Crash

I picked up Kareem last night, we drove together to Carrefour and played the wacky domesticated couple, buying hords of vegetables and swearing over everyone's heads in loud, obstinate british accents, him swaying through the crowds in his gay little Dolce&Gabbana walk, me dislodging my wedgie in full view of three disapproving older women in heavy makeup.

Got home, unpacked groceries, realised we'd forgotten the cucumbers and the lettuce, so he ended up making honey mustard chicken and bolognese pasta.

Nice. I've found myself a guy who can cook AND talk about fashion AND fight over who's sexier; Terrence Howard or Don Cheadle (I'd have to go for Terrence, those eyes! those tear-filled smokey eyes! Oh Lord!)

We then settled into a much sedated couch slump and watched Crash.
And every twenty minutes I would lurch forward, gasping for breath with my hands over my mouth.
That film was fucking amazing.
And incredibly heartbreaking.

And yet hopeful.

I loved it.

And I watched Crash without Ali although i'd promised to wait for him, because what do you do when you miss someone a little too much? You compensate and substitute, even if it's with your gay best friend.
And right now he's having the time of his life in the city i've been dreaming of visiting for the past 23 years of my life, so i think i deserve a little fun.
No?