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‘I Secretly Love Schmoop’ Category

  1. Bring a wheelbarrow

    August 25, 2011 by DJ

    Well hello there!  Long time friend!  How’s the family?

    Ok, FINE, I’ve been absent…I know.  I’d love to be able to say, “Ohhhh my I’m so sorry, I’m SOOOOOO caught up in my magical whirlwind romaaaaahnce and I’m so blissfully happy.”

    Don’t get me wrong, Nice Boy is fucking fantastic as ever and some days I’m happier than I ever thought I could be.  But this is real life people!  I stress in therapy and yell and don’t understand some of the things that he does and sometimes I’m a jackass and elbow him in the face when I kiss him goodnight.  Nothing’s perfect people – I am far from it.

    But!  Last night I had one of those happier than ever times.  Time like I had only ever heard other girls talk about.

    To give you a little background, Nice Boy had asked what I was doing for dinner on Wednesday and I said “nothing”.  He accidentally slipped and told me where we were going but then forbade (or asked nicely) that I don’t Google it.  This led to hilarious exchanges over what I was to wear, where we were going, whether or not I was to be sold into white slavery.  The Moms has been cracking up over it for a week and I am not one who enjoys not knowing what is going on.

    Long story short, we drove last night to a not entirely nice part of town, knocked on a window to be let into a building only to find a beautiful room with only 7 other people and a hilarious 80′s music soundtrack playing in the background.

    Without saying too much and sort of “giving away” the experience to the whole of the interwebs, it was an amazing 4 hour dinner with some of the most delicious food I’ve had.

    I mean, it was SOOOO good and the presentation was lovely.

    Oh yeah, that’s FOIE GRAS under there.  NOMZ.

    I grinned like an idiot the whole night and needed someone to wheelbarrow me out of there, but damn was I happy.

    Every day I wonder how this all happened.  I don’t like to think of it as luck or karma; I just wonder how my life got to look this way.  One year ago I walked into therapy, broken down and then broken hearted.  How did I get here?

    How did I just happen to click on the slightly geeky guy?  How did he choose to reply?  How did this all happen?  I don’t know.

    Holy fuck I’m glad it did.

    Category I Secretly Love Schmoop | Tags: | 4 Comments

  2. Grand

    August 11, 2011 by DJ

     

    Find more Matt Morris albums at Myspace Music

    From where you stand
    There’s no way to change it
    No way to make it make sense
    And it’s lonely there
    There in the spotlight
    Well, honey, don’t I understand

    You need someone to love you
    Need someone to hold you
    Tonight
    You need someone to love you
    Need someone to tell you
    That everything is alright
    Someone to love you

    Well, look at me
    And try hard to hide it
    Try hard to keep it all in
    But I found you out
    Discovered your secret
    And, honey, it ain’t a sin

    You need someone to love you
    Need someone to hold you
    Tonight
    You need someone to love you
    Need someone to tell you
    That everything is alright
    Someone to love you

    It doesn’t have to be me
    But you need someone to love you
    Need someone to hold you
    Tonight

    I need someone to love you
    I need someone to tell you
    That everything is alright
    Someone to love you

    One year ago I was in love with a man whom I believed was the one.  I believed that he loved me and I believed everything he said hook, line and sinker.  It doesn’t matter much now that he probably never did and that he lied to me.

    I had been listening to this album a lot a year ago and in my head I had made this song “our song”.  I imagined that he was the “someone”.  I imagined SO MANY things then.

    I hear this song now, and since you all know I’m a sap, I won’t deny that I get choked up about it.  But then I breathe for a minute and remember that everything that happened last year was a hazy fantasy.  Everything was bathed in a soft light focus to blur the facts.  Such ROMANCE!  Such GREAT LOVE!

    I don’t have a song with Nice Boy.  The only dancing we’ve ever done was some very drunken white boy dancing (which I happened to MASSIVELY enjoy).  There are so few words.  So little talking.

    One year ago all I had were words.  Cleverly crafted and mellifluous.  Chosen specifically to burrow into my heart and soul and then left suddenly to rot.  SO MANY WORDS.  I had thought it meant that we were more free.  That he really must feel those things if he’s saying them.  He didn’t.

    The words I have now are conversations.  Just conversations.  Nothing grand or sweeping.

    But if you look close you’ll see those conversations are occurring with intertwined fingers.  You’ll see that after he makes a joke about me being a “weirdo” how I eat my corn he pulls my forehead to his lips and kisses it.  And kisses my cheeks for good measure.  That when we head home, simply saying “see you in a bit” he places his hands on both sides of my face to kiss me.

    It all looks so small.  It sounds small.  It isn’t grand and sweeping and orchestral.  But maybe it shouldn’t be.  Maybe life is small.  Maybe life is the moments that a casual observer would brush aside.  Maybe life is what only happens between two people.

    The small moments that no one ever sees.

    Category Coal Mining for Emotions, I Secretly Love Schmoop | Tags: | 9 Comments

  3. Bliss-y

    July 22, 2011 by DJ

    “It smells funny in here.  Let’s get some food so we can’t smell it anymore.”

    “What is this?”  “Can’t tell you, just eat it.”

    “This is just re-fried beans with a pound of sugar dumped in.”

    These are all comments that have been made whilst dining/grocery shopping with Nice Boy.  To put it mildly, he is a foodie.  I hate that word really, but there’s no better one.

    In the time we’ve spent together there have been whole dates revolving around pie; soaking & changing the water on a 14 pound country ham; the smoking of a duck in the middle of a beach.  Flat out just absurdly good food.

    With Nice Boy I have consumed goat.  GOAT. Goat from a tiny little (albeit it, EXTREMELY popular) birrieria on the South side.  Did I mention it was GOAT??

    We’ve eaten Thai food from a menu that doesn’t exist.  Their little foodie group has secret menus all over the damn city.  They’re like the Cosa Nostra of ethnic restaurants.

    I’ve drunk bitter Ales that smell frighting, but taste delicious.

    Duck breast, gnocchi with garlic scapes and crisp green beans have been served to me while a cat sits on my hand and a beagle on my foot.

    Assuming I can manage to stave off inevitable weight gain, I’ll continue to love every minute.  And until then, I’ll just be giving him what he wants:

    “I’m not looking for a woman who cooks.  I’m looking for a woman who eats.”

    Category I Secretly Love Schmoop | Tags: | 8 Comments

  4. Long Last

    July 12, 2011 by DJ

    Hey guys (the two of you still reading…OHAI MUFFIN OHAI LIEBENSWERTGIRL).

    It’s been a while, I know.  I’ve been trying to keep up, to take the snap shots of my life as it currently is.  I’m happy.  I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.  Yes, I’ve been happy before, but before I’ve always been waiting for the floor to drop out on me and it did.

    I’m not suggesting things with Nice Boy end up all perfect and fairy-tale-y (nor would I really want it to be perfect) but I felt the need to make a point on how “real” this is.  It’s not on the Internet, it’s not emails furiously sent back and forth, and it isn’t plans for four months down the road because that’s the first time we could meet.

    It’s sitting on a couch playing Fruit Ninjas.  It’s a bed covered in cat hair and a beagle for a pillow.  It’s a sleepy faced man whom you hate to leave in the morning because you know how good mornings with him can be.  It’s finally mine and real and no one else’s.

    *ahem* I have something in my eye.

    But before I get all wrapped up in things, I should probably just write about what prompted this post in the first place.

    I’m sure that there are men out there who do this, and by no means do I mean to leave them out.

    So here’s the thing, I’m sick and tired of women.  To clarify, I am sick & tired of women with their constant “I don’t let men in.  I have walls.  I’ve been SO hurt in the past”.

    Enough.  Enough is enough already.

    Don’t get me wrong, I had and still have walls.  I have an extremely complicated relationship with my father that clouds every relationship I have (both friendly & romantic).  I HAVE BEEN HURT.

    You want to know what?  YOU CAN CHANGE ALL OF IT.  You can.  You have to want to, and it’s a commitment unlike any I have ever known, but it can be done.  Aren’t you sick of your walls?  Aren’t you tired of not feeling the way you know deep down you deserve??

    Why are we so content to suffer?  I understand that as a culture, girls are taught to suffer.  We’re taught to serve and you know what, that’s not even what bothers me.  What bothers me is the blind acceptance of that.

    You can have more.  You can live your life differently.  You can really look deep inside yourself and become the woman you want to be.  You can NOT have walls.  You can NOT be hurt further.  I know you can ladies.  I’m one of the stubbornest asses you’ll meet and I’ve managed to get to this place.

    This place where I’m happy.  I’m here.  I’m at the place where I’ve wanted to be.

    Finally.

    Category Coal Mining for Emotions, I Secretly Love Schmoop | Tags: | 8 Comments

  5. Sunset

    June 22, 2011 by DJ

    She absentmindedly twirls the dog’s ears while he cooks dinner on the grill.  The Caipirinhas he made are strong, but like he says, “rum isn’t his specialty”.  It’s finally warm (again) and he’s gotten new deck chairs while she was away.

    The dog is starting to get heavy as he’s really not a lap dog.

    The sun is setting and the upstairs neighbor dog comes to play.  She meets his upstairs neighbor and nods and inwardly smiles when they say, “we’re sure we’ll see you again; come up for a drink.”  She smirks.  He claims he’s the smirker and she’s not allowed to but it’s hard for her to stop.

    They eat dinner and talk about French pastry and curl up to watch an episode of the old drama series they’ve started.  And still she smirks.

    She can’t help herself.

    Category I Secretly Love Schmoop | Tags: | 3 Comments

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