"You don't give up, do you? I should call you Tenacious D"

 Just my thoughts. I haven't written in so long. Well, I have, but nothing I could publish. I've hit a bit of a rough patch but I'm hoping for bluer skies. As always, I'm so grateful you even take the time to read my blog. It's my therapy, my way of coping. 

 As I sit on the couch I can't help staring at him. Then again, I always find myself staring at him. However, this time it's different. I see him differently than I did a month ago. More vulnerable? Maybe. He reclines back in grey sweats and no shirt, his dad's old guitar across his body covering his tattoos as he plays. I watch his fingers as he plucks at the strings. He tunes the guitar and it makes this creeeeak noise. Every once in a while his mouth will move to imitate what his fingers are doing. Songs of Metallica, Pink Floyd, even Quiet Riot played out (which acoustically made me giggle because it was unbelievably entertaining) and I listen to him serenade me. It's been months since he's done it. God, I missed him. I close my eyes blissfully and he starts to play a song that immediately makes my eyes well up with tears. It's an old 80's or 90's song with lyrics that talk about don't just say the words, but show me you love me. It's only when he plays it, do I have this reaction. The way his face changes, softens. How his hands move and his eyes close. How he taps the guitar with his thumb. All that is running through my mind is, "Thank you, God, for giving me this man. For whatever lessons I have to learn, whatever I'm supposed to teach, whatever this crazy journey is, I'll do it. Thank you." D puts the guitar down and stands up. His sweats hang loosely around his hips and exposes his ( I had to look this word up) inguinal creases. Which is just the technical term for those hot hip lines on a guy like you see on the Abercrombie and Fitch models. It's my favorite part on him, well, one of my favorites. I look at him like a wolf in a cartoon with the eyes that reach out to here and the big GAZOOOOOGAH sound comes out. "I'm gonna go have one more smoke and maybe we can go to bed. I'm kinda tired," he says. I must've said, "yeah," or,"ok," but, really, who the fuck knows. I'm still looking at him like a he's a sandwich and I'm starving like a hostage. I go to the bedroom to fix the covers, take off my clothes, and slide in the cool sheets. When I hear the door my heart races. After a year and a half D still has this effect on me. He stands at the foot of the bed and I get one more look at him with only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I wonder, do other people feel like this? He takes off his sweats and slips into bed next to me. He wraps his arms around me. Our legs intertwine and I inhale him. He smells so good. His skin is smooth and his body hard. I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back.
 "I thought you said you were tired," I say to him as he kisses my neck.
 "I'm never too tired for you."
 "I love you," I whisper into his mouth in between kisses.
 He touches my face, "I love you."

 My song picks for today are: More Than Words by Extreme and Cum On Feel The Noise by Quiet Riot 

I hope this post finds you all well. Enjoy the changing leaves and the cool air. The colors are so beautiful. Love, R

Take-a-my heart..foof!!

"...Then tell me three things that you love about him right now."
"Why? What will that do?"
"Just do it."
"He's very witty. I mean it. He can't tell a joke to save his life, but he can make you laugh about something, make you forget about it, and then bring it back into the conversation and make it fit so that everybody erupts into that kind of laughter that you are clapping at the same time because it was so good."
"What else?"
"His smile when it's genuine. People give him a lot of flack because he doesn't smile in his pictures and stuff. Like if you've ever seen that shirt with Darth Vader on it with all the different emotions, happy, sad, surprised...and it's all the same picture. He's kinda like that in his pictures and I know exactly why he won't do it. But I love his smile. Don't get me wrong, I like his other smiles and laughs, too, but I'm not talking about that loud, boisterous laugh that most people see when he's out. "
"One more."
"His vulnerability when he allows it. I've seen people take such advantage of him and he's had to build this heavy armor. When he lets you in, it's such a gift. He's much more fragile than he'll ever let most people see. Very early in our relationship we were driving and he asked if we could make a stop. But he does it like this, "TURNHERETURNHERETURNHERE!!!!"  As I pulled in, it became apparent I was taking him to his Dad's gravesite. We parked the car and got out. I'm a little taken back. I'm already in deep love with him, but for Dustin, this is not normal behavior. We approach the site and D stops to put his eye drops in, and if I could have a fourth thing...this would be it. I've never seen anyone put eye drops in like he does. Seriously.  It's fascinating and defies gravity.  Anyways, we come up to where his dad is buried and as D is wiping his eyes he puts his arm around me and abruptly pulls me to his side, "Pop, this is Robyn. Everyone's telling me she's a keeper and I wanted you to meet her." I'm shocked, I'm speechless, all I want to do is hold him. He tells me a story of a mix up with the location of the plots and how he thinks his dad would hate all the planes flying over him all the time. He looks around for a second and just like that he says, "Ok, we're gonna go now," sigh, "I miss you and I love you." We turn and leave. A few days after that, he disappeared. I didn't hear from him for at least  a few days. No communication at all, and I was heartsick. I went back a few days after that to the cemetery and sat down on the grass next to Pop's stone. I can still remember how itchy the grass was. Immediately my eyes welled up with tears. "I know you worry about him," I sobbed, " I promise, if we're together I'll love him and take care of him the best I know how. I know he's a good man. I see it in him. But, please, help me listen how to love him. Help him come home to me." Whooo, got a little off the subject there, sorry."
"How do you feel?"
"Like the more things change, the more they stay the same."

 When's the last time you thought of three things you love about your loved one or why you're grateful? You don't have to tell me what they are. Maybe it will help you remember why you love each other. Or what you would lose.
"People say you don't know what you've got til it's gone, but the truth is, you knew what you had, you just never thought you'd lose it."
I wrote this whole story (minus a small personal paragraph I've eliminated) to D after a horrible argument we'd had because instead of writing him all of the things I wanted to tell him he was doing wrong, I stopped and found him right.  I was still really fucking hurt...don't get it twisted, but it slapped me in the face of why I loved him to begin with and I asked him to do the same and if he couldn't...well, then, to let me go.  Sometimes we have rough patches...days, weeks, even longer...but you decide when it's worth it to stay or to walk away.  A friend with an anniversary sparked this in me today.  I send my love.  I send it to all of you.  xxoo, R

song picks for the night:
Pat Monahan's, "Always Midnight"
Damien Rice's, "The Blower's Daughter"

Bienvenido A Miami...my favorite topless spot

"B, I don't want to alarm you, but It's 6:48 and we can't get the motorcycle up the stairs...Yes, I'll call her now...Yes, I'll breathe...I'll breathe right after she gets in the room on that motorcycle in one piece...hang on...that's the lady in charge on the other line."
"Hello?  Yeah, no, you don't seem to understand.  15 minutes is no good.  I need to get this motorcycle, the hot guy in the tux and MG  in the room for the entrance in (I look at my watch) 5 minutes.  Can I take them through the front door?  No?  Sorry, (I make a fake noise with my mouth) I can't hear y..."(I hang up) YOU! (I point to motorcylce man) FOLLOW ME!" I throw off my sandals and start a mad dash down the street barefoot in a dress in front of the Miami Convention Center. Throw open the doors as Hot Tux Motorcycle Man drives up the ramp into the building (vvrrooomm) what time is it? 6:58 shit! HURRY! We start on time!  I still have to tell MG what  her stage directions are.  We are hauling ass on the carpet.  Me running barefoot in the convention center with a man on a harley...odd for some.  For Miami, totally normal.  But then, I see her standing cool-as-a-cucumber, with her thumb in the air and one leg out as if to be hitching a ride and I realize all is right in the world.  MG, the leader of the Pleasure Revolution, in a gorgeous dress that drapes on her body like a delicious piece of taffy that's been pulled and swagged around her body. I see her smiling and realize I must look like a mental patient so I gather myself, introduce her to her entrance date, show her where to put her body so she will be safe on the bike, where she needs to go on the floor, how he will assist her, and then she looks at him with all the gratitude in the world and says, "Thank you so much for doing this for us. We are so grateful." and he is powerless.  Genius. 30 seconds.  I can hear, "Flight of the Bumble Bee," telling the women to ready themselves for greatness. Cue the music. The doors open.  The music booms.  The room erupts in screams as the doors open...EXHALE.  Will Smith's, "Welcome to Miami," plays loudly as MG is paraded around a room of the most turned on and tuned in women on the planet.  In 90 seconds there is more pleasure and passion and fire and energy then I've ever thought possible.  Sisterhood, community at it's peak and I bare witness to it.  I am a testament.  I watch from the back of the room as MG greets and asks different women to stand and brag.  Bragging is different then boasting.  The difference:  Bragging is merely telling the truth.  I am a great mother.  I'm a fun person.  Boasting is embelishing.  I had an elephant sandwich for lunch.  I am the queen of England.  Ya dig?  So I am looking at these women embracing their light and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  Why?  Because, my darlings, I'm part of this revolution.  I choose pleasure.  I choose happiness.  I am part of a community that has given me such love and comfort.  And although I do not see you often and we are far apart, I still feel you in my heart, my sisters every day.  Every single day.  Yeah, doesn't have anything to do with my dating blog, but I'm in love with all of you, I had this memory and I wanted to tell you...does that count? Sending you all love and hope to see you all in November.  xxoo, SG Sunshine

My dance break song is
Will Smith's, "Welcome To Miami,"
Natalie Merchant's, "Kind and Generous,"
and Shanon Day's, "Free,"

Grateful grateful grateful for my man and his strong arms that hold me
I desire a cheap plane ticket and a great deal on a room at the Standard or Raleigh and to do the entrance for IC!
I brag I am a great Goddess of Entrances

What do you mean you forgot the blankets!?!?

"I thought we were camping, but we were homeless for three months..." had to be one of the funniest stories I've ever heard out of the, "Bedtimes stories for children you hate," book that was brought by one of the couples that we  just went camping with this weekend.  I'm not sure why that particular passage strikes me as funny because the rest of the story sucked.  There were so many others that made this one pale in comparison.  So, yes, you read correctly.  I went camping.  I don't know why that is so hard for some people to believe.  My ex, as he was pleading, "Please, Robyn, don't let anything happen to our son," said jokingly, "I really never saw you as the camping type."  Well, maybe because you never really saw me at all. Oooooh, that's deep.  But, I was a little nervous.  I don't like bugs.  I have stage fright when it comes to peeing outside.  *sigh* Alas, I'd be with my man, friends, and my 7y/o son.  It was a very fun weekend with lots of laughs and my son actually caught a fish.  There were 5 couples there including D and myself and watching the dynamics between all of them and us made me do a lot of thinking.  I've known for quite a while that I'm a handful.  I've never made any qualms about that.  I desire a lot of attention because I went without it my entire life.  There is a very big difference between loving someone and throwing money at someone when there's a problem.  I've always had the latter.  I think that's why I don't put value on material things like I should.  Or, moreover, why I have such distaste for materialistic people.  I grew up not knowing if my friends were there because I had an indoor pool, a maid, a limo, my mother drove a rolls royce, or if they were there because of me.  Anyway, the attention thing...I give tons.  I express it.  I say I love you because you never know what's going to happen tomorrow.  I communicate and talk things out because if I hold it in I will explode on you the next time you put mayo on my sandwich when I wanted mustard.  I talk and think slowly and methodically.  I use a lot of words.  Dude, I'm a frickin writer. But I'm with someone who is my opposite most of the time.  He thinks fast, talks fast, and for the most part, I would say is kind of a loner.  So when do you compromise? How do you? What do you decide on being fair?
D sits on the bag chair, "Scoot a little bit to the left, would ya.  I need some room for the guitar." so I move over.  My son sits next to me in his chair that is perfectly proportioned to his size. He wears a bright tye-dyed t-shirt and he's exhausted from the day of bike riding, swimming, fishing, playing.  He holds a bongo drum between his knees and bangs it out of time with the guitar music.  I tip my head back as I look at the stars.  Where's the big dipper?  I think I can see the handle.  My G-d, the stars are so bright.  Crack.  The fire pops and I swear the sparks are only aimed at me.  I love the smell of the campfire.  I see the other kids holding their marshmallows over the fire to make s'mores.  I look back over at my man and watch his fingers move on the strings and I can't help but fall in love every time I look at him.  It's been hell this trip.  I've purposely been keeping my distance from him knowing he doesn't like to be crowded when it's hot out.  But it physically pains me not to touch him.  I watch him flip through the song book and he turns to me, "Sing this song."  Yes, sir.  I turn back to see my son and he's fallen asleep over the bongo.  It's the cutest thing I've ever seen.  We all take pictures.  Is that wrong?  I pick him up and D helps me put him in bed in the tent.  We come back to the fire and continue to sing and play music.  One of the women reads hilarious stories off her kindle.  All the while I'm thinking can I live a life without the attention that I want?  I want to hold his hand but I know it will just annoy him.  When all the other couples were swimming and together, where was he? Why do I feel like he just wants to be with everybody and not alone with me? Will it be like this all the time?  He's been with my son fishing, playing, swimming all weekend.  Why would he do that if he didn't love me?  So, is it just me?  Try to find him right, Robyn. The campfire dies down and everyone goes to bed.  D fixes a snack for his neverending hunger and I come out to the dark campsite to sit with him under the stars.  It's so quiet and I feel a million miles away from home and from him.  He is the first true love I've ever had.  Can't think anymore. Too tired.  Bed.  Sleep.  Morning.  Packup.  Drive.  Tired.  Unpack car.  Drag body upstairs.  Unfuckingbelieveable, I have to make dinner.  I can barely pick up my arms.  No, really, (bang freezer door) you two boys just sit there (slam cabinet) and watch tv...I'll be fi...and I look over into my living room from my kitchen and I see D and my son lying on the couch.  My son lying in front of my man and D has his arm over my son and they are watching Scooby-Doo together.  They are both so contented.  My son snuggles against D and closes his eyes.  My face softens and I realize that this is my pleasure now to serve my men. We eat dinner together and go to sleep by 8:30pm.  Elan leaves for camp in the morning and when I get back to bed, I feel like my man has come back to me.  He holds me, whispers in my ear things that are for me to hear, and we talk about how we can make our lives better.  Do I have the answers? No.  Do I have any idea what I'm doing? Not a clue.  Is it worth it?  I look at it like this...I've never loved anyone the way I love him.  I will try anything and everything as long as he loves me, too.  Maybe it's the fresh air that cleared my head and his.
As always, thank you for taking time to read about my life.
I am grateful for:
Sisters that I've inherited
music around a campfire
Christmas in July
coffee with Irish Cream
role-models of love
blankets and hot showers
my beautiful son and his adaptability
my gorgeous man and his capability
friends who showed my son amazing kindness
the big dipper
sunshine
Sheli's cleaning skills and Jtb's cooking

My song picks are
What's Up by 4 non-blondes
Freebird by Lynard Skynard