There's No Place Like Home....God damnit.  

Sarcasmistress 46F
220 posts
7/30/2006 7:11 pm

Last Read:
7/31/2006 7:43 am

There's No Place Like Home....God damnit.


Nearly three interrupted days with Mr. Seriously and now, it's back to the real world.


I am becoming spoiled.

His reunion was surprisingly fun for me. I had *way* the fuck too much to drink last night (I keep forgetting I am a cheap drunk) but had a ball dancing and talking to the folks there.

In addition, Mr. Seriously and I crossed a very important bridge Saturday night and have advanced in our relationship because of it --

I finally saw him dance.

Now, understand, the first time I saw my last boyfriend dance was also the last time I saw him dance. I knew if I ever saw that again there was no way in *hell* I was going to be able to have sex with him again, ever. So you can imagine here, the stakes were pretty damn high.

He dances like a total white boy, but it was more cute than epileptic, so it's all good.

Also, it appears we're married and no one told me. I cannot express how many times I was asked how long we'd been married -- to which I replied that if we're married someone owes me a *lot* of gifts. But that's understandable when everyone else who is there is pretty much married to their dates.

However, at the picnic on Saturday afternoon -- before I almost passed out from heat stroke -- we picked up the badges we would carry for the rest of the evening. And I am apparently the Wife of Mr. Seriously. Our last names don't match, but hey, neither did his last wife. (Oh, by the way, if you really want to piss him off, when he tells a story about his "ex-wife," make sure you ask which one he's talking about.)

I took a pen from my purse and scrawled "not quite the" over the designation as "wife of".

And I did almost pass out from heat stroke. I tried to be a little trooper, but it was hotter than hell at the picnic and I just could *not* find a breeze. I didn't want to interrupt his visits with his friends and tried to suck it up, but eventually it just became obvious that I was either going to pass out or throw up, neither one of which would make him look too good. So I told him I was getting ill, and like the sweetie he is, he took me back to the hotel, where I promptly threw up anyway and then slept for about two hours.

That was new.

I got the historical tour, too, which was punctuated often by "That's the house were I got stoned with so-and-so" or, pointing "I used to go parking down there." In fact, most of his reminiscing seemed to come down to getting stoned or making out with someone.

He apparently had a *much* better time in high school than I did.

And....I got to see his senior picture. Oh my God he was a cutie. He would not have given me the time of day back then (also he was a senior when I was a sophomore, so it never would have worked anyway) but I *SO* would have longed for him from afar. I'm not being sarcastic here at all (I know, hard to believe but true). He really was that cute.

Still is, in fact. But I don't have to do the "afar" thing very often, which makes me very happy.

In any case, I'm home (to discover my dog-sitter friend actually *cleaned up my house*, God love him), hanging with my homedogs on the couch, playing me some video games and I wish like hell he was here. Three days and we didn't get sick of each other, and now I'm missing him like I haven't seen him for days.

Yes, yes, I know. Pathetic. I'm aware.

But damn. I just really love this guy, you know?

TheRealThing655 48F
9558 posts
7/30/2006 7:47 pm

He dances like a total white boy, but it was more cute than epileptic, so it's all good. - too funny.

Thanks for the update. I was laughing all the way through...but very sweet too. Glad for both of you.

rm_mmmgoodnova 105M/105F
1259 posts
7/30/2006 8:21 pm

That's very sweet. If you can truly get past the goofywhiteboy dancing, you're set for life. I had a hot 23 yo Brazilian boyfriend when I was a 17-yo in high school. I was, therefore, forever spoiled for Yankee boys who just think they can dance. Still, despite the dancing-points deduction, I married a gringo.

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