![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanI'll leave it to you to figure out whether I'm crazy or a late sleeper.
Either way, my room got cleaned! The boy expressed interest in seeing it, and that was the final swift kick needed to make that happen. It's so dust-free and uncluttered and organized, you'd never know my haphazard, packrat bum lived here.
Then I went to see the boy, who is wonderful in a whole lot of ways. He's not permanent, but I suspect he's more than perfect for where I am in that stage of things right now.
Does it make any sense to anyone else that somehow, in my head, that all the other things besides sex (by its strictest technical definition) is somehow more intimate? It's somehow acknowledging the other person in a more real way than the whole tab A/slot B mechanism because you're touching them and (at least not physically) not getting something out of it for yourself. Sex is easy - there's nothing brave about it (STDs and the risk of pregnancy aside, for which there are several very effective preventative measures.) But I don't have much experience at being with someone, as opposed to being with them. I like him, and not feeling confident in being able to show that kind of sucks a lot.
Anyway, he's trying to understand what I mean, talking and giving me time with it. We laugh a lot. It's good.
The scarf and I have bonded, and shall remain inseparable until such a time as it becomes unequivocally ridiculous for me to wear it another minute longer.
Saw a couple of girls walking together along University Avenue the other day, one tallish and brunette, the other short(er) and blonde. I've since concluded that Miranda and I must look like the most adorably mismatched pair of socks ever. Like our other halves had holes worn into their toes or heels, but our owner loved us too much to just throw us out altogether and instead decided to pair us off. Which is actually a rather accurate metaphor in a lot of ways.
And finally, the clips - I am completely broken by Lose Myself, in love with the casual sluttiness of 100 Ways, and want to have Something Special's perfect little babies. More extensive explanations and the logic behind my calling this album a remix of an 80s Greatest Hits compilation to come.
Either way, my room got cleaned! The boy expressed interest in seeing it, and that was the final swift kick needed to make that happen. It's so dust-free and uncluttered and organized, you'd never know my haphazard, packrat bum lived here.
Then I went to see the boy, who is wonderful in a whole lot of ways. He's not permanent, but I suspect he's more than perfect for where I am in that stage of things right now.
Does it make any sense to anyone else that somehow, in my head, that all the other things besides sex (by its strictest technical definition) is somehow more intimate? It's somehow acknowledging the other person in a more real way than the whole tab A/slot B mechanism because you're touching them and (at least not physically) not getting something out of it for yourself. Sex is easy - there's nothing brave about it (STDs and the risk of pregnancy aside, for which there are several very effective preventative measures.) But I don't have much experience at being with someone, as opposed to being with them. I like him, and not feeling confident in being able to show that kind of sucks a lot.
Anyway, he's trying to understand what I mean, talking and giving me time with it. We laugh a lot. It's good.
The scarf and I have bonded, and shall remain inseparable until such a time as it becomes unequivocally ridiculous for me to wear it another minute longer.
Saw a couple of girls walking together along University Avenue the other day, one tallish and brunette, the other short(er) and blonde. I've since concluded that Miranda and I must look like the most adorably mismatched pair of socks ever. Like our other halves had holes worn into their toes or heels, but our owner loved us too much to just throw us out altogether and instead decided to pair us off. Which is actually a rather accurate metaphor in a lot of ways.
And finally, the clips - I am completely broken by Lose Myself, in love with the casual sluttiness of 100 Ways, and want to have Something Special's perfect little babies. More extensive explanations and the logic behind my calling this album a remix of an 80s Greatest Hits compilation to come.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: January 25th, 2004 11:30 pm (UTC)It's a bit early for you to decide whether this one is permanent or not, don't you think? ;) Relax, take it easy and just have fun. I wouldn't worry about short-term, long-term or any other term at this point; that'll all take care of itself.
My boss and I caught a taxi back to the office between potential flights this afternoon, and the cabby had a JC scarf (bayberry? What are they called?) draped over his seat. I didn't kidnap it, but I did stare for an inordinate amount of time.
no subject
Date: January 26th, 2004 09:38 am (UTC)I do like the boy. He's charming and fun, and I'm probably just underestimating him right now, or it all goes back to what I said above. I've definitely not spent enough time with him to see how we'd play off each other, all of that stuff. Like you said, we'll see.
The brand of scarf is Burberry. It's a British company, and don't ever buy their stuff factory-direct. It's crazy expensive. However, it is also very, very pretty, amazingly soft, and just a beautiful article. I'm head-over-heels with mine.