Sticky Post - Love and Magic

(UPDATE: Picture is back online)

On Sunday, my boyfriend under went a magical transformation.

He knelt down beside me as just my Boyfriend, and rose back up, my Fiancée.

Love Drunk

As with most of our relationship it was largely to do with alcohol.

I first met My Boyfriend in a gay club. I’d always assumed I’d never meet a partner in that kind of place, imagining instead I would meet them at a Philosophy Club, Writers Circle, Amateur Drama Company or some other thing that I have never actually been to. Instead, I met him in the club toilets, where, in impetuous, imprudent inebriation, he refused to let me use the Water Fountain unless I kissed him.

Then he gave me his e-mail address, got more wasted, and ended up going home with someone else. He doesn’t remember that night.

The next time was at a party. He was the designated driver, completely sober, quiet, shy, boring. He remembers that night, I’m not entirely sure I do.

A few weeks later I was upstairs in a straight club dancing with some friends when they said, “Hey, there’s this guy downstairs who’s so camp! You’d hate it!” Of course, it was him! He got me drunk, and we ended up at the corner of the dance floor making out, causing a girl to scream as she walked past us. I’m not sure either of us really remembers that night.

And on Saturday night, we were back in the Gay Club, not the same one where we first met, but they are all replicas of each other in someway. As our friend was chatted up by the one straight man in the club, we sat on the couch, drank and talked about marriage. We’ve discussed it many times before, what we would do, how we would do it. And amongst sips we confessed our love for the millionth time. He brought me a rose. We hugged, we kissed, we danced badly to pop music, And we promised each other we would be together forever.

And both of us remembered.

Sunday morning we lay in bed recovering, holding each other, talking, being together, the two of us caught in the glow of the night before.

He kissed me, then got out of bed and knelt down beside it, next to where I was lying. His eyes, which were still half asleep, looked down into mine. His hair had suffered from a drunken slumber, last night’s style caught in a tangle of weakening gel. The floor was covered in smoky clothes, the stale smell of alcohol on our breaths. And it was the most beautiful moment of my life.


Regular readers may have noticed two quirks with this blog. Firstly I have avoided posting anything like a picture of myself or My Boyfriend. Secondly I have always referred to My Boyfriend simply as My Boyfriend, preferring to hide him behind a witty pseudo name (note the Capital Letters) than share him with you.
Well today I’d like to share.

So on the left is me, Simon, The Freelance Cynic, in the flesh.

And on the right is Dan. My Fiancée.Lingering Love

• Gays at the Hotel
• Love's true nature
  

Overheard in the Cynic Household

My Boyfriend and I were walking back from the shops when for some (no doubt perfectly understandable) reason he threatened to kill me with a bottle of Salad Cream he was carrying.

Me: You paid for that already. No way you're going to waste it killing me.
Him: Technically it came out of the food money, so you paid for half of it as well
Me: Oh yeah! Would that make it assisted suicide?

Still, wouldn't be the first time I've been covered in his cream.

Recent Overheards

• Read all Overheards

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Moi 'otel

The Hotel my boyfriend and I stayed at last weekend was in Southwark (pronounced Suthfok rather than South-Wark as it obviously should be.)

Its website proudly declares that the staff speak “11 different languages,” which I imagined would add a touch of class.

However, It wasn’t till we went down for dinner that I discovered none of the languages were English.

“Table for two please.”
She looked at me, questioningly, counting in her head.
“But you are one no?”
I turned around to discover my boyfriend had wondered off to the reception desk, leaving me alone and stupid looking.
“No, I’m with him,” pointing vaguely in his direction.
“Ah, Your room Nuhmber?”
“318”
“And your Name?”
“Simon Hembra,’
“Simon ‘ampsell?”
“Hembra,’
“'ippo?”
“Hembra”
“'Ombre?”
“h..e..m…”
“a..o..n...”
“No! No, Hotel…Echo…Mike…”
“No-no ‘otel Novotel Southwark…”

Finally my boyfriend walked up to join us.

“And ‘is room nuhmber?’
“Oh it’s the same.’
“The same?”
“318”
“319?”
“3-1-8”
"You are in the same room?"

She eyed us suspiciously, memorising our faces so she could ignore us later.

“Follohw me please.”

And with a French two step she led us to a table suspiciously far away from the other ‘otel guests…

Funny really. I had no idea my last name was that offensive.

Recent Feature Length Rants
Conspiracy Theories
Spam E-mails
It's life -Gym

Overheard in the Cynic Household - Part 2

I was lying in bed with my Boyfriend the other day (which is much more interesting than telling the truth in bed) when he broke into this song:

'You like cheese 'cos you're a mouse rolling on your ear on the floor!'

They may have been a story leading up to it, but nothing could sensibly explain him lying in bed, bobbing his head back and forth, and singing that illogical, irrelevant masterpiece over and over again.

Unless, of course, it was the inevitable effect of dating me for over three years...

Gym Duracell Bunny

1. Talk
2. Get off the Web
3. Get Healthier
4. Leave the House
5. Join some Clubs
6. Say Yes
7. Spoil Myself

I have been to the gym four times this week and I am going again today. I am completely knackered, my legs are about to give out in a congealed mess of blood and skin below me, I’m finding it hard to raise my arms to type and I occasionally slip into a dream world between reps where working out is a federal offence, but I'm seeing it through.

And it is an amazing feeling, on par with making your partner orgasm before you do.

Not that I've had much chance for that recently. I have, after all, been spending all my free time at the gym...

The Family Carnival

And now for something Completely different, my rant about my boyfriend has been included in the latest family carnival over at An Island Life

Click over and check it out!

Five minutes till Curtain Up

1. Talk
2. Get off the Web
3. Get Healthier
4. Leave the House
5. Join some Clubs
6. Say Yes
7. Spoil Myself

It’s harder than I imagined.

My web clock is reading 1 hour and 20 minutes and that’s in the space of one day, not including time checking e-mails or chatting on MSN, which must have counted for at least an extra hour, as people want to talk to me all of a sudden.

The hardest part though was actually unplugging the internet.

‘But I won’t be able to see who’s reading my blog.’
‘You can always check tomorrow,’ my brain said.
‘But I won’t be able to get my e-mail to see if anyone comments.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘I won’t be able to surf for new funny things to post.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘If I get horny I won’t be able to search for por…’
‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll love ya tomorrow! You’re only a day away!’

I paused for a moment.
‘Why you singing show tunes?’
‘Because you’re gay,’ my brain said.
‘Oh. Ok…’

I’m running out of things to do. I’ve already read Stephen King's Dolores Claiborne and watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory including all the special features. I’ve even, God help me, watched My Boyfriend playing Fuzion Frenzy 2 on the x-box.

And I have at least 6 days of this left to go.

If I haven’t murdered my brain by the end of this week, it will only be because he’s a good singer.

Review of week 1 - Talk

1. Talk
2. Get off the Web
3. Get Healthier
4. Leave the House
5. Join some Clubs
6. Say Yes
7. Spoil Myself

Lessons learned this week.

• The only way to be confident is to be confident
• The only way to change is to be start making changes.
• And the only thing stopping me is a fear of making mistakes
  

Also

• My colleagues and I fear drunken louts.
• One way to change depressive thoughts is positive mental reinforcement and chocolate
• And a good way to hold a meaningful conversation is to talk to a gay man.
  

More importantly, I learnt the one person I can always talk to is my boyfriend, even if he doesn’t always understand what I’m saying. One hour of ranting and pouring my heart out to him and the world seems that little bit brighter again. It’s like Prozac, which is possibly what he takes after listening to me.

It’s been harder than I thought to face parts of me I don’t like, harder still to start changing them, and even harder than that to make it funny enough for this blog.

But, the first step has been a success. I made a new friend, I’m more comfortable talking to my work colleagues, I got a sale and I found refuge and a whole new kind of love and acceptance in the arms of my man.

And best of all, I found that challenging myself can be fun. Even if it does make for incredibly dull reading.

Overheard in the Cynic Household

My Boyfriend and I were in bed last night discussing how we might spend some of his redundancy money. This is one of the most common things we do in bed, the most common being sleeping. Amongst some of the ideas (holiday, Wii, owning a small chain of porn retaillers) was a practical one about buying a new freezer.

Him: "Yeah, but there's no point in us getting a freezer."
Me: "Why Not?"
Him: "'Cos all we'd do is fill it with food."

That, quite possibly, is the problem with western society...

The More you Ruv Someone

Linking back to Avenue Q, here is a fun video that may explain yesterdays post somemore.

It's also told by sonic and friends, and someone who cant splel.

Enjoy



You can find the Avenue Q Soundtrack at Amazon

And now for something Completely Different..

Before this blog goes any further, let me make something clear. I love my boyfriend.
I do not say it enough. When I do it sounds silly, babyish or just orgasmic. And I certainly don't write it enough, partly because I imagine most of my visitors would cease reading if each of my entries made them violently sick.

But I do love him, and I want to make you understand that. I would write an epic love poem exclaiming my love, but knowing him he would stare at it for a while then roll over and go back to sleep. And so instead I will just say it here one more time. I love him. I love him. I love him.
And a large proportion of the time I want him dead.

Now those of you already tied into long term relationships, like a submissive into a sling, you know this feeling already, but some of the single, care-free readers I jealously admire may find it harder to understand and get confused when, as is bound to happen, I rant about how much he annoys me and then run into the front room with him to watch the Saturday night takeaway.

At no point did I decide to spend my life with someone else. It is a remarkable choice, which invariably affects my life and this blog. And as bitter things are funnier to write about than sweet ones it may seem, most of the time, that I would rather live in a small beach hut on a clump of rock orbiting the moon, than live with my man.

This is the problem with themed blogs. If I could be bothered to write a diary like blog of my boring little life that would get maybe 2 visitors a year, they would see a much more balanced view. But I am selfish. And I want viewers. And I also want money, but that seems to be a little harder to get.

And so I say it again in pre-penitence. I love my boyfriend.
He is annoying, possessive, impulsive, obsessive, and I hate him.
And he is loving, funny, caring, giving, damn sexy and I love him, more than anything, ever, in the history of the world, the universe and everything- with the possible exception of this blog.

So next time I am knocking him down, slating him off or just bitching about his music taste, remember that after I click publish I still go and hug him whilst watching trash TV.

Because that, after all, is what lovers do.
Together, forever - or at least until the ad breaks.