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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.

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.

stories

my new friends (aka the ones who met me in a professional capacity and have not yet (or at least rarely) been exposed to my drunken lunacy, vixenish mania, or general idiotic frivolity outside the office) have begun remarking with regular frequency how all my stories are weird, ridiculous, and sometimes frightening.

fair enough, the hole in the picture of my brain i don't remember getting because my sister hit me on the head with a hammer is weird.

or the dog running away from the boy in the bodycast and the lady with no memory not knowing how to pick him up, so calling her high school best friend's mom (the only phone number she remembers) can be uncomfortable (but very funny).

the time andy got drunk and complained how drew got laid more than him is a good one too, but only when one explains the entire andy-andy height comedy value.

or when bridget and i smuggled greasy mozzerella sticks in to see the hours under my shirt and i burned my stomach. that's classy.

soon Cruella (her heavy make up runs when her eyes water. a lot.), the psycho flatmate who hates me for kicking her out (she took it kind of personally), and slept with all my friends, will be in regular rotation too, but not til she actually leaves.

even small everyday occurances like how the special ed kid proposed to me in the lunch line everyday for a year or i broke my arm playing gym class soccer and my teacher didnt believe me or even just the fact i used to be a butterfly swimmer gets a chuckle. these are now hilarious anecdotes well and truly out of the scope of these tame british people. i am like a sitcom without the studio audience.

i was mostly amused at my novelty act, that any awkward pub conversation or bad encounter can be salvaged by a sara-story is a handy weapon when one knows mostly tools.

i was getting used to idea that i was just a better storyteller than i used to be, and the fact that i laugh through most of the horrific and sometimes gory memories of my childhood and beyond i thought was a step forward from the cowering and crying that occupied my early years.

julie once said (i think i was in the midst of the broke-the-arm-falling-off-the-vaccuum-cleaner story) "don't you have any normal stories?".

i don't think i do, and i am totally okay with that. at first i thought maybe this was just my schtick, but turns out i was wrong.

jennie came last weekend. and she told the bat story and mentioned both the time i passed out and threw up jungle juice in our dorm and the time she puked on our kitchen floor. in fact we did a lot of reminiscing and at our picnic i missed my lady death strike nails a lot.

and it could have been julie again, but i don't remember, anyway someone said "god, don't your friends have any normal stories about you either?".

and then i got a letter from my brother. a real hand written ledgible letter (i know. i got all weepy happy) and the whole first page was a story about how mom was excited to see the strangers with candy movie and the only interview with amy sedaris was in playboy, so she bought it. not only bought it, bought it from the 7-11 at jolly and okemos so now the kid behind the counter (who tom went to school with) gives him the shifty eye all the time because he knows our mom buys porn.

and although this is a very funny story, especially if you know mom, it made me realize the storytelling isn't just my thing. it's how we all are. it's how everyone at home i know is and is possibly one of the things i miss most.

maybe it's my secret password, this ability to have ridiculous embarassing things happen and then laugh about it later. lord knows no one would survive with me very long if they couldn't laugh at kate's double broken feet or being cast as the lover of your arch-nemesis in the school play. (especially that time my skirt fell down in the school talent show). i break, ruin, or screw up a lot. and it's funny.

lordy, if jennie hadn't been amused or at least tolerant of my destroying the car, being convinced we were going to be raped in a cornfield, and positive obsession with fazolis within the first 24hours of our roadtrip, i don't think we'd be friends. but she did. and we are. and i am glad.

anyway, you may wonder (if you are still reading) why i am ranting on and on about stories and screw ups and silliness.

because, yet again, i have done it.

i am bedridden.

last night i helped liam move - from one 5th floor flat to another - and all the stairs and heavy boxes were too much for my knee. my patella tendon is so seized up i can't move my leg without grating pain not unlike the staples that used to hold it together. and i had to call into work because i could not stand up this morning. seriously. no good deed goes unpunished indeed.

so here i am, stuck in bed, writing an email to my boss since i cant reach the phone, and all i can think is, she will so not appreciate the hilarity here within.

night of the living hedgehog (an ode to gameshows gone by)

so once upon a time, i lived with lauren. when she didn't hate me for filling the kitchen with ants or forgetting to pay the phone bill, it was really really great. especially when she could get drunk off 2 sminrnoff ices or indulge ourselves in flavo-ice and temptation island 2. or that time she needed help to band-aid over her nipples because her dress was too low for a bra and lord knows she wasn't going to nip out.

but all good things have a price, and hers was the random medical scares. (though, this is not the time for the insulin scare story where we went to the hosiptal in the middle of the night and i watched "aliens in the wild wild west" on disney only to run into a friend who got a broken beer bottle in the face while watching a child throw up in the waiting room. that's a different time.)

but once, when the pump was still newish lauren had to stay awake until her bloodsugar chilled the fuck out.

i don't remember what happened or why. what time of year it was. or what inspired us to watch TBS, back when it had just nixed it's "superstation" logo. But curled in our basement hell hole cubby; lauren, bridget and i wiled away the hours with old school Family Feud.

oh yes, it was the night of crazy grandma.

Now, I am not a huge family feud fan. But years of gameshow network with the girl had taught me to find Richard funny rather than pathetic and the retro-ness (sidenote: can you have a word that is only prefix-suffix without any actual content? is this postmodern lingusitics now?) of it all had it's charm. I still of course refused to watch the ones with Al from Home Improvement (except that time there was the Stars on Ice face-off. that was amazing.) and if anyone thinks Louie Anderson should still be alive, stop reading now.

Anyway, it was 3am. And it was old school family feud with the "ooh cheek or mouth Richard?" suspense and this tiny mad woman became my hero.

I wish I remembered more of it (It is times like these I miss diary-x for having lost all such carefully recorded memories I wrote down expressly so I wouldn't have to store them in my brain any longer), but her best two were:

question: Name a favourite pet
answer: hedgehog

question: Name someone you would leave your keys with
answer: mailbox
Richard notes this is not a person and gives her a rare, possibly unprecedented, do-over while trying not to fall over in gin-soaked, coconut-oiled laughter
new answer: mailman
she may have hastened to change this to "stranger" or I may have added that in later for effect. I have a tendency to do that.

Anyway, I wish I remembered more of that night. For all the drama of lauren's brushes with sugar-less death, it did make for some good times.

And I thought of it today because I found this. A pale comparison, but a fresh reminder of those classic gameshow days gone by.

marvels and wonders

today, maggie came.

my heart leapt when i saw her. and suddenly everything was okay. maybe just tabled, but i was okay. she can do that you know. she is like a breath of fresh air and a hand to hold and so incredibly perfect in everyway i wish i could be her. i wish i could marry her. i wish i could have her around forever. i wish i could give her to everyone and share what she means. anne didn't know the half of it when she called diana a kindred spirit. she is truly the best woman i know and i am proud and glad and overwhelming thankful to have her. even just for the weekend.

the only other person i feel i know like this is my sister. she is like that. the sororial link. one look and the world could spin backward for all i know. it makes me miss kate. but more so it makes me grateful women like this exist.

whether lolled on the couch watching football or walking home arm in arm, i glow when she is around. just a reflection of her wonder i am sure, but i feel like i could fly.

sometimes part-time is best

i believe i may have prefected the random friend.

we only see each other every three months but we fall in like we bantered just yesterday, speed-dater and i.

it's like having a penpal, but in person.

someone you have a fleeting moment with, where anything is game from pop culture whims to confessional type memoirs. where it can all be true, since it'll have no bearing on your tomorrow.

today's menu was my adoption story to his paedophile teacher, but only after we agreed futurama is better television, but family guy is still funny.

and three hours later (full of haggis stuffed chicken and banoffee pie), knowing it'll be august before we do it again, we part ways in the sunshine.

friendom

i'm doing it again. and i am going to stop it this time. i have to.

my whole life i follow a pattern. a curse. a lie. i vividly remember the first time it happened. i was 5.

i meet man/boy. i am amused/charmed/interested but immediately know it is platonic. the first impression of the asexual.

what was a random acquaintence becomes a friend. someone outside my mess. a breath of fresh air.

a friend becomes closer. people joke about how much time is spent together and we both ignore the insuations and laugh with the flippant comments of friends. but its nice to have that even.

somewhere in the joking things get awkward, and we get over it (it usally takes me awhile to not feel scrutinized and you not to feel judged). we maybe even take a step back to assess and readjust to this post-weirdness phase.

and a little part of me is always disappointed.

not that it didn't become love. not that i didn't suddenly wake up and realize this was forever (and equally important, that i want to jump their bones). but that it's the beginning of the end.

that the culitvated intimacy i have so enjoyed isn't going to be enough for you soon.

i can't deny it wasn't like dating without the date. it was all the good bits and none of the mess. it was the niceness and honesty.

and somehow soon it will be wrong of me to want that.

one day, or perhaps phased over weeks, you'll realize you'd rather have someone you can fuck. and i'll slowly fade into the background as nice girls fill my slot for your time and your chat and your lost moments - with the added attaction of sex.

i don't blame them. it's how it works. i wasn't the one (i didn't want to be, but it somehow stings all the same). its okay though. you'll be happier in love. i probably will someday too.

but i really wish there was a man i could be friends with (and not resent it like a girlfriend when he leaves me).

there is no ever after for friends.

i am a celebrity whore.

i still love that i go out to networking drinks with hot young authors. they are cute and charming and clever and really want my approval and attention (and shelfspace).

but would they be so cute if they weren't published?

snippets of the salacious

my emotions run on a such a predictable schedule. almost to the minute i stop bleeding i want sex.

sadly, i didn't even notice this until someone else pointed it out. at a house party last night i knew no one but a co-worker, a lapse in conversation leads me to scope a room of 10 men. (what else was there to do? besides, we were the only women in the room - i stood a fair shot, having already been approached by the cute(ish) south african if i could be bothered.)

jules: it's back
me: what?
jules: the cosmic horn. you're back.
me: how can you say that? there is no one in this room even i would bother with.




i am reflecting on this after a rainy afternoon in the pub with the guys. the conversation turned to relationships.

on dating
it was a long story, but we think in hindsight a guy in high school thought we were dating until i made some off the cuff joke/comment about how it must look to other people. he gave me the puppy eyes of the crushed and never spoke to me again.

on relationships
phil (to me): what's your longest relationship?
jack : in minutes?
me: those weren't relationships
phil: no, really.
me: i think i made it three weeks once, but i'd only count two of them.

on first kisses
jack: my first girlfriend
phil: at one of those make-out parties, there were like 20 people watching
me: i was at a banquet in front of at least 200
jack: good on ya. of course you were.




to test myself, i took the tried and true 500 question purity test when i got home.

I am 10% down on last year.

images of my day: a chronology

1 - flashbacks to weird sex dream with mike work. was v twisted. and frustrating.

2 - tiny granny in pink house dress and red slippers shuffling along her drive kicking a box of recycling at about .1 mph. oh the dedication.

3 - dad and son in tandem riding bikes to school at sunrise through the meadows. the only reason i saw this being my fingers were too frozen to turn the pages of my book and i was forced to observe real life.

4 - ugly sexy sidling up to me, hands behind his back like a naughty school boy, until he reveals my burned arrested development season 3.

5 - perfect austrian babe jasmine stopping in to chat books and bookworld. she has my job in another shop and lives with an author i know. she is lovely in all the ways that would make me feel mediocre if she wasn't so perfectly nice.

5 - anti-ben (a truly geek boy hot scot) hitting me on the shoulder (he's like 6'6" at least) with a pen as i talked and when i stopped to look at him says "what? keep talking" with puppy dog eyes. he is a looker, man. behaves like he is twelve, but whew.

6 - hot scot popping in to say hello, dimples and all, muttering (when he tells Jules how comfy my sofa is) "we'll have to make more time for your couch". oo-er. but no.

7 - ultra-chic me in black flipped collar coat with satin trim, audrey hepburn shades, leather gloves, and pinstripes ... carrying a series of hot-pink teen novels titled things like "...and that's when it fell of in my hand".

o henry

and no, i don't mean the great american aesop.

or my perfect hoover:







long story short, hot scot randomly showed last night. what was a book launch became a pub crowd, a late night crew, and him staying at my flat (no, i didn't sleep with him).

i completely cold shouldered him early on and true to form, he spent all night showering me with compliments and private conversation.

granted, the man makes love to whole rooms of people in one go - but it's still nice to hear how amazing you are, even from a cad. i continued to be sarcastic without malice and my own brand of geeky-sexy which certainly amused. made for a fabulous evening.

i've written this about 4 times now - denying myself gushing girly bullshit i only half mean but want to wallow in.

i think it can be summed up in two exchanges:

1 - i let him stay over. on the sofa in my room, not the one in the living room. he watched me get undressed. i didn't mind.

2 - he turned to me at the bar and said "you are so fun to be with". i replied "one is not fun alone".

a vague reference only the most pathetic austenite will catch - an exchange mimicking fanny and henry crawford at the mansfield ball in the film, but dont get me started on that.

but still, i find my dearest rake a most apt comparison. a cad, a player, a violent flirt, but when all is said and done, there is still a softness that will never induce to matrimony but denies any definitive rejection. we may yet be great dancing partners and card players, so long as neither fancies themselves in love.

it's 2am on a friday night. i crawl in from a long week of work, completely stoned.

as a considerate and not completely devoid of sense flatmate, is now the time to ask me about our council tax bill, bewail your non-boyfriend "i just want to be mates" bullshit, and whinge about your twentysomething ennui?

do i care that we need toilet paper or if you talked to your mother on the phone?

fuck no.

i just ate a whole lavender cake and am trying to get to grips with my bobypins and the stench of grass in my hair before rising before dawn for work tomorrow.

leave me the fuck alone.

i hate women.

belated best wishes

i must apologize for missing the birthday salutations. or as we once thought was a good idea, shout-outs.

i spent all of yesterday in the torturous hang-over-at-work mode counting pens. yes, it was stationary inventory day and sara was on a suicidal rampage.

my personal woes aside, i hope bridget had an amazing birthday. full of west coast fun (which in my mind only consists of the snowmountains of cocaine and orgies glorified by johnny depp films).ps - the hollywood gossip is going over like mad. you are a goldmine my darling.

24 is only just around the bend here as well, and i am petrified to be in my mid-20s but sincerely looking forward to another year of mayhem. may yours be spectacular.

confessions of an intimate and ridiculous nature

i have two confessions.

1 - i believe i may yet be able to count myself normal. i (you may say finally) desire intimacy.

an everyday assurance (for as fleetingly as i can probably maintain it) of making someone pancakes and waking up in the quietude of security. of ups and downs, but the same ride til the end.

i crave togetherness.



2 - perhaps the following is a factor in that confession, though i find it less significant than that implies.

today i slept with one of my friends.

shocker i know. he was drunk, i was tired, and after we went to the movies and had pizza.

he was, of course, the one everybody thought i already had shagged and secretly thinks i will probably end up with - like if this was a rob reiner film. but life just isnt like that, and after sex we don't suddenly realize we are entirely different people.

we are both a-emotional and libidinous, what more did we need than pizza? i said i took advantage of him, and he apologized for getting out of hand. we laughed. a lot. we hi-fived when we parted ways in the end, to mark the occasion.

and quite honestly i am entirely apathethic about the act itself. but it also got me thinking, in that dozing post-coital way, that i really do love the afterglow cuddle part. the part i am always so hasty to be out the door before. the part that i fear will swallow me.

and perhaps serendipitously, having that calm intimacy with someone who already knew me, kind of bridged the gap for me. answered the unasked. my point i guess is that simple act of closeness between people who know each other was really nice. better than i thought (and to be honest, better than the sex).

of course not nice enough i'm going to ever believe in platonic napping with said partner again, but nice enough i'd be willing to really truly give it a go with someone i fancy. that just maybe i am not the fridgid bitch i play on tv.

and sadly, that is a major step for me.



so there you go. you have to fuck someone to find out you don't want them. in fact, you may find out you kind of want to stop fucking altogether and consider using phrases like "making love" and "laughing together" (an ancient african euphemism i rather enjoy) from one accidental tryst with a platonic partner.

lesson of the day: to know thyself, fuck thy friends.

only in my world can this be a legitimate train of thought. le sigh.

social resurrection

tis the season to be outrageous.

so in case jennie, my social publicist, has not told everyone i know, yes i am back in the game.


as i was endearingly dressed as lucy from narnia saturday morning (full on pleated skirt, plaited hair, mary janes, mink coat, dagger and vial of holy water - good lord i can make a costume) for the holiday shoppers, a certain scot appeared in my shop wondering if i was free for lunch, as we had tentatively arranged.

de-lucy-ed and sans mink, i am whisked away to a cafe (well within sight of my colleagues, some of whom i know to have a crush on him). and it was surprisingly good. my faith in the dating system (i guess it counts since he paid and i glowed after) is renewed.

of course the fact we can talk about the merits of the mtv mentality, the meaning of fandom and the death of book alongside the glory of peter parker, gay catholicism and theoretical sex with a goat in the span of an hour doesn't so much validate the idea a date can be sane than it reaffirms my utter dorkdom (but geek chicks are hot, or so i heard).

but fuck it.

i had a nice time, he emailed first, and i have caved and bought the magazine he is in (may it never be said i don't fall into petty girl-dom despite my best efforts).

a league of my own

i have to be honest, i don't really like the all american past time.

i didn't like playing right field in doubleheaders. i didnt like peeling off my pads and seeing dust soaked like tanlines into my skin. i didnt like being told what i was doing wrong by an overweight middle-aged guy who stood in the shade the whole time as if he knew what it was like.

as a viewing sport, it is the sheer novelty of minor league games such as a big wheel race after the 3rd and more junk food than is good for you that make it a tolerable social outing.

i am glad to be in a country where the national sport is acknowledged to be ridiculous and at least the outfits are better. a Ned in a white varsity sweater is far better than kneesocks and ballcap Jimbo's the world over.

but all this dirty pessimism of course doesn't negate the greatness of a unifying cause and the rush of singing the national anthem 5,000 voices strong.

i just don't see the need to watch it on television. especially at dawn on a tuesday. baseball is of course, not shown on any of the 4 BBC channels, even if it is the astros first world series. which means my only option is to watch a live cast on the MLB website at phils house (avid Jays fan that he is, he's subscribed to the whole season. freak.) - which is 1:05 am on Grenwich Mean Time.

suffice to say, i don't think my love of the game outweighs my love of sleep even with hot dogs and beer thrown in.

well, ask me again at the football post-season.

yo bitch

so due to the lameness of Blogspot, I was required to start this account just for the priviledge of posting on my friends blogs. who said the internet was a freespeech zone?

anyway, yeah.

i doubt i will post in here since i already have 3 d-x accounts and i feel dirty just typing this.... though i must admit the thrill of host-cheating is intoxicating, Hollywood was right.

Maybe I'll become a serial blogger. Maybe Blogspot will become as necessary as breathing and secret trysts will be arranged on anonymous servers and in strange internet cafes. But d-x might find out. Blogspot will threaten to tell, jealous of sharing my inestimably clever rants. Eventually I'll shoot Blogspot in the bathtub, a final end to a sordid affair.

I never should have let this happen. You owe me Rutledge.