Happy Hour

Last night’s drink: Maker’s Mark and water.

Once you pass the age of, oh say 24, life starts to pan out a little bit. It becomes a little more predictable, and a little less flexible. This must be where the quarter life crisis comes in. It isn’t that 25 year-olds are freaking out because they don’t know what to do with the next 30 years of their life – it’s because they don’t want to be doing this.

Last night, I had a moment that was undecidedly outside of my life pattern – I sat with Big Josh and Little Josh in my tiny apartment as Big Josh tattooed the top of his own thigh.

Thankfully, he did a great job. He’s an awesome artist, so I’m sure that’s part of it, but he didn’t even practice on grapefruits first. He just went directly for the skin. It was fascinating to watch, and a little nerve-racking at the same time. I almost felt akin to planning a crime or something – like, if my neighbor knocked on my door and was like, “What is that loud, buzzing sound?” I’d have to bar her view of the inside of my apartment and think of a good excuse. Tattoos or mass sexual escapades.. which is worse?

I fell asleep while Little Josh was picking out what he wanted to get. I felt bad, then, when Big Josh woke me up to say goodbye, since I had sort of put an end to their fun for the evening. Something tells me I won’t be seeing those two tonight.

Jenn asked me the other night if I liked Big Josh.. like, really liked him. The thing about Big Josh is that our relationship is so incredibly different than any relationship I’ve ever had, that I can’t get a gauge on it. I know I really like being with Big Josh, and that we are growing more comfortable with eachother. But when I compare it to my past successes and failures, it doesn’t compute. At this point, I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.

I’m used to being in control of the relationship, and I’m definitely not in this one. I won’t really know how I feel about that until the fluffy fun and honey heat drip out of our first few months together. I can give you some insight into how a guy might feel about that though – just read this post. I don’t know why I love reading that guy’s stuff. I just do.

With Christmas shopping almost done and half the fudge and cookies gone at work, I’m ready for the weekend and my Christmas alone. I’m thinking of getting a teeny weeny tree for the two presents I bought this year on my very small Christmas budget. I thought it would make me feel extra single, but now I think it might complete the solitude – and I mean that in a good way.

Is it rum that goes in egg nog?