Thanksgiving dinner was a delightful mixture of good friends, hilarious conversation, fantastic food and too much wine which culminated in us hitting a bar at which point we started talking to a chirpy bunch of Irish lads.
One of my friends, Miss Mascara ended up going home with one cute kid and whilst the other was funny, there really wasn't a spark so I left at a reasonable hour. Her memory isn't that clear on the whole night but as it turns out, after she wakes up, his sister is here to stay so best pretend she was with his flat mate. She comes downstairs and is duly interrogated by the sister - not about chosen man, but the flat mate - who, and I know it's not really a laughing matter but, TRIED TO HANG HIMSELF when they had got home.
Men are reduced to giving up on life after speaking me. We've hit a new low.
But even more peculiar this kid emails today and wants to go out for drinks next week? Huh? What the?
It's not enough I can't find a nice normal guy to have a nice normal relationship with, now I'm killing them?
Friday, November 27
Thursday, November 26
Wednesday, November 25
Noli me tangere quia Caesaris sum. Do not touch me for I am Ceasar's
Marriages and the stuff of Kings. That's what I've been stagnantly focused on for most of the day. Or more specifically the string of women associated with good ole' Henry. Britain's Henry VIII gave up his wife of 18 years Katherine of Aragon to marry Anne Boleyn, then gave her up to marry Jane Seymour, followed by Anne of Cleves, then Katherine Howard and finally Catherine Parr. The guy was unstoppable by the standards of the day.
It's the stuff my nightmares are made of. I know it's not rational but I somehow feel this disposable wife thing is more common in the minds of Kings. That they are easily able to throw over and throw away things that require work or no longer suit them and demand something prettier, more pleasing and more pliable. But who is to say that it is any more common for Kings and Queens than it is for others? Does a crown necessarily denote someone's fickleness?
Why is it that I'm not terrified of being in a relationship in this case, even before it's offered a beginning, I'm more terrified it will end? And more than anything I am terrified it will end with the intrusion of someone else.
Is that rational? I'm sure it must be but are the stakes any higher with anyone in particular? King/Queen/Jack/Ace? I've survived break ups before, I've survived many, many of them so what makes me dubious about it all. From the get-go? About him, about Caesar? Am I afraid of what I know will happen, or what might?
Perhaps half my trouble is that with power and position you don't really date the man, you date a family, an empire, you date traditions and frankly, you run the risk of losing yourself. Well, it's taken me too long to find myself to throw her away. And I think that, right there, losing myself, is the thing I'm more afraid of than anything. It's not a marriage beginning, it's not a marriage ending, it's losing me. And the only way I've come up with to avoid that is to find an equal who, in every way, stands next to you, never above or below you. And I don't think the King of Spades was raised to be anyone's equal.
So perhaps it's a case of, sorry Caesar, I just don't know if this is going to work out. The distance, the kingdom - you know, all that stuff. I'm just not sure it's really 'me'. Maybe we can just go back to being friends? Ok? Wanna smoke shisha and do shots instead?
It's the stuff my nightmares are made of. I know it's not rational but I somehow feel this disposable wife thing is more common in the minds of Kings. That they are easily able to throw over and throw away things that require work or no longer suit them and demand something prettier, more pleasing and more pliable. But who is to say that it is any more common for Kings and Queens than it is for others? Does a crown necessarily denote someone's fickleness?
Why is it that I'm not terrified of being in a relationship in this case, even before it's offered a beginning, I'm more terrified it will end? And more than anything I am terrified it will end with the intrusion of someone else.
Is that rational? I'm sure it must be but are the stakes any higher with anyone in particular? King/Queen/Jack/Ace? I've survived break ups before, I've survived many, many of them so what makes me dubious about it all. From the get-go? About him, about Caesar? Am I afraid of what I know will happen, or what might?
Perhaps half my trouble is that with power and position you don't really date the man, you date a family, an empire, you date traditions and frankly, you run the risk of losing yourself. Well, it's taken me too long to find myself to throw her away. And I think that, right there, losing myself, is the thing I'm more afraid of than anything. It's not a marriage beginning, it's not a marriage ending, it's losing me. And the only way I've come up with to avoid that is to find an equal who, in every way, stands next to you, never above or below you. And I don't think the King of Spades was raised to be anyone's equal.
So perhaps it's a case of, sorry Caesar, I just don't know if this is going to work out. The distance, the kingdom - you know, all that stuff. I'm just not sure it's really 'me'. Maybe we can just go back to being friends? Ok? Wanna smoke shisha and do shots instead?
Tuesday, November 24
Say no evil, dream no evil
I'm in a bit of a pickle. Saturday night after a few drinks with the wonderful Miss McQueen and having eaten a grand total of a single sandwich all day, I suddenly found myself receiving a call from the King of Spades. He had been out hunting all day and I think he was just thinking of me. But as it turns out I was a little more drunk than I thought since I can't really remember the conversation. I do remember he had me in tears at one stage. I must have admitted I still had feelings for him and must have told him that I was disappointed he never made more of an effort to make things work - or frankly even make things formal between us because he's been messaging and calling ever since. And last night he even brought up the conversation saying he 'never realised half the things I had told him'. Ah oh. Problem.
Despite the mysterious conversation, I'm now trying to piece together; my problem is, and our problem has always been - we live on opposite sides of the world in opposite cultures. And to me, that's a HUGE problem.
That's not so bad you say. Well I beg to differ, he's of the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' variety and conversely, I've tried to do the long distance thing. And I side with the 'out of sight, out of mind' crowd. Long distance...simply put? It doesn't work, no matter how much I love someone when I'm with them, and I miss them when they're not there, you can't 'get close' with an ocean between you. It's not possible. Sorry to burst any bubbles. Yes, you can talk, yes you can listen, yes, you can learn a lot about the other person - but to me, nothing beats the good old fashioned one on one interaction that you get when you spend time (in person) with someone.
It's the same reason I refuse to internet date. How can you know who someone is with just words? Hemmingway / Take That and the Bee Gees all wrote, 'It's only words and words are all I have'. Well I don't plan on ending up that way. Don't get me wrong, words are great, some of the most special gifts anyone has ever given me were composed entirely of words. Promises, dreams, declarations of love, poetry, little songs, screaming matches, stories and letters - and all composed almost entirely of words. And yet in the end - they mean virtually nothing. Its the actions. The stolen flower on a Sunday afternoon walk, the opening of a door, the smile when your frowning, the arm around a shoulder, the presentation of a ring and the gentle nudge toward the steepest waterslide you were dying to ride until you looked down from a glorious height. Those are the things that matter.
And so once again, he and I have ended up back at the beginning, not by any fault of our own, but by virtue of circumstance. And I fear because we don't live close enough to date seriously again, fall completely in love, panic, fight, get sick of each other, dissipate and fall apart we're going to be left dreaming. And if it's even possible, I think dreaming is even worse than talking. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil - i think there should be another one...dream no evil.
Despite the mysterious conversation, I'm now trying to piece together; my problem is, and our problem has always been - we live on opposite sides of the world in opposite cultures. And to me, that's a HUGE problem.
That's not so bad you say. Well I beg to differ, he's of the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' variety and conversely, I've tried to do the long distance thing. And I side with the 'out of sight, out of mind' crowd. Long distance...simply put? It doesn't work, no matter how much I love someone when I'm with them, and I miss them when they're not there, you can't 'get close' with an ocean between you. It's not possible. Sorry to burst any bubbles. Yes, you can talk, yes you can listen, yes, you can learn a lot about the other person - but to me, nothing beats the good old fashioned one on one interaction that you get when you spend time (in person) with someone.
It's the same reason I refuse to internet date. How can you know who someone is with just words? Hemmingway / Take That and the Bee Gees all wrote, 'It's only words and words are all I have'. Well I don't plan on ending up that way. Don't get me wrong, words are great, some of the most special gifts anyone has ever given me were composed entirely of words. Promises, dreams, declarations of love, poetry, little songs, screaming matches, stories and letters - and all composed almost entirely of words. And yet in the end - they mean virtually nothing. Its the actions. The stolen flower on a Sunday afternoon walk, the opening of a door, the smile when your frowning, the arm around a shoulder, the presentation of a ring and the gentle nudge toward the steepest waterslide you were dying to ride until you looked down from a glorious height. Those are the things that matter.
And so once again, he and I have ended up back at the beginning, not by any fault of our own, but by virtue of circumstance. And I fear because we don't live close enough to date seriously again, fall completely in love, panic, fight, get sick of each other, dissipate and fall apart we're going to be left dreaming. And if it's even possible, I think dreaming is even worse than talking. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil - i think there should be another one...dream no evil.
Monday, November 23
I might not have felt at home when I got there, but I sure as hell didn't want to leave!
There are some landmarks we really aren't that excited to reach. School, work, adulthood, the grocery store, home after a great night out, the pee stained end of the swimming pool, our room in an old people's home, the cemetery, or anywhere playing bad 80's slasher music.
I'm currently not that excited to get to 25. I'd love to do a re-run of 24, but to be honest, I'm not really sure how far that year got me either. Perhaps I should look back and nominate the perfect year. And there, yet again, I'm stuck - there doesn't seem to be a year I can pin point and scream - YES! THERE! THAT WAS IT! STOP THE TAPE! LETS FILM IT AGAIN!
My 18th year involved a lot of terrified sneaking into American University night clubs, the 19th a lot of arrogant skating over my studies when all I wanted was to be done, my 20th a lot of day-time sleeping in front of a computer in NYC the solution to which I thought was to run away to France and eat too much, my 21st year was about a spectacular party, but I had to wait till December for that - so it ended up being a year of waiting. The 22nd year was all about screaming around the desert and the world, but I didn't have family or friends with me - so that was just hard. 23 was all about a man who ended up getting more attention than he was worth and thus we reach the year of 24 - this year. I'm only just settling into my 24th year skin, and now I'm meant to try the next size on? I don't think so, it's not going to fit, I don't like the colour of it, it looks funny and I don't have ANY shoes to match it, I can tell you that now.
And quite frankly, why do I need to change my outfit? I don't look cute anymore? Is this all about getting older, wiser, more clever, rounded or worldly? If wiser is what I'm meant to be getting what do I make of the fact that frankly I just think I'm getting more drunk on a more regular basis? And even more shockingly - what if that thought doesn't bother me in the slightest. You lot get married - I'll get drunk.
I refuse to give up my sparkly mini shorts, my cocktail habit, my penchant for stupid dancing, my love of chips and twizlers, my obsession with cheesy pop music and my short-attention span dating. And yes, I probably said all this last year. But upon reflection, turning 24 wasn't so bad. And sure, I might not have felt at home when I got there, but I sure as hell don't want to leave now!
I'm currently not that excited to get to 25. I'd love to do a re-run of 24, but to be honest, I'm not really sure how far that year got me either. Perhaps I should look back and nominate the perfect year. And there, yet again, I'm stuck - there doesn't seem to be a year I can pin point and scream - YES! THERE! THAT WAS IT! STOP THE TAPE! LETS FILM IT AGAIN!
My 18th year involved a lot of terrified sneaking into American University night clubs, the 19th a lot of arrogant skating over my studies when all I wanted was to be done, my 20th a lot of day-time sleeping in front of a computer in NYC the solution to which I thought was to run away to France and eat too much, my 21st year was about a spectacular party, but I had to wait till December for that - so it ended up being a year of waiting. The 22nd year was all about screaming around the desert and the world, but I didn't have family or friends with me - so that was just hard. 23 was all about a man who ended up getting more attention than he was worth and thus we reach the year of 24 - this year. I'm only just settling into my 24th year skin, and now I'm meant to try the next size on? I don't think so, it's not going to fit, I don't like the colour of it, it looks funny and I don't have ANY shoes to match it, I can tell you that now.
And quite frankly, why do I need to change my outfit? I don't look cute anymore? Is this all about getting older, wiser, more clever, rounded or worldly? If wiser is what I'm meant to be getting what do I make of the fact that frankly I just think I'm getting more drunk on a more regular basis? And even more shockingly - what if that thought doesn't bother me in the slightest. You lot get married - I'll get drunk.
I refuse to give up my sparkly mini shorts, my cocktail habit, my penchant for stupid dancing, my love of chips and twizlers, my obsession with cheesy pop music and my short-attention span dating. And yes, I probably said all this last year. But upon reflection, turning 24 wasn't so bad. And sure, I might not have felt at home when I got there, but I sure as hell don't want to leave now!
Friday, November 20
Revenge isn't always a bitch- I'm rather nice!
"She's the kind of gal you get in your head a can never really get her out. You know it can never be, but a piece of her always remains inside." I came across this little gem today. And I hope its true of every man who has ever loved me.
It's the kind of egotistical thing that you not meant to say, out loud, but do. Well at least to yourself.
I had an older friend who was with a girl for 5 years in his early 20's. He got to 26 and decided that he didn't want to be tied down. He duly broke it off and spent the rest of his life looking for a woman just like her. And by the time he got to 50 it was too late and he'd never found her. He did get married, but he always regretted that the original girl was never his wife. He knew she was 'the one'.
I think secretly I've always wished that of every man with whom I've had some sort of serious relationship.
You don't know what you've got till it's gone - but by then it's usually too late to get it back. I don't mind that thought, as long its - you don't know what you've got till it's gone, and then you'll regret it forever. And if that makes me vengeful so what- we all want to be remembered, for me it's by those who loved and lost.
And to be honest about it it's because I'll always remember them.
It's the kind of egotistical thing that you not meant to say, out loud, but do. Well at least to yourself.
I had an older friend who was with a girl for 5 years in his early 20's. He got to 26 and decided that he didn't want to be tied down. He duly broke it off and spent the rest of his life looking for a woman just like her. And by the time he got to 50 it was too late and he'd never found her. He did get married, but he always regretted that the original girl was never his wife. He knew she was 'the one'.
I think secretly I've always wished that of every man with whom I've had some sort of serious relationship.
You don't know what you've got till it's gone - but by then it's usually too late to get it back. I don't mind that thought, as long its - you don't know what you've got till it's gone, and then you'll regret it forever. And if that makes me vengeful so what- we all want to be remembered, for me it's by those who loved and lost.
And to be honest about it it's because I'll always remember them.
Thursday, November 19
What's the expiry date on the milk?
A 7 hour lunch with The Milkman, followed by a 3 hour dinner last night? Really?
What's happening to me? I'm so used to getting bored by the end of date two I've forgotten what it's like to 'like' someone...this is bad.
And now I stare expectantly at my phone when I send him a messages instead of ignoring the damn thing for days. OMG. This is killing me. They'll find me dead tomorrow morning. Tox test clear but the wall around my heart starting to erode. This is bad. Very bad.
What's happening to me? I'm so used to getting bored by the end of date two I've forgotten what it's like to 'like' someone...this is bad.
And now I stare expectantly at my phone when I send him a messages instead of ignoring the damn thing for days. OMG. This is killing me. They'll find me dead tomorrow morning. Tox test clear but the wall around my heart starting to erode. This is bad. Very bad.
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