Hella Stella

I have spent my evening eating peanut butter chocolate rice crispy squares and working on my BH's Christmas present.

The eating part has been easy, and ever-so-enjoyable, but the present part has been hard, because my BH has been in the same room as me the whole time. How did I manage this, you ask? I would tell you, but then my BH would find out what his gift is and I would cry. So I'll have to tell you all about my devious gifting after the holidays are over.

Today was a pretty typical Friday, but I spent more time than usual giggling to myself at my desk. This was triggered because I wrote an e-mail to The Colombian to catch up and tell him how I'm doing. When I write to him, I follow the standard letter format where you ask the other person questions about themselves to be polite. I write things like, "How have you been?" and "Did you sell your condo?" and "Where are you working now?". You know. Polite things.

But these questions are exactly what brought on the giggles. See, The Colombian never writes back. I mean, NEVER. When he was living in Montreal years ago we had a bit of a fight because he didn't contact me for a good six months. At first, I was angry. I mean, how can such a close friend fail to return a simple e-mail? Then I got used to it, and accepted the fact that he's a lame-ass communicator. Like, sucky as shit. And he admits it.

Still, when I write him letters, I have to giggle at the fact that I might as well not be asking him anything at all. I probably won't get an answer until he's in town, at which point he will call me and say, "Did you know we're in the same city for 24 hours? I miss you. And thanks for all the updates."*

In a couple of weeks I'm hitting the esthetics jackpot. I have a trip to the spa, a waxing appointment and a hair cut all scheduled within a few days of each other. The spa is being paid by gift certificate, and the others are just really needed. I am so looking forward to those appointments. Well, maybe not the waxing so much. And actually, every time I get a spa massage I flash back to that time I was in India and decided to get a Aryuvedic massage with my BH. Then we got stripped down to nothing, oiled up, and spanked for over an hour. It was pretty much the worst massage EVER. The only thing my massage "therapist" could say in English was "ticklish?" and I had to laugh and nod because she wouldn't have understood "no, I'm bleeding internally." Then we limped back to the hotel.

I think I told you guys that story, right? The naked oily spanking story?

Anyways.

So now I'm just waiting for my BH to go to bed so I can finish up this part of the gift. Yup. Just biding my time.

Tick tock, tick tock...

*You know what he does do though? TEXT MESSAGE. He will text message me a fucking novel before he'd return an e-mail. True story.