Of black dresses and worldly lust

This past Saturday was the Travies (the Academic Travel Photo Awards ceremony, for which I was a judge) and Arabic Night (essentially food and a dance party). I wore the closest thing I have to a black dress here, a black top and skirt, with my lovely stilettos that make me nearly 6 feet tall. I didn't get to show cleavage this time, but it was slinky. Yay curves. And suddenly being really tall.

So the winners of the photo awards were a bit of a surprise to me, even though I was one of the four judges. I had voted for most of the winners, but some of my favorites weren't even finalists, and some of the finalists were pictures I had barely glanced at. And funnily enough, the photo that was a finalist taken by my friend Katey was not either of the two of hers that I had picked, and while the presenter was opening the envelope, Marissa and I were trying to decide if, should she have won, we should have gone up to accept the award for her. What would we have said? Told a story about her? About our travel experiences? But alas, it was not necessary. We miss her though, as she has returned early to the States for personal reasons.

And then there was Arabic Night, with all its good food and crazy dancing. I really had missed tabouleh and hummus. Despite the open bar, I spent the whole night drinking water, especially during the dance party. It had been a while since I had had the chance to just dance around like an idiot with other people to really loud music, and I had kind of missed it. Unfortunately, said dance party was almost entirely female, as the guys were all too entranced by the shisha tent outside (and admittedly, it was really hot in there). One of these days I want to dance with not-creepy guys that are not almost old enough to be my dad (like many of the guys you will find at clubs in Lugano).

And that brings me to, yet again, the Object of My Worldly Lust (I can't believe I'm writing this in the campus computer lab). He really needs to stop unknowingly tempting me. Stop inducing, as Amy has termed them, "homicidal barber moments" (can you tell we've seen a bit too much Monty Python?), though instead of me wanting to kill him, I want to, as Amy put it, "jump his bones". Really, I wish I could turn off the sex drive when I don't need it. But then again, would I really feel like myself without it? Would I still be human if I could perfectly control myself, with no unexpected urges? Alas, it's not going anywhere, and neither is the latest object of my earthly desires.

So why is he only "the Object of My Worldly Lust", you might ask, as opposed to "The Guy I Like" or something along those lines? Because the only certain part of my attraction to him is sexual. I don't even know if I want the person that comes with that oh-so-attractive body. Don't get me wrong, he's not a bad guy. He has always been nice to me, but there is some not-entirely-known element that keeps me from falling headfirst for him. Are we just too different? Do I want someone more like me, someone who can appreciate good vegetarian cuisine, speak multiple languages, and captivate me with his brilliant wit and vision for a better world? A fellow liberal, compassionate, sexually attuned Christian also trying to make that decision of how to go about changing the world? Not that this necessarily excludes the Object of My Worldly Lust. I honestly don't know.

Lord, grant me clarity and some sort of resolution. Help me to see him for the person he really is, not just the Object of My Worldly Lust. We both need it.