I Farted, and Other Current Events

Flowers are blooming, my nose is revolting. I wake up each morning and dutifully squirt Flonase into my nasal cavities. A light floral aroma and tasteless fluid make Flonase quite pleasant to take. But despite what I am certain are well-aimed squirts and well-crafted chemical compounds, my allergies persist. The Flonase is trying as best it can. I feel absolutely fine except for the fact that my nose will not stop running. I can work out, go running, and do whatever other physical activity I want. My lungs and throat are clean and clear. Something in the air is causing this ruckus and I have no idea what it might be. I could go in for testing, but that's so... I dunno... efficient. I'd much rather wait until I'm bed-ridden and destitute.

One of our dear friends is preggers and ready to pop. We're hosting a baby shower this Saturday. Rather than make it one of those "girlz only" kind of things, the soon-to-be mom wanted it to be a coed event. I think this is a fantastic idea, if nothing else for the fact that we won't be the only men present. You see, being gay embiggens one with all kinds of special qualities. Chief among them is the inclusion to all gatherings feminine: baby showers, candle parties, Tupperware parties, knitting parties, gossip parties, sex parties and tampon parties. Robin and I have been invited to all sorts of these things. I would be lying if I said I didn't appreciate some of them. My first Pampered Chef party had me in such a state that I was squealing at each little gadget and stone pizza slab. We were in college at the time, had no extra money to speak of, yet walked away with a food chopper, thermometer and dry/liquid combo measure.

We went to a local Moroccan restaurant last Friday. It specializes in spice-filled Mediterranean cuisine and is absolutely delicious. Their dedication to authenticity is apparent when they bring you warm, damp towels and ask if you would like silverware or not. I ate with my bare hands until the hot goat meatballs came at which point I decided to revert to my Western sensibilities. The main reason for going, however, was not just to sample their foodstuffs, it was to see one of Robin's coworkers belly dance. Regina is, without a doubt, the best belly dancer I have ever seen. Her self-made outfit was bedecked with shiny baubles and stamped pieces of metal. She wafted around the room with a remarkable balance of delicacy and hot ass sex goddess. Every part of her body was dedicated to the performance, her fingers being one of my favorite parts. Rather than keeping them straight and posed in different directions, she allowed them to slither and wave, further enhancing her misty aura. My jaw officially fell on the floor when she took a sabre, turned it so the blade balanced on her head, and continued to move about. Her arms stretched and flowed, her hips jangled, her shoulders rotated, all the while the sabre remained absolutely still. I plan on going again sometime. It's great that the food was yummy and all, but Regina was the highlight.

The last month of winter in Oregon sets me on edge. Sick of the dreary weather, I just want to see buds on the trees and color return to the landscape. We are fortunate to live in a place where the diverse array of flora makes the spring season start early. One could argue that crocuses and daffodil are actually late winter plants, but the one arguing such is clearly being argumentative.

Grammatical learning of the day: "It's" is never a possessive. Ever. OK? "It's" is always used to signify the highly successful and lavish marriage of the words "it" and "is." You might think to yourself, "But I'm describing a quality that 'it' possesses." Something like, "it's flying buttresses." Yes. You are correct that it "has" flying buttresses. Though tempting, the correct usage is its: The neo-Gothic cathedral and its flying buttresses are bitchin' to the max. But if this causes the brain hurts (because in every other case, one uses 's or s' to signify a possessive!) simply circumvent the "its" all together and make possessive the flying buttresses like this: The neo-Gothic cathedral's flying buttresses are totally giving me the shits.

I've been wanting to use the word fecund in a sentence so badly! It means a couple of things: 1) Capable of producing offspring, in abundance, prolific, fruitful and 2) Very productive or creative intellectually. It seems forced to do it here, so I'll try to use it in a sentence with one of my coworkers today. Something like, "I rather appreciate the fecund effort you put into this email," or, "The fecund law professor worries less about the quality of his work and more about the rate at which he produced it," or, "My, for a woman in her fifties, you're fecundity is astounding!" I'll let you know how it goes.