Rolled in this morning listening to G Love & the Special Sauce "Rodeo Clown" on the radio. Made for a nice groove on the nearly empty interstate. Gotta love the freeway at 8:30am on Sunday, one of the few times it's genuinely cruisable. (Yes, my proclivity for creating my own vocabulary strikes again.)
The coffee is brewing. I'm finishing the first cigarette of the day. The last cigarette will be today, too. I'll be out of tobacco, so I'm doing the quitting-thing again. Everything should be all right provided no members of my family or small circle of friends die unexpectedly. Morbid but truthful.
Spent the night with the guy. His bed is comfortable, but it isn't my bed so sleeping well is a chore. If the dark circles and bags beneath my eyes are an indicator, I did sleep fairly well last night - only slight puffiness and a pale shade of cyan. Spending $28 for the eye-lift serum is seeming like not so bad an investment this morning (and most mornings these days... It's a chore to look in the mirror in the morning and realize you're not 25 or 35 or even 45 any longer... The Max Factor pancake has become the makeup foundation of choice. LOL).
He's a funny one. Very regimented in many ways. In the post coital wind-down, I kissed him on the cheek, told him he was wicked, and asked if we could wake up in the morning and do that again. I was told now is time for sleep and the morning, time to wake up and get ready for work. This morning, he showered and grabbed a text book to read. "Now I read for 20 minutes and then go to work." I told he we were going to have to work on these regimens. (Maybe sex on the dining room table could be a place to start. ~seriously evil & wicked grin~)
After work last night, I came home and showered and changed while he ran a quick errand. We had some difficulty ditching a coworker at quitting time last night. He mouthed that he would call me as I was getting into the van. As I was leaving, I saw the coworker pick him up and drive him to the north parking lot to his truck. Being me, I immediately dialed his cell. He answered at length... "Quit taking with Shemm and answer your phone." He laughed and said he'd call me. Two rounds of phone tag later, we'd agreed to head north to his place.
I showed up in size 9/10 (I can't believe I got my fa-tass in them.) jeans. Flare leg and ripped up one side seam from the hem, about 8 inches, held together with a brass paper brad at the top of the rip. Orange Air Walk tennis shoes and a dark green, long-sleeve (It was in the 50s last night.) v-neck shirt. I asked if he liked the jeans and the remedy to the rip. He replied that it was very me. omg! Is it possible?!? This man just really might "get" me? I knew in my heart that there had to be one out there. I simply wasn't expecting him to be 15 years younger.
Oh, and the body image issues that creates in my distorted self-image. Seriously going to have to get with the crunches and the stepper, and the yoga, and the pilates, and the low-carb diet, and the anti-aging beauty regimen, and revamping the wardrobe. Well, maybe not the wardrobe so much. But definitely going to have to update the lingerie. LOL As my soon to be single daughter noted, we have to get rid of the "mom underwear" and go shop Vickie's for some "single girl" underwear. Not the "young" stuff but the sedately sexy stuff that says "yeah, I know I have it going on "here" (indicating the self), this is just the accessory." I would have to concur with that sentiment.
Time to shower and head to work.
Out....
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