Thank you.
Very nice of you to say so.
[daemonic bureaucrat hat on]
You misunderstand me. The fact that the Boss cannot stand the thought of you being within his olfactory range does not mean that He means you well. Nor does the fact that you are physically absent from Tartarus mean that he cannot assail you. I’d be looking for allies if I were you.
[dbh off]
I’ve had plenty of nice days, but not too many where I was really there in the present. I mean, when something fun happens, somewhere in the back of my mind I’m cataloguing events for future reference, and the sad thing is the “I’m going to look back on this as having been a great day” part is more real than the “I’m having fun now” part. 
I suppose the only times I feel truely relazed at the moment are when I’m at home reading or surfing the net- just low-key killing time. I don’t know what this says about me.
Any day in between March 16 and March 20, 2008. I had an amazing amount of fun those days.
The group ride we took to Kingman that time. The weather was perfect, nobody broke down, nobody turned into a drunken idiot and I was riding behind my Sweet Baboo.
My 50th birthday featured lots of guests, a big party braving some slightly uncooperative weather, and many excellent presents including a rather splendid trumpet.
My 28th birthday began in bed with my then girlfriend, sex, presents, breakfast in bed, a day out playing tourist, an evening out at a restaurant with my parents - and under the terms of the offer Ex-GF and I would still think we were in love and have no inkling the wheels would be coming off a year and a half later. Tough choice.
When I was eleven, I went to King’s Island for the first time. My thirteen year old sister had been twice before with our church’s youth group and had told me all about it. I was so excited to finally be old enough! Until then, I had never been to an amusement park or fair, never been on any ride other than a carousel. We also didn’t have much freedom to roam the neighborhood. I had dreamed of King’s Island for two years. We would stay up at night talking about it. When the time got close, we put together matching outfits to wear.
It was a two-hour trip on the church bus to get there. Once we arrived, as long as we had a buddy, we could go wherever we wanted, only meeting up with the whole group once in the afternoon and again at closing. My sister and I stuck together and ran all over that place. I started off on the little ferris wheel and worked my way up to the front seat of the fastest roller coasters.
In the afternoon there was a terrible, wonderful thunderstorm. We got drenched, then were first in line when the rides opened back up and no one else wanted to sit in the wet seats.
We each had $10 of spending money. That was enough for three small meals and a single $1 game. I won a stuffed alligator.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. My feet were sore and cracked from so much walking in wet shoes. We counted lightning strikes and sang “100 Bottles of Beer” all the way home.
That’s the one.
Today has been pretty nice. Got my wife, the cats, Bloody Marys, wings and quesadillas, Puppy Bowl on the TV…this would do.
Or my wedding day. That one was kinda nice too.
My first kiss
That sounds like a pretty good definition of Hell.
I’ve had very few truly happy days in my life. In fact, the only one I can recall specifically is the one where I held my niece for the first time. There are others and they all involve my brother and his family.
Typical. I said that yesterday thinking that if you knew in advance you could set up one perfect day to repeat. Perfect activities, perfect food, perfect company etc.
So today I woke up sick as a dog. Had to email work because they couldn’t decipher my croaking when I rang.
I don’t know if this was the best day of my life or not, but it is one that I think back on often.
Around 1972/3 I took up rock climbing. A climbing group I belonged to went to Senaca Rocks, WV for a weekend of climbing.
We picked a climb within our rather limited abilities, a 5.3/4, and I elected to lead.
It started off easy enough but kept getting harder and harder. When I was up some 40 feet or so with no protection in for the last 20 feet or so it began to dawn on me that we weren’t on the route we thought we were on. There was no coming back down and I was flat out terrified. Neither retreat or rescue was possible. It was climb it or probably die.
I finished the climb, some 120 feet, with only putting in a couple more pieces of protection.
I remember the last few feet all I could think of was, “If I get out of this alive I’ll never climb again.” I was on the extreme ragged edge of what I could physically do.
When I got up and and the others started up all I could think of was what an incredible rush it had been. The way they all looked at me when they got up made me feel like I was 10 feet tall. I couldn’t wait to try it again.
It turned out the climb we did was a 5.8. As the years went by I did a lot of climbs harder then that, but none brought me as much of a thrill. I never felt so incredibly alive again.
I think it would be the day my then-girlfriend told me that she just couldn’t keep it inside herself anymore – she was totally in love with me. Even though it was early days I knew then that she would eventually become my wife, and indeed that’s what happened many months later.
Probably one of the days me and Electric Spouse spent wandering around Warwick in August 2005, when we first got together. It was pretty much a perfect summer.
Or maybe September in Blackpool. Rickety fairground rides, rambling train journeys, the seaside, a cheap bottle of fizz…yeah, that’d be nice.
The one that springs to my mind is a day last June. It was my friend’s birthday, and a group of us rented a lake house together. We went jet skiing at sunset in the most perfect June weather you can imagine, and after the sun set, we had a bonfire that involved s’mores. (And talking about politics, but the s’mores had me far more enamored than the politics.)
Two years ago, on Martha’s Vineyard, with the woman I loved more than any other. There are several days to choose from. The one where she was violently ill is not one of them.
I was going to say my wedding day, like other posters. But then I thought of another one: one day a couple of years ago when my brother and his family (wife and two kids) and me with my family (wife and two kids) were all visiting Yosemite together. The first day of the visit was great, nice hike, climing on rocks which my kids love, seeing deer, a bear and a bear cub… that was a great day.
[Phil]: I was in the Virgin Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster, drank pina coladas. At sunset, we made love like sea otters. * That* was a pretty good day. [/Phil]
Actually, dating a former GF, my birthday. I woke up that morning in her apartment. She hands me a birthday card, in which she had written the following: “Today, use my body for your pleasure. Nothing’s off limits”. I accepted the offer, and we exhausted ourselves repeatedly throughout the day. In between, we walked around the city, ate good food, drank good booze, she flashed me, we subtly groped each other in public… it was a really good day.
Seconded. Even the best of anything will become unbearable if that’s the only thing you ever have. Reliving any single day over and over again sounds exactly like hell to me.
Probably the day I first made love to my ‘most significant boyfriend to date’. We’re no longer together but we’re probably far better friends than tis healthy for two ex lovers, and it was just a special day all around that began with showtunes and ended with great sex- what could be a better combo:).