The Honest Truth

Burra, my entire life I have been 'alone.'  I am used to it, almost comfortable with it.  I have never missed anyone. Ever.

But I miss you.

Please come home.  I miss your face next to me in bed, your smell, your hugs, your presents (Xmas joke!).  I miss you and love you.

A plus

EB rocked the pants off the family Christmas. He was already rocking my pants (consensually, approx. 85% of the time), but he really brought his A-game to the party. I know, I know. My last post was all about how amazing EB is, so I hereby promise that my next Barfy Cute post will be about Icelandic ponies and table saws.

But for now, EB's heroic family charm because I can't get over it. Here is a brief summary, which for some reason, I decided to write as a Burro/Burra hybrid:

Accept tea and patiently watch Burra open family girfts, which may or may not include one ironic Justin Bieber poster and a video that she already got for her birthday. From the same person who gave it to her for her birthday . Next, a brisk, complaint-free walk with family dog in Adidas sneakers. Stop in to meet Grams and one of her aunts, eat some questionable fudge with a smile, then head on over to the bad side of the lake (incidentally, also a bad inside joke). Remain calm during massive, ridiculous gift exchange, even when her charmingly (?) over-the-top grandfather shoots a flare gun inside the house.  Maintain polite conversation about cycling, even though family members are clearly inebriated. Make Burra fall even more in love with Burro.

EB had to drive back home that night, because, apparently, he like does this thing called "work". Anyways, I get this text from him the next day, which included the following: "thanks for LETTING me meet your family". I put the caps. Letting you meet my family? LETTING YOU MEET MY FAMILY?  
You are a saint. You know, if you weren't Jewish. 

PS:

I may have forgotten to mention to Burra that this was by far the best Christmas of my life.  For many reasons, but more specifically these: giant novelty wine bottles, squeaky beds in parents' houses, fudge, flare guns, swearing with old ladies, but the best part by far was this,

But no means no next time Burra!

Big dicks AND they can dance. How unlucky am I?

http://www.youtube.com/user/WHZGUD2#p/u/6/UhEAs2pfL5c

No mucking about

WASPS who live in the Laurentiens don't fool around when throwing a Solstice party

Excitable morning person sounds kind of dirty

EB has unwittingly given me a small, black moleskine with a silver Arcteryx logo on the front. Unwittingly, because when he casually handed it to me so that I could write a list, I immediately imprinted on it. And when he will ask for its location, weeks down the road, I will pretend that I don't remember it: "ohhh, that thing? Hmmm... let me just... take off your pants, let's have sex." 

I am, like, totally not a moleskine type of individual. Those people drink expensive coffees, wear sweaters from thrift stores (they spend all of their money on expensive coffees), and teach English in Mexico. SHIT! 

I am totally a moleskine type of individual. I love making lists. I love drawing comics of people using their own ponytails for mustaches. I love writing down cute things that EB does. Por ejemplo:
- puts blankets on me when I am cold 
- lets me wear socks to bed
- is a happy, excitable morning person
- has a compulsive need to pet and play with every. cat. he. sees. 
- gets totally excited about everything, except about meeting my father
- gets totally excited about food
- makes me turkey bacon
- makes me delicious coffee and brings it to me in bed
- makes me feel incredibly special and loved

The best moment is right now. 
- Norwegian Ninja

I love you, EB. 

Truly, madly, deeply. 
- Savage Garden

Could a man ask for more?

No.

I have the best mamacita on Earth.

Te amo Burra

I seem to be changing my underwear a lot more these days.  Perhaps it has to do with the increasing humidity levels, or perhaps because my beautiful Burra is finally home?  Perhaps both?

But honestly my life is amazing right now.  I have many more trinkets to add to my horrible collection, new photos to paste to baby blue walls, but most importantly someone to enjoy my hilarious jokes.  I'm a very lucky man right now.  I am slowly learning to enjoy the small things as well, like listening to her giggle next to me in bed as she reads another one of Crosley's witty one-liners. 

And the meals, fuck me, the meals.  Kraft Dinner was haute cuisine until she started helping me in the kitchen.  She taught me that you can actually buy 'spices' from the supermarket.  These little sashes of flakes and pebbles REALLY add flavour.  I have lived in a desolate culinary hell my entire life- thanks Burra.

Plus we totally bang.

!

Tomorrow

What a roller coaster - I am torn between feelings of elation and depression. Elation, because I managed to close my suitcase (by alternatively sitting on it and squeezing it between my legs, don't EVEN go there EB), and depression because it cost me $1,100 pesos to send one 6 kg box back to el Canada.  

El Buro has been amazing through all of this. Through my tough times and my Depressed Danny attitude, he's been optimistically hilarious, comfortingly inappropriate and just... really nice. He keeps saying all the right things, and makes me feel 1000 times better. I hope I can return the favor someday. 

It's my last night here in Mexico, and I will miss it a lot. I will 'go through the grieving steps' knowing that I will have the best airport pickup of my life. As Maggie says: you're closing one book, only to open a better one. 

I own a Kindle, so I can't totally relate, but downloading a new one is always totally exciting.       

Word play

 

Sometimes a little nap makes all the difference

Sweet dreams Lemonade

Because she loves math humor

There was this magnificent mathematical horse. You could teach it arithmetic, which it learned with no difficulty, algebrawas a breeze, it could even prove theorems in euclidean geometry, but when you tried to teach it analytic geometry, it wouldrear back on its hind legs, kick ferociously neigh loudly and make violent head motions in resistance.

The moral of this story is that you can't put Descartes before the horse

Homemaking

Homade gifts

El Buro's getting intense about this project. He keeps sending me these 'cute' update e-mails about the various stages of homade gift crafting. What they are is a poorly disguised 'I'm fucking kicking your ass at this'. It's ok, though, because I have this: 

 

The purple toilet paper tube penguin. I made it. 

You could, like, put a pencil in the tube? But not a pen! Too heavy. 

Nor a toothbrush because he would get soggy.  But a pencil! Yes!

Challenge ACCEPTED, El Buro. 

Homemade gift report

So I have started the base of my gift for La Burra.  I haven't decided yet if I am out of my league or not, but I am starting to doubt it will be ready my Xmas

Homade Gifts

So we have decided upon homade gifts!?  Never in my life have I had such a scary thought.  I pretend to be artistic and talented, but secretly I can barely use a gluestick without taping my eyelids shut.  Last time I went to the Arts n Crafts night at the Cock n Bull I ended up with my penis stapled to one thigh for a week.  Needless to say I couldn't show anyone my accidental artistic talent.

But I have been thinking.  I can only sum up my thoughts with a graph:

This is a very exciting time in my life.  A dangerous challenge, but I am excited to participate.  There is a serious chance my Burra has that look of disappointment on her face when she unwraps her tie-dyed blanket (kidding?).  But if I know anything, it is that she will keep a straight face, look at me in the eye and lie through her beautiful teeth about how she loves whatever I make- and I'll love her more for it.

I must shift up to craftiness level 10!  Up from Level 2.  I am game La Burra.  Watch out.  Papier Maché, macromay (sp?), bead work.  You will be surprised.  I take your challenge.

Hello, kitty

Gift from a student today. 

The universe is trying to tell me something. 

Watch yourself!

They are coming for you La Bura.

Watch your shit.

Kitten

Packing

Despite the apparent chaos, I am an anal packer. Everything has to be folded, shoes are wrapped in plastic bags, and weight is distributed equally. Once again, life needs to squashed down to two suitcases, and a 60 L backpack. I haven't minded so much in the past, but this time, I am getting a particularly nice, fuzzy-warm feeling - I'm moving home. For reals. 

But I'm not worried about the fate of my traveling dreams and desires. I still have many places to see, weird food to eat, and awkward cultural exchanges to experience slash not understand. Except this time, I will have someone amazing, hilarious and culturally insensitive to share them with. What's that cheesy line they always say at graduations? This is the first day of the rest of your life: December 18th. 
If I don't get stuck in the Mexico City airport again. Oh gosh, that was probably bad juju.        

The Approaching Explosion of Moist Emotion

T minus 6 days until our Captain Planet rings (and maybe, genitals (hopefully)) will collide in a gigantic, sparkly halo of love-dust.  Perhaps, like the universe's creation, it will begin with an implosion, I don't know.  Tourists and welcome parties alike being sucked into our vacuum of love like a rubber ducky circling the bath drain when the plug is pulled.  Shoes and passports will circle towards us orbitng our embrace in incrementally smaller orbits as we Eskimo kiss in a totally ethnically correct way.  It will be intense, and I embrace that intensity in my heart of hearts (I was born with more than one?).

Don't be jealous reader(s).  You may one day find your Lois Lane.  Just know that at 7:20pm on Sunday the 18th of December it is my turn.

Taco Tuesday's

You totally screwed our readers La Burra!  You host a bachelorette party with TWO strapping young cocks and all we get is a polite discussion about my beautiful bum? 

Not on my watch.

Let me fabricate the events as they occurred in my mind:  from 11am until about 2pm all you girls were giggly and immature, making reference to the wang-action in the near future.  From 2pm to about 5:30pm you prepped the house for the arrival of these Mexican lumberjack cock-smiths (spreading plastic wrap on everything, especially the vibrating kitchen appliances, installing the disco ball, shaving legs, underarms and possibly more intimate areas, etc). 5:30pm the drink starts going down like the Titanic.  Big Dickels everywhich way- now the jokes are getting nastier and the sausage hungry ladies are getting rowdy.  Dick shaped straws are poking out of every diet Coke and tequilla drink in the house.  6:57 one of the bachelorettes throws up in the toilet, only coming out to scream "Now wez iz ready to party bitches!"  La Burra seceretly showers her with disdain, but says nothing- only closes her emerable (blue) eyes and whispers her disgust.  8:49 the fat girl is rubbing up against anything that appears corse.  She is ready for hunky horse meat being twirled in her direction.  10:24 everyone realizes they have have eaten more than just Elotes because it is bubbling out of every hole.  11:37 the talent arrives.  One cop, one firefighter and one badass 80's boombox that could only have been stolen from the Miami Vice set steps through the door.  11:38 everyone has herpes.  Goonight.

Bums

I mulled it over. This hot guy I'm seeing kept nagging at me to blog with him (of all things), and like water over a rock, he wore me down. Mulled and ready or not, here we go.  

It didn't actually happen like that at all. He's not the nagging type of person. Unless the topic is feet. That, however, is a post for another day. 

My first post is going to be about male strippers. Sweaty, Velcro-clad Mexican male strippers. There were certainly no kitten kisses (although whoever the fuck would want a kitten kiss is beyond comprehension).  My living room still retains the faint odor of 'entertainer' - a gentle mix of Calvin Klein, tequila and tacos. 

I believe that there were, indeed, two too many pork tacos in the room last night. Despite the confusing (yet correct) use of homophones in the previous sentence, it was quite clear that things were taken too far last night.

So as my roommates and I mop up our despoiled living room, I remember the evening with mixed emotions. Laughter, camaraderie and kareoke with my Mexican besties, but too many naked boy bums. I've already got my butt - and he's the greatest end to any evening a girl could hope for. 

Han Solo

Last night I partook in a cheese fondue dinner party with friends.  100% of guests were present with their significant other, laughing, giggling, nudging, inside joking.  I was alone.  See folks, my sidekick is coming home after MONTHS of tacos and enchiladas (and Elotes- gross).  I moped around like a wet dog, playing with the resident kitten the whole night.  Sure I had some meaningless conversation, but all I wanted were those two resplendent, emerald eyes staring at me, surreptitiously giggling with me, comforting me.  But all I got were kitten licks.

7 days left my friends.  I have seen this girl 4 days in 4 months.  I miss her like Ren must miss Stimpy.  It is time to bring our superpower rings together to create: BARFY CUTE!

If Looks Could Kill