My First New Thanksgiving...

It's my first Thanksgiving that I'm not hosting...

Because my family is 1,200 miles away...

I'm used to two large banquet tables and a circular dining table added to one end. I'm used to two large turkeys cooking overnight, both easily over 25 pounds, started on Wednesday evening. I'm used to having 20+ guests--sometimes over 30!--coming to my home, eating, drinking, laughing...

To go from that, to just now unthawing a 10 pound turkey and cooking it for two...

With 80 degree weather outside....

It's odd, to say the least. I'm unsure if I'll have that experience again, honestly. How many stars would have to align to get the 16 people of my immediate family to come to Florida for me to ever do that again? How many heavens would I have to move, how many gods would I have to sacrifice to, to ever host in that way again?

I find myself missing the most poignantly, albeit of my own doing, starting a new life so far away.

***

But for a moment I shall digress and hop on my soapbox because someone just pissed me off with this photo:

1. It is *not* something to feel guilty about to want to spend time with your family on a holiday that has been around for 200+ years
2. It is *not* the same thing to be a soldier fighting for U.S. interests overseas (or even on home soil) and selling crap made in china at a national retailer
3. It is DEFINITELY okay to be PISSED that GREED on behalf of U.S. businesses are making you work--and probably threatening you with your job if you question it--on a day that SHOULD be spent relaxing, enjoying food and family, when there are 363 OTHER days of the year that people can enter your 24 hour a day establishment and buy cheap goods that are not supporting U.S. factories, let alone paying a wage above the poverty rate...

I can only assume that a Republican who thinks his right's are violated if he can't make slaves out of other Americans made such an asinine, stupid, insensitive poster...

Assholes.

I would wish you a hellish holiday, but that's not very nice, as the B.E.D. would say, so I'll simply say to the creator of this image?
FUCK YOU.
Fuck your greed for making your employees work just so you can make an extra buck when you barely pay them shit. Fuck your inhumanity for taking away one of the few days of the year when FAMILY should take priority over all else. Fuck you for trying to equate wanting to spend time with family with "unAmercanism" and "unpatriotism", especially because the wages you pay and the fact that you ARE making people work simply for your bottom line is the MOST unpatriotic, MOST unAmerican thing I can think of.
FUCK YOU.
***
Anyway, missing my family while staring at my paltry frozen turkey...

Luckily, I have an employer who pays a decent wage, allows me time off to spend how I wish, and has no urge to try to make me feel guilty about it. 

Friendless in Fort Lauderdale...

No, not really. But I do love a good word-ism based off Sleepless in Seatle,, you? Everytime I have an emotion, I want to say "I'm intrigued in Idaho!" or "I'm bored in Boston!" 

Hmm...

I know, I know, I know...You're all "Where has he been? What's going on? I'm lost without him!!! And--does that mean he's traveling what he just said up there? Boston? Idaho? What the fuck???"

Okay, perhaps you're not lost. After all, we live in a world of TomTom's, google navigator's, and mapquests. Who the fuck gets lost these days?

Well, besides complete noodle heads...

No, you see, I was tending to my dying dog, Hawthorne. For some weeks now, he had been battling kidney and liver failure, and no amount of medicines and treatments were making his old thirteen-year-old body respond. Needless to say, besides being an emotional wreck, the apartment itself became a bit of one. It's not pretty when your old dog begins to lose control of his... "movements." But as he had been my constant and faithful companion for thirteen years, there was no way I was going to be punishing him for something he couldn't control, you know?

I know you know... 

It's been hard. Trying. Difficult. Death always is. Death kind of sucks that way. It tends to leave the living behind, filled with memories, emotions, feelings, thoughts, regrets...

A whole jumbly-wumbly mess of humanity staring at what used to be another living being--a friends, a relative, a pet--whatever or whoever it was, we the living must cope with ourselves and others who survive at the time, deal with both those who are trying to be helpful and consoling as well as those who think death is an opportune time to... Well, let's just say "assholes" and leave it at that, shall we? No, one step further--death, for the record, is not...

Not!

NOT

--the time to be telling me about your gods, your beliefs, your whatever fuzzy-warm thing gets you through the night... It may be consoling to YOU, but you should know it is NOT consoling to me (if you do, indeed, KNOW me...) and all it makes me want to do is take note to avoid you in the future...

I should clarify, however, that I do not take offense to "Now he's with my dog in doggie heaven" and whatnot... That's fine. I don't believe it, but that's neither here nor there. What I *am* offended by is, "Maybe this is making you think about your own immortal soul and where you might be headed? Hmm?"

I told them to go there. It made me feel better. Feel free to judge me on that point. :)

Irregardless (which, as an annoying little fact most people don't know, isn't actually a proper word as "regardless" means the exact same thing, has less syllables, and is a bit less confusing for those who tend to dissect every little nuance sputtered through the lips of others), in the midst of crying like a baby, I managed to throw together a little "In Memorial" video of my Hawthorne, which I share with you below (although I dare say most of you have seen it on facebook, as not too many of my readers are NOT on facebook) so feel free not to hit "Play" again if you don't feel like having tears spill all over your keyboard again...

Speaking of annoying little facts, it boggles my brain that more people don't run around sharing annoying little facts. I realize that being half-nerd means I'm prone to these types of things--Jeopardy-isms if you will--but stuff I find, in my own mind, to be common knowledge usually isn't, and is usually accompanied by a strange look or a shrug of the shoulders or a nervous giggle... What's that about? Don't you want to know useless bits of trivia? Don't stupid facts of non-everyday life intrigue your brain? Tickle the neurons? 

Hmm... 

Oh well... That was slightly off-topic, but my mind has been scattered more than usual lately (and I hope, understandably), and sometimes I feel like shouting "Squirrel!" every time I realize it... It doesn't help, but it makes the awkward looks a bit more amusing...

Anyway, my tribute to my friend:



Until next time, fellow lifer...

Zombies and Wind and Jesus, Oh! My!

It still boggles my mind to this day that there is a persistent belief in a god(s), especially in a society where education should be a priority. (Should be because not enough people value asking “why?”, and politicians always seem to think budget cuts start in our schools…)

You see, a recent game of “Which would you rather” in the morning somehow got turned into a “Have you seen this crap!” and thus, a coworker recently pointed me to another coworker’s blog, where the heavy-handed “I’m more moral than the world” coupled with the “I’m so humble in Jesus” monologues made me want to gag, vomit, commit suicide, and drop nuke’s on every major religious center in the world—

Scratch that—it made me want to drop nukes on even the minor religious centers.

I do try my best to withhold judgment when people make off-handed comments in my general direction, like “Jesus helped me do this,” or “I know God’s watching over me because of blah blah blah”; seriously, I say nothing most times, just smile and nod like I’m one of the sheep who checked his brain at the door to life and thinks angels are dancing all around me with swords flying to keep Satan and his minions at bay from causing me to commit one type of sin or another…

Sigh…

I try to be a live-and-let-live dude, what with the mass of brain-dead zombies that inhabit even the most liberal locations of where I live. Add to the fact that most of my family, and my partner, have religious and spiritual inclinations, I’m pretty well versed in the mumbo-jumbo, the beliefs, the practices, the voodoo. So, in the name of tolerance, I will sometimes make an observation, delicately-put depending on the audience, or sometimes outright laugh, also depending on the audience…

But overall, I’m highly disappointed in you, human race…

One of the more common arguments I hear from the windbag types is, “Well, you can’t see the wind—how do you know it’s there? All you can see is the effects! So Ha!” (As if such a mind-numbingly silly argument came from the lips of God hisself into their ears… Which is funny, because I’m feeling the effects of all the hot air they’re spewing when making this claim, but there it is…) If you can’t figure out why this is such a weak, silly, and all-around stupid argument, I’ll not bother to educate you. Suffice it to say, if you’ve ever considered this argument to be a firm tenant in your belief system, you have bigger problems than just believing in sky daddies and angel fairies… Suffice it to say that it hints to the notion (okay, okay, outright screams to the notion) that you somehow think wind is magical and supernatural… And I can only hope you realize how silly a position that is…

I can only hope you also realize that, when the apocalypse does come and the zombies do take over, you’ll only have to look at the closest standing religious center to find out where the infection started. (There’s a reason they hafta eat brains—their god(s) took theirs away…)

Fact of the matter is, anytime you are going to believe in something that cannot be seen, measured, tested, or even just plain logical, you may as well just do us all a favor and remove yourself from both the mating pool and the voting masses…

Knowing you exist out there really makes me think the Constitution should be amended to read “We the intelligent people…,” with a special clause regulating the rest of you to speed bump duty… Which, of course, will be unnecessary once my hover-stang is perfected. And when such a time arrives, you’ll be reassigned to coat-rack duty, assuming that global warming has been corrected by that time (and it will be, because the idiots will have been spayed and neutered and busy being coat racks…), and that sometime, somewhere, we the intelligent people will sometimes need to wear a coat due to the chilly “magical” wind…

Something Stormy This Way Spins...

How Ballerenic, yes?

Ballerenic... Yes, I suppose it's not a word. Although it does seem as if the clouds themselves pirrouette upon the sky, positioning thus to form the eye as the clouds and waters spin into a great wall of wind and rain, lightning dancing, thunder keeping time, trees bowing at the great performance of nature as it edges closer to the land which will ultimately end it's performance!

As Isaac approaches the state of Florida, I'm excited in the same way I used to get excited for snowstorms--perhaps more so as it doesn't involve cold temperatures or snow. Wind, rain, probably some hail, a multitude of lightning and thunder, but snow shovels need not apply!

This shit's already melted when it falls! Oh happy day!

Of course, I'm on a learning curve here, and I'm tickled pink that I'll be getting my feet wet on a category 1 huricaine. (Pun, indeed, intended...) I've been told by the natives running around the it's not even worth getting excited about, let alone worried, for anything less than a category 3 storm, but I'm a newbie, and I plan on taking some pictures of the beach beofre hunkering down in my concrete bunker of an apartment as the waves crash upon the beach with the wrath and anger only swirling winds and evil-eyed storms can do!

Still, I did what I used to do when I heard a big ol' snow storm was a'comin'! Ran to the store for bread, bottled water, canned vegetables, a few bottles of wine, and--of course--ring bologna, cheese, and Ritz crackers... Nothing says comfortable-storm food like ring bologna, cheese, and crackers! With some white wine in the appropriate wine glass, that is.

Of course, the natives also tell me that I'm probably going a bit overboard. But I'm a firm believer in "better safe than sorry" while also being a firm believer in "enjoy everything," "find the bright side," and, last but not least, "fuck weather!"

Knowing my luck, this storm will simply vanish, or at the very least, go severely off-course by all the hot air being blown around by the sudden influx of windbag Republicans that are strolling into the state for their convention--but it seems to me, that if they truly were "God's party," what with their "pro-family," "pro-life," "pro-God," "pro-country" propaganda shit talk, God wouldn't've sent a tropical storm toward the very place they were having their convention, now would he?

Unless, of course, we consider that maybe--just maybe--God might like the Democras better? Jesus was, after all, a socialist...

Chew on that while watching the clouds roll in, boys... I have some ring bologna to slice up...

And Then There Were Pictures...

Mom wants pictures. Who can blame her? I'd tell her to join facebook to see this crap, but we tried that before. She logged on when she first got facebook... Then she hopped on one more time, six months later, and then only to delete her facebook account...

Such is the life of a woman old enough to get a senior citizens discount, I suppose. :)

So let's start with the newest addition to our little family, Brunhilda:

Brunhilda's, from what the vet tells us, part labrador, part pointer, and ab one year old. She's the one that went Cujo on the visiting doggie earlier in the week, and thanks to Google and a few facebook friends, we're learning ways to rehabilitate her so that she can be a productive member of the canine family AND be able to join us on visits to the dog beach... Sheme to us with severely lacerated legs and scars and at first it was thought she would have to lose the leg:

This picture doesn't even show the half of it, but no one needs to see how awfully she was treated by her former masters. Suffice it to say most ofthe scars are now fully healed and even growing some fur back. The worst gash still has a one-inch by two-inch gash that gets wrapped twice daily and is slowly but surely healing and beginning to look healthy.

Here's the rest of the canine bambino's:

From closest to furthest away: Kylie (tea cup chihuahua, mother of the next two); Gizmo (three-quarters teacup chihuahua, one-quarter pomeranian); his sister Chloe; Hawthorne; and on the other end of the futon is Mysti, whom Hawthorne is fatally attracted to in the same way he used to be about my brother's dog, Mary...

As soon as all six dogs decide they can all fit on the futon together, I'll snap that shot.

Then there's the two cats, Beaux and Mika:

And yes, that's pretty much all they do. Well, Beaux likes to add "Gecko Killer" in addition to sleeping, but some folks don't like the fact that he's an apex predator around here (if you ignore the fact that alligator's live in this here state), but as alligator's have yet to be found within the confines of my apartment, we should be a-okay...

That's it for now.

Hope all is well in your worlds. Mine, for the moment, is quite hunky-dory...

Reconnecting...

I'm blogging from home... Yes, I know, I know, it's been a long time coming, but all things--okay, okay, most things are worth waiting for, and this was one of them.

So, a couple of things:

1. We can never give Brunhilda to another owner. Not because we've fallen that much in love wirh her... Which we have. But she is definately an unpredictable dog, especially when it comes to other dogs and cats. Luckily she seems to have accepted the current dogs as her pack; however, when a friend came over with her dog? Luckily Brunhilda was crated. She channeled Cujo. I am not exagerrating, although I wish I were. I could not in good conscious give her to another home, a home that probably wouldn't understand her history, and then hear that she killed another animal, bit a person, what have you. (Although I will say, she only ever seems thrilled to meet new people...) However, any time we're meeting new people? She's gonna be in her crate or muzzled. I'm just so glad we have a backyard for her to run in, that she gets along fine with the current pack, and that she obeys are commands (as much as any one-year-old puppy does, that is...) And while part of my heart breaks in that we'll never be able to take her to the dog park or the dog beach with Hawthorne and Mysti, she does have a yard, she does love her pack, and she's gonna be one hell of a guard dog, as shown by the actions she has shown to strangers across the street...
2. Skype will be coming in a bit, but not quite yet. Apparently the combination of older computers with older used camera's that are not of the plug-and-play generation of electronics, means I need to purchase something newer if I expect to videocall the family back home. You live and learn, ya know? Be that as it may, at least it's no longer "one day I'l have internet at home again," but "I do now have internet at home, and things are happening..."

So I'm off to see what further deals I can find, enjoy the company of B.E.D. when he gets home from his afternoon shift, and perhaps--just perhaps--think of all those things I wanted to blog about these last few months and get started...

Six Dogs, Two Cats, and a Partridge in a Palm Tree…

It’s cramped but lovely living, I tell you. Okay, “lovely” might be overstating it a bit—I cannot wait until my VA Loan preapproval comes forth. Not that “love” isn’t in the equation… Of that there is no doubt. However, it is a bit cramped living in a one-bedroom with all the wildlife and whatnot.

A word to the wise—do not, I repeat, do NOT—ever get an all-white apartment. If you do happen to find yourself staring at an all-white apartment, note the way the stove is also painted white—and not in appliance paint. And the toilet. The walls go without saying—they are, indeed, also painted. White. As are the tiles. Well, in truth, the tiles should be white. What they are in reality is an off-white due to the amount of sand and dirt the Florida environment decides the bottom of your feet, sandals, flip-flops and shoes should be dragging around to all points indoors. Not to mention the hair shed by two cats and six dogs…

SIX dogs! you’re thinking. Are you NUTS!? Well, yes. But not bad-nuts, unlike some stupid, idiotic, assholed, dick-faced couple who was using their dog for either dog-fighting or baiting (i.e., using her as bait to train other dogs for fighting). She found an escape and found herself in B.E.D.’s carport, where he found her bleeding, legs gashed open, blood pouring from her wounds, abandoned and lonely and crying…

Being normal human beings (unlike her previous owners), he brought her home and she has begun the healing process, both in terms of physical health, but emotionally learning to trust humans and other dogs again… She has also been dubbed Brunhilde, Visigoth Princess of legend, and who’s name also means “battle armor” or “warrior princess,” depending on which baby-names website you prefer… (It should be noted, I had no idea her name would mean such a thing—I simply thought it sounded like a nice, strong, German name, for her strength and grace in the face of such adversity!) Be that as it may, my mother now has one more grand dog to add to the growing list of the Noah’s Ark-like-life of pets her children own…

Speaking of children…

The B.E.D. and I have also started the long and winding process of foster-parenthood. Or to become adoptive dad’s, depending on how you look at it. Florida having some of the ass-backward laws that it does, we both can’t be the adoptive father’s, so we’ll just have to take turns once the classes have ended and the child-care advocates have started knocking on our door—a door, it should be noted, that will not lead into the interior of a one-bedroom, all-white apartment just outside of Wilton Manors…

Just one more month until the pre-approval comes in for the mortgage…

The classes themselves are a hoot! Between the role-playing, the other couples on the road to foster-parenthood, the teachers and social workers we’re getting to know… It’s definitely worth giving up at least five Saturdays in a row, if only for the making of new friends with common goals and wants in life. (It should be noted here, not that my old and other new friends are lacking in any way, shape or form, FYI…) Of course, there will be further classes to take, hopefully not within the confines of a stuffy, Baptist-church basement, but we’ll cross that bridge when we cross that bridge. Due to the types of children B.E.D. and I are wishing to help and adopt, there will be several other courses after this one, but I’m sure it’ll all be worth it in the end!

I’m finally facing fatherhood…

And I’m terribly excited. Partially because, unlike pets, they’ll one day go off to college and (hopefully!) become productive members of society, whom I can pass on my values and life lessons, teach and guide and be there for in ways that partners and pets don’t require. Of course, also not like pets, they’ll talk back. Unlike pets, however, they’ll (hopefully!) use the toilets! Also dissimilar to pets, they’ll come with their own sets of values and morals—but that is not something to cringe at. It’ll be another life experience, a chance to expand my own horizons and challenge my own thoughts, to continue to embrace the diversity of human thinking and behavior…

Is it bad that I am hoping, however, that none of them want to grow up to be pastors or priests or rabbis? As long as they’re happy, of course, I’ll be happy… But their ultimate choice of profession…?

Ach, who the fuck cares, right? Parents and caretakers have been shaking their head’s at their children’s choices of profession for years… Why should I waste a thought on that?

I just want to raise children who will learn to be content, be productive, and use the toilet…

I don’t think that’s asking too much… Do you?

It’ll be cramped but lovely living…

Life... And Otherwise...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, get off my back! When you don't have internet at home, it's hard to stay ontop of this "blogging" thing...

But just to recap:

1. Take ketchup with you to the movies. That way, you can squirt it on yourself and play dead while stupid parents bringing 6-month-olds to a midnight screening of the Batman movie can drop dead... From stupidity...
2. I'm taking the first steps to becoming a father--and no, a turkey baster is not involved. Neither is straight sex. Foster parenting classes!! Apparently you can't adopt without them, which makes sense. Something those parent's of the aforementioned 6-month-old could have used, can I get an Amen?
3. I'm getting better and better at avoiding sunburn while staying tan, AND
4. There IS a short-cut from my apartment to the McDonald's with the free wifi, something I am both happy and sad to have discovered. I now find it at least half-a-mile easier to get on here and blog while at the same time exercising less... On my way to McDonald's... You see my conundrum here, yes?

I promise more next time--perhaps even a photo or two...

But until then, my friends...

Enjoy life...

Spare Change...

I have never met so many beggars in all my live-long days…

At every intersection, people are walking in between the parked cars. In front of every store, you hear “Got some spare change?” or “Hey, got a dollar or two?” Pumping gas the other day, a gentleman approached and said, “Hey, help a brother out—I just need to catch the bus to Jacksonville. Got a few bucks?” (Because I look like a brother, I suppose. My parents gave me two brothers through natural childbirth, and my sisters have me two brothers through marriage. I need more brothers like I need another hole in my head.)

I’m still unsure where they get the markers and the cardboard for making their signs and am convinced there’s an underground black-market for markers for the homeless… Have you priced markers lately? They aren’t the cheapest things in the dollar store…

My favorite is the guy who stands in front of Publix on Federal Avenue who denounces the mob…. Or is it the Mafia? Either way, I’m assuming he thinks he’s unemployed due to the Mob/Mafia. I’m like, “Hello, if the Mob/Mafia really were out to get you, you’d be dead!” But there he stands almost every day, switching out this cardboard sign for that cardboard sign, all the while thinking he’s making some kind of change in the world while hoping spare change will come his way…

What an odd phrase: “spare change.” Imagine if every time a major change happened in the world, there was just some “spare change” hanging around. Like we could save it up and then force change in the direction we wanted instead of just reacting to it thusly…

And I just love, love, LOVE the dirty looks they give me, like they’re entitled to the spare change in my pockets (as if I’m in the habit of carrying a shitload of coins in my pocket!) and it is I who am the failed human being for not handing it out like I can spare all the money in the world. Trust me, I wish I could! But when you have a billion homeless and unemployed standing around at every corner, every store, every stop light? Yeah, I started saying “no” about a week after I got here. It’s an automatic response now, which in a way saddens me. The last thing I want is a callous, hard-hearted attitude toward my fellow man, especially those who actually do need the help! But I’m stuck in that old Catch-22 that is American life: Help the helpless, but look down on those who can’t pull themselves up by their own bootstraps! Charity and Condemnation all rolled into one way of life.

And the cigarette bumming? That also is an automatic “No!” now, granted a little more vehemently than the standard “change” query. They’re expensive, dammit! Buy your own goddamn cigarettes! One woman, standing right behind the gas station, peeked her head out as I was walking back toward my car. “Hey, mister, can I bum one?” As she said it, she lifted her skirt ever so slightly, as if promising sexual favors for a cigarette. A look of disgust must have crossed my face (I’ve never been that good at impromptu-emotional-face-blockage) as I blurted, “I just got the freaking pack!” I got a double-fingered California wave and a “Faggot!” before she disappeared back behind the “has seen better days” wall of the gas station… Something tells me she’s seen better days as well. Be that as it may…

Ewwww!

---

Last night the BED and I spent a few hours watching some of the few home videos’ my one sister made for me over the years. Seeing the pics and small video clips of everyone back home made me a little teary-eyed. Yet it also made me realize how much happier I am. As I looked at some of those old pictures and photos of myself (more over weight, looking older, tired, worn out) I realized I am happier and more content overall then I was back home. Not that this is a reflection on my family and friends—some of the best a person could ever ask for on this green earth! It had a lot to do with circumstances, both in and out of my control, and a need for some of that spare change that had been lying around, unused and neglected.

I made the change. And I couldn’t be happier.

Now if I could just find ways to market that? I’d be able to hand out some to all the homeless in the greater Fort Lauderdale area…

So to both monetary and intangible spare change… A toast…

Life... Among Other Things...

I know, I know…

You feel neglected. Unloved. Unworthy. Much like Wayne and Garth when discussing any type of rock band. Or Bill and Ted of Wylde Stallions.

Okay, maybe not Bill & Ted…

 

There’s been alligators (of the airboat tour variety), a trip to PA which would have involved two weddings, but only involved one, a journey to South Beach, billboards galore about turning to Jesus (mostly during the PA trip through West Virginia, Virginia, and all points west of Allentown in Pennsylvania), and a crap load of other things mostly not involving drunk elephants or crazed chipmunks… Homemade wine did make an appearance, but being as I am mostly of the Irish and Welsh persuasion, it didn’t stick around long (excepting that one encore appearance behind the car after-hours…)

I did learn, upon investigation, that there are two different types of skunks in Florida, however. The striped Pepe Le Pue variety, and the lesser-known yet just as pungent spotted variety which I had never encountered before running one over in cold blood on I-95. (No worries, it was very cold blood—he was already dead, yet no less stinky for that fact…)

Cute little fuckers, though… When they aren’t dead and still spraying bits of musk onto the underside of your car which someone else (the Blue-Eyed Devil himself) claimed he could still smell hours later. I count myself lucky I have been blessed with my father’s smelling skills (or lack thereof…)

Needless to say, life is progressing nicely, what with the sweet little raise I got at work, the integrating more fully my life with aforementioned devil of the pretty blue eyes, and the catching up of some bills. And while a certain tuxedoed Chihuahua continues to be genetically- and potty-challenged, I have full faith and hope in the certainty that, while he’ll never be a particularly bright dog, we will get him potty trained…

On to ol’ Blue-Eyes…

He doesn’t play mind games (a nice change), gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, gets along with his parents quite nicely, gets along with mine even better, wears his heart on his sleeve (i.e., doesn’t hide it although he has been hurt in the past), and can read me like a book even when I say nothing… A very nice change, truth be told. And while I need to work on my “romantic” side (again, thanks for that, sister-in-law mine, LOL!) having a score of “7 out of 10” (hey, at least it’s a C!), and while I’m quite sure this is still that “honeymoon stage” people go on about at length, and being that I’m ultimately sure that neither of us are perfect individuals (although I do give him a score of “9 out of 10” for romanticism), I can say that he’s going to be around for quite some time… And happily so…

And, and how he makes me laugh! I think I love that more than anything. I’ve missed laughing like that these past years. I realize we both made mistakes in the last relationship, things I’m trying hard to change about myself for my part at least, and while I know I’ll never be perfect, at least I can say I’m trying…

The ex has asked me (again) to call him, and I’ve decided to go ahead and do so, realizing that if I can always hang up if the conversation drifts in ways I’m uncomfortable with. While there is still much “unresolved” (for lack of a better term, as I don’t think some things can be resolved), most of it isn’t within my power to resolve. I admit to being a bit of a control freak about certain things, but there are other things I never had control over and shouldn’t feel guilty about or make excuses for. We are who we are, we control what we can, and everything else just needs to be blown away by the winds of time and change.