I don't think I've mentioned this yet, so I will now. I'm not from around here.
Oh, I'm an Oregonian alright, but my hometown is about as far as you can get from Portland without stranding yourself in the desert.
Since I was old enough to understand that my town had very little to offer in the way of entertainment (other than the production of meth, which I've heard is jolly good times!*) I've wanted out. College was a start, but I had no idea what to do after that; what excuse could I use post-graduation to stay out?
Not only is my town boring as all get out (and the meth capitol of Oregon, whoopee!**) but it's also a great sucking whirlpool, a veritable Charybdis pulling in its victims like helpless ships on the tides of... whatever. Metaphor fail. (literature reference win!) The point is, once you're out you're still not free. If you turn your back on the eddying maelstrom even for a minute it can suck you back in. The only way to escape this is to find something to anchor you to the outside world, so that no matter how hard the current pulls, your anchor will keep you safe.
Enter The Boy.
Disclaimer: for all of you reading at home (ha! I think people might eventually read this. Aren't I cute?) with weak stomach or just more than your share of bitterness and cynicism, you might not want to go any further. I tend to get kind of mushy when I talk about the Love of My Life. :)
Enter The Boy (as he will herein be referred to based on my anticipation that I will one day want to whinge about him or reveal his innermost secrets or something). Typical story: we were friends, I got drunk and molested him on the back porch, we fell in love, yada yada. Actually the story is a lot sexier than that. Maybe I'll tell it some time.
So it's my senior year of college, and here I've got this wonderful boyfriend who, let's face it, I just kind of stumbled upon. Unexpected, unsolicited, completely unlivewithoutable. One day we're hanging out and I casually say something like, "Hey, maybe we should like, live together or something. Whatever," because, you know, I'm a valley girl. His response was calm, collected; my man played it cool like always. "Hell yes!"
Or something like that.
Wow, this has gotten way off topic. Um, The Boy is the anchor I need to keep from getting sucked back into the black hole (yes, I switched metaphors) that is my hometown. There.
*Actually I've never heard this. I can't imagine it's true.
**Not something to be proud of, but still. We have the most awful commercials basically confirming this fact. "The first time can kill you." No, but really: meth is bad.