The letter writer is taking me to the jazz cafe tonight. We're going to see Laura Izibor (who is his alleged future wife). I've never heard her sing before but I'm avoiding a youtube search. Sometimes it's nice to be surprised.
So far the letter writer is ticking many boxes, too many in fact, he's freaking me out a little. I'm also not used to his free and easy and frequent and honest expression of emotions. We don't do expression in my family, we're pretty controlled for the most part. And getting emotions out of most of the guys I've dated in the past is like wringing the proverbial blood out of the proverbial stone! I call it emotional retardedness (politically incorrect I know) and I also possess it in spades.
Incidently I'm typing this and hopefully posting it from my new crackberry which is already exerting it's addictive influence over me. So please excuse typos and a lack of pics, it is a work in progress
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