What Worries Me, Part One

Mr. Curls has a lot of good qualities. He's kind, he's honest, he's considerate of others, he makes me laugh, he's loyal... All of them are things that are important to me in a partner. Plus, I adore the curly hair, of course.

The thing is, while in a lot of ways he's had to mature quickly because of the proverbial school of hard knocks, in some ways he's still painfully naive. The more I learn about certain things, the more I doubt his judgment in certain areas.

For starters, we've got ex #2 and the part where he thought it was a perfectly good idea to marry someone he'd only known for five months. Then he defends the decision by saying she "seemed" like the right gal. Even overlooking the obvious red flags that popped up, like she was 20, living with (i.e. mooching off) her grandmother, a single mom who wasn't motivated to hold a job, and had never supported herself independently... getting married to someone you've only known for five months is a bad idea. We're talking about making a the-rest-of-your-life kind of commitment to someone before celebrating both of your birthdays (or Christmas, or whatever) with them. If you can't make it a year, how can you expect to make it the rest of your lives?

But, whatever, I figure everyone's allowed at least one big fuck up in their lives, right? What worries me most is two things:
1. His reluctance/inability to say "no" to people, even when he really should (see previous example).
2. Some of his habits, i.e. money management, are not as mature as he thinks they are.

The two kind of tie together, too. He tends to overrate his ability to take care of things, especially when it comes down to the difference between telling someone else no or making a sacrifice to tell them yes. Lemme give you the short version.

The past couple of years have been bad years for Mr. Curls. There was a divorce, a re-marriage, the break down of that marriage, and a bankruptcy in that time. It all added up to result in Mr. Curls currently working for a trash company and living on a shoestring budget. He's got a plan to get started in real estate (and since he's worked as an appraiser, I'm not as wary of this plan as I might be otherwise) which, among other things, will require a start up fund. The plan is to get started on this within 16 months. Me, hearing that, I assume he'd be working on building up a savings to go toward that start up. Um, as it turns out, not so much. He told me he might sell his Jeep to get the money (he'd still have the truck he inherited from his grandpa).

Last week, there was a "casting call" in town. One of Mr. Curls' dreams is acting, and he was jazzed to go. He was even more jazzed afterward 'cause he got picked to go to a showcase in June. Here's the part that makes me wary - my city isn't exactly Hollywood and out of thirty people who turned up, the scouting company picked ten. That's one third, not exactly super competitive. Also, it's a scouting agency, not an agent agency. They run a showcase in Saint Louis with an $800 registration fee. At this showcase, agents show up, look at the people who've been scouted, and decide if they want to work with them. This means paying $800, plus travel expenses, to have an agent decide whether or not they want to represent you. Then, if they do, it's a question of whether or not that agent can get you work. In this whole equation, I see a handful of red flags, but the bottom line is that it's a significant chunk of change and no guarantee.

Mr. Curls really wants to go, and I mean REALLY. He sees it as his break. The scout said nice things about him, and there are certainly nice things to be said about Mr. Curls. He's also thinking of a time a few years ago when he auditioned for a spot on a Sci-Fi Channel show and got a couple of call backs, "I was their fourth choice or so for the role, and that's something." He's all optimistic and thinking this could be his big chance and even if it doesn't work out, which at least he admits is a possibility, he's got the real estate plan to fall back on. Maybe I'm just a pessimist, but I think he's being naive. Yes, maybe this could be his moment, but I think that maybe is a pretty far shot. Meanwhile, he just spent a week not working because of his back injury and even though he's partly back this week, he's not back at his usual hours, i.e. little paycheck action going on right now.

Last night, he said, "I need to come up with $500 dollars in the next seven days to pay bills and put a deposit on the showcase." The deposit for the showcase is $300, which leaves him with $500 more to come up with before June. He talked about selling the Jeep this week to get the cash. That tells me he doesn't have anything in savings and he's willing to sell the Jeep quickly, i.e. cheaply, just to have the cash for a long-shot chance at showbiz.

But wait, there's more...

An Unexpected Ally

Yesterday, Mr. Curls got a call from ex #2's new boyfriend. Mr. Curls has a couple of things the ex wants, and the boyfriend called to arrange a time so he could pick them up. The ex, it seems, was busy (shocker!).

The conversation went kind of like this:

Boyfriend: So, can I come by and pick those things up?
Mr. Curls: Sure. I'll trade you.
Boyfriend: Huh?
Mr. Curls: Well, when you come to pick up the stuff, I'm going to ask that you take divorce papers with you.
Boyfriend: What? I thought that was all underway already.
Mr. Curls: Believe me, I'd very much like it to be.
Boyfriend: Yeah, me too. I'll make sure it gets done.

Mr. Curls met his ex's new fella yesterday and he says the guy's pretty decent. He said, "I wanted to tell him to run for the hills and save himself, but I'll wait until after the paperwork's signed."

I'm so pleased the boyfriend is intent on getting the divorce going. He's the most likely person to get the ex to cooperate, and now I'm just hoping that she's keen enough on making him happy to finalize the divorce for his sake. It's nice that he and Mr. Curls see eye-to-eye on the issue and that he seems like he's going to help minimize the drama, rather than increase it. I haven't met the dude, yet I feel like I want to hug him.

Saying It, Not Saying It, and Saying It Without Words

Sunday night, after the boys had gone home and Mr. Curls and I did a bit of physical therapy, he was in a thoughtful mood.

"What's on your mind?" I asked.

"I've been thinking a lot this past week about a conversation we had a while back."

Sometimes, it's almost eerie the way he and I can practically read each other's minds. Given the mood we were in, the way the day had gone, and what he said, I immediately put the pieces together and knew that he meant the conversation where we'd been talking about a four-letter word.

"There have been times lately," he said, "where there'll be a moment and I'm just a breath away from saying it." He paused, waiting for me to respond.

"I've been thinking about it, too. You know, trying it out in my head, and there's been a time or two where it's been on the tip of my tongue."

He nodded. "It's strange, because in those moments, it's like we have the thought and we both know it and even though we don't say it, it's almost like we did." He paused again, this time figuring out how to say the next part. "Between the two of us, and the experiences we've had, it's harder for us to say it than it is for other people. But, I hope that you can see it, in what I do, in the way I look at you."

It was a scary moment. I thought to myself, I guess maybe this is real. It's not just dating. This is a guy who cares about me all the way. So, I said, "I don't know if I'm ready to say it yet, but that doesn't mean I don't mean it. The word isn't ready, but the feeling is there."

Sunday night is the night that we told each other "I love you" for the first time, even though neither of us said those three words. The words are important, and it'll be important for us to actually say them. But, even without the words themselves, we got the idea across.

From the Mouth of Babes, or Another Weekend With the Boys

I spent more time hanging out with Mr. Curls and the boys this weekend. It surprises me how quickly the four of us have slipped into a comfortable zone. The boys have totally taken me in stride and I liked them from the outset. E., the younger boy, has basically adopted me wholesale. On Sunday, we took two cars to the park and frozen yogurt shop because I was leaving directly from there to meet some friends for dinner. Before we left the apartment, E. heard this and promptly told Mr. Curls, "A. can go with you, and I'll go with Jean." Just like that, I had a co-pilot.

Mr. Curls got a bit uncomfortable with his son proclaiming he'd ride with me without asking me first. Mr. Curls told E. that it was up to me whether or not that would be the case. For my part, I didn't mind and I took it as a stamp of approval that E. volunteered himself to ride with me.

E. also dropped a nugget of info over blueberry pancakes at breakfast. A. made the comment that he, Mr. Curls, and I were all oldest siblings, which made E. the odd man out. E. proceeded to tell me that he used to be the middle kid when he had a step mom. Turns out, ex #2 had a two-year-old daughter. It fits what little I know about her, and especially what I know about Mr. Curls. The toddler, meaning she got pregnant either at the tail end of 17 or the beginning of being 18, makes sense. She wasn't the paragon of virtue (I'm not generalizing here, but making a specific statement about this particular gal) and it fits that she was a teen mom. It also fits that Mr. Curls would see that, connect it to his own early fatherhood, and see a connection with her. Also, it makes a little more sense that he would get so tied with this gal so quickly, because he might have been looking at it not only as taking care of this chic, but also as taking care of her kid. Kids are a definite soft spot for him, especially since his access to his boys is so limited (their mom moved an hour and a half away after the divorce).

When E. talked about the ex, it was an interesting moment. Mr. Curls was certainly watching my reaction since the two-year-old was part of the bank of non-essential information we'd talked about me learning at a later date. So, it's not like he was keeping a secret, per se, but E. was telling me something Mr. Curls hadn't. Mr. Curls watched me.

E. watched me too. He's a kid who's got little by way of filter between what he thinks and what he says, but I sensed a tiny bit of purpose behind the comment. I'm not sure what that purpose might have been, but something in what he said was about me, because he watched me pretty closely, waiting for a response instead of talking on. From the tone and his attitude, I lean toward thinking that his comment about having had a step mom before was a little bit aimed toward hinting that it'd be okay if he had a step mom again. Or, maybe I'm reading too much into it. Either way, after I said a neutral, "Oh yeah?" the moment passed.

(Side Note: Mr. Curls haven't talked about the revelation yet. He hasn't brought it up, and I wanted to wait for the right moment. It's not something I'm worried about, really, and it's not something where I'm upset with him for not telling me. The conversations we've had about the exes have been pretty clear on the part where I don't want all the details at once and the part where he's got more to tell than I know so far. I made it clear that if there was anything that'd directly affect me, I wanted to know now, and I trust him that the unknown parts are okay to be unknown right now. The ex's kid info is important, but it doesn't directly affect me, so I'm okay that he hadn't told me that part yet.)

After breakfast, we bummed around a bit until I suggested we go to the park to let the boys get some fresh air. Mr. Curls smiled. "It's interesting how you said 'we' like it was the most natural thing in the world." E. jumped on the idea, proclaiming it'd be "romantic" for me and Mr. Curls. He was less impressed when, at the park, Mr. Curls declined to play tag because of his back - it's better, but not yet 100%. Both of the boys gave him a hard time about being a wuss, but Mr. Curls held firm and the boys decided they were over this whole park thing and it was time for frozen yogurt.

Later, at the yogurt shop, I went to the ladies room to wash my hands after I finished my dessert and stood at the sink next to a young lady who worked there. She smiled at me and said, "My friend and I were talking about you and your husband. We think you're so cute together."

I debated with myself for a moment whether or not to correct the misunderstanding, then I just said, "Thanks." I wonder if the assumption also followed that I was the boys' mom. It's interesting to think about.

The whole situation with Mr. Curls' complicated past and the boys' complicated parental situation is, well, complicated, and now I'm plopped in the middle of it. I'm cautious about the whole thing, because there's so much potential for drama, but so far things have gone along with remarkable smoothness. It's unexpected and leaves me wondering, why isn't it harder? Is this too easy? That part makes me a little nervous.

Doctor's Orders

Mr. Curls had another visit with the doctor and physical therapist today and afterward, I was asking him about what they had to say about how he's healing up and when they'd give him the okay to go back to work. We were chatting about that for a few minutes, when talk of him being healed enough to go back to work lead to talk about him being okay for other activities.

"There was one thing the doctor mentioned... He mentioned you, actually. He said as long as we took it kind of easy, I should be well enough to get naughty with you. In fact," he winked, "the doctor said that the particular hip movements involved would actually be good for me. You know, like physical therapy."

"Oh, really?" I said.

"Really."

"Well, I guess I could go along with that," I said, taking off his shirt. "You know, in the spirit of doing my part to help you get healed up."

I was a little bit worried at first, but there proved to be no need. Afterward, Mr. Curls informed me that the doctor was right and it had helped. His back felt better. Talk about a good prescription ;)

Life, By Definition, Is Conflict, or I Guess I'm Perfectly Normal

For the past two weeks or so, I've been stressed. I'm being pushed and pulled by a variety of pressures and deadlines (can you say Finals Week?) and I'm tense. Yesterday I woke early because of a stress dream and couldn't get back to sleep. All things considered, I've been thinking of one of the most apt descriptions of life I've ever been exposed to: life as a series of crises.

When I was an undergrad, I had to take some psychology classes. Overall, I really hated them. One of the three I took wasn't too bad. That class had the best teacher (the other two sucked). Still, psych classes = not my thing. It's not that I dislike the material or that I dislike the study of the human mind. More, I disliked the specific approach two of the three instructors took.

But, the part that stuck with me the most was Erikson's developmental theory. You can google it for more info, but the jist is that we, as people, are formed and become who we are, through a series of conflicts. Each age has its own special conflict, from infancy all the way until death. The important thing, is that, according to Erikson, our whole lives are defined by conflict.

Erikson fits perfectly from one of the basic ideas I learned in biology - life is a product of unbalance. All of our biological processes, like breathing, are constant while we're alive. Yet, the processes of breathing are not constant. There is a struggle behind each inhalation, then an exchange of gases because there's too much carbon dioxide in the blood, and then the oxygen is whisked off to the rest of the body. For a moment in between, when the gases are trading places, there is an instant where there is balance between them. But, that balance can't last. Your cells need that oxygen and your body needs to expel the carbon dioxide, and the balance is ruined. It is a necessary lack of balance, but one that cannot be held, so the teeter-totter swings back and forth, back and forth. When the teeter-totter stops, you're dead.

Right now, I'm in the midst of complications. Every good thing comes with its trade-off.

• In May, my MA will be official vs. I feel burned out and cynical about the experience.
• I finished all my coursework for getting said MA vs. that made me ineligible for the work study I was doing for two years and I had to start paying back student loans at about the same time I lost my work study job.
  
• I got the second part-time teaching job vs. now I have another teaching commitment with a different curriculum, different assignments, different supervisor, different campus, and different student body demographic to juggle.
• I'm happy for the extra income of the second job vs. even with it, I still lack basics like health insurance, and even with the second source of income, the combined total is still going to be pretty underwhelming, especially relative to the combined work load.
  
• I'm in a new relationship with a guy who treats me well vs. I'm intimidated by being in a serious relationship with anyone, much less a guy who's got such a complicated past.
• I'm soon to be doing some traveling to visit my brother and go to a wedding and I'm really excited about it vs. the travel comes with expenses, and I'm in a place where I'm stressed about how quickly the number on my bank account is shrinking, even though I know I've been planning for these travel expenses for months.
• I paid off one of my student loans in its entirety this week vs. that's nearly $2,000 all gone at once.

The teeter-totter goes back and forth and the crux of the stress is knowing that the path of my life has to change due to necessity. My biggest overall concern right now is money. I live frugally, but the money I make is even less. When I was getting student loans, I socked any leftovers away in a savings account so I could have a financial buffer. Over the past year or so, I've had to lean on that buffer and it's slowly, but steadily, getting smaller. Even living frugally, my monthly expenses average just a little bit more than my monthly income. My job is not sustainable, but so far picking up another part-time teaching job is the best I've been able to do.

What I need is a real, grown-up job where I can work full time, have an income that can actually support me, and have some benefits like medical insurance. The only problem is I haven't been able to find one yet. My job hunting so far has turned up a couple of possibilities, but one already turned me down, and the other is beginning to look like it'll follow suit. All of this pain and effort to get the damn MA and I'm starting to think my best career option is to get one of those jobs I could have gotten right out of high school - at least, those seem to be the only places hiring (or, I can redo college and go for nursing, 'cause they're hiring right and left right now). Kind of makes me wonder what the point of going to college was. What the point of getting the damn MA was.

So, yeah. Every resolution ultimately leads to new conflict. Life is crisis. I guess it's good to know I'm living, at least.

The Broken Boyfriend Adventure

I usually talk to Mr. Curls in the mornings, so when the usual time came and went on Monday, I sent him a text to say hello, something along the lines of, "Good morning, how's your day going?" An hour went by, no response. My Spidey sense started to tingle.

Finally, a short text in reply, "Not well." Then, "I may need a favor later."

Turns out, that favor was a ride home from the doctor's office. Turns out, Mr. Curls twisted a muscle in his back. The injury is bad enough to have him out of commission for a few days, but not bad enough that he needs surgery (thank goodness).

I hung out with Mr. Curls for the rest of the day, making some dinner and sitting on the couch with him to watch a couple movies. He was in pretty bad shape. It hurt him to move and it hurt him even worse to get up. It was horrible, you know, for me, 'cause he was so clearly in pain and there was nothing I could do to fix it. But, I could be there with him and hold his hand, and that helped a little.

Tomorrow, I'm taking him in for his follow-up doctor's appointment and more physical therapy. I feel really bad for him since he's hurt, but I have to admit that I've been making "old man" comments right and left. Can't baby him too much, now, don't want to spoil him ;)

Brother Meets Boyfriend

Since my brother is a young guy with some time on his hands between phases of his pilot training, he decided to take a road trip on his motorcycle from Florida to Colorado. He, and his very sore butt, got into town the night before last, so yesterday me and Mr. Curls met up with my brother and his girlfriend so Mr. Curls could meet my little brother.

We met up, grilled some hamburgers, and spent the afternoon hanging out. My brother and Mr. Curls hit it off right away. In part, because their personalities just work, and in part because my brother was way excited that he wasn't the only boy. In the past, there have been times where it's been me, my brother, and the girlfriend and she and I have ganged up on him. This time, my brother had another guy as backup.

See, my brother is ticklish. WAY ticklish. That makes it really hilarious when me and the girlfriend team up and attack him. He giggles in a distinctly girlish way when he gets tickled, and he flails helplessly about, which entertains me and the girlfriend to no end. Yesterday, there came a point when we were all sitting on the lawn outside and me and the girlfriend decided it was a good time to tackle my brother.

There I was, getting some good rib tickling in, when suddenly, I got blindsided by a sneak attack as Mr. Curls tickled me from behind. Ticklishness, like thick hair, is a trait my brother and I share. So, as soon as Mr. Curls came at me and exploited this weakness, I was out of commission, leaving my brother with much better odds. Mr. Curls scored major points with my brother for that and it pretty much cemented their alliance.

Mr. Curls has officially passed the brother test. Now the girlfriend and I have lost the two-against-one girl advantage. Tragic, I tell you. Tragic ;)

Mr. Curls To the Rescue

My parents were on a trip this past week and I stopped by the house a few times to check for burglars. This was extra important because a few weeks ago, their next door neighbors had their house broken into.

I went to visit mom and dad's a few days ago. I picked up some Chinese food and a DVD to watch on their big screen TV. Part way through the DVD, Mr. Curls called to shoot the breeze and I started to walk down the stairs into the basement for something. Half way down the stairs, I heard a sound like one of the storage boxes falling over.

"Um, hang on a second," I said as I back-pedaled up the stairs. I walked outside, locked the door, then told Mr. Curls about the noise. "Could be, it was nothing," I said. "Could be, it's just a squirrel or something. But, what with the neighbors, and all..."

"You want me to come over? I'm already on that side of town."

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to be a wimp, but, worst case scenario, it'd be worse to be stupid than to over-react. "Could you?"

"I'll be right there."

I waited in my car with the engine running, just in case a murderous burglar came at me. Soon enough, Mr. Curls pulled up. All business, he walked around the house with me, helping me check for any places someone might have broken in - I wanted to do a walk around first, because if we found an obvious place where a window was busted, then I'd call the police right then and there. When we didn't see any spots where someone might have broken in, we ventured inside. Together, we went through the house room by room, checking for intruders.

Thankfully, it turned out to be a false alarm. Whatever I heard, it was most likely a weird echo of my own footsteps. I felt kind of silly about being worried, but relieved at the same time. I felt a little bad for asking Mr. Curls to drop what he was doing and come over just because I was paranoid, but for his part, he just shrugged. "I'm glad it was nothing. I'd much rather it be nothing than think that you were in danger." That was it. No mention of how he'd left his sister's mid-conversation. No mention of how I'd worried him for nothing, and no giving me a hard time about an over-active imagination. Just relief that it was okay.

Even though it turned out to be nothing, he was there for me, without hesitation, when I needed him. It's the sort of thing that balances out all the baggage and complications. Whatever else, I know he's got my back. It's a good feeling.

A Conversation About a Conversation

The night after the conversation that got my emotions all in a whirl, I was at Mr. Curls' place, curled up on the couch with him. I'd been quiet, trying to decide what to say about what had been going on in my head and wanting to have some time just to enjoy listening to his heartbeat and having his arms around me.

"You seem tired," he said.

"Not tired. Thoughtful."

He tipped my head up a little to look me in the eyes. "What's up?"

"Something happened when we were talking last night. I had a really unexpected reaction to part of what we were talking about."

"Oh?" I started trying to explain, and when I paused to figure out the next thing to say, he helped me fill in. "Would this have to do with what you told me a while back?" We'd only talked about my foster brother once, but Mr. Curls is sharp, he'd connected the dots. "Last night, when you seemed uncomfortable, I thought that might be it. That's why I said we didn't have to talk about it." He hugged me, tight.

Then, we talked. Mostly, I talked and he listened. He didn't say much. There wasn't much he could say about something like that. He held me tight. He stroked my hair. He asked me if I'd ever talked to a professional about it. The important part was that even though he was absolutely dog tired from a couple of sixteen hour work days in a row, he stayed up, listening to me and being there for me without ever once looking at the clock.

The Freak Out, or, A Ghost From the Past

The past few days, I've been a bit stressed due to a combination of some drama going on with my present job and the tension and insecurity of applying for a new job which would mean a drastic pay increase and moving to a nearby city. Also, Mr. Curls and I have been talking a little bit about plans for going out of town in May for the wedding of one of my closest friends. It's a trip, together, and it's still a month out that we're planning for. It's intimidating.

Last night, while we were having yet another marathon phone call, we started talking about some sex things. Most of the details aren't important, so I'll skip all but the few that are. We talked about masturbation and the conversation almost went somewhere I didn't want it to. When I was a little kid, we're talking about three or four, I learned more than I should have about genitals. Someone I trusted, my foster brother, touched me where he shouldn't have. As soon as my parents found out, he was removed from the house. Since I was so young, I really don't remember most of it, though I've spent a long time and a number of conversations with the friend whose wedding we're going to to try and sort out how this thing has affected me. The bottom line: I've dealt with it, but these days I have a hard time drawing the line between things I can trace back to that and things that come from other places. Sorry, I know that's vague, but I'm having a hard time finding the right words.

Talking about masturbation, talking about touching myself, reminds me that someone else touched me first. I've told Mr. Curls about what happened, but I told him it didn't matter. Usually, it doesn't.

The conversation last night then turned to him asking me about preferences about pubic hair. "So, um, what do you like?" He asked.

"I like what you've got going on right now," I said. Then, "Since you bring it up, it's only fair to ask you." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Since before Mr. Curls, and before my ex, I decided I liked to keep things trimmed up down there. Not bushy, but not shaved. I have it how I like it. Period. I added, "Not to make you answer differently, but I may not be anxious to change it."

"Fair enough. I will say that I do kind of like no hair there. I like what you've got, too. It's kind of tied."

And that is when it happened. I don't know where the reaction came from, and I can't explain exactly how it happened. All I know is that suddenly, my heart fell to my stomach and all I wanted was to hang up on him and keep my phone turned off. Can we say disproportionate reaction? I was blindsided. I mean, what the fuck? All he said was, "I kind of like this one thing," and BAM! I didn't know what was going on, but I knew I needed to change the subject, so I told him and before long we were saying goodnight and hanging up. I sat on my bed after I hung up the phone, trying to figure out what had just happened.

In the course of this relationship, there has been so much else, things that are way more important than pubic hair, that I've learned about that I just took in stride. So, what's different about this? I went to bed last night feeling horrible and insecure and anxious. It sucked. Some of that feeling is lingering this morning, which also sucks. As best I can figure it, the reaction comes from a couple of things.

One: insecurity about sexual experience. Before Mr. Curls, I had exactly one notch on my bed post. Exactly one guy I had (willingly) been intimate with. I haven't asked Mr. Curls about his number, because I'm not at a place where I want to know, but he's been married twice, which means at least two, which isn't a big number by any stretch of the imagination, but it's twice what mine was. If he likes it bare down there, then who was the one who is the reason he likes it? It's an immediate insecurity born of comparison.

Two: what if we don't match? We've talked about bedroom desires and what each of us finds appealing. I've asked him what he likes and, well, the guy's pretty vanilla. The first conversation we had, he said X and Y and I asked him if there was anything else and he couldn't think of anything. Then, a while later, he said he liked Z, too. Again, we're talking disproportionate response, because it wasn't anything that came out of left field or anything like that, it just triggered an irrational, "He's got a foot fetish, I know it!" response in me. The jist is, he's just so much unexplored territory and because he's a different person than my ex was, being with him is different than it was with my ex. I mean, duh. But, part of it ties back to the whole lack of experience thing. There's the part of me that's afraid he's going to want something I won't be okay with - which is silly because knowing him and knowing me, there's a whole lot I am or would be okay with, and I think I might be okay with more than he would. It's more that I've never been much of the lingerie girl, and he likes lacy thongs. Things aren't just all on my terms. Again, it's a "duh" moment. Relationships are all about compromise in all kinds of ways. And, just because I was never really into thongs doesn't mean I minded wearing one the other night. It's not about the thing itself, ultimately, it's about the control. Specifically, it's about me giving some up. As a gal who spent most of the past three years being single and having absolute control, that's a change. Change is scary.

Three: my crotch is, well, intimate. Having sex is one thing because it's about giving myself over to someone, but only for a time. Then I get myself back. Shaving my pubes would be about someone else having control over my lady parts on a more than temporary basis. I'd be walking around all day knowing that my crotch was a certain way because that's how someone else liked it. And, for me, the crotch is the most important part of the whole thing. When I was a kid, someone who shouldn't have had anything to do with my crotch did what he wanted with it, i.e. loss of control. Thus, for so much of the rest of my life, it's been an extra sensitive area for me, no pun intended. I've been somewhat casual about above-the-belt fooling around, but below-the-belt is not in any way casual for me. There has never been an off-hand fingering or such, because I am not okay with that at all, because, I have this thing from my past.

Four: the worst part is that my reaction last night caught me SO off guard. After all this time and talking with someone I trusted about it, I was confident that I'd dealt with what happened. I knew that I'd dealt with it. I knew I was over it. It was a thing that happened, and it was a really ugly thing, but I'd gotten past it. Then, I reacted how I did and it immediately brings up the point that maybe I'm not quite all the way past it.

And then we go back to the insecurity. Mr. Curls tells me I'm wonderful. He tells me he's so lucky to have found me and that he has a hard time seeing why someone so great as me would be interested in someone who's got all this baggage. I tell him I'm far from perfect and point out a thing or two to that effect. He shrugs, "It's no big deal." This, though, this is a big deal and even though I've told him about it, I did everything I could to downplay it and we haven't talked about it since.

I think I need to talk to him about it a little more, but I don't know what purpose it'd serve, and I don't know how to say it or what to say about it. It's something that I've thought about in so many different ways that it's become ambiguous to me. I honestly don't know how much of what I think and feel about it comes from the event itself and how much comes from me thinking about it afterward. The only part that's really vivid is an image in my mind. It was night and I was in my bed in the basement bedroom. I see the stairs leading into my room and him standing at the top of them in his underwear. I remember, faintly, the feeling of him on top of me. I don't remember if there was actual penetration, but I don't think so. I imagine if there had been, I would have remembered discomfort or pain.

With my ex, I told him about it and then it was over. It never was an issue once I talked about it and I was okay. So, why is it different this time? Why am I reacting to something I barely remember? How much of it is the thing itself, and how much of it is bleed-through from other stresses I'm dealing with right now? What does the freak out mean? Does it really mean anything at all? I wish I knew the answers. I hate not knowing exactly what it is I'm feeling or why. I hate this so much. I just wish time would speed up so I could get out through the other side of it right away.

Game Night and Package Deals

Saturday Mr. Curls and the boys got some of Mr. Curls' stuff out of storage, a.k.a. picked it up from ex #2's sister (he's been waiting to get it until he could be sure there wouldn't be drama). When I went to the apartment that night, there were a stack of boxes stuffed into the bedroom, some pieces of furniture added to the living room, and, most exciting of all, a kitchen table.

I arrived with a few things of my own: a deck of cards, Jenga, and a couple of board games. The boys were a tad shy at first, staying in their room for a minute before peeking out. Then, any shyness was over and E, the eight-year-old quickly wrangled me into a game of Don't Break The Ice while Mr. Curls fiddled with getting the TV stand set up. It didn't take too long before all four of us were playing Jenga. The slightly wobbly table, combined with a very energetic E's elbows on the table, made for extra suspense.

There was a moment during playing games where Mr. Curls had E. go to his room to calm down a bit and A., the thirteen-year-old, was on an expedition to the convenience store for a donut. The two of us were alone for a moment and Mr. Curls shook his head, "I promise, they're not usually this wound up," he said, meaning E. mostly.

I shrugged. "Yeah, I figured."

Mr. Curls smiled, "Would it make sense if I told you they were excited to see you?"

Once we regrouped, we moved on to cards. After a few hands, Mr. Curls made a pizza run and while he was gone, I showed the boys a couple of card tricks I know. Then I showed them how to do the tricks and A. immediately practiced a couple times and when Mr. Curls returned with the pizza, A. did the tricks for him. One was a bit more complicated, so he goofed it. Once we finished pizza, I helped A. practice the trick until he got it down pat.

Later, after a movie and after the boys were in bed, Mr. Curls and I sat on the couch for a bit, letting the quiet soak in. "That was fun," I said.

"Yeah?" Mr. Curls looked relieved. He had been a bit self-conscious at moments when the boys were giving each other grief, or when E.'s volume level got high. But, I know that kids are kids. I also can see that A. and E. are good kids. Add to that the fact that, since the boys were more wound up than when we did mini golf, I got to see Mr. Curls in more of a dad mode when he needed to be. He's a good dad, and it was neat to see that side of him.

"I liked goofing around with the boys. It's been a good night."

I was pleased that the boys got into the games like they did. It reminded me a bit of playing games with my parents when I was a kid and that gave me a whole warm fuzzy vibe. It's been a number of years since I started thinking that giving birth really wasn't my idea of a good time. However, whenever I think of my future, I tend to see kids in it. For a very long time, I've been telling my brother all about the kids he's going to have so I can be an aunt. A few days ago, when we were talking about Mr. Curls, my brother asked if that was still the plan. "Yup," I told him. "Besides, Mr. Curls already has two, so it's not like he's feeling the baby fever either. I'm still more into the idea of part time kids than full time."

"Then that'll work perfect," my brother said. "His kids are like rentals."

"Exactly."

It might sound shallow, but I swear it has more to do with the difference between liking children and needing to have my own biological children. With Mr. Curls' boys, I've been pleasantly surprised by how quickly they've warmed up to me. I expected more caution. I expected them to spend more time feeling me out before deciding about me. The idea that they were excited to see me Saturday is more than I expected. Like so much else with this relationship, it gelled more easily than I hoped.

I don't want to jump the gun, but these days, the more I imagine my future, the more I imagine Mr. Curls being in it. The more I imagine having a lot more game nights. I've always had the dream of a family of my own, even if that family wasn't the typical set up with me giving birth to members thereof. The thing is, though I've had that clear goal, it's always been distant. Now, in such a short time of only a few months, that goal seems to suddenly be a lot closer. The last thing I want is to get ahead of myself, but I like the idea of the four of us. My plan was, if all went well, I'd be adding one more person to my life. Now, if all goes well, I'd be adding three. It's intimidating. It's exciting. I just might be getting a family out of this.

Funny to think how it all started with a question in a bar.

Chancing Rejection, aka the Job Interview

A while back, I posted about talking to the gal at the community college about teaching some classes there as well as where I'm teaching now. I was nervous. I've never been comfortable with pitching myself to people. The whole, "I'm awesome, wouldn't you agree?" thing makes me want to puke. Still, it's a necessary evil when it comes to things like getting a job.

I sent off the inquiry e-mail to the gal and cringed when I hit "send." Then I immediately realized I had forgotten to put something in the subject line. Crap. Cue the butterflies in the gut, sweaty palms, and panic attack.

Imagine my thrill when her response was to say my CV was "impressive" and that she'd love to talk with me further.

Fast forward to the day when I went in for my talk/interview. Mr. Curls had wished me luck that morning, adding, "Though, I'm sure you don't need any." I was running approximately two minutes late because I had decided at the last minute that I wanted to include one more document in the folder I was bringing to the interview and had to print it out. Two minutes late, and I was cussing myself out as I raced across the parking lot. I found her office and she smiled warmly at me and said, "You must be Jean. It's nice to meet you."

Then, we started talking. She asked me about some of the experience I listed on my CV. She asked me what I considered my strengths as a teacher and what I struggled with. The interview started to get longer and longer and she was both very friendly, very professional, and very thoughtful about my answers. Before long, I started to feel less like a deer in headlights. Then she got to the point where she asked if I had any questions for her.

"At this point, my main question would be how I might fit here. If I were to teach here, what classes might I be teaching?"

The answer was not what I expected. Instead of saying, "Well, the classes you might teach would be X, Y, and/or Z," she said, "What would you think of teaching a class this summer? I have one more X class to fill." Just like that, I got hired! No second interview, no having to think it over, just a comment about how she'd already spoken to my current boss about me, gotten a positive review, and that she wanted me on board.

As soon as I said I'd be thrilled to take on the summer class, she loaded me up with the materials I'd need, told me to talk to HR, and said she looked forward to working with me. I was professional and said I was looking forward to it, but I didn't gush or squeal with glee since that would've been weird. Let me tell you though, as soon as I walked out of her door, I had the biggest, dumbest grin on my face and it stayed there for at least two hours afterward.

Okay, one summer class is hardly enough to retire on, but it's my foot in the door and it is an earlier start than I had hoped for. Now I have something productive to do this summer. The extra bonus is the self esteem bonus. My whole work and income situation has been a source of stress for me for a while, and I am just so extraordinarily psyched about this because even if it's a small win, it's still a WIN!

A Four-Letter Word

Last weekend, Mr. Curls and I had a conversation we'd been warming up to for a few days. He had said something on the phone the night before regarding the timing of when I met the boys, "I was talking with my sister about it and I told her that I thought it would be best if certain things happened first." He paused, trying to figure out the next part. "Certain mile markers that we haven't gotten to yet. But, when I talked to her, and now that you've met them, I started thinking that the timing was just right anyway."

"Certain mile markers, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm thinking I may have a hunch about that, which makes me think it'd be better to save that thought for a time when we can talk about it in person."

The next day, when I went over to his place, we got back to that thought. See, I had a hunch about what it was, because I've gotten to know him pretty well and because I'd been talking with a friend about a specific anxiety I was having in regard to the relationship. It's not a bad thing, but it is a thing that freaks me out because of its implications.

"So," I said, "about that mile marker you were talking about last night, let's talk about that."

"Okay, let's talk about that," he said.

Both of us were feeling awkward by that point. We do that sometimes. We'll both be struggling for words, trying to figure out how to say what we mean. Sometimes, the process even involves blushing and scrunched up facial expressions, but the important thing is that even if it's not easy, or if it's uncomfortable, we push through and say what we need to say. It took us a while to get to the heart of the matter where we described a certain four-letter word. A word that's way scary and starts with an "L."

With this conversation, there was a fair amount of talking around the idea before we finally landed on it, because that word intimidates us both. For both of us, that word does not come easily. After a lot of pauses and comments where more was implied that said, but where we both knew what the other meant, we reached the point where we told each other that word had been on our minds. We've both been thinking about it, but neither of us is quite ready to say it out loud yet. Neither of us is quite ready to claim it yet.

But, we've been thinking about it. I've been trying it out in my head, too. Just in my thoughts, I'll try out an idea that has that word. I'm testing how it feels. It feels alright, to be honest. It feels like maybe I could say it soon. That, maybe, is the scariest part. In the past, like with my first boyfriend, I knew it wasn't there. He said it, and I said, "Me too," because that's what he wanted, but I knew I didn't feel it. That was easier. Now, I test it and I have a "Yes, maybe" kind of thought, which makes me a million bajillion times more uneasy.

If I say that word, that means I mean it. If I mean that word, that means I'm saying yes to this guy. I'm saying that I feel enough for him to go beyond a guy I like spending time with and I like being intimate with. I'm saying that I feel enough for him to think about it not as his future and my future, but as our future. So, I try the word out in my head and take my time before I get ready to try and say it out loud.

Ex Drama and the Information Guidelines

Saturday, after our dress shopping adventure, Mr. Curls was supposed to meet up with a friend of his who he hasn't seen in quite some time. The friend was at this other guy's house with a group of people and the plan was for Mr. Curls to meet him there.

After we got back to my house, and after I reassured Mr. Curls I wouldn't feel ditched, he headed off to meet his friend. Twenty minutes later, my phone rang. Caller ID said it was him and my first thought was, "huh?" and my second thought was, "uh oh." I figured there was no reason for him to call me unless his plans fell through, right?

I answered the phone and could immediately tell by the sound of his voice that something wasn't right.

"What's up?" I asked. "Did your buddy bail on you?"

"No," he sighed. "Worse. I'm not sure what to do."

"What happened?"

"My friend just called to let me know my ex is there." That meant his most recent ex. The ex who, just last week, had some chic pretend to be her to dodge getting served divorce papers. Yes, that's right, the lady's a nut job (my words, not his). Important lesson, my friends, this is why you don't marry someone you've only known for five months. As much as I like Mr. Curls, marrying that gal was a really, really stupid thing to do. Now he's paying the price.

"Ah," I said. "I see."

"My friend went to his buddy's with someone else, so he doesn't have his car. He doesn't mind leaving, but I'd have to pick him up and I just have a bad feeling that she'd follow him out or something and..." he let it trail off.

"Yeah. That would suck."

"Except, I was supposed to hang out with him tonight and I was really looking forward to it and now my plans are wrecked." The part he didn't say, but that I understood was that this was yet another way she was having a negative impact on his life. Bad enough she won't cooperate with getting a divorce - it's not like she actually wants to be with him, not like they've even seen each other in months, etc. - now she had to ruin his plans to catch up with an old friend.

His reaction to the whole thing was like he'd gotten sucker punched. Part of me felt a little unsympathetic given that whole marrying someone he'd only known for five months thing and the fact that, when it comes to hasty romances like that, there's often reasons why people rush in and those reasons aren't often good. So, a little bit of just deserts. But, most of me cares for him and sees why he did what he did and though I think it wasn't his brightest idea, it comes down to being human, etc. etc. The majority of me just felt bad for him.

In the end, he decided to just take a rain check with his friend and avoid the situation completely. No need to set himself up for drama, and I was glad the timing worked so the ex got there before him and his friend was able to warn him. It sucked that he couldn't hang out, but it would've sucked more if he had already been there when she walked in the door.

We talked on the phone again once he got home and we talked a bit about what I needed/wanted to know about the situation at this point. He's told me the broad strokes already, as well as a few details that are important for me to know - like how she screwed around on him, confessed, and how he went to the doctor the next day to get a full STD panel which, thankfully, came back clean. But, as I told him, I don't really want details, particularly not now.

I feel like I know what I need to know for where our relationship is, and I reminded him that he should tell me anything else that would be important, but I don't want all the gory details. I don't want to know what their wedding was like, or plans they made for their life together, or any of that type of thing. It's the sort of information that wouldn't have direct bearing on our relationship and the sort of thing that can get under one's skin and fester. I don't want to spend a lot of time thinking about how he loved his exes. It can't do me any good.

We talked about what I wanted to know. He talked about wanting to protect me from the drama, and I appreciate that. He got himself into trouble and, one step at a time, he's getting it sorted out. I neither need nor want to get involved.

Different couples have different ideas about what they need to know about each other. There are those who want to know everything about everything. There are those who look at the past as the past and the only important part is today onward. For me, I'm somewhere between, but with a healthy appreciation of Cliff's Notes. I don't need to know everything about the 2nd ex. I know the wedding was hasty. I know the marriage itself was viable for about four months. I know that by the time they'd known each other a year, Mr. Curls was beginning to realize he'd gone down a bad path. I know that as of the time he and I met, one of the things he wanted more than anything else was to be finished with this person and move on and have a life she had no part in.

I also know that the experience made him take a hard look at his issues and the choices he'd made to get him into that situation. He's determined not to repeat the same mistake and we've talked more than once about the benefit of taking it slow and really getting to know each other before we do big relationship things. We've talked about how being in a relationship with someone for over a year is a good thing to do before planning to get married. Sometimes one has to learn things the hard way, but the important thing is that those things are learned. In this case, he just had to learn it the really hard, painful, disastrous way.

All I can say is Yay! for the vasectomy, 'cause the last thing he or I need is to have this person involved in his life as baby mama #2. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Now I Have a Shopping Assistant

A while back, I was telling Mr. Curls about my friend's wedding in May. I happened to mention needing a dress.

"Oh yeah?" He said.

"Yup. I'm going to have to go shopping."

"Want company?"

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Curls volunteered to go dress shopping with me.

Yesterday, we hopped in my car and toured the shops. The last time I went shopping for a dress with someone was when I was a high school freshman. The friend I went with got bored and annoyed with me and it wasn't fun. Going into the shopping adventure with Mr. Curls, I was a bit nervous about how it'd go.

It took until the fourth shop before we found anything for me to even try on. I have to say, I was impressed. Mr. Curls was very patient about the whole process and there were a few times when he was the one who picked out a dress for me to try on. I must add, the comments of, "Ooh, I really like that one on you" and "You look really good in that one" made me smile. He was good moral support, and very helpful when it came to having someone around to hold dresses for me. Also, he wasn't just humoring me. He was actually interested in helping me find something I liked. It was an unusual experience for me. Fun, though, definitely fun.

The dress mission took about eight stores before I found a dress that would work. Now I've got a dress for the wedding and now I know who to take shopping with me.

What's Sex? What Isn't?

I'm a big fan of City Girl's blog, and I'm totally flattered that she's got a post up that responds to a comment I left the other day. Go read the post, it's a good one.

In short, the conversation is about the definition of sex. Most people can agree that if you give someone a kiss, that doesn't count as sex. Most people can agree that if there is a penis in a vagina and an ejaculation, that's sex.

It's the degrees in between that get fuzzy. For City Girl, the difference between fooling around and sex is penetration: "I define sex in a Clinton-esque fashion. (And, by Clinton, I mean Bill, not Hillary.) Did a guy penetrate me vaginally or anally with his cock? If so, then we had sex, and I’m carving another notch in my bedpost. If not, then I did not have sexual relations with that man."

At the end of the post, she asks her readers what their definition of sex is. For me, sex is based on the sex organs. My definition of sex includes things like hand jobs and oral sex.

On the logistics, City Girl and I differ. The interesting part, though is that, in a way, we agree more than we disagree. Even though we draw the line differently, we draw it for the same reason. The border between fooling around and sex for both of us is based on emotion. She said, "I can disconnect my emotions from hands and oral, but I can’t disconnect from traditional or anal sex." My emotions get tied in a lot sooner than hers is all.