This Friday is the one year anniversary. I don't think I've ever celebrated a one year anniversary before. Sad but true. Mostly I just didn't make it that far, and even if I did I never remembered the exact day of the first date or slutty make-out session or whatever.
I remember this one, though, because I asked him out for the evening of November 4, 2004, two days after the election. I thought it would be nice to get a drink and celebrate victory.
That part didn't work out so awesome. (And I guess even the momentary pleasure of watching Republicans fight that we've enjoyed over the past few weeks is over now that the president has nominated a fasci--I mean, right-wing conservative--to the Supreme Court.)
But the date part worked out okay.
I just got off the phone with a friend from Alabama that I hadn't talked to in a while. When I told her that I lived with two cats and a man in a house with a yard, I blew her mind a little bit.
I said, "Remember, he's the one I told you about when I was home last Christmas. I said I thought it was going to stick."
"Well . . . yeah. But it's not like I believed you."
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