Please send all your unused good karma and direct your prayer circles towards Teh Smitten. He has consented to come home with me for Christmas. We bought the airline tickets last Thursday. I have no fear that my family will love him, it’s just… will they love him so much that he won’t be able to stand it?
Teh Smit and I live a nice and quiet existence where we get to do whatever we want to do whenever we want to do it. We like netflix, burlesque, and listening to NPR on the weekends. We will get none of those things while in MO. We will get two very noisy and energetic (hyper) children, people with holiday expectations (except for my sister – she has long since learned that having expectations just leads to disappointment), my sister’s in-laws and neighbors (actually, if you could point those prayer circles at my sister too, that would be great), and the cultural desolation that is suburban MO.
On the plus side, there’s Guitar Hero II and III waiting for us. And booze. My family is very booze-friendly.
I’m way ahead on my Christmas shopping – only need to shop for my sister, mom, and Teh Smitten now. Most gifts have been bought (thanks to Amazon!) and are being shipped to MO. My goal is to be completely done before Thanksgiving. The older I get, the greater my dislike for crowds (and, perhaps, most people in general) and the insanity of Black Friday. The way I see it, there’s no bargain sweet enough to get me out of bed to go shopping at 4:30 am, and I really like shopping.
It appears that my job is going to change again – much greater responsibility and stress for the same amount of money. The benefit is that I may get more opportunity and visibility – it could lead to bigger things. The downside is that I’ll probably be working more and possibly on weekends. I shouldn’t bitch about it as so many people I know work long hours, but I have gotten accustomed to my evenings and weekends with my boyfriend, and hate the idea of letting work get in the way of life. I’ve just gotten to a point where life is so nice!
Did I spell that right? I’ve already had half a bottle of wine (El Espiral – a lovely and slightly effervescent white – vinho verde – from Portugal, only $3.99 at your local Trader Joes) so my speeling is a bit off. Wait, I mean my spelling is a bit off.
Anyways. yesterday marked three months for Teh Smitten and myself and I am still not tired of that cutie. Right now he’s over in the bedroom area folding my blanket and humming the well-known stripper theme. So cute. Killing me with his cuteness. If I weren’t so tipsy (and if he weren’t so tipsy) I’d go over there and give him some “what for”. (Can I get a “what what” from the Midwestern faction?)
More importantly, Teh Smitten claims he has not tired of me. Things are kind of tough for him at the mo’, so the fact that it isn’t spilling over into us is rather indicative of a larger and pleasant truth. (Don’t make me speel it out for you. I’ve beeb drinling.)
First of all, I have no idea how to refer to the man I’ve been dating. I’m loathe to give him the ubiquitous blogalias. I could refer to him as my boyfriend, but that term is somehow lacking. I dunno. Let’s get back to this later.
Secondly, it was a sort of ‘piratey’ weekend. We kicked it off at The Argonaut over in my nabe with a few cocktails and a decent pub dinner. Wait – lemme back it up a bit – we actually kicked things off with one of those bison-grass vodka apple juice cocktails at my place and then hit The Argh for some dark rum and ginger beer cocktails called Dark and Stormy’s. I had a bacon, lettuce and fried green tomato sammich with a side of mac n cheese, and he had the jerk chicken sammich with rice and beans. The dark and stormy’s were excellent but not so much to render my feet numb enough to endure the walk home in the supremely stupid pair of sandals I vainly thought to wear. Our tentative plans to hit the Rock and Roll Hotel after dinner to hear a DJ spin Bauhaus/Love and Rockets fell apart due to those damned shoes. Fortunately, he seemed content with tipsy cuddling.
Saturday was spent mostly at Arundel Mills with the suburban/rednecky masses. I had coupons for Off Fifth! Fendi sunglasses were purchased! And some other stuff. Then we hit Dave and Busters for drinks and skeeball. We earned a lot of useless tickets and exchanged them for crap! Then we had even more drinks at the Duclaw brew pub. Then we caught Pirates of the Caribbean. [The first two were better, but anything with Keith Richards dressed as a pirate must be seen.] In the midst of this, I learned that he had once won a prize for best pirate costume. With all the Will Turner/Jack Sparrow hotness (and copious beers) going on, this was a nice revelation. From which, no doubt, I will derive much inspiration…
Sorry, Bunny. I have been dying to use that clever line for just about ever now.
But why do I use it now? Because, less than one week after dating this darling man, we are exclusive. That’s right! GF/BF. We’re the Advanced Placement Students of online dating. And I haven’t freaked out yet! Of course, that may be due to all the alcohol we’ve been consuming.
Its been about 5 years since my last important relationship, and possibly a little longer since I’ve been completely addled with the butterflies. Since then, I’ve gone on multitudes of dates that ranged from great to disappointing to downright creepy. I had begun to think that maybe I had gotten too old to feel butterflies again; that maybe I was dead inside and doomed to spending the rest of my life in dating purgatory.
(Actually, my mother tells me that the Vatican recently announced that there is no purgatory. Nice of them to take 2 thousand years to make that determination. So, I suppose I really would have been relegated to dating hell. Which wasn’t so far off the mark…)
Thankfully, a drunken cocktail party in Leeds reminded me that we all die alone. No matter what. The copious amounts of bison grass vodka, pineau de charentes, and champagne-cognac cocktails made this little coally bit of truth shine ever so brightly. For some reason that made me feel a helluva lot better and I discovered a sort of zen where dating was concerned. Yes, yes; it sounds entirely counterintuitive. But, by accepting that sad knowledge I am far more focused on enjoying every minute of every day and on squeezing the most happiness out of every freaking second. Its a relief, really!
I think I faced a fear there (you Dune fans – all none of you – will totally get the Litany reference and you will revere me; I would have been a kick ass Bene Gesserit) and I think it (the resulting zen) may be why I was so ready to plunge headlong into romance this past weekend. And this week. And this upcoming weekend. I have gone blissfully insane and, it seems, so has he. I don’t care. I’m not analyzing it or him. I’m not worrying about it today or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. I’m just going to ride the wave and see where it takes me/us. The dating profiles are all off/hidden and my colleagues are suddenly finding me much more relaxed and fun.
Except, I hope karma realizes how much he owes me. Seriously. At this point karma really ought to be my bitch. Bitch betta have my money! Just kidding karma. Love your work, babe!
Gah. What a weekend. I’m exhausted!
Even though I promised that I wouldn’t blog about this, its the only thing rattling about my head – and can probably only be exorcised by writing about it.
Met a guy. Online. Went on a first date to the Trixie Little and Evil Hate Monkey burlesque show at Palace of Wonders. [Note: as odd/inappropriate as this sounds, it was a great idea, I had been dying to go, and good time was had by all. There was a performer, Miss Indigo Blue, who got her tassels flying in opposite directions!! She’s my new hero.]
So, he gallantly walks me home and we proceed to have an awkward moment at my gate. You see, I asked him in for a cup of tea before he made his way home and he politely declined. Even though I’d had about 3 or 4 whiskies at this point, I thought I had read his body language differently. Well, it turns out that I had not misread things after all. While he was waiting for me to unlock my door, I turned around and did my usual Hey! -I-have-an-awesome-hand-of-cards-here! -Look! thing and bluntly said, “Jeez. Not even a goodnight kiss?” Well, he kindly obliged and then changed his mind about the tea. I told you fools that I had skilz.
“Then what happened?”, you ask? You cheeky little monkeys. As the TRP says, “Its all good in Allez’s ‘hood.” The date was extended into a lovely mellow Saturday evening, although we were both a bit careworn as a result of the excitement/alcohol/hot pastie action of the previous evening. Chemistry… I’d almost forgotten what it was like.
Interesting article on the history of being single (courtesy of nerve.com).