Would you like a mint to get rid of the taste of foot?

I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. I blame the heat. I always blame the heat. I hate hot weather.

Anyways, I've decided that Site Meter is a bad, bad thing. I've become obsessed with it. Not really obsessed so much as... no, it really is obsessed. I must know how many hits I get! Then I try and think of ways to get more. I mean, most of my friends already know about this blog. I'm not telling my family, which means I can't put it in my email signature. I don't really get on instant messenger anymore, so I can't put it there... the funny thing is while I care about the numbers, I don't really care. Not enough to do more than I want to.

It always surprises me that, even though Spyboy and I have been together for nearly four years, he can still stick his foot so far in his mouth, he gags. He did that last night. One of the main things I've had to get over during our relationship is his history. He was a bit slutty before he met me. Not horribly slutty, but compared to me. I mean, he got to be nearly my first everything. And him? Oh, he was definitely used goods. Combine the inequalities with my own insecurities, and you've got a storm brewing. It all blew up our first summer together and created a lot of the problems we are still working out. I got depressed and starting comparing myself to them, or what I thought they were like. I didn't help that I knew one was a quasi-anorectic who liked to participate in wet tee-shirt contests. But I've been good lately! And by lately, I mean the past couple of years. Every once in a while, I have a short resurgence, but it goes away. So last night, I was trying to be sweet. Because, while he was slutty, Spyboy was not very well-trained in some ways. So I like to offer encouragement, which I was doing, and all of a sudden, he comes out with, "Yeah, well, it's not like I hadn't had anyone to learn with before." Which I know doesn't sound that bad. It's not so much what he said, but that he said it. I'm not mad or anything, more flabbergasted at his own lack of thinking. Almost as soon as he said it, too, he felt bad. You could kind of watch him realizing that he had gone into forbidden territory. Which means something. It'd mean more if I didn't have to listen to him put himself down for the rest of the week because of it. Why can he not translate guilt into presents? Like flowers.