Late Dining, Bone-In, Sawing a Thousand, Million Logs, and Ripping the Big One

If Dart Hotty (DH) ever asks me to spend the night again, he should get Sainthood...but I'm an optimist, so I didn't have my duel with Palm Lane this morning. It was the first time that I ever spent the night over at his place.

Let me give you the down low...

When I got off of work, I went right to DH's house, expecting mellow times; maybe some cuddling on the couch or in bed, then dinner, more lazing in each other's arms, some action, then bed.

Expectations aside, it didn't happen that way at all. I arrived at his house, and he was buzzing around like a bee that just scored an eight ball. He was cleaning, dusting, wiping everything in sight, which made me think that he might be anal-retentive, obsessive compulsive (but who am I to judge). I sat on the couch, trying to relax as I watched his maneuvers with the gusto of a spent cigarette.

After awhile, he invited me to his room to "relax", and let me telll you, if that's relaxing, my face would be in one piece...He had "stealth 5 o'clock shadow" (when he looks clean shaven, but has stubble like course ground sandpaper coated in diamond chips). Needing a facial exfoliant session, I didn't mind.

After 7:00, we get up to make some dinner...chicken on the grill and baked potatoes with a side of green beans. DH didn't have enough foil for the potatoes, so I offered to run to drugstore right down the way to pick some up.

Having a free moment, I called my friend Stef, to give her the play by play of my evening so far. I get to the store and cannot find foil to save my life (it ended up being in paper goods---retards--who would put foil in paper goods?).

I get back to DH's after the 25 minute fiasco of trying to find foil, which could have been made a 10 minute trip if I had only asked for directions (see, I am a man). I find out that the chicken is on the bone...(ISSUE). I admit, I am spoiled by America's food product (no bones, no faces). It makes eating meat...enjoyable. To have to eat meat with bones in it reminds me that the animal was once a "thriving" creature. I sucked it up, and with the surgeon-like precision that I had achieved at a very young age, I cut every tendon, ligament and otherwise "grody" chicken bit off. I ate all of it (dinner was around 9:00, by the way baked potatoes on the grill take a long time), and was ready to settle in for quality time with DH.

What ended up happening was that he buzzed around like he just had eaten crack-coated chicken and wiped everything in his kitchen down in a manner that would make a Health Department Investigator wipe a tear of joy away from his/her lashes.

I was tired, and a little cranky when we finally made the "jog" to his bedroom. We settled into bed, and started making out (face ouchies part deux)...we were enjoying ourselves, when his phone rang (around 11). He saw who it was (I could tell it was the ex), and he didn't answer (smart move DH).

We explored the male physique more until we reached the grande finale, and settled in for sleepy time, when it hit me...

I had to fart...BAD...while spooning. I knew that it was not going to be a one shot deal either (think of a massive earthquake and the after shocks that shortly follow). I was mortified, and could think of no way out of his arms...I could hit the bathroom, but it was right off of the bedroom (with a slatted door--no way I could "squeek a few out" without being busted).

I prayed to the Fart Gods that I would give them their due in the morning, if only they left it a quiet night...I think it worked...I was "fart free". Enter issue number 2...

I sometimes snore sooooooooooooooo loud that a woodshop seems like a hushed library. (DH has 2 dogs, so my nose was stuffed up, until my body adjusted to being around foreign animals -much like my deal with children).

As I was just about to fall asleep (hoping that I wouldn't warm the sheets), DH's phone rings again...THE DREADED EX. Now I'm annoyed...

I had put my body into a kind of bindhu trance, so I wouldn't blow the covers off the bed, which required a sense of concentration that someone with a hyperactivity disorder does not achieve often. I was ready to go to sleep, when the phone keeps ringing (voicemail).

I fall into a light sleep, so that I can catch myself snoring...It works, and I wake up 2 of the times I begin to start (and I can tell that I haven't ripped one yet, because the pressure is still there).

I go back to sleep, and proceed to snore so loud that I wake myself up, JUST AS, DH's phone goes off again!!! He is already out of bed, answering the phone and prancing off to the spare bedroom to try to get some rest and have a conversation with his ex, which I am 100% sure that he hasn't told him that he's dating. I go back to bed (whatever--can't handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen, which should actually be, "can't handle warm sheets...stay out of the bedroom.").

I wake up in the morning, and get ready to take a shower. DH's shower is one of those that requires you to be an engineer, alchemist, and borderline psychic with excellent problem solving skills. Each turn of the hot & cold caused an annoying screetch (imagine nails on chalkboard times infinity), which made me make a mental note to NEVER, EVER, spend the night (If I ever get another invite) if I am going to have a hangover.

I finally finish with my shower, give him a quick peck, as he hands me my coffee, and exit for work, trying to keep a straight face through my apologies about snoring...and silently hoping I wasn't his leg warmer through the night. As I leave, I take a look at my red-eyed, tussled hair, blue-eyed Dart Hotty and think, "Poor bastard...hanging with me will prove your mettle."

I get in my car with a quick wave, and begin my trek to work, ripping fart after fart, saying, "This one's for you Palm Lane. Eat that one," realizing that I may indeed need to seek professional help; I had just spent the night at a hot guy's house, kept him up with my incessant snoring, and possibly suffocated any bed bugs, and yet with my immature sense of humor, kept myself endlessly entertained by making Palm Lane eat my farts, knowing that our duel was off today.

Can anyone give me a referral to a good therapist?

deutschmarc