Last week I told you all about the little vamp that got me started on blogging.
This week’s blog love goes out to my very first commenter. One of the few people who read my very first blog (I’m still not sure how we found me), and he followed me from platform to platform, blog to blog, as I tried to figure out what I was doing here in blogland.
He popped my goatsee cherry (google it, if you haven’t eaten in the last two hours).
He showed my Lindsey Lohan’s clean shaven cootie.
He was one of the first “strangers” who became more than a stranger via my blog. He also happens to be the first person that I talked to on the phone – and I was a royal bitch to him the first time.
This week’s honors (shut up, this is a fucking honor, OK?) go to Avitable – or Avi, as he’s called here.
Now, before you go link hopping on over there, I should warn you – it takes more than one post to “get” Avi. Catch him on the wrong day and you could easily make the assumption that he is an arrogant, pseudo-intellectual prick. You could assume that he thinks he is smarter – and therefore, better – than everyone else.
He does, in fact, think he’s better than most people. I think that’s part of what endears us to one another.
He is also (and he will kill me for saying this) capable of tremendous humility. I don’t think I have any written evidence of this – but I have spoken with him and listened to him swallow his pride as I ripped apart something that had surely been a labor of love for him.
He has an amazing ability to stand his ground and maintain confidence in his own opinions, while sincerely considering the opinions of another.
He adores his wife, and goes to great lengths to honor and respect her – a trait I always find admirable and lust-worthy in a man.
As his blog wife, I sometimes find him staring at me, scratching his head, trying to figure out how something I’ve revealed about myself fits in with everything else he’s learned to be true about me. But he has yet to cast me aside in a fit of “apparently I don’t know you at all!” that often follows any disillusionment about a person we think we know.
He’s not warm or fuzzy or squishy – on the surface. And it is rare that he will expose his vulnerabilities for the entire world to see. But if you look, really hard, behind all that hair and Hitler…
…you will find a man that I adoringly refer to as my blog husband.
A man who has never seen me naked, but who I am confident, will never stop trying.