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His crotch looks GREAT!

Issue Date: Monday, Oct. 30, 2006

(Please note: I wrote this Tuesday afternoon of last week… on the tee-tiny keyboard of my blackberry. Then I got back into town, had eleventy-million things to do and promptly forgot all about it.)

There I was at thirty thousand feet. I was flying back into Dallas from Houston. I looked up to watch the flight attendant do her little spiel, "there are six exits on this air craft..." I looked down a bit to her left, my right, "please wear your seatbelt low and across your hips..." I saw the back of this man's head and a shock of recognition ran through me. There, in what would be seat 1D was the head (or the back of a head) of someone who once was a lover.

Short brown hair, slightly graying. Small bald spot in the Friar Tuck style...

I thought to myself, that can't be Roger. Can it?

And then I found myself running a short montage of a few moments of our time together like a little movie in my head.

Massages, sweet words, affection, laughing, joking, answering my work phone to hear a gravely voice uttering, "What are you wearing?" The thrill that deep voice gave me was sheer gratification. I was used to the standard, "I'd like to place an order for twenty seven oil seals, please..." and having this man take such an interest in me, a high level executive, take such an interest in me thrilled me to no end.

He was older and completely not my type. What I first noticed to be a man in his late thirties who had some sort of love affair going on with khakis and long sleeve button up shirts was not what I found the man to be when truly I got to know him.

One evening at the local sports bar with my boss, some work friends and Roger I was taken aback as Roger made a blatant pass at me. I was shooting darts with him and two others. I stood up to shoot and he stood as well, walked up behind me and before I threw the dart he grabbed a handful of hip (mine) and pulled me back into his body, he whispered low and against my neck, “Don’t miss.” And then he walked back to our table as I let the dart fly and completely missed the board.

There may have even been a dart injury, a run by darting, ending up in someone losing an eye. I’ll never tell.

But my perception of Roger changed on the spot.

From what I thought was some working white collar stiff changed to someone who was smart, funny and completely oversexed.

I knew he was taken and apparently, I didn't care. He had been dating this woman for years. She kept him on a short leash when they both lived in Dallas, but when he was two and a half hours away from her, for a short while… he was mine.

Don't get me wrong, I never pursued Roger.

But, I never turned him away.

In my late twenties when Bridgette Jones’ Diary came out, the rakish bloke in the office “Daniel”; played by Hugh Grant; immediately reminded me of Roger. Wicked and completely inappropriate text messages sent via ICQ flew back and forth daily. As a matter of fact, Roger and my boss set up my computer with ICQ and he actually gave me the nickname of ghettobootie.

(To those of you who just found me via Google… yes, it’s me… Stop looking for current pictures. I am fat and totally sassy. I am old now and I don’t even drink beer anymore. Sorry.)

Yes, entirely appropriate. Wouldn’t you say?

The man sitting in seat 1D just reached up to smooth his hair with his left hand. Hmmm, he’s wearing a wedding ring. Maybe he did marry that woman after all.

Come to think of it, the hand that I just saw did not look familiar.

I became very familiar with Roger’s hands for a few months, very familiar. He would invite me over for a drink. Dinner. Lunch. A nooner. He was my very first nooner and I felt like the most desired woman in the world. I left for lunch and came back a completely different person.

He was a wonderful masseuse and would make my body feel so amazing. He was untrained as a masseuse but he had such a love for women that it almost felt like worship to me when he would run his hands across my skin.

Our relationship was purely physical. There was no love. There was a lot of laughter and companionship but Roger was my first true lover. Let’s say it like this, “Hello lovah.” No strings, just pleasure.

I realized that I wanted more from him when he invited me to have lunch with his girlfriend when she came to visit him one week. There we sat, the three of us having lunch and I looked at her and I knew she knew. She knew and yet, she wanted him so badly that she would overlook his unfaithfulness. I knew that I needed to let him go because I almost felt jealous towards her.

The last time I saw Roger outside of the office, I was heading to a friend’s wedding. I was wearing a gorgeous dress that had an empire waist, was black below and cream on the top. The jewel neck was fastened in the back by small buttons. The buttons were almost Victorian and there was no one to help me get dressed. I called him on the way to the wedding and he was at home. I stopped by his apartment and ran up the stairs. He opened the door, turned me sweetly, buttoned up the top of my dress and kissed me on the neck.

I knew I couldn’t keep seeing him or I would end up as pitiful as his girlfriend in Dallas.

Roger was a total Jedi in disguise. You looked at him and you saw some whitebread man with a jovial sense of humor, a large mustache, khaki pants, an MBA and glasses. When the lights went low, you saw nothing but a man who could make you feel like the most special girl in the world, even though you knew, you knew that he was someone else’s.

Total Jedi.


So, yeah. Um. About all that other stuff I promised you? Uh, stories of the anniversary trip? Maybe later. Pictures? Uh, well. You see… I haven’t brought the camera into the office in a while. The last time I did? Was to download this picture.

Galen at five months.

Ok. Check this out. Mister is still all, “Where is the ROI?” About the puppy and is considering giving him away. AWAY!? Surely you must be kidding!? No, he is not kidding, and stop calling him Shirley. And it didn’t get any better last week when I took the puppy in to the vet because he had “bitey marks on his crotch-al area”. Yes, those were my exact words.

Turns out the baby got into some ants or is allergic to me, Mister or to Max. Or um, to pollen or grass or something. $145 later and now the baby has a daily regimen of 1 fish oil tablet (for fatty acids), 2 antibiotics a day and ˝ antihistamine twice daily.

His crotch looks GREAT!

Galen’s… not Mister’s… wait, not that Mister’s crotch isn’t National-Geographic-worthy-fantastic but,

I’m going to stop here.

More later.

Much love and no bitey marks.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

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