t'is the season

Ahh, the holidays. The time to bend to consumeristic tendencies, gorge on fattening foods, scream at soccer moms who abscond with the last [insert trendy toy here], and all in the name of the "Christmas Spirit". No? What? That's what all the commercials and tv shows say. So, then, what is this spirit of which you speak? What does it mean in this day and age?

The history of Christmas really dates back to millenia ago, with the celebration of the Winter Solstice by Druids and Pagans alike. Even ancient Egyptians and Greeks took the holiday of "Yule" and molded it into their own traditions of worshipping the sun gods. Yule, traditionally, was to feast, have general merriment, and enjoy customs like a 'yule log' and the decoration of trees. There was also booze...cuz, well, that's how the Pagans roll. Sound familiar? Mmhmm. When Christianity was the new guy on the block of other world religions, they had to do some pretty hefty marketing to sell people on the idea that this rockin' carpenter was born and was the Messiah...an idea no one was buying. So them clever x-ians said "hey, let's make a new holiday, and call it Christmas, after baby Jesus! It will have the same traditions as Yule, but if we just stick this nice baby in the mix, no one will care! We'll make this new holiday just 4 days after Yule, so it'll be like nothing changed!"

And thus, baby Jesus, the three wise guys, and the barn fit nice and fine right next to the mistletoe and wassail.

So...how does a non Christian, non Pagan, or otherwise celebrate the holiday season? What could Christmas mean to me, a self-proclaimed atheist? There's no Christ in my x-mas, nor are their multiple gods and goddesses, and I'm certainly not worshipping the sun while I tip my glass of Jack at the holiday dinnertable. Good question. It's easier to say what Christmas/Yule don't mean to me.

It's not about presents. It's not about Black Friday sales. It's not about the tree or the sparkly lights or putting fresh nutmeg in my 'nog. It's not about dressing my cats up as characters in christmas movies either, just in case you were wondering. And yet, when I think about the Christmas Spirit, it's about the ambiance that those things can create. The sparkly lights and decorations are part of my childhood. The giving of presents meant I could give a smile to someone I loved. The baking of cookies and the crackling of the wood in the fireplace are smells and sounds that remind me of family. I had a happy childhood, and despite my departure into adolescence, I came out on the other side ok...and I still love my family. So the holiday season makes me feel reminiscent of times where we shared generosity with one another, created traditions unique to us.

So, year after year, even as an atheist, I continue having a certain jubilation for Christmas/Yule/Yulemas because it makes me feel close to my loved ones, whether it's Josh spending the evening decorating the tree with me, or sharing homemade cookies with my friends (who don't have anyone else baking them things), or going home to visit family and feeling totally at place - despite the years and my geographically-distant living arrangement. For me, the holidays are like a whole month of me feeling like hugging everyone.

I guess even if I don't think there's a baby Jesus waiting in a cradle next to some sheep and the dudes with the smelly frankincense, those are pretty good reasons to have some Christmas Spirit. eh?

Thirty three

"boy did you hear me say,
did you hear me say now.
love aint far, well I done mine, done mine, done mine
ooohhh you can't hurry love"
The Concretes


I work for an adoption agency. It's work that I am very proud to do, and feel ever more so proud knowing that I'm one of the only agencies in my region that works with same-sex parents. For the last thirty three years, Florida has been the ONLY state that explicitly prohibited same-sex parent adoptions. What did that mean?

1. If you were gay, and your grandchild, niece, nephew, or cousin (i.e you were related to a child) was removed from their home because their parents were deemed unfit to parent, the state would let you foster the child indefinitely but you would never be able to adopt him/her. Because you were gay, you could parent a child but not be a legal guardian.

2. If you were gay, but eligible to pass a home study through a state licensed agency (i.e. clean criminal background, healthy, financially stable, and had a safe home), you could not adopt. But someone with a criminal history who wasn't gay would be able to adopt.

3. If you were gay, you could try to adopt outside of Florida. But trying to come back into Florida you would be stopped by officials overseeing interstate adoptions because of the gay adoption ban told them they had to block the placement.

4. If you were gay, you could move out of Florida, and uproot your entire life, and complete an adoption elsewhere. You could finalize your adoption, and then move back to Florida, with the understanding that someone could report you and live with the threat that your adoption could be overturned if charges were pursued.

Today is a good day. October 12th, 2010, the gay adoption ban was officially lifted with the announcement from Florida DCF (Dept of Children and Family Services) that they would not appeal the judge's ruling to overturn the ban. Today I got to speak with many, many couples in Florida and tell them they could adopt. That they could have access to one of the most basic desires - to create a family. That they no longer would be subject to the homophobic 33 year long law that kept them from achieving their dream of parenting children.

This is not to say that the state of Florida is Utopian by any means now. I made calls to agencies to see who would provide my clients home studies, and there are still many who have religious affiliations that will not be changing their policies. There will still rampant homophobia, and an outcry from social conservatives, despite all the facts pointing them in the face that GAY PARENTS ARE GOOD PARENTS.

LOVE MAKES A FAMILY.

Some people are crying over the videos on the Chilean miners rescue mission. Don't get me wrong, that's an amazing testament to survival instinct... But I've been crying tears of happiness because of all the wonderful people I spoke with today, and hearing that their faith told them to hang on just a little while longer. To listen to them thank ME for staying with them and guiding them at every step...I've been truly touched.

So tonight I tip my glass to the new people from Florida that will be in my professional life, and also to my LGBT friends and family. I love you, and I support you with every fiber of my being and I think it's amazing how each of you perservere every day just in being yourselves.


IT DOES GET BETTER. :)

Everyday is opposite day

I've always seemed to have opposite reactions, behaviors, etc as compared to my peers (or more specifically, my gender group), and while it's weaved its way in and out of my life, it's never been a bother to me. I played on a boys baseball team in 2nd grade when all the girls were trading stickers, was endlessly clutzy despite taking extra care to be aware of my surroundings, refused to play by the rules when it came to dating, gained weight when trying to diet. It was always something different, but I figured it made me quirky and likable.

This weekend, however, shed some light on one other difference I have...one that I already knew about but just realized is upsetting me. Women, food, weight, size, shape. Today's standards say that women need to be thin, Hollywood displays their photos and interviews of actresses and models proudly maintaining a tiny waist and only indulging in "guilty pleasure" foods once every blue moon. I have always had a healthy appetite, never paid any mind to how I looked compared to other girls, and felt that more emphasis should be made on HEALTH and not what was trending at the moment (Atkins, anyone?).

I'm healthy in my food habits, physical activity, I don't smoke and only drink in (mild) moderation. I don't eat fast foods. But my body shape is curvier than most, and I'm OK with that. I love eating, and cooking, and food is like art for me. However, in the extreme heat of the summer, work stress, and general life adjustments has caused a notable loss of appetite for me. I only reluctantly cook dinner (it helps when you have someone to cook for), breakfast tastes like cardboard, and lunch is the only time I can muster up any interest in eating. This has been going on for about 3 months...and as such my pants no longer fit. I have to hitch them up walking up stairs, for fear that my polka dotted undies will be on display by the time I reach the top. I am disheartened by this. See? Opposite! I am saddened not because a few inches have disappeared and my toosh is no longer holding my pants up...but because food is not a joyful experience anymore.

My trip to the mountains of Tennessee this past weekend gave me a brief reprieve from my lack of caloric-intake though...the high elevation or the mountain air simply made me ravenous. It was such pleasure to feel happy about eating again. I felt actual hunger pains and physically craved full meals. I suppose it's not abnormal to have a desire to eat, but for the modern woman it likely would be outside the norm. How sad! How unfortunate that there are women (and men, too) who wish they had no appetite so they could lose weight. This past weekend was fabulous for me, and I was disappointed that I only gained 2 pounds back (out of the 28 that I have lost since June). This means I have to bite the bullet and buy new pants now, since I've been putting it off and just looking silly with my baggy pants.

Now that I'm back in Hotlanta, the appetite is mysteriously gone again. I found myself depressed at dinner tonight, and Josh asked me if anything was wrong. My mournful reply? "I wish we were back in the mountains so I would want to eat again!" I have two wishes. 1 - that the heat wave goes away and my appetite comes back and 2 - that more women would challenge themselves to simply be healthy and happy and not have the lense focused on whether they fit the standard model for beauty....to take ownership of their curves, soft bellies, stretch marks, and larger pant sizes.

the moon up above me brilliantly shines

I've never been one to advocate for reality-based television programming, as in most cases it's mindless drivel that the fat cats profit off of without actually doing anything (you know, like hiring quality writers) aside from installing the prerequisite hot tub and stocked bar. I am part of the Real World generation, and grew up in an era where reality tv went from new-and-interesting to having every single major network featuring their own brand of 20-somethings being "real" in extraordinary situations (Survivor anyone?). Now reality tv is a cliche in and of itself. But there's enough diversity in these scenarios per series that you're bound to find something to your liking. Me...it's the ones that intrigue my inner psychology geek. Intervention, Obsessed, The OCD project. But being stuck at home for the long holiday weekend I tuned into the True Life marathon, and found myself depressed at today's current state of affairs instead of being intellectually stimulated.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am hugely pro-gay rights. I have family and friends alike who are gay, and I've been involved in the gay rights movement for over a decade now. I've protested, donated, supported, and been the best friend or family member I could to those that came out to me. But I think even then I haven't given enough thought about the minute details that those in the gay community have had to experience.

This episode of True Life depicted three individuals who recently had come out, and how their lives had been effected since then. What I gleaned from their stories were very upsetting to me, and it makes me furious to even think that those I care about may have had to experience it.

Picture you and your significant other. Now picture going to the airport to drop off your SO, where you wouldn't see each other for many months. What do you do? Shake hands, exchange verbal goodbyes, and go your separate ways? No, you hug, kiss, cry, hold hands, whisper how much you'll miss them and love them. For many who are out, or struggling to come out - cannot express their basic and human right to do this if they fear they are in an area where a homophobe could pass judgment or even worse - threaten physical abuse. Even a curious onlooker could be a source of offense, if you are trying to hold your partner's hand in public (as any other couple in love/like/etc would do) and you see strangers staring like you're a 5-headed beast.

Even further...those in the gayborhood have to consider their "out" status and compare it to those they are considering dating/having a relationship with - if you have been out longer than this person has been, your emotional development may be at completely different places and not compatible. Think about it like this - if you were a virgin, on your first date, and your date had been in multiple long-term relationships and was already sexually active....how long do you think it will take for that "talk" to come up? How frustrating it must be for the more mature partner, and how scary it must be for the newbie?

Coming out to other people, family, friends, employers, etc...it just seems so unfair that it's even an issue. When I came home with my first boyfriend, no one questioned it, I didn't have to talk to my parents and say "I'm hetero, I hope you'll be ok with me dating dudes"...because honestly? It's no one's damn business who I'm attracted to except for the person I'm pursuing.

I also recognize that because I date men (or rather, just the one lol), my community identifies me as a hetero and thusly I am to some degree shoved into the "majority" group and there will always be a percent of those in the "minority" who do not value my support or empathy. And I so wish I could change their mind...there is a movement, and because you are coming out you get to be apart of it - but I've been in it too. I don't see you for your sexuality, I see you as the person you are to your friends, family, employer, community. Are you kind, caring, generous, funny? Are you loyal to loved ones, keep confidences, supportive to those who need help? Those are the only things I care about. Guess what...your race, religion, sexual orientation, weight, intelligence level, height, or ice cream preference have nothing to do with your ability to be or do those things for people.

What a curious world we live in...sometimes it feels so surreal, and I have to remind myself that even though I live my life without hate that there is still so much left of it in the world. Maybe one day I won't have to do that, and I can smile knowing my loved ones can be truly authentic everywhere they go.

it's been two long years since the top of the world came crashing down

What is the city but the people?
~William Shakespeare

So I came back from a week long vacation that included stops in NH, CT, and NYC. Mind you, this was my first time ever visiting the Big Apple, and despite it being an abbreviated stay...I came to a few conclusions about NYC, metropolitan cities, and rural living.

I grew up mainly in rural to suburban towns...the former being where I spent most of my younger and subsequent formative years. Quiet country-side towns offering solace, a slower pace, and a sense of peaceful security. Roads so silent you could hear cars coming miles away before you ever saw them. Towns safe enough to forget about the badness out in the world. People know who you are even if they've never met you.

Suburbia is it's own bag of monkeys. Depending on how much the town has going for it, you may get through high school without the whole town knowing your business. They likely have other things to do than to talk about how you barfed during your SAT test. Suburbia can also be a very lonely place to grow up in. It's right in the middle of being just big enough but not too small where if you fall out of your group of friends, it's hard to find a new niche.

Ah, but the big city. It's the best of both. You can find a community of like-minded individuals or purposefully get lost in the sea of people. Atlanta fosters the southern hospitality, the diversity, and a plethora of dining and entertainment. You feel at home at your local grocery store, and love talking to the cashiers about whatever. The only common complaint about Atlanta is the public transit system being a big pile of crap.

New York. This one is tricky. It's a city made up of multiple burroughs, all unique in the community of people that inhabit each one. I learned a few things about how different this city is to my own...like how there are precious few grocery stores, and you live out of your local deli. You are better for befriending your deli guy. You take home what you can carry in two hands, since you don't have the benefit of pushing a cart out to your car to transport it home. You choose your residence based on how close it is to the subway, pub, and bagel shop. You also pay an arm and two legs for this convenience. As I said, I only spent about 24 hours here so what I'm about to say could be way off base...but this is what I gleaned from die-hard New Yorkers: often the things you hate about the city are the very things you love about it. I can get behind that. It's truly a grueling, unique, charming, filthy, beautiful, and personable city.

Now that I'm back in Atlanta...I can say a few more things:
1. I'm glad to be back, so I can continue walking at a much s l o w e r pace, and drive, and pay a pittance for food.
2. I missed Josh and the kitties while away, but it wasn't on my mind all day every day. I think it was good to go away...distance makes the heart grow fonder, eh?
3. I will go back to NYC and spend more time there. It meant a lot to see the things my brother loves about his new hometown, and meant even more to spend time with him and my cousin for an evening.

How do you see NYC?

and the night shall be filled with music

Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

People are, in essence, emotional beings. Whether or not they express it, the current of emotions runs just below the surface like a wellspring. Some people manage these feelings well, emoting at appropriate times; others emote often and at the wrong times (or for the wrong reasons). Then there are people like me...a true product of a very emotionful mother and a stoic father. My emotions run like a hot knife through butter all day long, just itching to be expressed...but I work to stay reserved and maintain objectivity. This can make it difficult to be expressive when I need to be because then it's like the dams were released.

Emotions can make people do damn near anything - good, bad, stupid, funny, and all that remains in between. Sometimes it makes people turn to vices to cope with it...food, drink, drugs, sex. My vice is music.

I am not musical, mind you. I can't read a note to save my life, nor can I sing one. But the kind of music that has been borne and created into the peaks and valleys of sound waves, buzzing out of a set of speakers...I turn to this when I need celebration, a soap box, solace, meditation...direction.

My cd and digital music collection, though not as expansive as some, is eclectic. This is because as wide-ranging my emotions can be, correlates to vast array of musical genres, eras, and popularity (in some cases, a lack thereof!). Sometimes, I keep songs on my iPod for the sake of nostalgia even if I don't actually like the artist or song itself (aka all the "slow dance" songs from 6th grade dances).

Music makes me feel young, old, happy, sad. I go through withdrawals without it. Sometimes I don't know how to be until I find the right song to listen to in that moment of time. It can put me to sleep or keep me awake; it can make me cry or help me share a laugh with a friend. It has even helped me fall in love.

My favorite musician/song/album depends not on the month, week, or even day. It varies by the hour or as often as my mood changes and how quickly my mood can be satisfied by the 3.5 minutes of orchestrated sound and lyric.

What does music do for you?

Regina Spektor - Us from The Staus House on Vimeo.

Home

The ubiquitous phrase "you can't go home again", from the American novelist Thomas Wolfe certainly has truth to it, a truth that often means more to me than I can say. I have indeed moved around a lot growing up and even letting the nomadic nature trickle into my adult life by choosing to move under my own volition so I remember wondering what he meant by this.

Wolfe's saying often is translated as that once you leave "home", leaving behind family and friends, house, employer, etc, that coming back you'll feel like the proverbial square peg in a round hole...that you'll feel the same but you look and see that everyone else has changed in your absence. You become rooted in the past, looking for something to hang onto so you still feel relevant. Conversations are oft reminiscent of the "good ol days", and the longer you stay in town, the less you feel you can move forward. Visits become shorter, less frequent to avoid the awkward silences and voids left by a lack of stories to share that haven't been revisited a dozen or so times already.

A less thought of version of this saying, is the unspoken belief that "returning" home indicates failure, should your return become an apparent permanency. This is my own personal fear. This fear struck me deeply when I lost my job last year...that if I lacked employment for too long that I would have to return, unable to do the one thing all children are raised to do at adulthood: provide for oneself. Pride can be a powerful source of fear I have discovered...for it is because of pride that we fear failure. Failure means something within ourselves that we have done incorrectly, failure many times means having to take responsibility, which pride does not allow us to do in negative situations.

Having the time to be contemplative and/or reflective of the last 3 or so years that I have been living here, 1800 miles away from my family, I think I've established enough experience, felt enough fear, failure, and pride, to say that 'going home again' can be a good thing. Whether it be a brief visit, or taking up residence in your parent's basement while you work your life out, you are still you, and your family is still your family. These are the people who watched you make mud puddles with dirt and soap (yes, true story) as a 3 year old, held your hair when you were sick in the middle of the night, made you feel like a superstar at your high school graduation, and call you on your shit when you act like a total spaz. Living away from your family for any period of time does not detract from that bond, whether you talk every day or twice a year.

Going home, for me, means having family dinners, snuggling with my sister, refusing to adjust the computer chair to my mother's standards when I'm done with it, harassing the family pets, making my father laugh uncontrollably until the veins in his forehead bust out, and being completely at ease with having to drive 30+ minutes in order to get anywhere remotely interesting. It also means ducking behind a shelf at the grocery store from people I went to school with so I don't have to talk to them.

Maybe good ol' Wolfe was like me. Afraid of townies and what it means to be one. Sprawling metropolis life does not a successful person make, but neither does the opposite. What does your measuring stick look like?

platonic soulmating

What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies. ~Aristotle

One of the perks to having your best friend also be your roommate and boyfriend is that you can always have random, meaningful, or outrageously funny conversations throughout the week. Josh and I have our fair share of these chats, and the one that came up tonight was about friends, friendship, and what we take from both of these.

He has a much more spartan take on developing friendships and finding friends, and he is merely happy to satiate his intellectual and social cravings with any ol' soul and goes home the better for it. A true social butterfly, if you will. Large or small crowds, people from all walks of life, long or short term communications...he will treat you with the utmost kindness and respect. You will benefit from talking with him and knowing him to whatever degree. His view and my view on friends and friendships are polar opposites but thankfully, he understands my more intimate take on things.

Me...well...I look for friends and friendships the way some women look for husbands. I crave deep, emotional connections with a smaller set. I moved around a lot when I was younger, and though I feel I have benefited from my experiences, I do regret not having those lifetime friendships. You know, where you met as babies in your moms' leche league or whatever...and you went to the same schools and shared your ups and downs as the years flew by. I didn't even get that experience through my extended family, as contact was minimal for my family growing up for whatever reasons. So over the years, I have found myself disliking large group outings or bar hopping or house parties, etc. I think that's why I didn't like college either, or rather, the college experience.

For me, going out with more than 3 or 4 other friends/acquaintences/etc means having idle chit chat, yelling over others to communicate with the person next to you, and likely dealing with a non-sober crowd...all of which means those several hours you just spent talking with however many individuals will have been all for nought. So...I ask, what is the point? If I'm looking to develop a close friendship, find a best friend, etc...why would I invest my time talking to someone who won't remember me in the morning? Let me point out...I do on occasion, go out on the town and enjoy the frivolities a 20-something can partake in...and I do find all those people quite lovely. But it never goes beyond that evening and I feel sort of used.

In an age of facebook and other social networking sites, it's almost become trendy to have hundreds of "friends", most of whom mean nothing to you, and I feel almost as if it has seeped into how we interact with others in real life. Meet you in a bar? Friend me! I'm on facebook! Buuut I'm going to limit my profile so you can't actually get to know me. Or I'll wait a few weeks and then delete you. What's the freaking point? Is it to socialize for the sake of socializing, as in Josh's case? Or have we just become a society of vapid friend-adding zombies?

I want a friend to be more than that. I want the whole deal, baggage and all, and I won't settle for less. If that makes me less interesting to my social butterfliers, that's ok. I love them all the more for it and I hope they find what they're looking for too <3

satellite heart

I have a non-traditional relationship in a traditional world. I get that. Don't need to rehash it for the umpteenth time. And I think people are finally dropping the whole "when are you getting maaaaaaarried?!" and even have ceased with the blatantly rude comments about cows and free milk (whatever that old fashioned saying is)...so I'm free to go back and just live my life as I see fit.

However...this may peg me forever as a crazy cat lady, but I'm sick of getting ragged on for treating my pets as children. To me, they are. I have a great love for animals, and I see myself as a sort of protector of all things furry and warm-blooded. I am not here to dismiss the trials and tribulations of parenthood for parents of human-children, but to clarify and shed some light on the many, many similarities between parenting kids and parenting pets. Especially for those who are involved "pet parents", and not those who have pets for the sake of tradition or appearances' sake.

1. Sleep: My three cats have not allowed us a full-night's sleep in 3 years. Why? Same reasons a baby keeps you up for the first year or so of life. Scared of the dark. Wanting to be close to mom and dad. Hunger. Excitement and wanting to play. All of this leads up to development of 'schedules', where they begin to expect you to not go to sleep before a certain time, and be up the same time every morning. Regardless if it's the weekend or not. Denny traps you in the same position every night because he is stubborn and holds his own like Sherman on the highest hill of Atlanta. Charlie used to sleep on my pillow every night, right up until he got too big to fit. Now he sleeps on the floor where it's too dusty for him to cope with his allergies, and wakes us up multiple times a night having a coughing fit. Phoebe adores all things Daddy, and wraps herself around Josh's neck usually around 4am every night and purrs herself to sleep. We don't sleep for all those reasons.

2. Food: I have heard stories of my friends and when the mere idea of food pops into their child's head, eyes get as big as moons and they pitch a fit until they are satiated. This is much the same with my cats. Except I have to help maintain the peace since they all share a food bowl, even though they're supposed to eat different types of food. So I have to mix up the food in one container, and hope they get what they need from it and not overeat. Phoebe gets additional special foods for good growth and development, because I want to make sure she has the best start in life and her li'l kitty brain doesn't get tumors from eating shit food that pet food companies pass off as edible. They all yell at us if they aren't fed at the right times of day. They also beg at the dinner table, even though they don't know what human food tastes like.

3. Attention: As much as I would like to take a nap when I walk in the door at the end of the day, all three cats rush me and demand attention immediately. Again, I get yelled at if I don't submit. Each one of them requires individual acknowledgment, pets, cuddles, and the occasional throwing of a toy. If I don't provide equal attention, someone gets jealous (Charlie), who sulks off and refuses to play and get his daily allotment of exercise. This also leads to sibling rivalry and the breaking up of fights (see Discipline).

4. Health: Unlike children, you can't extend your health care plan to your pet. But you worry about their health just as much, but have to weigh between your penchant for worrywort-ism and the high cost of a vet bill. Phoebe got into the garbage again, did she eat anything harmful to her tummy? Is Charlie coughing because of a hairball, or is it his allergies and possible asthma? Did Denny go to the bathroom enough times today? These are all things that run through our minds each day, and we have to be good 'pet parents' and figure out what is an emergency and what is not.

5. Discipline: Pets need training, punishments and rewards just as rearing a child would require. It's just as annoying when a child draws on the linoleum as it is when a cat gets into the garbage can and tears up a roll of toilet paper for the umpteenth time even though you've been working to deter them of the bad behavior for weeks and months. It's just as frustrating when your disciplinary methods fail, and you question your ability to teach them the right behaviors.

6. Love: Unconditional love, regardless of the thing receiving it, is still a weighty and rewarding gift to give. It's also scary, because should the thing you love this deeply become harmed, hurt, or perish...the depths of your pain are bottomless. My phoebe had her spay surgery today, and I took the whole day off of work because I would be too distracted worrying if she was in pain, hurt, confused, scared, or lonely. All things I believe any parent doesn't want their child/pet/etc to experience ever in their life. The thing that sucks about being a pet parent is...your pet-child doesn't outlive you. You get about 10-15 years. I try not to think about that because I get too upset.

So. Now you know why, when people ask me about my timetable on procreation, I say "I'm already parenting three cats." and feel completely satisfied. Maybe human-babies will be in my future, maybe not. What's that saying? Don't fix what aint broke? I'm happy and maintaining the status quo is good enough for me.

here's to parents, of all kinds, everywhere. <3

eight and c o u n t i n g

Every year around this time, I start to get nostalgic about the previous years leading up to the current celebration of my (ours - mine and josh's, really) anniversary. The longer we've been together, it's a little more bizarre each time to pull back the layers and look back at how we began as a couple, how we fell in love, and how it's evolved since then. To look at how we were at the beginning side-by-side with who we are now, at face value there's precious little left of the younger version. But as I said...pulling back the layers, spending some time with our thoughts, memories, pictures...you can see we're still in there, just a well developed, fine-tuned version.

Next Tuesday we celebrate our 8th anniversary together. And I still love the guy. And since he tells me and I feel it to be true everyday, he still loves me too. We get to be one of the lucky ones, to have found a partner who is 100% compatible. Of course we share our differences as much as our similarities, but the things that separate us actually help us grow as people, become more tolerant, patient and kind. Is it annoying that he leaves a trail of crumbs behind him? Sure...but I own a vacuum cleaner. Does he get frustrated whenever I'm absent-minded about paying bills or driving like a maniac in traffic? Damn straight he does. But he respects me and we make adjustments in our way of life so everyone is comfortable and happy.

He puts up with my obsession with Christmas between the months of July and January every year, and I listen patiently when he gets on his soap-box about [insert current event/controversy here]. We snuggle on the couch and watch Food Network together, go to bed early on weekends, and have fun driving absurd distances in the middle of nowhere for a beach vacation getaway. He takes my calls when I get lost and freak out on the phone; I am equally as patient when he suffers multiple nights without sleep and frustrating days at work. I stub my toe across the apartment and scream bloody murder and he flees to my side as if I had been fatally wounded; I cook him homemade food to alleviate having to rely on fast food and take out. I tell him everything. I'm his best friend. We love our cats like they are our children...except with tails and fur. He loves his family and respects his parents; he gets my family since they are so like his own.

He's watched me go from angry mistrusting punk 18-year old girl to calmer-than-necessary fairly confident 26-year old woman. I fell in love with a scrawny purple-haired and pierced introvert and stayed in love as he became a man who works hard to achieve his dreams and wants to befriend the world. He wrote a song about me when I lived in NY. I daydream about him when my thoughts are quiet.

Our favorite part of any given day is when we collapse into bed and climb under the covers where we can shut out the world and snuggle until sleep claims us.

I don't know what the next eight years will bring...but whatever it does...it can't take away the last eight. And I'm ok with that.

I love you for as long as I am meant to...here's to love, to us, and being pretty g-damn happy.

Lauren