kjpepper | Milestones

Nine years ago today I told

sundart I loved her. Well, actually no, she kinda had to beat it out of me after watching me marinate in my angst for a month. We gave each other two whole weeks. We're still here. I always smile when I think about that. It actually took us nine or so months to finally figure out that, no... we were kinda stuck with each other and this whole "we're totally breaking up soon" thing wasn't gonna happen. I suppose all new relationships have some level of that going in.

Tonight I came home to a gorgeous woman in white (woman can really rock white, lemme tell you - she has career potential as a David's Bridal model) making me apple crisp. :) We ordered pizza, waited at the top of the front stairs for the delivery girl, giggling and looking into each others eyes. Can't believe really that I've been waking up to that hazel eyed, pointy chinned, adorably freckled face for the majority of the past 3287 mornings. We had dinner, had dessert, watched a crapton of Buffy, and she rubbed my head while a burning headache gleefully sliced up my brainpan, sharpening to excruciating every time I coughed. And, probably for the millionth, maybe the billionth time, I kissed her and told her I loved her. The number doesn't matter. Doesn't make it any less true.

Next year will be our tenth. Next year, if all goes well, there will be some sort of wedding type deal the weekend before. One more year of me making her laugh until she snorts, blush until the part in her hair turns purple, outraging her until her jaw drops to the floor, tickling her until she squawks and/or screams like a girl, kissing her until she purrs, and loving her. Just loving her.

I caught a good portion of tonight's RAW after the headache had subsided somewhat and the Buffy. I I had been rewatching long enough to appreciate why Eddie Guerrero was so beloved by everybody, and felt the fairly subdued, tributary (wrong word prolly) tone of tonight's show was wonderful and poignant. The respect and love of burly men in tight pants and black EG armbands. So many large burly men sobbing their eyes out. Death is a powerful thing indeed, its ability to move people to a different emotional space than they normally occupy. It was... kinda freaky really, kinda beautiful, watching all the performers, out of character, out of face/heel lines, out of division, even, since it was a combined RAW/Smackdown show in Eddie's memory, not really in it so much in the interest of furthering storyline or their characters, just there to pay respect to their fallen friend and to give their fans a good show.

This was well illustrated in the match between Rey Mysterio and HBK. Both are usually joys to watch anyway for me, because I don't concentrate on how well they sell the match, I just concentrate on watching them move. Both of them are almost balletic in their grace. My jaw has dropped watching Rey. Goddamn. Now that's muscle control. Anyway, their match was a sight to see, let me tell you, but it didn't matter who won, really. Rey did, ultimately, after which he helped HBK to his feet, shook his hand, and the two men hugged. Then again at the end of the program, where after his match with the Ortons, John Cena took off his Eddie shirt (everyone was wearing Eddie's trademark "I'm your Papi" shirt, laid it in the center of the ring, and then laid his belt over it. Fade to black. Beautiful. And a fitting tribute to one who loved wrestling so much.

And besides... when'd the next time I'm going to see Triple H cry like a baby?

I know. Bad Andee. Bed now.