The Same Things You Do in the Beginning…

marriedDomesticity has become us. Us meaning me and my lover of two years, Lebron. After a year of living together, the mystery is gone. Perhaps this has happened to you; maybe the sweet nothings have taken a back seat to the day-to-day duties of running your household.

It’s not that you don’t love each other. Lebron and I still have fun as a couple, still laugh at the silliest things, still love being around each other. Our favorite pastime is laying in bed together, talking about our dreams and our childhoods, in that easy way we always had since first becoming friends almost six years ago. Or at dinnertime, when we catch up on our day and watch our favorite shows (which if it’s Saturday usually means college football).

But here’s the thing: We’re comfortable. I know that can seem like the kiss of death, one or two steps away from the dreaded lesbian bed death (thank God we’re not at that stage). That sounds bad, I know. Without children, it’s just the two of us, and the same things we did in the beginning of our blissful honeymoon stage, we ain’t doing now.

For instance:

  • In the beginning…I wore sexy matching underwear, something cute and involving a thong or boy shorts, showing off all my curves like my baby likes.
  • Now…I’m typically decked out in a basic black bra (for work) and Hanes panties (at least it’s hi-cut), with the matching sets and teddies saved for special occasions.
  • In the beginning…I got bi-weekly pedicures and was never seen too often without French-tipped nails.
  • Now…I’m lucky if I go once a month. Hey, it gets expensive.
  • In the beginning…we called each other five times a day, speaking all lovey dovey and saying we couldn’t wait to see each other.
  • Now…one phone call in the afternoon, with Lebron whispering such sexy phrases as, “What’s for dinner?” and “We need some toilet tissue.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love our life. It’s times when Lebron looks so sexy cooking dinner, I have to contain myself. And we still give each other knowing looks that speak more volumes that the love notes she used to email me. I guess after a while, all couples hit the old married stage, the one where you love each other, couldn’t imagine life without one another, but get used to each other’s daily habits.

Like Lebron’s routine of leaving the door open after a No. 2 session. Or my habit of leaving my clothes lying around the house. Or hers of eating and leaving crumbs everywhere (even on our beige-colored couch.) Or mine of leaving the toilet roll empty after using the last of the tissue paper.

It’s just one of those things that come over time. As much as I complain, it’s good between us. I feel a coziness I haven’t felt with anyone as I do her. I can let my guard down, and she can, too. That’s not to say we don’t have our moments. It’s times I want to choke a bitch from the annoying things she does, but when it’s good, it’s beautiful.

Except for that damn No. 2. Now that’s some damn shit.

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Happy Birthday to Lebron!

Today is Lebron’s birthday.

She turns another year older, and our relationship grows another year as well, with our anniversary only two days away.

It was two years ago today that I surprised her with balloons and a card, even though we weren’t “officially” together yet. She had just moved back to my hometown, and we were seeing where things were going at that point. We had a long history, one where we always cared for one another, but just couldn’t work out the logistics of a relationship.

When she was ready for something more, I wasn’t. When I finally figured she was who I wanted, she had moved on.

But with her arrival, we were finally on the same page – and realized that with each other was where we wanted to be.

Today, we still continue to have the same feelings we had back then, but now it’s more of a comfortable relationship…dare I say complacent. We’re still in love, still are best friends, still can’t be without one another.

However her birthday makes me realize how long and how much we’ve really been to each other – through loving, arguments, struggling, crying, cursing, kissing, smiling, pining, sexing, annoying, hugging and everything else that comes with a long-term relationship. There are times when I can’t get enough of her, and times when I’ve almost left her.

Love is like that. Two years is a very long time.

Deepdiva Update

Judging by the lack of comments around here, I guess there’s been a little love lost. But I’ve been trying to take care of situations on my end that require me to be away from the computer more than I want to. Here’s a little sample of what’s been going down:

apartment.jpg

Apartment Search: Well, I found one. Surprisingly, one I really like. And it wasn’t even my first choice. It was actually one on the bottom of my list. But when I took a look at it, it immediately felt like home. Oh, except for the very large cockroach staring at me on the sink counter (apparently they just got through spraying for bugs that morning; I haven’t seen another one since, by the way). Despite the auspicious meeting, I love my two bedroom, one bath haven. If  I could only find time to get it in order, which leads to…

Sister’s operation: I had just moved, was finally feeling good about getting my house together, and I find my sister is in the emergency room with excruciating pains. After much discussion and attempts to find a cheap flight in less than 24 hours, now I had to now pack a bag and prepare to take a last-minute flight. It’s all good, cause my sister is out now and doing a whole lot better. It was worth it to be around her especially since I see her twice a year. She made it through with flying colors and is home resting comfortable. I’m on my way back home tomorrow. What really helped through this time was…

My friends: I must say, my peeps came through for me. While I was waiting for the plane to take off, I sent a mass text message explaining that I was leaving at the last minute. Within seconds of that message, one of them was calling. The others sent messages back, saying we were in their prayers. I’m glad because as soon as I got to my layover in Atlanta, I found out my sister had to have emergency surgery. Their calls this weekend meant a lot. Another person that meant a lot, of course…

LeBron: We’re still plugging along. As a matter of fact we’re celebrating our seven-month anniversary.  The relationship has its issues but none is perfect. With my apartment issue settled, things have been a lot easier. It’s just hard being without her. Except for my sister’s illness and her dealing with her own family issues, things are straight. It’s just a matter of trying to balance our time and figuring out where we’re headed. In due time, everything will become clear.

Other than that, life is still divalicious. I’m getting ready to take my nephew for a walk later.

Yes, life is truly divalicious.

Lover’s Paradise

beach.jpgMy lover and I, namely LeBron, woke up to this view last weekend. Lovely, ain’t it?

We decided to run away from home, take one of those much needed trips to rejuvenate our spirits. It was a last minute decision as we left around 2 on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I usually like to get an earlier start, but as we contemplated spending another weekend in our boring hometown, with “been-there-done-that” attitudes, getting away was the best thing we could have done.

All couples need this time.

Which lead to us against the wind, driving on I-10 toward the beach, LeBron and I facing our first road trip.

It hit a small bump in the beginning, the journey starting with us arguing about how to get there. In her usual masculine superiority, LeBron thought we should take a more scenic route, rather than the congested freeway. But the problem was she wasn’t quite sure of the direction. She was a person used to using landmarks in lieu of maps as a guide when traveling.

“Baby, I think it’s this way,” LeBron said in her typical studlike manner, which is just a step above grunting.

“Are you sure? Don’t lead me down the wrong way,” I carefully threatened. I was not about to waste any gas  (at $2.39 a gallon) following her blind notions. LeBron said she knew the way because she went to the same beach as a kid, but I think trying to find your way by sight after many years is not as trustworthy as a Yahoo! map.

She mumbled a “Yes, I’m sure,” but the doubt was written on her face. After a couple moments of uncertainty, she finally conceded and we hit I-10.

The rest of the ride was smooth with me driving around 80 mph, sun still beaming high, just chattering in our easy way, with Robin Thicke providing the soundtrack. It was a nice feeling, having an adventure with the one you love. And when we arrived on the beach strip, LeBron and I couldn’t contain our excitement. It was something we had accomplished together.

“We’re here, baby,” LeBron gushed, and pulled me in for a kiss from her passenger seat.

Now came the hard part: finding a hotel with a vacancy. It was the beginning of the infamous Spring Break season, and we didn’t have a reservation. We rode for the better part of an hour, trying to find a spot on the beach, preferably without the beer-carrying frat dudes or bikini-clad beach bunnies walking in front of us.

Then we found it — the perfect location at the right price, a suite with a full kitchen (oven included!) directly on the beach. The view from our window alone was worth the price, a picturesque scence of crashing waves lapping against the shore. Balmy palm trees swaying in the breeze. Fresh salt air you can’t find anywhere else.

beach2.jpgSoon after we checked in, the sun began to set against the eastern sky, a horizon filled with fading hues of orange, purple and pink. I couldn’t imagine a better moment than curling up with LeBron on our balcony, where we blanketed for warmth against the water’s chill that enveloped us. No cell phones, no TV, no qualms — only finding the enjoyment in each other and in the beauty around us.

And that’s what this trip was for.

"I Know, I’m Kvelling"

love.PNGA sweet kiss on the forehead. A bouquet of flowers just because. A confession of love with words like “I’ve never felt this way before.”

It’s enough to make your breath stop and have your heart “kvelling” (re: my favorite Clueless reference). Sweet nothings that mean everything are what love is about, romance with passion that makes you swoon with butterflies.

But it seems like nowadays those kinds of sweet sentiments are long gone. It’s considered archaic to tell someone you love them and mean it. It’s old-fashioned to ask someone to be your girlfriend. And eyes are raised if you don’t have sex with your partner within the first month of meeting her.

Blame on society, so be it. We’re a sexualized culture, full of relationships that go nowhere and people who trade partners faster than a new issue of People magazine can hit newsstands.

So when a new crush appears in your life, romancing you and wanting to actually court instead of fuck, why does it baffle us? Why can’t someone genuinely want to tell how she’s feeling—and mean it? Why do we always wait on the other shoe to drop when things are going oh-so-good?

So here’s my million-dollar, Carrie Bradshaw question: Do we not expect romance anymore?

With men and studs alike, women hope for the best but expect the worse. It’s like we wait for the opportunity when our lover will screw us over and we can say, “I knew he wasn’t no good!” And sometimes we go so far as to sabotage our relationship just because things are going a little too well.

I’m trying to just take things slow and truly enjoy the ride with my new stud, who for this blog will be named Lebron.

In the continuing saga of what’s dubbed “my new relationship,” things are interesting. Interesting because Lebron and I are still in the honeymoon stage. You know, that period where we’re trying to figure out pet names and every phone call lasts about 3 hours or more.

What I’ve found is that this time can be wonderful, a moment of discovery. But it can also be scary. Who wants to know that the woman (or man) who wined and dined you for a straight month is really broke and was using his whole check to take you out to T.G.I. Friday’s? And do you really want to know that she has a crazy ex girlfriend still in the picture–one who doesn’t take no for an answer?

I’ve found that Lebron has some habits I can live with, cause who’s perfect? No one. And I’m sure that my slight aggressive femme personality is a source of contention between us sometimes, as she’s stubborn as well.

When we go into a relationship, everyone brings their own baggage–some a small carry-on; others have steamer trunks. It’s just a matter of how much of that bullshit we’re going to let affect our relationship. Trust and honesty are two of the most important ingredients to a blossoming romance, and I prefer to get everything out in the open in the beginning. Even if it means I look like an ass or she doesn’t appear as perfect as she once claimed to be.

Cause I would hate to fall in love with someone who wasn’t even themselves to begin with.