Behold what I wore on my real live Valentine’s Day date. I am an extremely ceremonial person, often excruciatingly so, and I took pains with this outfit to make sure it was exactly right. Say what you will about unchecked consumerism, but I put a lot of stock in holidays. I like the idea of a culturally ordained day for celebrating aspects of life that often slide under the radar. I’m not into the whole overpriced-candy deal, but I do appreciate that its presence forces me to think about relationships in general and my own in particular. I might not give in to the whole “buy this shit” shtick, but I can certainly get behind any reminder to appreciate my partner. It’s easy, in the day to day, to let your life become all about arguing over dishes. There’s more to everything than the prosaic, and I’m always in favor of acknowledging that.
And this is as good a time as ever to talk about why I appreciate said partner. I don’t really like talking about this sort of thing on a blog that’s nominally about my creative efforts, but I know I always enjoy reading it on others’ blogs. I’m a gossip hound. What the hell, I’m feeling magnanimous.
I’d seen Josh around town for a good year or two before I found his profile on okCupid. It was a year ago yesterday, actually, that I first messaged him. I spent Valentine’s Day 2013 profoundly single and bedridden with the flu. All I needed was a good okCupid browse to complete my picture of pathos. I stumbled on his profile and recognized him instantly: here was the guy I’d mercilessly eye-fucked on the street for months, who looked as though he’d polished off a few duelists and sipped their blood for an afternoon constitutional. Inigo Montoya meets H.P. Lovecraft. His profile described him as a nightmare fetishist and steampunk enthusiast, as well as – hyperventilation right on cue – the art director of the other haunted house in the area. (If you’re new here, know that my involvement with haunted houses is one of the most important parts of my life.) I distinctly remember thinking “this guy is way too cool for me.”
He didn’t message me back until April, because he is the most absent-minded of the professorial cohort. He asked me out for tea, I kissed him, and he invited me back to his “creepy mansion”. At the time, he was renting a room in a rambling former frat house (fun fact: the frat in question was forcibly disbanded for dealing coke), and he promised to give me a tour of the most murder-rific parts. When he kissed me good-bye the next morning, he said, and I quote, “I think this is the beginning of a long and beautiful courtship.”
And I thought, who the fuck talks like that?
We were Facebook official three days after we met in person. I hadn’t even mentioned him to most of my friends yet. Ten months later, I’m still scratching my head a little that the guy I’d considered way too cool for me is my partner in life, crime, and devilry. But he’s a colossal goofball who isn’t half as intimidating as he looks. He remembers that I like my burgers super-ultra well done and that my favorite TV Trope is “arson, murder, and jaywalking”. He lacks spiritual inclination but holds nothing but respect for mine. He wakes me up by nibbling on my neck. And I feel loved and respected to a near transcendental degree.
I’m not a self-effacing type who demurs “oh, I have no idea why he picked me of all people.” I’m awesome. He’s awesome. And we manage to be more than the sum of our parts.
Dress & Skirt: Downtown Threads Boots: Battery Street Jeans Fishnets: Old Gold Bow: Spirit Halloween Necklace & Scarf: Gifted
Happy Valentine’s Day, asshole.