9:18 a.m. - 2004-01-02
I never got into the weekend with the boys in the hotel or New Year's Eve did I? I was terribly negelectful of Diaryland during vacation. A vacation that proved somewhat depressing because there was nothing to do but think and reflect. But in the end it was transforming. I feel more in control of my destiny and it is a great feeling. A bit of the muck I've been buried in has been scooped off to expose a hopeful and heart-driven Zencelt. Maybe thinking and soul searching is helpful?
So, the weekend with The Boys in the hotel. Aside from the obvious benefits and enjoyment of playtime with one of my favorite males (thanks to Sully and Sixweasels for staying out at breakfast for a record duration), the night/morning revealed a few things.
One- drunk boys are funny in bed.
Two- Although I've had boyfriends and dates, I've never actually slept with a man in the same bed. And I don't like it. They steal the covers from you after giving you a raft of shit about how women always steal the covers. They roll over and push you off the bed in the middle of the night. They wake up and tickle you until you scream and giggle so loud your friends wake up snarking. AND, they fart on you with a velocity that could send a rocket to the moon. I have a great sense of fart humor, but really. Could you be a little more romantic?
Three - The man has some serious gastric issues. You just wouldn't believe the sound that eminated from his ass. My belly still aches from the raucous laughter that ensued.
Four - H is a wonderful guy. One of my all time favorites. But he isn't a keeper. Due to some pretty important irreconcilable differences, we just wouldn't make a match. But I'm really enjoying him while we going through our mutual dry spells.
On to New Years...
New Years turned out to be a gathering at The Bar. It was nice this year because the collection of assholes I find so entertaining decided to celebrate at The Bar instead of going for packages elsewhere. There were kisses and hugs and champagne at midnight. Country music, which was actually a relief from the deluge of depressing 50's music that some asshole filled the juke box with. And there were no little dicks.
Six and I decided that 2003 was the year of little dicks and dead weasels. A poor year. If it were a wine, we would dump it into a river. A year to flush down one of those amazing cruise ship toilets that suck down the contents of a cabin if you don't batten them down. Its good and gone and we are happy to see it go.
Onward we trudge. Into a new year full of the promises of adventures to come and memories to treasure. Bring it on baby! I'm ready!