Category Archives: lovelovelove

A Little’s Enough

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I wrote fan mail once and I mean like once in my whole life. 

I facebooked Tom Delonge from Angels & Airwaves (also Blink 182) and tried at first to NOT sound like a deranged teenager and then gave up because who cares?  I wrote about what his music had meant to me at an especially wounded time.  I went ahead and threw in a “you saved my life.”  I’d be more ashamed except I really truly meant it.

Secret Crowds

Everything’s Magic

Love Like Rockets

A Little’s Enough

 

As I was writing a chat window popped up and “Tom” asked me for my info to send me free tickets.  It was obviously a hacker, and I don’t recall whether I bothered to hit send on my email or not.

All that to say that as much as I like to think of myself as someone who holds her shit together around people who are celebrities, Tom Delonge was above and beyond.  If I met him?  Pregnant and out on rape charges.  That’s how that would go down.

This weekend I had a mild inner ear infection.  The kind that make you dizzy, really, really dizzy.  I spent my weekend on the couch crocheting.  I was feeling better today and in yoga pants I’d put on Friday night and never bothered to change, I took my bike up to the corner grocery store.  It’s important to have a visual of my wet hair, sequined tshirt with cat hair, and bike helmet.  I had about 18 items in my cart but since I’m in that store like every third day I know that the express lanes are often waiting and totally accepting of more items.  I have the decency to pretend to care when I start unloading my items onto the counter. 

“I hope they don’t count past 15,” I mutter to the tattooed elbow in the corner of my vision, just so I don’t seem like the bitch who ignores signs.  Rocket ship tattoos, it registers.  Really awesome rocke- HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

HOLYSHIT.

THIS IS HAPPENING.

HOLYSHIT.  I know who that is.  I glance at the clock beyond his head.  Yep, that’s Tom Delonge.  I pretend to consult my blank wrist to the time on the clock.  Still very Tom Delonge.  Stop looking at a blank wrist.  Tom is buying groceries with his daughter Ava.  I am melting down while wearing cat hair, sequins and a bike helmet.  He’s attempting to do normal people things.  I’M attempting to do normal people things while watching him do normal people things.  Do not touch him.  DO NOT BURY YOUR FACE IN HIS TSHIRT AND CRY, VJ.  STOP MUTTERING THESE INSTRUCTIONS TO YOURSELF  TO YOURSELF UNDER YOUR BREATH HE MIGHT HEAR YOU.

He turns and looks at me.  I hope I wasn’t making strange strangled noises, I don’t think I was, but who really fucking knows?  His eyes meet mine and my face splits in an enormous smile and there was a moment of I-know-you-know-that-I-know-and-I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know and Ava said “Daddy!  something I didn’t catch.”

.

.

The cashier said “cash back?” and I stopped blinking. 
“That was Tom Delonge from Blink-182, you know.”
“Was it?”
“He’s kind of the only person that I don’t know that I totally care about.”
“You should catch him in the parking lot.  I’ll hold your stuff.”
“No ……. I don’t think I could do any better with words.”

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Chapter …. Ah, screw it.

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I’ve decided not to try to tell you the long backstory of the man who is now my boyfriend.

I’ve been trying to tell you all along really, and the fact that he’s now my man doesn’t mean the story of his life is really mine to tell.  I think I’d rather tell you about the now stuff anyway, because now I’m allowed to stick my fingers in his hair, and write him sappy love letters.  (Not at the same time, obviously.)

Look at us, in the same space. I'm not sure how to communicate how HUGE this is.

He lives in New York City, and I’m still here for awhile, so that sucks, but that’s only thing that sucks about us, everything else is magical and perfect and impossibly defiant of gravity.

We will be in love until we die and possibly longer, since my atoms love his atoms and atoms last virtually forever.   I know I’m tempting fate to say so, so boldly, but I’m ok with that.  Suck it fate.  I’ve got my man.

We might look like everyone else, but I can’t escape the idea that we’re going to DO something together, something every one will feel.  We might give birth to the AntiChrist, is all I’m saying.

Maybe not.  Maybe we’re not magic, maybe this is just a wickedly strong version of a normal phenomenon, like storms becoming hurricanes.  I don’t really care.  I’m just so goddamn happy.

Evolution.

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When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the Paleozoic time,
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,
Or skittered with many a caudal flip
Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,
My heart was rife with the joy of life,
For I loved you even then.

Mindless we lived and mindless we loved
And mindless at last we died;
And deep in the rift of the Caradoc drift
We slumbered side by side.
The world turned on in the lathe of time,
The hot lands heaved amain,
Till we caught our breath from the womb of death
And crept into light again.

We were amphibians, scaled and tailed,
And drab as a dead man’s hand;
We coiled at ease ‘neath the dripping trees
Or trailed through the mud and sand.
Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet,
Writing a language dumb,
With never a spark in the empty dark
To hint at a life to come.

Yet happy we lived and happy we loved,
And happy we died once more;
Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold
Of a Neocomian shore.
The eons came and the eons fled
And the sleep that wrapped us fast
Was riven away in a newer day
And the night of death was past.

Then light and swift through the jungle trees
We swung in our airy flights,
Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms
In the hush of the moonless nights;
And, oh! what beautiful years were there
When our hearts clung each to each;
When life was filled and our senses thrilled
In the first faint dawn of speech.

Thus life by life and love by love
We passed through the cycles strange,
And breath by breath and death by death
We followed the chain of change.
Till there came a time in the law of life
When over the nursing side
The shadows broke and the soul awoke
In a strange, dim dream of God.

I was thewed like an Auroch bull
And tusked like the great cave bear;
And you, my sweet, from head to feet
Were gowned in your glorious hair.
Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave,
When the night fell o’er the plain
And the moon hung red o’er the river bed
We mumbled the bones of the slain.

I flaked a flint to a cutting edge
And shaped it with brutish craft;
I broke a shank from the woodland lank
And fitted it, head and haft;
Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn
Where the mammoth came to drink;
Through the brawn and bone I drove the stone
And slew him upon the brink.

Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes,
Loud answered our kith and kin;
From west to east to the crimson feast
The clan came tramping in.
O’er joint and gristle and padded bone
We fought and clawed and tore,
And cheek by jowl with many a growl
We talked the marvel o’er.

I carved the fight on a reindeer bone
With rude and hairy hand;
I pictured his fall on the cavern wall
That men might understand.
For we lived by blood and the right of might
Ere human laws were drawn,
And the age of sin did not begin
Till our brutal tush were gone.

And that was a million years ago
In a time that no man knows;
Yet here tonight in the mellow light
We sit at Delmonico’s.
Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,
Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new,
Your soul untried, and yet –

Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay
And the scarp of the Purbeck flags;
We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones
And deep in the Coralline crags;
Our love is old, our lives are old,
And death shall come amain;
Should it come today, what man may say
We shall not live again?

God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds
And furnished them wings to fly;
He sowed our spawn in the world’s dim dawn,
And I know that it shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the graves
Where the crook-bone men make war
And the oxwain creaks o’er the buried caves
Where the mummied mammoths are.

Then as we linger at luncheon here
O’er many a dainty dish,
Let us drink anew to the time when you
Were a tadpole and I was a fish.

– Langdon Smith

Chapter One.

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I was about five years old, and I was laying in my bed, thinking about and trying to imagine what my life would be like as a grownup. My parents had gone out that night, leaving us with an over-zealous babysitter who was studying for her degree in child psychology. She was as annoying as fuck. She came with all these prepared games, to challenge and engage us. My brother Jesse and I weren’t prepared for this sort of thing. We’d spent our five and seven years entertaining ourselves and her scavenger hunt list felt …. invasive. In hindsight she was probably really wonderful. And underpaid.

Anyway, I remember my mother saying something about that night being a “grownup thing,” and that fired up my imagination. (My imagination being a lot like an oven with it’s pilot light out, in a word COMBUSTIBLE.) I dreamed a dream.

In my dream, I was there in a bed with a man. My face was the face of a grownup but I apparently coudn’t picture myself taller so I had the stature of a midget. (This is where we see foreshadowing, as I am a woman of dimuntive dimensions.) The man and I were looking at each other, we were eating ice cream and laughing.

Eating ice cream in bed, and laughing, I think this was the closest I could picture at the age of five, of sex. Think about it for bit. It’s pretty darn accurate. He had light-ish, thick hair, and a very square jaw. His eyes were closed in laughter, and his hands felt warm.

As I grew up, I wondered about that man. Now, I’ve always been a very practical girl. Dreams were the result of things you saw and weren’t immediatly sure how to file away. Your brain is a filing cabinet, and dreams are the file that is labeled ‘not sure how to file, need second look.’ So when I wondered, I just assumed that I’d seen a man, an adult man, and something about his face engaged me, something he’d done had made him stand for something in my memory, perhaps he’d laughed easily? It was so clear in my mind because the dream reoccured.

And when his face flashed into my mind I always smiled indulgently, because I thought of him as some nice man who’d done something to make my little girl self think of him as perfect. A symbol. A masthead for my ship of dreams. A nice idea. But of course, nothing more, because nobody is made for anybody. There are no soulmates. There are only independantly evolved humans who choose to make a life with another independant human being. I resented the idea that THAT is unromantic. And despite all, I think the idea of deciding every day to be with someone is pretty fucking sweet. I have it figured out, relationships. I navigated them like a pro.

So …………. you can understand my confusion when I walked into work one day and was suddenly face to face with the face I’d dreamed. It was like finding a unicorn in your kitchen.

Playing Ketchup.

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I know I’m way behind here.  I’ve gotta tell you about Denmark (amazing), Lacey’s birthday party (drunken and wonderful), the coffin in the attic (mostly empty), and meeting Ruan in London (yay!).

But most of all, I have to tell you about the man I love.  The man that just owns me, wrecks me and utterly delights me.  (And who THANK GOODNESS loves me back.)  He’s no stranger to my loyal readers, except for the fact that I never did really tell you his name or show you his picture.  It’s that same one, the only one.

We’ll get to that. 

It’s an insane story, and coming from me that means a lot.  Bear with me because it’s also an insanely looooooooooong story.  It started when I was five, it covers such topics as in what order  do you put employee mailboxes?  can you expect to win when you’ve broken all the rules?  and remind me again what are the circumstances under which the anti-Christ will be born?

More so than ever, I’m so excited to tell you everything.