Wednesday, April 3, 2013
And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before
Today is my sixth-month anniversary with this real important fella. Besides noting the enormity as a nice solid milestone in any relationship, it's also the first time I have made it to said milestone with any man and, honestly it feels more exciting than my birthday. And if you know me at all, you know I still love celebrating my birthday as much as a five year old with a handful of tickets at Chuck E. Cheese, after two slices of pizza and a mouthful of cake, yeah that kind of fervor. In short, it's a big freaking deal.
Our story is a unique one and could probably fill a novel at this point, and no I won't do that to you, yet, anyway, but I do want to tell you a little about him. The thing about DC, as you may have heard me refer to him, his real name is Ryan, but I rarely call him that, unless I am talking about him to his mother or trying to get his attention rapidly in Ikea, is that he is the best man I have ever known and I have been lucky enough to know a lot of pretty great men: My dad, brothers, grandfathers, uncles, of course among those ranks, and even male friends, but none like him, and none who have ever loved me and ever so patiently shown me their love over and over again when I don't deserve it or don't believe it. In fact that is how our whole relationship began, with his patient persistence in showing me his love.
He saw me on The Biggest Loser and got quite taken with me and my snappy gumption, charm and unbelievable wit (okay snappy gumption, charm and unbelievable wit are my words not his, but that's the gist) and reached out to me. What ensued was a nine-month friendship and courting in which I repeatedly shot him down and put the kibosh on his advances, while pursuing someone else that I was in love with but who didn't love me in quite the same way. I can be a real stubborn arse when I want to be. It's one of my helpful and not so helpful traits, depending on the situation. I will say in this situation it was helpful, because by the time October rolled around I began to see a lot of instances adding up where DC went to every effort to make me happy and take care of me, while I was choosing to stay alone and heartbroken.
Did DC send me a Target gift card when I was wretchedly sick in New York, couldn't afford a cup of OJ, must less medicine, having all of two pennies in my account? Yep, he did that.
Did he bail me and my sister out of a very scary situation in Brooklyn when I was losing my mind with anxiety and far from home and again, penniless? He sure did.
Did he answer the phone at 1 a.m. when I was going through my worst insomniac period of my life, just so I could cry about another guy? The answer is yes.
Did he forgive me and still want to be with me when after a week of finally dating after 9 months of pursuit I broke up with him, because I still wasn't sure I was over my last love? Not only did he forgive me, still cheer me on in my crazy life endeavors at the time like saying I was joining the Navy or going on a six-month pilgrimage, but he still wished me the best and was kind to me. He's insane right? By golly, I wouldn't have been kind to me! I would have plotted my demise, swore off my fickle nonsense til the end of time, and probably hired a witch doctor to put a curse on my head. You get the point. At this juncture is when I began to see that yeah, maybe he was insane for still liking me or even giving a flying fig what became of me, but I too was insane for pushing him away at every possible turn when all he had tried to do for nine months was love me.
I had my grand epiphany and took the break-up back. Did he tell me to take a hike, punish me, or tell me I missed my opportunity? Of course you know the answer to that. And a week later he spontaneously drove up from Virginia to take me on a week long road trip/official first date to New York to pack up my things and then take me to Niagara Falls because I casually mentioned I had always wanted to go there. It was about seven hours out of the way.
Now before you pull out your barf bag, with all the romantic goo and go fine, you wretch, you got one of the good ones, good for you, also know this:
He swears like a bloody sailor and when I mention this he combats it with,
"Aren't you the one who wants to be dating a sea captain?"
"Um I didn't say those words exactly... I like their dapper hats and beards, but ease your roll with the F-bombs. I am a lady!" Psh, no I'm not, but still, I like saying so.
"You said you wanted to be dating a lobster-man. Lobster-men probably talk like this."
Fine, so I've started a swear jar for him that I never keep up with.
He also thinks he's ruler of the road and every other driver out there is an idiot and comments on this every time we're in the car ever, setting my teeth on edge.
He likes sports a great deal more than I do and listens to sports talk radio in the morning, yuck. But to be fair, that's the only time he doesn't let me monopolize the radio.
He can be such a square and has a real fear of trespassing, so weird, and likes to plan and plot and account for things all. the. livelong. day and be absurdly early everywhere, including to my 6:35 yoga class, in which we arrive at 5:45 just so I can scowl at him because heaven forbid I do an extra workout before my workout.
He has an obscene collection of Tiger Woods-y polos. Okay, fine! I know that doesn't matter much, but he looks so much hotter in flannel. It's just a fact, but whatever.
He is an extreme know-it-all and beats me constantly at games of all sorts and well, I don't enjoy either of those things much.
But at the end of the day, when I am my utter worst, when I am in a tizzy over not going on a walk with him, when I cry over something little, when I get mad that his plotting, planning ways have rushed me or off-set my hippie balance, he again, doesn't get mad or tell me I am being ridiculous or roll his eyes at me. I can count on two fingers the times he has even gotten slightly stern with me and both times I was dumbfounded into speechlessness and then he apologized if he hurt my feelings. It's me, my feelings get hurt if someone looks at me wrong, so why is he apologizing? Because he just accepts me. I can be my absolute craziest self and never feel judged, contrarily I feel more accepted and sure of his love.
I read this quote and thought it was so well put:
Love is the result of appreciating another's goodness.
I know DC somehow appreciates all of my goodness, despite my constant histrionics and flair for drama and yes, despite his road rage and meticulousness I appreciate his goodness, because he is not in short supply.
And I write all this, simply to try in some small way to show him how much I appreciate him, his love and his role in my life not only for the past six months, but the nine before that.
I love you, my darling.
Here's to six more, then six more after that... Happy anniversary.