3 am. Back in DC.
"I love you, even though I do find you insufferable at times"
The fallout from that was interesting. We did much button pushing this week. Not that I ever push buttons. No sir. I stomp on them mercilessly until the red casing cracks and the wires pop out.
In my fantasy world, a man who loves my insufferable self tells me how beautiful and smart and sassy I am, and then makes me cake and lets me eat all of it. In reality, the man I adore, who is a neurotic yuppie shrink, asks me to go get tested with him for all blood borne diseases and then laughs when I moan about how it'll be discovered I have some kind of latent syphilis that requires a second brain surgery.
I was not comfortable getting the white glove treatment at his doctors, who was also a colleague. Not only because his doctor, a co-worker, would know I had the hots for Uber Shrink and vice versa, but because I am still used to being a patient, I have a distrust and awe of physicians in general, and also, the white glove treatment for something as simple as a battery of STD tests when one has struggled for years to be viewed as a human for some very major ailments just pissed me off. I was out of my element and not steeled with my standard Puglet wise ass quips, and not comfortable just being blase. I was twitchy. My paperwork was taken from me unfilled out, my history was dismissed, and wink wink nudge nudge professional courtesy freaked me out.
Stand back, oh evil doctors. Even the ones I am kind of in love with. And the crook of his elbow had barely a mark, while mine is still green and yellow and lumpy. At least that put it all back in a kind of balance I can deal with.
People look at us funny.
Sometimes people just look at me funny.
Sometimes I just think people look at me funny.
I think it's because he has a giant head, and I have a blue hand tattooed over my boobs.
He thinks it's because he's Asian and I'm caucasian and apparently that isn't as common.
I think it's because he's a shrinky-dink and looks all Uber Professional in his tie and stuff and I'm exceedingly round and pierced and inked. And when he's in his play clothes, he still has a giant head and looks like an overgrown 15 year old boy and I still look like..me. I think sometimes he looks too cool to be with me, and sometimes I look too cool to be with him.
Plus he has a giant head.
Plus sometimes on the street I stop and press my face into his neck or look at him all smushy.
Plus sometimes on the street he runs his thumbs down the words on my forearms and then makes frog noises on my face. I think that people like to look at that. I think people like to see couples, and wonder how their big heads and ties and tattoos fit together. He thinks
He asked if things got serious, would I quit smoking.
I said I would try my best. And fail. And keep trying.
I cough in my sleep and whimper and get sweaty and sleep curled up tight in a ball on my side. He snores and sleeps on his back. I don't usually remember coughing. I do know that when I wake up and turn to him he puts an arm over me and pulls himself in tight. He puts his hands on my calves and thighs and is shocked at how much muscle is there, even covered by squishiness. I put my face in his neck and am shocked at how much I can see myself and in some ways want to have his exceedingly larger craniumed children.
We had strange fight/conversations. I told him " I'm emotional, reactionary, and an artist, so deal with it" and he told me " I'm logical, analytical, and a psychiatrist, so deal with it". I met his mama, he made me dinner, I got him drunk and made him sit on fire escapes and everything is everything.
He's coming here on Friday and staying the weekend. And then I'm gone to Spain and North Africa for a month. With my latent syphilis. And he'll be in NYC with his gigantic head, listening to the Fine Young Cannibals sing " She Drives Me Crazy". And when I come back, I guess we keep driving each other crazy. I think maybe that's what love actually is. Maybe.
3 am. Back in DC.
"I love you, even though I do find you insufferable at times"
The fallout from that was interesting. We did much button pushing this week. Not that I ever push buttons. No sir. I stomp on them mercilessly until the red casing cracks and the wires pop out.
In my fantasy world, a man who loves my insufferable self tells me how beautiful and smart and sassy I am, and then makes me cake and lets me eat all of it. In reality, the man I adore, who is a neurotic yuppie shrink, asks me to go get tested with him for all blood borne diseases and then laughs when I moan about how it'll be discovered I have some kind of latent syphilis that requires a second brain surgery.
I was not comfortable getting the white glove treatment at his doctors, who was also a colleague. Not only because his doctor, a co-worker, would know I had the hots for Uber Shrink and vice versa, but because I am still used to being a patient, I have a distrust and awe of physicians in general, and also, the white glove treatment for something as simple as a battery of STD tests when one has struggled for years to be viewed as a human for some very major ailments just pissed me off. I was out of my element and not steeled with my standard Puglet wise ass quips, and not comfortable just being blase. I was twitchy. My paperwork was taken from me unfilled out, my history was dismissed, and wink wink nudge nudge professional courtesy freaked me out.
Stand back, oh evil doctors. Even the ones I am kind of in love with. And the crook of his elbow had barely a mark, while mine is still green and yellow and lumpy. At least that put it all back in a kind of balance I can deal with.
People look at us funny.
Sometimes people just look at me funny.
Sometimes I just think people look at me funny.
I think it's because he has a giant head, and I have a blue hand tattooed over my boobs.
He thinks it's because he's Asian and I'm caucasian and apparently that isn't as common.
I think it's because he's a shrinky-dink and looks all Uber Professional in his tie and stuff and I'm exceedingly round and pierced and inked. And when he's in his play clothes, he still has a giant head and looks like an overgrown 15 year old boy and I still look like..me. I think sometimes he looks too cool to be with me, and sometimes I look too cool to be with him.
Plus he has a giant head.
Plus sometimes on the street I stop and press my face into his neck or look at him all smushy.
Plus sometimes on the street he runs his thumbs down the words on my forearms and then makes frog noises on my face. I think that people like to look at that. I think people like to see couples, and wonder how their big heads and ties and tattoos fit together. He thinks
He asked if things got serious, would I quit smoking.
I said I would try my best. And fail. And keep trying.
I cough in my sleep and whimper and get sweaty and sleep curled up tight in a ball on my side. He snores and sleeps on his back. I don't usually remember coughing. I do know that when I wake up and turn to him he puts an arm over me and pulls himself in tight. He puts his hands on my calves and thighs and is shocked at how much muscle is there, even covered by squishiness. I put my face in his neck and am shocked at how much I can see myself and in some ways want to have his exceedingly larger craniumed children.
We had strange fight/conversations. I told him " I'm emotional, reactionary, and an artist, so deal with it" and he told me " I'm logical, analytical, and a psychiatrist, so deal with it". I met his mama, he made me dinner, I got him drunk and made him sit on fire escapes and everything is everything.
He's coming here on Friday and staying the weekend. And then I'm gone to Spain and North Africa for a month. With my latent syphilis. And he'll be in NYC with his gigantic head, listening to the Fine Young Cannibals sing " She Drives Me Crazy". And when I come back, I guess we keep driving each other crazy. I think maybe that's what love actually is. Maybe.