the farm road in Costa Rica

If you missed out on reading the above title, this is my four-hundredth entry. It being so that I am a tad obsessive-compulsive and have had a thing for the number four since I was nine, you would think that I would do something special with this post, like maybe wax nostalgic about the previous three-hundred-and-ninety-nine entries and oh how far I've come from my less-than-sparkling first entry, or make four lists of four and tag four people, or post four pictures from my trip to Costa Rica, or give a good goddam that this is entry number four hundred. This paragraph is all I will devote to the subject, because I just got back from Costa Rica, and that is far more interesting to me than some multiple of four.

If my missing compulsiveness is a sign of anything, I do think that this vacation has put me into a better state of mental health.

As you may have guessed, the above picture is one I took in Costa Rica. That is the view I had every day from the house we were staying at, but before arriving at this beautiful destination, there was much travelling to be done. Here is an excerpt from the first day of my travel journal:

19 December 2005

• I am up inside a plane flying across North America, and I have to pee very badly. This is the problem with being inside a body inside a body. I have to pee, and the number of available washrooms is limited to two (first class is hogging the third one).

• I have brought along Richard Wright's Native Son and Henry Miller's Sexus. I tend to read many things at once and all rather slowly, so I doubt that I will have anything to report about them by the time I return.

• The only reason I have right now, other than the barest twinge of a biological pull, to have a baby is that I am afraid that I will never do anything else of importance.

• The flight attendant brought my coffee sans stirstick. I wound up learnng that coffee that feels lukewarm in my mouth still burns my finger, and that in the face of pain, I am still willing to wiggle my index finger around long enough to adequately mix in the sugar. Now I have one pink, sour-smelliing index finger and sweetened, lukewarm airplane coffee in a cup that admonishes me to "Work Hard. Fly Right".

It is scintillating, I know, but I swear that the succeeding days improve in content. This initial entry was written as a tactic to avoid my chest-constricting fear of the airplane I was in.

Skipping ahead to last night, we finally arrived back home after spending a couple of days in Calgary. We spent a quiet New Year's with friends and their small children there, so we felt like whooping it up last night at the pub back here in Cityville. The Fiery One left earlier than I, and I ended up meeting a new acquaintance, a gender fluid FTM who swore that he had me pegged for a fellow person of the gender fluid persuasion from the moment I walked into the pub.

I found our conversation very confusing, because I am a complete and utter idiot when it comes to reading flirtation. Now, looking back, I am far more dense than I thought I was. He bought me a beer, he sat next to me on the bench when no one else was at the table, he oo-ed and aw-ed over my photographs, and he found me far too interesting. I mean, really, my ability to fascinate is just this side of grass growing most days. Just as I was climbing into a cab to head home, he pressed his telephone number and e-mail address into my hand and said the ball is in your court now.

I did make it quite clear that I was Very Happily Married and that the Fiery One and I were Exclusively Monogamous, but maybe I just don't know the common parlance for Just Because I'm Gender Fluid Doesn't Mean That I'm Free For Extra-Marital Sex. Until that last moment, I had been unaware that there was a ball and that I had a court and that these two things meant that I bore some sort of social responsibility. Who knew?

Just so you don't get the wrong idea, I did enjoy his company quite a bit, and it was wonderful to sit down and talk openly with someone else about our predilections. Other than online, I have only had that opportunity once, and that was ten years ago. I would like to run into him again, if only to have my ego stroked. I do hope that I did not mislead him while I was being so completely obtuse, because I'm not so good with awkward.

So, I have come back from Central America with a bang and have been granted a ball and a court and everything. I am riding the wave of life's rich bounty. Next on my list: a pogo stick and a million dollars.