Monthly Archives: November 2008
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.