Because I have the worst case of writer's block, I have been very sad, I am working stupid overtime at the moment and have been neglectful of you lovely people, I have decided to cheat a little and have stolen this little meme from Chloe...
ARE YOU:
1. A Cuddler? I used to be, I'm getting there... although I love cuddling when I am hungover.
2. A morning person? There's a reason I live alone...
3. Are you a perfectionist? Occasionally
4. An only child? I'm the youngest
5. Catholic: No. Thankfully. I'm Buddhist
6. In your pajamas? Nope. But soon to be.
7. Currently suffering from a broken heart? Undecided on how leaving London has left me. Perhaps broken hearted a wee bit.
8. Okay styling other people's hair? My god, have you seen the mess on top of my head?
9. Left handed? A wee bit.
10. Addicted to MySpace? I hate it. Hate it. Only back there to see Leonie.
11. Shy around the opposite gender? Depends... *wink*
12. Loud? No comment.
DO YOU:
12. Bite your nails? No
13. Get paranoid at times? Not really, depends on the caffeine intake
14. Currently regret something that you have said/done? I wish I had told some people in my life how much they meant to me sooner. Other than that, not much.
15. Curse frequently when you get mad? Erm, yeeeeeeeeesss... in a variety of languages and tones
16. Enjoy country music? No
17. Enjoy jazz music? Yes
18. Enjoy smoothies? Yep. Esoteric makes the best smoothies ever.
19. Enjoy talking on the phone? No. I hate it. It's why I IM.
20. Have a lot to learn? Of course, don't we all?
21. Have a pet? Not currently, working on it
22. Have a tendency to fall for the "wrong" person? Yes. All the bloody time. It's the reason I'm here. Blogging, I mean. Not literally.
23. Have all your grandparents died? No, me Nan is still around at 93 and still going strong.
24. Have at least one sibling? Yes. The Gorgeous.
25. Have been told that you are smart? Yes. I am very clever. Although sometimes not clever enough.
26. Have had a broken bone? Surprisingly, no. Several twisted ankles though. I fall over alot
27. Have Caller I.D. on your phone? Yes, but my phone is usually buried underneath the chaos in my handbag
HAVE YOU:
28. Changed a diaper? Once or twice. I try to avoid it. Not very good about green poo.
29. Changed a lot over the past year? Yes, of course. Sometimes several times a day, I'm indecisive. (Indeed. Am on a huge path of Human Revolution at the moment, it's exhausting and exciting.)
30. Had friends who have never seen your natural hair color? I AM all natural, I don't know what you are implying.
31. Had surgery? Eye surgery when I was 3. And a little op to remove some pre-cancerous cells a few years ago
32. Killed anyone? Not yet this week, but there's still time.
33. Had your haircut within the last week? I saw my divine Peter last week, he's the longest relationship I have ever had.
LAST PERSON WHO:
1. Slept in the bed beside you? Jake
2. Saw you cry? My therapist, before that probably Lulu, The Gorgeous and Lovely at the airport. Oh, and all those stewardesses and everyone on the plane.
3. Went to the movies with you? I took myself to see "The Devil Wears Prada"
4. You went to the mall with? The Nurse, we bought eyeshadow. Audrey had Tiffany's, I have MAC.
5. You went to dinner with? My parents, I took them to Sanafir tonight.
6. You talked to on the phone? The lovely man at Sanafir, I made reservations
7. Said 'I love you' to you and meant it? My mom.
8. Broke your heart? My Ex. I'm still glueing it back together, but I keep ending up with glue all over the place and gluing my bloody fingers together.
9. Made you laugh? My parents
WOULD YOU RATHER?
1. Pierce your nose or tongue? My nose is already pierced. I'd rather get another tattoo
2. Be serious or be funny? Funny. Hilariously funny.
3. Drink whole or skim milk? Ick. Neither.
4. Die in a fire or drown? Um, can I pass on this?
5. Spend time with your parents or enemies? My parents, they're hysterical
ABOUT YOU!
1. What time is it? 9:28pm
2. Name? Anonymous Wordsmith (aka LadyMissMarquise)
3. Nickname(s)? My family call me Jewel
4. Where were you born? Calgary
5. What is your birthdate? January 11. Mark it down. Send me presents.
6. What do you want? Happiness. Love. Health. Peace. For me and my family / friends.
7. Where do you want to live? Ideally all over the place, I'd like homes in New York, Paris, London, a cabin by the lake, a little abode on the beach somewhere beautiful...
8. How many kids do you want? I'd like to adopt one, sometime. Maybe. When I'm a little less commitment phobic.
Um, so now you. Your turn... (is it blatantly obvious I am trying to draw this out?!)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
September
And suddenly it is September, the open windows of my flat betraying the warmth inside.
Jake and I sit on the beach holding hands, the cold September night teasing us with its promise. Smoke from his cigarette curls through his fingers, tapping away at unseen melodies.
Across the way, cars flicker and weave along Kits beach, couples walk slowly by, laughing.
We have time, he says, earlier that evening. Leans over and calms my fidgeting fingers. I cannot help it, my hands move from coaster to glass, straw to coaster and back again, a pattern of shredded paper. I am unsure of my hands tonight, unsure of words and action.
Later when we lay under the moon, I can hear the ocean against his chest. We have time, he says again, smiling, his arms wrapped around me.
There is a moment, early the next morning before the rain starts, before he wakes, still smiling, that regardless of what the next heartbeat, the next minute, the next day will bring, I am no longer afraid of falling.
I am happy.
Jake and I sit on the beach holding hands, the cold September night teasing us with its promise. Smoke from his cigarette curls through his fingers, tapping away at unseen melodies.
Across the way, cars flicker and weave along Kits beach, couples walk slowly by, laughing.
We have time, he says, earlier that evening. Leans over and calms my fidgeting fingers. I cannot help it, my hands move from coaster to glass, straw to coaster and back again, a pattern of shredded paper. I am unsure of my hands tonight, unsure of words and action.
Later when we lay under the moon, I can hear the ocean against his chest. We have time, he says again, smiling, his arms wrapped around me.
There is a moment, early the next morning before the rain starts, before he wakes, still smiling, that regardless of what the next heartbeat, the next minute, the next day will bring, I am no longer afraid of falling.
I am happy.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
"Have you thought of harming yourself in the last few weeks?"
The lady's voice on the other end of the phone is calm, reassuring.
No, I repeat, my voice a whisper.
She asks me a few more questions, and I answer as truthfully as I can. My hands are shaking, my mind feels as if it is ready to overflow. I sit down on a bench, will my beating heart its steady pace.
I felt this episode, knew this one was coming, knew this one wasn't going to be pleasant. My thoughts racing from the time I woke up, an overwhelming sense of urgency to be anything other than what I am. Boredom, mania, spontaneous bursts of happiness followed so closely by an overwhelming sense of dread.
Trying to keep my voice steady, to stop from crying. Switching into auto pilot, answering yes and no.
"Okay," she continues, "I will make a referral for you with a doctor specialising in CBT, he will be in touch within 24 hours to arrange an appointment."
I clench my fists, hold my head in my hands, stare at speckled pavement.
I am vowing to beat this, this time.
The lady's voice on the other end of the phone is calm, reassuring.
No, I repeat, my voice a whisper.
She asks me a few more questions, and I answer as truthfully as I can. My hands are shaking, my mind feels as if it is ready to overflow. I sit down on a bench, will my beating heart its steady pace.
I felt this episode, knew this one was coming, knew this one wasn't going to be pleasant. My thoughts racing from the time I woke up, an overwhelming sense of urgency to be anything other than what I am. Boredom, mania, spontaneous bursts of happiness followed so closely by an overwhelming sense of dread.
Trying to keep my voice steady, to stop from crying. Switching into auto pilot, answering yes and no.
"Okay," she continues, "I will make a referral for you with a doctor specialising in CBT, he will be in touch within 24 hours to arrange an appointment."
I clench my fists, hold my head in my hands, stare at speckled pavement.
I am vowing to beat this, this time.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Because this little lady is far too tired, and at a complete loss for words after last weekend's move, spending some fabulous time with the gorgeously angelic Miss Devylish, chasing packages of Kraft Dinner across Australia's barren Outback, and organising the Nurse's birthday party (read: consuming far too much champagne) to write you an interesting post.
And there are all sorts of things that have really got my blood boiling at the moment, like this and this.
So instead of entertaining you with stories today, I'm going to listen to this some more and dance around my flat... and wish you all a happy Tuesday.
And there are all sorts of things that have really got my blood boiling at the moment, like this and this.
So instead of entertaining you with stories today, I'm going to listen to this some more and dance around my flat... and wish you all a happy Tuesday.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Esoteric Part IV: Peep Shows and Amaretto Sours
"Lady..." Esoteric stands outside the shop on Granville Street, trying to reason with all my 5ft1 of blonde curly haired pigheadedness "... you really really do not want to go in there..."
"Yes, I do."
I am defiant, amaretto sours and champagne cocktails overriding any rationale I may have once been in possession of. Curiousity has managed to get the best of me.
I want to go in.
I want to see.
"Do you have any change then?" He says wearily. Rummaging through my handbag I triumphantly produce 2 quarters.
"You are going to hate it."
But I have never been inside before, never ventured past those curtains at the back of the shop, have walked down the red light district of Paris. Been intrigued by those flashing neon signs flashing *Peep Show*, the sidewalks illuminated in candidacy.
However in my inebriated mind, the images of mac clad gentlemen rubbing furiously pale in comparison to artfully posed women on velvet furnishings. In my mind, there is a beauty in the act.
I cannot say I wasn't warned. I cannot say that Esoteric didn't give me a graphic description of what I might find back there.
And so it is with an open mind, and alcohol muddled sensibility that we make our way past plastic curtains, into dimly lit corridors and it is less than a minute later we emerge, slightly more traumatised than when we pulled back curtains and briefly stepped into darkened booths, the sounds and smell of desperation surrounding us, channel after channel of androgynous bodies writhing on a tiny television screen.
It took us less than a minute to come to an understanding, stand up and stumble back out into the bright lights of downtown Vancouver in search of something stronger to rid ourselves of those images, that smell, that overwhelming feeling of desperate loneliness.
"Yes, I do."
I am defiant, amaretto sours and champagne cocktails overriding any rationale I may have once been in possession of. Curiousity has managed to get the best of me.
I want to go in.
I want to see.
"Do you have any change then?" He says wearily. Rummaging through my handbag I triumphantly produce 2 quarters.
"You are going to hate it."
But I have never been inside before, never ventured past those curtains at the back of the shop, have walked down the red light district of Paris. Been intrigued by those flashing neon signs flashing *Peep Show*, the sidewalks illuminated in candidacy.
However in my inebriated mind, the images of mac clad gentlemen rubbing furiously pale in comparison to artfully posed women on velvet furnishings. In my mind, there is a beauty in the act.
I cannot say I wasn't warned. I cannot say that Esoteric didn't give me a graphic description of what I might find back there.
And so it is with an open mind, and alcohol muddled sensibility that we make our way past plastic curtains, into dimly lit corridors and it is less than a minute later we emerge, slightly more traumatised than when we pulled back curtains and briefly stepped into darkened booths, the sounds and smell of desperation surrounding us, channel after channel of androgynous bodies writhing on a tiny television screen.
It took us less than a minute to come to an understanding, stand up and stumble back out into the bright lights of downtown Vancouver in search of something stronger to rid ourselves of those images, that smell, that overwhelming feeling of desperate loneliness.
Friday, September 01, 2006
ladymissmarquise gets rescued by firemen
Now this is a fantasy I have had for some time, as we all know that LMM has a certain weakening of the knees and peculiar feeling in her loins when the subject of firemen come up.
So you would think then, that being rescued by two of Vancouver's finest would leave this little lady breathless with anticipation, swooning with unrequited desire?
Well, erm. No. I'm afraid not.
It all started out fairly innocently enough. I get in the lift, shopping bags laden with wine and other treats as the divine Amelia was en route back from a 3 week holiday in Italy and therefore needed to be greeted accordingly, and as this is one of those new fancy spancy Vancouver buildings where security is as tight as a... well, you understand, there is all that nonsense of the fob. Fob to front door. In. Fob to elevator. Open. Fob to floor number. Up. And so on and so forth.
Except for that small jolt and then shudder.
No big deal, I think.
Followed by an even larger jolt and noisier shudder. Followed by the lift stopping. And no amount of fob to floor number'ing would make that damned lift move.
I remain calm. I am, after all, a Lady.
Press the little *Help* button and calmly and politely tell them where I am and why I am there.
"Okay Miss Marquise, we'll send someone round to come and let you out."
And so I calmly assess the situation, all the while controlling the urge to let that little part of my brain that is slowly but surely freaking the fuck out "Ohmgoodgodwearestuckinalift...andIhaveseenMissionImpossible...
andwemayeithercareentoourdeath...andweonlyjustgotthenewlaptopwelovesomuch
isthispunishmentforlovingthemactoomuch...
orweshallendupcarreeningskywayrsandimpaleourselvesasemilioestevezonthecablesaboveus!!!" pass over into the dark side.
And so I sit myself down. And as the story gets a bit dull for the next 20 minutes as all I do is sit and text the Nurse, and Gorgeous and Scott (and did any of them so much as send me a text back? Uh. No. ), I shall let the texts tell the story.
Stuck in lift, waiting to be rescued. 8:51pm
Luckily I have beer and wine... 8:54pm
Do you think they will send firemen? 8:56pm
And if so, how many? 8:56pm
Where are the firemen? 9:00pm
I hear people. I may be saved yet! 9:04pm
Bugger. Just someone on a mobile and not firemen. 9:05pm
Get off the phone and rescue me, already! I. AM. STUCK. IN. LIFT! 9:06pm
Oh great, someone else is stuck in the other lift... where are firemen? 9:07pm
At this point, I can hear firemen. I hear firemen above me. Or below me. But they're calling my name. They just can't seem to locate where I am.
"Lady? Can you let us know where you are?"
Erm. IN A LIFT! STUCK!
The lift says 2nd floor.
But I, erm... don't seem to be there. Neither is the lift. There is much confusion.
I wonder if the 2 voices are indeed firemen, remember that little Firemen's calendar shoot Esoteric did. Feel a little peculiar and dizzy.
Glance round to check my hair in the mirror. (I am so vain)
This, however, then proceeds to go on for quite a while.
"Lady? We are coming to get you."
Now they are just fucking with me 9:14pm
And then, the prying open of doors and beaming down at me are the faces of 2 firemen.
Neither look like Esoteric.
Neither are shirtless with only their firepants and suspenders and firemen's hats on. And neither is under 55.
There is no throwing me over their shoulder and carrying me away. No reaching down, wrapping muscular tattoed arms around me and pulling me free.
However, I am eternally grateful to them when one does extend his hand to help me out and I thank him graciously. Smile and giggle a little (Oh for goodness sakes, I have been trapped in a lift for 33 minutes and there are firemen. Firemen!)
And when Amelia makes her way upstairs, mentions the fire truck outside I can only beam.
So you would think then, that being rescued by two of Vancouver's finest would leave this little lady breathless with anticipation, swooning with unrequited desire?
Well, erm. No. I'm afraid not.
It all started out fairly innocently enough. I get in the lift, shopping bags laden with wine and other treats as the divine Amelia was en route back from a 3 week holiday in Italy and therefore needed to be greeted accordingly, and as this is one of those new fancy spancy Vancouver buildings where security is as tight as a... well, you understand, there is all that nonsense of the fob. Fob to front door. In. Fob to elevator. Open. Fob to floor number. Up. And so on and so forth.
Except for that small jolt and then shudder.
No big deal, I think.
Followed by an even larger jolt and noisier shudder. Followed by the lift stopping. And no amount of fob to floor number'ing would make that damned lift move.
I remain calm. I am, after all, a Lady.
Press the little *Help* button and calmly and politely tell them where I am and why I am there.
"Okay Miss Marquise, we'll send someone round to come and let you out."
And so I calmly assess the situation, all the while controlling the urge to let that little part of my brain that is slowly but surely freaking the fuck out "Ohmgoodgodwearestuckinalift...andIhaveseenMissionImpossible...
andwemayeithercareentoourdeath...andweonlyjustgotthenewlaptopwelovesomuch
isthispunishmentforlovingthemactoomuch...
orweshallendupcarreeningskywayrsandimpaleourselvesasemilioestevezonthecablesaboveus!!!" pass over into the dark side.
And so I sit myself down. And as the story gets a bit dull for the next 20 minutes as all I do is sit and text the Nurse, and Gorgeous and Scott (and did any of them so much as send me a text back? Uh. No. ), I shall let the texts tell the story.
Stuck in lift, waiting to be rescued. 8:51pm
Luckily I have beer and wine... 8:54pm
Do you think they will send firemen? 8:56pm
And if so, how many? 8:56pm
Where are the firemen? 9:00pm
I hear people. I may be saved yet! 9:04pm
Bugger. Just someone on a mobile and not firemen. 9:05pm
Get off the phone and rescue me, already! I. AM. STUCK. IN. LIFT! 9:06pm
Oh great, someone else is stuck in the other lift... where are firemen? 9:07pm
At this point, I can hear firemen. I hear firemen above me. Or below me. But they're calling my name. They just can't seem to locate where I am.
"Lady? Can you let us know where you are?"
Erm. IN A LIFT! STUCK!
The lift says 2nd floor.
But I, erm... don't seem to be there. Neither is the lift. There is much confusion.
I wonder if the 2 voices are indeed firemen, remember that little Firemen's calendar shoot Esoteric did. Feel a little peculiar and dizzy.
Glance round to check my hair in the mirror. (I am so vain)
This, however, then proceeds to go on for quite a while.
"Lady? We are coming to get you."
Now they are just fucking with me 9:14pm
And then, the prying open of doors and beaming down at me are the faces of 2 firemen.
Neither look like Esoteric.
Neither are shirtless with only their firepants and suspenders and firemen's hats on. And neither is under 55.
There is no throwing me over their shoulder and carrying me away. No reaching down, wrapping muscular tattoed arms around me and pulling me free.
However, I am eternally grateful to them when one does extend his hand to help me out and I thank him graciously. Smile and giggle a little (Oh for goodness sakes, I have been trapped in a lift for 33 minutes and there are firemen. Firemen!)
And when Amelia makes her way upstairs, mentions the fire truck outside I can only beam.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
George's arse, wedding blues, psychopaths and the Google conundrum
I am not saying a thing. Nothing. Rien. Nada.
Chloe's great advice for dealing with the office psychopath.
Good thing I've just bought a new skillet.
It doesn't look good for us ladies, first there was post partum depression and now... post wedding blues. (Maybe we should get out more)
And how much does Google know about us? Frightening when you see the statistics.
Meet the Bloggers (shameless plug for my dear friend Anna)
And my spanking new Mac Book Pro arrived the other day. (It is beautiful and I think I am having an unhealthy love for it. Is it bad when you speak lovingly to it, wake up in the middle of the night just to watch it charging?)
I do miss having tech minded bodies in the house, I felt a brainless fraud trying desperately to get my head around talking routers and wireless connections at Future Shop.
Sadly, Internet man doesn't come to my new place until Sunday morning so I shall be without internet for 3 whole days... and when he is done, I will crawl back into my new bed with a cup of coffee, ignore the cardboard boxes scattered around me and spend an idyllic lazy morning in bed with my new love.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Oh. Argh. Eeep. Bloody hell.
An email this morning.
From that great company.
Again.
In regards to the interview I had 3 weeks ago.
*Dear Lady,
Apologies for the delay in getting back to you. The Producer has still not made a final decision, you are on the short list and as soon as I hear anything more I'll be in touch.
Thanks again for your patience!
Your Recruiter*
Oh bollocksy hell. Here we are again.
In the meantime, I am off to the Post Office as it appears my colleague wishes to send 12 packs of Kraft Dinner to his brother in Australia.
I kid you not.
Just don't get me started on the no Diet Coke in the fridge scenario, we're all still a little shaken by the fact the world stopped rotating.
From that great company.
Again.
In regards to the interview I had 3 weeks ago.
*Dear Lady,
Apologies for the delay in getting back to you. The Producer has still not made a final decision, you are on the short list and as soon as I hear anything more I'll be in touch.
Thanks again for your patience!
Your Recruiter*
Oh bollocksy hell. Here we are again.
In the meantime, I am off to the Post Office as it appears my colleague wishes to send 12 packs of Kraft Dinner to his brother in Australia.
I kid you not.
Just don't get me started on the no Diet Coke in the fridge scenario, we're all still a little shaken by the fact the world stopped rotating.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Only the frustrated...
Sunday afternoon my phone rings.
"Lady," a panicked voice down the phone, "I need to book a flight tomorrow and I don't know who to call."
A few days earlier, an email from another colleague, on holiday in Europe.
"Lady, a favour? Can you tell me how long the train to Florence from Rome is?"
And earlier still.
"Lady, I've misplaced my plane tickets. Please can you call them and get them to fax me a copy to my hotel so I can rebook?"
The same colleague who looks at me with a straight face and asks me to get him tickets to a sold out show. I would not be surprised if at one point he was to ask me to step into his shoes when he gets married, or at the very least ensure his shoes are tied and his underwear is clean.
I am frustrated beyond belief with hierarchy and staid business attire, talk of golf and hunting, being a visible minority because of my sex and treated as such. And so when I am called back once, twice, three times for interviews at that great company where I know I will shine, I jump at the opportunity.
And so, 2 months, 3 seperate positions and 6 interviews later it is with a sinking heart when I get the email from that great company about that perfect job to say that I'm not really so perfect for that job after all. But it sure was great to meet me.
There is still rent to pay, and so I smile back at the bankers. Say yes, no, how high, of course, whatever you need...
Make determinations to find another job as soon as I can, head back to the drawing board, put myself back out there.
Because with each setback we all need to pick ourself back up, dust ourselves off, keep ducking and diving until one day it all falls back into place.
"Lady," a panicked voice down the phone, "I need to book a flight tomorrow and I don't know who to call."
A few days earlier, an email from another colleague, on holiday in Europe.
"Lady, a favour? Can you tell me how long the train to Florence from Rome is?"
And earlier still.
"Lady, I've misplaced my plane tickets. Please can you call them and get them to fax me a copy to my hotel so I can rebook?"
The same colleague who looks at me with a straight face and asks me to get him tickets to a sold out show. I would not be surprised if at one point he was to ask me to step into his shoes when he gets married, or at the very least ensure his shoes are tied and his underwear is clean.
I am frustrated beyond belief with hierarchy and staid business attire, talk of golf and hunting, being a visible minority because of my sex and treated as such. And so when I am called back once, twice, three times for interviews at that great company where I know I will shine, I jump at the opportunity.
And so, 2 months, 3 seperate positions and 6 interviews later it is with a sinking heart when I get the email from that great company about that perfect job to say that I'm not really so perfect for that job after all. But it sure was great to meet me.
There is still rent to pay, and so I smile back at the bankers. Say yes, no, how high, of course, whatever you need...
Make determinations to find another job as soon as I can, head back to the drawing board, put myself back out there.
Because with each setback we all need to pick ourself back up, dust ourselves off, keep ducking and diving until one day it all falls back into place.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The Jake: Part 2
He is grinning, as he steps out of the cab. Catches my eye, grins wider.
There is no bravado in his swagger as he walks up to meet me, waiting outside Johnny Fox's. Leans in and kisses me on the cheek, his hand resting on my arm a fraction longer than neccessary, the simple kiss burning against my skin.
I watch his hands, his slender figures busy as he speaks, tapping at the table, rolling his beer mat across the table.
He is frankly honest, refreshingly unapologetic. He has no qualms about who he is, confident without arrogance.
All he wants, he says, breaking away and smiling at the cheery bartender as he delivers our drinks, is that beachfront property in South America. All he wants is to be able to walk out his front door and surf. Has worked hard, makes sure that everyday a certain amount of energy goes into having fun.
He leans forward, absent mindedly reaches out and wraps one of my curls around his finger, softly kisses me. Pulls away grinning.
I am trying to slow my heartbeat, remain calm and collected.
He remains a perfect gentleman, not rushing anything. Flagging down a passing cab to see me safely home.
Later, when we reach my flat I invite him up for one beer, on the patio. We stay up late, talking about fate and buddhism, my impeding move, job interviews and a list of things new and upcoming.
That ex who once, I laughingly recall, told me I wasn't conventionally attractive - there was just something *about me...*
He looks at me for a minute, suddenly uncertain and says I am the prettiest girl he's seen all night. I try to remain calm, when he leans over to kiss me again. Holds my face, gently brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.
I am sober enough to remember this, to feel everything. Yet it still feels too surreal, enables me to think differently this time.
To make the decision to take this slow, and call him a cab.
The next day I cannot eat, fight my insecurity off and remind myself that I am entitled to happiness. Try to stop myself from questioning why and what and how he sees in me, quell the panic in my stomach.
When he signs off his mail with *good luck with everything new*, he is gone again for 10 days, I clench my fists against my fear, try not to read it as something negative but simply for what it is.
Good luck with everything new.
There is no bravado in his swagger as he walks up to meet me, waiting outside Johnny Fox's. Leans in and kisses me on the cheek, his hand resting on my arm a fraction longer than neccessary, the simple kiss burning against my skin.
I watch his hands, his slender figures busy as he speaks, tapping at the table, rolling his beer mat across the table.
He is frankly honest, refreshingly unapologetic. He has no qualms about who he is, confident without arrogance.
All he wants, he says, breaking away and smiling at the cheery bartender as he delivers our drinks, is that beachfront property in South America. All he wants is to be able to walk out his front door and surf. Has worked hard, makes sure that everyday a certain amount of energy goes into having fun.
He leans forward, absent mindedly reaches out and wraps one of my curls around his finger, softly kisses me. Pulls away grinning.
I am trying to slow my heartbeat, remain calm and collected.
He remains a perfect gentleman, not rushing anything. Flagging down a passing cab to see me safely home.
Later, when we reach my flat I invite him up for one beer, on the patio. We stay up late, talking about fate and buddhism, my impeding move, job interviews and a list of things new and upcoming.
That ex who once, I laughingly recall, told me I wasn't conventionally attractive - there was just something *about me...*
He looks at me for a minute, suddenly uncertain and says I am the prettiest girl he's seen all night. I try to remain calm, when he leans over to kiss me again. Holds my face, gently brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.
I am sober enough to remember this, to feel everything. Yet it still feels too surreal, enables me to think differently this time.
To make the decision to take this slow, and call him a cab.
The next day I cannot eat, fight my insecurity off and remind myself that I am entitled to happiness. Try to stop myself from questioning why and what and how he sees in me, quell the panic in my stomach.
When he signs off his mail with *good luck with everything new*, he is gone again for 10 days, I clench my fists against my fear, try not to read it as something negative but simply for what it is.
Good luck with everything new.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
And then. Life.
"What you need to do," the taxi driver looks back at me through his rear view mirror and nods "... is find yourself a rich man.
Then you no have to go to work...!"
He chuckles, and grins revealing a gap in his front teeth.
"And then", he says, "you get yourself pregnant. You make yourself a million dollars."
I stifle a half repulsed giggle.
He is Italian, the crucifix dangling from the rear view mirror. I cannot find it in myself to let him know I am not in the least maternal. Nor the least bit inclined to be a gold digger.
"So do you know any then?" I quip back to him, laughing as our car speeds across the bridge.
I am late for work again this morning, the alarm not waking me from my slumber until almost 7:00. Dashing around the Gorgeous's flat, trying to iron and makeup, hair, shoes, hastily gather up bedsheets and pillows from the sofa where I have slept the last few months and be out the door quarter to eight.
The Gorgeous always says to me *Stay current, Lady*.
And so I am struggling to find a routine amidst all this uncertainty; it is when I step away and start looking at the big picture that the doubts start chipping away at my sanity, when my impatience overtakes rationality.
When I am too hard on myself and wonder why my life still feels far too fluid for my liking, it is hard to remind myself that I have been back only 4 short months. When all those dreams and adventures I came back for have been left somewhere on a shelf, now it is time to dust them off and make them real again. Amelia fixes me with a long hard stare and questions why my writing has not yet materialised into something more, why my focus has been on anything but my dreams for far too long.
I need my own space, need to see past those insecurities and fears that kept me surrounded by friends and flatmates since I left the Ex 3 years ago, need to be able to feel comfortable being alone, not be afraid of silence and my own company.
Now the confirmation I will be on my own, a brightly lit studio in the West End amongst diversity and colourful acceptance, just 3 blocks from the beach.
I am making a list of all that I need then, for this new sanctuary and space, I feel as if I am making a wedding list. I am having to start from scratch, I own very little these days thanks not only to the move but to the moving company who have lost my freight and with it, all my furniture and paintings.
cheesegrater
blender
wineglasses
duvet
pillows
It is only when I look it over do I realise my own randomness.
martini glasses
corkscrew
champagne flutes
ice cube trays
(At least I have my priorities straight...)
sofa
bedframe
cutlery
dishes
It is all fairly overwhelming, rushing through IKEA today with the Nurse, all my indecisiveness laid bare. It takes me 45 minutes to decide on cutlery and less than 5, on my limited budget, to choose a sofa. My bedframe bought on a whim passing a Granville street store, it is identical to the one I lost in the move. Colour schemes are now taking shape, I lose myself in daydreams of cream textiles and bright cushions, a Japanese screen to seperate living space from my sleep space and where am I to find that *Breakfast at Tiffany's* movie poster...
I order my Mac, work overtime every night, pack myself back into a suitcare to housesit for a friend for a few weeks. Get called into that fabulous company yet again for yet another interview for a role I know, this time, is perfect for me, at their offices a few short blocks from my new flat.
Life is never static, its only consistency its fluidity, its viscosity constantly weaving and bending. Yet somehow, now, I feel as if I am almost there. That life is about to deliver up the gifts I have been waiting my whole life for, that for the first time life will start to speak a language I can understand.
Then you no have to go to work...!"
He chuckles, and grins revealing a gap in his front teeth.
"And then", he says, "you get yourself pregnant. You make yourself a million dollars."
I stifle a half repulsed giggle.
He is Italian, the crucifix dangling from the rear view mirror. I cannot find it in myself to let him know I am not in the least maternal. Nor the least bit inclined to be a gold digger.
"So do you know any then?" I quip back to him, laughing as our car speeds across the bridge.
I am late for work again this morning, the alarm not waking me from my slumber until almost 7:00. Dashing around the Gorgeous's flat, trying to iron and makeup, hair, shoes, hastily gather up bedsheets and pillows from the sofa where I have slept the last few months and be out the door quarter to eight.
The Gorgeous always says to me *Stay current, Lady*.
And so I am struggling to find a routine amidst all this uncertainty; it is when I step away and start looking at the big picture that the doubts start chipping away at my sanity, when my impatience overtakes rationality.
When I am too hard on myself and wonder why my life still feels far too fluid for my liking, it is hard to remind myself that I have been back only 4 short months. When all those dreams and adventures I came back for have been left somewhere on a shelf, now it is time to dust them off and make them real again. Amelia fixes me with a long hard stare and questions why my writing has not yet materialised into something more, why my focus has been on anything but my dreams for far too long.
I need my own space, need to see past those insecurities and fears that kept me surrounded by friends and flatmates since I left the Ex 3 years ago, need to be able to feel comfortable being alone, not be afraid of silence and my own company.
Now the confirmation I will be on my own, a brightly lit studio in the West End amongst diversity and colourful acceptance, just 3 blocks from the beach.
I am making a list of all that I need then, for this new sanctuary and space, I feel as if I am making a wedding list. I am having to start from scratch, I own very little these days thanks not only to the move but to the moving company who have lost my freight and with it, all my furniture and paintings.
cheesegrater
blender
wineglasses
duvet
pillows
It is only when I look it over do I realise my own randomness.
martini glasses
corkscrew
champagne flutes
ice cube trays
(At least I have my priorities straight...)
sofa
bedframe
cutlery
dishes
It is all fairly overwhelming, rushing through IKEA today with the Nurse, all my indecisiveness laid bare. It takes me 45 minutes to decide on cutlery and less than 5, on my limited budget, to choose a sofa. My bedframe bought on a whim passing a Granville street store, it is identical to the one I lost in the move. Colour schemes are now taking shape, I lose myself in daydreams of cream textiles and bright cushions, a Japanese screen to seperate living space from my sleep space and where am I to find that *Breakfast at Tiffany's* movie poster...
I order my Mac, work overtime every night, pack myself back into a suitcare to housesit for a friend for a few weeks. Get called into that fabulous company yet again for yet another interview for a role I know, this time, is perfect for me, at their offices a few short blocks from my new flat.
Life is never static, its only consistency its fluidity, its viscosity constantly weaving and bending. Yet somehow, now, I feel as if I am almost there. That life is about to deliver up the gifts I have been waiting my whole life for, that for the first time life will start to speak a language I can understand.
The Jake: Part 1
"And then" he says, his blue eyes flashing, his hands animated, "...all my mother can see is these 2 felt legs sticking up in the ditch."
I cannot help it, I am enchanted.
Later when we make our way through the throngs of leather clad men and beautiful boys with their exqusiite cheekbones the conversation never lulls. Continues, with nods and smiles, shyly sneaking glances at one another. When I talk, he leans in, his long legs slowing to match my pace, his gait in rythym with my own.
He stands, at the jukebox, looking at me. The tired waiter, immaculate and beautiful touches my hair. Brings us kitsch cocktails and battered menus.
I cannot stop looking up at the man smiling at me from across the room, my chin resting in the palm of my hand. He smiles back, shakes his head, makes his selection. Crosses the restuarant to our table, boyish grin brighter.
Sits opposite me and tilts his head.
Frank croons in the background, and he sings along softly off key.
I watch his lips move as he speaks, his leg brushes up against mine and stays there. It is too natural and fluid, spontaneous and reassuring, I feel dizzy, disorientated.
I have forgotten what this feels like, have spent too much time rushing in blindly with lust and unforseen consequences that somehow, I have forgotten that the beginning is supposed to be just like this. Have forgotten what it feels like to be left with a lingering kiss that reduces my worldy knees to liquid, lips burning and the feel of his hand against my cheek as he waves me goodbye and sees me off; my cab winding through Friday night revellers to take me home.
I cannot help it, I am enchanted.
Later when we make our way through the throngs of leather clad men and beautiful boys with their exqusiite cheekbones the conversation never lulls. Continues, with nods and smiles, shyly sneaking glances at one another. When I talk, he leans in, his long legs slowing to match my pace, his gait in rythym with my own.
He stands, at the jukebox, looking at me. The tired waiter, immaculate and beautiful touches my hair. Brings us kitsch cocktails and battered menus.
I cannot stop looking up at the man smiling at me from across the room, my chin resting in the palm of my hand. He smiles back, shakes his head, makes his selection. Crosses the restuarant to our table, boyish grin brighter.
Sits opposite me and tilts his head.
Frank croons in the background, and he sings along softly off key.
I watch his lips move as he speaks, his leg brushes up against mine and stays there. It is too natural and fluid, spontaneous and reassuring, I feel dizzy, disorientated.
I have forgotten what this feels like, have spent too much time rushing in blindly with lust and unforseen consequences that somehow, I have forgotten that the beginning is supposed to be just like this. Have forgotten what it feels like to be left with a lingering kiss that reduces my worldy knees to liquid, lips burning and the feel of his hand against my cheek as he waves me goodbye and sees me off; my cab winding through Friday night revellers to take me home.
Naked men on my BLOG!
In no way is this intended as a gratuitous exploitation of the Vancouver Nudist Organisation, nor a blatant attempt to increase my traffic.
But yes, indeed. They are nude.
*willy*
snicker
*balls*
giggle
*penis*
collapses in heap of own immaturity...
Oh alright then, if you're easily offended I apologise.
Now here are some men in little hotpants...
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