Friday, March 30, 2007

Buttermonkey does his part

My pal Buttermonkey has been a little bummed out. He has had a sore throat for a few days, and went to the doctor. He was told it was probably a viral infection. This was upsetting because he's been.... a little busy lately, and was feeling sort of guilty that he might have been spreading some sort of cold around.

Today, he realized that is was hay fever. He called in for a prescription and was going to pick it up on his way home.

After work, we were chatting on the way out of work and the topic of his parents came up. He was saying something about how the very mention of fellatio sent his mother over the edge.

"My poor dad, 27 years without a blow job! It's inhuman."

I thought about it for a minute, having heard some about his parents.

"I think you mean, 27 years without a blow job from your mother."

"You have no idea how happy that just made me." he said. Then he thought for a second. "I'm going to go pick up my Allegra, and then I'm going to go out and do my part to help end the worlds blow job shortage."

Have I ever mentioned how much I love working with this guy?

The Date

What can I tell you. The earth moved, continents sunk. There were rainbows and bluebirds. Shit, the earth sprouted magical singing daisies! Jeezus H. Key-Rist, what did you expect? It was a first date.

Actually, it went pretty well. He's making me dinner on Saturday.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The game is on.

I spent an interesting and instructive half hour on the phone last night with Mr. Date. We are on for dinner tomorrow night. The idea of Mexican food was nixed. We don't know each other that well yet. Maybe a few dates down the road, taking the optimistic view that there will be more dates. I have learned the hard way never to take anything for granted.

In other news, the weather is suppose to be warm and sunny this weekend, unless they change their mind at the last minute. (This is New England, folks) So I am hoping to log some gardening time, and maybe see if I can lure my pal Mike out into the garden and possibly indulge in some burritos since neither of us will have to worry about the after effects. It ain't that kind of a friendship. This may be a vain hope since my beloved, bitter, cynical, Mike has been replaced by some giant Hostess cake with a sickeningly sweet, schmoopy center. Really, it is terrible what love will reduce a man too. I may have to content myself with weeding.

I am also going to have to do something about flab control. I got a good view of the spare tire that I have developed this winter because we took some progress pictures at the gym. All I can say is ewwwww.... we are looking at some serious portion control or a summer at the beach wearing a mumu. If I start getting crabby it's the lack of food talking.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

The Dating Game

I have a date. Remember I told you about the guy I'd (ahem) met before. With one thing and another we are suppose to get together this week for a date. I mean, we will actually incorporate some activity into this other than, but more than likely including sex. This is all good.

However, Mr. Date called me up this afternoon, which is just fine. I am happy to get calls from Mr. Date. The problem is that he called when I was busy acting in my unofficial role of dept. psychiatrist and I had to cut the call very short as I tried to smooth down a coworker who is having some work related problems that really aren't my responsibility, however, I was having to listen in the interest of continuing smooth relations with my colleagues.

I would much rather have talked to Mr. Date. I would probably have enjoyed talking dirty with Mr. Date, since we were speaking on my cell phone. Instead I had to give him the, "Can I call you later, when do you get out of work?" line, which always sounds like you are trying to put someone off.

This job is interfering with my sex life. I will have to make sure and call him back this evening. It might not be a bad idea to talk dirty.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

First Saturday in Spring

Yesterday was a very nice day. Nothing special happened, but all in all it was one of those quiet days that was just nice all around. I got up, had a nice leisurely wakeup and after the requisite caffeine dose, I headed off to the gym to get on the stairclimber (my favorite) to try and burn some of the extra flab that I have acquired off of my mid section. I stopped at Marshall's on the walk home for a quick look around and found 2 xist t-shirts on sale, 3 pack, black, v-neck for 12.99. It may be a purely emotional attraction, these t-shirts, but I like the hand of the material, the weight and the texture. I do know that they wear better than other brands I have tried and I like the fit. My propinquitous purchase in hand I proceeded down the street where I ran into an old friend that I have not seen for months.

Jerry is always fun to talk to. I first met him and his late lover Frank when I moved to Boston at the age of 20. Jerry was in his 40's then. At the time I was slightly appalled at being hit on my a middle aged man, who to a 20 year old seemed so ancient. Now that he has moved on to being a septuagenarian with a healthy interest in fooling around, he is more like a beacon of hope. He has turned into a wonderfully twinkly eyed, dirty old man, who makes no bones about his continued interest in getting laid. We spent time catching up and chatted about inconsequentials as we checked out the local talent that was parading past in the warm spring day. Friends were discussed, handsome men were admired, the changes in the city were reviewed and the charms and shortcomings of life in the world were examined.

But the day beckoned and it was time to move on. Walking past the park, I decided that I had indulged in sloth long enough. I changed my clothes and went off to my garden. 5 wheelbarrows full of fallen leaves and branches later, my garden was starting to once again assume more the aspect of a garden and less that of a neglected garbage tip. My vibernum is promising to bloom profusely this spring, the little grey bud clusters on the tips of every branch, the heady, spicy scent of the flowers mere weeks away. My syringa arnoldia has leaf buds that are quickening to green, though I hold out scant hope for much of a display from that, due to the warmth of the winter. Lilacs need a cold winter to bloom. The dried seed heads on the echinachea and rudibeckia that were left out in the fall for the birds were cut down. The raking revealed the sprouts of spring bulbs, the fleshy leaves in greens and purples twisting out of the ground. Already the red tips of peonies are peeking up, the sedum are starting to come out, the clusters of leaves like tiny chicks huddling in a nest. Oriental poppies are sending out hairy leaves, and the purpley green leaves of columbine are unfurling. Portents. Spring is indeed arriving. More friends were spoken to. Fellow gardeners emerging from hibernation, seasonal friends that disappear under the snow are also starting to crawl out into the promise of sun and warmth.

Soon enough it was time to head back home and wash up and eat some lunch. Looking at the time I realized the Met broadcast was about to begin, so with a plate in my lap I tuned in. Il Barbiere di Siviglia was on and having heard any number of Barber's I thought it would be a good accompaniment to doing some light cleaning. Not so. With the first few bars of the Overture, I knew I was in for something special. The music was so fresh and energetic it was like hearing it for the first time. Juan Diego Florez, Peter Mathei and Joyce DiDonata and the orchestra infused the music with an energy, humor and enthusiasm that left me first sitting on the sofa, then lying in the middle of the living room floor listening, as I have not listened to this chestnut in ages. I have heard that there were criticisms about the production itself, but anyone who was unmoved by the singing and playing should really turn in their card. I for the first time in a while really wished that I had been in the audience, and felt truly grateful for the Met broadcasts.

After 3 hours of opera heaven, I came back to earth and attended to more mundane pursuits, like grocery shopping and laundry. The niece had called while I was in the garden to make plans to go to my brothers for Easter and I had to consult the internet to find out which Sunday this was. The day wound down in a pleasant way, and by the time bedtime arrived, I was feeling contented and ready for sleep. It was an unremarkable day, and yet remarkable in it's peace and the hidden and unexpected beauties that popped up unbidden and after a long winter made good the pact with nature that spring was fulfilling its promise. Life will get back to its normal pace, filled with aggravations and irritants but it is nice to be reminded that sometimes in very simple ways it can be sweet.