Saturday, 31 July 2010

Where is the love?

When I said "To be honest, it wasn't until this morning that I realised how much it did hurt..." and that's because that feeling is missing!

And I feel incredible.

I'm all out of love, specifically, I am out of crushes, sweethearts and objects for my affection. For the first time in a long long time I awoke without thought nor fantasy for a man.

I'm not in love, lust or anything...

A clean slate!

Is this officially the first time I have allowed my heart to actually heal?! No fucking way... Call me 30-without-baggage! (Actually let's not curse it just yet...)




Obi Won't

The last time I was excited about Obi Wank, it was akin to planning the perfect heist. I had a plan... Think Ocean's 30!

I drafted an email, something along the lines of:

As with most things, and using a rather crude metaphor I have can attempt to deal with this in two speeds: Full steam or trying my damnedest to steer the ship around? So this is one final attempt of full steam.

I miss you.

In your entirety; mentally, emotionally, physically and intellectually. I miss our dialogue, banter, intimacy and general view on life, locally and globally. I miss the laughter, the good times and the boogie. Sexually, my body craves your body, mentally, my mind is stimulated by your brain and your laugh lightens me.

I want you to be in my life and vice versa, to what extent who knows, but life is vapid without you.

A not-so-wise man once said to me that alcohol loosens one's inhibitions to uncover true feelings. I stop myself short of calling you during daylight hours as sensible me is not sure it's welcome, however after usually a night where I am in good spirits it is you I want to talk to, scrub that, it's you I want to have good nights with. I'm not going to arrogantly assume that I have hurt you immensely, but if I did, I am infinitely sorry. Anything I did was not out of malice, but out of (a sometimes misguided) self-preservation strategy, one that was vetoed a long time ago.

A suggestion if I may?

I have booked a weekend away in Bruges for a weekend over Easter and would love for you to join me, and see if we can regain some sort of friendship and what's the worse that can happen...


I ran the draft past a male friend and he was apprehensive:

Friend: Oh God, girl.
I hope it works out!

Thirty: What have I got to lose?
It seems my sanity has gone.
One Eurostar ticket?

Friend: The price of a Eurostar ticket?!

Thirty: Jinx!

Friend: I want to hug you so much right now!

Thirty: What is money, in the scheme of hings.
things even!



I didn't make the adjustments I was planning to nor even send the email, as in the interim, Obi Wank emailed me. To say bluntly, he didn't think we should be in contact, the end. It was cold and controlled.

I read his email over and over again until it stopped hurting or at least until the physical retching had ceased. To be honest, it wasn't until this morning that I realised how much it did hurt and that's more to do with the fact it's stopped hurting.

To be continued...



The ones that didn't get away... unscathed!

Fishy's countdown of girls that got away... had me thinking of my own escapees and near-misses and I couldn't think of anyone that that fitted that category AND I hadn't had sex with.  


These are those that got away AFTER we had sex:


Barryless


The nice pretty boy.  We dated intensely as teenagers, I mistook his niceness for being boring.  He wasn't boring, he sent me a six page letter stating how much he cared for me, and how much his feelings scared him and how that debilitated his opinion on anything.  Barryless agreed with EVERYTHING I said, did, thought, until we broke up.  When I see him nowadays, I think what if,  but the power balance would never allow it - he still acts like a puppy around me - minus the uncontrollable urine.


Mr ASBO


If ASBOs were around when I was a teenager, he would have had the whole set.  He was the ultimate bad boy, but he was a little too wayward for my teenage kicks...  I left before his first arrest, imagine if I hadn't - I could have been the Bonnie to his Clyde!  Eeek!


Obi Wank 


He chased me, then I chased him. We had amazing sex.  We just didn't chase each other at the same time.  I would say I'm over him and never think of him, but that would be a MASSIVE untruth, there is even a blog dedicated to him, and all the things I should have said, would have done differently and could do...


That said if I had to choose being best friends for those years vs the unknown "what if"...  I would go for the solid friendship - at least that was real.  Even though we would be fucking great together. 


To be continued...



Friday, 30 July 2010

30 things every women should stop doing once she turns 30

I enjoyed turning thirty.  For me - it enabled me to file all my *cough* decision-making-experimentation-and-random-sexual-escapades under "Shit I did in my twenties".

A new line was drawn.  Hooray!

That said why am I drawn to articles like this - c/o The Frisky's 30 things every women should stop doing once she turns 30.  Here goes (together with my comments in red):
  1. Buying clothes from the junior section. Does Tammy Girl still exist!?!
  2. Forgetting her parents’ birthdays. Chance would be a fine thing - they both still believe in Birthday Santa.
  3. Making out with her BFFs at bars for attention. Pass.
  4. Making out with her boyfriend at bars for attention. Pass.
  5. Filling her bed with stuffed animals (really, even one is too many). Pass.
  6. Carrying a torch for anyone she hasn’t seen in the last five years. How about someone I haven't seen for one year, four months, nine days...?
  7. Rebelling against her parents for the sake of rebelling against her parents. Pass.
  8. Declaring an entire gender “all jerks.” Ha... tempting, but why rule them all out!
  9. Holding a grudge against anyone who wronged her in high school. Pass.
  10. Skipping regular gyno exams. Hell yeah!
  11. Going to bed without washing and moisturizing her face. Ooops...
  12. Being “that person” who had a bit too much to drink at the office party. Pass.
  13. Crushing on Justin Bieber. Who?!
  14. Thinking she’s got it all figured out. That would never happen.
  15. Calling her father “daddy.” Pass!
  16. Engaging in sibling rivalry. I will never be too old not to engage in sibling rivalry.
  17. Trying to get by on her looks. I wish!
  18. Living paycheck to paycheck. I'm living a method I like to call 'Save a months salary, spend a months salary'...
  19. Expecting a man/knight in shining armor to swoop in and save her. I didn't realise this was still an option?
  20. Aimlessly jumping from job to job. Pass.
  21. Using MySpace to pick up guys. How about Twitter?!
  22. Expecting a man to do all the wooing. Not just a little bit...?
  23. Wishing she had someone else’s life. Pass.
  24. Expecting everyone to drop everything because it’s her birthday ... Done.
  25. ... or because her “boyfriend” of two weeks dumped her. I prefer to wallow alone.  And rebound with others.
  26. Measuring her self-worth by a number on the scale. Pass.
  27. Being cheap. Pass.
  28. Quitting a job without having a new one lined up first (especially in this economy!). Hell no...
  29. Blaming her mother for all her issues. Never!
  30. Romanticizing her 20s. Like I said, it's all filed away "Shit I did in my twenties".


To bush or not to bush

Following the hirsute underwear, it seems hair is en vogue:

2. Leave A Little Hair: For now, Brazil has won the pubic battle, but some guys don’t want going bare to win the war. “Too many women are too bald,” said one guy. “There are lots of guys that like the ‘70s porn star look. Goddamn, I’ll take a ‘70s porn star—who actually looks like a real woman—over a contemporary porn star—who looks like a plastic cyborg Barbie—any day.” Just a sec, I need to replace my waxer’s number in my phone with this guy’s digits.

To bush or not to bush?



Saturday, 24 July 2010

Doing it better with Billy Crystal

I was having a very bad day at work.  One of those days, where the prospect of being an unemployed, homeless, smack addict would actually feel like a promotion.

Recently I have spent too much time thinking, trying to prioritise, by the time I've made a decision, it was too late, another day had passed...  Yesterday morning, I spent so long thinking about going for a run, that I didn't have time for one - AND - I was still late for work.

For some well earned respite I ended up in a pub, City Slickers was playing.  Loud music played over the film but it was kindly-subtitled-for-her-pleasure. What can I say? Billy Crystal's neurosis relaxes me - even in subtitles!  There is a revelation for the protagonist, Mitch, deciding rather than to quit or complain, he will embrace life:

Barbara Robbins: You know Mitch? I've been thinking. If you really hate your job, why don't you just get out of there? 
Mitch Robbins: No, I'm just going to do it better. I'm going to do everything better. 

It was as if the clouds opened and the angels were chanting DO IT THIRTY!

No more worrying and agonising about what I should be doing versus what I want to be doing: I'm going to do what I want to do.  I intend to do it - obviously while wearing some-personalised-sweatshop-originating-attire and of course - better!

Shit, is this an after school special or what?!

*Vomit*

Do it better?

*Vomit some more*

The Stalk

Last Christmas, I was using social networking for anti-social reasons.  With the help of Facebook statuses, there were at least two too many exes in my local vacinity also celebrating the joy that is colleagues and Christmas.  Twitter and Foursquare had given me a more detailed heads-up (The Drummer at EC1M, Pussy Boy at EC4M and me partying in EC4Y) I ended up drinking way over my wine quota and forgetting all about it...  until today:

How to become a Foursquare stalker c/o The Guardian -  http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/2010/jul/23/foursquare

Talk about a reminder of not only the accessibility but the temptation of a sneaky peek!

Monday, 12 July 2010

Bank Holiday Bonk

I love the word bonk.  It reminds be of being a teenager in French lessons, trying to suppress a giggle in the midst asking directions to the local bank.

Over the Spring Bank Holiday, I was invited to a night of naughtiness.  Without time to think, or more aptly think of an excuse, I agreed.  I was actually excited.

It was fancy dress (of sorts), I had three hours to organise a costume, get ready and somehow fit in the weekly shop.  Why the weekly shop?  Well, if I was to arrive home in the early hours of a Sunday morning without a fully stocked kitchen, it would not be a pretty sight.  I like my morning after to be as enjoyable as the night before...

We, a female friend and I, arrived with little time to spare.  I was her beard for the evening.  The place was packed, wall to wall were uniforms, costumes albeit some very little costumes, but importantly laughter.  I relaxed, had a drink and spent the next hour as a happy voyeur.

Thankfully I hadn't brought the big pants with me, though the small lacy pair I was wearing were sopping not long after we arrived.  I always think that maybe being a voyeur is enough for me.  But not for long.

I danced, I kissed, I touched.

In a playroom I found myself undressing a man in a military uniform, almost in a dreamlike sequence, some hand play, a reach for a condom, and I was on top of him, grinding his penis with my vagina.  Before I came to orgasm, I had a sweeping realisation that I wasn't going to.  Can I assume my days of anonymous sex were no longer hitting it?  Surely not. For the love of a good orgasm though, I couldn't switch off my thoughts.  He climaxed.  We kissed.  He looked eager to finish me off, but it seemed more for his satisfaction than mine.

I drank more, watched more.  Shared a taxi back to someone's hotel suite, wanked off a pretty boy and called a taxi before almost definitely passing out.

My libido needs to be located and sharpish!

As it happens, I didn't manage to fit in the weekly shop, and the dulling-of-inhibitions-hangover was cured by a man, on a motorbike with food in disposable containers.




Friday, 9 July 2010

The Two Men

I have a close female friend who goes out with the same type of man over and over again.  I wonder if she hadn't told us to expect a new man, we would be able to actually notice a new beau had appeared.  For he is always over six foot, a rugby build, an Oxbridge background and usually named "Thomas, but please call me Tom...".

Better the devil you know, right?!

Me, slightly smug in that I don't go for the same man repeatedly was suddenly dumbstruck:

I am attracted to the opposite of my last relationship, fling, embrace, which now to my horror suggests that one i.e. me can only do opposite once before being back with what I started with!

Like I said, I am attracted to extreme opposites.  I have relationships with the same TWO men.  My first live-in boyfriend was an Alpha Male, strong, almost arrogant.  He was quickly replaced by a sensitive, shy almost painfully so, artist stroke musician.  Then it was back to the extrovert, the God of Thunder and all things overbearingly loud.

Tall vs short
Extrovert vs introvert
Annoyingly loud vs annoyingly quiet

The list goes on...
The list goes in the bin...