A quick rundown of my Father’s Day.  And my life.  Enjoy, my lovelies.

1 – Worked.  A lot.

2 – Worked on my poker face.  I came to my Dad’s house, and chatted with him and his girlfriend.  Partway through chatting, I wandered down the hall to put some laundry in the washer.  When I came back, my Dad was rubbing his girlfriend’s shoulders.  She said to me, “I’m SO sore!  I danced for an hour and a half last night!”  Under his breath, my father muttered, “And had sex.”  My father’s hearing is not so great.  Mine, however? Spot on.  Awesome.  (Oh, and telling Antonio about that after was A Big Mistake.  He finds it hilarious, and he knows I’m INCREDIBLY visual, so he gleefully rubbed it in. )

3 – Worked on my poker face s’more. Took my Dad out to dinner.  Was paraded around the restaurant while people I don’t know told me they knew me when I was “THIS HIGH!” while holding their hands a distance off the floor that would indicate we hung out while I was in utero.  then I got hugs and kisses while smiling and thinking “Bitch, I don’t KNOW you, so keep your arms and saliva to yourself.”  (Then had to wait longer for our food because they had taken it back to the kitchen when we went missing after our salads.   Our waitress, of unending faith, had shooed away people who tried to clear our table, and brought us hot, lovely food almost as soon as we got back to the table.  I liked her. I tipped over 20%.)

4 – Talked to The Man.  Poor guy had literally his hardest day at work ever.  Worked so hard in such incredible heat he lost 6 pounds during the day – not an insignificant amount given that he’s in good shape as is.  Yay dehydration!  I’d have liked to dehydrate him a couple teaspoons further, but it turns out you can’t suck cock when the cock is a thousand miles away.  (He’s seriously cock-sucking deprived, and has been texting me at stupid o’clock in the morning to inform me THIS is the time he’d like to do some facefucking. Makes me squirm, and also makes me kind of embarrassed.  I have no idea why.  I’m a secret prude who is secretly horny, I think.)

5 – Lost my brother.  He’s supposed to be doing some artsy work for me, but he’s disappeared into the mountains with his college friends and, I assume, some weed.  He’s working 6 days a week, kicking ass and taking names in his field.  I’m so proud of him.

6 – Just poured myself a glass of wine.  My GOD am I busy these days.  It’s just stupid.  Once every few weeks, I unwind with a glass (or three) of wine.  I thank fuck I didn’t inherit my father’s drinking issues (he’s been dry for 20+ years, yay Dad!)  because I seriously LOVE having wine once in a while but I’ve never felt I NEED to have it.  I don’t fantasize about it, I don’t make excuses to drink it, I never go out to drink with friends, I don’t have a glass with dinner… Just once in a while, I love it. I am my father’s daughter in many ways.  My brother and I got opposite genes physically.  I have my Dad’s hair, teeth, eyes,  eyesight, chin, nose, etc.  The only things I got from my mother, physically, are her fingers and her non-alcoholic tendencies.  Mentally, my brother and I switched.  Mentally, my brother and I grabbed a few things from Dad (I got some of his attitude, and not the best parts, and my brother got his ADD) and we split my mother’s gifts.  My mother is inhuman in terms of talent.  She’s a brilliant woman – literally brilliant.  I’m talking 1596 on her SATs (back when they were scored on 1600 and didn’t always have a 0 at the end), full ride to Duke (where she decided not to go), logical, eloquent, just truly brilliant.  AND she’s an amazing artist.  She can paint, cook, and write on professional levels.  So I took her brains and have trouble making stick figures, and my brother took her art and couldn’t get out of trig in high school.  My theory is my mother was a fluke – that much talent can’t usually fit inside one person.  So my brother and I each got half and still ended up luckier than 95% of the population.

7 – Rambled uselessly in my blog.  You love it.

8 – Want to complain a wee bit.  Our water is fucked up at work.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to care for someone who sometimes has seizures and is incontinent when you can’t turn on a single tap ?  Five-gallon bottles of Poland Springs filtered water are great for the water cooler, but fuck me running, they SUCK for washing dishes, bathing someone, washing hands, mopping floors, etc.  I usually wash my hands at LEAST once an hour at work and am constantly in and out of (synthetic, I think they’re vinyl) latex gloves (and thus am pretty sure The Man has softer hands than I do… But then again, he’s a freak who has these HUGE scary hands that are somehow soft, and works all day on his feet in boots and has no calluses and never gets blisters.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – he’s just not 100% human, not a chance.) I swear to God if it’s not fixed by my next shift, I’m quitting.  Okay, shut up, I know I’m not really going to quit.  But it’s SO GODDAMN frustrating.

9 – Decided to seek out an episode of Weeds.  Why?  Because someone in my blog-o-sphere (I can’t recall who, sorry!) had posted this clip a long while back, so I wanted to see the episode.   Incidentally, God bless Netflix Instant streaming video. I’ll post the clip too, just because it made me happy to see on TV.   (If you are simply too busy to spare the three whole minutes, just bump forward to 1:20 to cut to the action, then to 3:05 for the reaction.)  Surprise Nonconsensual Spankings are ADORABLE on TV!  Cute!

Lastly, and most importantly… I miss The Man.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much of my day is spend thinking about him.  I imagine mundane things, like having basic conversations with him.  I picture him standing in the bathroom, with a towel around his waist, fucking with his hair.  I think of his laugh, the curve of his shoulders, the honeyed amber of his skin, the different ways different parts of him taste, the way he talks, the way he sighs, the way he understands why I do things better than I do… The funny noises his stomach makes when we’re lying in bed and I’ve got my head on his abdomen and he’s drinking something.

I just miss him.  But, for once, it’s not a sad missing.  It’s…. It’s an appreciative missing.  A peaceful one.  Both of us are working our asses off, planning and moving forward.  I don’t know how long until this separation will come to an end, but I’m not worrying about it now.  I have worried, a lot, in the past.  And maybe I’ll start worrying again tomorrow, but I don’t think so.  He’s making it clear that he’s making plans, and  those plans include me, and all the things we both need to finally make this relationship real.  Because I don’t kid myself – what we have is amazing.  When we’re apart or together.  But until I’m living with him on a fulltime basis, with no plans to separate again for any reason (like goddamn school.  Eff that, I’m never going back.  One bachelor’s degree is plenty enough for me!) well, it’s just not REALLY real.

There are obstacles, but I know they aren’t excuses, for either of us.  So we’re getting there.  And that’s beautiful.  Life is pretty beautiful.

(So how is YOUR life?  And, what the crap should I blog about?  I’m SO BORING these days.  I need some kind of inspiration.)