The other night I said something to Da Man (previously known in a past life as "M") about no wonder his divorce rate was so high. He asked how I acted with past live-in boyfriends. I laughed real hard and said, "I haven't had any live-in boyfriends before you, ass monkey."
"But what about The Canadian Sperm Donor," he wanted to know.
"He only lived here after he got out of the psych ward. Then he freaked out because he was talking to his ex and left, fearing that she would report him for staying in the States past his six month limit."
So the whole conversation got me thinking. I have been trying to do a mental tally of the past boyfriends. And I have decided that just about half of my life has been spent in a relationship, but Da Man is the first real live-in one that I have had. And we all know that little Miss Daisy hasn't marched down the aisle except that once as a bridesmaid.
Let's see...
I didn't date in high school. I wasn't one of the popular kids, but I knew a lot of people and had a lot of friends. I was always one of the guys, which is probably why I didn't date any of them. We knew each other too well. And, face it, I have never been one of the most beautiful chickas in the room.
In college I began dating Mr. Jazz. We became engaged and were together for a total of six years before I told him I wanted to postpone the wedding and he just flat out called me on it and cancelled it. Ha. I was so in love with him at that point that I left the very next day to board The Magic Bus with the keyboard player in a reggae band that I had recently met. And, though it only lasted six months, that was one of the most fulfilling relationships I have ever had. And not because of the actual relationship but because of the people I met and the many lessons I learned. Many of those lessons I still carry with me today. And if there was one ex that I could reconnect with, it would him.
But I digress....the engagement was a long distance affair. He lived in Washington DC, having graduated my freshman year. We traveled back and forth quite often. Not often enough to keep him from messing around with a co-worker, but that's another story entirely.
After the end of Mr. Jazz and Mr. Reggae came a couple of years of dating no one in particular but starting a relationship with Mr. Fuck Buddy. Gawd, he was hot. But he was way out there and on his way to crashing and burning. I never expected anything from him. But I have fond memories and smiles.
I spent two years after that as a mistress with a guy I worked with. Not the best of relationships for sure, but it was what I wanted at that point in my life. The sex wasn't the best that I had ever had, but it was crazy. Meeting in parking lots at work, dressing in nothing but a long black leather coat and sliding into his truck...I don't know where I gained the courage because I don't have that now. Oh wait, I think the courage came from that bag of green leafy stuff that I usually had on my person back then. *roll eyes*
And I just realized that I tripped myself up. I have told a lie. I have had another live-in boyfriend, Mr. Beat Me. Wow, how could I forget about him?
I met him at a bar while out celebrating my 26th birthday. He lived in another state. We talked on the phone for quite awhile. A friend and I went to visit him and he came home with me. He stayed for two years. Two long and miserable years filled with beatings. Those years have just now given me an anxiety attack yet again. Fucker.
I should have known better when he had to have beer in his possession to make the trip. What the hell was I thinking? But I guess it's becoming quite obvious that I had self-esteem problems, eh.
He finally left me for another chick. A chick that was just as strung out on drugs as he was. A chick that was made for him. In fact, the last I heard, she had turned state's evidence on him. A match made in heaven.
I didn't date anyone for two years after Mr. Beat Me. I threw myself into my music and was busy most of the time. I was single, attractive, and always out there. I dodged a relationship with Mr. Stand In Bartender for a few years and finally settled on yet another Fuck Buddy. He was an ass but he taught me a few things too. (Don't they all teach us a few things?) I run into him every once in a while. He certainly has changed. Actually, the last time I saw him he was with his son, which was a huge thing for him. And I was with Grace and Da Man. It was a bit awkward for us, but we muddled through. And the best part of it is that no one would ever guess that I used to stagger home from his place quite often at four in the morning. I was *that* detached.
Then one night at a gig I was approached by a chick who begged me to stop in her chatroom and sing a song in there. Knowing that I wasn't going to go in there and sing, I went just to check it out. And I never found her chat room. What I did find was The Canadian Sperm Donor. And no, he wasn't singing karaoke. *cackle*
I traveled to the great state of New York to hang out with a chick and her daughter whom ran the chat room that I met Tim in. I tore the tranny out of my truck on the way there. He was coming here to stay with his girlfriend for the weekend (We lived in the same state, how "coincidental" was that?). He stopped in New York and towed me and my truck home.
We sat the world on fire, me and TCSD. No one understood the connection we had. There wasn't any sense in trying to explain it to people because if you couldn't simply *feel* it then you would never get it. We lasted for four years. And yes, it was another long distance relationship. He would come down every other weekend. And the only time he stayed for any substantial amount of time was when he had been locked up in the psych ward after his failed suicide attempt. And you all know the rest of that story.
I went three years without even talking to a man. I would chat but had absolutely no desire to do it again. And then I met Mr. Flea and Tick Season, who still pops in now and again. He hated everything about me: I was "man prideful" he'd say. I was fat. I was too much of a hippie. My patchouli smelled like Raid. But yet he told me that he wanted to marry me. Picture that. After a sexual encounter that lasted all of four minutes (yes, I timed it), I sent him packing a day earlier than anticipated.
A year after that I had that odd spiritual encounter which prompted me to write letters to troops in Iraq. And that's how I met Da Man. Because he read someone else's mail *smirk*. (They passed the letters around and he was attracted to my pretty handwriting.) And we all know the story of me and Da Man, even though I haven't been writing much lately and there have been some positive and very promising changes in his life.
So I met Da Man by letter in December of 2006. I met him in person upon his return from Iraq in May of 2007. I was pregnant with my second child by the end of June. He went to Georgia. A few times. *snort* So it has been a long distance relationship longer than it has been a live-in one.
Now his wife is talking divorce, having his mama call here and tell him that she's going to send the papers to be signed. And he keeps making references to "us" and "marrying." I'm sitting here wondering if I'll ever take the marital plunge. I don't have a good track record. And he and I have issues that would *have* to be resolved before I would eternally tie myself to him. See, that's the way I see marriage, for eternity, despite the fact that I know one couple who has managed to stay together for over ten years. Well, one couple under the age of 40, that is.
I have always been a romantic. And I have had pretty extraordinary relationships, even though it doesn't sound so extraordinary being put the way I have put it. But trust me, they have been. I have had plans to marry twice and something always happened to make it not pan out. And for that I am grateful because I don't know how I would deal with the break up of a marriage.
I still have this fantasy that when and if I ever marry that it will be for keeps. I think that forever is left out of marital intentions a lot these days. I want it to be a relationship that I would fight to save, much in the same way that I would fight for my children should they be threatened. But that's hard, isn't it, because you never know who is out there, searching for you. You never know from one day to the next which one of you is going to change and/or which one's wants and needs will so drastically be altered that there is no possible way it would ever work if you stayed.
One of my big things is total acceptance. I demand it from someone that I'm in a relationship with, be it a friendship or romantic. I do the same, accept, and cannot allow myself to settle for anything less. I don't want to have to hide parts of myself from someone whom I love. And I don't ever want to wake up one day and not be in love with the person that I am supposed to be in love with. But where's the guarantee?  
 Don't we all settle to a degree when we're in a relationship? I mean, aren't there things and small issues that get under our skin but we choose to ignore for the greater good? Is it possible for two people to truly love each and every part of another person? And is it human nature to always want more, to want better? Does that apply to romantic relationships too?
Ha. All of this because the chick at the drive-thru window at Timmy's referred to me as DaMan's "wife" tonight. I realized that my mouth was open just in time because I almost corrected her.
See, I cannot picture myself ever being labeled as anything other than a mom. That's fucked up, but it's true. Everything in my world revolves in one way or another around my girls. They are my oxygen. Without them I don't know if I could survive, though they sometimes drive me absolutely fucking batty. *grin* But I catch myself talking to people as if I am still completely single. Still that single mom, trudging along and burning a path to make it easier for the next single mom. I don't always think of myself as being involved in a relationship. And that's kind of fucked up because I am living the relationship.
And granted, I know it's the current circumstances that allow my brain to stay stuck in single mom mode. And things are beginning to happen, they're changing. All signs are pointing to Da Man being here. So I suppose that one day my brain will do an entire flip. And I hope that's not so difficult because I can't afford to lose any more brain cells. If I hadn't stopped smoking pot four years ago I would today be one brain cell away from a babbling monkey. Ha.