The Donut's Best Friend (no more)

Today, was a good day--of sorts.

To start out with, B.J. and I have been having some misunderstandings as to what creates a good marriage, a sound relationship, and what mutual respect looks, sounds, and behaves like. We were having one of our (rare) spats. I was trying to communicate with him (explicitly--since we all know expecting him to know implicitly is a pipe dream--really, for all men) what it is, exactly, that I need as a female to feel loved and appreciated. I really am not asking (in my opinion) for much: I need to hear 'I love you' more than just at bedtime before we both fall into unconsciousness, I need him to make some decisions on his own, as a man, without me telling him what to do (imagine that!), and I need him to be a partner in raising our children--as in every weekend day if I'm otherwise engaged between 9:30-10:00 am they need a snack and instead of telling them everything they can't do, please, please, please, take my one piece of parenting advice (to save us all some sanity): re-di-rect!!! I really don't think that is too awful much to ask for. Truly. I'm not asking for a Ferrari, or diamonds (though, I likely wouldn't object to them too much), or a bouquet of roses every night after I clean the house (hmm...again, wouldn't protest if it were to happen). I just want simple respect.

Anyhow, our 'discussion' of the aforementioned issues spilled into this morning. Yuck. I was so annoyed and agitated I just couldn't think. I couldn't say anything nice (and shutting up was excruciatingly painful) so I decided to listen to that little 'nudge' that the Spirit gives me every so often: It told me to leave the house and go for a walk. A walk? You mean exercise? Fresh air? Movement? GASP! Well, I did. I wound up lacing up my sneakers and stuffing my head into a winter cap to go for a walk. As I went about my preparations I went to grab my iPod for entertainment: dead. So, I thought I'd call my neighbor who I often talk with about personal issues and who, like myself, is trying to get into shape: still asleep. So, I stomped out my front door expecting to wilt of boredom on my walk. My walk was anything but boring.

For about the first 1/2 mile of my walk (uphill!!!) I grumbled and griped and complained in my head about what was vexing me. My mood was not improving. Then something happened: I remembered that I could take this time of quiet and solitude to talk with my Creator. And talk I did. I talked to the Boss for nearly a whole hour.

It was wonderful. I poured out my heart and my soul, begging forgiveness for my shortcoming and weaknesses as a mother, wife, friend, and human being. I let out my fears and anxieties. I prayed for B.J. and for myself. It was such a conversation, I nearly didn't want it to end.

By the time I returned to my front doorstep, my mood was improved, I felt a lot better (mostly from my time with my Maker, but also from a vigorous mostly-going-uphill walk in the South Hills), and I was ready to face the day.

With my amended attitude (though still somewhat annoyed--see 'what I need to be loved' regarding Snack) we left for church. We decided to try out a new feature of church: CORE. It was designed with married couples with small children in mind, to meet their spiritual and emotional needs at the point of time in life they are. It is a group of about 40 or so people. Often, I have issues going into established groups like this. I feel all sweaty and nervous and turn into a wallflower (I know, hard to believe, but true). I feel intimidated and I get a case of 7th grade ego: where I think they're all judging me, talking about me in a negative way, and generally finding me not member material. It is silly, but its true.

To my great pleasure they were very welcoming, friendly, and they approached us. They made us to feel a part of the group immediately. I would reckon that about 5 separate couples came up to us and introduced themselves, welcomed us, and inquired about who we are and our children. It was amazing. Truly. In my experience with churches in this town, we have not had a very warm or even friendly reception when we've visited or tried anything out. This was just what I think we needed. One of the topics that they address is marriage building. Visiting this group couldn't have come at a better time. It was also an answer to a small but honest prayer uttered this morning on my walk. Thank you, Lord, for small miracles, and for nudges in the right direction.

I have many lines from movies that are among my favorites; one of my favorite lines comes from the Sandra Bullock film HOPE FLOATS, it is one character addressing another about a formerly chunky high school classmate (who had gotten thin in the interim years):

...Oh, you know Dot: the donut's 'best friend.'

Normally, at gatherings like the one at church today that describes me: The donut's best friend. I always find a way to meander over to the donut and coffee table and find a sugary carb-cake to keep me company (or my mouth full, and unable to talk) when I'm nervous. Today, I went with B.J. over to the donut table where he loaded up a dessert plate full of cookies, brownie, and donut, whereas I, even after being offered said new and improved lifestyle offending consumables, politely declined. Yup. Another small answer to prayer: staying with my decision and not cheating or short-changing myself. I was not the donut's best friend. Amen!

As I've said before, thank God for small victories: I've added another to my list.

B.J. and I will be OK. We're fighters; we don't give up. And, despite all that has gone on this weekend, I'm OK, too.

God Save the Queen

Our European vacation (pun intended) was quite the 'whirl.' We managed to cram in a tour of 9 countries. Being who I am, I would have liked to go to a few more, but time was against us. Our backpack tour included visiting these countries:

England

Belgium

France

Netherlands

Germany

Austria

Switzerland

Italy

and

Vatican City.

My, that is quite a list. It is really staggering, to me, to think that I've actually set foot in all of those places with their varied cultures and languages.

I have some good stories about the various places we went to, but I think that I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Let's begin with England:

My, gotta love those Tube passes. They look like the Essex version of 'America's Most Wanted.'

I guess you're bound to look that way after foregoing sleep for a mere 36+ hours.

At the time, I thought these passes were so cool because they were an honest-to-goodness form of European identification.

Poor B.J., he looks like he's been on a 5 day meth bender.

And, what trip to England would be complete without a visit to good ol' Buckingham Palace? Geez, who is that? A fat Axl Rose? Gotta wonder what I was thinking taking that 'brain spider' (hat). I remember why I wore it--greasy hair! I thought the hat looked better than the four-day-unwashed hair. Hmmm...what would Stacey and Clinton say?

Big Ben vs. the Thumb

Tune in this Saturday to find out who will win this celebrity death match.

We had to visit the Hard Rock Cafe--the one in London is the original. I had wanted to visit this particular Hard Rock since I was about 7 years-old. The reason why I wanted to go there is because when I was about that age my brother went to England for an extended period of time, and when he came back he gave me a couple of souvenirs: a sweatshirt from Oxford University (no, he wasn't a student there...unless you count earning a degree in pub crawls), and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt. That was my most cherished t-shirt for the longest time, and it is one of the artifacts from my past that inspired my lifelong goal of going to Europe, so needless to say, it was reaching one of my life's major goals to be able to take the cheesy (there's that Axl Rose chick, again) picture in front of the shop.

Interesting fact: Stonehenge is made of stones from the Presley mountain range--200 miles away. Nobody knows how exactly the stones got to where they are, but there they are. Also, no matter the time of year, it is cold. The Stones themselves, also have different temperatures (touch) to them as well; some stones feel 'warm' while others feel 'cool.' And, they really do.

Why is it I always have to act like a jerk and make 'the face'? Do any of you ever feel compelled to make the face in pictures? For any reason?

For what it's worth, I don't know. Maybe it is an excuse to show off just how Gene Simmons-like my tongue is? (I can, in fact, touch my tongue to my nose. How's that for random trivia?)

At any rate the exchange rate was about $1.60 (us) to one Pound (British). Our money didn't go very far in England, so
if nothing else, the look on my face says it all: The U.K. is very expensive.

Goodbye to England and the white cliffs of Dover.

Jumping the Pond

As I've said, travel was to be a major part of the relationship that B.J.and I would have. After our initial trip to Florida we'd traveled around the state, and taken a fun week holiday to 'Fabulous Las Vegas', but, the best trip that we ever took (to date) was to spend nearly a month in Europe.

It had always been a dream of mine to be able to sight-see and experience a taste of life on the 'continent.' Ironically, B.J. never really thought about or cared to visit Europe. I never really thought it would be a reality (at least not in my impovershed youth), due to the expense of flying, quite literally, to the other side of the world. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I didn't waste any time mulling it over--I ran with it!

I remember it clearly: I was at University and it was right around the noon hour, and as usual, I was in the student union building. I generally did not take classes past noon (my circadian rhythm says it is nap time around 1pm, so taking classes meant I'd fall asleep in class. Very embarrassing.) but I had this one geology class that was only offered at like 2pm, which left me with approximately 3 hours to 'bum around' and study. Hence, my 'tenure' at the S.U.

Contained within the walls was of the EMU was the student travel agency. It was my habit to look in the windows whenever I went past. To this day, whenever I pass a travel agency I can't help but look at the specials advertised in the window and fantasize. This particular afternoon, while meandering aimlessly through the corridors with nothing in particular to do, I saw a flight and a price I could not refuse: Portland to Gatwick (London, UK) RT for $175.00.

No, that wasn't a type-o.

Even back then, people's eyebrows would meet their hairline in surprise over the price. I could hardly believe the good luck and the sheer economy of price, myself. I remeber, later that year, after our Europe trip, we flew to Florida on Southwest Airlines (gag!), and the tickets were about $100 more--just to fly from the West coast to the Southeast. It did (and does)boggle the mind.

Me, being a bit of a hedonist and eternally a shopper on the lookout for a good deal,hightailed myself into the travel agency, slapped my Visa card on the counter, and 15 minutes later walked away with two round-trip tickets to Europe and not a clue what else I'd do with them.

It was so much fun telling B.J.about my executive decision that we'd be going to Europe in March (this was at about the end of January,2000). He blanched (slightly) at the thought of the trans-Atlantic flight, but soon settled into the idea and joined in on my manic mood.

The flight was one of the worst I'd ever been on. I can remember flying out of Portland and watching the overhead storage bins sway alarmingly to and fro (with about a 8-10" arc of motion) and being convinced that the next bump of turbulence wouldn't end in just a mere 300' drop, but a 'final descent.' I just knew we were going to die. The terror of the terrible take-off ended about 45 minutes into the flight. It was the longest stretch of 'turbulence' that I'd ever endured (or hope to endure). Our connecting flight from Newark, N.J. to Gatwick was much more smooth, and the armrests of my particular seat, upon deplaning, did not show any evidence of my having occupied it--there were not, thankfully, 10 crescent shaped depressions from my white-knuckling it through the flight--as there were on the first leg.

Thirty hours and about 6,000 miles later we touched down: Europe.

My dream had become our reality.

Inseperable

After our first date, B.J. and I were nearly inseparable. That, dear ones, resulted in majorly ticked-off friends. To be precise, my friends were angry as hornets that I was spending so much time with B.J. Funny how that happens, especially since it was those friends who so forcefully pushed me to go out with B. J. Guess it is true: be careful of what you wish for, because you just may get it.

Angry (jealous) friends aside, B.J. and I really hit it off. We found we had a lot of things in common: movies, music (to a lesser extent, I never could enjoy the twangy country music he liked), going to the coast, shopping. Yes, you read that correctly, B.J. likes to shop . (Yes, I heard angels singing, too.)

We spent nearly every weekend driving over to the coast. B.J. and I enjoyed lots of dinners and lunches at little mom & pop dives, long walks on the beach collecting shells, interesting rocks, random detritus, and countless hours driving to nowhere in particular.

::sigh:: I miss those carefree days every once in a while.

Those certainly were the days. It really set into motion a theme of travel in our relationship.

Three months into our relationship we took our first long-distance trip together. We flew to Florida for two weeks. The trip was to celebrate me (amazingly) completing of high-school. It was such a wild and exhausting (in a good way) trip. I can hardly believe that my parents consented to letting me do it, but they did. Will I be such a cool parent? Lemme think about that...NO!

I remember the green Chevy Blazer that we rented, and the fact that I was not even remotely old enough to legally drive it. We drove from north-central Florida to Key West and back on that trip. I can't say I didn't enjoy myself the whole time. How could I not? Eighteen years old, cute boyfriend, and on a wild and crazy road-trip up and down the sunshine state. Life was good.

Our trip included visiting my family (currently, my entire family resides in Florida), driving on the sand in Daytona, going to Disney World, Miami Beach, and the Keys.

Disney World was, as to be expected, very diverting. I don't believe I ever remember my feet hurting so much before (or since!) from walking. We spent 3 days at Disney, walking here, there, and everywhere. I can remember after the second day my feet hurt so bad that to get to the bathroom from our bed I crawled across the hotel floor to get there. That was certainly a first. Generally one thinks of crawling to the bathroom to, uh, worship the 'porcelain god' after a rough night, not after a day of truly innocent fun.

B.J. and I probably had some of the most fun moments cruising around Key West on rented scooters. If you ever have an opportunity to go to Key West, go. Be sure to check out the cemeteries there. Key Westerners are known for being unique and their tombstones are no exception. Hands down, one of the best headstones I saw read something to the effect of "...at least I know where he'll be tonight."

Before our trip together, B.J. had never spent any real time in Florida, so when a typical southern Florida storm rolled in on our last day in the Keys he was blown away. In south Florida, it isn't uncommon to have beautiful calm, blue skies in the morning, and within minutes black stormy clouds rolling in, blackening the day to night. That is exactly what had happened to us.

We chose to stay in a floating hotel while we were in the keys--an old boat that had been converted to hotel rooms--and that last morning it was sunny, blue, and beautiful. By the time we had gotten out of the shower the wind had picked up, and black thunder clouds had begun to roll in at an alarmingly fast pace. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but since we were in the islands, if there was a truly big storm the problem about leaving becomes this: there is only a single little 2-lane South Dixie Highway that leads in and out of the islands. Meaning, when serious storms hit, if you don't leave immediately you ain't gonna leave. Since we were staying in a floating hotel, we decided it would be best to head out sooner rather than later. B.J. was terrified. The storm was getting progressively worse. In the space of about 20 minutes we had gone from sunny and clear to pitch-black--at 8 o'clock in the morning--with sheeting rain and 40+ mph. gusts of wind.

Welcome to paradise. There will be no cheeseburgers served today.

We packed up and headed north, to Miami. In the end, the storm wound up nothing more than a typical tropical squall. Nothing out of the ordinary. The storm managed to blow itself out by 3pm that day. Some days, up here, I miss those storms a lot. I certainly miss the fact that in Florida, when it rains, it rains. Then the storm is over. The rain is done. Up here it rains, and drizzles, and mists, and pours, and rains some more. For days on end. Very slow. Very soggy. Very much we can't do anything. (I am clearly not a true north westerner...doubt I ever will be. In fact, I always carry and use an umbrella.)

This trip was just the first of many that B.J. and I would embark on during our 'courtship' years.

First Date

Saturday morning (11am) rolls around in all its sunshiny glory. I am a nervous wreck. I can hardly believe that I am going to call B.J. and try to figure out how to get to his house on the other side of town, the rich side of town.

I heave a few humongously deep breaths and phone him. He's pleasant, cheerful, and gives me his address.

"Do you know how to get here? Do you need more directions that that?" He asks, already considerate of how I may or may not be directionally challenged.

"No. I think I know how to get there." I lie. Flat-out, through my teeth lied. I have not the foggiest clue of where his house is or even less, how to get there. "So, I'll see you as soon as I get there!"

"Great. See you soon." Click.

I'm thinking to myself, I'll just look up a city map in the phonebook (this is before Mapquest, or at least before I knew how to access maps online--at this point in time it's like $1.99/minute to use the Internet. Hard to believe we actually paid for it by the minute.). I locate his street and the cross street he gave, so I'll just follow the streets across the city that look like they're the most direct routes.

WRONG!

I climb into my dirty car and try to traverse the city. I was so painfully naive. It was quite a lesson in city planning, for me, that afternoon. I had no idea how many streets dead-end and are one-way and not marked as such on the map in the phonebook. As I'm driving, and getting more and more lost (no cell phone, those days, either) the minutes are ticking by. I began to worry that he would think I blew him off, and that I wasn't going to show up because by this time it has nearly been an hour! The drive, he said, should be about 20 minutes. Oh, man, was I a wreck.

Finally, by the mercy of God (whom I didn't know, at that time, either) I made it to his house. He teased me good-naturedly about how long it took me to get there, but at least I'd arrived.

He told me how to drive half-way around the block to access the alley that led to his back-yard/driveway. That was quite a little adventure in and of itself. See, my car was a little Plymouth Colt (aka Mitsubishi Mirage) and at its stock sitting height it could conservatively be called a 'low-rider'. It was a small wonder how I managed to navigate my little car up the steep driveway that led into the alleyway without tearing a hole in the oil pan!

At any rate, I'd finally arrived at B.J.'s house, safe and sound, albeit 40 minutes later than originally anticipated. B.J. had all the accouterments needed to clean my car (in all actuality he wound up detailing my car for me) and he had me park myself on the edge of his porch while he went to work.

In retrospect, I can't believe what I chose to wear. On that 'first' date I showed up at his house with my hair in a ponytail, a pair of Nike's, black sweats, and a t-shirt that said "Fukengruven" (a la the old VW ads that utilized "Fahrvergnügen" in their campaign).

Doh!! (Clearly, I was not thinking)

B.J. was not the slightest bit daunted (or at least he didn't appear so). He cleaned my car, until it was its proverbial 'squeaky' self. And then he came and sat down on the porch next to me.

My heart must have been pounding at least loud enough for the surrounding zip-code to hear it. We made some small talk for a few minutes, but before it knew it he was scooting closer and closer to me. He was right next to me! Aak!

I kept thinking to myself, I really sort of like this guy. He seems so genuine and sweet and thoughtful.

That was when he leaned over and kissed me. Our first kiss was right there, that sunny sun-drenched March 9, 1996 afternoon, sitting on the edge of his porch, our legs dangling, with a view of my very shiny and newly clean little purple car. I'll tell you this much, electricity surged through his lips to mine. Not only was he a good kisser, but there was some instant chemistry.

Oh, yes, chemistry indeed...

Gimme a lift?

Soon enough, time came to pass that I was to run into B.J., again. This time we really had some time to chit-chat and get to begin to know one another. I instantly liked him, because he was fun and made me laugh. But, it was in a guy-friend sort of way. Not in a romantic-I-would-like-to-date-you sort of way.

He was unattached, and so was I. My friends, God love them, got to conspiring and decided that they needed to set me up with B.J.--forcefully. The decided we would be a perfect match.


Again, I wasn't looking for anyone at the time. I had never felt a need or desire to be with a guy at any one time in my (albeit brief) life. I was quite as content in life to be single and hang out with my girlfriends as I was if I had a guy to date. I really didn't care. I didn't think I'd ever want to get married, and I certainly did NOT want any children in the remotely foreseeable (as in up to age 40) future. I was just happy to be me. So, the fact that my friends wanted me to go out with this guy, wasn't exactly unappealing, but neither was it a priority.

It all shook out like this: I agreed, grudgingly, to go out with B.J. on the condition that we go to a party I'd been invited to and he take my girlfriends along --since they needed a ride. I know it wasn't even remotely nice of me to deal with him that way, but like I'd already said I was fairly self-centered at this point in my life.

B.J. picked my friends and I up, and we went to the party. It wound up being broken up sooner rather than later on account of some drunken fools who decided it was necessary to brawl. It was a bit of a drag, but so be it. B.J. drove us (what a sweet guy he was, to put up with 3 very drunk and very rowdy girls) home, and managed to drop me off last (pretty smooth move, on his part). As we were sitting in my driveway, at 3am, he and I started to talk. Now, when you're me, and slightly inebriated (or as this case was: totally plastered), you talk about the highly philosophical or the utterly mundane; my conversation that evening took a dramatic, ninety-degree turn straight into the mundane: how my car was dirty and needed washed.

Doh! (a la Homer Simpson)

Somehow, B.J. and I decided to meet up again. He gave me his phone number, and told me to call him the next day for directions to his house so that I could drive over and he could help me to make my car clean.

Our first 'official' date was set for the following Saturday afternoon: B.J. was going to wash my car.

The Second Encounter

After the first party, I didn't think about B.J. again. I had no reason to think about him. In fact, I was still with the guy from the party B. But, our paths were to cross very soon.



"Stranger than fiction" has always been a theme in my life, and in dating there were no exceptions.

B. and I had gone out on a few dates. As I said before, I was not looking for anyone at the time, and what did come my way certainly wasn't going to be for anything long-term. We had a good time, but I knew it wasn't 'the one', whatever that was supposed to mean. We were just enjoying one an other's company for the time being and it was just fine. I was barely 18 and B. was somewhere between 23-25 (I've forgotten over time) and he worked at a pizza parlor. Sad to say, but I knew he had no ambition in life and was just one of those folks who'd be happy to float along on life's current, wherever it would take him. Even at the tender age of 18 I was a 'hard driver' and high-strung; I knew I needed someone in my 'future' who wasn't entirely aimless. I'll be brutally honest: I was very self-centered and wasn't above dating guys for their cars or the good time I'd get to have with them (gosh, that sounds just as awful as it is; no way around that). I was with B. just to have fun.

Since 'fun' was on the agenda, it came to pass that he and I were asked if we wanted to go on a double date with this couple, C. and B.J. Yup, my B.J. We decided 'why not?' and so the date was set.

It is funny how some things work out. On that date C. and B. decided it would be a lot of fun to get 'messed up' on some illegal substances. At this point in my life I had started to 'wean' myself off of any sort of 'stuff' (if you catch my drift), as I was about to go to college and partying was getting old. In retrospect, it is hard to believe all the partying I did and the kind of partying my friends and I did. Just totally wrong, in every way, shape and form. I chalk it up to good experience nowadays, and I don't necessarily regret it, but sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if only I'd done things differently. But, that is another stream of posts all together. As usual, I'm off on a tangent.


Anyhow, B. J. and I had declined any stuff and that left us stranded in a living room together, without our respective dates. We talked for a while and enjoyed some laughs. Eventually we wound up leaving, separately, in our own cars.

At this point in time, I thought B.J. was a nice guy, and pretty up-right. Never had done drugs, and aside from his twenty-first birthday didn't drink--one bad hangover, his first, was enough to end that type of activity.

I was still not exactly interested, but it was quickly becoming clear that the dating that B. and I had enjoyed was soon to become past-tense.

The Beginning: First Sight

I'd like to start to jot down some notes on how B.J. and I met and became 'us.' Here goes nothing:

I'd love to be able to tell you it was ever so sweet, full of roses and hand-holding and 'sweet nothings' but it isn't. It's much more raw and gritty.

But, such is my life.

The first time I saw B.J. was at a party. I had been feeling lousy and just wanted to stay home and be a blob on the couch and suffer with my 'cold'. But, as luck and posession of a car and driver's license would have it, I was not to be a party pooper that night. My friends H. and J. wanted badly to go to a party across town. I tried to wheedle and whine my way out of driving 'us' to the party, but 'no' was not an answer they'd take. So, off the couch, into a pair of Doc Marten's and away we went.

The party was in a semi-sleazy part of town (the wrong side of the tracks, if you will) and it was full of people I didn't know, didn't care to know, and was generally content to ignore. I was not in a particularly chipper mood. I can remember being introduced to a score of people as I lit my cigarette and glanced around the room. That was when I saw B.J.

I wasn't terribly impressed, to be truthful. B.J. is a nice looking man, but I wasn't exactly 'looking' for anyone at the time. I do remember two things about B.J. from that night: 1) he was considerably 'older' than the rest of the 18-21 year-old crowd (he was 23), and 2) he was very tall and dark.

Beyond that initial meeting, if you could call it that, I didn't take notice of B.J. the rest of the evening. In fact, I wound up with another guy that night, again, not in my initial intentions.