‘Like a summer with a thousand Julys’

Sometimes when I’m feeling particularly wistful, I think that it would be nice to get married someday — don’t laugh! It’s possible that someone might actually consider me suitable for legally enforced, lifelong partnership some day before I die! — and if that were to happen, I would want this song to be the first song we danced to as a married couple, be it on a floor of grass or sand or wooden planks in front of a crowd of buzzed onlookers or privately together in our living room after a quiet civil ceremony. Whatever. Details don’t matter in dumb fantasies. What matters is how this song reminds me of The Point of It All and also The Cosmic Hangover after you fall in love and get dehydrated.

Once upon a time (2008) I wrote something so delicious about Billie Holiday that I have to copy it here, since I can’t ever top this, ever:

Putting a Billie Holiday record on has roughly the same effect on a room as turning on an oscillating fan and taking off a couple of layers of clothes. The only way the setting could possibly improve is if you’ve got one hand clenched around a glass of champagne, and your other arm wrapped tightly around a man who smells like soap and salt, your chin perched on his shoulder as you two shuffle side by side to the slow, swinging beat, your shadows long from the candlelight.

Guhhhh.

Day 45/365: Sweet

Day 45/365: Sweet

I spent my day scrubbing the house clean and watching two dudes remove the motherlode of fall leaves from my front and back yards. Nothing particularly romantic about either of those things but I felt three thousand percent better when it was all over. It was like my house had been excavated all of a sudden. Icing on the cake? When the fella arrived home with these pretty things in hand and told me we had reservations at Brooklyn Bridge. He kept his monkey suit on while I got ready and then we paired up and looked smashing, if I may say so myself. Then we went and stuffed ourselves with delicious Italian cheesiness and wine. During conversation (between peeks at the television over the bar), he managed to keep his overwhelming lust for the Royal Furniture girl to a dull roar, and I did not curse too loudly, spill anything, or make wildly offensive jokes.

Ahhhhh, that’s amore.

[Project 365]

Romance ain’t dead

Manfred, via text message: You’re all I think about unless I have to pee. Then I think about that.