Move Over Jessica Rabbit

How often do we blog about our partners? How often do we talk about them for that mater? Is it good or bad when we do? I talk about Marcelo often enough; often enough to make it clear to near by ears that he's my consuming thought of the day. The unfortunate thing is, he's the one I grumble about more than anything else. So this blog is dedicated to him.

I'm a very public lover. No, I don't openly go after it; that's NOT what I'm saying. What I am say is this: I need PDA's, not even the physical type so much, just public affection. I need to know the man I'm with, wants the world to know we are together. Don't just tell me you want to shout it out to the world...DO IT! LET ME HEAR THOSE LUNGS SHAKE THE WALLS! Um, Marcelo's lungs are a bit weak for my taste, but I love him despite his physical imperfections.

Marcelo, Marcelo, Marcelo...oh how I never tire of that name! Well, it isn't so much the name I love, but the attraction it holds stems from the man himself. He's a tender-hearted man, warm and caring, compassionate - most of the time - and G-d what a character!! He's playful folks. He's not afraid to get down in the floor and play like the big kid that he is. He doesn't have to be center of attention, but he sure crowds the center, if the center takes too long to leave. He's intelligent - oops, did I spell that right? Much more than I am, that's for sure! Oh, and the man doesn't use "!" to express everything he feels...though his face and voice are far more expressive than mine will ever be. He, above me, has the right to exclaim everything he types! ;-) Oh, but back on track...

Marcelo leaves me feeling at such odds with myself. I've never thought of myself as anything more than just plain ole Misty. I'm a simpleton for the most part, born in a small town, raise in a quiet home. Oh, but when Marcelo says my name, I catch myself holding my breath. I have to, if I don't, the mere utterance of my name, (the very name I've spent 30 years of my life hearing), takes my breath away. Though he's Brazilian, he's not overly provocative or sexual - thank G-d, because I couldn't handle him if he were - yet he's just the right blend of explosive vivid colors that captivate my attention, and soft pastels that both warm and sooth me. He's my life-long dream; a goal I never knew I set out to embark upon. He's my blessing awaiting to happen, my best friend in the making, and my curse as well. No one gets under my skin half so well as Marcelo, no one else knows how, as far as I've seen. Ah, but that isn't the point of this blog. My point is, when I least expected it to happen, I met him! I met the man that leaves me feeling like something special: a dance I never knew before, a voice I couldn't hear in myself, a yearning that was awakened. Yes, Marcelo leaves me feeling like a woman. Oh, but not just any woman mind you. Marcelo leaves me feeling like the tender soul I've always longed to be, (when he can), the encouragement I know I can be, (once again, when he can), and most interestingly he leaves me feeling like the vixen I never knew existed in me. Yes, he leaves me at odds with myself. This larger than life character moves me in ways I never imagined anyone could. And at the end of the day, the only thing I can say is this, "Move over Jessica Rabbit, there's a new redhead in town; and this Roger's her's to love."