A Little Fall Of Rain, Can Hardly Hurt Me Now, You're Here, That's All I Need To Know

--"A Little Fall of Rain", Les Miserables 10th Anniversary Cast

Sometimes when it's raining outside, like it is as I write this, there's a tendency to think the day is ruined. I remember when I was a kid in school how everyone would get so disappointed when it would be raining outside and they would have to cancel recess. Me? I've always been a board game nerd so it was perfectly acceptable to be stuck in the classroom all day. Not to mention that it was only during storms and the like that we got to trot out the old classics like Heads-Up Seven-Up. And yet even I would have to say, all in all, I was very much of the mentality that a day outside was far better than a day inside.

It's not even like I like the sun. My perfect day I would still describe as overcast, but not rainy. And it isn't for any good reason. It's not as if my favorite activities take place outdoors anyway. I don't need to be outside to watch a film, to read a book, to play a game, or to even go bowling. Yet when it starts to rain I start to feel like my options become limited. Sure, it's harder to get anywhere far while it's raining hard, which may be the biggest reason people don't like hearing it'll be raining all weekend. And, sure, for people who like the outdoors I can see how storm clouds may put a damper on the festivities. And, sure, for people like Lucy who have an unnatural fear about thunder and lightning, it becomes a legitimate reason to fret about the view outside. But for people like me, it really shouldn't be that bad.

I mean--the more I think about it, the more I realize some of the best times I've had were down while it was raining outside. When I took the cruise with my family in 2006 one of the most relaxing times on the trip was falling asleep on a pool chair outside at about nine or ten at night while it was raining. I must've slept for four hours. When I woke up, it was probably the most refreshed I had felt all year. Or in 2009 when Toby and I got caught in that lightning storm for two hours I was afraid for my life. But I still tell that story to that day, and each time I tell it it gets more and more exciting. The more I tell that story the more details I pack in and the more ludicrous it seems that the two of us would have ever taken such a huge risk like that. And Providence I love having a good anecdote to tell everyone.

Or, most poignantly, I remember in 2003 when I schemed to take DeAnn on a vacation at the beginning of February. It turned out to be the most cursed trip I've ever taken with anyone. For starters, DeAnn was only four days removed from having gastric bypass surgery, which meant she should have never been flying on a plane or straining herself in the first place. Secondly, I could only take off Monday so we basically had to fly out on Friday night and fly back in on Monday, giving us only really two days to see Washington D.C. I'm used to taking five to seven days off to vacation, especially when the plan was to show someone around your favorite haunts of a city. Lastly, dumbass me decided to fly out in, what the local newscasts called, "the worst snowstorm in nearly a hundred years." It was horrible. We literally got a foot to three feet of snow everyday we were there, except for the first. All I remember seeing when I looked outside was the sight of snow falling everywhere, burying everything in what looked like white dirt.

This was coupled with the fact that DeAnn was too fatigued to get out of bed much anyway. She basically slept for sixteen hours of every day we were there. While it might have made a difference if we had been able to see the sights and tour everything, I don't think it would have made all that much of a one. It would have just meant she would be slow in getting in and out of the car, and in a mild hurry to get back to the hotel room. As for me, I think the extent of my vacation was watching cable, waiting for DeAnn to get up so we could go downstairs to dinner in the hotel restaurant. Every plan we had made for the trip fell apart in one manner or another. That meant no Smithsonian, no Monticello, no Congress, and, most importantly, no fucking search for the best vanilla milkshake on the planet.

And yet, I would hesitate to call the trip ruined. We had had bad luck, yes, and the weather had played a huge part of it. But all the time indoors did something wonderful for us that was totally unexpected. It gave us a chance to just be together relaxing without all the stress of trying to fulfill a schedule. Indeed, except for the long waiting while DeAnn slept, we basically MacGyvered a pretty fun vacation where we never left a two block radius around our hotel. We walked and played out in the snow. We walked to some pretty neat small restaurants in the neighborhood. We got to know some of the other hotel guests at dinner and in the lobby. It's surprising how much of a bond you can form with people when you're all facing the same inclement weather ruining your plans. Also, I would have to say, watching the snow fall for hours on end was somewhat of a rare occurrence for me. It's not often I get to see something that I hadn't seen for about 98% of my life.

All in all, it turned out to be a decent vacation after the initial disappointment had subsided.

I don't know--I've gotten to the point where I'm beyond letting the weather affect my mood. I've seen baseball games at Fenway when it was 34 degrees outside. I've walked in the rain for two hours without an umbrella just because I wanted to walk. And, yes, I've even sat on the beach for six hours when it was completely foggy because I promised someone we would go to the beach that day. I mean--the way I figure it is that you can't control the weather. However, you can control how you spend your time and who you spend it with. Once I've decided that a certain day calls for a certain course of action it's very hard to dissuade me from continuing on in my plans, especially by citing the weather as an excuse to call it off. I can have a good time in any weather.

It all depends on what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with. Those should be the only factors in any attempt to have a good time. Like they say, "a little fall of rain" can't hurt you.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Don't Know Why I Love You, I Just Know I Can't Stop Thinking Of You, Oh Wait, It's Cause You Make Me Smile, You Always Make Me Smile

--"You Always Make Me Smile", Kyle Andrews

Yesterday, with the assistance of some very eager children from our neighborhood, I participated in my first water balloon fight in almost a decade. Fight may be too strong of a term, though. It resembled more of a skirmish, I reckon. I was walking in from the driveway and was cruelly ambushed by the ruffians from two doors down the street. At first I didn't comprehend what was happening to me. I felt more than saw the first balloon burst upon me, felt the freezing water soak through my top as the frigid winds exacerbated the discomfort. Hell's bells, who throws water balloons in the middle of February?

Wicked, wicked boys, that's who.

I had no recourse, but to fight back. My honor was at stake. I didn't want to be the target of future attacks upon my personage by individuals who had no mind for common courtesy. I knew there would be no explaining to them that such ventures are properly undertaken in the warmer months of summer. I knew there would be no extolling the virtues of organizing an outing beforehand, outlining the rules we would all abide by. Nope, when you violence meets you at your front doorstep you've got to have the willingness to not tarry in keeping your appointment. I chased those boys back to their home in my flats and everything. It was then that I capitalized upon their mistake of leaving a healthy supply of their ammunition by the garden hose. If they thought I was going to let them off with a stern talking to simply because I had babysat for them a time or two they were sorely mistaken. I pounded them both with every ounce of strength my poor, drenched muscles could muster. And, although I could only get in two licks apiece before they scurried into their household, I reckon we all knew who the victor was in our tête-á-tête. Little 'ole me.

I know it's terribly unfair for me to savagely pick on two young boys like that, but like my daddy says, "you shouldn't start the music if you can't dance." It really wasn't even much of an exchange. They threw two or three balloons at me and I threw like five or six at them. But, as they say, fun was had by all. I must say, it was a regular hoot-and-a-half, especially after the day I had been having. I had thought I only had a few hours of waiting for Greg to get home, cooking dinner, lighting a fire perhaps. I certainly wasn't expecting any sort of excitement in the manner of elastic spheres of watery death being hurled to and fro.

In fact, contrary to my previous position, I reckon that's the key to a decent water balloon fight. At least one party should not know that it's coming. Also, it should be a rule that once preyed upon you should allow your competitors decent access to some already pre-formed balloons. No one likes a one-sided fight unless it's in the name of a practical joke since it's over so quickly. Nope, if your aim is for the good, clean sustainable fun of an afternoon of getting yourself and others wet, there has to be a kind of equity in the allotment of water balloons. Lastly, it needs to be a key aim that everyone have fun. If at any time someone feels like they are being picked on, then the game must end, because there's no point to an all-out water war if someone isn't smiling.


I like the mess you make

It's been a long time since I last picked up a water balloon. I believe the last time I was caught up in that brand of excitement I was still in college and we had been embroiled in an on-going turf war with the guys from down the hall. Maybe in the intermittent years I had forgotten what a sense of happiness of child-like joy it is to duel with weapons incapable of doing any actual physical harm to someone, but it didn't take me long to recognize the feeling. That sense of just playing in water--be it in the rain, the local swimming hole, or just during bath time--never goes away no matter how old you get. And the smile it brings to your face remains fairly consistent whether you put it on at thirteen or thirty.

So, yeah, I'm hoping that one day soon I'll feel the familiar splash of a well-executed balloon toss from behind because fun isn't reserved for the young and, quite frankly, there ain't no such thing as a time-out when it comes to a water balloon fight.

Breanne

I Have Spoke With The Tongue Of Angels, I Have Held The Hand Of The Devil, It Was Warm In The Night, I Was Cold As A Stone

--"I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", U2

Closure

I accompanied the Devil,
not as a condemned woman
being led to the high gallows,
not with the sorrow of the penitent
who has been wronged in her day
and, as an unfortunate result,
done a fair bit of wrong
in return, but I held his hand,
walked beside him down a dusty street
from an old Western film
that builds forever its suspense
by maintaining periods of silence,
unbreakable minutes at a time,
and I never once turned my head
towards his stoic visage to inquire what
manner of closure we were headed for
or how long it would take to arrive.

dw

And If It's Cold, Will You Stay Warm?, You Drift Too Far, Will You Swim Towards The Shore? And If You Fell In Love, Will You Hold Onto It?

--"If You Fall", Azure Ray

There's a point on every trip I go on where I'm just the guy traveling alone on a plane. Aside from one plane trip to Dallas with my cousin back in 2004 and a short trip to Milwaukee with Kerri Ray in 2006, my trips have all been the same. It's been me flying east to meet up with someone already there.

Granted, it's not the same circumstances as taking a trip completely on my own, but it always means that I'm flying out and back by myself. While I'm wherever I'm supposed to be at I have fun, catch up, and generally do all the things that one is supposed to do on a vacation. Yet the thought that it isn't a complete vacation lingers in my head because the end of the week means me saying good-bye to someone I really don't want to say good-bye too. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone else who goes on as many trips to reconnect with people as me; everyone else has someone they can reliably fly out with. Everyone else has someone to share the whole trip with and not just parts of it.

Thoughts like that always lead me to the notion that maybe it isn't all worth the effort of going anywhere at all. Much like going to dinner at a sit-down place on my own or going to the movies on my own, it simply doesn't feel as fulfilling to wander the earth (or at least the U.S.) on my own. Sure, Chicago I was pretty much with Lucy from the time I exited the airport till I had to come back to it. But Louisville in 2009 was me staying by myself in the hotel room at the end of the day and only hanging out with Toby and Faye during daylight. If anything, the disparity felt all the more jarring. It honestly felt like I was visiting relatives, but relatives not even close enough to stay in their guest room. Sure, they would show me the touristy stuff and Toby and I did have two solid days hanging out just by ourselves in Cincinnati (and looking for that blasted Maker's Mark distillery). Yet at the end of the night, after dinner, I was always having to say good night before the night had really started.

It's sobering to think that this is what my life has become--trips where I see my friends interspersed with long months and years where I don't see them at all? Me flying to and fro just to have what other people have at their very doorsteps? The worst part about it all is I don't really get like this all the time. The worst part is that over the last twenty or so years I've come to see such behavior as normal. Ever since 1994-1996, where I flew out first to see Breanne, then Jina, then Tara--I took flying out to see someone as something that was done in the name of friendship or love or whatever. In fact, as someone told me the other day, I really see the everyday relationship, where you meet up and go to dinner once or twice a week, as the oddity. For me, the long-distance, see each other once every couple of years and make a big spectacle of it is my version of a normal friendly relationship.

I don't know--sometimes I think I've gone so far astray of what is normal in an effort not to be constrained by doing what everybody else does, that I don't know if I can ever find my way back. Sometimes I think I've swam so far out into the sea that I don't truly realize that there is no coming back for me. And it's that thought that frightens me, that I can't ever be happy with a kind of life that makes thousands of people happy everyday.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

How Does It Feel, To Treat Me Like You Do, When You Laid Your Hands Upon Me, And Told Me Who You Are

--"Blue Monday", New Order

I recently purchased a new card game called Yomi. It takes its name from the Japanese word for "reading" as in reading your opponent. It simulates an old-fashioned arcade fighting game like Street Fighter II or Mortal Kombat, but in card form. And why shouldn't it? David Sirlin, the designer of the game, is one of the guys who helped balance all the characters and their iterations over the years in the Street Fighter Franchise. While the mechanics boil down to, at first glance, a glorified game of rock/paper/scissors, the more you play it, the more you realize he understands how to balance it out so it isn't mere luck that determines the winner, but actually sizing up your opponent's motivation, personality, and situation to determine what move he's going to thrown next.

He wrote this wonderful article on game designing, a topic I'm interested in, regarding how to make luck-based games such as rocks, papers, scissors into actual demonstrations of tactical and strategic prowess, that changed my whole philosophy on what actually qualifies as luck in games. "Rock, Paper, Scissors in Strategy Games" says that if you make the payoffs uneven then you give a different level of incentive to choose each option. For instance, if you won $1 if you won the match with paper, but $5 with scissors, and $10 with rock now people have another stimulus to worry about regarding what to choose.

Then he takes it a step further and posits the idea that the ideal situation would be if the payoffs changed depending on the situation in respect to all the choices that have occurred before it. Now the situation would become you get paid $15 if you won with paper in the current match if you won with rock in the previous match, but you would lose $15 if you lost with rock in the current match and won with rock in the previous match. Or on the other end of the spectrum, what if the situation was you got paid $50 if you could win three times in a row with paper? Now your own tendencies to go on streaks would work for or against you.

His basic three tenets are in any game with minimum choices but differing payoffs according to situation are:

1) People are very bad at actually playing randomly, especially at specific percentages such as 3/14ths.
2) When people fail to play randomly, they are probably falling back on tendencies they do not know they have, but that you can detect and exploit.
3) People cannot help but let their personalities spill over into decisions about how conservative (playing paper) or risky (playing rock) they are.

tell me how does it feel
to treat me like you do?

Which brings me back to Yomi and Street Fighter II. I've always found that a fascinating aspect of any fighting game that lets you pick a character. Since each character has their own strengths, weaknesses, and tactics, you kind of get an insight into what type of person each player is. Is he a defensive turtler? Is he a poker, nickel and diming you to death? Or is he the type to gung ho it, hoping to connect for the big payoff.

Myself? I always played two characters in Street Fighter II--Chun Li and Blanka. While they played differently, they did have some basic characteristics which made them appealing to me. They always brought the fight to the opponent. They didn't sit back like Ken, Ryu, or Guile, waiting for the opponent to come to them so they could counterattack. Also they did their best when they were constantly moving. They both played best by attacking relentlessly until the opponent left a hole in their defenses. And, yes, they both kind of got blown up if they got hit by the huge power attacks of some of the other characters. Sure, Blanka was always more offensive, with bigger damage attacks, and Chun Li was more defensive, with attacks that did less damage but could interrupt other characters.

I don't know--that's the way I play most games. I'm really aggressive when it comes to competition, almost to the point where I sacrifice myself if it means killing the other player faster. I don't mind putting myself in harm's way in the name of surprise and initiative.

That's why I think in Yomi I will definitively be leaning more to the rock side of the scale and less to the paper. I mean--within reason I like the constant pressure philosophy rather than getting that one, big payoff, but in the end come up farther on the aggressive side than defensive side. Part of me think that its bad that I have this tendency because it lets opponents read me very easily, but in some games where aggressiveness and self-sacrifice is just as valid a strategy as playing within a shell, I sometimes can come out on top.

It's just too bad that real life isn't so forgiving when it comes to putting yourself out there and not quite making it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Stop Telling Me The Right Way To Go, I'm On My Own, You're Selling Our Old Ways, Stop Telling Me The Right Way To Go

--"You Are Free", Mates of State

What It Means

read that paper again,
read it twice

to make sure the
message was not

lost within the crease. (gosh,
where did I place

those glasses?) give it
to your companion

on the other side of
the glass table. question

if he can make heads
or tails of it. see if

his titter sounds like yours.
stare at the ruined

cookie, dusty off to
the side of your blue

and white platter. sigh.
lift up the paper once more

for all the other patrons
to view. declare this

(THIS!!!) ain't no fortune for
you, as you shake it like

thunder in your hands. "You
are free," it says.

if anything, what does that
even mean?

dw

----

I received my first credit card a few months back. There was no trumpets playing and no fireworks. I was not wished congratulations by my friends. If anything, from the outside nothing has been radically altered in my life. Inside, though, I feel unburdened. I shall not be buying any trips to Paris nor spending unwisely on closets full of clothes. The knowledge I have the ability to do so does factor into my abrupt redefining of my self-esteem, I can tell you that much. I don't have to walk through every door I come across. I just need to know that they are somewhere and they are unlocked for me should the need arise. And I know it isn't real money. It's as virtual as the dollars I used to throw around whenever I'd exclaim, "I'd buy that for a dollar," or "I bet you a dollar I can make that." I know I can't spend it as if it's an endless river. There are limits to the power which accompanies it. But it's like a silver key to a silver house that's going to be mine someday. Even if I'm not able to use it for weeks at a time most of the time, I now have the ability to do so. No one can advise me against it. No one can deny me permission to access it. It is done. It is mine. With it I'm one step closer to the joy that is out there expecting me and I don't intend to postpone my meeting with it any longer.

Freedom. Independence. Maturity. I don't know why these qualities go hand in hand, but I know that there are certain times in my life where the trio of them hit me like a giant swell. I can either run from it, frightened by the responsibility of managing my own life, or I can let it sweep me up and not fight the inevitable. Gosh. It really isn't even a fair decision at all.

dw

Words I Speak Make Puddles At Your Feet, Too Shallow To Dive In, But For You I'd Do Anything

--"Maybe Next Fall", Gospel Gossip

Watching The King's Speech the other day with Greg I was struck with how moving it all was. What could have been a lifeless still of aristocratic fools dancing around a seemingly mundane problem instead turned into a moving drama about an individual with the conviction and drive to be a leader of men almost reduced to being a footnote in history because of his inability to communicate. I didn't believe I could be so wrapped up in watching one man overcome his limitations, but often the best stories arise out of one's struggle to overcome internal adversity rather than external adversity.

Luckily, I was never saddled with a speech impediment. I use my conversation skills everyday for my business as a lot of what I do is salesmanship and persuasion. I cannot imagine little 'ole me being half as effective at what I do if I couldn't get my message out as succinctly as I do. I may have a lot of shortcomings, but not being heard or, more importantly, not being listened to is not among them.

I am acquainted with what it's like, however. My onetime college roommate and still darling Fanny has always had a difficult time talking in certain situations. I learned of it the first time we were being introduced to each other a few weeks before my first year at Georgia. She doesn't have anything as drastic as stuttering. No, she always used to describe her condition as closer to "clustering." When Fanny gets flustered, when little 'ole her starts feeling like the situation is getting away from her, the tempo of her speech begins to increase. If that goes on long enough she starts to misplace phrases, reverse the order of her words, and other flubs that most folks would ascribe to nerves.

Hell's bells, that's what I believed it at first. I simply thought she got nervous at times. But the more I spent time with her the more I saw it was something she struggle to rein in almost every day of her life. The more I had to console her after her mangling another presentation or job interview or first date, the more I saw it wasn't something she had a firm handle on. It literally felt like to her, as she says, "as if my mouth gets loose from my mind and it's all I can do to catch it." I've been there through the times when at parties people would openly gape at her ineffectual attempts to say the simplest things. I've been there when she didn't feel like going to some big event for fear of her nerves and the many chances it would ambush her. All I can say is that going through life like that isn't as simple as some folks might think. It doesn't just affect one specific part of your life; it influences everything you do. When you can't count on your words to be there for you, you start avoiding having to put yourself into positions where your rambling might be a liability.

For the same reason I shy away from karaoke, I reckon Fanny became a photographer. You always want to play away from your weaknesses and in taking pictures she manages to communicate much more of who she is than what she sometimes can tell you herself.


but I know where I'd like to be

She's gotten professional assistance over the years. She's done the whole speech therapist route. For the most part, she's a much different woman than the shy, young flower I met over ten years ago. Yet I'm also here to say that even before she got help I thought her brave because even though I've seen her down as a pebble at the bottom of the ocean, I've seen her come back the next day with even more determination in her step. For every embarrassment, for every scene she was at the center of, I watched her come back the next day and make it through without a single word out of place. For every time she seemed to spewing out words faster than we could hear them, I've been there the next time where she was as eloquent as a preacher at noontime service.

Just as the film, my friend Fanny shows sometimes it's knowing where we fall behind the rest of the world, what crosses we bear, to know what kind of strength we have. Her story inspires me to make every word count because being understood is something I could've taken for granted before I met her. I'm proud to have her as my friend, even when I have a hard time understanding her, because even when I can't make out a single word she's saying I still know what she means to me.

Breanne

And She Replies, "I'm In No Position To Make Demands, I Have No Past, No One Else Has Done To Me What You Do, I've Got No One Else To Compare You To"

--"Childcatcher", Lush

I've only had to place this disclaimer once before, but, yeah, this post is definitely intended for mature audiences...

I haven't always been the nicest person. Especially to my friends I haven't exactly always been the picture of someone who would be willing to sacrifice or put myself out in any respect. Indeed, some of the clearest memories my friends and former friends possess of me are times involving when I purposefully chose to disappoint them rather than compromise what I wanted. It's part of my nature to want what I want and to give less consideration to what others want. I'm not saying proud of that characteristic; I just know it's been a lifelong struggle to not only say the right things to a person, but to also do right by the same person.

In the same respect I have never been able to resist turning any relationship to my favor in some regard. Some of it is unconsciously, some of it is also intentional, but I don't believe I've entered into a relationship where I didn't feel like I hold the upper hand in some manner. From looking for women less intelligent, less traveled, less experienced, and sometimes less ambitious than me--I go into most relationships seeking at least a few area that I know I'm clearly ahead in points in. Not only that, but I also go into most relationships trying to minimize areas where I can be bested. It's very petty of me. It's also very childish. Yet I know how I get when I'm around someone I clearly consider my better. I become jealous, often vindictive. I can't stand to feel overmatched. More likely, I can't stand to feel like my opinions on any subject is being drowned out.

I like to be in control somewhat, meaning I don't need to be the boss in any given situation. I just need to know I have veto power if need be. I need to know that, sure, I can let you have your way most of the time, but when it comes down to the big stuff, the important stuff, there's only going to be one voice providing the direction and that voice is going to be mine.

A major motif along those lines is my seemingly unwavering attraction to not only date women younger than myself, but much younger than myself. I mean--I've talked to Brandy many, many times about the subject. She feels like it's just another way I exert control over the situation. Like it or not, I seem to believe that younger women or girls are that much easier to sway. She seems to feel that I feel that when push comes to shove I can push my agenda ahead of theirs. She asserts that I like to use my experience and my supposed wisdom in all matters as the trump card in any argument, much like a parent asserting his authority by telling his child of a decision before any discourse has taken place, all the while saying that the child will understand why it has to be so when they get older. From the stories I've related to her, she says I tend to manage a situation in my relationships than actually reaching any sort of compromise.

In a way, I suppose that's true. I can recall plenty of instances where I felt like I was on the losing end of an argument, only to turn it around by whipping it out some anecdote how I had gone through a similar argument before. From there I would either demonstrate how doing things my way had ended triumphantly or how not doing things my way had ended disastrously. Trust me, I would say, I've seen it all play it out before. And that would be that. Most of the time, since they were so young, so inexperienced compared to me, they couldn't really defend their position in the same manner. Most of the time they would defer to my judgment, which would be just the way I liked things.

It would be the same for sex or how fast things progressed in that department. It was almost always in my power to either rush or slacken the pace depending on how fast I thought matters in the physical relations department were moving. With some, like Tara, I just couldn't get things to move ever fast enough. I was forever in negotiations to run away to some motel with her while I was in Maryland or while she was visiting me here in California. With others, like DeAnn, there came a point where I became the typical househusband, where I had to be basically coaxed into having sex. I don't know--maybe it's in my nature simply to be a contrarian in order to prove that I have some semblance of power. I can't remember one relationship where my physical needs were ever in complete sync with somebody's I was dating over the long haul. Eventually, like Brandy says, I had to assert my jurisdiction by completely opposing my girlfriend at the time just to disagree with her.

And then there was the unique case with Breanne.

----

When I was growing up, I hadn't even heard of phone sex. There was only one type of sex I knew about and that was good old-fashioned fornication and whatever it was called when married people had sex. I wasn't very experimental when it came to talking about my own desires. I suppose I was still very shy when it came to a lot of different areas when it came to dating and relationships. As with a lot of things, Breanne and I kind of opened each other up when it came to giving voice to some of our wants and fantasies. Before her I never thought it was okay to talk about all the stuff that goes on behind closed doors, er, with the doors wide open.

In fact, it was Breanne who broached the topic first. She's always been more right-to-the-point when it came to sex or when it came to explicitly spelling out what was going on in that wicked mind of hers. That's not to say I didn't think and want the same things from her, but when it came to getting the conversation going it almost always started from her lips and continued to mine.

I don't know--I must've been almost nineteen at the time and to this day it still kind of makes me blush thinking about the conversation.

"Oh, sugar, you can tell me if you did. It'll be alright. I'm not going to laugh. I just want to know what it was like--if it was a hoot-and-a-half or only 'eh,'" my fourteen-year-old friend announced. There wasn't a hint of condescension in her voice, only the sense of wistfulness and forlorness that was the hallmark of a lot of our conversations in those days. She had a long list of experiences she couldn't wait to feel for herself. Chief among these was what it was like to, as she put it once, know the mysteries of men and women.

"Truth be told, I've never done that. I've never had an opportunity to do that," I replied. "I don't even know if would like it even if did have the chance."

"Why not?"

"I don't know--it doesn't seem like my cup of tea, Breanne."

"Prude," she laughed.

I had given up arguing with her over this point. When you've never had sex before, there's a lot about it that you think is unsettling. I had a lot of reservations about what I would and would not like about it. One of those reservations was reserved for type of illicit conversation about it over unsecured lines while there was still daylight outside.

"Because you're just such an expert on the topic."

"Hey, just because you've ridden a bull before doesn't mean you wouldn't like it, you know? A lot of life is trial and error, and I aim to try just about anything and everything I can get my hands on by the time I'm laid in my grave."

"Right."

"Come on, Mr. Patrick, let's be adventurous."

"I don't think your idea of adventure exactly gibes with mine. I don't think I can bring myself to go where you want to lead me this time."

"Please, thank you," she said in just that way she says that particular phrase. She sounded exactly the way she had sounded when I told her I didn't like ghosts. In that argument she had remained utterly unconvinced that anyone, especially me, could be so unreceptive to ghost stories and other scary tales. She had spent the rest of the afternoon extolling their virtues, explaining to me how everyone needed a good scare now and then. And now she was building up the same determinedness in her tone of voice. I knew the clear symptoms of an attack of Breanne's stubbornness preparing to manifest itself.

It wasn't as if the thought of having sex with Breanne had never crossed my mind. It had crossed my mind a lot over the previous months. But I had remained chaste for the most part in my intentions for her. From my vantage, there was a lot of time for fooling around. What I was mostly interested in was building a sure foundation for something more substantial to develop later on. I didn't want to wreck it by acting on my developing feelings for her too soon. The party line I towed in those days was there could be romance, but no talk of lust; there could be admiration, but no wanton discussions of craving. I thought of myself in a precarious place that I had invested my time in getting to. I didn't want to ruin it by suddenly succumbing to impatience or my usual impulsive inclinations.

I had a good thing going with her and I wanted to enjoy that aspect of what we had before even beginning to think of wanting a bit more.

"Forget it. It's a stupid idea, Breanne. I'm telling you, no."

I might as well have been drawing a line in the sand for her.

"That's just great. You can tell me no till you're blue in the face, but that don't make it so. Hell's bells, I'm telling you right now that this ain't going to be the way things work between us... not if you intend for little 'ole me to be a part of this. You can disagree with me, that's fine. I welcome that. What you can't do, what you ain't going to ever do, is tell me no and expect me to be done with it, darling."

"It's just phone sex. It's stupid. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm only trying to tell you that I know what I am and am not comfortable with. I'm not comfortable with this, Miss Breanne."

"That's fine. Nobody's going to fish you out of any lake you're happy swimming in, you know?"

"I'm glad we can agree with each other on that point."

By the sound of her breathing I could tell she was disappointed. She was a young lady who almost always got her way from everyone. If it wasn't her charm or her sense of determination that would convince you, it would almost always come down to the sound of her compassion ringing through her words that did you in. She never sounded like she was pushing this hard for herself; it was always to do you a favor. She always sounded like she held your best interests in her mind.

It's rather difficult to marshall any sort of resistance against odds like that. Eventually, most people's defenses fell and they felt themselves being convinced of something only moments earlier they had been fighting tooth and nail against. Even myself, who went into most conversations with her with the intention of impressing her with somewhere I had been or something I had done, often walked away scratching my head at the instance upon instance of her thoroughly making an impression on me. Yes, I had the age and experience over, which allowed me to hold a healthy amount of sway over her, but she has always possessed a self-awareness about her, a preternatural wisdom, that makes it impossible to ever discount anything she has to offer in way of imparting her thoughts on you.

"All I'm saying is that if you're scared, you don't need to be. If you're shy about saying the wrong thing to me, don't fret about it. Anything you could say about me probably is something that I've been thinking along the same lines about all this time," she said sweetly. "It's one thing if you truly don't think it's appropriate--that I can understand. But if it's me you're worried about creeping out, well, you can stop worrying."

I don't know who's ever had the real control in our relationship/friendship. Sometimes I feel like I have it because there are times where it's felt like I've won more battles than she had. Sometimes it feels like I've won all the important battles, the ones that have mattered. But other times, when I really look back at the conversations we've held and the times the very future of what we had hung in the balance, I see it's always been her pushing for something more for us than was ever said on the surface. I wouldn't go so far as to say she manipulated me, but she definitely has more experience playing the psychology card on me than I've had in playing it on her. I'm a blunt hammer when it comes to deciding what happens between us compared to the razor-sharp scalpel she wields.

"I know that. That's part of it."

"Not all of it."

"No, part of me, just thinks it'll be stupid."

"Stupid can be good too."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean--I don't expect either of us to be any sort of Casanova or Shakespeare. We'll probably laugh a lot the first time, but that's a good thing. Like my daddy says, you can't preach your way through life. Not everything is a solemn occasion and this certainly wouldn't qualify, you know? This would be two friends trying something out for fun. This would be you and me."

"I see your point, Miss Breanne. I see your point."

When Lucy knows she has won an argument, you can almost hear the smile in her voice. The sensation of triumph pervades every word out of her mouth. But even when she's won, she never sounds boastful. Like aforementioned--it seems like her argument works out for both of you. That's one of the best qualities about her.

Before I had a chance to argue she launched into what would be our first foray into "telecommunication fornication," as it came to be called.

"We're in the park. You're just off from Crown and I've just come from school. I'm wearing a simple white top with thin straps tied with bows at the shoulders. A few inches of midriff are bare, below which I'm wearing some snug fitting shorts in a bright orange flower pattern..." she started out.

"We're really going to do this?" I said, trying to stifle a laugh.

"We're really going to do this. Now shush up.

"With my long legs and strong shoulders, you think my body has the scaled-down but perfect proportions of a much older girl."

I responded by saying, "I had been noticing you for awhile. All those times when we crossed each other on the street or at the mall, I made a mental note to myself that you seemed a pretty, young thing. You would have been exactly the kind of girl I would have never had a shot at in high school. In fact, if you had graduated with me last year, you would have never noticed me at all. As it is now, I'm humbly dressed in jean shorts and a t-shirt. I had actually only meant to cut through the park on my walk, but when I saw you I had to stop. I sit next to you on the park bench to say hello."

"We get to talking. We're having what I reckon is a casual conversation until I notice your hands momentarily brush against my arm or my thigh. At first, I think you're just being friendly. Then I begin to notice your hands linger on me a few seconds too long. My first instinct is to move away, establish a perimeter around myself. Yet with every touch of your skin against me it starts to feel nicer and nicer. Fairly soon, you've neglected even the pretense of moving your hands away. Your hands come to rest on my shoulders. I feel them atop the bows on my top, threatening to leave them untied and me exposed."

"Can I just say something?"

"What?"

"You're really good at this, Breanne. I was afraid we wouldn't take it seriously, but...."

"Shush, I know. Your turn."

"As I'm struggling to keep my hands to myself, I notice the position of the park bench in relation to the rest of the park. Feeling too exposed, I suggest we go for a walk deeper into the park, to a more secluded area, under the pretense of me wanting to continue my walk. Without even thinking, I grab your hand and we go walking together down the trail to where only the locals and not just casual visitors know about. We continue walking, as we see less and less people walking the other direction. I start to comment how pretty you are. I comment on how chestnut brown your hair is, how oceanic blue-green your eyes are, and how cute your dimples are."

"And I'm loving it. I'm like a lazy dog in sunshine. I grow emboldened. I spy a nice clearing beneath some trees and suggest we stop for awhile underneath it. I tug your arm behind me, not giving you a chance to tell me no. There we sit on an exposed tree trunk, while it's my turn to start exploring your body. I playfully run my hand through your dark, black hair, then over your tanned arms and hands. I don't know what else to do without giving myself away so I scoot up next to you till I'm practically in your lap."

"By that time I'm dying of want for you. Again, I place my hands on the delicate bows which are barely holding your top on you. I steal a glance at the curve in your top, trying to imagine what your breasts would look like were it not for their covering. I toy with just brazenly untying the bows to see for myself. But a moment of panic takes over me and I have to ask," I say, taking a pause.

"Yes?" she replies.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. And yes again, Patrick."

"Slowly, purposefully, I take hold of one loose end of the bow on your left shoulder. As I gently tug it, the strap lifts away from your shoulder, and you bite down on your lower lip. Finally, all play drawn out of the strap, the end in my hand begins to slip through the bow knot. In slow motion, one half of the bow shrinks until it disappears. Then with a final tug, it pops through
the knot, and the two ends of the strap hang loosely across each other. Releasing the end in my hand, I flick the loose straps and they fall away from your shoulder, one to the front and one to the back. You audibly exhale."

"I feel the breeze on my bare skin, while my left breast almost comes into view. I make a move to increase the pace of the proceedings. Taking your other hand, I guide it to the other bow. I let human nature do the rest. You tug on the other strap just as carefully as you did the first. For the first time that day you see me exposed from the neck down as my top slips downward. I wait for you to gaze upon on my, to be nice, gentle curves, afraid that there is a hint of disappointment in your expression."

"And I tell you that there is nothing more beautiful to me at that moment than you are, Breanne. I make a motion to cup you in my hands, to feel your nipples between my fingers, but you stop me. You tell me that you want to feel my mouth on them. You get up briefly, remove the top from your waist, and sit back down--this time facing me. I bend over to place my head on your chest. I start to softly explore your breasts with my mouth and tongue."

"I feel your lips on my sensitive area. I feel every tug, nip, and pull as you dive into making sure that both mounds are being paid attention to. That's when I start to notice your hands inching my shorts down intermittently. I quickly pull them back up and move your head away.

"'No fair,' I say. 'I'm not rowing this canoe alone here."

"I smile and tell you to take my shirt off. You comply hastily, making sure to run your hands up and down my back with deviousness. I tell you to really rake your nails up my back. You respond by pressing your chest against mine and taking a good rip with both hands up the length of my back, or, at least, as far as your hands can reach. And that's when we finally kiss for the first time."

"Hell's bells, I forgot about that part," she laughs like a hurricane. "Very important, that part."

I laughed right along with her because I had recognized that in our haste we had neglected that simple act that both of us had been desiring for a few months then. Sure, I nixed all sexual talk up until that conversation, but I had been very succinct in my desire to kiss her for awhile by then. That had never been a secret between us.

"Our lips meet like two waves crashing into each other," she elaborates. "It's like two flames becoming entwined with one another, not knowing where one pair ends and the other begins. And it feels like music would feel like if music could be felt. We proceed to play a whole symphony by the time we're done kissing each other. And if it were up to me I would have recommended another piece to continue the evening, but you remind me that we're pressed for time."

"I ask you to undress the rest of me and you answer yes, but only if I do the same," I said. "There we continue to disrobe until we're both standing nude as jaybirds next to one another. We each look the other over hungrily before we both continue the afternoon's activities. I tell you to stand next to the tree. Once there, I tell you to bend over and hug. Sensing my meaning, you do as I ask. As you get into position I stand behind you and slowly, but purposefully, lick two of my fingers and slide them into you from behind. As I feel you getting wet from the inside out..."

"I reach behind me to prepare you as well, sugar. I close my grip around your dick. It feels soft at first, but the more I coax it in my hand, the more it stiffens like a piece of wire being straightened out. I wait until I feel it completely hard in my hand and tell you to enter me now. You ask me again what I want. And that's when I holler at you to do as I ask."

"I push in. I push in and it's like the rest of the day ceases to matter. I feel your body envelop me like a warm, wet vice. I feel myself get lost in you over and over again. It seems like the more I shove myself into you the more I sink in."

"I alternately relax and tighten around you, all the while brushing back against you for some much needed tension. The minutes slip into one another ceaselessly as you fuck me mercilessly until I can see, more than feel, us getting closer to climax. I tell you to hold on, darling. I tell you to hold onto me, darling, I'm almost there. Then we begin to explode into what feels like a million pieces. Then those pieces explode into smaller pieces, and all we're left with is the scent of sex on our bodies and the sound of two people out of breath and very much in love with one another."

What followed next was me listening to her breathe over the phone rather heavily and her probably listening the very same thing over on her end. I was completely floored. I had no inkling going into the experience that I would enjoy it all that much. Similar to my experiences with drinking, I think I had been dissuaded from trying phone sex out by my idea of what it would be like. However, once face to face with the real thing, I discovered that the genuine article was far more exquisite than my preconception of it ever was. I found myself out of breath and not the least bit wondering when the next time we could try it would be.

"So what'd you think, Mr. Patrick?" I finally heard her ask, once she had caught up to her breath.

"I think I was wrong in every way, Miss Breanne... about everything," I said.

She laughed and we continued our conversation with some newfound knowledge about ourselves and about where our minds liked to wonder when let loose in the more primitive parts of minds.

----

And for the first time I stopped seeing her as somebody to control and try to have my way with, and more of as a formidable foe when it came to the direction our friendship/relationship was going to take. To this day Lucy remains the only person I neither feel jealous of for her vast accomplishments (at least most of the time) nor contemptuous of because I consider her beneath me in some respect. Ours is a congress of equals, as far as two people can be the equals of one another. I mean--she took me from a position of being firmly opposed to the idea of ever expressing myself in such a carnal way to another human being to getting pretty graphic about how much I wanted to pursue her biblically. Couple that was in the span of one conversation and I knew that my days of having reign over what she did or thought would be tenuous and fleeting at best.

I guess that's the unique aspect about our dynamics. We're the first people to treat each other as partners rather than as master and servant. Instead of falling back to some built-up dynamic of me being in charge, like I have been accused of in future relationships, I had no experience in that situation to realize that power was even there to be seized. Basically, because I've always treated Breanne as my best friend first and foremost, I shall ever treat her as such rather than a relationship to shape and mold as I see fit.

I mean--it isn't the most conventional place to see the equality of two human spirits. Yet it was precisely the way we took control over the scenario and ceded it just as easily that illustrated to me just how much I trust her judgment. If I had held to what would be later form, that scenario would be much more heavily driven by me. It also illustrated to me that I would never have to control her because, similarly, she had no intention of ever trying to control me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

What Am I Supposed To Do When The Best Part Of Me Was Always You, What Am I Supposed To Say When I'm All Choked Up And You're Okay

--"Break Even", The Script

"You say you never asked for this. You say you warned me that there was a chance this was going to happen. And I didn't believe you. It might have been foolish pride or plain stubbornness, but I thought we had a chance. Of any two people I thought we had a shot of proving them wrong. You know who they are, all the people who said we were kidding ourselves. All the people who said we were too young, too blind, too impatient to see that anything of real value takes time. I just wanted to rush into this with everything to prove them wrong. Yet the way things turned out maybe they are right. Maybe I did get my hopes up too high. Maybe I was in over my head. Maybe I am the stupid one for ever thinking that you loved me, but maybe, just maybe, I was tired of being alone. Maybe you were tired of it too. At the time that could have been all that was driving us to move so fast and so hard to keep this going. Now, perhaps, we've just run out of steam. Now we're just crashing from the heights we sustained for so long.

It didn't have to be like this, though. Part of me believes that we could have stayed flying forever, that whatever problems eventually weighed us down never had to happen. Part of me believes this thing never had to end, that forever was a possibility, that that happy ending was in reach. But that's coming from someone who really has never done the serious relationship before.

The tough thing about following your heart is that people assume you've had practice at it before--that it somehow gets easier every time you take that flying leap. As you once told me, you're not afraid of heights, you're afraid of falling. Well, I am afraid of heights and I still chose to fall pretty hard for you. It wasn't easy, but I did it any way. I took a chance and that chance backfired. The tough thing about following your heart is that people forget to mention that sometimes the heart takes you to places you shouldn't be--places that are scary as they are exciting and as dangerous as they are alluring. Sometimes your heart cannot take you to places that lead to happy ending. That's not even the difficult part; the difficult part is when you follow your heart, you leave normal; you go into the unknown and once you do you can never go back. The tough thing about following your heart is people think they know it can only lead to good things. But the heart isn't exactly the world's best guide. It can lose its way just as easily as anybody. Sometimes it really can get so lost that there really is no way finding its way back again.


I'm falling to pieces

I'm not here to berate you. I'm not here to blame you. I'm just writing this to tell you that I think it's a mistake to say there's coming back from this whole mess. It's wrong to say that eventually we'll be as good as new. We're not going back to good or new ever again. That time in our life is over. There's some chance we'll get back to some semblance of being okay again, but both of us will know it isn't as good as it once was. Both of us will know it isn't as new as it once felt. What it will feel is comfortable and comforting, but never again exciting and never again alive is it was when we had the two of us together. I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mending whole was good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I live.

I didn't ask for it to be over, but then again, I didn't ask for it to begin. For that's the way it is with life, as some of the most beautiful days come completely by chance. But even the most beautiful days eventually have their sunsets. And I suppose we did have quite a run of beautiful days and I suppose now it's time to welcome those damn sunsets. Just don't expect me to be happy about them. At least not now. You might be right, someday I'll get over this and someday it won't seem so bad. But that day isn't today.

You'll never be that easily forgotten. You'll never be that easily replaced."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Hey, It's Me Again, I'm So In Love With You Again, Please, Can I See You Everyday?

--"Voices", Cheap Trick

I can remember crying on my mom's shoulder a week after we had broken up. It wasn't a pretty sight nor was it one of proudest moments. That's always the first image I see when people talk about the inscrutable pain of losing somebody you deeply care about because that's what losing somebody should feel like--ugly and embarrassing. Even though I don't talk about that particular moment all the time, I can't bury it away. It's an image stretched all over the process of becoming okay again.

I don't even remember how it happened. It wasn't like my mom and I were talking about the break-up. It wasn't like I was sitting there with her at the table, spilling my guts. I honestly was doing my best not to burden anyone with my sorrows. It's just not my style to spill at length aloud. I usually reserve such thoughts for writing or for people who I feel honestly want to know all the gory details. I just remember I was sitting there, after having just put back all the stuff I ever gave to her, was given by her, and stuff we had bought together that she didn't want any longer.

I thought I was doing okay. At most I was being really quiet, really still. Sure, that might be a sign in and of itself that things weren't normal with me. Yet it wasn't like I was acting broken or dejected.

I remember thinking at the time of all the things I was going to do to get over her. I was planning all these different ways to put life back together. It all seemed so sorted out in my head, as if being alone had all of a sudden given me the clarity to see my future as it should be. And I remember feeling kind of psyched to begin this new chapter of my life, even if it was without her. Honestly, I thought I was in a good place. Near happy--that's where I thought was at the time.

The next thing I recall is the tears starting to flow as the realization that all my optimism was built on the principle that life would get better without her. It all sounded so revenge-driven suddenly. It started sounding like the kid who couldn't have the toy he really wanted and starts yelling that he was going to get a better toy. They'd all be sorry--she'd be sorry--once I came back with a life that was even better than before. But try as I might to fool everyone around me into thinking that I was handling the whole situation very well, I couldn't fool myself. All my plans, all my wishful thinking, were all seeming like a consolation prize that was a thousand times less appealing than the prize I really wanted.

And that's when I started bawlng, at first to myself then with my mother next to me. We never even discussed it. She didn't need to ask. To this day I still don't think she knows all the details--the pregnancy scare, the threatening to crash the car if she broke up with me, the late-night phone calls which would wake up her parents, the months and months of letting the already poisoned relationship wither rather than killing it all once mercifully. My mom didn't know. I think all she needed to know was that I had my life ruined and that there was a gal at the center of it all.

Say what you will, I've never really had a heart-to-heart conversation with either of my parents. The most I've ever gotten is a cursory, "things will get better line." Talking really isn't a big priority in my family. But I've been through many times where they've just done right by me, even if they've never really said the right words to me. I'm thankful for that because, in the end, I have a lot of people in my life who can talk things over with me, but only a few who can DO something to make me feel okay, if not better. And one of the best things that my family has always done is to do nothing.

They've never prodded me to get right back on that horse or told me that I was allowing myself to get too depressed over something. They've just given me space to let me work out for myself how to feel better. They've never told me not to see one of my exes again even if it's just been a few days after I've just sworn to them that the last thing I wanted to do was get back in touch. And even if my family has questioned my methods (driving at two or three in the morning to see an ex, spending gobs of money to win another over, having the police called on me not once, not twice, but three times because I just had to spend one more night with yet another), they've never left me feeling like I was crazy, messed up, or plain stupid. They've all just chalked it up to me being what I am, very impulsive and very idealistic about how love is supposed to go. It would have been very easy for them to try to press their beliefs on me about staying in control. They could have talked a very good game about not letting my feelings run the ship all the time... but they know me better than that.

I will always say what I'm feeling if I want that person to know it. And I will always do whatever it takes to be with someone I feel I need to be with.

I've always had a hard time just letting a relationship go.

I recently heard the best thing you can do after suffering a broken heart is do nothing. You don't try to jump right back into another relationship. You don't do stuff to try and forget about it. And for heaven's sake you don't do anything to reconcile with the person you broke up with or from in the first place. You just go on with life as you did before--just without her. You live in the pain. You just sit in the pain. Then, like they say, it get a little easier every day until one day months or years later you're better. You might not be over it, but you're okay enough to not let it eat away at you every moment of every day.

For me all of that comes harder than most. Whereas other people can suck it up and move on after a month or a year, there's been some relationships where it literally has taken me three years to get over. Or maybe I just never get over having someone special seemingly stolen out of my life. All I know is that were I born into a different kind of family, where keeping a stiff, upper lip and keeping up appearances were the mandates of the day, I might have ended up even worse. I could have ended up with serious repression problems, which would have only exacerbated my already fragile temper. It's only because I grew up in a house with parents who understood that I was very emotional and that the best thing for me was time and a space to cool off rather than stern lectures or long-winded pep talks that I ever made it through any sort of heartbreak.

That idea that it's okay to wallow in my own misery at my own pace... and lots of bourbon have been the only things that have gotten me through "many a night man simply was not made to suffer."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

For So Long, You And Me Been Finding Each Other For So Long, And The Feeling That I Feel For You Is More Than Strong, Girl

--"I Just Want To Be Your Everything", Andy Gibb

When you've been married for a few years you start to realize your husband (or wife) has a lot of habits you once thought were peculiar, but now you've come to accept. For instance, for reasons unknown, Greg possesses a ritual of having to be the first person to brush his teeth in the morning. He says it's because he doesn't want to be the one with bad breath in the morning when we first kiss, but I ain't buying it. I reckon over the years it's just been his habit to get at his teeth first that he's put off when I happen to wake up before him to brush mine. I've spoken to him about this peculiarity of his over the years. He always manages to brush it off. But, hell's bells, as God is my witness, I will get him to spill why he is this way over this one issue.

It ain't like I mind. Folks will do what folks like to do. There's nothing we can do to stop that even if we tried. I just find it humorous that piddly annoyances like that are what I used to focus on early in our relationship and now they are the very practices that I never seem to notice. You get so used to functioning around somebody at all hours of the day that it becomes like an orchestra of maneuvers. It might not make complete sense to me why he seems so intent on making sure he's the first to brush his teeth in the morning. However, it works out for the best since it means most mornings I get the master bathroom free and clear when it's time for me to rise. Even though little 'ole me loves to get up at six, sometimes five in the morning, I can always count on Greg getting up with me just to use the washroom for his own nefarious purposes. I'll jog while he gets ready, and by the time I get back he's kissing me farewell at the front door, leaving my a bathroom all to myself. No intrusions. No pestering. Just me and the bathroom that loves me, you know?

I'm sure I have my bad habits as well. I don't like Greg doing the usual chivalrous acts for me. I like getting my own door. I like glad-handing the hosts and hostesses, and, for Providence's sake, I like being the one who pays. Hell's bells, have we gotten into some big rows over the years because each of us wants to be the one who picks up the tab. It's all a lesson in futility since the money all gets drawn from the same place. Yet somehow the act of paying itself becomes this competition that neither of us wants to acquiesce to the other over. Whenever my daddy sees Greg and I arguing over the bill, he usually picks it up, and dismisses us by saying, "it's like watching two fish fight over the same hook."

I really don't like appearing helpless. The worst description someone could apply to me is that I cannot fend for myself. Even though it is my husband and not some stranger, and even though there are enough meals eaten out or other bills to pick up, each every check really doesn't turn into a life-or-death struggle of wills. All I can offer up in my defense is the usual I can only be myself. I can only be Breanne--no more, no less.

But that's the rub of being tied to another person as tightly as twine on a stack of newspapers, you're going to have the opportunity to see each tic that drives you up a wall. You're going to eventually hear every glib anecdote or turn of phrase that has the ability to turn your stomach. At first, it's going to be more than you can fathom. You're going to say to yourself that, like Popeye, you're going to have all you's can stands and you can't stands no more. You're going to attempt to reason with him to stop his nefarious ways. You're going to plead with him. You're going to bargain with him. Eventually you may resort to bribery or extortion. Yet at the end of it all, because he is who he is, he's going to get right back to every bad habit that annoys you from your head all the way down to your lily-white ass.

What's more, for every rude utterance or embarrassing display of ignorance you see in him, he's going to have a similar bone to pick with you. And he's going to list each and every one of them for your benefit as well. Repeatedly. And that's going to cause you all sorts of consternation as well because, hey, none of us like to have our faults labeled so readily for us, you know? Along with that, it's going to itch away at us that somebody knows all those things we dislike about ourselves. You're going to wonder why in the world did we ever allow another person to pick us apart so easily.

This goes on for awhile until one day, many years later, you come to the realization that all those trifle affectations and nagging turns of phrase have suddenly become endearing. In one form or another they've all become a part of this person we've come to love. You suddenly realize that were he to lose any of his bad habits, well, hell's bells, you'd miss them. You might not know that that's what you were feeling, but that would be the feeling nonetheless. Like my daddy says, "One man's pest is another man's pet." It's all about familiarity in the long run.

My view on the matter is that if his actions and rituals can provoke such a sharp response then it has to be something substantial between you. If what he didn't matter to you so much then you wouldn't be with him. After all, we all can afford to be indifferent to those we plan to chuck away eventually like so much firewood. We're forever being driving ape-crazy by those we care about precisely because we care about them. We worry that their ways might cause a irreparable rift between us precisely because we plan to be with them for the long run. If we weren't accounting for being at sea with them for years to come then we wouldn't give one white about rocking any and all boats, now would we? We would allow the whole vessel to capsize and be done with it.

Yet because we care we keep coming back for more embarrassment and more slight rolling of the eyes when he's being strange.

Yes, Greg does have a lot of bad habits that it's taken a long while for me to grow accustomed to. But it didn't take as long as I thought it would. That's the test of how compatible you are with a person in my opinion. Are his bad habits going to eventually drive you to murder him one night where he lays? Or can you get over yourself?

Greg, for all his weakness, hasn't quite driven me to suffocate him in his sleep quite yet... so it must be love. haha

Breanne