Steve called me sounding rather frantic last night. With tears in his voice, he left a message on my machine begging me to call, saying he needed to talk to someone. He left another message a few hours later thanking me for forgetting about him--"just like everybody else".
My first instinct is to ignore him. I know this game well and last night I didn't feel like playing. Steve's a master at selling a sob story, making you pity him--only to hate you later for the very same thing.
But there was more realism in his voice than I'm used to hearing so I gave in and called back. He was drunk, probably had a few pills and plenty of weed in his system--par for the course with this guy.
He didn't seem too eager to talk. He repeatedly said nothing was wrong, then mumbled something about how he was psychotic (no shit). I told him it was late and I had to work the next day.
Today he sends me this e-mail:
I'm just sick in the head. I think I need to seek help. I did something last night I never thought I'd do. I'm happy you didn't come down to my house when you got home because it was too late and you would have been completely freaked out, then maybe not talk to me any more. I really did need someone to come watch me earlier in the night though. If you want to know then I can tell you what I did to myself, but I'm sure you can figure it out. I feel stupid for doing it but I had to do something to direct the pain some where else. I just can't handle much more of this life.
So Steve's a fucking suicidal cutter now? It makes me sad and angry at the same time. I want to ignore him completely, tell him to solve his own damn problems and stop trying to guilt me into feeling something for him. Then again, I can't imagine how horrible I would feel if he really did kill himself and I didn't do anything to help him.
So what to do is the question? I hate Steve in so many ways, for so many reasons. He really is a shitty person in general-mean, jealous, spiteful, vindictive--the list could go on forever, but it doesn't mean I wish he was dead. Because Steve is the way he is, he has very few friends so I know that even with our rocky history, I am one of the only people he will turn to for help. But how does someone who rarely, if ever, shows any human kindness feel like he deserves it now?
Am I obligated to care?
Am I letting him make me feel this way?
Is this just another ploy for attention?
Am I a saint or a sucker?
I'm so divided right now. Part of me wants to just walk away and forget he ever exsisted, then there's the part of me that knows that Steve's is truly fucked up and I should at the very least try to help him.
?
Friday, September 15, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
The ninjas have arrived
I suppose it's a bit odd for me to blog about the birth of someone else's children but I'm excited nonetheless.
Welcome to the world Chuck and Rakim. ;-)
Welcome to the world Chuck and Rakim. ;-)
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Comeback Kid
Do I smell desperate or something?
Within the last week or so two of my ex-boyfriends have made feeble attempts at rekindling our relationship.
First Steve, the infamous, stopped by my house and left a note on the door:
"I really don't care who I pissoff. I want to talk to you. Call me. TRUCE."
I didn't call; and what's this "TRUCE" shit about? I never knew we were at war. He called twice the same day he left the note, I didn't answer. Then he e-mailed me at work the next day (persistent little bugger) sort of blowing off the whole thing like he didn't know what he was thinking when he left the note. I asked him what he wanted to talk to me about. He said, "Nothing. Just wanted to talk to an old friend" HA! I told him I was surprised he still considered me a friend. Again, he made excuses for his behavior, "You know how manic I can be." Boy do I ever. He told me I could call him sometime if I wanted. I didn't have any desire to do so, so I figured it would be best to end it there. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea for us to try and be friends and that we should just leave things the way they are. He said he figured things would turn out like that and went about his merry way...Or not so merry way, whatever the case may be.
Last night, 'my favorite mistake' called. I haven't talked to him for months. The last few times we spoke were unpleasant and disappointing. I had pretty much resolved not to talk to him anymore. He left a message on the answering machine- I miss you, blah , blah, blah. Whatever. I pressed delete and went to bed.
I remember when my first boyfriend broke up with me (because I wouldn't have sex with him--I was 15 for godssake!) my Mom said something I'll never forget, "He'll come back, they always do, and by that time you won't want him anymore." Maybe Mom's words were magic, but I can tell you that every single guy who has ever cheated on, stopped calling, or otherwise dumped me, has always come back with his heart (or his dick) in his hand for a second chance, and like Mom said, I didn't want them (well, most of the time anyway).
So when people say things like "The grass in not always greener..." They're not just blowing smoke up your ass. You should treat life like a chess game and consider all angles before you make a move. You never know, you could close a door and try to open it later only to find that the locks have been changed.
Within the last week or so two of my ex-boyfriends have made feeble attempts at rekindling our relationship.
First Steve, the infamous, stopped by my house and left a note on the door:
"I really don't care who I pissoff. I want to talk to you. Call me. TRUCE."
I didn't call; and what's this "TRUCE" shit about? I never knew we were at war. He called twice the same day he left the note, I didn't answer. Then he e-mailed me at work the next day (persistent little bugger) sort of blowing off the whole thing like he didn't know what he was thinking when he left the note. I asked him what he wanted to talk to me about. He said, "Nothing. Just wanted to talk to an old friend" HA! I told him I was surprised he still considered me a friend. Again, he made excuses for his behavior, "You know how manic I can be." Boy do I ever. He told me I could call him sometime if I wanted. I didn't have any desire to do so, so I figured it would be best to end it there. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea for us to try and be friends and that we should just leave things the way they are. He said he figured things would turn out like that and went about his merry way...Or not so merry way, whatever the case may be.
Last night, 'my favorite mistake' called. I haven't talked to him for months. The last few times we spoke were unpleasant and disappointing. I had pretty much resolved not to talk to him anymore. He left a message on the answering machine- I miss you, blah , blah, blah. Whatever. I pressed delete and went to bed.
I remember when my first boyfriend broke up with me (because I wouldn't have sex with him--I was 15 for godssake!) my Mom said something I'll never forget, "He'll come back, they always do, and by that time you won't want him anymore." Maybe Mom's words were magic, but I can tell you that every single guy who has ever cheated on, stopped calling, or otherwise dumped me, has always come back with his heart (or his dick) in his hand for a second chance, and like Mom said, I didn't want them (well, most of the time anyway).
So when people say things like "The grass in not always greener..." They're not just blowing smoke up your ass. You should treat life like a chess game and consider all angles before you make a move. You never know, you could close a door and try to open it later only to find that the locks have been changed.
Friday, July 07, 2006
I'm a big girl now.
I got a new bed.
I’ve been sleeping in the same bed since I was freshman in high school. A single-sized, brass daybed, which was of course the shit when I got it but over time, became my albatross. As the bed got older it creaked like the Tin Man, a problem my mother temporarily remedied by stuffing bits of tissue in the various joints of the bed. Over time even this remedy was to no avail.
I slept in the bed through high school. Then I went to college where every dorm room had a single bed, even smaller than what I was accustomed to, and the daybed went into storage. When I came home for visits and vacations I would sleep in my parent’s guest room which always had a cushy double bed in it for my sleeping pleasure.
When I moved into my first apartment in 1998 my only possessions were my daybed, a TV stand and my dresser. My mattress served as the only piece of furniture in my living room until my parents took pity on me and bought me a couch. I then took to sleeping on the couch instead of the noisy bed.
The size of my daybed was a hindrance to my sex life for many years. The thought of having an overnight guest crammed next to me in that tiny bed sent me into waves of embarrassment. Especially once the bed frame broke and I took to simply laying the mattress on the floor.
I also felt a tad bit immature sleeping in a single bed after the age of 20. Don’t ask me why I never got a bigger bed before now. It was always on my list of things I need but was often replaced by items I deemed more important, namely my never ending stack of monthly bills.
So finally, at age 32 I have a double bed of my very own. Sleeping has been lovely, even though I’m still sleeping alone. The bed has yet to improve my sex life or my prospects of an overnight guest. Then again, I’ve only had it for a week. But hey, at least it’s there –just in case.
I’ve been sleeping in the same bed since I was freshman in high school. A single-sized, brass daybed, which was of course the shit when I got it but over time, became my albatross. As the bed got older it creaked like the Tin Man, a problem my mother temporarily remedied by stuffing bits of tissue in the various joints of the bed. Over time even this remedy was to no avail.
I slept in the bed through high school. Then I went to college where every dorm room had a single bed, even smaller than what I was accustomed to, and the daybed went into storage. When I came home for visits and vacations I would sleep in my parent’s guest room which always had a cushy double bed in it for my sleeping pleasure.
When I moved into my first apartment in 1998 my only possessions were my daybed, a TV stand and my dresser. My mattress served as the only piece of furniture in my living room until my parents took pity on me and bought me a couch. I then took to sleeping on the couch instead of the noisy bed.
The size of my daybed was a hindrance to my sex life for many years. The thought of having an overnight guest crammed next to me in that tiny bed sent me into waves of embarrassment. Especially once the bed frame broke and I took to simply laying the mattress on the floor.
I also felt a tad bit immature sleeping in a single bed after the age of 20. Don’t ask me why I never got a bigger bed before now. It was always on my list of things I need but was often replaced by items I deemed more important, namely my never ending stack of monthly bills.
So finally, at age 32 I have a double bed of my very own. Sleeping has been lovely, even though I’m still sleeping alone. The bed has yet to improve my sex life or my prospects of an overnight guest. Then again, I’ve only had it for a week. But hey, at least it’s there –just in case.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Bitch and ye shall receive
Wow. Just when I thought life at the cubicle farm couldn't be worse, my script has officially flipped. On a bit a of a whim, and with a little encouragement from some co-workers I applied for a promotion about a month ago. After an application, 2 interviews, and a writing sample-I got the job! Turns out people around me had more confidence in me than I did in myself. And apparently I'm quite the pro when it comes to shining in an interview (who knew?).
The new job starts Monday. I got a hell of a raise. I have so many plans for that money it's hard to know where to start..Dunny, I haven't forgotten about the snake ;- ) . And best of all I got my freedom. No longer am I chained to a phone in a cubicle for 8 hours a day. I feel like I finally have a chance to be me to let my personality show through, instead of assimilating into the Borg every morning at 8am.
It's petty, but the very best part is the looks on the faces of the catty bitches who swore I wouldn't make it and tried to block my success. I couldn't have asked for better revenge.
New Mantra:
I love my job
I love my job
I love my challenging, life affirming job!
The new job starts Monday. I got a hell of a raise. I have so many plans for that money it's hard to know where to start..Dunny, I haven't forgotten about the snake ;- ) . And best of all I got my freedom. No longer am I chained to a phone in a cubicle for 8 hours a day. I feel like I finally have a chance to be me to let my personality show through, instead of assimilating into the Borg every morning at 8am.
It's petty, but the very best part is the looks on the faces of the catty bitches who swore I wouldn't make it and tried to block my success. I couldn't have asked for better revenge.
New Mantra:
I love my job
I love my job
I love my challenging, life affirming job!
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Spring Fever
It's been a long day.
A mantra is repeating in my head:
I hate this job
I hate this job
I hate this stupid ass motherfuckin' job
I don't really. I mean, I'm not trying to make a career out of life at the cubicle farm but for now it pays the bills and it will pay for school .
It's just that today the gripes are especially loud, the questions are particularly dumb, and the clear and sunny skies outside are calling my name. The guy two cubes over never covers his mouth when he sneezes and never excuses himself when he burps. The women behind me always stares at me when I stand up to talk to other people, as if I'm talking to her. I would talk to her if she ever had any thing interesting to say. Instead she drones on about her cat and her various body aches. The girl who sits by the bathroom says "Hi, how are you?" every time she sees me--even though I've already seen her 5 times today. The woman on my phone is going on and on about the injustices put upon her by our company. My manager just got back from the Bahamas and she did the whole "look I'm almost darker than you" thing. Next thing you know she'll want to touch my hair. Bitch.
I hate this job.
A mantra is repeating in my head:
I hate this job
I hate this job
I hate this stupid ass motherfuckin' job
I don't really. I mean, I'm not trying to make a career out of life at the cubicle farm but for now it pays the bills and it will pay for school .
It's just that today the gripes are especially loud, the questions are particularly dumb, and the clear and sunny skies outside are calling my name. The guy two cubes over never covers his mouth when he sneezes and never excuses himself when he burps. The women behind me always stares at me when I stand up to talk to other people, as if I'm talking to her. I would talk to her if she ever had any thing interesting to say. Instead she drones on about her cat and her various body aches. The girl who sits by the bathroom says "Hi, how are you?" every time she sees me--even though I've already seen her 5 times today. The woman on my phone is going on and on about the injustices put upon her by our company. My manager just got back from the Bahamas and she did the whole "look I'm almost darker than you" thing. Next thing you know she'll want to touch my hair. Bitch.
I hate this job.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Chivalry is not dead
This weekend I went on a sort of date with a friend. I call him a friend because neither of us has stated any specific romantic interest in the other, but we enjoy each other's company so we've taken to spending time together occasionally.
Now, I have an admitted attraction to "thugs". I can't really explain it, but then again neither can most girls with the bad boy fetish. This guy has to be the polar opposite of the bad boy image. He's in school, no criminal record, no baby mammas, he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke and he's a bonafide taxpayer with a legal 9 to 5 job. Now, whether it's fair or not, my first reaction to guys like this is usually, "he's nice, but too much like me for me to be interested"; thus perpetuating the "nice guys finish last" stereotype.
This guy could change my mind.
The first time we hung out we went to eat. I assumed that we'd go dutch since it wasn't an offical date. I even thought I would pick up the bill since we're cool like that. Instead, the bill comes he grabs it and asks "You mind if I get this?". Do I mind??? Of course not!
The second time we hung out I went to his house. It was late, like after 10pm. My first thought was, "these are booty call hours, maybe I shouldn't go". I didn't want to give him the impression that I was down for a late night romp. Nevertheless, they situation seemed innocent enough so I went to his house, he met me outside and led me down into his apartment...hmm, that sounded more ominous than I intended.
It was a typical bachelor pad. No real food in the fridge, hip-hop posters on the wall and a nice collection of dust bunnies. We talked for a while about everything- relationships, my brother, his sister, our parents. His music collection is massive and we bonded over how many CDs we had in common. He's also a vinyl collector and had a lot of unreleased stuff I've never heard before. We watched a movie called 'The Aristocrats' about a running joke among stand-up comedians. The objective of the joke is too be as vile and offensive as possible before getting to the punchline. This movie is not for the easily offended so keep that in mind if you choose to check it out. Anyway, he worried that I wouldn't like the movie and was hesitant to show it to me. Little did he know, my sense of humor leans toward the dark side and I enjoyed it thoroughly. He said I was the first of his friends who didn't ask him to turn it off after the first 20 minutes.
The movie ended and I realized it was almost 3 am. Then I realized that I had sat in this man's apartment for over 4 hours and not once did he try to touch me, kiss me, or make a suggestive comment. He walked me to my car, told me he had a good time, gave me a hug and I was on my way.
He sent me a text message the next day: "Just wanted to say again... it was good to see you last night...I hope you had as good a time as I did...Take care and have a safe trip home."
What a sweetheart!
My feelings for this guy have only gone from lukewarm to warm, and for now we are still just friends. We e-mail each other almost everyday, playing the "get to know me better" game. Each message peaks my interest in him a little more, and the more I get to know him, the more the "thugs" I was so crazy about seem to be losing their appeal.
Now, I have an admitted attraction to "thugs". I can't really explain it, but then again neither can most girls with the bad boy fetish. This guy has to be the polar opposite of the bad boy image. He's in school, no criminal record, no baby mammas, he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke and he's a bonafide taxpayer with a legal 9 to 5 job. Now, whether it's fair or not, my first reaction to guys like this is usually, "he's nice, but too much like me for me to be interested"; thus perpetuating the "nice guys finish last" stereotype.
This guy could change my mind.
The first time we hung out we went to eat. I assumed that we'd go dutch since it wasn't an offical date. I even thought I would pick up the bill since we're cool like that. Instead, the bill comes he grabs it and asks "You mind if I get this?". Do I mind??? Of course not!
The second time we hung out I went to his house. It was late, like after 10pm. My first thought was, "these are booty call hours, maybe I shouldn't go". I didn't want to give him the impression that I was down for a late night romp. Nevertheless, they situation seemed innocent enough so I went to his house, he met me outside and led me down into his apartment...hmm, that sounded more ominous than I intended.
It was a typical bachelor pad. No real food in the fridge, hip-hop posters on the wall and a nice collection of dust bunnies. We talked for a while about everything- relationships, my brother, his sister, our parents. His music collection is massive and we bonded over how many CDs we had in common. He's also a vinyl collector and had a lot of unreleased stuff I've never heard before. We watched a movie called 'The Aristocrats' about a running joke among stand-up comedians. The objective of the joke is too be as vile and offensive as possible before getting to the punchline. This movie is not for the easily offended so keep that in mind if you choose to check it out. Anyway, he worried that I wouldn't like the movie and was hesitant to show it to me. Little did he know, my sense of humor leans toward the dark side and I enjoyed it thoroughly. He said I was the first of his friends who didn't ask him to turn it off after the first 20 minutes.
The movie ended and I realized it was almost 3 am. Then I realized that I had sat in this man's apartment for over 4 hours and not once did he try to touch me, kiss me, or make a suggestive comment. He walked me to my car, told me he had a good time, gave me a hug and I was on my way.
He sent me a text message the next day: "Just wanted to say again... it was good to see you last night...I hope you had as good a time as I did...Take care and have a safe trip home."
What a sweetheart!
My feelings for this guy have only gone from lukewarm to warm, and for now we are still just friends. We e-mail each other almost everyday, playing the "get to know me better" game. Each message peaks my interest in him a little more, and the more I get to know him, the more the "thugs" I was so crazy about seem to be losing their appeal.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Jugs-a-poppin'
Mom took me to get a professional bra fitting last weekend (I had no idea there was such a thing) because I kept complaining that "the girls" weren't as perky as I thought they should be.
The sign in the store said 95% of women wear the wrong size bra. I hate to be wrong, so I assumed I wasn't one of them. I've had these cans since I was 12, so I just figured time and gravity was having it's way with me.
I couldn't have been more wrong. First the lady measures me, I found out that I'm 36 inches around. This made me feel good because I had been wearing a 42--I was a whole six inches off.
Then she estimates my cup size to be an H. I had been wearing a DD. Hearing that I had gone up a whole 4 letters of the of the alphabet was disheartening. See, I was teased relentlessly as a kid, by both girls and boys, and finding out I was even bigger than I previously thought made me feel like some kind of circus freak.
Anyway, H cups didn't work. Still too small. After a little trial and error we find the perfect fit, a 36HH. As in "Hella Huge". I thought I was gonna cry until I glimpsed myself in the mirror.
Wow, they look great. Finally up where they're supposed to be, and is it just me or do they look smaller?? I look smaller, like I instantly lost 5 pounds. I'm lifted AND seperated. Cool. I tried on clothes when I got home, all my button down shirts and dresses fit better. The nifty slogans on my favorite T-shirts are in the center of the shirt where they should be. My running workouts no longer require a bra, a sports bra and a fitted tank top. My bounces and jiggles have been replaced by a steadfast firmness. Guess what else, no more back fat!!
The downside of all this is I haven't been able to find a bra in my correct size that costs less than $50. I guess you get what you pay for.
The moral of the story is, if you're a woman (or a post-op transexual) you're probably wearing the wrong size bra. Go get fitted and "the girls" will thank you for it.
*Aww, thanks girls. I love you too.*
The sign in the store said 95% of women wear the wrong size bra. I hate to be wrong, so I assumed I wasn't one of them. I've had these cans since I was 12, so I just figured time and gravity was having it's way with me.
I couldn't have been more wrong. First the lady measures me, I found out that I'm 36 inches around. This made me feel good because I had been wearing a 42--I was a whole six inches off.
Then she estimates my cup size to be an H. I had been wearing a DD. Hearing that I had gone up a whole 4 letters of the of the alphabet was disheartening. See, I was teased relentlessly as a kid, by both girls and boys, and finding out I was even bigger than I previously thought made me feel like some kind of circus freak.
Anyway, H cups didn't work. Still too small. After a little trial and error we find the perfect fit, a 36HH. As in "Hella Huge". I thought I was gonna cry until I glimpsed myself in the mirror.
Wow, they look great. Finally up where they're supposed to be, and is it just me or do they look smaller?? I look smaller, like I instantly lost 5 pounds. I'm lifted AND seperated. Cool. I tried on clothes when I got home, all my button down shirts and dresses fit better. The nifty slogans on my favorite T-shirts are in the center of the shirt where they should be. My running workouts no longer require a bra, a sports bra and a fitted tank top. My bounces and jiggles have been replaced by a steadfast firmness. Guess what else, no more back fat!!
The downside of all this is I haven't been able to find a bra in my correct size that costs less than $50. I guess you get what you pay for.
The moral of the story is, if you're a woman (or a post-op transexual) you're probably wearing the wrong size bra. Go get fitted and "the girls" will thank you for it.
*Aww, thanks girls. I love you too.*
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Mama's Boy
I had a dream about "My favorite mistake" last night. He showed up at my house with bags and boxes in tow. He was moving in and in the dream I was happy about it. I helped him bring his stuff in the house. Then we went to the bedroom to see if his sheets would fit my bed. I said, "I'm so glad you decided to come". He said "Me too, I love you". I was anticipating sex but he left the room. I walked out of the bedroom to see where he went. I see him bringing more bags into the house...his mother is behind him. I'm thinking, what the fuck? He tells me "I told you I wasn't coming without her." I feel crushed.
The dream skips forward in that strange way that dreams do and his mother is cooking in the kitchen. I go in to see what she's making and she starts lecturing me on how he likes his eggs. "He likes 3 eggs in his omelets and lots of cheese..." I gave her the "No shit, bitch" look.
Next I'm laying on my bed crying. I can't believe I've somehow agreed to living with his mother. He comes in the room, I'm thinking he's going to comfort me, instead he looks at a blanket he has in his hand and says "Oh, you already have one like this." He turns to leave.
Then I woke up.
For me the dream symbolizes all the emotional baggage that my favorite mistake carries with him and the fact that his mother never liked me.
I'm open to any other interpretations.
The dream skips forward in that strange way that dreams do and his mother is cooking in the kitchen. I go in to see what she's making and she starts lecturing me on how he likes his eggs. "He likes 3 eggs in his omelets and lots of cheese..." I gave her the "No shit, bitch" look.
Next I'm laying on my bed crying. I can't believe I've somehow agreed to living with his mother. He comes in the room, I'm thinking he's going to comfort me, instead he looks at a blanket he has in his hand and says "Oh, you already have one like this." He turns to leave.
Then I woke up.
For me the dream symbolizes all the emotional baggage that my favorite mistake carries with him and the fact that his mother never liked me.
I'm open to any other interpretations.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Friday, January 06, 2006
Alabama Part 2: Here comes the Sun
I was so nervous this time on the way down. Will he like me? Will I like him? Is he cute? Will he think I'm cute? Do these jeans make my ass look flat? Will he be a nice as he was on the phone?...the list could go on and on. I had 6 hours to pick everything apart and put it back together.
The drive went well, til I took a wrong turn and drove about 45 minutes in the wrong direction. It was a combination of my wandering mind and Alabama's severe lack of street lighting of any kind. By the time I got there I was tired of driving so instead of trying to find Yank's place right away I went to Neils's. Neils is still very tall and very skinny ;-) and I noticed his apartment always smells the same--like there's food cooking...Deceptive, seeing as how Neils looks like he never eats. Neils showed me the way to Yank's place and there he was, we'll call him "The Sun".
My first thoughts were, he's not as short or as skinny as he seems to think he is. We hugged and I beamed as I breathed him in. He smelled like Egyptian Musk, which completely delighted my nose and every other part of my body.
So, up to Yank's place we go. Yank decided to spend New Years in ATL so he wasn't home when I got there. Just me and the Sun...Alone. We spent the first hour or smiling and staring at each other. Silently checking each other out; comparing to the notes in our heads.
My stay was pretty simple. We watched movies, read books, and talked. We watched a movie called "Freeway" that he had never seen before. It's loosely based on Little Red Riding Hood, featuring Reese Witherspoon cursing loudly and more graphically than any sailor. I was happy I could share it with him.
My overall impression of the Sun is that he doesn't know what a great guy he is. He's far more determined and genuine than he'll ever give himself credit for.
This is the start of something good. :-)
The drive went well, til I took a wrong turn and drove about 45 minutes in the wrong direction. It was a combination of my wandering mind and Alabama's severe lack of street lighting of any kind. By the time I got there I was tired of driving so instead of trying to find Yank's place right away I went to Neils's. Neils is still very tall and very skinny ;-) and I noticed his apartment always smells the same--like there's food cooking...Deceptive, seeing as how Neils looks like he never eats. Neils showed me the way to Yank's place and there he was, we'll call him "The Sun".
My first thoughts were, he's not as short or as skinny as he seems to think he is. We hugged and I beamed as I breathed him in. He smelled like Egyptian Musk, which completely delighted my nose and every other part of my body.
So, up to Yank's place we go. Yank decided to spend New Years in ATL so he wasn't home when I got there. Just me and the Sun...Alone. We spent the first hour or smiling and staring at each other. Silently checking each other out; comparing to the notes in our heads.
My stay was pretty simple. We watched movies, read books, and talked. We watched a movie called "Freeway" that he had never seen before. It's loosely based on Little Red Riding Hood, featuring Reese Witherspoon cursing loudly and more graphically than any sailor. I was happy I could share it with him.
My overall impression of the Sun is that he doesn't know what a great guy he is. He's far more determined and genuine than he'll ever give himself credit for.
This is the start of something good. :-)
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