Posted in !CRHappenstances, !General Musings, !My Sweetie

What May Be An Amusing Teacup Sighting

Before we go any further, allow me to at least do the courtesy of explaining that my sense of humor is wacky. It’s weird. It’s nonsensical. I love it. I’ve tried to live like the quote, “Laugh at your problems and you’ll never run out of things to laugh about.” And I also laugh at everything else, so in the end, it’s still balances out.

My sweetie is a wonderfully amusing person to stare at (and yes, I am that creeper in an anime who just staaaares. Then there’s a 60% chance I’ll laugh. Okay, fine, 80%.) The reason he’s amusing is because he can pull off stoic like no one can. Stoic, silent, pensive, he can do it all, but my favorite has to be…his morning face.

His morning face is the kind of face that would make the effects of ex-lax happen almost instantaneously on a person. It is a scary face. It is a murdery face, made even more murdery by the fact that he’ll just sit there and stare for a bit until he actually wakes up.

Now I’m generally good at reading faces, possibly because I’ve made many faces faces myself:

I’m Dying Face (brought to you by the flu), Do I Need a Throat? (brought to you by strep throat), What Am I Doing? (brought by any day in the kitchen), Do I Even Have to Go? (brought to you by any time I look at my closet), I Want Pillows with My Coffee (brought to you by mornings), but I’ve never had a face like my sweetie has when he just wakes up.

And it’s adorable because I know he’s one of the sweetest and funniest people I’ve met, but ooooh, scary face, I want to poke it!

Or, maybe, I want to crack it?

Not too long ago, I loaded up the dishwasher (during this time, he’s asleep. He has to wake up earlier than me for work and, well, I tend write better at night – who knows why.) I was missing just one tiny space filler. Just one more thing, and I could run the thing. I look around the dining room and living room…and there is his teacup. Just calling to me.

And, as expected, it has leftover tea because he never drinks his tea in one go. He leaves a bit so he can drink some when he wakes up. So, I pour the leftover tea in a very obvious and tall plastic cup (rather than the reasonably sized teacups we use). And knowing him, he’ll notice (…I’ve tried to hide things before. I leave puzzle post-its! Poor puzzle post-its. Sigh. He always figures it out, but he’s grown up with riddles, so makes sense, I suppose).

When he notices, I’m going to be curious as to whether it’ll crack that face. The kind of face that even Wednesday Adams would be proud of.

And we all know even Wednesday Adams smiled.

Side Note: The day after, I inquired as to whether he noticed anything different. Apparently, he hadn’t, due to waking up with his alarm rather than before his alarm (…and this is why I can’t be the Mastermind in Leverage. I forgot that bit also tends to happen, though not as often). Sigh. I should’ve used a post-it (…and yes, I have stacks of them. For random shenanigans.)

Posted in !Lessons, !Memories, !My Sweetie

How I Met Him

When people ask me how the boyfriend and I met, I often want to keep it to myself because I know there’s a chance they’ll make a face, or make a joke, and my fist will want to rearrange their face and I know that’s both impolite and a violent impulse that doesn’t need to come out just right then. But as time has passed, I don’t get asked the question and it’s funny, because now would be the time that I’d laugh and say, “Oh, you ready for this story? It’s a fun one!”

As you might be aware, I’m a hermit of the worst kind. I like knowing people, I like having the opportunity to sometimes talk to people, but then I need quiet. How does one meet people when: a) you don’t like going out to crowded places, b) you don’t really like being the first to say something and c) you turn down invites to be social because you’ve reached your social limits for the week.

The answer is: welcome to the Internet.

Years ago, I had a dating profile. It was a funny ol’ thing because I’d get messages from folk who were, well, not so well presented, and some of the dates I got through that website were not successful (and that’s putting it kindly). When that happened, I’d disable my account for a while and wait until they lost their stalkerish urges and then, when I thought enough time had passed, I’d come back, if I felt like it.

One day, after hitting an all time low at a 4th of July party, I enabled my account and, to my surprise, I got a message from a guy who didn’t write me the usual “hey gorgeous” but actually wrote me paragraphs, all addressing things he’d read in my profile, things we had in common, but…silly as this may sound…the main thing that made me swoon is that he was a pretty decent speller (yes, I’m ridiculous). But when I saw a picture of him, I thought unkind things, judgy things, things I would later tell him and of course, he, in all his brilliance, laughed at me and would say things like, “You know you love it.”

Ah, yes, I do, but that’s me getting ahead of myself. I decided to give it a chance for a variety of reasons, really. One, I was tired of dating the guys my mind would judge as “Ohhh, pretty!” Two, the thought he put behind his writing was pretty darn impressive. And three, I had recently read an article that explained how easily we judge people by appearance and, that if we choose to give the person a chance, in spite of our initial impression, they may surprise us.

…Well, after judging people’s appearance positively and having it yield negative results, I was willing to give the opposite a try.

Best decision I’ve ever made.

There are people in our lives that we meet because they’re needed, at that point in time, and he was all of that, and more than that, all rolled in to one.

The first time I met him in person was because, well, we had a date coming up but I couldn’t wait. I knew he delivered pizza and that my area was included as part of their delivery area. He had told me he’d be happy to make sure he would be the one to deliver it, if I ever wanted it, and you know what? All nervousness aside, I did it. I would later find out (after he told me, of course) that he rushed back to the store (after a delivery) to tell everyone to not touch the delivery on the screen with my address – that it was his.

And later he would find out (after I told him) that at the time, I was watching a movie with my roommate, and I was going out of my mind watching that screen tell me at what point of “readiness” the pizza was, and then a steamy scene on the screen came on and I muttered, out loud, “Oh gosh, I hope he doesn’t show up at this point.”

Cue knocking, because I swear, my entire life is a comedy.

When I opened the door – let me tell you, judging a person based on what you see in a picture gives you 0 insight to chemistry. ZERO – I felt this tingly feeling that pretty much kept me from looking at him straight in the eye. I was nervous like a fucking twerp going to a new school on her first day. I took the things, signed the receipt, mumbled thank you, and when he said “my pleasure”, I remember how my ovaries pretty much dropped to the floor because my uterus melted.

Two words. Two fucking words. Embarrassing.

What’s worse? I. FORGOT. TO TIP HIM.

My brain had completely failed me, I was utterly embarrassed as I watched him walk away, yet somehow, I still had a date.

Five years later, we’ve had many wonderful dates, but I’ll still remember the firsts.

The first time we went out together, he tried to (he really did, but lemme tell you, I have a way of looking at people without looking at people that’s creepy) buy me a necklace without my noticing. A dragonfly jade necklace, because he remembered me saying I love dragonflies (I still have that necklace). I remember the first time he asked me to go with him to a friend’s birthday but I said no because we were still just “dating” and he didn’t pressure me, or try to force me into it or convince me, but he did bring me back cake (…and fed it to me. My ovaries, man. MY OVARIES.) Our first winter together, I really wanted to have lights, maybe even a tree, but the apartment was too small (and I spent more time at his, anyway X.X) and he took me on a drive around the neighborhood so I could see all the lights on the houses, including one that made quiiiite a show out of it.

When I think back on where we met, how we met, and how I almost didn’t respond to his message because I thought what I saw wasn’t going to work – man, I laugh, ’cause I used to hate being wrong, haaaate, but this? I was glad to be wrong. Ecstatic. And it’s been years and I still smile like a schoolgirl when I hear him open the door (meaning he’s home from work). I nuzzle closer to him when I come back to bed (because my bladder is made of tiny things, who the frak knows). And we’re alike in ways and completely different in others (I’m a ball of anti-social anxiety and he’s so not.) He’s my calm. He’s my safe haven. He’s home.

That’s probably why I’ve finally reached the point in time that I don’t care who knows, I’m happy, I got lucky, that in the midst of all the disappointments, the one least expected to was the one I was meant to meet all along.

And, amusingly enough, he later would tell me he had sent me a message before that, but I never responded and because I disappeared, he didn’t think much of it (…probably disabled my account? I did that a lot) so I could’ve met him sooner, though I’m kind of glad I didn’t. Before that 4th of July, I was still trying to get rid of an ex (an ex who had ways of ruining most first dates I tried to have), at the point that David came in, I had finally spelled it out (drew diagrams, made some graphs) so what was past remained the past.

And after that, well, the future waited, and I was all the more better for it.