Day 8 -- A Song You Know All the Words To
"Dream a Little Dream of Me" -- The Mamas and the Papas, The Papas and the Mamas (1968)
I know all the words to a lot of songs. That's what we people who "can sing" do. We sing songs over and over again and remember the words. Sometimes, we are asked to perform. Usually when someone we know points to us and says, "You know, so-and-so can sing." This has happened to me on numerous occasions. I usually don't sing on command but I'm always tempted to show off a little and the first song that comes to mind is "Dream a Little Dream of Me".
It's a simple little song from the 1930s and has been covered dozens of times. It's usually found on those BLANK Does the American Songbook albums. So, The Mamas and the Papas weren't the ones who made the song big, but their version (actually a solo sung by Cass Elliot) is the first I heard.
It's short and sweet and easy to remember. Very cute and little nonsensical. I mean, one of the lines is "sweet dreams til sunbeams find you". It's hard not to remember the words.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Friday, April 29, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 7
Day 7 -- A Song That Reminds You of a Certain Event
"I Want to Hold Your Hand" -- The Beatles (1963)
What I consider to be mine and Tyler's second date, wasn't really a "date" in the traditional sense. We didn't go out to dinner or a movie or to the roller rink or whatever the kids are doing these days. We walked in the rain, holding hands.
By this time, Tyler and I had already been out on our first date to the coffee shop. We had been texting at night and flirting covertly at work. This particular day (the day of the second date), Tyler had to work the closing shift. I didn't work that day (or I did and it was the morning shift) so I went out to an early dinner with a coworker of ours named Amanda. I liked Tyler, but I wanted a second opinion. Since Amanda had known Tyler for far longer than I, I wanted her to tell me if there was any reason not to date him. If he was womanizer or a drunk, I wanted her to tell me so.
At dinner, she said nothing but good things and I felt more confident about the situation. She knew that Tyler liked me and wanted to see him happy, so that probably had something to do with it too. (I secretly hoped Tyler would ask Amanda about me and how I was when I was in a non-date situation.) After dinner--in which I had two beers--Amanda and I both had to use the bathroom, so why not stop by our place of work where Tyler just happened to be? I flirted shamelessly and Tyler was effected by it. He told Amanda "to get me out of there".
A little while later, Tyler texted that he wanted to see me after work. Unfortunately, I don't have one of those fancy phones that saves every text ever, so I'll have to paraphrase. He wrote something about just wanting to hold my hand. So I said I'd meet him after work where he dropped me off after our coffee date. I was still apprehensive about being alone with Tyler. To deter his possible advances, I wore unsexy clothes: a hoodie and my crappiest jeans. Well, unsexy to me. I was so thickheaded back then that I didn't realize the giant holes in my jeans were showing off my legs--which I didn't think were all that--but Tyler thought were hot stuff.
So, Tyler got off work and I met him in the parking lot by my apartment. We held hands. It was wonderful. Sweet. Romantic. Innocent. Perfect. We walked and talked for a long time. It began to rain, but we continued to walk. I love rain and didn't mind getting wet, but Tyler was still in his work clothes. He asked if it was all right if we went to his house so he could change. I said yes, but that I wasn't coming in. I waited in the car until he came out (with Simpsons artwork! But that's another post.) We drove back to my apartment and sat in his parked car and talked for several more hours. We cuddled and he touched my legs through the giant rips in my jeans...
Wait a minute. Aren't I supposed to be writing about a song?
Oh yeah.
"I Want to Hold Your Hand" is one of the Beatles' biggest hits. It's the song that shot them to stardom in America. It is a pop standard. It is a classic. I grew up listening to it. I grew up wishing that this song would come to life for me. Because when you're a kid, holding hands is a biggie on the spectrum of physical affection. As I grew older and other things on the spectrum of physical affection became more relevant to my peers, I still looked forward to hand holding. I wished that someone would just want to hold my hand. That someone would like me so much that touching my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, would be all he needed. Tyler made that come true for me and thusly, whenever I think of that night, I think of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and vice versa.
"I Want to Hold Your Hand" -- The Beatles (1963)
What I consider to be mine and Tyler's second date, wasn't really a "date" in the traditional sense. We didn't go out to dinner or a movie or to the roller rink or whatever the kids are doing these days. We walked in the rain, holding hands.
By this time, Tyler and I had already been out on our first date to the coffee shop. We had been texting at night and flirting covertly at work. This particular day (the day of the second date), Tyler had to work the closing shift. I didn't work that day (or I did and it was the morning shift) so I went out to an early dinner with a coworker of ours named Amanda. I liked Tyler, but I wanted a second opinion. Since Amanda had known Tyler for far longer than I, I wanted her to tell me if there was any reason not to date him. If he was womanizer or a drunk, I wanted her to tell me so.
At dinner, she said nothing but good things and I felt more confident about the situation. She knew that Tyler liked me and wanted to see him happy, so that probably had something to do with it too. (I secretly hoped Tyler would ask Amanda about me and how I was when I was in a non-date situation.) After dinner--in which I had two beers--Amanda and I both had to use the bathroom, so why not stop by our place of work where Tyler just happened to be? I flirted shamelessly and Tyler was effected by it. He told Amanda "to get me out of there".
A little while later, Tyler texted that he wanted to see me after work. Unfortunately, I don't have one of those fancy phones that saves every text ever, so I'll have to paraphrase. He wrote something about just wanting to hold my hand. So I said I'd meet him after work where he dropped me off after our coffee date. I was still apprehensive about being alone with Tyler. To deter his possible advances, I wore unsexy clothes: a hoodie and my crappiest jeans. Well, unsexy to me. I was so thickheaded back then that I didn't realize the giant holes in my jeans were showing off my legs--which I didn't think were all that--but Tyler thought were hot stuff.
So, Tyler got off work and I met him in the parking lot by my apartment. We held hands. It was wonderful. Sweet. Romantic. Innocent. Perfect. We walked and talked for a long time. It began to rain, but we continued to walk. I love rain and didn't mind getting wet, but Tyler was still in his work clothes. He asked if it was all right if we went to his house so he could change. I said yes, but that I wasn't coming in. I waited in the car until he came out (with Simpsons artwork! But that's another post.) We drove back to my apartment and sat in his parked car and talked for several more hours. We cuddled and he touched my legs through the giant rips in my jeans...
Wait a minute. Aren't I supposed to be writing about a song?
Oh yeah.
"I Want to Hold Your Hand" is one of the Beatles' biggest hits. It's the song that shot them to stardom in America. It is a pop standard. It is a classic. I grew up listening to it. I grew up wishing that this song would come to life for me. Because when you're a kid, holding hands is a biggie on the spectrum of physical affection. As I grew older and other things on the spectrum of physical affection became more relevant to my peers, I still looked forward to hand holding. I wished that someone would just want to hold my hand. That someone would like me so much that touching my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, would be all he needed. Tyler made that come true for me and thusly, whenever I think of that night, I think of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and vice versa.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 6
Day 6 -- A Song That Reminds You of Somewhere
"First Date" -- Blink 182, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket (2001)
I was there when Ashley got Take Off Your Pants and Jacket. We were at Costco with her mom. Ashley wanted the latest Blink 182 CD, but alas, it had that dreaded "Parental Advisory Explicit Content" sticker on it. What's a thirteen year old to do? Why, she simply covered it with her hand and asked her mom. Ashley's mom, a lovely lady but not the most observant, bought it. She was too classy to get the title's pun.
Ashley and I became best friends after I moved to Oakesdale in the fifth grade. One of the first things we bonded over was music. We both listened to "Oldies" while the others in our class were drowning in a hormonal pool brought on by the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC. Maybe it's because our parents were in their 40s and everyone else's were a little younger. Or maybe we were just weird. But we sure liked our hits from the 50s and 60s. Whenever we hung out, the radio was tuned to Oldies 101.1.
Like so many things, that all changed in seventh grade. Our musical tastes began to cleave. I was getting into the Carpenters. soft rock, and 70s pop in general. Ashley was getting into pop punk and alternative. Obviously, these are very different styles of music. But since we weren't going to let a little thing like evolving melodic inclinations destroy our friendship, we made a rule: whoever's house we were at was who's music we listened to. Fair was fair. ABBA on Monday. Linkin Park on Tuesday.
Therefore, "First Date", the one song I actually liked from Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, reminds me of Ashley's room. It's a fun song. Sort of cute and immature and romantically themed which was all I needed from any form of entertainment when I was thirteen.
"First Date" -- Blink 182, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket (2001)
I was there when Ashley got Take Off Your Pants and Jacket. We were at Costco with her mom. Ashley wanted the latest Blink 182 CD, but alas, it had that dreaded "Parental Advisory Explicit Content" sticker on it. What's a thirteen year old to do? Why, she simply covered it with her hand and asked her mom. Ashley's mom, a lovely lady but not the most observant, bought it. She was too classy to get the title's pun.
Ashley and I became best friends after I moved to Oakesdale in the fifth grade. One of the first things we bonded over was music. We both listened to "Oldies" while the others in our class were drowning in a hormonal pool brought on by the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC. Maybe it's because our parents were in their 40s and everyone else's were a little younger. Or maybe we were just weird. But we sure liked our hits from the 50s and 60s. Whenever we hung out, the radio was tuned to Oldies 101.1.
Like so many things, that all changed in seventh grade. Our musical tastes began to cleave. I was getting into the Carpenters. soft rock, and 70s pop in general. Ashley was getting into pop punk and alternative. Obviously, these are very different styles of music. But since we weren't going to let a little thing like evolving melodic inclinations destroy our friendship, we made a rule: whoever's house we were at was who's music we listened to. Fair was fair. ABBA on Monday. Linkin Park on Tuesday.
Therefore, "First Date", the one song I actually liked from Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, reminds me of Ashley's room. It's a fun song. Sort of cute and immature and romantically themed which was all I needed from any form of entertainment when I was thirteen.
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 5
Day 5 -- A Song That Reminds You of Someone
"Seasons" -- Grace Slick, Dreams (1980)
Every six months or so, my mother wants me to make her a mix CD, usually as a birthday or Christmas present. I'm happy to do it, of course. She is my mother after all. And plus, it's fascinating. One important thing to know about my mom is that she isn't really a fan of music. She will listen to it in the car on the way to work, but you won't find her unwinding to an Enya CD or anything. She doesn't seek out music. It's just not her thing.
My dad, on the other hand, is a frequent concert goer and buyer of CDs. Over the 40 years my parents have been together, my mom has been exposed to a lot of music. Most of which she doesn't really care for. That is why it's so interesting to me when my mom hands me these lists of random (and I do mean random) songs. What kind of music does she listen to when she's all alone?
Odd stuff. "Seasons" by Grace Slick (who was the former lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, and plain ol' Starship of "We Built This City" fame) is one of these weird songs. Wikipedia categorizes the song as "psychedelic rock" but sounds more like a Russian folk song. It simply describes the changing of the seasons and its effect on the people. It is dramatic and weird and totally a song my mom would like. And now I like it too because it reminds me of my mom.
"Seasons" -- Grace Slick, Dreams (1980)
Every six months or so, my mother wants me to make her a mix CD, usually as a birthday or Christmas present. I'm happy to do it, of course. She is my mother after all. And plus, it's fascinating. One important thing to know about my mom is that she isn't really a fan of music. She will listen to it in the car on the way to work, but you won't find her unwinding to an Enya CD or anything. She doesn't seek out music. It's just not her thing.
My dad, on the other hand, is a frequent concert goer and buyer of CDs. Over the 40 years my parents have been together, my mom has been exposed to a lot of music. Most of which she doesn't really care for. That is why it's so interesting to me when my mom hands me these lists of random (and I do mean random) songs. What kind of music does she listen to when she's all alone?
Odd stuff. "Seasons" by Grace Slick (who was the former lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, and plain ol' Starship of "We Built This City" fame) is one of these weird songs. Wikipedia categorizes the song as "psychedelic rock" but sounds more like a Russian folk song. It simply describes the changing of the seasons and its effect on the people. It is dramatic and weird and totally a song my mom would like. And now I like it too because it reminds me of my mom.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 4
Day 4 -- A Song That Makes You Sad
"I Need to Be in Love" -- The Carpenters, A Kind of Hush (1976)
Before I write about today's song, I want the following to be known: In the big picture of my life, I have only very recently stopped being sad. That is all owed to Tyler. This is not just because I have a man in my life now who loves me, it is also because he has shown me a different perspective on life. If something bad happens, it's usually my natural inclination to get sad instead of flaming pissed. And I used to enjoy it. There was comfort in sadness. It felt good to feel bad, to feel low. I do not feel that way now. I do not like to purposefully watch something or listen to something that brings me down. Therefore, this is not an enjoyable category to write about, but it's part of the challenge, so here we go...
"I Need to Be in Love" was Karen Carpenter's favorite song in the entire Carpenters discography. From the title you can gather that it is about a woman who thinks it's time she find real love because she's wasted too much time in casual relationships. She is lonely and feels she is destined to remain alone because her standards are too high. Karen's brother Richard, painfully aware of his sister's insecurities and issues with men, wrote this song specifically for her. Sort of rude, right? Yeah...but she loved it. Like I said, it was her favorite song.
Yes, the song is sad in and of itself and even if you knew nothing about Karen Carpenter, it would still probably make you sad. And in the days when I could relate to "I Need to Be in Love", I enjoyed getting sad to it. I enjoyed the shared comraderie between Karen Carpenter and I. The line "I'm wide awake at four a.m. without a friend in sight/I'm hanging on a hope, but I'm all right" was totally me. I wasn't the only one desperate for love. Misery loves company and all that.
But here's what makes me sad now. Karen Carpenter was a complex woman with a lot of problems. She wanted both fame and a cozy suburban family life. She was very open about this, apparently, as her brother knew enough to write a song about it. It makes me sad that she liked making herself sad. She liked having everyone know how lonely and desperate for love she was. She liked (let's say it together now) being the victim. But unlike, say Taylor Swift, a man isn't to blame. Karen Carpenter is the victim of her own inadequacies. (Which is par for the course in anorexics.)
Here's me nitpicking: The song is also...inactive? I guess that's the word. The singer knows she should be in love, wants to be in love, but doesn't make plans to change her situation. There's no line about "tomorrow I'll go looking" or whatever. She's content to stay lonely because sadness feels good to her. She refuses to do the one thing that will make her feel better. She is an emotional masochist.
I used to relate to this song. I used to be living this song. And so yes, when I think of this song it reminds me of sad times and therefore, has the possibility to make me sad. If I let it. But I don't let it. I look at my life now and how far I've come and have absolutely no reason to feel sorry for myself. It still makes me sad for Karen Carpenter though. That can't be helped. I also think of how close I came to living out the rest of my life with the same attitude. Luckily Tyler helped me pull my head out of my ass. Thanks, Babe!
"I Need to Be in Love" -- The Carpenters, A Kind of Hush (1976)
Before I write about today's song, I want the following to be known: In the big picture of my life, I have only very recently stopped being sad. That is all owed to Tyler. This is not just because I have a man in my life now who loves me, it is also because he has shown me a different perspective on life. If something bad happens, it's usually my natural inclination to get sad instead of flaming pissed. And I used to enjoy it. There was comfort in sadness. It felt good to feel bad, to feel low. I do not feel that way now. I do not like to purposefully watch something or listen to something that brings me down. Therefore, this is not an enjoyable category to write about, but it's part of the challenge, so here we go...
"I Need to Be in Love" was Karen Carpenter's favorite song in the entire Carpenters discography. From the title you can gather that it is about a woman who thinks it's time she find real love because she's wasted too much time in casual relationships. She is lonely and feels she is destined to remain alone because her standards are too high. Karen's brother Richard, painfully aware of his sister's insecurities and issues with men, wrote this song specifically for her. Sort of rude, right? Yeah...but she loved it. Like I said, it was her favorite song.
Yes, the song is sad in and of itself and even if you knew nothing about Karen Carpenter, it would still probably make you sad. And in the days when I could relate to "I Need to Be in Love", I enjoyed getting sad to it. I enjoyed the shared comraderie between Karen Carpenter and I. The line "I'm wide awake at four a.m. without a friend in sight/I'm hanging on a hope, but I'm all right" was totally me. I wasn't the only one desperate for love. Misery loves company and all that.
But here's what makes me sad now. Karen Carpenter was a complex woman with a lot of problems. She wanted both fame and a cozy suburban family life. She was very open about this, apparently, as her brother knew enough to write a song about it. It makes me sad that she liked making herself sad. She liked having everyone know how lonely and desperate for love she was. She liked (let's say it together now) being the victim. But unlike, say Taylor Swift, a man isn't to blame. Karen Carpenter is the victim of her own inadequacies. (Which is par for the course in anorexics.)
Here's me nitpicking: The song is also...inactive? I guess that's the word. The singer knows she should be in love, wants to be in love, but doesn't make plans to change her situation. There's no line about "tomorrow I'll go looking" or whatever. She's content to stay lonely because sadness feels good to her. She refuses to do the one thing that will make her feel better. She is an emotional masochist.
I used to relate to this song. I used to be living this song. And so yes, when I think of this song it reminds me of sad times and therefore, has the possibility to make me sad. If I let it. But I don't let it. I look at my life now and how far I've come and have absolutely no reason to feel sorry for myself. It still makes me sad for Karen Carpenter though. That can't be helped. I also think of how close I came to living out the rest of my life with the same attitude. Luckily Tyler helped me pull my head out of my ass. Thanks, Babe!
Monday, April 25, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 3
Day 3 -- A Song That Makes You Happy
"Theme from A Summer Place" as sung by Jasper Beardsley in the episode "Homer's Barbershop Quartet" of Season 5 of The Simpsons (1993)
The Simpsons is my favorite TV show, now and forever. The proof is tattooed on my fanny. Over the years, the show has had dozens of funny songs: "See My Vest", "We Put the Spring in Springfield" and "Who Needs the Kwik-E-Mart". I would be hard pressed to pick a favorite, but the one that has easily made me laugh the most is Jasper's rendition of "Theme from A Summer Place."
A Summer Place was a popular movie in the 1950s. Its string laden theme, an instrumental everyone has heard before, even became a number one hit on the Billboard charts, back when instrumentals had such lofty goals. What makes Jasper's version so funny is that he is singing an instrumental song by inserting lyrics. Simply "Theme from A Summer Place/from a Summer Place/the Theme from A Summer Place/It's the Theme..."
Hilarious. Ridiculous. Gets me every time.
See for yourself.
"Theme from A Summer Place" as sung by Jasper Beardsley in the episode "Homer's Barbershop Quartet" of Season 5 of The Simpsons (1993)
The Simpsons is my favorite TV show, now and forever. The proof is tattooed on my fanny. Over the years, the show has had dozens of funny songs: "See My Vest", "We Put the Spring in Springfield" and "Who Needs the Kwik-E-Mart". I would be hard pressed to pick a favorite, but the one that has easily made me laugh the most is Jasper's rendition of "Theme from A Summer Place."
A Summer Place was a popular movie in the 1950s. Its string laden theme, an instrumental everyone has heard before, even became a number one hit on the Billboard charts, back when instrumentals had such lofty goals. What makes Jasper's version so funny is that he is singing an instrumental song by inserting lyrics. Simply "Theme from A Summer Place/from a Summer Place/the Theme from A Summer Place/It's the Theme..."
Hilarious. Ridiculous. Gets me every time.
See for yourself.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 2
Day 2 -- A Song You HATE
"F♥ck Buddies" -- Jordyn Auvil, 2012
This was always going to be the song I HATE.
To bring you up to speed, this is from a post from last November:
Several years ago, I wrote a shitty song and published it on the internet. It was a mistake. I was proud of it despite its vile subject matter. That was also a mistake. (But hey, you can use the word “mistake” to describe most of my life.) Since then I have tried to ignore this horrid song to no avail. The only thing I can do to remedy—excuse me, attempt to remedy—the damage caused by this song is to write another one that comes from the heart and is inspired by someone truly worthy and events that truly happened.
"F♥ck Buddies" is the shitty song I'm talking about. (It's also the shittiest song of all time.)
The song came about because I didn't like the fact that Taylor Swift never wrote songs about sex. She sometimes made allusions, but it was usually derogatory. (Take this line from her song "Better Than Revenge" for example: "She's not a saint and she's not what you think, she's an actress/she's better known for the things that she does on the mattress".) It bugged me. She was in all these relationships and yet, she avoided the subject. Why? Did she not have sex? Was that it? It couldn't be because she liked her privacy because she was/is so open about everything else. (These were my feelings at the time. Now, I don't give a shit.) Anyway, I thought I could do what Taylor Swift did--write a detailed, catchy song--but do it like an "adult"--border it on crass, but make it ultimately fun and clever.
In the words of Wayne Campbell: "NOT!"
What I wrote was a justification of certain events along with twisted facts and borrowed details from other overtly sexual songs and the slew of rom-coms about casual sex that were recently released. Thinking about the lyrics turns my stomach and makes me cringe. It's just so horrible. I was seriously messed up at the time I wrote it and even more messed up when these events took place. (Or maybe it's the other way around. That can be debated.) These events weren't even worth writing about. I wanted my life to seem more glamorous and I idiotically thought rhyming would make it so. I had no idea what good sex even was then, so how could I dare write any song that even mentioned sex? (For the record, I didn't even have decent sex until Tyler, who is, of course, a dynamo in the sack). I was trying to be someone I wasn't. I was trying to be the opposite of who I was, who I thankfully am again.
Look, the song is awful, I hate it, and I wish I had never thought it up. I wish I had never spun my head around to think any of it was a good idea. I would have rather not brought it up at all, but that would be doing a disservice. Yes, there are other songs I HATE, but not one more than this one.
Okay. Now let's get that bad taste out of our mouths and take a look at this.
"F♥ck Buddies" -- Jordyn Auvil, 2012
This was always going to be the song I HATE.
To bring you up to speed, this is from a post from last November:
Several years ago, I wrote a shitty song and published it on the internet. It was a mistake. I was proud of it despite its vile subject matter. That was also a mistake. (But hey, you can use the word “mistake” to describe most of my life.) Since then I have tried to ignore this horrid song to no avail. The only thing I can do to remedy—excuse me, attempt to remedy—the damage caused by this song is to write another one that comes from the heart and is inspired by someone truly worthy and events that truly happened.
"F♥ck Buddies" is the shitty song I'm talking about. (It's also the shittiest song of all time.)
The song came about because I didn't like the fact that Taylor Swift never wrote songs about sex. She sometimes made allusions, but it was usually derogatory. (Take this line from her song "Better Than Revenge" for example: "She's not a saint and she's not what you think, she's an actress/she's better known for the things that she does on the mattress".) It bugged me. She was in all these relationships and yet, she avoided the subject. Why? Did she not have sex? Was that it? It couldn't be because she liked her privacy because she was/is so open about everything else. (These were my feelings at the time. Now, I don't give a shit.) Anyway, I thought I could do what Taylor Swift did--write a detailed, catchy song--but do it like an "adult"--border it on crass, but make it ultimately fun and clever.
In the words of Wayne Campbell: "NOT!"
What I wrote was a justification of certain events along with twisted facts and borrowed details from other overtly sexual songs and the slew of rom-coms about casual sex that were recently released. Thinking about the lyrics turns my stomach and makes me cringe. It's just so horrible. I was seriously messed up at the time I wrote it and even more messed up when these events took place. (Or maybe it's the other way around. That can be debated.) These events weren't even worth writing about. I wanted my life to seem more glamorous and I idiotically thought rhyming would make it so. I had no idea what good sex even was then, so how could I dare write any song that even mentioned sex? (For the record, I didn't even have decent sex until Tyler, who is, of course, a dynamo in the sack). I was trying to be someone I wasn't. I was trying to be the opposite of who I was, who I thankfully am again.
Look, the song is awful, I hate it, and I wish I had never thought it up. I wish I had never spun my head around to think any of it was a good idea. I would have rather not brought it up at all, but that would be doing a disservice. Yes, there are other songs I HATE, but not one more than this one.
Okay. Now let's get that bad taste out of our mouths and take a look at this.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
30 Day Song Challenge REDUX -- Day 1
I've been meaning to do this for awhile, but I've been too much of a chicken shit. Now that I have come to certain realizations, I feel I'm strong enough to tackle this beast. Once upon a time, I did a Myspace-esque survey on that other blog, the one I regret ever creating and the one I cannot destroy. Every day for thirty days, I wrote about a song that applied to that day's theme. I did this at a very complex time in my life that was riddled with bad choices and negative effects. All my fault. I wrote some terrible, unsavory things. Because I cannot delete the things I wrote, I figured the next best thing is to do the survey again and replace the bad with the good and undo some hurt. I am doing this to rectify the sins of the past and to show how much I've changed since those dark days.
Day 1 -- Your Favorite Song
"(Don't Fear) The Reaper" -- Blue Oyster Cult, Agents of Fortune (1976)
My loving of this song has absolutely nothing to do with the Saturday Night Live sketch, by the way. I don't think it's a "funny" song or a punch line, I think it's the greatest song ever written. First of all, the melody is hauntingly beautiful and the instrumentation is badass. It rocks and it soothes. It's passionate without being over the top or distressing.
But really it's about the lyrics. On one's first listen, one might think it's a song that glorifies suicide and welcomes death. That is a literal interpretation, yes. Stephen King has actually said that "DFTR" partly inspired his novel The Stand, which is about a super flu killing most of the world's population and the survivors' attempts to rebuild society. To me (and I'm aware this may apply to only me), "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" is about overcoming one's fear of commitment. It's about letting go of what's comfortable (and not good) and accepting and embracing the unknown which you must trust is going to be better.
I can "hear" Tyler singing this to me. If I "take his hand" we can "redefine happiness". We can "be like they are", meaning all the people that have found true love. Then there's that whole last verse:
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
Saying don't be afraid
Come on baby... And she had no fear
And she ran to him... And they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye
She had become like they are
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
So yeah. Tyler is "The Reaper". He is not killing me, but guiding me into "the next life". And I am not afraid. I shouldn't be afraid because he is taking me somewhere better and where I ultimately belong. "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" will always remind me of the journey towards happiness he took me on.
Also, this song came out the year Tyler was born. I don't think that's mere coincidence.
Day 1 -- Your Favorite Song
"(Don't Fear) The Reaper" -- Blue Oyster Cult, Agents of Fortune (1976)
My loving of this song has absolutely nothing to do with the Saturday Night Live sketch, by the way. I don't think it's a "funny" song or a punch line, I think it's the greatest song ever written. First of all, the melody is hauntingly beautiful and the instrumentation is badass. It rocks and it soothes. It's passionate without being over the top or distressing.
But really it's about the lyrics. On one's first listen, one might think it's a song that glorifies suicide and welcomes death. That is a literal interpretation, yes. Stephen King has actually said that "DFTR" partly inspired his novel The Stand, which is about a super flu killing most of the world's population and the survivors' attempts to rebuild society. To me (and I'm aware this may apply to only me), "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" is about overcoming one's fear of commitment. It's about letting go of what's comfortable (and not good) and accepting and embracing the unknown which you must trust is going to be better.
I can "hear" Tyler singing this to me. If I "take his hand" we can "redefine happiness". We can "be like they are", meaning all the people that have found true love. Then there's that whole last verse:
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
Saying don't be afraid
Come on baby... And she had no fear
And she ran to him... And they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye
She had become like they are
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
So yeah. Tyler is "The Reaper". He is not killing me, but guiding me into "the next life". And I am not afraid. I shouldn't be afraid because he is taking me somewhere better and where I ultimately belong. "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" will always remind me of the journey towards happiness he took me on.
Also, this song came out the year Tyler was born. I don't think that's mere coincidence.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #92
After all the heavy but extremely important stuff going on this blog, I need a little comedy break.
Tyler and I Can Be Gross
I suppose I could simply write "I can be comfortable around Tyler", but I want to go a step further. Sure, I'm comfortable. Including all the emotional stuff, I can wear crappy clothes and no makeup around him. I can stuff my face with hot wings and have sauce all over my face. I can even pass gas--a formerly big deal for me, if you don't recall.
But this goes a step beyond. Tyler and I are so close and comfortable with one another that our level of intimacy often treads into gross territory. (Non-sexual things, fyi.) We can discuss gross things. We can do gross things. I feel comfortable being gross around Tyler. I feel comfortable with Tyler being gross around me. Just last night, I told Tyler an embarrassing story about me and...not making it to the bathroom in time. Once he was bit by a spider and I squeezed the bite until pus and blood came out. It was gross and I freaked out, but I was happy to be there for him.
All right. I'll stop. Just because he and I can be gross together, doesn't mean you want to hear all about it. But sometimes things need to be discussed and sometimes things need to get done. If you're going to live your life with someone, you best be able to let it all hang out.
Tyler and I Can Be Gross
I suppose I could simply write "I can be comfortable around Tyler", but I want to go a step further. Sure, I'm comfortable. Including all the emotional stuff, I can wear crappy clothes and no makeup around him. I can stuff my face with hot wings and have sauce all over my face. I can even pass gas--a formerly big deal for me, if you don't recall.
But this goes a step beyond. Tyler and I are so close and comfortable with one another that our level of intimacy often treads into gross territory. (Non-sexual things, fyi.) We can discuss gross things. We can do gross things. I feel comfortable being gross around Tyler. I feel comfortable with Tyler being gross around me. Just last night, I told Tyler an embarrassing story about me and...not making it to the bathroom in time. Once he was bit by a spider and I squeezed the bite until pus and blood came out. It was gross and I freaked out, but I was happy to be there for him.
All right. I'll stop. Just because he and I can be gross together, doesn't mean you want to hear all about it. But sometimes things need to be discussed and sometimes things need to get done. If you're going to live your life with someone, you best be able to let it all hang out.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
UPDATE PART II
I’ll be
honest with you. I keep fucking up left and right. Last night’s
update wasn’t the whole story, and if you read it, it will seem
like Tyler “took Star Wars away from me.” And I totally see that.
I regret that it comes off that way. I am sick with myself.
So here’s
more of that story that I didn’t want to get into: I made a
romantic comedy trilogy of short films that adopted lines and scenes
from the Star Wars trilogy. Delusion #2 inspired these movies.
Delusion #2 was in these movies. He played the character my character
pursued and eventually ended up with. In the early, early days of
mine and Tyler’s relationship, I wanted him to see these movies
because I was proud of them. I was trying to separate the thing from
the person who inspired it. In my twisted mind, sharing this filmed
fantasy with Tyler was a way for me to prove to myself that I didn’t
care about anyone but Tyler anymore. Why would I? I would have my
boyfriend sitting right next to me. Reality is always better than
fantasy.
Tyler and
I never watched these movies together. The shit hit the fan before
there was a chance. Shit I created. He found out about
my lingering issues. How could I ever subject him to
a movie that shows me mooning over someone else? Not a movie where
I’m just pretending to moon, actual mooning. So I wouldn’t
show them. I threw out my personal copies. It was a dead issue.
Except it wasn’t because they were on the internet. Tyler watched
them and of course he didn’t like what he saw.
I remember
this day. Instead of trying to comfort him and apologize for their
existence, I blamed him for watching them in the first place. This
just cemented that it could never be my fault. I could never be
wrong.
Allow me a
short diversion. I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift since she was
a country singer. A common theme in her songs is relationships.
Failed relationships. By her third album, Taylor Swift was a Grammy
winner who had dated a slew of celebrities. Each of those celebrity
relationships were short lived. So she wrote songs about them and we
all knew who she was talking about. And in 70 some songs, there are
about three, maybe four where she takes responsibility for her part
in the relationship. Maybe you’ve seen the meme that has a picture
of Swift along with the line I should write a song called “Maybe
I’m the Problem”. She was always the victim. He didn’t
like her. He cheated on her. He emotionally checked out
of the relationship and left her hanging. He can’t make up
his mind on whether or not he wants to stay with her.
I find
this quality of hers annoying. And why? Because when people see their
own bad qualities in others, it bothers them more. When they see that
bad quality in another, it’s like holding up a mirror. And we don’t
like what we see.
I never
want to take the blame for anything. I don’t know where this comes
from, but it’s definitely one of my worst qualities. This was the
case in all of my relationships, ever. Real and imaginary. It was
never my fault. Why doesn’t so and so like me? I’m pretty, I’m
smart, I’m funny, I’m sweet. Maybe I’m not weird, maybe I’m
just quirky. Guys seem to like quirky girls in movies. So what’s
wrong with me? Nothing. I’m not the problem. I don’t need to improve. He
just doesn’t think I’m as good as that other girl. Well, I guess
I’ll just sit here until he realizes that I am. [twiddles thumbs
for years in a delusional state]
It’s
important for me to set the record straight. Tyler and I watched the
first Star Wars movie early in our relationship. I had a wonderful
time. I think he did too. We both like Star Wars, but so what? A
movie, or five movies, or one hundred movies cannot be the foundation
that a relationship is built on. Sure, it’s great when you have
those things in common with your partner, but the stuff is just
stuff. You know what’s more important? Having the same core values.
My priorities have been all fucked up for so long it disgusts me.
Tyler
doesn’t have a problem with Star Wars. He has a problem with me
hanging on to damaging symbols from my past. I have to note that we
went to Episode VII last December. I felt (wrongly felt) that this
was because it was an “untainted” Star Wars film, so it was okay.
Another unfortunate quality of mine is “all or nothing”. I
thought (wrongly thought) that if I had to take the posters down,
that meant that everything Star Wars had to be obliterated, too,
including ever watching the movies again.
Fucking
ridiculous. For the record, Tyler never said I wasn’t allowed to
watch Star Wars. I made that up all on my own. I assumed. And, as the
saying goes, I made an ass out of myself. I mean, can you imagine if
that were true? Why would I ever want to be with someone who imposed
any such rule on me? I’ve seen enough Dr. Phil to recognize a
controlling relationship. I knew/know in my heart that Tyler
wasn’t/isn’t controlling me or else I wouldn’t still be with
him. I twisted it around so I was the victim. It had to be his fault,
because it couldn’t be mine.
I
also made a rule for myself that in 2016 I wouldn’t watch any
movies I had already seen before. (I also like to make stupid rules
for myself to, I don’t know, prove something.) That way there would
be no possible conflict. Watching Star Wars wasn’t even on the
table. Instead of dealing with the issue straight on, I ignored it. I
was tiptoeing around it, putting my head in the sand, praying that it
would all go away. Or as Homer says...
So
here’s the deal. I can hide under the coats and fail the test. Or I
can cut the shit and stop trying to save face all the time. I’ll
start here. Clearing the air on my relationship with Star Wars:
I
used to not give a shit about Star Wars. I didn’t like space
movies. Space wasn’t romantic. My best friend from childhood liked
Star Wars, but I ignored her when she wanted to watch it. She did
watch Attack of the Clones once while I was doing my homework or
something. (Obviously Episode II isn’t the one that’s going to
grab you anyway, but this shows I had absolutely no interest.)
Anyway, Ashley moved to England with her family for a semester in
eighth grade and I missed her so I rented the trilogy. I enjoyed the
movies, but I didn’t think they were all that. There wasn’t
enough romance for me. At this point in my life, a movie had to have
a strong romantic plot to hold my attention.
After
meeting Delusion #2 and learning he liked Star Wars, I decided to
give them another shot. I liked them more. I could say that I had
grown up, that my tastes had changed, which is true. I was in the
midst of my Oscar phase then and was at least trying to like more
prestigious films, with or without strong romantic plot. And Star
Wars is just good. No one can deny that. It was a combination of
things, but—here’s the important part where I am not putting my
head in the sand anymore—Delusion #2 was at the top of the list. I
wanted to impress him. I wanted to have common ground. He was into
film, but he was more into video games. Film was second banana. I was
never going to be able to connect with him over gaming because I
didn’t really like video games. I wasn’t good at them either. So
going out and buying an XBox was too fake. At least watching a movie
and learning to love it was more realistic. But still not right.
I
liken it this: Let’s say Delusion #2’s favorite food is spaghetti
and meatballs and I’m a vegetarian. I can’t, in good conscience,
eat meatballs. But spaghetti! That’s pasta! I love pasta! I’ve
had spaghetti before. It was good. I’m really more of a penne girl,
but I’ll give spaghetti another shot. You know what? This spaghetti
is really fucking good. Maybe liking just the pasta will be enough!
Say
it with me. DELUSIONAL.
No
wonder it didn’t work out. And I’m glad it didn’t for a lot of
reasons. The main one being that I wouldn’t have met Tyler. I also
would have constantly been trying to impress Delusion #2. I would
have been acting. I wouldn’t be me. I would be what I thought he
wanted me to be and that’s no way to live life. For example, he
hated the prequel trilogy. I liked them. This was not an opinion I
ever shared with him because I knew it would change his opinion of
me. So if I ended up with him, what would I have done? Never watch
The Phantom Menace again because it might annoy him? Jesus fucking
Christ. How pitiful was I?
Very, very recently I have learned that I didn't ever really love Star Wars for itself. I loved it because someone else did. And then I carried the relics around with because I didn't want to believe I was the type of girl who liked something just because a boy did. I continued the façade. But the truth is someone else is the reason I got into Star Wars, but he is not the reason I
continue to like it. Or at least I think I still like it. I haven't obviously watched it with this new mindset. I believe I will like it though, for what it is: a
cool movie with a classic story, awesome characters, and glorious
effects, costumes, set design, and music. That’s what it is and all
it should be. It shouldn’t be a reason for one person to like
another. It shouldn’t be a tool for loss or gain. It should be
entertainment.
So
let’s say I sit down to watch Star Wars right now. The opening
fanfare blares, the crawl begins over the starfield. I will think of
someone from my past. But it will not be positive thoughts about him. It will
not be if only I had quoted the hologram speech to him, we’d be
together now. Instead, I will think about the pain I caused
myself. How unworthy he was of my affections and how I deluded myself
into thinking he was what I wanted. I will think that faking an
interest in something to impress a guy was not cool. It was pathetic,
shameful, and deceptive. I will acknowledge all of that. I can deal
with it. I can move on. I will be grateful that part of my life is
over and that I am in a better place, physically, mentally,
emotionally, romantically. And then I will start to enjoy the movie.
Time
and time again, Tyler has had to hold up the mirror. Because of him I
have seen all my inadequacies and sometimes I have taken action and
sometimes I have just run away. In our relationship, I am the Homer
and Tyler is the Marge. I am the one who constantly messes up and
continually needs to be forgiven. And it’s exhausting being the
fuck-up. Especially when a lot of the time I don’t want to believe
it’s my fault.
But
it is. It’s usually always my fault. Like writing a post that should have been about my failures but instead blamed Tyler for making me face my issues is my fault. It takes me too long to realize that I am wrong. No one likes being wrong after all, and sometimes I've gotta be right, right? Not when it comes to this stuff, the past stuff. I just need to throw up the white flag. I have to see it for what it is. I have to slow down and realize I have not always been the victim, I have been the villain. I caused all this drama and I have to clean it up. But I start to think about how, and the wind goes out of me. I don't know how.
But I do. Be myself. Be honest. Be true. Yes, I've made mistakes. I should own them. Stop running away, stop trying to hide. Face them. As Yoda says, you must unlearn what you have learned, which means only I have the power to undo the damage I have caused myself. I'm on my way.
Monday, April 18, 2016
UPDATE
Two months ago, I made this statement about an old blog of mine that I cannot delete:
...So even though I wanted to delete it, I couldn't. But it's a common story. There are lots of abandoned blogs floating around. Boo hoo. Yes, boo hoo, indeed, because mine has hurt the person I care about most. When Tyler found that blog, I came to realize why I abandoned it and attempted to ignore it. It's written proof of things I regret doing and feeling. Even though I have tried and tried and tried and tried and tried to delete it, I can't. If I could, I would blow up the whole damn internet to get rid of this thing. But I can't do that either. I lack the technology and know how. But believe you me, I would in a heartbeat.
Yesterday I was presented with a similar opportunity in which I didn't lack the ability or know how. I failed. So I'm a fucking hypocritical asshole.
Here's the short version because I do not want to crowd this blog with my past shit. Once upon a time, I liked this guy. We'll call him Delusion #2. Delusion #2 liked Star Wars. I liked Star Wars. This was something we could bond over. It was important for him to know how much I liked Star Wars. So what did I do? I bought posters for Episodes IV through VI. I hung them on my dorm room walls. This did not matter to Delusion #2.
Years later, when Delusion #2 was physically out of my life, I still continued to hang those posters on my walls because I had come to really love Star Wars. And that dark twisted masochist subconscious part of me wanted a reminder of him. I was only paying attention to my conscious-conscious; I still like Star Wars. I'm not going to let my bullshit with Delusion #2 ruin a trilogy of great movies. Fuck that situation. I'm putting up the posters.
Once Tyler learned that there was a connection he was not happy. But I didn't get it. They were just posters for very popular movies. So what? I didn't believe what he was saying; that they were symbols of my past damaging feelings. But I took them down. If it was him or the posters, the choice was obvious. I gave him the posters to do what he wanted with them. I wrote him a letter saying as much. And I said something along the lines of "maybe you'll give them back to me one day." It wasn't so much the posters I cared about, but did that mean I could never watch Star Wars again? I wanted to watch Star Wars again. I wanted him to be okay with that and realize that I could separate past associations with pure entertainment.
Tyler kept the posters. I forgot about the whole thing because that's what I do with a lot of unpleasantness. Then yesterday, I came home to find all three up on the walls. My first reaction was "What the hell?" A bad "What the hell?" I felt a sickening stab of doom. But then that over optimistic, delusional part of me thought: "Hooray! He doesn't care anymore! We can watch Star Wars again! Yay! He finally believes you! He finally understands that they're just movies!"
Wrong. I should have torn them down immediately. What I have been ignoring this whole time is that they are symbols of my past feelings. Just like my blog is a literal online platform of my past feelings. I can't destroy the blog, but I could have taken down the posters. I just didn't see them as equal. But I should have. It goes without saying that I am thickheaded about all of this. I had an opportunity to "blow up the internet" but I missed it. And made it worse by being actually happy that the posters were up because I thought that might mean I could enjoy Star Wars again.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I thought of me, myself, and I yesterday when I should have realized how fucking out of character it was for Tyler to put those posters up and it was an obvious sign to take action. My mind was fogged. It had been a bad day, following a bad night which turns my mind to slurry. When I am under duress, I get selfish. I look for ways to feel happy again. I should have realized the opportunity in front of me, that I could make Tyler happy and heal him a little, but instead I made us both miserable and hurt him.
So, like I said. I am hypocritical asshole.
All I can do is try harder the next day and the next and the next until I get it right.
I'm sorry, Tyler.
...So even though I wanted to delete it, I couldn't. But it's a common story. There are lots of abandoned blogs floating around. Boo hoo. Yes, boo hoo, indeed, because mine has hurt the person I care about most. When Tyler found that blog, I came to realize why I abandoned it and attempted to ignore it. It's written proof of things I regret doing and feeling. Even though I have tried and tried and tried and tried and tried to delete it, I can't. If I could, I would blow up the whole damn internet to get rid of this thing. But I can't do that either. I lack the technology and know how. But believe you me, I would in a heartbeat.
Yesterday I was presented with a similar opportunity in which I didn't lack the ability or know how. I failed. So I'm a fucking hypocritical asshole.
Here's the short version because I do not want to crowd this blog with my past shit. Once upon a time, I liked this guy. We'll call him Delusion #2. Delusion #2 liked Star Wars. I liked Star Wars. This was something we could bond over. It was important for him to know how much I liked Star Wars. So what did I do? I bought posters for Episodes IV through VI. I hung them on my dorm room walls. This did not matter to Delusion #2.
Years later, when Delusion #2 was physically out of my life, I still continued to hang those posters on my walls because I had come to really love Star Wars. And that dark twisted masochist subconscious part of me wanted a reminder of him. I was only paying attention to my conscious-conscious; I still like Star Wars. I'm not going to let my bullshit with Delusion #2 ruin a trilogy of great movies. Fuck that situation. I'm putting up the posters.
Once Tyler learned that there was a connection he was not happy. But I didn't get it. They were just posters for very popular movies. So what? I didn't believe what he was saying; that they were symbols of my past damaging feelings. But I took them down. If it was him or the posters, the choice was obvious. I gave him the posters to do what he wanted with them. I wrote him a letter saying as much. And I said something along the lines of "maybe you'll give them back to me one day." It wasn't so much the posters I cared about, but did that mean I could never watch Star Wars again? I wanted to watch Star Wars again. I wanted him to be okay with that and realize that I could separate past associations with pure entertainment.
Tyler kept the posters. I forgot about the whole thing because that's what I do with a lot of unpleasantness. Then yesterday, I came home to find all three up on the walls. My first reaction was "What the hell?" A bad "What the hell?" I felt a sickening stab of doom. But then that over optimistic, delusional part of me thought: "Hooray! He doesn't care anymore! We can watch Star Wars again! Yay! He finally believes you! He finally understands that they're just movies!"
Wrong. I should have torn them down immediately. What I have been ignoring this whole time is that they are symbols of my past feelings. Just like my blog is a literal online platform of my past feelings. I can't destroy the blog, but I could have taken down the posters. I just didn't see them as equal. But I should have. It goes without saying that I am thickheaded about all of this. I had an opportunity to "blow up the internet" but I missed it. And made it worse by being actually happy that the posters were up because I thought that might mean I could enjoy Star Wars again.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I thought of me, myself, and I yesterday when I should have realized how fucking out of character it was for Tyler to put those posters up and it was an obvious sign to take action. My mind was fogged. It had been a bad day, following a bad night which turns my mind to slurry. When I am under duress, I get selfish. I look for ways to feel happy again. I should have realized the opportunity in front of me, that I could make Tyler happy and heal him a little, but instead I made us both miserable and hurt him.
So, like I said. I am hypocritical asshole.
All I can do is try harder the next day and the next and the next until I get it right.
I'm sorry, Tyler.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #17
I don't care what anybody says. This is something that anyone should demand from their significant other. Along with trust, respect, and kindness, there is...
Tyler's Personal Hygiene
This one is sort of related to yesterday's post. Just like you can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she dresses, you can also tell a lot about a person by how they take care of themselves in the most basic sense. If a person can't be bothered to shower everyday or comb their hair or brush their teeth*, then we're going have another problem.
Working with the public, I have encountered a lot of B.O., bad breath, and greasy hair. And when I see someone with these traits with a wedding ring, I immediately wonder to myself who can stand to live with this person day in and day out???
Fine. Call me a bitch. Some women demand a man with a six figure salary. I demand a man who showers every day. Excuse me for having high standards.
Tyler is hygienic. This should go without saying, but I think it deserves mentioning. One should never take this for granted. (And if you do, spend a week working retail in rural Idaho and then come talk to me.) While Tyler usually showers every day, he doesn't always wash his hair because he doesn't have to. Nor does he have to wear deodorant because his "body odor" is faint and only those who get right up in his arm pit get the full experience. (Don't judge me.) He combs his hair, he brushes his teeth. He keeps his fingernails clean and short. I have never been scratched by a jagged, unruly toenail. Tyler meets my high hygienic standards. It's true love.
*I am obviously talking about people who have the means and opportunity for personal care, not the homeless or people who have to live in the woods for whatever reason.
Tyler's Personal Hygiene
This one is sort of related to yesterday's post. Just like you can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she dresses, you can also tell a lot about a person by how they take care of themselves in the most basic sense. If a person can't be bothered to shower everyday or comb their hair or brush their teeth*, then we're going have another problem.
Working with the public, I have encountered a lot of B.O., bad breath, and greasy hair. And when I see someone with these traits with a wedding ring, I immediately wonder to myself who can stand to live with this person day in and day out???
Fine. Call me a bitch. Some women demand a man with a six figure salary. I demand a man who showers every day. Excuse me for having high standards.
Tyler is hygienic. This should go without saying, but I think it deserves mentioning. One should never take this for granted. (And if you do, spend a week working retail in rural Idaho and then come talk to me.) While Tyler usually showers every day, he doesn't always wash his hair because he doesn't have to. Nor does he have to wear deodorant because his "body odor" is faint and only those who get right up in his arm pit get the full experience. (Don't judge me.) He combs his hair, he brushes his teeth. He keeps his fingernails clean and short. I have never been scratched by a jagged, unruly toenail. Tyler meets my high hygienic standards. It's true love.
*I am obviously talking about people who have the means and opportunity for personal care, not the homeless or people who have to live in the woods for whatever reason.
Friday, April 15, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #23
Tyler's Clothes
You might recall that I don't like it when men do things that they think will impress women. Like wearing cologne, for example. Another facet of that is fashion. The whole notion of peacocking really turns me off. Now, I won't sit here and declare that men should wear this or that. That's sexist. But we all have our preferences and just like some men would prefer all women to walk around in tube tops and Daisy Dukes, it is my preference for men to wear plain and basic jeans and t-shirts.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she dresses. While someone can't easily change their face, body type, or height, they do have control over how they ornament themselves. You can tell where that person's priorities lie. You can estimate their pride and sense of self. I freely admit to judging people by the way they dress. (I mean, if their clothes aren't even clean, we're gonna have a problem.)
When I first met Tyler, I couldn't do this because work requires him to wear slacks, a button down shirt and a tie. He has to look business-like. I assumed that he didn't wear that stuff in his private life, but what if he dressed like Fred Durst or Guy Fieri or some other extreme douchebag? Our chemistry was too strong so half of me didn't care and the other half crossed her fingers and prayed that he dressed normal. I mean, he didn't smell like cologne which was a good sign...
The first time I saw Tyler outside of work, we went to coffee and he didn't go home to change first. But he wore a grey zip-up sweatshirt to cover up. And he took off his tie. The second time, he came straight from work again. We went for a walk and it started to rain. He became soaked and asked if I wouldn't mind going with him to his house so he could change. I still wasn't ready to go inside his apartment, so I waited in the car. It was the moment of truth.
Tyler came out in normal clothes. (But you saw that coming, of course.) What would I have done if he was wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt, you ask? I don't know. He didn't. He wouldn't. He's Tyler. So it's really a moot point. He dresses so he doesn't draw attention to himself. He dresses comfortably. He dresses manly. He dresses how he is and how he feels and I love it.
You might recall that I don't like it when men do things that they think will impress women. Like wearing cologne, for example. Another facet of that is fashion. The whole notion of peacocking really turns me off. Now, I won't sit here and declare that men should wear this or that. That's sexist. But we all have our preferences and just like some men would prefer all women to walk around in tube tops and Daisy Dukes, it is my preference for men to wear plain and basic jeans and t-shirts.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she dresses. While someone can't easily change their face, body type, or height, they do have control over how they ornament themselves. You can tell where that person's priorities lie. You can estimate their pride and sense of self. I freely admit to judging people by the way they dress. (I mean, if their clothes aren't even clean, we're gonna have a problem.)
When I first met Tyler, I couldn't do this because work requires him to wear slacks, a button down shirt and a tie. He has to look business-like. I assumed that he didn't wear that stuff in his private life, but what if he dressed like Fred Durst or Guy Fieri or some other extreme douchebag? Our chemistry was too strong so half of me didn't care and the other half crossed her fingers and prayed that he dressed normal. I mean, he didn't smell like cologne which was a good sign...
The first time I saw Tyler outside of work, we went to coffee and he didn't go home to change first. But he wore a grey zip-up sweatshirt to cover up. And he took off his tie. The second time, he came straight from work again. We went for a walk and it started to rain. He became soaked and asked if I wouldn't mind going with him to his house so he could change. I still wasn't ready to go inside his apartment, so I waited in the car. It was the moment of truth.
Tyler came out in normal clothes. (But you saw that coming, of course.) What would I have done if he was wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt, you ask? I don't know. He didn't. He wouldn't. He's Tyler. So it's really a moot point. He dresses so he doesn't draw attention to himself. He dresses comfortably. He dresses manly. He dresses how he is and how he feels and I love it.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #95
I love Tyler for a lot of reasons, as you can see. Some of them are unique to him and him alone. Some are qualities a woman would and should want in a man, qualities that every man should have. And some are just appreciated.
Tyler's Handwriting
Would I love Tyler if he had terrible handwriting? Well, of course. That sort of thing shouldn't be a deal breaker for anyone. But it's so awesome that he has beautiful handwriting! The stereotype is that women have better--or at least more legible--print. Personally, I'm annoyed by that bubbly girl writing, which is why mine is kind of sloppy. Tyler's is impressively neat and sophisticated, but manly. He claims his super awesome handwriting is the product of having a teacher for a mother. (Go Kathy!)
I wish I could show you, but I don't have a scanner. And that's sort of invasive, I suppose. I love reading anything that he's written. And if we have to exchange notes for whatever reason, I never have any trouble deciphering. I love the simplicity of this pleasure and I look forward to every shopping list or to do list I get to read in the future.
Tyler's Handwriting
Would I love Tyler if he had terrible handwriting? Well, of course. That sort of thing shouldn't be a deal breaker for anyone. But it's so awesome that he has beautiful handwriting! The stereotype is that women have better--or at least more legible--print. Personally, I'm annoyed by that bubbly girl writing, which is why mine is kind of sloppy. Tyler's is impressively neat and sophisticated, but manly. He claims his super awesome handwriting is the product of having a teacher for a mother. (Go Kathy!)
I wish I could show you, but I don't have a scanner. And that's sort of invasive, I suppose. I love reading anything that he's written. And if we have to exchange notes for whatever reason, I never have any trouble deciphering. I love the simplicity of this pleasure and I look forward to every shopping list or to do list I get to read in the future.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #41
Tyler's Accent
Regardless of what you think, everyone has an accent. There is no perfect or ideal pronunciation of any language. Or at least there shouldn't be. I, having learned to talk in the Pacific Northwest, have what you call a "flat western dialect". It is the most boring "accent". It's what you hear on the news. At least I think that's what I sound like...
Tyler, on the other hand, was raised in Southern California. (Did you know "California English" has its own Wikipedia page? Now you do.) When I first met Tyler, shortly before learning he was from California, I noticed something different about the way he talked. It was clearer. And there was something about it I couldn't quite describe but something I had definitely heard before. He didn't speak Hickenese like the folks 'round here, thankfully.
I've read articles about why women are attracted to men with accents--it's biological, like most things at the bottom of initial sexual attraction. When women hear an accent different from their own, our ovaries (or whatever) think that man is from a Land Far Far Away and if we mate with him we are less likely to create an accidental incest baby. True story.
Very soon into my first meeting with Tyler, I learned he was from SoCal, and not just that, an actual beach town. Then I got it. Tyler is a smart man and speaks very well but there is something surfer-esque in the way he speaks sometimes, which I totally dig. I love it when he uses words like "gnarly" and "rad". I think it's also the 80s-ness of it too, but whatever.
I love listening to Tyler talk. I love watching the words come out of his mouth. I love his enunciation. This is all terrific because I'll be listening to him the rest of my life.
Regardless of what you think, everyone has an accent. There is no perfect or ideal pronunciation of any language. Or at least there shouldn't be. I, having learned to talk in the Pacific Northwest, have what you call a "flat western dialect". It is the most boring "accent". It's what you hear on the news. At least I think that's what I sound like...
Tyler, on the other hand, was raised in Southern California. (Did you know "California English" has its own Wikipedia page? Now you do.) When I first met Tyler, shortly before learning he was from California, I noticed something different about the way he talked. It was clearer. And there was something about it I couldn't quite describe but something I had definitely heard before. He didn't speak Hickenese like the folks 'round here, thankfully.
I've read articles about why women are attracted to men with accents--it's biological, like most things at the bottom of initial sexual attraction. When women hear an accent different from their own, our ovaries (or whatever) think that man is from a Land Far Far Away and if we mate with him we are less likely to create an accidental incest baby. True story.
Very soon into my first meeting with Tyler, I learned he was from SoCal, and not just that, an actual beach town. Then I got it. Tyler is a smart man and speaks very well but there is something surfer-esque in the way he speaks sometimes, which I totally dig. I love it when he uses words like "gnarly" and "rad". I think it's also the 80s-ness of it too, but whatever.
I love listening to Tyler talk. I love watching the words come out of his mouth. I love his enunciation. This is all terrific because I'll be listening to him the rest of my life.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #51
Tyler Eats in Bed
I should probably find this disgusting. Eating in bed isn't a good thing. It can be unhealthy if you're sleeping with food particles. It can attract ants and mice. Eating before sleep isn't good for your digestion either. And finally there is the psychological aspects. Sleep experts say you should only get in your bed if you're planning to sleep. That way it's a Pavlovian response. Bed = sleep rather than bed = place where I lay awake for hours trying to sleep. And if I go further, marriage experts say the bedroom should be a private area where only private things should be done--sleeping, dressing, making love.
I think Tyler told me that he never ate in bed until he started seeing me. It'll usually go like this: If it's a late night and Tyler hasn't eaten and I'm ready to sleep, he'll bring whatever meal or snack he wants and chow down while we're watching TV. How Tyler eats should be a different post, but this when and where is adorable. I truly don't know why I find this endearing. Probably because even though it makes better sense to eat at the table, he wants to be next to me. And if I'm in bed, that's where he's going to be too. I love that he wants to be with me in times that don't even make much sense.
I should probably find this disgusting. Eating in bed isn't a good thing. It can be unhealthy if you're sleeping with food particles. It can attract ants and mice. Eating before sleep isn't good for your digestion either. And finally there is the psychological aspects. Sleep experts say you should only get in your bed if you're planning to sleep. That way it's a Pavlovian response. Bed = sleep rather than bed = place where I lay awake for hours trying to sleep. And if I go further, marriage experts say the bedroom should be a private area where only private things should be done--sleeping, dressing, making love.
I think Tyler told me that he never ate in bed until he started seeing me. It'll usually go like this: If it's a late night and Tyler hasn't eaten and I'm ready to sleep, he'll bring whatever meal or snack he wants and chow down while we're watching TV. How Tyler eats should be a different post, but this when and where is adorable. I truly don't know why I find this endearing. Probably because even though it makes better sense to eat at the table, he wants to be next to me. And if I'm in bed, that's where he's going to be too. I love that he wants to be with me in times that don't even make much sense.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #77
Tyler *#$&ing Swears
I swear. I swear every damn day. I have since I was a ridiculously small child. My father swears constantly, and therefore, I picked up a few choice words much to my mother's dismay. My father encouraged my swearing, cultivated it. He thought it was funny and more importantly, a reflection on him. Any child of his should swear, wear tie-dye, ride motorcycles, drink beer, listen to classic rock, etc.
I picked up on a few of these, but swearing came the easiest. When I was about ten or so, my dad told me I was allowed to swear as long as I didn't say "fuck" or "cocksucker". That was it. Every other swear word was on the table. I respected my father's wishes and kept it PG-13 until my sophomore year of high school.
Swearing is a habit of mine. Some would say a bad habit. And you know what I say to them? A cheerful "fuck you", of course. So if I was ever going to spend the rest of my life with someone, he would have accept my swearing and hopefully swear himself so I wouldn't feel like a bad person. Luckily, Tyler swears. I know I'm not asking for the moon here, but Tyler swearing is important. It comes down to common ground. Having this in common will make life better, easier, and more comfortable. We share this "bad habit" and are "bad" together. We're on the same team. I imagine this is how religious people feel, when they find someone who believes in the same exact things. Tyler and I attend the Bitchen Badass Church of Fucking Hell Yeah. You and your S.O. have to share some things, and this is one I'm glad Tyler and I do.
I swear. I swear every damn day. I have since I was a ridiculously small child. My father swears constantly, and therefore, I picked up a few choice words much to my mother's dismay. My father encouraged my swearing, cultivated it. He thought it was funny and more importantly, a reflection on him. Any child of his should swear, wear tie-dye, ride motorcycles, drink beer, listen to classic rock, etc.
I picked up on a few of these, but swearing came the easiest. When I was about ten or so, my dad told me I was allowed to swear as long as I didn't say "fuck" or "cocksucker". That was it. Every other swear word was on the table. I respected my father's wishes and kept it PG-13 until my sophomore year of high school.
Swearing is a habit of mine. Some would say a bad habit. And you know what I say to them? A cheerful "fuck you", of course. So if I was ever going to spend the rest of my life with someone, he would have accept my swearing and hopefully swear himself so I wouldn't feel like a bad person. Luckily, Tyler swears. I know I'm not asking for the moon here, but Tyler swearing is important. It comes down to common ground. Having this in common will make life better, easier, and more comfortable. We share this "bad habit" and are "bad" together. We're on the same team. I imagine this is how religious people feel, when they find someone who believes in the same exact things. Tyler and I attend the Bitchen Badass Church of Fucking Hell Yeah. You and your S.O. have to share some things, and this is one I'm glad Tyler and I do.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #61
Tyler Lets Me Wear His Clothes
If you are even the most casual of movie watchers, I'm sure you've seen a moment where the heroine exits the bedroom wearing the shirt (button up or tee) of the hero and not much else. I get to do that now. I've never been a "pajama girl" but the who hell even really wears pajamas anymore? This isn't the 60s. Nor do I wear a nightgown. This isn't the 1860s either. I'm all for comfort, so I wear Tyler's clothes to bed. Correction, I wear Tyler's dirty clothes to bed.
After Tyler and I started sleeping together on the regular (and I do mean sleep here), I started forfeiting my usual tee shirt and boxers for his tee shirt and underwear. Whatever happens to get left on the floor is promptly scooped up by me. That's right. I wear Tyler's used underwear to bed. Think me gross, if you will. I don't care. After all, Tyler isn't dirty. His clothes carry his natural scent emitted throughout the day, which I love, as you know.
Look, boxer briefs are comfortable. I suggest you give them a try if you haven't already, ladies. Tyler even bought me my own pack, but now they're mixed in with his anyway. Wearing my man's clothes is wonderful. It gives me a feeling of possession and being possessed at the same time. (Yikes...I mean that in the best way!) I feel closer to Tyler by wearing his clothes and he lets me do it and isn't grossed out by it. He thinks it's cute. I love that Tyler accepts this eccentricity of mine and allows me to enjoy it.
If you are even the most casual of movie watchers, I'm sure you've seen a moment where the heroine exits the bedroom wearing the shirt (button up or tee) of the hero and not much else. I get to do that now. I've never been a "pajama girl" but the who hell even really wears pajamas anymore? This isn't the 60s. Nor do I wear a nightgown. This isn't the 1860s either. I'm all for comfort, so I wear Tyler's clothes to bed. Correction, I wear Tyler's dirty clothes to bed.
After Tyler and I started sleeping together on the regular (and I do mean sleep here), I started forfeiting my usual tee shirt and boxers for his tee shirt and underwear. Whatever happens to get left on the floor is promptly scooped up by me. That's right. I wear Tyler's used underwear to bed. Think me gross, if you will. I don't care. After all, Tyler isn't dirty. His clothes carry his natural scent emitted throughout the day, which I love, as you know.
Look, boxer briefs are comfortable. I suggest you give them a try if you haven't already, ladies. Tyler even bought me my own pack, but now they're mixed in with his anyway. Wearing my man's clothes is wonderful. It gives me a feeling of possession and being possessed at the same time. (Yikes...I mean that in the best way!) I feel closer to Tyler by wearing his clothes and he lets me do it and isn't grossed out by it. He thinks it's cute. I love that Tyler accepts this eccentricity of mine and allows me to enjoy it.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #100
Tyler Likes My Singing Voice
Apparently, I can sing. As a kid, I didn't care if I was any good or not, I just wanted to sing. But I wasn't terrible because year after year I was one of the chosen students to sing by the microphone at the annual Christmas pageant. This swelled my head and I eventually entered a talent show singing and dancing to "Pink Shoe Laces", a silly song from the 1950s in which the chick sings about her love for her boyfriend Dooley who likes to wear tan shoes, pink shoe laces, a polka dot vest and a big Panama hat with a purple hat band. There is no mention of Dooley being gay or not, but come on. Anyway, I won the 10 and Under portion of the contest which swelled my head further.
As a kid, I also watched a lot of Disney movies and singing was a very attractive quality. All Disney princesses could sing which made me believe I was a little bit more like a Disney princess than perhaps other girls. In Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Sleeping Beauty, the princess' singing is what draws her prince to her in the first place. Ariel's beautiful singing voice is even a plot point in The Little Mermaid; Ariel must win Prince Eric's affections without the use of her voice while he has his heart set on marrying the woman who saved him (Ariel) who has a beautiful singing voice therefore, he believes it can't possibly be Ariel because she is mute. I used to think it would be awesome to have my voice enchant a man, just like it would be awesome to wear a big foofy dress or ride in a pumpkin carriage. All just Disney pipe dreams.
As I grew, I continued to sing whether or not anyone wanted to hear me. Some did. The girls I played junior high volleyball with wanted me to audition for American Idol after hearing me sing ABBA's "Dancing Queen". Others didn't. So I suppressed it. I don't enjoy annoying people. But sometimes I can't help it.
For instance, it's one of my closing duties at work to clean the bathrooms every night. It sucks, but the bathrooms have good acoustics and I eventually became comfortable enough to sing at work, again not caring who heard me. I think I had mentioned to Tyler that I "could sing" and he thought that was awesome because, if you recall, he can't. But I hadn't sang in front of him yet, or if I did, it was brief.
I don't think it was the first time I sang at work, but it was the first time Tyler was on duty. I was in the men's room and he stood outside listening to me until I came out for something. One time he even walked in on me. My voice drew him to me like in a Disney movie. I'm sure he won't appreciate this because he hates Disney and thinks it warps the minds of the world's female population. He's probably right. But he gave me a Disney princess moment, then and there, and I felt very very special. One of my childish fantasies had come true. Thanks, babe!
I know I'm not good enough for American Idol or The Voice or any other singing reality show that may come out in the future. I can't do the things Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, etc. can do. I don't have a unique voice either. I can hit some of the notes. As I like to say, I can carry a tune, I can even lift it over my head, but I can't throw it very far. I sing purely because I enjoy it. And although maybe, maybe I could have made a career out of it in the 1970s, it's not the 1970s. My talent isn't going to waste though. If Tyler thinks I have a beautiful voice, then I have a beautiful voice. I love the dreamy look on his face when I sing to him. It's just another way he makes me feel like the most special woman in the world.
Apparently, I can sing. As a kid, I didn't care if I was any good or not, I just wanted to sing. But I wasn't terrible because year after year I was one of the chosen students to sing by the microphone at the annual Christmas pageant. This swelled my head and I eventually entered a talent show singing and dancing to "Pink Shoe Laces", a silly song from the 1950s in which the chick sings about her love for her boyfriend Dooley who likes to wear tan shoes, pink shoe laces, a polka dot vest and a big Panama hat with a purple hat band. There is no mention of Dooley being gay or not, but come on. Anyway, I won the 10 and Under portion of the contest which swelled my head further.
As a kid, I also watched a lot of Disney movies and singing was a very attractive quality. All Disney princesses could sing which made me believe I was a little bit more like a Disney princess than perhaps other girls. In Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Sleeping Beauty, the princess' singing is what draws her prince to her in the first place. Ariel's beautiful singing voice is even a plot point in The Little Mermaid; Ariel must win Prince Eric's affections without the use of her voice while he has his heart set on marrying the woman who saved him (Ariel) who has a beautiful singing voice therefore, he believes it can't possibly be Ariel because she is mute. I used to think it would be awesome to have my voice enchant a man, just like it would be awesome to wear a big foofy dress or ride in a pumpkin carriage. All just Disney pipe dreams.
As I grew, I continued to sing whether or not anyone wanted to hear me. Some did. The girls I played junior high volleyball with wanted me to audition for American Idol after hearing me sing ABBA's "Dancing Queen". Others didn't. So I suppressed it. I don't enjoy annoying people. But sometimes I can't help it.
For instance, it's one of my closing duties at work to clean the bathrooms every night. It sucks, but the bathrooms have good acoustics and I eventually became comfortable enough to sing at work, again not caring who heard me. I think I had mentioned to Tyler that I "could sing" and he thought that was awesome because, if you recall, he can't. But I hadn't sang in front of him yet, or if I did, it was brief.
I don't think it was the first time I sang at work, but it was the first time Tyler was on duty. I was in the men's room and he stood outside listening to me until I came out for something. One time he even walked in on me. My voice drew him to me like in a Disney movie. I'm sure he won't appreciate this because he hates Disney and thinks it warps the minds of the world's female population. He's probably right. But he gave me a Disney princess moment, then and there, and I felt very very special. One of my childish fantasies had come true. Thanks, babe!
I know I'm not good enough for American Idol or The Voice or any other singing reality show that may come out in the future. I can't do the things Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, etc. can do. I don't have a unique voice either. I can hit some of the notes. As I like to say, I can carry a tune, I can even lift it over my head, but I can't throw it very far. I sing purely because I enjoy it. And although maybe, maybe I could have made a career out of it in the 1970s, it's not the 1970s. My talent isn't going to waste though. If Tyler thinks I have a beautiful voice, then I have a beautiful voice. I love the dreamy look on his face when I sing to him. It's just another way he makes me feel like the most special woman in the world.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #67
Girls make too big a deal out of this. In fact, if a dude wrote a blog such as this, this point wouldn't even make the list because it's not a big deal to guys. You know what I'm talking about.
Tyler Doesn't Mind When I Toot
Look, everyone passes gas. Everyone. Every President of the United States. Every Miss America. Every Pope. Every Playboy centerfold. It is a human act that we humans do because our bodies are designed to do it. So yeah, any guy that freaks out when his--or any--woman breaks wind is a hypocritical sexist asshole.
However...there's this societal commandment that says girls aren't supposed to fart. Scratch that, ladies aren't supposed to fart. So sure, you can be a girl and toot to your heart's content, but you'll always be just one of the guys, a buddy, a chum, never ever girlfriend material. This notion is engrained in us women from an early age. So we hold it in and hold it in until our bellies are swollen and moaning for release.
I've prided myself on being the type of chick that is discreet about such matters. Bathroom humor isn't my favorite kind of humor to begin with. I have friends I have known for nearly a decade who have never heard me toot. And if I can't break wind in front of them, who can I break wind in front of?
I think Tyler and I had been together two weeks before he passed gas in front of me. No big deal. Because he is a guy. I thought nothing of it. I was sort of happy, even, because it meant he was comfortable in front of me. But for my part, I was going to put off being comfortable for as long as possible. How stupid of me.
I can't be held responsible for what I did in my sleep. And the accidental slip did happen. Tyler assured me that it was no big deal. It was only a big deal because I was making it so. It took me a very long time (re: too long) to toot in front of Tyler. I mean, was I going to suppress and hide it the rest of my life? I couldn't. It just wasn't plausible. So I gave in. I trusted that Tyler would still find me sexy. And guess what? He does. It's no big deal. I will still get up and move away from Tyler because sometimes it would be rude not to. But I don't go to the bathroom and shut the door and turn on the faucet any more. He makes me comfortable in the best way, and for that, I love him.
Tyler Doesn't Mind When I Toot
Look, everyone passes gas. Everyone. Every President of the United States. Every Miss America. Every Pope. Every Playboy centerfold. It is a human act that we humans do because our bodies are designed to do it. So yeah, any guy that freaks out when his--or any--woman breaks wind is a hypocritical sexist asshole.
However...there's this societal commandment that says girls aren't supposed to fart. Scratch that, ladies aren't supposed to fart. So sure, you can be a girl and toot to your heart's content, but you'll always be just one of the guys, a buddy, a chum, never ever girlfriend material. This notion is engrained in us women from an early age. So we hold it in and hold it in until our bellies are swollen and moaning for release.
I've prided myself on being the type of chick that is discreet about such matters. Bathroom humor isn't my favorite kind of humor to begin with. I have friends I have known for nearly a decade who have never heard me toot. And if I can't break wind in front of them, who can I break wind in front of?
I think Tyler and I had been together two weeks before he passed gas in front of me. No big deal. Because he is a guy. I thought nothing of it. I was sort of happy, even, because it meant he was comfortable in front of me. But for my part, I was going to put off being comfortable for as long as possible. How stupid of me.
I can't be held responsible for what I did in my sleep. And the accidental slip did happen. Tyler assured me that it was no big deal. It was only a big deal because I was making it so. It took me a very long time (re: too long) to toot in front of Tyler. I mean, was I going to suppress and hide it the rest of my life? I couldn't. It just wasn't plausible. So I gave in. I trusted that Tyler would still find me sexy. And guess what? He does. It's no big deal. I will still get up and move away from Tyler because sometimes it would be rude not to. But I don't go to the bathroom and shut the door and turn on the faucet any more. He makes me comfortable in the best way, and for that, I love him.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Reason I Love Tyler #76
While there may be other women out there writing blogs about the men they love and all the reasons why, I'd bet my thumbs you won't find this one.
Tyler Sits on My Stomach
Since I was a little kid, I've gotten these occasional weird stomach pains. It feels like there are vertical veins at the front of my abdomen that suddenly start throbbing sharply, like electrical currents. I don't know how else to describe it. The pain is not related to my digestive or reproductive system, I don't think, so I should probably go to a doctor because I have no idea what it might be. Anyway, I eventually learned that the pain would dissipate if I applied pressure of some sort. Lying on my stomach kind of helped, but I needed more weight. Like the weight of a person. Since this is a very odd request, I would only ever ask my very best friends to sit on me. They weren't comfortable with this (I can't imagine why) so I settled for them applying pressure to my stomach with their foot.
Tyler and I had already been intimate the first time I asked him to sit on me. Sure it was a weird request, but Tyler knew by then that I was a weird chick. But he liked me anyway. Yay! I explained the purpose of the sitting and although I'm sure he had reservations, he sat on me. I felt better. He was happy to make me feel better no matter how weird it was. And that is what matters. He's there when I need him, and this is definitely a reoccurring need. I have lost count of the number of times Tyler has sat on my stomach since the first time. A sitting session usually only lasts a few minutes, but I am ever grateful for this ultra specific way Tyler shows me how much he cares.
Tyler Sits on My Stomach
Since I was a little kid, I've gotten these occasional weird stomach pains. It feels like there are vertical veins at the front of my abdomen that suddenly start throbbing sharply, like electrical currents. I don't know how else to describe it. The pain is not related to my digestive or reproductive system, I don't think, so I should probably go to a doctor because I have no idea what it might be. Anyway, I eventually learned that the pain would dissipate if I applied pressure of some sort. Lying on my stomach kind of helped, but I needed more weight. Like the weight of a person. Since this is a very odd request, I would only ever ask my very best friends to sit on me. They weren't comfortable with this (I can't imagine why) so I settled for them applying pressure to my stomach with their foot.
Tyler and I had already been intimate the first time I asked him to sit on me. Sure it was a weird request, but Tyler knew by then that I was a weird chick. But he liked me anyway. Yay! I explained the purpose of the sitting and although I'm sure he had reservations, he sat on me. I felt better. He was happy to make me feel better no matter how weird it was. And that is what matters. He's there when I need him, and this is definitely a reoccurring need. I have lost count of the number of times Tyler has sat on my stomach since the first time. A sitting session usually only lasts a few minutes, but I am ever grateful for this ultra specific way Tyler shows me how much he cares.