Thirty six years ago today, one of my favorite BOFH's was born. Baby, I've seen some pretty huge dicks in my life, seen some pretty pretty ones, too. But you are one of the sexiest pricks I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. -grin-

I will forever see your smiling face, three seconds after you deleted the rootpass only to replace it with... discoveranalmystery.

You, me, the boy. This weekend. I'm DD'ing. I'm going to get you both sloppy drunk and take merciless advantage of your prowess. The three of us will smurf NASA and play Quake 3 in the auditorium. With the lights off. At three AM!

Good times, honey. Good times.

This will just have to tide you over until then. Happy birthday, asshole. I love you.

So instead of getting into how awesome and incredible last night was, 'cause lemme tell ya, it was both awesome and incredible (incredibly fucking awesome), allow me to tell you what a whore I am for ... tapas.

I had the most amazing food last night. Sun-dried tomato coulee and this sinful-to-die-for green olive tampenade with garlic brushed crostini, and fresh, creamy Havarti, grape leaves stuffed with feta and black olive salad, cajun hummus (I'm not big on the chick-pea, but this was unreal!), oven-roasted shitake with gorgonzola and chile oil, artichoke dip! etc. etc. It was so good I think I may have found tapas-Nirvana.

Tonight I made baby red potatoes with chives and fresh dill. It's okay, don't hate. I made enough for everyone, so you can all come over and enjoy it too. Man, I could never give up meat, I enjoy steak way too much, but there are plenty of days I'm happy not eating it.

In case you missed it, last night? Was incredible. -grin- I'll miss you both.

Last night I was sitting in the courtyard of Cowboy Monkey listening to local alternative and relaxing under the stars. Ian was at my right, slowly stripping the label from the amber bottle in his hands, smiling like a fiend. I asked him what he was smiling at and with a tilt of his head, his blonde hair just as quirky as ever, he answered:

"At you... at this... at life."

I knew it was all alcohol inspired. Some of our best nights are, you know? I gave him a lopsided grin, the kind I always gave him, and kissed his mouth. Ian never fails to really kiss back. In another life we would have been a Hollywood Romance.

He tasted like imported beer and I'm sure I tasted like top-shelf bourbon and that one Marlboro Light I snuck back at the bar.

"What is this?" he whispered when he saw the change in my eyes.

What could I tell him? That it was born of the same stuff that made me weep silently as a child on the way home from my grandparent’s house? It was the knowledge that some day all of this would end and go away.

"Tell me what you're afraid of. You don't ever have to be afraid." In his eyes was nothing but conviction. I have never in my entire life known anyone with such unabbreviated will.

“Nothing,” I shouted above the music and smiled at him, wiping my lipstick from his mouth with my thumb.

Who was I to ruin the wide-eyed optimism of youth? He might never understand that every time I smell the rain, I know that what I’m experiencing has occurred a million times, even before the atoms became Adam and the world knew man. He might never appreciate that I know this smell will outlive me, survive us all, and that there’s a purity in it that transcends the sadness.

I looked up, into the stars made of carbon, and smiled towards the heavens. Then it began to rain. We all ran from the patio, scattering in all directions, he and I laughing as we finally made it back to the car. We were soaked in the smell, drenched in it, the rain washing the fear away.

I grabbed onto his shirt, watching the light blue melt against his skin, emphasizing his ribcage. Every breath of his was urgent, his body shuddering slightly, and I was in the same place with him that I always was. I hated myself because he was in love with me and because I would never let us become more than friends.

I stopped myself from doing what I wanted. I stopped myself from making mistakes, from burning bridges, from letting go... letting go like I always, always, always wanted to with him. I kissed his forehead, I kissed his cheeks, and he quietly closed his eyes. I kissed his lips, but only for a moment... wondering if the rain had washed away the taint of alcohol and cigarettes.

All of these moments are fleeting. No matter what we do to one another, nothing will ever leave a permanent scar that will outlive our memories here. We will love and we will hate, change and evolve, fuck up and be forgiven. We will live and we will die and in the end, the rain will be the only thing that lasts. The only thing that will ever truly matter.