Thursday, February 11, 2010

I wanna be the one to put it in a song

Ah I love feeling this way. When things happen that I'm not stoked about, I can shrug them off so much more easily because S is in my life. I know we're in that honeymoon stage, but I don't care what it's called. I'm pretty sure it's just called happiness. Last night at her house, we were basically completing eachothers' thoughts.

I keep typing sentences and then deleting them because I realize how silly I sound. I feel like I'm in Dumb and Dumber... "I desperately want to make love to a schoolboy". Hahaha. She makes me feel all warm and gooey inside and I love it. No one has made me feel like this. Isn't that the cliche line that everyone says when they get involved with somebody new? Oh well, I don't care. We're both incredibly happy.

It may be early, but we've been discussing a future. Not planning one, just trying to determine if it's a fit. I'm tired of getting into relationships and down the road finding out she doesn't want to ever get married, or she doesn't want kids, or she wants to move to Georgia. There are certain things that have to be in my life in order for a relationship to work out. They're all in place with S. She wants the same things, or at least similar things. We're not rushing into any of them, but it's good to know that when the time comes, it won't be some long, painful discussion where we discover that we're all wrong for eachother and we had an expiration date.

Sunday I'm meeting her dad and she's meeting my mom. I'm a little nervous to meet her dad. I'm vegan and he's a hunter/fisherman who doesn't have any respect for the vegan lifestyle. It won't make me angry, I understand that that's what most people have known their whole lives. I just really don't want him to dislike me because of it. Sure, we don't agree on that, but I'm hoping we will have plenty that can bring us together. Who knows. My mom will love her though. She's just as nervous to meet my mom as I am to meet her dad.

Ah the fun of a new relationship.

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