Shit. This is three posts in a row where I talk about Louie. And if that makes you irritated, try being me.
First, Louie and I went on a condom buying adventure last night. The reasons were two-fold. One, we were out of condoms, and nothing makes me want to have sex more than being unprotected! Two, we felt the need to drive around and shop for embarassing safe-sex devices. So, I don’t have any problem going to Target (even though I don’t shop there any more for political reasons) in broad daylight, with only two items in my cart and purchasing a HUGE box of condoms. It doesn’t bother me to slap down, condoms, tampons and gum on the moving sidewalk for store bought goods. But for some reason, I cannot go into a say, for example, 7-Eleven, or say, for example, a Gelson’s, or say, for example, a Sav-On, when it is past 8:30PM, I am paying in cash and hanging out with my boyfriend. Because for some reason the puritanical brainwashing I received in my early years translates into not being able to buy condoms during the hours when condoms might actually be used. But it does however, allow me to talk about it on the internet. In front of God and my parents and people searching for porn. The brain is a mysterious place. And Louie is a good boyfriend and went into all three of those aforementioned places in search of the perfect box of condoms. I am very particular, and Louie knows this (now) after purchasing condoms in too small a quantity, the wrong brand, the right brand but without spermicide, and etc. You might be happy to know that we were in the end successful. Hooray for America!
Two, Louie is a driver by trade. He makes his living driving a thing that starts with amb and ends with ulance, and has flashing lights on top and gurneys inside. I think that makes him what I like to call, A CRAZY DRIVER. He likes to think he is an offensive driver rather than a defensive driver. Last night, whilst on the “Great Condom Search of 2006,” I made a few ‘comments’ about his ‘driving.’ I put those two words in quotes because whenever I’m sober in the car with Louie I scream about lane changes and he asks me who is driving, and when I consider the fact that I am pressing my feet into the floorboards and making the car brake, and leaning to my right or left (depending on the turn) to make the car turn, I think sometimes I am driving. I even made the argument that as his elder, I had been driving longer, and he scoffed at my driving experience. Scoffed! As it turns out, we have come to the realization that 50 years from now, I will still complain about his driving, he will still swerve across 6 lanes of traffic to make it to the exit he knew about 3 miles in advance, and we will still be in love. Unless, of course, he kills us in a car accident.