Christmas Countdown.

The year is 1985....I am kneeling in a kitchen chair, peeling back 24 and snatching the piece of chocolate before anyone else had the chance to get to it! The Christmas Countdown had begun!

That's how this feels. I know that in 18 days, 22 hours, 27 minutes and 46 seconds that New York will be picking me up from Logan Internatinal Airport...

It's funny how it's human nature to look forward to something...to count down the days until something marvelous happens. . . we just have to be careful not to let life pass us by as we wait for something else.

"The Smell"

I can't explain it other than to say there are some things that can not be forgotten. You can move on, you can start fresh, and you can put the past as far as you can possibly toss it behind you. But, some things just can't be forgotten.

I was standing there minding my own business....ok, let's be real I was watching this size 24 lady who had miraculously squeezed herself into a size 8 waddle into the restroom, and it hit me...That all too familiar...been on my pillow one to many times smell. I turned around to see him walking by.  Lucifer in all his glory passed me by without even a sideways glance. 

For just a second I felt a ting of pain. For a brief second I wanted to reach out and grab on to him. I wanted to know how he had forgotten about me, how he made it possible that I so quickly became a part of his past, another notch in his belt.....and then I remembered. I had forgotten too....until the smell brought me back.

"The best thing that ever happened"

At the time, if you had told me that my heart getting ripped out of my chest by someone I had spent 6 years convincing myself that I was going to marry, was the best thing that ever happened to me, I would have probably looked at you like you had 6 heads.

Last night I ran into my "never should have" for the first time in 6 months or so....I can honestly say it is the first time I have seen him since the big "It's not you, it's me spill" that I didn't feel a slight sting of pain. I just felt......nothing. Absolutely nothing. No love, no hate, no nothing.

He pulled out a chair for me at the bar and we talked. We talked about his soon to be adventure into parenthood, we talked about the past, and the future, but for once there were no what-ifs.  It was just conversation between two old friends. It was good. And then he said it. "If I had never left, you wouldn't be this new you, so I guess me leaving was the best thing that ever happened to you." And I offered a friendly, "Well, I don't know about that". But the more I sat and pondered it, I realized he was right, and at that moment I also realized that was the closest I would ever get to an apology, and I accepted it.

After 2 1/2 years, I found the peace and closure I was looking for....turns out it was there all along, I just didn't know where to look for it.

"I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons, finally at peace with a past I regret..."

Dammit Chance.

So....I want to go on record and say I KNEW this would happen. I knew the very moment someone who actually showed interest in me popped into the picture, Chance would start to step his game up. The "I miss you" text flood gates have opened.

I've been here before. This territory is ALL to familiar and I don't like it one bit.(Remember, the one?) New York is sitting 22 hours away, patiently awaiting my return to the Northeast  (in 37 days to be exact)  and in pops Chance. I have a  theory. My theory is one I wish were not true, but in order for you to understand I need to provide a bit of historical data.

I began this year, 72 lbs heavier than I am today. Chance knew me at my heaviest, and the connection was there....regardless but he never made a move on it. My theory is that he was extremely uncomfortable of my size at the time. He, by no means, wanted to be seen cuddled up to someone who was not a Maxim model. Now, do keep in mind,  he is no Brad Pitt himself.  And one thing is for damn sure, if you can't love me when I am busting out of my plus size jeans, then you sure as hell do not deserve to reap the benefits of my shrinking physique.

More history, I meet New York in March. Probably about 50 lbs heavier than I am today. That is how he knew me. And at that weight, beer goggles or not, he found me "stunningly beautiful", and vocalized that several times.  Better Yet, when we reconnected on the 4th of July, He told me I looked nice, but little was discussed of the weight loss. Just that I was stunningly beautiful. He did, however re-iterate that he found me just as gorgeous that day in March as he did as we sat on the beach wall. That, my friends is acceptance.

History provided, and all things considered, is Chance's new found spark burning so bright because my waist line is shrinking, or is it because he knows there is a new player in the game?  (And Yes, I did share that information with him, and he informed me that it is absolutely appalling that I would talk to, let alone date a yankees fan)  Either way I doubt it is genuine....but who am I to know that for sure?

What I do know is this. I am tired of uncertainties, and where do we stands? I want consistency. . . and commitment. Both of which I think Chance is incapable of providing...

So I sit back and take it all in....and hope that my heart will provide some direction since my head has definitely tapped into over-analyzing mode...and on that note, I'm going for a run.

What's the Catch?

Well, it's been 4 days since I landed back in the land of the delta blues. The plane landed, but I was still floating up there on cloud 9.....and then the reality set in.

The reality that this new found spark was now 22 hours away from me. . .I could pick up the phone and call, but I could not reach out and touch...was the connection so strong that it was going to make it the 40 days until we reconnected? Didn't I say I wasn't going to over-analyze this? Didn't I say that for once in my life I was just going to let things happen, yah, well that lasted all of 48 hours.

I blame the undying love and support of my friends on the current disection taking place of my romantic situation. "What's the catch?" I do not have enough fingers and toes to add up the times I have been asked that question over the last 4 days.  So maybe I should provide a little background here. New York is older than me. Older as in the 10-15 year older bracket. He is single, never married, no kids, no baggage. So...."what's the catch?". For once in my life I would like to think there isn't one. I would like to believe that this 6'6'' chunk of awesomeness was just placed here for my own personal enjoyment and mine alone.  But is that realistic? I sure as hell hope so. Only time will tell. . .

New York

For every Red Sox fan there is one carnal sin, one that can not be forgiven, one that is so bad that it is not even spoken of in the innermost circles....and that my dear friends is the 11th commandment. Thou shall not date a Yankee's fan. Well effective immediately it is quite certain that I am going to hell.

Late March I took a trip home to visit, nothing out of the norm. First night in town I met up with my closest friends at our spot. I left at one point to do some shopping around the marketplace and walked back in to the bar to see HIM. Him who was sitting across the bar wearing a Yankees hat....not only wearing a Yankees hat, but a yankee's hat on opening day in a bar in Boston. Can someone say balls?

Well, there was no way in hell that I was about to let that happen, and certainly not after a couple of hours worth of liquid courage, so the trash talking began. Somewhere along the way I mustered up the courage to slip him my business card....so the Coors light must have blocked the fact that he was as die hard for the Yankees as I was for the Red Sox. At that point in time I am not quite sure what I was thinking...or if any thinking was involved at all...what I do know is that I woke up to a message from him the very next morning. We text back and forth over the last four months with a few phone calls sprinkled in between.

Then I went home this weekend, as I do every fourth of July. We made plans to get together. And Monday we sat on the beach wall and watched fireworks for a good 4 hours. You name it, we talked about it. And when he reached over and put his hand on mine. It happened. I felt butterflies. This had to be some kind of bad joke, right? Was I sitting here, snuggled up under the ultimate Yankee fan? Was this really happening? And did it feel right? Check . Check. Check. and Double Check. That's it folks, I'm screwed.

What I do know is I experienced a deeper connection in those four hours than I had with any penis having homosapien in the last 31 years. He asked permission to kiss me, and I gave it.  The kiss was real, and had meaning. Deep, but with no pretenses. To sum it up in one word, that first kiss, as we set on the beach wall with the ocean beating against the shore, and the fireworks going off in the background, was perfect.

And the next morning I found myself  back on a plane headed south with 3 hours worth of what ifs flooding my head. And it is at that point I made the choice, that for once in my life, I was just going to let whatever this wonderful thing happening around me may be, happen.

"Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me, and after all...you're my wonderwall."

Lucky Soxx

How do you outline a story without painting the full picture of the main Character.

The name is Lucky. Lucky Soxx. I was born to a young Mother who married my Bermuda-Native Father to bypass having an "illegitamte child,  and spent my childhood years in a small seaside town outside of Boston.  My parents split when I was a toddler, and my Father remarried to my Evil Stepmother and proceeded to grace me with a sister and two brothers. 

Most of my life it was just Mom and me, and to be quite honest I was a-o-k with it. Then she fell in love with a demon spawn and we moved to ala-freakin-bama, where I finished out my junior and senior high school years. . . It wasn't all bad. I wish I could elaborate more on that but to be quite honest that part of my life was a blur that I choose not to remember much of....with the exception of Feb 2nd, 1998. That would be the night I crossed into womanhood, and no better place to do it than the locker room at LCHS, because if you're gonna get classy with it...go all out, Right? No holding back here.

I went to college. I joined a sorority. I fell in like with all the wrong boys. I did what every normal girl did, I fucked up. I then moved to a big Southern city to start fresh. I started my career, fell in love with the right one, and then the "never should have", and the rest is history.

For the last 10 years I've lived in this shithole of a city, constantly looking for a way out. I used to say it was my "never should have" that kept me here, then I blamed it on my career, then when I decided my career sucked the big one, I decided to blame it on the amazing friends that I have here...and that part is true. The best friends a girl could ask for, in the best part of this crapshoot there is that you can live, and of course then there was Chance....which I am beginning to think should be part of the 30 day cleanse, eh, but that's a story for a different day.

What do I want to do? I want to go home, back to the East Coast. Will I ever get there? Only God knows...but I will tell ya one thing...I got a compass pointing North.