Schmoop fest, table for one!

Okay, so this is going to be a little different than my previous posts. No poop stories, no dead baby jokes, no sarcasm (well... maybe a little), and definitely no negativity.

I adore my husband. With Valentine's Day right around the corner, I've been feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, and it's not because of the Ambien, like usual. Normally we don't do a lot for V-Day, and we probably won't change that tradition this year, but still - a day dedicated to love makes me feel pretty damn lucky.

It's nearly impossible to think of a time that I didn't know Mr. MandeeFoFandee... a time when I knew absolutely nothing about him, other than his name. A time that I wasn't aware of his ice cream addiction, and his love of classic rock. A time before I knew that he despised ranch dressing, but had an unnatural affection for BBQ sauce. A time that I thought I was the only person who loved "The Boondock Saints" enough to place it at the top of my favorite movies list. A time when I believed that I never wanted to get married, or even think about bearing demons... ahem... children.

In summer 2007, my best friend dragged me out of my hibernation of depression and anxiety (which I had masked as a possible case of IBS, and even went as far as to have a colonoscopy to prove it) to go away for the weekend to Ocean City. OC is a place much like the infamous Jersey Shore - full of trash, but great entertainment if you know the right spots. I hesitated, but agreed in the end, because my best friend had just met a guy, and wanted to meet up with him and his friends in OC, but obviously did not want to venture out alone. So there we are, in our hotel room (which amounted to about $40 a night, so you can imagine how luxurious it was), drinking beer (ahem... I was NOT drinking, due to my recent stomach issues), and waiting for the men folk to arrive, who were staying in the same hotel... just a few rooms down the hall. I should also mention that my best friend and her new beau had been trying to hook me and S up for a little while, but we were just never in the same place at the same time. Now, back to the story - the door is propped open, and S walks in. I damn near have to pick my jaw up off the floor, because "GOD DAMN, who is that handsome chunk of man flesh that just walked in our room?!" Sure enough, it was the guy I'd been hearing soooo much about. Honestly, I was really hoping S would turn out to be a giant douchebag, because he was way too good looking to actually be a "great guy." We didn't talk much the first night, but I did offer him my dead skin peeling services for his poor burned legs, which had been abused by the sun the weekend before. No shame in my game, playa.


The second day we were in OC, a bunch of us went to the beach for the day. The beach was crowded, so we sneaked into the pool at the nearby Hilton. When the drink girl came by asking for wrist bracelets, I just told them we were checking in that day, and therefore our reservation wasn't on her handy dandy spreadsheet. I'm devious like that. S shows up at the pool a little later, and to my surprise, strikes up a conversation with me. Turns out, he has struggled with extreme anxiety for years, and he thinks that my stomach issues could be just that. I also learn that I am, in fact, NOT the only person who adores "The Boondock Saints" to the point of obsession. After the pool conversation, we all headed back over to our respective hotel rooms to get ready to hit the town.

During our walk on the boardwalk in our large group of 20 somethings, we hang in the back, getting to know each other better. I don't remember what we talked about, but I guess it doesn't really matter. We all went to dinner, hit up a bar on the boardwalk, and then made our way to the party block on 17th street, where the liquor reaaaaally started to flow (with everyone else except myself... stomach issues, ya know). S was getting quite intoxicated - he and E (best friend's beau) were drinking all the tube shots they could get their hands on, in order to see which girl would have the most glow bracelets on their wrists by the end of the night. We totally won, in case you were wondering. At some point during the night, I realized that I was staring at S... kind of stalkerish staring. My best friend noticed (as she should), and bet me that I wouldn't make the first move. With that said, I walked up to him at the bar, pretended like I had to tell him a secret, and planted a big one right on his gorgeous mouth. From that point on, we were making out all night (klassssssy). We got back to our hotel, and he thought it would be an excellent idea to throw me in the pool... with ALL of my clothes on. I tried to be angry with him, but I had to respect the balls he had to throw someone completely sober (and clothed!) into a pool. I tried to hang as long as I could, but being that I was not wasted, I couldn't keep my eyes open much longer. I said goodnight, and went to my room. And in case you were wondering, I went to my room ALONE. Perverts.

this was one of our first pictures together... before the trip into the pool.

The following day, we all got up and planned to head out and go our separate ways. I found myself rambling about S the entire car ride home. My best friend got his number from E, and as they say, the rest is history. We had our first date a week later, and have been together ever since. We couldn't get enough of each other, and we fell in love quickly. I loved everything about him - the way he was so laid back and sort of shy, but still confident. The way he cared immensely about his family and friends. And most importantly, the way he climbed the walls I had built up around me for years in order to protect myself. The way he MADE me get close to him, and let my guard down. He allowed me to see myself in a different way. He made me feel safe and protected, and he brought out the best in me. I could be myself around him, and he loved me as MandeeFoFandee. And all this doesn't mean he totally kissed my ass either, cause that was not the case at ALL. Trust me, he called me out on my bullshit when he thought I was wrong, and he let me know when/if I was out of line (more when than if). Honestly, I loved every minute of it. It was refreshing to be with someone who knew exactly who he was, and who had strong opinions. I loved his honesty, and his knowledge of himself, and that he wasn't afraid to share that with me.

here are a few pictures from the beginning of our relationship:

It's nice to remember our relationship early on, when it was so fresh and new. Of course, our relationship is still as wonderful as it was then, but it's a different kind of wonderful. It's the kind of wonderful that means knowing almost everything there is to know about each other, and still smiling at the end of the day. It's the kind of amazing that allows you to ignore the annoying flaws (which trust me, we both have plenty of), and embrace the good spirits. It's the kind of wonderful that makes Valentine's Day a fuzzy and warm day, and not just some Hallmark created holiday.

I was perusing MySpace for the first time in a loooong time today, and I found this blog that I had written back in March of 2007. I had dated (and I use that term loosely) a guy who ended up being a giant tool... and so I wrote this blog as a sort of guideline for myself... if a guy didn't make at least 5 of these traits, he was date material only... nothing long term. And as it turns out, S meets all of these... except the Redskins one.

Here's the blog I wrote on March 2nd, 2007. Little did I know, I'd be meeting the man who would change my cynical ways in just a short few months.

I want a man...
... that is proud to call me HIS.
... who will let me pay for dinner sometimes.
... that wants to show me off to his friends.
... who won't compliment me all the time, but when it's honest & true.
... who loves the Washington Redskins more than I do.
... that will let me bury him in the sand at the beach.
... who isn't jealous or possessive.
... who will make me laugh until my stomach aches.
... who will love every flaw on my body.
... that loves his mother.
... that lets me have my privacy and isn't stuck up my ass all the time.
... who will impress my friends on the first meeting.
... who's not afraid to be himself.
... that will have thumb wrestling tournaments with me & not let me win.
... that will tell me if an outfit I'm wearing looks dumb.
... who won't let me critique myself physically.
... who can get approval from my dad without kissing his ass.
... who will have debates with me about heated topics.
... that will express his opinions freely & not second guess himself.
... that will make fun of me when I'm crying over a chick flick.
... who won't spoil me, but simply treat me the way I deserve.
... who is confident and secure with himself.
... that will let his guard down when he's ready.
... who will make me want to be a better person.
... who will sit in the bathroom and talk to me while I poop.
... that makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive.
... who won't back down in a fight with me.
... who makes me love myself even more than I already do.
... that I can have fun with.

... who will want me to delete this blog because he knows he's IT.

Don't worry, I won't be deleting this blog, but I did delete the other one. Damn you, V-Day. I'm never usually all mushy and shit about my marriage, but for some reason, I've been feeling the need to share about it lately. Until next time, hookers!


PS - He doesn't sit in the bathroom with me while I poop... we just poop with the door open.