You know how sometimes you hit the "publish" button and then immediately cringe? And wonder if maybe you should not have hit that button? And then you brace yourself for the comments and the emails and then you pour yourself some wine and maybe lie down for a little bit?
And then everything is fine? And the comments and the emails are kind of fucking mindblowing because there are so many people out there who GET what you were trying to say and GET who you are and are maybe just like you? And it's such a relief, because when you are basically and publicly giving the finger to the teachings of childhood (Scarlett O'Hara: Oh, I know there's a hell. I was raised on it!), no matter how gently, you kind of can't help but be all kinds of twitchy and vulnerable?
And for like, 24 hours, it's all awesome and kumbayaish. You know?
And then the tone of some of the comments starts getting a little...snippy? And you get maybe an email or two that...well, frankly, they can go to hell too, blah, whatever...and then you know that fabulous dialog about spirituality vs. religion vs. upbringing vs. conscious choice aside, it might be time to close comments and post some goddamned baby pictures?
Yes. That time has come. Behold! We move on!
Welcome to Noah's swinging bachelor pad! Can I offer you a bottle? Some Cheerio crudite?
After cocktails, I will sing soulful songs while accompanying myself on the piano. Perhaps we can convince the banjo-playing frog to join in.
It's getting hot in here, let's take off all our clothes...
Not surprisingly, the next morning, Noah wakes up in the exersaucer wearing someone else's onesie.
Oh man, I need to lay off the Similac.
Ceiba: Bab1es r deLIcious! YUm!