… And Fiancee

Before you jump to attention and your phalanges quicken to congratulate me on my engagement, let me stop you right there. I am not engaged.

*Pause for collective sigh of disappointment*

Ok, now that that’s done, let’s get down to the real story of what’s going on.

I seem to be remiss in my blogging duties as of late. Though I would love to blame it on NaNoWriMo, I cannot, since I have written only 2100 words so far. Yet another project left unfinished. Talk about an unfinished life…

Anyhoo, I HAVE been quite busy doing other things besides sleeping and watching the boobtube. (Yay, me!) After two months of barely looking, and one week filled with house showings, we have come upon a most amazing house that shall be ours. It seems R is content with me enough to agree to purchase a real live home with me. (When I say “live”, what I actually mean is “alive with personality” not “alive with ghosts”. I have enough of those caged in my head.” )

The house we’ve found was once owned by a professor, which instantly boosts is on the cool-o-meter. It too, comes complete with a huge entryway, a closet big enough to house my entire shoe collection comfortably, three bathrooms so that all members of our little family may poop simultaneously, a fireplace and chimney large enough to allow Santa access, and a perfect spot to display a full-size mermaid statue. (I might mention here that one bathroom includes gnarly monkey and parrot safari wallpaper- I have not yet decided if this diminishes the rating on the cool-o-meter.)

I knew upon entrance to the house that it was surely the one for us, and my Rockstar seemed to agree with me, because despite his hesitance about purchasing a home for the first time ( all that yard work to do- even though I shall be the one more than willing to do it) he was quick to agree to making an offer. (With a little urging from me…no, I didn’t use my oral skills.)

The offer was accepted, contingent upon a home inspection and assessment. We had the home inspection tonight.

We arrived at our soon to be casa to find Mr. Inspector already finished with his business. Mr. Inspector was an adorable elderly gentleman who reminded me of Jolly Ol’ St. Nick, who was quick to point out the uniqueness of the place. He had brought with him his own folding chair to rest his considerable weight upon, which endeared him to me instantly. We ventured through the house, the whole while, Inspector St. Nick pointing out all the cool and unusual aspects of the house. When we were done, it was time to go over his findings and to write him a check. As I glanced through the first page of the report, I noticed my Rockstar’s name at the very top, and under it, my first name, followed in very small writing and parentheses “fiancée” I giggled when I saw it, and immediately put the report down.

It seems since I have begun telling people of our intentions of buying a house, most are quick to comment with “Oh, you know what’s coming next!” and “When are you getting married?”

It’s funny, because since we found this house, I haven’t once thought about that. I know I’ve blathered on in the past about “why won’t my Rockstar marry me?” and “Oh, what to do about my Rockstar not marrying me?”, but it seems the insecure Sparkle has disappeared, and has been replaced with one who really doesn’t give a fuck about that shit.

Whilst all my Facebook friends are posting non-stop about getting engaged, or getting married, or having babies, I have begun to realize that maybe my life is not about all that. Yes, I still wish for babies, but instead of being sad I haven’t any, I am more focused on teaching R’s Daughter that maybe she could be an artist when she grows up, or a baker, or a candlestick maker. I am more intent on becoming a published author than in years past, and now that we have found a house, I am excited to have a 2200 square foot canvas on which to express myself with art. If there are to be babies, or marriage, let them come- I’m not scared. But I’ll be even less not scared if they don’t come. And when I’m done tiling my mermaid bathroom in iridescent one-inch mosaic tiles, you can all come over and take a poo in it. XOXO

It’s the End of Neuroticism as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

To some people, their current lives are the result of one “AHA” moment in time when they say, “Enough’s enough. My life is going to vastly change from this second on.” For others, it is a back-and-forth battle with tears and much boob sweat, orgasms and sucker punches. Usually the second kind of people are suffering from mental health issues, or are born under a Libra sky. Whatever the case, I would most definitely agree that I am of the second and (in my opinion) more interesting sort- and yes, I suffer from both an indecisive Libra birth and un-medicated mental health issues.

You all know by now that of my own volition, I have been married, divorced, been called a cunt, accepted barrenness, and have made a few friends (and enemies) all while writing about it occasionally and refusing to seek treatment for my shoe and book addictions. I must admit, immediately after my divorce, my Rockstar was right to accuse me of “neediness and instability.” In my defense, after a twelve year relationship, I had every right to suffer these inadequacies. Still, I am pleased to announce that while not completely healed of my self-inflicted scars, I have accepted my faults, and since people still believe in my general awesomeness, it seems, released them.

Throughout my three year relationship with my Rockstar, it’s true that neuroticism and anxiety has reigned supreme. Perhaps it was because I was worried he might not have feelings for me, or perhaps it was because I was afraid I might be wasting my time trying to become an acceptable step-mother figure, or perhaps it was just because my Rockstar was too male-minded to realize what he’d not have if I decided to leave. I understand his irritation at tears I may have shed, as well as I understand the reason for the tears themselves. It’s taken me awhile to notice that sometimes, guys just don’t get it.

After talking to an old acquaintance the other day, despite the fact that I despise my job and sometimes my apartment, I was pleased to discover that all is right in my world. I have found the strong and independent woman who decided to leave her husband all those years ago even though she knew it would hurt, and I am perfectly content with my Rockstar, whether he will admit his Lovedom of me or not. It seems he has accepted my histrionic disorders, and tries his best to cater to them though he might not understand.

I know, you ask- “What little consequence is it to us, your readers,  that you have finally become instability-free and happy? Write about something interesting already!”

To you, I say- Without my anxiety, there will be many more delightful and witty posts for you to read. And anyhoo, this is MY blog, bitches! And while the entire world is maybe not always about me, my blog world most certainly is. So there. XOXO

Analyzing A Non-Marriage

So apparently, I am unworthy of a proposal of marriage.

After agonizing over this for months, (or perhaps years) it seems to be the only logical explanation.

That is not to say that I am not marriage material.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

During the first seven years of my previous relationship, my ex stated at numerous various intervals that he had every intention of marrying me. And he did. After I said, “OK. So we’ve been together for, like, ever. Let’s get married already.”

That was the first instance of a non-proposal I experienced.

When my Rockstar and I formally started dating, (when he said, “If we are going to be together, I don’t want you fuckin’ around with other guys.”) I asked him how he wanted his life to go in regards to any kind of relationship. He said, and I quote, “I want to be married, and maybe have another kid.”

Soon after that, he asked how my ex had proposed. Imagine his surprise when I told him there had been no actual proposal.

Throughout our two-year relationship, the only time I have mentioned marriage is the time I left my Non-Proposal Note. (Which got no response.) It may seem that I am in a terrible rush to repeat the disaster of marriage. In fact, the opposite is true. Things are practically perfect, and I am well aware that marriage does not make anything better. (or worse.)

The point is…. my Rockstar said once that he wished to be married someday. Long long ago, he was married and it all went to shit; so I understand any hesitation that may exist. At the same time, I am most definitely NOT an almost-model who is fucking around with multiple dudes, and our relationship has already lasted longer than his first marriage.

If he were to propose, I’m not even sure I would say yes, (OK, I readily admit that is a lie) but I want him to WANT to marry me, even if we do not actually commit the actual act.

I asked my boss Frenchi, “If a guy wants to marry a girl, he will ask her, yes?” He said yes. (Of course, he has been married 3 times, so I think that he is not afraid of commitment.)

So now I am asking all of you, “If my Rockstar wanted to marry me, he would have at least asked by now, yes?”

A Non-Answer: The Non-Proposal Sequal

So one of the habits my Rockstar has that I may have forgotten to mention in the past is that he doesn’t answer people’s questions alot. I think that this is not the way he was raised, since his mother tends to lean toward the kinda-awesome side. Perhaps it is due to the many years he spent as a single man before I came along with no one to respond to, or before that- the years he spent tuning out his Daughter’s Mother and her bitching. Whatever the reason for his silence, I’ve decided that it’s just not ok sometimes.

Yes, I realize that I tend to talk too much, and my excessive sparkly energy may be exhausting sometimes, so I do not fault the man for tuning me out on occassion. Hell, I would tune me out much more often than he does if I were dating me. That is why I put the important stuff down on paper, so he can read it at his leisure, and comprehend it at his own pace.

So, if you read my post yesterday, I’m sure you are all waiting with baited breath to read what my Rockstar had to say about my little note. Let me tell you. Nothing. He said nothing. In fact, I have ripped apart his entire desk-ish area looking for the damn thing, thinking that perhaps a flatulent wind caused it to blow away. I have come to believe that the power of my Rockstar’s guitar amps may have caused my little slip of paper to disintegrate, because there is no sign whatsoever that it existed. This makes me wonder:

Is the thought of marriage to me so abhorrent that he would douse it in ketchup, fry it up, and devour it, which then would cause my non-proposal to be digested and delivered to his colon, which then would result in a massive morning dump, destroying all evidence?

Is the fear of being stuck with me for all eternity so horrendous that he would dice my note up in the food processer and then scatter the remaining bits to the four winds?

Perhaps I am over-reacting. After all, it WAS only a suggestion.

I am not quite sure this is related, but as this has never happened quite like this and I have never before almost-proposed, I tend to think it is.

When I crawled into bed with no answer last night, my Rockstar proceeded to very roughly fuck the livin’ daylights out of me. For him, rough sex is quite abnormal. So then I got to thinking, maybe he’s just mad that I asked him first. I also thought, “Maybe I should propose more often.” 🙂

A Letter From a Past Life

One of the habits that I have that has been both a blessing and a curse is that I tend to hoard stuff. I have kept the hoarding mainly designated to books, because I do not believe that will place me on that awful  Hoarders show. The only other things that I excessively save are notes and letters I’ve received from the past. I was digging through a box today when I came across a letter my ex-hubby wrote right after I left him. Here you go:

To my love the Best wife ever

I Have Really Been Doing some hard Thinking and Besides stresses of my Back a Dumb Bad and A poor economy and way to many Bills I have come to realize that my actions are to Blame.

I Have Been A very poor Husband and my Priorities are really screwed up.

I Totally Have not Been spending enough close time with you or making you feel special and I don’t kiss you enough and It’s not because I Don’t love you or like to

I have took things for granit though things were better than they were and not attending to your needs when I should Have Been and have not took you to nice places enogh.

also I Have not Been doing my Part of HouseHold chores like I should Have Been, you are the hardest working wife ever and should not Have to come Home to A mess after such A long day. I have Been very poor for noticing these things Becaus I can be kind of Dumb sometimes

I know you can’t Pay all the Bills and I really need to step it up and not Be lazy with work.

I’v made you unHappie for A long time now and not even Relized it

I Have A lot to change and will now try to change

I Know you want Babies and I Due to, I Hope it Has nothing to do with you wanting to leave

I also understand why you want to go and I don’t blame you, this would be a lot to Deal with for A long time

We Have Been together for A long time and I know we have A lot of Good memeries and Happines in the past

I Really love you more than anything in the world and want you to be Happie

I really couldn’t imagin life without you and fear facing it I know I Have A lot of issues But please Before we call it quits for Good and move on, I ask you as your loving Husband that we give it some time and take some merital counciling together so I can make you Happy again, I do believe you want to Be married to me and I want to make you Happy

I know I can change things to make you Happy if you let me pleas don’t give up on our marrage just yet

your loving husband

Yeah, I kind of felt like a Bitch after that one.

Let Love in.

If anybody was to ask me “What is the most important Thing in life?”, I would without a moment’s hesitation blurt out ,”LOVE!” Now, hold on, I know what you’re thinking. What an unoriginal,simple-minded, idealistic response, right? I agree with you. But think about it. Did the Beatles sing, “All You Need is Money”? I think not. Did Romeo spout to Juliet,”The more poetry I give to thee,the more I have”? Nope. After they had their romp in the back of that Model T, did Rose say to Jack, “Thanks, dude. That was a great fuck. Do you have a cigarette?” No. She said, “I love you, Jack.” (I personally think the first quote would have been MUCH more interesting.) My point is- yes, it is completely unreasonable to say that Love is all there is, but that’s the thing about Love. It’s not about being practical,it makes you do things you never thought you would- good AND bad-, and you can’t choose it.
La dee da. Now that I have done some great writing, (wink, wink)I will proceed into the detail of my very own fucked-up love life. A week after my 16th birthday, I was hired as a waitress at a mom-n-pop restaurant, where the Son of mom-n-pop proceeded to fall in love with me. I admit,at first I was skeptical, as he was 7 years my senior and my Jesus-obsessed father had drilled into my head that boys only want one thing. Two years later,I started dating The Son. I had promised myself I wouldn’t have sex with him at least until he said he loved me, which he did about 3 months into the relationship. We ended up not having sex until I was 21. When I was 24, I decided I wanted to be married, so we got hitched. I believe, looking back now, the main reason I wanted to get married was to keep my religious parents from cringing at me every time they saw me when they thought of The Son and I living in sin together. Don’t get me wrong. I did love him and I always will.
During the next 2 years, we proceeded into married life like a good couple. We got our first house, my husband had back surgery, and the number of times we had sex in a year diminished to 5 or so. This is where the fucked-up part comes in.
Now, The Son’s brother had had a friend who we would hang out with occasionally (we will call him the Redhead).In the back of my mind, there had always been something about the Redhead that was electrifying, and he was truly nice, that being the reason I (being a good friend)set him up with my bestie, which ended up with her screaming at me drunkenly after I had had a passionate makeout session with him (also drunken). Anyhoo, after that Me and Bestie made up and the Redhead was never heard from again.
Back to the marriage. After 2 yrs of marriage and 9 months without sex or feeling wanted, you can imagine the horniness that had come over me. At the time, I was just learning the mechanics of Facebook, and to my surprise, there was a friendship request from the Redhead! Well, hello there! We began chatting one night when I was left home alone (which happened ALOT) and had a nice conversation about love and sex. Sex is not love, and at the time, the phrase “making love” confounded me. I mentioned the lackage of boomboom going on in my life and that passionate makeout session came to my mind, making me wonder what MORE than that would be like. He became my Fuck Buddy, which worked out very well for both of us, since I was married and he was too lazy to go get a girlfriend. Now you may be thinking, “what a cheating whore,” but the love I had for my husband was pure and everything was right with us except the sex.(or lack thereof.)So don’t judge me. After a few months of messin’ around, I decided it was shitty of me to do that to my husband, so I left him. I realized that I wasn’t happy with him, OR myself with him, and nothing was ever going to change.My hubby really and truly loved me because after he found out about the cheating, he still wanted me to come home. I didn’t choose sex over love. My Redheaded Fuck Buddy gave me a place to stay while I looked for a new home, and I realized I really truly liked him. He was willing to remain my Fuck Buddy and let me galavant around with whomever I chose, but I was never really into one-night stands. We became official when he sent me a text: “I want you to only cling to me.” And that is how I got my Rockstar. Things aren’t perfect and sometimes Love is fucked up, but I do not regret the things I have done, and I will always do whatever I do for Love.