Happy Birthday you

Everyone always asks me about the Englishman (as I call him here on my blog). EVERYONE. All of the time. At first it was adorable, now I am sick of him stealing all my attention. Kidding, kidding (maybe). So, in honor of his birthday today, here is a little story about how we first met, and a small list of all the things I adore about him. Don't fall too in love with him and how cute we are together whilst reading this, he is going to be so embarrassed after this he may just dump me.

Once upon a time, way way way back in March I went out with two girlfriends one evening. I don't really remember what the occasion was although I am sure one or all of us were looking for boys, or wanting to forget about some or some other really good reason to be down on Fillmore. I do remember what I was wearing (red Aztec print silk dress and black cowboy boots - tough and leggy), and could probably pin point the bar stool I was sitting on when we were incredibly rudely interrupted by a guy ordering a beer over me.

Actual photo from the night we met. Not from actual bar where Englishman swooped on me. Still, history documented.

Literally, over my head. Just leaned right almost on top of me, yelled over my head and then proceeded to spill said beer all over my lap when he swiped it off the bar. I was not amused. This "gentlemen" then continued right along being the biggest jerk ever. He did not apologize, merely tried batting his eyelashes at me and talking to me in what I am sure he thought was such a smooth English accent that I would just melt right off my bar stool. I told him that this would work in no uncertain terms, you see my daddy has an English accent. I am immune to the supposed charm or novelty of it. I needed an apology. I was affronted. Outraged. He better cough one right up right now. Waiting..... Still waiting.... But did he? Nope. He begins to challenge me. Where is my dad from? How thick is his accent? What is my name? No, it is not! I don't look English! Wait...WHAT? My legs are still sticky with beer - and you are going to ask my name and then have the gall to tell me it is not Bronwyn??!?!?! He tells me there is no way my name is Bronwyn because that is a Welsh name, and if my Dad was English than I would know enough to know he is really Welsh not English blah blah blah. Now I was mad. This had gone on too long. I am a girl. In a bar. Who is not hideous. Boys are supposed to be NICE to me. Not rude. This defys all codes of picking up on people. (Or if you are rally savvy you have already realized it doesn't - it was actually ingenious). I decided I would ask his name, and then use it to say "so and so... you may leave now". Then he says his name is Gareth. And I almost fell off my bar stool. That is my brother's name! I told him so. Then my friend leaned in and said "I am not sure if this whole thing has been some weird way of trying to talk to her, but it wasn't working before when you spilled on her and was rude, and it is certainly not going to work now. That's her brother's name. No way you are getting any like that."

Gentlemen pictured here is my brother. Not the Gareth that I kind of wanted to kiss/slap at the bar.

There was awkwardness.

Then this rude sir offered to buy my friend a drink. As a "peace offering". We all smiled and perked up... how sweet right? We'd told him! He leaned back in to the bartender (over me again - but now I thought he was kind of sweet and cute so it was less obnoxious) and said "only bottom shelf though". I was mortified (and ok, slightly impressed with his cajones/humor - sorry Ana)!

Then some friend of his told me that this Gareth was his life coach. And told me a whole tragic tale of how Gareth had been there, and helped him through his toughest times blah blah. Again, more games. Gareth is not a life coach. Liars and jerks.

Before I left, he asked for my phone number... In front of all his friends, and I thought he was a bit adorable, and had a lot of guts, so I gave it to him. Surprise surprise I already had a text from him before I had even gotten to my car. Would I be interested in lunch next week? Of course! He and I lunched a few times over the next few days and I played a bit busy, and very cool, but also flirty, and wearing my best blouses and heels so naturally I was very surprised when he text me about a week later and said his life was a bit "complicated" and could we "keep in touch". Well, I don't let people just walk all over me, and I have a huge need to gossip so of course I pushed. Just what was so complicated? I was dying to hear if his ex was pregnant, or he was going to jail or just what was so complex he wasn't interested in me? I was really liking him! I was currently only seeing one other boy and he was a hot mess and kind of leading me on, I liked this darn Englishman and his attention. What complication was stealing that? And here is where I have to give him loads of credit. He told me honestly that he had been on a break from his girlfriend when he met me, and they were going to try again and he needed to focus on that. Granted I was mucho butthurt, but I appreciated his honesty. I did what I needed to and added him as a friend on Facebook. WHAT?!?! He had asked to keep in touch (and I needed to see who this girl was that was worth going back to when you almost had me)! (Editor's note: she's got nothing on moi! Wait, did that sound biased and a bit bitter? Me? NEEEEEEEEVER!)

A month went by and apparently I got tired of this other boy leading me on, and the Englishman and his girlfriend didn't work out and so he texted me to go out again. Naturally, I scoffed. A few times. And then huffed. I was no second place, or straggler, or rebound. PUHLEAZE. He Facebook messaged me and begged and begged and called me 500 times. Ok, maybe not. Or maybe just some of it. Ok, he just emailed me once and texted me once. And then I played with my hands a bit (as per typical when I am nervous) and then I responded. And we text flirted a bit. And then who remembers exactly what happened next...but somehow we went out on a dinner date. And he was adorable and witty and very handsome and he pushed my little buttons and liked to eat good food and dressed suavely and smelled yummy and I was a bit smitten. Oh and I wore my racoon fur jacket and he didn't make fun of it. BONUS POINTS.

So, naturally I then made him wait something ridiculous like 27 dates before he could kiss me. I cancelled on on dates with him, for actual legitimate reasons, but nonetheless, made him jump through some hoops and wait for me, I even tried to see someone else on the side to keep my interests low and open... but I fell for that little buttmunch anyway. He is incredibly funny, and very blunt, and he is NEVER impressed or intimidated by me. In fact, he often does not like my clothes OR my jokes. And my accident proneness and silly Murphy's Law action kind of annoys him! How could this be? Usually everyone thinks I am SO loveable and adorbsballs. So, not only do my magical powers do not work on him... he is also intelligent and (although it is a bit old for my generation) very knowledgeable about art and music and just so intriguing. I want to just bottle him up sometimes and keep him in a little flask where I can sniff or sip on him anytime I want to. Weird? Eh, sorry. (He is DYING of embarrassment right now!)

Lots of dinners and dates and fun times and silly faces and loads of times of him being too mature for me later it is almost the end of the year and these have been a pretty superb six months.

...and it's your birthday hurray!

This Englishman drives me nuts. I adore him but yet also want to make faces and shake my fist at him all of the time too. How do you make me smile and yet frustrate me so much all at once?!?! He is one of the smartest, funny, affectionate men I have ever met. I am truly lucky that such a supreme chef, connoisseur of all things food in SF, sexy beefcake, gorgeous eyed man is willing to hang out with me and my perpetual klutzyness! The Englishmen is the logical plans to my crazy, over the top ideas, the calm to my neurotic worries, and the steady/even keel to my passionate-ness (isn't that so much nicer of a word than emotional?) and just the best thing ever. I am in awe that he can be such a whiz at work, so dedicated to his workouts (you should see his arms and shoulders so yum, and they make for the world's best hugs), so affectionate and sweet to me, a trusted confidant for many of his friends, look so great both in glasses and without (seriously, people, either you are a glasses wearer or you are not - but he looks AMAZING both ways - it's trickery) a sage advice giver, top chef, great dancer,and manly man all in one! Plus, you don't dress too badly mister.

Just a quick Tuesday night dinner... he seriously spoils me via my stomach!

Basically the Englishman is the best thing to come into my life this side of Gwendolyn, and I couldn't think more of him.

And I adore you. The End.

Oh, and a very very happy birthday!

PS: in honor of you hating taking your photograph no actual photos of you were used in this post. You're welcome. Don't ever say I never give you anything. And don't expect it to last. Obviously we have to document all of the birthday fun today - in fact I wish I could take a picture of you reading this post and your grumpy little face. Ha.