I think it's about time I told ya'll about my new gentleman caller (snicker). Whom I'm still undecided on a nickname for. Right now it's between Mr. Blue Eyes and Hot Pants. Kinda leaning toward the latter, even though the former is just perfect.
I'm hopeful that by thus point I'm past the stage of jinxing it by talking about it. I hope. I'm not even that superstitious, but I've let several friends get me all nervous. So nervous I am. Also: Yoda apparently.
And YET! My afterglowy bliss trumps nerves right now. I can't even express the extent of bliss. It seems folly to be this happy this soon, but there it is anyway. It's unreal. It's a dream. It's too good to be true.
Neverthefuckingless, there's this attentive, smart, funny, sexy, great guy who thinks I'm awesome and it all seems to just fit. He keeps saying he's so lucky. "A lucky guy." I think his luck has nothing to do with it. It's my good karma finally kicking in. I've dated enough douchecanoes and guys who just didn't appreciate me, my karmic bank must be rich indeed. And I'm cashing in.
But dude. Dude. He appreciates me. I've told him it's not why I like him, but it's so fucking wonderful to be appreciated just as I am. It's so nice, so intoxicating to be with someone who is so effusive, who expresses his admiration so freely. I really can't get enough.
But, like I said, Mr. Blue Eyes Hot Pants is pretty fucking awesome and I know I'm the lucky girl here. I don't think he knows it. Knows how fucking awesome he is. All those things I said above? All true. I wouldn't lie. And I don't hand out praise undeservedly. So there you go. And I know he's reading this (Hi, Hot Pants.) so maybe he'll believe it.
We have such a fun time together, people. So much fun. And would you believe it? I never get sick of him. I said I'd tell him if I get claustrophobic and need space, but the ebb and flow of time we spend together has felt just right.
People? We so kick ass at the blissful moments. You think you've got the blissful moments? Well guess what? We beat you. Nobody does the blissful moments better than we do. Also? Spooning like no one else.
And The Sex? Well I'll let you imagine. Hah! I'm such a tease.
There is one thing wrong with him, though. He hates the twenties. You heard me right. The twenties. How can anyone hate the twenties? Speakeasies, jazz, fashion? Gah! I love it all. If I could, I'd bob my hair and dance to old timey jazz forever.
I guess I can let it go. If he doesn't tease me for loving the twenties so.
I think I'll let him stay.
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