The Trouble With Love Is...

Oh, hey friends.  Remember me?  Just your friendly neighborhood hopeless romantic turned jaded spinster turned scorned woman turned wistful blogger.  I'm still here!  Thanks to all of you who've threatened my life if I didn't come back to the blogosphere...I know you meant it with love.

Shoot. So much has happened since I last overshared my life with you. 

I fell in love again. 

I know, I know.  Quick, right?  It just sorta snuck up on me - I promise I wasn't looking for it.  I know you're all cursing your computer screens now, but a girl just can't help who she falls in love with!  If I steered clear of every smooth talking Casanova that came my way, I'd have no juicy stories to tell you about the dickbags who tried to ruin my life.  This one's a fun story though. It's actually an awesome story, with a spectacularly magnificent ending.  I'll go back and revisit the loves lost of the past, and fill in the gaps between college and high school boyfriends and the Tucker disaster - trust me, there are plenty of "OH NO HE DIDN'T"s and "you did WHAT?"s in between the two ends of the dating spectrum.  Now, though, I feel like I owe you an explanation of why I've been so absent from my online diary.

This is actually a hard post to write, hence the huge pause in between now and the last story I told you.  The only way to tell it, I suppose, is to start from the beginning.

Way back in Octoberish, I was deep in the throes of a battle royale with the sonofabitch Georgian broad who thought it would be fun to mess with my head.  I'd done a fairly good job of keeping the drama away from my personal Facebook page.  I've never been the girl who dumps all her emotions into her Facebook status, via cryptic song lyrics and vague pity party statuses that are clearly begging for someone to ask "OMGZZZ WHATS WRONG BBY???"   No thanks.  My personal shit's for me to agonize over, not for Facebookland to talk about. Kthanksbye.  Anyway, after one night of particularly mindboggling revelations (remember the time Tucker "confessed" to being the Marine, when I already knew "he" wasn't?  yeah, that night), I let loose online.  My close friends were in on the craziness of the story, so they knew exactly what I meant when I posted "Things just reached a whole new level of what the fucktitude".  As I expected, my girlfriends who were privvy to the drama "liked" the status, and a few of them added a knowing winky face comment or a supportive HAHAHAHA.  What I wasn't expecting, was a comment from a long lost college friend, inquiring about the story behind my status.  Clearly there was something he had missed, and he decided now was as good a time as ever to pop back into my life and give a friendly wassup?!.


Not wanting to reveal the embarassing details of the Tucker story (my, how things have changed), I sent him a message, trying to explain the very basics.  Quickly it became apparent that a Facebook message outline could not sufficiently explain the details of this nonsense, and he convinced me to give him a call, and rehash the entire saga.  It was strange - I hadn't talked to him since he'd moved to the West Coast a few years before, and here we were talking and laughing like no time at all had passed.  I finished the story, and he was in awe of it - as you can all relate to.  It was he who pushed me to start the blog, in fact.  He was so amused by the story, and by the way I told it, that he insisted I had to start writing it down, and sharing it with the world.  I was adament that I could never tell everyone I knew all the horrifying details - I didn't want to admit I was on a dating site in the first place, let alone that I'd fallen for the biggest liar on the web!  He was so sure, though - so enthralled with the story, and so supportive of me getting it all out on virtual paper, that I succumbed to the idea, and decided to start blogging.  You're welcome, America.


We'll call him Washington - since you know I love me a good nickname, and somewhat concealing the identity of my blogging subjects.   Let's back track a second.  I met Washington my very first day of college, back in 2006.  We had a class together, and I thought he was super cute...except for the part where he struck me as that annoying frat boy type who was totally a womanizer and had to be everybody's best friend.  Obviously y'all know by now that I'm as outgoing as they come, but back then I was certainly not the one to walk around making friends with every person I saw.  I didn't want to be part of Greek Life, or intramurals, or any sort of club on campus. I had my roommates, and had already bonded with my fellow dorm dwellers - I didn't need to get my party rock on all over campus to enjoy college.  Soon enough, I was dating my college boyfriend, so my mini-crush on Washington was long forgotten. 

After a few years, I'd given up on Hope College and thought I'd try my luck at the big bad world of Grand Rapids.  Some random Facebooking told me that, lo and behold, Washington had done the same.  I'd broken up with college boy, and Washington and I took to flirtaciously commenting on each other's statuses here and there, and sporadically making plans to grab a beer downtown that never actually came into fruition.  It wasn't until he had decided to enlish in the Marines, that he insisted I stop by his going away party to finally have that beer and catch up.  Mind you, at this party, he was too busy being Mr. McFlirtypants with every girl in the house to even notice me, but I went, nonetheless :)

A few years passed between that night, and the Tucker recap phonecall.  We'd continued to keep in touch, if you can call it that, via the errant Facebook comment.  The night he demanded to know the Tucker story, was the begining of something I never would have expected.  After that night, it started small - a Facebook message here, a text message there.  He accused me of being the worst texter ever - anyone who's ever texted me before knows that I'm glued to my phone, so if I don't respond in a timely manner, it's because I'm probably ignoring you.  It wasn't that I meant to ignore him - it was just that I didn't see him as someone I was eager to respond to.  That sounds terrible, I know.  He was a buddy - if he texted me "what's up?", it didn't bother me to respond a few hours later if I was in the middle of something.  Had he been someone I was lusting over like mad, you could bet your sweet ass I'd have a clever response fired off within 24 seconds of receiving a message.  It wasn't like that, though - not at first.  I've got to hand it to him - Washington was persistent.  He charmed his way into my heart one sweet little text at a time.  Why am I such a sucker for the sweet game? Cripes.

It wasn't long until we were texting non-stop, and Facebook messaging novels that could give this blog a run for its money.  It was as though we'd never missed a beat - like we'd become the best of friends when we'd first met back in Holland more than five years before, and nothing had changed - no time had elapsed between then and now. No matter how sweet he was, though - I was on the defensive.  You can't blame me for having my guard up, right?  I mean, COME ON.  I'd just lived through this whole Tucker ordeal - you can't honestly think I was ready to dive head first into another opportunity for me to be lied to, taken advantage of, heartbroken and embarrassed.  Hell no.  I let him know, from the very beginning, that a relationship wasn't in the cards for me - particularly one that involved a partner who was 2000+ miles across the country from me.  I wasn't looking to give my heart away again.  It had hurt too badly, and scarred me too deeply the last time - I wasn't exactly giddy at the chance to invite the pain I'd experienced with Tucker back into my life.

Try as I might, I couldn't keep Washington out of my head. Here was this perfect specimen right in front of my face.  He said all the right things, and not just the "you're pretty"s and the "I really like you"s.  We had real conversations, about real life things.  We were open and honest, and not afraid of talking about the reality of our long distance situation.  He wanted to know about me - the real me - what made me tick, what pissed me off, what I was passionate about.  He bonded with my sister immediately - albeit via Facebook, they were instant best friends, which is an accomplishment considering my youngest sister rarely approves of a guy I like.  We talked about religion, politics, past relationships, social issues, our families, how we wanted to raise our children - everything under the sun.  The sweet things were there - we were obviously physically attracted to each other, and felt that romantic connection in a big way...but it was more than that.  I felt like with him, he was a friend first and foremost.  We had a foundation to begin something on - and I began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to let him in.


Life with Washington was a whirlwind.  Before I knew it, I was thinking about him day in and day out.  I was mailing him cutesy little packages wrapped up in cutesy little paper.  I was telling my family about this incredible person who loved Jesus and his mama and was a rockstar at his job and had a killer bod.  Slowly but surely, I was coming around to the idea of being with him - REALLY being with him. It was scary - he was two thousand miles away, and we'd get to see each other maybe four times a year, for the forseeable future.  I even had a MAJOR freakout moment, and tried to run away, attempting to walk out from everything we'd started to build.  I told him I was scared, and I couldn't do it.  I tried to make every excuse in the book.  I even told him I still had feelings for someone else, which wasn't even true, but I was trying everything I could to make him walk away from me so I didn't feel the pain of the inevitable failure that I was certain we were destined to find.  He was patient.  He listened.  He never walked away.  Instead, he told me quit my whining, put my big girl panties on, and decide what I wanted.  He gave me the option to walk, but firmly insisted that when I did, he would not be waiting for me to come crawling back.  He assured me I wouldn't find anyone who cared for me as deeply as he did.  Who had a great career, was in excellent shape, had a solid family, lived his faith, and wanted a future with me like he did. 

I snapped to attention.

No one had ever done that to me before.  I've pulled my fair share of disappearing acts on guys.  The second I realize I'm in control of the situation - that I'm the one who can call it quits whenever I want, and I'm the one who can walk all over him - I'm out.  I lose interest. I can't help it, it's just how it is.  The moment I realized that Washington would do anything for me - anything - but wouldn't put up with my bullshit?  THAT, folks, was the moment I knew I loved this man.  He was exactly what I needed.  Those of you who know me well, know this.  I need a man who will draw the line, and won't put up with me crossing it just to test the waters.  I need someone who will love me unconditionally, but will not allow me to walk in and out of his life as I please.  I don't need a pushover, or someone I can convince to do what I want, when I want.  I need strength.  I need confidence.  I needed Washington.


After my moment of weakness, our relationship was stronger than ever.  I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my whole heart belonged to this person.  I knew that we could perservere through the inconvenience of being separated by thousands of miles.  I knew I could make it through the stress of not being able to see him more than about eight total weeks per year.  I knew that together we could handle the uncertainty of where his job would take him in the next year, the next five years, and beyond.  I knew that my love, combined with his strength, was unstoppable.


By early December, we were anxiously counting down the days until his return to Michigan for two weeks in January.  He had specifically tailored his visit around my birthday - something that meant more to me than I could explain.  I'm a birthday lover.  Some of you probably don't give a rat's ass about your day of birth but let me tell you I celebrate it like it's the end of the god damn world every year.  Birthday week?  You betcha.  Wear a tiara all day at work? Don't mind if I do.  I love my birthday, and when he told me he wanted to be here to celebrate with me, I couldn't have been happier.  Early on, I'd been hesitant about even talking about him around friends and family.  Now, I couldn't wait for him to celebrate my birthday week with all my closest compadres.  Every day that passed was tortuous - I couldn't stand the thought of being apart for much longer.  We had decided that when he came home, I would finally get the puppy I'd been contemplating for months - even before rekindling our friendship-turned romance.  I promised to wait until he came home, so he could pick out my little furball with me - thus making it "our" dog, and my substitute cuddle buddy for when he had to jet off to the West Coast and leave me lonely in the mitten again.  I couldn't wait for the moment I could finally look at his face and tell him I loved him.  I couldn't wait to spend lazy Saturdays on the couch watching football.  I couldn't wait for him to meet all the people I love so much, and get to see the parts of my life that I value more than anything.  Mostly, I was so excited to get to be a "normal" couple.  It was the same sort of anxiety I'd felt with Tucker - that being apart was so strenuous - the desire to just be next to each other physically is so strong and so painstaking.  I couldn't wait to simply hang out with my best friend, and the man I'd fallen so hard for. 

Christmas came and went, as did New Years.  Holidays were hard - admittedly, I'd struggled through them, fighting to be okay with the fact that the person I cared so much about was across the country from me.  It was hard to see family and friends celebrating holidays with the people they loved, and knowing I couldn't share in that same luxury.  It was harder, almost, than being single during the holidays - knowing I had that other half, but being forced to be separated...it wasn't simple.  Those of you reading who are in military relationships know how hard this is - and I apologize for whining about it after only a few months.  Those months gave me a glimpse into what my near future was going to be like - spending holidays alone, spending time thousands of miles apart, and seeing each other for a few precious weeks at a time.  It scared me, but ultimately we pulled through it, and each day that we spent talking through the sadness of being apart, was another day that brought me closer to him, and another day that reminded me how strong I was, and how strong WE were.


Life kicked back into overdrive once the hustle and bustle of the holidays came to a close.  Work launched into overdrive, friends returned from visiting homes and our social lives resumed our normal routine.  I was surrounded by a buzz of activity that kept me from having a total spaz attack during those last few weeks before my love was FINALLY in the same state as me - let alone right in front of me for the first time in two years.  I became increasingly nervous - the reality of the situation was sinking in, and the inevitable nervous breakdown was creeping in.  I felt an awful sense of familiarity, as my mind crept back to my encounters with Tucker.  In those early weeks, we'd spent so much time talking and learning about each other, then the time came when we were supposed to rid ourselves of the hypotheticals and face our relationship head on (nevermind the fact that it never actually happened) - suddenly I realized there were no more what-ifs and no more when's...it was now.  It was show time, people, and I was a nervous fucking wreck.  What if he came home and didn't like me anymore?  What if I didn't feel that spark with him?  What if something wasn't right, and all this time we'd spent over the last three months was for nothing?  What if we'd let ourselves get so wrapped up in the overwhelming feeling of being in love, but when it was game time, we were left standing in an airport, staring at person we didn't feel the same passionate love for that we thought we'd shared over the last quarter of a year?   I forced myself to push those thoughts aside, and let Washington reassure me over and over again that we weren't going to face that problem, that everything would be fine, and I just needed to chill the fuck out.  I tried.  It didn't really work - but I tried.


I was days away from being ready to pack up and drive to Chicago to fetch my strapping young lad from the airport.  I was retrieving his younger brother on the way, which was a huge relief to me, as I was terrified to go alone.  We spent the days leading up to his return talking nonstop, exchanging "I can't waits" and "OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE IT'S ALMOST HEREs".  This was becoming real. I was about to come face to face with the person I could spend a significant portion, if not the rest of my life with.  Holy. Shit.  In other news, this was NOT the first time I'd been in this kind of situation...but more on Wisconsin later. 


The love of my life (/of the week) was on his way to me in DAYS.






DAYS PEOPLE.







Keep in mind, this was less than a month ago.  You with me?







My life was about to be changed for the better.







I. COULD. NOT. WAIT.