Mr. Frog Feet.

I've spent the last two weeks drifting inbetween Toronto and Ridgeway in a blue Kia snowstorm. Its been awesome.

I note that I am happy and I think that everyone else that cares to pay the slightest bit of attention to me knows this as well. They can see it in my face and oddly, in my hair (which is currently burning away at a vibrant shade of red with a slight undertone of orange), my eyes and posture. For the first time EVER, I am comfortable enough to exist honestly with the person I have chosen to keep beside me intentionally and it has left me an inarticulate ass clown. Isn't he cute?

When I met Bryce I told myself, "I am not going to sleep with this guy, he's a total tard." And of course I did and so the next logical conclusion was: It will only last the weekend, he's a total tard. That was when I started to realise that the total tard brought out the silly girl in me that had been lost since she stopped believing in the Little Mermaid and suddenly I've bursted into existence as this creative and cream-filled individual that wants to do everything, taste everything, create everything. My mind feels all topsy-turvey and its simply because I found someone that can see a typeface and understand why its terrible... Who can take constructive commentary and say thank you after... Who wrinkles up his face after we've had sex and pretends to be Igor in a disturbingly strange and scary way and still, SOMEHOW, makes me want to have sex with him again.

Oh sigh, I think I am falling.

Today I was walking through Wal*Mart and I saw a giant plush frog with gangly legs hanging off the shelf whom owned a giant kiss on its cheek. I was so tempted to buy it for him, but I bought a pot so I could make him soup instead.

Making soup for him makes me happy. He makes me happy. I hope I do the same for him.