Adventures In the Nude or Things You Never Questioned Until Breaking Up

They say that love is blind and I'm starting to think that this statement is true. Of all the ridiculous sayings about love that have been made famous:

--Love means never having to say your sorry (Yeah, okay, if you WANT to break up)

--All's fair in love and war (So what? Both suck? Is that what you're trying to get at here? Yeah, ok, Jordin Sparks, "love is a battlefield" and so on)

--You only hurt the one you love (Isn't that the other way around? You only really hurt the one who loves you?)

--She's my kinda rain/like love in a drunken sky (What are you on, Tim McGraw? Seriously? Can I have some of it? Maybe then I'd understand what you're talking about.)

Out of all of them, "Love is blind" is the one that is probably most true. At least, in relationships. Until you know better. Or at least grow a little as an individual.

I've technically had four boyfriends, but today I'm going to be talking about boy number three because that was the longest relationship, as well as the one where all of these weird things occurred.

We were together for four years. And lemme tell you.......that was about three and a half years of the most blinded love you could ever dream of.

I know, I know. After a break-up, those involved are always pointing fingers and exaggerating things and making the other person sound like a total asshole. So here's a little disclaimer:

--Yes sometimes I exaggerate for comedic effect. However, this time, I am not. Every single thing I am about to tell you is true. It happened or was said. And I'm not saying he (let's call him "Thor") was a monster. I'm just saying that things were not okay with us and there was some weird stuff I put up with for whatever reason at the time. Call it unsure of how to act in a relationship. Call it submissive personality. Call it love-blind.

And any of you who've been in a long-term relationship has no doubt put up with weird or aggravating things from time to time. So, let's begin:

1) The Nekkid Rules

First off, once a relationship progresses into the sexual phase, things are never really the same. Sometimes better, sometimes not. No matter what, your relationship evolves in some way. Especially in the bedroom. My first and clearest memory of the weird things occurring then would involve what I called The Nekkid Rule.

It happened one afternoon. I'd ended up over at Thor's house. His room was in the finished off basement and we naturally spent quite a bit of time down there. On this particular occasion we were about to settle in for movie watching and I started to sit down on his bed. Only to be held off by one hand.

"Whaaaat?" I asked, laughing and confused.

"Take your clothes off."

"Uh....I thought we were actually going to watch a movie this time."

"We are." Thor grinned up at me. "But you have to be naked."

"Uh....what?" and I tried to sit down again. But that wasn't going to happen.

"No. You're only allowed to be here if you're naked." He smiled cheekily up at me and tried to pull my top off. "That's the rule."

Now, the girl then and the one now are two very different people. As odd as that sounds. If I was told that now, I would say, "Fine" and turn around and leave. However, the girl I was then thought this behavior was adorable and endearing. And obeyed.

And therefore, never really got to see large sections of the damn movies. Seriously. I finally just watched Shooter tonight. That is so violent but a really good movie. I can't believe I missed Marky Mark flexing his muscles and being a badass sniper for some horizontal cha-cha.

2) Food and Drink: Open Game

Thor used to make me feel like Dora the Explorer in a never ending episode, yelling "Swiper, no swiping!!!!"

I mean, we had meal times worked out into a kind of nice little diplomatic arrangement. I hated onions and peppers in my salad, so he got them. He abhorred olives to an amazing degree, so I got them. But then he would break our treaties and invade my plate to seize my food. That I was actually eating.

Seriously, I know I'm a skinny chick so you obviously believe I don't eat that much. I know I can be a picky eater sometimes. But when I'm actually eating something, you do not need to reach onto my plate and take something off of it. You could always ....I dunno....ask.

Plus, I have a thing about sharing food directly. Candy bars or sandwiches.....maybe I can handle it. Lollipops, chewing gum and ice cream however makes me physically ill. And it didn't really matter if Thor and I were regularly swapping saliva. Something about him stealing a mouthful of my ice cream cone would have me relinquishing it immediately. I never said why though. I just said "Oh I'm full." Or "Wow....now I'm really cold. You can have the rest."

I was all about sparing him my little eccentricities since his mother was extremely OCD and irked him constantly with everything she was particular about. My little annoyances about food? Not that big a deal, I told myself.

However, I did get to the point of snarling like a rabid dog when Thor would steal my drinks.

I am not kidding about the snarling either. He looked taken aback for a couple seconds, blinked a lot and then started laughing and telling me I was adorable and DRANK THE REST OF MY DAMN DEW. You don't touch a woman's Dew. You just don't.

Thor also was fond of taking the alcohol I was nursing and chugging it down. What was that? Were we in some kind of drinking competition that I was unaware of?

What it most likely was about was the fact that he didn't want me drinking around other people. If we were alone, it was okay. If we were hanging out with my friends, nope. Don't let her get too drunk. She overshares, leans on people, and occasionally flashes her bra. Which again, I took to be sweet on some level. Protective.

But at the same time, I was beginning to get pissed. That was something I actually talked with him about. Asking him to not steal anything I was drinking because it was mine and I would get thirsty and then have nothing. Because Thor didn't just take a sip or two. No, he chugged. And he kept chugging, apparently thinking my request was something else that was adorable about me and not to be taken seriously.

Maybe I should have snarled more maliciously?

3) What's Yours Is Mine and What's Mine Is Also Mine

This kind of goes along with the above section. Thor had this tendency to make himself at home. With everything.

What I mean is that when he was over at my house, sometimes he would just disappear and I would go looking for him and find him for some reason in my bed. And again with the stealing of food and drink.

Now, I'm all for sharing. However, when I was at his house, he didn't always share everything. When Thor felt like playing video games, he didn't share the controller. Even when there was the option of two person games, he wanted to play and expected me to sit and watch. For like two hours.

And again, the drinking thing. Stealing my alcohol but not letting me have his. Not that I really wanted it most of the time. He drank peppermint schnapps which I'm convinced is the foulest drink on the planet. Might as well just swig mouthwash.

4) The Desperate Nights. And Days. And Mornings, Afternoons, Random Minutes, Showers, Road Trips, and etc.

Any of the above times were an opportunity to screw.

I know....that urge to do it almost constantly in random places is a part of a developing relationship. You just look at each other in a certain way and then the next thing you know the two of you are doing it in your dorm bathroom. Or at the drive in. Or a rest area. Virtually anywhere. It's like you've lost your mind and all common sense and thoughts of decency. All that matters is having your hands alllllll over each other. RIGHT NOW.

It takes two to tango obviously. And at the time I thought this was exciting and amazing and I felt so free and rebellious. Even now, I might share something like this in a joking manner. Because on the one hand, it's hilarious and risque. On the other hand, it's very embarrassing. And I took a long time to wake up and think wow.....you know....I'm not really into this. It was crazy and fun but this whole exhibitionist thing ain't me. At least, not a sober me.

And I'd try to discourage the random sex in random places. It didn't always work......which brings me to the next thing.

5) No Actually Doesn't Mean No

Apparently.

When things began happening and I wasn't feeling it, I would say "no" or "Not now" or "I'm not in the mood tonight." I'd gently push Thor away or step back. But he wouldn't always listen.

He would pull me back or continue, laughing a little and trying to be sweet. He thought I was kidding. Even when he would stop, he'd go "Aw reaaaaaaaally?" in this dejected voice. And then he'd try pushing my buttons a few minutes later. Always checking to see if I'd changed my mind.

Eventually I would give up and give in. And there were even a couple occasions where I was incapacitated and "no" was completely ignored.

At the time.....I don't know what I was thinking. Happiness that I was so obviously wanted. That I was so obviously needed. And the feeling that, why should you deny an expression of love when you're in a relationship? Isn't that mean? Isn't that ridiculous?

I had some twisted kind of idea of how love is supposed to be expressed.

6) I Want to Take Care of You and other lies

I'm not saying this is always a lie. I'm just saying there is a fine line between someone genuinely wanting to take care of you and someone ruling your life.

Walking between the rainy road and you so you don't get splashed is nice.

Hanging all over you when you stop to talk to a guy friend is not.

Sending you messages on Facebook is cute.

Freaking out because you left your computer open and your friends posted statuses on your profile as a prank is not.

Bringing you blankets and cuddling with you when you're sick is sweet.

Cuddling to convince you to have sex later while you are sick is not.

Know the difference.

7) PDA: When Your Life Becomes Reality TV

I know for a fact that none of my friends wanted to see Thor and I sucking face like vacuum cleaners. I'm sure the people in Wal-Mart didn't either.

8) You Dyed Your Hair?: When your Body is No Longer Your Own

When you reach a certain age, you feel like you do not need to ask permission for anything anymore. Like, getting your ears pierced, getting a tattoo, dying your hair......

I died my hair fuschia at the age of 18 because I wanted to and because I figured.....hell, I'm a legal adult. I just graduated from high school. Who really gives a shit anymore?

My parents just gaped at me for a few moments and then started laughing. And then made sure it would wash out in a couple months.

Thor was not impressed. At all.

He lifted up strands of my brightly colored hair and went in this dejected voice, "You dyed your hair?"

Um. Duh.

But I was very anxious about his reaction at the time. "What....you don't like it?"

Thor eyed it with this pained look on his face. "Well....I just liked your hair the way it was. I think it's pretty the way it is." Translation: I hate what you did with your hair.

I was kind of crushed. "I just wanted to do something different with it......"

A month later he had his hair cut extremely short and asked what I thought. I shot the same words back at him. And he said "Well you never asked me about your hair before you dyed it."

We were at an impasse.

When I wanted to pierce my ears the following year, Thor wasn't so sure about it. So I didn't. Until this summer.

He liked my hair really long so when I eventually got it cut shorter, it was a necessity. It got caught in everything and was really annoying to wash, brush and took forever to dry. Thor wasn't sure what to think about it but I said it had been annoying. Plus, I donated it. How could he argue with that?

The point is, I felt like I had to ask permission to change things about myself. When all I really need to do was ask myself.

Maybe what blinds you is the thought that this person, this one person, is so wonderful, such a beautiful soul.....that you can't help but see only the good in them. And that results in placing them on this high up pedestal.

And that's nice and all.....but it's not the truth. It's not real.

What's real is seeing that person, seeing all of that beautiful person (the good, the bad, and the ugly, the flaws, the imperfections, the things that drive you absolutely bonkers that they do or say), seeing all of those things and not erasing them or excusing them away.....but loving them anyway. Loving them despite all of it and for all of it.

And if there is something you truly cannot live with or some way they are mistreating you, then you need to see it, truly see it, acknoweldge it, and let them go. Love is a wonderful thing, a beautiful thing, but don't let it blind you to the truth about people. Never let it keep you in the dark about serious issues.

"I love you and because I love you, I would rather have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies." --Pietro Ariteno

That's real love.

How A Single Girl Celebrates Valentine's Day

Wake up in the morning.....totally not feeling like P Diddy.

Shut off the sounds of Avril screaming about having a bad reputation on your phone.

Blink a few times. Let your eyes focus on the date and time on the screen.

Curse and grumble to yourself.

Check Facebook. Scroll through the newsfeed. Torture yourself by checking your friend's profile and his newly confirmed relationship status.

Grumble some more.

Check your notifications. Laugh at messages from your best friends. Smile at a valentine you were tagged in by a friend. Comment. Like. Check your messages. Message back and forth with a friend. Check newsfeed again. Ditto notifications.

Remind yourself to not ruin other people's day with your own discontent. Its just another day, after all.

Sigh. Hide under covers.

Lean over to flick lava lamp off. Sit up and get out of bed. Talk to yourself, words that are half reprimanding and half pep talk. "Well, that's quite enough time spent feeling sorry for myself."

Grab clothes, some of your favorites that you set out specifically for today. Go to the bathroom. Take a long, hot, shower. Debate singing. Decide you don't much feel like it. Talk to yourself instead.

Dry your hair and wonder whether you should be concerned about the amount of talking you've been doing to yourself today.

Put hair up. Put jewelry on. Wonder why you're even bothering.

Check the To Do list you made for yourself. Make a face.

Pet your sleeping cat on the way to the kitchen. Grab laptop and turn it on. Torture yourself further on Facebook. Tear up. Shake your head, suck it up and open Youtube. Listen to def jam poetry as you make brunch.

Open fridge. Open cabinets. Stare at stove. Make another face. Debate how early in the day it is socially acceptable to start drinking.

Make really sweet tea instead. Make oatmeal. Load it with maple syrup and brown sugar. Throw in some raisins, so it at least resembles a healthy breakfast choice again.

Eat while watching more poetry. Nearly spray oatmeal everywhere while laughing at one performance. Wonder if that's a contributing factor as to why you are single. Shake it off. Decide to use that in a possible future poem.

Go into bathroom to practice your own performance poem that you finally memorized. Check your body language. Adjust it. Check your volume. Decide the acoustics are not the best in there. Continue anyway. Get all the way through the poem. Do a truly embarrassing victory dance.

Glance at reflection in bathroom mirror. Blink. Realize you look pretty damn hot. Decide any man's a moron who does not want to be with your sweet ass. Walk tall out of the bathroom.

Answer texts. Find valentine and chocolate from parents. Read card. Smile. Talk to a friend about many things, good and bad. Talk about plans. Actually feel excited about something. Laugh a hell of a lot.

Think about driving. Look at clock. Debate. Throw envelopes and deposit slip into bag. Debate again. Glare at To Do list. Move today's errands to the Wednesday section. Smile smugly at To Do list.

Begin making list of things to pack for Bonaroo. Begin making list of ways to make money for Bonaroo. Debate over old schoolbooks you no longer want. Start an ebay account to sell books. Look into selling them.

Get distracted by Twitter. Tweet something. Get distracted by all of the tweets from The Bloggess. Search for people on Twitter. Think about how creeped out celebrities might feel being followed by random fans. Wonder if you'll keep your Twitter when you're a famous author.

Get distracted by Ellen Degeneres tweets. Get distracted by Sophia Grace and Rosie videos on Youtube. Go back to Inforoo and your packing list. Get introduced to Flogging Molly. Squeal like a little girl. Debate whether you like them better than Dropkick. Decide that that's impossible to decide as they're both amazing.

Go back to ebay. Go through inventory of things to sell. Calculate bank account in head. Check job updates. Try to avoid looking at Facebook. Start eating chocolate.

Have an extremely awkward conversation with a guy in a call center who really wants to help you further your education. Try to explain you've already furthered your education. Have that be ignored. Listen. Finally hang up before collapsing into random hysterical laughter.

Tell friend about crazy call. Look at clock. Realize you have 2 minutes till the time you were supposed to pick up your mother at work. Swear. Run around, throwing dirty dishes into sink, grabbing mail and sorting it, getting bag, pulling jacket out of closet.

Tell friend you've gotta go. Run around some more, looking for hat and gloves. Find gloves. Decide that regular hat isn't going to cut it. Dump extra scarf and hat on sleeping cat. Get glared at by cat before he goes back to sleep.

Put on frog hat because it's nearly impossible to be sad while wearing it. Look for keys. Find keys. Almost lose gloves. Find them again.

Run outside. Get in car. Start it. Almost panic about backing out of driveway. Kick self mentally for being idiotic. Remember which way to turn the wheel to go in reverse. Successfully drive through town.

Give weird looks to the people passing by who are giving you weird looks. Realize it's probably because of your fabulous frog hat. Decide again that you really need to get the hell out of this town. Smile energetically and wide eyed at everyone passing by. Hope you made them uncomfortable. Wonder if that's immature. Decide you don't really give a damn. Laugh to yourself.

Remember your music when you're almost there. Sing along to Hands Clean. Pick up Mumsy. Answer call from Daddio (while parked, no worries!)

Drive back while chatting with mother. Get stuck in traffic. Get excited about being stuck in traffic for the first time. Get honked at. Make unsavory insinuations about the honker's parentage and intelligence. Finally arrive home.

Remind your mother that you promised to make dinner tonight. Decide what to make for dinner. Empty dishwasher. Begin to fill it again. Gather ingredients. Check clock. Set table. Check clock again. Start dinner.

Wash dishes. Suddenly find yourself singing. Realize you've just sang Killing Me Softly, You Were Meant For Me and Hands one after another. Decide to stop singing so as to not make your mother worry.

Work on dinner. Find yourself humming A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes. Feel instantly better.

Check Facebook. Find yourself on Yahoo Answers. See that no one answered your question. Click over to other people's questions. Scroll through. Find a sad sounding question in the adolescent section. Read it. Get reminded of your own love life in high school. Feel sorry for the kid. Decide to help her. Answer to the best of your ability.

Remember the dinner that you now hear boiling away. Race back to turn temperature down. Check clock. Begin talking to yourself again about everything you have to do. Hear Daddio arrive home. Race around finishing dinner.

Sit down. Get praised over everything that was made. Feel extremely pleased with self. After dinner, show parents the adorable video Google did. Share a funny slam love poem with them. Eat quite possibly the best chocolate cheesecake ever, by Mumsy.

Check email. See that the girl whose question you answered has thanked you and said yours was the most helpful of the answers she received. Feel really happy about helping someone.

Decide the best way to celebrate today is by spreading love via the internet. Go back to Yahoo Answers. Scroll through questions. Answer some more questions on relationships, psychology, books, and anime.

Gossip with a friend. Watch Stargate with Mumsy. Drool over Dr. Daniel Jackson. Realize the similarity to Milo Thatch from Atlantis. Laugh hysterically.

Decide to write a blog about today. Debate over what to say.....and then decide to write a really insanely long blog recounting the entire day. Start typing. Turn on Pandora. See that Yanni comes up. Try to remember when the hell you added Yanni radio. Notice an add for Love Stinks radio.

Turn that on. Find yourself listening to an insane collection of oldies, with some Ting Tings and Maroon 5 thrown in. Continue writing blog. Pause to play air guitar to You Give Love a Bad Name. Realize you haven't ingested anything alcoholic all day and that there are only two empty spaces in your chocolate box.

Blink a few times. Feel a little pleased. See.....it was just another day. And it wasn't even that bad of a day. Rock out to The Supremes and The Clash.

Finish blog, knowing that tomorrow is another day. And it's going to be fabulous.

And maybe, just maybe, I will wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy.

Cautionary Tales: Morals and Such From Elders

The holiday season is coming to an end and I'm sure most of you have been with family for x amount of time. Too little...too much....or just enough to remind you of why you don't live at home anymore. Time with family inevitably means telling them a little about what's going on in your life and then listening to their opinions on your living situation, job, significant other or lack thereof.

At some point in the visit, conversations are going to turn to the topic of, well, you. The biggest piece of advice I could give any of you, would be to either be really vague or completely make facts up. Maybe this is the coward's way out....but if you tend to second-guess yourself a lot like I do, this might be the wiser alternative.

I'll start out by saying: I love my family. And I know they love me. This is not an attack on them. I just find myself drained and frustrated after being around them lately. I think the problem with families is....everyone's in everyone else's business. If you don't want to discuss something, well why? We're all family here.....there's no secrets here. I think of my family like a cross between My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Everybody Loves Raymond. If you get the references, than you know what I'm talking about.

Whenever we meet up, there's the standard questions:

Q. "How's the job search going?/You find a job yet?" and other variations on that question.

A. "Awful" and "nope." (I'm looking elsewhere now because this town's a dead end.)

Q. "So did you and that boy break up?"

A. "Yeah a few months ago." (Thanks for bringing it up.)

Q. "Well isn't that for the best? He was kind of a rebound."

A. "......." (I'm not even going to honor that with a response.This is about the time where I start thinking about how much I could use some vodka.)

Q. "Do you hear from your other ex anymore?"

A. "Not a peep." (Great...now we're stuck on the subject of my love life failures huh?)

"Well I'm so glad you woke up and listened to us about him."

"....Yeah." (Actually, I'll take anything alcoholic.)

Q. "What have you been up to?"

A. "Writing. Hanging out. Job searching." (Wallowing in self pity. Fighting depression and anxiety. Healing. You know.....the usual.)

Q. "What have you been writing?"

A. "Poetry to submit to magazines." (Also, performance poetry that you won't like because some of it's about you. Blogs so maybe I can help someone else....which you also won't like. Because some of them are about you.)

And it goes on from there.

See, I was vague. I bit my tongue. I smiled and nodded. I left it to bare facts and did not embellish. It's like trading a technical manual for your usual novel of life stories. I've learned to do this after the realization that I was upset after every well-meaning comment. Sometimes, family just doesn't understand that you're not a child anymore. Sometimes, they don't realize you're not looking for advice or a kick in the pants. You're learning to live on your own terms and all you'd like is their support.

Their, preferably silent, support.

Other than the questions, you've got the never-ending advice they need to bestow on you. My grandmother in particular always likes to bring up is what I like to call her Cautionary Tales. These are an endless supply of stories she keeps in her head of people she knew or things she saw on the news or Dateline. Stories that are meant to discourage the listener from doing what they were thinking about doing.

I wanted to go out of the country as a teenager. I got stories about young girls brutally murdered on vacation, even though they were supposed to be safe with chaperones. And what about our old priest that was mugged in broad daylight?

I was going on a trip to NYC with my class in high school. She had a story about that too, cautioning me to listen to my teacher at all times. And to not go along with any plans my best friend had because there was a story about good girls who listened to their best friends and went off from their group and then ended up in deep trouble.

I mentioned an interest in moving to Massachusetts. She had stories about why this was a bad idea, that young women shouldn't live on their own. They couldn't defend themselves if a man wanted in their apartment. What if the roommate brought in someone unsavory? She'd heard stories about that. She knew a girl who was really trusting and ran into trouble there.

Recently, I made the mistake of telling her I was hoping that someday my friend and I would have another chance at romance. That maybe after time and people and whatnot, a little twist of fate would happen. She had a story for that too. A close cousin of hers, who'd been with a guy and then they broke up. A year later they were together again and this time got married. And then he abandoned her with a child. And she cut off all communication from the rest of her family and no one heard from her for years until one day, her neighbors smelled her from down the hall.

The moral: Don't ever get back together with someone. They'll leave you and you'll die alone.

I'm beginning to think she made a lot of these stories up. Except for the one about the girls in another country. I saw that on the news.

But I realized after this last morsel, that all of her stories end the same way. Someone was trying to be adventurous, following their heart, taking chances and risks, trying to spread their wings or experience life. And then they ended up dead.

I'm beginning to see the similarity between my grandmother's Cautionary Tales and those fairy tales of old, where adults frightened children into staying home their entire life because the world was a terrifying place. Don't be adventurous or you'll end up almost eaten by a wild animal.

My entire life I've been so curious but too terrified to have adventures. I dreamed about having them. But I still found myself standing at the edge of my grandparent's property and staring across the wall into forbidden lands. Where I wasn't allowed to go.

Granted, that would have been trespassing. But I couldn't even let myself walk down their road and back. I used to play this game when I was a teenager, pushing my boundaries. I'd slowly and carefully walk slightly down the road, just to a cluster of trees at the edge of their yard. I'd pick up a rock from the ditch and chuck it across the road at the stop sign until it struck and made a loud clang. And then I'd run like hell back to their driveway again.

Rebellious, I know.

But I remember the anxiety coursing through me as I took those steps off where I was allowed to be. My palms were sweaty, my knees were weak, my head was screaming that I was going to get yelled at. Someone would hit me with their car. A van would show up and men in black masks would kidnap me. Something horrible would happen because I dared to be the tiniest bit adventurous.

And looking back on that now.....I find it rather sad. And explaining a hell of a lot about why I am the way I am. I've been raised on cautionary tales so the idea of going out on my own.....following my heart but having no real plan.....living life on my own terms......well, it sends me right into a panic attack.

But that's not how it should be. That's not how life should be. No one should be crippled by the fear of living their life.

This is what I've been learning in the past year, after a lot of reflection, analyzation and discussion with friends. You can't live your life afraid. You also can't live your life according to someone else. It's okay to be terrified.....but you gotta have the courage to do what you want anyway. Meg Cabot wrote that "Being brave is when you have to do something because you know it is right, but at the same time, you are afraid to do it, because it might hurt or whatever. But you do it anyway."

I'm telling you all: Do it anyway. Whatever it is. Moving to a new town. Writing a novel. Auditioning for a play. Trying out for cheerleading. Joining a gym. Telling the one you love, that you love them. Standing up to a bully. Visiting a distant land. Bringing down your personal demons.

You can do it. Despite the fear and the doubts and whatever people may have been telling you. You CAN do it. You are not going to become another Cautionary Tale. You are going to become an inspiring story. A goddamn legend.

And so am I.