Gondolen

As always, Gondolen was wonderful. When you're that high up it doesn't matter how low you might be feeling. If only briefly, there is the city laid out before you, and for you alone. And there you are, pretending to crush tiny ant-people heads between your thumb and forefinger.

Add a plate of gourmet food to that and ten years' worth of birthday blues are blown away.

On our plates were a menagerie of delicacies: baby lamb, sander and scallops. But also gracing Andreas and I with its presence was the more elusive camel.

Seems that after the mandatory post-nicotine weight-gain, Andreas' dress pants did not fit him as well as they had last year. The buttocks looked allright enough. Andreas' regular visits to the gym had paid off in the form of two succulent, perfectly round orbs. Unfortunately the same went for the now too-tight front, also displaying two succulent, perfectly round orbs.

So all respect to Gondolen, their gustatory and olfactory delights which never fail to deliver, but the visual cake was taken by the camel toe.



(Wasn't as bad as this)

So to experiment: Keywords: "Saggy Bags, Birthdays, Hovercraft"

I have a very smart brother who knows how to do very nifty things with the internet. The other day he was kind enough to look up which pages were viewed the most in this blog.

The top two didn't really surprise me. "Why not to shave your pussy" and "Freeze it's a stick up your butt" both have an erotic twang to them, and might be of particular interest to genetalia afficionados in general. The third one, however, was called "The Case of the Receding Eyebrow".

And so I guess there's something for everyone, and that's nice.



But why judge. I once knew a guy who was turned on by women with lazy eyes. I can understand this. There's something sexy about a woman who could be looking at you, or the greased-up, juggling naked hunk to your left. Given her condition she could be dedicating one eye to each one of you. How exciting for you! There is an air of unpredictability surrounding these people, and it is this unpredictability, rather than the (strabismic, anisometropic, or occlusion) amblyopia - that I guess is pretty hot.

Something that's NOT for everyone is turning 29. And fine, okay, maybe you had a little sister who got cancer and didn't make it past 28 and boy would TWENTYNINE have been a blessing to her - THEN maybe THEN is 29 a useful age. But I wish somehow that I could have just skipped to thirty. Because I know what I will have accomplished by the time I'm 30.

I will have written a best selling novel , gotten my PhD and I will have had a record go platinum by word of mouth alone, before the record has even been recorded, that's how amazing I will be.

29? It brings with it not so much. Except for the realization that what you've done in life amounts to about $2:50. That, and the horrible realization that you can't call the extra weight around your mid section "baby-fat" anymore. But that that's okay because you're also one year closer to hiding this bulge with your increasingly vertical breasts.

But to be honest, these pangs of fear and regret that accompanies every birthday is nothing new. It hit me when I was 20, and it's going to get me a brand new hover-Porsche when 40 rolls around. So when it all boils down, becoming one year older is just not that much big of a deal.

So Happy Birthday Me, and buck the fuck up. Try to stay away from the cake tonight, your breasts aren't quite there juuuust yet. There's comfort in that.

Sleeping Beauty, (a Crouching Tiger.)

Last night I crawled into bed next to Andreas, a good hour or so after he'd fallen asleep.

No sooner had my head hit the pillow than Andreas sits up, momentarily freezes as if to ponder his next move, and shouts a long, hearty "AAAAAAAAAHAAAAA!" to no-one in particular, save maybe the space of air directly in front of him.

It's the hearty kind of "AHA" that seems to imply that Andreas now found the opportunity to put into action his most brilliant plan yet. It seems that tonight's "plan" has been that of just pretending to be asleep upon my arrival, in order to jump up and surprise me.

It has not, however, been a sleepless wait on his part because Andreas is still asleep as he turns towards me, throws his arms around me, and kisses whatever bare area of skin he comes across. Then, just as suddenly as the barrage of affection had begun, it ends.

Andreas wordlessly turns back around and settles down into his customary foetal position. As with all previous times, he recalls nothing in the morning.



So you understand why I am content. I have a best friend who, a quiet man by day, is a sleeping, swooping romantic by night.

Also I finally quit my job. So I think I'm entitled to that extra little bit of love for finally growing a pair.