"The time has come!" The walrus said...

...to make an obligatory blog post. Damn it, I am going to get readers and comments in the double-digits if it kills me! For crying out loud, DeeMarie's been blogging for a fraction of the time I have and she averages 14 comments per post! I will NOT be left in the cyber-dust. Therefore I give you:

The 100(ish) Things You May Not Know About Me But Probably Do:

1. I wrote my first story when I was five years old. It stunk on ice, but back then I thought I was freakin' Vonnegut.(1) My mom was so proud she printed up copies for everyone at work.

2. I never learned how to ride a bike. Not for lack of trying. I must've gotten up there a thousand times, but it just never took. That big ol' curve in my spine might have something to do with it...

3. I was diagnosed with Cerebral Paulsey when I was nine. However, it's an exceptionally mild form of CP which affects only my feet, and usually I don't even remember I have it until I catch a glance of the identical scars on my ankles from my operation...and even then it's more of a "huh...that's right" than a "woe is me! My life is fraught with tragedy!" However, it came in mighty handy when it came to ditching gym class.

4. Regarding number 3, a few years after my diagnosis, I saw an episode of Maury with a girl who had the same disease, but in a much more severe form. She had leg braces and walked with special crutches. Ever since then, I have offered up prayers of thanks to any diety who would have me that I was blessed to be put at the lower end of the bell curve.

5. When I refer to myself as LadyG, it's short for my official internet handle: Lady Geektastic. I do live up to it. I obsess over the geekiest of books, TV shows, movies and other pursuits. I'm a devoted fan of Spider-Man, though I'm not above liaisons with Hellboy should the opportunity arise. I mourn Captain America, and I'm still pissed of at Spidey for striking a deal with Mephisto. Hell, I'm still pissed off at Spidey for that press conference.(2)

6. I secretly semi-openly worship Carrie Bradshaw. Yes, she lives a completely unrealistic (read: impossible) lifestyle. Yes, she has the legs of an anorexic 15-year-old. Yes, she blatantly over-uses the phrase "I couldn't help but wonder...". But so help my I would give my left cerebral hemisphere if I could have her life! Plus...you know...SHOES!

7. I. Love. Shoes. This is a very recent and very disturbing development. I used to pride myself on having all of three pairs of highly functional shoes, with maybe two pairs of useless dressy things other people gave me that I never got around to ditching. Now? I browse the Zappos website and drool...in between heart-attacks at the $169 price tags. Also, there's this pair of floral print pumps at Target...WANT!

8. I'm still technically a teenager, and I'm a good girl in that I never ever drink. I simply don't like the taste of alcohol. Yes! It totally does have a taste! A bad, bad taste! And yet my age and preferences never seem to deter adults from trying to get me to "try this" whenever they think of a fruity cocktail that they want to turn me on to.

9. My friends are nuts. Seriously. But they're loyal, supportive and always good for a laugh.

10. I have a dog. Her name is Maddy. She's 10, she's lazy, and she will hit you if you don't pet her like right effing now!!!

11. My greatest dream at the moment is to somehow get myself a breast reduction. Breasts that make up approximately 10% of your total body weight? No thank you.

12. You will never know my total body weight. So there.

13. My favorite romantic fantasy involves a waltz, and an absolutely GORGEOUS forest green gown with off-the shoulder sleeves.

14. My parents are divorced. My father re-married, and he's currently stationed in Afghanistan. Curiously, thanks to e-mail, he and I are closer now than we have been in about six years. I heart technology.

15. A 19 year old girl, still living at home? Yeah, me and my mother butt heads a lot. I'm desperate to move out, but she don't make it easy.

16. I honestly have no idea what's so great about Tyler Perry. I'm sorry, I just...don't. *shrug*

17. I never watch reality TV. I used to, when I was too young to know better. Now I'm begrudgingly giving So You Think You Can Dance a try. I fast forward through the bad auditions whenever possible, and I can't wait until the actual competition starts and I can, you know, watch people who can actually dance! I'm a sucker for choreography. That bench routine a couple years back? Chills.

18. My favorite show in the history of televised programming? Without question, Eric Kripke's brain child: Supernatural. These next four Sam and Dean-less months are going to be absolute Hell! Although that might not be a fair statement considering that Dean is currently quite possibly in Hell. You know...for real. There are meathooks involved.

19. I live for behind-the-scenes featurettes. The advent of the DVD? My own personal bliss. I spend more time obsessing over Bloopers, fly-on-the-wall filming, cast and crew testimonials and lengthy BTS documentaries than the actual movie.(3)

20. My favorite male author is Jim Butcher, writer of The Dresden Files and Codex Alera. I prefer Dresden myself.

21. My favorite female author is Jen Lancaster, the sensational mind behind three hilarious memoirs: Bitter is the New Black; Bright Lights, Big Ass; and Such a Pretty Fat. Link to her blog, Jennsylvania, is in the blog roll-------->

21.5. It's also, you know, right up there in 21, but you get the point!

22. I'm sort of an insomniac. I find it really, really hard to fall asleep before sunrise. This irritates me and causes no end of resentment from my mother. Though, it's not as though I choose to wake up in the afternoon only to hear about what I missed while everyone else was enjoying their morning.

23. The thing I hate the most about my house is the bath tub. It's too short, too shallow, and it has this stupid fail-safe drain thingie that makes it impossible to fully submerge oneself in the water, thereby leaving some very *ahem* prominent parts of the anatomy literally out in the cold. Not fun.

24. I am a Straight Ally. I was active in my high school Acceptance Coalition, I've marched in two subsequent Pride Parades, and I advocate gay marriage.

25. I have no religion, but I study religion. Currently I'm very interested in Buddhism from an academic standpoint. I was raised Methodist, but I ditched that in pre-adolescence in favor of four somewhat misguided years as a practicing Wiccan. I gave that up when I got sick of the drama. Apparently pagan is synonamous with "drama queen". Who knew?

26. I believe in extra-terrestrial life. I don't know that anyone else has visited this planet(4), but it seems kind of lonely and arrogant to believe that we're the only planet in the entire ever-expanding universe to sustain life.

27. I still retain a fascination with unicorns and mermaids from my pigtail years. Granted now I spend more time analyzing the evolutionary and cultural aspects of the myths, but on some level I still find them very pretty.

28. I, too, have worked retail. I know your pain.

29. I watch The Simpsons, Family Guy and Robot Chicken more than I probably should.


30. You know how most adolescent girls obsess over Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or Justin Timberlake or whoever is milking the estrogen market these days? Me? I adore Jason Marsden. He's the guy who did the voice of Tino Tonatini in The Weekenders. Awesome Cartoon. He also did quality work in Static Shock, The Lion King II: Simba's Pride and W*I*T*C*H. He also played Rich Halke, J.T.'s best friend on Step by Step.

31. Other favorite voice actors include Mako, Kath Soucie, Grey DeLisle, Phil LaMarr, Thom Adcox, Keith David, Dante Basco, Zach Tyler, Frank Welker, and Dee Bradley Baker.

32. If I had one wish, I would probably use it to erase all traces of Spongebob Squarepants from the face of the Earth. DEATH TO THE EVIL POROUS ONE!

33. My favorite animals are cats and whales, particularly dolphins and humpbacks.

34. I used to study Karate when I was six. At the same time, my mother owned a pet store where I went every day after school. She since sold the store and I had to quit Karate when we couldn't pay for it anymore. I still remember the eight-point-blocks though.

35. I have a rudementiary knowledge and skill with belly dancing.

36. I speak semi-conversational French, and I know a few words of Japanese, Spanish, German, Hawai'ian, Czech, Mandarin Chinese, Italian and, I'll admit it, Klingon.

37. When asked if I prefer Star Trek or Star Wars, my answer is Farscape.

38. My favorite song is Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas.

39. If I could wake up to any song it would be A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me by Fall Out Boy. I have next to no clue what it's about but the music video is a cheesy vampire flick and the music is so energetic! I also love Thnks Fr th Mmrs.

40. I love Doctor Who. Ten is my favorite, but at first I had a hard time letting go of Nine. Christopher Eccleston was absolutely brilliant, and it's a testament to David Tennant's skill that he was able to surpass that performance.

41. I love Shakespeare, but I don't have a blind adoration for it. I actually find Romeo and Juliet kind of hard to stomach. I don't think the characters behave believably, especially Juliet. However, if I could see the Royal Shakespeare Company perform The Tempest just once before I die, I'll die happy.

42. I have one older sister. She moved out as soon as she could and hasn't looked back since. My mom resents this, so she's making it as hard for me to leave as she possibly can. Thanks a lot, sis.

43. I Do. Not. Sing. Karaoke. No!

44. I love the water, but I can't swim very well. Mainly because I live in the snow belt and chances to practise swimming are few and far between.

45. My family is working class. That means I haven't been on vacation in over a decade, and the only country I've traveled to that wasn't my own is Canada. A whopping three hour drive, people!

46. I live in New York, but there's a funny thing about that. See, New York has a peculiar quirk. It's completely invisable save for this tiny strip of land hanging off of its ass. That massive, invisable landmass no one ever notices? That's where I live. The New Yawkers call it Upstate. We call it CNY, and it's where the State Fair lives, bucko!

47. I resent that I've lived in New York my entire life, and yet I'm still not considered a New Yorker because I don't reside in one of the five burrows...whatever they are. But I get apple orchards, actual seasons, a massive state park, mountain-side living and the freakin' Erie Canal, so it's their loss.

48. I am 1/16th Susquehanna. I have no clue what this means, but it makes me feel all warm inside. Even though I'm pale as a sheet and my last name is Welsh...or maybe German...I'm fairly sure it's British. I don't know. It's common as dirt, anyway.

49. I love to watch old movies, preferably from the 40's. The women actually seem more empowered in that era, not less. In the non-MST3K flicks, the women are strong, forthright and powerful forces of nature. You're not likely to see them getting chased down a suburban street in their bra and panties, and if they screamed you knew it was for a damn good reason.

50. I hate math, but I'm obsessed with numbers. All my lists have to end in a multiple of 5.

I'm gonna leave it at that, and come back tomorrow with the next 50...if I can come up with that many. Hey, I did WAY better than DeeMarie!

---

(1)Not that I knew who Vonnegut was at five years old...

(2)Search "Spider-Man" on Wikipedia for more details.

(3)Best documentary? Pirates of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl. Best gag reel? Supernatural Season 1 and Season 2.

(4)Or whether or not they have an "in" with Tom Cruise.

Home Owned

The first thing I need to cover today is that Angel is no longer with us. This morning The Scot dropped her at the SPCA, naturally no one discussed this with me since, despite my mother's refusal to let me move out, I am apparently not a member of this household. Her clingyness is downright pathetic.

But I'm not going to get into that, I've already done the bitch and moan about mommy thing and we're never going there again. Besides, I still have Maddy.

But I will talk about moving out. Minions, I want to know how old you guys were when you first moved out. I have an opportunity, but the moment I tried to discuss it with Landlord Mommy, she flat-out forbid it, and since I can't exactly relocate without her help (she knows where all the important documents live), I am officially stuck.

But for just a moment, just one fleeting, beautiful second, starting my own life really felt possible, and now it's all I can think about! I'm starting to have these fantasies about sprucing up a total dump á la Cyleste in the City, and looking at Paige's San Francisco loft on Charmed and thinking, "I could totally re-create that fabric scheme in my apartment."

"My apartment". It's got this ring to it, in my head it almost sounds like a prayer. It's my promised land, only instead of shlepping through the desert for 40 years, I'm desperately trying to extricate myself from prolonged adolescence. Over the years, my first apartment has taken shape in my head until I can travel at will to a world of lush, sophisticated colors, amateur paint jobs, and evenings spent on a worn but still cumfy tan sofa, holding a stemmed glass of sparkling grape juice and indulging in an evening of Sex and the City reruns on TBS.

My first apartment is a single bedroom, where the bathroom is just big enough to hold a decent-sized bathtub, the kitchen can be described as a kitchenette, and the living room is big enough for the tan couch, a TV, an end-table with a lamp, a coffe table and a bookshelf. I yearn for a living room with a bookshelf. My bedroom...I haven't quite gotten there yet. All of my fantasies take place either on my sofa, or seated in my kitchen jr. at 3:00 in the morning typing away on my laptop.

It's not major. It's not a palace, or even a two-story house with a yard and a white-picket-fence, or even Carrie Bradshaw's Manhattan refuge, it's small and modest and the thing that makes me love it and long for it is that it's mine. Me, alone, by myself. And when I leave my apartment, it's to take the stairs down to the street where my cheap, crappy car, The Deus ex Machina is waiting to transport me to my girlfriend's house where we'll sip something bubbly and red and laugh about...whatever. My couch will be there to welcome me when I come home from a crappy day at my crappy job, inviting me to collapse with a sigh and bemoan my existance.

My apartment is the starting point for my own, personal life. And yeah, I know that my first apartment will probably be completely different from my fantasy, but I don't care what the reality is because no matter what it looks like or smells like, whether it's too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter, it doesn't matter because it'll still be my apartment, and I desperately want to get to it sooner rather than later.

Because when I finally get to my apartment, it'll mean that it's me, just me. And I'll have to buckle down and take care of myself, with no one standing under me with a safety net waiting for me to fall. Getting my own place is my chance to prove my mother wrong. I can make it on my own. I will move out of this house. I so desperately want to move on with my life. It's like I'm being locked up in this big, deceptively comfortable cage. Sure everything here is familiar and safe, but that just doesn't cut it when you're being kept against your will. I don't want to live here anymore. I'm ready to move on and I've been ready.

I know why she won't let me leave. I'm not going to go into it. This blog is about me, and my life, not my screwed-up family. All that matters is that I'm tired of living my life on the cusp, and I'm ready to take that next step. It's not my fault that she isn't.

Besides, when I live alone, there'll be no one to judge me for spending too much money on a cute pair of shoes.

KRIPKE, YOU BASTARD!!!

KRIPKE KILLED DEAN! MY FURY SHALL LAST A THOUSAND LIFETIMES! HOW DARE HE MAKE ME WAIT ALL SUMMER FOR RESOLUTION? IF HE DOESN'T SAVE HIM IN S4 SHOW IS FOREVER DEAD TO ME!!!

Meanwhile, please enjoy this made of awesome Supernatural fanvid, which helps...a little...like, microscopic helps.

Much Ado About Henna

So the past two days for me have been an orgy of smells. That is, if said orgy consisted of several fat, sweaty people with only a minimal knowledge of hygene and a deodorant allergy. But there was a reason! Behold! There are now a multitude of artfully arranged brownish-orange stains on the backs of my hands! Dots, I tell you! Lovely, different sized dots! In pretty swirly patterns! With curvy lines draped on the edges! The final result looks something like a firework had an illegitimate love-child with a carnation. It's pretty.

But the smells started before the Mehndi (but after the "date" with Burns, thank God!). And I blame Jen Lancaster. In order to get in the proper mood to begin her latest book--OHMYGODSHE'STHEBESTESTWRITEREVERIWANNABEJUSTLIKEHERWHYCAN'TBURNSBEMORELIKEFLETCH?SQUEEEEEE!!!--*ahem*. Sorry about that. Anyway, to set the mood for the new book, I decided to relax metropolitan woman style, and I took a long soak using my mother's margarita-scented bubble bath. It was nice and lime-y when I got in, but after the bubbles dissipated and I spent maybe forty-five minutes shaving my legs (there's this annoying gash on my left leg from where I barked my shin against a stray speaker from The Scot's insane sound system, so I held off on shaving for a while. Finally the hair got too long for me to stand and I decided to screw the injury and just shave around it.) the lime-citrus smell turned kinda sour and I spent the rest of the night smelling like vinegar.

Somewhere around morning I decided I was sick of waiting to bust into my brand new henna kit and went to work mixing the mehndi. Okay, there are a multitude of reasons why I love henna: It's all-natural, it's culturally relevant, it's historically significant, it's semi-permanent, it reacts beautifully with my ultra-pale skin tone, it's a natural coolant and sunscreen (resulting in some kick-ass tan lines if, unlike me, you are capable of tanning) and I seriously rock at applying it. However, there are a few draw-backs, like the insane amount of time it takes to set in properly, the rediculous level of difficulty in scraping it off and the slimy texture of the olive or vegetable oil you have to smear all over yourself to keep the color when you bathe or wash your hands. But the worst part of henna is the smell! Mixing this stuff is disgusting. It takes a pretty strong stomach not to vomit while churning this stuff for five solid minutes. Once you've got it all mixed and stored the smell is safely locked away, but during the five to fourteen hours (yes, you read that right) of application and set-time, you have to continually dab at the paste with a citrus and sugar mixture.

My kit came with a pre-made citrus juice rather than the squeeze of lemon with sugar that I usually use (think strongest lemonade EVER). And the mixture they gave me? STUNK! To high heaven this shit stunk! I made Spegetti-Os and for a while I wondered if the tomato sauce had gone bad. Nope, it was just the toxic fumes wafting up from my hands! Interestingly enough, the smell wasn't enough to keep my overly affectionate dogs from climbing all over me. I know for a fact Maddie is aware of her nose, I'm just not sure it's functioning properly.

But now the stink is gone. The henna is chilling out in my freezer (it'll keep pretty potent for about a month or so in there) and my hands are nicely stained. Oh, and Nen? Before you start bugging me just know that I have one more touch to add to the designs and then I will be photographing my Mehndi-fied self for the internet's pleasure and yours, so don't get uppity!

I want to add some bands and floral designs on my fingers when I have time and reference pictures, but for now I'm happy with my flower-y fireworks. Oh! And Burns is coming over tomorrow.

And one more thing, I've started e-mailing my father. I still haven't gotten up the nerve to call him on all his bullshit, but I think I might be getting there. He wants to see a picture of me and Burns. I'll have to get back to him on that one.

And now I'm off for some quality time with a bitchy Chicago narcissist and her pearls!

Ciao bitches!

Hunka-hunka--yeah let's not go there...

So I went out with Bunrns today. Burns...and my mother. Anyway it was kinda last minute and since I slept through all four of my mom's warning calls I didn't even have time to put in my contacts much less do my make-up, so Burns got to see the real, un-enhanced me WAY sooner than I would've liked. Anyway I spent a good chunk of the day with him and I got to know a bit more about--

SELF: Wait a minute, wait a minute! Slow down here!

DANIELLE: What? Something wrong?

SELF: Uh...yeah! Are you seriously gonna blog your personal life? As in, your romantic life?

DANIELLE: Well...yeah. I mean, I've made a career out of bitching about my single-hood, and now that something is happening--

SELF: Ut-ut! No one wants to read that! Either you're bitching about how he's all wrong for you, or else you're swooning over how you've stumbled upon the world's most perfect guy and in either case, your readers are going to be pissed off!

DANIELLE: But, the only people who read my blog are people I know who...y'know...want to know.

SELF: No! They're just the only ones who comment. Steer clear of the dating scene. That's what Candace Bushnell is for!

DANIELLE: I am not Carrie Bradshaw.

SELF: Precisely, so get with the funny or I'm bailing!

DANIELLE: Fine, fine. This bit has gotten WAY too long anyway.

The Burns Update: Don't tell my Self I'm bringing this up, but Burns is a smoker...making his Blog nickname all the more appropriate. I can't stand smokers, but supposedly Burns is making an effort to quit. Since he's still on probation, I'll see what happens before I give him the boot.

In other news! Robbie and Ron aren't getting married here, but they are having the reception. Supposedly that means I can get away with jeans and not look like an ass. Unfortunately it also means I don't get to go to the wedding itself since mom'll be too busy with the preparations to go, much less take me. This bumms me out, because I love Robbie and Ron and I'd give anything to see them tie the knot.

In other other news! OMFG I FINALLY GOT A COPY OF JEN LANCASTER'S NEW BOOK AND I JUST STARTED READING IT BUT ALREADY I'M HOOKED AND SHE'S JUST SO FUNNY AND NOW I WANT TO START LOSING WEIGHT BECAUSE OH MY GOD HOW DID SHE GET INSIDE MY HEAD WE ARE SO SOULMATES FOR LIFE WHY OH WHY ISN'T SHE COMING TO SYRACUSE ON HER BOOK TOUR I ABSOLUTELY MUST SEE HER!!!

Um...Such a Pretty Fat. It's out, and I have it. It's funny. I like it a lot. And, um...OH MY GOD SHE'S A COMPLETE GENIUS AND IF SHE EVER GOT HER OWN SHOW I'D WATCH IT WITH RELIGIOUS DEDICATION SHE IS MY ABSOLUTE IDOL!

I, um. I should probably go now...before my head blows up.

Except I should probably mention that Burns has a near-encyclopedic knowledge of--

SELF: *SMACK*

DANIELLE: Ow! That hurt!

SELF: What did we talk about?

DANIELLE: Sorry. *sulks*

Plus, I Can't Sew

Strap yourselves in, my minions. There's going to be a wedding!!!

Dude--seriously? Did you seriously just go there? Please! Burns is a great guy but my date didn't go that well. Sheesh.

The wedding in question is that of dearest friend Robbie. The wedding will be held in our backyard on July 19th. July 19th. Fucking July 19th!!! I know this because I just typed, tiled, formatted and gussied up that particular date a billion times because my mom wants tags to attach to the wedding favors! Naturally, since my mother can navigate Microsoft Word about as well as she can navigate the Sea of Japan, all the actual work of assembling these tags fell to me.

I never want to see another lavender swan for as long as I live!

Robbie and her hubby-to-be* have actually been together for years. The only thing separating them from a married couple was...well...the marriage part. But now Robbie wants to make it all official and stop getting them dirty looks from her preacher relatives...and there's probably a few other reasons I'm not quite clear on just yet. Anyway, it all bubbles down to one crucial, critically important problem:

I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR!!!

Seriously, my entire wardrobe consists of casual wear. I can doll myself up to look like a freakin' modern-day Elizabeth Taylor (exaggeration, thy name is me), but no amount of make-up, jewelry or perfectly coordinated anything can change the fact that one does not wear jeans to a wedding!

My closet consists of maybe half a dozen throw-on jeans, two pairs of butt-hugging, leg-shaping, oh-my-God-could-I-possibly-look-hotter jeans, and one sheer, summery gypsy skirt that would be more fitting at a Renaissance-themed pool party than anything else. However, the scant $208 currently inhabiting my checking account leads me back to my original point:

OMFG, PEOPLE, I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!!!

Some part of me is hoping that as a resident of the property where the wedding is going to be happening, not to mention a close friend of both the bride and groom for the better part of a decade gets me a free pass into the planning-stage splurging and a suitable dress will be supplied for me, but I know that this wedding is happening on a hyper budget and if I can't afford a dress? It's likely I ain't getting one. Why, oh why did I skip my prom? I could've used that dress! Mom was even all set to buy me one and everything!

I never thought I'd miss working at Tuesday Morning this badly, but crappy job and crappy hours aside, at least I was getting PAID. Now that I'm focusing on getting into school, the odds of adding to my dwindling bank account seem pretty stacked against me.

Oh, and mom is also making the cake.** My uncle (who owns a barbecue business) is supplying the meat and the uber-grill, and my mother made the mistake of giving The Scot free reign to make the back yard wedding-ready. I can almost hear the power-tools already. He has two months. That's about how long it took him to turn my sister's old bedroom into a bar. You see where I'm going with this.

The Burns Report: Mom is thinking of having a cook-out this Saturday and she's thinking of inviting Burns. Translation: Barring an unforseen financial dilemma, most likely wedding-related, mom will have a cook-out this Saturday and she will invite Burns, if only for the opportunity to subject me to the humiliation of several beer-soaked men fussing over me and my new "boyfriend".

Seriously, he's not my boyfriend***. One date does not a boyfriend make. As far as I'm concerned, he's on probation.

So there.

*His name is Ron, and he's my gigantic Teddy Bear. Ron is one of those HUGE black men with skin so dark it's almost purple and a voice like thunder. That aside, he's quite possibly the gentlest, sweetest, most Santa Claus-esque man you'll ever meet. Which begs the question, why is it that the most imposing-looking people tend to be the kindest, while the meek-looking sumbitches tend to be massive jackasses?

**Mom used to make cakes semi-professionally. She could, when called upon, craft some of the loveliest, most intricate pieces of edible art this far from Baltimore. Unfortunately, she was most often called upon to make bachelor party cakes, which were invariably a sheet cake boasting a frosting-tableau of a naked woman from the neck down. Imagine seeing a dozen of those a year when you're about six years old and tell me you wouldn't be traumatized.

***Not that I'm entirely opposed to the idea, mind you.

The Awesome, I Has It

Because the interwebz are quaking with the desperate need to know, I am here to relay the events of my date.

Which was, incidentally, totally a date. And a very good one at that.

He said I was beautiful.

This was the first time ever that a man has called me beautiful, or anything of that sort, without prompting from me. And that moment? Was when I knew I was really on a date. My first one ever. Throughout the movie, I continually got chills, and only some of them were from the cold theater. Most of them spread down my arm to settle comfortably into the hand he was tenderly holding. It was all I could do not to shiver.

I didn't kiss him. Though, I kind of whish I had. Unfortunately, past experiances have left me more than a little kiss-shy. All of the kisses I've ever experianced have been unpleasant, and I didn't feel anything. I didn't want to take the chance that kissing him would be the same. Of course, that didn't stop him from kissing me. When I knelt in to comment on something the bad guy was doing on screen, he snuck a quick peck at my cheek. I smiled. And when, as the action heated up in Tony Stark's life, I rested my head on his shoulder, he gently kissed the top of my head.

Burns is a good-looking guy. My mom was right, he's not traditionally handsome. But he's got a nice face, fantastic teeth, fun hair and really nice eyes. He also has a very pleasing voice. And soft hands. I know, because he spent a great deal of time holding mine, his thumb softly caressing my fingers.

Having never been on a date before, I was often struck with the sensation of not knowing what to do. He made all the moves, but somehow conveyed the sense that I had every right and ability to stop him if I wanted. I did, too. When he tried to kiss me in the corridor while we waited for our ride, I said no. He seemed to understand, he left his arm around my waist and I was in no hurry to remove it. With each advance, beginning when he held my hand, I felt a momentary surge of panic. But it felt nice. He didn't rush.

He seemed to be pacing himself, carefully judging the exact moment when I'd be willing to take the next step. Oddly enough, this was generally about two minutes after I had begun contemplating the very same thing. First he cupped his hand around mine, then waited a few scenes and laced our fingers together. He waited even longer before casually slipping his arm around my shoulders, and waited until I felt comfortable enough to rest my head on his shoulder to give me a chaste kiss.

He held doors open for me, and anyone else trying to pass by. He said "after you". He lauged when I made jokes, he was funny and charming, he listened intently to everything I had to say. He didn't stare at my boobs. Not once. He likes Country Music, he even admires Reba MacEntire the way I do. He was comfortable, and charming, and he complimented me freely and sincerely. He even regretted not having dressed himself up more for the evening. I had a great time with him, and I really, really, really want to see him again. Sooner rather than later. Besides...

He said I was beautiful.

P.S. Because Jennifer demands it, here is an inventory of everything I wore tonight.

The Outfit-Favorite jeans and a $33 black shirt worth every penny:

(It's hard to see the awesome stitching on this shirt with a digital camera.)

The Shoes w/ Jeans:

The Shoes Alone:

The Watch:

The Necklace and Bracelette:

And the Earrings. The Ouchie, Ouchie, Earrings:

And that's what I wore on my date. Satisfied, Nen?