Life is a lot like sex. You get this glamorous image in your head that is most likely based on movies and books. Things should look this way and smell that way. It should sound like this and taste like that. But real life and real sex are never actually like the movies. It's hot and sweaty and messy and complicated.
It's also scary because there are no promises. No guarantees. No promises of a happy ending. We fall down. And it hurts.
The guy I've been seeing, the one with out a name - oh hell, he really does need a name otherwise this all just gets confusing. Buffett. Stacie suggested it and she's never steered me wrong yet. So, that's it. I hereby christen the hot eagle scout architect Buffett. - Buffett has butterflies dancing a jig in my stomach and thinking about him at the most random moments brings a goofy smile to my face.
Friday, UPSGuy brought me flowers at work and asked me out. I thanked him but declined. I don't regret it. But the more I think I might kinda like Buffett, the more I want to chase down that UPS truck and... and... and anything. Because at the moment, anything would be less scary than getting hot and sweaty again.