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Location: Home.
Listening: The sounds of Peter purring in his sleep.

A cookie to whomever can email me with the song the title is taken from--think yummy, blues-y rock.

Recap of my day, sans pretty phrasing cause we just got back from a glorious sushi dinner at Sushi Saurus (my sushi bar can beat up your sushi bar), and I'm more than a wee bit tipsy.

Busy day at work. Felt like a proverbial little drone, humming away at my computer with a "to do" list on hand at all times. Worked through lunch, even. Rarely does the mindless toil of the degradation formerly known as my job reach this level of intensity. Luckily, I thrive on it. Exhausting, but refreshing.

When I got home, Peter was preening because my birthday presents had arrived, and (joy) he did not have to face flying out to Managua on Sunday. I am skittish about the whole arrangement, but actively encouraging him to go because, no matter how nervous the proposition makes me, there's an adventure to be had here and one of us should have it. Since I don't have the opportunity, I want him to snatch it and ignore my apprehensions as a result. When the time comes, I plan on sending him off with a little pack of notecards containing key phrases in Spanish, such as "Soy Americano, me llamo Peter Sanderson" and "Donde esta el embaseo de los Estados Unidos?", my digicam, and a lot of prayers and hope that he'll have a wonderful experience. My only concern is his being in a country where he neither reads, speaks, nor understands the dominant language (as I do--there, at least). But, you do what you have to do--and I really think that he needs to take the opportunity if he has it. I'll prepare him as best I can, and the rest is up to him to enjoy.

But, back to my presents. He wanted me to open them immediately, and, although I'm generally a "birthday day" type of girl (as I'm a Christmas Day type of girl--it makes the "special day" truly special), he was so eager and excited that I relented.

They are as follows:

• The Fight Club DVD.

  More of a life philosophy than a film, Fight Club is the only film I've seen in the theatre more than once, willingly. We watched it again with Marshall the other night, and I was again reminded of how good it felt to watch a movie and realize that someone else out there "gets" my view of the world and the difficulties of social and personal identity in the post-modern consumer frenzy. I have always found this film deeply affirming and almost on par with religion in its ability to bolster the spirit and provide hope. You are not, after all, "your fuckin' khaki's", and you should never forget that.

• The The Cook, The Thief, His Wife And Her Lover DVD.

  I adore Peter Greenaway's work, and, although The Pillow Book is absolutely breathtaking, this one will always come to mind as my favorite of his films. If you are male, and/or if you have a strong sympathetic/empathic bond to the vestiges of masculinity, this film might not be for you. In my mind, it's one of the most unusual love stories I've ever come across, and one of the most touching.

• Amber drop earrings.

  Recalling my journal entry of late, Peter gave me amber earrings for my birthday, and they're absolutely beautiful. The sun shines through them and bounces off the tiny leaves and other things trapped in the stones and sends off all kinds of lovely warm sparkles. They came with a card that noted that "in ancient times, amber was considered more precious and eternal than diamonds". They're perfect, and, I think, a perfect symbol of our relationship to one another.

• Matching tattoos.

  We've been discussing this for some time, but it's finally going to happen. We're planning on designing if not matching, then complementary, tattoos and going to have them cut during the week between our birthdays, which is the midpoint of the fourteen day span of each year when we are the same age. It'll be my fourth tattoo and his first, and I'm very much looking forward to it, because I know how profound my tattooing experiences have been, and I'm thrilled that he wants to share that experience. My designs have become so much a part of my physical identity that I hardly even recognize them as anything separate from me anymore--and I know that his will one day be like that for him. It's a very unique and very affirming feeling that you have been able to choose to add something to your corporeal geography that is significant to you. I'm happy that he'll one day be able to revel in that feeling.

• Fixing up my car.

  My hunter green '98 Saturn SL2, otherwise known as "the SDF-4" (complete with "Main Gun" that masquerades as the rear defogger and can destroy anything within 50 miles of itself) and "the horrible car (tm)", is in desperate need of some cosmetic repairs (after 80,000 miles in three years, he still runs like a champ), and Peter has vowed to help me fix him up, as he deserves.

• And...a handgun.

  I'm a pacifist who became addicted to guns when firing a pump-action shotgun at a television set in the desert years ago. After a conversation with Marshall (a fellow gun enthusiast) over German food last night, Peter decided to buy me the gun of my choice for my birthday. I think he was looking forward to my choosing something a little more flashy, but a simple Glock will do nicely for me. I will, of course, go through the permit and waiting process, like a good little Democrat/Libertarian, but I really am looking forward to going shooting with him. I see marksmanship as more of a necessary skill than a form of entertainment (I will never shoot at an animal or human, unless directly and overwhelmingly threatened), and the right to bear arms is something that was deeply impressed upon me as a child (by my grandfather, who collected guns, and who taught me to never point a gun at something I wasn't perfectly willing to shoot), so I'm rearing to go, responsibly and humanely. Yip!

  So, basically, my love has given me some deviant films, a virtually new car, a tattoo, and a handgun--and some earrings to match. And you thought Mickey and Mallory had it good.

  I love this boy. He could have given me a piece of toast and a smile for my birthday, and it wouldn't have mattered, as long as we were together. His gifts are an example of his generosity and his thoughtfulness, which I treasure, but even without the earrings or the DVD's or the firearms, I'd still feel the same way. He is the most beautiful part of my life--and I'm conscious that, even if he wasn't a part of my life, (as I told my mother when he and I met, almost two years ago) knowing that he existed would be enough. To actually have him sleeping on the couch in my den is more than I allowed myself to hope for, then, and more than I can sometimes comprehend, still, after almost fifteen months together. Tonight, before he drifted off, I kissed him just below his ear and thanked him for my presents. "They're beautiful", I whispered "So are you" he murmured, smiling. *melt*

  To paraphrase something he said in his journal entry today, all y'all wish you had it so good. And I honestly hope that, someday, you do.

  As a postcript, Happy Birthday to Mel (3.8) and Cat (3.16). Cheers for the Pisces and half-Pisces (3.22) girls, and best wishes for many more to come, for all of us.