slow down

Without conciously talking about it, we've kind of started to claim Sunday evening as 'us' time. Sunday afternoon we usually take off early on working on our house, cook a good meal and relax. Since we have started this project over 2 months ago, we don't have much time for ourselves let alone each other. Let me tell you, renovating a house is not condusive to having a love life.

We got a late start on our 'us' time and I was in bed for 9pm waiting for Tommy to make an appearance. I had put on perfume thinking this would be a not so subtle signal that I was looking for a little extra attention. At about 10 he carefully gets in bed and announces, "my stomach hurts!"

His stomach never hurts and I've never really seen him sick before, so I'm thinking he probably has gas and I'll get his mind off it and get what want by offering to give him a back rub. (Why I thought a back rub would solve bad gas, I don't know, but it seemed logical at the time. In retrospect it doesn't seem terribly smart to aim the ass end of a man with gas towards oneself, but when looking for attention I'm not prone to thinking clearly I guess...after all my main goal was not to solve the gas problem but to solve the me not getting laid problem I percieved I was having at the moment.)

I rub his back for a good while. When I finish, he rolls over, says thanks and lays there very still. He never even looked at the way my eyebrows were coming very closely together by this lack of reaction to my hard work.

So I try a different tactic and lightly smooth down the hair on his chest. That usually does it, right? Wrong. Not tonight. "You ok?" I ask him.

"My stomach REALLY hurts," he whines.

"Want some pepto?"

"Sure. Do you think it will do anything"

Patiently I explain to him that I wouldn't offer it to him if I didn't think it would help him (and me get laid if he gets better suddenly).

I go get pepto. He drinks it. We wait. It does nothing. At this point he's just being very still and looking a bit green. I resign myself to him really not feeling good, me really going to sleep without sex and click off the light, telling him to wake me up if he needs anything. About 10 minutes later he asks me to go get a garbage can.

"Oh hell, its that bad?"

"Yes, hurry!"

An Exorcist moment ensues shortly after the appearance of the bathroom garbage can. Its 11:30. I ask him there is anything I can do or get him, thinking that he probably ate something that made him sick, but also worrying that something else was wrong.

"No, call my mom," he says with panic in his voice.

"Call your mom," I repeat dumbfounded.

"Yes-she'll know what to do!"

I'm sitting here thinking, you are kidding me. You've puked and you want to call your mommy? What is it about guys reverting back to being 10 when they get sick?

I dutifully call his mother, waking her up. She tells me exactly what I suspect, that he probably ate something bad and did I want her to come over and take care of him...a gentle chastisement as though I can't take care of her boy. I firmly tell her no, and that I'll bring him to the doctor if things change drastically.

At about 1am he pukes again. "Call my mom!"

"Dammit I'm NOT calling your mother, scaring her half to death just because you puked. She can't do anything and you aren't going to croak because you are puking. If you really think its something serious, lets go to the emergency room!"

"She'll know what to do!"

"She told me earlier just to let you puke it out and you'll be ok!"

(She did not tell me this...she didn't tell me anything as to what to do other than to bring him to the hospital if things seemed really wrong other than the obvious).

"Oooookay," he sighs and proceeds to roll over on his side and roll back and forth. For the rest of the night. About every half hour he asks me to get up and get him a glass of water. Neither one of us gets to sleep until about 6am. I love Tommy about as much as I love oxygen, but let me tell you, I'm quite glad that doesn't get sick often. I think he's probably pretty glad I don't get sick often either. (I'm probably not much better, but I don't think I asked him to call my mom.)

8/10/09 its been awhile

A cigarette is hanging on for dear life in the corner of his slightly bluish lips. He picks up the Red Rider BB gun with the Daisy stock that he's cobbled together and aims at a bottle fly sitting on the picnic bench. At 92 degrees, its too hot for there to be a bunch of flies out.

"Your luck has run out, you little rat bastard," he tells the fly.

"Watch me wax his ass, babe," he tells me. One pump, one shot. The fly is still there...not at all blotted off the face of the table by a bb. He pumps the gun again and shoots at the fly which is only 10 feet away.

There are ziplock bags full of water neatly stapled every 3 feet or so around his porch. Supposedly this keeps flys away. It gives the awning an extra special sort of trashy feel, actually. Misses again

"Gun is warped. Need to get a new one."

I just look at him and smile. He takes the cigarette out of his lips, stubbs it out in the 5 gallon bucket next to the Wingnut's flower pot by the door and picks up a yellow and white fly swatter. This time he doesn't miss.

"Couldn't let him live, babe. Not after all of that."

We are taking a break from working in the garage, buliding huge shelves to hold all of the Wingnut's stuff...so that he can reclaim his garage for car space. Unc sums up all of her things as "Shit" and he's pretty much right, 72 years worth of shit she has just chucked into his garage and hasn't moved in a year. Red and purple hats, dresses from the 70's, an old Cobra answering machine, actual audio cassette tapes that explain a DOS based nursing staff program, mountains of other things like this....just shit. But she has to save it all and has basically refused to go through it. She's highly incensed that its going onto shelves. I keep quiet when she comes out and bitches at him for moving her stuff and not "being careful about her delicate antiques" - he laughs and tells her to go back inside. Thankfully she does.

"One more word from her and I'll toss her and all this shit on the street."

I just look at him and laugh...because I know its not true. He's stuck with her for the rest of his life and he knows it. I can't figure the two of them out but there they are...20 years away from each other and right back to where it all was.

I just hope that when I get to my "golden years" for whatever thats worth, that it isn't a love-hate relationship that I'm living out. I expect some irritation and some eyeball rolling, but I hope its mostly love.

Tommy is building a chicken coop in his yard for me. Its going to be a very nice coop. Bless his heart, when he moved me in, I brought not only all of my "shit" but three cats and a load of emotional baggage to boot. I'm helping him build the coop. We work well together but one of us seems to be always looking for a way to irritate the other when its inconvenient to swat a hand. I suspect life will be like that with Tommy...mostly fun irritations, and not really bad ones. Not that there won't be bad ones...but just not many because he's just good for me like he is and thankfully he accepts me like I am, basket case, too many projects, never enough sleep, currently unemployed, but quite happy. He tells me he likes it when I get excited about the chickens. I have always wanted chickens...but more than anything, I've always wanted a man who wanted me to have chickens and didn't think it was very inconvenient for me to have them.

The shelves are done and Unc has his garage back. He is excited about Tommy's Mustang being in the gararge for the final steps of its restoration. It will probably be the last frame up restoration he has direct involvement in. I'm looking forward to him cursing at me for "doin' it wrong" and trying to gang up with Tommy against me. Its going to be a good autumn.

4/28/09 Men

What is it with advertising for clothing today? Seriously. I got an email from Fossil in my junk box that I opened out of curiosoty...and because I had literally nothing else to do at work today...(much to my soap box's dismay). The advertisement shows a 'man' who apparently wants to be seen as an effeminate little boy who borrowed his sister's tree tee shirt and is being very helpful to mummy in the garden. "Look mommy, I just skipped in from the garden store and I brought my new hose and my purse! Isn't it FABULOUS?" Seriously. WTF is Fossil trying to sell here? Masculinity? Nope. Do men really carry purses these days? I don't care what you profess your sexuality to be, that thing next to that 'man' is a man-purse. It looks like a woman's bag.

Men. Please. Do not dress like this guy. Do not carry a man-purse. Don't do it. Even homosexual guys I know don't dress like this guy...and they don't carry big purses.

I can't speak for all women, but as for myself...I can't stand it when a guy tries to look like a 13 year old kid who was dressed by his man-hating fashionista mommy. I like it when a man looks, dressed and smells like a man. Sure, wear cologne but don't wear something that says 'flowers' when you spray it. Wear nice clothes, but don't try to look like you just stepped out of a femi-man magazine. If your eyebrows are groomed to perfection I'm going to think you spend too much time in the mirror. If you purposely buy tee shirts that look like they belong to women, I'm going to assume they do and judge you accordingly. If you shave your legs and you aren't riding a bicycle at least 50 miles a week on the pavement, I'm going to give you hell about it. For that matter, just don't shave your body hair. Hair is fine. Its masculine. Its ok to be a man. It really is. No guy-liner, no man-scaping. Just. Be. A. Man.

Ok I think I may be ready to get off of my groaning-under-too-much-use-soapbox. But before I do...let me give one more plug for why dancing is great for men. It forces guys to do something else that many men seem to have trouble with today. Making firm decisions. In dance, the man leads (or he should-if the woman is back leading something is wrong...either the guy doesn't know the dance or the woman is doing something she shouldn't be doing). In every dance the guy is forced to make a bunch of decisions and he has to be firm and in control. Do you have any idea how nice it is to dance with a guy who gives a firm lead and is always in control? Its incredible. Like they preach to the guys in dance class-if you want to have control of a woman for at least 3 minutes, learn how to dance. The dance floor may be the last place on earth that its politically correct for a man to act like a man, may God have mercy on us all.

No point in getting off my favorite subject...is there?

Tommy and I went kayak camping last week at Lake Fausse, which is a State owned campground south of Henderson, deep in the swamps of Louisiana. The forecast was for reasonably cool evening temps in the low 60's so I figured that the mosquitoes would not be very bad. I don't think I have to tell you that obviously I had some temporary insanity because mosquitoes in a swamp do not care that the temperature is in the 60's. They are just hungry and there are about a million of them for every warm body invading their territory, ie. Planet Earth. From the moment that we got out of the kayaks we were fighting them and I carelessly forgot the little Thermacell that Seatec bought me. If you have to camp or be outside anywhere that mosquitoes are present, you should get a small Thermacell. They are worth it and so long as the wind isn't blowing, they work, making an invisible bubble around you that confuses mosquitoes and other biting bugs and saving you from smelling like pine bug spray.

The other thing I forgot to bring, not thinking at all about it, was some of that poision ivy barrier lotion. Some of you know I'm more allergic to poision ivy than anyone who loves the outdoors has a right to be. Let me tell you, that crap was everywhere I looked. The campsite was ringed with it. I warned Tommy early that I was not going off in the woods to pee, it was going to happen right there on a little foot path or in the water...no way was I going in. For the record, I didn't have to bother; he couldn't care less.

He did, however, go waltzing out into the woods in his shorts to pee...specifically because he wanted to pee on the poision ivy and in his own manly way try to kill it or something with urine. Men. Bless your pointy little heads, I do not understand you in this. What is the fascination with peeing on plants and in odd places like off of porches? Why? Is it just because you can? Don't get me wrong-I don't see anything wrong with it, its just funny to watch your perverse pleasure at urinating in places other than the restroom.

Of course, Tommy is also allergic to poision ivy. Thankfully he's tall enough that he only got it on his shins. Being that he is 'my' man, I am probably supposed to add something about his winky being long enough to have reached the poision ivy, but since his inseam is about 36" that would be just a little silly.

3/24/09

Coon sent me an email to let me know that his 96 year old Uncle, RC Brown, breathed his last on Wednesday. I miss his family and I really wanted to go to the wake but some complicated emotions on my end stoped me. It is so emotionally exhausting to keep making these bonds with the familes of the guys I date and then having to sever them at the point of the breakup. That has got to be the worst part of it...having to walk away from people you have grown to care about. Of all the people I have dated, his little life and family is the one I've envied and coveted most which made watching him walk away that much harder. Usually I try to not think about it; but news like that brings it back to the front of my brain and forces me to ruminate on it for a time. Living in the past is worthless unless you take a lesson from it; I've been taking remedial lessons for a while now...got to stop failing that class.

There are little banister flower boxes on my front porch. Worthless little things. Everything that goes in them dies because I am so rarely home to water them. They don't hold moisture at all. A week ago I carefully transplanted some small flowers into the boxes that I had grown from seed and made it a point to keep them watered. Of the 8 plants, only 2 are making it. Miss Harley, for whatever bizarre reason, dug one box completely up and brought a plant into the house, depositing it in the middle of the kitchen floor. There is one particular box that she always pulls the plants out of-she's not using it as a litter box so I can't figure out what it is about that box that bugs her. My only guess is that she uses it like some mad cat perch suspended 20' off the ground. Haven't caught her sleeping in the box yet, but I'm pretty sure she does. The dirt is tamped down as though she does. This weekend I am going to try some cactus or something with thorns that doesn't need much water. Maybe when I have a place where I am home every day I'll be able to actually keep something bushy and flowery alive in them...but for now there is no point.

3/11/09 Queremos Paz

Dancing. Its not something that I ever suspected would be 'my thing.' There was a time that I thought Rugby would be 'my thing.' Kayaking definitely was 'my thing' but due to my post Katrina move 'north,' lack of super easy access to good paddling water has turned it into something I enjoy only occasionally now; its not as easy to be really devoted to the sport when you have to drive more than an hour to get to water that you want to paddle on. Still, I love my kayaking but I'm more of an afficionado than a real 'kayaker' any more.

In the past year and a couple of months...I think that I've reinvinted what I relate to and do the most for a hobby...and that is dancing. Inadvertantly, Seatec, my hiking and kayaking buddy has turned me into a dancer. It was never, ever something that I thought I would be, embrace or even love. Now I can't wait for the dance days and having cut the lessons to one night a week makes it really special.

So what have I studied so far? It started with Jitterbug/East Coast Swing, then West Coast Swing, Ballroom-including Waltz, Foxtrot and Tango, Latin-including Cha Cha, Rumba and Salsa and now I've fully thrown myself into Argentine Tango which is rapidly becoming my favorite. You can't help but love all of the little names for the moves in Argentine; La Crusada, Salida, Ochos, Molinete, Volcada, Boleos...all of them put together in different ways make a beautiful dance to watch and an incredible experience to dance.

The one thing about Argentine Tango that is hard to get used to more than any other dance is the proximity of your partner. In the close embrace you are more or less in the position of giving the other person a very familiar hug for most of the dance. You are really in each other's personal space. Its not like the ballroom dances where the connection is in the leg and the chests of the dancers are pushed apart. In Argentine, the connection is the chest and there is no conneciton in the lower body. The woman actually leans a little onto the man and keeps her legs away from his legs for the whole dance unless he stops her to perform a move where the legs may connect for an instant. Its a dance that forces you to relax and get comfortable quickly with being in someone's space...no easy task for someone like me who is only used to contact like that from a lover. I still have trouble making that contact with Tommy publicly; he jokes with our dance instructor, Michael, that I'm uptight and all business all the time-and he's pretty much right-I don't share my personal space easily, but because Tommy and I already dance, he started us with the close embrace just a couple of weeks into lessons. I tend to hold my breath when I dance with anyone but Tommy (how is THAT for uptight? Heck I think if Tommy was shorter and his face was closer to mine, I would probably hold my breath with him too...as it is my mouth is about at the same level as his chest when we dance so I don't feel like I am as much in his space as I do with Michael who is the same height as me.)

Now here is the thing...I've not yet been out to a social dance that focused on Argentine Tango (they are called Practicas or Milongas) and I'm anxious to give it a shot. Michael warned me that the Tango group is clickish but that I'd do fine. West Coast Swing is like that and I have no interest in the 'click' so I'm kind of shying away from it. I don't feel like I fit into the WC crowd, but Tommy does and I don't mind going swing dancing so long as he is there. I think I could go out and try to Tango by myself and possibly, eventually, fit in there because I already feel like the dance is more 'me' than the others that I've practiced. Guess now its just a matter of getting up the nerve to go out and give it a shot.

If any of you are interested and are in the Baton Rouge area on Friday, there is an Argentine Tango beginner workshop on Friday at Ric Seelings. Its probably the best way to check the dance out and see if its something you'd be interested in without a real commitment financially or time-wise.

2/2/09 Rain Check

Rain is gently tapping on the roof; the low - heavy sound of thunder is rattling the big window in his bedroom. It's Sunday, 11 o’clock at night and I’m laying in bed taking in the sounds and watching the way the light from the nightlight casts shadows on the ceiling. Tommy walks from his bathroom, the familiar scent of his cologne and soap following in his wake. I close my eyes and feign sleep, breathing deeply to take in as much of the distinct smell of him as I can without being obvious about it. He quietly pulls back the cover and gets in bed next to me, skin still damp and warm from the shower. I can feel his breath on my cheek as he softly places a hand on my stomach. He knows I’m awake and is not going to play my waiting game. Without a word I reach over and lightly draw my hand across his chest, just light enough to move the hair but not actually touch his skin. Ever patient, he tolerates this for a few moments and then smoothly rolls me over to my back, holds my hands over my head, cups my forehead under his chin, stretches his long self out over me and the obvious sweetly fantastic engagements that happen on rainy nights like this across time and space take their natural course.

Rain is now coming down heavily-the sound of water hitting the house is almost louder than we are. I register the sound of something plastic hitting the rug with a dull click and thud after having been knocked from the end of the bed. We ignore it. A few minutes more and his phone rings.

”Damn it,” he swears and rolls up to answer it. Neither one of us is prone to ignore a call so late at night. He bends over to pick up the phone…which is what fell from the bed. My stomach sinks because it’s suddenly dawning on me what has happened.

I can hear Tommy’s dad’s voice coming through the phone. “Son, did you just call? The phone says we just missed a call from you.”

”No, I didn’t…I was in bed.”

I hold my hand over my mouth, horrified that his parents may have picked up and caught us in the act.

Both parties hang up after a couple of minutes of confused conversation and reassurances that everything is ok.

”Do you realize what just happened?” I ask him. “Your phone dialed your parents when it fell on the ground.”

”No, I don’t think it did,” he says, scrolling through looking for the placed calls. “Oh hell, it did,” he laughs. “They said they didn’t get to the phone in time so they wouldn't have heard anything.”

”I hope they weren’t just being polite.”

”No, baby, I’m pretty sure they didn’t hear anything.”

Chuckling, he carefully and deliberately places the phone on the desk and comes back to bed to pick up where he left off, extra attentive and in tune with me as he remarkably is always.

Rain is slacking off. The digital clock across the room reads 12:01 in cool green block numbers. As usual before we sleep, I’m laying with my head on the crook of his arm, facing away from him. He brushes my hair away from his face and then with no effort pulls my hips closer to him. “You do realize this is too funny for me to not write about,” I say half-jokingly. “Go for it babe, I don’t mind.”

In what seems like seconds, his breathing becomes deep and rhythmic and there is no question that he has fallen into his enviable deep, motionless sleep. Knowing full well that one day I’m going to ache dearly for so full a moment as this…I lay there and take it all in again.

1/27/09 space oddity

Cigarette between his lips and eyes squinted behind bifocal glasses, he shrugs on his old grey flannel work shirt and scrutinizes the short block sitting on its end in the back of the truck.

”We need to clean this thing, maybe have it dipped before we get it on the stand and tear it down,” he tells Tommy. They are both excited about the nasty 35 year old hunk of metal and parts sitting in front of them, but for different reasons. Tommy, because he’s finally going to get to rebuild an engine, and Unc because he’ll be able to reclaim his garage for what it was intend-cars and not clothes and stuff storage. Jean, who divorced Unc almost 20 years ago, has reclaimed him and moved herself back into his now completely bachelorified life and tiny one bedroom house. All of the woman-stuff accumulated over the past 70 years is now residing in his garage. For the cost of Tommy and I cleaning and organizing her stuff, he is allowing us to move a project car in and Jean is going to build a small addition to the Bachelor Pad for all of her stuff.

Thankfully the 70-something year old scatterbrained red-head is inside cooking. She’s not in the least interested in what is going on in the garage as far as cars go. Last week, Tommy was dutifully acting as a clothes rack while she took a painfully long time picking through each article of clothing she had moved and telling us a story behind it. All of this to move dresses in to one area, shirts into another and slacks into another. It took 2 hours because of the stories. “My daughter made me this; I’ve never worn it. Do you think I should keep it?” or concerning a particularly disconcerting long sleeve peach polyester floor length gown, “See that little ring in the center-that is supposed to show off your belly button! It looks really cute on. Do you think you may use that, Tab?”

I stare dutifully at the 2 inch diameter ring meant to expose the belly button on a schoolgirl dressed for junior senior prom in 1976. ”Oh no, I couldn’t wear that, peach just isn’t my color.” Keep in mind, that while peach is NOT my color, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress that exposes, wrists, ankles, BELLYBUTTON and not a thing else.

She directs me to put the peachy monstrosity in the long dress bag. “I may use it one day when Geoooorrrrge and I go out. You never know!” she says with a girlish giggle. Tommy gives me a look and the corners of his mouth just slightly turn up. Unc looks up at me and rolls his eyes towards his hairline and makes a little huffing noise that is slightly near what you would expect a dog growl to sound like.

Someone told me a long time ago that patience is born of intelligence. Tommy is obviously very intelligent. I’m showing intelligence today because what I’m doing is for Unc (Geoooooorrrrge) and Tommy. Normally I’m not nearly this ‘intelligent.’

“Dear, I need to see you inside for a minute. Girl time, please.” That last little bit directed at Unc and Tommy, who have no problem allowing me to be dragged off for some abuse. They immediately turn away and walk towards the tool bench.

I follow Jean into the little house and she hands me a little brown bag and tells me that she has some underwear she doesn’t like and is giving them to me. It takes every ounce of willpower and intestinal fortitude that I possess to not allow my eyebrows shape themselves into McDonalds arch shapes. What little southern breeding I have kicks in and I mechanically reply, “Oh thank you! Let me go put them into the car before one of the guys sees them.” I hurry out of the house, slightly baffled by this bizarre offering and toss them onto the floorboard. Amber’s boyfriend Stevie Meatpie semi-affectionately refers to Jean as “The Wingnut.” If there were ever a moment that proved this nickname is a dead ringer-this is it.

A little while later Tommy and I escape under the guise of having to go back to Baton Rouge to feed his dog. Long legs stretch out and he nudges the little brown bag with his foot. “What’s in there?” he asks.

”You don’t even want to know. Just trust me on this.”

In other news...a new page for my sister...

Name the potential future Shritter

1/11/09 facebook?

The facebook thing seems slightly more 'adult' so thats what I'm addicted to these days in lieu of myspace which was getting kind of weird. Look me up-and make me a 'friend' because I'm a narcisist and I need lots more facebook friends, you know?

1/05/09 a tad bit later, listening to Lightning Hopkins

Seatec and I had planned a Thanksgiving trip to the Smokey Mountains to do a 3 day hike. Par for the course for me, we planned it as soon as I was 'single' again because as you all know, most of the guys I date don't seem to deal well with me having hobbies that involve Seatec or other men in general.

Of course, Tommy's 76" self was pre-warned about all of this and said it was ok with him (well, they always start off saying that; I've warned all of them since I've taken Seatec as one of my closest compadres-so I'm prepared for it to change.)

Seatec, sensing that I was really into Tommy, asked me to find out if he would want to join us. I was kind of surprised he asked me, but then again, I know that he doesn't like being the reason or the excuse for me to dump or be dumped by a guy. At this point I had only been dating Tommy for a couple of weeks but I figured what the heck, I'll throw it out there.

Folks, there was a time, a while ago when I was a heck less self confident that I would have let Seatec go to appease a man...but those days are long gone. I don't make friends easily because I'm complicated and picky and opiniated...probably the same reasons its hard for me to keep a guy...but guys come along easily to step up to the potential "mister tab" plate and I've found its easier to get a new boyfriend than it is to get a new damned good friend. These days I'll pick my friends every time over a 'boyfriend.' And yes Tommy knows this and he treats it with his kid-gloves. I'm so thankful because I really dig Tommy a whole bunch. Dare I even say he may be the best match for me yet.

All that little diversion said...

So I casually mention to Tommy about the camping trip and ask him if he wants to join us, fully expecting that he'd say no since we would only have a couple of weeks to get him a whole butt-load of gear. He immediately pipes up with a 'Definitely!'

If I was surprised by Seatec asking...I was incredibly surprised by Tommy's excitement about going hiking with the guy that most 'mister tab' guys view as their biggest threat. Seatec was thrilled that he'd finally be able to 'prove' to one of my boyfriends that he wasn't a mister tab wannabe. I was just happy that I'd finally have a chance to get through a trip without having to have a breakup over it. Tommy just seemed happy to be doing something different than he had done before. This fine, tall, sloe blue eyed dude just sort of goes with the flow.

With Seatec's help on gear recommendations and about a gazillion dollars later, Tommy and I are off to the Smokeys. I am a ball of anxiety worrying about whether Seatec and Tommy will get along (both are laid back-wait...I'm not being truthful....Seatec is NOT truly laid back...he can be but he's not true to that description....anyway at this point I don't really know Tommy very well and I don't know how he'll react to Seatec in person. Seatec is huge muscularly and looks intimidating. He does to me anyway.) Seatec by himself and to give scale-notice how they appear the same 'width'this picture (but do I ever LOVE it)doesn't do Seatec justice at all-but you can see from here he's wide even though not as tall as the T-boy. (thats Tommy on the right) Then again, Tommy at 8" taller than me probably doesn't think too many guys are intimidating, but I still see Seatec as being a monstrously huge dude.

Because of an issue with some obviously insane illegal hunters staying in the same campsite that Seatec was supposed to stay in on Thanksgiving night, Seatec meets Tommy and I at the hotel we are going to stay at in Pigeon Forge. Let me back up here....when is the last time any of you have been to Pigeon Forge? If you think you are going to go to the Smokeys for a 'natural' experience, don't bother with stopping at Pigeon Forge. If at all possible, approach the Smokeys from the other side near Cherokee. Pigeon Forge has a lot more in common with Las Vegas these days and in my never to be humble opinion, is a total sh*thole. Thats being nice, too. Its like a huge glittery mall next to a park with nonstop traffic jams, massive billboards, and enough gimmie-gotta have-fashionista- jewelry-crapola stores to make someone like Paris Hilton throw up in her mouth. Its over the top and if I never pass through there again I won't miss it. Too much jelly in the proverbial donut.

Seatec and Tommy hit it off pretty well from the start, much to my relief. They are joking with each other and basically ganging up on making fun of me almost from the start. I couldn't be happier about it. Just to prove how cool Tommy is...I'll relay this one funny little incident. Seatec is one of the very few people I actually exchange gifts with. This year I got him a really tight workout shirt...so tight that it shows his tiny little man-nipples. Well, he put the thing on and of course I had to reach out and try to pinch a nipple. This was an unsuccessful attempt since he has reflexes like a cat.

Next thing I know, I'm back fully on the bed with Seatec pinning me down and asking me "Are you sure you want to try that again?"

I hear Tommy's full throated, deep laugh behind my head...and I knew at that moment nothing was going to be truly bad about this trip.

The next morning with a slightly late start, we head to the visitors center then up to a scenic overlook where some kid accidentally pelts me in the mouth with a handfull of ice he had scraped up from the ground. Thankfully it had glanced off Seatec's ear before hitting me...otherwise it probably would have split my lip. (Seatec, your ears make good shields...just thought you'd like me to throw that one out there.)

At the parking lot where we are starting our hike, we get Tommy all packed up and I can sort of sense that he's maybe thinking this was an insane idea. There is nothing quite like the feeling of putting on a 30-something pound pack on a 30-something year old body that is not used to it and starting to walk up a hill. The first 30-something minutes of it just sort of sucks.

After a while though he gets in the groove of it and seems to start enjoying himself. You never really forget that the weight is back there, but you do resign yourself to the fact that its there and just accept it.

Are you surprised to hear that neither one of us can keep up with Seatec? Its impossible for two hobby bodybuilders to keep up with 'Mister I do 50 Miles in the Mountains Every Other Weekend'. We don't get out there nearly enough and are not in hiking shape, let alone Seatec shape. Thankfully Tommy and I are about on the same level of fitness so I don't have much problem keeping up with him even though he does have a distinct advantage with extra daddy-long legs. Our first day, I've been informed is a 2000' elevation gain. (this was told to me as though repeating what I had just ordered through the drive through window...like it was no big deal. 2000' feet to a sea level woman is a bunch, folks.) It makes you feel like a kid...that nagging thought in your head of "are we there yet?"

We did get 'there' which was a shelter with almost 10 other people right at dusk. Thankfully they were 10 very tired and quiet people. We picked a spot on the top part of the shelter and I set my bag up between Tommy and Seatec. According to Seatec, who does NOT sleep, I had either my shoulder or my elbow in his face all night. Don't ask me how that happened. I don't believe him...it was probably the guy next to him.

Next day was only a 500' elevation gain, but it was snowing all morning and when we go to the lower elevation it rained. A whole lot of rain I might add. We hiked to the place we were supposed to camp that night and set up camp in the rain only for me to discover that my seams on my rainfly had delaminated. I hardly ever use the rainfly on my tent and did not think to check it when I packed it.

The decision was made moments later to hike out, but not until Seatec graciously cooked us a meal and a fellow hiker shared his bottle of whiskey with us. I have to admit that I was thoroughly impressed with how Tommy handled the rain situation. We were all tired and I know he must have been but he kept up a good attitude the whole time and was incredibly helpful. At some point I was sitting in the tent putting our gear back in the pack before everything got soaked. Tommy poked his head in the tent and sort of smiled down at me. I had a weak moment and told him that I loved him.

Have you ever thought in a relationship, "I am SO not saying 'I love you!'" first? I've been telling myself that with this one since about the 5th date. I was convinced I was going to hear it uttered forth from his lips first.

Fool...oh yeah thats me.

1/5/09 - New Year, Clean Slate. For last years archives and beyond click: