For many years, I've been laboring under the misapprehension that I possess a superior intellect. In my defense, I've received a lot of feedback in the "you sure are smart" vein which has merely served to reinforce my delusions. Recent events have caused me to wonder why I'm not under constant supervision and monitoring – or at the very least, wearing a helmet. Humor me for a moment while I recap some of my recent greatest hits.
Gas Can Blues – Greatest Hit #1:
Princess D: "Hey! I need to borrow your gas can. Please. And hi, how are you?"
Brother-with-patience-of-saint: "Are you sure you should be handling flammable materials? And why do you need a gas can?"
Princess D: "Well, I hired these guys to power wash my garage and they told me I need one. Right away."
Brother: "Why don't they have one?"
Princess D: "Really? That's the conversation I should have had with them? Are you going to help a sister out or not?"
Brother: "I don't have a gas can. I sold it at a garage sale."
Princess D: "So does that mean I have to go buy one?"
Brother: "Unless you were planning to use your magical powers to make one appear, you probably will need to venture out and procure said gas can. With cash money."
Princess D: "Fine. I'll buy a gas can. Do you think I can buy one at the gas station?"
Brother: After a long pause . . . "Are you seriously asking me this question right now? Can you hear yourself?"
Princess D: "What? I don't get it."
Locked Out Lullaby – Greatest Hit #2
My home-away-from-home is the Holiday Inn. I spend three nights a week enjoying their hospitality, and to keep things interesting, I stay in a different room every week. For reasons even I don't understand, I am almost always on the 6th floor. Like pretty much every major hotel chain on earth, the Holiday Inn uses key cards for your hotel room door. Last week, I returned home after washing down my dinner with a nice tall beer, and I'm not going to lie. I had to tinkle pretty bad. I swiped the key card as per its instructions and they way I have done every week for the past 11 weeks. The green light lit up, indicating that the door was unlocked, but when I went to push it open, nothing happened.
I repeated this little exercise, accompanied by a frantic, "I have to go pee-pee" dance, for the better part of 15 minutes before I managed to enter the room. I'm still not sure why the door wouldn't open.
Go West, Young Woman – Greatest Hit #3
Every Monday morning, I leave my house for the Minneapolis-St. Paul International airport. I park my car at a dubious yet economical off-site parking lot in St. Paul, hop on the shuttle, and head for the main terminal. I reverse the sequence on Thursday nights and ultimately, wind up at my other home – the one I pay Bank of America to live in, not the Holiday Inn.
Two weeks ago, I got hopelessly lost trying to go home from the airport. I literally circled the airport four times before I realized that I do not, in fact, live east of the airport but rather, west. And by continuing to travel east, I was getting further and further away from my home.
This is just a sampling of the entire greatest hits album. But I assure you – the evidence is starting to pile up in the "you might just be a dumb-ass" category.
This is a long prelude to explain that although I've been preaching about the virtues of kissing "a lotta" frogs and while I held on to the dream of finding a prince, I'm not sure I really believed that it was possible to meet someone and really connect. I figured I'd just keep kissing frogs, writing amusing anecdotes, and maybe one day, get discovered, get published, make a movie where Anne Hathaway plays my role, get rich, and buy a castle.
I certainly never believed that the internet would introduce me to someone special. And based on my own interesting hang-ups and rules, I never thought that a guy with two tadpoles and an ex-wife, 4 years my junior would be anything more than an interesting dinner companion. But something strange is afoot.
This isn't a story about Frog #8. It's a story about Suitor #1 – a guy who despite all the reasons why I've tried to disqualify him, somehow becomes even more likeable every single day. I've been on four dates with Suitor thus far. We went out for pizza; we went out for dinner and looked at sharks; we went hiking; and we had dinner again. What can I say? You know I like to eat. I look forward to our 5th date. And our 6th. When I am with Suitor, I feel like I can show up as me. I can be as weird or as silly or as dumb or as serious as I want – and he doesn't care. He meets me where I am. I'm not left wondering, "Does he like me?" and I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. He is willing to open himself up and be vulnerable and in exchange, I want to do the same for him.
Now, I know that four dates is hardly a world-record. And there are so many reasons to run as far away as I can as fast as I can, not the least of which are his nine year old daughter and ten year old son. But I'm not running. I like this one. A lot. And now I'm faced with a whole new set of fears. Not only do I not know how to date, I don't know how to relate. How much do you share? When? And how do you keep yourself from hurting someone else – or getting hurt yourself?
Although Mr. Wrong and I were together for a long, long time, and although I loved him, he wasn't my one true love. I gave my heart to another man long before I ever met Mr. Wrong, and I loved Other Man truly, madly and deeply until the day he died; March 13, 2001. When Other Man died, so did a big part of my heart. I never dreamed I would feel those same feelings for another person. Imagine my surprise when I realized that, "Oh, my GOD. I remember these feelings!"
I'm exhilarated and ecstatic and scared shitless simultaneously. Everything I believed, everything I thought I knew has been tossed on its ear – and you know what? That's okay. Because maybe, just maybe, I didn't really have all the answers in the first place.
Will I keep updating the Frog Blog? Of course I will. But whatever this thing is with Suitor #1, it's pretty special and very precious to me, and there are some details that are best left unshared. Besides, I'm a lot less amusing when I'm walking around on cloud nine and gushing – even I know that.
How many frogs do you have to kiss before one shows princely potential? In my experience, the answer is lucky #7. Watch this space for more.
© 2010 Princess D
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