Before I begin can I tell you how absolutely, irrevocably, maddeningly, deeply, truly, painstakingly, adoringly, sickeningly in love I am with Taylor Swift? I bought her song “Love Story” on Thursday night and it has not stopped playing since. I love her. Please, please don’t tell Mariah.

The other day I was sitting in the dining hall with a group of friends (a group of other resident advisors, actually. It’s weird, when you become a resident advisor, suddenly all of your friends are RAs) and one of them was talking about her love life, and lamenting about being alone. Somehow the conversation turned to me and I mentioned Loverboy. She asked me, “You have a boo?” I stuttered for a moment, and said, “Yeah, I do.” Her reply? “Eff you” Then the Mistress chimed in, “What is your reluctance to claim him?” I didn’t have an answer for her then, but it’s been on my mind a lot.

Truth is, I am very reluctant to stake my claim. I recognize him as my person. (Person being my preferred term) And we do all the things that people in relationships do. Stupid phone calls that end in, “You hang up. No, you hang up!” But, I’m not wont to claim him. And it isn’t as if I haven’t been in relationships before. I’ve written a bit about the Ex. And I’ve had two other serious relationships. I don’t consider it a bad record; Four serious relationships within the three years I’ve been out. But somehow this one seems different. I once wrote about Loverboy in a note to the Mistress, and described him as “…perfect. The man I want to marry and adopt my Chinese kids with.” I wrote it offhandedly at the time. I think. I’m very exaggerated, always. But the words I wrote have stuck with me, for one reason or another. Committing to Loverboy in a permanent and real way would mean committing to what I consider my first adult relationship. He isn’t apt to play the “games” that I’m used to men (boys, really) playing. He’s very forward with not only what he expects out of me as a partner, but what I should expect out of him. It’s weird. He’s just so grown up. I know I’ve written about my (god, how cliche) fear of commitment, but it’s not the way you think. It’s not that I’m afraid to love him, or to commit. It’s that I’m afraid I’m moving too fast. In moving too quickly, I don’t want to artificially accelerate feelings that may not have developed naturally. Does that make any kind of sense?

I’ve been surrounded, my whole life, by family and friends that were so quick to jump from “I like him/her” to “I am in love with him/her” within the span of seven days. To me, love is something that unfurls naturally over a course of time. I guess you could say I don’t believe in love at first sight. It seems silly to me. Love is about more than that initial reaction, love is about the deepest kind of caring and compassion for every facet of another human being. It means embracing not only their dazzling smile, but their inability to put down the toilet seat. It’s everything, all at once.

I had a lot of friends in high school, and a great deal of the ones I’m referring to were GLBT ironically, that were so quick to declare their undying love for a person they’ve known for half a semester. And that seemed so weird to me. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know they had to wait? Didn’t they know that you needed to date someone first, peel off that first layer, and then you get to the love part? How silly of them. Puppy love seemed revolting to me; It all seemed foreign to me. And that really hasn’t changed much. Lately, I’ve started to wonder why. Why do I feel like, as Mariah says, Love Takes Time. Would it really be so bad to be in love after a few short weeks? Is that even possible? Who’s permission am I waiting for?

I’ve been writing and editing this post for a while. The publish date is 7 Feb, but it’s really going up 11 Feb. On the 9th, I received a package from Loverboy here at school. It was Taylor Swift’s CD and a pack of cigarettes. He despises that I enjoy both. Enclosed was a note that said, “Your happiness is my world.” Fuck the wait.

I’ve taken an extended break from updating on well, myself, instead focusing my random fascinations/interests/hates. I did that partly because every time I throw a post up, the situation changes within hours. It’s almost impossible to keep this page current. That being said, I’ve made one change that I hope is fairly stable. That is, I’ve added the title “boyfriend” to my ever-expanding business card. I don’t like the word “boyfriend” but I’m loathe to refer to myself as anyone’s partner when speaking romantically, so on boyfriend I must settle. And believe it or not you know him! If you’re reading this, then, hell, you may be him. I’m dating a man I once referred to as “the Evil One.” I don’t regret that. I wrote unfavorably of him at a time when he and I didn’t get along, to phrase it kindly. I don’t wish to hide that, or to alter it. Our precarious journey up until this point has shaped how we function in our relationship, and I believe we’re better for it. Hopefully, he’ll agree with me. I suppose I could insert a witty analogy here, but honestly, I’m too tired. Hopefully you can follow me here, dear reader.

When we last left off, I’d slept with the Evil One near Thanksgiving, and hadn’t spoke to him since. (I’d also lost a dear friend, and to an extent, my mother. More on them later, perhaps) Well, in an act of desperation, you might say, though it may have fear, fear of being alone, fear of rejection, fear of something, I reached out to him. He welcomed me with undeserved kindness. I realized this was I man I had, for all intents and purposes, used; Yet here he was, eager as ever to overlook our oft-inharmonious past, and help out a friend. He took me to see the Macy’s window display, and joined me in wickedly (and loudly might I add) mocking the glaring lack of effort put forth into their assembly. He fed me, and took a nap with me, a certain way to my heart if there ever was one. But most importantly, he made me feel worthy. That’s an odd word, I know, but I chose it with much consideration. Probably unknowingly, he made me feel like I deserved the warmth and kindness he was sharing with me. Berate me for my seeming lack of self-esteem if you must, but I don’t always feel wanted. Especially when I spend a fair amount of time dreaming about a breeder. (See definition 2) And even though I spent time hating him, and he spent time hating me, it was, almost serendipitously, that we happened upon each other in this state, each ready to commit. And from that day, things evolved rather quickly into what one may call a relationship. Eek.

Cursory glances at my love file would indicate I’m not the best at relationships. At all. I’m either too clingy or too distant. Too wrapped up in other things (or people). I don’t know how to just be. But I’m trying. And my latest attempt is to improve my culinary skills.

I really love to bake. There’s something almost sensual about the entire experience (I’m weird, no need to tell me) I find absolute pleasure in assembling these random ingredients into something delicious. And baking, as opposed to cooking, is all about the assembly, I can put my concoction in the oven, and for the most part leave it. No stirring, simmering, sauteing, none of those shenanigans. I really love that about baking, which I why I devote my time to the oven instead of the stove. I enjoy what I bake, and that’s really all that matters. I truly couldn’t care less if someone doesn’t enjoy my cake, I bake for me. That’s all really besides the point. Point is, I bake, don’t cook.

Except now, I have this crazy envy-raged desire to cook. Evil One’s previous partner was apparently this fabulous chef. Chef by name only, not by trade. So while EO assures me that I need not cook for him, I can’t help but feel inferior when he speaks ad nauseum about the “gourmet” meals his previous tenant prepared for him. Duck with mango glaze whatever. I can make Pastel de Tres Leches so suck it, Trebek. Ugh. I’m mad at myself for playing these teenage games with … myself, really. And I’m mad that I actually have to learn how to cook, despite what anyone may tell me. So, wish me luck, dear reader. If you here of any dorms burning in Urbana, well, you’ll know why.
I was also gently reminded that if I’m dating him, perhaps he should have a name other than the Evil One. So, from here on in, his new name is “Loverboy thy Name is Evil.” :]