You had me at "Braaaaaaaaap."

First of all, despite being generally lauded as a good idea, My whole "Sketches for the Gulf Coast" thing went over like a puppy on fire. Which is to say it ran around for a few minutes, made a lot of noise, and then collapsed in a smoldering heap. Only not so much with the running around and the noise. Picture the smoldering heap part and you're pretty much there. While you're at it, picture the smell of burning puppy. I'm not sure how you picture a smell, but give it the old college try. Got the image? That was my "Sketches" idea. Oh well... You live and learn. To the one person who did request a drawing, I promise to do something cool and get it up on here soon.

Okay, on to bigger and more upbeat things:

I just celebrated year 7 of wedded bliss with the wonderful and oft-mentioned-in-this-blog Sally. For you cynics out there, no not every second of it was actually bliss, and yes, some bits were really fucking hard, but you know what? (Strap on the barf bags!) I get to spend every day with my best friend on earth. She's smart, she's wonderful, she's funny and she has the most joyfully terrifying laugh on the planet. Certain Balti-bloggers can back me up here. Sally's laugh could peel paint. In a good way. Bottom line? Oh boy oh boy do I love my wife, and not a day goes by that I don't thank... um... whoever an agnostic thanks... that I get to hang out with her.

Anyway, I thought a nice way to subject all of you to a tiny slice of my joy would be to share the story of the moment (the exact moment!) that I fell in love with Sally.

In the year nineteen ninety cough cough mumble, I was entering my junior year at St. Dinky's Tiny College for Dumbasses. (Name changed to protect... um.. oh hell, Moravian College in Bethlehem, PA. Happy?) As a junior in the art program, I was entitled to my very own closet-sized art studio, which I was going to share with my good friend DogButt. (I've mentioned her before, and I'll just say once again that she writes a lovely and frequently touching blog here.)

Dogbutt called me up as classes were starting to inform me that an old friend of hers had just transferred into our school, and needed some studio space. She asked if her friend could cram into our tiny little closet, and I uttered the fateful words, "Any friend of yours, DogButt, I will probably wind up falling in love with and marrying."

Okay, I didn't say that, but I did agree to allowing this new person to cram in with us. And that night at dinner, I met my new studio-mate, Sally.

Upon first impression, I have to say that while she was cute and funny, I wasn't immediately smitten or anything like that. I was glad she seemed like an entertaining person, and that she didn't appear to be psychotic, given that I would be spending countless late nights in a crowded studio with her. I liked her, I just didn't liiiiiiike her, if you know what I mean. Besides, I had a girlfriend of 3 years at that point, and Sal had a boyfriend who was enrolled in a different school. Neither of us was, at that time, really looking for a mate.

But as far as a studio-partner and potential friend, I was quite pleased with her.

And so it was that the very next night I found myself alone with Sal in our previously mentioned tiny, tiny studio. I was sitting at my drawing table with my back to her, and she was there behind me working at her own small table. We had some music on, and were pretty much engrossed in our work.

The tape we were listening to must have run out, because there was a long moment of silence in the room and it was at that exact moment that she let out what is commonly known as a "Buffalo Bark."

She ripped one. A huge one. The kind where you could actually picture her butt cheeks rippling as it came out. A wallpaper-shredder. An ass-quake. A 100 dollar beef trumpet.

Now, I was sure at the time (and have since had it confirmed) that she had not intended for that fart to be, shall we say, public. Sal had been sitting there in the quiet studio, feeling the pressure in her hind-quarters growing, and had thought to let it out silently, so as not to offend the strange man sitting behind her. But you know how some farts have a mind of their own.

So now we were sitting there, post-ass-concerto, and the sound was still echoing. I tensed up, waiting to see what she would do, because as I have mentioned here before, I hate it when people don't fess up to farts that were obviously theirs. I especially hate it when girls pretend that the hole in their butt is non-functional. This was truly where the rubber met the road in terms of my forming an opinion of this cute girl I was going to be spending a lot of time with. I was okay with the fart, but would she be???

And then my friends, then in the lingering silence she says:

"Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way."

Looking back, I can tell you that it was at that exact moment that she won me over. Any cute girl that can beef like a truck driver and then confidently own up to it was okay in my book. No, better than okay. She was a diamond in the rough.

I know you're thinking that I'm playing this up, or just trying to be gross, but I'm being dead serious. Everybody has their own criteria for what it takes for a person to earn their respect and admiration, and she won mine right there. Not fake? Good sense of humor? I'm sold.

Also, she had cute ta-tas. I gotta be honest about that.

We became good friends, then best friends, and then about 2 years later, when the respective significant others were gone, we became boyfriend and girlfriend. That was over a decade ago. And I'm a far better man for knowing her.

So, there you have it boys and girls. Dreams do come true. And one day, if you're very lucky, you too may hear the brassy trumpet of love and feel that certain warm breeze on your face and know in your heart the joy that I have. And if he or she ate barbecue for dinner that day, you'll smell the joy as well.