Monday, November 21, 2005

dear him: So, we haven't met yet. We're not dating yet, not serious yet, not engaged yet, not married yet. We're an idea at this point -- not a reality. You are a distant dream. But I know you exist, because if you don't, well -- I'm going to kick your ass. I suppose I've spent a good portion of the last 31 years of my life becoming the girl you'll end up with and I know that, at many points, I could have tried harder to be worthy of your affections. But I'm still difficult, still touchy, still temperamental, still crazy. Evidently, you're going to choose me anyhow. You're nuts, honey. I know that without even meeting you. I like that, though -- it means we're kindred. I don't want to say that I'm clinically insane, per se -- I mean, it's not like I'm familiar with white coats and padded walls. Mostly. But I digress. I just wanted to cover a few things in this letter so that you know what you're getting into. I mean, any guy who gets into a relationship with me is going to want to be a bit of a boy scout: prepared for anything. Let's start with my family: My mom is going to want to hug you and feed you a great deal of food. The food is good, I promise. But you'll need to eat a lot of it to satisfy her, so bring your appetite. You should go look at her art and her handicrafts, too. See how talented she is? I don't know how to do any of that stuff, so don't ask me to. That's what my mom is for. She does stuff, we enjoy it. It works. My dad is going to want you to have a clue about life in general; he's not a fan of his daughter marrying into ignorance. Thing is, I chose you because you were bright and amazing -- hopefully much more so than I -- so now it's just a matter of getting past his filter. He's going to default to thinking that you're not smart enough to be with me (without any real evidence to back up his theory), so this is a good time to haul out your knowledge of everything from current events to literature to NFL history. This is NOT a good time to mention that you have ever rooted for the Cowboys or the Broncos. Maybe stop doing that. Don't mock his pink tie, either. My brother is going to want to beat you up. Just stay below the radar and say soothing things about Star Trek and Canadian bands. Maybe offer him a mocha. I'll protect you as best I can. As far as my friends go, they're a pretty open lot. Mostly they just want me to be happy, just like my family. Ashleigh and Kerry will give you the eagle eye, Kristy and Jenn will ask all the right questions, Jay and Jaegen will talk to you about sports, and Catherine will make you laugh like an idiot. If you can't manage to keep up with my former and current and future roommates, you're not likely going to find me funny or fascinating, either. And as any good lover knows, laughing and communicating are an essential part of any true romance. But... let's say you make it through these hoops. Once you've run the gauntlet of my family and friends -- well, there's still me. I'm a little bit strange, honey. I don't know quite how to describe it, but there it is -- I don't always make sense. I usually manage to entertain people with my quirky ways on occasion, but not all my angles and edges might suit you for the long haul. I might confuse you. I can talk a blue streak about almost anything, but some days I really, truly have nothing to say. I can stay awake for hours and hours on end, but oh -- I really like my Saturday morning sleep-ins. Do you mind if I lie like a lump beneath the covers until the sun is high in the sky? You can try and wake me up. I might even pretend to be awake until you leave the room again. Then zzzzzzzz... Here's a big worry: I don't know quite what I'll do if you hate coffee. You're never going to want to bring me a latte in bed if you don't understand the nature of my affection for the sweet nectar of the humble bean. I can't really explain it either. If you don't like coffee, you'll just find the taste exceedingly bitter. And we don't need any bitterness in this relationship. By the way, I sing along really loudly with things in the car. Sometimes I don't even know the lyrics; I'll just make them up. I might write a song about being stuck in traffic or your need for a haircut or the fact that I just spilled hand santitizer all over my jeans or the weird guy in the next lane over. I also sing along with soundtracks and Muzak in grocery stores, elevators, and hotel lobbies. Is that okay? I've got pretty solid pitch and I don't wail it out too loudly. I wouldn't want to offend anyone. Speaking of offending, I can be a wee bit argumentative and competitive at points. And not always about stuff that matters like world crises or our eternal bond as a couple. No -- sometimes it will be nothing more than the words to the theme song from 'Diff'rent Strokes'. I know the words, you know. I bet I know them better than you. Did you realize that it was Alan Thicke singing? I didn't think so. See? I win. I like to cook weird things late at night. Will this interfere with your sleep? I mean, go to bed anytime you want -- we both know I'll be up later with my insomnia. But do you mind if I whip up a little carbonara? You can always tear yourself away from the pillow and have some. And your dreams will then be as weird as mine (hopefully). My dreams are an endless well of office stories and wacky emails to faraway friends. Now, if you're one of those people who won't eat or smell food after 6 or 7 pm, though -- getting back on topic -- you're not going to appreciate the sound or scent of me deglazing a pan at 2 am. Oh! One more thing about food -- I really like things to be spicy. I might add a few too many peppers or too much curry powder or Tabasco to things in my pursuit of beautiful, transcendent heat. If you try something I've made and you feel that your esophagus has just caught fire, please tell me. We can find you a glass of milk or a fire hose -- whichever seems more apropos. In regards to travelling, I haven't been to a lot of places or seen a lot of amazing things. I will invariably embarass you a little when I stand with my mouth hanging open as we stand in front of major sights and scenes. Whole swarms of flies might take up residence in my gaping maw before I get ahold of myself. I hope you won't cringe at my overdeveloped sense of wonder, because I do have my cynical spots, too, you know. A profound example of this is my disdain for certain grandiose romantic gestures. I don't feel any need to hop in a hot air balloon, or find the floor of my hotel room lined with rose petals, or receive a very large embossed Hallmark card. I am not obsessed with anniversaries or notorious moments or unwieldy milestones on our journey together. I am plenty pleased with receiving the prize from your CrackerJack box, you know. In fact, gimme. I like the occasional bouquet of flowers, but no roses please. And no bad poetry, either. I do love the idea of an expensive dinner out, but at this stage in the game, I can't reconcile blowing what we would spend on groceries in a month just to go out and test our ability to ask for a glass of water en francais. C'est dommage. Now -- before I close out this letter, I should tell you what I need from you most, now that we've covered what you need to know: I want you to be honest, transparent, and entirely revealing of anything that might be useful for me to understand about you. I don't need all the details, but a general idea? That would be grand. I also need to trust that you are someone who genuinely, truly, and unabashedly loves me. Loves me back, that is, since that's how I feel about you. I can't wait to go camping with you, to overstuff a hall closet with our shared acoutrements, to drag you onto a roller coaster, to make meaningless, nearly silent calls to you at work every day just to hear you breathe on the other end. I can't wait to write our history. I can't wait for us. As crazy as I am, I think I can make you happy. So hang on. You didn't choose the easy path, but you chose the one that leads to happiness. With me. Thanks -- I wasn't sure that would ever happen. And look at us now... err... then. In the future, that is. Love, M. 11:38:44 PM    well, yes, but...  [] the "move catherine to b.c." thread. If you have read my blog prior to today, you know that my friend Catherine -- someone I love and get into heaps of trouble with -- is considering moving into our apartment as of January 1st, 2006. She needs to work out moving and money and a host of other interesting details to make it happen. I say nothing is insurmountable! I say she needs more reasons to move to overbalance the challenges of making the leap. So if you want the author of Blogcabin to snag Catherine for a roommate, let's give her reasons why she should move right here, right now, in the comments section of this post. Any reason at all! All reasons will do! Let's get Kerry and Meg a roommate! 9:25:33 PM    well, yes, but...  [] dear mr. guy outside the drugstore: My dad taught me to be lethal. Fair warning. Love, The Girl You Will Not Follow Again Because She Turned Around and Yelled So Loud You Nearly Wet Yourself. 7:30:05 PM    well, yes, but...  [] just because I can... Auntie Meg likes the cuteness. Oh, yes she does. If Carys gets any more cute, we may all implode in a giant fit of "awwwwww!" 7:00:00 AM    well, yes, but...  []

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