Tag Archives: online dating

Don’t Kill The Messenger

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This is the only zombie image I could find that wasn’t going to give me nightmares from all the gory blood. Ick.

Alrighty, y’all. Don’t go all Florida zombie dude on me and eat my face when I tell you that Northman and I are through. Ok, wait, before I get into that, can I just say, WHAT THE FUCK, Florida? Face-eating zombies? What, now you get all the cool shit? Everyone knows zombies are the new vampires; there’s nothing more badass. So, why the hell would they go live … I mean, not live … with a bunch of old people and rednecks? Yeah, yeah, Penny lives there too, and not all southerners are rednecks, and Publix is sooo great. Whatever. I don’t think they sell brains at Publix, so the zombies aren’t there for your sexmart grocery stores. I mean, come on. Y’all already have a bizillion miles of beaches. Now you get to be the first ones to have zombies, too? Douche canoes.

Anyway, as I was saying, Northman and I have reverted to friend status. Before you start some kind of online petition to have his new girlfriend’s employer relocate her to Getoutofmyfuckingwayistan, let me say that I am 100% totally ok with this whole thing. Northman and I have been friends for a long time. I’ve lived my whole not-quite-forty (and wouldn’t tell you if I were) years without fucking this man; I’m pretty sure I can live the next forty(ish) years quite happily without doing him as well. Now, if I get to live to like, 90, and he’s single, and I’m single, bring on the geriatric sex, people. I swear to blog about it if I remember it afterward. But for now, Northman has gone back to being my friend.

Penny wanted to know why I was so fine with this whole thing, and I told her the simple truth, which is what I told y’all when I last posted: I love Northman. He’s my friend. Ergo, I want the man to be happy. If his new sort of girlfriend makes him happy, I say grab the fuck onto that woman and make her happy too. Despite our strong emotional connection and sexual tension, the odds of us ever having more than weekend away/vacation sex romps (albeit fucking awesome vacation sex romps) were always very slim. As I’ve said many times: he’s there and I’m here, and we have kids and exes and jobs and all of that. If we were in our 20s and unattached, things might be different, but that’s just not the case, and I’m good with that.

Seriously. I’m getting a little paranoid. Don’t eat my face. Not even my nose.

Part of me feels like, well, fuck, couldn’t he have waited to go all blushing, head-over-heels for this woman until after we had one of those aforementioned weekend sexcapades? I mean, Sweet Jesus in Birks, just one? But the truth is, if we’d had that and then he fell in love with this woman, THAT would have hurt. As it is, I just really and truly enjoyed all the fun we had over the last 6 or 7 months, and now it’s done, and I’m good with that, and it doesn’t hurt. The only thing that will hurt is if you guys freak out about this and do go all zombie on me and eat my face, so, you know, don’t do that.

So, that leaves me in, as they say, a bit of a quandary. I always wanted to say that. Quandry. Who comes up with these words? Anyhoo… the issue at hand: to blog or not to blog? I mean, let’s face it (which I can only do because I don’t live in Florida so I haven’t had my face eaten), the last few months..well, the last several months? Well, the last, whole history of this freaking blog has been very much about the progression of Cathy & Northman. Does the blog exist without Northman? I’m inclined to say yes. Why the heck not? I’m still here. I’m still funny. Now I just have to figure out what the hell to write about. Crap.

Well, that sucks.

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Hey, y’all. I know, I know. WTF have I been up to that I haven’t written. Well, the truth is, I have a pretty fucking crazy life at the moment, and it’s even crazier than usual, and not in a good way. Not in the “I’m too busy having crazyass sex every night to sit up and blog for you people,” way. More like the, “I’m too busy working my ass off and taking care of my minions while moving and dealing with a bunch of family crap,” way. So, you know, fun.

And now it’s summer vacation, and with the minions off school for the next year and a half (well, it FEELS like summer lasts that long!), I just don’t know how much blogging I’ll be doing. But, you awesome web dwellers, you deserve more than to have me vanish into the ether, so here’s an little snapshot of Cathy’s World at the moment.

Rest In Peace, Mr. Coffee. Praised Be.

I’m still “seeing” Northman virtually. Things have cooled off between us a bit. I think the novelty has kind of worn off. We’re close. We’re good friends. We have rockin’ Skype sex. He’s funny (not as funny as I am, but you know, nobody’s perfect). We have a solid connection and good chemistry. But the fact is, he’s there and I’m here, and even though we still plan to get together later this year, I’m not so sure it’ll be the fuckfest we had initially planned. Above and beyond all else, we want each other to be happy, and so I’m happy for him that he’s been dating someone who actually lives a car ride (and not a plane ride) away. I’m not even jealous or envious. I love him. I want him to find happiness, even if that means I never get to sleep with him. Although sleeping with him — and let me be clear, I mean fucking him — would be awesome. 

Jerry is still around here and there. He’s still kind of a douche canoe sometimes — so cocky — but he’s also a good guy who’s fun to hang out with. Work is busy with clients both interesting and boring as dirt. My minions are little Fonzies. Coolest fucking people you’ll ever meet, but without the leather jackets. Mr. Coffee died and was reincarnated at Target in a stainless steel body. Penny is up to her usual chicanery, always calling because she’s stunned at the idiocy and inefficiency of the average American only to have me remind her that she’s just so much smarter than average that what seems like common sense to her is Advanced Calculus to a person with a 100-point IQ. She hasn’t made me laugh into tears lately, or you’d have heard about it. But it won’t be long.

Oh, and I did read the new Sookie book, and I thought it fucking sucked. But I’ll live because the new season of True Blood starts in four days. Sookie better get some Northman sex. I mean, Sweet Jesus in Birks. At least one of us should.

There’s an App For That.

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So, I’m sitting on the back porch, sans big, heavy blanket, worshipping Mr. Coffee, when Penny calls. As usual, she doesn’t even say “hello,” but just launches into some random story:

Penny: Dude. Last night, Billy and I had the Best. Sex. Ever.

Me: Hi. Good morning. How are you? Oh, fine, thanks, how are you?

Penny: Dude. You’re not listening. Best. Sex. Ever.

Me: I’m listening. There are just some social niceties that one cannot ignore or the entire fabric of our society will collapse into anarchy, and we’ll be ruled by Emo teenagers wearing Nina Simone tee shirts.

Penny: Who’s Nina Simone?

Me: Someone Emo teenagers don’t listen to either. But they SHOULD.

Penny: What?

Me: Exactly.

Penny: Dude! You’re not flippin’ listening to me! Best sex!! Ever!

Me: I hear a blog post coming on.

Penny: Ohmygosh. Ohmygosh. Oh. Ohmygosh.

Me: Yeah, see, if you said that to me during sex, I’d be kind of underwhelmed.

Penny: Shut up.

Me: I hope this story gets better.

Penny: We tried about 15 new positions in one night. When you’ve been married for flippin’ ever, that’s a LOT.

Me: Ok, I was lying before. Now I’m listening.

Penny: It was unbelievable.

Me: What did you do? Get a Cosmo and take notes or something?

Penny: No! Dude!

Me: Have you been watching Cinemax again? I told you some of that shit is dangerous.

Penny: No! DUDE!

Me: Oh, no. Tell me you weren’t watching True Blood before bed. You’re not a vampire, honey. You can’t bend like that.

Penny: Shut up! I downloaded some free sex apps on my iPhone! Did you know there was such a thing? I mean, seriously, sex positions. There’s an app for that!

Me (almost shooting coffee through my nose): “There’s an app for that.” Awesome. Yes. I did know that, but hearing you say it has me picturing you studying and taking notes before bed.

Penny (proudly): Oh, no, dude. I took the phone with me to bed, and we held it up and followed the instructions.

Me: Ok, that’s a fucked up visual.

Penny: It was freaking awesome! We had to read the instructions for each one and then follow the diagrams; some of that stuff is complicated!

Me (biting lip to not laugh): Uh huh. And how did that work out for you?

Penny: Aside from when I dropped the phone on Billy’s head, it was pretty great!

Me (too late, laughing my ass off): On his head? Which one!?

Penny: Oh my gosh. You did not just say that!

Me: Oh, yes. I did. It’s fine. If you gave him a concussion, I’m sure there’s an app for that.

Note to sex app people: If you’re going to have an illustrated sex app, 1) Don’t use the same artist who does bathroom signs, and 2) Don’t let PAMPERS advertise on your app.

Penny: The sex apps were free. They had these little ads on them, but I just ex’d out of them.

Me: After you read them.

Penny: Well, yeah.

Me: You’re a riot.

Penny: Oh, and then? And then? This morning? At breakfast, my seven-year-old is playing with his iPod and goes, “Oh! You got me some new apps, Mommy?”

Me: Ohmygod.

Penny: Right? I grabbed his iPod so damn fast I about ripped his hand off. Apparently, there’s a setting for “automatically download all new apps to all devices using this iTunes account.”

Me: I’m going to call Northman and tell him all about this, and then I’m going to blog it. You know that, right?

Penny: Whatever flips your noodle, poodle.

Me: What?

Penny: Ohmygosh. I can’t wait for you to see Northman so you can try this one thing. I’m not sure we did it right, but it was awesome.

Me: I’m pretty damn sure any position with Northman will be fucking awesome. And I won’t need a diagram or a damn flow chart either.

Penny: No, you won’t. The chemistry between you two is crazy.

Me (insert stupid grin): I know. I can’t quite explain it.

Penny: Yup. He’s cabbage leaves on engorged boobs. Who the hell knows why, but it just works.

Me (laughing my damn ass off): You did not just say that.

Penny: Oh, yes. I did.

French sayings are weird, but everything in French sounds either romantic or dirty, so it works out.

+++Ten Minutes Later+++

Me: And then, ok, I’m still getting over her hitting him with the phone and almost giving her kid some seriously fucked up sex education with his Corn Flakes, and Penny goes, “Northman is cabbage leaves on engorged boobs. It doesn’t make sense but it just works.”

Northman (laughing): I’m cabbage?

Me: No, you’re cabbage leaves on engorged breasts. Don’t men know about that?

Northman: All I know about cabbage is that I just made cole slaw today. It was pretty fucking good! I’ll send you the recipe if you want.

Me: No thanks, I’m sure there’s an app for that.

Northman: Have fun blogging, mon petit choux.

A Love Letter From Cathy and Northman

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Dear Readers,

Annniiiimaaaaaaalllllll!!!!

So, today’s Monday. As per usual, I was sitting outside with my Animal mug and my heavy fucking blanket because even though it’s Spring, it’s still fucking cold on my back porch at 6 a.m., which is the only damn time it’s quiet around here with Thing 1 and Thing 2 on Spring Break, at least, the only daylight time. Anyhow… so, usually around that time, I’d thinking of a new blog post to share, trying to think of all the little random things that happened to me over the last few days that y’all might want to hear about, debating which little nuggets to toss your way. But today, well, today was different. Today was easy. There’s only one thing to talk about today, and that is your pal and mine, Northman.

So I knew I had to wait until tonight when the minions were once again in bed so I could collaborate with Northman and write y’all a little love note. So here we sit, (virtually) together. I’m typing this while screen-sharing with him AND while he talks to me via FaceTime on my iPad, so he’s on my computer and on my iPad, so I’m thoroughly fucking distracted. At least he put some damn clothes on. Anyway, I say, “(virtually) together,” and Northman says, “Virtual cock in hand,” and I say, “Shut up,” and he laughs, and now we have to start this paragraph all over again. And he says, “Because Northman’s a brat,” and I say, “Yes, yes you are,” and he says, “So? I’m effin’ Northman! I resemble that remark!” and he laughs again, because he’s a dork, and I shake my head, because I’m an adult.

Back to business. So you liked Northman’s post on Thursday, did you? Considering site traffic the next day exceeded the blog’s previous all-time high (by A THIRD, people) and brought in traffic from all over the damn planet, I’d say we all enjoyed it. I know I sure did. Especially when Northman recited all of the best parts to me via Skype the next night and added some rather fabulous dialog.

I have no idea why this is funny, but Northman says it's perfect, so here ya go.

So, a couple of things. First, we got some fan mail, and we’re here with our Doonesbury Lite version of the MailRoom to answer your burning need to know. The most commonly asked question over the last few days: Is Northman real? Northman would like to answer that by saying, “You’re Goddamn right I am. And if I’m lying, may I go straight to hell, in gasoline boxers no less.” So there. What man would curse himself with permanent fire crotch? Northman corrects me: “Permanent penile disfigurement.” Eww. Now I’m all grossed out. Moving on.

Yes, the point is, Northman is a real guy, and he’s mineminemineyoucan’thavehim. He’s a real guy, and (this was the number two question, but it doesn’t have to do with poop, just number two in order, but that was kind of self-explanatory, but you know, tangent…) he did write the bulk of the article you read sometime in the last few days. It started out as a sexty conversation we were having, and we both thought it would make a great story, which he’d been planning to write for you anyway. Northman says, “a titillating story,” whatever. Anyway, he keeps interrupting me. As usual. The point is, we collaborated a bit on the beginning, but the rest of that nasty dirty fabulousness is 100% Northman. And now you know why I’m so fucking sleep-deprived. And if he were your Northman, you would be too. Sucks to be you, web dwellers. At least I share with y’all.

So now, the second thing I alluded to is this: Where do we go from here? If you’re me, which you’re not, you go straight to bed, get naked, and have more Skype sex with Northman because that, web dwellers, does NOT get old. It’s great having my own personal porn channel. NNN: Naked Northman Network. I need sponsors. Right. Fucking. Now. Northman says, “Tagline: All porn, all the time.” I say, “Fuck that. All Northman, all the time.”

So here’s what we’re thinking. Northman really enjoyed writing his erotic fiction, and I enjoyed the fact that it’s only fiction for now, as we ARE making plans to see one another. I won’t tell you when, except that it will be this calendar year and it’s not for a while because, fuck, you know, minions, work, blahblahblah. Aaaaanywhoooo…I digress. Because I’m picturing him naked. Can you fucking blame me?

Northman is now a full author on the blog. He has his own “About” page, where you can speak to him directly, or you can email him at effinnorthman@hushmail.com. He’ll be blogging periodically, just as I do, and he’ll be doing more “bedtime stories” for you. And me. ALL PRAISE OUR DEAR SWEET MR. COFFEE!!! Ahem. Deep breath. Ok, where was I? Fuck. Ok, wait. Rereading paragraph… oh, right. Ok, so we’ll both be writing now, and up next … a collaborative piece of erotic wishful thinking we’re currently calling, “The Lake House.” So stay tuned, web dwellers, because this is only going to get hotter.

We love the crap out of you, web dwellers!

Cathy and Northman

Northman Was Right (But Don’t Tell Him That)

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Oh yeah. I win.

Northman blew my damn mind last night. If I were a 70s cartoon, smoke would have come out of my fucking ears and my eyes would have spun around like some kind of million-dollar-spewing Vegas slot machine, landing squarely on two bright red cherries. As Penny would say, “Holy mackeroley, people.” It’s been 12 hours and I’m still catching my breath. I’ve had many an in-person encounter that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as that Skype. Sweet Jesus in Birks, web dwellers. Cathy is a happy camper.

Yeah, he makes me want to purr. Feel free to insert totally inappropriate pussy jokes here.

There is something so primal and instinctual about my completely naked lust for Northman. Sometimes, the man just fucking looks at me and half of my blood supply floods my cheeks while the other half heads south. Quickly. Talking about him at dinner with my girlfriend, Harmony, last week, I stopped for a moment and pulled my hair up off my neck, fanned myself, and realized I looked like I was having a damn hot flash because I kind of was. My hormones just kick into some kind of purring-Ferrari high gear when I think about Northman. What can I say? She was asking about him, I was talking about him, and the next thing I know, I’m … I’m really grateful I didn’t go commando.

Dinner with Harmony was interesting. We hadn’t had a chance to get together much prior to that because one of us always has a sick minion or a client who’s being a pain in the ass. So we were catching up, and she was asking about Northman, and she wanted to know how much of what I put in the blog is real and how much is embellishment for shock value. A fair question, if you ask me (which she did). So I told her: Everything I’ve written about Northman is completely true.

At this point, she looked at me with that same look I assume she gave her teenage daughter when her hormonal minion claimed to have no knowledge of who left an empty box of tampons under the sink, leaving Harmony a bit undersupplied at a crucial moment last month. And not at a time when you’d really want to fuck with her. Pun intended. The look said something like: You’re full of shit AND you better spill it right now.

So, even though I wasn’t full of shit, I did spill. I told her how feral and instinctive my attraction to Northman feels. It’s a very possessive feeling, but not in a jealous way. More like, I just really and truly have to have that man, y’all. Failing to get naked with Northman, at, ahem, great length,is just not an option.

All he did was talk, and I felt like this. And I probably looked pretty similar by the time he finished.

And last night, during our Skype chat, I did get naked with Northman, and it was just unreal. I started telling him a sexy story, and as I got to what I thought was a pretty good part, he stopped me and said, “Nope. That’s not how it happens.” I was intrigued, and I cocked an eyebrow at him, saying, “By all means, then, have at it.” And he did. He picked up the story about thirty seconds prior to where I’d stopped, and he took it in an entirely different direction.

After, even though he was so far away, I honest-to-Mr.-Coffee felt like this.

How can I explain this? You know, part of what Northman likes about me is that I’m a smart woman and I’m usually both confident and right when I speak. Well, Our Sweet Holy Mr. Coffee, web dwellers. Last night? I was so completely fucking WRONG when I told the story, and Northman was RIGHT. After hearing his version of the story, I admitted I was wrong, and then I agreed with him. Strongly. Repeatedly. And with a pillow between my teeth.

So, some of you’ve noticed I’m on Twitter. I know, I know. You can’t believe Twitter’s made it this far without me. Anyway, turns out there are some damn funny people there. Come join the conversation: @SexyMomBlog –> There’s a link over there —>

Don’t Eat Yellow Snow

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Worst copyright-infringement misuse of Bambi. Ever.

So I tried sitting outside this morning with my favorite big, heavy blanket and my damn-near-overflowing Animal mug, but damnit, it was too fucking cold, web dwellers. And you know why? Because it fucking snowed. Again. My girlfriend, Penny, is thrilled: “We’re going sledding with the kiddos! We’re making snow angels! Every snowflake is one of God’s special miracles!” Yeah. Fine. It’s pretty. But the rest of that is bullshit.

First of all, snow is fucking cold. And cold is BAD. People die from being too cold. Did you know if you spend time outside when it’s too cold, your lungs can freeze? Yeah. You fucking like that? Me either. So I don’t go out in the damn snow if I can help it. But of course, I have minions, so I do have to go out in the snow sometimes, but only when there isn’t a lung-freeze warning in effect.

Our snow angels NEVER look like angels.

As for Penny sledding with her minions, this is a completely different activity when you’re a single parent. Someone always has to drag the sled back up the hill. And it’s never a freaking kid. And without a spouse to take turns with you, Mama is always dragging the sled and listening to minions whine about whose turn it is.

And then there’s the fact that it takes a damn hour and a half to get two minions all suited up just to go outside, and by the time you’re done zipping and buttoning, someone always has to pee. Which is only a problem if you have girls, because apparently, somewhere along the line, no matter how rarely they’re in the snow with their dads, boys learn that it’s fucking hilarious to write their names in the snow with their own special yellow markers.

Ours look more like something this guy makes upon passing out from eating too many burritos.

What’s left? Oh, snow angels. Yeah, that’s also a load of crap. My minions flopped down to make snow angels and here’s what I got: “Mom!!! I’m stuck!!!” and “Owwwww!! There was a rock under there!!” and “Hey! You’re wrecking the end of my name!!” Yeah. Ew.

So, yeah. Snow is not my favorite. Plus, I refuse to pay more for heat than I do for my mortgage each month. I used to hate it when my dad said, “Put on a sweater,” when I complained about the cold as a kid, but now I do the same damn thing to my minions. I tuck them in at night in their fleece footie jammies and cover them with extra blankets so they’re toasty warm without the heat having to be cranked up for 10 hours, and I make them wear sweaters and slippers and socks during the evenings. While this is good for my wallet, it’s not good for my nights with Northman. There’s something seriously unsexy about Skyping with someone who’s bundled up like an Eskimo, but he’s just going to have to deal with it because, as I said, it fucking snowed. Again.

Other than not getting to see Thing One and Thing Two (nor my Cat In The Hat for that matter) very much via webcam this week, Northman is good. No, that’s an understatement. Northman is great. He’s funny and sexy and able to evoke a physical response from the aforementioned cat just by texting me a single sentence. Damn I cannot wait to get my hands on that man. But not here. Because it’s fucking freezing, and I have no intention of wearing much clothing when Northman and I get together. Plus, my minions are here, and not even Northman gets to sleep over with my minions around.

Alright. That was short as my posts go, but y’all are on your own tonight. Northman and I were sexting a story together yesterday and got interrupted, and I promised him I’d sit down and write the whole story from start to spectacular finish. So, yes, I love you, web dwellers, but Northman was naked when he asked for this, and what Northman asks for naked, Northman gets. I’ve got some porn to write.

Back To Basics

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Animal fucking rocks.

So, once again, web dwellers, I’m sitting outside this freezing morning with my big, heavy blanket and my oversized Muppet mug filled with Mr. Coffee’s goodness, feeling rather contemplative and a bit free spirited because I didn’t put on a bra the second I dragged my sleep-deprived ass out of bed. Yeah, you heard me: contemplative. Great fucking word. It’s mellifluous, don’t you think?

Anyway, now that our vocab moment is over, we can get down to business. Very formal business. I even have an agenda for this post. 

Item Number 1:

Shaved head and men still want to fuck her

Today, we’re getting as back to basics as possible, which means I’m going back to my very first post ever, Shaved Pussies Are For Pussies. Well, y’all, I have a confession to make. This being Confessions of A Sexy Momand not “Bits and Pieces of A Mom’s Life But Only The Parts That Don’t Make Me Look Bad,” I have to tell you, I decided to surprise Northman and go all Mr. Magoo on my lady bits. Wait, that’s not sexy. Maybe more like, “I went all Demi Moore on my flaming lips.” Better. Anyway, whatever, I spent a half an hour in the shower shaving off every hair south of my equator, just to shake things up a bit with Northman.

Hats off to Victoria. Damn.

 

To say that Northman liked this would be a gargantuan understatement. He gave me this look that said something like … I’m going to claw my way through this screen right now so I can fuck you until you faint or your head spins around. Kind of like that look on David Beckham’s face in that H&M Super Bowl ad. Or the look on every straight woman’s face in America when we saw that. Damn. So, overall, yeah, worth the third-day stubble I’m debating what to do about today. Especially considering what we did via Skype after he saw that.

Anyhoooo… so yeah. I freely confess to shaving my snake charmer, but I don’t think I’ll do it all the time, and I still maintain that men shouldn’t expect that, as it’s a hell of a lot more work than you might think. Plus, it’s kinda itchy after a couple of days. And no one likes an itchy rocket pocket. Ya like that one? I found a whole list!!

Seriously. A whole list. Look:

 Moving on….

Item Number 2:

A couple of readers wrote in asking how Northman responded to my last post. This, after a couple of other readers, and some of my girlfriends (which is odd, because my girlfriends usually just live vicariously through my pseudo sex life and don’t comment much) wrote in to tell me that they’re certain I’m in love with Northman. So let’s lay it all on the table, shall we?

First, Northman liked the Dirty Dancing post. He actually read it while I waited, and as we were video Skyping at the time, I saw his reactions as he read. He laughed in all the right spots, some of which were little inside jokes for him that no one else would notice, which was fun. And I told him I’d already received reader comments from some of you who are sure I’m in love with him. We talked about it for quite a while, and he took from the post what I intended: I love him as a friend. I love him as more than a friend. I can see myself being in love with him, but I’d really have to spend some time with him, in person, getting to know him and his current life more before that could really happen.

So the upshot is, we’re talking about getting together for a visit. Obviously, it’s complicated as we both have kids and all of our daily adult obligations to consider. And then it’s expensive to do anything on short notice, so we need to plan for a little way down the road. I need to learn how to sell ads for my blog, web dwellers. Seriously.

So that’s the haps, people. Nothing all that thrilling today. Just keeping y’all in the loop, so to speak. But I will leave you with this. I may not be in love with Northman right this second. But I’m completely in lust with him, and I do love him. And I cannot wait to see him.

 Meeting adjourned.

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