No Love Letter

I won't write you a love letter because I haven't practiced calligraphy since 5th grade. And I can't say I love you anyway. It's too soon, too sudden, our chemistry too dazzling. Would you trust me even if I did say that? (Not that I am, because I don't. But I might one day.)

And I wouldn't know what to say in a love letter anyway. Would I mention how I long for your gaze, that feeling that you're looking only at me? Would I mention your voice, both smooth and lulling, when you're talking and you're singing? Would I mention your stories and your observations? Or that I love the feeling of your arm around me or when your hand is stroking my hair or when your lips are on mine? And each of those is but a minute part of you, almost insignificant compared to the rest. For me to eulogize a fraction of you would be an insult to the rest of you. So I wouldn't write a love letter.

Then perhaps I would write that I want to be with you, that I miss you and think of you whenever my mind wanders, which is often. But you know that, because I tell you on the phone, and when we chat, and when we text. And anyway, I have no way to describe how much I miss you, because I have never missed anyone like this before. I cannot tell you how much I want to be with you, because I have never wanted to be with anyone like this. To say that 'words cannot describe it' would only be another useless, flat cliché, like Pachelbel's Canon.

So then what is there left to say? Those things have all been said before. And I'm sure you have heard them all before.

Though I might be willing to sit down and hold a fountain pen to pretty paper, there is nothing to write. I just want to be with you, rather than thinking of you. But I'm sure you know that already. So I won't write you a love letter.

Twister

I want to play twister.

I got together with some high school friends, and it's made me nostalgic. It made me start thinking about all those people I don't keep in touch with anymore and the things I no longer do for fun. One of them is Twister.

I'm not particularly flexible, but that's half the fun, right?

Cheap Drunk

I decided to go out with Amy tonight, since I haven't seen her in a while, and I've discovered that I'm an extremely cheap drunk. I had one sex on the beach (and some lemonades and water) and was stumbling around for 3 hours. I finally almost felt entirely sober after that and was able to drive home safely.

One drink...

And I don't even like being drunk. It's disorienting. To me, it feels like I'm floating and falling at the same time, that the lights are all too bright, and that it's either too loud or eeriely silent. Besides, even when I was pretty sloshed, I still couldn't bring myself to dance (read: dry hump) with strangers. And it's still not okay for guys to grope my butt. And a "no" means a "no." (After all, there had been no prior agreement.) ;) Maybe if somebody I trusted was there to watch out for me... But definitely not when I have to fend for myself.

Amy yelled at me for turning down offers to buy me drinks, of course. But I did need to drive home. And besides, she's a tank. Anyway, she still got pretty "inebriated" herself. ("Inebriated" is in quotes because that's what her [boy]friend said.)

In short, I think drinking is a failed experiment for me.

And um... what's up with old, fat guys asking me to buy them drinks? Also, jager is not the drink to seduce a woman with.

Oh, and in the end Amy tried to tongue me. I was so surprised (since she considers herself completely straight). And besides, she's my best friend. Just... no.

Anyway, it's just a failed experiment. I enjoy bars and clubbing much better when I'm entirely sober (which I've done while in Switzerland). And the bartenders are still happy with me because I usually tip them the same for virgin drinks. :)

Munch

I went to the local munch today and met some fun and interesting people, who are surprisingly un-self-centered. The café had a very nice pink punch, and I gave my cherry to another girl there. (Erm, that's a literal cherry, the one that came with my drink.) The conversations were good, and nobody seemed belligerent toward the world (the kind of people I have the most difficult time dealing with), but perhaps I didn't stay long enough and they come out of the woodwork later in the night.

Yes, I'm skeptical of a group of people are are entirely affable. Statistically, there has to be a bad apple somewhere. Or it's likely one of the people I met and liked is an ice-cold sociopath.

I was given great advice to "be open to what comes" and was told that there was no pun intended. (Which only made it better.)

And it seems that there's some play thing third Tuesday of every month. Not sure if I'm ready to go out and play yet (or will be by the 20th). But hey, the first two hours are free anyway.

A Doctor's Appointment

First item on the agenda today was a doctor's appointment for my regular physical. I met my doctor for the first time today, a nice, slightly stern looking, no-nonsense sort of woman. She's in her late thirties or early forties, and would've been pretty if she hadn't looked so severe. She had pretty dangling topaz earrings that matched her shirt.

We met under the best of circumstances. I am healthy, energetic, and still overspilling with optimism from when I was living abroad. Besides, I had an interview later in the day, so I had brought my designer bag, cute purple heels, and everything else to match the outfit. Of course, when I met her, I was fully clothed as well.

However, my doctor did not see me alone. She had an Intern. (Resident? Understudy? I'm actually not sure about the terminology.) Diana is a young, plumb woman, personable in a refreshing way. The Intern was learning, of course, and so did everything my doctor did.

This was well and good when they checked my eyes, ears, and mouth. It was okay, even, when they listened to my heart through my smock. However, it quickly became very... awkward when my doctor checked my breasts for lumps. Then the Intern--who had cold fingers--checked them too.

And of course I had been talked into getting a pap smear. Which meant my doctor got to put my feet in some holders. She then lubricated a clear, plastic device which she stuck in my vagina to stretch it out so she could see my cervix (and so the Intern could see it too). Then, after she was done with that and took it out, she stuck her fingers in my vagina to feel for it's healthiness (as she also pressed around my tummy, including on top of my bladder).

The Intern, of course, wanted to feel my vagina, too. It didn't really bother me, except being exceedingly awkward and embarrassing. But her fingers were cold.

Well, anyway, my doctor said that my "vagina looks very healthy."

So, this happened today. And four days ago, I was given a thorough search at the airport (long story not worth retelling). If I had a dirty mind...