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New favorite word: squatch. No, it doesn’t mean that, get your mind out of the gutter. Your favorite Cindylouwho was introduced to a show on Animal Planet this weekend by New Guy, called “Finding Bigfoot”. This could possibly be the best show in television history.

Stay with me. You’ve got three dudes (one who looks like a stoned Jonah Hill, and one who is the requisite hothead who knows everything) and one chick (the only one who appears to have any sense– not making a feminist statement, just sayin’…) who go traipsing around the country (if only they had a Mystery Machine) in search of Sasquatch. According to them, squatches are everywhere. That hairy neighbor you don’t like is probably a squatch. They’re known to favor split levels and PTA meetings, you know. Hell, even your mother-in-law could be one. (Low blow? It’s okay, I haven’t met New Guy’s mom yet).

This show is unintentionally hysterical. Completely unscientific, biased, and unprofessional. And did I mention hilarious? The stoner dude (known as Bobo, natch) has the official moniker of “expert field caller”. Heehee. Some guy with the best job in the world gets to dress up in a gorilla outfit and run around the woods for the filmed reenactments. How does yours truly audition for this gig?

Best. Show. Ever. I’m seeing Emmys in their future. And the first squatch they find will surely end up with his own “Bachelor” show. They’re smooth with the ladies, you know.

Dark, blurry... definitely a squatch

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Well, other than Michelle Bachmann winning the straw poll, and George W. winning anything. This particular “hmmmm” happened last week, when I got a friend request on Facebook from none other than last year’s B.

 

Hmm, indeed. I was puzzled, and a bit taken aback, I admit. Why now? Why, at all? But being a curious Cindy Lou Who, and long past my anger and sadness over the situation, I of course accepted, and waited to see if I would get a message.

I did, and while it wasn’t quite an apology, he did confess to treating me poorly, and expressed a desire to be friends. He has recently remarried, and by all accounts appears to be happy. Guilty conscience? Genuinely trying to set things right? I suppose it really doesn’t matter. The sentiment is appreciated, no matter what the motive behind it. Closure feels pretty good.

Of course, it probably doesn’t hurt that I’m head over heels for New Guy, and quit pining over B many moons ago. So I can afford to be magnanimous. But hey, I’ll take it. Good wishes and forgiveness all around make for a happy Cindy Lou Who. And hey, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters, right? Since I’m the center of the universe, and all.

Ha ha. Just kidding.      Maybe.      Hmmm…

See? Nothin' but happy...

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Your favorite Cindylouwho is not a fan of summer. I don’t much care for being hot and sweaty, unless it involves New Guy (tmi?). So, during a recent brainstorming session to decide upon a new toy/hobby (road bike? maybe in November– new camera? with what money?), several influencing factors came together to point me in the right direction. Between wanting to stay in the A/C as much as humanly possible, listening to a coworker wax poetic over his new banjo, watching New Guy unpack his 6 string, and reminiscing over childhood ambitions, I bit the music bullet and went out and got myself an acoustic guitar.

With fantasies swirling through my mind of being the next Lucinda Williams or Emmylou Harris, I brought my new baby home and unpacked her. I felt so cool, sitting there cradling my guitar. I had images of entertaining friends around campfires, being the life of the party, amusing and amazing the masses with my newfound talent. First, though, I had to tune her up. I got out the autotuner and started plunking away on the strings, listening and tightening, pondering, tightening. Until I overtightened the high E string, and had it scare the hell outta me by snapping right in my face. Nearly lost an eye. Damn, this music business is dangerous.

Oh well, I had to learn to change the strings eventually. A successful restringing, and I was on my way again. Of course, I still needed to tune her. Plink, plink, plink, mrawr. Mrawr? Mmmmrrraaawwwrrrr! I look over my shoulder to see one of my cats standing on the back of the couch, in obvious distress. caterwauling. She apparently did not appreciate my tuning prowess. Every time I plinked, she screeched. I had to remove her to the bedroom. Everyone’s a critic.

Watch out, Emmylou, here I come.

mimimimimimimimimi.......

 

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So, things with New Guy are good yet crazy, complicated and wonderful, exciting and frustrating. Like everything else in my life, I never pick the easy relationships. No smooth ride for Cindylouwho. That would be boring, right?

He’s moody. He’s troubled. He has baggage that he’s trying to deal with. He’s witty, and clever, and talented, and fascinating. He makes me feel beautiful one moment, and utterly helpless the next. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, even knowing how challenging and daunting that may prove to be. I think he’s worth it.

What makes this different from the previous dysfunctional relationships? We click. We fit well together. I’m crazy about him, and I’m fairly certain he feels the same way about me. He makes me smile. And hopefully someday soon I can do the same for him.

I want to check you for ticks

 

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Here’s a question: when do I take New Guy home to meet the parental units? It’s been so long since they’ve met anyone I was involved with (literally, years– since college), I really have no clue as to standard operating procedure here.

Is three months too soon? Is six months better? At least I’m spared the large holiday family gathering until Thanksgiving (most of them think I’m a lesbian since I never bring anyone home, so that will be loads of fun). He’s ready, I think. He’ll behave himself, and charm the pants off them, I’m sure. It’s them I’m worried about, looking for opportunities to embarrass the crap outta me. Of course, they could surprise me and put their best foot forward, if they think this is their last chance to get me married off and possibly pop out some grandkids. Knowing them, though, I won’t hold my breath.

I’m pretty sure I won’t meet his parents anytime soon, since they are in another state and will require a weekend getaway. My folks, however, live close enough for a lunch date, so I can’t use distance as an excuse. Part of me wants to just get it over with, since they’re already harassing me with questions, and I’d just as soon they ask him directly. And maybe the sooner he sees how nutty they are, the better, rather than letting him think they’re normal and all.

On the other hand, maybe stalling is smarter…

this is my family

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New Guy’s birthday is in 2 weeks. 2 weeks, people. How unfair is this? We’ve only known each other for 2 months, and the universe expects me to navigate the treacherous waters of gift-giving? Yikes, I say. Yikes.

Contributing to my angst and anxiety is my obsession with presents. I LOOOOOOVE giving presents. I consider it a personal challenge to find the people in my life the ultimate perfect present for every birthday and Christmas. No, I don’t go for the pricey gifts. I usually end up getting a grab bag of small, inexpensive, but hopefully hilariously appropriate gifties for the lucky recipient. I’m one of those people who shops all year long, picking up things as I come across them, and squirreling them away for the festive occasion. It makes me happy. Probably happier than the people on the receiving end.

But New Guy, hmm. This is a particularly daunting challenge. Do I know him well enough to know his tastes? How much is too much? Not to mention the fact that he’s already sending me mixed signals. One minute he’s telling me not to make a fuss over him, the next he’s pestering me to tell him what I’ve gotten him already. Damn it, guys, what’s a girl to do?

I think the things I’ve gotten are pretty innocuous and innocent, yet fun and flirty. I don’t know. I don’t mind admitting that your favorite Cindylouwho is a little nervous, friends. Maybe I should just get him drunk and sleep with him. Not exactly original, but at least I know he’ll like it.

I could do a pole dance

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Well, now we know why Ah-nuld and Maria split. What an idiot. If you manage to hide an affair and a child for over 10 years, why fess up now? Just keep your mouth shut, moron. What a douchebag.

three's a crowd in most marriages

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I heard on the news this morning that Maria Shriver and Ah-nuld were separating. Your favorite Cindylouwho is not a Hollywood groupie, but this sort of story always gets my attention. Because I find it so incredibly sad.

These two had just celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. What compels someone to walk away from 25 years of marriage? Al and Tipper Gore split after 30 years. To state the obvious, that’s a hell of a long time to invest in someone. I can only speculate here, since I have no long-term relationship experience beyond a few years. But I just can’t imagine calling it quits after so much shared history. Is it as simple as growing apart? Does familiarity really breed contempt?

You never can know what actually transpires between two people. Which unfortunately makes for no easy answers, no obvious lessons to learn. I just find it terribly disheartening to hear about people splitting after so much time together. I know we’re not guaranteed the happy ending, but the romantic in me sure does pine for one. For all of us.

It's a conundrum

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Pete the Cat

A confession: I love children’s books. The silly, yet poignant stories, the vibrant characters, the wonderful illustrations. Does it matter that I don’t have anklebiters? Not one iota. I have a collection of kids’ books that would rival any daycare. Fabulous things, books.

 

So imagine my delight when New Guy told me about a favorite story of his grandkids (he has grandkids! how cute is that?!). Friends, meet Pete the Cat, the coolest little blue kitty around.

 

Pete and his new shoes teach the rugrats about taking life’s highs and lows in stride, and keeping things in a Zen-like perspective. Yes, the author and illustrator were probably hitting the ganja when they came up with this, but who are we to judge. It was undoubtedly some good shit.

 

Pete’s catchphrase has already become a playful little banter between New Guy and me. Hopefully we can both take this to heart as we go along, singing our song. Without driving each other batshit crazy.

 

 

 

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Next up for yours truly: learning how to relax and enjoy the ride. It’s been so long since your favorite Cindylouwho has been involved in something that might actually work out, she has no idea what to do with herself. And apparently has decided to refer to herself in the royal third person.

This is new territory for me, friends, and I’m trying to tread carefully. What a fine line to walk: wanting to enjoy the whole “getting to know you” process and exult in those wonderful New Guy emotions, without giving away too much too soon and scaring the crap out of him. A delicate balance.

Wish me luck, friends. This ride could get bumpy.

This is my relaxed face