Act natural

( Monday, Jan. 19, 2004 2:07 pm )

>Fly, Eagles, fly, you bastards

Ugh, work. However, after spending a very shitty Sunday at the bookstore, I was able to go to Call's, where I was immediately cheered by my affectionate boy and one of his patented whatever is around dinners (chicken and rice) that always seems to hit the spot when I am starving. It's remarkable how happy I am with him--he asked how my day was, and being in his arms I was about to say "good," when I remembered that the day was actually sucky all over. If I tell him he makes me happy, though, he quotes scientific research at me to prove that I am just a happy person and relationships don't make you happy of themselves. Anyway, then we went over to a football watching party at one of his labmates' apartment, where we watched the Eagles fall all over themselves. Afterwards, walking home in the bitter cold, we came across a youngish man walking in just his boxer shorts, with bare feet, who shouted at us the clever Eagles cheer (E-A-G-L-E-S-Eagles!), followed by a woman who was obviously his long-suffering girlfriend carrying some of his clothes, who said "he lost a bet" as she passed us.

And now I'd like to rate the top 3 "Eagles lost the big game for the third year in a row" headlines from the local papers. In number 3, I place the uninspired Metro "Threepeat." In number 2, the excellent effort from the Philadelphia Inquirer, "Third Downer." And finally, from The Daily News, the beautiful and heart-tugging headline: "God, It Hurts!"

Yeah, I'm pretty much over it though, cause when the Super Bowl rolls around, I'll be watching it in Miami, in some sort of tropical bar with banana frond ceiling fans, with one hand on my man and one holding my coconut-shelled, umbrella-festooned, double-size daquiri.

So anyway, last night my frequent creeping marriage fantasies about Call were dealt a much-needed death blow, when we were talking in bed, me about to fall asleep and him with blood made entirely of caffeine as usual, when I told him about how in Miami I was going to get the CALL tattoo on my lower back in the nice 40 point olde english font with maybe some curlicues and a dragon. And sadly, though I was joking, I love him so much I would put his name on my ass. And he said he would maybe get an "A," and I was like yeah, because then you could always turn it into another word, if....whoops. And he said, yeah, like "A girl I'm with." And I'm like, Damn you, no, I want my face tattooed on your ass. "But tattoos are so permanent!" Even though I explained that he could always turn it into Tweety Bird later, even while joking he remained firmly on message, emphasizing to me that we're involved in some sort of limited partnership, one link in a chain of serial monogamous relationships. Not that he said it like that. But it's OK, reality-ville, but...But. I don't know how to end that. But. My point is that I'm now safely bunkered down for a long seige of relationshippery. I mean, I'm not the kind of girl who likes the wedding porn and reads all the bridal magazines in the Big Chain Bookstore cafe--you know who you are!--but you see, now that he tells me he loves me, now I want him to say "I love you SO much. Forever. Forever? Foreva-eva--eva-eva."

Yeah, I'm a dork. But a dork who'll be in Florida in 2 weeks!

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