Yearly Archives: 2008
For some reason currently unbeknownst to myself, I am appreciating FUCK YEAH SHARKS. Rather a lot.
That is all.
Hooray… I am now just beginning two weeks of lesson-free life, and although I am not looking forward to the stress of family life and Christmas itself, the time away from work and time nesting will be most appreciated.
Due to some “perk” of the festive season I received my pay a little earlier than is usual, so for once I won’t have to worry about meeting my financial commitments towards the end of the month; it feels like I am able to take a breath.
Still no word on the Dubai front. Still I worry.
Greta Garbo in As You Desire Me from Doctor Macro
One and a half days to go…
I wish I had two weeks off that were unbroken without my having to take part in society… I’d much rather spend it hibernating, vegetating and wandering up to Lahndahn tahn to see some art and try some unaffordable things on. And getting some manfur exposure.
I want to be let alone
(How Little It Matters) How Little We Know [YouTube]
Things have improved since I took a trip to woe-is-me land the other evening; I still feel sad and dissatisfied with my lot but a viewing of Klute occupied my mind with other things for a while and late night conversing with a slightly self crippled MW#1 evened out my day a little.
I guess it’ll be this week that I find out whether he’s leaving or not. If he is leaving things are going to be very difficult- Every thought of him will be shot through with deep sadness and I don’t think i’ll be able to meet up with him without at some point dissolving into tears. He means so very much to me… this person who is barely in my life yet whose smell makes me happy and whose touch gives me such great comfort.
The person who I want to have in my life, wake up next to, be goaded into arguments by… Just be able to “be” around them, sit quietly, chart the slow yet seemingly relentless march of the manfur across his gently speckled skin…
The person who has chosen to leave rather than stay, who has hurt me so many times, whose behaviour makes me cry. He’ll move on, I’ll pass my weekends curled up under my blanket imagining the warm fabric is a flesh-and-blood embrace.
What’s stupid is that if we were in some sort of committed arrangement for a couple of years, and a couple of years after that he went for a job in Washington State- I would have none of the issues I have at the moment. That I would relocate for, because that is a future, but not to somewhere where entertainment is wandering around malls where I can’t hold the person I love’s hand because that’s obscene, where I am some sort of amusing diversion but not seen as a partner.
It’s only seven-thirty in the evening but I really want to curl up and drift off and so become oblivious to the ache in my chest and the hot tears on my face but I know i’ll just wake up in a couple of hours and feel the same.
Apparently Marcus was just walking about or something and he strained his calf, ergo no Hahnemann ogling for me today… :( And I was *so* looking forward to a bit of visual stimulation…
On the subject of stimulation, take a look at this:
Scott Caan gets in and out of his wetsuit
The broad gently defined physique, the guns, the manfur- This is my idea of greatness. It’s *exactly* the sort of thing that makes me giggle like a schoolgirl and blush with embarrassment. I get all flustered.
Sure, he could do with growing several inches but when you’re lying next to someone that doesn’t really matter that much.
I’m sure i’d be able to cope.
Further overly gratuitous images (NSFW)
window crystals by spiritedbebop [cc]
As the small islands of melting ice slid down my windscreen the other morning so tears ran down my face.
MW#1 has finally begun the interview process… It’s real now and so is the potential loss.
I want him to feel as satisfied as he can job-wise and want him to progress and move up in the world if it makes him happy; this is an honest wish but simultaneously I wish he would think of making *me* happy. In a week or two i’ll know if he’s got the job; he’s already chosen to go if he gets it.
So because of this I have been welling up or brimming over all week… What upset me enough to encourage tears in the traffic on the way to work? Hearing Run by Leona Lewis. Really. Every day when I glance at my phone I expect to receive a message from him telling me he’s got the job, and this is a pretty upsetting thought. Repeatedly.
I feel sad and quite forlorn as the nothingness rumbles beneath me and threatens to open up and run out to the horizon. I don’t feel like I don’t know what i’ll do if he goes, because I know *exactly* what i’ll do- Feel very sad for a very long time. As the months tick by the pain will lessen but the dull ache of loss in my chest will press more heavily against my heart when i’m tired or lonely.
So that would be most of the time then.
MW#1 will enjoy life in Dubai, all style and no substance, do well in his job and meet lots of new conquests. He will work hard and play hard and all will be good in his world, except for those occasional times come the small hours when he’s limited to a glass of wine and the low hum of the air-con for company. He’ll wish my inactive MSN account would say I was online, he’ll read nopoke and the posts expressing either sadness, loneliness or loss (or various combinations therein) and he’ll wish I was there to pick an argument with or have my hair to run his fingers through or feel me twitch like a twitchy thing as I curl up next to him under the sheets.
But it’s all okay, right, because he loved me… Yeah… I can comfort myself with that thought as the months and the world passes me by.
I’m just waiting to be told by him “You’ll find someone” as he hugs me goodbye (JOY); he already tells me that getting the job is not a sure thing in order to try and cheer me up. Feel bad about making me upset? Don’t do what you’re doing to make me feel upset. All those years i’ve spent caring- It really is that simple.
I need to go shower off my tear-grunged face. Hot water bottle, blanket, bed.
EDIT- Forgot to add: Cry in shower, hot water bottle, blanket, bed.
TimesOnline: Why I’d rather die than visit Dubai
“Essentially it is Las Vegas without the sex and gambling, which is Las Vegas without a point.”
I had a rather awesome weekend that was particularly excellent as it consisted of a considerable amount of alcohol alcohol alcohol… There was a smattering of food thrown in here and there but there was mainly a rather large amount of booze imbibed.
Saturday- I accompanied McCy on the annual Fun Fest that is her office Christmas party, this time held in the hotel of a Championship football club. Exotic. I followed a quite frankly excellent rum tonic and lime with dinner posh-canteen style- Salmon with marinated cucumber that had been sliced the l-o-n-g way (like thick cucumber parpadelle), lamb noise-ettes with weirdly sculptured roast potatoes and a chocolate tart of which I consumed the pastry only. Mmmm… crusty.
The “highlight” of the evening was the post-dinner trip around the corner of the stadium to a Jazz Club; I opened the doors to be confronted with a sight that filled me with awe- Green lights, ceiling dotted with shiny silver twisty things, clientèle mostly over the age of forty dressed in things that were too tight or too open for their physique. Behold.
Taking a walk from the bar to the toilets meant only a 15m or so wander, but it took on a whole new level of fun when you are significantly taller than the crowd full of lone men that turn to follow your progress. Yes, it was that kind of place, where the male-female balance was severely whacked-to-fuck. McCy and me stayed for one drink and then took a very long taxi trip back to our respective nests.
I hadn’t seen McCy in quite a while and it was excellent to see her, even if it did mean that she had to get jostled by a very over-enthusiastic father of a former mixed-martial arts fighter. Hee.
Sunday- “Lunch” with MW#1… This supposed lunchtime event turned into an entire day spent eating good food or drinking A LOT of booze. It was pretty great :)
Here’s a summary of what I can remember I drank that day:
2 x Cups of coffee
1 x Archangel
2 x Glasses red wine
1 x Caipirinha
1 x Whisky Ricky
1 x Kir Royale
1 x Amethyst
1 x Glass of water
I am sure there was more, but my memory of hours and hours of continual cocktails is not exactly crystal clear. I ended the evening warm, happy and very asleep hugging MW#1’s leg (surrogate Patrick, see) before I had to remove my very fuzzy and limpet-like self into the frigid night and skid a couple of metres down my frost-covered street in the taxi home.
Although I had a lovely day (*much* better than my fake birthday) there were of course a few idiotic moments- for instance when he told me that a team mate of his had mentioned to him that he would totally do me; I wasn’t offended by the crudeness of the remark (I know I can appear outwardly appealing when dressed up) but I felt pretty sad nonetheless. He had told his fratboy team mate that I would not be interested – I’ve evolved extremely sharp defences – but I wished he had told him that I wouldn’t be interested because I was into him or that I was “his”… Yeah, small dumb displays of longing and ownership. Rock the fuck on.
noun 1 a long narrow hilltop, mountain range, or watershed. 2 a narrow raised band on a surface. 3 Meteorology an elongated region of high barometric pressure. 4 the edge formed where the two sloping sides of a roof meet at the top.
verb often ridged mark with or form into ridges.
— DERIVATIVES ridgy adjective.
— ORIGIN Old English, “spine, crest”.
i wish it would snow
i wish it would snow and i was inside in the half light
drowsy and warm under duvet and blanket
nothing to disturb
no noise except the low rumble of trains and
the gentle rhythm of your breath lapping
against my consciousness
I am tired.
A sixth form student I look particularly kindly upon appeared to be in a deep state of shock when she turned up in my classroom today three-quarters through the school day. I told her if she would like to talk to me that I was available and I will summarise what she told me through tears:
Her brother has schizophrenia and her parents have seen fit to try and shelter him from the brunt of the mental health system by getting him private treatment instead of the harsh realities of the NHS. He is a former heroin addict but has been clean and managing his condition (if you can call it that) for around half a year or so; this “management” went out of the window in horrifyingly spectacular style last night when he set about destroying the house.
He began by smashing all the windows he could literally get his hands on, wrecked the contents of the house and assaulted his father before slitting his wrists in front of his onlooking family. The house was filled with a scattering of broken glass and pools of blood. I’ve a soft spot for this eighteen year-old student as she doesn’t conform to ideals of femininity (I can empathise) and is struggling to carve out a place for herself in the world; she is very vulnerable and to hear her say that “I’ve seen things that no-one at my age should have to see” was quite upsetting.
Her brother is now too violent for the private health people to take him and because he was private the NHS are unwilling to take on someone who started treatment elsewhere; his parents will not press charges and the four police cars worth of officers that turned up to this event could only suggest that they “try” and get him sectioned.
Sectioning is what he needs, but his parents have repeatedly not opted for this and now it is proving difficult to set things in motion. Last year the student had to spend a week in bed and breakfast whilst he was unwell; as she is over eighteen she is legally an adult, and so there is next to nothing that can be done to rehouse her and give her a break.
Hopefully she is staying at a friends house tonight but I am very worried that she will not turn up to school tomorrow. I am so concerned for her, and was very tempted to take her home so she could spend a night free from the threat of violence as when I last saw her her brother was still at the house.
I just wonder- What the fuck else does he have to do to get sectioned? What the fuck are the parents doing? They are seriously jeopardising the well-being of their daughter, who has had substance abuse and mental health issues in the past and has also run away from home… It’s an awful feeling to have to wait and see if he burns the house down, seriously injures a parent or seriously harms himself; you know that then he would get locked away, but probably criminally rather than to the psychiatric care he needs.
I really hope that my student is safe under the care of a friend tonight; I am very worried about her.
Teacher n. Administrator, First Aider, Councillor, Pop Psychiatrist, Health and Social Worker. Sometimes shows the kiddies a bit of art, to pass the time like.
As I stood amongst the crowds in the station I felt inexplicably anxious as I waited for MW#1 to turn up for my birthday outing; there seemed to be too many people milling around for comfort and the nervous feeling gnawing at my stomach began to sour into fear.
In all the years we’ve known each other we’ve never been out for a fancy night on the town- Yes, i’ve dressed up and down many times and have had many good meals and lovely evenings but only ever locally, so going for dinner in Lahndahn tahn was a big deal.
I just about managed to zip myself into my green and black full skirted prom dress and wore my new Manhattan-heeled stockings with my favourite yellow wedges. Even though I had smothered myself under a coat, jacket and scarf I still managed to draw stares and whistles as I wandered towards the station. I thought I looked pretty good.
I didn’t exactly think that I would be stood up, but I am used to expecting little so I couldn’t help but worry as the time ticked by and no MW#1 materialised. At last, he appeared pleasingly suited and booted bearing a birthday gift (wrapped in excellent shiny green wrapping which matched my dress), which was very unexpected… the fear dissipated and I was saying Hello Season Five of The Wire… Eeee :D
So a muy excellentay present that actually did turn up and not after three months. Hooray. After purchasing our tickets (heh, full price for him) we made out way towards the train to Paddington; on the escalator he put his arms around me as I stood one step above him, which I thought was sweet, but at the same time my brain was mumbling “He’s not hugging me very hard” and “Oh, so it’s going to be like that is it?” to which I internally deflated just a little bit in response. Five minutes in to the evening. Sigh.
As we boarded the train he asked me “You’ve got your passport, haven’t you?” I told him to shut up in reply, not appreciating where this was quite clearly going. “Didn’t you get my email…” Shut up. “…about going to Paris?” I threatened to use my elbow on him in an unpleasant way. He laughed. We got on the train. It was warm inside.
So take the piss out of The Romantic Gesture. Go on. Mock it, thereby raining all over what small romantic hope I have left and simultaneously acknowledging that you will never do anything like that for me because you don’t see me in “that way”. Yes, I know they’re stupid and pointless, but compared to the reality you have just demonstrated they’re all i’ve got. Thanks.
So I started out the evening feeling nervous and continued it feeling awkward for pretty much the entire evening. Although these feelings were rubbing about in the back of my brain the feeling to the fore in the battle of my mixed emotions was one of happiness; I was grinning like a particularly over-excited idiot for large portions of the evening, I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I smelled good apparently.
Navigating through the sea of Saturday shoppers we made our way towards our first stop of the evening: The five star Connaught Hotel and its similarly named bar. The streets were quiet as we walked into Mayfair “Village” and were filled not with people but pretentious galleries, Porsche and Sunseeker dealerships and many, many hair salons.
It was super cold but thankfully dry and when we rounded a corner the Connaught looked very pretty lit up in the dark. Now, even though I was the one who had suggested going there for drinks (it is recommended) I was rather reticent about actually going into the place. I had found out that the bar had its own entrance on the street so I would not have to walk through the hotel lobby, which I was worried about doing as it was so posh.
I don’t belong you see, and never having really been in anywhere super fancy I get worried that I will do something “wrong” like fall over, leave my skirt tucked into my pants after I go to the bathroom etcetera. The simplest room is £409 a night at the Connaught- This freaks me the fuck out and adds to my feelings of fear. We wandered past the main entrance and the waiting doorman (Doorman = Scary!) looking for the entrance to the bar. We wandered right… then wandered back past the doorman and around the corner to hooray! the bar entrance.
The bar is the prettiest bar i’ve ever been in. It was gorgeous, staffed by tall men in slim fit grey suits and immaculate women in matching Mouret dresses. Oh it was lovely- Dimly lit, plenty of candles, vintage mirrors and chrome and what looked like crocodile covered chairs. I could have spent hours in one of the comfortable alcoves watching guests come and go and barmen pour cocktails from shakers held at a great height into their glass destinations.
The drinks list was extensive and expensive- A shot of 1868 whiskey? No problem-o if you’ve a spare £600. Iranian Caviar? I’m all right thanks… Whilst we perused the waiter brought us a starter- Yes, starter welcome drinks in tiny flutes, along with the tastiest olives I have ever eaten (I think they had lime zest sprinkled on them?) and glossy red nuts. I decided upon a Buonissimo, a mix of Rum, Galliano Balsamico, peach and lime (as you can see from the thoughtfully provided recipe card)- It was lovely stuff, really tasty, and £15. I was not paying :) MW#1 took great relish in slowly sipping a shot of a rare variant of his favourite whisky which surrounded a golf ball-sized sphere of ice that took up most of his glass. Round ice… Ooooh posh :D
Posh is also having a powder room with perfumes and products (I should have tried some) and fluffy white towels rolled up and stacked into a pyramid by the hand basins instead of paper towels. No bin for the used towels of course, but a hamper. Hee.
Although like i’ve said I could have spent all evening there, we had reservations to keep at a favourite restaurant of his so we had to go back out into the oppressively cold night and shiver our way to Jermyn Street and dinner. I really enjoyed the walk through the uber posh locale as I got to take a peek into lobbys and living rooms and see rich wood panelling and striped silk wallpaper; I got to wander past a Beretta shop and stare at John Lobb shoes but I was very glad to escape out of the chill and sit down for dinner.
The restaurant he took me to had wined and dined three generations of MW#1’s family, which is pretty good going and I thought it was sweet he took me there (though who knows, he might take all his conquests there). I liked the big mirrors and the original vintage glazed tiling that had little flowers moulded into it. The main reason for going there was for the steak- And it was all kinds of awesome. They brought it out on a little platter where it had been chopped into thick slices and topped with a very generous amount of garlic and herb butter; the whole affair was kept bubblingly warm by a small solid fuel lamp below and they offered unlimited stringy fries to accompany the slabs of juicy cow.
Thick steak, garlic butter and as many french fries as I can stuff down myself? Uh, this is a personalised prescription for deep pleasure… I am but a simple creature. Oh it was sooo goood… I was putting serious amounts of strain on my zip by the end of the evening.
I was feeling pretty tired and fuzzy post dinner so we got a train back to his; I sat and stared out at darkness outside and my reflection in the window as I tried to stay awake so we wouldn’t end up in Swindon (God Forbid). MW#1 held my hand and snoozed and I thought about the evening so far whilst I watched a couple opposite us happily kiss each other. I thought some more.
Warmth, Family Guy then bed. I have got better at sleeping through the night when I sleep with someone but because of all the thoughts floating around my head it took longer for me to drift off than usual and when I was woken by his snoring I found it impossible to get back to sleep. I felt pretty lonely as I lay there next to him and I wished that the thoughts in my head could by some sort of fucked up science work their way into his brain whereupon he would understand that I needed to be held tightly and would roll over and scoop me up into his warmth. The fucked up science isn’t quite there yet it seems, so I lay there some more and felt a bit sadder.
Understand- The evening was lovely and I very much appreciated time and effort being spent on my behalf. It’s just the awkwardness I constantly felt, not knowing if it was appropriate to give him a hug or kiss him, whether it was okay to hold his hand or whether I had to stay completely separate.
I thought quite a lot of progress (relatively) had been made over the last month or so with regards his feelings towards me, but as i’ve written before none of that amounts to a hill of beans if he either goes to Dubai or if he never commits to me. I want to be free to express how I feel about him but I am unable to do this, as I am never sure whether I am allowed to do so. It’s better that I don’t try and initiate anything in case it falls flat and I am left humiliated.
It’s like we get somewhere with regards to some sort of emotional intimacy then its whoa, hang on, lets put the walls up again and keep some distance. The Dubai Bombshell still looms over everything and I can’t help but feel like I am steeling myself to be let down.
Do I suck at kissing? I know my morning breath isn’t exactly pretty and I often have dry or conversely too wet lips but is it that? I will try harder! Why is it he seems to be so reluctant to give me a “proper” kiss? Why always a peck on the lips that is so brief i’ve barely time to react but then shower the rest of me with kisses? I want a kiss that burns brightly so that the rest of the room disappears. I also want to be held tightly, not gingerly and hesitantly. I am not made of porcelain.
It’s odd how he can appear distant in his actions but when he talks to me appears deeply concerned with how I slept or how I am feeling at that moment. He always picks up on the small things and constantly surprises me with small gestures of intimacy, it’s the larger picture that is much more confused.
My Manhattan heels were unappreciated. This makes me grumpy because okay, not everyone is going to “get” their greatness but Hello, girl semi-nude in stockings and suspenders right in front of you? I know, like me, you’re probably tired but a kind word would have gone a long way, especially when I feel so dorky when undressing.
Also, it would be super great to spend time with him where one or both of us didn’t have to get up early the next day, where when he wakes early he could leave me to hibernate and come slide back under the duvet later to keep me company. Of course, it would also be super great to spend more than twenty-four hours in his company, not have to worry about work the next day or the kids down the hall or that alarm urgently beeping.
I was left feeling a bit dissatisfied – not in a sexual way (there is never any problem there) – and not because I had built the evening up in my head; I think this feeling stems from things that have been said and how these words don’t seem to match up with his actions. To be blunt I felt like I deserve more. I’m not asking for dinner out every weekend nor jewellery or exotic holidays, just to be able to hold his hand without feeling like I am being almost slutty, and I know I am certainly not that.
I left feeling much more lonely than before I set foot out of the house yesterday evening, even though I spent the night curled up in the same bed as the person I long to sleep next to above all others. The Dubai Bombshell is making slow but steady progress; by Christmas I think I will know whether he stays or whether he goes. Fun times.
Yes, you are reading the total correctly- My trip to the (s)wanky restaurant with Leia Ewok Village resulted in a final bill of £144. ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR POUNDS. Thank fuck for birthday money is all I can say.
Although my bank balance is once again considerably depleted I had a wonderful evening; the food was delicious, perfect even and the (unusually female) sommelier was helpful and non-patronising. I am now able to enjoy a glass of sauvignon blanc without worrying it will dry my mouth out like silica gel, and I appreciated for the first time how the wine did indeed compliment what we were eating.
I decided to leave my fancy new stockings in their packet and discovered that my new deep suspender belt makes me look like a trussed up sausage (JOY), so I ended up wearing my usual belt. Deep belts do not seem to work on my short increasingly podgy torso. Boo. Anyway, after much yanking and sucking in I managed to zip myself into a prom dress and I thought that I looked pretty presentable; Leia Ewok Village looked gorgeous in a ruched sweater dress and crazy shoes that had mushrooms and pixies on the soles. Hee.
It was fabulous to spend a few hours eating great food in excellent company and lovely surroundings; I wish I could do it more often, or at least eat out and go out a little more than I do but unfortunately my bank balance, small and similarly poor social circle and lack of a Significant Other make it rather unlikely.
Now here is where I began a serious Ranty McRant on the subject of MW#1: How I was once again annoyed by his behaviour and that I was fed up of the Dubai Bombshell that he has inflicted floating over my existence; I also considered whether cutting all contact if he leaves is the best option, and what I should do if he doesn’t leave.
He has offered to take me out for a rather fancy dinner this coming weekend and I have decided to remove what I was going to post up here; I am currently slightly less grumpy and am now waiting to see if he makes me cry again… something to look forward to and all. Hee. So i’ll hold back for now, and if I do end up dissolving i’m sure i’ll merrily post up the self-censored rantings. Something to look forward to.
After listening to A Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis one too many times, I was intrigued by the line about Little Anthony and The Imperials and in my curious way I sought their music out.
It’s brilliant stuff- Tears On My Pillow, Goin’ Out Of My Head, Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop… Falsetto voice, doo wop backing vocals and excellent co-ordinated costumes; songs about losing the girl or never getting her in the first place. I’ve been listening to their greatest hits quite a bit recently- recommended pop with a bit more soul.
Little Anthony and The Imperials
I’ve got too much work and too little time this week it seems, too many after school school commitments and not enough time to fully relax without something work-related being on my mind. I cannot wait ’til Friday and the opportunity to do fuck all for a bit; i’m meeting up with my Mum and an Aunt in Lahndahn tahn on Saturday – my Aunt has told my Mum she has met someone new – but she is still married (!) – and then I am heading into town with Leia Ewok Village to the most pretentious (s)wanky restaurant my city-masquerading-as-a-town can offer. We are splitting the bill :)
Fully Fashioned Stockings
What Katie Did
I am planning to wear something with a bit of room in so I can fit my newly extra-padded self in more easily and so stuff my face without worrying about, um, popping zips. As a birthday present to myself I purchased a pair of most amazing stockings, ones with a very special heel. They’re my first pair of Fully Fashioned nylon stockings, and have a Manhattan heel and a pretty finishing loop at the top- this is true pornography for the stocking aficionado, and the bigger the loop the better (look at these bad boys).
They were a little on the pricey side, i.e. over a tenner, but I felt like I deserved a small treat for my birthday; I also got myself a six-strapped suspender belt so that I can keep my seams straight when i’m out and about. The standard four strapped belts don’t provide the same level of control and so my seams are frequently to be found wonky and all over the place, sometimes creeping all the way around the front of my leg. Not a good look.
The Manhattans feel so soft and light to the touch and once I cut a swathe through my body hair I am sure they will feel delicious against my skin. I love the contrast between stocking and skin and how comfortable they are to wear- no “hanging” crotch I get when wearing tights for this long-legged gal. They also add that somethingsomething to an outfit and help me feel like I am majoring on the attractive side when paired with a pair of heels.
It’s not like I dress up terribly frequently but I do like wearing them to draw attention to my legs; it’s always excellent to have a gal ask you where you got your “tights” from :) I correct them pretty quick…
I might wear my new purchases out on Saturday but i’m a little wary because for whatever reason my hosiery has not fared particularly well the last few times i’ve been out with Leia Ewok Village- Its has got caught on furniture and snagged on Velcro fastenings. At least some of the stockings I buy come in packs of three for just such eventualities. Maybe i’ll just stick to plain ordinary seams and save them for a time when someone will get to appreciate the finishing loops. I may be waiting a while.
He remembered what day my birthday was on this year, which was an improvement. But not much. I feel like I have to shove all my feelings back in the box they came out of, but the box is small and the feelings generous.
Sometimes when i’m feeling particularly fed up with the world I forget how many good friends I really have; however pissed off I am by the anniversary, present choices, significance etcetera I am glad that my birthday provides an opportunity to remind me how very many I do have and how lovely they all are. Sigh.
18th B-day Cake [CC] by Stephen Jones
I survived the Evangelical activity centre outing and the e-safety seminar and I still have my job. Hooray.
I have an awesome new scarf courtesy of Caversham Princess and an excellently geek-satisfying book and I got lots of super kind cards and messages. I’m now seriously tired, and I need to curl up with Patrick super quick as I seem to be seeing two laptop screens in front of my eyes, when I know there should only be one.
[CC] by Bill Barber
Oh dear, what with the impending doom of my birthday and the festive season I am, of course, browsing unobtainables.
Unobtainables are usually so named due to financial costs I cannot afford to meet but some do not cost anything but are unobtainable because I don’t have anyone to enjoy them with- I know from experience that it’s just not the same on your own, and that there’s a special joy sharing with someone you love. I suppose all these things are tied up with my hopes for the future and go some small way towards what would be a really good celebratory outing. IN MY MIND.
Dinner at Hawksmoor
Super thick steaks are their speciality. Mmmmeat… at £21 a steak and up…
Sixty minutes of massage
Something i’ve longed for for a while; wouldn’t have to be shop bought, could be given as a gesture of affection by an intimate.
The red-tipped black petticoat and polka dot circle skirt from Fairy Gothmother.
Again, things i’ve lusted after for years. Uber feminine- Just have to have something to wear it for. Humph.
A weekend away somewhere pretty with someone who cares for me spent eating great food, having good conversation and committing unspeakable acts between crisp cotton sheets.
I’ve never been able to do this with anyone; i’d like to pass some quiet, intimate time without distractions… just be able to let go and enjoy myself.
A bouquet of richly scented, non-red roses.
I *love* fresh, scented flowers, but cannot stand the cliche of unscented red roses. Ugh.
A birthday kiss
Never happened. I’d like a good one too, not a peck, I’m talking deep and long.
Of course, there’s also the three weeks in Hawaii, but lets stick to obtainable unobtainables here…
Although thinking about these things is a little depressing, at least they are a bit better to spend time on than The Dubai Bombshell, which seems to insert itself nightly into my head as soon as it touches the pillow, keeping me awake thinking and thinking and thinking…
Joy-of-joys, my birthday rolls around next week- I’ll be twenty-eight years old. Rock on. As per usual this annual event has got me thinking about getting older, what I have achieved in my life so far and my future aims; I have also been thinking about the latter because of the Dubai Bombshell and the related recent developments.
I don’t think it is either fair nor realistic to expect to spend the rest of my life with one person- sizeable chunks are what I think is achievable. I suppose that a chunk could be anything from five years to fifty but I would hope that upwards of ten years would be the minimum. I also don’t expect to like the person I am with all the time nor be “in love” with them; I don’t expect to get hitched, I don’t expect kids.
I think that marriage is important for the legal protection it can provide and although I am positive about a wide variety of family forms I believe that it is probably better to have a partner to raise your kids. Despite appearances I suppose I am rather traditional-leaning in that I would prefer to be hitched before I continued my species, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t.
The recent developments with MW#1 have focused my thoughts a bit more on what I want from my career, i.e. how long I should stay in my job before I move jobs or take a break to start a family or change career. I think another five years or so would be preferable so I can get a decent amount of experience under my belt.
During my recent performance management my boss encouraged me to be ambitious and apply for a Head of Departmentship in the next five years; I was pretty surprised by this suggestion (and flattered)- I never see myself as a leader, knowing that my enthusiasm for things can frequently come across as being childish rather than childlike. I don’t see myself being anything other than a “regular” teacher for many years to come, and I am very happy with that.
Aside from the fuckwits of the Senior Management Team I am very happy and satisfied in my place of work at the moment; I am not sitting on my laurels in that I am adding to my skills by working there- learning how to use the darkroom, ceramic and textiles work etcetera. I still don’t have a permanent full time contract and I know that the same shenanigans will take place once again come the Summer term; my heart sinks when I think about it…
Anyway, i’m happy in my job. What else do I worry about, aside from the Dubai Bombshell and the welfare and performance of my students? Housing. Well, on that front a lot of things are undecided and really not worth thinking about until the new year. I’m not asking to own my own place, just to move a step up from student housing, but I don’t think this is possible for maybe four or five years. So i’ll continue to rail at the world and it’s buy-to-let-greedy-fuckers unfairness for a long while yet…
A friend updated their Facebook status to say that she was “being whisked away for her birthday by her lovely man”. What will I be doing on my birthday? I will be spending the morning in the company of my form as we collectively tackle high wires, assault courses, abseiling and archery at an activity centre – I am quite looking forward to this – that I have unfortunately just discovered is run by an uber-freaky Evangelical group; post-exertion I will dust myself down for at least two hours of “e-safety training” which will succeed in seriously pissing me the fuck off. YAY.
I’m more generously padded than I was at this time last year courtesy of an extra two kilograms of fat that has materialised upon me without my permission (I feel podgy), i’ve shorter hair and many additional stripes of cellulite; after two cervical smears I know I am also free from cervical cancer and chlamydia. Woo hoo.
This time last year no-one had ever told me that they loved me, nor had I told anyone similarly… Although I lie awake at night worrying about The Dubai Bombshell and the future ahead, I can at least say a little interpersonal progress has been made. Now i’m just waiting for it to be taken away.
The Non-Relationship between me and MW#1 has experienced what I consider to be a few interesting developments of late; for the last day or so I have been pondering what if anything to write about with regards to what has been going on over the last couple of weeks. Ponder ponder.
I’d like to recount conversations we’ve had because I think they are interesting and important and provide a little insight into the slow motion car crash that is our refriendtionship; however, there is the issue of privacy to think about and I have to wonder what would posting them up do- Change anything? Nuh-uh. I’ve taken a very long time writing out a post that recaps everything in blow-by-blow detail but I think it might be more prudent that I leave it to sit unpublished whilst the Dubai Bombshell plays itself out.
Two years ago I experienced a particular health and welfare issue over the course of a couple of months that was indirectly linked to MW#1. At the time I was pretty stressed out about it and for a variety of reasons I decided the best course of action was not to involve him until I knew for sure the prognosis (so to speak) either way. I wrote a post collecting my feelings together and I published it only to take it down a couple of hours later when I had a change of heart, again due to issues of privacy.
I never filled in MW#1 on what was going on and when things resolved in a positive way I decided there was no reason to let him know. Looking back I think that the decision not to share was the best one. My friends played their role in supporting me, which to be honest is the best thing going, but I feel like I would have appreciated a little understanding from him, but Hell, if I didn’t tell him what could I expect? Humans ain’t mind-readers, as far as science can tell us.
The events of the last couple of weeks have resulted in the cultivation of very warm and fuzzy feelings towards the person who might be leaving both myself and the country in a month or so. Stress from uncertainty scratches at the corners of my mind like the toast crumbs in my bed, but there’s nothing to be done except waiting and seeing.
In some ways I am quite pleased about how I have dealt with difficult conversations that have been cropping up recently; I have found that I am more able than I thought I would be to talk and to stick up for myself and what I want- I am able to explain and ask questions through the tears. Go me. My opinions carry absolutely zero power in altering the course of things but at least I am putting them out there.
And still I feel an inexplicable tenderness towards the man who I let hurt me, who has never spent more than twenty-four hours in my company yet whose well being I worry over; when I awake next to him and curl up in his warm embrace I feel deeply content, even if he is regaling me with the ins-and-outs of Warhammer 40K.
My test results came back really quickly in comparison to the last set so it was with a little trepidation that I picked up the brown envelope stamped CONFIDENTIAL off the doormat.
My previous results took six weeks to come through so I was expecting another positive for changes letter as they had arrived so promptly (just over a week); I knew if this did turn out to be the case it wasn’t a disaster or anything but I was a bit nervous despite the facts. The results were negative. Hooray.
LightArt Kijkduin 2007 by Haags Uitburo
Dutch rock awesomeness…. (includes yodelling)
Hocus Pocus – 1971
Sylvia – 1972
Behold: The Finest Shoulders In The Universe…
(in my opinion)
I’ve had a thing for the shoulders-chest-waist combo of Hugh Jackman ever since I saw him being all uber-masculine in X-Men; he is just so broad and is guaranteed to get me all giggly if I catch sight of him minus a shirt. I’m not much of a fan of the well-defined abs I must say but manfur… Heh.
Eric Bana and The Rock have excellent Monky-carrying platforms too but Jackman’s fur triggers off primal excitable feelings that the other two don’t. I mean, I’ll still go squee when the Rock smiles and laugh with nervous excitement when Bana gets topless as Hector in the god-awful Troy but thanks to Wolverine Jackman beats the rest.
Oh- Statham… How could I forget you… but you’re still not Hugh- You’re too short.
Frozen Raspberry by Floccinaucinihilipilification… and here’s what Floccinaucinihilipilification means
Here’s something you might like to try if you are seriously short of amusement on a dark Sunday evening. I discovered this by accident and I can only theorise that the effect occurs due to water vapour. I am not responsible if things go POP.
Turn power on HIGH and watch.
The raspberry will proceed to smoke.
Panic, turn microwave OFF.
Eat warm squishy raspberry.
DEATH OF A SEASON by snowriderguy
I had a much better day today after yesterdays doom and gloom and eye leakage.
I went into town to buy a birthday card for my brother and the walk along by the canal was like a mental shaking out- The gloom lifted, the worries settled and I felt very happy as I wandered slowly along in the unseasonably warm sun.
It was beautiful. Sunlight on the Autumnal trees, fallen leaves floating gently along in the current making lines as the followed the flow. Warmth on my skin, my newly dyed hair blazing red in the reflections from office windows; I put my big sunglasses on and felt seriously serene.
Naturally, it was the sort of experience that I wanted to share, and I really wish I had brought my camera but whatever, I felt good.
I hung my washing out on the line to the strains of Southside Johnny’s Tom Waits covers album Grapefruit Moon; I cooked myself lunch/dinner and twirled around in the kitchen by myself as I waited for my onion, garlic and courgette to fry.
I tried on some of my pretty dresses to see if they still fit me and posed in my wedges whilst imagining an appreciative hand around my waist. I found a small lump of dark chocolate in an evening bag and ate it one cube at a time. A better day.
As Tom Waits says in Walk Away:
“No more rain, no more roses.”This is an all-kinds-of-awesome description of Tom Waits’ wife by the man himself. Imagine being described so- It’s got depth and craziness and is veritably fabulous.
“a remarkable collaborator, and she’s a shiksa goddess and a trapeze artist, all of that. She can fix the truck. Expert on the African violet and all that. She’s outta this world. I don’t know what to say. I’m a lucky man. She has a remarkable imagination. And that’s the nation where I live. She’s bold, inventive and fearless. That’s who you wanna go in the woods with, right? Somebody who finishes your sentences for you.”
Original from Sex & The City Trailer by DCMatt
Stupidly I took it upon myself to watch Sex and The City: The Movie this evening; aside from my annoyance at waaay too much squealing going on for comfort, what I was left with was a feeling of deep aching unhappiness.
I cried at several points during the film; by the end of it I did not feel uplifted by the happy ending, but felt terribly sad and alone. I feel the need to sob for a while, but all that I seem to be able to do is sit staring at my laptop screen as my eyes swim. My chest hurts and I know that no amount of hugging Patrick will help me feel better.
I wish I could call up MW#1 and say “Hello, I could really appreciate a hug from you right now… Please could I come round?” but we never talk on the phone and I rarely ask for anything because that would be “needy” so instead I have to sit here alone and marinate my eyeballs in tears that don’t seem to be able to fall and an ache that can’t be taken away.
Wine won’t take the pain away, neither will hugging a soft toy… I want the Dubai Bombshell to extract itself from where it festers in my mind so that I would not have to think about it every day, not think a happy thought and have it interrupted by “MW#1 might be gone… will be gone.” I think about my birthday and become sad because he might not be around to give me a kiss on the end of my nose; I think about Christmas, New Years, 2009 and beyond and the loneliness.
Why does the threatened loss of someone who is barely in my life cause me such upset? I mean it’s not like he’s ever given me a birthday kiss nor a present that marked the date. He’s never chosen to be with me for New Years, never spent more than twenty-four hours in my company. So what am I so upset about losing?
I think it’s the way he makes me feel.
Hopefully the ache will fade a little this evening as i’ve managed to write myself into properly crying. Hooray.
Nikon FE2 by d!zzy
Next week I am returning to the darkroom for the first time since my Foundation year; I am really looking forward to it as I have very fond memories of my time spent playing around under the red light.
I got out my old 35mm SLR and my design classic was an absolute joy to use; sturdy and comforting in its heaviness and awesome in its simplicity- manual control over everything. Hooray! I had to re-remember how the aperture affected the speed and vice-versa and remember how the f-stops altered the depth-of-field.
I like how it feels against my face and in my hands- Not small and rounded like a dSLR so that your hands get in the way of the viewfinder and your face seems to get in the way. Ugh. I remember the years I took it round places and the time I shot a whole roll of film but had not wound it on properly. I think this then teenager cried… I’m going to develop and print the film next week (fingers crossed); I will stick up the first fruits of my labour when i’ve got them done. Comedy may ensue.
I spent an hour this morning cocooned in my duvet going through variations on the “Oh, I got the job, I’ve decided to leave” conversation that (pessimistically) I believe is coming.
Tears gunged up my eyes and left wet pools around my ears as they soaked into my pillow. Unpleasant. I watched some pornography to try and change my mood but all I could find was lots of unfulfilling rutting; I felt very sad as I compared the frantic images on my screen with my memories of intimacy.
Watching the couples and thinking, “Oh, I wouldn’t like that, I like it when [x] is done to me, but not that” or watching the reactions of the women and thinking how terribly unstimulated they appear to be. How they don’t seem to be truly enjoying themselves but I know that I want for nothing when I am intimate with MW#1. My thoughts moved back to his leaving and my never curling up with him again and more tears were shed. Sigh.
As much as I love the potential for relaxation that the weekend offers I know that almost every weekend I will find myself feeling lonely for company that I am unable to have. All I can do is hole up under my blanket and trawl through Surf The Channel or Sidereel and hug Patrick tightly, and pass the rest of the time by doing washing or dying my hair. Fun. I might repaint my toenails.
I am browsing holidays. That I would have to save for around five to ten years to go on. That are in beautiful, interesting places. And are romantic. And I have no-one to go and be romantic, beautiful and interesting with.
Then I browse underwear. That I usually can’t afford. That I might shell out for. Of which I have no-one to properly appreciate me in.
Then it’s on to shoes. Or dresses. That I do not go out enough to justify buying. That no-one will tell me I look pretty in, even when I go to lots of trouble. That might make someone tell me I look pretty but only days after I wear them.
How I wish I had a life where I was enough. Where I was not made to feel like i’m not quite. Too un-busty. Hair too short. Brain too full. Mouth too big. Stomach too soft. Lacking femininity. Where someone would want to spend time with me. To ease the loneliness.
The view by limbic
My smear went as well as can be expected- just six weeks to wait to see if I need further treatment. It’s still all good if this turns out to be the case; I will just need to have a little further examination done and possibly some super minor butchery. Just got to keep an eye on things, nip things in the bud before they change into anything potentially serious.
I have been looping this track for the better part of a half hour- Played *very* loud through my headphones it’s lapdance delicious and is quite appropriate for the times…
For The Love Of Money
I now have an urge to wear the yellow wedges to school. And a sweater dress. To the place that does not contain a single male that is at all attractive. Heh.
Smear number two later on today- My results from my first trip to the land of the paper-covered bench were not problem-free, so I need to go for a follow up and see if things have sorted themselves out or if treatment is needed. Fingers crossed all goes well and fingers crossed the results come back manageable.
Yeah. I know. But slicing the image up so the text could flow was just too much effort.
So my weekend- I spent a helluva lot of money and had a really lovely time. I got to eat great food, drink good wine, see chunky goalkeepers and try on body con dresses. I also cried on a couple of occasions. Good times.
I’ve been feeling the need for a good dose of hugging so I cracked and invited MW#1 out to spend some time running his fingers through my hair. We met, hugged intensely and then had a delicious meal, that ever-so-stupidly I agreed to go halves on. DUH. As my friends have said, I have had to go through enough over the last couple of years, the least I could expect is dinner to be paid for. But i’m too nice and all that. I will endeavour to pay a well-timed visit to the bathroom to “powder my nose” next time.
Anyway, I had venison with haggis mash, fine green beans and fig sauce- It was super delicious, and although I usually dislike the beans they were extremely tasty and an excellent accompaniment. The venison was pink and tender and gorgeously flavoured. I washed it down with an excellent bottle of red and passed two hours in the company of MW#1 very comfortably indeed. There was much mocking on my behalf, lots of banter, and I was reminded how good a time I can have around him. He appreciated the hair.
Post-dinner we shivered our way over to the local Young Professional den of cocktail iniquity; I had my first Manhattan in an appropriate “girly” glass and my usual caipirinha… The evening wore on, my inebriation slowly increased; I was very warm and fuzzy and tactile and enjoying myself faaar too much.
An interesting moment occurred when I shared the fear I have that MW#1 will become injured through his throwballing or in some sort of alcohol + rage-based incident and that I would be the last to know or that I would never find out. A very astute indicator of my importance to him was his reply “Oh, [my housemate] is under strict instructions if that ever happens to go through my entire phonebook and let everyone on there know.” I was like, uh, that really does not assuage my fears in any way and really shows how much I mean to you. Well done.
Aside from that, I had an awesome evening – even if it did involve being teased with two whole episodes of Prison Break – but when we finally got to the bedroom I ended up crying…
“Are you okay?”
“No. Not really. My eyes are leaking.”
As I wrote in a prior entry, when I was in bed it suddenly hit me that I might not have this any more, whatever “this” actually is. MW#1 was gracious about my impromptu dissolving and held me whilst I mopped my tears and fell asleep. I had previously warned him that when I saw him I might be a little out of sorts due to the Dubai Bombshell (it’s official NATO reporting name) so I hope he understood why I was upset or at least is understanding.
The morning after I nested in MW#1’s big bed whilst he geeked out Games Workshop-ing downstairs; wonder of wonders I actually managed to sleep through him looking in on me- Apparently I looked very peaceful. I usually take a long time to get off to sleep and am easily woken by any sort of noise, so I was quite surprised to hear this from him. I must have been tired…
I had not had a night out with MW#1 like that in a long time and although I found parts of it rather difficult, it was lovely to have such a fun time out. Eating, drinking, extended face eating sessions- The good life indeed. Well, I need to be kissed more, and get taken out more, and not be hurt as much. Sigh.
Later that day I met up with Bobby Convey and we took in some Hahnemann action at Reading vs. Burnley- He was looking a little more chunky than the last time I saw him, but for me that just meant it was all the more to love. Heh. I seem to have a preference for chunky, broad men, slim student-y types do absolutely nowt for me. I need someone to be able to carry me away from danger at high speed you see, and Marcus and MW#1 are well able to do that. And other things. Ahem.
Post-match we headed into town for tea and coffee and food and wine with Caversham Princess; my friends assailed me for paying for my dinner- I have learnt my lesson. Bobby’s Dad is getting on very well at the moment – he is recovering from a bone marrow transplant – and it was heartening to hear that things seem so positive at the moment. Hurrah.
Despite the Godawful weather on Sunday I took myself into town and trawled the shops with Leia Ewok Village. It was super fun to spend a few hours having a girly peruse of the shops and together we managed to rack up quite a sum. A lot of my trying on was based around the fantasy life where I eat out frequently so I get to show off lots of pretty dresses and get taxis everywhere so I can wear giant shoes. Not *quite* reality.
When we’d had enough of dresses and shoes (I bought the awesome red and black number illustrated and a fabulously tight body con number) we had coffee and I cried again when Leia was trying to be positive about the future and the future post-MW#1 if the Dubai Bombshell comes to fruition.
It was not that she was being overly mean to me, but just thinking about the loneliness to come (and it’s bad already) was really tough. I know myself all too well and I know I am not the sort to go picking people up at bars nor do internet dating. I just don’t have it in me. So I know that although MW#1 is barely in my life, I face absolutely nothing if he departs. So I cried, again.
This is all kinds of awesome:
We Don’t Need This (Fascist Groove Thang)