Thursday, February 22, 2007

It was a stormy night ....

me: Hurrol?

Godless: Hurrol!

me: It's my birthday.
... she said, not really knowing why.

Godless: wawawawaw heepy butday 2 u

u sux

me: o? y?

Godless: juz

me: Why do I sux, G****** S********* (full name)?

Godless: Because it's good to sux.

me: Ah
Then you are the Lord and Master of suxage.

Godless: You clearly learnt from the best.

me: I farted.

Godless: Does it stink to high heaven?

me: It probably does. But I'm wearing my bigass trenchcoat, so it hasn't had a chance to excape.

Godless: It'll mature and ripen within the confines of the trenchcoat before it gets a chance to escape.

me: O I don't want that!
But I'm afraid to set it free.
What if it kills me?

Godless: It's just a young fart.

me: But it will grow and learn.

Godless: As we did ourselves. The circle will be complete.

me: Strangely enough, I just realized that I've missed you.

Godless: Is that ever a good thing?

me: The growing?

Godless: No, the missing.

me: It's a sign of a good thing, no?

Godless: Flatulence?

me: Is it possible to fart and be hungry at the same time?
Because I did and I am.

Godless: Does it feel good?

me: It feels strange.

Godless: Do your farts squeak?

me: No.
Sometimes they whisper.

Godless: What do they say?

me: I don't speak Latin.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Late again this morning.

My hair was dripping and the car was zipping.

Somewhere on the 5th Ring Road, it had to slow down because of the traffic jam caused by an accident.

My first thought?

Fucking perfect. I'm going to be delayed even further.

Somebody could have died. Many people could've died in that accident.

And all I could think of was how late I was going to be.

I'm not sure I liked myself very much at that moment.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Thursday, February 01, 2007


Press play, and then read.

Everything was perfect.

The autumn night was perfect.

The rooftop restaurant, with the breathtaking view of the busy highway below was perfect.

The wine that left that funny, warm feeling in my chest was perfect.

You, trying unsuccessfully to hide your satisfaction at my reaction, were perfect.

We were perfect.

We danced, alone on that rooftop, in perfect synchrony.

You whispered something utterly stupid in my ear and I laughed. Way to kill the mood, Don Juan.

I bit your earlobe and made a soft, dog-like snarling sound. And it made you laugh like it always did.

Look at us. Still here, still silly as schoolgirls, still in love.

Even after all these years.


I've discovered ...

Being a year older isn't so bad.

Buying helium balloons is fun.

Sucking on helium and talking like Pee Wee Herman with his nuts in a vice is even more fun.

In spite of what she might think, Helga and I are, in fact, fundamentally different.

Half-cooked pasta with vegetable sauce, home-made red wine and a mad Englishman make a wonderful concoction.

Having a cold and feeling drunk on your own snot sucks. Hard.