Ani MollerOne o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock rock

I’m not one to blog about what I deem my personal life and specifically not much, if anything, about who I date. But I am so in love that I want to scream it from the top of a very high mountain that is close to civilisation in order to reach maximum amount of ears. It seems that it doesn’t even matter who I tell; my boss, his flatmates, my flatmates, the girl who waxes my pubic hair, strangers on the internet, it just needs to come out of my mouth. I don’t have a mountain, but I have a blog.

His name is Duncan. He is 12.8% younger than me, 13.2% taller than me, and 53.8% heavier than me.

Things that are great about Duncan:

• He graduated top of his year with a double-degree and I don’t feel dumb in comparison. I put this down to him being the first guy I have dated that didn’t have skills better than mine in the things I think I’m awesome at and vice versa. I don’t feel like I’m in competition for anything except things like ability to tie shoelaces, colouring in the lines, locating animal faces in clouds, and being the best girlfriend he’s ever had.
• He is the sexiest person I have ever met. He has a yummy little bumchin and the most handsome square jaw and the most kissable lips. I find it quite hard to not obsessively stare at this area of his face when he is talking. And just to make me a little more crazy, the rest of him is equally as attractive and I feel like a constant perve; checking out his ass when he’s walking in front of me, watching him concentrate when he’s driving, and trying to take a mental photograph of him when he’s asleep because I want to be able to remember even the smallest little things about him when he’s not around.
• He makes me feel like a teenager. Sometimes when I kiss him it feels like that first time I kissed anyone; all nervous and unsure minus the wanting to vomit afterwards. I still get a little nervous when I know I’m going to see him and I get butterflies when he tells me nice things, even if he’s told me those nice things 100 times already. I also find myself with the urge to write “AM 4 DB” in club bathroom stalls.
• He smells great. Like, really, really great. In fact, he is the best smelling person I have ever met. He smells so good I could bury my nose in his sweaty armpit and find his smell delicious. When we walk down the street, I sometimes lean my head on his arm in a loving way, which is actually me having a sneaky sniff.
• He makes me mix tapes. Okay, not really mix tapes. He is a drum and bass DJ and makes mixes that just happen to be full of nothing but songs I love, which I will then listen to repeat on my iPod like the 13-year-old that I am.
• I can dance in front of him and not feel stupid. For as long as I can remember I have had a phobia of dancing in front of people and watching guys I find attractive dancing. I can pinpoint it to two things: a) being told when I was 20 that I danced like a goth which made me want to listen to Bauhaus and kill myself, and b) dating a spontaneous breakdancer who would bust a move at inappropriate moments. However, for some reason, I am not only able to dance in front of Duncan, but also am able to watch him dance while maintaining a swoon for him. If I had a therapist, she would tell me that this is progress.
• He makes me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. There are things he’s said that made me laugh so hard that all I need to do is think about the situation again and I’ll be giggling all over again. “Is this your mushroom?” I’m not going to try and put that into context, because when I relayed what I thought was a hilarious conversation to my mum she didn’t laugh.
• He is my best friend and I want to have sex with him. And what’s better than that?

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 15th, 2007 at 11:04 am and is filed under Life. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Log in to make commenting easier!