Password, please.

I corner S at the refrigerator after he’s changed out of his work clothes, and is on the hunt for a snack. With lips puckered, I bombard his personal bubble with a kiss. “Hiiiiii, how was your day?” Thinking he’s slick, he turns a cheek to my still puckered and eager lips, letting me have a few more quick kisses before attempting to force me out of his face. “Nooooo” is the message he wails as I hold him in strong bear hug.  I laugh and feel him squirm; desperately trying to free himself, and secretly getting a kick out of my attack.  The only way out of my bicep prison, is for him to give me the password.  With lips still pushed out and intruding, I murmur “what’s the password?” He throws his head back – probably reaching his physical contact limit in this moment – he lets his face fall to mine, gives me an I-will-kick-your-ass-if-you-don’t-let-me-go kind of look, and gives me what I’ve compelled.  My grip loosens as I laugh and return to the dishes. He knows the password, and no matter how many times I torture him with belly to belly, chest to chest bear hugs, I get the cheek for more than a handful of attempts. The last kiss is the password, and for now, I’ll leave him alone until we meet under the sheets, and say goodnight.

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Hi! 

Hello everyone! Sorry I’ve been in and out of the blog as of late. It’s only been a couple weeks since my last post, I think, but I fully intend to hop back on the wagon SOON! Excuses aren’t cute by any means, but the husband and I have been extremely busy. 

Last week our home desktop computer decided that it wanted to crash, in the middle of my husband prepping for a final exam, just before we were to leave for Minneapolis to visit friends, and that left us with one laptop to share. We returned to Indianapolis on Monday, after having an absolute blast in Golden Gopher territory for four days, and are just now coming off that “vacation” feeling of laziness.

  
I would like to have a post up by this weekend, but I will make no promises. I plan to write a little about our time with our friends up in Minnesota, but S is still monopolizing the laptop. Education is important, and his final is tomorrow, so I won’t snatch the device away from him, lol. 

So I apologize for the delay! But in the meantime, keep up with me on social media across these platforms: 

Twitter: @gaysinthelife 

Instagram: @being_mrj

Be looking for a post soon! Share past posts with your friends and family! And as always, I thank you for the love. Talk to you all soon.

Pumped

Finishing his last set of lateral raises, my alter ego studies the reflection in the mirror. The body in which he lives is no longer round and fluffy, but hardened around the edges with some softness left in the middle. He is built like a brick wall with fresh mortar, and the sweat-shaded shirt harnesses swollen shoulder, arm, and chest muscles. Judging by the weight and overall wetness of his t-shirt, it is safe to say that today’s workout was a success, and the urge to flirt is burning wildly under the freshly worked out muscles. All bets are off at a smaller gym, because eyes have no choice but to wander, and I’m one to give a show if I catch you looking. My shorts are already pretty short – because I hate basketball shorts – my shirts grow tighter in all the right places as the weeks pass, and I make sure my form is on point.  This voyeuristic trait really only comes to life when I’m in the gym, and I like to think it makes me dig deeper in achieving a better workout.  Whether you like it or not, you will gain inspiration from watching another participant, or you’ll unconsciously lust after them; wanting their body for yourself. Snapping out of my temporary trance, I put away the dumbbells, wipe off the bench, and make my way toward the locker room. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I bump shoulders with another lifter, and the urge is reawakened. “Get the hell out of here” I think to myself, doing everything I can to will away the thirst of my alter ego’s sweet and sour thoughts. If this internal battle weren’t already enough, running smack into my office crush – making chest to chest contact – on my way into the locker room was the icing on this mess of a cake. “Hey man! Looks like you got a good workout in today, eh?” Why is he so nice? He’s always so nice. Get me the hell out of here.

Burrito Bowls

Do you ever feel like you’re talking to yourself? You get some bright idea, mention that idea, and end up going in a completely different direction by way of his idea. I’d been craving a burrito bowl for quite some time now. In passing, I would bring up the idea for dinner during our weekly grocery shopping together; never sulking or souring if we didn’t get ingredients for the meal. When you’re following a low-carb diet – and we have been for over a year now – it can be hard to keep your eating options fresh and exciting. I retain a subtle want for a burrito bowl because I know I’d never be disappointed with one, and it would mix up my day-to-day eating habits.

I can’t remember the last time we had this favored menu item of mine, and while red meat is zero carbs and high in good fat – perfect for our diet – burgers and steaks get old. “Hey, would you want to make the burrito bowls this weekend?” The inner chubby kid of my past burned more calories exerting a disgustingly thirsty grin at the mention of the desired meal. My craving for this specific meal is well tamed as long as the thought is out of sight, and out of mind. As soon as I hear any mention of a burrito bowl, I immediately want one.  I’m not one to hound anyone over what’s for dinner, but I know I’d made a solid attempt in pitching the idea more than a few times between early October and now.

Pan-seared chicken over cauliflower rice, with chopped onions, crisp spinach, Verde salsa, jalapenos, Pico de Gallo, spicy guacamole, and a dash of shredded Colby Jack cheese. It was the purest form of delicious. What made the meal even better was that he listened. Sure it might have taken him a while – and sure, I could have organized the meal myself, or pressed him more about it – but he came through.  Part of being a significant other is listening to each other, and it’s the little things like unplanned burrito bowls that help remind you that he is listening.

The Other 364

I’m a self-proclaimed romantic.  So you would assume Valentine’s Day would be of the utmost importance to me, right? No. I love everything that Valentine’s Day represents. I love romance, and all the cheese that comes along with it. I love when two become one in the most barf-inducing-tears-of-happiness kind of romantic film, and the idea that someone is experiencing that kind of love; even if it is just a story. With all that said, what kind of romantic would I be if I only expected that kind of attention on a single day out of the entire calendar year?

I hope a date, a surprise gift, or the smallest gesture that shows one the other cares on any day of the year is appreciated. What does it say if a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, or wife, is only stressed about having a perfect, error-free, romantic day or night only once a year? S and I never do very much on Valentine’s Day. We may go to dinner, or have a quiet evening in with a homemade meal and champagne. Our first Valentine’s Day, I bought him cologne; not sure whether we would be a couple that went all out when this day rolled around. During the early stages of our relationship, it was fun to get small gifts and cards, but now February 14th is just another day.

The fact that we don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day like all the other lovebirds does not sour me in the slightest. In my opinion, it’s much more exciting to find an unexpected burst of love randomly throughout the other three-hundred-sixty-four days of the year. If you already play cupid year-round, then I won’t shade the fact that you’re going above and beyond on Valentine’s Day. Because if your significant other has the pleasure of experiencing these exclamations of love outside of this particular day, then good for you!  If Valentine’s Day is the only time you’re pulling out the special underwear, thoughtful dates, or passionate appreciation of what you have together… you’ve got some work to do.

Prince Charming

Who is Prince Charming? Does the comparison – of one’s new, old, or off and on again boyfriend – truly mean anything, or has society programmed us all to think that it’s some end-defining-scare-the-man-away-anti-feminist notion? A recent exchange with friends made me consider what the idea of Prince Charming really means within a relationship. The group of us were at a bar, watching Big Ten basketball, and enjoying beers when I mentioned to my friend’s boyfriend that he was like her prince charming; keep in mind this was my first time meeting him. He handled the comment like a gentleman, and I later found out, via my husband’s opinion, that the comment was “awkward,” and that my friend was a smidge embarrassed.

Making awkward comparisons and embarrassing my friend was never my intention. The way I viewed my comparison was the fact that both of us had been through a great deal of shitty dating experiences, boys, not men, and our fair share of situations you may only see in movies; movies that usually end with someone’s heart being grinded up in some dramatic, emotional fashion.  I’m genuinely happy that she has found someone, and stand by what I said in that moment. So, why is there so much weight placed on the idea of portraying a Prince Charming-like character? I know full well that my friend does not need any man to save her from anything, so maybe I should have tried to compliment their relationship in another manner?

My view of who Prince Charming can be is not so traditional. If I were Rapunzel, there’s no way in hell I would be waiting for a man to come and rescue me from a tower – only to get knocked up with kids, who I would love dearly, and become a housewife. That’s never been me, or any of the people I surround myself with; nothing against those of you who would enjoy, or aspire to be stay-at-home parents.  What’s wrong with Prince Charming being nothing more than a man that’s extremely attractive, has a good job, sends out every signal and vibe that he loves the woman, or man, that he has found, and is an overall good fit for your life where it stands currently?

My husband is my Prince Charming because he entered my life at the right moment. He didn’t save me like some fairy tale hero, but we were ready for each other; ready to give each other a try, with no specific ending (good or bad), or timeline in mind.  He challenges me, emotionally and professionally, and most of all, he inspires thoughts of what a realistic, adult future could be. For me, this future with my Prince Charming is not a stereotype-fueled vision of what the American dream should be, but a relationship that works, is filled with love, and one that encourages our growth as people. No pressure, no awkwardness, just owning and living your relationship to its highest potential.

I Am Wedding Band: A Mini Monologue

The sun enters my bedroom, and I hazily welcome its warmth. It’s quiet on the dark, wooden nightstand, where I spend most of my days, and where my owner has left me, alone, again – I’m always alone. What the hell? In the stores, they tell us wedding bands that we represent the many bonds of love, and that we are so important, and that people are going to love showing us off. If that’s the case, then why do I spend so much time sitting on this nightstand? Like tanned skin in the winter, my glimmering titanium exterior has begun to fade; accepting each layer of dust without declaration.  My partner – a titanium and black zirconium ring – gets all of the action. That slut has his owner’s finger going in and out of him over the entire course of the day. Doesn’t he get tired? I mean, servicing the same finger every single day must be exhausting, but isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Hell, I don’t know. He must be using awesome lube; cocoa butter lotion, if I had to guess. Let me stop, though. Because at least my partner is getting some action… and I’m beginning to sound like a jealous queen.  I love my owner. Sure, he may forget about me some days, but it’s not all days, I guess. Here on this nightstand is where I will stay, until he is ready to take me out for a day. I imagine it could be worse. At least I’m not locked up in that miserable glass case anymore…

Silence CAN BE Golden

A good sign that you’ve found someone that will be around for awhile – hopefully forever if you’re married or in a serious relationship – is if the two of you can be in the same space and just be; existing in the same space with silence and unconditional peace of mind and comfort.  In the past I’ve had roommates and exes that assume something is amiss if we’ve been in the same room and haven’t shared any kind of interaction for an hour or more.  What’s wrong with actually watching the television, reading a magazine, or surfing the net in the presence of another? This is something that annoys me about individuals that crave constant attention and, in a sense, social babysitting.

Thankfully, my marriage is one that does not require constant attention or tending. There’s something truly authentic about being able to just chill out with a significant other, and not give two fucks about anything that’s trying to enter your orbit. One of my favorite parts of the weekend is relaxing slothfully with my husband; binging on episodes of The Good Wife, and only moving from the couch to pour more merlot. Take this very moment for example: Currently we are watching survivor casting videos, he’s in and out of scrolling through Instagram, and I’m partially anti-social because I’m writing this blog entry.

It’s okay to not be in each other’s faces every second of every hour after you get home from a long day of work. Interaction is a great thing in any relationship – and necessary, of course –  but it’s telling if you have someone that can share pure peace and quiet with you. If you’re one of those people that think you need THAT much attention, and can’t take sharing silence with your significant other? CALM DOWN, GIRL (or boy), is all I have to say to you. Now, because this entry is finished, I will go discuss some of these silly Survivor cast members with S. Can you believe this show is on season thirty? Talk to you later, readers.

Tick. Tock. I Love You.

Three years ago, this evening, our relationship presented itself as something new.  It was New Years Eve in my cozy, cheer-filled apartment. I had one of my best friends in town – visiting from Los Angeles – amazing roommates, a great chunk of friends I had made working at the Goodwill Store, and him. I was so happy S had come down from Indy to celebrate the holiday with us. At the time, we’d only officially been boyfriends for a little over two months, and were an hour apart during the work week.  About thirty minutes or so before midnight, we found ourselves alone in my bedroom. “…I’m scared” I express as I look past him nervously and prop myself up on my elbow.  Lying next to me, he puts one hand behind his head, and the other around my arm.  “Why?”  He looks worried as he presents the single-worded question.  I shift. “I think I love you.” The second it took him to respond felt like agonizingly long minutes passing on a clock. “I love you too” he grins looking directly into my eyes.

When is the right time to say “I love you” to a person of interest? Our exchange that night was not planned, and I honestly had not thought about the subject at all.  We were still a very new couple, but there was something in the air that evening that made me want to share my feelings with him.  Society programs young adults in so many ways when it comes to saying “I love you.” We absorb the lessons we learn – or think we’re learning – from relationships we’ve witnessed in the past, and think we have to apply them to our own relationships.  Whether it’s too soon or long overdue to share those guarded words are up to the individual that possess the feelings.  When I think back on that night, I recognize that the timing was right.  Our relationship didn’t feel like work – I say that a lot, but it’s true – I was always excited to see him, always wondering how his day went, counting down the days until we were together again… the love was building before I even thought about saying it.

Workout for What?

When one is single, working out and staying in shape is important for the wrong reasons. Most will say that it’s for their health and wellness, and mask the fact that they’re sweating it out to better their chances of hooking up come time to play the field.  I recognize that there are people who take their health and fitness seriously, but during the partying years?..  Let’s be real, everyone has ass on the mind.  If not for health and wellness, does the reason for exercise change when you land that special someone?

Something happens when you become one with another; at least it did for me. Before S, I was a heavier guy, and legitimately began working out and dieting to add years to my life. Now that I’m married, I find myself working harder than I had before on my health and overall fitness.  My reason for working out, in addition to general health, is to maintain my attractiveness for my husband. I get off knowing that I look good, and even more so when I know it’s for him and our relationship. Hey now, I work out for me too! I love working out in the morning, and gain so much energy going into my day. I even workout on weekends to keep my energy on the up and up.

I’ve come a long way from refusing to run in gym class back in high school, to doing cardio, yoga, and strength training five to six times a week. S has gone through his own fitness transformation as well, but doesn’t possess the cocky confidence that I do. Even when I was a bigger guy – pushing three hundred pounds – I could work with what I had and still pursued guys without hesitation.  I love when I catch guys eyeing my husband, and how he doesn’t even notice. What I love more is when other, thirsty, guys realize what they have to get through before they can get to S.

I find it entertaining that even after you’ve entered a serious relationship, you still have to maintain what you had once worked so hard to obtain, to keep your prize. By no means am I saying that you need to be in shape to keep a partner. We share numerous cheat days and battle the scale together now – after falling off our low carb wagon here and there – and gain great pleasure when we notice changes in each other physically.  Earlier I said that working out, as a single partier type, was done for the wrong reasons. When it comes down to it, maybe working out (then) for the approval and validation of others is just practice… We say we do it for ourselves, to make ourselves feel better, but eventually all that nonsense, worry, and stress turns into the very elixir that provides us the power to keep a comfortable grip on what we’ve achieved.