Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Good Man Project - Pleasure and Pain
We talked about the night we met. How he thought I wasn't that into him because I kept sneaking peaks at the TV to check on a college basketball game. It was March Madness and that game was going to make or break my bracket. My bracket ended up in the tank but my life was to be propelled upward with the gift of this man who can understand and accept me, read my blog and still love me, romance me, talk sense into me, inspire me, fix my stuff that needs fixin', impress the hell out of me and most importantly, laugh with me, even when I'm laughing at myself; like questioning the "Faux" Gras during our fancy French dinner.
This man fluently speaks four languages, French being one of them. Here I am waxing on about how good the Faux Gras is but what does the Faux part mean anyway? I know it's liver and it's the first time I've tried it but what's the fake part about it? Doesn't faux mean fake? Is it fake liver? He just smiled and said baby, it's Foir Gras (pronounced Fwah), it means fatty liver.
I reminded him how there are times when I can be positively brilliant and then there are these times when my inner hick emerges in her full south side glory.
What can I say, he loved it and he loves me. I count myself quite fortunate to have met him as he is most definitely one of the good guys. It made me reflect on my last relationship, how I was sure he was the one.
grappling with the feelings of being stunned, ambushed and somewhat in denial. WTF? We were fine just hours before when he texted me to tell me he couldn't wait to see me later. Further questioning, prying and excavating for rhyme, reason or sanity prompted him to tell me his ex wife had called to chastise him for leaving his daughter's orthodontic mouthpiece at my house over the weekend. They had to reschedule her appointment for God's sake. Not that. Anything but that. You mean, they had to be a little inconvenienced. Are you fucking kidding me? But the doctor, bitter ex-wife, bitch had spoken, asking him if he was going to be a responsible dad or continue spending, i.e., wasting all of your time in Milwaukee.
I always thought of him as one of the good guys. I still do. His heart was in the right place, his priorities were straight but in that moment of the break-up, he revealed his true character to me. I didn't see it at the time. In fact, we reconciled within a month. I had been devastated, suffering through the couldn't eat or sleep - just been kicked in the gut syndrome. He was second guessing his decision and seemed to realize he allowed himself to fall apart out of a knee-jerk reaction.
I will always be thankful for that five month reconciliation period. I came back to him with hesitancy in my heart. I took a few steps back and cautiously watched him. I found he doesn't care much for the bends and twists in the road, not to mention the rocky terrain that was my life. I thought he would be stronger with The Commando, I thought he would be stronger for me. But really, who can stand up to me and my "stuff"?
His life was meticulously planned, right down to the last detail. His family traveled that way through England and Scotland, pouring over maps, marking every possible tourist spot, then cramming them in as if you were on a bus tour designed by speed-travelers. Oh look, there's Loch Ness, no time to stop - gotta get to Rob Roy's grave before dark you know. They asked me to submit my list of things to see prior to the trip. Imagine what they must have thought of me when I said all I really wanted to do was to soak up the culture, put my hands on the earth and be one with the land of my family's heritage.
I made them stop whenever there were sheep on the road because they looked like they were wearing cute little argyle socks. I asked them to pull over once for me to photograph a flower. I begged them to stay in the coastal town of Oban just long enough to see a traditional Scottish highlands dance show complete with our very own ceilidh dance lessons. I was proud of that one, for even though it wasn't on our itinerary, everyone danced, even mum and dad and by golly, they loved it. My favorite experience was wondering off during a lunch stop in a field of tall grass surrounded by heather covered mountain ranges. I ran my fingers through the grass and imagined the women of my family, generations before me, perhaps walking this very path.
My ways were all so foreign to them. I must have felt like a creature of another time and place. My life is full of crazy and spontaneity with moments of brilliance followed by flashes of despair or awkward displays of sheer stupidity. Nothing in my live ever seemed planned; for example, I never planned for he and I to break up. Looking back on it now, I can see he must have struggled with the decision for quite some time. The guy took three weeks one time to select a picture frame. I'd like to think it took him at least three months and an Excel spreadsheet to decide we weren't right for each other.
Ultimately, the end of our relationship became my choice. I am thankful for my time with this man who was one of he good guys, for it allows me to continue to see clearly as I proceed to fall deeper in love with my strong, decisive, smart, sarcastic boyfriend that loves to travel and live life without a detailed itinerary. He laughs when I mispronounce my French or accidentally flip a piece of lobster across the room while less than delicately forcing it from its shell.
We are letting life unfold at our feet with a few glasses of wine, a little crazy and screaming kids in tow. Stalking one sunset at a time.