SHAKE THE DICE, STEAL THE RICE!

There I was, looking over the railing at my luxuly gym, admiring the new lighted logo on the ceiling as I rested between sets.  On my iPod, some 112 was blaring.  And then I began to sing along absentmindedly:

“I can love you in the showwwwer, both of our bodies drippin’ wet!  On the patiooo, we can make it a night you won’t forget!  On the kitchen floooo, as I softly pull yo haiiir…”

I think I may have even had some Mariah hands going on.  And then it happened - a tap on the shoulder.  A smirk met my startled gaze.

“Are you using this machine?”

*cue running away with tail between my legs*

Never, EVER, sing to yourself at the gym.  You’d think I’d know by now.  :P

“Do you realize it’s been ten years since I first met you?”

The seriousness of his voice caught me off guard.  No hint of mischief or sarcastic wit whatsoever, which is a rarity these days in our conversations.

“Yup!” I replied cheerfully, not really knowing what else to say.

He paused reflectively for a moment, almost smiling to himself, and then opened his arms for a hug.

The next couple of hours returned to form, however.  The ex and I were joined at dinner by his brother and sis-in-law (who had almost become like family to me as well, when were dating), a former co-worker-turned-close-friend, as well as the ex’s new boyfriend of three-plus years (who I adore).  An odd mixture, yes, but somehow we always managed to blend perfectly.  Laughing, inappropriate/lacist humor, good-natured ribbing on politics, and most importantly, stuffing our faces with food.  By the end of the night, I had four empty bowls of rice stacked in a column; I think even the waitresses were giving me stank-fatty-eye.

After making a pit stop at Arby’s to wash everything down with milkshakes (yay for gluttony!), we drove back to the ex’s friend’s place to say bye one last time.  I gave Piggy an extended hug, cradling him in my arms as he rested his pudgy little chin(s) on my shoulder.

It was at that moment when reality set in.  The ex, whom I had dated on-and-off for over six years, was moving away.  For good.

In the weeks leading up to his impending move to the west coast, I obviously felt sad.  But I grossly underestimated how I would feel at that final goodbye.  I should’ve known.  He was someone that knew me better than anyone else.  Someone that, despite all of the painful memories, was a person that I counted as one of my closest friends.  Someone that I relied on and took for granted here in DC.

As I laid Piggy down on the floor and watched him waddle away, my vision began to blur.  I stood there silently, and the ex sensed it was time.  He enveloped me in one of his big bear hugs, and the tears began to fall.

“Come visit us soon, okay?” His voice cracked.  I sobbed silently.

“Find someone that will…treat you right.” Almost like a final apology.  The sobs were wracking our bodies now, and I hugged tighter.

As I backed out of the driveway, I saw him linger outside, alone, at the door.  I could not stop crying.  Driving off, I looked back and watched him wave, saying goodbye for the last time.

So, over the weekend, I was having a very interesting convo with some peeps when I heard this term for the first time in my life.  I will elaborate:

Friend: “You know, I’m kinda gaaaay, not the most masculine…but I definitely enjoy playing more ‘offense’ in the bedroom.  So I’m what you’d call a ‘Blouse’ - a feminine top!”

A blouse.  Wow.  I stood there silent for a few seconds and then guffawed for the next 30.