Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to experience something that is not only new to Thoughts of My Own, but is entirely new to yours truly. As of today, March 2, 2010, I have been in a relationship for 6 months. Six months!

I don’t know if you can all fully appreciate what that means in the world in which I live. Allow me to put this in context. My longest relationship, pre-Irving, was 3 months. And that was in the seventh grade. (Technically, it was the end of seventh grade and two months of summer vacation during which we didn’t see each other because we lived in different neighborhoods, but we hadn’t officially broken up, so I still count it.) That means, for those of you keeping count, that the longest relationship of my life until now was about 15 years ago. (Excuse me a moment while I recover from my age shudders.)

Since that fateful relationship oh-so-many years ago, I took a break from dating for a while. I had a 2-week boyfriend in eighth grade and a 2.5-month boyfriend in the eleventh grade. Then I went back on hiatus until I was 24. At 24 I tried again. I won’t say that it was all bad. In fact, there were some nice boys mixed in. But despite efforts, nothing managed to last more than a couple of months. One came close to 3 months, but he was actually out of the country and scarcely communicating for the last month, so it’s sort of a stretch.

My point here, in case we’d forgotten, was not to lament the brief romantic exchanges of my earlier years, but to celebrate the fact that I’ve actually managed to hold on to this romance for 6 months. And my, what an interesting 6 months it’s been.

First, I had an out-of-town trip that started two days after we met. Then I insisted on dating other people for a while because I liked him and didn’t want to freak myself out by being all “relationship-y.” Then I had another out-of-town trip for which he actually took me to the airport and picked me up from the airport. Did I mention that the drop off was at 4:00am? Let’s see….then I started hearing about engagements from sisters and actual marriages from the brother. (Incidentally, Irving was with me as I learned about most of these wedding events. Nothing says “perfectly normal early relationship sharing” like, “Crap! Everyone I’m related to is getting married and I’m going to die miserable and alone because no one will ever love me because I’m insane. Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just say that out loud? Again?”) Also, in these 6 months, I’ve had a theater festival, a death, the loss of a job, the start of a new job, our initial “I love you”s, and now an impending move. He’s had his own drama, but that’s his business. My point is, we’re still kicking after 6 months of nearly non-stop drama.

One more thing to clarify, if you don’t mind. While the drama has existed outside of the relationship, when it actually comes to how things are with him, there is no drama to be found. In fact, most of our evenings together would probably not rate on anyone’s drama scale. On an average week night, I get home around 6:15. I begin to make dinner and by 7:00 we sit down to a simple meal and watch Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. (Have I mentioned that he’s a screaming liberal as well? Yay!) After dinner, we discuss some options for the evening and then usually have a bowl of ice cream and watch a movie or, on occasion, I’ll work on a project while he works on a project and we sit in contented quiet, talking only when there’s something to say.

If the picture I just presented seems a little too perfect, a little too contented, or a little too ideal, then you’re just jaded. I assure you, I couldn’t have come up with it on my own. In fact, when trying to imagine what the ultimate relationship would be like, I never let myself take it that far. It seemed too farfetched, too unbelievable. I never imagined I’d find someone who would wrap his arms around me while I made dinner or who would wash dishes next to me as I chopped vegetables. I never pictured someone who would sit through an MGM musical and swear that he enjoyed it. I certainly didn’t expect ice sculpting festivals and mountain drives and flowers and foot massages. I couldn’t have asked for someone as caring and as sweet and as considerate. I never expected to be with someone who routinely makes fun of me and yet manages to make me feel better on days when I hate the world.

I’m not trying to gross anyone out with my icky love stuff. I’m really not. I just want to be excited about the fact that after 6 months with this guy, I truly can’t imagine being with anyone else. Ever. So hooray for me for lasting this long without self-sabotage, self-doubt, or poor choices ruining things. And hooray for him for sticking around and proving again and again that I made the right choice.

Last night Irving asked me something that could take our relationship to the next level. We’re talking, a huge step. Earth-shaking in its implications, this new level of our relationship could be the biggest step I’ve ever taken.

It requires a level of trust and faith I’ve never had in any other relationship before. It means letting my guard down and showing the true and raw nature of my soul. It would force me to show unguarded emotion and vulnerability. It means he’d see me cry. He’d see me laugh. He’d see me react in completely unpredictable ways. There’s no telling what sides of my personality he’d be exposed to.

Not only would I have to worry about being that vulnerable with another person, but what if, upon witnessing this level of intense madness, he should decide that being with me is too great a risk? I confess that I have moments when I am not the most attractive version of myself. In fact, at times I’m awful.

Still, taking this step also means sharing unparalleled joys. It means being together for moments of utter delight and happiness. It means spontaneous laughter and the sensation of pure elation.

I mean, we’ve only been together for 5 months. Yes, I love him. Yes, I have dreams of us staying together forever. Sure, I have crazy girl moments when I picture our future way down the road. But just because I love him doesn’t mean I’m sure I’m ready for this. And what of the risks? What if sharing this experience pushes us too far? I hate the idea of losing him.

Are we ready to watch the Tony Awards together? He’s been warned. He’s seen glimpses of the crazy. He’s heard stories. He’s seen the glint in my eye and the flush on my cheeks when I talk about that magical day. Now he wants to experience it with me. He know there are rules. He knows he would not be exempt from them. But is he really ready for it? Are we ready for it? Can our relationship survive the Tonys?

Well, they aren’t until June 13, 2010. We have some time. Still, the fact that he asks leads me to believe that this relationship really is going somewhere. If he can still love me on June 14, 2010, then I think we can safely say that he’s the one. Thoughts?

Relationships are way harder than they tell you. See, I’m a mess these days. Now, I like to think I’m a charming mess, but the truth is that for the moment, I’m just a mess. The job hunt is still ongoing and while I sometimes feel very optimistic, at times it’s easy to dip into a little gloom. When that happens, it’s not pretty.

As a result, when things are going well I tend to cling to them with white-knuckled enthusiasm. I’m sure you’ve all heard that “if you love something let it go”? I’m more of the “if you love something, grab hold of it and squeeze the life out of it so that it doesn’t have the energy to go anywhere.” Healthy, no? No.

Poor Irving. He’s being held a little tightly right now. As a soothing, calming presence in my life, I’ve been admittedly putting some pressure on him. He says he’s fine, but I have my suspicions that I’m just moments from driving him crazy. These suspicions, incidentally, are strictly the result of my own twisted brain. See, I am petrified that he’s going to break up with me when he realizes how insane I am. Well done me.

I mean, I’m currently in two shows for the Gay and Lesbian Theater Festival. I’ve been bitching and moaning about them for months now. “Oh, I’m so stressed.” “Oh, I just don’t know if I can do it.” “Oh, what if it’s terrible?” Meanwhile, I’ve made it abundantly clear how much I really need him to come to my opening night. Of a festival I’ve been whining about. That makes sense how? (The kicker? He’s promised to attend not one, but both opening nights. He’s a brave guy.)

And this is a rough time for both of us right now. Given that this blog is about thoughts of my own and not his own, I’ll stick to my end of things. Suffice it to say that we’re both super stressed. I feel like I haven’t been the most supportive girlfriend lately. I’ve been too busy trying to stem the flow of cursing and weeping that overtakes me from time to time. Well, that and trying to fill the world with baked goods. Between those two things, I’ve been a little preoccupied.

He’s been really great at talking me down from my ledges when I’m freaking out. Unfortunately, because I’m so insecure right now (as I am before every show I ever do), I need a lot of talking down. I think of myself as a low maintenance gal, but come play time I’m giving Sally a run for her money. (The girls got that line; the guys didn’t.) That means that little things are getting to me. And because I’ve never had a boyfriend survive a bout of theater crazy, I’m just waiting for him to freak out and decide he’ll just come back when I’m normal again.

The plays are stressful and I hate that I’m not myself. I’m frustrated because he’s been great and I’ve been crazy. I also hate that I can’t tell if I’m reacting the way I am because I’m so high strung or if I have a real reason to be upset. Relationships and plays are a lot of work.

In both of them, you audition. You prep. You are nervous and you pace back and forth, wondering if the part is really right for you or not. If you get a callback, you’re excited. You want to know more about the project. You want to know about the vision. You want to know if you fit. And while you keep telling yourself that there’s always another show or another guy, you know you want to be part of this.

So all goes well and you join the cast or you become half of a couple. Then you work at it. Rehearsals until all hours of the night and day. You use your free time. If you don’t have free time, you invent some. You might get frustrated and wonder why you signed on for it. You might question your ability to handle it well. You might worry that another person would be better suited to this role or maybe you asked for too big a part.

There are always times when I do shows that I’m convinced the director is going to drop me. The first show I ever did out of college was a wonderful experience. Two nights before we opened, I missed a cue on stage. Everyone told me it was no big deal. Everything would be fine. That night I sat in my locked car at midnight on a street corner beneath a street light and cried my eyes out. I banged on the steering wheel. I screamed into my coat. I wept until I gave myself hiccups.

I just knew that despite all my best efforts and all the work I’d put in and all the heart and soul I’d given, that my director finally saw me for what I was: a phony. Someone who thought she was ready for a real show but then couldn’t take it. I don’t know when I finally believed her when she said I was a good performer, but at some point on opening night, I knew I was in love. The experience of being on stage was electric. I stopped worrying about getting everything perfect. I quit freaking out about each tiny gesture and just let myself relax. I had a wonderful time and I knew that it was something I’d want to do for as long as people would have me. The strain went away and it was all worth it.

I think I feel like I did that night. I’ve dropped my cues. I’m so damn needy that I’m not giving back. As such, even when I have a reason to be upset, I feel bad about it because how much more can he give before he gets too tired of it? I need to remember to breathe and focus on how much I love the feeling of being here.

No matter what impression this ramble may have given, allow me to be very clear. I love him. Very much. I am happy with him. He makes me calm and peaceful and centered. I have become that obnoxious woman who talks about her relationship all the time because I’m so damn happy that I want to tell everyone about it. I’m just also insecure.

The good news is, I think the first wave of theater panic is passing. (I say first wave because after this weekend’s show, I have another one next week.) And I hope my stupid relationship panics will continue to pass by quickly. To be fair, I haven’t had too many lately. I feel pretty safe most of the time. It’s just when that door to the madness opens, there’s no telling what might slip through.

I think the thing for me to remember is that once the panic subsides, I love being on stage. I audition for everything I can. I cross my fingers, I say little prayers, I just count the minutes until my next show. I forget about all the strain and the stress once I’m on stage. Even in the shows I’ve done that were awful (and yeah, I’ve had my fair share of those), I was proud of the fact that I got through them. The crazy stops and the fun starts again.

Pardon me clinging to my metaphor here (we all know I do love a good extended metaphor), but I think I’ll be ok. My panic will pass. The lights will come up and I’ll be anxious to take on my next challenge. (Which, in this metaphorical context, is a step forward in the relationship; it’s not a new one. So there’s a hole in the metaphor. Sue me.)

I guess if it’s the right show and the right guy, the panic is worth it. And the fact is, while I’m still not 100% sold on the show, I’m pretty sure about the guy.

I am a big fan of text messaging. It’s a handy way to converse without actually having to talk. I often feel the urge to chat late at night or I want to share one short thought and a text is a simple way to do that.

However, texting has its drawbacks. As I’ve said before about online dating, I can be easily turned off by bad grammar, bad spelling, and poor punctuation. I ran across this comic today and it elicited quite the chuckle and I had to share it. Fortunately, Irving (window scraper is starting to get a little cumbersome) is an excellent texter. No use of LOLs, OMGs, or WTFs. No poor grammar, no awkward abbreviations, and full use of punctuation, including commas, capitalization, and apostrophes. Because nothing can set me off like wading through a terrible text!

Bad grammar, the ultimate mood-killer.

This is taken with the utmost respect from Danielle Corsetto, author of Girls with Slingshots. Thanks, Danielle, for another fantastic strip!

Ladies and gentlemen, can I please take a moment to look into the sky, throw my head back into a yell, and let loose with one astounding “Thank God!”? After what seemed to be an almost impossibly long year, 2009 is finally on its way out. Can I get an amen?!

Don’t get me wrong, 2009 wasn’t all bad. We swore in our new president. (And while he’s had a rough year in his new job, I still think he’s doing alright.) I lived through a musical. I went to Chicago, Illinois; Spokane, Washington; Boston, Massachusetts; and East Haven, Connecticut. A substantial amount of travel for those of us with small pocket books. Speaking of pocket books, I bought my first Coach bag. And, one of my favorite things of the past year, I met my guy. (Insert contented sigh and cartoon hearts here.)

But whether I choose to remember this year as the year I met the man I love or as the year of Fun with Old Testament Punishment, I’m just glad 2009 is over. I think that, while our calendar is a bit wonky in my mind (we really couldn’t have worked out that whole differently numbered months, leap year issue?), I do think that the fellow with the oversized harem and undersized toga who set up the official length of the year did a good job. Perhaps as he was dictating to his memo-taking underwife he didn’t realize that after 364 days of the same year, you start to get antsy. You need a change. Or perhaps as a man with a slew of wives and concubines, he knew the advantage of variety.

Even in a year you enjoy, by the end of it you’re usually a little wiped out. You want to take a minute, catch your breath, and make grand gestures about life changes and new motivation. What I love about New Year’s resolutions is that sometimes the act of making the resolution is enough. Sure, we’ve all started dieting on Janurary 2nd and we’ve all declared we’d be cutting back on television or junk food starting right after the New Year’s marathon of whatever our favorite guilty pleasure TV show is. And more often than not, by January 7th, we’re back in our old habits. What’s fantastic about this, however, is that for a week, we feel in total control of our lives. We are making declarations with all the power and conviction of our calendar-making friend. Our proclamations may not change the world or alter the course of history, but we feel powerful. The start of a new year lets us feel like we have control again. Even at the end of the best years, you need that worldwide encouragement to reclaim your own destiny.

Every country celebrates the start of the new year. Billions of people around the world, over the course of several hours, share the same wishes. How often can you say with certainty that a sheep herder in New Zealand and a cocktail waitress in New York City have the same dream at the same time? Once a year when they both wish for a better year with smarter choices and kinder people and open feelings and cheaper booze.

So remember tonight that everyone around you is wishing you success in your resolutions. And they are cheering you on just as they are cheering for themselves and swearing that this year they really mean it.

Let’s shake the dust of 2009 of our heels, leap into 2010, and try to be better than we were last year.

This year has been rough. Two dear friends moved to opposite sides of the country, I lost my job, the director of my festival passed away (details on that entire experience in another post), and I’ve been dealing with some rather unpleasant gloom that decided to latch on to me somewhere around mid-April and just hold on tight.

Now, with that chipper and gleeful introduction, let me tell you why I’m so happy this Christmas.

Two Christmases in a row, my very best friend and I have simultaneously purchased each other the same gift. Now, I’m not saying that we each grabbed the other person a candle or perhaps we both got books. I’m talking the exact same gift, down to the details. Last year, while living no more than 15 minutes apart (and that’s in bad weather and traffic), we both purchased a fabulous brown t-shirt with yellow writing that reads “Haikus are easy/But sometimes they don’t make sense/Refrigerator.” Awesome, right? This year, living approximately 1932.43 miles apart (thanks, MapQuest), we each bought the other person the t-shirt that reads “Shakespeare hates your emo poems.” What are the odds, right? Apparently pretty good when you know someone this well. I guess this helped me reaffirm that our friendship isn’t going anywhere. That’s a big mark on the plus column this Christmas.

What else makes this Christmas one to beat? Well, this year my family decided to branch out a bit from the tradition of buying umpteen presents for each and every member of the family (which, though I enjoy, can be costly as there are a ton of us) and we switched to a drawing system. And for the first time, the family agreed on the arrangement with little to no drama, easing us all into this new grownup era of McPherson Family Christmases.

And there’s my tree…not just that she’s beautiful this year (though she is!). Not just that I have a lovely assortment of gifts stashed under her (though I do). This year, for the first time in almost 5 years, I didn’t decorate alone. A certain special young man helped me pick out the tree, put it up, and decorate it. Sitting quietly in my house, the lights twinkling, John Denver playing softly, and a sweet guy with his arms around me, made for a truly beautiful tree experience this year.

I don’t have much money, so most people got small tokens or baked goods. And I don’t have an office to bring treats to, so instead I picked my favorite shelter here in town and gave them what I would have brought to work. My gift platter might not have been the most elaborate, but their sincere excitement and tears meant so much more than any corporate card or stale cookie would have meant in my old break room. I teared up myself a little and I can’t help but wonder why I hadn’t done it before.

I have a few gifts that I am really, really excited about giving people this year. They may not be expensive or flashy, but I love the idea of them and I think the recipients will be super pumped as well. I got the niece and nephews a few small presents; the window scraper/tree putter upper/laundry folder/super great boy friend a gift way back in November and I’m really anxious to see if I got this one right; and yesterday I came across a fun, silly gift for a friend that should make her smile. Who doesn’t love that?

So really, I just wanted to say how happy I am this Christmas. My friendships are in tact and still going strong. I have friends who have rallied around me this past season with dedication and love that I could never have expected. I have a person in my life who makes me feel special and loved (and that’s really the only gift I wanted this year). And on top of all of that, there will be ham and potatoes tomorrow! Christmas really does rock, you know.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

I love gifts. I do. I love wrapping them and giving them. I love opening them. I love watching other people open them.

Know what else I love? Cheese. That’s right; I said cheese. I love me some ricotta, some cheddar, a little colby; it’s all delicious. Well, except for bleu, but that’s another post. (Sorry, Jen.)

Why did I bring these two disparate concepts up together? Because I want to talk about gift-wrapped cheese! Ever think of how many things are really just little gift-wrapped packets of cheese?

Brie en croute, for one. Sounds fancy, no? Brie en croute is, simply put, brie cheese wrapped in pastry. It’s baked until it’s golden brown and super deliciously gooey and creamy. Pour on a little honey and scoop it up with an apple and basically, it’s like a warm hug from an angel. Really. It’s that good.

Last night for dinner I made cheese tortellini with meatballs in a marina sauce. Little gift-wrapped packages of Italian cheeses, neatly encased in delicately folded pasta, tossed in a thick, rich sauce and nestled between dense, seasoned meatballs. Everything in the bowl was wee and round. The sauce wore red; the Parmesan was in white. It was beautiful. It was fun. It was cheesy and delici0us.

While I enjoy the variety of ways cheese can come wrapped—individual wedges, al la Laughing Cow; covered in fun red wax on your gouda; sliced and wrapped in celophane just waiting to be slapped on a sandwich—I have to say I think that this week, tortellini is my favorite. Delicate yet dense, rich yet refreshing, versatile yet consistent.

This holiday season, as you’re struggling to come up with another gift idea, remember, you can’t go wrong with cheese. Really. Give me cheese!

For those who haven’t heard, I’m still with the window-scraper. And I’m in love with him. Oh yeah. I’m tossing the word at him all the time now. I can’t help it. Naturally, the first time was the hardest. In fact, a la Miranda of Sex in the City fame, I picked a fight with him before I said it. As much as I hate fighting, it’s easier than saying “I love you” for the first time.

This whole adult relationship thing is hard work. Not only are you battling your own persistent insecurities, but you’re battling theirs, too. Not only are you reeling from your own past, but you’re accepting theirs as well. Now, I have discovered that once you’ve hit that “I love you” part, you don’t mind their past or insecurities all that much any more.

It’s like watching your favorite movie. There might be a scene or two that you’ll get up and get a drink or go to the bathroom because you don’t care if you miss that part, but at the end of the day, it’s still part of your favorite movie. How about this example? I love Frank Sinatra. I intend to walk down the aisle to his voice someday (I would walk down the aisle to him personally, but he up and died before I could sign up to be the fifth Mrs. Frank). I can’t honestly say that I love every song he ever recorded. The man was in music for more than 60 years and released hundreds of songs. Even if I’m not in love with all of his movies or all of his songs, that doesn’t mean he isn’t still my all time favorite singer.

Oddly enough, for me the hard part isn’t worrying about your partner’s stuff. It’s worrying about how they’ll handle yours. It seems like a no brainer for me to say that I love him and that I want him just as he is. Despite that, it blows my mind that he feels the same way. Drat these insecurities!

Still, three months later and I’m really happy. For me, this might be a record in length of relationship. At least, since high school.

Two weeks ago today I lost my job to a lay off. I have a million things I could say about what that felt like. I could tell you that it hurt. That it knocked the air out of me. That it was mortifying.

I could describe, in minute detail, the experience of being walked out of the building like I was a corporate criminal though I’d done nothing wrong. I could even discuss how it felt to have people look away, afraid to make eye contact if they didn’t have to. And don’t get me started on the sensation of taking my things down off the walls and packing up my boxes of personal effects.

Oh, and the very, very many speeches I’ve heard practically deserve their own post. Frankly, if every window I was told about did, in fact, open there wouldn’t be a wall left to hold them. (For every door that closes…) I’ve lost count as there have been lots and lots of platitudes about new beginnings.

Now, before you think I’m devaluing the words of encouragement and support I’ve gotten, let me clarify the difference between the aforementioned comments and those sincere words that touched me. Yes, I’ve had a few well-intentioned people offer me cliched (though kind-hearted) lines about starting over. While I appreciated the thought (if not always the words themselves) this isn’t about those people or those words.

On Thanksgiving, two weeks after losing my job, I find that I have a lot to be thankful for. I have a family who immediately leapt to my side. I have dear friends who stopped their lives for a bit to commiserate with me and let me know it’s ok to be miserable for a while. I have a friend who called and asked if I needed angry or optimistic and let me make that choice. I have a boyfriend who found me at the mall the day after listening to me cry to bring me cheer up roses. I have an offer of several places to stay should I lose my apartment. I have job leads coming to me almost every day. I have sympathy when I need it and I have a kick in the pants when I need it. I even have former coworkers reaching out from other countries to support me and some reaching from much closer just to let me know that I’m missed.

In the last few weeks I’ve gone back and forth between anger and depression scattered between hours or days of motivated job hunting and forced indifference. I’ve had panic attacks and tears and fury over what happened. I’ve never been good at showing vulnerability or weakness to other people. It’s just not my bag. However, when you are the kind of person who defines yourself a bit too much by what you do, losing your job makes you wonder who you are.That throws you off a touch and, not surprisingly, can make you go a little needy.

I’m thankful that I have to stop and look at myself. I don’t often think too deeply about who I am and what I want. To be honest, I haven’t done as much of it as I should yet, because it’s just too scary to look that closely. So instead of looking inward, which I do plan to get to eventually, I’ve been taking stock of what surrounds me.

I am so very, very thankful for you all. I’ve always considered myself lucky to have an amazing support system and great friends who I knew would take my side if I needed it. Now I know that to be true because I see the evidence of it every day. That it what I am thankful for this holiday.

So last night I was at work until 1:00 am. I work in an office building, ladies and gentlemen. And the project that kept me there? Not even due for another week. It’s in review today. And for review, I was at work until 1:00 am. Now, this is not a post about work. Seems like a bad idea to post about my job. I just needed to set the scene for you. Work until 1:00 am on a Friday night. Everyone up to speed? Good.

Today is a much-needed Saturday. I don’t have to work today. I don’t have rehearsal. I don’t have guests. I don’t have anything I absolutely have to do. I have some laundry (folded by a certain fabulous gentleman) to put away. I ran my dishwasher. The house could probably benefit from a good vacuuming and a top-to-bottom scrubbing.

Instead, however, I intend to take it super easy. I’m going to a food tasting this afternoon for one of the umpteen weddings I will be attending next year. Free food? And fancy food at that? Sign me up, baby! I’m going to read my lines today. Study them, in fact.

It’s a beautiful day and I’m hoping to find a spot in the sun, stake my territory, and read my lines until they are permanently embedded in my brain.

I might even make it to the All-Colorado Beer Festival this evening. Yes, it’s a little pricey of an event, but it’s Colorado Beer. It’s a festival of Colorado Beer. I like Colorado. I like Beer. I think I see a good pairing here.

I just want to take a moment and say hello and welcome to this much-needed, highly anticipated, and greatly admired Saturday.