Jugular Exposed

He missed her. He still cared. He needed the truth.

“I have things I need to say to you. Things that it’s taken me over a year to process and come to terms with. I hope you’ll listen?”

His eyes softened. “Of course I’ll listen.”

She gathered courage she’d never possessed and told him that the person he’d loved was a broken, twisted version of herself. The depression had its claws deep and wouldn’t let go.

She knew she would cause pain, but explained where their relationship turned dark. She held back nothing, spilling the many hurts that had caused her countless hours of lost sleep and miles of self-doubt. Her words held no heat. Only honesty. She was strong enough now to give him that.

The bottom line was that she’d needed him to help navigate the darkness. But instead he’d caused her more pain, deepened the sad. Because she wasn’t good enough at her worst. Not for him. Not for anyone. So she had to leave him, and leave that place. It was the only way to survive.

Pausing there, her heart thumped heavily.  She felt the fear spidering as she waited for an indication that he understood why he’d lost her. What if he said she was dead wrong? What if he didn’t take any ownership of the destruction? She sat there, jugular exposed, swimming in a level of vulnerability she’d never experienced before. Underneath her calm expression she was a frightened child, ready to haul the steel curtain up around her heart.

Finally, he spoke.  “I have no excuses. I wasn’t there for you. All I can say is that I was so blinded by how much I love you that I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see what you needed. I let you down. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I made it worse, when all I’ve ever wanted to do was make you happy.”

His hand came across the table to grip hers tightly. She looked down at the joining, feeling the familiarity of his skin and the shape of this union.

I finally got through to him.

Fighting the knot in her throat, she replied softly, “And I didn’t have the capacity at that time to tell you what I needed. I was too far gone. I could only manage one of two extremes: sad and mad. I hated the person I was, but I could barely even hold on at that point. I couldn’t live that life any more, trying so fucking hard to make you happy when I was alone in the dark. It wasn’t fair to either of us.”

Neither heard the bachata song blaring through the speakers. The unspoken was far more deafening.

They searched each other’s faces, wondering what in the world to do now.

Her heart calmed, knowing that no matter what happened between them, she’d finally been brave enough to tell him the truth. She’d broken through to the light.

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This piece is being submitted to the amazing and 100th!!! Yeah Write Weekly Challenge grid. If you don’t know Yeah Write, you should. The crew at YW are not only amazingly talented bloggers who write and writers who blog, they’ve become my friends.  Not friends with benefits, you perv. Just friends. 

The Unfinished

Sitting in the lush back seat of the chauffeured car, she stared down at the iPhone in her lap. His name and number stared back at her.

She was there on business for only a few short days and could have easily slid in and out of town without him knowing the difference. After all, it had been over a year since she’d pulled him up on her screen. Over a year since they’d exchanged a final painful goodbye. Yet something indescribable was screaming at her to make contact. It was a pull like the love she’d always had for him – undeniable and annoyingly persistent.

They were together for nearly three years. Everything fell apart. She moved away. And she moved on.

Except she didn’t.

Since the two of them had shattered she had dealt with blind dates, suffered the torment of speed dating, endured the crazies of online dating and had an embarrassingly horrific one night stand. She’d made poor decisions while drinking and tried to force feelings when there were none. She smirked, remembering the tribal-tattooed musclehead. That one had almost resulted in an intervention by her friends. She remembered the men who claimed to love her but left coldly and without explanation. Men that weren’t looking for the same things.  Men who were devilishly handsome but devoid of emotional connection.  Men who amused her but never managed to make her belly-laugh.  Men who could certainly turn her on, but never gave her butterflies. Shorter men, taller men, military men, musicians, men far away and men right around the corner… hell, her friends teased that they needed to create a flowchart to keep her love disasters straight.

All she knew was that she had things to say to this man. There was risk, for sure. Reaching out to him meant facing the possibility that he may be seeing someone else, or be married with kids. She didn’t think he would be, but he could also be completely cold or cruel towards her. Yet even though she was opening myself up to a world of potential hurt, she didn’t care. There was no way she could ever completely be whole again if she didn’t take the opportunity to voice her side.

She wouldn’t live her life as a fraud, having never faced the full extent of love and pain and letting go. She knew it was the unfinished holding her back, preventing her from fully opening her heart to anyone else. Yes. She needed to charge headfirst into this, acknowledging fully the element of danger.

The deep inhale and long exhale had a finality in its weight.

Still glaring at her phone, she thought to herself, “He needs to know how much he hurt me. He needs to know what I’ve gone through since the day I packed my car and drove away in tears. How I’ve changed. How the person he dated for three years was a broken, unhappy version of myself. And he needs to see the strong, vivacious woman that I’ve become since him.” Her heart didn’t leave her any choice.  It was time.

Her finger hovered over his number on the screen. And then it made contact.

The screen filled with his name.

rrriiiiiiingggggg….

rrriiiiiinggggggg…

*click*

“Ohmygod. …….  Hi.”

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This piece is being submitted to the amazing Yeah Write Weekly Challenge grid. If you don’t know Yeah Write, you should. The crew at YW are not only amazingly talented bloggers who write and writers who blog, they’ve become my friends.  Not friends with benefits, you perv. Just friends. 😉

Flexible only applies to me in yoga.

At Camp Mighty, Maggie told the story of her Life List item to see the sun rise over the Aegean. Once there in Greece, fearlessly about to reach success, she realized that the sun only SET over the Aegean. Her attitude could have been Shitty McGrumpypants, but she chose instead to go with it. It may not have been *exactly* what she wanted, but a slight discrepancy in semantics wasn’t going to derail her enthusiasm. To her, this choice of perspective stood out in her mind as a huge life lesson.

Be rigid only if you want to break.

I am a planner by nature. I have lists for my lists. So when we were told to narrow down our Life List to just five items for 2013, I was all over that shit. I carry them with me everywhere.

Yet only a mere 49 days into 2013, and I’m already finding that my top five goals for 2013 may need some tweaking. Not for any huge, earth-shattering reasons… simply for the reason that situations change. Circumstances shift.

One of the main goals I’m speaking of is the purchase of my first house. Some outside influences have swept into my life and are postponing the house hunt until my footing is steady again. This doesn’t mean it won’t happen for me this year. It just means my projected timeline of early Spring is pretty much out the window unless some miracles of miracles happen.

I can choose to kick and scream about it or I can go with it.

Duh. I know what I have to do, because you know what? The curveballs? They’re good for me. They’re making me grow.

The same way all the curveballs of 2011 brought me to Atlanta and into beginning this journey in the first place, these new plot twists are getting me out of my own comfort zone and testing the mindset of the “new me”.

A shift of plans does not equal failure. It doesn’t mean that I won’t reach my goals. It only means that I’ll get them completed a little differently than anticipated.  I know everything will work out for the best, however curvy my path may become.  And I also feel in my heart that these changes are what is best for me in the long run.

Good things are ahead. 🙂

Where She Belonged

The turbulence made the plane’s wings seesaw drunkenly upon landing in Newark. Even the weather knew something different was blowing into town.

She was so very frightened to return to this place that hadn’t been kind to her. It was a good thing she’d left before the damage was irreparable. Otherwise, it may have been impossible for the South to heal those broken emotional bones.

Now that she was returned and seated in the car they’d hired to bring her to the office, she took in the familiar vibe. Urban sprawl. Frigid winds that viciously stole her breath. Aggressive traffic. She remembered this unsettling feeling that she was conspicuous – a shock of red amidst endless grey.

Would anyone see a difference in her? Did they even remember her after a year away? Would they think she’d lost her edge?

Suddenly very unsure, she took evaluation of the ensemble she’d carefully chosen. The vivid turquoise wrap dress, sheer tights and nude patent pumps were purposefully a far cry from her typical grey shirt/black pants work ensemble. The severe blond bun had been replaced with long, loosely flowing strands of red. Where her tall frame was previously starved for nourishment it was now vital, strong and feminine. At least there was that.

Entering the office, conversations halted when she walked past. Whispers followed her strides as if they’d seen a ghost. In truth, they had. And that morning, her smile grew exponentially with each joyful exclamation of recognition, each hug received and each stunned remark about her appearance. Most couldn’t quite put their finger on it. Those who knew her best used the words, “bright”, “alive”, “glowing” and “radiant”.

They got it. They saw it.

It wasn’t the clothes or the hair color. She was different.

The job was executed with her usual style of fiery panache, making easy the complicated and making organized the complex. Confidence and self-assurance leapt from her every action and statement. She didn’t just complete the assignment. She soared.

When the big meeting ended, she needed a respite from the emotions stomping over one other in her mind. She waved to the still-familiar doormen on the way out of the building, then made her way to the railing at the water. And standing there, cursing the freezing wind, she finally let her mind relax and inhaled a breath of cold that made her lungs tingle in protest.

Everything was so different, but yet so much was still the same here. Most of all, she was so relieved to discover that her fears had been unfounded. Her coworkers had certainly missed her, based on the office buzz and number of baby pictures her male coworkers proudly offered for oohing and ahhhing.  She definitely didn’t miss these bitter temps or this frantic pace of life, but at least no one could possibly question her professional achievements after today. If anything, they’d say she’s better than she used to be. And the reason was simple: She left this place. This brave new woman that everyone wanted to see, talk to, and be around? She wouldn’t be this person if she still lived here. That same woman lifted her face, gazed at the Freedom Tower and told herself that it’s okay to miss the people and not miss the place. After all, she’d found her self, her happy, her dreams and her future in a place that had nothing to do with subways and snowstorms.

Her lips curved into a secretive smile. She’d do what she needed to do while she was here, and she’d do it more than well. But she couldn’t wait to go home.

And with that last thought, any lingering doubts of where she belonged sailed off with that icy wind over the Hudson. With one last glance at that magnificent view, she turned on one of those pretty heels and headed towards the building entrance.

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Don’t look at me (please) look at me.

“Peach, I just want you to know that I see you. I see that you’re saying everything is okay and that you’re fine… but you’re not. And it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. But I’m telling you that I see you, and I’m here.”

I froze on the other end of the line and sat there in stunned silence.

This meant I was failing at hiding everything that I knew would be a burden on my friends. After all, what my friends have been going through is so much more heavy/relevant/exciting than my boring things. And dammit, my other friends haven’t noticed anything was off, so how did this friend know?

Realizing how ridiculous I sounded even inside my own stupid head, I put the brakes on the negativity and figured it out.

It made me uncomfortable to be seen.

Since there was no way to wiggle out of it, I didn’t think. I just spoke whatever came to mind about how I was feeling, not caring how long I talked or what I said.  She listened until I finished and then just said gently, “see? that’s a LOT.”. I blew out a long exhale and said, “yeah… I guess it was.”.

Long after we hung up, I thought about how she knew anything was up. It wasn’t like I had let on outwardly that anything was wrong. Because oh, trust me – I have plenty of friends who would race to save me if I walked into a party with my skirt tucked into my thong, toilet paper dragging from a stiletto, and a rockin’ nip-slip going on… you bet I do. And no, I’ve never done that. Yet.  But I think it takes a special type of friend to know when you need a lifeline despite the fact that all outward appearances seem to be normal. This one brave woman had the courage to call me out my inner trainwreck when it felt like no one else gave a damn, and I loved her so hard for that.

Everyone needs friends who can see through the brave faces, the insistent ‘I’m fine.”s, and the plain ole bullshit. My friends’ gentle but blunt approach forced me to admit that I’d been shoving my own hurts aside to address the problems of everyone else, as if my own problems were of lesser importance. She made me acknowledge the value of my own needs and wants and admit that my ‘boring things’ are not boring. My things are heavy and relevant and exciting too, and she got it. She got me.

When that light bulb came on it felt like I was the toddler you discover out of bed at two in the morning, butt-naked and covered head to toe in chocolate frosting. I still felt like there was a cold breeze where there shouldn’t be, and I knew I was an absolute mess. But I was grinning anyway.

How could I not feel joy, knowing there are people in my life who love me no matter what kind of wreck I make of things? To have friends that know you better than you know yourself is priceless. Because when it comes down to it, we all just want to be seen, and heard, and truly understood. Even when it’s uncomfortable.
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What is Yeah Write?  Pshhh.  Only the bestest writing/blogging community on teh internets. Git you some.

Day 24: Big and Fuzzy Dream Monsters

Credit Lisa Congdon

A recent addition to my Life List was #78: “Stop letting the fear of judgment dictate my decisions.” which, let’s be real, is code for “STOP GIVING A SHIT WHAT PEOPLE THINK.”

I’m speaking of courage.

You see, up to this point I’ve kept my big dreams and goals very protected. No, that’s not true. I’ve kept them a complete secret. Why? It’s simple. Self-preservation. If no one knows what they are, they can’t tell me my ambitions are wrong or silly or impossible.

Since returning from Camp Mighty, I’ve done some things that have taken incredible amounts of emotional strength.

I started by confronting three very close friends who have been less communicative or supportive of me lately than I’d hoped. Previous Peach would have justified their reasons/life situations and brushed off my own hurt feelings as being too sensitive. I’d have told myself I wasn’t being understanding of my besties and what they’re going through. But Current Peach decided to not let my hurt fester until I was seriously pissed off. I instead addressed the issue with each of them. Did I have a meltdown on two of those three when I came clean? YUP. BIG, UGLY CRYING INVOLVED. But I did it. And they all loved me even more for speaking up and voicing what I needed. I love them so much for hearing me out and understanding me. And in return, I hope they will give me the same courtesy of calling me out, should I ever drop the ball in our friendships.

If that wasn’t enough, I sat my family down in person and told them all about my experience at Camp Mighty and revealed to them the five goals I want to accomplish in 2013. Go here if you want to read em. I was nervous as I explained everything and walked them through my most personal wishes for this coming year. There were some raised eyebrows, some delighted laughter, and a lot of questions, but there was also love and support. So much. I can’t claim there was complete understanding, but for as much as they are capable, they got it. I even made sure they understood that there will be times that I will bail on them or not be as available. It’s only fair: I can’t expect them to innately know where my focus is, OR what kind of support I need from them, unless I verbalize it. They surprised me with their immediate and enthusiastic agreement. I am a lucky lady.

After these two emotional whoppers, I hit a wall physically. Maggie said in her talk: “Your body is a compass. Listen to it.” At that point, my body was worn down to the point of showing my Grumpy McCrankyPants. Perhaps it was all the travel – to/from Camp, then the six hour drive to my parent’s – but I’ve survived worse than that before. This level of tired felt like I had been slugged by the world’s largest Valium. I knew I should rest, but I felt preemptively guilty, because it was Thanksgiving and *they* say you should spend every waking second with family that you’re with them. But I flipped *they* a double bird. I listened to my compass and bowed out of family ice-skating time in favor of a 2.5hr nap. My family? They got it. No guilt trips, no resentment, just compassion. Awesome.

Now that I’ve recovered physically from the travel and had time to process all the discoveries and emotions of the past week, I’m finding this: My biggest, most secret goal is no longer shoved in the back of my dream closet. Yep, it’s peeking its little monster-head out into the light and invading my mind at the most bizarre of times… like in the shower. (I find it SO weird that I’m doing my best brainstorming in my too-small-to-shave-my-damn-legs-in standup shower.)

Why is this little critter a BFD? Because never before have I allowed myself the freedom to believe that this goal was possible, which is probably why I’ve never had these ow-motherf***er!-soap-in-the-eye moments before. Something has been unlocked. I’ve gained the courage to truly believe. And in doing so, it’s almost as if I’ve finally given myself permission to hunt down those big and fuzzy dream monsters and full-body tackle them. Ideas are developing. Plans are forming. Creating is happening.

I must admit, I’m not quite made of 100% courage though. Have I been able to be completely open about every single thing I have up my sleeve right now? No. For instance, I’m aware that I have not revealed the identity of my fuzzy dream monster(s). Some things are still percolating. Other things are still too raw, too precious for me to share yet.

Baby steps, people.  Courage takes time. But I’m getting there.

Day 7: Putting it down in words makes it pretty damn real.

I rather enjoyed unleashing on this blog yesterday about my closed-mouth political policy, but I had even more fun with your comments!  (Glad you all appreciated my “butt-scratching in your general direction” line… Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night month.)

My current music obsession is Ellie Goulding’s entire Halcyon album, but in particular is the single “Anything Could Happen”. Funky video, but the lyrics and rockin’-out-awesome-to-drive-to beat are what do it for me.

Anything Could Happen is my theme some as we quickly (!!!) approach my trip to Camp Mighty. All of us attending had to create and submit our Life List, and let me tell you, it’s wonderful what sitting down and forcing yourself to confront what YOU want to accomplish in your lifetime can do for the soul. It doesn’t matter that my items range in importance/significance from “Volunteering at a shelter for domestic violence victims” or “Donate to charity at least once a year” to “Buy myself something pretty from Tiffany’s” or “Stand on the cliffs in Ireland”.  Putting it down in words makes it pretty damn real. I think our time at Camp Mighty will be spent focusing on five single items that we wish to accomplish in the next year. I have three locked down, but I’m struggling with the remaining two.

Before you ask:  Yes, I’m hoping to gather my courage enough to put my Life List up here for all to see. But… um…. I’m allowed to be a widdle bit scared about being so naked in front of y’all, right? Eeek.

In the meantime, I have some Thank You notes to write tonight. Yes, I’m of the opinion that a handwritten declaration of gratitude is much preferable to any text, email, Facebook note or tweet.

Old fashioned? Maybe. But I have this hanging in my home, because I believe with all my heart that it is true.

I just hope the recipients will forgive my penmanship that remarkably resembles that of a four year old boy’s.  I tried. 😀

Hope everyone has a good Hump Day.

Awakening

This sexy little post has been dusted off for the Dudette Write challenge over at Dude Write. I’m tickled Peach to be amongst such handsome and intelligent company.  Special thanks goes to Ken over here for the recommendation!

Dude Write is an awesome forum for male bloggers that proves men are capable of writing the real, the honest and the insanely funny – all with stellar grammar skills. Amazing, considering if I were a guy I’d be less concerned with not ending sentences with a preposition and more concerned about not sitting on my own balls.

Go check them out. You won’t be disappointed.

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My parents never once forbade me to ride a motorcycle, yet in all my thirty-four years I had only thrown a leg over one time.

That single occasion had been a spring break joyride on a friend of a friend’s burly black Harley. I remember the guy’s kindness in accommodating the wishes of a freshman-15’ed girl as much as I remember that stunning sunset as we lit over the bay bridges of Daytona Beach. The clouds had lingered that night amidst the most vivid streaks of peach and orange flame. Their magnificent reflections on the water stole my breath. I remember the speed and the thrill of the ride itself in the vaguest of tones because, as with all brilliant sunsets, memories fade far too quickly.

Now, in bright Technicolor and nearly half my life span later, I was once again throwing a leg over another black bike. This beast was no Harley, but a sleek and hefty Yamaha with more horsepower than was probably wise.  Settling onto the seat, I gingerly snaked my arms around the muscled ribcage of the man that continued to surprise.

safety first.

The badass helmet we had purchased for me was planted firmly atop my head, and by the way my cheeks smooshed ever so sexily against the inner cushioning it certainly wasn’t going anywhere.  Jason turned his head, clunking his helmet cutely into mine and said, “Just hold on tight, baby!!!”.

The man cranked the engine, revved it a few times, lifted his remaining foot off the ground, and we were off.

We rolled out of my neighborhood slowly, which let me adjust to the strange sensations of the creature I was perched atop. I could feel the heat of the engine warming the legs of my jeans.  I absorbed the noise of the powerful engine moving through the lower gears and felt the muffled whoosh of air through my helmet.  My eyes widened in surprise at the odd balance and motion of the first few turns, but I remembered from my first riding lesson to let the driver do the leaning. I just needed to relax and go with it.

When we reached the intersection of the first major road, Jason took my hands and with a seat-belt motion, pulled them tighter around his torso. The adjustment pulled the front of my body even closer to him. Whooo, me likey! Then he gently moved one of my hands to the top of my other wrist and wrapped my fingers around it, making a cinch that would be more solid than just holding onto his waist. With a satisfied nod of his head and a left-right check for oncoming traffic, he went.

And then we were flying. My arm muscles tightened instinctively around his body while my abs engaged to keep my weight close to him. The powerful acceleration force shoved my heart up into my throat.

It wasn’t scary. It was glorious.

The freedom. The danger. The wide open skies above me. My long swish of red hair trailing from underneath the helmet.  And most of all, the man who was ever so slowly managing to bring out the side of me that for years has lingered just below the surface – the daredevil, the wanderer, the adventurer.  That fearless me that life’s bruises had beaten down into the dreaded “be careful, or you’ll get hurt again” me.

The bright-eyed awe remained on my grinning face for the whole ride into town, where we had dinner at a burger joint that had hooks above the bar for our helmets. I’d been there before but never noticed the hooks or knew those existed for that purpose! After stuffing our faces we decided to try to beat the storm clouds that were looming, taking the highways this time instead of the back roads. The thrill I felt as we reached interstate speeds was exhilarating – the force of the wind on our bodies, the roar of the engine, the muscles of our legs pressed intimately together, and me clinging to him like a spider monkey.

Speeding away from Atlanta as the sun set behind the skyline, I realized I didn’t want the ride to end. I wanted to forever remain in that land of possibilities – the life with someone that not only allows me to be myself, but encourages it.  The life with someone every bit as adventure-loving as me. The life with someone who so far appears to have a big fat check mark in damn near every ridiculously picky qualifying box I’ve created. I was simply high on the concept that the combination of all three could actually be a reality. Could it, really?  Could there be even more than I’ve already seen?  More, could it be this good for a long, long time??? I smiled as I thought to myself that I only had one choice.

To hold on tight baby, and enjoy the ride.

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This piece was previously submitted to the Yeah Write Challenge.  What is Yeah Write?  Pshhh.  Only the best writing/blogging community on teh internets. Git you some.

8 Week Challenge, #2: That time I ran a race in a tutu.

First things first. I would like to give a ginormous shout-out to Pish Posh for her week 2 post. Not only did I laugh my ass off at the Fuck You, Flowers picture but she inspired me to be brave in my telling of this week’s events.  So with a deep breath and a big swig of my cup o’ joe…

Good things about this week:

Workouts included CrossFit Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and today.  Yoga was Saturday, and the tutu race was Sunday. Food-wise, I’ve eased up on the spoon-to-almond-butter ratio this week and the only booze I’ve had was one celebratory cider beer after the race. As for the resting, my body is simply worn out at the end of every day but it’s Jason (the amorous new boyfriend) who makes it difficult to go TO sleep… not that I’m complaining. Not one bit.

Bad things about this week:

The battle with the froyo/ice cream continues.  Pints of So Delicious and Almond Dream (both non-dairy ice creams) were purchased on Sunday. And last night Jason decided he wanted to stop at the Haagen Dazs shop. And they had Coconut Macaroon.  I. Was. DOOMED.

Weekly Theme #1 – Friendship

A few months ago, one of the girls from CrossFit asked me (the rookie) to join her and 3 other CF’ers in running a relay race… in which we’d all wear tutus. How could I possibly say no?!?!

Screw the baby-pink ones. I went LOUD.

Yeah, Peach. You blend.

Each of us had to run 3.43 miles, which made me nervous because A. These girls have been doing CF for YEARS. B. Two of them are marathoners.  C. My fastest 5K time is laughably slow… like 38+ minutes slow. But guess what? I ran my leg in 34:20!  Surprised the hell outta myself, that’s for damn sure.  Maybe it was all the torture I’ve put myself through since June with CF.  Maybe it was the beautiful weather that day.  It sure as hell WASN’T thanks to all the hills on the route!!  My best guess?  It was the tutu.  Our team didn’t come close to placing and lost the costume contest to a group that dressed as characters from that awful show American Gladiators screw those guys but we had so much fun!!! I’m glad I did it.

Weekly Theme #2: Insecurities

My body has been heavy, with thick thighs and WHOA tatas.  My body has also been frail and undernourished and overstressed. But at present, my body is healthy. Yet I am STILL critical of the way it looks. My butt has grown to massive proportions, people. At least according to every single fucking pair of pants I own that no longer fit and I’ve thrown on the top shelf of my closet in disgust.  It pisses me off that I now have fat rolls/muffin top in my favorite pair of jeans (which have fit me for YEARS) despite the work I’m putting into my diet AND in the gym. My butt has grown so much that the waistlines of my pants are too tight.  Sonofabitch.

When I got dressed for a girl’s night out on Monday, it led to a near panic-attack and my closet kinda threw up on my bed. I found something that seemed okay: super-stretchy slim-boot-cut jeans and a soft sweater that draped enough to hide the tummy pudge, then I threw on some killer heels and out I went.  All was fine until I encountered a huge, full-length mirror in the restaurant bathroom. And I looked ridiculous. I turned to the side and what stared back at me was a giant ass propped up on 4ft tall toothpicks. Horrified, I fled back to the table and sat for the rest of the night, bladder be damned.

However, one amazing thing about my fledgling relationship with Jason is that he makes me feel safe in being honest and open. In the last few days, he and I have talked a lot about our respective relationships with our body shape/size.  His story is opposite of mine. Where he was recently quite heavy, he is now ridiculously lean and muscular. I started from zero and I’m adding onto the existing frame. HE couldn’t be happier with leaning out and seeing muscles.  *I* am pissed the fuck off that my impossible-to-find-and-stoopid-expensive jeans don’t fit anymore… all because of my ass and thigh muscles. Fuck you, ass and thigh muscles. But Jason?  He listened patiently while I hormonally bashed everything about my body I hated, grabbing folds of tummy grossness and thigh/ass chunk in the process.

Walking over to me, he calmly looked straight into my eyes, took my face in both his hands, and said that I’d need to get over all that bullshit really quickly because he thinks I’m beautiful in every way.  And then told me he loved me for the first time.

I shut up. After I told him I loved him back. 🙂

So no more bitching about the size of my arse or the crappy fit of my clothes. Tonight, Peach goes shopping!!! I will not hyperventilate over the sizes I need to buy to cover my arse appropriately.  I will accept that my previously weak-skinny frame is not getting fatter, it’s getting stronger. Besides, Jason adores my ASSets. (womp womp)

Lastly, it’s RECIPE TIME!

Adapted from: http://www.fitsugar.com/Recipe-Gluten-Free-Cheesy-Veggie-Pasta-Bake-20317594

PEACH’S PALEO SPAGHETTI (SQUASH) BAKE

(Gluten-free, dairy-free)

Ingredients

• 1 whole spaghetti squash
• 2 tablespoons organic coconut oil
• 1 small red pepper, diced
• 1 large zucchini, diced
• 1 carrot, shredded
• 2 small yellow squash, or 1 large
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tomato, diced
• 16 ounces tomato sauce (I used Rao’s Homemade Marinara – Tomato and Basil)
• Spices for veggies to taste: smoked paprika, celery salt, garlic
• powder, black pepper, italian seasoning
• 1/2 to 1lb ground beef. Grass-fed is preferred. If not, use the most organic, lean version available.

Directions

• Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
• Poke spaghetti squash all over with a knife and cook in the microwave for eight to 12 minutes until soft. If you don’t have a microwave, place the poked squash on a baking pan and bake at 375 degrees for 45 to 60 minutes.
• While that’s cooking, add the oil, garlic, pepper, zucchini, squash, and carrots to a pan, cooking over medium heat.
• When done, cut the spaghetti squash in half, scoop out the seeds, and with a fork, scrape the flesh from the peel. It should flake off easily in strings, resembling spaghetti.

Like zzeeeees.

• Place the spaghetti squash flesh in a 9×13 casserole dish. Add the cooked veggies, diced tomato, meat, sauce, and mix well.
• Bake for 30 minutes.
• Allow to cool for five minutes, serve, and enjoy!

so good. promise.

AND, it’s good FOR you. Check out the stats!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to see a store about some jeans.

Is this a good sign?

Ask for what you want and be prepared to get it.
— Maya Angelou

If you don’t already know, I did the online dating thing in January/Feb of this year. Just… NO.  NO. NO.  And HELL NO.  It was so awful I took a 4 month hiatus from dating.  When I felt ready again, I chose to take a more, say, organic route. I tried going on dates with a few different men that I know through friends or family, but have been nothing but underwhelmed. Just haven’t felt the kind of connection I’m looking for.  You know… the *whammo* physical attraction with the humor with the intelligence with the having your shit together with ambition to make one hell of a spark kind of connection?  Or is that just my silly expectations talking? Naive to hold out for that? I think not. Better to wait than settle for just…meh.

And then I was asked out by someone from CrossFit. My brain was all, “Say whaaaaat? That’s not why I joined CF! Is this a good idea? Because things could get mad awkward if it doesn’t work. Wait, he didn’t even seem interested!! Really? Him? But he’s so freakin’ hot! Me? OMG,shut UP, brain!!!”

I bit the bullet and said yes to dinner.

And you know what? Since that shared meal of Paleo-friendly food and a non-Paleo ginormous tub of froyo followed by a first kiss, I think it’s been great! (Except for my little blip… whatever.)  I haz a boyfriend, wheeeeee!

But what reason do any of you have to believe me?  Tell you what… I’ll give you ten things. You be the judge.

1. Meet the friends? No biggie. He completely forgets that he’s agreed to visit his friends after I arrive to cook dinner with him. Without hesitation, he texts his friend saying he’s bringing someone with him. Bonus dork alert: I was wearing an angry birds tshirt and he and his friends loved it.

2. He hits the klutz button in me. Normally I am an efficient, semi-graceful type of person, but I seem to turn into a complete and total klutz around him.  My clunkiness may include the following: dropping shit,  walking into inanimate objects, and spilling food on myself. Ugggh. Real smooth, Peach.  Anyone have a bib I can borrow?

3. Inventive date activities.  Our second date? goKart racing!! I was a maniac, screeching around the corners making the butt-end of my gokart slide wide. I was laughing hysterically the entire time, my Julia-Roberts-esque cackle echoing loudly inside my helmet at the thrill of the speed and utter FUN.  That night goes down as probably my best date ever. Our third date? Trout fishing!! Yes, @MayorGia… trout fishing! Yes, I baited my own hooks. With WORMS. I caught 5 out of our 11, thank you… all the big ones were mine. So there! Hah! Major points in my book for not being a lame-o, “I dunno, what do you feel like doing/what do you feel like eating?”….. zzzzz and no thank you.

4. PDA be damned.  He kisses me so thoroughly in public that, upon realizing we drew an audience, I blush furiously. Like, to my toes, blushing. Whoa.

5. He fits. With my height, it is challenging to find a decent physical match. It’s just not my preference to be the taller in the pair (my last ex was 5’8″, max).  But I’m not in this one. At 6’1″ to my 5’9″, I fit juuuust right in “the nook”.  Don’t pretend you don’t know what that is. And NO, it’s NOT DIRTY. Perverts.

6. The Biggies: Religious belief/practice.  Political stances. Relationship goals. Life goals. We have nearly the same viewpoints, but enough differences in opinion that they’re not exactly 100% lined up. I’m still floored at this one, because I’m kind of a weirdo.  I guess he is too, then. Yay, me!

7. Differences (are good!): He’s extremely well-traveled and culturally we are very different.  I am well-traveled within the US only, and it is fascinating to hear his perspective on societal issues and discuss/debate with him! Really? A man that can challenge my brain too?  Pinch me.

8. He is sweet to me. Opens doors. Holds my hand. Is generous with his time and affection. Makes me feel cherished, without agenda. (but also without smothering…blech!)

9. No biggie. He took the leap into referring to me as his girlfriend without making a big f’ing deal about it. It just was. Done.

10. He trusts me to drive his car. A stickshift. And now I am so busted with my writer buds at Yeah Write, because yes, this post was based on reality!

Soooooooo….. Whatcha think? Should I keep him around a little while?

And more importantly, if I do, and I blog about him more, he needs a pseudonym!  Hmmm… must get on that.