Have I mentioned that I love sex in the morning?

Yup. Tried out the new morning visit plan.

So how obsessed am I? First thing when I wake up this morning, I check to see if the lights are on next door. Yes. Hmmm. That must mean Jake is still home. I check to see if the car is gone. Nope. Jake's definitely still home. Damn. But maybe she'll leave in time for me to sneak over.

Then I do my morning stuff and take Katie outside. Now the lights are off. Shit! Was I imagining them being on before? This means she's still in bed. No way I get to go fuck Sara this morning. Then Jake goes "pssst" at me from the driveway. She's leaving right now! It's only 6:40. Woo-hoo (little inner happy dance).

But I stay cool. Don't want Jake to see me prancing around the back yard, waving a bag full of dog poop, celebrating because she's leaving and I plan to go fuck her wife before the smell of her exhaust has wafted out of the driveway.

It's not like Jake doesn't know that's what I'm probably planning to do. We just have a "don't wave it in my face" policy. The fucking, not the dog poop.

So now I know I'm in like Flynn. I go have a speedy cig and more coffee to wake up, feed Kate, wash my hands, grab some keys.

When I let myself in their back door, one dog barks once at me. I let them smell me so they won't attack like little hairy piranhas. Tell 'em to buzz off while I go jump their mom. I dump my clogs and coat in the utility room and proceed to make myself at home. Heh.

I crawled under the covers with a majorly toasty, sexy, sleepy lump that was Sara. She thought I was Jake at first, which is cool, because usually once the dog barks and the door creaks after Jake has left, she knows it's going to be me (we've done this a few times before).

It took me about 10 minutes to warm my hands up enough to touch any bare flesh, but I made the most of my remaining 15 minutes. God, I love sex in the morning.

I did have Deb's permission, by the way. As long as I was home by 8 to wake her up.

Last night we took Deb out for her birthday to a Mexican restaurant near where I work. The girls got to see my neato downtown view. We all had a bit to drink. But we're all kinda wussy drinkers now, so that means two each with a meal still made us slightly buzzy.

We got home and commenced a lovely evening. Deb opened birthday presents. We watched Buffy and Angel. All comfy cozy.

One of the dogs, Tyler, was lying up against my thigh and started making horky noises and mouth gestures right over my lap. The girls all started to panic, getting ready to snatch him up and throw him like a grenade, I guess. I just calmly cupped my hands under his chin, and he deposited a neat little bundle of partially digested fish-and-potato dog food covered in stomach bile.

For some reason, everyone was really impressed by this gesture on my part. It really wasn't any big deal. It just seemed like the simplest way to keep him from barfing on anything important, like the rug or the sofa or my only pair of clean jeans.

Sara said she thought I deserved a "tuck-in" for this. (A tuck-in is where we're all together at Jake and Sara's place, and Sara gets ready for bed before anyone else, and I get to go tuck her in and neck for about 10 or 15 minutes before Deb and I leave the house.) Jake said I deserved a week's worth of tuck-ins. Now I'm thinking I should keep my mouth shut about it not being a big deal and take the tuck-in booty. Mamma didn't raise no fool.

Sara was nowhere near getting ready for bed by the time we decided to go home, so I agreed to take a tuck-in raincheck or equivalent trade at a later date. Thus the morning raid.

I love my life.

I threw away the plastic lid to my spiffy stainless steel travel mug yesterday. It had degraded to the point of being nothing more than a dribble mug adapter.

I was sitting in the editorial meeting yesterday morning.

Me: "Blah, blah. That article sucks. That one's late. We need to do this. Important stuff, important stuff."

And I lean forward to take a nice refreshing suck of coffee, tip the mug (still with lid), and dribble about half a cup down on my note pad and the pristine editorial schedule handout I'd just been given.

Me: *dork*

Everybody else: Bwah-ha!

No more, stupid mug. You have humiliated me for the last time. I don't care if I have to suck cold coffee from your gleaming innards because you can no longer hold heat like you used to. Now you are topless and vulnerable. Spill all you want, but you will never dribble all over my face and clothes and stuff again.

That's it for now, Legionairres. Sex twice in one week. Bonus. And Deb has expressed an interest lately, too. We have an evening alone together planned for tonight and she doesn't have to work today. Could I get that lucky? Stay tuned.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11