Many people consider Friday the 13th to be unlucky. Others scoff at those silly superstitions.
I, as a firm believer of all things Dan Brown, am convinced the tradition stems from that fateful day in 1307 when the Knights Templar in France were secretly arrested en masse. Because, you know, everything in earth's history can be tied to the sacred feminine.
(sarcasm, over.)
SO....
I've never had a phobia of Friday the 13th; I don't really believe in luck. But I DID have to post about this today because, well, today is Slice's birthday. And he was born on Friday the 13th.
I'll tell you what happened a year ago today.You know about my trip up to Salt Lake and how I "made the first move," if you will. Well, two days later I called him and we chatted for a while; on Tuesday I called again on my way to Salt Lake, because I wanted to visit his grandma. He wasn't home that time.
I hiked Ensign Peak with Drew instead.
Wednesday my mom did some undercover work for me - none of us could remember when Slice's birthday was, even though I pretended that I knew. (Don't tell him.)
On Thursday the 13th, Slice called to see what I was doing. He was in SL for work and wanted me to take him to dinner. Very suave.
He picked me up and met my roommates, who did a good job of hiding their surprise, and we ate a nice dinner at Los Hermanos. Then we went back to my apartment.
And I sang.
I played the guitar for him and sang; I'm pretty sure that was when I clinched the deal. He had to drive all the way home to Roosevelt that night, but wouldn't leave the apartment. I practically pushed him out the door around 10:00 p.m.
He didn' t get home until 9:00 the next morning. Because of a snowstorm.
He spent the night in a truck in Daniel's Canyon.
Slice has never told me his whole story of that night...
but I hope that - at the very least - this birthday is better than the last one!
On Thursday the 13th, Slice called to see what I was doing. He was in SL for work and wanted me to take him to dinner. Very suave.
He picked me up and met my roommates, who did a good job of hiding their surprise, and we ate a nice dinner at Los Hermanos. Then we went back to my apartment.
And I sang.
I played the guitar for him and sang; I'm pretty sure that was when I clinched the deal. He had to drive all the way home to Roosevelt that night, but wouldn't leave the apartment. I practically pushed him out the door around 10:00 p.m.
He didn' t get home until 9:00 the next morning. Because of a snowstorm.
He spent the night in a truck in Daniel's Canyon.
Slice has never told me his whole story of that night...
but I hope that - at the very least - this birthday is better than the last one!
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