On Correcting An Error

Fear can hold you prisoner.  Hope can set you free.

Mantra

I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

Catharsis

Catharsis

ca-thar-sis [kuh-thar-sis]

noun, plural -ses
 

-the purging of the emotions or relieving of emotional tensions.

And this is how we do it in Texas:

 

Walls

We spend a lifetime putting up walls. With every tremor, every earthquake, they grow taller, more impenetrable.

Experience teaches us to be careful of people and Trojan horses.

With time we come to depend on these walls, rely on their protection. Until one day a boy walks by, touches the stone. The walls come tumbling down.

-unknown

The Adventure

You can imagine that I didn't stay on the event site for very long after this all went down. I wanted to leave immediately, but both Senor Mas Fuerte and Shay Butter Boy convinced me to sleep and see if I wanted to have some more conversations with Brit Boy the next day. So, I did the deed of the dutiful divorcee and moved out of our tent and slept in a Shay Butter Boy's tent, curled up in my faux fur coats for warmth and comfort.

The next day, before we had our final discussions, Brit Boy stated that he was trying to help out and coordinate a way for me to get off site the next day with some friends of his. I looked at him and said, "I'm catching a train in roughly two hours and will make my own way home. The time for you to be concerned about my travel arrangements is now over." I know he was trying to be helpful, but no. His participation was longer necessary.

Senor Mas Fuerte and Shay Butter Boy drove me to the train station (before which we stopped in the town of Seriňena and had a few nice cold beers and some lovely tapas) and saw me off. I was headed to Zaragoza for the night. What was I gonna do? Where was I gonna stay? No clue. I just knew that I had to get away from the place where Brit Boy was.

As luck would have it, I met someone from Austin on the train to Zaragoza. He and his travel partner were staying in a rather nice, they claimed, hostel and invited me to come along. I did and I really enjoyed hanging with them. After we got to the hostel, which was rather nice I must say, we ventured out for more cold beer, some food, and to just see what the nightlife of Zaragoza consisted of.

Well, it doesn't consist of much. At least not close to where we were staying. We found a nice sidewalk cafe, got some mediocre food (I finally got my paella, as disappointing as it was), and had a grand time revelling in the surliness of our waitress. When we asked for some mustard ("Tienes mostaza?") she felt it necessary to correct our accent, for since we were Americans we did not have the correct accent for Spain. "Mothtaaaaaaaza," she repeated back to us. "Mosthtaaza," we repeated. "No!! Mothtaaaaaaaaaaaaaaza," she said, more loudly and more slowly. Content that she had "learned us good" she turned and ventured off to get the mothtaaaaaaaaaza.

The next day, we did a little bit of sight-seeing before I boarded another train to Barcelona. I have to say, I was impressed with my ability to communicate with the Spanish, even though I didn't have the correct accent. I speak Tex-Mex Spanish, not Casitilian Spanish, so it was a little challenging, but I made it work. I'm sure I sounded like the tourists to America that ask questions like, "Do you have the knowledge of how I can obtain the information of how to get to the station of the train?" Well, they understood what I wanted and we were able to communicate. However, I do remember that in one shop I was looking for some tea and the lady kept asking if I wanted coffee. I know very well that I was asking properly. Perhaps she just couldn't imagine anyone not wanting coffee.

It was in Barcelona that I caught a plane to London so that I could catch my return flight home. I must say that I was a little disappointed that I couldn't spend more time in Barcelona, as it was absolutely beautiful and so intriguing. When I did get into the city, I quickly went to the airport, got a flight, checked in my bags, and then buggered off back into the city for what little bit of sight-seeing I could squeeze in. This turned out to be a 90-minute whirlwind of a retail therapy shopping spree (ahem.... global economic stimulation trip) in the shops surrounding the Plaza del Catalunya.

It was FABULOUS. Beautiful people, beautiful architecture, wonderful foods to sample. It was grand. As I was finishing up my spree and heading back to catch the bus back to the airport I saw it. Something I hadn't seen before, and I really have no idea how I missed it. H&M. In Barcelona. "Do I have time squeeze in ONE more shop?" I was thinking to myself. "It is H&M. In Barcelona. When will you get this chance again?"

I darted in... ran up three flights of stairs (completely ignoring the pain in my left ankle from falling into the ditch two days prior) and started shopping frenetically. In and out in a total of 15 minutes. I simply saw cute things, checked the size, and grabbed. "Hey, if they don't fit me, I have lots of friends that I can gift these to!" (Umm... they all pretty much fit. So I'm good)

As I was almost speed-walking across the plaza to the bus stop (I saw the bus rounding one corner of the plaza as soon as I stepped out of H&M) this cute Spaniard and I make eye contact as we're walking toward one another. We hold eye contact. He smiles. I smile. We turn our heads to maintain eye contact as we pass one another. After a couple of steps I stop and turn around. He has done the same, then cocks his head to one side, and deepens his smile. I look at him. I turn and look over my shoulder to see my bus arriving. I look back at him, shrug my shoulders, and tap my fingers on my wrist to say, "I have no time." He nods, continues to smile, and we turn away from one another.

I catch my bus, catch my flight, and head back to London to catch my flight home the next day.

The Unravelling

After it was all said and done, I stated that I was in a state of denial. A state of shock. Brit Boy commented that he was surprised that I didn't see it coming. That it was really the only answer that he saw.

See, during those 4 1/2 months that he and I were apart, as I've said before, I was massive crazy busy with the legislative session. And while Brit Boy wasn't really having a grand time back in the UK, he was doing a lot of soul searching. He hadn't been happy in his career for quite some time before he came over here, and wasn't all that excited about going back into it, even though he knew it was the best possibility to find a job in the current economy. This soul searching produced some pretty radical self-realizations for him. Some self-realizations about which he was extremely happy and excited. Even though it meant he was gonna have to go back to school.

I was so excited for him. He had been struggling with this issue for so long and now he had found a path that he was excited about. So, we worked out a plan. I was already applying to grad school programs in the UK so that we could be together. Well, I want/need my masters for my career, and going to a program in the UK was really just a nice bit of icing on the cake cuz it allowed us to be together. The plan we had agreed upon was for me to spend the year in my program while he worked and took some courses for his new adventure part-time, and then once I was finished, he would go full-time.

During "the discussion" he stated that he thought me coming over so quickly after the stressful legislative session from which I had yet to really recover and starting a stressful grad school program was not an ideal situation. He was concerned that it would affect me in such a negative way that I would start down a destructive path due to the high amount of stress. He stated that he had seen some signs of what he considered self-destructive behavior and was afraid that it would get worse. And, he said, this was something he wasn't sure, due to his love for me, he could witness. For the record, I completely disagree that school would have such a negative, stressful affect on me. Sure, when I'm in school I'm really, really focused, but in a completely different manner from the work schedule I had recently experienced and which had affected me so negatively. Additionally, my recent workload had prevented me from engaging in my normal stress management activity - yoga. So, I really saw this as a non-issue.

The next day, during a follow-up discussion, I found out what I feel is the real reason he was dumping me. Not a concern for me or my well-being. Not a concern that life was going to be too stressful for me or that I would self-destruct in a manner he couldn't bear to witness. Not some uncrossable communication barrier or divide. I found out that Brit Boy had actually departed from our agreed upon plan. He departed from the plan without communicating with me. It was like he had been hiding it from me until the very end. Not only was he in discussions with universities in London to take some courses part-time, but also with another university, not in London or Leeds (the two cities in which I was applying to university) to take courses. Either part-time or full-time. Apparently he felt the need to move with some urgency on his radical self-realizations. "Here I am 35 years old and I have several years of education and training ahead of me before I can make this an actuality," he stated. "I need to get going on this." The end result was that the future he saw before him, the vision of his future he was moving toward, no longer included me.

"I'm not trying to control what you do and all, but this is what I need to do for me," he said. Of course!! How could I argue with that? Self-realization. Pursuit of self-realization. Even though it went against the plans we, together, had made for our future. The plans we had discussed together and decided upon. Pursuit of his goals in a manner he decided independent of any input from me. How could I possibly argue with that?

Actually, that's the only thing that irks me. His keeping his looking at universities outside of London or Leeds from me. Him not communicating that with me. Cuz that's really what it boils down to. Cut through all the crap of him being concerned for my well-being... cut through our challenges communicating while in the desert... and I'm left with him keeping something from me as we were supposed to be getting ready to put our plan into action. Something that completely shatters that plan. And leaves me... listening to Joni Mitchell on repeat.

The Desert

The event in Spain was only five days, after which I was scheduled to head straight back to the states, so Brit Boy and I only had a few days to work on our reacquaintance. The first few days, us working together to get our camp set up, hanging out with our friends, new and old, and just being together made it seem like the next several days were gonna be great.

I'm not sure when the shift happened but it did, and apparently I was not aware of it at the time. Brit Boy wanted to venture out from our own camp to be social with those that he normally only sees at this event. I, however, was not in the headspace to be as social. It was actually taking some effort to relate to the people in my camp that I didn't already know. And even to some of those that I did know.

Over time, this proved problematic. I mentioned a bit ago that I had yet to fully come back out of my shell after the stress of the past several months. I was not the normal, boisterous, extroverted, and gregarious person for which I am known. Brit Boy was off reconnecting with his friends for which I was very happy, cuz even though I had been through a rough number of months, he had as well. He left Austin to return to England for both visa and economic issues, and after 4 1/2 months of searching for a job, he had become a bit down. Quite a pair we were. Both trying in our own ways to reconnect with one another on a serious level, him trying to reconnect with his friends to lift his spirits, and me... well, I was unable to communicate my feelings. I had given my ascent to him going off to bond with his friends, but I was feeling more and more disconnected to both him and our camp. I was not engaged with the people around me. And when Brit Boy was in camp and trying to talk to me... I couldn't convey these thoughts and feelings. I don't know why, but it was like I was alone in a camp filled with my friends and I couldn't trust anyone with my thoughts and feelings. Not even Brit Boy.

As I said, I hadn't been aware of this shift inside me, this inability to communicate. Brit Boy seemed to be trying at some level to get through to me, but I guess I just didn't see it as such. The questions seemed simple and basic, not prodding and... not necessarily forceful, but strong and insistent. It was as if the challenges he had been facing over the past several months had worn him down, cuz in the past Brit Boy was always much more insistent when I withdrew into myself. That was always one of the things I liked so much about him... his strong personality and ability to call me on my shit.

But he didn't do that this time. It was as if he had just given up on us and was unwilling to do anything more. Had the 4 1/2 months of separation and the stress and challenges we had endured separately really created an uncrossable barrier between us? What was it that created this divide? While in England everything was great, but once we crossed the channel, it was like things slowly began to unravel.

The Mountain Pass

Majestic. That's really the only word I can use to describe the Pyrenees Mountains that separate France and Spain. If I had been unhappy about the speed at which we had driven through France, the slow going up the winding roads of the Pyrenees and the beautiful... marvelous... just gorgeous scenery really did make up for it. That, and the really cool 8km tunnel we wound up traveling through rather than driving over the top of the mountain range. (I took a number of pics inside the tunnel, but haven't received them from the person whose camera I was using).

If the French side of the Pyrenees was beautiful and majestic, the Spanish side was, well... dry and barren. It was beautiful in its own right, but such a stark contrast to where we had just been. Unfortunately, my desire for us to be able to stop somewhere along the way to the event site for some paella and sangria was thwarted by the fact that, well, there weren't really any towns or villages of any significance along our path.

Hrmph! Not happy I was. But, we were meeting a bunch of our friends that were already on site, so I set my mind on that. I tried to put aside the fact that France had been nothing but a blur, my goals for things to do in Spain were thwarted by, well, the geography of Spain and simply focus on the hugs and kisses of my European friends. I was much more disappointed than angry at the situation, but I'm not sure how well I made that distinction known to Brit Boy. However, once we got to the site (which really was in the middle of the desert in the middle of nowhere, Spain) and ran up to our friends, hugging, kissing, jumping up and down, etc, etc, everything seemed to be just fine.

The next couple of days were filled with setting up our chill-out camp, complete with music system, lounge space, and about 40 meters of multi-colored faux fur under the blazing hot desert summer sun. The first night after we got things all set up, Brit Boy and I had a fabulous night just hanging out together with our friends, staying up way too late (especially considering the traveling and set-up - which was a lot of construction, really), and waking the neighbors.

Hey, what can I say? Have you forgotten that it had been 4 1/2 months since we'd seen each other and since I'd had sex?!? Come on now.

The Road Trip

After only one week in the UK, Spain was calling. I don't really think that the regional Burning Man event to which we were heading was calling as loudly as Brit Boy seemed to think it was, but traveling through France on the way to Spain, I was really looking forward to seeing a few sights.

Well, by seeing a few sights I mean I was going to be watching beautiful old buildings, plazas, and vistas from the passenger side window as we sped through towns and villages at close to 100 km/hr. See, Brit Boy felt the need to get through France in one day in order to arrive on the event site early. So, after disembarking from the overnight ferry from Portsmouth, UK to La Havre, France we sped off.

Now, I had voiced my distaste for this plan early on, and Brit Boy was trying to alleviate my concerns that my first visit to France would be a blur by promising a stop off somewhere in the Cognac or Bordeaux regions "if we were making good time."

Suddenly I was reminded of road trips with my father, only now I was my mom and Brit Boy was my dad. "But we're making such good time..." I was a little concerned.

We seemed to make excellent time, actually. We were speeding along, centuries old churches and town squares just blurs as I was gazing out the windows. It was looking like spending some time in the Cognac region of France was going to be a possibility. Until we hit Chatellerault, France.

I think I had dozed off for a moment for the "thunk, thunk, thunk" that was coming from the back of the van brought me around with a start. We pulled over into some massive hypermarket parking lot and tried to discern the problem. We drove the van in circles and crawled alongside to listen to this new sound. Onlookers must have thought us a little crazy and I can only imagine what they were saying about us. And considering the onlookers were French...

Unable to figure things out ourselves, we wound up taking the van to a garage. Problem? Well... the brakes kinda... well... um... were falling off and thumping against the inside of the wheel on the driver's side. Lovely, right? Luckily it was very fixable and only delayed us by a few hours. What this meant, however, was that a stop off for some sightseeing was not gonna be a possibility. When we finally stopped outside of Pau, France, I was exhausted, sore, and trying not to be in a bad mood.

Brit Boy was a little upset that I was so sullen and quiet, but I told him that we knew this wasn't gonna be my favorite part of the trip and that we should just focus on the beauty of driving through the Pyrenees the next day and stopping off somewhere for paella and sangria. Mmmmmm... paella...

The Reacquaintance

Four and one-half months. Nineteen weeks, actually. That's how long it had been since Brit Boy and I had seen one another. The most recent regular legislative session was very hard on me and I can say that seeing Brit Boy once more, having him hold me in his arms was one thing that helped me make it through the long hours I had to work. These long hours, however, were having a very adverse impact on me. I drew within myself and had a rather challenging time communicating with Brit Boy. The distance was one thing... my long hours another... and my withdrawal another... But I just knew that once we were together again it would all be fine. We handled issues similar to this before and after all, I knew we were committed to making this relationship work.

Seeing him once I got off plane and made it through immigration and customs (which was a rather long and arduous task) was so wonderful. Him leaning against the railing in one of my UT t-shirts which I was unaware that he had snagged. It was glorious. The embrace and the kiss... well while not quite the image above, it was something special.

England was fantastic. We had just about a week together in the UK until we were to travel through France and Spain to a Burning Man regional event in the desert of Spain. We split the days between me finalizing my admissions interviews with the universities of Leeds and Westminster, him showing me his London (as opposed to the crap tourist places I apparently frequented in my previous tourist trips to London), and meeting his friends. My interviews - nailed them. His London - quite a bit of fun, I must say. His friends - very nice and welcoming.

Things were rushed, but we had a lot of things to accomplish before we left for Spain, but it was just really nice doing things together. I felt myself coming out of my shell into which I had withdrawn. Slowly, but I felt the comfortableness of us returning.

Oh... and we got reacquainted with how to make one another scream and moan. Oh how that boy knows how to push my buttons. But that's another story altogether.

There's just no surprising this man!

Brit Boy leaves in one week. Since he has to connect in New York City for his return trip to the UK, he decided to spend the last weekend he's in the states enjoying a weekend in the city. I was a little miffed at this cuz, due to my job, I couldn't join him. Plus, his last weekend in the states is Valentine's Day weekend. Now, for all of you that are haters of the forced, Hallmark holiday, I'm more or less in agreement. However, I haven't been dating anyone on Valentine's Day since I was in high school. I was really kinda looking forward to it. And then he sprung the trip on me.

Well, I schemed a bit and worked it out with my job to be able to be able to make a whirlwind trip to NYC and surprise him. I coordinated with our friend that he's staying with so that I could simply show up to wherever they were planning to be that Friday night. I even arranged it so that we flew out of the same airport, him to the UK, me back to Texas, with an hour of one another.

Then he went on a ski trip this week (snowboarding to be precise) and tore a ligament in his knee. When I picked him up from the airport, he stated that he was thinking about canceling the trip to NY as it would be to challenging to maneuver through NY with all the luggage he was taking back to the UK. He stated that trying to figure out all the logistics was weighing on him.

I buckled. I told him.

"Wow, I seem to mess up all of your surprises, don't I," he responded. See, this isn't the first time circumstances have changed and I've had to inform him of my plans, lest he change his plans completely and the surprise be, well, completely fucked. Actually, I think this is the third time in the last three or four months.

Curses. Oh well... he's still pleased as punch that we'll be spending the weekend in New York. Albeit with a less robust itinerary.

A countdown of another sort.

Ten days. Ten. One and zero. That's how much longer I have with Brit Boy before he heads back across the ocean. His visa is up and he has to head back. Also, this damn economy is creating a need for him to find a job.

So, back he goes. Of course I'm not happy about it, but these things happen. It's been a good six months, though. We've learned a lot about us as a couple. I've learned a lot about him as a person. I can only assume he's learned a lot about me, and the fact that he's still here tells me that he's: 1) extremely understanding and patient, 2) oblivious to my idiosyncracies, or 3) a glutton for punishment. I'm not gonna say which choice I'm going with.

Oh the British...

Me, struggling with proper Sanskrit spelling of Yoga pose: p-a-r-i-v-r-r- what the hell?!?

Brit Boy: Don't you wish Yoga was invented by the English?

Me: Oh, hell no!! Then it'd be all stuffy. And there's no way the Kama Sutra would've been developed.

Brit Boy: Well, aside from that...

What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas.

Upon arriving in San Francisco from Las Vegas, I had a number of things I needed to attend to. Number one on the list? Go to the hospital.

See, apparently not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. After one night in Vegas, my left arm was sore, red, and swollen. It got progressively worse during our stay, until it was throbbing with pain and demanding I see a medical professional. Thing was, there's not many hospitals that are easily accessible from the casinos. So I waited until we got to San Francisco.

Well, the doctor in San Francisco was unimpressed with my reasonings for not seeking medical attention earlier. "Right, they don't have any medical care in Vegas," he said to me as I'm lying on a gurney. All I can do is give him a look.

"Ceullulitis," the doctor says flatly. You've got cellulitis." I look at him in shock. "But I don't have any fat dimples on my legs. How can I have cellulitis?"

"Not cellulite. Cellulitis," he says. "You need IV antibiotics. Actually, you're not far from being admitted to the hospital. You should've come in earlier."

So there I was. Just arrived in San Francisco, lying on a gurney in the emergency room, IV antibiotics flowing into my body. While a homeless man who seems to have lost his cane is yelling at the nurse about having to pee. And about losing his cane. And being hungry. And about losing his cane. And about being hungry. He seemed to be a broken record.

I was rather happy to have remembered my iPod and a book.

Las Vegas. *blech*

We have now left Las Vegas. I couldn't be happier.

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the time I spent with my brother and my mom. Mostly. Well, all of the time with my brother. I was prolly a bit too apprehensive about my mom's reaction to Brit Boy to enjoy all of the time I spent with her. So there you go.

This was my first trip to Vegas. And while I won't say that it will be my last, I'm not sure that I'll be rushing back there any time soon. "Why?" you might ask. "Oh, the humanity," would be my response.

The Vegas Strip. It's... cute. Glittzy. Flashy. And has no more substance to it than a grain of displaced sand in the former desert that is Las Vegas. The throngs of people going to and fro. The massive traffic jam that is the strip. The sheer idiocy of the people wandering with no comprehension of other people around them. The... I think I might actually be at a loss for words.

However, Las Vegas did have one redeeming place. And that was actually Las Vegas. The old Las Vegas. See, The Strip, other than one major casino, isn't actually located in Las Vegas. It's located in "unincorporated Clark County." It was the old Las Vegas that I kinda liked. It had a more local feel. There were still lots of people (but not as many), there was still traffic (but not the parking lot that is Las Vegas Blvd), and there were some idiots out wandering around. But for the most part, it was comfortable. Sure, there were the lights, the sounds of the slot machines, bad carpeting, and tacky displays of consumption. However, it was just a little less... in your face. Just a little. And I liked that.

and breathe...

Brit Boy has now met my mother. And my mother has now met Brit Boy. Red mohawk and all. My mother's acknowledgment of the fact that I was bringing someone to the family Christmas gathering was... well... nonexistent. I talked about it. I explicitly said I was bringing someone. I continued to talk about Brit Boy and all the things we were doing. Her response?

*crickets chirping*

Yeah, there was nothing. So, when we arrived at the Las Vegas airport on Christmas Eve and met up with my brother and my mother, I was a little apprehensive. As was Brit Boy. My mom was polite. She was cordial. A good Southern woman. When we got to the hotel and the desk clerk was talking about "yes, we have you in a king non-smoking room..." she didn't bat an eye. Where was the woman that has been subtly and not so subtly been telling me for the past 13 years that I'm not really gay? That I'm just waiting for the right woman. That I need to settle down and have children. With a woman.

Well, I'm sure she was there somewhere, just not on the surface.

We dropped my mother off at the airport earlier today. She turned to my brother, "You need to come visit. Yes, come in February or March." She turned to me, "And you too... come to visit, come to see me." And then she turned to Brit Boy. "And you too, you can come and visit too."

My jaw almost hit the floor. Well, sometimes it just takes being actually confronted with something to make you recognize it. Or maybe I'll have an earful on the next phone conversation after the holidays. We shall see.

New boyfriend

Well, it was just a matter of time, really. Things change as time goes by, and in this area of life of my life, there is no exception. It looks like I have a new boyfriend. And to be honest, it looks like Brit Boy does too. Actually, it looks like we've been adopted as such by the same guy.

We recently ventured up to Dallas to go to a show of some electronic music that Brit Boy was really excited about seeing. Psy-Trance or something like that. So, up we went with Silly Girl and her boy to see a show. Now, while the show turned out to be frequently mostly by candy-ravers, in all their glory with pacifiers, glow sticks, and dust masks filled with Vick's Vap-o-rub, it was actually a really good show. I even danced. Quite a bit, actually. Brit Boy commented that he's never seen me dance that much. Not even when we're at Burning Man, which is normally the only time I'll allow myself to dance in the U.S. Cuz, as I've said previously, the music here pretty much sucks.

N-E-way... somewhere along the way we met up with Davie**, an 18 year-old kid from a small town just outside of Dallas. At first he was looking for directions to the club where the show was being held. Then, after I had txt'd him to make sure he found the place (I am a nice guy, FYI), we kept running into one another. He was always rather insistent that we "hang" with him for a while. It was all fine... the four of us were having a grand time, but didn't really know anyone else at the show.

Then, he realized that Brit Boy and I are a gay couple.

"Whoa, Cary and Brit Boy are gay?!?! Really?" I heard him exclaim at one point. "But they're so cool!"

Apparently Davie was a bit of a homophobe. He even admitted as much to me. "Cary, you're so cool. I mean, I've always been a total homophobe, but you and Brit Boy are like the coolest people I know." (Sidenote: Well, yes. We are.)

Such discussions continued for most of the evening. Davie was continually amazed at Brit Boy and me. How non-threatening we were. How much fun we were to be around. At the end of the evening, he didn't want for us to go. It was so cute. Like we had found a lost puppy that didn't want to go back to its owner.

The next morning, he started texting that he missed us already. It was so cute. He has even called me up to invite us to another show in Dallas over New Year's Eve, and offered to split the cost of gas for us to drive up from Austin. To say he was disappointed that we had plans to be in San Francisco, CA, over NYE is an understatement. Again... so cute.

So it looks like Brit Boy and I have a new boyfriend. He's ever so nice? Can we keep him? I'll just tuck him away in my pocket.

And you shall be known as...

I've been offered to have a first-born child after me. On a couple of conditions.

See, Brit Boy is, well, British. And as such, he knows other people that are British. Funny how that works out, isn't it? And to really pull this full circle, they have British accents. I know this is totally blowing your mind, but stay with me.

Well, a was chatting with a friend at the Capitol who apparently had no idea that my boyfriend was of the British persuasion. She got really excited about this because of his familiarity and friendship with other people of the British persuasion.

"So he knows guys with British accents?"

"Yes."

"Black guys? That are available?"

"I think so."

"OHMYGOD!!! That is the sexiest thing ever! If you could set something up, I'll name my first-born after you, boy or girl."

Really? That's all I have to do? No requirement that I perform miracles, feed the hungry, listen to George Bush speak, or help the homeless? Wow, I think I'm getting off easy.

So mature...

I posted previously about my tiny bit of OCD when it comes to folding towels. Brit Boy read my post. He was less than amused. Well, he was slightly amused. Maybe. Possibly. I think there was a hint of a smile on his face when he told me where I could put my properly folded towels.

So in response to me basically saying that I didn't like the way he folded our towels, he responded in the most mature, well-reasoned, and thoughtful way anyone can.

By basically going "pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbt!!!!"

Is there any question as to why I love him so?

Toweling Off

Brit Boy and I are entering our third month of cohabitation. All seems to be going swimmingly. We're goofy, silly, happy, cuddly, etc, etc. He's getting out and making friends and exploring Austin, and we seem to be settling in nicely. Except...

Towels. Now, there may not be too many things about which I am a stickler, but the way the towels in the linen closet are folded is one of them. I mean, when they're folded all nice and neat, it just looks so nice when you open the door to grab one. Well, apparently not everyone agrees with my philosophy.

I opened the linen closet the other day to grab a towel to take to the gym. This is what I found staring back at me.

Well, I just couldn't have any of this. Order had to be restored.

Much better, no?