Alright, so you've read about the ups and the awkward loner ginger downs of the week, and that was only the first two days of the arrival of the Gingerman... so I'll not drag this out any further and go ahead and sum up the week.
The next morning (mornin after I drove away after a spastic rush of emotion) everything was fine. No questions asked and the day and week only got better. I made breakfast for two that morning, gettin into that swing of things, and afterwards, I was in the kitchen, doing dishes, when Gingerman came up from behind me, set his plate on the counter, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
"That was delicious. Thank you."
Lord have mercy on my soul, if there is such a kiss that makes you want to fall to the ground, it's one of those. Whateverthehell that was- more please!
That Thursday was pregame time. Pregame before the pregame. All day drinking. To prepare ourselves for the Friday night that would go down as an awesome birthday.
We went to Chili's, had a couple double rounds of beers and the drinkin never stopped when we got home. A steady pregame buzz. You know.
Nothing in particular to say for that Thursday, just your usual party house good times. All the airmen were back on base and tucked in their beds by ten. Gingerman and I assumed the couch and telly for some good old fashion dvd watching, and at midnight, he leans over to whisper, "Happy birthday." NAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
Fuck.
Anywho, Friday mornin, I believe I took my time getting up that mornin... it was so weird to just lay in bed. No work. No schedules. No bills to worry about. Everything was done, my Satan kitty wasn't raining on my parade that morning, and all was well. When the airmen got out at about four that afternoon as they always do, they came over and Skit asks, "Alright sweetheart, where you wanna go to dinner for your birthday?"
"Sushi." hands down. No hesitation. Done.
So we gather up the lot of us- Gingerman, Mister Mister, Skit, Miss, and I head to Samuri.
We ate entirely too much sushi, the men drank overly large beers, and we ladies dined on little fish eggs. Such a small gathering was such a delicious paradise. And we all ordered way too much food.
It was good for the morning when we all had the morning drunkies and were hungry.
So- after Samuri, it was back to my place for the lockdown. Drinking ensued, drinking games ensued, party music ensued, it was just a good time with good company. And like always, we didn't finish any of the drinking games.
We're horrible at that.
At one point in the night, we were all dancing our white people dances (save for Mister Mister of course, chocolate men got dat rhythm) and laughing and having a good time. I remember putting the dishes away after a while, and Gingerman comes into the kitchen to corner again. This time, he turns me around and I'm facing him. He's smiling at me, that little smirk I grew to quite enjoy and expect at close proximities such as this one. Next thing I know, this man has grabbed me by my ass, and before I had any time to object, he has picked me up and put me on the counter.
Ladies and queers everywhere- let me say that again.
This man.
Picked me up.
By my ass.
Placed me.
On counter.
I am not a small lady. I am a veluptuous, well-shaped, full blown woman.
You tell me how many men can do that with ease. You tell me.
Then be jealous.
Other than a surprise visit from an Asian that talked nonstop for four hours, it was a pretty regular night. Woke at crack of dawn, like after every evening of drinking, and made what we call Man's Breakfast.
First rule of Man's Breakfast, you don't talk about Man's Breakfast.
That Saturday and Sunday went about similar.
Wake up. Drank.
Pass out Drank.
Get up. Drank.
Piss it out. Drank.
Eat the Sushi. Drank.
Ah yes, then comes time for Sunday night. The airmen leave as per curfue, and again, Gingerman and I are left in the humble abode with no one else but Bacon. ... bastard cat.
Movies. Dinner. Coffee. I dunno. Just that sinking feeling of someone,whom of which you enjoy the company of, is leaving you in the morning. And you know it.
He showed me more of his New Yorker movies that evening, but eventually he did need his sleep.
That night was very sad. The morning was a little happier- a full breakfast before he left, as per usual.
Then, as all good stories come to an end, I watched him drive off.
BUT-
not before I stood there at my door looking into the sea-green eyes smiling like a tard. He wrapped his big ginger arms around me and I hugged him back and melted there. We pulled away slightly, and he leaned in for a kiss. I let him.
Where is the story at now? Well, he still lives in Florida and I still live in Mississippi, obviously. But he still calls daily and we text all the time. It's a happy ending to the segment.. but I don't believe it is an ending at all.
The next morning (mornin after I drove away after a spastic rush of emotion) everything was fine. No questions asked and the day and week only got better. I made breakfast for two that morning, gettin into that swing of things, and afterwards, I was in the kitchen, doing dishes, when Gingerman came up from behind me, set his plate on the counter, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
"That was delicious. Thank you."
Lord have mercy on my soul, if there is such a kiss that makes you want to fall to the ground, it's one of those. Whateverthehell that was- more please!
That Thursday was pregame time. Pregame before the pregame. All day drinking. To prepare ourselves for the Friday night that would go down as an awesome birthday.
We went to Chili's, had a couple double rounds of beers and the drinkin never stopped when we got home. A steady pregame buzz. You know.
Nothing in particular to say for that Thursday, just your usual party house good times. All the airmen were back on base and tucked in their beds by ten. Gingerman and I assumed the couch and telly for some good old fashion dvd watching, and at midnight, he leans over to whisper, "Happy birthday." NAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
Fuck.
Anywho, Friday mornin, I believe I took my time getting up that mornin... it was so weird to just lay in bed. No work. No schedules. No bills to worry about. Everything was done, my Satan kitty wasn't raining on my parade that morning, and all was well. When the airmen got out at about four that afternoon as they always do, they came over and Skit asks, "Alright sweetheart, where you wanna go to dinner for your birthday?"
"Sushi." hands down. No hesitation. Done.
So we gather up the lot of us- Gingerman, Mister Mister, Skit, Miss, and I head to Samuri.
We ate entirely too much sushi, the men drank overly large beers, and we ladies dined on little fish eggs. Such a small gathering was such a delicious paradise. And we all ordered way too much food.
It was good for the morning when we all had the morning drunkies and were hungry.
So- after Samuri, it was back to my place for the lockdown. Drinking ensued, drinking games ensued, party music ensued, it was just a good time with good company. And like always, we didn't finish any of the drinking games.
We're horrible at that.
At one point in the night, we were all dancing our white people dances (save for Mister Mister of course, chocolate men got dat rhythm) and laughing and having a good time. I remember putting the dishes away after a while, and Gingerman comes into the kitchen to corner again. This time, he turns me around and I'm facing him. He's smiling at me, that little smirk I grew to quite enjoy and expect at close proximities such as this one. Next thing I know, this man has grabbed me by my ass, and before I had any time to object, he has picked me up and put me on the counter.
Ladies and queers everywhere- let me say that again.
This man.
Picked me up.
By my ass.
Placed me.
On counter.
I am not a small lady. I am a veluptuous, well-shaped, full blown woman.
You tell me how many men can do that with ease. You tell me.
Then be jealous.
Other than a surprise visit from an Asian that talked nonstop for four hours, it was a pretty regular night. Woke at crack of dawn, like after every evening of drinking, and made what we call Man's Breakfast.
First rule of Man's Breakfast, you don't talk about Man's Breakfast.
That Saturday and Sunday went about similar.
Wake up. Drank.
Pass out Drank.
Get up. Drank.
Piss it out. Drank.
Eat the Sushi. Drank.
Ah yes, then comes time for Sunday night. The airmen leave as per curfue, and again, Gingerman and I are left in the humble abode with no one else but Bacon. ... bastard cat.
Movies. Dinner. Coffee. I dunno. Just that sinking feeling of someone,whom of which you enjoy the company of, is leaving you in the morning. And you know it.
He showed me more of his New Yorker movies that evening, but eventually he did need his sleep.
That night was very sad. The morning was a little happier- a full breakfast before he left, as per usual.
Then, as all good stories come to an end, I watched him drive off.
BUT-
not before I stood there at my door looking into the sea-green eyes smiling like a tard. He wrapped his big ginger arms around me and I hugged him back and melted there. We pulled away slightly, and he leaned in for a kiss. I let him.
Where is the story at now? Well, he still lives in Florida and I still live in Mississippi, obviously. But he still calls daily and we text all the time. It's a happy ending to the segment.. but I don't believe it is an ending at all.
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