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aruanjust how great a time we have?
Not even 30 mph windgusts and blistering sand could dampen our good mood, and *that* is truly something. Most people whine after not getting enough ice cubes in their drink and we were *still* laughing as we hustled back to the car, having braved it for an hour. Tradition firmly in place, however, and that's what's important.
It was my own damn fault for bringing up La Timberlake and his penchant for dating child stars. I'm never gonna live down that Gary Coleman thing, am I?
Having relocated, we drank said cheap champagne and devoured said ridiculously expensive chocolate on his back porch, watching the errant fireworks from neighbors' yards and passing the time companionably until 11:52, at which point I insisted we go inside and watch Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve in all its tacky, inane glory, because he's never seen it. And so we did, and I misted up about Times Square, and we toasted the turn of the calendar and there was plenty of confetti and rejoicing and 2003 has a lot to live up to, so a smidge of bittersweetness, too.
Then we settled into the comfy couch to watch Death to Smoochy, an Edward Norton movie I hadn't seen which had to be remedied. And it was goooood - both the movie and the watching experience. It's been too long since I've been touched as a close friend, someone to let loose and be comfortable around because you're on the level and things won't get misunderstood or awkward and just appreciating the other's affection. I'm not like that with all my friends, nor do I even dream of wanting to be - I'm actually *very* particular about who touches me and how. But I realized last night how much I miss it when there didn't have to be the requisite three-foot minimum of sofa in-between. Guys (we're not even discussing girls here, and my girl friends are an entirely different matter anyhow) seem to think that I'm together and strong because I'm opinionated and independent so they tend to stiffly hug me in greeting at most, whereas the guys I've gone out with tend to be graduates of the 'how to treat a girl' instead of 'lady' school of thought, so my physical contact with people is either too lovey and polite or too informal and business-casual. But last night, there was blissful casual sprawling. How nice is it to have someone you can just sit with, just enjoy whatever's around and breathing the same air? I was happier and more relaxed for that hour and a half than I've been in forever, it seems like.
I could go on and on about Jon in general, too, if for no other reason than to shut up all the unenlightened naysayers out there who keep contesting that a high school Sophomore has nothing of worthy note to say to a high school Senior (and now, perhaps ironically, a high school Senior to a college Sophomore, even if I am technically a Junior but that just complicates matters even more). Because apparently, he'll always be (most of) fifteen and I'll always be (barely) eighteen and we'll always be pervy and wrong for having hooked up at that point. All I really have to say to those people is an eloquent 'Pfft!' Because yeah, that about sums up my opinion of your "objective assessment" of the "situation." I'm done trying to explain to people about maturity and shared experience and humor and understanding and vibe. We just are.
And it was a significantly better New Year because of that.
Not even 30 mph windgusts and blistering sand could dampen our good mood, and *that* is truly something. Most people whine after not getting enough ice cubes in their drink and we were *still* laughing as we hustled back to the car, having braved it for an hour. Tradition firmly in place, however, and that's what's important.
It was my own damn fault for bringing up La Timberlake and his penchant for dating child stars. I'm never gonna live down that Gary Coleman thing, am I?
Having relocated, we drank said cheap champagne and devoured said ridiculously expensive chocolate on his back porch, watching the errant fireworks from neighbors' yards and passing the time companionably until 11:52, at which point I insisted we go inside and watch Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve in all its tacky, inane glory, because he's never seen it. And so we did, and I misted up about Times Square, and we toasted the turn of the calendar and there was plenty of confetti and rejoicing and 2003 has a lot to live up to, so a smidge of bittersweetness, too.
Then we settled into the comfy couch to watch Death to Smoochy, an Edward Norton movie I hadn't seen which had to be remedied. And it was goooood - both the movie and the watching experience. It's been too long since I've been touched as a close friend, someone to let loose and be comfortable around because you're on the level and things won't get misunderstood or awkward and just appreciating the other's affection. I'm not like that with all my friends, nor do I even dream of wanting to be - I'm actually *very* particular about who touches me and how. But I realized last night how much I miss it when there didn't have to be the requisite three-foot minimum of sofa in-between. Guys (we're not even discussing girls here, and my girl friends are an entirely different matter anyhow) seem to think that I'm together and strong because I'm opinionated and independent so they tend to stiffly hug me in greeting at most, whereas the guys I've gone out with tend to be graduates of the 'how to treat a girl' instead of 'lady' school of thought, so my physical contact with people is either too lovey and polite or too informal and business-casual. But last night, there was blissful casual sprawling. How nice is it to have someone you can just sit with, just enjoy whatever's around and breathing the same air? I was happier and more relaxed for that hour and a half than I've been in forever, it seems like.
I could go on and on about Jon in general, too, if for no other reason than to shut up all the unenlightened naysayers out there who keep contesting that a high school Sophomore has nothing of worthy note to say to a high school Senior (and now, perhaps ironically, a high school Senior to a college Sophomore, even if I am technically a Junior but that just complicates matters even more). Because apparently, he'll always be (most of) fifteen and I'll always be (barely) eighteen and we'll always be pervy and wrong for having hooked up at that point. All I really have to say to those people is an eloquent 'Pfft!' Because yeah, that about sums up my opinion of your "objective assessment" of the "situation." I'm done trying to explain to people about maturity and shared experience and humor and understanding and vibe. We just are.
And it was a significantly better New Year because of that.
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no subject
The simplest that it can be said: no.