Be-YOO-ti-ful, Bouncy, Birthday, Girl!

Greetings and blessings, my children. Still swollen, to the point where any moment I expect a small geyser of crimson tidings to come shooting out my snatch: Why, hello there!

But it is not unpleasant, or rather it does not bother me, as I've had such a good weekend. Say it with me, pets: gooooooooood. So what has been good about it, you ask?

1. Expected visitor

My Honey came up for the weekend. Since we met on April 25, we've been trading weekends back and forth. Two hours' drive apart is not an insurmountable distance and a pleasant journey.

On a side note, I find it interesting how this man is steadily sneaking his way into my affections. I went from "You'll do, sailor..." to "Okay, I like you." to "Hmm, I actually don't want to 'see' other people, isn't that funny?" in the space of about 7 weeks. Now in Week 10, gosh darn it if I ain't getting happily earnest. Borderline corny. But he's so fuckin' sweet! I'm finally old enough to appreciate a kind hearted man (who is also tall, good-looking, sexy, funny, etc.).

2. Unexpected visitors

A Danish family of five landed on my front door this weekend, with a day's notice. My X's old pal Lars arrived with his wife and two-year old son and his inlaws in a giant RV, and darn if they ain't the nicest folks. Lars came to sort and pack up a big box of his stuff we'd been storing for him the last 6 years, and has promised to inspire the X to do likewise.

Honey's pal also came by. I like Honey's friends, they are part of the Genteel Redneck genus native to this Island. Today, this one and I wrestled out an old ATV the X had gotten stuck in some swampy section of our land a few years ago. Into the truck it went to get fixed up for Honeypal's child, and I breathed a sigh of relief to have it off the property. Mutual benefit.

I also narrowly avoided falling flat on my face in the swamp mud helping to hump the quad over logs, for which I am also grateful, though my wellies did inevitably overflow. Later on in the day, we went to the lake and drank cool beers in Honeypal's speedboat and jumped in and out of the water, all in moderation. Lovely.

3. Missing visitor

I usually have my period whenever there's fun to be had. Not this time, it's decided to hold off a couple of days later than usual, so thanks! See you tomorrow.

4. Presents and tidings

Tomorrow your little Gretchie is officially All Grown Up. I'm turning 37, which is decidely an adult age. No messing around in the mid-30s any more; I'm joining the cohort of late-30s now. In truth, it feels puzzling (like the Talking Heads song As Days Go By: How did I get here/This is not my beautiful wife!?) but also quite fine. I'm surrounded by good people and beautiful surroundings, and while I may be a bit beefier than usual I'm also as strong as a small milk-fed ox. Plus, I don't recall ever being happier.

And if that weren't enough, imagine my cup runnething over when Honey and a Dane carried over a giant cardboard box and placed it on the lawn in front of me. My heart skipped in confusion--was this an outlandish, vulgar television? (I quit 8 months ago and don't miss it). Then I realised it was a shiny new BBQ, and oh yay! My old beast is small and destroyed and aggressive, as it's missing a hinge and tries to bite the chef every time its mouth is pried open. Bad tempered old beast, time to put you down.

Summers, I subsist entirely on the holy trinity of the season: steamed vegetable, fresh fruit and barbecued meats. Mmmm, salty fleshproduct searing in the open air. This is good present from man.

Honey then achieved another level by not only assembling the damn thing right then and there, but doing so without losing his mind/temper over the course of two hours. This is good man. We then had a jolly big BBQ right away, me and the Danes and Honey and Honeypal, and wasn't it the nicest time?

I also got a camera from my ma, so I can start recording my present happiness before my life achieves cosmic balance and veers into a giant vat of shit. Knock on woodish night-table.

It is funny how things change from week to week. For example, several days ago I received a small, soft package in my mailbox. I noted it was from my longtime old friend/penpal turned sexyback lover turned into what is this now?=Guyfriend.

Inside was a maniacally triumphant note, proclaiming he had found my missing panties while cleaning out his van, and here they were, and I should be chuffed! I was instructed to take it as an omen that now my summer was going to really take off! Woo-hoo!

Sure enough, here was an item of clothing matching a description I'd once given of panties gone missing during one of our steamy encounters. These were: black-check. Lacy-check. Mine-nrrrrrrrrrrh! (buzzer sound)

I burst out a horrified laugh. I checked to make sure they were clean, which they were, mercifully. Guyfriend's mother must have laundered them. Then I got offended, and set them aside, and proceeded upon my business for a couple of days. Take a few days before responding, I counseled.

Of course, the only thing that happened over a couple of days was I got more offended. Was I that generic an experience for him? Did he not pause to think about why my panties might be in his van when all our escapades were in hotel rooms? Did he not recall how fabulous my panties were the night we first got together, versus this bagged-out skankycheap thong likely belonging to some forgotten twentysomething dumpy artslag he'd fucked in his van following some show or happening? Was it all a blur of cock-sucking hilarity for him? Answers to those questions: Yes, no, no, yes. Naturally, I found this offensive.

I banged off a long biting email to him. My internet connection kept failing, so I saved it in a word file to send later. I didn't. In the end, I kept it short. On the back of his note, I scrawled in bold black Jiffy marker: No, thank you. Not mine. WOW.

I think this makes the point quite succinctly. I mailed off the note and panties to Europe, to his new artist-in-residence home. Good riddance. I then blessed the occasion.

See, despite myself, I'd harboured a few shadowy feelings for him. Despite his eventual, outright rejection of me as a lover and occasional act of insensitivity since, I'd pocketed away fond memories of him and even the faintest of hopes that maybe one day, who knows...This, however, was Fate knocking me up one side of my head and the other. Ah, I see. Yes, I get it. Not for me. Oh. Thanks!

It is not so good to feel foolish for having cared for someone who didn't care back. But it is good to be disburdened of that caring, and to shrug my shoulders and say, well, it was what I needed at the time. I still have fond memories, but I am finally freed of any desire or hope for creating new ones.

In conclusion, to feel foolish and be somewhat amused by it is not a bad place to find oneself at the age of 37. To feel foolish and be somewhat amused while surrounded by considerate friends and supportive family and a kind-hearted beau who thinks I'm Triple-A Champion, hands down, well this the best place of all.

Tomorrow, I shall eat my cake and toast past folly and present luck, and thanks my lucky stars to be alive yet another birthday. Not bad at all!

Adieu, Gretchie