No, he's neither Newcastle nor Chianti. He's someone completely new to the picture. I've nicknamed him something appropriate, Mon Lion Pr�cieux. He's...*blushes*...he's truly the most exquisite being I've had the good fortune of crossing paths with. My friends didn't need a confession, the likes of which I posted here yesterday. They knew before I did that something altogether different was happening to frozen-vodka. When I finally told Cosmo how I felt, she laughed. *sigh* Yeah...it's apparently obvious.

How serious are we? Well...I'm not quite willing to go so far as to say "love"...it's too soon for that, for me at least. But it's serious enough that I consider myself off the market, and any and all ongoing flirtations I've had with guys have been officially ended.

And in regards to my use of the word spun as opposed to sprung...that's how I feel. I don't just feel sprung, though I very well am, I feel....

Remember when you were a kid and you'd stand out in the freshly mowed grass barefoot, and you'd stick your arms out to like you were an airplane and spinspinspinspinspinspin around, faster and faster, laughing, and carefree...the momentum of it all thrilling you just as much as the spinning? And finally, when you were breathless and dizzy, you'd collapse to the ground, warm and safe and excited and happy? You'd lie there looking at the sky, feeling like you were still spinning, your laughter trailing off, blissful in that first, pure, natural high you'd ever experience?

That, kiddies....that is spun. That's how I feel.