Kissing Lessons

I'm really good at kissing. It seems simple enough; but there's a finesse to it, an art that a lot of guys just don't understand. Let your lips just brush your partner's at first; pull back slightly, whisper something sweet, laugh a little, lightly touch her face, her hair. Start off almost hesitantly - savor it. It's delicious. The anticipation of the kiss is the best part.

So what you don't do, I'm saying, is lean over and stick your tongue right down a girl's throat. Why?? do guys do this??? There's no clearer signal you can give that sex will be perfunctory and mechanical, and that the most lasting impression your partner will bring away is that your ceiling could probably stand to be painted.

I don't mean to complain, though. Last night's was my first kiss in nearly a year. It wasn't a particularly good kiss, but at least somebody wanted to kiss me. Plus it was on a boat under a starry sky on Lake Austin, which is kind of a plus. It's a start.

Lucky me, I have so many friends. You can identify them by their soggy shoulders. I've been so unhappy... Yesterday I officially made the decision to get better, although actually this past week was already a lot better than the weeks before it. Last night, Tony took me to a happy hour reunion of school buddies at Hula Hut, where we met the cute guy with the boat. It was a wonderful night for me, but I'm not sure Tony had quite such a good time: the cute guy's friend was fairly drunk and possessed of a full complement of not-entirely-intelligent opinions, upon which he expounded at great length while his friend was cuddled with me in the driver's seat, showing me how to steer. I wouldn't have gone on the boat with them without Tony. I owe him one - or more.

Robbie came down and took me bowling tonight. I probably bowled the best game I ever have, with a score of - sit down, now - over 100!!! 116, to be precise. I'll have to look into it, but I suspect that might be the highest score possible in bowling. Of course, I had to sacrifice a thumbnail. And the rental shoes didn't smell at all the way I would have liked them to.

We went to Zilker Botanical Gardens, practically overflowing with brides and photographers on this lovely sunny day, then an early dinner at Freddie's before bowling. (I like Freddie's a lot, but I don't recommend the chicken-fried steak - I finally had to spit out a wad into my napkin when it wouldn't go down after chewing on it for three minutes.)

Robbie is a better bowler than I am. Granted that being a worse one would be no small feat. One of his pins fell down and forward, into the gutter along the lane; it lay there for several frames. Finally Robbie rolled a gutter ball that hit the pin and actually kicked it up into the standing pins for the most amazing spare I've ever seen. I had to sit down for a little while. I thought about him - a serious bowler. I thought about how much he would laugh at that. I teared up.

We went to Dominican Joe, Robbie bought me a mocha, and we took our coffee to the park by Palmer and watched the water fountains spraying in their ballet of changing colors, as skaters, bicyclists, and lovers gamboled nearby under a huge earthshine-lit moon. What could be more beautiful? I'm still grieving for kisses that were never possible to begin with; why? With all the friends and love and blessings and beauty that surround me?

It does and will get better. Didn't I just say that anticipation was the best part?

Photo Ops

Omigod you guys! I got to have my picture taken holding an itty bitty teeny weeny ittle baby alligator! It was so cuuuuuuuute!

We were at Gator Country. On the way out we passed an employee holding a reasonable-sized anaconda. I insisted on posing with that too.

All I was really thinking was how fun it will be to send these pictures to the panicmonger to show her what I'm up to these days. Is this wrong?

The other thing I was thinking, which I have to post here because no one I've spoken to gets the reference, is that it's a good thing we coordinators were wearing white shirts today. Wednesday is red shirt day. You don't want to be in a red shirt when you're dealing with large, amply-toothed reptilian life forms. I'm sure I needn't explain why.

Well, my alarm's set for 5:10 so I'd better hit the hay. Miss you! Mwah!

Happy New Year!

Robbie, if you're hung over, don't look at the picture.




Our hostess commented a few times on how there weren't enough people at her party, which she said she got roped into having by some very persuasive people from her gym, who had shown up for five minutes before heading out to go somewhere livelier. But the party was just the right speed as far as I was concerned: a very pleasant mix of people I did and did not know, quiet enough for conversation, and plenty of champagne for everyone. Also there were brownies. "I've had three!" the hostess announced, giggling, when we arrived. "I think I need a drink."

She had the TV on playing dance music, which started an interesting conversation among those of us in the living room who noticed that it seemed to have been playing the same song for about 45 minutes. "Dance music doesn't make ideal background music for sitting around talking," someone remarked.

I started describing an idea I once had - I think I may have written about it before - to come out with a CD of party background noises. There would be a cocktail party track, with some light jazz piano, the clink of glasses, and well-modulated voices discussing things like art and literature and the theater. And there would be a frat kegger track, with a bad garage band, shouting and laughing, and the occasional sounds of retching, scuffle, and breakage. Or any other kind of party you can think of. The idea, I explained, is that your party guests will unconsciously adjust their behavior to fit whatever kind of background sounds are playing. It's called psychology, you see.

"People would hate that," said a friend of mine, "they would think it was really weird and stupid and they would leave."

"They couldn't," I retorted. "The party would be in a sealed room. No one would be allowed to come in or go out."

"Well, what about the people who are already there?" he asked.

Some people are so literal-minded!

He did come up with a couple of good ideas, though, like having a track with people saying "This party blows" and "I'm really bored," if you enjoy feeling bad about yourself, and - much more importantly - a "party's over" ending to each party track that you could put on when you're tired and want everyone to go home, with people yawning and saying things like, "Gosh, look at the time!"

Or, for a quick wrap-up of the festivities, you could play the "Oh shit, it's the cops!" track, though that might make for a bit of an odd ending to, say, afternoon tea in the garden.

We counted down to midnight and Tony kissed me soundly. I hugged him tight. I love him so much! "What, no tongue?" I demanded.

Have a blessed, peaceful and very happy 2008! Muchas smooches! Now go eat some black-eyed peas.