Showing posts with label kissing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kissing. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
"WTF?" were Future Husband's first words when he saw me. Not abbreviated, of course.
But let's go back a little bit further.
I finished writing my blog about the San Diego snafu about 9:00am, but decided to schedule it to post four hours later, just in case something else funny happened that I needed to add to the story. So I spent the rest of the morning texting FH about how much I missed him, talking about silly things, talking about naughty things. Usual text banter for us. By 11:00am I was so nervous I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Or die. Or both.
I'd gone over in my head exactly how I wanted the surprise to go. He was going to come through the back door, and I would be in the living room, which is situated a little behind the door, but with a clear view of it. He would see my things on the kitchen table, and I would wait until he looked to be at the apex of confusion, then walk up behind him and say something witty like, "Did you figure it out yet?" or something romantic, like, "Hello, Handsome." I pulled all of the blinds down, so he wouldn't see me when he walked through the back yard.
By 11:30am, I knew he had to be nearly to town. And ten minutes later I was told they were at a friend's house, unloading the equipment. That's when my palms started sweating. I knew I would be seeing Future Husband for the first time in two months. It felt like longer; it felt like three. The tiny week he was home between tours didn't give us nearly enough time together. The more I watched the clock, the faster my heart was racing, and the knottier my stomach was becoming. I forced myself to focus on silly things, like Mah Jong and Cracked.com. But it wasn't working too well. All I could do was run over the upcoming moment in my head. I wanted it to be perfect.
Finally, about 12:15pm, I heard voice outside. I dropped everything (literally, hours later I recovered my cell phone from under the couch) and ran to the window, careful to not be seen through cracks in the blinds. I could see the big white Ogre, and could hear a few different voices. The front door rattled, but was still bolted.
Oh, crap. I thought. He's trying to come through the front. Did she say she left the key up front?
My nerves disappeared. I no longer worried about what I was going to say to make the moment perfect. I knew the plan was out the window, so I had to improvise. I ran to the front door (seriously, I ran) and flung it open. G and D turned around and shock flashed across their faces.
"Holy shit! What are you doing here?" G said.
"Surprise!" I laughed. Future Husband was no where in sight. I looked into the van, hoping maybe he was pulling something out from under a bench, but no luck.
"He went around back," G said. Crap. My plan totally could have worked, but I got impatient. G hugged me, and I nervously explained my being in Arizona (which in hindsight, was probably barely coherent.) As I was rambling on, G looked at something over my shoulder and pointed behind me.
I turned around to see Future Husband in the doorway, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What the f***!?" He grabbed me into a tight hug, and I giggled as my head swam with dizziness. It was finally here. After weeks of planning and scheming, and long hours spent pining after him, he was finally back in my arms. Scruffier, smellier and a lot skinnier than when I saw him last on April 5th, but back. With me. My heart stopped racing, and my palms stopped sweating, but the shaking had started. Every part of me, especially my hands, were quivering. We hugged and kissed, and tried to finish getting his things out of the van.
"I... I just can't even think right now," he said, after I asked him if he'd gotten everything. Over the next few hours he told me I was 'fantastic' and 'amazing' and 'awesome' and other wonderful adjectives to be described as. We got him showered and fed and well... I'm sure you can guess what else.
So I didn't get to say any of the clever or romantic I had rehearsed endlessly in my head. Nothing ended up going according to plan. But when all was said and done, the moment was still perfect. And now we're reunited, and it feels so good.
But let's go back a little bit further.
I finished writing my blog about the San Diego snafu about 9:00am, but decided to schedule it to post four hours later, just in case something else funny happened that I needed to add to the story. So I spent the rest of the morning texting FH about how much I missed him, talking about silly things, talking about naughty things. Usual text banter for us. By 11:00am I was so nervous I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Or die. Or both.
I'd gone over in my head exactly how I wanted the surprise to go. He was going to come through the back door, and I would be in the living room, which is situated a little behind the door, but with a clear view of it. He would see my things on the kitchen table, and I would wait until he looked to be at the apex of confusion, then walk up behind him and say something witty like, "Did you figure it out yet?" or something romantic, like, "Hello, Handsome." I pulled all of the blinds down, so he wouldn't see me when he walked through the back yard.
By 11:30am, I knew he had to be nearly to town. And ten minutes later I was told they were at a friend's house, unloading the equipment. That's when my palms started sweating. I knew I would be seeing Future Husband for the first time in two months. It felt like longer; it felt like three. The tiny week he was home between tours didn't give us nearly enough time together. The more I watched the clock, the faster my heart was racing, and the knottier my stomach was becoming. I forced myself to focus on silly things, like Mah Jong and Cracked.com. But it wasn't working too well. All I could do was run over the upcoming moment in my head. I wanted it to be perfect.
Finally, about 12:15pm, I heard voice outside. I dropped everything (literally, hours later I recovered my cell phone from under the couch) and ran to the window, careful to not be seen through cracks in the blinds. I could see the big white Ogre, and could hear a few different voices. The front door rattled, but was still bolted.
Oh, crap. I thought. He's trying to come through the front. Did she say she left the key up front?
My nerves disappeared. I no longer worried about what I was going to say to make the moment perfect. I knew the plan was out the window, so I had to improvise. I ran to the front door (seriously, I ran) and flung it open. G and D turned around and shock flashed across their faces.
"Holy shit! What are you doing here?" G said.
"Surprise!" I laughed. Future Husband was no where in sight. I looked into the van, hoping maybe he was pulling something out from under a bench, but no luck.
"He went around back," G said. Crap. My plan totally could have worked, but I got impatient. G hugged me, and I nervously explained my being in Arizona (which in hindsight, was probably barely coherent.) As I was rambling on, G looked at something over my shoulder and pointed behind me.
I turned around to see Future Husband in the doorway, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What the f***!?" He grabbed me into a tight hug, and I giggled as my head swam with dizziness. It was finally here. After weeks of planning and scheming, and long hours spent pining after him, he was finally back in my arms. Scruffier, smellier and a lot skinnier than when I saw him last on April 5th, but back. With me. My heart stopped racing, and my palms stopped sweating, but the shaking had started. Every part of me, especially my hands, were quivering. We hugged and kissed, and tried to finish getting his things out of the van.
"I... I just can't even think right now," he said, after I asked him if he'd gotten everything. Over the next few hours he told me I was 'fantastic' and 'amazing' and 'awesome' and other wonderful adjectives to be described as. We got him showered and fed and well... I'm sure you can guess what else.
So I didn't get to say any of the clever or romantic I had rehearsed endlessly in my head. Nothing ended up going according to plan. But when all was said and done, the moment was still perfect. And now we're reunited, and it feels so good.
Friday, May 6, 2011
One blustery day towards the end of March, while I had Future Husband home for a week between tours, our new friends Josh and Ali from JayLee Photography took us out and shot us.
With their cameras.
Sometime around Birthmas I had posted an ad on Craigslist, seeing if any budding photographers wanted to build up their portfolio with an Engagement Shoot. There was one fellow we were strongly considering, a photographer that had many years experience with architecture and nature shots, but was wanting to transition into the Wedding business. And then Josh and Ali came along. Already quite seasoned in the biz, they offered to do a shoot with us, and we couldn't resist after seeing their beautiful photography.
Having dabbled in photography in college, it's hard for me to not look at someone's work and immediately start critiquing it, even if I like it. I don't mean to imply that I could do any better, it's just simply that I know the technical side of what goes into a photograph, and it's hard for me to turn off the analytical part of my brain. I'll wish they'd used a different aperture, or shutter speed, or hadn't gone crazy with the photoshopping. With Josh and Ali's work, I don't do that. I look at it, and feel something first. So much so that it takes real effort for me to critique it. Their photos are full of whimsy and romance, and seem to capture the essence of the couples they work with. Their pictures aren't posed and plasticine. They are all little views into candid, happy moments with the couples they worked with.
Needless to say, Future Husband and I were massively excited about working with them. And we were not let down. Some of these pictures even moved me to tears, they so well captured FH and I.
You can see a nice selection of our shoot here. Though I highly recommend checking out their portfolio. You won't be disappointed.
We were so happy with the shoot, even if it was wet, cold and windy (it's Seattle, what else would it be?) and thrilled with the photos that came from it. Thank you so much, Josh and Ali!!!
With their cameras.
Sometime around Birthmas I had posted an ad on Craigslist, seeing if any budding photographers wanted to build up their portfolio with an Engagement Shoot. There was one fellow we were strongly considering, a photographer that had many years experience with architecture and nature shots, but was wanting to transition into the Wedding business. And then Josh and Ali came along. Already quite seasoned in the biz, they offered to do a shoot with us, and we couldn't resist after seeing their beautiful photography.
Having dabbled in photography in college, it's hard for me to not look at someone's work and immediately start critiquing it, even if I like it. I don't mean to imply that I could do any better, it's just simply that I know the technical side of what goes into a photograph, and it's hard for me to turn off the analytical part of my brain. I'll wish they'd used a different aperture, or shutter speed, or hadn't gone crazy with the photoshopping. With Josh and Ali's work, I don't do that. I look at it, and feel something first. So much so that it takes real effort for me to critique it. Their photos are full of whimsy and romance, and seem to capture the essence of the couples they work with. Their pictures aren't posed and plasticine. They are all little views into candid, happy moments with the couples they worked with.
Needless to say, Future Husband and I were massively excited about working with them. And we were not let down. Some of these pictures even moved me to tears, they so well captured FH and I.
You can see a nice selection of our shoot here. Though I highly recommend checking out their portfolio. You won't be disappointed.
We were so happy with the shoot, even if it was wet, cold and windy (it's Seattle, what else would it be?) and thrilled with the photos that came from it. Thank you so much, Josh and Ali!!!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
It's been weird breaking my blogging streak... I got rather used to posting something every day. It was pretty productive of me, even if it was a bit of a time suck. I suppose it's better to dedicate some of that effort towards my novel... but alas. (It looks like the ellipsis take over when I'm lacking sleep.)
I arrived in Seattle on time, even though my plane left Phoenix 45 minutes late. I don't know how planes work. Honestly. It blows my mind. I suppose there's not a speed limit up there, but still. Terrifying. A giant hunk of metal magically hurdling through the sky at hundreds of miles per hour. Bring me rum.
Boyfriend met me at the airport, and the PDA started there at baggage claim. Hooooraaaaay. I told him a few days ago that when I missed him hard, it was like being thirsty. Which is appropriate, given the face that kissing him and having his arms around me after being away from him for weeks feels like a cold glass of water when you're very, very thirsty.
But enough with the mushy stuff. We were both exhausted, and hungry, as neither of us had really gotten any food or sleep in the 24 hours leading up to my arrival. We checked into the hotel, and promptly sought out food. The hotel we usually stay in has roughly two bazillion restaurants nearby, but we settled on a place we hadn't tried yet. Bully for us! Especially since we're creatures of habit. Two spicy, delicious pulled pork sandwiches later, we were back at the hotel, deciding what time to set the alarm for so we knew how much nap we could fit in before Boyfriend had to go to work.
Work was probably the hardest part of the weekend. I got six lovely hours with him, and then BAM! Eight hours of him being away. He called it an appetizer. I told him I wanted to main course. That made me hungry, so I watched Food Network while I ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. When he finally got back from work, I made a quite spectacular dinner, considering my tools and budget were rather limited (one sauce pan, one skillet, two burners, one Ikea steak knife, no cooking utensils).
Friday night was the first show his band had this weekend. It's at a little bar called Tiger Lounge, and the building totally used to be an old house. There are pinball machines in the basement, and the bar is in the back room. The front rooms have been opened up into one large room with tables and chairs for the pub grub they serve. There's a stage in one corner, zebra print covered speakers, and local art on the walls. It has a local bar/pub/everybody-knows-your-name feel to it. I love it.
The guys were playing second in a show of four bands, so we parked at the bar until it was time to play. Boyfriend got two free drinks since he was playing, so got me a drink with one of his tickets. As we were sipping the finest of the cheap beers, two friendly acquaintances from my last trip recognized me and came up. I got hugs. I felt accomplished. I'd technically lived in Seattle for only a week (and even then, my residency is very loosely defined) and I was getting hugs from two facebook friends.
They're fun to talk to, and fun to be at shows with, since they appreciate live music like I do. They, however, get into it a little more than I do. Maybe because I'm a musician myself, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to watching other bands. These two make me a little sad though, because I know what they do every weekend is what they've been doing since they were teenagers. They're like career band aids. They love a few different bands, and follow them somewhat faithfully. For some reason though, it just rings hollow to me. I don't really know how to go about getting to know them, or if I even want to. Remember that movie with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon, about the groupies that were all grown up? Yeah, most people don't. But I did see it. That's what these women reminded me of. Fun to be around, but still a warning.
After the show the bartender (who reminds me a great deal of my favorite cousin) started giving me free drinks. I started getting free drinks before the guys did, so it was funny. I only had two or three beers, but she gave me some sort of pineapple juice and flavored vodka drink, as well as a shot of whiskey later in the night. I would have been just fine with the whiskey and beer, but the vodka... oh, the vodka. For those of you that don't know me in person, Vodka is my arch nemesis. Vodka lives in an ice castle (very much like the Fortress of Solitude) and plots ways to thwart me. Vodka watches me on monitors and bugs my phone calls, so it can show up on nights I want to have a nice, easy, fun time with my friends. And then he strikes. He swoops in, sneaks some vodka into my stomach, and then laughs maniacally as he poisons me with his subtle strength and ruins my night. Damn you, Vodka! Someday I will exact my revenge!
After the show Boyfriend and I hit Jack in the Box on the way back to the hotel. Sourdough Jacks. Mmmm... how I've missed them living in Tulsa. Then we did lots of things that were amazing and mind blowing and not appropriate to describe in detail, considering half of my followers are related to me. But it was awesome. And we had to sleep for ten hours afterwards.
Saturday we were supposed to meet one of my cousins for sushi, but he got shipped to San Diego for the weekend at the last minute. We'd been looking forward to sushi all week though, so we went to Freemont and loaded up. Spider Rolls, god. So, so tasty. Then he walked me around the neighborhood and showed me the Troll under the bridge. It was spectacular. Someday I wanted something that terrifying/awesome in my yard. The street you have to walk up to get to it is even called 'Troll Ave'. I poked around it for a few minutes, admiring it's general awesomeness and silently scolding myself for forgetting my camera. Then Boyfriend and I kissed for a few minutes in front of the troll. It was spectacular. It was also windy and I had my hair down, so any onlookers would have only seen two Muppets standing quite close to one another, and none of the offensive smooching.
Walking back down the hill to get back to the car was magical. It was a crisp night, but not too cold. And clear, which is unusual for Seattle (in my limited experience). The stars were visible, and coming down the hill you could clearly see the water and the homes on the other side. It was all trees and twinkling lights and the moon and stars reflected off the water. And I had a boy that's crazy in love with me holding my hand. All in all, the moment was pretty serene. And then we started talking about Zombies. It's what we do.
Sunday was their tour kick off show at a place called The Comet. Boyfriend and I had to park about half a mile away (the closest spot we could find) and hike. Which is pretty much what we had to do the other two times they played at The Comet while I was out there. The show went really well (in fact, a photographer came out just to see the guys and shoot them, then left right after they played) and we sold lots of merch. I came to a rather sad realization, and that's that I don't quite fit in with the crowd that comes to Boyfriend's shows. It's fairly obvious that I'm a goody goody. Everyone there was wearing black, and the only hints of color were red accents on guys' shirts and girls' plaid accessories. I, however, was wearing a bright red shirt, a normal shade of blue jeans (instead of black or very dark blue) and had my hair in pigtails. In my defense, the pigtails were there because of the amount of frizz present that day. Braids were the only way to tame them. But still. I felt like friggin' Pollyanna at a Black Mass.
Afterwards we got our standard post show meal of hot dogs with cream cheese (so good, trust me!), then headed back to the hotel to enjoy a bed and warmth and indoor plumbing for the last few days we were guaranteed to have it.
I arrived in Seattle on time, even though my plane left Phoenix 45 minutes late. I don't know how planes work. Honestly. It blows my mind. I suppose there's not a speed limit up there, but still. Terrifying. A giant hunk of metal magically hurdling through the sky at hundreds of miles per hour. Bring me rum.
This is Wizardry.
Boyfriend met me at the airport, and the PDA started there at baggage claim. Hooooraaaaay. I told him a few days ago that when I missed him hard, it was like being thirsty. Which is appropriate, given the face that kissing him and having his arms around me after being away from him for weeks feels like a cold glass of water when you're very, very thirsty.
But enough with the mushy stuff. We were both exhausted, and hungry, as neither of us had really gotten any food or sleep in the 24 hours leading up to my arrival. We checked into the hotel, and promptly sought out food. The hotel we usually stay in has roughly two bazillion restaurants nearby, but we settled on a place we hadn't tried yet. Bully for us! Especially since we're creatures of habit. Two spicy, delicious pulled pork sandwiches later, we were back at the hotel, deciding what time to set the alarm for so we knew how much nap we could fit in before Boyfriend had to go to work.
Work was probably the hardest part of the weekend. I got six lovely hours with him, and then BAM! Eight hours of him being away. He called it an appetizer. I told him I wanted to main course. That made me hungry, so I watched Food Network while I ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. When he finally got back from work, I made a quite spectacular dinner, considering my tools and budget were rather limited (one sauce pan, one skillet, two burners, one Ikea steak knife, no cooking utensils).
Friday night was the first show his band had this weekend. It's at a little bar called Tiger Lounge, and the building totally used to be an old house. There are pinball machines in the basement, and the bar is in the back room. The front rooms have been opened up into one large room with tables and chairs for the pub grub they serve. There's a stage in one corner, zebra print covered speakers, and local art on the walls. It has a local bar/pub/everybody-knows-your-name feel to it. I love it.
The guys were playing second in a show of four bands, so we parked at the bar until it was time to play. Boyfriend got two free drinks since he was playing, so got me a drink with one of his tickets. As we were sipping the finest of the cheap beers, two friendly acquaintances from my last trip recognized me and came up. I got hugs. I felt accomplished. I'd technically lived in Seattle for only a week (and even then, my residency is very loosely defined) and I was getting hugs from two facebook friends.
They're fun to talk to, and fun to be at shows with, since they appreciate live music like I do. They, however, get into it a little more than I do. Maybe because I'm a musician myself, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to watching other bands. These two make me a little sad though, because I know what they do every weekend is what they've been doing since they were teenagers. They're like career band aids. They love a few different bands, and follow them somewhat faithfully. For some reason though, it just rings hollow to me. I don't really know how to go about getting to know them, or if I even want to. Remember that movie with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon, about the groupies that were all grown up? Yeah, most people don't. But I did see it. That's what these women reminded me of. Fun to be around, but still a warning.
I was one of seven people that saw this movie.
After the show the bartender (who reminds me a great deal of my favorite cousin) started giving me free drinks. I started getting free drinks before the guys did, so it was funny. I only had two or three beers, but she gave me some sort of pineapple juice and flavored vodka drink, as well as a shot of whiskey later in the night. I would have been just fine with the whiskey and beer, but the vodka... oh, the vodka. For those of you that don't know me in person, Vodka is my arch nemesis. Vodka lives in an ice castle (very much like the Fortress of Solitude) and plots ways to thwart me. Vodka watches me on monitors and bugs my phone calls, so it can show up on nights I want to have a nice, easy, fun time with my friends. And then he strikes. He swoops in, sneaks some vodka into my stomach, and then laughs maniacally as he poisons me with his subtle strength and ruins my night. Damn you, Vodka! Someday I will exact my revenge!
You bastard.
After the show Boyfriend and I hit Jack in the Box on the way back to the hotel. Sourdough Jacks. Mmmm... how I've missed them living in Tulsa. Then we did lots of things that were amazing and mind blowing and not appropriate to describe in detail, considering half of my followers are related to me. But it was awesome. And we had to sleep for ten hours afterwards.
Saturday we were supposed to meet one of my cousins for sushi, but he got shipped to San Diego for the weekend at the last minute. We'd been looking forward to sushi all week though, so we went to Freemont and loaded up. Spider Rolls, god. So, so tasty. Then he walked me around the neighborhood and showed me the Troll under the bridge. It was spectacular. Someday I wanted something that terrifying/awesome in my yard. The street you have to walk up to get to it is even called 'Troll Ave'. I poked around it for a few minutes, admiring it's general awesomeness and silently scolding myself for forgetting my camera. Then Boyfriend and I kissed for a few minutes in front of the troll. It was spectacular. It was also windy and I had my hair down, so any onlookers would have only seen two Muppets standing quite close to one another, and none of the offensive smooching.
Since I forgot my camera, I drew you a picture.
Walking back down the hill to get back to the car was magical. It was a crisp night, but not too cold. And clear, which is unusual for Seattle (in my limited experience). The stars were visible, and coming down the hill you could clearly see the water and the homes on the other side. It was all trees and twinkling lights and the moon and stars reflected off the water. And I had a boy that's crazy in love with me holding my hand. All in all, the moment was pretty serene. And then we started talking about Zombies. It's what we do.
Sunday was their tour kick off show at a place called The Comet. Boyfriend and I had to park about half a mile away (the closest spot we could find) and hike. Which is pretty much what we had to do the other two times they played at The Comet while I was out there. The show went really well (in fact, a photographer came out just to see the guys and shoot them, then left right after they played) and we sold lots of merch. I came to a rather sad realization, and that's that I don't quite fit in with the crowd that comes to Boyfriend's shows. It's fairly obvious that I'm a goody goody. Everyone there was wearing black, and the only hints of color were red accents on guys' shirts and girls' plaid accessories. I, however, was wearing a bright red shirt, a normal shade of blue jeans (instead of black or very dark blue) and had my hair in pigtails. In my defense, the pigtails were there because of the amount of frizz present that day. Braids were the only way to tame them. But still. I felt like friggin' Pollyanna at a Black Mass.
I'm sure it looked something like this.
Afterwards we got our standard post show meal of hot dogs with cream cheese (so good, trust me!), then headed back to the hotel to enjoy a bed and warmth and indoor plumbing for the last few days we were guaranteed to have it.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
In yesterday's blog I said, "...and kissed me properly. The way I deserve to be kissed." And it made me start reminiscing about the last kiss I had, at the airport. The best kiss I've ever had. The first kiss I ever had. All I've been doing since then is thinking about kissing; how much I love it, how it's pretty much the greatest thing ever, how I won't be kissed for another two weeks. So I thought, "Ah ha! That's what I'll blog about, since I don't want to blog about what's really bothering me today."
The first kiss I remember was when I was three years old. I don't count this, since he was still in diapers. He's my best friend's little brother. He's a year and a half younger than me. I remember the day very plainly. It was one of those rare, early summer days in Arizona. The gutters were full of warm water and perfect for splashing in. We were playing in the rain, splashing and running, and I was carrying a little red umbrella. We sat down on the curb, our toes squishing the muck in the gutter, and we kissed. Someone ran inside and grabbed a camera. That picture was passed around both families. I wonder if it's on facebook yet...
What I would love to consider my first kiss happened in first grade. When I was in preschool, there were two Jeffs in my class. I had a crush on blond Jeff. I don't really remember not-blond Jeff. I was four. Blond Jeff's mom was our teacher, and halfway through the school year, they moved away to Hawaii. I believe it was because his dad was in the Navy. Regardless, blond Jeff became Pineapple Jeff in my mind. Well into my first grade school year, Pineapple Jeff moved back to Arizona. I still remember which house was his on Pepper street. While he was away in Hawaii, Jeff had managed to skip a grade, and was a second grader. I remember he came over to me one day on the uneven bars, and waited for me to finish my turns. He asked if I wanted to go to the swings. At my school, that meant a boy liked you. Especially since he asked me while I was on the bars. The swings were on the other side of the playground, so we walked all the way across the field together. The next day, we met up at lunch recess and played together again. This continued for a week or two, and soon all of our classmates were teasing us. We argued that we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, but playground politics dictated that we were. One day, while I was playing on the slide, he came over to me with a very determined look on his face. He grabbed me by the wrist and we ran across the football field. He dragged me behind one of the second grade portables, placed his hands firmly on my shoulders, and pressed me against the wall. He kissed me quickly the first time. When I didn't run away, he puckered up his lips again, and put them against mine. I didn't know what to do, but I had seen plenty of movies. So I just held my lips there against his, my eyes clenched and lips pursed, and didn't move. When he pulled away, he looked surprised. He stood there for a moment, then sprinted away. He didn't talk to me for the rest of the week. When he finally did play with me again after lunch on Monday, he told me he was moving away again. I don't know where Pineapple Jeff is now, but I sometimes remember my first cinematic moment, and wonder if he's still as pretty as he was in elementary school. Probably not. If I could remember his last name, I'd track him down, and give him an earful. He would be a lot easier to find on facebook if his name was actually Pineapple Jeff. He helped create my social retardation, making me expect everything to be whimsical and perfect, like my first kiss there against the wall. Damn that little second grade Casanova.
There are mushrooms growing on his cargo pants. What a tool.
The kiss I should probably consider my first happened early in my tween years. I don't remember the poor kid's name, but I remember the circumstances. He was the youngest of three kids. His mother was dating my trashy, trailer-parky cousin, Little Tony. I kid you not. I am Italian, and one of my trashy cousins answers to 'Little Tony'. Har, har. My grandmother and Aunt had just built a swimming pool in their backyard. In Arizona, that was pretty much the best scenario for us kids during the summer. All the swimming we wanted, with normal levels of chlorine and far less urine. Little Tony brought his super sweet but skanky girlfriend and her three kids over a few times that summer, and I noticed that the youngest was starting to get sweet on me. I didn't like him at all, and did my best to discourage him. One day while we were swimming, he challenged me to a breath holding contest. I had just learned how to keep my nose plugged under water without pinching it with my fingers (it took me a while to learn the trick after I had my tonsils out) and so readily participated. We agreed that we would keep our eyes open so that we could make sure the other wasn't cheating. Almost as soon as we got underwater, he put his hands on my shoulders (a running theme, I notice) and tried to plant a kiss on me. I started to swim up, but he was holding me under pretty tightly, and he ended up kissing the corner of my mouth and my cheek instead. I reflexively panicked, and got water up my nose. We both surfaced, sputtering and coughing. The coughing was all me, actually. He didn't say anything for a moment, didn't even ask if I was all right, but as soon as I was sure I was not going to drown, I turned and looked at him. His facial expression was a mix of concern and fear. It should have been. I punched him in the nose.
Luckily, his siblings didn't see this, and all of the adults were inside. He wailed, grabbed his face, and scrambled out of the pool. He didn't even bother to shout a rhetoric, 'What was that for?' He knew. I was nervous about going inside after that, but knew it would look suspicious if I didn't. I grabbed a towel and headed inside. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a wad of paper towels soaked in bright red blood held to his face. I'd broken his nose. We exchanged looks again, and I was sure I was about to get grounded for the rest of my natural life. Both his mother and mine were standing next to him. My mom asked me what happened, and I just kind of stammered and looked back at Broken Nose Boy (I want to say Justin, but I know that's not right.) He pulled the paper towels away from his face and said, "I was swimming with my eyes closed and swam into the wall." I made an excuse to get out of the kitchen, practically ran to the bathroom, and burst into tears. I instantly felt terrible, and guilty, and foolish. I think this is the moment that boys stopped being put into one of three categories (family, crushes, and grossness), and became just as individualized in my eyes as the girls in my little ten year old social circle. Not only had this guy felt the sting of rejection, but he lied to both of our moms, possibly risking being reprimanded for his recklessness, to keep me from getting in trouble. Either this was the nicest guy ever, or he really had a crush on me. I haven't punched anyone since.
The kiss that was my first real kiss, as it was post-pubescent and intentional, happened when I was seventeen. I had graduated High School a year before, I had been in college since January, and I had a tattoo. All of this, and I had never been kissed. I hated myself for it. I was finally beginning to feel the pangs of my social retardation. I was 'courting' a guy from my college classes. We hung out two or three nights every weekend, flirted constantly and teased each other with our words, our body language, and sometimes even our bodies. I was seventeen. He was twenty-seven. We had a party at our timeshare, since my parents had to use the time at the hotel or lose it. I had invited quite a few friends, and we all hung out. That night, however, the old man was running cold. It pissed me off. (On a side note, he was one year older than my boyfriend is right now, and I was sevenfreakingteen. Gross. What was I thinking?) A few people outside of my core group of friends had come over for the party as well. Including my best friend's older sister and younger brother. You remember him. The little boy in the rain. He was now the sometimes drummer for the band I was in, and he was notorious for his man-sluttiness. He had tried to get my cousin (and bass player) to make out with him only a few weeks ago. The older sister, my gay best friend (this was pre-gay-outing for him), me, and Drummerboy all stayed the night at the hotel. It wasn't planned that way, it just happened. As I was sandwiched between a friend I thought was straight (but wasn't) and a friend I thought would never want to do anything with me (he did), trying to fall asleep, I felt a hand on my hip. I opened my eyes to see that Drummerboy was uncomfortably close. Then he did the douchiest, lamest thing possible for a 15 year old boy to do. He made a kissy face, puckering his lips, pecking the air between us a few times and closing his eyes lazily. I'm sure he thought he was being suave. I thought he was acting like an idiot. But he was a boy, and he was willing to kiss me. I thought, "What the hell? Might as well get it over with." and I kissed him. About five seconds in I realized that it was a terrible mistake. Not because I didn't have any feelings for him and was using him, not because it might make my best friend angry at me, not because it might make band practice weird, but because he was a terrible kisser. About five seconds after that, his spit was on my forehead. I don't know what kind of crazy, magically teleporting saliva Drummerboy has in his mouth, but it weirded me out. Though I knew I was late to the game, I was pretty sure I was awesome at it, and that Drummerboy was definitely not. Years later, one of my boyfriends would tell me I was a good enough kisser to compete in the Kissing Olympics, win gold, and go on to have a professional career with lucrative product endorsements. A week after the terrible forehead spit kiss, I somehow wound up playing the longest, kinkiest, dirtiest game of Spin the Bottle. I ended up kissing my gay (still pre-gay) best friend, two good girlfriends, and the aforementioned old man. The gay friend was the only good kisser. Even with all that chemistry the old man and I had, our kisses were just regular old kisses. Borderline boring, even. 
There are two kisses I consider the best kisses I have ever had. Both were with Boyfriend. The first was our first kiss together. We had been hanging out all night, business as usual. Boyfriend, the Gay Best Friend (now post gay, and also responsible for introducing Boyfriend and I) and I had spent the night hanging out, skinny dipping, and having a few beers. Boyfriend's best friend and the Gay Best Friend's boyfriend (confused yet?) had already crashed and gone to sleep. The three of us remaining were watching Kill Bill. As the sun was coming up, the Gay Best Friend went to bed, and as he rounded the corner into the hallway, he turned around and dramatically pointed a finger at us. He said, "If you two don't just kiss, and get it over with, and clear all this sexual tension, you're not allowed back in my house." Then he went into his bedroom, and I didn't see him again until our next hang out, where I thanked him profusely for what he provoked.
Like this, but with a hot gay man instead of a monkey.
Boyfriend and I laughed nervously, but kept watching Kill Bill. We were snuggling under a blanket together, but after the GBF's threat of party house eviction, we had both remained motionless. I kept watching the clock nervously. I knew I had to leave soon and get my parents' car back to them, but I didn't want to leave Boyfriend's side. I finally had my perfect opportunity to finally kiss him. It was June. We'd met in September. It had been nine torment filled months of sexual tension and amazing chemistry, with a couple of near kisses in November and December. Earlier in the night we had joked about having our hair pulled, and I had broadcast to the sausage fest that was my social life that I like having my hair pulled, being bitten, etc. and TMI. When the movie ended, and I knew I was going to have to drive far above the legal speed limit to make it home in time, I turned to Boyfriend. With a torso full of fluttery insects, I jokingly put my hand in his long hair and asked, "So do you like having your hair pulled?" But as I turned my face towards him, he leaned in towards me, sliding his hand into my hair, his thumb stroking my cheek. He kissed me eagerly, enthusiastically. He kissed me like I was Disneyland, and he was nine years old, and had been waiting through the entire school year for his summertime visit. The early morning sunlight made the living room look like a movie set. Everything was golden. I heard violins. When we finally parted, we rested our foreheads against each other for a moment. I don't know about him, but I was dizzy. My head was spinning. I felt light headed and out of breath and validated. I took a slow breath to steady myself while he moved his thumb gently across my cheek and kissed me again. It was probably one of the most amazing moments of my life.
The other top kiss of his, came the night (two years later) that he finally admitted he loved me. We spent the whole night talking and trying to strategize getting officially together (he had a girlfriend at the time, but that's another story... one so long that I'm devoting an entire novel and its sequel to it), and most of it was spent just sitting and being stunned that we had finally said in plain words what was so painfully obvious. The sky was lightening, and we knew we had to eventually part. Even though the word love had been thrown about, we hadn't touched any more beyond the occasional knee bump, or arm graze. We were sitting in a car, and our arms were on the center arm rest, millimeters away from touching. During a quiet moment in the conversation, I extended my little finger and put it over his. He grabbed my hand with both of his and interlaced our fingers, squeezing tightly. After a few more minutes of talking, we fell silent again, and he said, "I'm trying to figure out if we should kiss."
I looked up and met his eyes, only to find them pleading. It was surreal. It was like a scene out of a movie. Again. I couldn't believe it. "I... hold hands with my platonic friends... at scary movies..."
"What about the shoulders? The leaning...?" he asked.
"It's a pretty fine line..." I said, and squeezed his hand. I was running out of excuses and we both knew it. It was ridiculous to postpone it anyway. We both wanted to kiss, we needed to, we should. He told me he was in love with me and always had been. Why the hell hadn't we kissed in almost two years!? "Your hat's in the way," I said, and pushed it up off his forehead. He sighed heavily and leaned in and kissed me. He did that face cradling thing again. After about thirty seconds of the most emotionally packed kissing I've ever experienced, he pulled away, and put his forehead on my shoulder.
"I'm dizzy," he said breathlessly. Even though kissing is (almost!) a daily occurrence for us now, every once and a while, there's one that makes my breath catch and my head sway. Gold Star, Darling!
Lori + Stu = Awesome. It's MATH.
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About Me
- Lori
- Seattle, United States
- During this course of study, you will come to learn much about the strange eating, sleeping and mating habits of the Instrospective Lori under stress. We will observe as she moves halfway across the country to start a life with her own Captain Wentworth, takes a year off of work to pursue a writing career, and incessantly references Jane Austen.