Celebration

New Years is a bit of a blur, of activity, not booze. My house was packed to the rafters. Everyone seemed to have a good time. I managed to not mess things up. That's a success if there ever was one.

At midnight, I got a kiss from Sarah Jean. That's the sort of thing that makes all the post party clean-up easier to deal with doing.

Ahhhh.

A Moment

The house is quiet. Sunlight streams in through the windows of the kitchen but that reminds me that it's cold outside. Sunlight and winter mean cold. My coffee is hot and I am not bothered by the external temperature.

The house is mostly cleaned in preparation for this evening's festivities. As plans will, they grew. At first there was a 'well Sarah Jean and her friends will still be in town' aspect to it that got augmented during last weekend's gathering and now I've mostly lost track of what's going on apart from the fact that it's going on here. Some of my interns have said they'll at least stop in, Mike said he's coming along, I expect Chris will at least visit and I don't know if Julia will be with him or not. I'm expecting a crowd at this point which means there will probably be three of us: Sarah Jean, myself, and one of her friends keeping a watchful eye on me. Not us, me.

For the moment I'm not worried. It's not the number of people that make a party but the people at the party. So long as we have a good time and things don't get too out of control, I don't care if there are three people here or thirty. Thirty might be a snug fit so maybe not thirty.

All that is for later. For now, it's just a moment of peace and resting, a deep breath while sitting in a warm sunbeam. Then lunch, then more cleaning. I'm still finding popcorn in the living room, left behind from last weekend. Jamie just had to start throwing it around. There's always something.

Take care. Have fun.

Still a Bit Lost

Again, I didn't say anything. I didn't bring the situation to everyone else's attention. There was no 'hey look at this fine peach of a bottom' or anything like that. It's not that Sarah Jean would want me to say something like that so I should be okay there.

Sarah Jean has spent some time with me and has been in my head plenty of times before. She is, or should be, familiar enough with me to know that I do appreciate the female form. Therefore, when presented with such an attractive example of the female form, I have to acknowledge it at least a little bit.

In her defense, she wasn't dressed in a manner that seemed, well, slipshod. Her jeans fit her and neither looked overly tight nor overly loose. Her shirt was long enough so that it didn't raise up to expose skin when she bent over. It was a very modest outfit. It may well be that, due to the modesty of the outfit, she didn't expect me to act in a manner that could be described as 'piggish' guy fashion. Does that make any sense?

If the outfit had been less modest, then it's a different argument. I think every guy has been caught with his gaze lingering on a female and has been reprimanded for doing so with words or a Look. Here's the thing about that.

We may be leering or transfixed or distracted or what have you but we didn't dress you that morning. If you decided to wear a super short skirt or a shirt that's cut down to your belly button or any other item of clothing that displays vast amounts of attractive flesh, that's not our fault. Our hormones make us want to have a look. That's how it works for us. From our perspective, that's what we expect you to want to have happen. It's like going to a store and seeing items in the window. You expect that the store is trying to sell those items that are on display. So if your shirt displays a good portion of bosom, we figure it's because you want it to be seen. This is why we get confused when women complain.

None of this is what happened that night. I had a completely clad bottom in my face and found it to not be an unpleasant situation. I'm not sure why that's a bad thing.

Like I said, I don't understand women.

Confused But Not Entirely Unhappy

Sarah Jean had been sitting next to me on the couch in the living room for most of the evening. I occasionally had my right arm on the back of the couch or near her but we weren't spooning or anything like that, we were just in each other's proximity. Comfortable. She rose to go do something or other. She said she'd be right back but didn't express to where she was off. I probably didn't want to know anyway. As she rose, she bumped into the end table and knocked something from it, a remote or something, nothing that sounded like it broke. At the sound, I turned to see what had happened.

Now, there are two basic ways to bend over and pick something up. There's the way where you bend at the knees and lower your entire person down to collect the item in question. There's also the way where you hinge at the hips and your upper section heads down to the ground to collect the item. You look a bit like a 'V' this way. This is not a recommended method of picking things up but can be useful for collecting small objects quickly. It has the side effect of sticking your butt out. Guess which method Sarah Jean chose?

The remote fell. Sarah Jean bent over to pick it back up. I turned to see what happened. Bam! There's Sarah Jean's posterior inches from my face.

Now, I didn't say anything. Not a peep. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid. I was even planning to turn away quickly.

Here's the problem: my friend Sarah Jean is telepathic. She's told me that she is skilled at filtering out background thoughts from people around her, she said they sound like whispers, and she doesn't just pop herself into people's heads to see what they're thinking. I believe her. I have no reason to not believe her. She's also mentioned that some thoughts are like 'shouts' and are ignore, especially as they tend to be the communications people make in moments of crisis. “Help!” and things like that. Evidently I shouted something in my head when I turned and saw her like that. She turned on me and gave me one of those shocked 'how dare you!' looks before stomping away.

Now I don't remember really thinking anything specific. I don't recall having, like, a dirty thought or anything. I'm guessing that I had a 'Wow!' or a 'Yowzah!' sort of thought which, under the circumstances, was not inappropriate. Not an inaccurate thought anyway. I remember it being a very nice sight indeed.

At this point in time, I don't know what exactly bothered Sarah Jean in my reaction. She's still talking to me and, after some brief coolness in her reaction to me, things have gone back to more or less normal. I did try to bring it up but was quickly informed that 'now is not the time'. I've tried to not think about it but it's bugging me.

What exactly did I do wrong here?

My Skills Remain Sharp

I have never been accused of understanding women. I've had enough friends and a few good friends of the female variety that will readily tell you that I am a knucklehead. I deny none of their claims. I mean well but have a skill at messing things up.

I do try to be a gentleman. I hold doors. I am able to carry on conversations with the female of the species while looking them in the eyes. For that matter, I've been able to carry on conversations with females on topics they were interested in speaking about. I've held conversations with women where I've not spent the time picturing the females in the area wearing less clothing that they actually are, and with attractive females, not just the type of ladies that look like a maiden aunt.

However I am a man with what I believe are to be relatively normal levels of hormones. I react to things. I sit with other manly men and comment on those ladies that pass us by. I do appreciate the female form from an ascetic point of view. I am not made of stone.

I'm a guy but I try to behave a bit.

With the defense having had its chance to speak, here's what happened.

Sarah Jean, some of her friends, some of my friends, and, perhaps obviously, myself were hanging out at my house. It was going well. Surprisingly well. No loud arguments like some people have at their gatherings like this (who would do that? cough), no signs of trouble, no harsh words that I know about. Everyone seemed to be getting along and the groups were meshing well. Even Harry didn't give me any 'tough guy' lip when I reminded him he'd have to smoke outside. Music, beverages, and good company. A fine evening.

Clearly it was my job to mess this up.