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.
26 March 2006
25 March 2006
the wrath of babes
so i am sick of my twenty-first century whinging and endless lists. It's like those late episodes of a good sitcom where the premise no longer works and it wasn't clever enough to handle self-reflexive irony.
and like any true sitcom, i am introducing a spunky child to boost ratings and liven up a deadly saturday line-up. But unlike my 80s predecessors, through a twist of fate (and a minor time warp), the child is me.
doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo...
you know how your brother is totally annoying and scribbles on your bestest ballerina drawing with the red slippers? or that time your sister totally used the blue power rangers slurpee cup from k-mart even though she knew billy was your favorite? remember when mom forgot to call you in sick so once again you have to grovel to the principal about your family's minor mishaps and get him to unfail you from world history due to absence?
you know what totally is the best emotional release for this? and no, i dont mean counting to ten, yoga, volunteering with the girl scouts or making macaroni mecklaces for grandma.
concoccting poison.
just sneak out into the yard while mom makes spaghetti and gather a few simple ingredients:
- a strong stick stripped of leaves and twigs for stirring
- dirt
- water (if you can unkink the hose)
- leaves - especially maple since they crack and get gooey
- pine needles and/or twigs
- any flower petals available
- those red squishy berries often found on old lady hedg
- a brick
to prepare deadly poison potion:
- gather the berries into a pile on the pavement. smash them with a brick repeatedly until the sidewalk runs red with their blood. this sacrfice is cathardic and symbolic.
- add dirt and water until it is a thick nasty paste and imagine force feeding it to said sister until she chokes.
- add pine needles for texture and leaves if needed
- flutter flower petals daintily over the top to decorate
- then smash their pretty little faces with the brick, thus metaphorically destroying all that is pure and innocent in your wake
- scrape onto a big flat leaf
- visualize serving it either open-faced or perhaps rolled like a taco.
presentation is everything, use your imagination!
...doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo.
this is something i actually used to do as a small child to curb my fury. i saw those berries today and wished i could again, but alas - no bricks.
sometimes i worry for little me and want to wrap her up and make her unpsycho.
and sometimes i cant help but laugh that i thought the geeky ranger was hot.
and like any true sitcom, i am introducing a spunky child to boost ratings and liven up a deadly saturday line-up. But unlike my 80s predecessors, through a twist of fate (and a minor time warp), the child is me.
doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo...
you know how your brother is totally annoying and scribbles on your bestest ballerina drawing with the red slippers? or that time your sister totally used the blue power rangers slurpee cup from k-mart even though she knew billy was your favorite? remember when mom forgot to call you in sick so once again you have to grovel to the principal about your family's minor mishaps and get him to unfail you from world history due to absence?
you know what totally is the best emotional release for this? and no, i dont mean counting to ten, yoga, volunteering with the girl scouts or making macaroni mecklaces for grandma.
concoccting poison.
just sneak out into the yard while mom makes spaghetti and gather a few simple ingredients:
- a strong stick stripped of leaves and twigs for stirring
- dirt
- water (if you can unkink the hose)
- leaves - especially maple since they crack and get gooey
- pine needles and/or twigs
- any flower petals available
- those red squishy berries often found on old lady hedg
- a brick
to prepare deadly poison potion:
- gather the berries into a pile on the pavement. smash them with a brick repeatedly until the sidewalk runs red with their blood. this sacrfice is cathardic and symbolic.
- add dirt and water until it is a thick nasty paste and imagine force feeding it to said sister until she chokes.
- add pine needles for texture and leaves if needed
- flutter flower petals daintily over the top to decorate
- then smash their pretty little faces with the brick, thus metaphorically destroying all that is pure and innocent in your wake
- scrape onto a big flat leaf
- visualize serving it either open-faced or perhaps rolled like a taco.
presentation is everything, use your imagination!
...doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo, doodle-loodle-loo.
this is something i actually used to do as a small child to curb my fury. i saw those berries today and wished i could again, but alas - no bricks.
sometimes i worry for little me and want to wrap her up and make her unpsycho.
and sometimes i cant help but laugh that i thought the geeky ranger was hot.
22 March 2006
jesus, mary, and the holy ghost of hollywood
sometimes pajiba really is all i hope. and i quote:
Item #4: Shohreh Aghdashloo (her actual name) has been cast as Elizabeth, cousin of the Virgin Mary, in New Line’s forthcoming Nativity, to be directed by Catherine Hardwicke, who also helmed the solid Thirteen and the regrettable Lords of Dogtown. Keisha Castle-Hughes (Whale Rider) has already been cast as Mary in what is sure to be the latest he-said/thee-said brawl between the godless baby-killing homo infidels of Hollywood and the righteous warriors of Zion headquartered in Lynchburg and Colorado Springs. Really, though, I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s not as if New Line’s producers are shamelessly capitalizing on the popularity surge of America’s civil religion so that they can exploit icons of faith in order to turn a quick buck. And it’s also not like religious leaders are going to stand up and decry the film sight unseen or encourage their flocks to strike out against the film industry, with violence if necessary. Seriously, I think we’re all rushing to judgment here. — DC
that said, i'd see it.
Item #4: Shohreh Aghdashloo (her actual name) has been cast as Elizabeth, cousin of the Virgin Mary, in New Line’s forthcoming Nativity, to be directed by Catherine Hardwicke, who also helmed the solid Thirteen and the regrettable Lords of Dogtown. Keisha Castle-Hughes (Whale Rider) has already been cast as Mary in what is sure to be the latest he-said/thee-said brawl between the godless baby-killing homo infidels of Hollywood and the righteous warriors of Zion headquartered in Lynchburg and Colorado Springs. Really, though, I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s not as if New Line’s producers are shamelessly capitalizing on the popularity surge of America’s civil religion so that they can exploit icons of faith in order to turn a quick buck. And it’s also not like religious leaders are going to stand up and decry the film sight unseen or encourage their flocks to strike out against the film industry, with violence if necessary. Seriously, I think we’re all rushing to judgment here. — DC
that said, i'd see it.
revelations from the sickbed
i called in sick to work, something i have never done before.
and i am not, as this may lead you to believe, at death's door. i am not even (strictly speaking) ill.
but for the better part of three days i have been disgusting.
remarkably inconsistent at work and with friends, clumsy to the point of dangerous, depressed, severely cramped, and an insomniac.
at 8am, walking through the sunshine, dizzy, slightly feverish, and on the verge of tears i decided enough was enough. i needed a day where i didnt pretend it was all peachy. i didnt ignore every alarm in my system going off and risk certain death by scissors if allowed near screaming children.
after a nap, some doritos and a morning of absolute silence to sort myself out (from bed and between massive pms groaning of course) i have come to realize some significant things have fallen under the carpet of late it is detracting from my lifestlye enjoyment quotient. they are as follows.
1. i no longer write. six months without my frantic scribbling and two without my journals (of the daily update and emotionally significant kind) have left me bottled, pent, charged, and without recourse to emotional support. it is unnatural.
2. i have not had an original thought or intellectual conversation (and no, post-modern media debates dont count. in shop full of phds without employment it's like breathing). i need stimulus. i need input. i need meaning.
3. and i need a partner. a dependable someone i know will be around. for these types of conversations for mystery science theatre or the opera. i want to stop splintering friends by event and emotional moment and having someones i can handle being me with, whatever that entails.
(4. being left to my own devices can be volatile.)
and i am not, as this may lead you to believe, at death's door. i am not even (strictly speaking) ill.
but for the better part of three days i have been disgusting.
remarkably inconsistent at work and with friends, clumsy to the point of dangerous, depressed, severely cramped, and an insomniac.
at 8am, walking through the sunshine, dizzy, slightly feverish, and on the verge of tears i decided enough was enough. i needed a day where i didnt pretend it was all peachy. i didnt ignore every alarm in my system going off and risk certain death by scissors if allowed near screaming children.
after a nap, some doritos and a morning of absolute silence to sort myself out (from bed and between massive pms groaning of course) i have come to realize some significant things have fallen under the carpet of late it is detracting from my lifestlye enjoyment quotient. they are as follows.
1. i no longer write. six months without my frantic scribbling and two without my journals (of the daily update and emotionally significant kind) have left me bottled, pent, charged, and without recourse to emotional support. it is unnatural.
2. i have not had an original thought or intellectual conversation (and no, post-modern media debates dont count. in shop full of phds without employment it's like breathing). i need stimulus. i need input. i need meaning.
3. and i need a partner. a dependable someone i know will be around. for these types of conversations for mystery science theatre or the opera. i want to stop splintering friends by event and emotional moment and having someones i can handle being me with, whatever that entails.
(4. being left to my own devices can be volatile.)
18 March 2006
familial freedoms
i love my family.
i mean, granted, waking up and feeling like a just ran 10 miles because of my fucking restless leg syndrome sucks. and the degenerative spine. and the fear of psychological damage. and all the other insanity i inherited that would have got my lynched a hundred years ago.
but sometimes i am so glad to have people who express me in ways i didn't know i needed. to feel understood and not alone even through the tiniest gesture is an amazing thing.
this morning, only a little worse for wear and emotionally complicated, i found my inbox flooded with family mass emails. uncle tom is compiling a Reid Code to distinguish prime numbers greater than 100. uncle john sent a naval observatory spreadsheet of compiled moon rise times and uncle bill debates the merits of getting a home server to network the family PCs.
so insignificant. trivial even. like the trinonym game. but something so wholly ours.
i may hate them. i may gripe. but it is really something to belong.
i mean, granted, waking up and feeling like a just ran 10 miles because of my fucking restless leg syndrome sucks. and the degenerative spine. and the fear of psychological damage. and all the other insanity i inherited that would have got my lynched a hundred years ago.
but sometimes i am so glad to have people who express me in ways i didn't know i needed. to feel understood and not alone even through the tiniest gesture is an amazing thing.
this morning, only a little worse for wear and emotionally complicated, i found my inbox flooded with family mass emails. uncle tom is compiling a Reid Code to distinguish prime numbers greater than 100. uncle john sent a naval observatory spreadsheet of compiled moon rise times and uncle bill debates the merits of getting a home server to network the family PCs.
so insignificant. trivial even. like the trinonym game. but something so wholly ours.
i may hate them. i may gripe. but it is really something to belong.
14 March 2006
aged like fine wine and just as imbecilic
i obviously cannot be trusted.
a long weekend away for work has yielded first edition penguins and narnia, needlepoint pillows, a polkadot chiffon dress to die for and a kitchy leather bookmark for my collection.
i am not sure if i am vintage sexy or quickly becoming geriatric.
ps:
a haiku of cambridge
bike baskets and hedge
pretentious yet dense hopes rage.
remember the good.
a long weekend away for work has yielded first edition penguins and narnia, needlepoint pillows, a polkadot chiffon dress to die for and a kitchy leather bookmark for my collection.
i am not sure if i am vintage sexy or quickly becoming geriatric.
ps:
a haiku of cambridge
bike baskets and hedge
pretentious yet dense hopes rage.
remember the good.
11 March 2006
so i am twenty minutes away from my first business trip.
i have 100 pounds of petty cash, a flight in my name - and other than the passport panic of this afternoon, am quite looking forward to a weekend in london and then a few days in cambridge to myself.
leave it to me to splurge and turn an afternoon meeting into a fullblown mini-break weekend.
but still. i hope the weather is nice. i'd like to bike along the Cam.
sometimes i wonder who's life i am living.
i have 100 pounds of petty cash, a flight in my name - and other than the passport panic of this afternoon, am quite looking forward to a weekend in london and then a few days in cambridge to myself.
leave it to me to splurge and turn an afternoon meeting into a fullblown mini-break weekend.
but still. i hope the weather is nice. i'd like to bike along the Cam.
sometimes i wonder who's life i am living.
10 March 2006
clinical observations
1. all women feeling the need to get up before dawn to que outside the emergency sexual health clinic are overdressed. we are repenting through sensible yet sexy clothes. my herringbone pencil skirt and bottleneck heels were not out of place at 7am.
2. there are four times more women than men.
3. no one reads the signs. no matter how well marked.
4. the men get called in faster, but come out later.
5. there is a kiddie play table for those minors left unchaparoned in the 3rd circle of purgatory. the poor bastards.
6. the amount of people over 30 are shocking.
7. non-chalance will always be feigned when 3 women poke up your cunt looking for evidence of the mistake.
2. there are four times more women than men.
3. no one reads the signs. no matter how well marked.
4. the men get called in faster, but come out later.
5. there is a kiddie play table for those minors left unchaparoned in the 3rd circle of purgatory. the poor bastards.
6. the amount of people over 30 are shocking.
7. non-chalance will always be feigned when 3 women poke up your cunt looking for evidence of the mistake.
02 March 2006
it's funny one can be plunged into existential dispair in a breathless moment or errant glance.
that or the fucking cold is getting to my brain.
but either way, what had been a manic and wild couple of weeks promising equal fun and flirtation in future has suddenly crashed and burned into a wallowing fog even a ripped copy of kelly clarkson cannot disipate.
this happened somewhere between 1 and 3 pm.
it's like i had been looking at the top 10% of my week figuring it was pretty damn good, and then suddenly I glanced at the lower percentile and thought it all a sham and couldn't look away from the carnage.
so here i am in trainers with pizza. you do the math.
that or the fucking cold is getting to my brain.
but either way, what had been a manic and wild couple of weeks promising equal fun and flirtation in future has suddenly crashed and burned into a wallowing fog even a ripped copy of kelly clarkson cannot disipate.
this happened somewhere between 1 and 3 pm.
it's like i had been looking at the top 10% of my week figuring it was pretty damn good, and then suddenly I glanced at the lower percentile and thought it all a sham and couldn't look away from the carnage.
so here i am in trainers with pizza. you do the math.
01 March 2006
Sam I Am.
so i am no longer in the depths of despair. maybe the shallows.
really i am just insanely bored with my life. it feels like i am endlessly waiting for this event, that raise, this vacation, that party. not bad things mind you. but the in between bits seem dull, unfulfilling and leave me a hairsbreath short of suicidal. mostly i think i might be lonely of actual companionship (i want to kill my flatmate with a dull blade these days.) well, and i haven't been laid in all of two weeks.
right, but on the brightside, liam and i have bonded over lost love and a lot of whiskey. when my friday night plans fell through we had one of those epic nights of insignificant randomness that indie film makers find seminal. jim jarmuch has nothing on our ennui and banter.
plus, had sunday girly brunch with waffles for dessert. i was skeptical of breakfast food as pudding, but lordy lordy. orgasm in a diner. orgasm on a plate. orgasm in my mouth. (why do I feel like the Xrated Dr. Seuss?)
in other news, i have given up beer and tea for lent. i find it slightly disconcerting i now drink copious amounts of coke and whiskey (not together, though can tipples at lunch be far off?). i think that might be cheating.
really i am just insanely bored with my life. it feels like i am endlessly waiting for this event, that raise, this vacation, that party. not bad things mind you. but the in between bits seem dull, unfulfilling and leave me a hairsbreath short of suicidal. mostly i think i might be lonely of actual companionship (i want to kill my flatmate with a dull blade these days.) well, and i haven't been laid in all of two weeks.
right, but on the brightside, liam and i have bonded over lost love and a lot of whiskey. when my friday night plans fell through we had one of those epic nights of insignificant randomness that indie film makers find seminal. jim jarmuch has nothing on our ennui and banter.
plus, had sunday girly brunch with waffles for dessert. i was skeptical of breakfast food as pudding, but lordy lordy. orgasm in a diner. orgasm on a plate. orgasm in my mouth. (why do I feel like the Xrated Dr. Seuss?)
in other news, i have given up beer and tea for lent. i find it slightly disconcerting i now drink copious amounts of coke and whiskey (not together, though can tipples at lunch be far off?). i think that might be cheating.
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".
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".
26 February 2006
25 February 2006
for fucks sake. you fucking mother fucking cunt. i hate you and hope you die a bloody horrible death. involving rabies and lacerations.
i have officially lost everything i have ever written on diary-x. 5 years of every honest confession and tiny dream and things i would never say outloud but needed to vent. its all my memories stored up since i couldnt hold them in my head. it is my first scotland. it was my seetha. it was my parent-proof daydreams and first dirty lesbian confessions. it was me.
i feel amputated.
i miss my sister more now because i cant hear her in monochromatic pinks at the click of a button anymore.
i miss my first forays into html.
i miss my most raw voice.
i miss me.
i have officially lost everything i have ever written on diary-x. 5 years of every honest confession and tiny dream and things i would never say outloud but needed to vent. its all my memories stored up since i couldnt hold them in my head. it is my first scotland. it was my seetha. it was my parent-proof daydreams and first dirty lesbian confessions. it was me.
i feel amputated.
i miss my sister more now because i cant hear her in monochromatic pinks at the click of a button anymore.
i miss my first forays into html.
i miss my most raw voice.
i miss me.
the cosmic horn
so i have a new favourite book. seriously. i know teen girl chick lit should be below mention, but jesus these are probably the funniest books i have ever read.
it's all bridget jones diary-esque, but a million times better and funnier because it's all the madness and cruel humour of first time confusion on all the subjects dear to romcom novels. seriously. the wisdomosity of the snog-o-meter has found its way into my daily texts.
i bring this up, as i will probably drop into Georgia dialect and you, my dear readers, won't have a clue what merde i am looning on about. (see? exactamente.)
so, the important things to know:
the specific horn - when your eyes and hormones are for your one and only Sex God
the general horn - when you have various and multiple horn inducers
the cosmic horn - when anything that moves seems like fair game.
also, red-bottomosity. as in female baboons get all ruddy in the nuddy-pants department when they are ready and willing and although more metaphorical, still a dilema of highest proportions in my mad mad world.
so my point is i totally have the cosmic horn and my redbottomosity has reached mass proportions.
i went home with a guy i used to work with last night.
a guy i have always found a bit of a laugh, who's twinkly blue eyes and irish lilt i decided ought to be mine for the night. i expressed this by grabbing his lapels and pulling him to me for a massive snog at the taxi rank.
in the morning we had a bit of a chat, a cup of tea, and absolutely no funny business. i like it clear cut, though in my hang over i did wish for a bit more of a cuddle.
i am beginning to worry about my levels of redbottomosity though. i was so full of the horn i gave little care to the fact that
1 - i was on my period
2 - i hadn't shaved in a week
3 - i had already had sex with a stranger this week.
4 - we ended up out in the end just he, me, and a co-worker i had already made out with previously
as to #1, i neglected to mention it until it was quite crucial. quite rude of me actually. i sort of feel bad. so no, we didn't have sex. i guess i have to amend the snog-o-meter. I'll say it was a 9.75 - lower body fondling in bed and somebody came.
#2 is only slightly embarassing, but is eclipsed by the fact i am sure i woke the whole bloody flat without thinking.
#3 speaks for itself and
#4 i made no effort to hide my intentions for the sake of propriety. i am the office whore.
my cup of hormones overfloweth. i am steeped in horn. it's kind of fantastic.
it's all bridget jones diary-esque, but a million times better and funnier because it's all the madness and cruel humour of first time confusion on all the subjects dear to romcom novels. seriously. the wisdomosity of the snog-o-meter has found its way into my daily texts.
i bring this up, as i will probably drop into Georgia dialect and you, my dear readers, won't have a clue what merde i am looning on about. (see? exactamente.)
so, the important things to know:
the specific horn - when your eyes and hormones are for your one and only Sex God
the general horn - when you have various and multiple horn inducers
the cosmic horn - when anything that moves seems like fair game.
also, red-bottomosity. as in female baboons get all ruddy in the nuddy-pants department when they are ready and willing and although more metaphorical, still a dilema of highest proportions in my mad mad world.
so my point is i totally have the cosmic horn and my redbottomosity has reached mass proportions.
i went home with a guy i used to work with last night.
a guy i have always found a bit of a laugh, who's twinkly blue eyes and irish lilt i decided ought to be mine for the night. i expressed this by grabbing his lapels and pulling him to me for a massive snog at the taxi rank.
in the morning we had a bit of a chat, a cup of tea, and absolutely no funny business. i like it clear cut, though in my hang over i did wish for a bit more of a cuddle.
i am beginning to worry about my levels of redbottomosity though. i was so full of the horn i gave little care to the fact that
1 - i was on my period
2 - i hadn't shaved in a week
3 - i had already had sex with a stranger this week.
4 - we ended up out in the end just he, me, and a co-worker i had already made out with previously
as to #1, i neglected to mention it until it was quite crucial. quite rude of me actually. i sort of feel bad. so no, we didn't have sex. i guess i have to amend the snog-o-meter. I'll say it was a 9.75 - lower body fondling in bed and somebody came.
#2 is only slightly embarassing, but is eclipsed by the fact i am sure i woke the whole bloody flat without thinking.
#3 speaks for itself and
#4 i made no effort to hide my intentions for the sake of propriety. i am the office whore.
my cup of hormones overfloweth. i am steeped in horn. it's kind of fantastic.
22 February 2006
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.
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.
19 February 2006
birthday
perhaps in recompense, or maybe to balance the debauchery of the celebrations so far, i have had a perfectly tame, G-rated day (lest you be afeared of declarations like those below dear reader).
well, unless you count a fahion faux pas as equally taboo and risque. kitted out in white lace skirt months after labor day, with an ashes of roses cardigan - that name probably being the only thing I got out of the Thornbirds - it has rhinstone flower buttons (eat your heart out jennie) with pink tweed heels to match, i set off to Glasgow, with teal handbag to hold the shoe-induced cab fare.
an hour on the train in the moorish lowlands dropped me in the depths of urban glasgow. a jaunt through a shopping haven and I was off to the Winter Gardens - the conservatory attached to the Peoples Palace on the Glasgow Green (yes they actually name shit like that).
A trio of violin, harp and flute serenaded my tropical cafe lunch, and then continued peeping though the palm trees as i read a book on Austen Mandy gave me for my birthday, perched on a bench hidden among the flora.
A wander through the palace, then a tour guide cabbie, and now I am home. Tranquil, rested, and inspired to begin Persuasion for the third time in my life. Perhaps I am old enough now to not be bored by quietude and lost love.
Or perhaps I still dream of romance, even if i'll 69 a stranger.
well, unless you count a fahion faux pas as equally taboo and risque. kitted out in white lace skirt months after labor day, with an ashes of roses cardigan - that name probably being the only thing I got out of the Thornbirds - it has rhinstone flower buttons (eat your heart out jennie) with pink tweed heels to match, i set off to Glasgow, with teal handbag to hold the shoe-induced cab fare.
an hour on the train in the moorish lowlands dropped me in the depths of urban glasgow. a jaunt through a shopping haven and I was off to the Winter Gardens - the conservatory attached to the Peoples Palace on the Glasgow Green (yes they actually name shit like that).
A trio of violin, harp and flute serenaded my tropical cafe lunch, and then continued peeping though the palm trees as i read a book on Austen Mandy gave me for my birthday, perched on a bench hidden among the flora.
A wander through the palace, then a tour guide cabbie, and now I am home. Tranquil, rested, and inspired to begin Persuasion for the third time in my life. Perhaps I am old enough now to not be bored by quietude and lost love.
Or perhaps I still dream of romance, even if i'll 69 a stranger.
18 February 2006
observations amidst the aftermath
it's a (relatively) sunny morning and i'm taking this opportunity to go over the last twelve hours - as always, in list form
a, carmen sandiego is fucking sexy. best present ever.
b, a birthday party in your mid-twenties is two things - amazingly fun as you are old enough to enjoy it without worry, and offensively depressing. i cannot count the number of vague male aquaintences and friends of friends who showed, obviously keen, thinking a birthday girl is desperate to get laid. although assuming post-party sex is by no means a bad idea, deigning the sad lonely single girl a one nighter just because she is easy is sad, rude, and cruel. i won't deny the attention was flattering and the amount of choice intriguing, but come on lads - i'm not laying it out there just because i feel old.
c, that said, i didn't even ask his name and said i was meeting someone for brunch to get him out the door this morning. i did however give him my number after his convoluted attempts. it was the least i could do.
d, can you accidentally have anal sex?
e, never do birthday shots of whiskey after a whole pitcher of margaritas (i love my new blender). well, go ahead, but dont be surprised to find bloody mary mix in the carpet, buffy in the dvd player, and a cigarette stubbed out on your copy of cunt after - could my friends be any weirder?.
f, always wait until the guests have left to initiate party sex - or at least remove their coats from your room so they stop interrupting.
g, birthday cards are best when they have superhero cartoons blazened with "atomic babe" on them. especially when signed with enigmatic (which is really just poncy british boy - i kid myself) "happy birthday my love!" from ugly sexy.
h, having popped my rectal cherry, i am having gaseous troubles today. or maybe that's the "lamb and mint" flavoured crisps talking.
i, sonja made me a mobile. it's lovely.
j, corsets should be everyday apparell
k, i am so glad homemade soup is in my future, i have on my favourite cardy, and i still have a whole day of birthday ahead of me.
a, carmen sandiego is fucking sexy. best present ever.
b, a birthday party in your mid-twenties is two things - amazingly fun as you are old enough to enjoy it without worry, and offensively depressing. i cannot count the number of vague male aquaintences and friends of friends who showed, obviously keen, thinking a birthday girl is desperate to get laid. although assuming post-party sex is by no means a bad idea, deigning the sad lonely single girl a one nighter just because she is easy is sad, rude, and cruel. i won't deny the attention was flattering and the amount of choice intriguing, but come on lads - i'm not laying it out there just because i feel old.
c, that said, i didn't even ask his name and said i was meeting someone for brunch to get him out the door this morning. i did however give him my number after his convoluted attempts. it was the least i could do.
d, can you accidentally have anal sex?
e, never do birthday shots of whiskey after a whole pitcher of margaritas (i love my new blender). well, go ahead, but dont be surprised to find bloody mary mix in the carpet, buffy in the dvd player, and a cigarette stubbed out on your copy of cunt after - could my friends be any weirder?.
f, always wait until the guests have left to initiate party sex - or at least remove their coats from your room so they stop interrupting.
g, birthday cards are best when they have superhero cartoons blazened with "atomic babe" on them. especially when signed with enigmatic (which is really just poncy british boy - i kid myself) "happy birthday my love!" from ugly sexy.
h, having popped my rectal cherry, i am having gaseous troubles today. or maybe that's the "lamb and mint" flavoured crisps talking.
i, sonja made me a mobile. it's lovely.
j, corsets should be everyday apparell
k, i am so glad homemade soup is in my future, i have on my favourite cardy, and i still have a whole day of birthday ahead of me.
17 February 2006
i am le tired.
no, not just regular type. french apocalyptic type.
i love that in my world (namely that which my brother has forced upon me until i consider it normal) internet-cartoon references are a legitimate mode of dialog.
no, not just regular type. french apocalyptic type.
i love that in my world (namely that which my brother has forced upon me until i consider it normal) internet-cartoon references are a legitimate mode of dialog.
16 February 2006
"a pox on that shit"
it's official ladies and gentlemen (actually, are there any out there who read this? a world of no.).
spring fever is upon us.
i am getting the sexy red fedora as my pressie from leslie tomorrow and will totally be curling my hair, which i dont think i have done since sadie hawkins senior year. it is going to kick so much ass.
and i am not even all that bothered ugly sexy can't come (though he seemed quite disappointed) as i have found out he is a serial monogomist. nix. a pox on that shit.
i digress. through a promotional scotland tourism thing, i have been sent this. I am partial to the buffalo farmer i think only because that is ridculous.
the manhunt has begun in the wilds of scotland. may i be debauched in the bracken as soon as it thaws.
spring fever is upon us.
i am getting the sexy red fedora as my pressie from leslie tomorrow and will totally be curling my hair, which i dont think i have done since sadie hawkins senior year. it is going to kick so much ass.
and i am not even all that bothered ugly sexy can't come (though he seemed quite disappointed) as i have found out he is a serial monogomist. nix. a pox on that shit.
i digress. through a promotional scotland tourism thing, i have been sent this. I am partial to the buffalo farmer i think only because that is ridculous.
the manhunt has begun in the wilds of scotland. may i be debauched in the bracken as soon as it thaws.
15 February 2006
itemization
a. i miss d-x. where else can i whinge about damp tights and rave about croci and know my mom will write me a sweet note about it later? wow that's pathetic.
b. two days in a row now i have been caught in the blistering sheets of icy death known as spring showers. if i am sick for my party so help me god, someone will die. probably me. from mixing pnemonia and gin.
c. my party requires every guest wear a hat, crown or headress of their choosing. today i went shopping for my hat. it's down to a lace-veiled wide brimmed sunhat ala scarlett o'hara (though i won't be adding the killer 50s prom dress i found with it at the vintage place) or red fedora with tipped brim. it is like Else on the runway meets Carmen Sandiego. Sounds like I am leaning towards the fedora. Sexy is always better. And when satin corsets can be a legitimate addition, this party is going to rock.
d. i made homemade chicken pot pie. but made the crust too thin and it sank into the filling. now its more like dumplings. yummy ugly dumplings.
e. i am wearing my sweet 16 pearls. the year of social death. the year of my first kiss and RB (thank god not together) and the infamous Molly. the year between Purv and Olstad. the year of HOBY. the year i realized what i was wearing and cried. the year i left Okemos behind. birthdays are fucking weird man.
f. for once in all my remembered past, i don't want sex for my birthday. well, not first and only sex. is it ironic it is the first birthday i am not a virgin?
b. two days in a row now i have been caught in the blistering sheets of icy death known as spring showers. if i am sick for my party so help me god, someone will die. probably me. from mixing pnemonia and gin.
c. my party requires every guest wear a hat, crown or headress of their choosing. today i went shopping for my hat. it's down to a lace-veiled wide brimmed sunhat ala scarlett o'hara (though i won't be adding the killer 50s prom dress i found with it at the vintage place) or red fedora with tipped brim. it is like Else on the runway meets Carmen Sandiego. Sounds like I am leaning towards the fedora. Sexy is always better. And when satin corsets can be a legitimate addition, this party is going to rock.
d. i made homemade chicken pot pie. but made the crust too thin and it sank into the filling. now its more like dumplings. yummy ugly dumplings.
e. i am wearing my sweet 16 pearls. the year of social death. the year of my first kiss and RB (thank god not together) and the infamous Molly. the year between Purv and Olstad. the year of HOBY. the year i realized what i was wearing and cried. the year i left Okemos behind. birthdays are fucking weird man.
f. for once in all my remembered past, i don't want sex for my birthday. well, not first and only sex. is it ironic it is the first birthday i am not a virgin?
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