Or, in other words, mushy thoughts about Coby.
Feel free to skip this one if you feel like Valentines Day is the worst.
And I'm sorry. It kind of is. Especially if you don't have a Coby.
I'm here to tell you that last week, Coby coached me in Guitar Hero while I played the same blasted song probably 40 times in a row. Over and over again, just so I could pass it on the hardest level. Then he encouraged me to do the next song, and then the next, and then the next. He was patient and nice even after I told him to shut up and to not touch me with his loving, assurance pats (because sometimes I'm the worst at taking direction). And then he wasn't even mad when I finally beat the song, did a victory spin, and consequently sent the PS2 to flying off of the shelf and onto the floor. Instead, he fell to the floor right alongside it (and me) and laughed! With me? Or at me? You know it doesn't really even matter. The idea that he was so invested in my silly successes was so endearing. Like whoa, what is love?
But here's an even better story. The story of how I bought Coby tickets to the Heber Creeper for Christmas because he has this thing for trains. Which is fine and all, but mind you it was for a Monday night. And, thus, 99% child oriented. Kids, like, throngs of kids were on this train you guys. And then there was the two of us in the back. Me, so let down because how am I going to love this for 90 whole minutes?! Coby, trying not to let on that he really wasn't having the time of his life. And of course the Frozen soundtrack practically on loop. But then! We were together! And isn't this hilariously bad? So of course we were making it fun. BUT GET THIS. Coby casually asked if I knew that he could get me a star. And of course I replied yeah duh, A Walk to Remember... Where were you in 2003? And then, as he reached across me, pointed out the window and said (and with much gusto might I add)... I'll name that star Natalie! THE TRAIN DERAILED. I kid you not. The train. De. Railed. OFF OF THE TRACK. It was the most unexpected, powerful, hilarious, most romantic thing I've ever experienced in the weirdest way. As in the kind of thing I'm going to tell my grandchildren one day. (I'll start off with the classic, "well I was quite the looker back in my day! so much so...")
That is what it's all about though, right? Creating experiences with one another. Experiences worthy of retelling years and years from now. Getting off of our screens and our feeds (what a novel idea!) and really listening to those fiddlers taking requests on that now dark train. And admiring that almost annoyingly spunky girl up front, trying to keep everyone calm. Remembering and wishing for when I was maybe a little bit more like her. Going back and forth over our derailing theories, and listening to stories of the dreamt up boats coming to rescue us from across Deer Creek. Sneakily opening all sorts of windows (aka one window) on the train that probably shouldn't have been opened. And then singing Latin music and Something Corporate the entire car ride home. If U C Jordan, amirite?
Lets see, how much more can I romanticize my life before you hate me?
He's put up with my stubbornness in regards to Spotify. Why have we made this a thing? I don't know, but we did. It definitely became a thing. He's let me read his old journal entires and some of the many, many poems he wrote as a tween. He likes me when I do and when I don't fill in my eyebrows. Which, has only been for like, the last two months. So even though I know he has no idea the difference between when I do and when I don't, he listens to my crazy rants on the social state of the current brow and my participation in it. Oh! This one is a new one. SALSA! I'm a loader, he's a dipper. I could drink it. But he likes a mere glaze across his chip. And ain't no one gon' change either one of our salsa ways. And Coby respects that! As long as I buy the next bottle... We make it work you guys, we make it work.
So here's to two years and two months of (officially) dating. And to three years since he returned the gesture and commented on this very blog. I know, did that just make it weird? I'd like to think Kathleen Kelly would be so proud.
Love you NY152. Love Shopgirl.