Wednesday- Erin Go Braugh

St. Patrick's Day has somehow become one of my favorite holidays.

The change from mediocre drinking holiday to awesome drinking holiday took a few years, but of course began when I turned 21. That isn't to say that I'd never drank before then (unless, of course, you're my mom or law enforcement), but the proper celebration of St. Pats requires at least some measure of the day's alcohol consumption to happen in a public place, preferably a bar festooned with green shamrocks.

It's scientific.

No matter how it happened, the changeover has occurred. I think it's unseated Talk Like a Pirate Day, though not Halloween or Thanksgiving. Give it time though, I'm sure.

Earlier this week, the Dreamer and I were trying to figure out when our schedules mashed up so we could go out. I hadn't seen him in a week because of my trip, and to be honest, I really missed him. The earliest possible date we could get together was Wednesday, so we ran with it before even realizing what day it was. He's been super stressed at work lately and hasn't really been up for any major activities mid-week, so I wasn't surprised or let down when he requested we keep things rather low-key. We didn't even set any definite plans except a time for me to come over to his house.

When I got there, we were debating what we wanted for dinner. I haven't had pizza in a while (what red-blooded American could make such a statement??) so we decided that sounded good. A local joint down the street with beer and live music was chosen, and off we went.

The beer was cold, the pizza was hot, and the company was great. Need I say more? It was especially fun checking out the hot chicks in the place together.

“Look at the ass on that one.”

“Damn! I'd hit that!”

“Can I watch?”

This man spoils me, let me tell you.

Later, the Dreamer told me that the pizza was probably the healthiest thing he'd eaten all week. Now, I'm not a health nut, but I am serious when it comes to my food. The last fast food I ate was actually on a date with him, when I asked him to take me to a Five Guys for the first time, and really, that's like the Cadillac of fast food. I just can't get behind it- if you can't recognize the ingredients from the dish, you're probably best not to be putting it in your body.

I cook several times a week, and since there's just one of me, I usually end up eating leftovers for days. It makes sense, then, to invite someone over to dinner, especially someone who would otherwise be eating crap. So I extended to the Dreamer an open invitation to join me for dinner whenever I cook. We both benefit (and it doesn't hurt that it means I'd likely get lucky those nights, too!)

After dinner we went back to his place to hang out. Wink wink, nudge nudge, and all that jazz. When we arrived I actually met the first of his roommates. With five men living in the house, it's surprising I'm even willing to step foot inside without a hazmat suit. Okay, they're really not that bad in most of the house, but good lord, the bathroom is a wreck. I have to go in with my blinders on and try not to touch anything that isn't necessary to do my business. I kid...but not too much.

After he'd had his way with me, we dozed off in bed. A few hours later, though, I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. I tossed and turned for a bit, before giving up and saying outloud, “I can't sleep.” Imagine my surprise when he replied, “me neither”! He wrapped me up in his arms, spooning me, and we started to talk.

I love late-night conversations. In the middle of the night, I'm much more likely to say something that I normally would hold back during the day. That isn't to say that they're things I don't mean, just stuff that I wouldn't otherwise verbalize.

We talked for a while; talking turned to teasing, and teasing turned into tickling. I'll admit, I'm extremely ticklish. I try to deny it, but it's one of those things where it's easy to determine if someone is lying. I've noticed partners love to tickle me in bed; I think it's because of the way I squirm up against them. Not just men, either- my last ex-girlfriend loved to do it. Having always been the ticklee, not the tickler, I don't know what the appeal is for them, but when it's not done in a malicious way, being tickled can be fun.

Finally, the Dreamer said the magic words- “Get over here and ride me.”

Ooof, sorry. I had to take a break there to take care of some things, if you catch my drift. God, that man knows how to turn me on; it's like someone gave him a manual to me and he studied it like a vedic scholar.

As we were cuddling again afterwards, it hit me that we've been dating for a month and a half now. And it just keeps getting better.