And the 200th entry. I had something much more … meaningful to put there — but I just started thinking way too hard about it. And then it wasn’t fun to write anymore.
Me: i be cookin da beefs
Boyfriend: Dang yo.
Me: saltin da beefs yo
Boyfriend: Just got home yo
Me: Homie’s homey yo?
Boyfriend: Yeah yo!
Me: Yo, yo. That’s a lot of yo’s. Yo
Boyfriend: Yo I new ud say dat yo. I play with yo-yos yo.
Me: I can’t top that yo.
Boyfriend: Yeah yo
When at a party, it’s typical for my family and I to consume obscene amounts of food. We become gluttons, and embrace our penchant for gluttony. We clear our refrigerators, stores of food, food that isn’t even party food. Our menu almost never changes either. We use the grill year round.
Enter boyfriend. Tagging along is boyfriend’s appetite. It’s very cute and tiny. He consumes a ‘normal’ amount with those predetermined and suggested ‘normal sized portions’ that my family seems to have never heard of before. At a recent get-together, we observed that the amount he puts away in one party day is the amount I or one of my cousins puts away in about 15 minutes. Portion of meat equals the size of a deck of cards? Give us an economy sized crate of card decks! One cup of fruit? Give us 10. We will eat till out pants no longer button. We will eat till we pass out.
Boyfriend doesn’t do that. So, we accept that the 6 foot 4 guy will consume roughly less than half of what his 5 foot 5 girlfriend eats.
Given the industry that I work in (Internet/Interactive), I probably spend much more time perusing my ‘blog stats’ more than the average WordPress user.
I’ve noticed the blatantly obvious fact that if you include a series entitled ‘Sex’ somewhere in the blog — it’s going to get you noticed. Especially if you have some sort of thought-provoking or laughter-inducing posts like my suggestive advertising ones. For some time, I was on the first page for Google for the search term (keyword, for all those in the know) ’suggestive advertising’ and ’sex sells’.
So, sex sells for working a highly searched term into one’s blog in order to get traffic… Obviously my angle for this blog has been altered slightly, and instead of talking about sex … I’m talking relationships. Like every other post. I’m getting a bit sick of it… but nevertheless, here’s my newest question.
Physical attraction. Usually what starts a relationship, right? You kind of have to want to kiss the person you start a relationship with. Thus delineating the borders between friends and friends with benefits. Or fuckbuddy and acquaintance. Okay, so maybe kissing wasn’t a good example. What about wanting to be sans clothing with this other person?
So then, what defines moving from a friendship to a relationship? Personally, there was the proof of the guy wanting to protect me. Even when it’s something so banal as seemingly protecting me from his over-friendly yellow Lab (hey, it worked. Neither of us are complaining).
What sold you onto a relationship?
‘A day is a day, alone or apart. You have my heart…
…
did you just fart?’
I want to kill the original poster (meaning the guy who wrote the blog post). But here are the rest of the reddit comments.
Some choice excerpts:
Pickup artists are absolutely clueless. About relationships. They’ve perfected the player aspect, but nothing else. These ‘men’ are just little boys who love to play games and who need to learn to grow up.
Kitten, kitty… okay. Small and cute.
Baby, honey, babe… okay. Endearing. Generically endearing.
Introducing Pengie. Like penguin. Not as cute. Not as endearing sounding. But it works for me.
At least he didn’t stick with “dolphin”. As intelligent as the animal may be, I didn’t exactly take too well to him saying “you look just like a dolphin”.
Wait. But it’s February. I guess this time thing is moving faster than I can keep up with it. I’m a very slow runner, which makes me wonder how I ever survived playing rugby. But that’s a completely different thought.
My anachronism aside… there’s also the other part of this title to consider. Ice Cream. I totally scream for it. But what’s so amazing about it in the middle of winter?
Let’s see… ice cream in the summer. It’s more socially acceptable to get your hands and face sticky with melty sweet stuff. I haven’t looked like that eating ice cream for at least two decades. I was a mess and germophobe back then, although I doubt you could tell from the state of my room lately. Ice cream offers a sweet and cool respite from the summer heat. If you’re like me, and have an August birthday – you know how brutal those summer dog days can be. Ironic, I’m a Leo… and I’m born in the year of the Dog. Sweet irony. No wonder I’m under mental stress so often. One side of my brain is constantly chasing after the other.
But I digress. I just wanted to post about the fact that the guy and I went out on an errand, and in the midst of errands, we ended up in front of a Carvel and had ice cream cones.
It was cool refreshment in the baking heat of my car and the bright sunlight – if you close your eyes, you can certainly imagine it’s summer, except I’m wearing far more layers.
He had the sticky chocolately mustache – not I.
So, I have this thing with this guy. And we’re friends. Like really good friends. Like so much of good friends that we practically have our own new label. And unlike other labelly things I have had in the past, this one managed to have more than a day-long half-life.
On the 7th, aka the day after tomorrow, it’ll be 3 weeks. And I’m excited-slash-terrifed if only for the mere fact that I haven’t had anything last this long without me, by the third week, wondering how I can get out without gnawing off a limb.
A gnawed off limb would certainly impact my life more than this thing does, I would think. I have first and last thoughts of the day. Talk every day. My text message limit is getting an enormous boost. Hell, I’m glad I switched over to unlimited texts not too long ago. (To the best of my knowledge, the last billing period had more than 3,000 texts used – and I’m the only one that uses texts. Me and my Treo.) I make him foot the call minutes, though. It’s safer that way. I actually have to be concerned about someone else other than myself.
Don’t let the lapse in selfishness fool you. I probably aggravate him on a daily basis with all my little quirks that have to be addressed and where I absolutely NEED to have my brows furrowed into a shape that would make the Grand Canyon jealous. Just like I NEED to pout and be completely unreasonable in a manner that defies my 24 years of age. It’s like a silent tantrum. Keep in mind, according to everyone, I never threw a tantrum – sources say my first one was past puberty. And it usually lasts all of 30 min, from buildup to explosion to cool down.
Forgive me for sounding cliché, but I feel somewhat complete. In that way, you know if you’re going to be there, this is how I am, and if you can’t handle being called a dumbass at least once a day, please feel free to open that door while I’m speeding down the highway and just fall out. I won’t mind, really.
He won’t let me fart yet though. My inner child is throwing a tantrum. Silently.
I said I was bringing in some homecooked foodstuffs for lunch. I said that unfortunately it wouldn’t be exactly the same, because I had run out of soy sauce the night before.
What did he do?
Presented me with a 15 fl oz bottle of soy sauce this morning. I only need a few splashes, but it’s the thought that counts — right?
Cute — I can eat well for lunch today!
I’m going to start reading ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ soon. I’ll be making comparisons between it, my past romantic history, and my life, currently. Should be interesting conversation going on there.
