Deprivate

It sucks putting your diary on private. Even though I refused to let anyone see into my twisted inner thoughts until I untangled the web, I still wanted to read the diaries of my friends. And I could, for the most part. But I couldn’t note. Anyone. Ever! Every single person had their notes set to not accept any from people with private diaries. What a suckfest. Anyway. Mmm.. suckfest.

In my last entry (which is now private) I was complaining that my husband probably wouldn’t allow me to fuck someone on vacation while he sat saddled with the kids. I was wrong! My husband did in fact allow me to have a fling right in front of his face, so to speak. He wasn’t there, unfortunately. If he had been, I would have most definitely recruited his penis to entertain as well during my undeniable slutscapade. It was fabulous. Four or five hours of fucking, foreplay, or just laying next to each other bodies touching staring off into space thinking about fucking some more while I attempt to breathe. Apparently, everyone has their limits and even though I don’t think we reached ours, my husband definitely did as he banged on the door and I jumped up guiltily with cum running down my chest and he informed me playtime was over because my kid crapped his pants. Oooh freaking fabulous, back to reality.

I don’t think the implications of what I had done really set in until I turned 28. My husband had planned with family friends to go out to this amazing restaurant in Manhattan. I was getting ready, trying to get super cute. Wearing my skirt and sexy sandals and makeup. Red hair smoothed. Legs lotioned. I felt good. Thankfully we actually drove into the city because five seconds in a bus, subway, or even walking down the street and I can feel a layer of grime piling up all over my body. I think it’s fabulous, all of these people in their Armani, Kenneth Cole, and Ralph Lauren suits walking around looking and feeling like my 3 year old after 2 hours on the playground after one minute of walking down the street. I told husband I wanted to move to this place where I can feel successful and grimy at the same time.

So, we made it to the restaurant without killing anyone in 5pm traffic and sat at the bar having drinks. I really sat there looking at my husband. Thinking about how I had met him when I was 22 and here we are six years later, two kids, homeowners, degree-earners… For 28, I actually kind of like where I am in life. It could definitely be a whole lot worse. My little romp didn’t seem to change things. I took a big chance on that one. I thought maybe Earth would explode or something. It didn’t. So far, so good.

We ate some crazy food that night. I’ve never had Iron Chef type food. We had seaseme bread with 93% butter fat butter that was way too yummy. A shot glass filled with chilled potato and nettle soup. Fava bean salad. Porcini Trifolati. Gnocchi. Veal and Ricotta Meatballs. Braised Florida Red Snapper. And Strawberry Shortcake with a balsamic reduction. Not to mention a glass of reisling. Of course, my husband is a lucky man, and he got most of whatever I ordered because theres no way I could eat all of that.

I am back at my mom’s house in Chicago now. Soon I will head back home. Start my new job. Have school starting up soon. Work out. Eat right. Back to my routine. I am creating a list of things to do before I turn 30. I love lists. Love accomplishing the things I want to do. Going to start blogging about the goals I’ve already completed from my last Day Zero List. I still have a little over a year left on it. My mind is becoming more clear, I guess. I see things I have to do, things I want to do, things I want that are impossible to do. Anyway, Cage is banging on me wanting the computer to play Super Why or something. See ya later.