And the beat goes on

I've finally done it. I've finally pursuaded the Pirate to let me lose the patch and allow nature to take it's course.

Damnit, I'm going to be 31 in just a couple days! fuck me that sounds OLD.

Part of me is rejoicing, but part of me is still really worried. He doesn't seem happy with the idea, just resigned to it. I don't want it to be like that. I want it to be a happy occurance (when it eventually occurs). Having a baby should be full of joy, not resignation to your wife's biological clock.

I want him to want what I want, but life just doesn't work that way.

So I finally got what I want, but I can't bring myself to be happy about it. Fuck.

And I'm about to turn 31.

(Jesus, have I ever sounded more like Herebe? Now there's a frightening thought.)

Manliness

So one weekend earlier this fall (I forgot to blog it at the time, but it's worth telling), Pirate and I were driving down a country road in his new/old 1973 AM Vantage. It was a beautiful, clear day; great day for a run in The Big Car.

I was dressed up, wearing a purple dress with longish (mid-calf) A-line skirt with buttons all down the front, proper stockings, and heels. (This is important to the punchline, I swear.)

I was sitting in the bucket seat to Pirate's left, my right leg crossed over my left at the knee. (There's a lot of leg-room in that car. me likes.)

We hit a stretch of open road, and with no traffic in sight, Pirate put the boot down. That car moves. It doesn't strain, it just responds. I felt myself pressed backwards into the seat from the acceleration. As the car thrust forward the hem of my skirt, which had been just resting at the top of my right knee, was also pulled backwards toward the seat, causing it to slide up my leg and reveal my thigh and the top of my stocking.

Pirate, upon seeing that the acceleration of the car was responsible for uncovering the smooth, firm, muscled flesh of my thigh, declared proudly: "I am such a man."

Quote of the week

Pirate: Ack!

me: you ok?

Pirate: Fine. I was just having a crisis of personal spatial awareness.
Until I figured out where my finger was.








the context? He was trying to floss his teeth without looking in the mirror. I cracked up so bad I fell on the floor while I was brushing my teeth and it took me 30 minutes to fall asleep after because I kept breaking out in gigglefits.

When it rains, it pours

damnit, why does all the good stuff happen right before i leave????? yesterday i was with a fellow with whom i've been really close since arriving in Jolly Old. maybe it was because i was leaving that he finally decided to strap on a pair and do what he's been wanting to do for months, or maybe i'm just so stunning that he couldn't stop himself any longer, but boy did i need that. i havn't been kissed in six years (yeah, that doesn't make me sound desperate), but DA-AMN!

so it was a good day. Later i was out with a girlfriend of mine having a send-off drink at a local pub (pleasantly illumintated with flattering green lights) when the fittie who works at the local bakery (and with whom i've been flirting like a demon for 3 months) walks straight up to me and starts chatting me up. he recogonized me, and came over to ask my phone number. GODDAMN IT!!! I'M LEAVING IN 6 HOURS! WHY NOW?!?!?!? (do you sense my exasperation?)

but wait, there's more. i just got an email this morning from a lovely friend of mine on whom i had a terrible crush back in my undergrad days. he's 6'4", speakes 5 languages fluently (only 2 of them indo-european), plays every stringed instrument known to man including the lute and mandolin, has a base voice that could melt frozen chocloate and is every bit as rich, and is a snappy dresser to boot. he's in london. lemme say that again. HE'S IN LONDON! NOW! AND HE WANTS TO SEE ME! AND HE'S STILL SINGLE!!! AND I'M LEAVING IN 6 HOURS!!!!!

somebody shoot me.