February 28, 2012

They say good things come to those who wait. I can attest to that. Good things… good people- it’s one in the same. I’ve always had my issues with patience. I want what I want when I want it and I won’t stop until I get it. Supposedly it’s and Aries thing along with us coming off as hardcore but being very soft on the inside and our ability to stay moody for long periods of time. However, the few times I have ever really, truly been patient were the most worthwhile experiences of my life, just as the clichés predicted.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever encountered—physically, mentally, emotionally. He had the whole tortured artist thing going for him. His body was a painted canvas of Japanese art and other images carefully selected to catch your eye and make you wonder what they could possibly symbolize. For instance, who gets a giant arrow tattooed on their forearm? Well, he did. I suppose now that I know him it’s hard to believe I even questioned it in the first place. His dark features and boyish smile gave him this irresistible sexiness that made me want to rip off my clothes and tell him to have his way with me at any given moment, which is basically what I did on our first date… but that’s a whole other story. His way with words would make even the most homosexual man on earth swoon so you can only imagine what it did to me. His moody nature left me constantly wondering what was going on behind those big brows. He was quiet but talked a lot when he was nervous. He was needy but in a very independent way. Sometimes he was very cold but only to keep the fire inside; the fire he had going for me.

I remember the first time he touched me, not the first few friendly ‘hello’ hugs or the alcohol induced groping that also took place on our first date, but the first time he really touched me. It was simultaneous with the first time he really kissed me. His hand grazed my jaw line and placed itself behind my ear supporting my head while his lips touched mine. We had been watching the Lakers game on his couch that didn’t face the TV. Functionality of furniture was clearly not high on his priority list. But the first time he touched me I got this feeling, I’m not sure if it was my head or stomach or my whole body in general but it was impossible to ignore. You know that feeling you get when you’re at the very top of a rollercoaster and then the rollercoaster drops? It’s like your body is still thousands of feet up in the air but you’re really already on the ground. That was the feeling I got the first time he touched me and that is the feeling I get to this day every time he touches me. I was captivated from day one.

Day one. Luck had it that he wanted to turn day one into day two, three, four. Month one, two, five, seven… nine. Nine. Nine months later and he’s still keeping me around. Nine months later and I’m the girl with the charming, sexy, brooding, artsy boyfriend. In the nine months he has let me call him mine we’ve lived a whirlwind of events including birthdays, funerals, emergency room trips, bank fraud accusations, a jalapeño eating cat, life size Tonka trucks, picnics, carrying mattresses through the rain, speeding tickets, volcano candles, apartment elves and/or murderers leaving hundreds of dollars behind, stomach flu’s, vacation scams, accidental dine and dashing, board games, flat tires, hurricanes, October snow storms, guitar playing, telemarketing, and Chinese food stealing but it’s only the beginning. It’s the first nine months of the rest of our lives—our life together. That is, as long as he’ll keep me around. But I’ve got a pretty good feeling about it.