One last COPA-related nod before I set it down for a bit, do a quick interview for an Aussie mag about the All Girl Army, then bury myself in the big endgame of my book edits accordingly. My deadline is exactly one week from now, and between now and then I need to finish the initial edits on three more chapters and an appendix, then write a short summary, do the resource list, the dedication, the acknowledgments, update the TOC, then go back through the whole thing front to back for one more spit-and-polish before turning it in.
I expect to sleep and leave the house again sometime next week. I expect to eat infrequently, and when I do, to be unable to discuss anything but Chlamydia, breakup ethics, gender identity and how the hell to address pornography properly in this context.
I just have to say, before I plunge full-stop into this last stretch, that on that whole adventure, my boyfriend was such a rock star.
It’s really not easy to go somewhere as someone’s partner — and really, as nothing BUT someone’s partner — and have absolutely everything be about them and how awesome and important they are. I’ve been in that spot once or twice, and even as someone who dislikes having the spotlight put on me (which is very much not the case with Mr. Price), it’s still been tough.
But you’d never have known it was anything but easy-as-pie for Mark. He was a total pro in dealing with the awful flights to get to Philly and me, with discussions about nothing but this case, with the courtroom time and my moments of neurosis before, with the crazy celebration after. It may as well have been all about him for how damn cool he was about it all.
And really, sparing very old, very good friends, I can’t imagine being comfortable having taken any partner I have had before to this juncture. Anyone who was anything less than My Real Deal, would have felt strange, like taking someone you’ve been dating for a week to a family wedding, you know? It was also so, so cool to have everyone love him so quickly and immediately. All in all, having my very real partner with me made a whole lot of difference throughout. Sure, this love-of-my-life stuff still totally freaks me out sometimes, but most of the time, it is just the absolute thing.
After the trial, after I grabbed a couple drinks with Moe, I headed back to the hotel and we had this utterly awesome couple of hours just curled up under the sheets, gabbing and gabbing amidst many, many snuggles. We lucked out, in general, with both of us being complete snuggle-bunnies as people: these snuggle-fests have happened more than once, to say the least. In this particular instance, the fest culminated with some ungodly good sex, to boot. Bonus!
This is a particular bonus, by the way, when one is going out for a night of drinking. I explained this theory to a couple of our cohorts, but I’ll explain it to all of you out in the cheap seats as well, should you be unaware. Alcohol really inhibits the arousal cycle, and not just from a male not-getting-it-up standpoint: for everyone. It makes it a bit easier to want to have sex, for those who have a hard time sober, but it makes it a lot harder, physiologically-speaking, to bring all the bases home, if you get my drift. So, when you know you’re going to go tie one on, you simply have sex before, rather than after. Takes all the pressure off, and lets you go out already feeling good and looking all glowy. So, from me to you, sex first, sloshiness after. You’ll thank me later.
Boy raised the bar, is what he did. Next time he has something of crucial importance, I’ve got to seriously step it up and give back as much of a gift as he did me this time, or else I’m going to feel like a total slacker, especially since the last time he had something hugely important and all about him (making his last short film) I ended up getting the funny paralysis on the set and scaring the hell out of everyone.
I owe him, big time.
November 16th, 2006 at 8:44 am
But do you prefer booze to sex? If not, you could always have sex before and then have sex again after … There are many reasons I don’t imbibe