the berenstein bears' too much fun

for once i'm not writing because i have too much to say.


my job is rubbish, and i can't even get an interview, though i keep applying elsewhere.

my flatmate hates me and probably won't ever pay me the money she owes (which is a lot) and it has become some fucked up passive agressive battle.

i am going to visit my sister in a week. (!!!!)

i haven't found someone to fill the lease and i've got a week to sort something or i'll be liable for rent.

i can't say i've fallen back in, but liam and i are something. something new. something maybe.

the book festival is all fancy parties and 4 course dinners and too much name dropping and celebrities and all round party hopping madness. this is my first night in a week, and the only one for 4 days to come. i never thought i'd see too much champagne (or meet Sir Angus - the antiques dealer, castle owner, and orange turban wearing dirty old man at a fancy dress Sultan's Bazaar party). i just keep hoping all this networking leads to a job.

j

in honour of jennie's birthday (and in recompense for not shipping malteser packing peanuts this year), i'm going to do that horrible thing where i make lists of references no one will understand but is infinately fun for me in remembering. in no particualr order, the random moments of jennie currently in my head, a tribute:

- lying on her bedroom floor at kingsley, furiously finishing the cd party cds, in all their deco glory. two computers, three women, a papercutter and she was still ridiculously late.

- lolled on my freshman futon, fairylights above us, listening to billy joel and pointedly not talking about joe.

- standing in my parents house, her first visit, in front of an open fridge. hungry and bored, she grabs one of the many unlabed styrofoam boxes , finds some congealed mac and cheese and begins to eat straight from the box. a look of distaste crosses her face, she puts the rest of the clump, until now precariously skwered on a fork, back in the box and shuts the fridge. my eyes scan the room, my sibling stands in the doorway, aghast at this stranger eating our food and then putting it back, an act she has yet to live down.

- sitting in the michigan theatre watching some merchant ivory film. i think it must have been house of mirth. and she began pulling apart that curl behind her left ear. running her fingers through it over and over, making an incesant like shhhhinkth noise. the first time i could hear her bored and uncomfortable.

- nintendo, waffles, and beanbags. what should have been a tradition.

- waking up in u towers, giggling about buffy, not knowing what time it was, when we fell asleep, or why we were still on top of the blankets, with all the hay sticking out of her hair from our jaunt to the cider mill the day before.

- posing, arms spread, silly cap askew, in that blasted tweed coat, in the frosty scottish countryside while i snap a photo. a boring, fruitless, three mile walk to "town" became a photoshoot and goat quest. only with jennie.

- but one of my all time favourite moments, is leaning our backs on the vatican, waiting for the sunrise and her quiet amused silence at my stupidity:






this isn't all. this isn't even some. probably if i thought about it, it isnt even a fair representation. but today, this is her for me. fragmented and fondly remembered.

missed.

happy birthday bitch.

i just checked my email for the first time in days.

mostly it was freecycle posts, the random promotion from amazon, and the film festival update. but in amongst the rubble was a casual reminder of my 10 year middle school reunion.

there is no way we are having one and there is certainly nothing on earth to entice me to go, but it still felt really weird. like remembering something you didnt know you forgot. a concrete reminder of someone else, some other place and time and life. like some other me.

ten years ago i stood, poised for high school, in britain for the first time. i had
- newly minted teeth,
- eyes unshackled by lawyer glasses,
- was fresh off the track team,
- was deserpately and secretly in love with anders
- and was wishing more than anything to be an academic for the rest of my days.
i also wore pleated cuffed shorts in colours like sage.

and now, i live here, where i decided i belonged that summer
- my teeth are stained and false,
- my eyes are (finally?) open,
- i've the bones of a geriatric,
- i am sadly smitten and trying to grow out of it,.
- and wishing i knew what was held in the rest of my days.
my fashion may be slightly better (in a neo-prep ironic/retro way), though only time will tell.

and most of all i find i miss the surety that came in those days before high school. i remember the ultimate contentment life held when there was the promise of a future far away and every possibility i would eventually get it right. the belief in someday.

but it seems i have no talent for certainty.

but i guess that is okay too. there is some comfort in having come out of that shell, that isolated existance where there was nothing outside my immediate impulse and no one on earth who saw me.

i am drifting away now. it must be the whisky. but anyway, all i meant was that seems like a lifetime ago. and i wonder if i am really at all any different. i suppose i still believe in someday.

canucks are good for something

last night i had one of my weird adventures.

no, i still haven't gotten laid, but i did not loll about, and more importantly i went out and met new people.

see, garbage liz (as in the first party at uni was "dress as someone scottish" and she came as shirly manson from the band garbage and nobody knew if she really did fishnets and minikilts or if it was a costume and the name stuck) joined the peace corps and moved to lesotho (as in that dot of a country smack in the west of south africa i totally thought was a lake) last year.

and out of the blue emailed to say a friend of hers was headed to edinbugh for a couple days and wanted to mail his plane tickets to a UK address, would I mind?

I said sure, and we emailed and he seemed nice and vague and Canadian and named Jamie. I figured I'd milk him for a pint or two in exchange for doing absolutely nothing and go on my merry way.

last night we met up for said pint and not only was he hot, he was fun. So instead we got ridiculously stoned off some weed we scored from a chav outside the pub and went to see a high school rendition of 1984 at the fringe festival. Afterwards we had nachos and had to finish the weed (since the absolute lameness of the play had killed our buzz) and went our merry way many hours after i had planned with me in a very happy place.

but it was good. i am glad he and his girlfriend are moving to town in the fall, they will be fun. better yet, he can play eucre.

though, important things to note on why a cute, fun potential new mate front:
1, he is canadian
2, he is a total druggie
3, he is way too political (in the arrested at protests way, which i suppose of political bents, is one of the better options)
4, there is the girlfriend, who i am destined to like. she is trailer trash from minnesota.

it's nice we have these clear boundries at the beginning.

i haven't written because mostly i haven't anything to say.

work is utter hell, but then i am actually actively applying for others, so it seems silly to moan on about it.

festival season is gearing up but i am too tired, poor, and hormonal to book any tickets.

and the general nebulous discontent with this deadend life seems to really just be a gap year gone on too long and no plan for a legitimage future.

not to mention i am so incredibly horny it's hard to see straight.

so yeah, i am walking around in a distracted daze hoping by some miracle to wake up with a better knee (so i can wear cute shoes again), a better job (so i can afford them) and a better (or arguably any) man (so i can have wild raucous sex very very often).

yeah i know. it's not like we are together. not really. not when it counts. he may bring me flowers, ask me to meet his mother and pet my head, but when the chips are down, i'm still not getting laid.

but i am so starved (and we are so weird) a goodnight kiss turned into a sleepless frustrated night and scratches he still bore the next day. i am equal parts embarassed, unsatisfied, and pure lust.

it's sick. it makes no sense (jesus ask jennie. what am i doing?). and part of me really has to ask, what the fuck is he waiting for? he must seriously be asexual if the vixen in heat still gets nothing. i give up. and worst, i just don't get why he wouldn't want me. he is obviously retarded. and i can't take it.

i want sex. now. and for the forseeable future. at my beck and call. until it hurts to move. is that so much to ask?

looks like i need to get a move on.