Facebook musings of a Boy - Epi. 3

I've decided to give myself updates/comment box/thoughts/letters for my Rasta muse boy. He doesn't cease to amaze me when he posts a new pic and I find myself monologging(word? idk). No one to share it with, so might as well wright them down.

Muse you ask? Sure. I think he sorta makes me think beyond what I'd dream to do (ok, maybe not so serious but...), like dive in the Keys in Florida and check out the mammals in the ocean or move to NY and go camping or hiking through mountains and stare over extraordinary horizons—nevermind I'd probably die of an asthma attack. Or maybe do some "Kava shots under the rain," as he so sexingly (word? idk) said on one of his statues (after this one I googled every Kava drink on the net—even went to a whole foods market. All this after actually posting a comment asking him what it taste like. What? Too much?). I mean, I already have him in the back of my head ev.ery.time. I post something on FB. Holy hell, would he find me stupid? Would he judge me. Would he think me annoying or silly or worse...a freak! Check, he's already said that one to me.

Like a love sick ugly hairy chubby puppy, he makes me sigh ev.ery.time. So there. My muse.

I've even argued with myself insisting we'd be great together. I can date him. I'm his type. We would look good together. I'll back pack across U.S. with him. We'd be great. No...really. Ok, stopping. That's how it goes most of the time. Don't get me wrong I don't, like, think about him alll the time and everyday. No. Only when he posts pics. It's reoccurring. Happens ev.ery.time.

Slap in the face. Here's his new one.

>Dear Rasta,

So I was looking through my friends list and decided to click on your name once my mouse hovered over it. I like to check up on you sometimes, just to see what you're up to. Since the night you binged me on FB chat and asked how I was doing, (thanks for being sweet and suggesting movies so I can relax and get over my flu) you haven't been online at all—or at least hiding. I see your video posts sometimes, so I know you must come by once in a while to share your love for music. And no, I don't go through the list in my head of what I've posted around the time you posted to make sure I haven't embarrassed myself. I know you must read all my stupid shit. I'm sorry.

Anyway, not the point. Point is I love your shirt. Its very country and warm looking and comfy. Sort of like I'd like to hug you...maybe? No definitely. A tight long hug. Maybe a sniff or two. Makes me visualize us in a cabin on the front porch, swinging on some comfy rocking chairs, while you carve on some piece of wood to shape up a pot pipe or spoon...idk, but It's sort of calming.

I don't drink coffee and I don't think about it ever. I really don't need to. But this...this makes me want to go to Starbucks. No, scratch that. It has to be in an ugly mug. *nods* Yes. Ugly with farm animals or Bugs Bunny on it? I think so. Either way, I have ugly mugs. I can do this. I'll probably get heart palpitations from the caffeine or barf from nausea, but it's ok—I'll chew on gum.

Just let me sit by you in my rocking chair and watch stars at night while we hold hands. Maybe we can even share a rocking chair. It might not be as comfortable sitting by yourself than having my heavy ass on your lap but maybe just for 5 mins. If so, I can hopefully calm you by playing with the hair peaking out of your puffy hat thingy...or nibble on the button on your ear.

Just that. That's it.

love,
LadyN

ps. Screw Rob. You're my Hobo.

[EDIT] updated pic to actually show the lap I hope you let me sit on.


Episodes 1, 2