I've got bruises like I've been dating an abusive man again, up and down my arms they could be fingermarks but the screaming in what's left of my muscles from carting Dan's Incredible Amount of Useless Shit down four flights of stairs and into his new appartment is glorious.
I met the most beautiful man today, by dropping a box of gaming books on him after we'd organized our hungover selves enough to make a chain.
It's not the bits when he said "thank you" for handing him another load of ridiculousness to pass on down that made me look at him again, it's not his beautiful build or the softness to his eyes that I didn't notice until we were both sprawled in the grass and red in the face an hour later.
It's wheh he laughed one of those brilliant free chuckles and decided he'd rather be telling me to piss off everytime I pass him something unbearable.
"Why am I thanking you?!? I should be telling you to piss off" and the look of clever humour on his face everytime I'd pretend to stagger under a really light box of clothes or kiddie toys and announce "iron fillings" or scream "more books" (we actually had a lot of fun with the task) -- the slyness in a grin I should have given him credit for rather than writing him off as a nameless pretty boy 'pon first glance.
I'm not sure I'm making any sense, from beer to exertion to Eric's magic joint-rolling abilities to spending a couple of hours with his kids who were upset that I hadn't seen them in so long I didn't know they'd gotten glasses...
I'm too exhausted to sleep and all I can remember is the serenity in him that comes from having toyed so much with the monster inside that it's gotten bored and left you a Far Better Person.
It could've been John's type of natural charm that had me flirting like a teenager, or maybe he really is the uber-person type he seems, but all I've got in my head is his nipple rings poking through his shirt because it was so drenched, and his smile that goes beyond the proverbial "easy smile" it was one of those grins that made it easy for you to erupt in dimples with the sun in your eyes.
He promised to show me his other piercing, and after strange assumptions (like me and Eric DATING until Mich actually asked Eric if he'd said something wrong and upset his girlfriend to which Eric erupted in appropriate laughter and announced that "She's one of the boys!") and the familiar awkwardnesses of the "I'm interested and trying to find out if you're single" type, he gave me the sort of stunning hug that makes me ache to find exactly where in Lionel Groulx he lives so that I can wander over and return a few of the pillow flailings I owe him from that last fight.
I don't know if it's Marc's insistence that the last "too perfect" guy I tasted who turned into a psycho was someone he'd warned me about, but...
I've already got the sorts of doubts only scared-of-people people get.
He's friends with a few people I don't entirely trust, he keeps mentioning "Sara" who could easily be his roommate or hey, one of the boys, but if it hadn't been for his continual interrogation of my dating status I would've taken that as an instant sign of "awww, damn".
(But Marc's right, and I'm taking into account, that I'm far too easily impressed. Happily, but far to easily.)
He wants to get his skydiving license too. He's already got a pilot's license.
He's a CSA engineer but doesn't have the tight mannerisms of one, and he grinned so beautifully as he adjusted one of my earrings and offered a hematite bead to replace the one I'd lost and I'd have to come by sometime to get one...
But right now I'm remembering his easy-to-return grin and revelling in that glorious hug and frankly, Sara, you're a very lucky girl...
And I thank you for sharing him with me today, because it restored my faith in uber-people.
And maybe later this week I'll ask Dan about him.
And in the meantime, I'm beginning to come to terms with the horrible cuteness of this haircut (Marc and Eric cornered me at four o'clock this morning after gaming talk and totally immersive programming talk and skydiving talk and MEN talk (which I think was some sort of test of my proxy balls) announced that the haircut was definitely the dreaded sort of cute and that I'd have to live with it) -- because somehow everyone reaches out to ruffle my hair and I love the contact. Even Bruno who's not sure he likes me yet, even the beautiful girls from last night, even Bobby-o and Speedy Petey and the venerable Mr. Blanco from my days at Discreet who came out last night --- even tough-guy-I-don't-respond-to-women-anymore-Marc, couldn't help but grin and play with my hair.
I'm using the cuteness, please someone tell me nothing is important enough, not even wanting Marc to touch me, is worth that...
But you're right, Reverend Bob, you're right.
A car won't change me, and neither will a fucking haircut.
But damn, I want to sink my teeth into one of my men tonight.