$27 – etsy.com
There’s a boy.
Who is sweeping me off my single feet.
I’ve known him all of a month. And yes, while that’s short period of time I’ve learned my lesson already, so don’t freak.
But this person. Ugh. I don’t know where to start. Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you so freaking amazing? All of these kinds of things are running through my head.
I mentioned him in my last post, he would be genuine green(ish) eyes. But we’ll call him Mr. Mister. More than a gentleman, Mr. M emits gentle. And manliness. He constantly checks on me. How I am doing. Am I hungry. Am I cold. And more than likely, I am. He catches my thoughts before I have time to really even think them.
Are you gagging yet? Oh, there’s more. Get out the paper bags.
So, how did we meet? I’m working on a film that needs some motion graphics work and the director recommended him. She’s known him for a long time and I looked him up on Vimeo and added him as a contact. He Facebooked me and asked why weren’t already friends (because we have like 30 people in common). I said, I don’t know. There was some semi-flirtacious banter. Then the discovery that we live literally a block away from each other. Dinner was arranged. And we met for the first time a month ago when he walked up to my front door and said, “Hi!”
Did you get your paper bag yet? You’ll need them for this next part.
These things make me happier than anything. I can’t describe the feeling I get when I get a text from him and it has something like this in it:
And my response…
And then I melt…
And we play…
And he is melting my icy heart.
So what about the Vow? Less than 2 months out I could say fuck it. But guess what? I’m not gonna. I can’t.
May 20 will be here in no time and I still feel like I need my beefy vow bouncer to keep me safe from heartbreak. However, it is increasingly difficult to be around Mr. M and not want to touch him. It’s kind of like a slow torture, and I’m doing it to myself.
I told him about the Vow (and the reasons behind it) a couple of weekends ago. Not only did he respect me for my Vow efforts, he shared his story of how after a long relationship of his ended back in 2007 he decided to be single for a year, “I needed to get my shit together.” And he started writing a book celebrating singledom, that he bound himself and worked on throughout the year, drawing creatures that had one liners, writing stories about crushes, changing the names and then having his friends read them (sound familiar?). He called this book Epic. And all things inside were to be just that, epic. He let me read it. I didn’t read the stories, just because it felt too personal too soon, but he said I could anytime.
And maybe you could tell from the awesome renderings and the Epic book, but he’s creative. Super duper creative. What he does for a living is creative–all of his goals are creative. He makes every moment being with him feel creative. We have about 8 things we’ve already decided we must do together, including Fatty Sundays where we sit around and watch things (like X-Files) and draw or work on stuff, and just be happy in the same room.
So I’m going to treat my Vow and this Mr. M in my life like an ice cube kinda situation. An ice cube doesn’t turn into water instantly, right? Exactly. I’m going to melt my way out of this Vow. Slowly, but surely, small things will fall away. I’m so excited for it to be warmer in here.
Yours feeling the heat,
I got naked for art yesterday. Yup.
NAKED. Like bare ass. No Fruit of the Loom to hide behind. There I was (we were) naked in front of my friend and former lover, Allen ( #7 on the “Where I’m Comin’ From” list).
He’s in art school for gaming and 3D design (something cool like that) and he’s in a life drawing class. He asked his friends if they would be interested in posing nude for his personal work. No one wanted to.
And since the best sex of my life, we have kept in touch. We are friends. So, it wasn’t completely out of left field when I got the message. I mean, when I first got the message I thought, well that sounds kind of fun. I’ve always thought it would be fun to model nude since Titanic came out (I was in 6th grade).
But then I started thinking more about it. Naked. Like this is all out there naked. But he has already seen me. It was over a year ago, but still, it wasn’t all out in front of lights and posing. It was in the throws of passion and (forgiving) mood lighting. So I talked myself out of it. It was stressing me out thinking about it, so I decided maybe not.
Then I brought it up with my girly friend. “So, I’m thinking of modeling nude for a friend. Should I do it?” She was immediately giddy with excitement (and wine) “Yes! You should do it! I’ll do it. Let’s do it!” And so we did.
If there is any perfect time to pose nude and have a talented artist draw you it’s 1) when you are single and 2) when you are young.
And it was amazing. And I learned something. I grew a little bit.
Being naked in front of my friend and Allen was a little strange at first. I found myself avoiding looking down. Like if I didn’t look down I wouldn’t remember that my junk was all out. And then after 10 minutes or so it was better. It wasn’t weird. We got into a rhythm and it was fun. I came up with some ideas. I felt pretty. I felt like when I was little and I would throw all of my clothes off because they were in the way. I would run around and no one got mad at me or told me to put my clothes back on. They let me be little and naked. I always felt pretty.
The older I got the more clothes and being pretty became something to worry about. I was poor, or rather my single mom and I were poor. I didn’t have the cool clothes. But I wanted them. I was wrapped up in what Cosmo Girl told me was pretty. I wanted those things. It’s funny how much your perception of pretty and “cool” changes between the ages of 12-25. My first word as a baby was “pretty.” Mostly due to the fact that my mom and grandma called everything pretty. Pretty airplane. Pretty sky. Pretty picture. I perched up on the crib railing one night cooing, “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty.” And up until I was 10 or so I actually called my vagina “pretty.” It wasn’t a down-there, or a vagina, it was my pretty. When I realized it technically wasn’t called this, I was a little sad. Those around me were weirded out. Looking back, I think it’s sweet.
Standing there naked brought me back to small me memories. But in a grown up me. A woman. A woman’s body. The imperfections. The scars. the moles. The razor burn. It was me. And I had to be ok with it. I was ok with it. I was proud of me. I was pretty.
I’m glad I experienced this with my friend and with Allen. With friends I trust and respect very much. And at the end of the day, it gave me something that I had no idea it would. A kind of strange confidence and sense of self. And mom not included, this was the first time I have been naked in front of someone and not in a sexual way. It’s definitely something I will never forget.
And I get to keep the artwork. Ya know, for a rainy day when I’m wondering what I look like naked because I’m too lazy to take off my clothes and look. I’ll have it forever. And maybe, one day, it will mean something like Rose’s naked drawing from Titanic. Who was this lady? Where did she come from? She’s pretty.
Yours baring it all,