Over a decade later, he's still got me.

And now, ten years later, he STILL has me. This is a look back at my burgeoning relationship with Paul, back when we were boyfriend/girlfriend. This entry from the past makes me smile, just as I thought it would when I wrote it a decade ago ;-). 

Paul and I will celebrate our original anniversary on November 5th of this year. We met 11 years ago and were married 8 years ago as of the 17th of this month. 

He's got me.

Mar. 19th, 2006 at 4:59 AM

Yes, this is a mush-filled entry again...but I figure this is my journal and, dammit, if I'm happy about something in my life when there's so much to be stressed over the rest of the time, then I'm going to give the positive stuff equal time.

My partner paulzuzu bowls me over more and more as time goes on. Often there are moments so intense between us that I think I'm going to forget to breathe. Like tonight when, after watching movies, I let loose with some pent-up fears and emotion, and tears began to fall. He knows just what to say and when to say it. He holds me close, showers me with kisses and helps dry my tears with his reassurances.

He loves me. Me...just how I am. No pretenses, no contingencies. He is present and available in my life, and he is supportive beyond words. Last week I didn't see him until Friday because I was under pressure to finish up some tasks and I needed solitude and concentration (this happens on occasion when I'm in the midst of a heavy-duty writing project.) Whereas other men (and I've dated them and been through it) would gripe and moan or put a guilt trip on me that I didn't love them or I was choosing writing over them, Paul understood completely and quietly supported me through the whole week with phone calls and e-mails every now and then. By Friday we were mad to be in each other's arms again and it was difficult to keep our hands and lips off of one another -- not merely from sheer lust (although lust did make its presence known!), but from the need to wash away the ache of longing for one's companion and mate when one has had to endure an unwelcome, but necessary, absence. Next week, I shall be gone to visit my mom and in-laws in Oklahoma and, once again, we will be separated for nearly a week. *heavy sigh* Being so far away from him fills me with fear and loathing.

Night before last we once again talked about how easy and preferable it would be to elope and get married -- just the two of us -- and then have an official handfasting ceremony later with family and friends. Several life considerations prevent us from marrying right now, but as soon as those situations are taken care of, the next day I'm ready to hop in the car, drive to an undisclosed destination and tie the knot with him.

Tonight he took my face in his hands, gazed intently into my eyes (which melted me to the core) and said words to me that no man has EVER said to me like that before. Caressing my face in his hands and staring at me with deep intensity, he made sure I heard every single word he said. No man's ever been that direct or intense like that and said THOSE words (which I shall keep private for now). Before I left after 4 a.m., we kissed and he once again held my face in his hands and gazed deeply into my eyes, his blond hair falling down around his face and shoulders, causing my insides to shiver. He called me his "beautiful bride," and I nearly cried. I'm not that yet, but I will be. Legally, I'm not; emotionally, I already feel that way.

He's got me; I mean, really got me. I didn't plan to fall for him like this. When did it happen and why didn't I fully realize it? This whole thing fills me with joy and fear at the same time. My heart is vulnerable and my soul is open and exposed. He reassures me...tells me he's not going anywhere. "Please don't," I whisper. "I cannot bear to hurt anymore...I've been hurt enough," I've told him in so many words and through so many tears. In the past, I've put so much into relationships that never came to full fruition or that turned abusive and cruel. There are deep scars that have scabbed over and I cannot bear to have them ripped open again. You know what I mean, though -- most, if not all of us, have these deep scars from long-term or intense relationships. He reassures me he won't hurt me. I believe him more than anything I've believed in a long time. I trust him -- implicitly. He is accepting, patient, understanding and gentle.

He loves me:

* Even though I'm not (and never have been) a tiny blonde Barbie-doll type
* Even when I'm being silly and unreasonable
* On bad hair days (which there are a lot of!) and without make-up...he swears he prefers me without make-up, which I find VERY hard to believe
* When I'm ranting and bouncing off the walls...he's the one who calms me down and helps me see things more objectively
* On days when I feel like I'm no more than a pile of feces and I can't do anything right (these days occur often)
* When I'm in my grouchy, prickly, smart-mouthy, sarcastic moods. That, my friends, takes sheer tolerance

The rest of the list could be endless...with all the crap that has come and gone lately in my life -- from friend and family illnesses to deadlines to endless to-do tasks to everyday irritations and expectations -- all I know is that I have two beautiful, wonderful children whom I adore and I also have a man who loves me wholly and without reservation or restraint. He is not afraid to give himself completely...to open up and take that chance on love. Likewise, I am truly, madly, deeply in love with him on a level that surprises even me. We speak of traveling together, of working on creative projects together, of growing old together.

Upon arriving home, I called him to let him know I made it home safely. One day there will be no need for a phone call. One day I'll already be home -- with him. One day we will hold hands, bind ourselves together with words and cords, and pledge to spend the rest of our lives together, he as my husband and I as his wife. I cannot wait for that day. In fact, I wish that day was tomorrow. But alas, that tomorrow will come soon enough. For now, I am already bound to him, heart and soul, as he is to me.

With so much hate, strife and discord in the world, today I will use my journal to celebrate love. A love that is real and concrete...one that doesn't taunt me like promised whispers on the wind, but one I can reach out and touch with my bare hands.

Tis a beautiful and rare thing indeed. In the midst of stress and sadness, this brilliant spark lives. I want to remember this time -- put a permanent record of it in my journal so years later I can look back on this entry and smile as I squeeze my husband's hand and bask in the memory of how our love was born.

When a tomboy marries her broham

Me: "Oh no! The last iron pill."

Paul: "It's all yours."

Me: "It's already in my mouth, so I dare you to take it out."

This is an example of how our conversations usually go. If you didn't know any better, you might think Paul and I were adolescent schoolboy friends instead of a married female and male. Why? Well, part of it is that I'm a tomboy at heart. I'm not a girly-girl type. I'm not a high-maintenance woman.

In short, Paul's like my broham. We have a bromance, except I'm a bro in personality most of the time, but not in physical terms. He likes boobs and I have boobs. He likes my ass and I have a female ass. So he gets a no-bullshit woman who doesn't care for all the trappings or perks many females want.

I hate shopping, so he doesn't have to get dragged around malls or stores. In fact, if I could shop online for everything we needed, I would. I hate shopping unless it's for something important, like a new computer or tech gadgets.

I also don't care about collecting a gazillion shoes. Do they cover my feet? Are they comfortable? Okay, that's what I need. It's not that I don't like shoes, it's just that I'd rather spend my time playing World of Warcraft, watching movies, reading, writing, or watching online course lectures than shopping for shoes. If my feet weren't so stupidly weird in size, I'd probably get my shoes online too. Yes, I've had high heels and fuck-me shoes in my day, but we aren't partiers or clubbers, so I have no need of them right now.

Now, I still enjoy flowers and chocolate (I kept that female gene, apparently), but I don't require expensive or elaborate bouquets. Pick me some wildflowers (if it's legal) and I'll be just as happy. Or, you know, just pick up a bunch at the local 7-11 or Safeway and I'm happy. It's the thought that counts. The flowers will smell nice and all of that, but regardless of where you bought them, they're gonna die in several days, right? Practical, I know. Must be my Virgo rising (not sure).

But yeah, I understand the way males think much more than I do the female mind. It was always more fun to hang out with guys than girls when I was growing up. They didn't go to the pool just to sun, they went to the pool to roughhouse and play. They didn't cause drama and there were no catfights. There was no competition or one-upmanship. What's more, I was surrounded by males in wet swimsuits and when you roughhoused with them, you could feel their dingles inside their swim shorts. ;-) I may have been a tomboy, but I still had pubescent urges, after all.

I'll be honest: some women don't like me. I'm sure some of them hate me. That's not my problem, of course. Not everybody will like or approve of you. Women can be extra catty, though. For many of them, it's always a competition of some sort. I got plenty of flack in high school for having so many male friends. Because, gee, I must've been a huge slut who was fucking all of the guys, right? Wrong. I wasn't.

Plus, many women can't stand my strong personality, my blunt nature, my opinionated ideas, or my occasional rough language. Well, tough shit. You get what you get, and this is who I am. The thing is, if I griped about their personality and wanted them to change, it would be a whole other story. Ever notice the people who gripe about your personality and want you to change are the same ones that would balk if you treated them the same way? Yeah. How about NO. If you can't stand me telling you my opinion without the frills, find a BFF that will fawn over you, because that's not me.

Anyway, the point is that Paul is my best friend and we have a bromance of sorts (at least personality-wise). He says he knew I was the right one when I watched (and enjoyed) Orgy of the Dead with him when we first began dating. We love horror movies, we are geeky, we are weird, we are flaky introverts, and we are odd ducks. But I know how lucky I am to have found an odd duck like me. One who loves me for who I am, warts and all (figuratively, because I don't have warts!)

So, if you're a tomboy, take heart. There are plenty of guys out there who will understand you and have fun with you. If you're an odd duck, there's a match out there for you somewhere. It may take some time, but you'll come across your mate. Or inner broham. Whatever!