The Honeymoon Period

Wherein you are walking funny from excessive horizontal mamboing and are lucky if your friends don't throttle you, because every other sentence out of your mouth is some reference to the guy you have started seeing...

For fuck's sake, I almost want to throttle me. But we've already determined that I am Her Royal Highness TMI, Intergalactic Queen of Oversharing ¹, so even though I attempt to edit myself, shit keeps popping out like champagne corks at New Year's. Usually while giggling like an idiot. Gah.

You can't see me, but the face palmage is epic...

In my defence, I think my brains melted out my ears about two weeks back, a side effect of shagging like two rabid weasels in heat. I heartily endorse dating a younger man, because WOO-BOY CAN WE SAY STAMINA?! My flat mates are taking great joy in teasing me, pointing out that I've lost my little love handles. Who needs a gym when you can fuck your way into bikini form?


Actually pretty much everyone is teasing the everliving shit out of me. For the life of me I cannot figure out why, seeing as I am Her Royal Highness TMI, Intergalactic Queen of Oversharing, I still manage to blush cherry red when some one makes a nifty double entendre about my sex life/dating status. I don't really mind said good natured ribbing; I think on a whole it's been a while since everyone has seen me genuinely smiling and laughing and thus my friends are delighted. And being my friends, this manifests itself in japery and jocularity of the species snarkulus bitcherious minorum. Though not always; one of my girl friends told me "I'm rooting for you. I don't want anyone to hurt you like that ever again" which made me get a bit sniffly and teary.

Can we talk about that Italian superstition that acne is a sign you're not getting any? I know anecdote does not data make, but I will be damned if during this 2 years of abstinence if my skin didn't start freaking out. While not near the teenage years levels (Dear Teenage Self: You're allergic to hairspray. Stop doing the 80's exploding bangs.) I was getting really annoyed with this zit resurgence. (Dear God: Zits at the age of 35 along with the grey hair and first signs of wrinkles is not fucking funny. Stop it.) I will swear to whatever deity you want, my skin has cleared up since I've been getting laid on a regular basis. (Dear God: You have a really fucked up sense of humour.)

Now that I've just reread the above 5 paragraphs, it's even more apparent why my friends are teasing me, because dude, AIMLESSLY RAMBLE MUCH?! But they are also very good at the Dispensage of the Advice-age. Which is invaluable when they inevitably tell me "YO! This is normal. N-O-R-M-A-L. He's a nice guy and this is N-O-R-M-A-L for nice guys. Now stop fucking over-analysing." Both the beginning & ending parts of that type of discussion are usually punctuated with a smack upside the back of my head. You might say my Internal Compass of Relating to the Opposite Sex is in need of some serious recalibration.

He is a very nice guy in many ways, and not just in the sack. "Nice guy" sounds so pabulum, so boring, so staid, but it's not intended as thus. Hello!? My ex's nickname is Shithead. I dated a shithead for a total of 7 years. This "nice guy" is a revelation, because the contrast makes me shake my head and think dude, why the fuck did I put up with all that crap for so long!?

Ah, c'est la vie, hindsight is 20/20 and all those other pat clichés. Where this liason shall go, I have no idea and frankly, I'm not all that concerned about it. I'm taking things day by day and enjoying this so called honeymoon period.

I still have yet to be inspired as to his Blog Nickname, though...I think for now we'll just go with Ma Liason.

And if anyone sees my brain lying around, can you send it back to me? Cheers.



¹ See also: blog entries about my vibrator, my period, anal sex, and my talent at causing a wet spot the size of Lake Eerie.