Once Bitten, Twice Shy: I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye

Why is it that radio stations play the same exact version of O Holy Night every twenty minutes but only send out Wham's Last Christmas once a week? This is not rhetorical. I want an answer here.

Jonny and I are back East for the Christmas season, and that means a whole lot of sitting around and enjoying. Since we can't seem to break from California time, it also means a whole lot of sitting around and enjoying at 4a.m. We're here in these parts for an entire month, so we're hitting up all sorts of family and friends while we're in the area. Last week we were down in Kentucky, and let me tell you about a typical day there. We would wake up around, oh, 2 p.m. Then we'd grab hot drinks and sit by the fire until we were toasty. Jonny would then play Resident Evil 4, you know, to get himself in the holiday mood, and I would read on the nearby couch. Roundabouts 6:00, we'd carry ourselves off to a Christmas party or a delicious meal made by friends, and then we'd laugh and talk with friends well into the night. With full bellies and, might I add, full hearts, we'd return to the house where, after a day of lidded simmerings, the hot tub would welcome us into its bosom. With a good soak under our belts, we'd return to the living room for a repeat of the afternoon's activities. Eventually, we'd set aside our books and video games in favor of a late night meal - veal parmigiana or turkey with all the trimmings - right before turning into bed at, say, 5a.m.

It's tough to be a night person in a morning person's world, but it's even tougher when your body is stuck in Pacific Standard Time. Try not to let our plight blight your Christmas spirit.

Fine

Very well, you shall have your way. I will wipe the quicksand off my feet, invest in acupuncture, move to a new block, and blow up the island.

I'll be at the folks' house next week, so I hereby give my mother permission to harass me into writing while I am under her roof. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Here. Have a picture.

The Theory of Relativity and Other Turn-ons

The following is a purely fictional tale. I made it up in its entirety, because, as you've seen from previous posts, I never venture across the borders of tact and prudence into the worlds of Shameville and Weirdton. If the story were true, however, you can be sure that I would get permission from the involved parties beforehand. It's not true, though. It's fiction.

Once upon a time, a young man and a young woman loved each other. Also, they were totally hot. Although these totally hot and loving young people loved each other and enjoyed spending time together, their lives got busy, and the two found themselves parted by social engagements, work, educational advancements, and sleep. They were parted for so long, in fact, that they forgot when they last had a decent conversation.

Then one day, they found themselves strangely alone and unencumbered, so they decided to talk. But just as soon as their conversation began, things took an unexpected turn:

Man: "You know what? I need to blow my nose. Just stay put. I'm gonna go get a tissue in the bathroom. Be right back."

Woman: "Ok, darling."

The man left the room and the woman reclined, daydreaming about how dreamy her man was even with his snotty nose. She thought about how lucky she was to have him and how nice it was that they were finally getting to spend some time together. She reclined and thought for a long time because the man took longer than a "be right back." Even so, she was happy just to think about how romantic her Casanova was.

At length, the man returned and stood in the doorway.

Man: "Sorry it took so long. I figured I might as well use the bathroom while I was in there."

Woman (propped on her elbows): "That's ok. Come on over here now that you're back."

Man (still in doorway): "You know what I was just thinking about?"

Woman (tossing hair): "No, what?"

Man: "I was thinking in the bathroom that with our incredible recruiting class and the talent that's on the field - the now experienced talent - Notre Dame should really come up in the ranks this year. I mean I don't want to get too optimistic, I know we have a lot of ground to cover, but we should be much better than we have been."

Woman (hair perfectly still): *blink

Man: Right? I mean Charlie Weiss has some new people on staff and Michael Floyd's a beast and..."

Woman: *blink blink

Man (crossing the room): "Right?"

(beat)

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Woman (now sitting up straight): "It's just that...again...football talk doesn't really do it for me, I guess."

(beat)

"It kind of takes me right out of the mood, you know?"

Man (step forward): "You mean?"

Woman: "Well?"

Man (now next to her): "But, but doesn't this feel nice?" (pulling her in for a warm embrace)

Woman: "I mean, I guess so and everything, but it's kind of done-for at this point. Don't you remember about how a woman's greatest sex organ is her brain?"

...

Man: "E=MC SQUARED!!"

A Smatterin'

Did you know that I once dreaded writing a paper so much that I went to the restroom and tried to make myself go, just so I could procrastinate a bit longer? Totally did that.

That's not what's going on here. I've been in the process of writing a post on the first time Jonny and I said "I love you," but the words have been slow in coming. I find this particular story more difficult to write than most, perhaps because some parts of it are unflattering. It's easy to be self-deprecating, but hard as hell to reveal a true shortcoming. I sit down at the computer for awhile, type out a paragraph or two, then erase it all. I have maybe half of the story written right now, but the rest will come in its own time.

Until then, here is a smattering of info for you.

1. My sister has five glorious, wonderful kids. Erin is a stay-at-home mom and a homeschooler, and boy howdy is she good at it. She also happens to love it. That said, once every three years or so, she'll call me up and say, "Em, I've only been with the kids today, and I'm starting to say things like 'Nanny nanny boo boo.' I need some Jane Eyre."

And here's why. Have you ever noticed that when you immerse yourself in a book, you start thinking and talking in the characters' dialect? Now, I've read Jane Eyre about two million times, and every time I read it I devour it in one enormous chunk. During one of these particular chunks in high school, I took a break from my book to talk my mom's ear off about something stupid (the shmanguage, Lyndee), and I ended with, "Have you never heard us converse in that manner?" That's the Bronte shining through. Now you know that whenever my sister wants to improve her vocabulary, she absorbs Jane Eyre.

Lately, I've been devouring The Grapes of Wrath, and though I'm loving my experience, this particular novel has passages like:

"Come right up in meetin'. One lady says we oughta have a little bell that rings ever' time the roll turns oncet. Then we could count how many ever'body takes. I jes' don't know. I been worried all week. Somebody's a-stealin' toilet paper from Unit Four.

After 430 pages, can you imagine what my inner dialogue is like? "Why, Pa, we gots ta git us ta thet rest'runt a'fore I starve to death. I just a'soon et a mess o' corn pone ruther than fit that rush hour traffic. Kin you git the GPS a-workin?"

Erin, I need some Jane Eyre.

2. Oh my gosh, the Pioneer Woman can do nothing wrong. Have you tried her pancakes? Have you? Have you?!? Look, go here now and do exactly what she says. I've never in my life been a pancake person. I don't order them at restaurants (rest'runts?), don't crave them, don't care about them. I'll eat them, of course. I've even enjoyed them, but I've never loved them. These, on the other hand, are perfect. I've actually made them. For myself. Because I wanted them.

3. So, we were at our friends' apartment last week playing movie pictionary when we heard a fire alarm going off in the distance. The windows were open, so we peaked out to see if we could figure out which building had the trouble. Our apartment complex is made up of several towers, you see, so we thought maybe we'd be able to watch the action once we figured out which tower it was in. The fire trucks came screaming around the corner, and we watched to see where they'd pull up.

"Huh. They're coming down our road. I don't see any smoke, but the alarm must be coming from the next tower."

"Huh. They're headed this way. Must be the tower across the street."

"Huh. They're pulling up in front of our tower and scurrying about with hoses. Guys, do you smell something burning?"

That's when we figured out that we were, indeed, in the towering inferno. We all rushed out, dinner bowls in hand, to the parking lot next to the building. All 20 of us. Yes, in a dozen stories of residents, maybe 20 of us ventured out of the building.

It ended up being nothing much - the contents of a basement dumpster had caught fire - but I can't help thinking that the alarm system needs a bit of tweaking. Jonny says it needs assertiveness training. Evacuation fail.

And with that, I leave you. See you again soon, my friends. Until then, yeh have yesself a righ' nice time.

Because Pistols Are for Sissies

I challenge you to a duel - an underwear duel. I discovered today that I have 67 pairs of underwear. Jonny owns a measly 9, so I defeated him soundly. If any of you can best me, then I will cede the panty throne to you. Takers?

Girl Makes Move, Boy Makes Bigger Move

Again, you may have already read this post on our wedding website. New stuff to come in the next one. ~Em

Well. This is Jonny, here to give my own version of things. I am not going to bother further illuminating the twelve years that lead up to Emily's and my relationship, because she covered it pretty sufficiently. Besides, for a full account of an arrest and multiple near arrests, streaking, and perilously low GPA's, you may speak to me yourself.

When Emily moved to town after school, our mutual gravitation was immediate and irresistible.

I'll pick up a couple of days before the point where we looked at each other and said "oh."

After another session of watching the Simpson's, trying to ignore a veritable storm of sexual tension, something big happened. We hopped in my jeep to head out to a friend's house in Lexington for a movie...and she reached over and grabbed my hand. I...nearly...drove...off...the...road. I am not joking. Emily actually had to say, "Woah, watch out." It's amazing what a big deal the holding of hands is. We had touched hands many times, intentionally, and even sensually. But all of those times we could write it off as something we were just doing in the privacy of our homes because it felt nice, something in the vein of a back scratch or shoulder massage. But out under the watching eye of the sun, it felt official. Nay, it WAS official. This was an intentional statement. It was handholding with intent to romanticize. (Of the first degree.)

Later after movie night, out in the yard I beseeched my brethren (specifically Corman and Lee J.) with a dilemma:

"I think Emily and I may actually date."

"Really? Wow. She is really cool."

"I know, but it's crazy. I mean could this actually work?"

"Well I think so, you guys definitely get along."

"Yeah, it's frightening. When I look at her, I see someone who I could really be with, I mean I don't see any reason why I wouldn't want it to work out...Hey, is she watching us out of the window?"

"Yeah, she may be...if she comes out here, just pretend we're talking about the all-star game."

"Ok."

"So has something specific happened between you and Emily that-AND THE THING ABOUT THE ALL-STAR GAME IS, THERE REALLY SHOULD BE MORE RED-SOX PLAYERS."

"Ok, she went back inside. Yeah, anyway, we just held hands on the way up here. I mean, I just about ran off the-YEAH, THE THING ABOUT THE ALL-STAR GAME IS THAT IT HAS PLAYERS IN IT...BASEBALL PLAYERS! THEY PLAY BASEBALL! OH, HI EMILY! I mean...Hi Emily."

Jump ahead two or three days and we are together once again basking in the glow of Springfield and her wayward citizens. It is late, the mood is ripe, and there is no more skirting the issue, no more ignoring the elephant in the room (his name clearly would have been "Stampy.") I looked at Emily, she looked back, and I moved in. The first kiss. It was short, and quick. The ice was cracked, but long from broken.

I ask, "Should we do this?" And I am fully expecting my responsible and not particularly spontaneous friend Emily to say something along the lines of, "No, we probably shouldn't." But that isn't what she said. She simply looked back at me and said, "Yes." Let me repeat all of that.

1. I kiss my friend of twelve years.

2. I ask if we should do this.

3. She just says "Yes." Not "maybe", not "what do you think?" Just "Yes."

CRACK! SPLASH! FIIIZZZZ. The ice not only breaks...it is obliterated. The sun comes out, melts every bit of ice within miles, the polar bears all drown and California sinks into the sea. It is on. The makeout session that ensues practically makes up for every kiss we had missed out on in the last 12 years due to our annoyingly pious restraint and selfish regard for friendship.

And that my friends is how it began. How it ends is another matter, but since that story will involve one or both of our deaths, let us not dwell on it here or now. Huzzah! And on with the celebration!

Boy Meets Girl...Then Waits 12 Years to Make a Move

Today, I've been thinking about significant moments in my relationship with Jonny. (Ten points to the first person who knows why. Minus ten points to the first person who guesses that I am pregnant. No, I am not pregnant.)

In a few days, I'll tell a story about Jonny and me in the beginning of our relationship. Until then, you should have a bit of back story. Many of you have already read these posts on our wedding website, but for those of you who haven't, I'm putting them here on blogger so you can catch up. If you've already read them, just sit tight, my pretties. New material will arrive within the week.

How We Met

Jonny and I don't remember how we met, mostly because we were eleven years old. I had just moved to town, and Jonny, though my age, hung out regularly with my older brother Mark. I had the hugest crush on Jonny for at least a month of 5th grade, but he never asked me out. He told me later that he had thought about it once on the bus home from school, but he thought better of it before he saw me. Alas, our love had many years to go before it would bloom and blossom.

Although I'm exactly 23 days older than Jonny (about which I tease him regularly), he was a year ahead of me in school. We went to different middle schools anyway, so we didn't see each other all too much in those rather awkward years. Thank God. Still, we went to the same youth group throughout middle and high school, so it's not like we forgot about each other. We just didn't have much to do with each other.

I went back to public school for high school, so our acquaintance grew stronger during those years. We had a couple of classes together and ate lunch with the same people, but again, we weren't really close. He dated someone else for several of those years, so he wasn't even an option anyway. We continued to run in different (albeit intersecting) circles, but we were friends.

Then, during my senior year of high school and his first year out of school, our friendship deepened. I had gone on a mission trip with a bunch of guys earlier that summer (Yohan, Headley, and A.J.), and Jonny had already been hanging out with that group for awhile. After the mission trip, I started going to A.J.'s house frequently (it was always the place to be), so I saw Jonny all the time. We talked about anything and everything, but always as a group. Just like the other three years of high school, there was no romantic pressure, and I'm grateful for that to this day. We got to know each other as friends. We learned to have casual conversations with each other and to laugh with each other. I learned his personality and a few of his quirks, all outside the context of dating. There was no false front, no pressure to seem better than we really were. We just were.

The next year, I left for college in Indiana, and I thought that would be the end of our friendship. Some friendships survive a move; some don't. I thought this one was surely doomed. Still, I found that I looked forward to seeing him when I was home for breaks. We Instant Messaged occasionally (good grief, IM) and sometimes talked on the phone, but we still didn't get it. Then during my sophomore year, he and Yohan joined some friends and me for a trip to Chicago. The boys got to know my college friends on that trip, and since my roomies and I were an irresistible bunch, Jonny and Yohan came up to visit us in each subsequent year. Even after my parents moved from Kentucky, I got to see Jonny over Thanksgiving each year. My dad worked with Jonny's uncle at a church, and Jonny's family always went to his uncle's house for Thanksgiving.

During my college years, Jonny and I still just didn't get it. We loved talking to each other and we flirted - heaven knows - shamelessly, but we only saw friendship. We got elbow nudges and eye rolls from friends and family, but after 12 years of "just friends," we didn't even consider the possibility of more. It wasn't on the radar.

Then I graduated.
I moved back to Kentucky.
We spent every day together for a month.
At the end of the month we looked at each other and said, "Oh."

And that, my friends, is the story.