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4:51 p.m. - November 23, 2003
It's a revolving door, I know, but this one stops me mid-cycle
Football games are good for you, even when your team loses and both your sister and brother leave messages on your machine crowing about the defeat. It is better to attend football games with a group of people, preferably small and with an interesting mix of backgrounds so as to avoid conversational stalemate as well as keeping an eye on a healthy balance of those who talk too much and those who don't talk enough. And preferably, should you invite me to join your football-game-going-cadre last-minute, don't seat me next to the stranger who makes my heart skip beats because then I cannot focus on the game. However, if you know my inclinations and his, then by all means seat us together. I suspect Melanie played matchmaker.

His name is Ryan so he is now Ryan II and after the game we spent hours together talking, talking, talking. We went to dinner. We went to a coffee shop, walked around. He has a beautiful smile (good teeth), wicked humor, an understated machismo. A Ph.D. candidate and wholly brilliant that even I am intimidated. He makes me laugh and he said over and over how much he likes my voice, the way I smile when Iím shy (must everyone notice?). By the end of the night I accepted his compliments and my head swelled and I didnít want to leave and neither did he. Later I went home and he called to ask me out to breakfast at 6:00 which left three hours to sleep; we talked for those three hours on the phone and then met to eat. I donít know what happened to my tongue but once activated it doesnít cease and we talked about insecurities and inhibitions, bad boyfriends, good boyfriends (his contribution), travel, languages, neurobiology, world currencies (Iím such a trivia nerd), politics. It is now 4:34 on Sunday and Iíve spent the greater parts of two days with him and cannot get enough. He has asked me out on a (real) date and I said yes. I kissed him twice. On this date weíre going someplace fun, he says, because he wants to show off some and win prizes for me. Why does this make me feel good-weird? Rather than thinking Iím girly, Iím going to reconceptualize my worldview and say itís just the way it is and go with it. Hell, Iíll run with it.

Craziness!

He just called to say heís thinking of me. I must learn to better control my emotions.

He is out to friends, not family. He is athletic, has never been camping (I suspect camping is not high on the To Do list for gay men), and flexed his pecs for me. He is my height. Perceptive, funny, made me feel comfortable enough that I didnít pull away when he put his arm around my neck. Listen to my heart right now; it is beating erratically just thinking of him. A crush!

Did I mention brilliant? I said something about making a salad and he quickly rejoined, prepare and can I simply say thatís a turn on? Brilliance, I mean, not vegetables. Unfortunately, his brilliance unsettles me Ė he did two years undergraduate, then went directly into the Ph.D. program. He is 22 years old. I just turned 27. He is frickin 22 years old though between his maturity and my immaturity, perhaps we match at 25? 26? Ah, but what is age, right? Aargh. I feel a bit strange about this.

I am two days behind Ė nothing done yesterday, nothing done today. Must go.

 

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