Non-conformist noodles.

I crinkled up my eyes and smiled at him from across the table this afternoon. Jake was making chicken noodle soup while I was finishing a short story for a deadline that passed on Monday. Not a fortune to be lost but I waited too long to get my shit together this month and I am so behind already.

Organic chicken soup with whole wheat noodles, organic flax crackers and green tea.

Jacob, this is why I'm dying of colds this year. I have no preservatives in me.

You'll live until you're a hundred if you keep eating right, princess.

What if I don't want to live to be one hundred? I'll be deaf and dumb and probably blind and even more wrinkled than I am now.

You aren't wrinkled now.

Crow's feet. Look at them. I'm an apple doll.

Please, you've had those since I met you.

Right, which means I'm aging dreadfully.

Oh, be quiet and eat your soup.

Well...it is pretty good. Pass me one of those hippie crackers, please?

One hundred, princess. Mark my words.

***

(Save the Bridget, save the world).

I might have t-shirts made. Does anyone want one? Hell, I might wear one myself.

Random drive-by panic attacks are exhausting for husbands. He's not helpless, he talks me down. He talks to me soothingly until my breathing slows and my eyes lose their wild glow and my hands stop with the fucking fluttering. He's amazing. This is why he's going to make such a terrific chaplain, because in an emergency he's the one you want right beside you.

Even at four in the morning, like last night.

I really hope that was just a scraped-up effort culled together by my brain to check for progress. Because I would like to point out how really really good I'm doing. And I'm going to continue on that path, I just need a little more sleep first.

So, meet the sugarbaby.

The friendly giant is awake and drinking coffee, feeling none the worse for wear this morning. And yes, I busted myself by talking about sex. Technically I'm not supposed to be having any. So, shhhhh please don't tell Dr. P.  But really. I feel good and we're not indulging in x-rated Cirque du Soleil here so cut a girl a little slack. And cut me a lot of slack for the location choices of said sex I'm not having, because judging by my inbox you people are even less impressed than I am.

Did I mention slackers? Guess who phoned this morning?

Caleb.

Speaking of which, I remain, faithfully yours, the secret interweb guilty pleasure of repressed Canadian businessmen. You wouldn't believe it if I told you the numbers. If I had a webcam I bet I could make a fortune.

Let me just figure out how to hook up my new speakers and then I'll deal with the webcam in about fifteen years when the technological part of my brain recovers from this latest onslaught. Because! speakers! There's more than one plug and so I'm flummoxed. You should have seen me the other day-the stove element came apart and I considered ordering take out for a good hour before I realized it's supposed to do that.

I digress. I'm tired. Jacob kept me up half the night singing the blues. John Lee Hooker no less. Slightly tipsy ministers have no business singing the blues, you know.

Okay so...Caleb.

Caleb called to thank me for his visit, for the meals, and the company and for the belongings of Cole's that I set aside for him to have. He's having his real mid-life crisis or something. He's broken up with his latest girlfriend (loosely used, that term) and wants to plan to come out once a month or so and spend some time with the kids. To be present to somehow make up for Cole's memories. I assured him the kids have mostly good memories of their dad. He wants to know immediately if we need anything. Again, I assured him that we have everything we need.

And then I dropped the protests, because maybe spending time with his niece and nephew helps Caleb feel better about the time he didn't spend with his brother. I can't deny him that comfort if he needs it and so I relented. As we chatted for a few more minutes I distinctly noticed his sentences changing in form from talking about seeing the children to talking about seeing me. I corrected him twice and he hadn't noticed but I'm left slightly bothered by that. I'm bothered that after five years he's back in my life, just. like. that.

When I told Jacob about the call he winced when he laughed (hello, hangover) and then asked how many sugar daddies does that make now?

I frowned.

I've lost count.

Bottle green.

Or maybe I should call this entry bottle empty, for that's what it was when Jacob was finished celebrating Birthday 2006.

This time I got to play designated driver. Which held way more peril for me than it seems to for him, most likely because if I'm unsteady on my feet, he can simply carry me home. If he's unsteady on his feet I have to enlist at least two of his friends to keep him upright. He's a big man, and it's been a very long while since he's had a drink. Let's just say that he was long overdue and gee, did he ever make up for it tonight.

(The funniest part about Jacob having one too many that embarrasses him half to death is that he'll reach a point where he starts to talk rather strangely, adding a whole round of extra words to everything he says, alot like the Winnie-the pooh-speak and it is the best thing ever.)

We went out to dinner with all the guys to celebrate his birthday, with a sitter at home to keep the kids happy-they don't like Thai food and it is a school night. There was less food and more alcohol than usual. Jacob listened as each of us stood up and said a few words about the past year of his life. Mostly everyone reiterated that he was moving in the right directions all the way around and we were so very proud of him.

He stood up and raised his glass, drinking it down and then he started talking. His Newfie accent is so prevalent when he's had a few, what a riot. It was touching as he went around the table and told each person what they had meant to him and how they had specifically supported him over the past year, and then when he got to me he stopped talking and just smiled broadly for a minute. His eyes were glassy. I smiled back at him. Everyone started to tell him to just get on with it so we could all have dessert (the cake) and so he did.

To my Bridget. My bottle-green-eyed bride of ninety-four whole days, the past year has been impossible with you as usual. You make me so crazy. You make me worry. You frustrate me and sometimes I'm rocked dumbstruck at what it is about you that keeps bringing me back for more. But now that I've held you in my arms and you've become my wife at long last I know the answer and I wouldn't want it any other way. I love you, thank you for being with me. I hope I do you proud. Thank you for this day. For this year.

(He was easy to understand until this point, then it was all downhill.)

He bent down and kissed me and told me he loved me again, while some noisy awwww's rose up from the table. They brought out the cake and we sang and ate and drank some more.

Too much more for Jacob.

Which...well, argh. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or give in.

Finally the simple fact that it was a weeknight brought our dinner to an early close. Jacob seemed okay to walk out and I drove us toward home, perched on the edge of the truck seat because it's difficult to reach the pedals.

I need to stop in my office for a minute, Bridge. Something important must be done and so I have to be there for it.

Okay, I'll wait out here.

No, come in with me because you're out here and I'd much rather see you without seeing you, and it's dark right about now. I think.

Alright.

He unlocked the side door of the empty church and we went in, he grabbed my hand and I followed him down the darkened hallway to his office door. We giggled and whispered the whole way as if we might get caught. He stopped when we got inside his office and I bumped right into him. He closed the door and locked it.

Jacob, why don't you turn on the lights?

Lights? We need those? I see everything I need that was here right behind me and always in front of my eyes. Like magic. Let's keep the dark going. Because then I can do...this.
He bent his head down and kissed me so hard I swear he bruised my lips. His hands searched inside my coat and he didn't stop until he hit bare skin. He tasted like whiskey. He was trying to unbutton my dress but he couldn't manage the buttons and so he went for hiking it right up instead. His hands lifted me up onto his desk and he was pushing me flat onto my back. I'm sorry, God. I tried to take him home. I think his patience rode the whiskey right out of his mind.

Oh, no, Jacob. Not here. This is your office.

Right. It is and my God, it's so messy and I think I want you right now, princess. Right and completely this minute.

Jacob, your office is IN THE CHURCH. We're in the church!

It's not like we're under the pulpit, Bridget. Just let me worry about that and take your damned dress off because I just noticed I think I hate some buttons like these ones here.

Jacob, we're going to get struck by lightning

Then our hair will stand on end forever and make us laugh. We'll finally have black eyelashes and smoke will come out of our noses. Now come here, beautiful girl.

Could I could blame the whole thing on not being able to understand what he was saying half the time?

No?

Well, I never said we were saints. And I never said it was proper. And I will definitely never look at that desk the same way ever again.

Jacob maintains he has had the Best Birthday Ever. We are so going to hell.

German chocolate, please, boxed.

Today is Jacob's birthday. He's 36. He's the walking definition of a true Scorpio. Read for yourself:

    Scorpios are known for their intensity. They are determined folk that absolutely throw themselves into whatever they do -- but getting them to commit to something is rarely an easy task. In fact, it's better not to even try to "get them" to do anything. Solar Scorpios absolutely have their own mind. And, their primary motivation is unlikely to be prestige (like their Capricorn friends), or even authority (Leos can have that, too)--it's real power. Their power can absolutely be of the "behind the scenes" variety, just as long as they have it.

    To others, Scorpios seem to have plenty of willpower. They probably do. Scorpios do know what they want, and they won't go out and grab it at the wrong moment. They simply sit back, watch (quite expertly), and then get it only when the moment is just right. This apparent patience is simply their powerful skills at strategy at work.

    Scorpio isn't afraid of getting their hands (their bodies, their minds) dirty. The darker side of life intrigues them, and they're always ready to investigate.

    Scorpios simply never give up. They have tremendous staying power. They're not in the slightest intimidated by anybody or anything. Confrontations are not a problem. In fact, talk to any Scorpio about their lives, and you'll probably be in awe at all they've gone through. Trauma seems to follow them wherever they go. When Scorpio learns optimism, instead of expecting the worst, they'll find that they possess amazing regenerative powers -- the power to heal, create, and transform.

So do you know what this means?

Of course you do.

Bridget gets cake today!

Update: I had to throw in his very spooky horoscope too:

    The time is right for you to make a career move. Your talents are developed well enough for you to take the next step towards your goals. Go after that promotion or start searching for a better position elsewhere or even go out on your own. You may be a little nervous about, but the planets are in your favor. Act boldly and you will get to where you want to be much quicker.

If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is.

Crush.

This whole teaching gig reminds me of a crush I harboured in middle school. My Junior High English teacher, who was once accused of getting 'too close' to his students. Oh I wished to be one of those ones but I never was. The rumors turned out to be false eventually. I still really liked him.

He was kind and patient and encouraged me to write, because he assured me I was pretty good at it.

Because I got an A+ on my book report for Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself.

He was blonde and blue-eyed too. He wore plaid shirts and jeans and he had a beard.

I'm sensing a trend here...

I told Jacob I hoped he was ready for all the university-girl crushes that will soon follow him from one semester to the next but he assures me it can't be any worse than Mrs. MacAskill down the street. She's 86, long-widowed and I think she would eat Jacob for breakfast.

If she could catch him with her walker.

Parting shots.

Get some coffee, you'll need it.

Yesterday's revelations seems to have rattled a far greater number of cages than the news that I had left Cole ever did(I still write Trey every single time. Stupid Phish. Well, okay, Phish isn't stupid. I can't listen to them anymore though. I never will again. Cole got his nickname because he resembled their lead singer, Trey Anastasio, only darker-haired and better looking. He could also play and sing like him).

I woke up distraught and annoyed today. The phone has been ringing off the hook. I'm not annoyed with any of the callers (okay, scratch that, I'm annoyed with one in particular) but I'm fed up with my hearing aids, which cause me to jump four hundred feet straight up when the phone rings. When we took it off the hook both our cellphones went off instead. Groovy.

Everyone is surprised beyond belief, shocked, happy and oddly relieved that Jacob is switching gears. Most of our friends held him at arms length for so long before they realized he was in no way a reflection of whatever image we grew up with of a 'typical' minister.

Typical is the last label you would stick on Jacob. He surprised us all with his laid-back personality. He has a drink once in a while. He plays guitar, often. He sings rock music loudly. He'll put Zeppelin on in the sanctuary early on a work morning so loud the police have been called. He lives in his jeans for everything but weddings and funerals. He's taught everyone that God doesn't care if you're always on your best behavior. He brought God to us as a cool, supportive force in our lives, not as an almighty disapprover, which was how we all felt before Jake landed in our lives. He'll swear beautifully when moved to and he's...

I think you get the picture.

I really wish the phones would stop ringing already. I can't keep my train of thought like this.

My God, they've lost their fucking minds. Again.

Financially what the hell are we doing? What does this mean for our faith personally? What happens in a few years when Jacob decides that teaching isn't what he wants to do? How far away from God will he try to run next? His father warned him that he couldn't pack up and jet off to the far east or Australia with a wife and two kids and classes on Monday and bills to pay and maybe we should come home and Jake can work through the winter with his dad and we'll live there and Jake can think about who he is and who he wants to be. Jake's dad is a fisherman. His life is black and white. Or grey and gray. He doesn't like bullshit. Jake's mom just said, come home. Bridget can sew and the kids can go to school down the road.

Days later I'm still wishing Jacob would say fuck it and take us home.

On the other hand, this job will come in handy in ten years when there is tuition to be paid.

And frankly, he and I know who he is, God knows who Jacob is and that's all Jacob cares about right now. He has lost nothing here. I'm aware that I didn't write much about Jacob's evolving relationship with God. It's private. I also didn't write much about our actual feelings on him leaving his church with good reason. I'm aware I touched on the logic but not our thoughts. Possibly on purpose. We still have our eyes squeezed tightly shut while we jump and when the time is right we'll force them open to squint and look around and see if we are still intact, if we landed safely. Faith says we will make it. It's all we have left, aside from each other. Exactly what we wanted.

I'll have to save those thoughts for another time while I deal with something else entirely.

I'm shouldering a lot of blame today. Too much and I'm unhappy about it.

A heck of a lot of people have forgotten that Jacob had one foot out the door of that church long before I went with him. And I realized I have dredged up something that now appears to make no sense. And writing about it is really fucking disturbing for me. But I need to do it because of the gaping hole in our history that people keep bringing up.

What in the hell went down between Cole and Jacob with the open marriage bullshit anyhow?

Yes, well, I can try to explain it. I won't promise anything.

(When I first left Cole I alluded to the fact that he had given me to Jacob um....temporarily and that both men expected me to go back to Cole when Jacob moved away. Which is as weird as it sounds, I won't deny it. It's weird and disturbing. It's difficult. So fucking difficult to talk about now.)

Cole was feeling generous. He was so egotistical about his marriage to me. He was the first to know of Jacob's plans for moving. He suggested that Jacob could borrow me. A gift. A parting gift between friends. Mending the war between the boys. Cole knew Jake wanted me so badly but he didn't want to give me up. What he would do, instead was loan me out. Fulfilling his open marriage curiosities (that I never wanted any part of) and being generous, because he knew damn well he could use it against me later however he wanted, and Jacob would then be long gone.

Cole was planning to set me up using the weakness Jacob and I shared-each other. And at the same time, he gave his friend something he really really wanted. Me.

Two free birds, one stone.

Well, Cole, Jacob isn't stupid.

Jacob agreed with him, that he would uh,...well, take me for a week or so. That I would be his for a very short time and then Jake would leave town and life would continue on. It killed Jacob that Cole could offer me up like that. The day Jake came over he was supposed to offer me a week with no strings attached. A week we would spend together and then he was supposed to tell me he was leaving. We could get each other out of our systems once and for all. Then it's over forever. And Cole would have leverage against me for the rest of my life. Which wasn't fair. He had cheated. So many times. But then again, so did I, once.

Jake knew I would never ever agree to that. Cole didn't seem to know, but Jake did. He knew what Cole was up to and he had a different plan in mind. Jacob's plan was risky but by then I think he knew all of us well enough to take the chance. The worst outcome would be nothing at all, in his mind.

Jacob's plan was to simply ask me to be with him forever, because he knew that's the only way I would go with him and the time had come to take the chance or lose it forever, with emphasis on the forever part strictly for our benefit because at that point Jake still planned to leave the city.

When I stood behind Jacob when Cole came home and told him I was leaving him for good it landed on him like a hammer punch. It was the last thing Cole expected (or maybe not, looking back now) and he was strangely humbled. He fell apart to the point that he stopped being a monster again and was kind to me. So kind I didn't know who he was anymore. I was so confused by this. All of the sudden I held all the power. Briefly. Wonderfully for so many days.

And then it was gone again.

Jacob told me about his career plans and made no mistake about it, he was going and I was not even invited. The supreme double cross. He told me he wanted to smarten Cole the fuck up before he left because he knew that I would be going back to Cole. And besides, Jake didn't want me to be alone. The last time I was left alone I tried to kill myself. In his eyes I was better off with Cole behaving responsibly than I ever would be on my own alone. Because Cole knew that Jacob knew everything. Finally. Someone knew all his dirty little secrets. Humbled indeed. Cole knew Jacob would kill him if he hurt me. Which almost happened in May anyway.

Jacob's plan worked really well. Which killed him just a little bit. No, a lot. Too much. And something happened between us and Jacob realized that he just couldn't do it. He couldn't leave me. I didn't think we could fall harder but there was so much more further to take it. It was the most incredible thing I have ever felt.

And so I left Cole a second time and the rest is chronicled right here so that everyone can see it and understand how this happened.

It was a strange end to a strange experiment. The worst part was they knew, they all knew. All my friends knew of Cole's plans and they all lost respect for Cole and then for Jake too, who simply agreed to the open marriage thing, took the judgements that were leveled against him and said nothing of his true plans.

And no one said a word to Bridget.

And eerily Cole did smarten up in the end. Well, if you don't count that one very violent, frightening night that will be forever branded into my heart. He learned that his actions had life-altering consequences and that I wasn't going to be his catharsis anymore, the object of his own inner war with the demons he faced. He learned quite brutally, spectacularly that he had lost my heart to Jacob long before I left him, that emotionally I had been gone for such a very long time and that this was bigger than everything. He learned that Jacob gets where he is by the way he treats people and the good man that he is. He learned that you can go from having everything to having nothing by throwing it all away in a selfish display of bravado and power. He lost, plain and simple, by gambling with his family.

Sometimes I think he was hoping I wouldn't come back, because he was so much sadder than he ever was when I did. But as much as I believe that Jacob and I met and fell in love for a reason, Cole with his violence and his sick brand of love pushed me right into Jake's arms, shoving me right off my feet. Had he never been like that I might not have fallen so hard. I can admit that, it's logical. I was looking for rescue for years. I always thought Cole would change when we got married. Maybe change when we had children. Maybe change when we moved. I never thought I would fall so fucking hard for Jake and lose my mind all around myself. I'm still picking up the pieces, we're still dealing every single day with our hypocritical actions. We are accountable. This happened because we caused it. All of it.

They all say I'm addictive. It isn't me, it's Jake.

But now you know why Jacob was accused of fighting over me like a trophy and why he expected me to go back. Mistakes were made all over the place. We're fixing it as we go. As much as we can. Cole died and left this hole which will be here forever. I will never have answers from him. I will never have absolution from him and I fucking know this. I know it.

I can't look for redemption from Cole because he's gone but I'm here to live with every mistake we made together and I will. Jake and I are trying to make a life out of this mess. A happy one, a secure one. I have said all this before. This change in our lives is another attempt to move forward and put the pain behind us. Does it make me feel better to have explained it? Not really.

Are we running? You bet we are.

    When nobody's watching us
    I missed the last song
    I blame myself for just standing there too long
    I missed the last song
    I blame myself for just standing there
    I miss the love, I miss the holidays
    I miss my best friend, cheap cigars,
    stupid kids and movie stars
    and I missed the last song and I miss you
    and this time this one's for us

A crisis of faith.

The call has gone out at last and I can talk about it now. You would not believe the secrets I keep. You'll probably hear about them eventually. Patience, I'm trying to navigate this 'living for today' method. I waited so long, I have patience for one hundred souls, I swear to God. And sometimes I have none at all.

I apologize, it's random and jumbled, sometimes the difficulty of the change will be reflected in my efforts to get it onto the page. So I can read it and find a place for it in my brain.

The blame has been shifted, the self-induced guilt assuaged. The latest natural disaster averted. I couldn't even talk about it to myself, here, too many very familiar readers. Family and friends, getting their daily Bridget barometer. Now you know why I write pornographically sometimes. Sexual explicitness. Because I like it. Because I like to freak them all out. If they're going to read my deepest and darkest then they will pay the price, and the price is my whole picture, with nothing left out. You want it? You need to take it all, my friend. For I am an all-or-nothing girl.

Back to the topic at hand.

You know when something big comes along and even though you've heard and felt the rumblings for over a year, you sort of freak out when the earthquake hits? You knew it was coming! Don't be so naive! Or, oh shit, did I cause this?

Jacob has chosen to leave his church.

The call for a new minister, a lengthy selection process, has begun. A long and difficult decision has come to a optimistic end.

I took a deep breath, it's been a while. I had no idea I could hold it that long.

This church that he helped to build with his bare hands, from practically nothing. This thriving, living institution that he is so proud of. One that loves him deeply. I have never seen so many tears as I saw this morning as he made his announcement, after calling us up to stand beside him, as a family. Most of them were not surprised, as he had planned to leave at the beginning of the summer and then chose to forgo that journey all together when I landed in his heart with a resounding thud (which makes it as much my fault, because he was going crazy being near me and he wanted to get away). His congregation had very temporary relief in his decisions before he was off and running again.

This has been months in the process, brought into the spotlight once again by the summer's redemption, the choice my heart made for me while my head was stuck somewhere else. Everyone I know is presently caught in the turmoil of a life crisis of sorts. Cole's death at the age of only 38 knocked so many of my friends off their tightropes. I wasn't the solitary mourner because he had kissed my skin. My life changed in ways I haven't talked about. Loch was rocked to the core. Robin deeply affected. Ben, well, never mind-he's in reverse at present. Everyone else is quietly considering or forcing change. The circus is in full swing over here in my corner of the world.

Jacob hit a wall and realized how thin he had spread himself, his one renewable resource, his soul, being no match for his nonrenewable resource of time, time to spend.

When things smoothed out in his personal life the unacknowledged difficulties he has fought with for the past five years being a parish minister came back into focus and were so much more obstacular (yes, I'm making up a new word just for this) than before. What was he fighting so hard for? The status quo? You can't lead people to God when you're buried in paperwork and every last decision has to be studied and delayed and ripped apart by committees. He was frustrated, and grew apathetic.

An apathetic minister is a deeply unhappy one. This is one career field that you can't afford to become disillusioned by. He could no longer hold on to his sacred responsibilities. He was so ashamed. And his personal life was a mess, truth be told.

He had asked for a sabbatical and was denied. He needed that time and they couldn't give it to him. With each emergency he has struggled to fill his own shoes and has needed up to eight people at a time to cover for him. He's used up all of his study time and vacation for the year. They have broken even, Jacob and his church and he's going to leave it in the hands of the congregation to continue to raise up. He's shifting gears in a way that will fulfill what he's been looking for. Fine-tuning his ideals. Giving him time to rest. Quieting his needs and his heart while letting his talents shine, letting him continue to do what he loves most.

Which, stripped down to the basics, is teaching.

He's accepted an offer to teach religious studies full-time at one of the universities here. It's a tenure-track position with benefits. It's a Monday to Friday gig. It's half the workload he has shouldered thus far. As a bonus he's going to still function as an occasional guest at the pulpit at church and (and!) he's going to serve as a volunteer fire/EMS chaplain with the district here, which makes him very happy indeed.

Here's the part where I point out that I missed the 'chaplain' part of our discussions surrounding the fire department. And did I mention I've been wearing my hearing aids for three days now? Because he refuses to let us argue on points that I didn't hear or misheard drastically. Like that one. Which was huge. He wins.

He can still pace and preach his message in a new setting. He can lecture and inform and reach people. New people each semester. Young people open to learning. He can develop and plan his curriculum and not have to work so damned hard. He'll have time to write again. He won't have to emerge from being counsel to people as troubled as they were when they came in. He doesn't have to pin himself down to one religion. He fits in, he looks like a rumpled, unshaven, adorable college boy (no one tell him I said that.).

Jacob likes being tied down but he doesn't like being boxed in. It's taken him a lot of years to find a place where he feels comfortable, not in the way that he can do a good job, because he's proven himself with his church, but in a way that makes him happiest.

He's had two churches now in a relatively short time period for a minister and he can't stress enough, it isn't the churches, it's him. He's the problem. He's a bit of a wanderer, one who simply loves to lecture. I've been teasing him that for all his explorations and orations he should have been a travel guide. He laughed, nodding, and then corrected himself and said itineraries when traveling weren't any fun at all, so he could never do it.

He loves teaching. Loves it like Bridget loves cake. He's been teaching at the university since he got here, and he taught back home. Enough to keep his foot in the door. The university had an opening and he applied and was accepted and he's going to take it. He qualified easily.

And he's been talking about not preaching forever since he started, so that assures me that this isn't my fault or anything as devastating as that. What gave him the courage to jump out was the fact that Cole died with his life in a shambles, unhappily married, working himself to the bone, and stuck in one place. Stretched laterally in a torturous balance with no end in sight. Jacob believes that life is too short to be unhappy, to want something else. It's too precious to maintain a path you're not fond of. It's too beautiful to waste, he has said to me time and time again when he wanted to me to leave Cole so he could have me for himself. This same zeal for living at one hundred and fifty percent is what gave Jacob permission to be less than proper when it came to capturing the heart of his best friends' wife. He wasn't going to stand by and hope, out of some socially structured etiquette, he was going to give me, us, himself every chance he could. Jacob gives himself permission to seek out his own happiness at any and all cost and it's one of the things about him that I love the most.

He appears to know what he's doing. My free bird, always alighting long enough to sing his song and then he moves to the next branch. I've watched him do it for years, and I finally get to go along with him.

The best part? The best, funniest part is that the pay is actually deplorable, the benefits practically non-existent, the parking questionable, the office space cramped and musty and yet he is so happy he's like a little boy on Christmas day. There's a visible lifting of weight. He holds no doubt in his heart about any direction his life has taken in the past six months.

And who could blame him? He's finding his way just like the rest of us. He's young and full of enthusiasm and idealization and promise and he refuses to let it be quashed. Jacob will never settle. For anything. Ever again.

Last night he held me in his arms and he told me he has everything. Everything a man could ever want in his life. A job he likes, a wife and children he loves down to the bottom of his soul, warmth, bread and wine. Shelter, faith and contentment. Happiness. Everything is new and good. Every wish he has ever wished for in his whole life has been granted. The rest of our lives to live out our dreams, with hope and love carrying us forward, willingly. Swiftly. Contentedly.

And since I know everyone is wondering on the edge of their seats, he keeps his preacher boy nickname, because he'll still be guesting at church. And because the professor doesn't work as well. As Chris pointed out, this isn't Gilligan's Island. It's no idyllic tropical paradise set with a cast of characters who perform with a canned laugh track. It's real life and some days you can only wish you had a script. Or a 'cut!' yelled at the end of a scene.

Time to catch your breath at the very least.

Catching the Saturday train.

Because I left my Train CD in the player overnight, I get weekend breakfast karaoke from Jacob, who loves this song and has played it for two days straight now.

    Now that shes back in the atmosphere
    With drops of Jupiter in her hair
    She acts like summer and walks like rain
    Reminds me that there's time to change
    Since the return from her stay on the moon
    She listens like spring and she talks like June

    Tell me did you sail across the sun
    Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded
    And that heaven is overrated

    Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star
    One without a permanent scar
    And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there

    Now that she's back from that soul vacation
    Tracing her way through the constellation
    She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo
    Reminds me that there's time to grow

    Now that she's back in the atmosphere
    I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain old jane
    Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land

    Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
    Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
    And head back to the milky way

    And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
    Was it everything you wanted to find
    And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

    Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
    Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong
    Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone conversation
    The best soy latte that you ever had
    And me

Which is really good, had he decided to give a performance earlier in the week he might have wound up singing Buckcherry's Crazy Bitch.

Nine-oh.

Celebrating ninety days of marriage, because we would do that.

A small handwritten book of over a dozen short stories, all clocking in at around one page in length, an episodic pseudo-comic novel in which the brave hero of our stories is a man named Jake, who travels the world in search of adventure and excitement, encountering risk and danger with every choice he makes, yet always emerging with fortitude, victorious and intact! Complete with pictures from his real life travels that coordinate with those of his character. Because everyone needs a heroic alter ego.

Jacob loved it. He loved it. He took it to work with him. He called his father to tell him about it before he left.

A resplendent vintage pearl necklace. Knots in between, in a glorious glowing pink hue that managed to match her ring to perfection. With exactly ninety pearls. He called it 'opera length' and told her that someday he would take her to the opera, whenever they found themselves in a city that had an opera. In the meantime she could wear it to the movie theatre.

I didn't believe him in my surprise. And we counted the pearls together. He said he maybe has counted all the pearls in every good antique store in the city and that he possibly needs glasses now or a vacation but that I just might possibly be worth the effort. I'm simply astonished by Jacob's perseverance, taken aback by his commitment to my happiness.

I don't think I could ever actually deserve what I've been given, but Jacob told me one more smile from me would make him run out and buy me Jupiter. Or maybe even possibly the sun.

We laughed hard and kissed even harder, with a promise that tonight when he gets home we'll have ninety minutes of slow dancing in the darkened dining room after the children have gone to sleep.

Another kiss left him running behind, and late for work.

When I closed the front door behind him I pinched myself so hard that this time I left a mark.

    Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet
    Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day
    And head back to the milky way
    And tell me, did Venus blow your mind
    Was it everything you wanted to find
    And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

Hungry.

I'll apologize in advance to no one in particular for the thoughts running amok through my brain right this moment. Whenever I write the word 'hungry', I think of sex. I'm not sure why. Well, I'm sure I know why, it's a euphemism to me. Right now I'm hungry. Oh, no...well okay, sure, sex would be great but the kids are home right now from school and Jacob is covered with grease.

Yes, that sounds dirty. Hmm. No, shhh!

I really meant I need to start dinner now.

We were downstairs in the basement earlier this afternoon, all six feet four inches of Jacob's muck and muscle wedged between the foundation wall and the back of the very temperamental dryer, fixing the squeaking sounds that have begun anew. I was passing him tools and keeping him company, sitting wrapped in a blanket on the toboggan that is still downstairs because the summer toys are in the closet upstairs, I haven't had time to switch them yet.

Jake was looking into the inner sanctum of the dryer with a perplexed expression and I had just said something about possibly needing bindings for my snowboard when he abruptly sat back on his knees and looked at me.

You do know that this right here is exactly what we fought for, don't you?
We smiled at each other like blooming idiots.

Yup. Sure did.

Cool. Just checking.

On never going to bed angry.

He was playing devil's advocate and I didn't like it one bit, we had reached the end of another soul-eroding argument and we were tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being so tired.

Why me, Bridge? Hey? How did you end up here with me?

I didn't even try to lower my guard. I looked back over my shoulder, meeting his eyes, one hand consciously twirling a lock of my hair. My eyebrow arched in measured surprise. I spoke softly, the smoldering acrimony heating up the blood in my veins too slowly for my taste. His question highlighted his own frustrations, his need to be cruel suddenly in pointing out our differences, how the two of us ended up together. Fine, I can answer that as expected.

Ask for familiar territory and familiar territory is what I'll give you. I should write a book about us. I'll call it The Reverend and the Whore.

It's simple, Jake. I liked you better.

My voice came out in a whispery low-pitched ember, burning with defiance. Fuck, I hate being sick. He stared at me with his customary mixture of disappointment and fascination written all over his face. It's a look I know well, an expression I seek out to elicit from him when I feel like offering up half of my angst. I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes because when we argue we bring everything to the table now. All of it. Getting that look achieves my goal of bringing him to his knees when I know I can't win. I hate myself for doing it. I'm ashamed of it and then I go and do it anyway. It generally works to a fault but on this night he only wavered for the moment it took me to recognize that expression. Then it was gone.

Don't do that, Bridge.

I shook my head.

You don't need to be cold like that. Not with me. I didn't mean it like that.

Then don't ask when you know the reasons, Jake.

Reassurance is as necessary for me as it is for anyone, princess.

I should be asking you the same question, Jacob. Why me? f I'm the last person who should have been able to take your heart then why are you here with me now?

Ironically, Bridget, it was because of the bond we had from the very first moment, when you trusted me right away, even though you struggle with it now and you don't have to. Because of our instant intimacy. Because you're so beautiful I never want to take my eyes off you. Ever. Because you are so tiny and delicate and yet so fierce I want to save your life even when I don't need to. Because you make it impossible for me not to love you. Because of your unfailing commitment to me, and to getting both of us through the hard parts when you don't want to hurt. A risk that you know you need to take. Like now. Do I need to keep going because I can talk all night about the reasons that I will love you for the rest of my life, whether you want me to or not, princess.

Oh, damn. He's better than I at this. I can't wage a verbal counterinsurgency with the true master of devoted reasoning. I surrendered first, figuratively on my knees for his acceptance of my efforts to pull him down with me and choosing to defy me instead with syllogism.

My God. No words at all. Sometimes I still pinch myself and yet he's proven to me time and time again that I might be, no, I am the luckiest girl on earth. Also the ugliest, drippiest crying one. Someone save me from myself. Wait, that position has been permanently filled.

He kissed my forehead. He won't kiss anything else lately, so that he doesn't get sick too.

You're running a fever again.

I nodded, I feel like hell. I'm worn the fuck out.

It explains the delirium, Bridget. You hardly ever run out of words anymore.

I'm sorry.

Don't be. Trust me, for someone who's as sick as you are, that was a mighty powerful little display of defiant sexuality. I almost pulled you down on the floor right there.

Oh. You should have. I shook my head at him before thrusting my lower lip out. Then I ruined the pout with an obnoxious and to my dismay, overly productive sneeze.

See, I would have, princess, but the whole snot thing this time around isn't nearly as cute as it was last spring.

Take that back.

Oh, princess, I would but I just can't. I'm sorry. He started laughing.

You? You suck.

Still out of words, I see. My God, you're so funny. It's adorable.

Suck. With a capital 'S'.

Give up, princess.

Goodnight, Jacob.
Goodnight Bridget. I love you.

I love you. I'm going to snot all over you after you fall asleep, you know.

It's okay, I'm getting used to it. You've been doing it every night anyway.

Did I mention you suck?

The princess won't be in today.

I was all set to sit down this morning and write of the latest news, but instead I packed up the kids early and took all three of us to the doctor. Because we've all hit the end of our ropes with the nighttime coughing. I figured the doctor would give me some ideas, or hell, a script for some better cough medicine for them, because there has been no sleep. None. The only reason I don't care about the sleep is that the medications I'm already on give me an emotional free pass on so many things it's practically criminal. Instead we left with scripts for antibiotics and a diagnosis of bacterial pneumonia.

Now tell me how special that is.

I'm the opposite of a hypochondriac, which is how I somehow let weeks of this coughing slip past us. Everyone feels pretty good during the day and so it became easy to put off. We figure we were all so rundown anyhow and then the hospital stay/trips at the beginning of October brought something to us that we had nothing left to fight back with. Tell me about it.

At least Jake is fine. He is rarely sick. I have no idea what that must be like but I bet it's just great. Me? I'm going to go make another pot of tea and watch a movie. And milk this whole lethargy thing while I can.

Hope is not in what I know.

It's difficult to stay centered today. I'm being thrown off kilter by this day, out for revenge for so many warmly-lit, extravagant nights in Jacob's arms. In any case, the jealous lover I name as daylight rips me from Jacob's grasp and turns the sky grey in retaliation. A bitter foe of all things signifying comfort, he stalks me, a dangerous game I must now play of outrunning the rotation of the planet. My futile, bitter marathon begins anew.

It's snowing heavily. We could see the storm approaching from the west for hundreds of miles, something you learn to watch and wait for, living here on the flatlands. The wind has blown our corner the world into an ominous ball of ice, bare tree branches scratching their protest against the cold onto an unrelenting canvas of frigid air. The ground is frozen, impenetrable, and unforgiving underneath my boots.

This morning we rushed down the sidewalk, under those same bare branches and past the orange and black decorations clutching the outside of each house along our path. Our hats pulled low, mittens shoved hard into the bottom of pockets that failed to keep out the cold. It was the first day I walked the kids to school alone, and so on the way home I put my headphones on to listen to Snow Patrol, which usually cheers me, and walked slowly home. When I got to the end of the street I crossed the empty field that runs the length of the neighborhood and stood watching the sky, watching the morning freight train as it slowly wove around the perimeter of the city, names painted on the sides of the grain cars, a colorful rainbow of proof that we were here. A moment in time seized and celebrated. A simple tag succeeds in its attempt to add life to a monotonous line of black and brown tin cars rolling across this endless landscape.

    Get up, get out, get away from these liars
    Because they don't get your soul or your fire
    Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
    And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

    Every minute from this minute now
    We can do what we like anywhere
    I want so much to open your eyes
    Because I need you to look into mine

A brief pall of homesickness seized me then, for this will be the first winter here without Cole. Cole, who used to remind me that winter meant sports and Christmas and snowball fights and snowmen. Cole, who used to embrace the low temperatures and proclaim his hardiness, impervious to the plunging, ludicrous temperatures, hanging Christmas lights outside wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Cole who insisted we buy an electric blanket and who encouraged me to turn the heat up higher because he said he'd just work a little more to pay the higher gas bill. Cole who said the early darkness of the nights meant morning would come sooner and I believed him because it was all I had left.

For one moment that froze the bottom of my heart into a sheet of ice as thin as glass. I missed him desperately. Then the illusion of the glass was shattered and I was standing alone again, my destructive thoughts swept away by the gales. And Cole is still dead. Dead and gone, never to return. Kind of like last summer. Except next year there will be another summer but there will never be another Cole. Maybe time does work it's magic in keeping the good parts and blurring the bad ones. Time will answer that for me, just not yet. I'm not sure I'm done vilifying him inside my head, while my heart has softened to his memory and moved on.

I turned, pulling up my hood again, and walked back to our street, returning to the relative safety of the concrete sidewalk to walk under the branches that shelter my soul. Through the curtains I could see lights on inside the house, our imaginary protection against the bleakness of the winter season, and I went up the steps and into the porch. When I shrugged out of my coat I was greeted with a hot cup of coffee and an invitation to return to the arms of my Jacob, both of which I took with gratitude. Leading with my heart while my head tries to navigate its own version of a long cold winter.

There is so much to look forward to.

Splinter.

I'm so very very tired this morning. Here, some more conversations.

    The sound in my mouth
    It gets so loud
    It gets so loud
    The little words can't slip out
    Words like sorry
    I'm so sorry

    Where would you find yourself
    Without love
    Give love to someone else
    Is that enough
    If love is to find yourself
    Are you fighting love
    Or are you picking sides?


Ben fell off the wagon with a resounding thump last night, hopefully banging his head with enough force to knock some sense back into it.

One of the most difficult things about this dissolution of a long close friendship has now settled on the fact that he keeps trying to mend the fences that he summarily destroyed into matchsticks. I can't change my cellphone number again. Ruth and Henry have a hard enough time remembering this new number, after I was forced to change it back in May because of the order against Cole. I always have my phone with me and my kids being able to reach me when they're not with me is a lifeline that for some reason helps me sleep at night, even if it means receiving drunken apologies at 2 in the morning. If that's what Ben thought he was doing.

Hey.

Princess, don't hang up on me.

What do you need, Ben?

I need to tell you some things.

Start with how much you've had to drink and where you are.

I'm home. Too much. I'm alone.

Are you okay?

I'm peachy. I just need to talk to you for a little while.

No. Here, talk to Jacob instead. I can't do this, Ben.

I put Ben on speakerphone and passed it to Jake.

Ben?

I need to talk to Bridget.

Ben, maybe you need to get some sleep.

Let Bridget talk. You never understood me, preacher man.

She doesn't want to talk to you. Please don't call her anymore.

Let her tell me.

She has, Ben. Many times.

Oh. I get it. It's been a while though.

It's only been a month, Ben. Bridget has been through enough. Let her be.

You let her be. It's all your fault.

Goodnight Ben. Next time call Rob.

Yeah. Fuck you too, preacher man.

Right. Bye.

We returned to the warmth beneath the blanket. I could sense Jacob's mind churning with fresh doubts. He breathes deeply, differently when he's getting upset.

Don't do it, Jacob.

Do what?

Let him inside your head.

Maybe he's got a point, Bridge. If I had waited, things would have been so much easier for you.

Do you hear yourself, Jacob? I'm glad everyone got a chance to see who Cole really was before he died. He finally left a mark people could see. Are you telling me that you would have wanted me to go through three more months with Cole so that you would have some sort of peace of mind borne out of ignorance?

Don't say that, princess.

Besides, you didn't know for sure I would leave him, since I never had before. And no one can predict the future.

I could have done things differently. You would have been safer, somehow..

Jacob, where are we right now?

Under the quilts, in our bed. In our house together, kids and cat are asleep. It's dark. Safe. But does the end justify the means?

In this case, it does. No one promised that life would be easy. Don't let Ben of all people cast a pall on our lives together.

Since when did you become so optimistic?

Well, I met this amazing man and he changed me forever.

In a good way, I hope.

In an exemplary way, Jacob.

Oh, now, there you go with all those big words again, piglet.

Piglet? I thought I was the princess.

I'm thinking there's been too many people using that nickname and maybe you need a new one, Bridget.

I think since you gave it to me, it stands. Besides, piglet? What the hell is that?

Well I thought it was cute.

It's not cute.

At least it isn't perverted.

Oh I could make it perverted, Jake.

I give up.

The great hundred acre wood cellphone quote-off.

Hey.

Hullo, Bridget.

Hullo, Jacob.

It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"

I have it ready whenever you get home, coincidentally.

Oh, bother.

Jacob, why are you talking like Winnie the Pooh?

Because I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words bother me.

I see. Winnie?

Yes?

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.

There she goes! Good one, Bridge.

So are you coming home to dip into the honey pot or what?

Some people care too much, I think it's called love. And the honey pot remark is just begging for one of your dirty comments to follow it, you know that, don't you, Bridget?

Of course. It goes without saying.

Caleb (ties that bind).

Caleb is gone. I can pull the chopsticks out of my ears and see if the self-induced lobotomy is reversible at all. Jacob can take a deep breath. Onward, Bridget. Momentum.

Caleb is (was? No, still is) Cole's older brother. He's 43 now, so he was off in college when Cole and I got together as teenagers and he's mostly been an absent brother save for small moments. He knew little of our lives and tribulations, preferring instead to take his yearly trips south to warm beaches and hardly ever calling the house. He and Cole emailed each other maybe once a month but overall, they weren't close. Caleb was similar to a third parent in Cole's mind. Someone to resent, someone who's shadow he had to walk in. And be compared to. There's a suit and tie mentality where I'm from that speaks of wearing the clothes and having a good (corporate) career. Artists don't get that kind of respect, even though few of them in this day and age can make a living of it the way Cole could.

I finally felt strong enough to call Caleb and let him know I was going to be shipping him several boxes of Cole's belongings, things I thought he might like to have. He surprised me and said he would fly out for a couple of days, if I could recommend a good hotel. I did and I asked him not to come but Caleb arrived on Thursday morning. When I met him at the airport he told me I looked beautiful. Too thin, but beautiful. He wanted to swing by the hotel and check in and change before coming for lunch, so we went there first. He invited me up. I sat at the table in his room and we made very awkward small talk while he hung up his clothes and even more awkward conversation on the drive to my house, the house I once shared with his baby brother.



It felt weird. Really really weird.

Jacob had picked up the kids at school and was making lunch when we came in. Caleb and Jacob have met on several occasions but have zero common interests and understandably things would be strange between them. Lunch was perfunctory, quiet and stilted, the kids chewing slowly and watching their uncle with wide eyes because they don't see him much. After lunch Jacob took Ruth back to school and took Henry to work with him so that I could sort through the boxes with Caleb. We made tea and sat on the floor comparing memories, looking at pictures. Caleb wanted to know about Cole's final projects, how he and Jake had gotten along when it came to the kids, and what our plans were for the future. We argued over little things and big things alike. It turned into a long, difficult visit.

Dinner that night and lunch yesterday went much the same way. Polite, strained, pleasant even, slightly weird in that the brothers shared so many unconscious mannerisms, and even hold their forks the same unique way. Several times I would look up and find Caleb watching me with curiosity, a slight frown on his face. Possibly because he knows it's the end of our connection in a way, not because he stops being the kids' uncle or my brother in law, we've agreed to leave everything as it was, but because maybe he's happy I'm not alone, because he knew of the problems I had, Cole had confided in him superficially more than once that our marriage wasn't so wonderful. But Caleb knows I tried and I stayed as long as I could. He knows I loved his brother. He probably hates my guts and thinks I'm responsible for driving Cole to an early grave. Hell, half the time I do, why wouldn't he?

At the airport last night we stood together checking the monitor for Caleb's flight out and he turned to me and smiled sadly.

Bridget, when you wrote in your journal that you still loved Cole, were you telling the truth?

I just stood there and nodded with my jaw on the floor as he kissed my cheek and turned to pick up his bags. Shock set in.

Caleb? How did you know about my journal?

The answer surprised me.

Cole sent me your link a long time ago. He was so proud of you and your writing. He said it was that good that I should read it. He was right. I've been reading it every day since. Because your words come out exactly the way you are in real life, Bridget: unbelievably fragile and yet strong and so determined. Untouchable and intimidatingly frail but hopeful for the future. It's contagious. It's addictive, like you were to my brother, Bridget. And as much as my brother hurt you, he really did love you. Never doubt that for a second. He loved you so much, and I know you wanted me out of your life, but I don't want to leave it. 

And with that, Caleb turned and walked through the doors, leaving me standing there stunned by his words, so kind and gentle when they didn't have to be. Letting me off the hook for my guilt. Leaving me whispering softly, under my breath.

I know.

Quietus.

He moved in close to her, sliding one hand under her shoulders and the other slowly up her thigh. She started to tremble slightly as he kissed her urgently. As she caught her breath he bent his head to taste her skin. He kissed all the way up her throat and bit her earring briefly, making her laugh. Smiling down at her he pulled her legs apart and she felt his hardness against her. She shook her head and he quieted her with his capable reassurances that he would not harm her. He entered her in one brutal push and then paused, assessing her response, looking for the confirmations he needed to progress. She gasped and locked her arms around his neck, preparing herself for his physical onslaught. He smiled and tried to moderate his own breathing, the fever of her warm skin fueling his lust for her anew, taking it to a place he didn't know existed. He began to thrust into her, gently at first, rapidly losing his control, wanting to possess her, make her scream and writhe beneath him. Wanting to make her his forever. She whispered to him that she wanted him, harder, faster, more. She dug her nails into the damp brawn of his shoulders and his heart soared with a grateful leap. He reached underneath her to cup her ass forcibly against his groin, grinding into her fiercely, forcing her to remain pinned against him while he rode her, so that she would climax with him from the stimulation he created. She cried out to him to slow down, to wait for her, but it was too late. He couldn't hear her as the ecstasy exploded instead his head, dulling his senses momentarily, his entire being rocked with his orgasm, flooding into her as she reverberated in kind, feeling the tremors pass through both of them as they lay, still connected, now spent by their exploits.

He raised his hand, combing his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hand and kissing her lightly on the mouth while he worked his strong fingers on her, bringing her with him to that place where she couldn't catch her breath. He felt her tighten around him and she started to cry out, and he whispered to her softly to stay still. She fluttered her hands on his head as she came, the waves of euphoria crashing over her, enveloping her in their sweet rhythm, taking away her thoughts for the moment. He felt her body relax once again but he kept her in his arms, positioning her well within his embrace while they lay together in the dark hours of the early dawn, their breathing lulled, basking in the luminosity of the sunrise. Daybreak came slowly that morning, the uninvited sun pouring into the windows while they drifted in and out of a sleep replete with affirmations of their devotion to one another, content at long last.

(Today's writing will be unexplained. Call it whatever you want. I'm not saying a word.)

This is your Bridget on drugs.

Why did I promise to write about this again? Oh yes, distractionism.

    Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
    And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars
    The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap
    we'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat
    And we'll hang out in the coolest bars
    in the VIP with the movie stars
    Every good gold digger's
    Gonna wind up there
    Every Playboy bunny
    With her bleach blonde hair

    And we'll hide out in the private rooms
    With the latest dictionary of
    today's who's who
    They'll get you anything
    with that evil smile
    Everybody's got a
    drug dealer on speed dial, well
    Hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar

I'm not known for living fast, believe it or not. My highs are so high and the lows are so damn low that as long as I have enough time in between to get my bearings, life is pretty good. I say I don't have regrets, maybe I lie. Maybe I'm just as average as everyone else. I don't go seeking out excitement.

No, that couldn't be it.

Maybe I just have enough good and bad memories to to call it an interesting life so far.

I know I'll never be famous, but I'll possibly never be boring either, at this rate.

The one night I went out on a limb and did two things I swore I would never ever do (that would be a)karaoke and 2)getting high) turned out to be a defining moment in my life. Oddly, it was the same self-destructive summer that I first slept with Jake. Maybe it was some combination of the freedom of the time we were in and my need to prove to myself that even though I had a one-year old baby, I could still have fun. Maybe it was just the calm before the storm.

In any event, it was a rare warm summer night in which everyone was present for a loosely organized pub crawl. We were celebrating a whole bunch of milestones in the group. Cole and I had a babysitter for the whole night. In a rare show of bravery I partook in the pot brownies being passed around, usually I ignore that stuff. I had two. Jacob took a pass and was the designated driver/responsible adult for the night (he usually preferred to be in that role). I felt so good that night. I don't think I've ever felt like that before.

I probably never will again. It's an artificial confidence.

Within a few hours we wound up at a karaoke bar, this after hitting a Mexican place first for far too many margaritas and tequila shots. The boys talked me into doing a song, something I normally wouldn't do but I felt as tall as everyone else right then and so I did it. I chose to do On my Own, from Les Miserables, which started with jeers and booing from the crowd, because they wanted me to sing a Veruca Salt song. But I've been pretending to be Eponine in the shower since I was a teenager, and I knew I could pull off that song. By the end of it everyone was stone still, in rapt attention. They ate it up. My ego found its own spotlight to shine in.

I enjoyed a lot of accolades from my own friends, who previously had heard me warble a few off-key notes of Happy Birthday or the occasional Christmas carol. Singing isn't something I usually do well. The admiration from the strangers in the bar was completely unexpected though.

Most of the crowd followed our group down to the next bar, a college bar where they were having a Coyote Ugly dance off type competition (the movie had just come out) for a $1000 prize.

Oh please. I love to dance. But not up in front of a crowd like that. More tequila is definitely required.

So after twenty minutes of convincing (because they thought it would be funny to watch me embarrass myself), liquid courage prevailed and I said Fuck it. I grabbed a cowboy hat off some guy I didn't even know and joined the line up on top of the bar. I gave it everything I had. This is how the cowboy hat lap dance almost sort of maybe possibly got it's start. There's my power trip. Everyone was watching me dance. The little blonde right smack on the centre of the bar.

And so I brought down that house too. Free drinks for the winner and a solo encore performance was requested. So I got back up there after two more shots and ground it down. Guys I didn't know started throwing twenty dollar bills at me and yelling for me to take it off before the end of the first song. Cole and everyone else I had come with were transfixed, Cole being rocked by the occasional appreciative slap on the back or congratulatory nudge. I was just starting a second song when a dazed-looking Jacob (back in full responsible adult mode now) abruptly lifted me off the bar and flung me over his shoulder. He was booed but he didn't care. I was getting a little wild (okay, a lot) and the whole bar had erupted. He carried me out while the DJ announced that Bridget was leaving the building, and to give her one final round of applause for being the hottest contest winner that the club had ever seen. I blew kisses and collected the prize money that was passed to me over Jacob's shoulder while everyone hollered and stomped and clapped the whole way out. By then my ego had simply exploded all over the place.

Yay me! (waves tiny, inebriated fists).

We got outside and Jacob put me down and asked if I was okay. I said I was fine through my flushed cheeks and wavering brightness. The other guys, Cole included, were just standing there, still dumbstruck because they had just seen something they never saw before. I was having fun. I was completely wasted and I could still perform a routine that left all my male friends with unwelcome kickstands and wet dream material for the rest of their lives and all my female friends with jealous bents that we never managed to ever overcome, much to my eventual (sober) shame.

And hey! Rent money for two whole months!

I was told I passed out in the truck on the way home, holding my prize money tightly while they all talked about the fact that they had no idea that I could do that.

I...er...well, I usually kept myself reigned in. I was the sweet girl up until that night. Then I became the sexy one. A slippery slope indeed.

I wonder if-

Hey, Jake, remember that dance contest?

Who could forget that, Bridge?

You think anyone has??

Trust me, no one will EVER forget that night.
This, THIS is the reason that whenever any of my friends bring baked goods over I'm unduly suspicious and beg off sampling them. It's not because of the whole eating thing, it's because of that night when I got high and danced on that bar and learned a few things about myself in the process.

Like how to harness that kind of power, the one that left everyone dumbstruck.

And how incredibly easy it is to embarrass the hell out of myself. Which is why I never touched drugs again.

Yep.

Ouch.

    I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me.
    ~Hunter S. Thompson

Buttered toast.

   So if you wake up with the sunrise
    And all your dreams are still as new
    And happiness is what you need so bad
    Girl, the answer lies with you

Jacob's unruly blonde locks, perpetually-bearded face, mirthful blue eyes and easy-going smile with his giant white chicklet teeth framed by the deepest dimples you'll ever witness belie his intelligence. His looks scream hippie college drop-out, his very-tall, slightly disheveled, worn-denim appearance leaving you to think that he's about to pick up a guitar and sing a Nick Drake song and maybe light up a bong before telling you that Yes, God loves you, brother. Or more likely Peace, man.

He likes it that way. He said it takes the pressure off, no one expects much of him and so people listen when he talks. He has a very deep and surprisingly loud voice, which probably helps. He's no wallflower, definitely no pushover and really, he can be quite a hardass when he wants to be.

He's very smart, very civic-minded, very politically active and up on current events.

I'm actually the cute one. It's a running joke.

Smart guy that he is, I caught him spiking my juice with my pills this morning. Like he's done every day because I wasn't taking them. Which is why I felt exactly the same. For the past few days I wasn't so sure if I should be thrilled that I didn't have effects from stopping them so abruptly or if I should be devastated because I still felt like I had the emotional capabilities of a dessert fork.

I think I've met my match. Though since I'm obviously not that bright anymore, I'm not sure what matches, other than our hair color and possibly our sex drive. Thank God.

Ha. I have no train of thought today. Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you an old story about drugs and karaoke and being carried out of a bar to thunderous applause.

Painted penitence.

One of Jacob's many talents lies in his ability to be very upset with someone and still coexist in a slightly-removed, invisibly perfunctory manner with that person. He did it with Cole for most of their friendship. He's been doing it with me for four days now. I know I upset him, insulted him. I know he's disappointed in me, I know I twisted his screws and for maybe the third time ever in my life with him I hit bone. Being as laid back as he is, he's very hard to rattle with mere words. You have to be very certain of whatever verbal pain you're about to inflict, for mostly it will miss the mark, until you sharpen the point just a little more and dip it in poison. Then, when you're very determined, it's going to go all the way in.

The worst thing? He'll leave that arrow in. Because the pain is new. And because he wants you to have a visual reminder that you might possibly have mortally wounded the Nicest Guy On Earth.

In reality? It's a flesh wound. He knows I lash out when I'm frustrated. He's done it himself.

He made me pay for it with silence. And waiting. And wearing his arrow all over the place. I stood in the doorway of the den last night for almost two hours minutes staring at him (which is very very fucking hard. Almost like spoon torture.) and he pretended he was busy. I gave up and went to bed. He followed, to sleep holding me in his arms, his favorite spoon, but not speaking of the arrows I had hurled at him.

It serves me totally right. I was so ready to congratulate him for winning the silent treatment contest this morning over breakfast. I go crazy over that stuff. I will chew my own leg off before I give in. And I'm just plain horrid to be around when he doesn't respond to me.

He poured my coffee and brought it out to the table just like he always does. I thanked him like he was a stranger and then tasted it. Ack. It was from yesterday. It was ice-cold. I decided I would drink it. Because it helped to illustrate the entire old, stale, miserable off-tasting argument that we were indulging in. That coffee signified the bitterness that had seeped into our proverbial life's cup. It was awful. But dammit, I drank it because it's what I deserved.

He was trying not to laugh. I was halfway through silently naming him every swear word that I had in my arsenal (which is pretty immense, varied and wonderful colorful) while I sipped from my mug and made faces at it. Then I noticed his shoulders were shaking and he was biting his tongue.

Princess, I can't let you drink any more of that.

No, it's fine, thank you.

Stop it. Put your petulance away and come and hug me like you mean it. Then I'll get you a real cup of coffee and we can talk about how we're going to make this work. We haven't come this far to fuck it all up now, have we?

I shook my head and the bitter taste left my mouth. I watched his genuine smile emerge, and with that action he pulled out the imaginary poisoned arrow and we spent the rest of the morning together, with very good fresh coffee, painting the floor in the porch and talking about how we weren't going to fly off any more handles. That was for me, because Jacob threatened to tape me to the floor if I did.

And I apologized profusely for my hurtful comments. Being a gracious man, Jacob merely pointed out that I might be right. When there was no commitment, no pressure and no way for him to cross those boundary lines from friend to lover, life was easier between us because his hands were tied. He also pointed out that I am doing something he didn't expect. I'm running from him. When things get bad I push him away and I fight him and I look everywhere but at him to help. Which is what I had to do with Cole, and it's so ingrained now it's an automatic reflex. Here I've been asking Jacob to fix everything and then not letting him do anything.

The revelations are so huge, and they just keep coming. Something's working. Either way I don't feel insane today, and that's something. Huge. Revolutionary in my tiny kingdom.

The porch sure looks pretty, too.

Frailty.

    See my shadow changing
    Stretching up and over me
    Soften this old armor
    Hoping I can clear the way
    By stepping through my shadow
    Coming out the other side
    Step into the shadow
    Forty six and two are just ahead of me.
The largest ongoing argument has finally paled and taken a back seat to something bigger than both of us. My hearing aids are in a drawer now. Sometimes I put them on and then within a couple hours they're right back in the drawer. Ben, who will be thrilled to know he can still cause problems for me without even being present, has provided to be the cause of the permanent end of commenting on this journal. I don't want to read what he has to write. And Cole, still wreaking havoc from hell, because I know he wouldn't have wanted it any other way where I and especially where Jake, is concerned. Here, honey, lap it up with a spoon.

What's come to pass is that I finally figured it out. My so-called princess complex isn't even remotely as invasive and unwelcome as Jacob's need to be my savior. His need for control of my well-being. Which is still only vaguely different and separate from whatever Cole would do that left him in control of me.

This weekend I got time off for good behavior. Because I, at this point, am fumbling for some screws of my own to twist. Jacob let me have the bottle and told me I was doing great and I should be fine to take the pills on my own. Because hey, we've already been struggling mightily with the parent/child thing and would like to put that to bed. So he gave up the pills in a show of good faith. He has faith. He's a good person.

And I promptly stopped taking them. Because, well, obviously I can be a child. Immature, petulant, whatever favorite description you've got for my misbehavior, put it here. Not so good of a person, struggling with faith. Hell, struggling with everything.

I didn't stop taking them to set myself back, or to be a brat. It's simple. He cannot see it.

I wanted my own damn control.

I'm going to take charge. So I'm going to heal via the time and space method. i.e. the more time and space I can put between myself and the bad things that have happened in the past six months, the better off I will be. No more pills, no more sessions, no more emotional barometer readings, no more bullshit disguised as help in the form of constant reminders. Every time I get somewhere I feel like I can't get it out, or worse, I heal over so very slightly and then the wounds are ripped open again and I'm forced back to the beginning.

I'm not a fucking mental patient. Hell, everyone's depressed, suffers from some sort of bullshit. Everyone's questioned their value, their sanity, their ability to navigate their life without hiding behind a label. I spent twenty years quashing that stupid depression label. It's not lost on me that that label is just about as old as my previous marriage.

Which speaks volumes. Loud ones.

I did it before without pills. Cole wouldn't let me take them. Hell, I tried to kill myself and then I smartened the fuck up and got over it. Jacob wants promises that I'll never do that again. I can promise him until I'm blue in the face, hiding behind the label that says I'm not so sure. Or I can step out and be accountable and let him off the hook for my emotional well-being.

And he can stop being the second control freak I've ever loved.

Someone once said You teach people how to treat you. Well, so far I've been teaching everyone I know how to destroy me. Where my weaknesses are, what my flaws are and how to expose them. How to tweak my fragility just enough to push me as far as I can be pushed.

They like me that way. I'm not stupid. Bridget does pain beautifully. Give her just a little more, please.

Claus said he would speak to me soon and he wished me well. Because he thinks I'm coming back eventually. My doctor told me not to stop taking my medication cold-turkey. There is no other way for me. Jacob is traveling a bumpy road between amusement, incredulity, pride, anger and disappointment, as he tries valiantly to extricate himself from settling into the role as my keeper and find his place as my husband. Him trying to live hands-off is like asking him to reach up and fish me a star out of a midnight sky.

I wonder who will last longer.

This morning I told him I think I loved him more when he had absolutely no say in my life and how I lived it but I knew he was there. Then I broke into a million pieces. Because I hurt him.

He didn't even try to fix that, he just turned and walked away.

The hardest part isn't letting go- it's holding on.

Jacob, what is this?

Let me see...oh, that's just..nothing.

It wasn't nothing. Several days ago I noticed a folded piece of paper balanced on top of the wastebasket in the den, as I finally felt enough energy to clean a little, I reached under the desk to empty the basket and my fingers fell on the paper instead. It was notes for a sermon. Jacob usually writes out his sermons or even types them up on the computer and then works at them out loud until he no longer needs the notes, but he never ever throws the notes away or deletes them. This one appeared to be complete, and new, for I had never heard it before. I sat down in the chair and read it, starting with the title "Let your Life Speak". I was in tears before I got to end, knowing full well why it ended up in the wastebasket. It was dated for October 1. Which meant that was the date he wanted to deliver that sermon, to herald the arrival of fall here in the city, turning over a new leaf, letting the actions you choose tell of your character, of your faith, of your love of God, of being who you should be, who you want to be.

Instead Jacob spent October 1 in a waiting room biting his nails and trying to hold himself together while I was in surgery fighting for my life. Our baby was gone, the kids once again with the neighbors while we inhaled the acrid antiseptic scent of life interrupted.

But it isn't nothing. It's some of the most beautiful writing he has ever done. It showed the most joy and enthusiasm for life that I have ever read from him and I didn't want it to disappear. I brought it to him and asked him, hoping he'd look at it again and decide that he could still deliver it with the same emotions.

Only he can't. Right now he wants to be protective and strong and grateful. He feels like trying to give the sermon anyway would weaken him, would expose us to raw wounds and would hurt so deeply once again. He's patient to wait. He's aware that we are catching up, and that we can only go so fast. Healing takes time. Or at least that's what he always tells me.

So with that in mind, I folded it up again and put it away, at the bottom of a drawer containing various treasures like extra skeleton keys for the bedroom doors and Ruth's stray hair ribbons, a tin car that my Dad gave to Henry and three silver baby spoons, my skating badges, extra copies of photos from Jacob's collection and emergency phone numbers for the church.

Jacob, you told me once that when you struggle to deliver a message that you learn the most. Maybe you should give this one.
Inwardly right then, I wanted to ask God why I always make Jacob cry, but I didn't. Instead I hugged him as hard as I could, not letting go. Because he needs comfort as much as anyone. Even with the wings. And the tears.

He's going to preach that sermon this morning.

Mush.

Don't think I don't pinch myself four hundred times a day for having married Jacob.

For all the arguments the bitter people give about what romance means, what it is and even if it really exists I wish they could meet Jake. I really do. Because you could never fully appreciate these entries that I write, the stories I try to tell, until you've seen him in person. The way he looks at me stabs my heart in half and then mends it again, every single time.

He's not a typical man. I couldn't have written him better than he exists now, it just isn't possible. And worse yet he goes out of his way to sweep me off my feet and I'm left with fragments of words and pieces of sentences and there's simply no way in hell it translates to this page. No way in hell.

Sometimes the grand gestures like his hot air balloon proposal and the 35-day anniversary dinner get overshadowed or must take their place alongside the sweeter simpler ones, like the middle of the night cake picnics. And I don't write about half of them when I have other things on my mind, so picture that, if you can.

Or like leaving the backyard this morning and finding our initials carved (lightly because he didn't want to hurt it) into the tree by the gate. That wasn't there yesterday. But this morning, clear as daylight:

J & B 4FR

Aw.

I think he was really appreciative of the fact that when he got up this morning, his longjohns were on the radiator.

Omnia vincit amor.

Literally translated from Latin it means Love conquers all. Truer words were never spoken. It's a motto that Jacob spouted last night when I complained to him that my doctor isn't cooperative. Jake just laughed and pointed out that I may feel much perkier this week but that doesn't mean my body is back to one hundred percent yet and he's glad we're waiting a few more weeks, so that he doesn't have to worry he might set me back, or hurt me unknowingly.

Hmmph.

All this translates into...a very grumpy Bridget.

A very grumpy unsatisfied Bridget.

Also stinging is the return to the routine of busy weekends. Jacob returned to work yesterday. He missed it. Two loves in his life and I think he needs a break from the one that complains. I'm harmless though. He knows I will wait for him with anticipation and that I'm just huffing and puffing because there isn't much else I can do about it except relish the extra rest and TLC. He did promise several treats for the family this weekend though that will help spend the time we have banked: a trip to the pumpkin patch, some bubble teas and a movie marathon.

What could be better than that?

Mission.

I may be the worlds' most beautiful and unpredictably narcoleptic zombie, but I'm not a procrastinator.

I put in a message to my doctor asking him to call and let me know if there's any real reason why I can't have sex right now (well, not RIGHT now, you know what I mean) if I feel like I can. I'm not in pain, I managed to shingle half a roof last weekend so you know, let's get a move on. It's been three weeks. He's going to laugh. I know it.

I'm telling you because sometimes I type when I wait. Jacob is at work rolling his eyes right now because I called him first and told him what I was going to do. He should be here running his ridiculously long warm fingers down the back of my neck and torturing me like he did this morning while I hit the snooze button repeatedly because it felt so nice (no, not hitting the button, his fingers on my neck).

Instead I'm left here alone eyeing the breadsticks maliciously.

In other news, because there's more to life than my sex woes (ha! NO THERE ISN'T!) Lochlan called to check in from his explorations in Hogtown, which he corrected me with after I called Toronto the 'hot potato'. Oops. When he was finished laughing at with me he said they were condo-shopping in the suburbs. He's lucky he's not going into the same winter we are here. And he knows it. After ten minutes of listening to him talk about the warmer temperatures they have down there I began to ignore him and went back to oogling the breadsticks.

Because, well, Jacob is still at work. Bedtime is two hours away for the kids and my doctor is going to make me suffer. I know it.

Sigh.

Bridget 101.

Is that a class in learning Bridget? Are you kidding? It would take too long and would have to be graded on a curve, because no one could hope to pass. Like Quantum Physics. Or Probability and Statistics.

Is it a movie? Nope, I wouldn't call it something that dull. I would pick something like I Know What You Did Twenty-three Summers Ago. Or....The Notebook. Oh wait, that one's taken.

Is it the first version of my clone? Just in time. We have a ton of appointments today and seem to be home for mere minutes at a stretch. But that would be a little creepy and frankly I'm not sharing Jacob with anyone, even myself (har), so no.

I wish I had a drumroll.

101 is...

...my weight.

Yes! Everyone do a little cheer. The mighty little one has finally hit the magic number. I'm going to try and add at least 9 more. I'm getting lots of help from the people at Cadbury, who in conjunction with my favorite grocery store, have conspired to fatten me up like a Christmas Turkey by putting all the Halloween candy on sale and then putting it right! in front! of where! the carts are!

And Bridget can't resist candy. Ever.

And now hopefully the strangely fascinating comments about me possibly only weighing half of what Jacob weighs will stop. Because that was weird. And besides, he has measured in at 187 so fuck off guys. I never hit 93.5 and hopefully I never will.

Fairest one of all.

In the interest of playing fair and making up for my last few posts, I'm going to point out my own embarrassments, the little idiosyncratic habits or displays of my own shortcomings. Besides, Jacob is such a good sport about it. Some days I think he's simply happy to be breaking the minister mold-how many ministers do you read about who even shower with their wife, or get nightly lap dances, let alone rip off her panties every chance they get?

I didn't think so.

So...Bridget's shameful habits...

Well...uh....

*crickets*

(whistles and looks at the sky)

Okay, I give. Besides stealing the icing out of every Oreo and eating all the chocolate that crosses my path, I'll cop to the following:

    * I bite pencils. Not all of them, only the yellow ones with the gold-colored collar that surrounds the eraser. And I only bite the collar. It'll give you an electrical shock if you do it just right. Which is a little thrill in itself. All the pencils in this house have squished tops with bite marks.

    * The inappropriate fondling. I really am awful. Jacob is always fishing my hands out of places they don't belong, out from under his shirttails, out of his pockets, pulling my fingers out of his hair, or his ears. In public. At home I'm worse. I'm a toucher, I make no apologies. On second thought, it's his fault. He's too adorable to resist.

    * I'm a human noisemaker. If I'm not playing music and talking a million miles an hour, I've got a range of gasps and hums and various little one or two syllable exclamations that round out my crazy facial expressions. The noises never stop. I don't hear them, I feel them. And worse yet, sex is simply the greatest outlet for all these noises to come out all at once. Seriously. I can't explain it. We can be completely melted into each other and all these little orgasmic noises will come out of my mouth and Jacob will start to laugh because he can't help it. He says I sound like a mogwai. Which would mean that for all those people wanting to know what it's like to sleep with me? Well, apparently it's like being in a bad eighties horror movie.

Right. I did say I was perfect. Yes, I think I said that maybe more than once. I must rethink that. Because the Oreo thing, well that's just wrong.

Bullets over Tuesday.

    * Comments are off, I think I'll just leave them that way. I get a ton of email but very precious few comments. Is that normal in the blogging world?

    * I'm really not sure what it is about Switchfoot but I really really love them. I think this song is going to be as big for them as Dare you to Move was. It's still my ringtone. Yes, me. The Tool girl.

    * I have a second TV show. I know I said I only ever watch Lost but I've added What About Brian? to my weekly television watching. It's really well done and I look forward to next week every time.

    * Mittens. What the hell? Every thumb has a hole in it. Every single one. I think I need to have some words with my Grandmother. She's my mitten dealer. First ones free...actually all of them are free so I probably shouldn't complain. And now I know why she taught me to sew. And knit. So I can fix her sloppy work. Oh I'm kidding. She's 90, I'm thrilled she still makes my mittens. Even though the kids have cold thumbs.

    * You know you married the right man when you can scrape all the icing off the inside of an Oreo with your teeth and pass him the now-blank, slightly moist wafers and he eats them, without even blinking. Please remember, this is the same man who PEES ON ME in the shower. And not in a freaky, fetish-y kind of way, but in a frat-boy, practical joke kind of way. I think he just likes to hear me scream in terror. Or laughter. It's a mix of both, really.

Oh, he's going to kill me now.

Rain.

Yesterday we worked from lunchtime until well after dinner in an effort while the weather is still above freezing to fix the roof on the garage. I was afraid to go up at first, and yet I wound up on the roof longer than Jake, because he didn't have the time or the patience to hold the ladder much while I got on and off it too many times. He brought up two hammers and everything else we needed and we did it together. I had black smears on my converse all-stars, black smears on my forehead and I ruined my workgloves. I had to wash our clothes twice, the second time in pure bleach to get rid of the dirt.

But the garage is done, and this morning it started to rain, a deluge this area rarely sees. It's supposed to rain right through this week, stopping only on Friday afternoon. So we're very sore today from all the hammering but we also slept satisfied last night because that ancient garage is once again water-tight. I think it was the most work we've done together on the house.

Today we're nursing our stiff and aching shoulders and hands and headed to therapy shortly after lunch. Where Jacob can talk about my princess complex and how difficult I am sexually and I can attempt to poke holes in his unyielding common sense. His father-figure issues with me, his unwillingness to let me lead even when I really really feel I can.

Two steps forward, one step back. One girl in her bright red raincoat turns and smiles back at you, because despite the mess, despite the old house and the bad memories and the never-ending bills and the fights and the tears of frustration, she is really really happy.

And it shows.

They broke the mold.

Oh internet, I'm blushing. And even though I don't write for you, so much as I write for me, there's something I need to address. Because inside everyone of you is a sexual being just dying to break loose. Or you're all as perverted as I am and I think I love you even more now.

I think I get more emails about the lapdances than about anything else. It could be a record for a minister's wife. Maybe someday I can have a second career. I can even bring my own lights now, because yes, some nights are so spectacular he actually went out and bought a strobe light. (For the bedroom. Oh my God, yes. Because I'm a total freak and he loves it.)

I'm kidding. I wouldn't do it for anyone but Jake.

While I'm not up for any lapdances at present, they're still much looked forward too by Jacob. I'm hoping in another month to get back on the proverbial horse.

Yes, I did just say that. (snurfle.)

In the meantime, I thought I'd start with the music I like best. Or maybe the music we like best.

Jacob's favorite song for me to dance to is Forty six and 2 by tool.

Mine is still Pour some sugar on me. Who knew Def Leppard would come in so handy?

Then there's more Tool-rosetta stoned, the pot, stinkfist, and Sober. Be warned, if you use Tool you're going to be there for a while, the songs are long. Everything else goes on repeat or shuffle until you've achieved your goal.

Really once you get into the music you could dance to anything. This is just what works best for me (ahem, I mean us). It helps if you love the songs anyway and I like the ones that I can grind to, so slowly. You have to be in the mood. You really do. You can't phone it in. That's not fair. Give it everything you've got and he'll be left patting himself on the back that he has you all to himself. When he's done with you, that is.

Cute lingerie helps. Although it doesn't matter what you wear, find out what his fetishes are. You have to wear shoes. Very high heels. Hooker shoes. Or boots, if he likes those. If you have long hair you can skip tops. Bottoms are fun because learning to gracefully get out of them is an art form. If he lets you take them off at all. I've lost several pairs of underwear because Jake just couldn't wait. Or dance stark naked. That's fine too. Be creative or be brave, it's your party.

Now get down all over him. Wind out on his lap. Move like you're halfway there without him and you want him to catch up. Work everything and make him want you. Bend your knees. Go all out, baby.

And don't forget, he's not allowed to touch you until at least ten minutes has elapsed. If he can make it that long. Jake tops out around four, and he won't apologize for that. Sometimes I push away or pin his hands, sometimes I give it up. It depends on the mood of that night. You can use your own judgement as to how long you'll hold out on him.

I hope this helps. I've had a lot of sheepish emails recently asking for tips, making queries. Please, I tell people this every day. Life is too short to be shy, or modest even. You're in the privacy of your own home, with the one you love. If you can't let go a little under those circumstances then you most definitely need to learn how to. It's oh so worth it.

The most important thing to remember is to have fun with it. Because it's a really outstanding way to end (or begin) an evening. Trust me.

No, on second thought trust Jake.