Monday, November 28, 2005

The holidays are here!

Another Thanksgiving gone by. We went to Austin as is our tradition. My brothers live there and it's hard for them to get the time off work to come down and see us so we always go there. Max and the limosine of a weiner dog that is Jinx spent the week with Scott and his family up in Waxahachie, Tx. where even the vermin up there carry six-shooters...We got to meet my brother Gilbert's new girlfriend, a pale, befreckled, little thing with flaming red hair and ocean blue eyes. Such a contrast to Gilbert's darker skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. He seems to be happy and if he's happy then we're all happy.

George still has his dreadlocks which look pretty damn good. At least he keeps his hair clean unlike some thoroughly disgusting, filthy, people I've known in the past with dreds that made me want to take their heads and shove them under a lawnmower. My dad would still like to take a pair of scissors to George's head but mom likes them just fine. The feasting took place at my other brother, Marco, and my sister-in-law Nina's house. Nina and I get along great. We usually get pretty slammed on bottles of white wine and then my little brother Marco has to practically carry both us out of whatever bar we happen to be in if we're out and about. Over the summer we went to this dive called Hanover's in dowtown, historic Pflugerville. The bar should be more aptly named Hangover's. Because that is exactly what we had the next day. But I was sucking down beer like water, knocking back tequila shots, and dancing in circles. I was dizzy.

Thursday night, after the dishes were cleared, the bellys had a chance to repose and work the turkey through the intestines as William S. Burroughs once said was "destined to be shit out of wholesome American guts" Marco, Nina, George, and I went out into the cold night. George and Gilbert were born on Thanksgiving Day 32 years ago. It being their birthdays we wanted to go out and celebrate. But Gilbert was busy with his Irish dumpling and her family so it was just the four of us.

First we went to George's house. It was in a state of shambles only because he's in the process of re-organizing the place after a certain someone moved out. We sat in his room. Got warm and fuzzy. The beer ran cold and as long as a river flowing into the Gulf. Marco and George talking about bicycles, computers, and music. Boys and their toys. Nina and I sitting on George's bed simply fading in and out of the conversation. I read almost the whole Rolling Stone magazine cover to cover especially the hot article on Madonna (the cover of her in that red dress is delecious). We finally leave George's house and head out into a cold, bleak and deserted night. There were hardly any people out on the streets. We go to this one bar that happens to be George's favorite, The Draught House, a German inspired house with a full range of at least 50 beers on tap. We sat outside on the picnic tables. It was pretty chill. It was at this place that George told me he ran into Heather several weeks ago.

There's a name I have not uttered in about four years. She was there with her boyfriend and his friends who happen to be friends with George. What a small damn world it is. George told me how he recognized her, they started talking, she dialed up Scott on her cell phone, and then my brother was talking to my ex-husband on his ex-girlfriend's phone. Oh yeah did I mention the bitch was once my friend? How she was supposed to be loyal to me and stay my friend but instead she went off and screwed my husband? So what if we were seperated at the time? We were still married and what burns my hide is that I once asked Scott if he was attracted to her. He swore to me he wasn't. And Heather swore to me she wasn't going out with Scott. The both of them betrayed me, assholes. And they still keep in touch! Scott doesn't tell me shit about his life anymore. I don't really care but sometimes it still ruffles my feathers.

Heather told George there had been drama. Alot of drama. I don't know how much my brothers know about that whole Heather, Scott, and me period but there's more than I can ever tell them. I only tell my family the half-truths. The parts they need to know. The rest is my carefully guarded secrets. Heather actually had the gall to tell Geroge she missed me. What does she miss? What does she regret? That's what I'd like to find out. I stayed quiet and looked away. I don't want to reminded about that time of my life. I don't want to be reminded of Heather. I never want to see her again. I have no choice with Scott but I should do as he's done with me and just cut him out of my life completely. At least emotionally. I hate to admit that he still has the power to rouse my anger, my hurt, my pain, and my tears. But never again my love. He killed that pretty damn good.

The rest of the Thanksgiving weekend was pretty uneventful. Marco, Nina, and I took a walk along some spooky trail by their house Friday night. I always feel like a third wheel whenever I'm around another couple. I had so hoped that Dave would have been the one to add the fourth wheel to this already tottering cycle I keep finding myself in. But no. He turned out to be just another dog of a man who called me on a Tuesday at midnight probably because the dog got horny and wanted to come lie down with his bitch. Asshole. I didn't bother to answer the phone. He left no message and I have not heard from him since. I am not going to be some asshole's booty call at midnight on a Tuesday or any day.

I had no desire to go back to work this morning. Already I could feel myself being crushed under the enormous weight of feeling like my talents are being wasted in this position I am in. I pray to God every day to deliver me from this job and get me one were I can truly shine. I hope it happens and soon or Max, Jinx, and I will find ourselves back in my parent's house.

Ciao! for now.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Something dodgy this way comes

That jerk Dave has utterly pissed me off now. My so called "boyfriend" has not called me since Saturday. I haven't seen him in over a week or really talked to him. The last time he was here was Mon. the 14th of Nov. I didn't see him this past weekend because he said it was his weekend with his daughter. Perfectly understandable. BUT, I attended a conference at Montogomery College in the Woodlands this past Saturday. He told me he lived in the Woodlands. After my conference let out I called him and he said he was just at home with his daughter. Did he invite me over? No. I told him I was off all week (one of the perks of working in education) and that we would have more time to see each other. He said this was a bad week for him, work, closings, work, daughter, blah, blah, blah... Then I told him I was leaving Thursday for Austin to spend Thanksgiving with my brothers and my parents and I would like to see him at least once before I go. "When do I get to see you, daddy", I asked. Laughing he answers, "We'll have to put it into the court order."

He has not made any effort to contact me, to see me, or even to find out how I am. I resolved not to call him. And it's been three damn days, again, that Mr. Mysterious has ducked out of the picture. I am beginning to have a nasty suspicion that either he is married and lied to me about it or he has not overcome his Type-A workaholic personality. Damn him. See, asshole, this is why I don't date more men. What for? They turn out to be lying, cheating dogs. If he had just shown more interest and tried a little harder then I would have accepted him despite the obvious differences between us. But no. He came, we went to bed, and now he's gone.

That's okay though because I am not shedding one tear for him. Or blaming myself for anything because I did nothing wrong. I am pissed off but I wish he could see me now. I am not waiting by the phone like some deranged Japanese girl waiting for the call back from the Audition (film reference) I am making plans with my friends everyday this week, and getting ready for my weekend in Austin where my brothers always show me a good time. He once told me that his ex-wife got pissed off at him for some infraction he did and took a pair of scissors to one of his best $500 suits and cut it to ribbons. Oh, poor baby. Some silk and thread got mutilated and he was hurt. I don't need to use scissors to cut up men's suits. Why? Those things are replaceable. Far worse to use my barbed wit to cut him deeply where it hurts the most and from which it takes longer to recover. Straight to the ego, pride, and heart of him. Fancied yourself a good lover, eh? Truthfully, you were so, so. Not that I didn't enjoy it but it could have been better. Well, now you will never know just how good it could have been. Your loss, dear Dave. Not mine.

And so I move on. I know that one day I will find the right man for me. Not all men are lying, cheating dogs. Look at Michael W. He wanted to but resisted. That's who I want but since I can't have him then I will ask for one just like him but stipulate that he must be single and available for me. Too bad I can't clone him.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Confessions of a Madonna fan

I'm at my brother's house and he just bought Confessions on a Dance Floor. We've been listening to it all afternoon. And I am happy to say that my Madonna has reinvented herself yet again. I have been a Madonna fan since the 8th grade when "Holiday" first hit the airwaves back in 1983. All through high school Madonna was my idol, my icon, the woman I looked up to, and tried to emulate. My best friend from high school, Shirley, and I wore Madonna outfits to school. It wasn't easy given that we were attending an all girl's private school and had to wear uniforms. But on those rare occasions when the nuns let us have free dress day out came the bustiers, the black lace gloves, the rosaries, and bracelets worn on both arms from elbow to wrist. The nuns were none too happy with us. Often times we had to button up our blouses, hide the rosaries, and try not to look so scandalous.

For our gym project in our Jr. Year we had to learn a dance routine and then teach it to the rest of the class. Shirley and I came up with the idea of copying Madonna's Lucky Star video dance steps. We studied that video for weeks, we practiced it every day after school and when the big day came to perform it we were the only girls in the class who had thought to do a modern dance routine and dress up. All the other good little girls did fox-trot, waltzes, and square dancing while still in their uniforms. We wore our lace, our mesh tops, and dance boots. We were smoking. Our picture appeared in the ad pages of our Jr. High yearbook.

Ever since then I have bought all the Madonna albums, her posters, and some of her movies. When the Sex book came out it sold out so fast all I could get my hands on was the French version. No matter. I don't need to speak French to understand pictures. In my eyes Madonna can do no wrong. Okay, her movies haven't been all that hot, but her small performances in lesser known movies have actually been pretty good. In any case she's a dancer and musician first. That is her professional training. That right there is where she has far surpassed any of those old 80's pop stars who have been regulated to the bargain dust bins of the local Sound Exchange. I don't care how much she's been crucified in the media, she's still hot, she still sells albums, she still manages to have a red hot career while being a wife and mother. No fool Madonna.

And as far as all that crap Sharon Osborne said about her here's my two cents: have you looked in a mirror lately? Madonna can play any role she damn well pleases. She's earned that right. She's never had the drug/alcohol problems as so many other of her contemporaries have had. I admire her absolute iron-will control, her take no prisoners attitude, and her fierce determination to be the only master of herself. So what if she dresses like a school girl, a librarian reading children's books, a hot cabaret dancer, a disco diva, and et all? She's got class, chutzpah, and a great body for a 47-year old. I will be listening to Madonna when I'm 60, 70, until death do us part. I can only hope she's still doing music by then. If all those necrotic, aging, mummified, rock stars of the 70's (Ozzy I'm thinking of you) who are only still walking around in their tight leather jeans due to the pickling in their bodies from too much booze and pills can tour then so can Madonna in her pink fishnets and sequined dance heels.

"Confessions on a Dance Floor" is a bloody brilliant album. I love it that she has gone back to her dance roots. I am probably the only person in America who actually liked American Life. The album was mostly ballad driven. Some of the songs were very personal and I can understand why people didn't get it or like it. I think they just didn't give it a chance. Or is Madonna only there to flaunt her body and is not allowed to have a deeply spiritual mind and heart? She could have just chucked it all but she doesn't let negative publicity get her down. She thrives on it and it only makes her stronger. Every song on "Confessions" is fiery, making you want to get up and dance. It's hard to decide which one is the best, but so far I like "Hung Up", "Future Lovers", and "Forbidden Love". The last song on the album, "Like it or Not", is her way of thumbing her nose at all those vicious critics who love to cut people down a notch or two because it makes them feel better about themselves since they have no talent to speak of.

And as for people criticizing her for singing about a rabbi I say get a life. If she sings about God, Catholicism, Kabbala, she gets crucified. If she doesn't then she's a godless heathen. I think that in a time when our society is moving ever more towards a spiritually bereft condition to have a celebrity actually say she attends services of what ever faith is to be applauded not derided. I don't see Brittany Spears, Lindsay Lohan, or all their ilk attend services or even proclaim what their beliefs are.

Madonna, here's to you.

TV's a wasteland

And I am here at my parent's house wasting my mind on watching cable. I would rather be at the movies. Or at home doing some real work. Such as writing. Reviewing the material I need to submit soon to various literary journals around town. Sometimes I wonder what more can be written of love? Or money? Or sex? I've actually got a real burning curiosity to know what goes through a man's mind the very first time he sleeps with someone new. Does he remember all who came before her? And why do some guys feel they have to ask if they measure up to the last significant one that came before them? Do they really want to know? Or do they simply want to hear something that makes them feel good? Dating is a minefield but an actual relationship is a is a big bang waiting to happen. There is an ancient manuscript that proposes that God is really a woman and that she fell in love with that elusive man. She pursued him, she made love to him, and their orgasm was the big bang and thus the universe was created. I like that creation story. Try teaching that one in the schools. Pure hearsy of course. Or is it?

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Thoughts now bursting on the cyber-page

Dave called me Monday evening after five long days of almost complete silence. Does a text msg on Sunday count as communication? I suppose in our technologically advanced world it does. No more waiting a month or two for the Pony Express to deliver the kiss of death letter. Dave came to pick up me and my son and he took us to dinner.

His excuses for not calling:
Busy. Work. Cell phone was dead. Busy. Gambling in Louisiana. Traveling. Missed you. Thought about you.

My responses to him:
I thought you were dead. I thought you were with another woman. You went back to your ex-wife. You're dead. Should I call the hospitals? You regret asking me to be your girlfriend. You're afraid of me. You think I'm too much for you.

Dave: I'm sure you preferred me dead than being with another woman, right?
Me: I can not tell a lie. I would rather be at your funeral than at your wedding.

Later, after dinner, drinks, and my son tucked safely in his bed.
Dave: You're so far above me. You're so great. Why don't you date more men? You have pursuers. I know. Who's calling you at 10:30pm? You still have feelings for your ex. You have a connection. I don't have an intellectual bone in my body. Why are you so nice to me? You've been nicer to me in one night than my ex-wife was to me in three years. You have the magic touch. You have the face of a model. You're great in bed. Where did you learn all those things that you do? Am I better than your ex-husband? Do I measure up? Do I please you?

Me: (Please note, things in parenthesis are my own thoughts, not things I actually said to him)
It doesn't matter that you're not an intellectual artist. I don't date more men because I'm too busy and broke to go out and meet anyone and when I do meet them they run away because they suffer from an inferiority complex around me. (Or he is a married man who I absolutely crave but can not have) Yes I have men who call me and who pursue me. (But not in the way you think) I have no feelings for my ex-husband. I'm nice, modest, and great in bed because I am happy to be alive and I exude my happiness and sensuality through every pore in my body. (I can not help it nor stop it. You might as well ask Niagra Falls to stop pouring over the majestic ridge it falls over. I am beautiful and confident in my size 16, 38c cup, voluptuous, well rounded, body. I have a mind sharper than a razor blade and it cuts just as deep when any part of me is hurt) Don't ask me where I learned the things I do in bed. I'm not going to tell you. (But let's just say there is something to earning your education by reading Anais Nin and Henry Miller, watching highly charged erotic films, not porn, there is a difference, and having a mind that grasps every event, past, present, and future. Plus I am a Scorpio and everyone knows that Scorpios are the best lovers in the whole zodiac)

Dave spent the night but I had to boot him out early the next day. When will I see him again? Dating is such a minefield. And I am sick of stepping on mines and blowing up. How many phone calls in one day is too many? How many days without a phone call is too much? When he spends the night do we make a date that very morning for our next encounter? Is he my boyfriend? He said he was. How much should I expect from my boyfriend of only two weeks? How about three? How about I just ask him to marry me and then I won't be so hung up on all these crazy thoughts? How about I just ask him to shack up with me? Or even better, why don't I just keep stepping on the damn mines and see which one will be the one to finally want to blow up with me. Like a supernova.

I haven't even told you the best part. Last week because I wasn't talking to Dave I called Michael W. We talked for almost an hour. I told him about Dave. And he told me what a lucky guy to have such a beautiful, young girl like me. But when I told him my trepeditions because of some of the things he said about me being so much smarter than him Michael W. told me how much he loved it that I was smarter than him. Then he said how much he loved being around me, how he learned so much from me, and that if he had stayed in Texas much longer he would have had an affair with me. My jaw hit the floor. He admitted it at last. My validation is here. Michael W. basically told me that he left Texas and moved to Florida to resist the temptaion I posed for him. Well, isn't that something? I've never driven a man across four state lines just to get away from me before. Then he goes on to say how an affair would have messed up everything, how we had to do the right thing, and something about God, yadda, yadda, yadda...

Oh hell, the wicked side of me wanted to jump on a plane and track his ass down in Florida and let whatever happened happen and to HELL with the consequences. He as much as admitted he was weak and if I showed up and tweaked him just right then he would have been jello in my arms. That is only if I never heard back from Dave. But I did. And I'm staying put. And I am going to give my relationship with Dave a chance. I feel I have to. Michael W. has to figure out just what he wants. If he wants to continue to suffer that train wreck that is his marriage for some lofty ideal of "it's the right thing to do because of my children, God, blah, blah, blah..." then so be it. I gave up on those lofty feelings a long time ago and became a little selfish. You have to otherwise you will lose your mind. And he is close to losing his but he won't admit it, idiot. If Michael W. showed up on my doorstep tomorrow, bags in hand, and divorce papers freshly printed then I would accept him. But I am not waiting for him as he vacillates between me and his wife. He has to decide. I have already decided. And the window of opportunity is closing. When it shuts only a blow torch will get it open. Let's see if Michael W. has the cojones to follow his heart.

In the meantime I do like Dave very much. I'm happy to be in a relationship with him. It's still very new so I am not all twittery in my belly like some 16-year old on her first date. I am trying to relax. The sex with Dave is great. But it's only been twice and in the comfort of my home. Let's see how he rolls out in the wild. On a sandy beach. In the breaking surf. Dancing with the temptress (that's me) under the pale of the full moonlight. Oh yeah, that's right. He doesn't know yet about my witchy ways. Hmm...I told Michael Angel all about my new relationship and he is happy for me. Of course that also means our fun and games have come to a stop but he did ask me "So you're planning on bombing him bit by bit with all your wild ways instead of just nuking him all at once?" He makes me sound so bad. I can't help what I am. Men can't help falling for me. I am just a girl searching for love. And when it hits, oh my, when it hits, the recent hurricanes have nothing on me. One day I will find true love. But will true love be strong enough to take me on?

Saturday, November 12, 2005

Thoughts swirling like in a Cy Twombly painting

I am more confused now than ever. What is happening to me? My man Dave has not called me in four days. What is up with that? He comes over last Sunday, takes me and my son out to dinner, he really likes him, we talk, we make out, he asks me to be his exclusive girlfriend, I accept, and now I have not heard from him in four days. Tuesday was the last day I really spoke to him. He told me he might go out of town for business on Wednesday and to call him. If I got his voice-mail then more then likely he was out of town. But hell even if he is out of town he can't call me at least for five mintues even once in four %^&*#$ days? What the hell is the matter with men? They say it's women that are the emotionally charged, indecisive, don't-know-what-they-want, types, but I say men are more so.

What am I to do? I've called him twice, left him a couple of messages, texted him as well, and this is what I get? No freaking response in four days? I know we're not teenagers anymore nor do we need to spend hours on the phone talking to each other every day. But I would appreciate a damn phone call at least once or twice in four days. SHIT! Why does this keep happening to me? I never have any problem meeting men. My problem is keeping them. As soon as they begin to see and know what I am all about they flee. They think they are not as good as me, as creative, as talented, as intelligent, or whatever. They get intimidated. I am sorry but I can not be some demure, sweet-looking, smiling pretty, and non-talketive type of woman. I am out there. I wear rings on nearly every finger, bracelets on my wrists, five ear-rings in each ear, I like art, music, film, theater, opera, literature, and I am extremely well-read. And to boot, I'm a wild party girl who likes to knock back the tequila shots, boogie all night on a platform to techno, and have fun. Those girls on Sex in the City have got nothing on me. There is no way I can down-play any of that no matter how hard I try. And I shouldn't have to. I am who I am. I love being me. And I am not going to let some asshole try to dictate what I should be. If he can't handle me then it's his loss. I am pissed off. I really wanted a relationship with Dave to work out. I thought he could help me forget the two Michaels. Perhaps I wanted the relationship too much to cover up what truly is in my heart. But even so I would have put my entire being into it.

Oh it's not fair, it's not fair
That an artist should create a chair
In which I can not sit
But to which I want to submit

Oh it's not fair, it's not fair
That he can't run his fingers through my hair
To which I say "Life is for the living,
Do it anyway and never stop giving,

Into your desires
Burn up like the fires
In these forests of my mind
Dark and light open and wide

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Music at work

My feelings on the subject are these:

If you work in an office with many people than either play something so mind numbingly boring that your brain simply absorbs it and then dumps as quickly as possible or don't play anything at all. Case in point. Take my new job for instance. All I could find to work in was as a clinic asst. at my son's elementary school. Me, a degreed professional, is now making less than the poverty limit. Thank you very much Mr. Bush for your #$%&* No Child Left Behind *%^&*@# legislation and those !@$%&* tests teachers now have to take. But I digress. The school nurse that I work under is actually a very nice lady. A very nice, wholesome, Christian lady. And very nice Christian people love listening to Christian music. And then other very nice, holy-rolling, wholesome Christian people who walk through the clinic prick their ears up when they hear Jesus being praised in song, can you give me a halleluja! And then these people bring in their cd's of Christian Praise and Worship music that has made the rounds in the whole church, in the families, and is now spreading like an oil slick out into the working world.

It never ceases to amaze me how these nice people then turn around, look you straight in the face, with these huge grins on their faces and ask you like eager beavers "Don't you just love this?" I stand there with my jaw slightly dropped and my teeth clenched. I don't want to offend anyone so I try very hard to smile and simply say "It's oaky." Listen up all of you nice, wholesome, Christian people. I have nothing against what you believe, how you believe, and how much you love the Lord. I am a deeply spiritual person and I love the Lord too. But Praise and Worship music grates on my ears like sandpaper being rubbed over the hood of a car. I absolutely hate it. More boring music this world has never seen. Even the Catholic litanies and songs sung in the original latin at mass have more feeling than these cookie-cutter songs. And then they bring it to work, where my heathen ears have to listen to it, and I swear I burn as if holy water had been dripped on my forehead. Why do Christians assume that everybody is into this music? And why do they have to bring it out into the work-place? Do I go jamming 50-cent into Mass on Sundays? NO. And I don't expect to hear all this bland music where I work. It's hard enough getting through the day without adding the extra torture of listening to something I utterly detest. But I am a sly one. As soon as the nurse goes away I shut it off. When she returns I play dumb and say the cd finished. I think they're beginning to catch on. They must be scratching their heads thinking, "Gee, I could swear this cd is a lot longer."

I have my own style of music that I love. I am not about to bring it where I work because I know not everyone will like it. So there. Keep your music in your own house or in your car. One day when you become master of the universe and we are all your slaves then torture us with bad music. Until that time though, keep the Praise and Worship at home. Preferably buried under a pile of moldy laundry in the dank basement.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

I can move on now

I met someone two weeks ago. It was at my birthday celebration. It was like something out of a romance novel. Two people looking at each other across a crowded room, making eye contact and feeling that instant connection. I was sitting in a restaurant with all of my friends that came out to celebrate my birthday with me. We're having drinks, we're laughing, and I see this handsome man walking back and forth towards the back of the restaurant. He was sitting at the bar but because of where I was sitting a column was blocking my view so I could not tell if he was with anyone. But on the next trip down my way that he took I looked him directly in the eye and smiled. He smiled back. Later he came over and introduced himself. He ordered me a drink. He asked what I would like. I was so flustered feeling like a teenager again that I said "I'd like a red cab." He looked around and said "Hmmm....I don't see any red cabs. Hey bartender, do you see any red cabs out front?" He smiled and laughed but in a good way. And I am blushing redder than a red cab. "What I meant was I would like a house cab. Duh. All cabernets are red. stupid," I was thinking." I was trying to be all smooth. Instead I slipped and fell right into the arms of this great guy who I later met up with and we spent the rest of the night dancing, talking, having more drinks, and eating pancakes into the wee late hours.

Then this past weekend we went out on Friday night and I had the best date in I don't even know how long. My guy's name is Dave. He's 47. I have never dated anyone so much older than me. Well except for that crusty, white-bread, little man six months ago who met me for lunch and then proceeded to tell me how rotten his ex-wife was. Dave has a few ex's of his own but then so do I even if I wasn't married but to one of them. In this modern world it seems like husbands and wives no longer have just names but numbers too that come after their titles.
Hello, my name is ........ wife #3
And my name is ..........husband #2

Dave and I made an instant connection. And part of me is seeing stars. And the other part is wanting to run as far away as possible because I am not used to being treated so well. But no I will stand my ground. Dave asked me to be his girlfriend Sunday night and I accepted. Exclusive. That means all this other crap that's been messing with my head must all end. NOW! All this going back and forth with the two Michaels must end. I will not tie myself to an impossible. I will go for the real. Dave is real. He likes me, he says he loves being with me and I will respond. I've already responded with my body and my heart. Don't ask me how or why. He is not artistic nor creative in the sense that I am with all the things that I do. But so what? No man is the perfect man. And what do I want with someone who is exactly like me? Even I can't stand me sometimes to where I just want to take off my skin and shake it out like a rug. I need someone who will balance me out. Dave can do that. He's handsome, responsible, has his own business, is smart, sensible, and well, let's just say 47-year olds can still go for an hour and 45 minutes just like a 27 year old can.

Ah, wicked girl. Thinking of what occured after the drinks, the sushi, the dancing, and the trip back to your house of love? Oh yes.......and I hope to repeat it this weekend. A new chapter is being written as we speak. The pages are smudged with the ink from my pens. My fingers are stainded with all the ink I spill. My words burn within me. Dave has come at last into my life. And I do not say this to be a doomsayer, but even if it doesn't work out then I still enjoyed the ride.