S'mores?

One of the greatest compliments in recent memory:
KS: walking into school in a long black jacket with the hood on, and high heeled black boots
Butch gym teacher: Hey, you look all Tomb Raider today.

This weekend was amazing, amazing enough that we titled it The Weekend of Food and Sex, '08. Fine, not the snazziest title in the world, but living it was awesome. We finally rolled out of bed to grab something to eat at 1:30 PM. The restaurant owner recognized the beau and complimented him on his show. I'm not someone who is impressed with celebrity (annoyed, usually), but I must admit it's cool that Mr. C is known in his city and surrounding towns. He dubs it "slightly famous"-he's done just enough stuff to be recognized by the locals, but not anything major enough to cause a fan rush. When we first met, I didn't even think about it, but today I got a kick out of the owner shaking his hand and chatting, and the pleasure it brought Mr. C. Admittedly, after this weekend, someone could have kicked me in the knee, and I would have smiled serenely. (We even, like, communicated and stuff-initiated by him, of course.)

Back when I started a blog, I thought I could post freely, then made the mistake of letting the boyfriend at the time "find" it. I've given no such clues or hints to the beau on this new space (quite ahamed of the shit I post, actually), but when I was rambling yesterday, he interrupted and asked, "Did you say 'bowza'?" I hadn't, but became paranoid that he had somehow found this because I had written "bowza" in a recent post. I'm not concerned about anything I've written about him in particular, just that any suspicion he has that I'm loony will be confirmed.