The Fiery One Has Left The Building And A Girls' Night Out

The Fiery One left for Australia three mornings ago and won't be back for another eight days. Every time he leaves for one of these trips, I feel differently about it. I used to get very emotionally distraught (that word never looks right). I would cry really hard after he left, and then it would take me a couple of days of mooning around and not eating before I would get into a pattern of living on my own. Each time he goes away, though, I do a little bit better. Take the morning he left for instance. I felt happy, I was excited for him to go on this trip, and I was mentally listing some of the things I planned on getting done around the apartment while he was away. When the taxi arrived, and I was getting in one last make-out session with him at the door, I only got a little choked up. And it wasn't that woe-is-me, I'm-all-alone-now kind of sadness; it was a smiling-through-my-tears, god-I-love-him, have-an-excellent-journey kind of bittersweetness. He didn’t have to a wet, crying, bedraggled girl as his last vision of home for once.
I am missing him something fierce, though. I stayed out late last night with friends and spent way too much money on beer, because I didn’t want to come home to a dark and empty apartment that only underlined the fact of his absence. As of this morning, though, I think I’m through the tough adjustment period, so now I only have to make it through occasional periods of ebbing melancholy until he gets home.
I should end on a positive note, though, because the Fiery One will likely be reading this from Australia, and I don’t want to make it sound all bad. Today is a gorgeous day, so I’m going to go for a long walk and find an orange crush and drink it in the park and scare some geese. After that, I’m going to watch movies and eat popcorn and let Gordon run around. See? It’s all good.

It is many hours later, and it was all good. I went for a huge walk that left my thigh muscles jumping. Then, Friday and P asked me out for supper, and we ate butter chicken and saag paneer at this excellent Indian restaurant. Then Friday and I went to a local bodega and met up with Ladybug and Laili on the patio. Eventually, we moved on to another establishment for a quick drink before going dancing at an 80s night at some bar. I don’t usually get out with a bunch of women, so it was an unusual amount of girlie fun for me dancing until they closed the place down with the Terrible Trio.
When I had gotten dressed earlier that day, I didn’t know that I would be going anywhere after supper, so I was in a pair of capris and an oversized t-shirt from my fatter days. I probably looked like somebody’s mother, but there were people as old as sixty there and people who looked way more mom-like than I ever could, so I didn’t dwell too long on my frumpy lake outfit. Laili, on the other hand, came sporting this incredibly sexy little flapper-like number and heels, which was generously appreciated by the male contingent throughout the night.
Friday, Ladybug, and I took a cab home at the end of the night when the thrill of dancing and after-bar smokies had worn off. Ladybug was so ridiculous in the cab. She started concocting this ludicrous story in which Junie (Friday) was actually fourteen, and she made the driver swear that he wouldn’t turn her in for underage drinking. Apparently, Junie lived with a much older boyfriend of twenty who made awful moonshine in their bathtub and then sold it to kids in highschool. It was Laura’s (my) fault that they had even gotten together in the first place. Junie was also a huge underage lush who liked to drink glasses of gin straight. The cab driver played along for the most part, and all I could do was hold my finger under my nose and try not to breathe, because I was killing myself with how hilarious she was being.
It was 3:00 am when I arrived home, and I stayed up until 4:30 am just in case the Fiery One tried to call from Australia, but then the dawn started creeping into the apartment, and there are few things that I dread more than the fucking dawn, so I went to bed. And now here I am, it’s Sunday morning, and Gordon’s cage stinks to high heaven and the bird needs feeding and there’s laundry to be done, so away I go.

But before I really do go, I want to draw you attention to the “Collections” segment of my sidebar. I have added two lists there: one about verbs that are falling out of fashionable use and one about things that have made me happy. These lists will continue to grow over time and are not complete. I have to take out my love of lists somewhere, so I thought I would tuck them away here. Enjoy, or don’t if you’re not the listy sort.

Okay, so I was going to post this entry, but Diaryland has been non-functional in that respect for a while today, so I thought I would go take a bath. Then there was thunder, and then some rain, and then some more thunder. I am not scared of thunderstorms in the least. In fact, they’re kind of a turn-on with all the loud booming and cracks of lightning. But I never bathe during one, and I never noticed that about myself before. I have a fear of submerging myself in water, even if it’s in the bathtub, during a thunderstorm. Bizarre. I’m running the bath anyway, and I’ll see how hard it is to get in.

Whatever you do, if you have a blog in which you insult and threaten your co-workers, do not keep a link to it in your work e-mail signature!

Your car wants brains.

A new, legal Napster has arrived, only this time you have to pay.

World Wide Words is my new favourite words-related site. I’m so in love with it, I could eat it.

The Evolution of Alphabets is very cool. (Click on the links to the character sets).

TOK TOK feat. Nena. Remember neun und neunzig Luftballons? Well, this isn’t that, but it’s a cute little video anyway. (found via Say What?)