Crushed

So I haven't written anything in a while. To be perfectly honest, I'm coming out of a painful breakup and haven't really felt up to it. It was a pretty intense relationship that ended quite abruptly so I've been a little unmoored. It started innocently and unexpectedly - at the gym, of all places. I was on the treadmill, distracting myself from the naked shittiness of running by watching HGTV...and there he was, ripping out drywall with his bare hands. I'd stumbled upon one of those home improvement show marathons and found the man of my dreams. Our connection was immediate, deep and sacred. Granted, the television was on closed captioning mode so we didn't get in to a lot of details - I'm not certain of the name of the show, for one thing - Property Brothers, Cousins Properties, Undercover Cousins, something - or of his name (I know it's not Anthony, that was the other guy, the duskier fellow), but some things just don't need to be said. We didn't need all that noise to know that our love was real. Not Anthony wasn't just good for my exercise regimen and terribly handy around the house (a huge plus considering JHP isn't even capable of looking a hammer in the eye), but sensitive, thoughtful and deliberate. He drove all the way to Newark (I'm pretty sure) to pick up the exact chandelier a client wanted, and who could forget that time he hand-cured that dining room table until 2am? With a hair dryer? At least I think that's what he was doing. Child, please - you couldn't split us up with a crowbar, not Not Anthony and me. Things were going really well...too well. In retrospect I think he got too comfortable, yes, maybe I even let him take my love for granted, because his judgment started slipping. I have to be honest, he started making some choices that I was flat-out not okay with. Pickled cabinetry? You might as well spray-paint "1991" across them and tack up a Nelson poster. I can't work with that. And then came the death knell - the moment I knew we were broken not bent, we couldn't learn to love again, no!

I cannot - WILL not - abide a pre-molded hot pink wall. This is not RuPaul's Airstream trailer fiberglass bathroom, this is a kitchen. A kitchen, Not Anthony.

It was over.

More than anything I feel very disappointed in myself; I usually have better judgment when it comes to my love life. Even at young age I had things pretty well in hand. When Shaun Cassidy and I first got together in 3rd grade, for example, I saved my allowance money for dog years so I could bribe Claire Jones a whole dollar to let me wear her white satin jacket with the giant iron-on of his face on the back. I knew that's what he would want. We had some happy years, too, Shaun and me; sure, there was a little bit of tension with Will Marshall from "Land of the Lost", and okay, maybe a couple of weekend flings with Randolph Mantooth and Lt. Starbuck, but really, that only made us stronger as a couple. While my friends were snowed by Chachi's charm or going the intellectually lazy route with Vinnie Barbarino (one spectacularly misguided friend of Cslos' even had a thing for Geoge Burns, which just feels fetishy), I stuck with Shaun.

I took this picture on our anniversary trip to Catalina. He gave me an Easy Bake Oven...I gave him the best night of his life, and a hickey that made the papers

 

Unfortunately, even true love can be tested when a grueling tour schedule just doesn't work with middle school; inevitably, we parted. It was time and we both knew it. Shaun was too consumed with the rock and roll lifestyle while I craved stability. The uncertain challenges of eyeliner and 7th grade cotillion - not to mention the pounding stress of trying to talk my mother into letting me get a perm - was too much as it was. And, as if on cue, who strolls into my life but my rock, Abe Carver. We met shortly after he investigated Anna Brady's claims of being sold into white slavery and I was immediately taken with his quiet confidence. 

don't EVEN

It was an enriching relationship for both of us; he knew I wasn't going to get caught up in any Aremid wedding drama or steal Bo and Hope's baby like that roundheels wife of his, and I knew with his background he could probably help me with math, and eventually traffic laws. Abe wasn't much for nonsense, and that was just what I needed. He and I ended up staying together for quite some time. To be honest what kept us together wasn't passion as much as it was comfort; I think it's precisely our lack of sexual heat that has enabled us to stay close to this day. JHP isn't at all threatened - to the contrary, I think he's pleased to have someone that will keep me occupied while he watches basketball. That being said, I can only get so much out of an imaginary platonic relationship - I want more. I want imaginary fire; someone to really pine for, with or without the volume on, who may or may not even be heterosexual. I have needs, folks. Real, imaginary needs.

I don't know where that leads me; all I can do is soldier on and keep an open heart. I suppose I'm lucky because I did leave my relationship with Not Anthony knowing one thing for sure, and that thing is never try to do electrical repair work without the help of a professional. And also: fuck running. Two incredibly valuable life lessons! Anyway, keep me in mind if you come across anyone. I have a lot of pretend love to give.