True love

Hello to all of you sexy ghouls and goblins. I hope your spooky season has been a fun one. I know mine has been very memorable already.

My husband and I went to a Halloween party recently dressed as Barbie and Ken. I was, of course Ken and my big, burly man was the beautiful, bearded Barbie. My big lady was a vision in all pink, and I finally had the sculpted abs I have always wanted.

Granted, it was on the shirt I was wearing but hey…it looked real … ish. Plus, my Ken fake fur will definitely be repurposed for drag.

Since it is the spooky season and nothing scares people like emotions — especially love — I figured I would beguile you with the tales of the times I have been in love.

Ooooohhh! Spooky!

The first time I thought I was in love was when I was 13. I was head-over-heels in love with my best friend’s older brother. He was 14. I guess I have always had a thing for older men. Looking back, I am not sure it was love. It might have just been the fact that he was my first sexual experience, and, to the young mind and heart, Sex equals Love. So, I “loved” him a bunch over the next four years.

But boy did I dodge a bullet with that one! One, he is straight and still with his high school sweetheart. Two, he is a bible-thumping Trumpster who, upon seeing my post a few years ago about being the grand marshal of the Pride Parade, sent me a long message about how “God hates Pride,” with a spattering of “love the sinner, not the sin” bullshit thrown in for good measure.

Even if he was my “first love,” he does not deserve to be a part of my fabulous life today. Who has time for that kind of negativity from someone who claims to “care” about you?! I guess I dicked him so good that I ruined him for other men.

Next was Chris. We were 19 when we met, and it was pretty much love at first sight. I was sitting on the outside patio in front of the restaurant Sub-Culture (now Roy G’s). He pulled up to the redlight in his Jeep, and our eyes locked. He parked his car, walked up to me and asked me out on a date.

I said absolutely, and we went out that next Tuesday evening. I know it was a Tuesday because back then, music stores would release new albums on Tuesdays only. To give you an idea of just how different Chris and I were, he was excited for the release of Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion Vol. 1 & 2, and I was crazy excited for Mariah Carey’s Emotions — all of which were released in September 1991.

He picked me up, and we went and bought our cassettes and CDs. (Yes, cassettes and CDs). Most cars didn’t have CD players in them at the time, but we had them at the house as part of our huge home stereos. We drove around for hours talking and listening to each other’s musical choices. I pretended to like GNR, and he pretended to like Mariah.

I don’t mean to dis or downplay that night because it was magical. We both fell in love that night, and there is no more amazing feeling than being young and in love. He gave me goosebumps, butterflies and whatever other cliché you feel when those feelings hit.

At the end of the date, he drove me home, and I asked him to call me as soon as he got home to let me know he was okay and so we could talk some more. He told me that was going to be a problem.

Apparently, his mother — a very uptight, very German lady — told him that if he went out with me, he was not to come home.

He said he wasn’t sure where he was going after he left me.

I was touched and saddened, but I knew exactly where he was staying that night!

So, on our first date, he moved in with me. We knew we were moving fast, but what else could we do? We slept in the same bed that night but surprisingly didn’t have sex until we were together an entire week. Talk about restraint! My balls had gone from blue to purple, but we were proud of ourselves for waiting. Longest week of my life!

Soon after, his mom let him move back home. But she still didn’t like us seeing each other. We eventually got an apartment together off of Webb Chapel. It was literally at the end of the Love Field runways. At least six times an hour, everything in our apartment would shake as the planes took off and landed. We couldn’t keep a picture on the wall.

But for a while, we were truly happy.

Then, one day before our one-year anniversary, Chris decided he needed to be truthful with me because he loved me. He told me that on that dark stormy night when he didn’t come home until 6 a.m., and I was up all-night worrying, he didn’t accidentally fall asleep at work, but he went out cruising White Rock and hooked up with someone. He said he just needed to be honest about it so we could move forward with truth.

It shattered me. I’m embarrassed to say that I punched him in the parking lot of the shoe store he was the manager of. His brand-new glasses flew out into the street, and we both watched in horror as a car drove over them. Not my finest moment.

I was 20 years old and had never felt heartache like that. I honestly wished, at the time, that he hadn’t told me. Ignorance really was bliss. Our beautiful, sometimes flawed relationship died that day. The way that such strong love can turn into resentment so fast is scary. Nothing feels as deep or as cutting as your first real heartbreak.

It took many years, but thanks to Facebook, Chris and I are friends again. I have nothing but love for him now, and, of course, I regret so much of what I did and said in the past — but then, who doesn’t? If you make it to your 50s without any regrets, were you even living? You can only learn and grow; otherwise, what is the point?

After Chris, I fell into feelings with many, many men. Most of the time it was one-sided or forced. Some of the time it was just good dick and not actual feelings. I allowed myself to be disrespected and mistreated more times than I can count, but every one of those relationships taught me something. Usually, it just taught me how I didn’t want to be treated, so that when I was treated right I could recognize it.

That brings me to my big, bearded Barbie — the love of my life and every life after this.

I know how lucky I am to have found my one, my lobster, my Hart. We have been together for 20 years, and he still gives me goosies. I don’t care if this comes across corny or too much, but I love my husband, and I want every person reading this to find their love, soulmate or whatever you wanna call it.

We all deserve to be loved. You deserve to be loved.

Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova