Parents, Be Careful!

Reading the childhood misconceptions about sex in the latest few editions of Dan Savage's Savage Love column reminded me of how I was told about "the birds and the bees".

Being brought up in a Southern Baptist home environment I was totally sheltered for along time about all the "sinful" things. There wasn't any liquor in the house, and my parents were strict nondrinkers. I wasn't exposed to movies racier than Bambi, or Escape To Witch Mountain. I didn't even know what the cuss words were (or what they meant) until I was thirteen!

Anyway, at around age nine (or so) I asked my mother where babies came from.
Flustered, my mother only said "go ask your father."
Overcome by curiosity, I did.
Dear old pop sat me down and this is what he said (more or less):

"Son, when a man and a woman are married, and they really love one another and they want to make a baby, the man lies on top of the woman and he puts his penis in her and his seeds go inside her and she becomes pregnant. Nine months later a baby comes out, and that's where babies come from.
Do you have any questions, son?"

"Uh, no Dad. Thanks." I answered, by mind trying to grasp what he had just told me.

• You have to be married first? You only have sex when you want to have babies? (Contraception wasn't mentioned at all in my Dad's speech.)
• And I didn't know anything about erections (not having experienced one yet) so I wondered how the penis went inside the woman.
• And what the hell did women have between their legs anyway? I had no idea. (I remember seeing a "beaver shot" a couple of years later --closed legs, only breasts and boobies showing -- and I came to the conclusion that women had nothing but a patch of hair between their legs).
• And --what the hell?--seeds were going to come out of my penis? What kind of seeds? Like apple seeds? Sunflower seeds? Did they shoot out like a machine gun, rat-a-tat-tat? And doesn't it hurt when they come out?

I found out the true story a couple of years later, of course. But parents, you need to be careful what you tell your kids or you might leave them more mystified than enlightened.

And for Jah's sake, people! Mention Birth Control and disease prevention while you're at it.

Dream Machine

Everyone's got a dream car, right?
For some it's a Ferarri, for others it's a VW bug (new or classic).
Someone asked me what my Dream Car is.
Well, you won't have to wonder, because I am going to tell you.

You're going to laugh, but I've always dreamed about driving along in a 1977 Gremlin --painted bright green of course.

Oh yeah, there most definitely needs to be fuzzy dice in the mirror, a 'coon tail attached to the antenna, and a hula girl dancing on the dashboard.
It's mandatory.

The best thing out the Gremlin I described is that everybody would know it was me who was driving.
"Here comes Jimmy in that damn Gremlin!"
After all, how many Gremlins do you see on the road?

Gained In Translation?

"Nice jeans. They would look good crumpled at the foot of my bed."
Korean: Good pants. Them whom it crumples the good thing the foot of my bed the ball then the place.

"Is it hot in here, or is it you?"
French: Is he hot inside here, or you?

"Hey, baby. What’s your sign?"
Chinese: Hello, child. What is your symbol?

"My boyfriend and I both think you are cute. Want to come over for a three-way?"
Portuguese: Mine boyfriend and I both think that you he am cute. It wants to come on to a way of three?

"Is it as big as it looks?"
Italian: Is it as large as it observes?

"There’s a party in my pants, and you’re invited."
German: It gives in my trousers a party, and you are invited.

"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
Greek: This is firearm your arm in pocket, or it is you precisely glad me it sees?

My boyfriend and I would like to take you home and make a sandwich."
Japanese: Take my boyfriend and I the house, would like to make the sandwich.

"Are you a top or a bottom?"
Dutch: Are you an upper part, or are you a floor?

Translations courtesy of the Babelfish.

It Wasn't A Crisis, But It Was Pretty Durn Close

I was all excited about getting a new hairdo.
I had this big mop on top of my head and I needed something new, something easy to style, something that didn't require a half a bottle of gel, a quarter bottle of hairspray, and 30 minutes to fix.
So I go to get my new 'do yesterday, but the place I normally go was just mobbed with parents and their children getting their "back to school" haircuts, and I really didn't feel like waiting.
(I really should have made an appointment first, but I wasn't thinking about it, OK?)
So I went to the barber shop down the street instead, basically because there was nobody waiting. And I hate waiting for anything.

now, this was a black barbershop. Not the Afro Hut, but a similar establishment. I don't care about things like that, I figure hair is hair.
Anyhoo, I go in and sit in the chair and I tell the dude what I want and he starts cutting away, the whole time talking on his cell phone.
After he's finished I look in the mirror and at first glance it looks pretty good.

"I an stylin' and profilin'!" I thought.

I didn't have much time to admire it, though, because I had to dash right home and get ready to go out with G. So I get ready and I spray my hair and while I'm fixing it, something seems not to be quite right, but I don't have time to think about it, 'cause I'm in a hurry.
Anyway, we go out to the Port in a Storm to shoot pool and have a couple of cocktails, and the time I get back, I'm tired and ready to hit the sack.

I wake up this morning and I take a shower and when I'm done I'm standing in front of the mirror when I notice that something Just Isn't Right.
I don't know whether the barber just wasn't used to cutting white folk's hair, or if he was distracted, or on crack or what, but he competely missed a couple of sections of my hair when he was shaving the back of my head, the sides and bangs were all uneven and lopsided.
Oh, it was horrible!
So I go over there, and I'm totally prepared to totally freak out.
"Look what you did to me!!!"

"If they don't fix it, I'm going to flip!" I remember thinking.

The barber who butchered me yesterday wasn't working, but I explained what happened to the guy that was working today and he fixed it.
He took me first, even though there were other people ahead of me and he didn't charge me anything which was also very nice, so I made sure I tipped him very well.

The only thing is, in order to fix what the other barber did he had to cut my hair extremely short. Almost military-style.
I never wear my hair this short, so It's a little strange, but at least I don't look like someone cut my hair with an axe.

I guess it might seem a little silly to be all upset over your hair. After all, it grows, right?
Hair is like a hat that you can't take off.

1 Termer

I'm not very political, but this cartoon says exactly how I feel about ol' smilin' George Dubya Bush.

Taken from The Pain - When Will It End? by the amazing Tim Kreider.

Mail Tag

From:"Blondie" tmilner@xxxxxxxxxx.us
To: wonderboy@writeme.com
CC:
Subject: Guess who??
Date: Wed, 18 Aug 2004 08:10:01 -0400

Jimmy,
I've been trying to find you for sooooo long!!! Finally i was able to bring up your blog!! I'm so damn happy right now!!
How is G? Work? Yourself?? Please write back!

Blondie

* * *

From: wonderboy@writeme.com
To: tmilner@xxxxxxxxxx.us
CC:
Subject: Re: Guess who??
Date: Thur, 19 Aug 2004 10:40:01 -0400

Blondie!!!
It's been awhile! Good to hear from you! I would have called you but I lost your number when I moved!
Give me a call sometime and we can go out for cocktails and catch up.
(410) xxx-xxxx
Love, Jimmy

* * *

From: "Blondie" samples@truelemon.com
To: wonderboy@writeme.com
CC:
Subject: Guess Who?
Date: Thu, 19 Aug 2004 09:00:52 -0400

Hey Jimmy,
It's Blondie writing you again- once more to see if your'e pissed at me, and never want to talk again, and if so, then I respect that. But if you'd like to talk....
I've been reading your blog --everything i've missed. So much has happened!
Alot of drama on my side too, but it's winding down.
Excuse the bad typing, broken finger.

Blondie :)

* * *

From: "Blondie" samples@truelemon.com
To: wonderboy@writeme.com
CC:
Subject: Gone again
Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 08:40:35 -0400


Hey Jimmy,

Well I guess you've chosen never to speak to me again, so I'm just writing to you to tell you how grateful I am to have known you. You were such a positive influence in my life, and I've remembered just about all the "words of wisdom" that you shared with me. Thank you.
If you've been wondering...
My daughter is doing great, she is getting so tall (she'll be two in october)and yes, I left the jackass that was her father.
Hope everything is going great for you. Stay sweet.

Blondie

* * *

From: wonderboy@writeme.com
To: "Blondie" samples@truelemon.com
CC:
Subject: Gone again? No Way!
Date: Wed, 25 Aug 2004 10:25:34 -0500

BLONDIE!
Didn't you get the email I sent you to your other mailbox? I sent it almost a week ago!
The gist of it was that it was GREAT HEARING FROM YOU! I also said let's get together for luch or cocktails or something and catch up on old times.
I ALSO left my phone number. (I lost yours when I moved, otherwise I would have called YOU).
(410) xxx-xxxx Call me sometime, OK?

Love, Jimmy

* * *

From: MAILER-DAEMON@webmail-outgoing.us4.outblaze.com
To: wonderboy@writeme.com
CC:
Subject: Undelivered Mail Returned to Sender
Date: Wed, 25 Aug 2004 15:25:35 +0000 (GMT)

This is the Postfix program at host webmail-outgoing.us4.outblaze.com.

I'm sorry to have to inform you that your message could not be be delivered to: samples@truelemon.com
For further assistance, please send mail to [postmaster].
If you do so, please include this problem report. You can
delete your own text from the attached returned message.

The Postfix program

Blondie,
I don't know what's going on, but I can't seen to connect with you!
I'm not pissesd and I don't not want to speak with you again.
Why would I?
That truelemon.com adress didn't work, and you obviously didn't get my original message, so email your phone number to me and we'll talk and catch up.
OK?
Love, Jimmy

I'm A Sex Bomb, Baby!

These are my results from the Relationship Quiz:

eXpressive: 8/10
Practical: 4/10
Physical: 6/10
Giver: 6/10

You are a XSYG--Expressive Sentimental Physical Giver.
This makes you a Sex Bomb.

You are sexy sex sex sex! The sexness!
You are the sexiest, hottest and most charismatic of all types. You are a captivating speaker and a great dinner date -- relaxed, self-effacing, charming and generous.
Your type probably has origins in something sad -- trying to keep the peace in a tough family situation, or an early heartbreak -- and you'll probably want to address and resolve that at some point, but in your relationships that heartache is pure gold!

You lie effortlessly -- not necessarily a bad thing.
You can have problems with fidelity. You need frequent praise and validation, and in seeking it you can make decisions that aren't consistent with your general good judgment.
In other words, don't cheat on your significant other just because someone is paying attention to you!

You strongly dislike conflict, and will avoid it at all costs. Like an XPYG, you give so much of yourself to your partner that you feel dismissed and unappreciated if you don't get the same in return. But you internalize your feelings more and have a hard time getting over them. You don't *want* to cheat -- you just keep finding yourself in vulnerable situations. But you'll stay with your partner in the long run from guilt and a desire to please.

Your sex life will always be hot. You are one of the rare people who can keep the fires of passion going forever -- if you find a good match.
Find another XSYG and you will never need (or want) anyone else again.

Of the 2,839 people who have taken this quiz, 11.7 % are this type.

Most of this seems to be accurate, except for the thing about fidelity in paragraph two and the whole cheating thing.
Totally not accurate.
It's an easy thing to just give in to temptation -- much harder (but more rewarding) to stick to your principles.

My fidelity is one of the things I pride myself on.

Seeing Triple

Three guys.
They're really hot.
They're brothers.
They're identical.
You've seen them in the Cingular commercials.
Meet the Karshner brothers.

That's all I'm sayin', yo.

Nice Basket!

If you like men who technically are clothed, but leave little to the imagination, or if spandex or lycra gets you hot, check out ebulges, VPL, or the Bulge Report.

Life For Rent

I just recently discovered that some (more)people that know me in Real Life (whatever that means) have discovered this blog.
Welcome!
I don't mind it at all, actually. It keeps me honest.
If I write I just met Paris Hilton for cocktails at the Ramada Inn Lounge, there's some people who are gonna know I'm full of shit and can call me on it.

I also recently discovered that when doing a Yahoo! search of "Jimmy Baltimore waiter", this site is the third result that comes up.
I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.

Summer is almost over (dammit!) Where did all the time go?
Someone at work yesterday mentioned there's only 4 more months until Christmas!
I don't even wanna think about that yet.

That's about it for now.

P.S. If you need something to do, why not join the Dailai Banana on his crusade?

I'm NOT Sorry

Business was very slow at work yesterday. Most of us were going around looking for things to do. "Give us something to do! We need more work!"
Do you know how agonizingly prolonged time is when you're just standing around looking at the clock?

I was waiting on this old geezer and his wife. Everything was going OK, they seemed to be enjoying their meals and I tried not to bug them too much.
(Too much service is almost as bad as not enough. Especially when the guest can't even take a bite of their food without a server hovering over them asking, "Is everything OK? Can I get you anything?")

Part of my job is to clear dishes that are no longer being used. Nobody likes a huge stack of dirty plates on their table, right?
There was a plate full of bones with a paper napkin wadded up on top sitting on the edge of their table. So I go over to grab it and put it on my tray to take it back to the dishroom, and as I reach over to take it, the old fart slaps my hand away!
*Slap!*
"Dem bones is fer my dawg!" he growls at me.

The worst part of it was not being able to do anything about it.
Slugging him would lose me my job. Saying something that could possibly be construed as being disparaging would cost me my tip.
So, I took the only road that was open to me. I apologized and dashed away.

Having to apologize when you really aren't remorseful just sucks.

Bid Time Return!

I spent a great night last night curling up on the couch with the husband and watching The Butterfly Effect, starring the hunkalicious Ashton Kutcher.
Good movie. Kind of disturbing in some sections, but otherwise very well done.

I have always enjoyed Time Travel stories. Especially when they get the science right.
The most important thing about Time Travel movies is this: You can't disturb the flow of cause and effect.
Situation X happens which makes Situation Y occur.
Subtact Situation X from the equation and something else will happen. Maybe something good, maybe something bad.

Which makes me think . . .

What if I could change something in my past. Would I? And what would happen?

It's my opinion that anything that makes you think -- even if it's about something impossible (or at least very, very improbable)-- is a Good Thing.

I thought about it at great length, and eventually I came to the conclusion that, although I could save myself from alot of painful memories, everything I've been though has served two very important fucntions:

• I've learned something from my experiences.
  I've gotten stronger.
  I'm less likely to make the same stupid mistakes again. If I didn't go through them then, I would most likely eventually end up going through them anyway later in another form, or in another time or place.
  And . . .

• Everything I've gone through has led me where I am today. And I like where I am today. There were times in the past when I really couldn't say that.
  You change the past, then you change the present and I like the present just the way it is, thank you very much.

BTW, if you like time travel stories, a really excellent one to read is
The Man Who Folded Himself by David Gerrold.

Dynamite Hack

Do you HATE the new Navbar that's now on top of (most of) the blogger/blogspot blogs?

Well, get rid of it then!

Blended, Not Mixed

Let me just say right now that bi- and multi-racial people are some of the most beautiful people in the world.
I'm sure there are some exceptions, but it seems like multi-racial people get the best parts of their racial heritages.
And it doesn't seem to matter what races are included: black and white, black and Asian (which my buddy Matt calls "blasian"), Asian and white -- what have you.
A co worker of mine is white, black, and Cherokee and he's hot, OK?

(Let me also say that I don't care for the term "mixed". I know other people use it and don't see anything wrong with it, and that's fine, really.
It just reminds me of breeders discussing the pedigree of their dogs. "Fluffy is a poodle / Pomeranian mix.")

I can envision some future time when everyone's one shade of tan or another and racial prejudice is something from the distant past and barely remembered. ("People hundreds of years ago discriminated over color? What were they thinking?") It just underscores the fact that we are all. one. race.
The Human race.
unfortunately, we've a long way to go before the utopia I described comes about.

What brought all this on? Well, I'm glad you asked!
My girlfriend Mel brought her daughter Desty to my work yesterday. Desty is white and black and the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. You have to see this child -- one look and you would fall instantly in love.
Every time I see Desty I just want a child of my own.
It's crazy, I know, but I can't help it --she's that adorable.

Any black or Asian girls out there want to have my love child?

Your Caption Here

Use the comments link to add a caption.

(This photo was found in the Found Photos Gallery.
Link courtesy of the ever amazing and wise Dalai Banana.)

New Review

Monster (2003)
Rating: R; (strong violence and sexual content, pervasive language)
Starring: Charlize Theron, Christina Ricci
Directed by: Patty Jenkins

When the husband decided to go to Blockbuster to pick up a DVD for us, I was a little aprehensive.
Our tastes in movies are very different, and not being with him, I didn't have any "veto power".
But the husband done good this time. He picked a movie that we actually both wanted to see.

Monster (based on a true story) is about Aileen Wuornos, who had a difficult and cruel childhood plagued by abuse and drug use. She became a prostitute (and pregnant) by the age of 13.
Wuornos eventually became a highway prostitute, servicing the desires of truck drivers. This movie focuses on the nine month period in 1989 and 1990 during which she had a lesbian relationship with a woman named Selby, and during which she also began murdering her clientele.

The process that transformed the glamorous Charlize Theron into the haggard, homely Wuornos is nothing short of amazing. The majority of the credit belongs to Theron - not only for her willingness to play "ugly," but for the uncompromising approach she employs to become the character.
Theron reportedly gained 30 pounds and let her well-toned body sag in some very unflattering areas for this film. She accurately portrays the attitude and aspect of a white trash prostitute.

Monster avoids the easy approach of portraying Wuornosas a one-dimensional psychopath. This isn't a slasher movie by any stretch of the imagination. Instead -- without diminishing the horror of her actions -- the film humanizes Wuornos, developing a three-dimensional character where one might not normally expect to find one.
Only a hard life life could produce the person that Wournos eventually becomes, and seeing her become a "monster is both unsettling and intriguing .
This movie will haunt you long after you're finished watching.

Running With Scissors

Scissor Sisters rock!!!
I haven't been this excited about new music in awhile.
I'm running out and buying the CD today, no matter what happens.

Can you say "Obsessed"?

I've been to Star Trek conventions and seen people dressed as Vulcans, Romulans, and Captain Kirk.

I've been to Comic conventions as seen people dressed up as Robin (the boy wonder) and Electra.

I've even been to Science Fiction/Fantasy conventions and seen people dressed as Dr. Who and Glinda (Good Witch of the North).

But this is the strangest thing I ever did see.

This Just In

The restaurant I work at has been chosen as the location for a scene in a movie.
Amazing as it sounds, one of the producers decided that the restaurant would be the "perfect location".
I'm finding it hard to believe, I guess, probably because I work there.

Anyway, this is all that I know:
• The filming will be in a week or two.

• The restaurant will be closed for one day only and it will be a "closed set", only the actors, producers, cameramen and the other people helping make the movie will be allowed in the restaurant.

• They don't need any "extras" for the film. (Dang it! My quest for stardom has been quashed yet again.)

• The films "working title" is See No Evil.

• The film is slated to be called Syriana, though.

• The film stars George Clooney and (the adorable) Matt Damon.

• The date for release of this film is July, 2005.

More on this as I find it out.

Who Knew?

I thought my gayness came from genetics, or just pure dumb luck.
Not so.
It turns out it was his fault the whole time.

I've Got Pictures

Here are some recent photos:

I call this one "Morning Bedside Table Still Life".
Notice my 'Ports, lighter, ashtray, cordless phone, book I'm reading, and electronic organizer are all within easy reach.

Here I am rockin' my Blogger Gear.
I am proud to be a blogger. Proud!

This is Jim, a bartender at Spike.
Jim was kind enough to pose for a photo when I was in there recently.

Here's another one of Jim.
Hot, huh? I don't know why, but
I have always had a thing for bartenders.

This is the card catalog at the Enoch Pratt Free Library.

I call this one "MJ in the Doorway".
This is the door of a music store that's been out of business at least 2 years.
It's at the corner of Saratoga and Park.

I Need A Doll

I couldn't sleep last night, so I took a Tylenol PM.
One pill. (The normal dosage is 2 pills.)
That really wasn't working for me, so I took another one.
After 25 minutes or so I still wasn't sleepy, so I was about to go downstairs and make a cocktail.
But I didn't--for a very important reason:

It's all because of Valley of the Dolls.
In my mind, I kept seeing Patty Duke shoving a fistfull of pills in her mouth and washing them down with a bottle of scotch.

"Booze makes 'em work faster."

*shudder*
If I start to make a habit of it, the next thing I know I'll be alone late at night in a deserted alley, crawling along the pavement and screaming my own name.

And nobody wants that.

The Beautiful People

Yesterday evening at work, I was assigned the Banquet Room, which would have pissed me off if there hadn't been a large party (of 57 people) scheduled.
The group turned out to be a busload of kids (High School age) and their teachers from a Special Education school. These were kids who were mentally retarded for one reason or another.
It was one of the nicest groups that I ever served. All the kids were very nice and polite.
One girl, after finishing everything in front of her, called to me.

"Mister Jimmy! I ate it all up!" she said giggling and pointing to her plate.
"That's great!" I replied while clearing dishes from the table, "You're a member of the Clean Plate Club!"
"Hey, everybody!" she exclaimed with delight, "I'm a member of the Clean Plate Club!"

She was just radiant. That's the only way I can think of to describe her. And something about that touched me deep inside in a way I can't describe.
And just as I was feeling this incredible feeling that there actually was some goodness and innocence and purity in this world, of course something came along to spoil it all.
That "something" turned out to be Leo, one of our dishwashers who was on his way to the restroom. He sees a boy from the group who's also on his way to the restroom.

"Jesus," he says to me with a smug sneer on his face, "What the Hell do you call that?"
"He has Down's Syndrome," I said evenly, trying hard to keep my composure, "In other words, he was born that way. What's your excuse?"

And then I walked away before I said something I'd regret later.

Things like that make me ashamed to be a member of the Human Race.
My faith in Human Nature takes such a pounding sometimes that I'm amazed it still exists.

I Ain't Goin' Nowhere

I saw Catwoman the other day.
It was all right.
Not fabulous, but not as terrible as the reviews I've read.
The special effects were fairly decent and Halle sure got the cat moves down.
It was just one of those movies that's better on DVD when you can pause it to go to the bathroom or to pop your own corn in your kitchen. But go see it in the theater if you've got 90 minutes to kill.

Speaking of killing . . . (nice segue, huh?)
What's up with all the blogicide?
There's been all these bloggers killing and/ or discontinuing their blogs.
Mike, Joey, Sissy, and now SoBlo (among others).
And I've heard all sorts of reasons for it: "the 'wrong' people were reading", "I don't have time for it anymore", "I had to censor myself too much", "It became too much work" and (the most absurd of them all) "I have become a monster!"
I'm sure those bloggers feel their reasons are valid.
The pity of it is, they were good bloggers and I really enjoyed reading them regularly, and now I have to delete them from the blogroll.
Poof, begone!
It's like a favorite TV show being cancelled. Someone pulled the plug and and I end up with a dead link.

Let me just state for the record: I'm not going anywhere.
Through the good times and the bad, through the truly inspired to the insipid, I will be here.
I don't give up anything that easily.

Who's That Guy?

That's Chris Leabu, a model for Abercrombie & Fitch.
(I can't seem to get away from those A&F boys no matter how hard I try!)

For more A&F photos than you'll know what to do with, click here.

That's The Way Love Moves

Whew! Alot has been going on since I last posted.
Here's the condensed version to keep you up to date.

Friday:

Friday was an emotional day for me. I spent the early afternoon packing more of my things.
I came across a box of photos from a trip that G. and I took to New York. In the photo we're on the pier and the sun is shining down on us and we're smiling and holding one another. I started crying when I saw our faces. We were sohappy. I kneeled there with the shoebox of photos on my lap and just cried. It felt like someone had grabbed my heart and squeezed it.

If this is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so bad?

I went to work that night and we were really busy and for that, I was grateful. You can't be all pouty and weepy when there's no time to.
After I got home and climbed into bed (we were still sleeping in our bed together) I reached out and put my hand at the small of his back and he turned over and pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around me.
It felt so good.
I couldn't help it. I broke down crying and he held me closer and said, "Babe, it'll be OK", which only made me cry harder.

I like to think I'm so hard, and so strong, and so tough, but I'm not.
I'm weak.

After the tears slowed down, we fell asleep holding one another.

Saturday:

Saturday morning G. went to work and I had the house to myself. I had plenty of time to think about things.
One of the main things I thought about were our wedding vows. They weren't the traditional ones, but they meant the same things. "For better or for worse" was the one that got to me the most.

Jimmy, you're giving up! That's not like you!
You're not a quitter! You're just going to throw away five years?

I had come to a decision: I was going to see if we could work things out somehow -- even if it means we see a Couple's Counselor or something.
I ripped a page out of my notebook and wrote him a letter which said,

"I love you. I want to talk this out and see if we can make this work. Love, Jimmy"

Just as soon as I finished writing the phone rang. It was G..
"Are you still moving out?"
"Do you want me to go?" I asked bluntly. (Nothing subtle about me. No sir!)
"No."
We decide that the time for a talk is long since passed and that he would pick me up from work and we would talk everything out. Even if it took all night we were going to work this out one way or another.
There was no telling which way this would go. I could end up leaving after all.
But I had to know, one way or the other, for sure.

Late Saturday / Early Sunday:

G. picked me up and we talked long into the night.
Ultimately we decided to give it another go.
Five years is a long time to just let slip away.

And it turns out that we're more miserable apart than when we're together -- no matter how "bad" things seemed to be.
Who woulda thunk it?
There's still a few things we need to iron out, but for the most part we're doing all right.
I love him. What else can I do?

OK, now that all the drama has passed, I can get back to blogging about lighter things.
Which is a relief, because things were getting way too heavy!