I'd even have Wayne Newton dedicate a song to you.

I'm trying not to be mushy right now.

I'm trying REALLY hard not to overthink things and end up giving a Kids, let me tell you a story HIMYM style thing. Because I am not really that optimistic.

But I want to be.

The guy who kissed me at midnight on New Year's Eve? The guy who I had a giant crush on in college 'cause he stole a lobster from Wal-Mart one time? The guy who took me on one of the only dates I've ever gone on--to a carnival midway and out for sushi? The guy who likes my friends, does trivia with me twice a week and went to a national competitive trivia tournament with me this past weekend, dressed up in suspenders and glasses, danced like an asshole, did shots of jaeger with our Quizmaster, wandered 6th street in our nerd costumes? That guy who pissed me off so bad that I called him a fist-pumping Jersey Shore douchebag.... who managed to bring it back around and then took me to see The Ataris?


I am dating him.
And I am scared out of my ever-loving mind.

The last two people I was involved with... well, one of them was the guy I dated on and off for like a year and change who is currently in one of his Not Talking To That Bitch cycles. And the other guy is one that I boned for like three months 'cause we were both sad fuckers with nothing better to do.

I am not prepared for someone awesome, especially not THIS kind of awesome.

This isn't a clever or cute or funny blog or a terrible tragic story about how "Hey, this one time, I made a series of choices!"

This is my elation... that maybe, maybe I was right to believe. That maybe, maybe one of those fucking pies I took in the face was worth it. That maybe, oh god, maybe something good is going to happen with this. I hope so.

He laughed when I ran face first into a glass wall in a mirror maze. We shared a funnel cake and got sloppy stupid drunk in a bar combination bowling alley. We sang 90s songs on the drive home when I thought everything was over and I was never going to speak to him again. Then we kissed each other after jumping up and down and screaming the lyrics to San Dimas High School Football Rules, with Kris Roe just a few feet away selling his photographs.

And this is my terror that I am wrong and it's going to end up one of the stories on this blog, the kind I like to tell to people I don't know very well so I can keep them at an arm's distance to disguise the fact that I'm a really a big, giggly cheerleader wrapped in some Daria icing. That the Jersey Shore comment that he swears he will never forget was the more accurate of the summations, that I should ignore the butterflies and the desire to sing and do the Snoopy dance.

I want this to be something real.
I hope I don't look back at this entry and hate myself, because oh god, I never put this much of myself out there. Stories I shouldn't tell prospective employers, future ex-husbands and perfect strangers? I got that shit on lockdown.

This is my heart, guys.
That fragmented mess that I carry around in my chest, hoping against hope that someday someone will want it and give me theirs in return.

I haven't been this excited about a guy in so long and thusly am terrified. It is too soon to predict anything but the fact that I am FUCKING EXCITED.
I don't know how to react when every single part of me is screaming, This Could Be So Great.

But the other part is the part of my mind that hears all those horrible things that have been said to me by people who aren't even in my life anymore, that sees that I am the big crazy mess that would write this kind of entry after only a little while of kind of seeing someone and not very long at all after it's officially stated that we are dating.

Yeah, I'm that kind of crazy.
Who the hell would want to be with someone like that?

........maybe someone who's kind of slipping on a banana peel, double fisting drinks, dancing like a maniac, doesn't always know exactly what they're doing but gorram it if they can't quote firefly while it's happening? Maybe someone like that.... and maybe this guy's that kind of absurd, wrapped up in a genuinely nice guy wrapper.

Oh god, darlings. One can only hope, after all.