One year on...

...and I never thought I'd be where I am now.

Today marks not only the birthday of my best girl, Sarah, but also a year since the day of strange events that led to me meeting the man of my dreams, Cameron.

A year ago I posted a blog, but didn't know how, when or whether I should say anything regarding the events of the evening before, and I don't think the story of our meet has ever been shared online. It's been bought up many a drunken night, or during the inevitable 'And how did you two meet...?' conversation when meeting new friends/family, which is followed by a lot of "awwwws" from the ladies and guffaws from the men. There's also always a reference to fate or the subconscious...but enough of that, and more on the event itself.

After consuming vast amounts of near-lethal Long Island Iced Tea at TGI Friday's, I made my way into the city with the vague notion of heading to a club a barman had suggested. Several kilometers later in my (aptly named) killer heels, I was rapidly losing interest and quickly gaining severe blisters. Not one to whip my shoes off and barefoot it through the grime and possible STDS broken glass of the city streets, I decided it was time to take myself home. As I waited for the traffic lights to change on the corner (in a non-hookerish way) so I could lurch off in the opposite direction, a certain someone stumbled their way from the McDonalds on said corner and came straight up to me, gesturing for me to accept the French fry he had on offer. I politely decline, sidestepping him and assuming he was mentally unhinged, a serial killer, or worse, one of those leechy drunken guys who think ones assets are their own to fondle and grope. As the little green man popped up and I was safe to cross the street, I made my way back towards the car my friends had driven me in to the city in, and noted I had a follower. A French fry wielding follower. Before long, he was chatting away merrily, and not having the confrontation skills to tell him to eff off, I was soon conversing back with him about the merits of the African soccer clubs and all manner of bizarre topics. As we chatted, I realized how cute he was, and how actually nice he was - even in our inebriated state we were able to giggle and laugh and for being a complete stranger, I felt strangely safe with him. As we walked and walked, we talked and talked, and once we reached the car, it dawned on me I didn't hate him. (Which, if you were an avid reader of my blog around this time last year, you'd know was a strange and foreign state for me to be in). My friends seemed unconcerned by him, and when he asked them for a lift home, he was granted access to the vehicle after a firm warning that if his hands - or any part of his body, for that matter - were to stray from his own lap to anywhere on my person, he would be swiftly and sharply dismembered with a screwdriver. As we neared his house, he said it was off the main road we were traveling along, and to drop him on the corner as his house was only two doors up. We did just that, and as we reached my own home and I was climbing out the car, there was a strange ringing coming from under the drivers seat. A quick check made us realize we all had our own phones, and the ringing one could only be the guy who we gave a lift to. I was far too tired to comprehend driving back and finding his house, so I said I'd take it and drive to his house in the morning, once I'd had a good sleep.

The next day, I was feeling a little worse for wear. A long bath, 2 litres of orange juice and another nanna nap later, I set out in my car to find the owner of the phone. I'd tried going through the numbers in his call records, hoping to find 'Mum' or someone I could ring and ask for directions to drop his phone off, but the battery had died whilst I was doing my sleeping beauty routine. I had a Nokia charger, and had tried that option, but once I realized the phone was pin-locked with no hope of getting into it, I resigned myself to the fact I'd have to go find him.

Only once I was driving in the general direction did I realize I had absolutely no idea where I was going, just a suburb name and a vague idea of 'two houses up' from a corner. Well, I drove and drove, texting my friends to see if they had any recollection of where we had driven, but alas. As I drove along the streets, I tried to recall our conversation from the night before to find any clues to his address, and remembered him saying he owned a 'hairdressers car'. I noticed a Mazda MX5 convertible out on the nature strip of a house, and after counting the number of houses up from the corner, it was more like 7, but I wondered if that could be it. After calling Sarah and asking her if I really did have the guts to walk up to a strangers door and ask if they knew a young guy living in a share house somewhere, I decided I had to find the courage somehow, as I knew how devastated I'd be if I lost my phone. I noticed a young guy in football shorts and a sombrero, and thought to myself that gay guys are always friendly, and might know where a hunky footballer like my stranger the night before would live. As I took several deep breaths, yanked down my skirt and fluffed up my hair, I approached young Mexican footballer boy, and as the words "DoyouknowaguycalledCameron?" stumbled out my mouth, who should walk out the front door but the one and same hottie from the evening before? I didn't know if he would remember me, so I blushed a bit and stammered something about leaving his phone in the car, and soon he'd invited me in for something cold to drink and a look around the house he shared with his mate. Not the typical 24 year olds flatshare at all, which soon became obvious when I found out he wasn't exactly 24 (In fact, it took weeks, as he pointedly refused to tell me and I resorted to rummaging through his wallet to find the date of birth on his drivers license and nearly having heart failure when I realized he was, in fact, older than most 'classic' Mustangs I know...). After a few slightly awkward moments of me not knowing what to say - or wondering if his beer goggles had slipped off since the night before and if he was mentally kicking himself for speaking to me to begin with - I said my goodbyes, and he casually put my number in the new iPhone he'd been out and bought that morning as he never thought he'd see his 'old' phone again - what little faith he had in me!

As I drove off, my mind was full of thoughts, mostly along the lines of "mm! Zexy!" and "damnit, I doubt I'll ever see him again..." when who should call me, but "French Fry Guy"? I answered the phone after taking some more deep breaths, and he was all "Oh, I must have accidentally called you...". Before he could get another word out, I was teasing him about his subconscious way of leaving his phone in my car so I'd have to see him again, 'accidentally' calling me and so on, and said he may as well just ask me out. He didn't commit to anything, so again, I decided I wasn't going to be seeing much of him, unti later that day I had another phone call, to tell me he was on his way in my general direction and did I fancy a walk along the beach or a drink?

I don't think I've ever gotten dressed so quickly in my life - all the while, on the phone to Sarah asking for help and suggestions and direction on what shoes and jewelery I should be wearing. I don't think I'd ever been so excited - but when I met him at the beach, I instantly relaxed. We just kind of clicked - he was easy to talk to, fun to tease, super intelligent and gosh darn handsome. We took a walk along the beach after a drink overlooking the water, and as we chatted and walked I began to realize he wasn't as young as I'd previously thought, but no amount of probing would get him to tell me. I also knew, when I asked him if he had any children, marriages or sexually transmitted diseases (hell, what's the point in pussy footing around? A girl's gotta know these things early) and he denied all of them, he wasn't quite telling the truth, but I hoped when he eventually told me which one he wasn't being honest about that it wasn't in the first or last category. (NB: just to clear it up - it wasn't those categories!)

The next few days and weeks were a flurry of text messages and phone calls, and each and every day I grew to like him more and more, and the more time we spent together over the next few months made me fall in love with him hard and fast. There had been moments when I knew things were so different to any other relationship I'd had, but when we flew back from a week in Vanuatu, I knew for sure that it was special, and that he was the guy I wanted to (and still do!) spend every day with, talking and laughing and just being with, for ever more.

Every day since then I've fallen more and more in love with him; there's always something new I learn or a different side of him I see, something funny he says or a special look that melts my heart. He makes me laugh like no one else, squashes all my fears and makes me feel like the best possible version of myself around him. He's brought so many amazing things into my life, and shown me things I could never have dreamed of, he's shared some of the most incredible times of my life and also some of the crappy times. I can't wait for our adventures to keep coming through the years, and I hope there's plenty more of the good stuff.

He holds my hand when I am happy, but most importantly of all, he holds my hand when I am sad. He's right there beside me when we share our dreams, and he's right there beside me when I need someone to lean on. I can't believe where this year has taken us, from our random meeting to the beautiful house we are making a home in together, our two horses and our many up-coing overseas trips, and I, for one, can't wait to see what the next few years will bring.

Oh, and just FYI? I love you, Cam.