Sure I spent the entire day running around trying to get things figured out for this photo shoot I'm doing on Friday. I had to track down Polaroid film, which, after searching all over, I found a block away from my place.
But that's not really what I'm referring to anyway.
Today, the Lonestar Pony begins his journey Westward. Yes, Texas is invading Oregon---and it's here to stay.
After a two month phone and myspace courtship, he's moving to Portland. He's not moving here for me, though. He was planning on moving out here when we first began our association, and things just finally fell into place. He found a drum-friendly place to live, a temporary part-time job and he already has a job interview lined up for something more permanent---and I'm sure having a cute girl waiting for him doesn't hurt either...
I'm not sure how to feel about it, though.
My friends vomit a little every time they see me answer one of his calls or even just talk about him. They haven't seen me this goofy-grinned over a guy in a quite some time. He's one of my "faves" on my t-mobile. He's in my top how-ever-many friends. He makes me giggle like a school girl.
It's been a while. Most lovers in the past year got the boot before breakfast.
He sounds great on paper: established musician (hey---some things never change), a romantic who sent me flowers and home-made cookies, by all accounts a great cook, gives great phone, looks cute in pictures, and was described by one of the Midlake boys as "a really nice guy"...
But does that translate to reality? I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
He'll be staying with me for a few days until the room he's renting opens up.
I've had musicians stay with me before---five days can easily turn into five weeks or more--- so, we've come to an understanding. In the most dulcet of tones, I assured him that he was welcome in my home until then. However, should he overstay his welcome, I added, I will stab him in his sleep.