October 5, 2003

So far, so good was the motto for the day, I actually got off of my fat butt to clean out my car, I filled a full-size metal garbage can full of crap ( the usual stuff, fishing poles, old oil soaked Combos snacks and the like) and I looked at my work, and saw that it was good. Then I got invited to a friend's house for a Bible study session, and while I usually eschew such group studying (some of my friends can sound like John Moschitta on a endless loop when they get going) I decided not to be the usual social jerk that I am, and show up.

Once there, I was surprised that so many people had shown up, and even more surprised that I did not already know them all. Even better, the food was good and the conversation wasn't completely coma-inducing, so I actually had a decent time.

When I had taken leave of my hosts for the evening physically and spirtually filled, it was off to home to see how the Boston Red Sox had fared in my absence. To my dismay, they had managed to screw it up again, the game was tied at one apiece in the 10th inning. I watched with oncoming dread as another inning went by, but in the end the Sox prevailed, so it was shaping up to be a unspectacular day, but not a bad one.

Then I got it...The letter, the reason I am writing this boring crap. The one with my state's DMV logo on the front. You would think the DMV and myself are the best of friends, considering all of the letters that I get from them. But titles such as "License Suspension Notice", Driver Re-education Death Camp Invitation (I have been to this class twice, I suppose it doesn't re-educate very well) doesn't engender much friendship. Now I have the complete set, the title of this one being "Out Of State License Suspension Notice".....Day ruined. Goverment Sucks.

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Ode to Edward

it is dark
but there is a glow from the east
the beach is still suffused
with your beauty
the universe is happy you exist
and so am i
happy and excited thinking of
the man i love, gorgeous and sexy
and diving for every ball and
getting the spikes over anyway
even though your contacts
messed with your depth perception
i'm glad i don't wear them
your beauty to my naked eye
is pure perfection
and now i return to that inner world
where you and i lie holding each other
and speak of our love everlasting

Ah, the five a.m. afterglow lingering from yesterday's volleyball. What better way to fill my thoughts as I sit at the office because I don't want to face the grim loneliness of an unshared home.

I like to think of myself as a "Modern Man." I try to keep my head grounded in reality, y'know, don't sweat the little things and all that yadda yadda. I like to think I treat different races, people with different sexual preferences and women as equals to myself. I try and balance my relationship with my fiance. She gives, I give, she takes, I take, etc. However, when it comes down to some things, you can call me the regular old fashioned guy. I am very protective of my woman.

One of the first times my fiancee and I went out was the 2001 Canfield Fair in Canfield, Ohio. As we were leaving, she stopped to talk to the younger brother of one of her friends, who was there with one of his friends. The only thing I noticed about the younger brother's friend was that he was staring at my fiancee's chest throughout the entire conversation. I could feel my right arm tensing, waiting, wanting, desiring, to be released on this kid's face. Not the most "modern" way to solve a problem, but I never hit him and haven't seen him again, so no harm no foul.

I am still a very protective guy when it comes to her, and thankfully, most of the time it doesn't involve wanting to slug someone in the face. However, this whole long distance thing is pretty tough. Especially when she starts referring to people as stalker. Well, atleast one person. He got the nickname "Stalker Nick" because he wouldn't leave my fiancee's roommate of last year and two years ago, alone. He would always show up and never leave. He wasn't a bad kid, just a bit of a dofus. However, Stalker Nick has, within the past year, shifted his stalk onto my fiancee. Yeap, MY fiancee.

Normally, this wouldn't faze me so much. I trust my fiancee to not do anything really stupid, and she trusts me the same. I'd trust her in a room full of male models and movie stars, so I'm not jealous of this guy. But he's gone too far. He paid for a tattoo. For my fiancee. He paid. In full. For ink. That won't go away. Ever.

She didn't go out and get Stalker Nick tattooed on her ass, so it's not THAT bad. She went for the typical female tattoo. The TFT consists of a small, cute tat, in an out of the place spot. Butterfly on the ankle, flower on the hip, etc. My fiancee got a four leaf clover (she's Irish) on the front of her hip. But it's not mine! Another man has a mark on my woman! It's hard to accurately describe the feelings. I don't mind the fact that she has a tattoo. I don't really care at this point if she goes tattoo crazy and get's her back done as well as some sleeves (well, ok, I'd prefer if she didn't) I wouldn't mind. It's just that this other dude paid for it!

I shouldn't let this bother me. At this point, it probably sounds like this is something I'm really dwelling on. This is not the only thing I think about on a daily basis, but I do, I dunno, feel kinda violated I guess. She got this tattoo with this other guy. I could understand that, while we're so far apart, she does things with other guys, but this is a permanent mark. And it's not mine! If I paid for it, it would be cool. If a different person paid, I wouldn't mind so much. One of her girlfriends or something. I dunno. I haven't seen the tat yet, I'm sure it looks cute, like she proclaims. I just had to vent, try and get this off of my mind.