I've been told that I think too much. From a very young age by almost everyone I've encountered, including myself. As a kid, it's cool, because that means your teachers will take a special interest in you and you get to do things like get the old readers to take home, lead classes, get recommended for various opportunities to do extra projects, meet new people, and all that. And when you think too much as a kid, this stuff seems totally cool (we'll debate the meaning of "cool" later.) As an adult, it means you don't even get stuff done because you're thinking too long about how to go about getting it done. As an adult, it means that you have to fall asleep with the television talking because you can't control the thoughts racing through your head when your head should be sleeping. And then comes the 4am pee break that you can't go back to sleep from because now you're arranging tomorrow's wardrobe and to-do list in your head instead of sleeping. As an adult, this means you should start a blog to pour out all those thoughts crowding the left and right hemispheres, but that you have no idea where to start because you start by overthinking what makes a good first blog entry.
That being said, I'm just going to start from the most honest place I can, because I figure that's the wonderful medicinal purpose of a blog: the ability to put down those words you really mean, instead of the ones you're supposed to say. So, I'll start with men. Raise your hand if you guessed right!
This is not some treatise on relationships, it's just the mood I'm in. I don't know if it's the weather, a face I glimpsed on the street, my lack of a current relationship, or the hormonal balance of the day, but for whichever reason, I got to thinking about men today, specifically the men of my past. There are many, many, MANY times where I find myself verbally (mentally) abusing myself over my terrible, terrible choices of the past, but at other times, I just think of the good memories I'm left to rely on. This is not to say that every guy elicits good memories, or good enough memories to fall back on on days like these, but there are enough to make me smile.
Of the men I remember fondly one was just a boy when we met. Oh, and I was just a girl, nasty! First, we met in middle school. He was a friend of my friend, at a time when I was painfully shy (how that came to be is an entirely different story that I'm sure we'll discuss in the future) and she was way too socially adept to be twelve. She would casually talk to this guy and I would be so jealous of the ease at which she addressed someone so cute! Fast forward about four years and this cutie reentered my life as the friend of another set of friends. At this point, I believe he was seventeen, he was well over six feet tall, had the deepest dimples, and a killer smile, I mean killer! He sent me into the most girlish dithers (yeah, I said dithers) you could ever imagine. Think the adventures of Sweet Valley High. Of course, I played it cool - at first. Eventually, we were making out and I couldn't imagine my luck. I dithered away!
It turns out this guy was so cute, sweet, fun to talk to, and his kisses sent me to another dimension! Of course, we never "officially" dated, he wasn't over his ex-girlfriend, which doesn't explain the other girls he was seeing, but, over many encounters, first in succession, and later with gaps of months at a time, I really, really enjoyed spending time with him. The first time he kissed me felt straight out of a movie. We were over a friend's house and by now we both knew how much we liked each other, but he still had not kissed me. I wasn't interested in being the one to initiate, so I just made sure to let our mutual guy friend know what I wanted. Having done that still did not prepare me for what happened. The teens hung in the basement, and I'd gone upstairs for a bathroom break. Before I could go back down, he came up the stairs. I figured he had to go to the bathroom, too, but instead, he headed up the stairs straight for me, and when his height matched mine (several steps below me), he reached forward and kissed me. When the deed was done, he swaggered away satisfied that he had accomplished his goal. All I could do was grin my happy butt back down the stairs. Man! As we got to know each other, I found that he loved to laugh, he was down to earth, and without pressuring me for more, he told he couldn't get enough of my kisses. It was very disappointing that we never became more, but this boy had a sweet charm and touch that remain in my good memories file many years later.
There are others, and I was going to write about a couple more, but I think this is enough for my first time - my first blog entry. Any man reading may have already checked out by now, but just as a spoiler, every entry won't be about men or love or relationships, this was just my mood today.