Gag Me With A Spoon

With the bittersweet although not entirely unforeseen retreat of the 26 year old and the imminent-but-not-quite-here-yet arrival of M3 (we're now inside the one day mark until the five day, four night interstate relationship exploration extravaganza begins), I find myself supremely challenged to produce anything of substance today. Or yesterday, hence that abominable display of artistic horribleness.

So, for lack of any fodder of either a salacious or self-deprecating nature to share, I'll instead offer an endearing anecdote. Its all I've got today, people, so bear with me. Its only a matter of time 'til this shit gets good again.

In an email penned by M3 upon returning home on Saturday night from an emergency poker game, I was briefed not only about the extent to which his card-playing ultimately evolved into an act of philanthropy, but also regarding the astounding progress he'd managed to make relative to the unpacking/furnishing of the new digs.

M3 then expressed a sentiment so sweet and so sincere...only someone as smitten as I would be able to dig deep enough to overlook the proverbial ick factor.

He wanted to know when I'm coming up to visit.

Because the new place will seem vacant until I share it with him.

(I kinda feel like I owe the world an apology right now.)

T-minus 24-ish hours until the title of this blog and the contents contained herein will once again have something even remotely to do with one another.