A Good Slice

Friday night he asked to spend the night at my place (since it was late...yeah, right). 

We had been out with a few friends watching the Opening Ceremonies. 

He said he’d be respectful so I figured it’d be another night like this. 

But what can I say...I’m apparently irresistible in booty shorts. (sly smile)

We then hooked up from 1am-6 and I’m still having delicious flash backs from it. We stayed in bed the next morning and I’ve never had such trouble leaving my bed after 11am before. There was no other place I wanted to be. I was literally entwined in him and couldn’t stop smiling. We got breakfast and had one of those annoyingly great goodbye kisses.

So rather than taking it slow, we moved ahead a notch but talked about it the next day. 

It happened...we want it to happen again but need to stay in check. The emotional/trust component still needs to build up to a good solid place. 

Emotional paperwork aside...I hadn’t been held or touched or adored or wanted like that...since him. I know what you’re thinking blogger buddies...and here’s the thing...

This will probably end in pain right? Everyone and their mother has their guard up for me. Warning me about the guy who he was/is and what happened last time. 

But here’s the other thing, if you’ve been reading closely the last few years you’ve realized that outside of my love life, I’ve had my share of pain between work drama and friend/family ups and downs. 

That whole growing up thing? Yeah, it’s been happening non stop the last 5 years and it’s come with a cruise boat size of pain. Actually...more like the size of the Titanic and the iceberg combined. Needless to say, I’m used to pain, expect it and more or less know how to tread in it and I know it’ll come again, whether from him or anywhere else. 

So I’m going to keep going and inhaling the good moments I have with him. 

His touch makes me feel safe, and grounded and sexy as hell. And when I’ve had that slice of the pie empty for so long, it’s absolutely fucking lovely to have it filled with him right now. 

The 2nd Bottle

The best part of disconnecting for a week is reconnecting again. 

I took a real week long vacation for the first time in a long time. I was on the beach in the Bahamas for 5 nights with a friend and then home visiting family. And overall it was a great trip. 

Little to no drama, and little to no planning. 

I was in dire need of a break from both. 

I planned my flights but everything in between I just wung. 

I wung so much in the Bahamas I ended up having a night of fun with a Texan algebra teacher in the hot tub...and the beach. He also taught me how to play craps and helped me amp up my blackjack game. The gambling part isn’t an innuendo, we went gambling. Luckily I didn’t have a repeat of the last time I hit the casinos, though there were white russians involved again.

I had a great moment the next morning, as my hangover subsided with fried fish... I wondered if my mother would approve of my night. All in all, I believe I would get a thumbs up from her.

By the time I got back into town I was ready to be back in my own reality. And here's why...

This past New Years Eve I went to this party and only brought 1 bottle of champagne. I had bought another bottle but left it in my fridge. 

I told myself I'd open it when I had a win. I'd open it when something happened for me, something I went for for me, something I deserved and wanted. It couldn't be pre-arranged or really thought about, when I was going to open that bottle.

But every time I opened my fridge for the past 7 months I'd think about that bottle. 

And I wouldn't open it. 

Nothing happened that warranted it to be popped open. 

After spending most of 2010 blaming/unblaming myself for the ending of my relationship, and most of 2011 submerged in family drama, my next move was going to be made carefully. 

I opened it 4th of July at the rooftop party I went to with some friends. 

Earlier that morning around 1am, I was on another roof with my ex boyfriend deciding to go for another round. 

I know what you're thinking...how could I pop my bottle for a guy...especially this guy.  

But I didn't open it for him, I opened it for me.

Because after 2 years I had changed and forgiven myself for a lot of things and had been through enough. 

I was done letting all the bad, hard shit own me. I was done with letting it all be all there is. 

I was ready to take a chance on the possibility of something good again.

I realized if I keep thinking about the last few years and the muck I got stuck in, and waiting for the muck to appear again, that's all there'd be. 

So, yes, technically it took beer, pizza, my ex boyfriend and a rooftop for me to realize I was ready to open the 2nd bottle and see how it poured.

So far, it's smooth, sweet and a little bubbly.

Take 2

I cleaned my room and put my laundry away. 

Two things I procrastinate doing and typically do on Sunday nights. I did both last night before going out with friends. My room looked spacious and opening. And my night went on and I drank and laughed with friends. Then at 1AM I somehow ended up on my friends rooftop with blankets and pillows, making out with my ex boyfriend. It felt amazing and safe and good. It felt honest and fun and warm. We kissed again and then talked about what the hell we were doing. 

We were starting again, slowly. Getting to know each other again and seeing what happens. Not defining it until we need to. We talked about being scared but both wanting this, knowing in some way, it was inevitable. Maybe the timing was right, maybe we'll realize that the timing isn't right. But we're gonna give it a try.  

I'm not who I was 2 years ago and he's not either. We're here to change and be with each other. We aren't here to let one broken heart define us. 

I'm done waiting for something to happen. This risk is something I'm doing for me. I could spend the rest of my life being a wing girl and giving relationship advice to friends. I could spend the rest of my life trying to make others happy. 

But today I choose to make me happy. And today I choose him. 

He came back to my apartment and we just slept. And this morning after he kissed me goodbye and left I went back to my spacious, clean room and sat on my bed. 

It's funny how foreign it was to share this space with someone, especially him. 

It won't be easy. 

But if we aren't here to share our space with someone then what are we doing?