Smells Like...

Two interesting things happened at the grocery store the other day.

First, I was ID'd for the 6-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade I purchased. Whatever. The cashier was just doing her job, I'm happy to oblige by handing over my driver's license. But seriously folks, I'm 36 years old. And this was not a flirtatious situation where the cashier/server was performing a little act in hopes of a big tip or whatever.

Or was it?

As I was picking up my bags o' groceries at the end of the lane, the cashier called my name. Weird because, I mean, who remembers the name of the person whose check card they just processed. (Certainly not me back in my retail days) So I'm on my way out and she's calling my name and is suddenly all chatty about what perfume I'm wearing because ohmygod it totally reminds her of a perfume worn by someone she used to know and boy is it nice, blah blah blah perfumecakes and she's totally ignoring the next customer so she can detain me with her perfume talk.

I kind of wanted to get going, so I made up an answer for her. "It's the product in my hair - Aveda Brilliant Pomade" is what I told her. The truth is, I had no idea. I was not wearing perfume or scented lotion. I use unscented laundry detergent and I hadn't showered since the night before. My hair was on day two of a two day experiment attempting to enhance the curl by means of less frequent washing and no product. And I was wearing a shirt I had plucked from the laundry pile as I ran out the door to do errands.

Are you turned on yet?

Cashier gal was not satisfied with my response though. I left her with a "All right then, thanks, have a good day" and a shrug of geez-I-don't-know-what-to-tell-you. I think that ticked her off, she seemed a little hostile.

And then I felt bad for adding to her angst because, really, the woman is a cashier at a big stinky warehouse grocery store. She's got enough problems already.

Misty Watercolored Memories

All day long, today’s date has been stuck in my head. September 14…September 14…September 14. And all day long I’ve been trying to figure out why it might be a significant date to me.

Imagine my horror (Dismay? Melancholy?) when I realized it was the anniversary of my first date with a significant ex-boyfriend. And that said date took place TEN years ago.

Unbelievable. It doesn’t seem possible. Ten years. Have I even been a grownup for ten years? (And the gods of time answer: Ten years and then some girlie!)

I had a dream about him recently. We woke up together in bed, and he looked happy and healthy to an extent that I never observed while we were dating or in all the years since. In the dream I was so in love and so happy to be with him.

Shortly thereafter, things took a turn and the part of my ex-boyfriend was played by Jason Priestly for the duration of the dream. So make of that what you will.

Truthfully, I’m a little surprised that I remember the anniversary of our first date. I’ve certainly done my best to forget the crappy, nagging details of our relationship. But they’re stubborn buggers, those memories. Because despite the turbulent times and rotten ending, the relationship is an important part of my past. It was the first time I’d been in love. Maybe the only time. It was the first time I allowed someone full access to me emotionally. It was a Big Deal.

It was also the biggest hurt and biggest betrayal I’ve ever experienced. So much so that ten years later, it’s still zipping around in my brain, just waiting for some stupid trigger, like the date September 14 to bring the memory to the surface. And ka-boom! Here I am wading in a puddle of nostalgia.

We still run into each other occasionally. We both still care about each other enough so that we’ve continued to keep each other informed regarding major life events, but I doubt anyone would term us friends. And part of me still loves him. Probably always will in a “’When Harry Met Sally’ once-it’s-out-there-it’s-always-out-there” kind of way.

Ten years. Am I really ten years older than I was that day we went to my neighborhood bar to see a national band that would soon become famous open for a local band that would soon break up? The night of our first date. The beginning of the end you might call it if you were feeling especially cynical. I still remember what I wore. What you wore. The jacket you borrowed from your roommate. And how after the date ended, I sat alone on my front steps, smoking a cigarette and thinking that I missed you already.

And I guess I still miss you after all this time. We've gone our separate ways and I’m happy in the here and now, but when I get to reminiscing, your specter looms large over my psyche.

Everything's different now. We're different now. But I know that, whether I like it or not, part of me will always love you Mr. Utah.