought off, but also, yay money. I bought a book I’d been wanting.

I pulled all the way back (Well, I mean, as far as a smitten kitten could.) from him that night, having no desire to become a factor in whatever they were resolving. When he gave me the all-clear the next morning, I asked if he’d like to come over after work on Saturday. He works from three to eleven, dealing blackjack. I really hope I get to see his professional-grade card-shuffle someday.

That Saturday night, I planned to do my yearly Valentine’s street art project. I’d saved up about six months of paintings and protest signs and doodles and was also planning to restore some of the watercolors that had been up for a while. It’s a love-gift for my neighborhood, which is truly one of my Great Loves. (Along with my apartment, my cats,  the Hope Diamond, and my new magenta ropes.) When it turned out the casino was overstaffed and he was getting the night off, I invited him to join me for the art.

This was a BIG DEAL—I’d only ever gone on street art walks with close friends or by myself. It felt like letting him in on a secret part of me. Maybe too intimate. Kinda like when I invited This Charming Man to the Fancy Garden, but this messy date turned out WAY better than that one.

I’m sure I’ve called many, MANY things THE CUTEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED but this was definitely in the running. He carried my bags of art and silk flowers. He handed me the staple gun when I needed it, goading me gently when he thought I was using too many staples. (Ha like that’s his business!) He reached up his nice long arms to add color to the paintings that had faded with time and weather.

I felt nervous hanging up political pieces in front of him—we hadn’t talked at all about politics since he’d passed my screening questions. But it went okay! We talked a little bit, very lightly, about empathy and growth.

In the moments when we weren’t working on the art, he held my hand like it was important to him, like it was a detail he’d looked forward to, a little like he was staking a claim. We took a short walk through the woods. I think I could be forgiven for thinking something romantic was happening between us, and maybe it was. Maybe (I hope not!) fleeting, maybe already on the way to over, but, on my end at least, definitely hearts-floating-up-around-my-head romance,

OMG Mr. Shiny Eyes Called!!!

Hooray! Last night when I was finishing up a self-date (writing a Knotty Thursday draft and starting a painting, tonight's self date will be Emo Arts and Crafts), my phone buzzed and there was Mr. Shiny Eyes, calling while he was driving. We hadn't talked in...5 years? Sooooo exciting to catch up with one of the MVPs of the Kitten Calendar team!

He was excited to hear that I'd been slutting it up pretty well since post-vax (my words) and definitely asked for lots of details. I put away the dishes, folded the clothes, untangled the other night's ropes, and by the time we were done talking we agreed that, whenever he feels safe enough (He's got an immune-compromised partner, so that may be a long time!) he's gonna come visit and find out what kind of a rope top I've grown up into. A certain kind of switchiness has been eluding him, it turns out.

Whether or not any of THAT happens, it felt so grounding to talk to someone I've known for so long. Plus, he said he thinks of me every Valentine's Day.

It's not  a Valentine's Day story, but do stop by The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness for some hot 2013 nostalgia: https://kittencalendar.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-sparkly-festival-of-awesomeness.html?zx=808afd52856e679