Intimate distance

31 03 2009


I hear the spray of the shower and the smell of a clean man wafts through the house.   It is one of my favorite smells.  I hear the footsteps leave the shower, and then buckles and zippers as my roomate gets dressed.  I hear him stuff a backpack and jiggle the lock as he steps out.  It is 10:30 pm on a Monday.   I am curious, wondering if he forgot something in his car parked outside.  A few minutes pass without his return.  I wonder if he’s going to check on a lab experiment or pull an all-nighter sitting in a diner booth.  Maybe he’s going to answer a booty call.  I like that last answer best, and I return my mind to the NCIDQ flashcards on my lap.

I have 5 days to go before I can resume my social life, regain free time, and chill out.  I stare at my flash cards.  Public distance:  12 feet and beyond.  People watching distance.  I love people wathcing.  I wanderlust about the well-kept men in my office building.  Social distance:  4 to 12 feet.  Close enough to exchange smiles and hellos.  Close enough to walk by pretending not to notice how handsome he is.  Close enough to know he’s watching you walk away. Personal distance:  4 feet to 18 inches.  Sitting next to a handsome accquaintance over lunch, exchanging laughs and smiles.  Close enough to smell his cologne.  Intimate distance:  6 to 18 inches.  Close enough to feel his body heat in a crowded elevator.  Close enough to feel his whisper in your ear.

Intimate distance.  Sigh.  I can’t wait till I can focus on social/personal/intimate distance.  My roomate is still gone.  I find myself jealous, wishing I could also have some romance in my life.  I drag through the last few flashcards.  I am distracted by the  handsome stangers I’ve put on hold while studying for this exam.

I think of one of my favorite prospects, and wish we could meet up for drinks.  He makes me laugh and smile till it hurts my cheeks.  I want him to be the real deal.  But he reminds me of my last boyfriend, who was also a workaholic.  I try not to get attached to the idea of someone who in the past has admitted that he enjoys the single life.  I am hoping his mind has changed.  I am not hoping to change his mind myself.  That’s too much work and risk and heartbreak.  I hope he’ll come to his own senses.  I think we’d be really compattible, mentally and personality.  We have alot of common interests and goals and perspectives.  He would get along great with my friends and family.  I love a man with a big, genuine smile.

I hear my roomate re-enter the  house.  He went to buy beer. Typical.  He laughs when I explain the booty call theory.


living with boys

12 11 2008

Men's Health and Motorcycle Lube sit on the clean part of the toilet.

I live with 3 boys. My co-workers are concerned, and have been asking me how its going almost weekly. It’s been a month, and things are going well.  My parents, on the other hand, have yet to ask me about my new apartment.  I suspect they are in denial that their oldest daughter is living with 3 men they’ve never met.

I think the best way to answer “How’s it going?” is fascinating, hillarious, and disgusting.  Not having a brother or any boy to grow up around, I have always been fascinated by the things and ways boys do things.  Almost everyday I learn something new, suprising, disgusting from the three boys who would like to be known as Spank, English, and Thaddeus.  They are smart, funny, messy, and crude creatures of habit with 3 different perspectives on life that I can now add to my own.

Today’s tidbit:

“Now I know why the EPA is now under the Homeland Security Department” – English says to Spank.

I overheard this from another room…  I assumed Spank threw an empty beer can, hitting English with great aim.  Turns out, English was describing fresh “toilet art” in the disgusting bathroom which needs to be cleaned.

I’m going to have to discover more synonyms for “disgusting” if I’m going to continue blogging about living with these 3 boys.  See more at my new blog: